Chapter 1

There is a reason Oliver Kirkland likes his 'special cupcakes.' There are few things that he does on a daily basis that have such deep meaning, and his cupcakes are one of them.

Oliver Kirkland has never hated his counterpart, the one with a straw head and eyes like grass with caterpillar eyebrows, lanky and tall and reminding him of a scarecrow standing in one of his beloved fields in the rolling, green countryside. He has never really know such a rich green. In fact, he adores Arthur, if only for those beautifully rich emerald eyes, a shade that he can never capture in his own dimension, where the only colors are somehow related to red or black, or somewhere along the darker tints of the spectrum.

Not that anyone knows this, of course, except for the other counterparts like him.

People say that he and the others are insane, mad, debauched, and all sorts of nasty words that leave him feeling wronged and filthy, as though they are reminding him that they will never forgive the blood that stains his hands and taints his very soul with darkness.

That's one reason he started making his cupcakes. To show them that he cannot clean himself of that mud that still sticks to his reputation as a character of 'another color.' To show them that no matter what he tries, he cannot wash, freeze, or burn the stains off. So he bakes them into beautiful little cupcakes covered with pink frosting - the color of diluted blood - and shows them what he cannot tell them: that he is the way he is because it's their fault.

It's all their fault that he exists, humans and their wars and skirmishes and grudges and their never-ending hate; their fault that he has to do what he does, because they are the ones that have demanded it, to keep the universe in balance amidst the chaos that consumes it from the ruckus people create. It's all their fault that he's not completely sane.

It's not like he particularly enjoys what he does. If only people really knew how much he cared, how stable he used to be, and how much he really did try, because they're his people, and they're the ones that demanded it from him.

Oliver is not very well of sight, though he refuses to wear glasses. There's a reason for that, and it is also another reason that he makes his beloved cupcakes, 'special' or not.

He does not exist for no reason, or just to be the 'opposite' of his counterpart, Arthur. He was created by his and Arthur's people, for the sake of their wars and their grievances. For the sake of their security and their stability, he had to give up his own. So because he knew that Arthur could not do it - for Arthur is far better than politics than he could ever be, and they both know it - he decided to make the necessary sacrifice of his sanity for the sake of their people and their country.

There are always many possible outcomes for war. There are anywhere from tens to hundreds to thousands to millions of possible endings, and in all of them, it is hard to find the best one, or at least one that is fairly acceptable, an outcome where things can be rebuilt and hope will still remain despite the shambles left behind.

His people are known for their magic. Thus, he and Arthur are also gifted with magic. Oliver, however, uses his magic for more than just mere hexing other countries and attempting to defeat enemies. He is a time traveler.

He likes to entertain the thought that there are some of his people that understand him still, despite their fear when they meet him, and so created the popular show Doctor Who to show him that they see, and they understand why he is who he is.

He also travels through time, to prevent disasters from happening in the universe and in history where they shouldn't. Specifically, for his people. For Arthur.

He can still remember all the times he has traveled back in time, to correct the deadly mistakes his people made, and to nudge them towards a better, more acceptable ending. It takes many tries. He has traveled back hundreds of times for one event, to see his people make the same mistakes no matter what he tries, to see them stumble and fall and crash and burn. To see them suffer. To watch them stagger until he can find the right way to prop them up, to help them reach the proper end.

He can remember all the times he has seen Arthur die before his eyes, in so many different ways, heard so many different last words from his counterpart, all of them trust and confidence in his ability to make things right, to fix what they did wrong. Sometimes, he truly wants to give up.

From seeing so much desecration, over time, the pink slipped into his beautiful blue eyes, one of the rare splashes of bright color in his monochrome world. And each time he traveled back, he forfeited a little bit of his eyesight.

He loves his brother Arthur, despite his oddities and freaks that he has no right in criticizing, considering his own. He cares so much. He has fought so hard for Arthur, and for his people, for their country.

And people say that he hates Arthur.

This is why he is a bit poor of eyesight. But he refuses to wear glasses, because Arthur does when he reads, and Oliver does not want to have too much in common with Arthur, because he is his own person and he is afraid that if they have too much in common, he will begin to lose his identity. He does not want that, because he must continue to protect his people - and Arthur, his other, more innocent self.

And this is also why he bakes cupcakes; because he knows that Arthur does not have the best of cooking skills, and he likes this other clear distinction between him and his counterpart.

Oliver both loves and resents Alfred F. Jones and Al Jones. It is yet another reason that he diligently bakes his cupcakes.

He knows that Al is a vegan, so he bakes his 'special' cupcakes to annoy Al because he can't eat them. He also knows that Alfred likes sweet things, so he bakes normal cupcakes to satisfy that sweet tooth. He does them in a mingled way of showing both love and resentment, depending on his mood.

The reason for his conflicting emotions towards his little brothers is because of their past. They are his little brothers, and he loves them because of it, like he loves all of his and Arthur's former colonies. He cannot help but love them, because he watched them grow and sent them into the world to change it for the better. And yet, it was because of Al and Alfred that he was pushed over the brink of insanity that people feared him for now.

The Revolutionary War was something that Oliver does not like to remember.

He can oh, so clearly remember each and every one of the hundreds of times that he traveled back in time to fix each disastrous ending of each and every battle. He saw Alfred die, he saw Arthur die, he saw them die singly and he saw them die together. He saw them kill one another, and he saw them kill themselves.

He saw Alfred fall to the ground and scream in unending pain and sorrow, and he turned away in utter shame at his failure, for putting the ones he loved and adored through so much pain, time and time again as he kept on trying and failing to make things right.

He saw Arthur collapse at his feet and wail, demanding he do something and bring their little brother back.

He saw Arthur put Alfred in chains, and he saw Alfred take over the world and saturate it with his pain.

When he finally managed the ending that history records, he could not find the strength nor the heart to try to make it better. Instead, he fell to his knees and wept bitterly, then laughed, long and loud and hysterically, because he knew that he was broken.

It was another reason to bake his cupcakes. To break the eggs and remember the moment that he had shattered; to put them in the oven and recall the years his raw, aching pieces had festered; and to frost them and remember the pink of his eyes, the purple of his bruises, and the blue that would never be pure again.

People feared his wide smile, his swirling eyes, and his cupcakes. He didn't see why. Each and every one of them was a tribute to his beloved people, made with careand each detail obsessed over to make sure that they were perfect, to show them his utter devotion and love. His smile was only to show them that he still loved them, and despite all that they had put him through didn't have any hatred towards them. His eyes should remind them of what he had done for them.

And yet, they said that he hated Arthur.

He thought they should know better. He baked his cupcakes every day, and there were always a dozen sent to Arthur's doorstep every morning.

His people should remember. Every new skirmish, every new trouble or trial or battle or war; it just made his smile a little wider, his eyes a little pinker, his vision a little poorer, and his cupcakes a little sweeter and a little more 'special.'

After all, they are him, and he is them.


I don't quite know where this sprang from, but it was inspired by something nonetheless and so put it up I shall; not to mention I thought it might be about time to stick my meddling fingers into the Hetalia fandom and show my loyalty.

I hope to make a few more of these concerning other 2p characters, but I'll be happy to answer requests! 1p characters are also allowed, though I would prefer if you'd stick with 2p's.

Hasta la pasta~! Ve~