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Had an odd conversation with this girl on dA[deviantArt], where Hitler- who really respected Napoleon, met and got knocked up by the man.
Well, we never decided on the kids.
So this is a story of Hitler and Napoleon's kids.
It's short, sorry if it sucks. Just read it I guess.
And sorry about the ending.ENJOY.
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Peitro and Lucian: The Brothers Bonaparte
Written by: Chemical_Bliss
--~
We came into the world like everyone else: pink, bloody, crying, frightened and confused.
We were slapped on the a** by some man dressed in white, wrapped in something warm and fuzzy, then handed to a person we had never seen before, but had just spent the last nine months living inside.
That person, we somehow knew to be our mother.
The next person to take us, we would later learn- by the sound of his voice, or the gentleness of his touch, to be our father.
He would be the only one we really got to know…
----
“Lucian!….Lucian!!”
A sly smile stretched across the pale face of a young boy, nose deep within the pages of a history book in the library of his home.
This boy, one of two, loved to read- but had a mind for adventure, a very energetic young boy.
His brown-black hair was so bothersome, falling in his face- no matter how he parted it. But it couldn’t conceal his big blue eyes- one minute so playful, the next, deadly serious, or the gears grinding behind them as his mind worked away the information he in took.
Bodacious, loud, longing to be the center of attention, Lucian Eliz Bonaparte was like his dear mother in more ways than one. A slight concern to his father and brother.
He purposely ignored the callings of his older brother- older by a mere four or five minutes, as he always did.
Because unlike himself, the brother of Lucian was very much like their father- something he wasn’t too sure of being a good thing.
“There you are, Lucian! I’ve been calling you.”
In came a slightly shorter boy, messy, raven black hair, observant blue eyes and a healthy complexion due to his time in the sun.
This, was the brother of Lucian, Peitro Roseau Bonaparte.
“Yes, brother. I’m well aware of that. You know there is a slight echo in here.”
Lucian replied with a bit of attitude.
Now, Lucian and Peitro were identical twins and it was hard to tell them apart up until about the age of three, when their father noticed the changes in Lucian’s hair color. Going from a murky black, and shifting into a dark brown.
The attitudes of the two, personalities as well, made it much easier to tell the boys apart.
Although you could often find the ‘little leader’, Peitro, following around his father as the man conducted business.
With a frown, Peitro seated himself in a leather arm chair across from his brother, who for once had marked his place and set the large, dusty book he had been reading, closed when normally he would continue to read- despite the rudeness of it. Beside the reader on a small table, were several other books- many of which had German titles.
Peitro knew few languages, French, Spanish, and some Chinese, but when it came to German- well, the ‘harsh’ language of the kraut came at a high level of difficulty for him.
But for Lucian, it was as though it was his native tongue, speaking fluently in a language he was not raised to speak. He knew only two languages, French and German, and he would rather keep it that way, much to his brother’s distaste.
From the pile, Peitro pulled out a worn book, the pages dog eared and read many times, but the title- was in German, and of course, he could not simply ask what it said, he had to say it for himself.
As he did, Lucian began to frown. He snatched the book out of his twin’s hand.
“Mein Kampf. It’s German for ‘My Struggle’.”
Lucian lovingly wiped off the books front, thumbing through a few pages before setting it down.
He took a good long look at his brother and sighed, “It was written by our mother, you know..”
The raven haired brother only stared.
He didn’t like to be reminded of the person to which he came out of, the person that more and more everyday his brother became like.
It concerned him greatly, Lucian did. The boy had a military mind, but something wasn’t quite right with him. He could only imagine how his brunette brother would be, if their mother had kept them.
“I do know…”
Peitro saw the sadness though when their mother was mentioned in Lucian’s expressive eyes. He wasn’t happy here- not in France with his family. He wanted to be somewhere else, but Lucian could never express his desire to leave to their father.
They were his heirs.
They were needed.
---
“Papa…”
“Yes, Peitro.”
Peitro stared at the man, emperor of France, conqueror of lands. His father, a proud Frenchman.
The raven haired Napoleon Bonaparte did not look up from his work right away. At this time, he wished to be alone in his study, but Peitro was his favorite- and sometimes wasn’t afraid to voice it.
He did look up, when a worn book was set in front of him, as well as a red piece of cloth.
Napoleon stared at the cloth, taking it in his fingers. He turned it until he saw a bit of white and black: A Swastika.
His eyes darted to the small boy, “Where did you get this, Peitro?”
He sounded angry, causing his son to take a step back.
“The book…is from the library, brother was reading it.. The cloth is from his room…what is it, papa?”
Peitro shifted nervously from foot to foot, keeping a straight back and a calm look on his face.
When the father and son were together like this, you could tell the boy was his son- many of the same facial features and such.
“Bring your brother to me. Do it now, Peitro.”
The Frenchman set the cloth down, taking the book in his hands, gently grazing over the letters.
He shook his head. He wanted to forget, but it kept coming back to haunt him.
Moments later, Lucian entered the room. He could smell his fathers anger, but he wasn’t frightened.
“Sit.”
He obeyed, taking a seat, watching his book be thumbed through carelessly by his father. He wanted to speak out, ask him to be careful, but it wouldn’t be of any use.
“Lucian, son… do you know what this is-” Napoleon held up the arm band for the twin to see, and see the big blue eyes did. “you know what this is, Lucian. Now why do you have it?”
There was silence.
The twins father knew why Lucian would have such a horrid thing in his home. Such sorts of books about so called ‘triumphs’, ‘victories’, and the merciless slaughter of a race of people.
“Answer me now.”
“It…it’s a swastika, father.”
Lucian’s hands trembled, but he remained brave. The German blood in him was keeping him strong, pushing down what he thought to be cowardly French blood.
“Who wore swastikas?”
Napoleon watched his son’s eyes, so cold at this moment, full of hate, a deep burning hatred that no young boy who has had a good life should have. A bred hatred, inherited.
“The Nazis…father..”
Next, the book was held up, his book. His mother’s book. The book he wanted the Frenchman to take his filthy hands off of.
“Who wrote this book?”
That question, so insensitive to the young boy. It made him snap.
“You know damn well who wrote that book!” Lucian shouted, “My mother wrote that book! My mother is a Nazi! Is that what you want to hear, you stupid smelly Frenchman!?-”
His uproar brought him out of his seat, but the harsh sting of this father’s hand set him back down in it.
Lucian’s eyes watered, the hatred burning more intense.
“What is wrong with you, Lucian!? I raised you, to be a gentleman. A king! An Emperor! But instead, day after day, you lock yourself in that library, reading about that filth. Reading about those murderers and their so called ‘accomplishments’, looking up to them… when you don’t even give me-Your own father, the same respect! Why Lucian? WHY!?”
Napoleon glared at his son, opening the book. He began to tear page after page out, not listening to his son’s pleads and begging. “No…more Nazis. You are not German. You are French!”
Lucian stared at the pages as they were ripped, smaller and smaller. His mother’s words gone. He stood out of his chair, getting as close to the desk as he possibly could, his pale face getting into his father’s.
“I am no Frenchman.” he growled “I…am a kraut. I am German. I am not your son. And I hate you.” Lucian grabbed the arm band and pulled it up his sleeve, smoothing it out. He parted his hair, stepped back and proceeded to do a Nazi salute, all to the horror of his father, “HEIL HITLER!” he screamed.
Napoleon dropped the torn book onto the desk with a loud thud, his jaw hung slightly in disbelief as the serious faced little boy continued to salute his mother.
---
After a long debate on what to do about the behavior of his young son, Napoleon Bonaparte finally made a decision.
The wait at the train station seemed to drag on in years, not minutes for the young half German. Lucian watched the people, waiting for that one train to finally pull into the station.
Peitro watched his brother, somewhat saddened.
“Papa?”
“Yes Peitro?”
“…how long will brother be gone for?”
Napoleon pulled the boy into his lap, kissing the twin’s forehead.
“Until he finds himself ready to return home.”
A few more minutes pass, ticking away like hours.
Slowly, the seemingly indestructible hope Lucian had is being ebbed away.
But a bright smile returned to the brunette’s face as the black steeled train finally chugged it’s way into the station.
Napoleon stood quickly, grabbing the energetic twin before he ran off to the platform.
“Wait.”
The Frenchman said through clenched teeth. Peitro clung to his fathers jacket, not wanting to be seen.
“Herr Bonaparte.”
Lucian looked up, meeting the blue eyes that matched his so well.
He gasped silently. A loss of words bound his tongue. But the tears were enough, even as he buried his face in the trench coat, he knew he had been rescued.
“M-mommy…” he croaked out, sobbing hard and wrapping his arms as far as they could go around the older man’s waist.
A silent exchange between the mother and the father, neither knew what to say, one was heart broken, the other didn’t care.
The boys were separated.
But Lucian didn’t care, he didn’t even wave at his twin, who desperately wanted a goodbye.
Peitro broke from his father’s hold, chasing after the train, “Lucian!! Lucian!!!” he screamed, slowing as the train moved too fast for his small body to catch up with.
The Frenchman scooped up the crying child, returning to their estate.
Never had they been apart for long. They were always together and Peitro hated it. But now…his brother was gone, and he truly felt alone.
Lucian sat with his mother on the train, staring at the floor as the older male removed his jacket- revealing a uniform and an iron cross.
“Lucian Eliz Bonaparte…”
“Nein.”
“Nein?”
The brunettes looked at one another.
“Lucian Eliz…Hitler.”
Lucian smiled, throwing himself onto Hitler’s lap, hugging the man tightly, “Mother… I-I..”
Hitler kissed the boys head, “Ssh… it’s alright… don’t cry anymore, my darling.. We’re going home~”
Lucian held onto the uniform jacket.
Home....
Finally.
 Chemical_Bliss · Sat Nov 28, 2009 @ 04:13pm · 1 Comments |
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