EDIT 4/12/20: MAJOR CHAPTER UPDATES/REWRITES

: major edits to chapters 3-6

: rewrites of every chapter

: no edits affect continuity, but some details have been edited and a minor plot point may confuse those of you who haven't read the updated version

: new chapters should be up starting on 4/18/20

A little note for you (yes, you!) before this gets started:

: Human names are used. Aurel is the name I gave Moldova, Eliot is Luxembourg, Ekaterina/Katya is Ukraine, Konstantin/Kosta is Bulgaria, and I'm using Erzsébet instead of Elizabeta/Elizaveta for Hungary. All other names are canon.

: The slur "gypsy" is used profusely. As a half Roma person myself, I do not encourage anyone to use this word. Although many Roma people (especially Roma Americans) use the word to describe themselves, it can still be incredibly harmful. It is used here in historical context.

: Several homophobic slurs are used. Again, these are being used in historical context.

: This fic contains several themes you may find uncomfortable, including: domestic abuse, a description of a mass shooting, and suicide.

: Thank you for reading through this, you are very cool :)

chapter one / let's go crazy / bucharest, dec. 11, 1989

The king of messing things up returns to his castle with a black eye and a cowlick where his head rested against the bathtub while he slept.

It's a couple minutes past seven when Vladimir shoves his key in the lock and shoulders open the front door. He slides off his shoes and pulls the door closed behind him without a sound. The living room is empty, but the TV is on and yesterday's newspaper is splayed out on the table next to a half-empty cup of coffee. Vladimir takes a small step forward, pressing himself up against the wall before peeking through the doorway into the kitchen. The only thing there to greet him is a carton of milk left out on the counter. From the back of the apartment, he hears the shower turn on.

He runs through his escape plan a final time.

1. Acquire wallet without getting caught

2. Get on metro

3. ?

Vladimir knows better than to believe he'll make it past step one; step two is a vain hope, and step three is unattainable, so there's no need for him to waste his time coming up with it. But it's always good to be prepared.

Taking a final precautionary glance about the living room, Vladimir half-runs, half-walks to his bedroom. He throws his bedroom door open, eases it shut, and wedges a chair underneath the handle. When he's sure he's hearing his heartbeat drumming in his ears and not footsteps, he takes a deep breath and slumps to the floor.

"Dad?" Aurel sits up in bed and scrubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. When he pulls his hands away and sees his half-brother sitting in a sad puddle on the floor, his face falls.

"You are not seeing anything right now," Vladimir says with a threatening jab of his finger, made a thousand times less menacing by the sorry state he's in. "This is all a dream."

"I'm not going to snitch on you." Aurel snuggles back into bed again, pulling the blankets up around his chin. "Did you have fun at your stupid party?"

"No. Where's my wallet?" Vladimir asks, going over to their shared desk in the corner. The desk is separated by a strip of tape – Vladimir's side is a mess of textbooks and homework he's forgotten to turn in, while Aurel's side is a battlefield of toys and drawings, its carnage spilling over onto Vladimir's half. Yesterday he'd thrown his wallet on the desk without watching where it fell, which means it could be buried beneath a pile of Aurel's junk already. He grabs a piece of the clutter and starts pushing things off the edge of the desk.

"Not my problem," Aurel says.

"You're the one who makes a big mess in here, so it is your problem."

"You're the one who lost it."

"You're the one who can't put their shit away." Vladimir sweeps a herd of action figures onto the floor; limbs, heads, and miniature guns scatter in every direction.

"You're breaking them!" Aurel shrieks as he leaps out of bed. He rushes to the plastic carcasses of ninjas and soldiers, scrapes their remains into a pile, and beginning the delicate task of reassembling them right in Vladimir's path of frantic searching. Getting around Aurel requires much more skill and precision than Vladimir, hungover and battered, has.

So it isn't much of a surprise when he tries to step over Aurel and knees the boy in the mouth.

"Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry." Vladimir kneels beside his half-brother and puts his hand over the boy's mouth. Vladimir's stepfather responds faster to Aurel crying than to his own name, and Aurel knows this and has no problems using it against Vladimir.

"You're a…dick," Aurel says between sobs, his voice smothered in Vladimir's palm.

"Aurel. Aurică." Vladimir pulls his brother closer, pushing the boy's head down to his chest in what he hopes Aurel finds a comforting gesture but is really a better attempt at stifling his sobs. "I'm sorry you were in my way. Don't tell Sadik. I'm already in enough trouble."

"You did…it on purpose! You hate me!" Aurel tries to squirm away and Vladimir puts him in a gentle headlock. Aurel kicks and writhes, digging his chubby fingers into Vladimir's arm.

"I'll buy you anything you want at Obor." Vladimir dips his head to whisper in Aurel's ear. "Anything I can afford. But only if you be good and go back to bed."

Aurel considers the value of each option with narrowed, tear-filled eyes. On one hand, he could pick out anything he wants at the Obor market, the best place to find real Star Wars and He-Man figures from beyond the Iron Curtain. And on the other hand, he could have the immediate satisfaction of seeing Vladimir get thrown up against a wall and screamed at. Vladimir's only chance for survival is if Aurel has suddenly developed morals. Or maybe if he really wants a new Star Wars figure.

"Your wallet was on your bed the whole time," Aurel says. "Let me go."

"Promise you'll go back to bed."

Aurel heaves an overdramatic sigh. "You promise you take me to Obor."

"I promise. All you have to do is cover for me. And no snitching."

"Snitches get stitches," Aurel says.

"Good boy." Vladimir eases his grip on Aurel, not quite letting him go in case he starts to shout for his dad. Aurel seizes the opportunity and knees Vladimir in the stomach, then scurries out of Vladimir's arms and into his bed. He pulls every blanket and pillow up around him in defense, holding out a toy gun with a shaking hand.

Vladimir curls into himself, hiding his face in his hands as he struggles not to cry, pass out, vomit, or do anything generally embarrassing in front of a ten-year-old. The pain in his stomach overrides his senses at first, then fades into a warm, heavy ache. He unfolds himself and rolls onto his back, taking deep breaths so he doesn't get up and strangle Aurel.

"Why would you do that?" Vladimir says. "I wasn't even doing anything."

"You left me alone last night," Aurel says, seemingly unaware of the pain he's caused. "What happened to you?"

"You kicked me in the stomach." Vladimir tilts his head back to glare at Aurel.

"I meant what happened to you last night, stupid."

Vladimir, in the frenzied search for his wallet, had forgotten about the fight. He reaches up with a tentative hand to touch the bruised skin around his eye, hoping it was only a nightmare. He winces as he presses into the bruise – it is still there, and he can't imagine it looks any better than it did last night. "I made a few bad choices and got into a fight."

"Cool. You look like shit."

"Yeah. I feel like shit. Don't use that word."

"I'll say whatever I want to. Um, I'm sorry that I kicked you, then."

"No, you're not."

Everything in Vladimir is telling him to get up and leave before he's out of time. His stepfather must have heard their scuffle and will be here any moment. This is the worst he's done in months, and no amount of lying and emotional manipulation will cover up a black eye. He won't walk out of a confrontation with Sadik unharmed. And yet, he can't bring himself to get up again. His body is so tired, confused, and injured that he'd rather face the wrath of his stepfather than move.

He hears the mattress creak as Aurel climbs out of bed. Soft footsteps cross the room and Aurel appears by Vladimir's side. He holds out Vladimir's wallet and drops it onto his stomach.

"Thanks. I need to go," Vladimir says without moving.

Aurel kicks Vladimir's arm the way kids poke at dead animals with sticks. "Are you coming to school?"

"I can't go to school like this."

"Did Gilbert beat you up again?" Aurel asks.

"Yeah," Vladimir says. "Please don't tell Sadik. If he asks you, tell him I went out with Erzsébet and I spent the night at her boyfriend's. Don't say anything else."

Aurel sits down beside Vladimir, putting his hand on Vladimir's shoulder. "Dad is going to kill you," Aurel says with the wisdom of a sage and the grace of a ten-year-old boy. "He said when you came home he would break your legs so you couldn't run off for a long time."

"That's fucked up."

Aurel shrugs. "I'm just telling you what he said. He also said he wanted to kick you out and make you live in the sewers. And then he said," – here Aurel lowers his voice to a whisper – "fuck, a lot."

"Great. Thanks for this encouraging talk. It's really helping."

"Are you coming home tonight?"

Vladimir hides his face in his hands. "Maybe? I could stay somewhere else again. I feel like Sadik is only going to get more pissed with me if I do." He peeks out of his fingers at Aurel. "What do you think I should do?"

"It's not worth it. He's already so mad that if you wait, he'll kill you for real," Aurel says.

"Why are you right? You're like, ten. You can barely read." Vladimir pushes himself upright, tucking his wallet into his jacket pocket. "I'll see you tonight, then. See if you can calm Sadik down a bit before I come home. Be cute or something."

Aurel reaches over to their desk and takes Vladimir's Walkman and a translucent purple cassette. "Here," he says, holding them out to Vladimir like an offering to a god. A useless, reckless, pathetic half-brother of a god.

A faint smile tugs at Vladimir's mouth as he takes the Walkman from Aurel's outstretched hand and puts it in his pocket next to his wallet. "Thanks. You're the best half-brother I could have."

"You're literally the worst," Aurel says. He's blushing, as he's entered the stage of childhood where having feelings is embarrassing. "I wish I could skip, too."

"Sadik would have a stroke. Although, that wouldn't be half-bad," Vladimir says, preparing himself for the dash to the stairwell. On a regular sneak-out, he'd use the fire escape; if he tried to go down the steep stairs, he'd probably fall to his death. And although Sadik would be more than happy to be rid of him, he doesn't want Aurel to have the luxury of a room to himself (and of course he'd feel bad about dying and making everyone live through the trauma of a family death, but right now he's mad at Aurel for kicking him and isn't taking the long term effects of death into his consideration).

Vladimir pulls the chair out from under the handle and takes a few deep breaths. His head is already swimming and he still has three flights of stairs to run down, maybe with a furious stepfather on his heels. He turns the doorknob with a slow, even movement, pulling the door open inch by inch. When the gap is large enough for him to fit through, he steps out into the hallway and sprints for the front door.

He doesn't make it ten steps before his vision goes black and his legs give out.

He falls.

His head cracks against the floor.

Two strong arms wrap around his waist and pull him up.

Vladimir lets himself be dragged into the living room, hiding his face from his stepfather. Sadik sets him down on the couch: not as gentle as he should have but not as rough as he could have, the perfect amount of you-are-an-embarrassment-to-me-but-I-still-worry-about-you. Vladimir pulls his sweater over his head, knowing Sadik saw the black eye and the burns. The rough wool smells like smoke and alcohol, and the burnt edge of the sleeve scratches at his wrist.

He stays like this for minutes, his face buried in the sweater. Sadik sits down by Vladimir's feet, and through the little holes in the sweater, Vladimir sees him trying to figure out what to say and how to comfort his stepson. His hand hovers above Vladimir's leg. He pulls away.

How long will Sadik wait for him to speak? Vladimir can't see the clock on the wall. It feels like years have gone by. Vladimir's eyes grow heavy and he wrenches himself out of sleep by forcing himself to panic.

Sadik is going to kill you. Come on, think of something. Find a way to leave.

"I have to go to school," Vladimir says. He pulls the sweater away from his face and jerks upright, reaching for his bag on the coffee table. Sadik eases him down onto the couch.

"Slow down, Vladi. You can miss school today," Sadik says. "I want you to stay here and lie down while I go get Aurel ready. Then I can help you."

Vladimir, despite his unconditional vow to never obey Sadik, obeys. He tells himself it's only because he's looking for a way out. Sadik hasn't won this time.

So he lies there and waits with his arms crossed over his chest, wishing he was better at throwing a punch, or at least dodging one.

"He caught you!" Aurel springs over the couch, landing on Vladimir's legs. Vladimir slips a leg out from underneath the boy and kicks him onto the floor, where he lands with a soft thud. He's on his feet in a second, chanting "Dad caught you!" over and over while pounding out each syllable on the couch.

"No. It's part of my plan," Vladimir says over Aurel's shouting.

Aurel stops and screws his face up in confusion. "I thought your plan was to not get caught."

"I'm…revising."

"Don't know what that means, and I don't care. You were too slow for Sadik." Aurel sticks his tongue out at Vladimir and heads off to the kitchen before Vladimir can kick him again.

"Vladimir is faster than me," Sadik says from somewhere in the back of the apartment. "I never would have caught him if he didn't pass out."

"You passed out? Lame." Aurel drags a chair across the kitchen, letting the feet screech against the linoleum.

"Pick it up!" Vladimir hisses.

Aurel pushes the chair back and forth in a horrible squeaky rhythm. Vladimir groans and covers his head with a throw pillow. He can feel his pulse in his temples and a sharp line of pain splits his head in half. If he were not already going to have his head bitten off, he would've screamed a slew of obscenities at the boy, but the best he can do right now is mutter fuck-you's over and over into the couch.

"Are you crying?" Aurel says.

"If I say yes, will you stop?"

"Crybaby." Aurel knocks the chair up against the counter, climbs up onto the it, and then crawls onto the countertop to grab a box of cereal and a bowl from the cabinet. "Don't cry when Dad yells at you," he says in a sing-song voice as he wrings his hands beneath his eyes.

"Enough, Aurel," Sadik says as he comes into the room. He kneels beside Vladimir and sets out an array of first-aid supplies on the coffee table. "You'll have to go to school by yourself today. Walk with Erzsébet or Eliot. Don't you dare try to skip. I will find out."

"Vladimir skips all the time," Aurel says through a mouthful of cereal.

"You are not Vladimir."

"Good. If I was Vladimir, I'd kill myself."

"Aurică," Sadik says. The name leaves his mouth in a gentle snap, as if he were reprimanding a puppy. "You do not speak to your brother like that. Apologize."

Aurel glances at the clock. "I'm going to miss the bus."

"You have time to apologize."

"Sorry you're so stupid and ugly, Vladimir," Aurel says in the smallest, almost inaudible whisper.

"That wasn't even an apology," Vladimir says to Sadik.

Sadik shrugs. "He's ten, Vladimir. It's the best you're going to get."

"If I would've done that, you would've beat my ass."

"You are almost an adult. I would expect you to apologize better than a child." Sadik gives Vladimir's shoulder a dismissive pat as he gets up. "Alright, Aurel, let's get you out the door."

Aurel jumps down from the counter and sits down by the front door as he pulls on his shoes. "It's not fair that he gets to stay home," he says.

Sadik hands the boy his coat and his lunch. "When you get older and make poor choices, you can stay home, too. I promise you, today will not be a fun day for Vladimir. Be happy you get to go to school."

Vladimir closes his eyes when Aurel hugs Sadik and says goodbye. He can't block out the sickening, loving words they say in Turkish, words Sadik hasn't said to Vladimir. No one has hugged Vladimir goodbye in a long time. He digs his fingernails into his palms and thinks of his mother kissing his cheek before school and how he'd shove her away.

(How could he have known that years later he would give anything for someone to dote on him?)

"Aurel worries about you," Sadik says when he returns. He sits down on the edge of the couch, looking down at the worn rug. "I came home at two and he was sitting by the door, asleep. He'd stayed up all night waiting for you to come home."

Vladimir feels a twinge of guilt. "I told him to go to bed."

"You should be thankful he likes you. Aurel has every right to be mad at you right now, for abandoning him like that. And he still looks up to you."

"At least someone here doesn't hate me," Vladimir says.

Sadik doesn't attempt to correct his stepson. He's staring at Vladimir's black eye, his eyebrows furrowed together in something resembling concern. It might be confusion. "What happened last night?"

"You know what, I've got a really bad headache. I'm going to bed. You can come yell at me in, like, two hours." Vladimir pulls himself up and pushes past Sadik, heading down the hallway to his room.

"It would be much easier for you if you told me what you did," Sadik says without getting up. Does he even care why his stepson is covered in burns and bruises?

Vladimir turns on his heels. "What I did?" he says. "Why do you always think I was the one doing something wrong?"

"Most people do not get punched because they were being nice, Vladimir."

"I am very nice!"

Sadik pinches the bridge of his nose. "Vladi, could you not –"

"I got attacked, okay? I was drunk and I got in a fight and I lost. It doesn't matter why, and the other guy is doing fucking fantastic. No one got hurt except for me. No one ever gets hurt but me. Is that enough for you?"

Vladimir doesn't wait for an answer. He storms into his bedroom and doesn't shut the door. There's no reason to. Sadik would kick down the door if he had to. Taking the Walkman out of his pocket, Vladimir lays down on his bed and puts the headphones over his ears. He slips the purple cassette into the Walkman and presses play.

A warm swell of a synth and Prince's voice greets him. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life."

Sadik appears in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest. "Who am I going to get a call from?"

"No one," Vladimir says.

"It means forever and that's a mighty long time."

"Listen to me, Vladimir. If you seriously hurt someone else and their parents find out it was you, you could –"

"I. Lost." Vladimir clutches a fistful of the blanket, what little he remembers from the party playing over and over in his head. He sees himself pinned against a wall, feels the first punch sink into his chest. Smoke burns in his lungs and blood fills his mouth.

"But I'm here to tell you there's something else. The afterworld."

"I don't care who lost. Tell me what happened, now." Sadik is standing over Vladimir. His shadow covers the boy and creeps up the wall. "Someone could take this to the police –"

"It's fine! Why don't you listen to me?"

"Instead of asking him how much of your time is left, ask him how much of your mind, baby."

"Why don't you listen to me? I ask you to watch Aurel, which is not difficult to do, and you run away and come home like this." Sadik gestures to Vladimir's black eye. "You never would have treated Katya this way."

Vladimir's chest seizes up at the sound of the name. "Don't bring Mom into this."

"In this life, you're on your own," Prince says, seeming to mock Vladimir.

"What are you getting from disobeying me? Are you trying to prove something to me?"

"You don't care about me, so why do you think I'm going to care about you?" Vladimir says.

"I care."

"Really? Because I don't see you hitting Aurel. I don't see you screaming at him. It's only me." Vladimir's voice wavers, and he realizes he's in a cold sweat. "I don't mean anything to you."

Sadik's eyes flicker. He raises his hand over his head and Vladimir flinches in anticipation.

"And if de-elevator tries to bring you down, go crazy! Punch a higher fl-"

The Walkman is ripped out of Vladimir's hands. He gasps and lunges for it. Sadik holds it above his head, forces it open, and takes out the cassette. Vladimir's heart drops into his stomach – why couldn't Sadik hit him like usual? Why did he have to go for something that mattered?

"What are you doing?" Vladimir scrambles to his feet and Sadik curls his fingers around the cassette.

"You will tell me what happened last night," Sadik says.

"You don't scare me. I can buy another cassette," Vladimir says. He doesn't have the money to buy another real Purple Rain album. He doesn't know if he'll ever find another real one.

"Tell me."

"I went to a party," Vladimir says. "I got drunk and this guy attacked me. I lost, went home with Erzsébet, and stayed with her boyfriend, Roderich. There, are you happy?" He reaches for the cassette. Sadik holds it up over his head again.

"No, Vladimir. Give me details."

"How? I can't remember anything."

"Where was the party and who did you fight?"

"I don't know the address. It was in Trapezului, I think. I don't even remember who I fought."

It was Gilbert Beilschmidt who pinned him up against the wall. It was his party. It was Vladimir's fault. Erzsébet invited him to go with her and Roderich, and by then Aurel was already half-asleep in front of the TV, so he didn't think Aurel would mind if he stepped out for a few hours. He shouldn't have gone inside when he saw whose house they were walking up to. He shouldn't have said he could take Gilbert in a fight. He shouldn't have run when he saw Gilbert coming downstairs.

Everyone watched Gilbert throw the first punch as he called Vladimir a dirty gypsy.

No one said anything about it until Vladimir kicked Gilbert and pulled his knife.

It isn't wrong until a gypsy does it.

A stranger's hand wrenched the knife away from Vladimir. Two boys who Vladimir didn't recognize dragged him out the back door and into the empty lot where the bonfire was. Gilbert followed. His face, already colorless, looked translucent in the streetlights. His red eyes were wide. He was scared, and Vladimir felt a bit of pride that he scared the unshakable Gilbert Beilschmidt.

The boys threw Vladimir down in the dirt. Gilbert stood over him.

Vladimir remembers little else from the fight. Sometimes the pictures and sound break through – a particularly strong punch to the eye, Vladimir's teeth sinking into someone's arm, his nose crumpling under a fist, his sleeve catching fire. Everything comes back to him when Roderich appeared and yelled at Gilbert to go inside. He picked Vladimir up and walked him to his car. They drove home in silence. Vladimir fell asleep in Roderich's bathtub after spending an hour vomiting up cheap liquor and accepting apologies from Roderich on Gilbert's behalf.

"I think you do remember," Sadik says.

"I've told you all I remember. Sorry," Vladimir says.

"Don't lie to me."

"You think I'd lie to you?" Vladimir says. "What am I getting from lying to you?"

Sadik walks out of the room with the Purple Rain cassette.

"Can I have that back?" Vladimir asks as he follows him into the kitchen.

"No." Sadik takes a frying pan from the hooks on the wall above the stove.

"Hey, Sadik? What are you doing?" Vladimir watches Sadik set the cassette down on the countertop.

Sadik raises the frying pan. "I am sick and tired of getting no respect from you."

Everything comes together too late.

Vladimir sticks his left hand out over the cassette. His fingers brush the smooth plastic and he tries to pull it away in time. Surely Sadik won't bring the pan down on Vladimir's hand. Sadik might hit him from time to time, but he'd never go this far. He'll stop himself any second now.

A loud, clean crunch of bones and plastic echoes throughout the kitchen. Pieces of cassette scatter across the countertop. Vladimir's hand is consumed by a white-hot pain that makes his arm seize up and his knees weak. His stomach turns as Sadik pulls the pan aside and he sees his fingers bent in ways fingers do not bend.

Sadik looks down at him, his mouth slightly ajar. The color is gone from his face. He glances at Vladimir's mangled hand, then at the silver ring on his left hand.

"Don't you ever lie to me again," he says.

a/n: I'm back on my bullshit

Howdy!

It's been a few years since we last saw each other. If you're a newcomer, great! It's very good to have you here. And if you're a returner, welcome back! A lot has changed since I last published here. I'm not as horrible at writing as I was in 2016. That doesn't mean I'm great. I just means I cleaned up my style a bit, and I'm still continuing to clean up my style. Writing is a constant process of evolution.

I began this fic in 2016 because my favorite characters, Romania and Bulgaria, had next to no representation. In this house we love and respect the Balkan nations. I published it in 2018 and hardly touched it in 2019. Now it is 2020 and I'm still working on a story for two very underrepresented characters.

So here's a strange idea born in the summer of 2016, named for a lyric in Ghost Quartet, one of my favorite musicals. It's '80s themed because the 1980s and 1990s are my passion. It's kind of depressing. That's life.

Thank you for reading this, or having stuck with me through one of the longest creative droughts I've experienced. However you feel about my fic, it would be very cool of you to drop a review. Everybody craves validation :)

I hope you stick around until the end. That'd be sweet.

Here's to Let the Dead Be Dead!

polski-doodle