A/N: For the mood of this story, please listen to "I And Love And You" by The Avette Brothers.
I really like Ukraine.
Also, I understand that this is not technically historically accurate, as the Ukranian Famine was in 1933 (?), and the Baltic States were not inducted into the Soviet Union until after the Nonagression Pact in 1939 (?). But you know what? If I didn't twist history, I wouldn't have as many characters living in Russia's house.
I'm not stupid, no matter what everyone else thinks. I know he's using me. He's using everyone. They say I'm too loyal for my own good, that he's not in control of me like he is the others. That if I starve to death, I've done no good.
They're all liars.
If I starve to death, I have helped to feed him. Nobody understands this. Not even Belarus or Lithuania. Especially not Lithuania. I see to him sometimes during the housework when my brother is away with his boss, or locked in his office doing work. He does too much work. Drinks too much. Eats too much. Just too much. My poor brother has never had much self-restraint. And Lithuania hates him for it.
"One day," Lithuania says as he sweeps the kitchen floor while I cook. "We'll all leave him. And then what will he do? He'll starve like he's making us starve."
"I'm not starving," I reply. "I'm just…"
"Fasting? Being generous?" Lithuania sneers at me, his sweeping becoming more passionate. The house is always tidy because he cleans when he's upset, and he's always upset.
"Being generous, yes."
He looks at me with his sad green eyes and shakes his head. "I can't believe you. You and Belarus…"
I know he is enamored with my sister, so I can only laugh. "The bonds of family are strong, Lithuania."
"Worth dying for?" he asks me, very serious. I hate when he gets like this.
"Yes," I reply. "Worth dying for."
"While he sits there like a bloated tick surviving off of us," Lithuania snarls, and takes the dirt outside. He starts mopping in silence. Sometimes, Latvia comes in to help him, but more often than not, Latvia is sent on errands, sent away from this place.
My brother isn't heartless. He doesn't want to hurt children. He was always very fond of the royal families when they were alive. The czars trusted him with the children, and he was gentle. He protects Latvia in the same way. He shields young eyes from his violence.
Dinner is an odd affair. He appears turns a blind eye to our suffering, but I can see that he's tormented. He eats, of course. Who wouldn't? It's food. Why would anyone reject it? The Baltics are silent, Belarus will not stop staring, and I cannot find a word to say.
And after dinner, brother comes to me while I prepare my bed. He always reeks of his over-indulgence and he staggers to the sheets, lays on them without even taking his shoes off. "Sister," he'll groan, looking at me expectantly.
I always do what he wants. Why shouldn't I? He's my little brother. I'll sit down and let him rest his head in my lap while I sing him the songs I used to when he was small. He's quiet and harmless when he's with me. "Are you feeling better?" I'll whisper, stroking his hair.
"Your legs are bony," he mutters, and looks up at me sadly. "You're a skeleton, aren't you, sister?"
"No, brother. I'm a Nation."
He shrugs. I remember when he wasn't so broken, when he wouldn't ask me things like that, but those days are over. How he manages to present himself to the others, to America, China… any of the ones he's sleeping with, is a mystery to me. He falls asleep in my room frequently. At least, on the nights when he's not tormenting Lithuania.
I tend to sleep with my sister and listen to her talk about how lucky I am. How blessed I must be to have our brother come to me for affections and how foolish I am not to take advantage of the situation.
In the morning, I hear the opposite from Lithuania. I hear that I am pitiable, I am stupid for letting him use me, and that I should let him suffer. He brings the pain upon himself, Lithuania keeps repeating. Brings the hangovers and nausea of his own volition, without a thought of us.
I know he does. I know my brother is selfish and insane, but he is still my brother. They can insult me all they like. I'll protect him. Maybe I am too loyal. Maybe I don't understand the concept of self-preservation, but it doesn't matter. Lithuania knows how I feel. Everyone knows how I feel. If they want to mock me for my ties to family, let them.
They've never seen my brother at his weakest, when his eyes are full of tears and when he cannot hold on to himself. He would break apart if it wasn't for me, I know it. And I will not let him break.
If I starve to death, at least I have helped him. And if he ever gets better, he will thank me. None of the others can say they've ever done anything to deserve his thanks.