He panted quietly, tears running in a steady stream down his cheeks as he lay face down on the floor. Another line of fire drew itself down his back, and he only barely bit back a scream. His body jerked involuntarily, but the knee digging into the small of his back kept him from moving any further.

His hands, trussed securely behind him, strained uselessly against the ropes that bound them, only succeeding in making them cut deeper into his raw and bloody wrists. He couldn't help it, though. He had to keep trying, had to keep working at the ropes, because if he didn't, the thought that he was tied up would finally percolate his mind too far and give him another panic attack. And he frankly was quite tired of those, thanks oh so very much.

A hand burying itself in what was left of his hair hair, it was only hair, he never really took very good care of it anyway, it should not bother him so much that it was gone and roughly wrenching his head back pulled his attention back to the present.

"Come on," his captor told him, giving his fistful of hair a painful twist. "Say you hate him. Just say you hate him, an' I'll stop." Yet another slow, agonizing gash was carved into his back, and he was unable to stop the resultant scream this time.

"Three, simple little words. That's all it'll take, Londie." He bit down hard on his lower lip and tried to focus solely on breathing, on anything but the pain.

The hand holding his hair released him, and the weight on his back let up. The same hand gripped his shoulder and flipped him over with effortless ease, cruelly pressing his bleeding back against the rough floor of the cell and he whimpered softly at the renewed burst of pain flaring from the mutilated skin.

"What do you owe the Alliance, huh? He's abandoned you. You haven't seen any rescue parties bangin' the door down, have ya?" The world was only a haze of vaguely-shaped colorful blobs without his glasses, but he could still make out the choppy brown hair, the red shirt, and the ever-present brown overcoat in the figure crouched over him.

"Although," a finger touched his bruised cheek, smearing tears, grime, and blood around for a moment before retracting, "why he ever even bothered to keep you around is a mystery for the ages. Ya know why?" A flash of steel, and pain exploded in his side. It was so sudden and excruciating that another cry was ripped from his throat before he could smother it.

"It's 'cause you're weak." The words were a venomous hiss, and they hurt. Even though he knew they shouldn't, that what this kid said about him didn't matter, they still hurt.

"You can't take pain, you can't stand it, you stick your head in the gorram sand and pretend that the 'verse can't get along without you, doesn't want to get along without you!" Sharp twists of the blade buried within in his side punctuated each biting word.

"Oh yeah, an' you push your gorram ideals on us 'unenlightened' folk, with guns and bombs if words don't hammer your point home enough. Can't forget that." The knife was finally wrenched free from his body, eliciting a breathless dry sob from him and causing fresh blood to spill in a crimson torrent from the deep, gaping wound.

"But this is becomin' a rant, an' I know we both have better things to do than listen to me jaw for another twenty minutes. Sooo," the handle of the knife tapped against the floor thoughtfully as the warm, dark red liquid stared to pool under his prone, battered body.

"Oh! I got an idea. How 'bout this? I'll kill you - relatively quick and painless like, 'cause I'm feelin' rather charitable right now – an' then we'll give you a right proper burial. Flowers, casket, headstone, the whole shebang. You seemed to really enjoy that last time. What do you say?" His heart had stopped briefly at the word "burial," then sped up double time. No, no, please dear God in heaven, no, not that again, please not that, anything but that!

"I take it by your enthusiasm that you agree? 'Kay then, happy to oblige." His head was yanked back by the hair again, and he could not suppress the tremors that were racing through his abused body, nor the way his breathing sped up so much he was nearly hyperventilating, too exhausted and weakened from pain and blood loss to even try to hide his mounting terror at what was about to happen to him. Again.

"We'll dig you up in a couple days, so you'll have plenty of time to reconnect with your old earthworm buddies, don't you worry none. It'll be a touchin' reunion, I'm sure. Sweet dreams." Horrible, all-consuming agony suddenly lanced through his heart and-

Winston, wake up!

Julius blinked up at the ceiling dazedly, trying to clear the stars from his vision. Who knew that Winston had such a mean right hook? Wait… Winston! He pushed himself up onto his elbows, shaking his head hard to shoo away the ringing in his ears. He had to find him. Something was wrong, something was very wrong.

Ever since he had been rescued from the Independents, the personification of Londinium had become… not withdrawn, exactly, but distant, as if a wall had gone up between him and everyone else. Oh sure, he seemed the same on the outside, but to someone who knew the planet well, like Julius, it was as if someone had erected a big sign above his head that screamed "I AM NOT OKAY" in big, flashing, neon letters. And honestly, Julius wasn't surprised, even though he hated the very notion.

With a groan, Julius sat up, rubbing his aching jaw gingerly. He could already feel a large bruise forming, and a part of him was darkly glad. You deserved that, his mind whispered contemptuously to him. Glancing at the couch beside him, he noticed Winston's glasses lying crookedly on the cushions, but no Londinium. Getting to his socked feet, the young nation picked up the glasses and glanced all around his brother's cluttered living room, trying to see which direction he would have gone.

Julius' gaze fell upon a damp spot on the couch, and his eyes darkened, well remembering what had pulled him out of bed only a few minutes ago. He had always been a light sleeper, especially where his family was concerned, so when he suddenly heard the rare sound of Winston crying, he was immediately wide awake. He had quickly made his way from his room to the living room to find his brother in a fitful sleep on the couch, crying and whimpering as if he were in great pain.

Julius had gripped him by the shoulders and given him a hard shake, trying to get him to come around, but to no avail. In desperation, he had finally just shouted for him to wake up, and Winston had woken with a piercing, agonized shriek that Julius was sure would haunt him for a long time. He had taken one look at the person leaning over him, his mismatched eyes wide with pain and panic, and the next thing Julius knew, he was laid out flat on his back on the floor, an impressive bruise blooming on his jaw.

A soft sob caught his attention, and he carefully made his way toward the source of the sound - a small table stacked with books - deftly stepping around the piles of paraphernalia – scientific and otherwise - that littered the floor. Getting down on one knee in front of the table, Julius peered underneath and his heart clenched at the sight that met his eyes.

Winston was huddled against the wall, his long, lanky limbs drawn in as close to his body as they would go, as if trying to shield himself from an eminent attack. His face was buried in his knees, and his whole body trembled violently, soft, terrified sobs punctuating his jerky breaths.

"Winston," he called softly, trying to get the planet's attention. Londinium either didn't hear him or was ignoring him. Crawling underneath the table as well, Julius tentatively touched him on the arm, ready to duck should Winston lash out at him again. The young man flinched at the gentle touch, snapping his head up and looking around wildly, his eyes clouded with fear and remembered trauma. Julius lunged forward, slipped Winston's glasses onto his nose, and quickly drew back, waiting for the other to come to his senses.

Sure enough, Winston's breathing calmed considerably as his vision was restored and the world came back into focus. Some of the fear went out of his eyes. He caught sight of the Alliance, and seemed surprised.

"J-Jules?" he asked, hurriedly wiping the dampness off his cheeks. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"Checking up on you," Julius replied as nonchalantly as he could. "I recall you commenting that I was being a 'gorrammother hen' when I dropped by earlier, but I don't think you protested much when I decided to stay the night. Or did that rocket fuel you call coffee rob you of that particular memory?"

"Hey! I'll have you know that my coffee is unsurpassed by any in the 'verse," Winston retorted, but Julius was gratified to see a small grin appear on the other's face. A shadow of the normal brilliance that was normally to be found there, to be sure, but it was a grin nonetheless. It disappeared a moment later though, as he caught sight of the discoloration marring the side of his older brother's face. Julius winced almost imperceptibly. Oh boy. How was he going to deal with thisone?

"Oh, Julius." Winston covered his mouth with one hand, looking horrified. "Did… did I do that? I thought I was still dreaming earlier…"

"It's nothing." Julius immediately cut him off, his hand instinctively moving to conceal the blemish. "I woke you up, you panicked. It doesn't hurt that much, really."

"I'm sorry," the young man whispered, his eyes filling with tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry..." To Julius' surprise, Winston pushed up his glasses and started violently rubbing his eyes, as if he were vigorously trying to shove the tears back. "I… I'll go get you some ice." He started to get up, but Julius reached out an arm, effectively blocking him.

"Hey," he asked concernedly. "Are… you alright?" The nation wanted to kick himself after the words left his mouth, because it was glaringly obvious that Londinium was not alright.

"Fine," Winston replied shortly, but he rubbed his eyes harder, biting his lip. "Peachy, top-notch, shiny, outstanding, phenomenal, superlative…" Julius felt his jaw drop a good three inches as Winston distractedly continued to rattle off synonyms, and a horrible feeling of dread was steadily growing in the pit of his stomach. Winston was a horrible liar, but it was him actually trying to conceal his emotions that worried him more than anything else he had seen thus far.

If Londinium was happy, he laughed. If he was sad, he cried. If he was angry – on the very rare occasions he actually was – one quietly found a nice, peaceful hole to hide in until things stopped spontaneously combusting. But never, in all the years Julius had known him, had Winston ever actively tried to suppress his emotions like this. It was unheard of. It was akin to pigs sprouting wings and taking flight. In fact, the worlds should be coming to an end any second now.

"Winston… it's alright for you to cry, really," he tried to reassure the other. Damn, he was just no good at this. Where was Akiko when you needed her? "It's alright that you're not fine, too. Because everyone can see you're not." That was the wrong thing to say.

"No, no, I'm not!" The depth of the desperation and anguish in Winston's voice surprised Julius, and his mismatched eyes bored into Julius' deep, dark blue. "But what do you expect me to do, hide under my bed for the next couple of years? Despite what you might think, Julius, I'm not weak, alright?" His voice broke, a small sob escaped him before he could stop it. He closed his eyes and started to rub them again.

Julius just sat for a moment, stunned into silence. "Is… is that what you believe I think of you?" he asked finally, unable to keep the disbelief and hurt out of his voice. "That you're weak? That I just don't care?" Winston flinched at his sharp tone, and Julius immediately regretted his small outburst.

"That's what he said," he whispered, starting to rub his wrists absentmindedly, one after the other.

"Who said?"

"Marcus." Julius bristled at the mention of that name. He had a sudden urge to shoot that little upstart in the face the next time he saw him. Repeatedly.

"He said…" Winston swallowed hard before continuing. "He said that the reason you didn't come for me was because… was because you were ashamed of me. Because you were glad to be rid of me. Because I was weak. Because…" he shuddered and wrapped his arms around his legs, pulling them close to his chest and hiding his face in his knees. His next words were muffled, but still understandable.

"Because they broke me. They broke me, Julius. I couldn't stop the screams, I couldn't stop the tears, no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't stop them, and some of them… they laughed at my pain, they were glad when they got a reaction out of me so easily, and oh God!" Another strangled sob was heard.

"God help me, I started to believe them, even though I knew what they said wasn't true. When they buried me…" he shuddered so hard at the memory it looked like he was almost having a seizure.

"When they buried me for the second time, it was… I can't describe it, Julius. It was like something shattered, here." He clutched the side of his head, burying his fingers in his shorn curls and clenching his fist so hard his knuckles turned bone white.

"I'm still there. I'm always still there, under the ground, suffocating, unable to breathe, tenebrous, oppressing, seventy-four pounds per cubic foot, average specific gravity of naturally occurring soils is two-point-six-five inches, figuring in a void ratio of zero-point-six-five-!" Julius instantly recognized the mathematical formulas for what they were; a desperate coping mechanism. Winston was starting to panic again.

He scooted forward so he was kneeling right in front of Winston, and gently placed a hand on the side of his head. Winston again flinched at the physical contact, but fell silent, and did not pull away as Julius feared he would. "Now you listen to me, Winston Montgomery," Julius said, his voice thick with emotion. Tears welled up in his eyes. A single drop spilled over and started to trickle down his cheek.

"I have not, do not, and will never think you're weak. So put what those hun dans told you out of your mind right now." Winston raised his head slightly and opened his eyes, glancing at Julius for a second before shutting them again tightly, his lower lip trembling.

Normally, Julius would giving himself a thorough mental beating right now for such an undignified display of emotion, but for Winston, he thought he could make an exception. This hurting young man in front of him was both his metaphorical and literal heart, his brother in the truest, most definite sense of the word, and damned if he was just going to leave this situation as it was. This was his fault, and he had to try to do something to fix it.

"And I never stopped trying to find you. Not once. I'm sorry I wasn't able to. I'm sorry you had to go through all this because of me." He lifted his other hand and gently cradled Winston's face between them as the younger man's body started to tremble uncontrollably. The planet in turn reached up and latched onto Julius' wrists as if he would never let go, his soul's innate need for physical contact overriding the reactions months of constant abuse and pain had drilled into his body.

"But I never was ashamed of you. I never was glad that you were gone or in pain. Aiyaa, Winston, you're my brother! I… I love you. You don't know how much." A tear trickled down Winston's cheek. Then another. Then another.

"It's alright," Julius whispered, leaning forward to rest his forehead against his brother's as Winston finally began to cry in earnest. "It's over. You're safe. I'm here. I'm here, and I'm not going to let anyone hurt you ever again. I promise."

AN: This fic was supposed to be a writing blurb for a pic I drew, but it expanded so much I decided to make it a oneshot instead. This was the first fic I completed that had solely featured original characters, as well.

Gah, poor Londie, I felt so bad for him while writing this, his dream sequence in particular. ;~; He'll be fine eventually, don't worry, but it's gonna take him a little while to get there. I found it's actually very fun to write him, even if he's a very traumatized little planet right now and I had to constantly check an online thesaurus to make his dialogue sound suitably loquacious. And those mathematical formulas he was spouting off? 100% factual, man.

As for Julius… This was only my second attempt at writing him, but I think it turned out alright anyway.

And as for the Independent Faction… Marcus, sweetheart? Could you c'mere for a moment, please, honey? Madame Fist over here would like to have a short chat with your nose, if you don't mind…

Firefly is Whedon's. APH is Himaruya's. Crossover ideas and characters are mine and PwnedByPineapple's.