Toris felt absolutely filthy. His scuffed boots hadn't seen the slightest hint of polish within days. Mud was caked so thickly onto the edges and knees of his pants, he doubted that they would ever be the fresh pressed olive green they had once been. His jacket was no better. His hair was matted down around his face, heavy with sweat and grim. It had grown out longer and he had let it grow wild. They all had. Every single one of the brothers had sworn that they wouldn't take a single pair of shears to their hair until the Soviets were gone. They had only expected it to have been a couple of months then. Toris' hair was already past his shoulder and the unruly bangs hung into jaded green eyes. They stared out into the dark, misty forest. The forest stared back at him in silence.

Why hadn't Alfred come yet?

He sighed softly and pulled himself away, drawing further into the rotting hollowed log that he had been cramped into for the last four hours or so. Dirt smeared against one pale cheek but it was just a simple smudge. He promised himself to wash it off later in the stream. Right now he couldn't leave his post. Eyes fluttered closed.

Don't fall asleep, don't you dare fall asleep Toris Lorinaitis.

He lifted his head quickly, bumping it roughly against the still hard wood of the fallen oak, but that was good. The pain that burst through his head rattled his mind enough to keep it conscious and alert. Awareness. He had to stay aware. But that was just the problem. The country was all too aware. Only ten feet behind him was the bunker, hidden by the dead leaves and the branches that the forest had granted them; the forest that had kept them safe through both the occupations, the Germans and then shortly after the Russians; the forest that had provided them food and shelter long before Prussia and Poland had ever tried to press upon him the importance of a human, not a nature god.

That's why we're the Forest Brothers, right?

God, he hoped that Latvia and Estonia were doing better than him, but he knew that they weren't. He hadn't heard from them in months and he didn't know what would be worse. Knowing or not knowing. There was a time… A time in which he knew that he wanted to know but that had been before the KGB started throwing the bodies in the streets and he had to walk by and ignore them, his own citizens, his own children, because if he cried then they would take him away and then who would be there to protect his people anymore? No, now it was much better not to know and to think that they were all alright and okay, and not know the truth. Because at least then Toris could still have hope and believe that his brothers would be able to taste independence again. That he might be able to stand in the rye fields and not look over his shoulder. To live in a true democracy, with liberty and justice for all. Where had he heard those words before?

What was that?

The faintest snap of a twig made him roll in the log onto his back, swiveling his head like a young owl. The young forest plants seemed to be a sea of emeralds in the misted light, dulled slightly but no less brilliant. Slender fingers found their way about the cold wet muzzle of his gun. He wished he still had his sword and the weight of the Commonwealth as his shield, but all he had was this tiny German gift, given to him before the Jewish families started to disappear. Another crack, and the gun found its way in front of him, butt resting against his shoulder as he had to nearly lay down in the log in order to get a clear shot. The leaves brushed together, whispering, but Toris had long forgotten their language. He prayed to God instead.

A slender brown leg came into sight, long and spindly, followed by a second. The head of a small faun peered curiously into the log, already munching lazily on some leaves it must have stripped from the side of the trees around them. Its eyes were giant chocolate brown, nearly dopy looking against its tawny fur. Toris took in a deep breath and lowered the gun slightly. He regretted not taking his pills out with him. But even so, looking at those doe eyes, Toris couldn't help but smile at the creature who only seemed interested in snagging a wild patch of moss off of the log.

Something so small and delicate was out of place in the giant wood forest, but here they both were one fat and content and the other surviving off of the kindness of the people who smiled to the Soviets with one side of their mouth, then turned and handed out bread to the Brothers in hand woven baskets underneath faked rocks or high up in the trees. The butt of the gun slipped from his shoulder and he set it down beside him once more. If a tiny fawn could thrive in the forest, so could he. The fawn looked up at him and gave a small snort of curiosity tilting its head and nearly tripping over itself in the process. Toris couldn't hold back a small, much needed, giggle and the tension in his shoulders finally eased.

"Hello, comrade."

The breath on his neck felt as cold as ice and the large hands that seized his arms felt as if they were gripping onto his very heart. He was being dragged out of the log, bark stabbing into his back through the thick jacket as if trying to grab him, save him and his hands stretched out, pressing to the sides to try and grab hold of the splinters too. It snapped and crackled easily. Toris watched the young deer take one look and run off before he was staring up at the dizzying blue sky framed by the leaves of the trees that continued to quake and murmur, merely observers. And then that face stared over him, looking down at him, so tall, so tall he looked as if he could be one of the sturdy forest trees except for that damning smile that shook Toris down to his very core. His arms were released but he could not move except to gape dumbly at that smile.

No no no, he couldn't be here. Not again.

"Toris made me very sad you know~!" The one above him pipes up in that horribly cheerful voice, as if he doesn't even recognizes what sadness is. Toris knows that he does. He also knows the taste of insanity because of that sadness. Even now, looking into those bright shining violets, Toris can see it, lurking just below the surface.

"People told me that Toris was against the revolution. They told me that he had written this!" One black gloved hand slipped into the folds of the tan coat and tugs out a piece of parchment, crumpled and torn but the hand writing on it unmistakably deliberate. Toris' eyes widened for a moment. How had Ivan ever found that? Was General Jonas…? Ivan's smile curled a little more at its edges and Toris knew for a fact that their commander was dead. If he had been lucky.

"But I told them nyet, moy Toris would never be so selfish. He wouldn't ever raise a hand against me." Toris swallowed down the bile that was rising in his throat.

"H-how…?"

"Did I find you?" Ivan's smile softened, like a mother pitying a stupid child. "So Toris did write this then…" Toris could have sworn that he might have seen sadness in the depths of the Russian's eyes, as if he really had hoped that Toris hadn't been a part of this, even after finding him curled up in a log. But it was gone in a second and Toris had to convince himself that he had been imagining things. Ivan must have known that he had written it. A nation couldn't sign anything, but he had been there when the Forest Brothers had gathered. The Union of Lithuanian Freedom Fighters. He had been standing right behind General Jonas when he had declared the Communist party to be a criminal organization and laid out the designs for a free Lithuania. He had been there when hope was mirrored in the faces of every Brother and freedom was something more than a faraway dream. And he had smiled.

Where was his hope now?

Ivan brightened and rocked back and forth on his heels. "Well! Toris was very difficult to find in the forests but I worked very hard to find him. There were a lot of other groups that we had to sort through you know." No. Toris didn't want to hear this. He wanted not to know. He wanted to believe.

"They weren't very nice you know." Ivan pouted but then smiled again. Too kindly. "But I can always find moy Toris. He's far too trusting and naïve. He should know by now that pain can make people do and say anything to make it stop." And from behind him he pulled out a hand woven basket, covered in a small checkered cloth that had been so much like the others that had been left in the forest for them to eat. Ivan reached in and pulled a small roll out. He held it out to Toris, still petrified on the ground, warm steam still rising off of the roll. "Bread, Toris?"

The springs finally snapped and Toris was on his feet in a heartbeat. The gun was back in his hands and he whirled on the Russian, a good ten feet put between them in the span of two seconds. The muzzle was raised and pointed, trained on the heart of that nation but it shook in Toris' unsteady hands, uncertain. The bread had fallen on the ground somewhere along the way and Ivan stepped forward, crushing it beneath the sole of his boot. Toris tightened his grip.

"Don't!" He shouted, sounding more desperate than intimidating and Ivan knew it. He smiled brightly and took another step.

"Ah, but Toris, you would never shoot me would you? And even if you did, what good would it do you?" Step, step. Toris tried to force his own feet to move but it was all he could to keep his hold on his gun. Ne. He would not run this time. But why couldn't he move?

"I-I mean it Ivan. Don't take another step or I swear to God I'll-!"

Ivan's high pitched giggle sliced through the mist like a sword. "Toris is really stupid isn't he? There is no God, moy Toris. There never has been~! Not the Jewish God, not the Christian God…" He tilted his head to the side. "Not even your gods have been watching you. Isn't it so silly that there are so many people who try to pretend? How stupid…" He had closed the distance half way at this point and Toris could barely feel the gun in his hands now. The shaking wouldn't stop.

"Stop it. Stop it Ivan."

"Don't cry, moy Toris."

Toris realized much to his own horror that the water on his face wasn't from the humidity of the mist and the forest. He couldn't take his eyes off of Ivan to wipe away the tears. He could only swallow the growing lump in his throat and try to force the burning feeling away. It wasn't going to end like this. It couldn't end like this. Alfred had said that he was coming. Toris had worked hard in America's house and they had become friends. Alfred had promised to be his hero when he had needed it. He would be coming. And then after he was free then he could save Feliks. His finger curled around the trigger of the gun. He steadied his hand.

"Why… why are you doing this?"

"Because Toris didn't come running to me when he was crying." Step, step. The mouth of the gun pressed against Ivan's chest but the nation hardly seemed to notice it as he leaned in. Toris felt the cold leather touch his cheek, thick fingers tracing the wet trail and wiping it away. No, he never had run to Russia in tears. Not once when Germany had overtaken his borders and forced him. And not even when Poland had tried to snatch his capital, his very heart, from his chest. He had tried to deal with it himself, and had failed. Russia always had to step in and take him under wing again. The bandages from the old wounds were starting to choke him and he could feel it now, the burn of every scar across his back where his people had been raped, tortured, murdered by some foreign force.

There were more cracks that filled the clearing and Toris dared to look over Ivan's shoulder. More people were emerging from the underbrush, dressed as well as armed to the teeth, eyes cold as ice. The KGB. Behind him Toris could feel his own people gather from their underground bunker, their faces hallow and their hair wild as if they were the nature spirits of the forest itself. They were lined up, on opposite sides of the clearing, hollow log dividing them. And he and Ivan were directly in the middle.

"I'm not afraid of you. Not anymore."

"I know. That is why I must teach you again, da?"

Bang.

Toris jumped as the vase hit the floor with a crash, wincing as the sound seemed to vibrate down the hallways of the mansion, echoing until there was nothing left to repeat. It sounded so much emptier now than it had been once. But one person still filled it with its presence and that was enough. Toris glanced around quickly but no one else had heard and the hallway remained silent. Good.

He sighed deeply and set down the old feather duster on the now empty pedestal and knelt down by the fragments, starting to sweep them into the bright yellow dust pan that clung to his side. Maybe he was starting to get old. These memories were starting to burn at the back of his eyelids more and more often and he was starting to suffer for it. Dark circles were pressed under his eyes, he could see them in the shine of the broken porcelain. His hair was still unruly and a mess, even though it had been cut to his jawline. His bangs still hung into his face.

He stood up and dumped the shards into the small plastic trashcan pushed to the side of the hall and tucked his hair behind his ear. March 13, 1989. It had been nearly forty years from that day in the forest. The Forest Brothers had been slaughtered, but not all of them. Even now, after he had been dragged back, there was still news here and there, as much as Ivan tried to have covered it up and hide it by calling it merely criminals and invalids. Toris knew better. He turned around and looked up at the grandfather clock ticking solemnly behind him. 15:45. Almost tea time. He would have to be quick to fix the tea and make sure that it was tea, not coffee. Never Alfred's coffee.

But this silent war with Alfred was drawing to a close. Ivan was losing his grip on everything, just like he had when the Revolutions had started. Just before Toris had gained his independence the first time around. Toris straightened the tie around his neck, loosening it, before walking towards the kitchen, heels clicking on the worn wood floors.

History had a funny way of repeating itself.

Xx~xX

/Historical Notes/

So this was really just one big excuse to write something involving the Forest Brothers. Don't kill me!

If you've never heard of the Forest Brothers than prepare for education! They were a partisan group spread through Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania dedicated to the purpose of fighting off the Soviet Russians after the end of World War II when they were annexed into the Soviet Union. Most often they had been trained by the Germans during the German occupation, forced into the military service. Then the Germans were forced out by the Soviets who promised freedom and there was much rejoicing to be had. Then the Russians told them "Lol, jk, we're staying here now guys and you're all leaving to Serbia." The rejoicing kind of stopped after that.

So the partisan groups united and called themselves the Forest Brothers because of the long stretches of forest they would shelter themselves in. The most successful of these movements were the Lithuanians, who by 1948, controlled entire stretches of countryside without a single Russian or Soviet in sight. However, they weren't an army. They relied heavily on guerilla style tactics in order to sabotage the Soviets and hide amongst the population and were more or less regarded as more of a nuisance then an actual military threat by the Soviets. They were never acknowledged by the USSR as a group, just described as thieves and invalids. But that suited the Forest Brothers just fine because they were very well aware that they couldn't destroy all of Soviet Russia on their own. They were trying to weaken the USSR from the inside, hoping that the Cold War would break and the West would liberate them.

This was the hope when Brigadier General Jonas Žemaitis, leader of the Lithuanian Forest Brothers, signed a declaration for a free Lithuania on February 19, 1949.

But America never formally declared war on the USSR. And the USSR finally had enough of the Forest Brothers.

A few months after the signing of the declaration, the USSR launched a campaign against the Forest Brothers. KGB infiltration destroyed bunkers overnight. By 1952, the resistance had become a lost cause. Many gave up the fight after being offered amnesty in 1953 after Stalin's death. There were a few who continued fighting, but by 1955, the Forest Brothers were no more. Because there wasn't any record of any official fighting, to this day, the Forest Brothers struggle against the Soviet Union is often called the Lost War.

And there are more historical references scattered about. Go do awesome research.