"Look everyone, Toris is home~"
There were no waves or smiles to greet him; Raivis and Eduard could manage only mumbles in acknowledgement. Lithuania didn't mind, nor did he care to mumble back. They were all very tired, faces ashen with what these last six years had done to them.
Ivan seemed undeterred by the lack of enthusiasm, although he had enough reason to be the same. Regaining his lost territories from Germany had been a costly effort. On a normal basis Lithuania would have marveled at his childlike resiliency, but this was certainly not a time to muse.
Later that day when the two were alone, Ivan confronted him. His sing-song voice dripped with the annoyance he didn't attempt to hide.
"Are you not happy to be home, Toris? Germany was cruel to you, yes?"
Lithuania didn't really register what was being asked of him. He was still numb, so numb, trapped in visions of his people actively slaughtering those who had up until then been their kinsmen, all in pursuit of-
A large white hand suddenly rested on his shoulder, stirring him.
"I would feel bad for them, but you know how people become over religion. A shame, really. What did your people call them?" his lips pursed together thoughtfully, as though he were trying to recall the date.
"Jesus killers?"
Lithuania's previously sagging skull snapped to attention, a mixture of confusion and denial painting his expression. Toris couldn't help but to stare long and dumbly at this man, questioning for a moment if the Russian before him was really even there. Ivan, irritation mounting, gave him a harsh shake.
"Hello~? There is too much work to be done for you to be so sleepy-eyed. Just where is my trembling, busy-body Litva behind that stupid face?" His teeth were grit behind a large smile.
Lithuania visibly shuddered, but managed a nod. His lips fell apart awkwardly.
"Yes. Work." the murmur was distantly affectionate, as though addressing some late wife. He found it in himself to straighten his shoulders as his body involuntarily prepared for the "work" he'd soon be doing, an instinct he'd grown into.
Ivan took this as a good sign, and patted the shorter man on the head in approval.
"It really is better having Lithuania." he then reiterated his earlier question.
"You are happy to be home, yes?" it had now become more of a threat than an inquiry.
Toris looked up at the man, perhaps really seeing him for the first time since his arrival. He offered a small smile.
"Yes. I am very fortunate to be here."
Here. Here, in Russia, away from the ghettos in his land and the forts meant for execution in his home. He was away from the mobs of his people, armed with guns and torches as they screamed profanities and shot down their neighbors. Innocent lifeblood was shed all because they were a different religion—because they worshipped in synagogues and spoke a second tongue and were prevalent in a capital that could no longer be tolerant of them. But they were still Lithuanian.
Later, as he toiled past the point of exhaustion, Lithuania meditated on the strange sensation of over two thousand heartbeats in his chest just...stopping. Just like that. When he collapsed in his bed that night, Toris desperately tried to focus on an old lullaby he had heard as a child; its lyrics reflected the peaceful, multi-cultural kingdom he had striven for in his glory days. Yet, try as he did, he still managed to fall asleep with dreams permeated by the feeble cries of a half starved infant being buried alive.
Much later Poland would try to make light of the experience as he always had with difficult things, but even Feliks had trouble finding the heart for it.
"Well, I guess you aren't like, the Jerusalem of the North anymore."
But Lithuania would laugh anyway. He would laugh until he was in tears.