Happy birthday to TypewritingFangirl! Have fun with your scrap metal! ;)
"Big brother?"
Lithuania sits up on his narrow bed and squints at the tiny figure silhouetted in the doorway.
"What is it, Lati?"
"It hurts..."
With a wan smile, Lithuania holds his arms out, and Latvia burrows into his chest, sniffling.
"Why does it hurt so much?" the child wails, and Lithuania smoothes his hair down and presses his lips to Latvia's forehead.
"They're just growing pains, Lati. You've never had this much land before, or this many people. I had them once, too - you'll feel better soon. Just be patient."
"I hate being patient," Latvia whines, and Lithuania flinches slightly as fingernails dig into his shoulders. "I just want all of this to be over already!" He sniffles, then raises his face to Lithuania's, violet-blue eyes shining. "Will you help me speed it up, Tolys?"
Lithuania stiffens.
"Please? You've been so much help already... just a little more? Can't you do that for me, Tolys?"
"Lati..."
Latvia puts his small hand up and twists a lock of Lithuania's lank brown hair idly around his finger.
"I know lots of things you can help me with, big brother. And Feliks and Ivan and Alfred would appreciate it too, I know they will."
Lithuania blinks once, hard, and quietly whispers, "Of course."
Latvia pinches him.
"Of course... little brother," Lithuania amends, and as Latvia nuzzles his chin with delighted, childish squeals, he hates himself for saying it.
"-and then South Italy kicked him but I think everyone knows those two would have gotten married a long time ago if-"
Lithuania listened with maybe a third of his mind while he folded shirts and cursed at the ironing board. The other two-thirds were trying to figure out when he had time to go shopping next and calculating amount-of-soup-I-can-make-with-the-remaining-potatoes; he didn't realize Latvia had stopped talking until a shoe hit him in the head.
"Ow!"
"You're not listening to me."
"Sorry." Lithuania shook out a pair of trousers that really didn't look like anything Estonia would be caught dead in. "I'm listening now."
"Anyway, Spain and South Italy. Bets on how long they've been sleeping together?"
"I swear, you're a bigger gossip than Poland," Lithuania teased, and Latvia flashed him a lazy smile.
"It's just interesting, you know? How relationships work." He paused, and there was a comfortable silence broken only by the rustling of the clothes. "Like, isn't it neat how much of a weakness caring about people is?"
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"Leverage," Latvia clarified. "I bet there's a lot of stuff you would never do in a million years, not even if I held you at gunpoint. But if I held Poland at gunpoint, or Esti, or even Russia..."
Lithuania glanced at him curiously. "I suppose you're right," he said slowly. "I don't think I've ever thought about it, actually."
"You've never needed to. Everybody loves you."
"That's an exaggeration," Lithuania laughed. "I have enemies like everyone else... Hey, would you run these up to Miss Ukraine's room for me?"
"Yeah, sure."
And Lithuania didn't think about it again.
"I'm turning the light on," Lithuania says loudly, groping in the dark for the switch, and when the brightness flares into life he sees with relief that hands are covering eyes and no one is wincing away from the sudden, stabbing release from darkness. (It doesn't relieve his guilt one bit, but it at least doesn't add to it. He's hurt these people enough already.)
He squelches the thought and gets to work.
Some of the captive Nations, the ones he didn't actively betray, smile at him - a little tightly, maybe, but he'll take what he can get. He wakes Greece (Herakles) up and tells him that the cats are all still fine, if a little stir-crazy from being in an unfamiliar place; he accepts Italy's (Feliciano's) compliment of Did you make this? It tastes a lot better than prison food usually does!
England (Arthur) takes the food, but he says nothing, and the accusation hangs heavy in the air. Lithuania bites back the words I'm sorry; England wouldn't accept them anyway. And however horrible it sounds, Lithuania knows full well he would make the same choice again. And again. And- he's at the farthest door, and he doesn't want to go in.
"Mr America?"
Silence from the occupant of the cell. Lithuania licks his lips and says quietly, "Are... are you going to eat today?"
"No."
Blunt. Immediate. The boyish face is pinched and hollow.
"It's been over a month, Mr America-"
"I don't accept gifts from traitors," America says harshly. And Lithuania can't reply to that, because he wouldn't take the food either.
He leaves the plate on the floor of the cell anyway.
"M-mr Russia? C-can I ask you something?"
"Of course you can, little one," Russia said with comfortable benevolence, and Lithuania's hand clenched around his fork.
"I want your country," Latvia said, coolly, calmly, and without preamble.
"...what?"
"Your land. Your people. Give them to me." And the small boy smiled and said sweetly, "You'll do that for me, won't you? Ivan?"
The stillness that settled over Russia's huge frame was not entirely due to magic.
"Where?" he finally whispered hoarsely. "How?"
Latvia slipped out of his chair and rounded the table, bare feet pattering on the wooden floor; his thin arms circled Lithuania's shoulders posessively.
"Lietuva's been really helpful, haven't you, big brother?" he said in a sing-song voice. And Lithuania closed his eyes as Latvia caressed his hair. The betrayal on Russia's face was utterly unbearable.
Latvia is sprawled on his bed, looking like any other teenage boy, his curly hair flopping forward over his eyes. He's writing. He's been doing that a lot lately.
"I fed the prisoners," says Lithuania, doing his best to keep his voice level.
"Awesome, thanks," Latvia says a bit absently. "What rhymes with perfect?"
Dully, Lithuania suggests, "Surfeit?" and Latvia frowns.
"I don't even know what that means," he complains.
"It means there's a lot of something, maybe even too much." There's a surfeit of names on that knife of yours. Names I gave you.
"Oh. Okay, that works." He scribbles something and snaps the notebook shut. "You've been really good lately. Russia still hates you but do you want to visit Poland for a bit?"
"Thank you," Lithuania whispers, as Latvia swings his long legs off the bed and bounces over to him, swinging the key to the attic in a complicated pattern.
"America?"
"Alfred."
"England?"
"I... don't know."
"Who would?"
"Possibly America or France."
"Threatening America would probably work best..." Latvia mused, twisting the knife so the polished iron caught the light from the window. "I can also use him for... his brother, the quiet one..."
"Canada," Lithuania supplied. Looked out the window, bit his lip. "His name's Matthew."
"Oh! Fabulous!" The name went on the list. It was in purple crayon - they couldn't find any other writing utensils, despite half an hour of searching through every drawer in the kitchen - and Lithuania fought back an insane urge to laugh.
Because it wasn't funny. Every name he spoke was going on that knife later, and Latvia was smiling the same sweet smile Russia had while throwing open the palace window all those years ago, and it felt like a shaft of ice in his heart every time that crayon moved.
Latvia was playing with the knife again, and he could see feliks engraved on the blade right next to his own name, and eduard next to that.
"Prussia?"
"Gilbert."
"Hungary?"
"Erszebet."
"Romania?"
"I think Hungary knows."
"And Germany will tell me if I use Gilbert."
"Yes," Lithuania agreed, looking out the window again. The apricot tree was blooming pink and white. "Germany would do anything for his brother."
Poland is staring at the wall, chewing on his lip, and when he hears the door open, he flinches slightly. Lithuania runs over to him and collapses to his knees, pulling him into his arms and burying his face in Poland's blond hair.
"Hey," Poland murmurs, reaching up and patting Lithuania gently on the shoulder. Latvia closes the door gently, and Lithuania feels absurdly grateful for the privacy.
"I missed you," he chokes.
"It's only been like a couple of months," Poland says, making a rather unconvincing attempt at acting cheerful, but the forced smirk slides off his face a moment later. "I missed you too, Liet."
Lithuania nuzzles his nose into Poland's hair some more, and breathes into his ear, "Tell me honestly, has he hurt you?"
Poland hesitates, then shakes his head minutely. Lithuania doesn't dare ask for clarification, but at least whatever happened is mild enough it can be hidden. More than can be said of some of the more stubborn prisoners downstairs. He tries to push the thought away by kissing Poland, long, hard, and sweet.
(It doesn't work.)
Lithuania had no idea where Latvia had gotten the knife. Who works with plain iron anymore?
Not that it mattered very much, when it was at his throat, his own name scratched on the blade in a childish hand.
He took rapid, shallow breaths, trying not to move his chest, and failing; he begged with his eyes, and Poland refused to meet them.
"Feliks," Poland said quietly. "Now let him go, Lati."
"'Happy', huh?" Latvia chirped, "I like it!" and then he sheathed the knife and stepped back. Lithuania fell to his knees, and Poland ran to his side.
"Idiot," Lithuania whispered, and then said it again, louder - "Idiot!"
"Sh. Hush, Liet. It's gonna be okay." The gold-green eyes were serious for once.
"You shouldn't- why-"
Poland kissed his forehead gently. "You know why. I don't want to lose you again."
"Told you~" Latvia sing-songed behind them. "Didn't I tell you it would work, Tolys?"
He flinched. He could feel Poland shaking.
He knocks on the door and hears muted giggling, like teenage girls at a slumber party. It's not so different, he supposes, with Latvia and Sealand sprawled on the big bed with papers spread out around them, whispering to each other. There's a map taped up over the desk, with blue and red lines scrawled all over it. For Sea written down America's coastline; For Lat cutting across France and Germany and Hungary. It's with a certain spiteful amusement that Lithuania sees a carefully traced line of demarcation right in the middle of Western Europe. Liechtenstein and Switzerland are tougher than Latvia had apparently anticipated.
"Here," he says, schooling his face back into neutrality as he sets the two cups down on the desk.
"Yay! Hot chocolate!" Sealand cheers.
"Yes, I spiked yours," Lithuania says, catching Latvia's good-natured glare, and pushes the mug over.
"Why can't I have vodka?" Sealand whines, and Latvia pokes him.
"Because I'm in charge now," he says, "and I say after last time I am never letting you get drunk again."
Sealand hits him with a pillow. Latvia squeals and hits back, and Lithuania, if he doesn't look at the map, can almost convince himself that everything is okay. He's bringing hot chocolate to his brother and his friend because it's the nice thing to do, because they're obviously having fun, because he loves his little brother.
He wipes his hands on his apron and feels the crusted mess there. The wound on Belgium's (Emma's) cheek still hasn't stopped bleeding.
A quick explanation - this involves a headcanon of mine that the "human names" of Nations are more like "true names" - giving your name to someone else means you trust them a good deal, because the name gives them power over you. Specifically, when engraved on cold iron, it negates the Nation healing, so you could kill a Nation permanently if you had their name.
Edit: due to a guest review that seemed confused, I'll explain this a bit more - I have personally never subscribed to the "Nations' identities are secret" idea, since there are multiple times in canon that they are shown interacting with humans and apparently not attempting to hide who/what they are. So in general, there is no need for them to use human names. (Actually, I have a very fond delusion that Lithuania always signs his paperwork 'Vox Lietuvos'... just because that sounds epic.) But yeah. So no, Guest, that's not an issue, at least in this universe :)