This is my first published fic, and the product of a prompt from a writing trade with tumblr user 78meg9, who also helped edit the piece.
"A character becomes calm during the story. During the story, a character has someone make a meal for them" with Baltics
Snow is cold. Now that's obvious, as cold is what makes snow possible in the first place, but it's cold in another way too. Snow is insensitive, without empathy, and utterly unyielding. It doesn't stop for anyone, nor will it slow if those walking are under too much strain, and it certainly won't when it flies in large clumps at the windows of a bedroom late at night.
Inside that bedroom, three lay in their beds, none asleep. The ice and snow rattled the window in an uneven pattern, keeping their nerves on end even though they knew the rest in the house were asleep. Eventually, enough of the night passed, and Estonia fell asleep purely from exhaustion. Latvia curled himself deeper into his blanket, trying to count things or sing songs in his head, but his head was so full of so much that he was unable to slip into sleep. Lithuania lay almost completely on his stomach, his blanket pulled around loosely so they wouldn't reopen the scars across his back. He pressed his eyes shut, shoving his face deeper into the pillow, the scratchy fabric moist with tears of frustration. He pleaded silently for sleep to come, for sleep to take him and give him the will and the strength to make it through one more damned snowy day in this ungodly house.
If the sun did rise over the land that morning, it was hidden behind thick clouds, and affected neither the brightness nor the temperature. It did, however, affect the state of the owner of the house, a tall man with light hair and eyes the same purple as some gorgeous, fragrant, and deceptive wildflower. This flower, a gem in colour and sturdy through all seasons, no doubt attracts insects and animals from all around, only to rot their stomachs or turn acidic and burn them internally or twist them so beyond repair that they ended up just like the residents of the house: broken, sad, lonely, but bound because they'd lost both hope and a place to dream of.
This fragrant flower's dark side is darker than some dark flower's front sides, and the owner of this house had not only eyes, but a whole self with a dark side too. How soft he seemed to some, how sweetly he could smile and how agreeable he could be. But how rough his hands were, how loud the stomping of his boots as he walked through the house, and how sickly the three in their beds felt when his velvety voice told them it was time to wake up, that it was "time for another long day in the house."
He stood in the doorway as they rose, first Latvia, popping up, shedding his cocoon of blankets reluctantly. He glanced quickly to his left to Estonia who had rolled onto his back and was starting to push himself up, blinking himself awake, and then right to Lithuania, who has already sat up straight in his bed, blankets pushed to the very end, staring back up at Russia with tired eyes.
Latvia turned back to the doorway, and there he stood still, mostly a shadow because of the light from the hall coming in from behind him, but still his smile could be seen, almost felt even, and Latvia struggled to suppress the nauseating feeling in his stomach, working his hands together to try to stop their shaking.
Seeing that they were up, Russia took his leave, leaving the door open behind him, letting the dull orange light from the hall come through, where it sank into the walls of the room. Compared to the blue-grey of the snowy hell outside, it was almost warm, but still it did nothing to comfort Latvia as watched the others slip out of bed, walking slowly across the wooden floors to get ready for the day ahead.
Later in the day, the sky still stayed dark, and the light of the large house wasn't bright enough to counter it. There almost seemed to be a heavy cloud in the air, thick and dark, weighing on Latvia's head and clogging up his lungs so that every time he breathed in he nearly choked, and every time he stepped it strained him.
He was supposed to cook this afternoon, Latvia was. It was his turn. Lithuania had covered for him twice before, even thinking up excuses for Latvia's absence since the last few times he had carried in the meal he'd dropped it, and Russia hadn't enjoyed that. At all.
But today Lithuania had business in the study that Latvia couldn't do in his place, and Estonia was off somewhere else, so only Latvia was left.
Cooking wasn't hard. Latvia was rather good at it, actually. He knew what Russia liked: simple, colourful things, soups of vegetables and meats and occasionally other oddities, thick breads to counter the other rich flavours, and strong alcohol (almost always vodka) just for kicks. Oh, cooking was the easy part. Latvia could cook all day, honestly. It was what came after that terrified him.
Russia always sat in his chair during the afternoons, facing the corner between the window and the ever-empty couch. He tried to watch the snow as it fell, beautiful in its randomness and stunning in its individuality. It clung to the edge of the window, building up on the windowsill, some larger balls sliding down the glass from where they'd landed and stuck some time before. It was captivating, and always a joy to watch. But to his right there was the sofa too, almost as cold as the snow. The fabric covering it was mostly cream-coloured, with a web of sunflower across it, their bright yellow petals faded, from time almost certainly since it couldn't have been from sun or sitting.
In this room he sat, watching two parts of his large house as he let time slip past, never uttering a word, not moving in his seat until about one in the afternoon, when one of his subordinates would serve him warm food that was usually quite lovely. He would thank them when they did well, eat, and then move to respond to letters from other nations in his library.
Maybe one of these days he could have another nation over for lunch, and they could share food and stories, and they could sit on the couch, or maybe both of them could sit on the couch! Oh wouldn't that be grand, if only-
The door behind him opened slowly, creaking a bit, breaking Russia's concentration. He would have been upset, but he knew that it was for a good reason, that lunch would follow, so when he turned around, it was with a genuine smile.
Latvia stood frozen in the doorway, holding the door open with his shoulder so that he could keep the tray of food steady and not drop it again. His breathing became shallow and quick, barely taking in any breath because the air would suffocate him, and when he walked forward, he made eye contact with the wall instead of the Master of this house, because the eyes would poison him.
When he offered up the tray of food, his vision had begun to narrow and his arms weakened, so the instant he felt the weight of the meal lifted from his hands he stumbled back toward the door, unsure if the ringing in his ears was from lack of oxygen or the thanks of the man from whom he ran.
Once he had closed the door behind him, he continued running, just running, so that maybe the ringing would stop and the snow would stop and he could have a proper family and maybe he could be useful, could be loved, could be cared for.
Somewhere along the way he found a corner, though he'd long stopped taking in his surroundings, and he tried to control his breaths, to take in air instead of just releasing it, but they became more and more ragged and shallow and squeaky, until at some point the world around him became completely black.
He'd been shouting, Latvia had. Shouting mostly nonsense, though Lithuania had been nearby and made out his name, clearly, over the blubbering mess of breath and sobs. Estonia had heard Latvia shouting for him as well, and though it certainly wasn't the first time he'd been called, these cries seemed weaker and somehow more desperate.
When they found him curled in on himself in the corner, his breathing was much slower, his face and hands cold and hard, and his cheeks red and tear-streaked. Lithuania was scared for his life, and it was Estonia who assured him that he was alive. ("Hold his wrist, there is a pulse.")
To keep him from panicking over Latvia, Estonia sent Lithuania to the door to see how close to finishing lunch Russia was, so that he wouldn't walk in on an unconscious Latvia. Estonia then scooped Latvia up, carefully rising with the short boy in his arms. He started walking slowly, leaning backwards and pressing Latvia into him to keep from falling. It took several strides to get the right balance down, but he started to be able to move with ease.
"Lithuania," He said, quietly but with force, "Come on, let's take him back to the room."
Lithuania nodded, stepping back and shutting the door to the library quietly before hurrying back to follow Estonia.
Back in the bedroom, the door was only half open, so the orange light only reached Estonia's bed, the rest of the room in bland blues and greys. On his back Latvia lay, his limbs splayed out across the bed. Slowly his eyes started to reopen, colour creeping in again, seeming brighter than it ever had before.
"Latvia? Latvia?" Lithuania's nervous voice called.
Latvia blinked a few times and then looked up at Lithuania, who was leaning over him, smiling and seeming relieved that he was awake.
"Latvia, what happened?" Estonia asked, moving over from his bed to Latvia's.
"I- I don't know. I just panicked, and then I ran, and I don't know what happened after that." He replied, pushing himself up into a sitting position.
"We found you passed out between two bookcases in a library!" Lithuania said, trying to stay quiet but unable to keep the emotion in his voice down. "I thought you'd died- that you'd stopped breathing!"
"I'm sorry, sorry." Latvia said, blubbering.
"Did Russia…?" Estonia stopped, thinking of the proper way to phrase his question.
Latvia shook his head, pressing his eyes shut, not wanting to hear the question out loud.
Estonia stood back up straight, turning so that he was facing mostly away from Latvia. There was so obviously a deep problem, something very wrong with Latvia, and they needed to find a cause. They needed to help him as much as possible. He shook all hours of the day, he stuttered, especially when facing Russia, and sometimes even that name could leave him incapable of doing simple tasks. It had to stop, and they were going to fix it right here and right now.
He turned back around, and Lithuania looked back up at him, eyes full of worry and, deep down, anger.
"Latvia," Estonia began, "What do you remember before? Were you having trouble breathing, or walking, or maybe thinking?"
Latvia nodded, swallowing before speaking. "I-I was able to give Ru- um, him his food, but after that, his smile, and I had to run, to- I wasn't-" He pulled his knees into his chest, pressing his eyes shut again and letting a few tears bud. Lithuania put his arm around his back, giving him enough distance to breathe comfortably but still reminding him that he was safe, with people that would never dream of harming him, with people that knew his pain and shared his scars and were willing to carry some of his pain for him.
Latvia leaned into Lithuania's hand and let tears fall onto the knees of his pants, releasing so much of the nervousness and stress that had built up over the years, allowing himself to be free if only for these few minutes. He started to sob as well, wanting to wail in frustration, but he uncurled and tried to compose himself. Estonia leaned onto the bed and wrapped him in a tight hug, and Latvia let himself weep, soaking Estonia's shoulder as it also muffled the ugly, choking sobs that escaped his mouth.
No one shushed him or glanced nervously at the door. They simply sat there together, thankful for the warmth they shared as they sat on the bed, surrounded by shades of blue-grey, only just out of reach of the beams of orange light from the hallway. They weren't free, and didn't know if they ever would be, but they had each other, and they could get through this alive now that they knew what they needed - family.