Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Random words such as 'brat' and 'da' are Russian prononciations of words.
Enjoy, God bless!
One eye blinked at the blood-red world as the hallway faded into darkness and he was dragged toward the door. A quiet groan escaped cracked lips, and Vladimir struggled to regain his footing. He hated being dragged along like some dead thing. There was no pride in this... He shoved one of the guards, and managed to pull his feet under himself.
The attempt earned him a swift punch to the jaw, to add to the already-obvious bruises and scrapes. He spat blood in the closest guards face. That wasn't appreciated either. However, the men didn't waste more time-they pulled open the heavy metal door and forcibly shoved Vladimir through it, slamming it after him.
He hit the solid floor with a groan. Slowly, he rotated, turning until he was face up. Blankly, he stared through the inky darkness.
"Vladimir? Vladimir?"
"Hmmmm..." Vlad responded quietly, then coughed. His brother's voice came from above him. It was almost amusing... he'd not heard him move. Vladimir smiled up at Anatoly through blood-coated teeth.
"You're a mess... you fought them again," Anatoly's question was more of a statement.
"I'll live." It was the only reply Vladimir gave. Everything went black.
When everything came back into focus, Vlad coughed, prying one eye open. He didn't know where he was... A voice to his left caused him to lash out. His fist was quickly caught.
"Brat... it's me, Anatoly."
Vlad blinked in confusion. He didn't remember being taken back to the cell... He shrugged and tried to sit up. His attempt ended with Anatoly hauling him up, and keeping a hand on his back to support him. "Spacibo..." Vlad mumbled. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. His head felt heavy and...
Vladimir flinched as Anatoly ran a hand carefully over the side of his face. One eye opened again and peered through the darkness to see Anatoly's concern-ridden face.
"This is deep..." Anatoly's muttered words were directed at the long gash that started over his eye, and ran down his face.
Vlad nodded. His eye was nearly swollen shut, and he hadn't tried opening it... dried blood coated his eyelashes-he could feel it, sticky and irritating. Slowly, he moved a hand to his face. Cold fingers prodded at the sides of the cut, poking at it... until Anatoly pulled his hand down.
"You'll get it infected."
"What are you so afraid of? It's on my face..." Vlad grumbled.
Anatoly clenched his jaw and remained silent for a moment. He clearly took a moment to regain his patience. "I don't want you dying-da?"
Vladimir nodded.
"It'll scar without stitches... I can't clean it either," Anatoly continued muttering, stating random facts about injuries and what he should do, but couldn't. "You have concussion... probably." Anatoly hoped that was all it was.
Vladimir patted his brother's chest. He shifted slightly, moving until he could lean against the wall. "I'll live."
"So you said."
"Where are Oleg and Alexi?"
"They took them before they brought you back."
Vladimir frowned slightly. "Alexi won't last..."
Anatoly sniffed quietly and nodded. "Doubtful Oleg will live much longer, either."
They both fell silent, and Anatoly was back to looking over his brother's wounds. Vlad never understood why Anatoly bothered. There was nothing he could do for them. They would bleed until the blood clotted, they would stop bleeding, they would eventually scar, and he would live. Yet, his brother insisted on trying-hoping that there was something he could do-so Vlad said nothing, but allowed Anatoly to hope. Because he needed his brother's hope if he was going to survive this prison.
When one of them was about to give up, the other would rise to the occasion. So, now Anatoly was the hope... but tomorrow, he would be. Because if the day ever came when they both lost hope-that tiny thing that lived in everyone-they would both die. Vladimir had no intention of dying in that dark hole. No he wouldn't, nor would Anatoly.