COLD COMFORT

(Immediately following the event when Poland and Lithuania were defeated by Russia, and Russia took Lithuania to his place…)

'Poland! POLAND!'

Lithuania woke up abruptly, catching his breath on a strangled cry. He wasn't in the snow anymore, with Russia's hand clamped around his coat collar. Poland wasn't laughing at the horror on his face, or watching Russia drag him away without lifting a finger.

Instead, he was curled up in his bed in Russia's house, under a scratchy woolen blanket.

He was freezing. It was so cold in Russia's house, even when the fire was lit. But, lifting his head, Liet saw that the fire had burned down nearly to ash.

Now it truly was freezing cold in the room. His breath made smoke in the air, and the tears on his cheeks burned. The blanket was thick, but it was not enough to warm him. The bed was too big and too cold. No matter how small he curled himself, he couldn't get warm.

'Poland…' he whispered. At home, at Poland's house, the bed was smaller- it was Poland's bed, after all, and not meant for two. But the quilts were warm, and Poland was even warmer.

During the day Poland bossed Liet around and teased him- treating him as a combination of unwanted little brother and willing slave. But at night, he held onto Liet like he was a teddy bear.

Those times were the only ones when Liet was truly happy. He felt safe wrapped up in Poland's arms, safe, warm, loved. It didn't matter whether it was just an illusion or not- during those nights, Liet could believe that someone cared about him.

That Poland did.

But he doesn't, Lithuania thought now. If he cared about me, he wouldn't have let Russia take me.

Was Poland okay? Fresh worry scratched at Liet's heart with tiny claws- Poland had been beaten badly, and he'd been bleeding… Had his careless words just been a way of covering up his own pain and helplessness, or had he meant them?

Liet didn't know. He only knew that Poland had let him go.

I hope he's okay…

Surely someone would have come and found Poland and taken him home. By now his wounds must be treated and he must be sleeping in his own bed.

Would he miss Liet, then? When there was no one to hold all night?

He's okay, Lithuania thought. He's safe. Nothing could happen to him, because… Because he's Poland. And I…

I need him. I want him. But he let me go. He let Russia take me away and he didn't fight. He didn't even say goodbye. He… He laughed at me.

Fresh tears filled his eyes, and he sniffed hard, trying to force them back. He didn't want to cry anymore.

He had been so scared. Would Russia kill him? Hurt him?

He didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this huge, cold house, or for Russia to have sent him to this empty room without another word.

Maybe Russia was mad because he had said he didn't want to go with him. Maybe this was a punishment.

He was so lonely now that even Russia would have been a comfort.

Even though there was nothing left of the boy he had once known, the small one with the bloody coat and the purple eyes, who had promised to come back and be his friend.

Well, he did come back, Lithuania thought. But he's not my friend.

Russia had almost killed him. Killed him and Poland both. And now Liet was Russia's prisoner. Maybe Russia would kill him tomorrow. Or maybe he would be Russia's slave now. He didn't know.

Why did Russia even want him? He was useless. He couldn't fight like Poland. Everyone picked on him and even his own bosses had given him away.

He had been lonely and frightened the first night he had spent at Poland's too, but then Poland had come into his room and woken him up.

'You're going to sleep with me,' Poland had said. 'Come on.'

Just like that.

Liet had been half asleep, and he hadn't protested, not even when Poland climbed into the bed after him and then practically crawled on top of him.

'What are you doing?' he'd asked.

'Be quiet. We'll always sleep like this,' Poland had told him. 'It's warmer, see?'

It was warmer. There was something comforting about being wrapped up in the other boy's arms, something nice in the feeling of Poland's breath on his cheek. He forgot that he was scared and started to smile. 'Okay,' he'd whispered back.

They always had slept like that from then on, no matter what else happened. Poland seemed to need it, and honestly, Lithuania had, too. Poland was all he had in the world.

Now he had nothing.

'I'm c-cold,' he whispered.

Should he get up and try to light the fire again? There was wood and matches by the fireplace.

If he didn't, he might freeze solid by morning. Wouldn't Russia be surprised then?

But maybe that was what he wanted.

I won't, Liet thought. I don't want to freeze. I don't want to be cold.

Shivering, he climbed out from under the wool blanket. The floor was a sheet of ice under his bare feet, and the cold air cut right through the thin fabric of his nightshirt.

One of Russia's, or at least belonging to someone bigger than Liet, it was huge on him and hung nearly to the floor. He felt like he was wearing a dress.

If Poland could see him now, he'd laugh.

Liet winced.

I have to stop thinking about him. He's not going to come for me. I'm Russia's now. I have to stay with him. If I run away, he'll just find me again.

Poland doesn't care about me. He doesn't want me anymore.

Lithuania picked up some pieces of wood and put them into the ashes. Smoke made him cough, and the coals crumbled under the weight of the wood and showered sparks over his hands.

He winced and licked his stinging fingers. 'Ow…'

The first match he struck burned out before he could get it to the wood. The second one didn't, but when he held it against the log nothing happened.

'Light,' Lithuania whispered. 'Light, please.'

The match died and he struck another. His teeth were chattering now, and his hands were shaking too much to hold the match securely. He dropped it.

Whimpering, he lit a fourth and tried to bring it to the wood, but the jerking of his hand snuffed it.

It was no use.

His body convulsed with involuntary trembles, and he crept across the floor and dragged the blanket around himself. He looked across the room at the fireplace.

I can't, he thought. It's no use.

The bed felt even colder now, and he curled into a tight ball in the middle of it, with the blanket clutched to his chin.

So cold.

And so alone.

No one left who cared about him anymore, no one left who would even miss the fact that he was gone.

Scratchy, rough wool muffled his sobs, and he did not even hear the sound of footsteps approaching the bed until arms went around him.

Poland?

Liet opened his eyes. The room was dark, but he could see the figure leaning over him. Too bulky to be Poland, too big.

Russia!

He squeaked and tried to pull away, but Russia's arms tightened.

'Hey,' Russia said. 'It's cold, da? You can't sleep?'

Liet drew in a shaky breath.

'R-Russia,' he said.

'Da. It's Russia, of course. Who else lives here? Who else hears you crying?'

'Please,' Liet said.

'Please what? You try to light the fire, da? But it's too cold for fire. I'm cold too, so I drink vodka.'

Russia was still wearing his coat and scarf. When he let go of Lithuania with one arm and reached into his pocket, Liet flinched. But all Russia pulled out was a bottle of vodka. 'See?' he said.

'I don't want any,' Liet said. His teeth were still chattering.

'But you're cold.'

'I don't want any!'

'Da. Okay.' Russia put the bottle down on the floor and wrapped his arm around Liet again.

'What are you doing?'

'You're cold. I am warming you.'

'I don't want-'

'You were crying, da? You don't want to be here.'

'I want to go home.'

'Nyet. I win you in fight, you come here with me. You're smart, you work hard. I need you.'

'I don't want to stay here!'

'I don't want to stay here either,' Russia said. He smiled, Liet could see it even in the dark. 'It's cold, da? Cold and dark and ugly. You don't like it, I don't like it. But this is where we live. So we stay.'

'Let me go,' Liet said.

'Nyet.'

'Please!'

'Nyet.'

'I hate you.' He didn't want to cry, but the tears escaped anyway, rolling down his cheeks. They were warm at first, but in a moment they turned cold. His body shook in the circle of Russia's arms, and he knew that Russia could feel it.

He choked on a sob, and Russia let go of him with one hand to find his face. He wasn't wearing his gloves, and his skin was warm when he wiped Lithuania's tears with his fingers. 'This is no good,' Russia said. 'Too many tears, too much crying. You will get sick. I don't like to hear you crying, this is why I came here.'

'I hate you…' Liet whispered again.

But did he mean Russia or did he mean Poland?

He wasn't shivering as hard anymore. Russia's body heat flowed through the thickness of coat and blanket between them, and Russia's breath heated his moist cheeks.

Russia was as close as Poland had been when they slept at night, but he didn't make Liet feel safe. His heart lurched in his chest, and he tried to push Russia away but his arms were trapped under the blanket.

'You're crying so many tears, but are they for you only or are they for the one who did not stop me from taking you?' Russia asked.

'Don't-' Liet started.

'I told you I would come back,' Russia interrupted him. 'I told you I would get strong. I'm strong, da? Strong enough for you now, but you didn't wait for me. You didn't come to me, so I came to you. I'm strong, da? I can protect you now.'

'Poland protects me,' Liet said. Except that Poland hadn't.

'Where is Poland?' Russia asked.

'Shut up!'

'Nyet.'

'Shut up, shut up!'

'You are crying again. Don't cry. I won't let you be hurt anymore.'

You're the one who hurt me, Lithuania thought.

But who had hurt him more, Russia or Poland?

'I love you,' Russia said.

Liet froze.

And then, in that terrible silence after the words, Russia was kissing his wet cheeks.

Russia's mouth was hot, scorching his skin.

Liet made a small desperate sound and Russia echoed it.

Russia was kissing his mouth, Russia was invading him, Russia, tasting of vodka and smoke and blood.

Liet whimpered. His hands were still trapped, he couldn't push Russia away.

No one had ever done this to him before, and to have Russia be the first, to have Russia do what Poland had never done…

He gasped. Russia kissed him urgently, swallowing the sound.

Russia whispered, 'Please.'

Please? Liet thought.

Why is he… What does he…

'Lithuania,' Russia said. 'Please.'

His mouth found Liet's again, and something hot surged inside Liet's stomach. He gasped. Russia sucked his lower lip into his mouth and bit down on it. Russia's tongue touched his and slid against it, and the hot thing turned over inside him and wailed like a lost wolf.

'Ah!' he said.

'Lithuania.' Russia pressed him down into the mattress, Russia pulled away from his mouth long enough to bite at his jaw and cheek and throat. Russia's hands found their way inside the blanket and flattened themselves against his chest, pressing him down even harder.

He couldn't breathe.

He wanted Russia to stop. He wanted Russia to keep going. He had forgotten his tears- his eyes were wide and frozen, and his breath obscured Russia's face in a cloud of steam.

Russia was faceless, but Lithuania didn't have to see him to know what he looked like. He remembered violet eyes and platinum hair and a shy smile. Little Russia had been so small, and so tattered, but he had not been afraid of the cold, or the blood that covered him.

Grown Russia still had those eyes and that hair, although the smile had changed somehow. He was still covered in blood, Lithuania thought, but he wasn't tattered anymore.

He was strong enough to do this.

He had said, 'You didn't come to me, so I came to you.'

Was this why?

'Russia,' Liet whispered. Russia's fingers were tangled in the lacings of his nightshirt, unraveling them.

Russia's mouth was on his throat, his chest.

Was this so bad?

He wasn't cold anymore. He wasn't lonely. He wasn't even really scared.

Not anymore.

'Russia,' he said. 'Russia, Russia, Russia.'

'Russia,' for every time Russia's hands did something new to him, for every time Russia's mouth swallowed his cries, for every time that Russia startled him with things that he had never, ever thought that he could feel.

'Russia, 'for every time that he fell deeper and deeper- under the snow, under the ice, over the cliff.