Notes: Warnings for the World War II setting, depiction of injuries and mental trauma. And a very confused writing style to go with.

Auxiliaries from Nazi-occupied Lithuania were involved the crushing of the Warsaw Uprising. What if APH Lithuania himself was there – why would he have gone, and where is he in his complicated relationship with Poland? Mostly it's just a mess, and Toris is in such a horrible dark place at this time; nevertheless he can't forget all the years of them being so much a part of each other.

This is Hetalia fanfic; I really don't want to upset and offend anyone. I've concentrated exclusively on the nation-personifications and (what's left of) Poland and Lithuania's relationship, rather than humans (partly, I don't feel ready to write the real reality). But the Warsaw Uprising was an absolutely incredible event and remembered to this day - but as I understand it, less so outside Poland, so. SERIOUSLY, look it up. There's loads online, or if you want a book, the ultimate English language, I think, is Norman Davies' Rising '44. Or the chapter 'Glory and Heartbreak' – fitting title – in Kenneth Koskodan's No Greater Ally.

1944

When he makes his request, Germany says, Fine, yes; I'm going myself tomorrow.

(So they really are approaching end-game.)

But Lithuania was not expecting such a quick yes and words tumble on, reasoning, excuses - "I could be very useful - I know the city better than … "

"I said yes."

(Of course Lithuania knows the city well. He remembers it. Large parts of this place they are going to raze to the ground are 500 years old.)

Later he wonders why Germany agreed so easily, apparently without a thought. Hadn't he considered it a risk? Hadn't he thought that Lithuania might…

- he was my dear friend -

…That Lithuania might what.

Of course Germany hadn't worried. There is nothing Lithuania can do.

Even if. Even if he wanted to.

What does he want? Why is he doing this?

The past years have been nightmare. A nightmare without end and without sequence: at Russia's house then Germany's, where actions and consequences no longer connect, you try to help, you try not to make things worse. Finally you try just to be good, to keep your head down, and still none of it relates. Things happen to you and you don't understand why - and then you're here with a gun in hand, a detachment of auxiliaries at your back and no memory of the journey, no plan. Warsaw is already burning.

I had to be here. How could I not be? How could I stand by and watch someone else destroy you.

What has become of my heart?

Somehow, Lithuania is outwardly calm. He has after all had ample practice at that.

Then, the explosion - people pouring from doors and windows and chunks of masonry go flying. You'd think you would but you never do get used to the crazy impossible sight of a building bending and softening, and you think —

— Lenkija.

He's here.

Lithuania breaks formation and races into the catastrophe.

This isn't rational. This isn't. This isn't… modern warfare, this is stories and legends, because he shouldn't even be able to recognise Poland. Not in this condition, and not now after so much time. It isn't fair.

But he'd known, sensed where he was, and he'd come running. He stops, clutching his sides and choking on the ash and stinking air, and that's when he sees.

Facing East is an old stone archway still standing, and under the arch lies Poland.

In the ancient story you'd think — you'd think, a flash of yellow hair, through the smoke, recognize it anywhere. No. The gold is gone, gone drab as his clothes, excepting the red.

You'd think, it's fate I should find you.

You'd think.

i'll always come for you
no

never will i forsake you
NO

i'd never hurt you not in a million years
no no no, Poland you FUCKING LIAR

we'll always be together won't we -

Head in his hands Lithuania screams and tears out a chunk of his own hair.

- i'll never forget you

I WILL NEVER FORGET YOU.

That lie is inescapably true.

He falls to his knees before the twisted form of his beloved partner.

…You'd think: like a medieval martyr, like an icon, bleeding out artistically, serene in his dismemberment. Inspiring pathos and piety, the beauty of human fragility.

Poland doesn't look human. A grotesque, tattered as his clothing, face soot-blacked and bleeding. The mouth and eyes hang half-open blanks, it is not an expression, it is not a face at all. Limbs skinny almost insectoid, out-of-joint, and a jut of stark bone at one disordered wrist, he must have fallen or been thrown some distance.

There's so much broken glass, broken coloured glass. Lithuania barely noticed, as he knelt, the crunch of it, his myriad tiny wounds.

The chaotic noises from outside are only slightly dulled by what's left standing of the structure. It certainly isn't safe now, something more could still collapse. Let it fall, he almost prays, I don't care. Feliks we could stay here forever Feliks we —

He cradles him in his arms. Filthy, sticky with blood and grime, foul sewer-smell on his clothes, he is still alive. There's presence but no warmth like he remembers and the little body is too light but a limp weight, a baggage, a broken doll. The head lolls. Liet is trembling violently. Eyes stinging and a sound like a howl fermenting in his throat, he rocks back and forth, teeth grit, keening, Poland, Poland.

It's probably for the best that the poor boy is unconscious and will at the least never remember this.

What can Lithuania do. Nothing. Only. He drags Poland's body from the shell of the church. He adds his voice to those who say, don't shoot them (him). They're combatants, don't.

Semi-sensible now, Poland is supported by his country men and women as they hand over the last of their weapons and surrender. Lithuania stays out of sight.

after the crush on the train. after each day's labour. lying on his hard bed in the solitary cell where they keep him, in the space between that night's terror and waking, Poland dreams.

a nonsensical half-memory, because it's LIET (the ally of his enemy), it's his best friend from forever, holding him close. oh God, he shouldn't even be thinking like this now, with what's actually happening around him. sweet selfishness and remorse, but he's sunk with this feeling. liet's face above his, eyes wide full of worry and tenderness like he ever was when he couldn't understand his own feelings. only later he'd said, 'that's when i realised i loved you'. … liet liet, what is it you're meaning, what is the code to your expression … well and don't be silly poland: he isn't really here. he never was.

— the images continue to assault him — Liet sorrowing, wailing over his corpse; no it was not possible. It is only a memory as distant as could be: lying together out in the fields, he was so so charmingly hesitant as he dropped a kiss on Poland's forehead. Tears to their eyes, squinting in the bright sunlight of burning buildings and the sky closing down —

Weakness floods Poland's mind and body. Tears he can ill afford slide down his hollowed cheeks.