A/N: Short chapter is short. Nore non-con, shota, and this time child death. If anyone actually finds this hot, I think I should stab you. I srsly don't know why I go into detail on some sex scenes. Habit . . . and word count I guess. I'm think about making them older (15-16) so tell me what you think on that idea. And we'll see what is happening with Arthur next chapter, I feel bad leaving him out.
He held the little one close, he was the youngest in The Cage and he was so small. Even Violet seemed large in comparison to him, and that was saying something seeing as how he was only fed once a day and that was when Prussia didn't hold anything against him. The small boy sobbing on his shoulder wore a bright crimson outfit that was still clean, being taken only a few days ago. His hair was getting dirty, the blonde locks becoming a greasy gold and his pale face flushed red. His shirt was still in one piece, the wealthy scarlet with brass buttons; however his trousers were torn in a few places and thrown to the side. His lower half was naked and bare, blood oozing in a light shade of pink down his thighs. He had been taken too soon, too rough; he couldn't stand; both legs broken by the brutality he had been put through. Violet held the small Latvian close to his chest, not murmuring reassurances, because there were none, simply stroking the filthy curls to show the boy that he was not alone in his pain and tribulation.
Not many of the other boys were in the room, only those who were too small to work the stage and too weak to handle the back rooms. Blue Star sat across the room, his eyes wide in fear. The American boy had yet to be taken, but he was going to have his first introduction. It scared him, the way the five-year-old's legs twisted in the most grotesque angles. They must have hurt, the way he cried silently didn't reveal that, but how he cried with no end in sight gave an impression. Violet rubbed soothing circles into his back like a caring parent. That was another name he had. While the older ones called the boy, Ivan Braginsky, Violet Haze, at one point or another, they all crawled against him and into his embrace calling him Mother Winter. Even Alfred.
The man the others called Prussia had grabbed him roughly by his blonde hair and pulled him from the room. He turned back to the boy he had tussled with just a few moments ago and was surprised to find his filmed eyes watched him intently, guilt and sorrow flooded them as though a dam had been opened. At that moment, Alfred stomach fell to the floor, he didn't know what would happen to him, but it couldn't be good. He was dragged through halls of a clean, proper looking building, nothing like the room that was disgustingly dirty and filled with equally violated boys. He was then pushed into a dark room and harsh lights were flickered on and his hair was released with the click of a lock.
"Undress," the white haired man demanded, but he was frozen in fear. Why would this man want him to get undressed? His mommy always told him to keep his clothes on, no matter what. He was brought out of his thoughts by the snap of a whip by his face and, though it didn't hurt him, he cried out in fearful surprise. Tears sprang into his eyes like it would always do whenever Arthur would jump out from around the courner. He looked up, frightful, to the cold red eyes that bore back. "Undress."
Now he complied, he was too young to resist for long. He pulled off the orange jacket his mother had sewn for that one night of childish horrors. Following it was his vest and shirt before kicking off his sneakers and trousers. He stood in nothing but his Batman underwear and the man raised one curved eyebrow at the clothing articles. They were of high quality, which meant that he was from the upper-middle at least. Alfred, his cheeks red from embarrassment, closed his eyes even though he kept his chin held up.
Rough fingers gripped at his undergarment, his blue orbs shooting open in shock. The man stood behind him, kneeling down and touching him in the place his mother told him to never let anyone touch him. "Stop it!" he shouted elbowing the man in the nose. Prussia wheeled back and groaned, no blood however, which meant that his nose was still intact. A sharp bite seared Alfred's back as he attempted to crawl away. He screamed in agony as tears streamed down his flushed cheeks. Immediately following that one, three fell in succession. His throat became raw with how loud and long he screamed. He felt his back being eaten by fire as he was dragged back over the tiled floor. It was cold and it stung as he was thrown onto his back, Prussia calmed down and palming his small penis through the cloth. It wasn't a nice feeling; it was rough and mean, as though he was wondering whether or not to just rip the fabric off.
Finally he decided and he dug his hand into the small pocket in the front, pulling forth the boy's hardened cock, it was a bright angry red and the foreskin was circumcised away. He ate up the boy's surprised look as he glanced down at his own prick, never having seen it engorged and erect. "Behave yourself and I'll make it feel good." He ran his fingertips over the shaft with a tantalizingly light touch. He chuckled as the blue eyes became wide with pleasure and surprise. With another laugh, he swallowed him whole. It felt so hot that he cried out, it was so wet and warm he pushed against the colorless lips. He cried as the warm tongue wrapped around the entire length and teased the head. This was so wrong, he knew it was, he hated this, and he wanted to die. Shame settled deep inside his gut as he screamed, ejaculating into that orifice. The man swallowed it all without any issues, sucking every ounce out of the urethra.
Prussia pulled away and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before standing over Alfred's slight form. He was so hard from the innocence of the other, it was the main reason he enjoyed the young ones. They were so easy to please and they came so hard that they could hardly open their eyes. They were so cute, and with their innocents, they were ignorant of their own physical appeals. This one was too new to simply start fucking his brains out, so he settled for seeing how the boy looked with cum decorating his round little face. He pulled out his aching cock and ran his fingers over it slowly, building up to his full speed. He watched the American's eyes as he pulled and grazed along his own member, reaching his peak, and ejaculation all over the boy's face. Much to his giddy pleasure, some of the white ribbons layered into the child's open mouth. His blue eyes opened up weakly, the irises glossed over in a fine layer of tears.
The white haired man stood and left, not saying a word, not looking back. The door was unlocked and he simply left, leaving Alfred to his own devices. He wanted to run back to the other boys, run back home to his mother and father, even if the man wasn't his real father. He couldn't move, his body shook too much, even though he felt numb. Then the door opened and Violet, Ivan, stood in the door way. He walked with silent footsteps to Alfred's limp form. Before really reaching him, he collapsed to his knees, the older boy's fingertips grazing his arm. The American wondered if someone had done something to Ivan, but when he opened his mouth to ask, a cold finger, frozen with the chill of reality, pressed against his lips as though it was a breeze. Thick droplets of tears hit the floor with a heavy splash that could have been a bomb in the dead silence. Alfred inched his hand to a small pool out of curiosity. When he pulled it back, it was doused in crimson.
He felt the cold hands cradle his head and neck before being placed gingerly on the other's lap. Ivan softly stroked his hair like his mother did after he had watched a scary movie and couldn't get to sleep. Alfred looked up and saw the dead lavender eyes glowing above him, choked in tears of blood. As he allowed his eyes to slip shut, he could have sworn he saw the tattered wings of a fallen angel.
Alfred pulled himself back to what was happening, he saw the Latvian asleep on the ground, and Violet straightening out the broken limbs, setting them the best he could for temporary measures before finally folding his small hands over his scarlet covered chest. The younger Italian twin, Feliciano, had run off to go find Germany whose real name was Ludwig. He wasn't like the others, which was something Alfred had picked up on within the first few days. He didn't take them into the darkrooms, he fed them. He didn't beat them for talking back, but apologized for their conditions of living. He patched them up after they were abused and waiting to die, and he never raised a hand against them. The American had come to recognize him as a safe haven from his new life.
He refocused of Ivan, he now had the Latvian's head in his lap, his back turned to Alfred, but he knew already. There was a different reason why Prussia hated those eyes. It wasn't just the way they twisted and mangled someone's emotions when stared into too long, or how they sightlessly registered the surroundings. Nor was it how they seemed to glow and shine light on all the sins you committed in the dark. It was how he cried. No sounds were made and his face did not consort into any facial expression. He stared blankly, blood streaming down his face.
He was not them, he was not normal. Still, they all loved him just the same.
Ludwig entered the room, followed closely by a crying Feliciano who blathered on in a mix of Italian and English. He knelt beside the unconscious boy who slept silently upon the ground. Even as Ludwig shook his gently, he did not stir.
"He isn't going to wake up, no matter what you do," Violet's small voice echoed in the quiet room. Germany looked up to him, about to ask why when he froze, Blue Star couldn't see why. Was it because of Ivan's bloody tears, or perhaps something else? He crawled a little from his courner to settle in a more favorable angle. Scarlet covered the dirty nightdress that the ashen haired boy wore, covered his arms and hands. Ludwig turned back to the boy on the ground, his face turning a shape paler. He unbuttoned the last article of clothing the child had to reveal the stab marks that gouged angrily into his hips and waist. One, a thinner, smaller one, still oozing blood, glared back at them from under the child's right nipple. The German stared in shock, his body shaking from rage and disbelief.
"Who was the client?
"An Asian, I think he was five-foot-nine, his hair fell halfway over his ears and he had black eyes. Mongolian I believe."
Germany said nothing about how peculiar it is that a blind child would know what a client looked like, despite never leaving the room or asking who it was from the now deceased victim, he simply stood, picked up the corpse, and stalked out. Once the door clicked shut once again, the only sound was the soft sobs of a boy in the shadows, Toris, a poor boy from Lithuania. He had been a friend to the late Raivis Galante, though most of his days were spent beside Ivan. He took care of those that Ivan couldn't due to Prussia or other interferences. Alfred wished he could be like that, but he was too scared, too upset, and too absorbed in his own aguish. They were real heroes, not like Superman or Flash. They didn't fly or run super fast, and while they couldn't break them all out of their hell, they put aside their own pains that battered them everyday to feel for those who couldn't help but wallow in their own self-pity.
Ivan stood, his feet unsure on their footing from how he had been sitting on them for the past ten or so minutes, probably cutting off the circulation. He turned to Toris; his face stained in the blood-tears, and held his crimson covered hands to him. While some others would be too squeamish (like Alfred himself) to grasp the ensanguine boy, the Lithuanian threw himself into the embrace, crying on the same shoulder that Raivis had spent his last few minutes soaking with his pained cries.
"He is free."