It seemed so long ago, when he had been practically dragged away from West. At first, he had seemed calm. But then the bastard spoke in Russian, like he would appreciate the gesture, and reached out to touch his face and Gilbert snapped. He was not a toy, for the Russian to break like a spoiled child and he wanted to be sure Ivan knew that.
He had turned away from the tall man, grasping for the German behind him with a desperate sob leaving his lips. Fingers attached themselves to the front of Ludwig's jacket, fisting into an iron grip around the fabric in a grip that would require him to be killed before it let go. His brothers blue eyes widened, with mingling senses of horror and shock – he obviously hadn't expected Gilbert to act so childish. Even Gilbert himself didn't expect a breakdown.
"Bitte, West! Bitte!" He cried, voice breaking as someone had grabbed him from behind, a gloved hand going over his mouth, smothering his cries. But he still wouldn't let go, even as he flailed and kicked and Ludwig attempted to pry his fingers away. He couldn't let go.
He couldn't die.

"Let go, Gilbert..." He heard the revolting voice in his ear; it had been Ivan who grabbed him, one arm wrapped firmly around his waist from behind and the other restraining him from making any noise. "You don't have to fear me." Inwardly, Gilbert cringed, feeling his fingers finally slipping from the fabric as his bruder took a step back, looking like he was near tears. As for the Prussian, he was close as well. They finally slipped from his eyes as Ivan continued to speak into his ear, tone of his voice sounding much too delighted for Gilbert's taste.
"Your brother wants you to leave, can't you see?"

1946

The wall behind his back felt cold, just as cold as his hands were. Heat was something he craved these days, wishing for the feeling of sunlight. If he could see his reflection, he was sure that he would cringe. Deathly pale and frighteningly thin. Gilbert Bielschmidt was dying.
Of course, he had never expected the bastard to make his death an easy thing. Besides, what fun would that have been? His crimson eyes narrowed at the thought, though the majority of his anger was kept suppressed inside. He needed to save it for when Ivan decided to pay him a visit. It was the only way he could fight back against the monster – the only way to keep his dignity alive.
But dignity had been lost long ago for the Prussian... It had been lost with the first time he had passed out from blood loss, the first time he screamed for mercy as his bones were broken, the first time the bastard made him beg like a common whore.
His whole body shivered at the thought, repulsed by every image that replayed through his mind, like poison. Eyes fluttering closed, he prayed for sleep that he knew wouldn't come. Instead, his mind wandered through his memories, settling on right after he had arrived in the Russians home...

Gilbert had been deathly silent the whole way there, seated beside Ivan in the back of the car. It was a long ride, made longer by the pain pulsing through his veins with every breath he took. West... He was driving away from the only person he truly loved more than himself. Why wasn't he screaming? Killing the bastard he hated so much?
Because he was afraid. And never before had the Prussian felt so doused in fear that it made him immobile. And that was the only reason he stayed silent as Ivan pulled him from the car. Silent as he was lead up to the Russian's house. Silent as he passed the other inhabitants of the bastards living space. They all looked at him with eyes of pity – Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia... However, Belarus and Ukraine seemed impartial to his arrival. He avoided their gazes, feeling like a wounded dog being led out to the back of the house where he would be shot.

And then they were walking down stairs, spiralling downwards, temperature dropping considerably with each step the Prussian was forced to take. As they reached the bottom, Ivan's fingers finally left his arm, violet eyes staring straight at him. "Welcome to your new home, Prussen..."
Gilbert's eyes flickered around, taking in the scene before him. It was nothing more than an unfinished basement, floors of dirt and concrete walls. Kept cold like a freezer. In a chilling way, it reminded him of a morgue. But the worst part that his crimson hues locked on was the chains, attached to the wall. And next to it, a table, of instruments that he had only seen when he made visits with West to the doctor at Auschwitz – Mengele.

His eyes widened at them, obviously unnerved by the thought that they were meant for him. "Nein..." He said quietly, backing up until his hands met with the ice cold concrete behind him, as if searching for a way out. He tore his gaze from them, back to the Russian, with a hint of pleading visible.
Ivan's face was completely calm, with the faintest bit of amusement written on his lips. "Nein? Why, I haven't even done anything yet, Gilbert. You act like I'm going to hurt you..." He said quietly, tilting his head with the curiosity of a child. And yet, Gilberts hands were shaking, all dignity and might condensed into the quivering movements of a frightened child. What was wrong with him? How could this one man evoke such fear in him...

The Russian moved forward, large smile spreading across his face, looking similar to a predator that had finally found what he had been hunting. "Don't worry, dorogoyaja, I said I would take care of you. After all, I will be with you until you die…"