Only a few minutes passed before Lithuania appeared at the door, even paler and more nervous than usual, carrying bandages, rags, and a bottle of antiseptic in his hand. Someone shorter was lurking behind him that Prussia could not make out, since he could scarcely lift his head on a good day and was now dizzy from the blow and the blood loss.

Lithuania made his way over to the bed, and Prussia was relieved to see that his hands were unusually steady as he dampened one of the rags in antiseptic. At least someone was in control here.

"Toris," he managed weakly, "thanks."

Surprised, Lithuania withdrew the rag that he had been about to press to the wound, and smiled a little.

"You're welcome," he said. Prussia could not help but notice a fresh bruise on the side of his head, but refrained from saying anything about it. "I—I know how Ivan can be. I hope you're all right."

A blond head poked out timidly from behind Lithuania and Prussia suddenly realized, with some surprise, who had followed him into the room.

"Poland? Feliks? Is that you?"

The blond nation jumped a little, then gave a nervous giggle. "Cześć," he said. "Like, yeah, it's me. Russia's been totally bullying little Litva and so I'm following him around to protect him." He patted Lithuania's shoulder and Toris flinched at the contact. Poland, with some of his initial anxiety dissipated, knelt down beside Prussia's bed and stared at him with unabashed interest that made Prussia feel rather like a museum display. He wished he could move.

"You're totally beaten up," he informed him, the words not intended to be spiteful, just stating a fact. "You look even worse than Toris does."

Lithuania, who looked as if he was trying very hard to ignore him, drew a deep breath, though his featured had tightened a little at Poland's words, and re-dampened the rag, which had begun to dry out. "This may sting a little," he told Prussia, deliberately turning away from Poland, "but it's to prevent infection and I'll make it quick."

"Just do it," said Prussia dispassionately. He had gotten a grip on the pain by now; he could take a little more. He had already decided that, since he had no other way to fight back, he was simply going to resist by refusing to break down under any kind of torment; he did not doubt his ability to do so in the least, and the thought of the frustration this would cause Russia was enough to renew his resolve. He could see the wound, if he lifted his head, and it looked ugly, but this only bolstered his confidence; Russia had tried to downplay the trauma, but really, he had withstood something pretty bad.

Lithuania looked nervous, but he pressed the cloth against the torn flesh, immediately causing a stinging sensation that made Prussia grit his teeth tightly and draw another long, unsteady breath. Still, it was not as bad as he had been expecting. Lithuania carefully cleaned the wound and wrapped it tightly with bandages as Poland watched with rapt interest.

"What'd he do to you?" he inquired of Prussia curiously. "Like, Lithuania never tells me anything about what's going on. Did Russia give you that gash? It totally looks like it hurts a lot."

Prussia grimaced. "It's not—that bad. Yeah. That was him." He had finally gotten his breathing under control, which was a great relief; his heartbeat had slowed down to normal as well. He was getting good at calming himself down, he thought with some satisfaction; he would not get overwhelmed or begin to panic again soon, hopefully.

He was in control. He repeated this to himself several times. The sharp, stinging pain of the antiseptic was a relief; unlike the foggy sensation of before, when he could hardly breathe and could not focus on anything else, this pain had somehow managed to clear his head.

Poland poked at one of the other, healed-over scars with morbid curiosity and Prussia, unable to move away, pulled angrily at his bonds in an attempt to brush his hand off; Lithuania glanced down at his friend as if he wanted to say something, but then shut his mouth.

"You have a lot of scars and cuts and bruises, don't you?" Poland asked, giggling a little. Prussia ignored him; unperturbed, Feliks pressed on, "Hey, why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

"Because Toris and Kat like to look at my sexy chest, Feliks," said Gilbert. He had found very little excuse for humor in the Soviet Union, but Poland was always easy to tease, for the most part because he rarely realized that he was being teased.

To his amusement, Poland seemed to accept this answer without any misgivings, and continued to sit watching Prussia with interest while Lithuania finished up his work. Then, as the Baltic gathered up the remainder of the bandages and antiseptic, he finally spoke again.

"I'm going to stay here and talk to Gilbert," he announced. "You're, like, boring, Liet. All you do is work and you don't even talk anymore."

Lithuania raised his eyebrows, looking a little hurt, but shrugged it off. "Okay. If you want to I don't care. Don't stay too long or Russia will catch you and be angry."

Poland raised a hand and waved it absently, as if to brush the concerned words away from him. He was grinning. "I'm totally not scared of him like you, Liet."

Prussia saw the muscles in Lithuania's face tighten a little at these words, and wondered if the tactless Pole had finally gone too far, but the Baltic said nothing more as he walked away slowly. As soon as he had left the room, closing the door behind him a little harder than was strictly necessary, Poland leaned closer to Prussia and lowered his voice conspiratorially.

"Okay, so, listen to me, I totally came here because I want to help you," he whispered enthusiastically. "So. Yeah. Guess what?"

Prussia had no idea how Poland could help him, but at the very least, if he had decided that it would be funny or amusing to try and aid the former East Germany then that could only be a good thing—unless, that is, Feliks had decided he wanted something ridiculous in return. Still, the thought cheered him a little; at least someone still thought he was not beyond help, and he had expected to just be made to listen to Poland chat idly about the ponies he had left at home.

"Uh, thanks, Feliks. What?"

Poland beamed. "You'll totally never guess, though. I'll just tell you."

He paused, as if for dramatic effect. It worked. Prussia was rather agitated when he did not immediately continue. "So tell me, then!"

Poland puffed up his chest with pride. "Well, I was totally doing some snooping around—Russia never noticed—and I found out your brother's been sending you letters!"

Whatever Prussia had been expecting, it was not this. The information hit him like a brick wall, destroying any of the calm reserve he had been working to maintain. He turned to stare at Poland, wide-eyed, heart pounding with excitement. "Letters? From Ludwig?"

For the past weeks, he had been violently suppressing any thought of his brother whenever they came up; he missed his little brother terribly, and, despite Ukraine's reassurances that West had fought hard to keep Russia from Prussia, he could not completely put away the thought that he had been betrayed while unconscious and unable to speak for himself. Not once had he even considered that Ludwig would try to get in touch with him, or that he could have, if he had tried.

"Tak," said Poland proudly. "It sounds like he's sent quite a few, according to what I got out of little Latvia; he's the one who usually gets them, but, like, he always brings them straight to Russia, who apparently just reads them and then burns them."

Prussia's heart sank, the hope that had arisen in his chest at the thought of some communication immediately extinguished. The disappointment was agonizing. "He burns them?"

"Yeah—like, sorry about that." Prussia paused, somber for a moment, but brightened up again almost immediately. "But no, there's a point to my telling you this because I totally rescued one for you!"

"What?"

"Yeah! I got to Latvia first because it arrived when Russia was gone, and I made him give it to me and told him if he told Russia I'd taken it he'd just get in trouble for losing it and so he'd better not say anything. Brilliant, huh?"

A smile split Prussia's face without his even thinking about it. He did not particularly even care that this motion cracked his lip open again. "Ja," he admitted. "Brilliant. Thanks so much, Feliks. Really."

Poland giggled, self-satisfied. "I haven't decided yet what you can do to thank me, but just wait. You owe me big-time anyway because of the war, am I right?"

Prussia was always astonished at how he managed to make light of this; the thought of all his boss had done to Poland's people made him redden with shame, but Poland seemed to not have held a grudge. "Yeah," he agreed quietly. "Yeah, I do. But did you bring the letter, Feliks? Can I see it?"

"Yeah," said Poland proudly. "I brought it. Want me to read it to you?"

Prussia nodded; although the thought that Poland would see the words he was sure were intended for his eyes alone made him uncomfortable, he was well aware that he had no way to look at it on his own. "Please," he said, the word coming with some difficulty.

Poland reached into his pocket and took out a letter; he had clearly crumpled it into his pocket quickly and unceremoniously before someone saw it, and the paper was ripped a little on one side. If Prussia raised his head to get a good look at it, he could see that it was definitely Ludwig's handwriting—an odd and unique combination of tidy and scrawled that would have been very difficult to imitate. There was an unsteadiness in the hand that he had not seen before, as if the writer's hand had been shaking a little, but still, it was unmistakably his little brother's.

The familiar sight gave him a horrible pang of homesickness that he had not felt since his arrival in the Soviet Union, and all at once he desperately wanted to be with his brother, in his old home.

He swallowed hard, praying that the tears threatening to overwhelm him would not be visible to Poland. If they were, the blond nation chose to ignore them, for which he was grateful.

Poland cleared his throat and read, "Dear Gilbert—"

"Quiet!" hissed Prussia, desperately. If they were interrupted, if someone overheard, he knew they would both be punished severely and any chance of his ever hearing the letter's contents, or of ever seeing another of his brother's letters, would be utterly destroyed. "Please, I don't want anyone to hear!"

"Oh. Sorry." Poland lowered his voice and continued, "Dear Gilbert, I don't know if you're getting my letters—if you'll get this one—but I'm going to keep trying regardless. You have to know, Gil, that I'm trying so hard to get you back. Alfred is going to help us. He doesn't like Braginsky any more than we do, and he's in better shape to stand up to him. You won't be there much longer if I've got any say in it."

Prussia bit his lip to hold back the tears. The affection and ferocity of his brother's tone came through even through Poland's drawling voice. At least, he thought, Ludwig wasn't sure if his letters weren't getting through; he had not been awaiting a response with any real hope. He would not think Gilbert was ignoring him purposefully.

"I've been taking care of Gilbird for you until you get back," continued Poland. "He's a funny little bird. It's hard to figure out the right amount of seed for him, and for a while I think he got kind of fat—although he was definitely fat to begin with—but I've gotten it now. He was sad at first, but he's cheered up a little. He misses you. The dogs miss you. I miss you. The house is so quiet when you aren't around, and suddenly the beer doesn't disappear like it used to. There will be plenty of it for you when you get back, don't worry.

"I've been meaning to tell you, I found your Iron Cross. It fell off your uniform at Berlin. Let me know if you want me to send it back to you, but if not, I'm just going to keep it here in Germany. I haven't touched a thing in your room; it's ready for you as soon as you get back.

"If you can, please, write back to me so I know you're getting these and I know you're safe and well. If he does anything to you, lays a finger on you, know that I will move heaven and earth to get him back a hundredfold. I pray that's not happening. Even if he's been good to you, I hate that you have to be there. It won't last longer. Alfred has said so himself. He doesn't like the Soviet Union; it's gotten too big, and he thinks it's a threat to him. He's on our side.

"I hope to see you again very, very soon, big brother. I miss you. All of this nightmare will all be over soon, I swear. Love, Ludwig."

He looked up from the crumpled letter to find Prussia now completely in tears, and patted his knee lamely in an attempt to console him. "See?" he said, a little awkwardly. "You're not going to be here that much longer if America's going to help your brother. Maybe he'll get all of us out of here, you know?" He sighed. "I'd like that. I miss my ponies and I don't like this house; it's ugly."

He shoved the paper back into his pocket. "I'd better go or Liet will totally be yelling at me. I'll try to steal you more letters, though, okay? You owe me." He clapped a friendly hand on the Prussian's shoulder that Gilbert wished he could return.

Prussia, hating himself for the display of weakness, nodded emphatically, taking a deep, shuddering breath. At least he had only cried in front of Poland, not in front of Russia. I hope to see you again very, very soon, big brother. When was the last time Ludwig had called him that?

"Yeah," he said, his voice unsteady. "Whatever you want, Feliks, whatever I can do. Thank you. If—if you ever see my brother, tell him—"

Poland shook his head. "Sorry, Gil, I don't see him; like, apparently Italy was the one who brought the letter, and Latvia got it from him. He isn't really in a state to come see anyone, I bet, but he'll totally try to if he can, don't worry. I'd better go now, really. I'll try to come back and see you." He grinned, his tone more lighthearted. "I want to hear how you got beat up."

Prussia tried to smile. "Okay. Bye, Feliks."

Poland grinned at him, then turned and hurried out. Prussia, no longer concerned with keeping up appearance, finally gave himself over to tears. The letter had been so disjointed and rambling—the words were clearly Ludwig's, but the style was so unlike his usual precise orderliness. He was trying to hide his stress, clearly, but not much could fool a big brother.

Gott. Ludwig. He missed him so much. He could see his brother clearly, bent over his desk as he so often was, struggling to find the right words—Ludwig, alone in their home with the dogs, in the emptiness, making sure that no one disturbed his room, hoping that his brother would be back any day.

At least Gilbird was doing well. He tried to cheer himself up with this knowledge, and briefly succeeded a little. He could not help but smile through his tears at the thought of his brother trying to care for the little yellow chick; Gilbird could be petulant and mean around anyone who was not Prussia, and Ludwig had probably received a good few pecks to the fingers before the bird had finally decided that he was a friend.

This momentary cheer only lasted a few seconds before he broke down again into hopeless, silent sobs. The pain in his side was now too much to ignore, on top of all the emotional turmoil going through his head at the moment. Holding himself together was far too difficult at the moment.

This was the first time that the misery of his current situation had really sunk in. He wanted to go home, to see his brother and Gilbird and the dogs again, and in his current state could not even move his hands to wipe away the tears that he tried to prevent running down his face.


Author's note:

I hadn't even really intended for this to be a chapter at all, but I realized I hadn't really put in a lot of Germany and Prussia and I just really love Ludwig, and I also wanted to introduce that additional depressing element of the letters! So . . . there you go.

I promise Russia's coming back after this. Like I said, this chapter just kind of happened, and then it was too long to work into the next part so I just split them up. More is coming soon, and then there'll be more blood! Mwahahaha!

And also, like I'd said before, I had wanted to bring in some of the other characters, and now's as good a time as any! Still going to bring in Latvia and Estonia and Belarus soon, don't worry.

Until next time, keep reading and reviewing and favoriting and following! I love seeing the views going up, and every new review and follow and favorite is hugely exciting for me.

Still with the languages, too—I like it that it's kind of their little act of defiance, you know? Lithuania never speaks his own language anymore, and I don't think any of the Baltics really do; Prussia of course does to Russia's face, and I feel like Hungary and Poland both do whenever they think Russia can't hear them.

Polish translation (I'm definitely being obnoxious now but I love other languages so much)
Cześć= hello
tak = yes/yeah