Chapter Twenty-Five: Keep Breathing
It was morning, and Lithuania stood alone in the kitchen, his hand on the handle of the knife drawer.
He had snuck out of bed-Russia's bed, which he had been forcibly removed to at his refusal to be locked into his own room. He would never allow himself to locked in again, but he had also not wanted to share a tiny bed with Russia. Oddly, the tall Russian had decided to sleep on the floor, and that surprised Lithuania. He would not have expected Russia to do something so selfless as to give someone else his bed.
"But I would not have expected myself to do something so selfish as this," he whispered, opening the drawer, reaching for a knife. "And yet I am still doing it. The roles have been reversed, and I will not let him fall the way I did."
"You really think that this will help me, Toris?"
He froze, hand still on the knife. With his back turned, it was nearly impossible to remember that this was not the Soviet era, that Russia would never again hurt him as he once had. He was terrified, and he pulled the knife from the drawer, whirling to face Russia. He was trembling, and the Russian standing in the doorway looked as if he was reliving a near-forgotten nightmare.
"The last time someone pointed a knife at me, you saved my life," Russia said. "You… You would not kill me, would you?"
Lithuania did not want to remember. He had no choice. He could never forget. It had hurt. He had already been hurt, and that stabbing had hurt more. He had not regretted it then; he did not regret it now. But…it had hurt.
"No killing… Please… I hate it when people get hurt… When they die… The only person who needs to die…is me. Because…I don't want to live…anymore."
He remembered his own words, choked out in agony before he fell dead, and he realized something then.
"I have wanted to die for a very, very long time. I truly cannot get better. I am going to feel like this forever."
The knife fell from his hand, and, skidding across the floor, landed at Russia's feet. Lithuania sank to his knees, sobbing.
"I will never get better… I cannot get better… I will feel like this until I die…"
He had always know that he could not recover, but to realize that he had felt like this for so long only proved what he had already known, brought that knowledge to the forefront of his mind. He could not overcome this sorrow. He was simply not strong enough for that, not anymore. But he had always tried to hold onto a faint hope, to a wish that he could get better. Even as he slit his wrists and waited to die, he had felt some regret. He had almost believed that he might be allowed to get better when Russia saved his life.
And now he knew, with horrible certainty, that it was never going to happen. He would not recover, for the world could only grow darker from here. The world as he had remembered it was gone, broken, erased. It could never come back.
And so too had his sanity and self-esteem been erased. It too would never return, and he must either live with his pain, or die.
"Litva…"
He did not struggle when Russia knelt next to him, embraced him. He was still afraid, for all of the things he had tried so hard to forget had been triggered, and with those memories had come his fear of Russia, who had once hurt him terribly. But he also knew that this was a Russia who would not hurt him, a Russia who would protect him. He was aware of the role reversal, and he could not pull away. Even his fear was not enough to make him abandon the only comfort left to him.
It was ironic that he was comforted by the embrace of the man who had once tormented him, but he tried desperately not to think about it. He could not hurt Russia again, not now. He had already hurt the man far too much, and he must not do it again.
"You can get better, my little Toris, if you only believe that you can," Russia murmured, and Lithuania's head snapped up.
He was angry now. He was angry with childish Russia, who did not understand, and he was angry that he, who had broken and simply could not take the strain of existing, had to explain his feelings to a man who ought to understand them.
"No, Ivan, I cannot, and that is the point!"
Russia blinked at him, and he started to sob again, clinging to the Russian man and apologizing between sobs.
"I'm sorry… I can't… I can't even breathe on my own anymore. It hurts. I'm sorry, Ivan. I can't do this. I can't live and I can't breathe and I can never feel better!"
There was a long, long silence, broken only by the sound of his own sobs.
"I know you cannot, Toris."
He could hear the tears in Russia's voice, and he knew that he should not have said such a thing. He should have allowed Russia to cling to the hope that they would survive, that he, Lithuania, would be able to pull himself together one day.
He had crushed that hope, that fragile hope that might possibly have been the one thing keeping Russia from despair. He had done this. And that was one more reason that he deserved to die.
"I know our world is not coming back," Russia said, sobbing. "I know that, Litva. I am not so much a child that I can ignore what is happening in our world, that I can pretend that it has not all been destroyed. I am not that naïve. I have seen bad things too, Toris! I… I have wanted to die, too."
Lithuania froze.
"Of course he has depression. Of course he does; we all knew he would. He realized what he'd done. He has to live with that, so of course it's horrible. But… Russia…"
"You can't want that," he said, not thinking. "You're a child. Children aren't supposed to think that way."
"But children do think that way," Russia said, and there was no hurt in his voice, no anger at being called a child. "I know that I am childish, Toris, but I have also seen many bad things, and it has been very painful for me. And… It is not only things that I have seen… But things I have done. I have done things that had very much badness, and they have done things to other people. I am the reason that you have sadness now. I know that, and it is hurting. I could have been avoiding it, but…"
Lithuania noticed vaguely that Russia's accent was manifesting itself like never before, and he wondered if this was because of how upset the man was now. And he once again felt guilty for causing Russia pain.
"But I did not avoid it. I could not do so. I did not choose to be who I am. You did not choose to be who you are either, did you, Toris?"
He remembered when he had vowed to take care of his brothers at all costs, and wondered if he had realized, then, what it was that he was getting into. He did not know. He knew only that he was in pain, now, that he would never have sacrificed himself had he known that he would have to pay this terrible, brutal price.
"No," he whispered.
"It is the same with me," Russia said. "I did not want to be a bad person, a cruel and insane person. But I woke one day to find that that was what I had become. You, little Toris, never wanted to break. You were going to be strong, to stop others from breaking. But because of what I did to you, you were first driven to put a gun to your head. The rest of this followed, and it was my doing. I know that. I cannot be forgetting. I… If I could be dying, and making it better for you, safer for you… I would do that. But I am not so very brave, not like you, Toris. I cannot stand to be in pain. It frightens me. If it did not frighten me so, then I would not be here, and you would not have to be worrying about whether or not I would be sad if you, too, were to close your eyes and not open them again."
"I don't want you to die," Lithuania said, and he knew that it was he who sounded like a child, now.
"I will not die as long as you are here!" Russia announced, and, looking up, Lithuania saw a soft, sad smile on the tall man's face.
"I am going to protect you until you cannot be protected anymore," Russia said. "You are my friend, so until your dying, I will stay here with you. I am scared of dying, but I am more frightened of being alone. When you have gone, then perhaps I will not mind the pain of dying. But until the day I am alone again… Until that day, Toris, I will not think of my own dying. I have been alone, and so it would be cruel of me to be leaving you alone in your sadness. So do not leave me alone, my Litva, and I promise that I will not leave this world. It is selfish of me, to force you to live like this when I know that you do not want me to. But… Please, stay alive for me. I do not want you to die, and I do not want myself to die. So please do not die. I am a selfish person, and I do not want to be alone. So stay here with me, Toris. Please."
America had been dreading the prospect of food ever since he had awoken. He knew Estonia would come with the food, knew that he was going to have to see the blond boy, who was probably terrified of him, or worse, hated him.
He did not want to see Estonia, but he did want to apologize.
And so when the Estonian boy entered the cell, carrying food and water in his trembling hands, America tried to gather his courage, staring desperately at the shaking Baltic, and wondering when Estonia and Latvia had traded places. Estonia shook all the time now, and Latvia barely shook at all.
He waited until Estonia set the food down, noticing how far away the Estonian stayed from him. He waited until Estonia turned away, until the boy was almost at the door. Then, unable to bear it any longer, he spoke.
"I'm sorry, Estonia," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I'm really sorry. I didn't..."
"I know."
Estonia's voice was trembling, too, but at least the hatred was absent. America could not have stood it had Estonia spoken to him with such hatred again. It would have been too horrible; he could not cope with that hatred. Not from Lithuania's brother. Not from a little boy whom he had wanted to protect, and whom he had failed to save.
"I know you didn't mean it," Estonia said. "But I don't trust you."
America bit his lip, hard, trying to keep himself from crying out, from protesting.
"Of course he doesn't trust me. I said I was the hero; I was going to protect him, and then… Then I beat him, tortured him the way Russia used to. Of course he doesn't trust me."
"Try to understand, America," Estonia said. "I don't even trust myself. I don't trust myself, and I don't trust my own family. Latvia has never hurt me physically, but I can't trust him either. I know you didn't want to hurt me. I understand being forced to do things. I know how horrible it is. But that doesn't change the fact that you were there holding the pipe and beating me. Maybe I can let go of that, but there are monsters inside my head, monsters that I hope you never understand. Those monsters won't let go of what you did to me. And as long as those monsters live in my head, I can't forgive you, either. I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault," America choked, trying not to cry.
"No," Estonia said, and America could hear tears in his voice. "It is. I'm weak. I've always been weak; that's why I'm the one with the demon voices in my head. It is my fault. A great many things could have been averted if I had never gone insane. Maybe this prison would still exist. Maybe all of us would still be here. But Raivis wouldn't be to blame for Panem's insanity, if I hadn't lost my mind. Because then he would never have known about insanity. He would never have been able to hate himself for not seeing the warning signs. And if I were not insane, we could have gotten Toris out of the Soviet house before Russia broke him. A great many things would never have happened if I were sane."
Estonia turned to look at America. The fear was still in his eyes, but sorrowful tears were overwhelming it, and the broken smile on his face made the fear seem nonexistent.
"Don't ever go insane, Alfred F. Jones. It will hurt others far more than it can ever hurt you. Anyone sane would realize fully that what you did, beating me, was not your fault. But the monsters in my head won't let me forgive you. So my insanity has hurt even you."
Before America could reply, before he could even open his mouth, Estonia was gone. And then America's tears began to fall, for he had failed once again.
"Alfie…"
"I want to save him, Iggs," America choked. "I need to save him. He's just a kid."
"I know," England said, and America could feel his brother rubbing his back, although England's touch did nothing to counteract the pain the young American felt.
"I want to save him too, Alfred," England said. "I want to save all of them. But… I'm not sure Estonia can be saved. You need to accept that possibility, Alfie. You need to accept the fact that he may well be further gone than Panem is. I need you to accept that… So that if he dies, you won't blame yourself. You have to understand that some people cannot be saved. You have to consider the possibility. Otherwise, your failure to save others will destroy you the way it did Lithuania. You don't want that, do you?"
"I'd give anything to be like Lithuania," America said. "To save people. But… But I don't want to end up like him. I j-just don't want to watch everyone die… And I don't want to know that I might have been able to save them. I don't want to give up. Giving up would be worse than failing. Because then, I wouldn't even have the comfort of knowing that I tried."
Estonia heard a buzzing noise when he entered China's cell, and he stiffened, trying to discern what the noise might be. But then he saw China, lying still on the floor, and he decided that the buzzing did not matter. He went to China, lifted the now extremely frail man's head. He was not sure if China was even alive, but he held the glass of water to the Chinese man's lips, hoping that China would wake up.
"It will feel almost like it did losing Toris…if China dies. I don't want to lose someone who cares about me. Someone who wants to protect me, who doesn't hurt me. I don't want to lose that person."
China coughed feebly, and Estonia smiled a little, relief flooding his body.
"China has never hurt me. The monsters think China is safe. So as long as he does not die… One person, at least, is safe."
He knew his thoughts were not sane, knew that they made no sense, but it was so nice to have someone who was safe, someone that even the voices in his head believed was safe. It was wonderful. He loved that feeling of safety. He wished that he could feel it always.
"Estonia," China rasped. "You're the smart Baltic, aren't you, aru?"
"Not anymore," Estonia said. "But I know a lot. What is it?"
"How many more days until I die?" China asked quietly, and Estonia stiffened.
"No, no, don't talk about death, don't die, not like Toris, please…"
"Don't," he whispered. "Don't ever ask me that, please."
"I'm sorry, aru," China said. "I need to know."
"I don't know!" Estonia choked. "Don't ask me!"
"Three weeks? I think it's three weeks you can survive without food, but how much water do you have to drink to survive that long? One glass every two days isn't enough. He'll die…"
"You think it will be soon, don't you?" China asked.
"S-stop it..." Estonia was not only speaking to China, but to his own mind.
"He wants to leave you alone... He doesn't understand you… He's frightened of you and he wants to get away…"
"Make them shut up!" he sobbed, and China's honeyed eyes widened.
"Estonia, I didn't… What…are you…?"
"They're voices in my head and they're telling me that you hate me," Estonia whispered.
"Oh… Oh, Estonia…"
China was very weak, and Estonia could see that in the petite man's every movement. But still, China managed to pull himself into a sitting position, facing Estonia, his honey-colored eyes terribly sad.
"I want to know so that I can remind myself that getting weaker is a natural part of death," he said quietly. "I want to know so that I can try to…to leave without regret. Even I am afraid of dying, Estonia. I have lived for thousands of years. That does not mean that I am not afraid. That does not mean that I do not still want to live. And wanting to know when I will die… That does not mean that I hate you."
"I don't want you to go away," Estonia said, aware that he sounded childish, perhaps even insane. "Please don't go away."
China looked extremely sad, and he looked old and tired, worn out, somehow. He was also terribly thin, and he was shaking slightly, trembling from the cold of the cell and from exhaustion.
"I don't want to die, aru," China said softly. "But I can't stop it. No more than you can stop Panem from beating you. We can only cling to our mortal lives for so long, Estonia."
"B-but if you die, then…"
"It will be like losing Toris again. It might even hurt worse than that. He wasn't here to comfort me this time. You were."
"Then I am dead," China said gently. "We will all die one day. We cannot stop our deaths."
"You're too much like Toris," Estonia choked out. "Please don't die."
Surprise flashed across China's features, and was quickly replaced by a deep and terrible regret.
"I am not very much like him," China murmured. "If I were like him, I would have fought Panem to save him. But I did not. You ought to blame me for his death, aru. I was the one who didn't save him, not you. You… Do you blame yourself for what happened to him? I have wondered…"
"I'm not sure who to blame," Estonia choked. "Myself… Or Russia. Usually I blame myself. But I don't want anyone else to die, especially not someone who is kind to me. Someone who i-isn't afraid… Someone who those voices sometimes think is s-safe… No one is safe anymore, not even Raivis… I'm scared… They're making me scared… I don't want to be alone!"
He started to cry, and China, who was weak and frail and seemed about to break, held him as he cried, whispering soft, comforting words that Estonia had once heard from his own older brother. Had it not been for the difference in accent, he could almost have pretended that Lithuania was there with him, although he knew it was not true.
As he cried, he heard the buzzing in the background, and wondered if this strange, slightly annoying buzzing sound was another part of China's torture, or if it was a sound that his mind had created.
The constant commentary from the voices in his head had told him something, and this thing would be true whether or not the buzzing was real.
He was imagining things, hearing things, and those things were not of this world.
He was truly, irreversibly, insane.
America nearly broke down when the cell door opened again, expecting it to be Panem, come to take him away. It was not Panem that he saw, however, but two of her soldiers, both young. Physically, they were probably only a little older than he was, and they looked as if they might have been decent people, had their world been different.
As they were, America hated them. They were humans who had allowed a psychopathic nation to rule, and not only that, they served her, doing her will. These might have been his own people when they had been young, but, despite that possibility, he hated the two soldier boys.
"Come on, kid," said one of the soldiers, a red-head who would not meet America's eyes.
And America had no choice but to stand up, to obey, knowing that his every action might result in the death of another nation. He did not dare to disobey Panem or her soldiers.
"It will be all right, Alfie," he heard England murmur, but he found no comfort in the words, for, surely, what was about to happen would be even worse than what had already been done.
The cell door clanged shut, and he was out in the corridor, alone with the soldiers, not knowing where to go.
"W-where to?" he whispered, trying to keep the fear from his voice, and failing miserably. He was terrified, terrified that he would have to torture someone else, and that it would be exceedingly painful, excruciating for both him and his victim.
"Down the hall," the red-haired soldier said. "You're going to pay one of your pals a visit."
"Who? Who's in here? And why would they let me visit anyone else? This…this isn't what it seems, it can't be. Something bad is going to happen."
He had no choice, though, but to follow the red-haired soldier and his companion down the hall. As they passed one of the doors on the right side of the corridor, America froze, hearing screams from within.
"Lithuania… No. No, it's that recording… That's Belarus's cell."
He wanted to go to her, for although the sound of Lithuania's recorded torment nearly drowned out all other noise, America could hear faint sobbing, and he knew that it was Belarus, knew that this torture was breaking her, and he wanted to help her if he could.
He took a step toward Belarus's cell, and the red-haired soldier boy struck him in the face.
"Not that one, idiot!" the soldier snapped. "Come on, or haven't you been listening to Jones? She'll kill your precious little girlfriend there, if you don't do what we say."
It took America a moment to realize that 'Jones' was his sister, that the soldiers might not know her as Panem. He was slower to realize that the soldier boy had called Belarus his girlfriend, and guilt pierced his heart, for he had entertained that fantasy, although briefly. And it was a worthless fantasy, for she did not belong to him.
"Bela- Natalya… Is not my girlfriend," he managed.
"She should have been Toris's. But now she belongs to no one, to nothing except her own guilt."
"As if I care," the soldier said. "Now, get moving, will you?"
There was a total indifference in the soldier's face and voice, despite the shrieks emanating from Belarus's cell. America wondered if the red-haired soldier boy had a heart. He somehow doubted it.
A few steps down the corridor, and they were in front of another cell. The guards halted, this time, and America realized that he did not know whose cell this was.
"W-where is Jones?" he asked, because he did not know what else to say.
The soldier boy smirked.
"That would be telling."
His companion jerked the cell door open, and the red-haired soldier pushed America inside. As the cell door clanged shut, America became aware of a faint buzzing, and he wondered what kind of a nightmare he had stepped into.
The cell heavily resembled his own, small, with concrete walls and floor, and a heavy iron door. It was darker here, though, and at first, America thought that the cell was deserted.
"A… America?"
The voice was China's, and America struggled to see through the dim light of the cell, and was finally able to make out a slim figure leaning against the wall.
"I didn't know you were here," he said, stupidly, and China laughed weakly.
"I'm not sure I knew you were here either, aru," the Chinese man said. "It's getting harder to remember what I know and what I don't."
China smiled, patting the space next to him.
"Sit down," he said. "If you're going to stay in here, then you'll need to save your strength."
"They said I was visiting," America said. "I t-think this is supposed to be some sort of punishment for me. I don't know."
He sat down next to China, and it was not until he looked closely at the petite man that he realized just how thin China seemed. Perhaps the man's loose garments had concealed it before, but now, in prison, China looked terribly, unnaturally thin. Thinner than before, far too thin...
"Have you been eating?" he asked, once again sounding utterly stupid. China laughed.
"No, aru," he said. "Estonia brings water every two days. That's all."
America could only stare at China, feeling guilt rise within him again.
"All this because of what I did," he murmured.
"No," China said. "All this because Panem is insane. Do not blame yourself. It will get you nowhere. Or…perhaps it will send you into sadness or insanity. You do not want that, do you, America?"
"I don't want to just forget about what I did, either," America said. "That…that would make all of this completely pointless. If I just forget it all, then…"
"Then you will be sane and happy." China laid his hand on America's arm. "I would rather you be happy than broken, aru."
China's slim hand was shaking, and America could only stare at the petite man, wondering how it was that people like China and England could be so strong, even now.
"I would rather you forget it all than have to live with the memory," China said. "These are painful moments, painful days, America, and we cannot overcome them simply by giving in to the pain. Some of us will not escape the pain of this place at all. Some of us-myself included-will likely die here. You need to understand that, and you need to understand that Panem's insanity is not your fault."
The Chinese man sighed, seeming very old and tired for a moment.
"My brothers and sisters have done many things that they should not have," he said. "I myself have done cruel things. Every nation does cruel things, America. But it does not help us to dwell on those things. It only makes us stay there, in that painful moment, instead of pressing on. You do not want that, do you? You do not want to die as Lithuania did, do you?"
America choked back a sob.
"I'd give anything to be able to save people like Lithuania did. Then I could die, knowing that I'd helped someone."
"America, aru…" China's honeyed eyes were filled with concern, and pain, too. "He wanted to die. He is probably happier where he is now. But you are still here, and you are a strong, young nation."
"I'm not a nation anymore," America whispered. "I'm not anything anymore. Least of all a hero."
"You can be a hero," China said. "There are many types of heroes, America. Some will not be lauded for what they have done, and others will be. But every human being, no matter how vile, has likely done something heroic in their lifetime. Some are born to be heroes, and they perform many acts of heroism. Some are evil, and they perform only one or two heroic acts. But everyone is a hero, America, to some degree. Every person-even Panem-has some goodness in them. And you, who are young and brave and have much heroism in you, should not allow yourself to be swallowed in self-hatred. Those who spend their lives hating themselves, pitying themselves for what they have become, will not be full heroes."
"Lithuania hated himself," America said.
"But not when he was first a hero," China said. "He did not hate himself then, aru. You know that. He lived with you once; you saw how he was. He did not hate himself until he left Russia. It was that-leaving Russia, failing to save Russia-that broke him."
"And it was Estonia's insanity and Belarus's rejection and his own imprisonment and Latvia's alcoholism. It was Russia's abuse and the fact that he couldn't stop the others from getting hurt; he couldn't even save himself from depression. And I never really understood how helpless he was… Until now."
Well, this has been a chapter...
So, Panem's name is indeed Perri Jones. Perri because... No reason. Jones because, technically speaking, she is futuristic America. She personifies the same basic landmass, thus sharing many of his characteristics. (She doesn't resemble him as much physically, although, courtesy of Hinotori-hime's brilliance, she does have a cowlick.)
I apologize for my lack of description of...well, everything. I have always been really bad at remembering that not everyone has the same picture in their head that I have, but I will try harder to describe things in the future! Someone asked about the prison cells-they're basically just square, empty, concrete rooms with metal doors. And they are indeed underground. I ought to draw a basic floor plan of this place-it might come in handy. No promises that I'll get around to that, though.
Also. This fic is currently at twenty-five chapters, and it is not halfway finished yet. Which means that... Well, this is going to take forever to finish. I'm not sure why I felt the need to inform you of that, and I am now rambling on needlessly, so I shall be silent.