CHAPTER 25: Голод – Hunger

In the one hundred-and-thirty years Raivis had lived in Russia's household, he had never felt such tension as that which hung in the air as he, his brothers, and Prussia cleaned up dinner.

Food Toris had worked so hard to prepare was unceremoniously dumped into bowls and packed into the fridge. Water sloshed and a sponge scratched in suds as Eduard furiously scrubbed the plates, a towel squeaked against crystal as Raivis dried them. Cabinet doors swung open and porcelain clinked as Toris slid them into place. A mop slapped against the dining room floor as Prussia cleaned up Russia's meal.

Nobody said a word.

Raivis threw nervous glances towards his brothers, but they both refused to look at him. Somehow this frightened him more than the prospect of another interrogation.

With the slam of cabinet doors and the gargle of water draining in the sink, Eduard spun on his heel and grabbed Raivis by the wrist. The mop handle clattered to the floor as Prussia jogged up behind them, and quick footsteps echoed around the hall as the four nations rushed downstairs. Toris stood by the door as they filed into the Baltics' bedroom, then closed it with a slam.

Raivis braced himself.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" "Raivis, what were you thinking?" "This is why I told you to stay put, dammit!" "We said lie low, no secret agendas – " "Just because Ivan let you leave the dinner table, that doesn't mean – " "We made those decisions to protect you!" "He gave you a way out, and then – " "The only advantage we have over Russia is that we're a team. But – " "You go and test him even further!?" "That's meaningless if you go running off on a secret mission; even Gilbert knew that!"

Prussia took a breath to agree, then his face fell as he registered Eduard's words. "Wait, what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you still have a lot to learn about how things work around here, Gilbert, and until you develop a sense of self-preservation I ask that you kindly not put any more ideas into our little brother's head – "

"Hey, I was just trying to give the kid a chance to prove himself, alright? Maybe I did fuck up, but at least I can recognize potential when I see it – "

"Potential?" Toris scoffed. "The only 'potential' we can exercise in this house is to obey orders! Haven't you seen enough in the last two days to figure that out!?"

"How the hell is Latvia supposed to grow into a strong nation if all he ever does is do what he's told!?"

"He can't grow into a strong nation, the only thing he can do is survive!"

"Yeah, well maybe if you would give him a chance – "

"You have no right to speak on his behalf when YOU are the reason he is about to be interrogated, Prussia!"

"Toris is right, Gilbert, you're out of line."

"Well excuse me for daring to step into the family drama when you LITERALLY just told me I was a part of it! I'm not the one who decided to go running off like a maniac during dinner, that was Latvia's choice! It's not my fault the kid is practically suicidal – "

"Oh, so you're the expert on Raivis now? I'm sorry, but I thought we just established that you've known him for a grand total of two days – "

"Yeah, well if that's the case then how come he likes me so much, huh!? Maybe he's sick of you two, did you ever think of that?"

"Raivis is our little brother, we're the only ones who know what it takes to protect him – "

"So disobeying Ivan to his face is 'protecting him' now, Eduard?!"

"EVERYONE JUST SHUT UP!"

The three nations whipped around to face Raivis, and the bedroom fell silent save for his shaking breaths.

Raivis's fingers rested on the cool metal of his jacket button.

All he had to do, was to unbutton his uniform, and take out the crumpled envelope.

He had been waiting for this moment – had wanted this – more than anything. It was the moment he had played out in his mind a hundred times over as he lay in bed with his head pounding from a concussion, or did chores with the sting of betrayal that not even Prussia believed in him. He had told himself, that as soon as he showed the letter to his brothers and Prussia, they would praise him and congratulate him and apologize for the way they had treated him, and everything would be perfect.

So why now, when he was here, when the hardest part was over and he had the letter – why did it feel so wrong?

Russia was coming to interrogate him, maybe within minutes. Russia might search their room. Russia might find the letter. Russia might punish them all for something only Raivis had done.

Is that how Prussia wanted to discover he represented the GDR, or that his brother still cared about him? Through the tormented protests of Raivis trying to snatch the letter from Russia's huge gloved hands? Or even worse, watching Russia rip it to shreds?

The faces of the three nations staring at him washed into a blur as tears stung Raivis's eyes. He couldn't show them the letter. Not here, not now. Because the letter was never meant for him, nor Eduard nor Toris. It was written for Prussia, from a young nation across the iron curtain who clung to the belief that his big brother was still alive. And as much as it pained Raivis to admit, it would be wrong of him to use Prussia and Germany's situation to glorify himself.

Slowly, his hand fell from his uniform.

"We don't have – t-time…"

Raivis's voice was barely a cracked whisper. He tried again, "We don't have time for this. Russia is coming to interrogate me. We have to decide what to do."

The tension in the room seemed to evaporate as his brothers accepted this fact.

Something broke in Toris's expression, and he fell onto his mattress staring at the floor in numb shock.

"Fuck," Prussia cursed in German, pacing to the far end of the room with a hand pressed to his forehead.

The weight of defeat hung over Raivis's shoulders. That had been his moment, and he had just given it away. It had come, it had gone, and he would never get a chance to prove himself again.

"Raivis."

He looked up to lock eyes with Eduard.

"The reason for this entire plan, was so that we would be prepared in case Russia decided to interrogate you again."

Toris gasped, "Eduard!"

"I understand the situation is different this time. The deal is off, there's nothing to keep Russia from hurting you. But if you would like, we can still carry out that plan."

"Eduard, no – "

"Let him decide, okay?" Eduard snapped, and Raivis blinked in surprise. "You are the one who has to face Russia, not us. So the decision is yours."

Raivis didn't understand. Eduard… didn't know about the letter, right? Raivis had never told him what had made him so angry the day Eduard found him pouring out his beer, trying to impress him and yet his brother had completely missed the point…

"W… why?" he asked, stunned.

And Eduard looked him in the eye and said, "Because I trust you."

Raivis took a long, shaky breath as he commanded himself not to cry. He felt all eyes in the room on him, waiting for some kind of plan, looking to him for leadership. His mind raced through their options:

What… what can we do? Any step we take to disobey Russia will just make him even more angry! If I involve the three of them, we'll all be interrogated! Unless… Russia plans on doing that anyway? I mean at this point, do we have anything to lose?

With a pang of dread, Raivis realized there was no way to predict Russia's intentions. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing his nerves under control. When he opened them, he met Eduard with a stern gaze.

"We go through with the plan. Eduard and Prussia switch places, then you sneak into the kitchen while Russia is interrogating me. But no matter what happens, don't do anything, okay? We still don't know if Russia plans to punish all of us, a-and if there's a chance I can save you guys, th-then I don't want you involved."

Prussia frowned, "Then… what's the point of Eddy being in the kitchen?"

"I – I-I just don't want to be alone…"

Eduard took a shaky breath, and for a moment Raivis thought his brother would cry. "Are you sure about this?"

Raivis nodded.

Eduard pushed up his glasses. "Alright, then."

"Ne… ne, ne, ne… " Toris rocked on the bed, fingers tangled in his hair. "I am not going to sit here and do nothing while the two of you are out there – "

"You don't have a choice, this is Raivis's decision. Gilbert, let's get ready."

Prussia sent Raivis a worried look, then his jaw tightened as he seemed to accept there was nothing he could do to change their situation. He strode to the dresser where Eduard rummaged for extra night clothes.

Raivis's stomach twisted with nausea. From the beginning he had known there was a possibility Russia could interrogate him again, but now it was happening, and it felt so fast!

I know I said I can handle it, and Eduard trusts me, but… but this is insane, I-I can't do this!

His eyes fell on Toris, and Raivis realized he wasn't the only one spiraling. Green eyes darted across the floor as Toris muttered to himself in Lithuanian, fists clutching his hair.

Raivis took a deep breath, fighting his own fears as he walked up to his older brother. "Hey," he whispered, placing a hand on Toris's shoulder. "Viss būs labi."

Bangs fell in Toris's face as he lifted his head. His voice came out a cracked whine as he said in Polish, "I spent seven years trying to prevent this."

"I know," Raivis whispered, switching into the language he knew would remind Toris of home. He folded his brother into a hug. "Thank you for protecting us."

Toris buried his face into Raivis's hair. It seemed ironic – the Lithuanian would be the safest out of all of them, yet he was suffering the most.

Because he would rather put himself in danger than let us get hurt. Oh Toris, you shouldn't have to live like this.

"You know," Raivis whispered. "I'm going to get you to smile again."

Toris's shoulders lurched with a sob.

"I'm serious. You better watch out, Toris. You won't see it coming, either."

"Aš tave myliu."

"Idiot. I'm not gonna die."

A breathy laugh.

"See? Told ya."

Raivis looked over his brother's shoulder to see Prussia buttoning up a nightshirt. Eduard pulled two more pairs of pajamas from the dresser and tossed them onto the bed.

"You two should get changed. We don't have much time."

Raivis lightly pushed at Toris, and the Lithuanian reluctantly let him go. A warm hand cupped around his neck, emerald eyes darting across Raivis's face. Then Toris's lips lifted into a trembling smile, and the hand slipped from Raivis's hair.

It was then that reality hit Raivis in the chest: He was going to face Russia alone.

His gaze fell to Prussia, pleading for some kind of affirmation. And to his complete surprise, Prussia winked.

You'd make a damn good superpower.

No wonder Russia has knocked you out so many times – he doesn't stand a chance against you!

I know it's scary, kid. But that's why I'm asking you, because you're the only one who's got the guts to do this.

And with that simple gesture, Raivis realized he didn't need his brothers, or even Prussia to praise or acknowledge him in order to gain the courage to face Russia.

All he needed was to believe that he could.

~/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/~

Eduard awoke to a pitch blackness that reeked with the metallic tang of spilled blood. A moan escaped his throat, the exhale of air grating like sandpaper. His face pressed into a cold, sticky surface. He struggled to push himself up, but a pain like fire roared in his back and he collapsed onto the cement with the rattle of chains.

"Russia left you on your back," a small voice said from the darkness. "I turned you over."

Eduard reached out, chains sliding across the floor as he groped for the source of the voice. "R… Raivis…"

A sniff echoed around them, and he realized the boy was crying. The Latvian's reply was muffled behind his knees: "What's left of me."

"I… I'm sorry," Eduard rasped.

"For what?"

"I – I'm sorry I couldn't protect you…"

"Don't say that; this wasn't your fault."

Eduard didn't know what to say. How was he to explain this? Over six hundred years of being occupied by foreign powers, and he had never seen anything like it.

Raivis took a shaky breath. "I remember Sweden telling stories about Russia. Stories about – what he turned into on the battlefield. He said it was like watching a monster rip into his prey. No mercy. No humanity. Just – a soldier of ice, crafted by his leaders for centuries." He swallowed. "To be honest, I thought the stories were just rumors. Even if Russia was as crazy as Sweden made him out to be, th-that was reserved for the battlefield, right?" His voice cracked as he continued, "Do – d-do you think it's something we did? I-is this our fault?"

"No," Eduard said. "Russia was angry because Lithuania left."

"But – b-but we didn't know! We don't even talk to him!"

"I know – "

"He WHIPPED us, Eduard! What kind of an empire does that to his subordinates!? A-and now we're chained in some creepy dungeon; th-this isn't even a prison; this is under Russia's house!" Raivis was shaking so much, Eduard could hear the chains clinking. "I-I think there's something wrong with Russia. You saw his eyes, right? A-and his voice, the way he talked… it was l-like he was a different person…"

Eduard shuddered at the memory of a mad violet glow, the animal-like snarl as gloved hands strapped him to the whipping post. Raivis was right – it was as if their master had been possessed by a beast.

Unless… what we just witnessed was the real Russia, and he's been faking the pleasant exterior all along. Eduard pushed the thought away.

"Our aristocracies get along with the Russian court and we're the Empire's only access to the Baltic Sea. Russia even calls us his 'family' – as much as I disagree with that statement, it's entirely illogical for him to abuse us."

"But he did," Raivis whispered. "I'm scared, Eduard. What… w-what if this happens again?"

Eduard reached into the blackness, chains dragging across the ground until his fingers brushed the fabric of Raivis's uniform.

"Don't worry," he rasped. "No matter what happens, I'll be here to protect you."

~/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/~

Thump, thump, thump-thump THUMP

The pound of rapid footsteps resonated like death descending the stairs. Eduard's hands curled around Gilbert's bedsheets as the door to the Baltics' bedroom was flung open.

A snarled sentence he couldn't catch, a yelp that sounded as though Russia had yanked Raivis straight out of bed. Toris's cry tore through the halls: "Ivan, NO!" A door slammed, and a key clattered as it was hurriedly locked. The door handle rattled as Toris begged, "NO! N-No, Ivan, PLE-ASE!"

Eduard threw aside the sheets; this was happening faster than he had anticipated, and Toris's reaction was proof there was no time to lose. He ignored the pain in his back as he staggered to the door, flinging it open just as the pounding of Russia's footsteps reached the kitchen. Eduard dropped to his hands and knees, clenching his teeth as he crawled up the stairs. A sharp gasp echoed from above:

"N-n… no… No, p-please sir, not a chair…"

Eduard's chest tightened. Chair? He heard a scuffle from the kitchen, and Raivis's pleas broke into panicked sobs:

"N-no! I'll do anything, p-please, j-just not – No, no, no, oh go-od! Russia, PLEASE do-on't! Plea-ea – mphhh!"

The boy's sobs were cut off with a muffled scream. Eduard bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as he sprinted up the staircase, bandages pulling tight against his back. He burst out of the stairwell towards the kitchen entryway, but his foot caught on the last step and his hands and knee slammed into the floor. Eduard lifted his head with a grunt, chest heaving. His vision swam with color from the kitchen's bright lights as he struggled to make out the scene before him.

Russia stepped away from a wooden chair that had been placed in front of the kitchen cabinets. Eduard's stomach dropped when he saw his little brother bound like a hostage. Thick ropes secured his torso to the chair, wrists crossed behind his back. A rag had been tied around his head, pulling his lips into a terrified grimace. Raivis bucked uselessly at the ropes, chest heaving with panicked breaths as he craned his neck up at Russia with pleading eyes.

Eduard forgot everything Raivis had told him about staying back. He pushed himself off the floor, arms and legs shaking from the pain.

Russia crossed the room in huge strides, whirling around to face Raivis with the flourish of his coat. He pulled something out in a smooth motion, and Eduard barely registered the object was too small to be a pipe or whip before the mansion exploded with a sound he knew all too well:

BAM! BAM-BAM-BAM! BAM!

Toris screamed.

In that moment, it didn't feel real – as if Eduard were watching a movie through somebody else's eyes. His mouth fell open, legs frozen to the floor as he stared in shock at the object in Russia's hand.

The pistol did not shake. Neither did Russia's face light up with a cruel smile. No – the empty expression was one devoid of any soul, any heart or human emotion. It was the look of an executioner – cold eyes that ignored the screams of men and women begging for mercy, unmoved by the sight and smell of spilled blood.

Eduard fell to his knees. His first breath shook his chest, eyes stinging with the burn of salt as his teeth clenched into a snarl.

You… you, with all your talk of 'family' – you are no better than the tyrants you claim to defend us from. You are the product of their mastery, a warrior forged by the flames of hell. You breathe its fires onto everything you touch, and your feeble attempt to tack 'morality' onto your actions only adds insult to injury. Oh, if only you could see yourself, Russia. See the inhumanity in your eyes, and try to spit your sweet lies of 'family' just ONE more time.

A soft whimper echoed through the kitchen, and Eduard dared to look at Raivis. The first thing that struck him was the absence of blood. The chair clattered as the boy shook, eyes screwed shut, hands balled into fists. And just as teary violets split open, Eduard noticed the bullet holes in the cabinet behind him. His eyes darted from one splintered fracture to the next:

One, two, three, four, five.

Five.

Five bullet holes. Five missed shots.

Tears streamed out of Raivis's eyes, soaking into the gag as he and Eduard came to the same conclusion: It had all been for show.

Russia lowered the gun. He took long strides towards Raivis, and the boy flinched – but Russia walked past him. He opened a cabinet, reaching inside to take out a glass and a vodka bottle. The kitchen echoed with the trickle of alcohol. Russia slid the glass to the edge of the counter, then walked around the chair to face Raivis. The boy remained frozen, eyes staring straight ahead as he trembled in his binds.

Russia flicked a knife from his pocket and kelt behind the chair. Eduard scrambled to the wall, careful to conceal himself in shadow. From the kitchen he heard the sawing of rope being cut. He peered around the entryway to watch Raivis's binds fall to the floor. A gloved finger pulled the gag past the boy's wet lips so it hung around his neck. Russia took the glass from the countertop and offered it to Raivis.

"Drink."

The boy's hand trembled as he reached for the glass. Vodka sloshed as Raivis rose it to his lips and threw back the shot.

"More?" Russia asked, and Raivis nodded. Once again Russia filled the glass. Cool eyes watched as the boy downed it. Eduard tensed when Russia got down on one knee, so that he was eye-level with his little brother.

"Do you feel that?" he whispered. "That bitter taste of bile in your mouth – a white-hot heat which left you completely and utterly exhausted?"

Raivis didn't answer, shrinking back into the chair as if trying to put more distance between him and the monster kneeling before him.

"That, my dear Latvia, is the fear of death." Russia slipped off a glove and reached forward to cup a giant hand around Raivis's face. Violet eyes widened in terror as a thumb smeared a tear from his cheek.

"The line between beast and human is a thin one, but clearly drawn. If you are afraid to die, you live a life worth preserving. But if you sneer at death like an old inconvenience, you have become a creature no human can tame. Something dark, something other – lost in a past so black and twisted, nobody can ever pull you out." Russia's lips flickered into a sad smile. "I feared death once, Latvia. And maybe I was human then. But that was stolen from me centuries ago."

Eduard's nails dug into his knees as he commanded himself to sit still. Every cell in his body screamed for him to run to his brother's rescue – how dare Russia touch Raivis like that, speak to him so sweetly as if to a child! But Eduard had trusted that Raivis could handle this; had given him the lead, and to go back on his word would be nothing short of betrayal.

Russia stood and threw back the vodka bottle. The kitchen echoed with loud gulps. Raivis could only clutch his glass and watch.

"Do you know what happens when a nation is shot in the vitals? Say, the heart or head."

"N-no, sir."

"The tissue starts to heal immediately. A dead nation can revive in as little as fifteen minutes… but of course, that is only when the vitals have recovered. It doesn't matter what horrid condition the rest of the body is in. So – "

Russia took a step back, holding out a thumb and forefinger to mimic the shape of a pistol. He squinted one eye, pointing the 'gun' to Raivis's chest.

"Say I had really shot you. One bullet in the head, one in the heart, and three in your stomach. First, you would die. Then your body would slowly start to regenerate, until brain tissue and heart had regrown enough to function. Your chest would be punctured with holes, your lungs filled with blood. Your body would jolt awake, but you would simultaneously drown.

"Say I shot you again – you would die. But with each shot, more damage is done – bones are fractured, muscles ripped open. And each time, you wake up with only your heart or brain functioning." Russia's expression became distant, as if recalling a memory. "Shot, gasp, shot, gasp… over and over. Until the floor is pooled with your blood and your chest is littered with bullets. Can you imagine such a situation, Latvia? How long would it take for you to lose that fear? The third time? The tenth? How long before you are welcoming the bullets instead of dreading them? How long until you laugh at your captors for attempting such a foolish task, instead of begging them to stop? That is the line I am talking about, Latvia. And that is the line I pray you and your brothers never have to cross."

"Did – d-did that ever happen to you?" Raivis stared into his empty glass. "The shooting, I mean," he added quietly.

"Da."

"Th-they… they were trying to kill you?"

A wry smile. "Of course. Although I was strictly instructed to keep that part a secret." Russia caught Raivis's puzzled gaze. "It would look bad if our Great Leader was rumored to have murdered his own nation, da? Comrade Stalin would burn this mansion to the ground if he found out I dared breathe a word of what happened twenty years ago."

"Th-then… why are you telling me?"

With a giant stride Russia closed the distance between them, slamming a hand on the back of the chair and bending over to hiss in Raivis's face, "Because you and your brothers turn over rocks for reasons to hate me, and just for once, I want it to be perfectly clear whose fault it is when the three of you are scraping ration slops from the bottom of the bowl in Kolyma."

Raivis sucked in a gasp. "K-kol – "

Russia jerked his head towards the table. "Sit, I'll get more vodka." He let go of the chair, walking past Raivis and towards the cabinets.

Seeing an opportunity, Eduard risked peering around the wall to lock gazes with his little brother. A look of relief crossed Raivis's face before his expression tightened into worry. The unspoken question hung between them: Kolyma?

Mention of the Siberian labor camp confused Eduard – Russia spoke as if he and his brothers were already slated for deportation. Is that why he didn't bother to punish us at dinner? Eduard strained his memory for hints. After the agents left, Toris mentioned something about the МГБ. But I cut him off, and he didn't bring it up again. Maybe he knew something…

Eduard's heart dropped through his stomach. Mu jumal. With a horrified shared look, the two brothers realized Russia was telling the truth.

"Look on the bright side," Russia chimed from the kitchen, opening a cabinet to pull out more vodka bottles. "You get to enjoy your last night in a heated building drinking the best alcohol this country has to offer. Not a bad way to remember your home, da Latvia?"

Raivis slowly lowered the glass between his knees. His voice was barely a whisper: "When."

"Take your seat – "

"When," Raivis pressed, spinning around to glare at the Russian. His voice rose with each word, "W-when will th-they take us? Or are you going to pile us all in your car tomorrow and drive us to the prison yourself?"

A cabinet door closed with a SLAM. Russia's back was to Eduard; he couldn't see his master's face.

"You say you want to explain whose fault it is," Raivis continued.

"Latvia – "

"Well it seems perfectly clear to me whose fault it is – "

"I said sit at the fucking table, Latvia."

Raivis's face darkened into a scowl, then he pushed himself out of the chair and pulled the gag over his head, throwing it onto the floor with a slap. He strode to the table and pulled up a chair, its legs scraping loudly against the floor. Eduard's gaze darted from his brother, back to the chair. Cut rope lay splayed across the floor, bullet holes bored into the cabinets. It struck him that Raivis was acting not like a helpless victim, but an experienced nation who was sick of being manipulated.

Russia crossed the kitchen and set several bottles onto the table, then took his seat across from Raivis. The Latvian watched the Russian's hands with a dark gaze as he poured another glass and slid it towards him.

"To warmth," Russia toasted, then added with a smile, "May its memory linger in your bones."

The two nations clinked glasses before throwing back their shots. Eduard shivered.

After downing the vodka, Russia and Raivis set down their glasses in quick succession: thu-thunk. Two pairs of violets sparked in the air, and for a moment Eduard could have sworn they weren't master and servant, but two sovereign nations sizing each other up at a world meeting.

"Do not interrupt me," Russia warned.

"Don't lie," Raivis said evenly.

To Eduard's surprise, the Russian extended a hand across the table. Raivis jumped, not expecting such an immediate response. After some hesitation he reached forward, and the two nations shook on it.

Eduard angled his head to better hear the low timbre of Russia's voice:

"You're probably expecting to hear about my arrest by the NKVD – how they hauled me, kicking and cursing, to the torture chambers of the Gulag." Russia leaned forward on the table, his face lighting up with a lifeless grin. "But Comrade Stalin found many more… effective ways to humiliate me before he became arrogant enough to try and take my life."

"If there is one cold, hard lesson the Revolution taught me, it is the price of change. Standing in the smoking wastelands of the Eastern Front during the Great War, I swore to myself that I would be willing to bear it – to shoulder that weight of the cost, in the name of throwing off the powers that had tormented me for centuries. I knew I would have to spill blood – royal blood, Romanov blood – the very beings God had 'chosen' to rule me. But I had watched one Tsar after another confess only to turn his back on the altar and slaughter thousands. In an era fraught with uncertainty, there was one, solid truth I could cling to: That there is no God. And therefore, not a soul or being could judge me for tearing into my own chest like a rabid beast.

"It was through my own tears that I watched them change me. Through the voices shrieking in my head, the hands clawing at my sleeves begging me to let them live. It was the nobility we were slaughtering, you see – top rungs of society, many of whom knew me by name. Of course Nikolas, his wife, their children… but the screams in that basement were only a drop in the ocean of betrayals that haunted me. How could they know I had become a Revolutionary? Me, with my glistening mansion in Petrograd and harem of servants. Ivan Zimavich Braginsky – the Tsar's armpiece, dripping with the wealth and glory of Imperial Russia, kissing ladies' hands and offering toasts in fluent French at royal dinner parties; and oh how they were magnificent.

"But I was not like them. I was not bound to the confines of their glass prisons, a slave to their lifestyle of pomp and circumstance. No… for I represented all of the country, not just the golden veins of it. And though they could not see through my silken uniforms and well-practiced waltz, I was rotting from the inside out. I would return home from those parties and vomit for hours, as if my body itself were screaming injustice.

"So of course they were shocked, betrayed, horrified when they saw my face in the mob of men tearing their lives to shreds. But once the nobles were gone, the Whites stood in the way… and by then, nobody knew my name. I felt that in my attempt to rip out the sickness, I had clawed at myself until nothing was left but loose flesh hanging from my skeleton. Perhaps that is how every nation feels after a Civil War – gasping for leadership, desperate and parched for the mere absence of chaos.

"But less than a decade after I had climbed over the back of my Imperial corpse and declared the war over, Joseph Vissarionovich Stalin looked at me with that spark of madness in his eyes and told me it had just begun.

"I'm sure you recall, from your brief education in 1940, our 'problem' with the kulaks. The Party declared an entire class of wealthy peasants as enemies of the state. I will never forget the day the Politburo made the decision to wipe them out. I sat through that meeting, listening to my politicians debate the lives of millions of my children. And at the end, when the decision was made, Stalin approached me and handed me a pistol. And with a bitter smile he said, 'If you don't kill them, they will kill you.'

"So we cleaned them out. Like scum, we scraped them out of their houses and shipped them to Siberia. And I remember standing on a train platform when a young boy holding his mother's hand passed me to climb into the boxcar. And for this one moment, he locked eyes with me. I don't know what it was – why that boy was different than any of the others I had shot. But in that moment I saw a cold acceptance in his eyes: 'Of course you aren't going to save us. You are just going to stand there and watch us be carted away… and all because you wanted change.' I threw up, right there on the train platform, in front of my men. They were making jokes about it for weeks afterwards: 'Oh, don't let Braginsky near the children. He's got a weak stomach, that one. Can't even kill a Capitalist.'

"The Bolsheviks had become just like the nobility they so hated – unable to see that beneath the sickle-and-hammer NKVD cap, I still represented the kulak class. I clung to Stalin's promise: The hope that, once the kulaks had been taken care of, all of the USSR would become the same. And maybe, when that 'sameness' had been achieved, the voices in my head would finally stop. So, I continued to do what I had always done with the Tsars – I put my head down. I obeyed orders. And I was able to desensitize myself to the suffering… until I began to hear rumors of food shortages in the Ukraine.

"Part of that fateful decision in January of 1930 had been to collectivize all farms. Much of this would have to be done in the Ukrainian and Belarusian SSR's… so after a quick briefing, my sisters were sent home with instructions to do their part. The Party kept me busy with kulak roundups, factory inspections and Politburo meetings, so I never had time to visit; nevertheless I made a point to write them often. Assuming they were having the same doubts regarding the repercussions of the Five Year Plan, I tried to remain positive. My letters were lined with sweet lies of a bright future and sacrifice for the 'Greater Good.' In truth, I wanted to believe the propaganda I was regurgitating. Because if it wasn't true – if production and standard of living weren't on the rise, if Stalin's ruthless policies didn't catch up our industrialization with the rest of Europe – then all of my sacrifices would have been for nothing. I wanted to believe in Communism, so much that my very bones ached.

"It started as rumors – just faint whispers I caught on the street and at work. First it was food shortages. Then it was starvation. Beggars at train platforms, I heard. People dying on the streets like flies. But the newspapers said grain production was up. Not a word in the press, and Stalin continually emphasized how 'happy' the Ukrainians were. When at last I realized the reason for my sister's slight change in handwriting – the work of a forger – I boarded a train for Kharkiv.

"I will never forget the uneasy feeling that settled as the train pushed on towards the Ukraine. Аt our first stop, I jumped when something was lifted to my window. In my disgust it took a few moments to realize this thing was a child – a toddler, perhaps two years old. Its head and belly were bloated, appendages bones that dangled like twigs. Huge eyes rolled unseeing in sunken sockets, ladder of a ribcage supported by wrinkled, skeletal hands. I shifted in my seat to see that a woman was holding the toddler to my compartment window. Her cheeks were sunken, lines carved into her face. She was dressed in nothing but rotting rags, and cool empty eyes met mine as she held up her child to the window.

"In my horror, I looked past her to see more heaps of rags and empty eyes gathered around the platform. They watched the passengers like ghosts, and the citizens largely ignored them, save for a few horrified glances. At last the train pulled away, and the starving child slipped from my view.

"Every platform was the same, only the number of beggars increased. At one platform, a hand clawed at my window. At another, a teenage boy stood and pressed a gaunt face against the compartment, staring at me. Wails started to rise up – a twisted moan of torture that came from the depths of humanity's basic need for food. By the time I got off the platform in Kharkiv, I could hear screams. I tried to ignore the bodies on the streets: Dried, bony carcasses that reeked of rot. I saw one man collapse – just crumple, like paper left out in the rain, into the sidewalk. I saw children eating grass and flowers. While the city would normally be filled with the bustle of people to work, now it was an echo of slow, agonizing death. There was an eerie stillness – no dogs, or cats. With horror I realized they must have all been eaten. The people I did see had bloated stomachs, making them look alien. They had been drinking water to abate their hunger… but nothing worked. I could see it in their eyes – an emptiness, husks of human beings just fighting to survive.

"By the time I had reached the outskirts of the city, I was running. I only glanced at the gaunt faces that passed to check if one of them was Katya – oh God, did she look like that? At last I came to her house, my boots crunched up the gravel path, a quick glance at what was left of her garden and it was nothing but twisted clumps of dried mud, windows smashed in and oh God the door hung ajar on a single hinge.

"I stopped on the porch, forcing my emotions under control, struggling to catch my breath before swallowing and pushing the battered door open with a low creak. The air was dusty, a thin film of dirt on the floor and a choking darkness told me she couldn't be living here anymore. But a point of light caught my eye – a single candle, set on the floor and burning in a small orange glow. It was so out of place in the abandoned musk – proof that life had been here, and recently. I slowly approached it, then caught sight of a brighter glow; I leaned around the hall and my throat clogged with a gasp.

"The entire hallway was lined with candles. Small, battered, dug up from the secret stores of churches all across the Ukraine. They glistened within their glass encasings and gold caps – red, green, yellow and pale blue light casting an eerie rainbow on the walls.

"Three things struck me in that moment. One: The house was clearly abandoned, but the candles so well-attended that not a single one had been left unlit. Two: These were memorial candles, used for national tragedies or to commemorate someone's death. And three: The hallway I now faced led straight to my sister's room.

"A new horror seized me, one I had not allowed myself to feel in years. My entire body shook; I could barely force myself to walk forward. As I neared, I caught sight of other trinkets lining the hallway: Hand-written notes, twigs tied together in a makeshift bouquet, pebbles and kopeks placed among wooden icons. Woven threads of blue and yellow ribbon, a necklace bearing a cast iron trident, even a Ukrainian flag oh god that was the highest of treason… I marveled the NKVD hadn't found this place, and then a shudder coursed through me imagining what would happen if they did.

"My sister's home had become a place of refuge, a hub for anti-Bolshevik sentiment. The treasures lining the hallway were family heirlooms, precious symbols of nationalism that could get a whole man's family shot. And yet they lay them here, in Ukraine's house, as if it were a sanctuary immune to the horrors ravaging their country.

"Tearing my attention away from the walls, I could now make out footsteps in the dust leading to my sister's room. Men's shoes, women's shoes, bare feet, the small prints of children. A sickness twisted in my gut; this hallway was well-trafficked. I jumped when a wail tore through the house – it was a woman's voice, strangled and weak with desperation. I broke into a run, through the open door of Katya's room… and the image of what I saw will be forever branded into my memory.

"A table had been placed in the center of the bedroom, all other furniture cleared out. A white sheet trimmed with lace had been laid over it. The candles and trinkets lining the hall were nothing compared to the mountain of icons, candles, flags, hats, embroidered cloth, ribbons that were placed in front of the table, the bright glow casting flickering shadows in the dark room.

"And there – laying face up on the table dressed in traditional embroidered vyshyvanka, bright red skirt and a wreath of flowers placed over blond brittle hair… was my sister.

"Had she not been so extravagantly displayed, it would have been impossible to recognize her. Her arms lay brittle at her side, fingers like that of a skeleton resting on the table. Her skin had turned a husky light grey, dried and wrinkled like leather. Her cheekbones sunk in, neck so thin it couldn't have supported her head, which lay on a pillow. Kneeled in front of the shrine – for it was a shrine, I realized with horror – was a woman. She rocked back and forth on her knees, raising bony hands to the air as she cried out in mourning.

"And then I did something I had not allowed myself to do since we murdered the Romanovs: I fell to my knees and wept.

"Everything – all the guilt and self-hate I had been fighting back, all the lies, the empty faces of my children boarding trains for Siberia, the blood staining my hands – crashed down on me at once. All of all my sacrifices, my determination to make myself better no matter the cost – and now this. It was too much. For all I knew, my sister was dead. I had promised her, I had promised I would protect her, that everything would be alright… and now she was stretched across a table while her starving people wept at her feet.

"It wasn't the worst way for a nation to die, I realized suddenly – and my weeping turned into great, heaving sobs. Each candle, each hand-written note and ribbon was a testament to her people's love for her. A burning loyalty that no soldier or collectivization policy could stamp out. Katya wasn't left to rot in her own bed… no, somehow word had spread that she was the representation, and people had flocked from miles away to pay their respects. To cry, just as this woman did, to pray, to kiss her forehead and leave notes of appreciation. I had seen nations die before; usually they faded away without ceremony. But what the Ukrainians didn't realize is their love for my sister was more powerful than any prayer. Their sheer force of determination – to create this place, to surround her with symbols of nationalism despite the risks – was the single thing keeping her alive.

"What hit me stronger than anything, was the realization that had I been the one to collapse of starvation, had I been the one laying near-dead on a table – my people would not have done the same. They would pass my coffin, sneering, spitting, hating all I had done to destroy their lives. And had the Revolution never happened… would it be any different? They hated me now for trying to change, and had I not, they would have hated me for staying the same.

"Kneeling there in my sister's mausoleum, I was faced with the reality of my own inevitable death: Dumped off a bridge into a freezing river. No ceremony, and even fewer tears. And Winter would sink his claws into my non-beating heart and take me back… laughing and laughing and laughing."

History Notes

The Russian Revolution:
Even after the Russian Revolution of 1905 (Bloody Sunday Strip) pressured Tsar Nikolas II to create a Duma which decentralized absolute monarchist power in the Russian Empire, there were many loopholes through which he retained absolute power. Those dissatisfied with these "reforms" largely remained subdued until Russia's entry into WWI in 1914, which was devastating to Russia's armies and caused severe food shortages. It was these dire conditions in which the Bolsheviks were able to take power first in Petrograd on November 7, 1917, and then later secure their control over Russia largely through force. As a final statement to the shrinking and fleeing nobility, the Bolsheviks murdered the newly-abdicated Tsar Nikolas II and his family in the basement of their home in June of 1918. This ended 370 years of Tsarist rule over Russia.

Russian Civil War:
While the Bolsheviks had secured power in Petrograd, they faced immense resistance from fractured groups all across Russia. The nation was plunged into a Civil War which lasted from 1917 until 1923. There were an estimated 7 to 12 thousand casualties of the war, most of them civilian. Russia suffered both Red and White terrors, during which soldiers would slaughter innocent people and burn entire villages for belonging to the "opposite side." The Russian Civil War was fought on all fronts of the Russian Empire, including the Baltic, Central Asia, and the Caucasus, with over 48 belligerents fighting against the Soviets in independence and foreign interventionist groups. (Both the Revolution and the Civil War are incredibly complex and violent time periods of history, which I have merely summarized as a background to Ivan's story. If you are interested in a more detailed account, I recommend watching the film adaptation of Pasternak's Dr. Zhivago directed by David Lean.)

Dekulakization:
An essential element of Communism is the idea that all land and resources are centralized and owned by the State. This meant that the millions of peasants who owned land, or "kulaks," were a threat to the system. Shortly after the Revolution, Lenin announced plans to completely eliminate the kulak class, but ultimately it was Stalin who carried it out. The decision was made to confiscate and collectivize all peasant land on January 30, 1930, three years after Stalin secured power. All kulaks were assigned to three categories: 1) Those to be shot or imprisoned by the NKVD, 2) Those to be deported after confiscation of their property, and 3) Those to be evicted from their houses and assigned to labor colonies within their own districts. The peasants resisted the collectivization of their property, often refusing to plant grain, slaughtering their livestock, or burning their crops. This resulted in widespread famine which had plagued the USSR ever since its creation. From 1929-1933, an estimated 3 million peasants were killed.

Five Year Plans:
After Stalin secured power in 1927, he switched his political stance and opted for complete State control of all production. Five Year Plans were a set of vigorous production goals set by the State. The goal was to move the USSR from being an agricultural-based economy – an aspect which had made the Russian Empire fall behind on the world stage – to an industrial power. The result was the most rapid industrialization the world has ever seen – by the end of the first plan, the USSR moved from being fifth in the world to second only behind the United States. This called for a complete change of lifestyle for Soviet Citizens, as millions moved into cities and the Soviet "hero" was depicted as one who worked hard for the good of the Union. However, the plan called for an emphasis on heavy industry, which meant consumer goods were in short supply and low quality. Agricultural resources were also confiscated in favor of supporting the industrial cities, which created famines like the one in Ukraine.

The Holodomor:
The tragedy which struck Ukraine was so deliberately created, that it is now recognized by 33 countries as genocide. A combination of drought, an inability to recover from previous famines during the Civil War, and government confiscation of all grain and food created a severe famine from 1932-1933. Not only were peasants forbidden from leaving their regions in search of food, but the government hid the tragedy from the rest of the USSR. Those who resisted the confiscations were arrested or killed, and NKVD agents regularly searched individual houses for any hidden grain or bread. An estimated 3 to 7 million people died in the famine, most from starvation. The scenes I described here I took from eyewitness accounts.

Translations

Viss būs labi – Everything will be okay.
Aš tave myliu – I love you.
Mu jumal – My god.
Petrograd – St. Petersburg (again), renamed in 1914 after the Russians went to war with the Germans and didn't want their capital to have a German name. "Grad" is the Old Church Slavonic root for "city."
vyshyvanka (вишиванка) – a traditional Ukrainian shirt embroidered with local designs or flowers. Vyshyvankas are becoming popular for Ukrainians to wear today as a symbol of national pride.

AN: I learned about the Holodomor back when I first joined the Hetalia fandom and was reading countries' wikipedia pages. I drafted a scenario for how Ivan would have reacted to the tragedy long before I ever conceptualized DITR. My understanding of both the Holodmor itself and Ukraine as a nation completely changed after visiting the Memorial to Holodomor Victims and museum in Kyiv, seeing how the Ukrainians honor those who were killed in Maidan, and how my Ukrainian friends are dealing with the ongoing war today. Their strength even in the midst of conflict was very moving to me, and so I wanted to write this as a tribute to the Ukrainians' ongoing struggle.

I also wanted to address something that came up this past week. I started seeing birthday posts for Ivan on tumblr, and this confused me since I wasn't aware of any Russian holiday celebrated on Dec 30th. I looked it up, and sure enough, there were no Russian holidays listed on that date. It was my beta who found out that Dec 30th is actually the date the USSR was formed in 1922. Modern-day Russia DID retain some Soviet holidays, like Victory Day and Womens' Day, and these are celebrated all across the former USSR. But the creation of the USSR is NOT one of them, since Russia itself declared sovereignty from the USSR on June 12th of 1990, which is now celebrated as "Russia Day." All of this to say, we shouldn't treat wiki pages as fact. Please PLEASE check the dates and what they mean for these countries.

Thank you so much for reading, and for your wonderful reviews and support :)

Edit: To fix Raivis's character arc. Posted after ch. 31 update.