Chapter Twenty-Six: Captives

America stayed with China for a long time, waiting, talking softly, until it was clear that the Chinese man was too exhausted to talk longer.

"You have to wake me before an hour passes," China murmured faintly. The man was half asleep, his head leaning back against the wall. "Promise me you'll do that."

Uncertain of the significance of China's request, America nodded, grinning with a false confidence.

"I'll wake you, don't worry. Take a rest. I'll probably still be here when you wake up."

China was asleep only a few minutes later, and America thought that the Chinese man looked very small and vulnerable, leaning against the wall, and he had to wonder how it was that people like China could still remain sane despite these circumstances. He, a strong nation with a strong human form, was breaking. And yet China, whose human form was so fragile, was not broken yet.

Carefully, so as not to wake China, America adjusted his position, staring up at the dark ceiling. He wondered why it was so dark in this room, wondered why China had told him to be sure to wake him up again.

The darkness of the cell betrayed him. He was exhausted, drained by the pain and sorrow that he had both witnessed and then experienced for himself, and his eyes began to close.

He was awakened by the loudest noise he had ever heard, and he was certain that this had to be a nightmare, until he looked over and saw China curled up on the floor, shaking and sobbing. Then he knew that this was not a nightmare, but part of China's torture.

"Why?" he shouted, and he could barely hear himself over the noise. It was too loud, too high-pitched, and he could not think. He wondered if he could be driven mad by such a noise, and he pulled China up, close to him, not really thinking, but seeing that the older man was in pain and that the noise was making China cry.

He began to cry too, because this was his chance to be some kind of a hero, but he did not want to do it. He did not want to have to listen to this horrible noise, which threatened to deafen him, or else drive him mad.

But he clamped his own hands over China's ears, and with no protection left to himself, he lowered his head, sobbing, wanting to cover his own ears, but also realizing that this one time could not deafen him, but that a repeated torture of this kind might deafen China.

He could protect one person for a moment, although it might do no good, and he kept his hands over China's ears until the terrible noise faded away.

"America…?"

China looked up at him, honeyed eyes wide and filled with tears, and America knew then that China was not so far from breaking.

"What was that?" America murmured, removing his hands from China's, which were still clamped over the slim man's ears. America's own ears throbbed, and he had to bite his lip to keep from sobbing. China would be able to hear his sobs now, and so he must not cry.

"If I sleep for more than an hour…" China said slowly, "She turns that on. I don't know…if it will deafen me or not. But I cannot sleep without being forced to hear that sound."

"You can't eat, you can't sleep…" America whispered, horrified, and China nodded.

"I don't know what she thinks she is proving," the Chinese man said. "But she is proving something to herself, aru. It may end in my death, but that is all right. Perhaps once she has beaten me, the oldest nation, she will stop abusing the rest of you."

America thought of the hatred he had seen in Panem's eyes, and he knew that it would not stop with China's death, or Estonia's, or his own. Panem's hatred might never be satisfied.

But before he could tell China that and shake the man's fragile hope, the door opened, and the red-haired soldier boy was there.

"Come on," the soldier said. "Time to get back to your own cell. Say goodbye to your friend. You might not see him again."

America bit his lip, turning to China, who smiled softly.

"It will be all right, aru," he said. "It will end soon enough."

And America had no choice but to leave China to suffer alone, until the ending which the Chinese man seemed to have accepted. But America knew that no one could easily accept their own demise, and so he thought that China must be afraid, too.

In an alleyway, somewhere in the back streets of a city that would soon become known as the Capitol, Japan wished that Italy would smile. He wished that Germany was there. He wished that they had food and safety and that they were not both thin, worn out, hungry.

He wished that Italy would stop trying to deny what had happened to them. The boy had denied Germany's death since the day of the explosion, and perhaps he would always deny it. But it hurt to see him, hurt to know that one day, he, Japan, was going to have to explain to Italy that Germany was gone forever, and was not coming home.

Italy did realize that their situation was serious, but he did not understand that they might die. That much was clear from his constant assertions that they could find everyone else if only they searched harder. Japan himself wanted to keep searching, needed to know if his family members were alive.

But he was afraid of what he would find, and now, they were weak from lack of food. They needed to find shelter, somehow, somewhere. They needed to find a house, a place to operate out of while they searched for the others.

"Hey, Japan?" Italy's voice was quiet, sad, and his eyes were far away. "Can we really die now?"

He hated the constant questioning. He hated seeing Italy trying to come to terms with this tragedy, only to fail time and time again. The boy could not yet grasp the true depth of the tragedy, and perhaps he never would.

"I… Italy…"

"Answer his question, why don't you?" a girl's voice asked. "Tell him. Can you die, or can't you…Japan?"

Japan cursed himself for being exhausted, for letting his guard down long enough for an enemy to slip in unnoticed.

He knew it was Panem-there was no one else it could be. He saw her at the end of the alleyway, and he leapt to his feet, standing between Panem and Italy, wishing desperately that he had a weapon. If only he had a weapon, then he could defend Italy. But he was unarmed, he had been unarmed for too long, and now they were trapped.

"Italy," he mumbled. "If you see an opening, run. Understand?"

"J-Japan?" Italy said uncertainly. "What's going on? Is that…?"

"This is Panem, Italy," the brunette girl murmured, her voice almost soothing. "Do you understand what that means? Or are you too stupid to even grasp the significance of my identity?"

Italy whimpered, and Japan felt cold anger rushing into his body.

"Do not call him stupid," he snapped, and he heard the flint in his own voice. "Get away from him and from me. Leave!"

Panem giggled, and Japan found himself becoming unnerved by the noise, becoming frightened by this girl who had murdered many people who had been dear to him.

"She killed my family, likely enough. Germany too, and perhaps everyone else. I will not let her kill Italy."

"Japan?" Italy whispered. "What are we going to do?"

Japan could hear the fear in the Italian boy's voice, and he knew that he would have to somehow find a way to save Italy, for Italy certainly could not save himself. If Japan tried, he could flee the scene. But to do so would be to leave Italy behind, and he would not do that.

"We are going to fight her, Italy," he said. "I will fight her. You stay there."

"You, fight me?" Panem asked, sounding almost amused by the idea. "But Japan, I am immortal. I have a gun pointed at your head. What do you have? You have nothing, my dear former nation. You are weak, powerless, and unarmed. If I wanted to, I could crush you now. As a matter of fact, I think I might. What if I humiliate you as I did your brother?"

Japan did not freeze, not then, but he did have questions racing through his mind, pounding in his brain.

"Which brother? China? Could it be China?"

"What did you do?" he murmured, his voice soft. He could hear danger in his own voice, and he wondered, vaguely, if perhaps there was a berserker inside of him, and if so, would that person come out to help him now? He doubted it. He had not had much luck in the department of survival and victory for a very long time.

"Why don't you come with me?" Panem asked. "You could find out. You could see China. Wouldn't you like that, Japan? You've been alone with this idiot for a long time, haven't you? I do think that must get tiring, always having to answer his useless questions. Don't you wish you could see the rest of your friends again? Your real friends? Do you look after this idiot of your own free will, Japan? Or do you do it only out of obligation? For Germany, perhaps? Surely you don't really care about an idiot like this, do you?"

"Japan…" Italy whispered, and Japan could hear uncertainty in the boy's voice. "You don't really think of me like that, right?"

"No, Italy," Japan said, and he made the mistake of turning to the boy, intending to reassure him. He would regret that mistake for the rest of his life, for at the instant that he turned away, Panem's gun went off.

Japan fell to the ground, gritting his teeth in pain, trying desperately not to cry out, trying to keep his composure.

"Shot in the leg. You fool. Had you kept your attention on her, she would not have fired on you. This is your doing, and yours alone. Your blood is on your own hands, and so is Italy's. You looked away. Fool."

Italy was staring at him, wide-eyed, terrified, and Japan knew that there was no way that they could escape this now. He knew it even before he felt Panem's iron grip on his shoulders, before his hands were forced behind his back, locked into tight handcuffs. He could not even beg Italy to run. Panem's soldiers were blocking the only way out of the alleyway, and Japan could only imagine what they would do to Italy if he tried to escape. The boy would be shot, and it would be a terrible thing to see. He had seen Italy injured before. It had been agonizing then, and to see the boy shot now, when they could die…

No, he could not do that to Italy, not even knowing the torture that they would soon face. He thought it highly probable that there would be torture, and that they would not survive. However, there was always a chance of surviving, and it was better to suffer for that chance than to watch Italy be shot.

Had he known what would become of them, he might have chosen differently. But he did not know, and he lowered his head in defeat, choking back bitter tears. He would not cry. He was still a warrior, and warriors did not cry.

Italy still stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief, and Japan felt as if he had betrayed the boy.

"Please forgive me, Italy," he murmured. "I cannot fight her like this."

"So you can't," Panem said. "I'm so glad you agree, Japan. Now, if you don't mind, let's get moving. I'd like to get inside. It's starting to rain."

It was indeed raining, and Japan, lifting his head to look at the grey sky, wondered if it would be all right to cry now, when Italy would not see, nor realize that he was crying. And he realized with a deep certainty that he had indeed failed Italy, and he had failed Germany too.

"Japan, stay here, and for heaven's sake, take care of Italy!"

One request, the only thing Germany had asked him to do. And he had failed.

He kept his face emotionless-years of training had made that easy enough. But silent tears ran down his cheeks, and in his mind, he apologized to Germany and to Italy.

"I have failed both of you. I do not understand why you thought I could save Italy, Germany. You should have let me go back and help the others. You should have stayed with Italy. You were strong and you could have protected him."

Panem pulled him up, and he gasped in pain as he attempted to put weight on his injured leg. She dragged him to the car, and all the while he tried futilely to stand, trying desperately to stay strong, and failing.

Panem's car was like those that American policemen had once driven, Japan thought, and he also thought, as he and Italy were shoved into the backseat, that if Panem and her soldiers were the police, and the former nations the criminals, then their world had truly fallen into an irreparable sorrow.

"Japan? I'm scared. Do you think Germany will come save us? It's about time for him to show up, right? He's been gone a long time…"

Japan buried his head in his hands.

"Someone tell him. Someone save him. Someone reverse the clock. Someone do something! I'm sorry… I can't do anything for him, not like this. I failed."

Russia knew the world had ended when Lithuania fell asleep in his arms. Lithuania had never trusted him that much, not in their Soviet days, and certainly not afterwards. No one had trusted him for a very long time after that, and there were some who still did not trust him now. They had every right to not trust him, but even so, the knowledge that people still despised him for something he had done decades ago was yet another painful thing to add to Russia's list of painful things.

"It is better to list the painful things," he said to the sleeping Lithuanian, "than it is to let them overwhelm you."

It would have been best to forget the terror and pain entirely. But he had promised himself that he would not forget, and thus he must remember. He was terrified of forgetting, for if he were to forget what he had done…

"Then I would once again hurt you," he said. "And you could not stand that now, my Toris. You could not even stand it then, in the Soviet days. You could not stand it then, and I broke you."

He remembered, and he needed to find a way to save Lithuania. That was why the memory still existed. It was so that he could look back, see what he had done, and find a way to fix it.

And yet, he was no longer certain that Lithuania could be fixed.

"But I can't live without him…" he murmured, sounding pathetic even to himself. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, Lithuania in his arms, practically in his lap, and he lifted the boy off of him, setting the pale, silent Lithuanian on the bed. Lithuania whimpered quietly, and then curled into a ball. The boy trembled slightly, and Russia smoothed his hair, a worried frown hovering on his once cheerful face.

"You have to get better," he said. "I will be hurt if you do not. You would not hurt me, would you, Litva?"

"But you hurt him," his mind whispered. "And so he has every right to hurt you."

"Be silent," Russia told his mind. "I will help Lithuania at this time."

He glanced at the boy again, saw how thin and pale Lithuania was, and he wondered if Lithuania could be helped, now. Perhaps it was already too late.

"You have to be okay," he said, a desperate edge creeping into his voice. "If you are not okay, then… Then we will not be able to save China and Belarus."

This was a second plan that had been growing in his mind, a wish that, although not as important as his wish to save Lithuania, was still quite important to him.

If he could find a way, he was going to find Panem's prison and save his sister and his friend. He could do that, if he could only think of a way. He was Russia, unbreakable now that he had his sanity again. He would have to be invincible too, for Lithuania and for everyone else.

"But especially for you," he said to the sleeping Lithuanian. "I will try to think of a way to be saving Belarus and China. But before I can be saving them, my Litva… I will be saving you. And you must help me, da? Help me save you, Toris. You had strength once. I need that strength now. I do not think I have such strength. I have never been like you. But I will try very hard, and maybe at some time, I will be strong enough to save you."

"You can't, Ivan," Lithuania murmured, half asleep. "No one is that strong. Believe me. I used to be strong. Now look at me."

"I am looking at you, Toris," Russia said. "And I see someone who needs to rest and get better. So, sleep now."

Lithuania turned his face away, and Russia wondered if he was oversimplifying the situation. Lithuania would get better. He had to get better, and that was all there was to it. Russia would save Lithuania, if he could. And if he could not, then he would die trying. It was that simple.

If it was not that simple, then he was going to go insane. He might well go insane anyways.

"Don't ever leave me, Toris," he whispered. He sounded pitiful, childish, but Lithuania was asleep again and did not hear him. Russia looked down at Lithuania and wondered if such a frail and scarred person should be forced to live. Perhaps it was cruel, but he could not believe that.

He would lose his mind if he did not save Lithuania.

Russia leaned over and, softly, he kissed Lithuania's hair. He would never do such a thing when the boy was awake, not having seen Lithuania with Belarus. He could not in good conscience kiss a conscious Lithuania, knowing that the boy loved someone else. Not knowing that Lithuania might pretend to love him out of pity.

But when Lithuania was asleep and did not know… Then, Russia kissed him, very softly. Then he turned away, leaving Lithuania to his slumber, and went out into the main room of the apartment. There, he sat down on the battered sofa, and tried to believe that he could save Lithuania. And while he was attempting to believe in himself, he tried to think of a way in which he could also save Belarus and China.

No plan came. After an hour and a half of thinking in vain, alone, with no one to hear him in his agony, Russia started to cry.

Panem locked them away in a dark prison cell, and Japan did not know how long it would be that they would stay there. Italy was quiet, and his silence was merciful and horrible all at once. Japan wanted the boy to chatter, but he also did not want to hear any more questions.

He had heard crying from one of the other cells. It had been a girl crying, but he did not know who it was. It could not be Taiwan. The voice had sounded too old for Liechtenstein or Seychelles, too hysterical for Hungary. Belgium, then, or one of Russia's sisters?

It did not really matter. He would find out someday, and when he did find out, he would probably not like what he found.

Japan was afraid of what Panem would do to them, for the screaming cries he had heard had sounded no less than insane. And Panem had mentioned his brother, but he had not seen China. Something horrible was happening in this prison, something torturous and cruel.

It was more than probable that there was literal torture going on, but he must not think of it now. He must stay strong for Italy, who sat next to him now. The boy stared down at his shaking hands, once-bright eyes wide and scared.

"I will protect you, Italy," Japan said, and the boy turned a wide-eyed gaze on him.

"Because Germany told you to? Or because you want to? You really do care about me, right, Japan?"

Japan cursed Panem for planting the seeds of doubt in Italy's mind. Although he was often annoyed by the Italian boy, he did care for him. He would always care, and for Panem to say that he did not, for Italy to take those words to heart… It was a further implication of the extent of his failure to protect Italy from the horror of their world.

"Yes, Italy," he said. "I do care about you, and you are not allowed to listen to what Panem says. Understand?"

"What if she asks me a question?" Italy asked.

"Then do not answer her!" Japan snapped. "Don't… Do not allow her to become angry, Italy. Speak to her if it will keep her calm, but only then. At all other times, let me do the talking."

"Let me protect you."

"Okay," Italy said. "But I can still talk to you, right?"

Japan sighed.

"Yes, Italy, you can."

"That's good!" Italy said, and there was a cheerful light in his eyes again. "I would get pretty bored if I couldn't talk to you!"

"I suppose you would," Japan murmured, leaning his head back against the cold, concrete wall of the prison cell. He thought they must be in the basement of Panem's headquarters. It seemed logical enough, what with the cold and the lack of windows. But it did not matter. They would be tormented here either way.

"Japan? Are you okay?"

"Go to sleep now, Italy," he whispered, not daring to look at the boy. "You need your rest. Panem will be back soon."

"I wish she wouldn't come back," Italy said. The Italian boy scooted closer to Japan, leaning his head on the dark-haired man's shoulder.

Japan stiffened, but then, he smiled sadly, and allowed Italy's head to remain on his shoulder.

"I will let him have the comfort he wishes for now. Soon enough, there will be torture, and perhaps a day will come when I cannot comfort or protect him at all. But for now… I will try."

And so, now, Italy and Japan are officially a part of the main plot. Yay. (Not-yay for them.) Anyways...

Oh yeah. One-sided RusLiet has been confirmed in this chapter. The way I see it, Russia has probably had a crush on Lithuania since before the Soviet era, but it wasn't until after the Soviet Union broke up that he realized that no amount of force could make Lithuania love him in that way. Especially since, once the Soviet Union dissolved, Lithuania was terrified of him for a while and kind of made it a point to avoid him. (At least, that's how I see it. All things considered, the last thing Lithuania as a person would have wanted at that point was to be around Russia. He was having enough trouble coping at that point without risking being imprisoned again.) Of course, Russia realizes now that Lithuania loves Belarus, and that's not going to change. He can't change that, and he also knows that Lithuania, broken or otherwise, is just too nice. He doesn't want Lithuania to realize his feelings and pretend to love him, so he attempts to retain some of his clueless, childish side as an excuse for sometimes acting a little odd.

Also, is it clear yet that I cannot write Japan? Because those were two of the most awkward scenes I have ever written. I think. I have probably written worse.

I think that is all I had to say. So, yeah. Until next time! :)