Bandaged fingers gently opened the box, sifting through the hundreds of black and white photographs and letters. Each one struck a fragile part of Toris, but he forced himself to ignore all the other pictures and search for just that one. This was no time to get nostalgic, no matter how much he wanted to stay in his bedroom for hours and look over all of them. He could spend hours in there just looking at photos and reading old letters, but he'd only opened the dusty box for one reason.
After a minute or two of sifting through the contents, Toris figured it would be easier if he could see them all at once. So he dumped the box out on his bed, sorting the pictures and letters out. Surely the photograph was still in here. It had to be. Feliks gave him everything back after Lithuania became an independent nation again. But what if Toris had lost it? Or he could've taken it out some time ago and left it somewhere. Maybe it was at his real home, back in Vilnius?
Thankfully, his fears were put to rest when he saw his nearly unreadable frenzied handwriting. Pulling the photo out from the rest, Toris turned it over to make sure it was the right one. Immediately he was hit with a longing ache in his heart. The black and white scene of 1961 was a bit faded, but the memory was so vivid Toris didn't need the photo. He could almost hear the song now, and smell the beer and wax on the floor. It was one of the rare times Ivan allowed Toris to go out of the house – any time like that was a very strong memory.
But now that he looked at the photo, something had changed. It was the same place and time, but the subjects were all wrong. Two nearly unrecognizable people were holding each other, smiling as they danced together. Even from the picture one could tell that they were close; the way the shorter of the two looked up at the other gave everything away.
They looked so young.
Toris hated it when he got this reminiscent. It made him feel like an old man to look at pictures of himself that were less than a hundred years old – a blink of an eye for a nation. But seeing that young spirit holding Feliks in his arms made him realize how much older he looked now. The man in the photo had bright eyes, a clean shaven face, no little scars, his wrist wasn't numbered, and everything about him looked lively. He'd never hurt someone before, never sent his brother to the hospital, never even thought of raising his voice.
Even Feliks had changed since then. The Pole didn't look like his happiness was forced, he was still smiling, and there wasn't that nervous look in his eye. He was blushing, probably telling Toris something about his dancing. A moment later he would be laughing. When was the last time Feliks had actually laughed like he used to?
Beneath the photo, in the blank white space, that cheery blond had wrote, "My dearest Liet, who cannot dance," in his familiar curly scrawl. Next to that was the name of the town – some Polish place in who-knows-where – and December 30th, 1961. He'd also drawn little hearts and flowers around the edges, his feelings towards Toris made painfully obvious.
Toris turned the picture over, studying the two words on the back closely.
Save me.
He could see the terror in the shaky handwriting, the way the last letter cut off a bit too short and the ink was smudged – he must've been about to get caught in the act and frantically hid the photo. With just two words he could feel the desperation of the writer, one of his last cries for help. That Toris of 1961 wrote exactly what the Lithuanian felt right now. It was almost ironic that they were so alike and yet in completely opposite positions.
Save me, Toris said to himself, putting the photo up on his dresser. I like that. It's almost like it's begging for itself.
He sifted through the pile once more, making sure there weren't any other heart wrenching or beloved things in the mess. After reading through a few desperate letters and some more photographs of better times with panicked messages on the back, Toris kept just a few and put all the rest back. Instead of returning the box to its rightful place in the closet, he took it out of his room and down to the living room.
"Hey, Vytautas," Toris sighed. Vytautas didn't even glance at him, but kept staring out the window in the direction of the barracks. He'd been like that since the guard brought the dog back several hours ago – as long as there was no one in the house, Toris was going to keep him in for some company. But Vytautas jumped right up on the couch, looking out the window longingly and whining. He wouldn't even acknowledge Toris.
"I ought to accuse you of being a traitor as well," Toris said, giving the dog a pat on the head. "You really like Ludwig, don't you?"
The dog perked up at Ludwig's name, wagging his tail. Toris didn't want to admit it, but Ludwig certainly had an effect on every dog. Vytautas was a notorious killer – twenty-five men lay victim to him – and yet he was acting like a puppy over the German.
"I'll probably let you go back to him tomorrow. You deserve a bit of a break," Toris smiled, going over to the fireplace. The flames were still hungry, licking at his hands for the box. They'd already eaten up so much of his life, and yet they still wanted more.
Without much of a second thought, Toris threw all of his secret messages to Feliks into the fire. All those times he'd risked a beating to write to his friend from behind the curtain of the Soviet Union, sneaking out early in the morning to put his hopeless pleas in the mailbox; the photos, the censored letters Feliks tried to send to Toris, the pages from Toris' diary; everything was eaten up by the flames.
One of the chains holding him completely back fell off. He'd still been so attached to that part of himself, the kind and loving part. Although he couldn't bear to burn some of them, the Lithuanian had thrown away any physical reminders of that time. He wasn't going to even think of those times anymore. From now on his entire focus would be on the Empire and its wellbeing. Nothing was going to stand in his way, not even himself.
Vytautas started whining again, but this time he was looking at Toris and not in the direction of Ludwig. He leapt off the couch and came over to Toris, giving him a gentle nudge. A bit confused, Toris ruffled his fur, wondering what could be wrong this time.
It took the man a moment to realize that he was crying again.
Toris laid down on the couch, trying to make himself stop. He'd somehow convinced himself that he would be okay with doing all of this – but his true feelings always seemed to pop up afterwards. No matter how much he lied, he couldn't believe any of it.
He was falling apart. Everything about him was crumbling, and yet he was trying to keep the rubble together.
Vytautas licked at Toris' face, his dark eyes full of concern. Toris stroked the dog's fur, wishing the tears would just stop. He didn't even feel upset at all – did he lose any control over his emotions? It was almost like he didn't have power over himself anymore, as if his mind was a separate being.
"Save me," he whispered. "What a ridiculous idea. I don't need a hero anymore, Vytautas. You know what? I am the hero."
Toris thought that last bit over for some time. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He protected the people from both the dangerous prisoners and Eduard. Anyone who was a threat to the Empire – dead by Toris' order. Although it was taking a bit of time, he was turning the world into a better place. As a matter of fact, he wasn't getting any of the recognition he deserved.
No one seemed to acknowledge the fact he was keeping the people of Poland-Lithuania from being killed – no, they only thought of Toris as a monster. Did they know anything about him? Of his struggles, his failures, the constant pain in his chest from all of the battles? There wasn't a human alive who was discrediting him that knew and felt his pains. All they saw was a murderous man.
But if someone would just lift up that curtain, they could see the real hero.
"I am the hero of this story," Toris said to himself, wiping his eyes with his bandaged hand. "They just haven't realized it yet."
Gilbert sat upright in bed, writing in his diary by the pale light of a new morning. No one else was awake yet – the only noises he could hear were the scratch of the pen on the paper and the winter winds ripping through the camp. Silence was such a welcomed thing for the Prussian now. Once, a very long seven years ago, he would've gone mad at the thought of it being this quiet. But now he could actually think long and hard about something without any interruptions.
"There's this sort of hopelessness that comes from living here so long," he wrote in messy cursive. Over the years his handwriting had really gone downhill – it was like chicken scratch by now. But on the other side, Ludwig couldn't read it at all. "It really doesn't help when you look around at roll call and can't find any faces that have been here for the whole time you have. I can't even begin to imagine what Ivan's like. While most of us are going on our eighth year at good old Bolesność, Ivan is either on his ninth or tenth. I told him that if it is his tenth year, we should have an anniversary party. He's going to ask Raivis today for the record.
"I seem to have gotten sidetracked. So, sometimes you get really, really, really depressed. It's almost like a sort of hunger that eats away at you, trying to wear you down to nothing. That's how I feel this lovely morning; bleak. Optimism is a completely foreign thought for most of us, but I take it upon myself to keep everyone happy. But for some reason, I'm just…what's the word? Miserable?
"Maybe it's the you-know-what making me so gloomy. I've come to call it by Roderichitis. Very fancy sounding, don't you think? Sometimes I really wonder if when I fall asleep I'm not going to wake up. Damn Roderichitis.
"Speaking of our resident Austrian, he told me he has plans to tell Luddy everything about HRE. Does he have any idea how catastrophic that would be? And he said it would be on Christmas! Seriously? Don't ruin Christmas for the poor kid! He has no idea what he's doing!
"Oh, who knows? All I know is that I have three things to do every day. Number one; keep everyone happy. Number two; keep Ludwig from being so nosy and asking about HRE. And number three; annoy the hell out of Toris. Speaking of Toris, I didn't see much of him yesterday. And then Feliks left so suddenly…Do you think there was a big fight?
"God, I'm asking myself questions. This must really be the end for me.
"Love, Gilbert.
"P.S – I am awesome!"
Gilbert gently closed the book, placing it back on its pile. Years worth of recording was stacked up in Gilbert's corner of the cell, a quiet reminder of how long they'd really been here. Sometimes, when he got really bored, he'd read some of the older entries and laugh to himself. That poor man has no idea what's about to happen, Gilbert would say to himself, smiling as he flipped the page and got a vibrant description of a beating. It was like reading a horrible series with no real ending – the torment just kept going on and on and on.
Figuring he had nothing better to do with his time, Gilbert got out of bed and looked over the stack for one to read. As he ran his finger down the spines of countless journals, he realized he'd never read the one all the way on the bottom; the one that had a few entries from before the war. If anything could lift his spirits up, it would definitely be that book.
He opened the diary for the first time in what must've been a long time, amazed at how beautiful his handwriting was. This was not the barely legible squiggles that his writing had become – it was written with a bit of grace and effort, each letter actually distinguishable from the next.
The first page was about a fight with Ludwig over what to watch on TV.
The second told the story of a grocery trip.
The third was centered on Ludwig's relationship with Feliciano.
Gilbert couldn't bring himself to read the fourth one.
Who was this man, writing so cheerfully about his little brother and shopping? This couldn't possibly be Gilbert Beilschmidt. They were someone else's words, someone who clearly wasn't being constantly tortured. Every page talked of things so lightly and happily, not like the entry could be one of their last. Whoever this was writing didn't describe how many stitches he'd gotten, how angry he'd made Toris, how much time was spent talking to Roderich about the inevitable time where they were going to have to tell Ludwig the truth.
What happened to him?
What happened to that stupid albino Prussian who would go unknowingly into anything without any regrets? The man who took every opportunity to make jokes and laugh was long gone by now. Gilbert wanted to be like him again, living without a care in the world. But all he could do to even come close to that time was smile. He couldn't bring himself to laugh at everything anymore – very rarely did the chance for a joke arise. That magic touch of Gilbert's had left, along with the rest of him.
Everything has to come to an end. Nothing can last forever.
He put the diary back, making a mental note to never pick it up again. Right as he was about to go back to bed for the few remaining minutes of sleep he could get, a furry beast ran into the cell block, wagging its tail and panting happily. It was that dog Ludwig was playing with yesterday – Toris' dog. The Lithuanian would be livid if he found out the dog had gotten loose and went straight to Ludwig.
"Oh, shit," Gilbert whispered, walking over to the barred wall. He knelt down, glaring at the dog. "Go home," he ordered, trying to shoo it away.
"I brought him here for Ludwig, not you."
Gilbert looked up, startled to find Toris standing over him. The man's hands were bandaged, and he smelled faintly of smoke. He looked rather angry this morning, much more so than usual.
"I see you've gotten over your breakup with Feliks," Gilbert said, standing up so he could be taller than the man.
"I see you're still alive," Toris said with the same hint of sarcasm, pulling the keys from his pocket.
"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?"
Toris pinched the bridge of his nose, opening the door just enough that the dog could slip in. Immediately it went over to Ludwig, sitting right down beside the sleeping German with its head cocked. "It should've killed you. Listen, roll call's going to be a bit late today. You can sleep for another hour or so. I was just sick of Vytautas' whining and brought him to Ludwig," he explained, locking the door back up.
"Whatever. I know the real reason – you're still upset about your breakup with Feliks."
"Don't sass me. I really could put you out of your misery right now."
"Ah, but there's the thing!" Gilbert went back to his cot, giving Toris a sweet smile. "You won't kill me with your own hands. Someone or something else always has to do it for you."
"So you've finally figured me out. I'm glad it took you what, almost eight years? Who knows what could've happened if you'd realized it sooner?" Toris whispered, locking the door back up. "But here's the best part – I just did kill someone. And I don't regret it at all, so I think I'll be able to do you in when the time comes."
"Who?" Gilbert racked his mind for possible victims, trying to think of some of the recent deaths.
"Oh, no one too terribly important. All I'm saying is you better watch your back. And keep an eye on Ludwig. I think he knows too much." Toris nodded towards the sleeping German. "I wouldn't be surprised if I did away with him first."
Gilbert put a protective arm over Ludwig and Vytautas started snarling. "Don't even think about hurting him."
"I wouldn't dare. But, I think he'll be rather upset when he finally learns everything you've hidden from him." Toris stepped back outside, giving Gilbert one last glance. "Or maybe it'll be too late."
"Little ally, he's coming."
Ludwig tightened his grip on the pistol, cocking it and curling his finger around the trigger. He glanced over at Ivan – with the gleam of moonlight, he could see the faint outline of the Russian and the huge knife in his hand. Had they not been working together, Ludwig would've easily mistaken Ivan for a murderer. From the lavender eyes sparkling in the pale light to the cruel grin on his face, Ivan looked almost too excited for what was about to take place.
From outside his bedroom door, Ludwig could hear gentle footsteps. They came closer and closer, each step making the German's heart beat faster. Finally he couldn't stand watching anymore and closed his eyes. And then the door opened just a sliver. Ludwig opened his eyes again – although he couldn't see anyone, he knew who was there.
"Ludwig?" A nearly impossible to hear voice called. If he hadn't overheard the conversation a few nights ago, he wouldn't have been able to recognize it.
And he didn't dare to reply.
"Ludwig, are you awake? I need to talk to you about something. Don't play any jokes with me."
Once again, he didn't answer. An answer would mean Ivan would get caught. If the person really did have some sort of weapon with them, the Russian would end up with it stuck in his neck. They didn't need two injuries tonight.
"This is your last chance, young man."
There was a pause for a few seconds, and then more light footsteps. The door creaked close as the figure came closer to Ludwig's bedside. Immediately Ludwig closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep. Soon the person was right above him – he couldn't see it, but this man's presence was quite powerful. What was taking Ivan so long? He should've grabbed the man and snapped his neck already. Ludwig was ordered not to move unless it was absolutely necessary. But when was it deemed necessary? After the knife was in his chest?
"I'm sorry."
Suddenly Ludwig realized that Ivan must've been in on the plan to kill him. That was the only reason why he hadn't tackled the man yet. He was there to watch him die.
Why was it taking so long for Basch to finish him off then? Was he trying to torment Ludwig? If that was the case, it was working perfectly. His heart rate had skyrocket, his breathing sharp in anticipation for the huge amount of pain that was going to follow.
Ludwig slowly opened one eye, just in time to see a dagger right above his chest. The tip was hovering over his heart; with one small movement he could be in serious danger.
"Put the knife down," Ivan ordered, now behind the man with his giant hunting knife pressed to the intruder's neck. "Ludwig, get your gun out."
Instinctively, Ludwig drew the pistol and aimed it at Roderich with a trembling hand.
"Roderich?" Ludwig asked in disbelief. "Where's Basch?"
"He didn't want to help," Roderich answered, dropping his knife. Ivan pressed the giant blade closer to the Austrian's neck, kicking the knife away from him.
"Lie. Where is he?" Ivan said, his voice much too calm. "Basch was the one who wanted to start this plan."
"Like I said, he didn't want to do this. I acted on my own accord."
Ivan took his knife from Roderich's neck, going over to the closed door. "Then you won't mind if I open the door, will you?"
"Fine," Roderich sighed. "He's waiting out there with a loaded gun. Basch, don't shoot."
Ivan opened the door, Basch storming right past him with a rifle in hand. Had Ivan not been here to help, that rifle would've finished Ludwig's life. "How did you screw up something as simple as this?" He growled, giving Roderich a shove.
"It's not my fault Ivan was here."
"So you ruined the whole thing for us?" Basch turned around to face Ivan and presumably start screaming, but instantly stopping any thoughts of a fight when he saw the giant knife in the man's hand.
"Little man, I would not get so angry. You were the one trying to kill an innocent child, no? So I am really the hero here." Ivan examined his hunting knife, looking back down at Basch. "I would hate for there to be real bloodshed."
"Oh, so you want to play the game that way?" Basch grabbed Ivan's scarf, pulling him down to eye level.
"Don't think you can treat me this way. I am bigger and stronger than you."
"I'd like to hear you say that when I've torn out your insides."
"Excuse me, but could I have a word alone with Ludwig? Can you two go fight somewhere else?" Roderich asked.
Ivan grabbed Roderich's knife from the floor, holding Basch by his wrist. "Ludwig, don't trust this man for a minute. He's still suspicious." And with that he dragged Basch out of the room, closing the door gently.
"I'm so sorry. I don't know what got a hold of me. I just wanted…" Roderich trailed off, sitting down at the foot of the bed.
"You just wanted to kill me!"
"No! Well, yes, that was part of my intent. But as a father," the Austrian said, holding his head in his hands. "I want what's best for you."
"And brutal murder is what's best?" Ludwig snapped.
Roderich sighed quietly. "I don't know anymore. The thought was to end it all in your sleep so you wouldn't have to go to war. I…I just thought that war was much worse than a quiet passing. It's painful," he said, sounding like he was nearly in tears. "And I don't want you to hurt anymore. There are so many things on a battlefield children shouldn't see. Even worse, that Russian man has to be your ally."
"I don't really think Ivan's all that bad."
"He's horrible. A bloodthirsty man always craving some sort of fight, out there with you. I fear he'll turn against you. Or even worse, abandon you and watch your death from afar. There's something different about him, Ludwig. A sort of murderer's twinkle in his eye."
"He really isn't that…barbaric. You just have to get to know him," Ludwig reassured the Austrian. "If you look past the childish cruelty, he's rather loving and generous."
"All I want is for you to stay here. I just want us to stay a family. I want Gilbert back, I want Ivan to go back to his frozen land, I want you to stay where you belong. Is that too much to ask for?" Roderich said, his words racked with sobs.
"If it means anything, I don't want to go either."
Roderich looked up at Ludwig, tears tracing down his cheekbones. In the dim lights, he looked like a broken man. Long shadows darkened parts of his face, dull violet eyes looking far away at something Ludwig couldn't see. He knew this look all too well – it was the same mask the Roderich in the present wore. Somewhere underneath all the sorrow and fear, there was a stuck up musician.
"I don't want you to die," Roderich whispered. "I love you. I'm just trying to keep you from all that fear and pain – and look, I'm just a madman who wanted to kill his own son and can't keep his empire in one piece anymore."
Ludwig put the pistol down, going over to Roderich. Taking the crying man's hands from his eyes, he put his arms around Roderich's chest and held him close.
"Everyone makes mistakes. And you didn't kill me, right?"
Roderich looked down at Ludwig, a faint hint of a smile on his face. "God, it all seems rather ridiculous now. Almost like it's all a bad nightmare."
"Oh, it is," Ludwig said to himself. "You have no idea."
"I am so sorry. You have one final day at the house, and I ruined it," Roderich continued on, acting like he hadn't heard what Ludwig just said.
"It already was ruined."
"I suppose you're right." Roderich held Ludwig closer, stroking the boy's blond hair. "I'll always love you. Please, remember that when you're out there with that brute. And if you do make it out alive, you can always come back here. I won't ever stop loving you, no matter what happens."
"I hate you, Ludwig," Roderich groaned, looking away from the German.
"What did I do this time?"
"You've brought that thing along with you again." Roderich pointed to Vytautas accusingly. "Make it go home."
"He has a name – Vytautas. And he loves me," Ludwig said, scratching the dog behind its ears.
"Love or no love, he needs to go home."
"I don't see what's so wrong with the dog," Ivan added, motioning towards Vytautas. "He's much better company than you are."
Roderich rolled his eyes and sighed overdramatically. "Don't you see that it's a plot to get one of us killed? Guard dogs are trained to kill. And if we just let one wander about with us, its real instincts are bound to switch on at some point. I hope it tears out your throat first," he said, glaring at Ludwig.
"Vytautas wouldn't do that. Look, he even knows a few tricks. Roll over," Ludwig ordered, and the dog immediately rolled onto his back.
"Can't all dogs do that one?" Ivan asked. "Do something impressive."
"This is the best one." Ludwig made an L with his thumb and index finger, making a pretend gun. Vytautas dropped to the floor, playing dead.
"Oh, good, he knows how to fake out the enemy," Roderich snapped. "So he'll pretend to be dead and then murder you. Marvelous, simply marvelous. I can't wait until one of us wakes up and thinks he's just an innocent little puppy and then gets our heart eaten by a rabid dog from hell."
"He's too sweet to do something like that," Ludwig said, tearing off a piece of his bread he'd saved from dinner and holding it out for the dog.
"What are you doing?" Gilbert asked rather angrily, grabbing for Ludwig's hand. "That mutt probably gets more food than all of us do combined!"
Ludwig smiled as Vytautas gently took the bread from his hand, flashing him a look of gratitude. "He was with me all day yesterday and today, so he hasn't had anything to eat. I'd feel terrible if he was hungry too. And I don't need it all."
"You realize this is a bloodthirsty hellhound you're talking about, right?" Yao said. "One who kills men for fun?"
"But he's still a dog that needs to eat," Ludwig snapped defensively.
Gilbert sighed, holding his head. "Please, just don't starve to death for the dog."
"I'll give you my share so I can starve and the dog can be fed," Roderich offered.
"Speaking of starvation and dying," Gilbert said. "I need to talk to you about something Roderich. Alone." He shot a dirty look at Ludwig at the last bit – it had to be something about Holy Rome.
Reluctantly, Roderich got up and left the cell block with Gilbert. The Prussian shut the door behind them, making sure Ludwig wasn't going to hear.
Ludwig didn't even make any attempts to listen in. He figured Elizabeta was going to tell him everything on Christmas, which was only a little over two weeks away. All of a sudden he was excited for Christmas again – something that hadn't happened in a very long seven years. No longer was it going to be yet another day here, but it was going to be the day where Ludwig was finally going to know everything.
"Hey, Ludwig, I think you better come hear this," Ivan whispered. Ludwig hadn't even noticed the Russian was listening to their conversation, as he was too wrapped up in the glittering thought of putting together all the pieces.
Ludwig came over to the door and only caught two words of Gilbert's, "It's over."
He backed away after that, refusing to hear whatever his brother had to say. "It's over" could mean thousands of things, and he didn't want to know a single one of them. His imagination was running rampant – was Gilbert dying, planning on escaping, or maybe both? Were the two older nations going to try and kill off Ludwig's Holy Rome theories once and for all? Or perhaps they were talking about the war. Maybe Gilbert heard something about the end of it all.
"He's saying that there's something wrong," Ivan said, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Something's really wrong."
"It's probably just my brother being my brother," Ludwig replied, going back over to Vytautas. Sometimes he wanted to know everything, and sometimes he wanted to know nothing. Tonight was one of those times he wanted to know nothing.
"He just said something about a condition called Roderichitis. Is that some joke of yours?"
"No," Ludwig said, stroking Vytautas lightly. "I've never heard of it before."
"Oh, now Roderich is really mad. He's using words that I didn't even know he knew," Ivan laughed, motioning for Yao to join him. Soon the two were howling at Roderich's choice of words, repeating them to each other.
"What do you think you're doing?" Gilbert snarled, throwing the door open. Yao and Ivan tried to stop laughing, but they couldn't. Roderich kept going with his creative choice of expletives, only fueling the fire for the two's hysterics.
"Did you start this?" Gilbert asked, coming over to Ludwig. "More importantly, did you hear any of our conversation?"
"No, but Ivan did," Ludwig smiled.
"Ivan, I swear to God!"
"Sorry, but I wanted to know what was so important!" Ivan managed in between fits of laughter. "And look how mad Roderich got!"
"Drop it," Roderich hissed, going back to his cell.
"I'm not Vytautas!" Ivan called after him. "You can't command me to do anything."
"Oh, why don't you go make out with Yao somewhere and leave me alone?" Roderich asked mockingly.
"Shut up." Ivan had almost instantly stopped laughing. "That's not even funny to joke about."
"You know what else isn't funny? What Gilbert just told me. So stop laughing and go to bed already."
"What did he tell you?" Yao asked.
Roderich didn't answer for a moment. "He told me there was something very wrong with someone in this room, and they were likely to not make it. Something about knowing far too much."
"If you need anything, come get me, okay? Don't bother with Toris," Feliks said softly, running his fingers through Raivis' hair.
"I will," Raivis replied.
"I have to go to work now, but I'll be checking in every like, two hours or so." Feliks gave Raivis a worried look, kissing him on the forehead. "Please don't try to do something stupid."
"I promise I won't."
"And try not to fall asleep in case I can't make it back in time," Feliks sighed, getting up from his spot next to Raivis. Right as he left, he glanced back at the boy anxiously. For not being that close at all to Raivis, he was rather concerned about his wellbeing.
"I'll be okay," Raivis said, giving Feliks a weak smile.
"I know. It's just…" his voice faded away. Without another word, he let the door close with a gentle click.
For a moment Raivis forgot all about his plan and stared up at his bedroom ceiling. Everything hurt, his vision was still a bit off, and his left hand had three fingers bandaged together to keep them straight as they healed. He was actually glad that he couldn't remember the whole ordeal. Eduard's scene was enough nightmare material for Raivis – he didn't need another horrifying memory.
Right, Eduard. Have to save Eduard.
Raivis got out of bed, just now realizing how unsteady he was on his feet. Before, Feliks had either carried him or helped him along. But with a few near falls, he made it over to the door and pressed his ear to it. He couldn't hear anything, so Feliks must've gone downstairs.
Slowly, he opened the door. Thankfully there wasn't a frustrated Pole standing there waiting; or even worse, Toris. Praying neither of the two were going to suddenly appear from the shadows, Raivis took a few wobbly steps out into the hallway. With all the grace of a child just learning to ice skate, Raivis stumbled over to the stair railing.
But before he could go downstairs, he caught a glimpse of a shadow moving across a long rectangle of yellow light from the kitchen. If he went to the basement now, Feliks would have a clear view of him.
"…There for so long?" Toris asked, his voice immediately making Raivis tense up. He didn't think the demon was going to be there as well.
"Well, there happens to be a lot of wounded soldiers," Feliks snapped.
"So, tell me what happened."
Feliks groaned loudly. "We get there, wait for a few centuries, doctor comes to see Raivis, says he has concussion and is probably going to need surgery, we wait for another decade or two, and finally they come and fix up his fingers and send us back. Evidently, he didn't need surgery. Oh, and Raivis threw up in the car. So, fun times for all of us."
"Sounds like a typical day," Toris laughed halfheartedly.
"Do you know how much surgery would've cost us? The doctor said we were this close to having an operation done," Feliks growled in a low voice, "He said you nearly cracked his skull open. There's a tiny crack now. They wouldn't believe me that it was an accident. If I hadn't, like, told them who I was, I think they would've called the police and arrested me for child abuse."
Raivis knew his concussion was bad, but not to that level. He'd been mostly out of it the whole time at the hospital – when he was responsive enough to answer questions, it was all a blurry mess. In the back of his aching mind he vaguely remembered something about the whole police bit, as Feliks was screaming at the doctors about how he was Poland and they should all respect him.
"Like I said earlier, I didn't mean to do any of that," Toris said in reply. "I was just trying to teach him a lesson and got a bit too into it."
"You think?" Feliks asked, slamming a door to something.
"God, don't you think I feel horrible? All you're doing is making this worse and worse."
"I hope you feel like a horrible person. And I hope I'm making it worse. Now, would you like to tell me what happened to Eduard?" Feliks asked.
There was a long pause, in which Raivis was considering going downstairs and telling Feliks the whole story. But Toris beat him to it. "He was transmitting secret things to the Russians. I found a radio in his room, along with several codebooks. And not only that, he's the one that's been helping all those people escape. Raivis and him go out to the forest every Friday, pretend to knock off about twenty of them, and then send them off to Free Germany."
"…What?"
"You think I would lie to you about something as serious as this? They've let as many as two thousand go over the years! Two thousand people!" The Lithuanian enunciated every word, stomping his foot down.
"I…I can't handle this right now. I'm sorry, I don't….what? You cannot be serious right now," Feliks said in disbelief. "Listen, I'm going to go…I don't really know what I'm going to do. I just need some time to think about all of this."
"You can think all you want, but it won't change the truth."
"I know. I'm…just going to go walk around for a bit."
Feliks appeared from the kitchen, going straight out the door without even noticing Raivis standing there watching him. After waiting a few minutes in case he decided to come back, Raivis carefully went downstairs. Each step was a nightmare with his bad footing, but when he got down to the first floor it was even more horrifying. Toris was right in the kitchen with a perfect view of Raivis. He was sitting at the table, lost in one of Eduard's books.
If he were to look up, Raivis would undoubtedly end up with more than a little hairline fracture in his skull.
Never, not once in his life, had someone described the Latvian as stealthy. He was too loud, too uncoordinated, and too obvious. But somehow he managed to get to the cellar door without Toris glancing up. Cautiously, he opened it and stepped into the darkness. Checking that Toris was still unaware, Raivis closed the door behind him and was completely overcame by the pitch black.
"Eduard?" He called out, his voice barely above a whisper. Although there wasn't any reply, Raivis figured that the Estonian couldn't hear him. Grabbing one of the flashlights lined along a shelf on the wall, he held the light in his bad and used his good one to hold onto the railing for life.
"Hey, Eduard?" He said again, this time much louder. As he reached the bottom step, he swept the light along the wall to make sure his brother was still there. Sure enough, the Estonian lay against the wall, asleep.
Or perhaps…
Raivis went over to Eduard's side, falling down next to him. "Hey, Eduard! You got to wake up!"
One sea green eye opened halfway, followed by the other.
"Oh, thank God!" Raivis cheered, pulling Eduard into a hug. "I thought you were –"
"Smile."
Raivis dropped his big brother, momentarily believing he was hearing things. But there was no mistaking it, as Eduard mouthed the word again.
"No," Raivis whispered. "I can't."
"You can. Do it for me." Eduard's voice was a hoarse rasp by now, but his words couldn't have been clearer. "Remember, you need to follow Ringleader's orders…and you have to make it to Christmas. I love you, Latvia."
Taking Eduard's hand in his, Raivis smiled through his tears. He kept that stupid grin Eduard always used to say he wanted to wipe off the boy's face, right until the sea green eyes closed again.
A/N: Guess who got in the top ten at her shooting match today? One polski-doodle did! And we won our first Scholar's Bowl match on Monday. Our little hick town of a school won against a few private schools. So we're really not as stupid as we seem!
The title of this chapter is based on the Biblical tower of the same name and the Mumford and Sons song. According to the story, the tower of Babel crumbled *cough* like Toris *cough*.
So, I'm sorry if this chapter feels a bit rushed. I'm definitely crunched for time now. I'm really trying to have a quality chapter every Saturday, but, oh, God, is it hard. I promise to keep it up on every Saturday though. I couldn't ever let any of you cinnamon rolls down.
I hope all of you guys have a happy Valentine's Day! I didn't get anything from anyone at my school, but I did get something much better than any chocolate or roses. I wrote to Robert Clary (the man who plays LeBeau on Hogan's Heroes, for those of you who don't know or don't care) and he wrote back to me! I didn't even need someone to love me or get me chocolate like every other person at my school did.
Thank you to MoonlightScarlett, cj0410 (you aren't smooth at all) and my faithful little dears cracknovelist, SoulEleri, Seele Esser Deutsch, and Comix and Co! And more thanks to the people who read For Those Below! You all make my day! I know I'm so redundant by now...
Have the best Valentine's Day ever! You go ask your crush out, I believe in you!
See you all next chapter!