Chapter Fifty-One: Tactical Realignment

He should have known nothing was going to happen to him or anyone else, because the soldiers came, not Panem. But he didn't think of that; he couldn't think of that, not with the threat of having to witness another torture session or having to kill someone else looming over him the way it did.

He didn't fight, of course - there was no point in fighting anymore - and the soldiers laughed at him, mocking his weakness, but he wasn't listening.

They didn't go as far this time, just down the hall, directly past the kitchen. America thought of Estonia and the broken glass in his hands and feet, and just for a minute, he remembered that his life could be a lot worse, and that steeled his resolve a little. Then the guards pushed him into an unfamiliar room and left him there, and his courage began to slip away again.

The room looked exactly like his prison cell - dark, barren, and cold - except that it was several times bigger, and already occupied. Lithuania and Belarus sat side by side on the floor, and America had honestly never been happier to see anyone in his life.

"Are you guys okay?" he asked, stupidly, because of course they weren't, and he knew it.

Belarus looked up at him, nodding. "We are not hurt. We have never been in this room before, though."

"Yeah, I know," America said. "I don't know what's up now. I guess it's…probably just, you know…"

"If it was going to be torture, I would think it would be done somewhere we're already familiar with, like the conference room or…or that glass room," said Lithuania. "It's probably not torture, but we shouldn't expect anything less than that. Tricking us like this is something she would do."

"She's smart like that," America mumbled, sinking down on the floor next to Lithuania. "I will say that: Panem is no idiot."

"If she was an idiot, we wouldn't be here," Lithuania agreed, and there was really nothing else to say after that, so America leaned his head on Lithuania's shoulder - like a scared little kid, but he knew it would reassure Lithuania as much as it reassured him - and waited for whatever might come, torture or otherwise.


This room didn't look like a torture chamber, but Russia knew from personal experience that anywhere could be turned into a place of torture at a moment's notice, if one had the proper tools. He stood in the doorway, awkwardly, not sure where to go. Latvia was conspicuously absent, but America, Lithuania, Belarus, Switzerland, and Italy were all clustered on the floor, and he didn't know if he should go over to them, or whether he should stay where he was.

It was Lithuania who noticed him first, Lithuania who lifted a shaking hand to beckon him over. He went hesitantly; maybe Estonia had been the only one who outright hated him, but if the others wanted him to keep his distance, he would. America offered a tight smile, Italy an oblivious grin.

"I don't suppose you know why we're here, Ivan," Lithuania said. "We've all been talking, and we've been told nothing, nor have any of us seen Panem."

He shook his head. "I also know nothing, nor have I seen Panem. I am sorry."

There was a long silence, before Italy piped up, his cheerful voice displaying just a hint of nervousness.

"I wonder when Iceland and Latvia are going to get here."

Russia glanced at Lithuania, saw him sigh and bring his knees closer to his chest, and saw Belarus squeeze his hand comfortingly.

She really does love him, after all.

No one answered Italy, and Russia saw him fidgeting uncomfortably, looking more nervous by the second, as they waited and Iceland and Latvia did not appear.

"Feliciano," he said at last, "I do not think they are coming."

Italy blinked. "Huh? Why not?"

He didn't want to answer; he knew Panem hadn't killed Latvia, would never kill Latvia, but if he wasn't here, he probably wasn't coming. It had been about ten minutes, he thought, since he'd been brought in, and still there was no sign of anyone. As for Iceland, he thought he knew, but he also knew enough to realize that Italy would not want to hear the truth.

"Well…I just do not think they are coming right now," he said, avoiding the truth.

Then the truth came out anyway.

"Iceland is dead," Switzerland said flatly. "He was dying two days ago; he's surely long gone by now."

Lithuania flinched; Italy merely looked ever so slightly surprised.

"Oh," he said, very quietly. "Well, I guess that makes sense."

No one had anything to say to that, and what could they say, when Italy thought this was a dream and was probably consoling himself with the thought that he would see Iceland again when they woke up, whenever that might be.

As someone who had let himself be deluded by his own, overly childish thoughts, Russia understood what Italy was doing, and yet, he was not sure whether it would be best for Italy to never accept that this was not a dream, or to remain forever believing that he could wake from his nightmare.

Knowing what is true might hurt him even more. Maybe it would be best for him not to find out. His delusions, unlike mine from long ago, are not harming any of us.


With Estonia's death, Latvia had lost all remaining privacy. Panem, apparently, had decided that she now had the right and privilege to barge into Latvia's room at any time, without knocking or announcing herself in any way.

It was enough to make him want to hide in the corner and never come out, except if he did that, she would find him and scold him and drag him out, and that would be even more problematic.

So he ate his meals with Panem and tried not to think about what must be happening downstairs, about his friends hurting and dying. He'd thought not knowing would be easier, and in a way it was, but at the same time, it was terrible and frightening. He'd been left alone for hours just today, left alone to fantasize about what might be happening. Knowing Panem, if she wasn't with him, she was doing something to hurt someone else.

He wondered if, if he acted like he was becoming devoted to her, she would stay with him more, if he could distract her from the others, but somehow, it no longer seemed worth it. He didn't want her near him, because she wasn't just the personified ghost of her own childhood now, but a ghost dragging with her a thousand other ghosts, none of them as pleasant as the child Panem, whose ghost he had learned to live with, if not accept.

He'd become sure that ghosts were real. He could feel them all around him, even now, as he sat on the roof with Panem and looked out at the sunset.

"Are you happy, Raivis?" she asked. "Don't you like it?"

"Yes, I like it," he said, and he did like watching the sunset, but he could not enjoy it now, with her beside him, making her motives painfully clear.

She's doing all the things she knows I like, just to win me over. It's really manipulative, honestly, and no, I don't like it. But could I explain all that to her? She doesn't care. She'll never care. She just wants me to love her, and that is something that I can never do.

"It's beautiful, Perri," he murmured, and some kind of sad, desperate impulse prompted him to add, "But I can't do this."

"Can't do what?"

I can't pretend. I can't pretend to love you when you've destroyed everything. The problem is, I do love you, just not the person you are now. I still love the past you. But I can't say this to you, because you won't listen. You never listen. When we talk, we just have the same conversations over and over again. Nothing changes. If you have it your way, things will always stay the same, unless I learn to love you as you are.

"I can't pretend right now," he said, finally, because surely she could understand that, at least. "I'm just…I'm just tired. Please let me go to sleep."

She said nothing; he could feel her watching him and he hoped, desperately, that she wouldn't hurt anyone else for this, that she'd at least let him take his own punishment now, when Estonia was no longer there to take it.

"All right, Raivis," she said at last, standing up. "Whatever you want."

Whatever I want…except for the thing I want most of all.

He let her take him back inside, and once in his room, he shut the lights off and sat down next to his bed, waiting until the last of the sunset had left the sky, leaving him in darkness. The darkness didn't make it better, not at all, but at least, at least he didn't have to see the pretty things around him, didn't have to remember where he was and how alone he was now, how alone he would be for the rest of his life.

He couldn't talk to himself, because Panem was probably listening and would use it against him. But he flicked on the lamp, opened his notebook - the notebook full of blank pages that he did not know how to fill - and began to write, not poetry, but something that was neither story nor essay.

Once, there was sunlight in the world. It spread across everything, and the world was a good place to be. But then it came to pass that the sunlight began to fade, and when the sunlight faded, so too did joy. Humans cannot exist without joy. Without happiness - without a reason to live - there's no point in anything.

The words wouldn't come. He couldn't make them. He was just too tired, too tired to try and make the words beautiful like they had once been. He was more exhausted than he had ever been.

He turned the light off again and lay on the floor in the dark, staring up at the blackness around him. And, despite the uselessness of his words, they began to echo in his head.

If I'm not happy…there's no reason to live.

It was shameful, terribly shameful, for him to think that, when he knew there were people depending on him.

But they aren't…they aren't depending on me. Not anymore. I'm never going to see them again. Eirikur is dead. Eddy is dead. I'll never see the others again. Panem says so. So there's no point.

"What if things changed?" He hoped that, by speaking aloud, he could somehow drive his inner thoughts away. "What if it got better? What if Perri got better?"

But Raivis, you know that can never be.


Maybe he was just being paranoid.

Lithuania tried to convince himself of that, over and over, but as the hours lengthened and no one came to torment them, he became more and more certain that he was right.

They had all been placed, effectively, in a prison cell together. Anyone else - Russia and Italy least - would view this as an accidental mercy, as something that would make them all feel better. And he wanted to think the same, but he also knew by now that Panem did nothing by accident, and that this was no accident either.

Placing them together had been kind, yes, but if he was right, it was also the worst thing she could have done.

"Toris?"

It was the middle of the night, and he hadn't realized Russia was still awake. In the faint light from the single bulb hung from the ceiling, he could see Russia watching him worriedly, now that he turned to look.

"Ivan." He smiled, but it must have seemed forced, because Russia's frown deepened.

"Are you all right?"

He didn't want to ruin Russia's hopes, he really didn't want to, but he also thought that, of all of them, Russia needed to be prepared. They all needed to be, but him most of all.

As much as I hate to admit it…Ivan has more chance of staying sane than I do.

"I think this is going to be another form of torture," he said. "I know…she probably hasn't put us here to witness torture, but to see its effects."

Russia frowned, looking puzzled, and Lithuania hastened to explain.

"We probably won't have to watch the torture itself," he said, "but, all sharing a cell, we'll have to cope with each other's pain when it's at its worst. So, if I am tortured, or you are tortured, or Natalya or Feliciano or Alfred or Basch, we will all have to watch the tortured person suffer and struggle to recover. And some of us…won't always have the will to recover."

"Do you really think that?" Russia asked, wide-eyed.

"I don't know," Lithuania admitted, sighing. "I think…I think it's very likely. But it could be that's not what she has in mind, although if not that, I don't know what."

"Will…will you be all right with that?"

"I'll…I'll be fine." He forced himself to smile, and he knew Russia wasn't buying the lie, but what was he supposed to do?

I can't tell him 'I'll probably go insane soon'. That's not something he needs to hear. He, among all of us, probably holds the most hope, even now. I can't destroy it. I have to let him hope…for as long as he still has the strength.

"Are you scared?" Russia asked. "I'm scared."

Lithuania's smile was more ironic than it was forced, this time, as he looked around at the pitiful, sleeping nations. America stirred fitfully, whimpering, while Italy and Belarus lay rigid and still, curled close around America. As Lithuania watched, Italy, who might or might not be asleep, slipped his hand into America's, and the blond boy's whimpers grew quieter. Switzerland slept leaning against the wall, away from the others, his ragged hair concealing his face and any pain he might feel.

"We're all scared, Ivan. But there's nothing we can do about it, not now. We have to live with that fear…or give in to it. Which would you rather do? Suffer in fear, or go insane, because you let your fear take over every part of you?"

He hadn't expected Russia to take his question so seriously, but as he watched, Russia's face darkened in confusion and pain.

"Suffer," he said. "I would much rather suffer from fear and pain than go insane again. If I was to go insane again, I might hurt you, and even though it would feel better at that time, later on, it would hurt me more than suffering in comparative sanity. What about you, Toris?"

And for a moment he remembered Russia's words from decades ago.

"I am not insane, Litva!"

And now they talked about insanity as if it was normal, as if everyone, at some time in their lives, fell victim to insanity.

"I would…I would rather suffer. If I went insane, I don't think…I don't think I would hurt anyone. I don't have that kind of insanity. But if I went insane, it would hurt people without, without me actually striking them. I wouldn't want to do that. Even if…if I believe that I'm completely worthless, and it wouldn't matter if I went insane…I still know that it would hurt you all. So I'll try to remain sane as long as possible."

Silence, and in the silence he began to feel guilty that he had shared all this with Russia, who, of all people, did not need to hear his burdens. Then there was a quiet rustling noise, and Russia's arms were around him, shielding him from everything outside.

"You are still…such a strong person," Russia said.

I'm not. I haven't been for such a long time... I've forgotten what it means to be strong.

"If I were you, I would not still be able to stand up, let alone think why it is that I must keep going," Russia said. "You really are…the strongest of all of us. You always have been."

If only that strength had made me invincible. Then, perhaps, I could be of some use to you all, instead of waiting helplessly for all of us to die.


It would be easier to give up hope, to turn themselves in and resign themselves to death than to press on like this, knowing the end result would be the same. Canada didn't doubt that they would be captured eventually, but at the same time, he refused to give in that easily.

Even if we're captured, and eventually die…I'd rather die knowing that I fought until the end, rather than giving up hope when he might have still escaped.

On the one hand, there was very little real hope, but on the other, that small hope might mean they could survive. And if they could survive - if there was even the smallest chance - Canada was willing to keep going.

They'd been searching the outskirts of the city for what felt like years, and yet it had only been a couple of days. Time seemed to go so much more slowly now than it had before the world fell apart. He felt like he'd spent years hiding in alleyways, stealing food from trashcans, although he'd only been there for a couple weeks at most.

"Does it seem like time is moving slowly now?" he asked Prussia, as they scoured the latest set of deserted streets.

Prussia shrugged. "It's because you're mortal now, Matt. It's like this, I think: we've had years - thousands in my case, maybe a couple hundred in yours - to live. Now, humans will live a hundred years if they're really lucky, right? So time passes more slowly to them. To us, who could expect to live a couple thousand years, decades pass in the blink of an eye."

"That doesn't explain why time is slowing down for me," Canada mumbled. "I haven't existed for that long."

"Yeah, it does," Prussia said. "You're human now, so of course time seems slower. You can expect to start aging, and to die of natural causes in, what, sixty years? How old are you? Physically, I mean?"

"Somewhere between eighteen and twenty," Canada said. He'd never really cared about how old he was, but now, it suddenly seemed important. "I think I'm older than Alfred, so maybe twenty?"

"Sounds about right," Prussia said, apparently believing that no one was interested in his own physical age. "But, yeah, the older you get as a human, the faster time goes, they say, so maybe it'll start speeding up again in a few years."

If we make it that long.

If he was twenty - and he thought he was - he probably wouldn't live to be twenty-five. He wondered, if he did make it that long, would he ever start looking like an adult, instead of a shy teenager?

And it was while he was wondering about how the aging process would take effect on the former nations that he heard an almost inaudible whimper.

"Gil," he said, forgetting that Prussia was a lot older and he should really be respectful, "did you hear that?"

Prussia shook his head. "What? I didn't hear anything. Maybe you imagined it…or I'm going deaf, but I'm pretty sure that's not what it is."

Canada decided to ignore him, and turned away in the direction of the noise, which, to be completely honest, he was not sure he'd actually heard. Maybe Prussia was right; maybe he was imagining things, but despite his doubts, he was sure he had heard someone crying.

"Is there anyone out there?" he called softly, and then, taking a ridiculously stupid risk and not really caring what happened because of it, called out, "Lovino?"

And in answer came another, slightly louder whimper.


I feel like it's been FOREVER since I posted anything here. xD How is everyone? Oh, next week's update will probably be on Friday night, because I'm supposedly testing for my black belt. (That's code for "next chapter may be last chapter because I may not be alive after Saturday". xDDD) Please pray I survive with minimal embarrassment. xD And as always, thank you for your support!