Chapter 31

Prussia lifted his head as Russia walked into the room. He looked into the violet eyes for a moment, then down at bigger country's gloved hands. His left held barbed-wire, chains, and a whip, and in his right, he carried his pipe. Prussia looked up into the country's face. His eyes were sad. There was no anger, no spark of rage. Prussia bit his lip. He needed Russia to be angry.

"Are you sure about this, GDR?" Russia's voice was low, sad.

Prussia nodded, looking up into the violet eyes, "I'm sure."

Russia sighed deeply, "I'm not angry with you for what you did in Berlin, Ptitska…" he shook his head, his eyes almost pleading with Gil, "I don't want to do this… I don't like hurting you."

"You like hurting Lithuania."

"I don't like hurting anyone. Sometimes it's necessary, but I never enjoy it."

"Like hell you don't," Prussia set his jaw. Russia wasn't angry. He needed him to be angry.

"Why do you think that of me?" Russia shook his head, looking down at Prussia.

Prussia stood. He had to make Russia angry, "Because you're a freak. Because I've seen the way you look at the others. I've seen what you did to Lithuania's back. I've seen the way the Baltics shiver when you walk into the room…" he stopped. It wasn't working. He was hurting Russia, not making him angry. He stopped closer to Russia, trying to get as much anger into his voice as he could, "You're a monster! You're a monster and I hate you! Everything you've done to me! Everything you've done to West! Everything your soldiers did to my people during the war," he didn't have to force the anger, and he didn't have to lie, "You destroyed us. And you enjoyed it! You loved it when you shot me in Berlin, and kicked me to the ground. Well, you don't own me! I am Prussia, not GDR, and I am so much more awesome than you! You just wish you had real power, real nobility to claim. You stole your power. Your Tzars stole it from your people, and now you steal it with blood! Does it make you feel powerful? Hurting people? You're just a f***** monster!" He raised his left hand, clenching it into a fist, swinging it at Russia's face.

Russia caught Prussia's hand, looking down with a sigh. He looked back up into Prussia's face and forced him to his knees.

The cold in Russia's eyes made Prussia shudder. The bigger country knelt behind Prussia, pulling on the white hair, forcing Gil's head back. He leaned in threateningly close to Prussia's face over his shoulder.

"Say whatever you want. I don't enjoy hurting anyone," Russia's voice was like ice, completely void of emotion, "But if you force me to, I will break you. Until there's nothing left. Until you're begging me to stop and leave you alone. Until you can't even do that. Until death is a gift I won't give you. Because I own you." Russia's voice almost shook with anger.

Prussia smirked, Good. Hate me. I need you to hate me.

"When I'm done with you…" There was no pain in Russia's voice, only rage, "Your brother won't even recognize you." He pulled back harder on Prussia's hair, grabbing the country's right wrist and pinning it behind his back, pulling it up, straining Prussia's shoulder and drawing a soft squeak of pain from him. Russia smiled, "Your precious baby brother won't be able to fix you. No one will."

Prussia set his jaw, trying to force himself not to react. His shoulder burned as Russia pulled harder on his arm. He tried to wrench free, struggling uselessly, putting his left hand to Russia's on his hair, trying to pry his fingers away from the white strands. He struggled more, holding back a cry of pain as Russia used his knee to push him forward, holding his arm still. Pain shot through his shoulder as he heard it snap. He brought his free hand to it, trying to force it back into place.

Russia released him, letting him fall forward.

Prussia caught himself on the stone with his left arm. He looked back up at Russia, holding back another cry of pain as Russia grabbed his upper arm, pulling him up to his knees by his broken shoulder.

Russia set the bone, drawing a cry of pain from the white-haired country. He smiled, "I didn't know you still had this much much fight in you, Ptitska…"

Prussia didn't look at him, still gripping his aching shoulder.

"I suppose you did warn me there was Prussia left in you… I just didn't believe you. I haven't seen it in so long." Russia grabbed Prussia's upper arm again, pulling him to his feet and dragging him towards the wall. He stopped a little over half a meter away from it and shoved Prussia forward.

Prussia caught himself against by putting his hands flat against the wall. He smirked. This was a good one. He couldn't move easily without falling. He moved a little, trying to even out his weight on both legs. He winced as he felt Russia's hands on the back of his shirt, ripping it down the middle and pushing it over his shoulders, exposing his back. He closed his eyes as Russia traced the symbolic scar on his shoulder. Even the slight pressure of Russia's fingers was enough to hurt his already burning shoulder. He was sure it had already started to bruise. He glanced back at Russia, too angry to be afraid.

Russia shook his head, "You seem to have forgotten all about this, comrade."

Prussia looked back at the wall. He hated being called that.

"I'll have to remind you," Russia smiled, pulling out his knife.

Prussia closed his eyes, setting his jaw with anticipation. He forced himself not to cry out as Russia pressed the knife into the scar, digging into his skin. The bigger country drew the blade across the mark, reopening it. He glanced down as blood dripped down his side onto the floor. He gasped in pain as Russia grabbed his right arm, pulling him back, bringing his left arm to meet his right. He winced as he felt and heard cuffs snap around his wrists. He struggled with them, crying out in pain as they tightened, digging into his skin.

Double locked, Prussia swore internally. "Are you going to loosen these?"

"Not when you ask like that," Russia laughed, grabbing Prussia's arm and dragging him back to the middle of the room. "Stand," he ordered, walking to the corner of the room and grabbing the sole chair.

Prussia glared at him, Really?

Russia relaxed into the chair, bringing his ankle to his knee, looking up at Prussia with a smile.

"How long am I going to stand here?" Prussia asked, annoyed.

"As long, as I ask you to."

Prussia looked away. He was nervous but tried not to show it. It had already been a day since Lithuania had given him the last dose of drugs. He'd made men stand for over twenty-four hours before. It wouldn't take that long before Russia started to notice that something was wrong. His shoulder burned, and he could feel blood dripping down his back. He squirmed a little, trying to brush it away with his sleeve. He refused to look at Russia. This was what he wanted. He would fight with everything he had left. So Russia would break it out of him. Everything. All the fight, all the pain, all the guilt… He closed his eyes, opening them as he started to feel himself fall asleep. It had been several days since he'd slept, and he was starting to slip. How long had it been now? There were no windows in the room, nothing to indicate the passage of time. He looked down at Russia, who had pulled out a book. Prussia couldn't read the title, but he shook his head with a smirk and a half-laugh.

Reading? Really? Even if it was boring just making sure he was standing, reading was almost insulting. He shrugged it off. His shoulder didn't feel any better, even a little worse, strained from the handcuffs that dug into his wrists. He could feel the metal tearing at his pulling up pieces of skin, cold against the tender, raw, new skin underneath. It stung. He tried not to move his hands or arms. Even breathing moved his body enough to send shooting pain through his shoulders and arms. The infected needle marks in his arms were healing quickly, as always, but they itched. It wasn't particularly painful, but it was annoying. His ear itched too. He turned his head, rubbing it against his bad shoulder. He didn't have another choice except ignoring it, and that wasn't possible. He glanced back at Russia, who had passed another fifty pages or so in the book. He sighed, at least it was almost a way to keep time, but Russia was a fast reader. He knew it had been at least a few hours. His legs were starting to burn. He tried to move as little as possible, hoping they would go numb. He closed his eyes.

"Don't hurt him, Russia…" Germany whispered through grit teeth, looking up at the tall country, "Please…Please…"
"You're in no position to make demands." Russia shook his head.
…
"You don't want to say 'hello' to me, ptitska?"
"Ulgh! Don't call me that!"
"You don't like your cage?"
"Nein!"
…
"What have you done?" Prussia whispered through his teeth, tears still streaming.
"GDR…" Russia's voice was calm, "They were trying to get back to West Germany, and that is not allowed."
"You're killing them!"
"GDR" Russia's voice was no longer kind, "They are not allowed to go back to West Germany. I will not allow it."
"This is MY country!" Prussia spat back.
"Nyet, GDR, you are my country. You belong to me."
"You belong to me, and I take care of what is mine."
…
"You don't have to be afraid of me, GDR." Russia sighed, "I told you. I take care of what is mine."
…
"Prussia is dead, GDR. All symbols of it are being removed. You are the German Democratic Republic now, and your brother needs to realize this, as do you."
…
"There," Russia nodded to Lithuania's back, "That's what happens when you don't obey me."
Prussia shook his head, furious, "Are you proud of that?" He still stared at Lithuania's back, unable to look away.
"Nyet." Russia shook his head, "Don't think I enjoyed a second of it. I hated it. All of it. But he deserved every mark, isn't that right, Myshka?"
Lithuania nodded, "Yes."
…
"I hate you, Gil," Poland sobbed, "I hate you. Don't you dare apologize to me…. not after what you've done…" Poland wrapped his fingers around the numbers on his arm. "Don't worry about Russia turning you into a monster… you already are."
…
Adelaide laughed, not even trying to pull her wrist away from his grip, "You can't give me orders, Gil."
"Yes. I can." He grabbed her other wrist, dragging her towards the wall. He pressed her up against it, pinning her wrists to her sides. He didn't speak for a moment, his eyes fixed on hers, which glittered with even more mischief than usual.
"Well?" She smiled, looking up at him, bringing her face closer to his, "What are your orders, Gilbert?"
"Stay," he whispered, his breathing getting faster.
"You're… ordering me to stay?" she looked up at him with a smirk, her own breath quickening.
"No…" He whispered, bringing his face closer to hers, "No, I'm… begging you to stay…"
She brought her lips to his, speaking against them, "I'll stay."
…
"I need you…"
…
"Shoot her."
"Don't do it, Gil!" Cort shouted to him, his voice trembling, "Let him kill me! Don't hurt my sister!"
Gil stared at Adelaide, then back at Cort. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.
"It's ok, Gilbert…" Adelaide smiled, looking up at him, "It's okay I forgive you…"
"Five seconds."
Adelaide closed her eyes.
Gil fired.
…
"Break me," Gil whispered, "I want you to break me until there's nothing left. Until I can't feel anything anymore… Until every scrap of Prussia is gone… I can't…I can't do it… It hurts… it hurts, I can't…"
…
"I will break you. Until there's nothing left. Until you're begging me to stop. Until you can't even do that. Until death is a gift I won't give you. Because I own you. When I'm done with you, your brother won't even recognize you. Even your precious baby brother won't be able to fix you. No one will."
…
"Stand."
…
Gil snapped back to reality. His body ached, his legs burned. He looked back at Russia, who turned one of last few pages of his book. He felt weak. His head spun. His heartbeat grew faster, his breathing starting to catch. He shook his head, closing his eyes again. He looked up, shadows starting to dart around the room. He closed his eyes. Cold hands touched him. He couldn't move away from them. They touched his back, his sides, his chest. They clawed at his arms, his neck, and his face. He tried to move his head away from them, but it didn't work. The hands followed him, touching his face, begging, pleading with him. He shivered, squirming again. The movement caused more pain to rush through his shoulder. He gasped in pain, looking back at Russia, who glanced up from his book for a moment, before returning to it. Gil shivered again. He couldn't close his eyes. The images behind them were too painful. He couldn't look at them. He couldn't see their faces. He looked around the room again, the shadows were still there, but there were more of them. He looked down at his legs. They were swollen and painful from standing for so long. He winced, closing his eyes tightly as flames licked at them, pain and the smell of burning flesh overwhelming him. The smell didn't go away. His body ached, begging him for relief, begging for drugs. He shook his head, trying to breathe normally. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck, stinging in the reopened scar on his back. He closed his eyes, trying hard to keep his breath at a normal rate. His heart was pounding in his chest now. He looked back at Russia, who turned the last page of the book. He debated tell him, begging him. He wasn't sure he could take it much longer, not without moving. He fought to keep himself from struggling at the handcuffs. It would pull them tighter and they were already unbearable. He could feel blood dripping down his fingers from his wrists. His hands were numb. He looked at Russia again as the giant country set the finished book on the ground and stood.

"Well, Ptitska? Have you had enough yet? Can we stop this? You get to go upstairs, and I get to stop doing this to you," he wasn't angry

Gil shook, but not from fear. He tried to stand straight, tried to calm his breathing. "Nein," he smirked, glaring up at Russia, who took a step closer to him.

"Why are you doing this, GDR? You agreed to join me, you've done what I've asked…" Russia stared at him, confused. He sighed, remembering what the smaller country had said only a few days before, "The guilt is killing you isn't it?"

Gil looked away.

"You asked me to teach you how to stop feeling…"

Gil bit his lip. His heart pounding in his chest. He needed to move. He couldn't stand anymore. His legs burned. They weren't going to hold him up much longer. His shoulders ached, and his mouth was dry. He tried to push through it, begging his body to listen to his mind. Begging it to stop seeing the shadows running over the walls. He looked up at Russia, shaking.

"I can't teach you that," Russia shook his head, "But I know someone who can…"

Gil shivered, with cold this time as it seemed to infect the room for a moment. He knew who Russia meant. He shuddered. He didn't want to meet him. If he could scare Russia…

"Aren't you the Soviet Union? You don't need any help to be cruel," he snapped. Russia was strong enough. He just wasn't in the right mood. He wasn't angry. Russia had nothing to gain from torturing him, and Gil knew it. He needed Russia to hate him.

"You said," he whispered, looking back up into Russia's face, "That you were glad the Romanov family was murdered… I don't believe you. I bet you did cry for them… I bet some of those scars on your neck are from-" his voice was cut off as Russia's hand clenched around his throat. He closed his eyes, instantly dizzy as the world started to blur.

"What did you say?" Russia's voice growled, icy cold.

Gil couldn't speak, he had no way to struggle against Russia's grip. Russia brought him to the ground, pinning his neck to the floor. The relief on his legs was welcome, until he felt Russia's knee against his own, keeping him from kicking. His arms, pinned under him, still burned, and the quick movement had fully torn the skin of his wrists from the muscle under it. He choked, struggling to breathe. The images flashing behind his closed eyes were unbearable, the cold hands all over him again. Everything was blurry, everything going black.

"What do you know about it?" Russia's voice tried to bring him back to reality. It wasn't enough.

He struggled as much as he could, Russia's grip grew crushingly tight against his throat. He gasped for breath as Russia let go suddenly, rolling to his side, coughing hard. It still wasn't enough. He blacked out.

A/N: Well... that was... interesting... I threw some flashbacks in there partly to remind you guys of what's been happening (not that I think you've forgotten) and also because Gil is reliving everything. There's still Prussia left in him, as you all noticed I hope. That's what he wants Russia to kill. that side of him that will fight. (do you think Russia could really get rid of it? Make good on his threat to destroy Gil that much?) Do you think Gil will be able to continue to keep the drugs a secret from Russia? I'll give you one guess as to who Russia meant can help Gil stop feeling. And now Russia knows that Gil knows about the scars on his neck. I wonder if that's going to get someone else we care about in trouble too...?

History lesson time! While there wasn't a lot of torture in this chapter, everything I described were real tortures used by the Soviet Union. Especially the standing for hours and hours and hours thing. They were almost known for that particular method. After a while, people would start hallucinating, which certainly didn't make the beginnings of withdrawal any better for Gil.

Yes, I censored the swear word. I know I didn't have to, but I still did. Don't hate me. Trying to keep this PG-13! You all know what he said. (and Russia deserved it... maybe?)

As always, reviews are deeply appreciated! I'm so glad you guys love this story as much as I do! Thank you so much for the continued support! It means SO much to me! Cookies and hugs to you all! :D