Chapter 64

Italy nearly jumped out of bed as a fist pounded on his door. He ran to open the door, looking up into Fredrick's worried face.

"What… Is Germany ok…? Is Germany ok!?" Italy's breath shook.

Fredrick said nothing, only motioning for Italy to follow him urgently.

Italy ran.

Hans sat next to Germany, holding the phone to his ear, trying to talk to the other agents, trying to figure out what was going on. He took Germany's wrist with his free hand, sighing as he felt a pulse. He wished the rhythm was stronger, but he was relieved it was there. He looked to the door as Italy rushed inside, throwing himself on the ground beside Germany, grabbing his shoulders, trying to wake him.

"Germany!?" Italy begged, "Germany, wake up. Please, please wake up!" he turned to look at Hans, terrified, "What's going on? What's happening to him!?"

"I'm trying to find out Italy, I'm trying to find out…" Hans shushed him, covering his free ear, trying to listen to the voice on the other end of the phone.

Tears streamed down Italy's face as he felt his friend's neck, trying to feel for a pulse, trying to convince himself that he would be ok. "Germany, please…"

Hans closed his eyes with a deep sigh and hung up the phone, "An Airplane has been hijacked, and they're demanding the release of the RAF leaders we've captured…"

Italy froze, turning to look at Hans, "How many hostages…?" he whispered.

"86."

Italy opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't, turning back to Germany, putting his hand on his friend's. "Germany… please be ok… please, please be ok…" he turned to look back at Hans and Fredrick, "What are you doing? Why are you just standing there! Help! Do something! Please!" he begged.

"We're supposed to stay here and protect him, Signore, Vargas. We need to stay here."

"NO YOU DON'T!" Italy stood, clenching his hands into fists, "You don't need to stay here! You need to help him! You're supposed to protect him…" Italy turned back to Germany, trying to wake him, "Come on, Germany, come on… wake up… please…"

…

Lithuania leaned against the counter, setting down his knife for a moment. His back stung. Russia had left welts, not wounds, and it wasn't exactly painful, but it was less than comfortable. He stretched his shoulders, closing his eyes, letting it burn across his back. He relaxed, the pain easing off enough for him to concentrate on cooking again. He picked up the knife and looked at the blade slowly, closing his eyes with a sigh, then looking back at the potatoes on the cutting board. He made short work of them, dropping them into the pot of boiling water and turning towards the beautiful dark red cabbage. He nearly dropped the knife as he heard a familiar step coming closer. He bit his lip, praying the man wasn't interested in coming into the kitchen. He was wrong.

Russia walked through the doorway of the kitchen and up to Lithuania, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Lithuania winced, shaking, wiping his hands on his apron, trying to appear calm rather unsuccessfully. "M-Mr. Russia…what…" he swallowed hard, trying to steady his voice, "What can I do for you?" he winced hard as Russia hugged him. He could smell the alcohol on the other man's breath.

"How drunk are you…?" Lithuania whispered, trying to pry Russia off him. Was Russia really…crying? "What's wrong?" he grabbed a towel and handed it to Russia, who took it to wipe the tears. "Russia-" Lithuania started before Russia's hug cut off his words. It was suffocating, and he trembled with fear and pain. Russia was drunk enough to be unpredictable, and unpredictability made him nervous. He managed to push Russia away gently and looked into his face.

"Russia, are you all right? Did something happen?"

Russia said nothing, looking down, shaking his head, "Nyet…"

"What's bothering you…?" Lithuania had to stop him from hugging him again, "How drunk are you?"

Russia held up four fingers.

"Four bottles of vodka? Is that what you're telling me?" Lithuania sighed. He wasn't surprised, but he wasn't happy about it, "Why'd you start? What happened?"

"I saw my bosses today…" Russia said, slurring the words.

Lithuania nodded, "Ah-"

"They said none of you want to stay… that you're going to try and run away… that you don't want to be here. It's good here, isn't it? I'm not unkind to you…?" Russia looked up, pain in his eyes.

Lithuania sighed again, his back still stinging as it brushed against the fabric of his shirt, the marks angered by Russia's firm hug. He said nothing, looking up into Russia's face.

"Did I hurt you again? Please… I don't like hurting anyone. I wouldn't hurt anyone…" Russia's face was worried. He put his hand on Lithuania's shoulder again, drawing it back as the man winced. "L-Litva?"

Lithuania looked away, "I'm fine."

"You didn't answer me… did I hurt you?"

Lithuania sighed. Every time Russia got this drunk he had to go through this again. Every time he had to watch the pain in the violet eyes as he told him, or showed him, the damage he'd done. He hated it. Every single time he hated it. He looked up at Russia and nodded, looking away again.

"I'm sorry…" Tears slipped down Russia's cheeks again before he brought the towel to them again, "I'm so sorry… I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt anyone. Please… please…" Russia looked back at him, "Please tell me you don't really want to leave! You like it here, da?"

Lithuania bit his lip. He wasn't sure what was more dangerous, telling Russia the truth, or lying. He looked up into Russia's face. "I… I don't know." It wasn't the truth, but it wasn't quite lying. He didn't want to stay, but he didn't exactly want to leave either.

"And the others… do you think they want to leave?" Russia asked, his voice shaking.

"I don't know that either," Lithuania shook his head, "You… you can be cruel, Ivan. Sometimes…"

Russia looked away with a heavy sigh. He walked to one of the cupboards and opened it, taking out another bottle of vodka.

Lithuania ran up to him, putting his hand on the bottle, trying to stop him, "Mr. Russia, please…"

"Let go, Toris!" Russia grabbed his wrist, giving him a hard shove back, stopping suddenly to look at him, horror in his eyes, "Did I just… did I hurt you?"

Lithuania stared at him, rubbing his wrist where the iron grip had brushed it. He shook his head, "I'm fine."

Russia smiled faintly, "Khorosho…" he nodded, closing the cupboard, the bottle still in his hand.

"You shouldn't have another one…" Lithuania looked away, glancing back at the half chopped cabbage on the cutting board.

"I don't care," Russia shook his head, walking back towards the door. He stopped, turning back to look at Lithuania, "Don't leave, Toris. I don't want you to leave. I need you here… you understand this, da?"

Lithuania closed his eyes with a sigh, then nodded, "Da."

"Khorosho!" Russia nodded back with a smile, opening the bottle and taking a long drink before capping it again and walking back down the hall towards his room.

Lithuania turned back to the counter, leaning against it, covering his face with his hands, shaking, gasping for breath, his heart pounding in his chest. Breathe, just breathe, Toris, just breathe… he tried to calm down, tried to reassure his own mind that he was all right. Russia hadn't hurt him. He was fine. He was going to be fine. He glanced back at the door, shaking again as he heard a sound. It was Latvia. He smiled at him, trying to hide the panic that still attacked his chest.

"L-L-L-Litva?" Latvia bit his lip, walking up to Lithuania, "M-Mr Russia… he's… he's he's he's really drunk, isn't he?"

Lithuania nodded, then leaned down to look into the boy's face, putting his hands on his shoulders gently, just in case, "Did he hurt you? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Litva… I'm worried about you."

Lithuania stood, shaking his head, "I'm fine too."

"Why is Mr. Russia so mean sometimes!" Latvia shook his head, turning to the counter, "Can I help?"

"Sure," Lithuania motioned towards the cutting boards and knives, "The onions need to be chopped up if you think you can handle that."

"I only look like a baby, Litva. I can chop onions!" Latvia said almost indignantly.

Lithuania smiled a little, nodding, "All right, then get started!" he smirked.

Latvia smiled back, taking the onions and starting to peel the skin off of them, "Litva…" he said as he finished peeling the second to last bulb.

"Hmm?" Lithuania asked almost absentmindedly, stirring the boiling water with the cabbages and potatoes. The cabbage was staining the water and potatoes a rich, dark blue, and it was starting to smell good.

"Why is there a knife missing?"

"What?" Lithuania froze, not turning to look at Latvia.

"There's a knife missing. There aren't any dishes in the sink to be washed, and there's a knife missing in the block, look!" he pointed, waiting for his friend to turn.

Lithuania set down the spoon he'd been using for the cabbage water, and walked back to the counter, looking at the block where Latvia pointed, "It… it looks like there is, yes." The paring knife was gone.

"Russia will be angry! We have to find it!" Latvia trembled.

"I'll find it. Don't worry, Latvia, I'll find it…" Lithuania tried to calm the boy, "It'll be ok…"

"He'll hurt you! He'll hurt you if we don't find it!" Latvia shook his head, wiping tears from his eyes.

"I'll find it! Don't worry about it!" Lithuania put his hands on Latvia's shoulders, "Just calm down, please…"

Latvia nodded, trying to breathe normally, trying to stop crying, "I hate it here, Litva… I hate it…"

Lithuania bit his lip, closing his eyes, sighing deeply, "Yeah, me too."

Latvia looked up at him, then back at the stack of the onions, "I should finish those…"

Lithuania sighed, nodded, "Sure, if you want."

Latvia nodded, pulling away from Lithuania, turning back to the cutting board and picking up one of the large knives.

Lithuania turned back to the stove, opening the lid of the other, larger, pot, checking the beets. The water was a beautiful dark reddish purple, and the beets were growing tender. He smiled, replacing the lid and turning back to the cabbage water, instinctively checking the edges of his sleeves with his fingers to make sure his wrists were covered. He reached for the spoon again, poking at the potatoes. They were almost soft enough to add the first pot into the second, after draining most of the cabbage water. Lithuania glanced back at Latvia, who was just finishing the onions and touched his own sleeve again, wincing a little. I'm fine.

…

Italy leaned on his folded hands, sitting in a chair next to Germany's bed. He didn't take his eyes off his friend's face. Please, please wake up… he brushed tears away, turning to look at Hans and Fredrick. Hans was on the phone again, and Fredrick had a pen and paper, working out statistics. He didn't look happy. Italy bit his lip, looking back at Germany, standing suddenly, grabbing the man's hand.

"Germany!?" He said, his eyes widening with hope.

Germany groaned, frowning, gripping Italy's hand a little.

Italy's expression changed to worry, "He's in pain…" he looked up at Fredrick, "a lot of it…"

"He looks all right," Fredrick turned back to his papers after glancing up.

Italy shook his head, "No! He's my friend and I've known him longer than you've been alive! He's in pain and I'm not going to let you do nothing! Stop it! Why won't either of you two help!?"

"We are helping!" Fredrick tried to reassure Italy, "There's just nothing we can do to help him, physically, until we figure out how to rescue all those people! We are working, Italy."

Italy turned back to Germany, wiping the sweat off his friend's forehead, "Germany? Can you hear me?"

Germany nodded weakly.

"Do you know what's going on?"

Germany shook his head, the movement still faint.

"There… there's…" Italy tried to figure out how to say it, "A plane has been captured. They want an exchange. 86 people, for the RAF leaders in prison…"

Germany opened his eyes, looking into Italy's face, "The ones I captured…?"

Italy bit his lip, nodding.

Germany closed his eyes. Another thing he could blame himself for. Another thing that was his fault. "Would they take me instead?" he whispered.

"What?" Italy said, shocked, "What?"

Germany turned to look at Hans and Fredrick, "Tell…" he swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a moment as pain almost overwhelmed him, "Tell my boss that RAF can have me if they let those people off the plane…" he closed his eyes again, exhausted.

Hans looked at Fredrick who looked at Italy. Italy shook his head, turning back to Germany.

"No! You can't do this! You can't!"

Germany nodded, "If I have to. I will."

Italy looked back at the two men, "You can't let him do this!"

"As his bodyguards," Hans stated, "We would advise against it…"

"But?" Italy knew it was coming.

"But he might be right. That might protect the most people…"

"Find. Another. Way…. please…" Italy bit his lip, turning back to Germany, "Please…"

A/N: Another chapter! Yay! I'm sorry the upload schedule has slowed down so much. Being sick, I've been quite tired. But I thought I would give you all a chapter now, and possibly tonight as well if I can! We shall see!

Germany is sick from the Lufthansa Flight 181, where 86 people were held as hostages by 'Commando Martyr Halima" a group of 4 men whose goal it was to secure the release of imprisoned RAF leaders. I am taking some liberties with the event, but I am trying to remain as close to history as possible here. Poor Germany...

Lithuania is making borscht, (shocking, I know), so I will share it with all of you! It's quite an easy soup to make. (I recommend flavoring it with plenty of paprika!). If you all haven't tried making it... you should! XD And as for Liet... he could be doing better... that's for sure... :/

As always, reviews are deeply appreciated! I love reading them and replying to them! You guys make my day!