Obsession

A Hetalia story.

Chapter Nine: Scars

The officer of the law could only gape at Toris. Stalking is indeed a criminal offense, but kidnapping, murder, and assault and battery? This guy's rap sheet is just racking up the further the Lithuanian proceeds.

And this man is still walking the streets?

The strange man gives him a bitter smile when he sees the cogs turning behind his eyes. "You understand now? Understand what it's like to be horribly paralyzed with fear..?"

He couldn't. He never would be able comprehend it.

Sitting his pen on the table, he folds his hands over his notebook. He is too queasy to continue taking notes. "He just snatched you... right from your best friend's funeral..?"

He tilts his head back. "Yes. I never mustered enough courage to even say a proper good bye."

The cop has had to bury someone before, but never someone close; and definitely was never kidnapped afterwards.

"Vash… was he okay?"

Toris raises a hand slowly, ushering a complete silence into the room. "Not yet. We aren't there yet."

Every time he interrupted him, the veteran feels another knife thrust into his heart. There is a perfectly good reason why the strange man acted so coldly before—and now it seems like that ice has melted away, leaving a scared and quivering child behind.

Respectfully, he nods his head. "Please continue, Toris."

"Alright…" Parting his lips to let a soft exhale escape. "He took me to his home." His gaze travels to the hand resting limply in his lap. "I couldn't even look at him…

Toris refuses to look at him, because that would make the situation real. Instead, he stares down at his fingers, twitching at the slightest movement as Ivan continues his bustling in the kitchen. He couldn't even meet his face in the reflection of the dining room table.

Wonder when they will have Vash's funeral service… He thinks, rubbing his hand together like he could conjure his friends, alive and well.

I should've listened sooner.

"Tori~!" Ivan cooes from behind the counter. "Do you have a preference on the drinks for our date?"

The manager's voice ruptures in his throat. His only response is the shake of his head, so brief that if he hadn't been watching the Russian would have missed it. Humming lightly to himself, he goes back to work.

"We are going to have our date Tori. It will be so much fun!" Ivan had said that upon their arrival, and the idea still makes the manager queasy.

That's what started this all. A simple date.

No. He knows by the tremble of his back when Ivan walks behind him that that isn't the truth. It all started when he couldn't keep a job. This is punishment for that, for the many times he was fired and ruined the lives of his younger brothers. He bites his bottom lip.

Eduard… Raivis… I'm so sorry…

Slowly, he raises his eyes, tracing the grains of wood to the center of the table. Ivan had left the gun resting there, like an invitation.

But Toris didn't have the motive to even reach for it.

"Tori, you're awfully quiet." Ivan notes, pouring vodka into two wine glasses. Silence is his only explanation, causing him to frown distastefully. "Come on, it's not much of a date if you don't speak."

The manager feels like if he even opens his mouth, he will throw up; so decidedly, he stays quiet, letting the silence speak for him.

The Russian is not satisfied.

Bustling the glasses to the table, he searches for a topic of conversation, landing on a perfect one.

"You know, Eduard is quite intelligent." He grins when he sees Toris's shoulders quiver. "He had such great grades; even skipped a grade, didn't he?"

Toris tries to count to three, tries to maintain his breathing, but it is like Ivan is swallowing all the oxygen in the air.

"He even plays the clarinet. I'm sure if things would have continued well, then he could have gotten a scholarship as a musician. That's what he wanted, wasn't it?" Ivan pauses, gauging the reaction he is getting. "Of course, that will never happen will it? You had to sell his clarinet." He issues a short 'ah-ha!' when he finds the plates he is looking for. "You actually went into his room in the middle of the night, stole it, and sold it at some 24 hour pawn shop because you lost another job and your bills were due the next morning."

How did he know that…?

The ex-hockey player sees the question in his eyes. Smiling softly, he begins to serve the meal he prepared onto the plates.

"Eduard told me himself. We had long talks at the Baltic Café." The coffee shop where Eduard worked. "I offered to buy him a clarinet, but he said it had been so long since he last played it that there would be no point." He digs around his drawers for silverware good enough for his Tori. "You ruined his dream Tori. He even said it himself."

Everything seems to fall into place. Eduard's harsh attitude, his neglect, had all been because his conversations with Ivan. The manager's eyes burn at the thought that his little brother would be talking with a man like this, all because he had ruined his dreams.

Toris opens his mouth slowly, tempted to close it as his bottom lip trembles. "I didn't mean to…"

Ivan tsks him, folding two napkins at the table and placing the silverware on top. "But you did. You needed the money, and how else could you have gotten it? I could've taken care of you Tori. I could've bought your brothers whatever they wanted."

It is hard to swallow the fact that he failed entirely as an older brother. He had tried his hardest, he swears; but it was never good enough. His brothers were always the ones that directly suffered. Eduard's work ethic dropped when he saw there was no point to school; and little Raivis struggled dearly when Eduard stopped tutoring him. It was a trickledown effect, starting with Toris and ending with the two people he cared about most in the world.

How could he.

"Let us talk about something more cheerful." Ivan says, lifting up a plate in each hand. "How about Alfred."

At the mention of his name, Toris couldn't stop it; he runs to the nearest trash can and retches, just as Ivan is sitting the plates down at the table.

"What happened to him could've been prevented too you know." Pulling Toris's chair out, and gesturing him to return, he tucks his little Tori underneath the table. "If you had only listened."

If the manager couldn't breathe before, he definitely couldn't now. "I... I know.." He eyes the wine glass, knowing something other than water is there; but the harsh stinging his throat leaves him no other choice then to take small sips of the vodka in an attempt to destroy the flavor of his own vomit.

"Before we eat Tori… I have something for you." The Russian pats his head, causing him to spit up some of the alcohol before leaving the room.

Toris could run. But he has no reason to.

I have to let Raivis know I'm okay. He thinks, slowly removing his phone from his pocket. Ivan never even bothered to take it. I don't want him to worry… he doesn't deserve to worry. Taking another small sip, he scrolls to his messages, only to see a new and unopened one.

We are looking for you. Hang tight. Mathias.

No no no no no!

Toris drops the wine glass, letting it shatter against the floor as he fumbles to respond. You can't stay aw

As the sound of the glass, Ivan returns.

Toris doesn't even have time to hide it before the Russian yanks it from his hands and throws it across the room.

"Trying to get your friends to interrupt our date?" Ivan seethes, dumping the manager from his chair to the floor. Toris shakenly scoots away from him.

"No... No I wasn't I swear—"

The Russian tosses the chair into the wall, letting the frame buckle and shatter. Even being let go as a hockey player, he still possesses strength. A strength Toris could not match.

"You're lying to me." Ivan's grip latches onto the manager's leg.

"No I swear-!"

Ivan pulls hard, dragging him easily through the glass he dropped. Toris fumbles for purchase on the ground, trying to get free, but his fingers only met the slivers. He squeaks when Ivan hauls him to his feet, and like he is the chair, throws him into the living room, knocking him onto his back and the air from his lungs.

He is just beginning to regain it when Ivan stands over him, an object coiled in his hands.

"You know, there is punishment for liars Tori."

Toris tries to scramble up, but when he turns to get to his feet, Ivan snaps the whip against his back. The manager howls with pain, landing back on his stomach.

"I will not let you be taken from me again." Another whip, the course fabric landing stiffly against the plane of Toris's back. His mouth twists to form a silent scream. "You are mine and mine alone. No one else's!" The next hit brings tears to his eyes, but Ivan doesn't stop.

"P-p-please! I-Ivan!... S-stop..." He chokes out between his cries, but this only fuels the beast. Beating him harder, Toris could feel his shirt splitting like his skin, and his throat grow raw from all his screams.

"Not until you learn."

A particularly hard snap lands on the most sensitive part of Toris's spine; and receives the most twisted scream of them all. At that, Ivan is satisfied, wrapping the whip around his hand and eying his handwork.

"Don't do it again." He warns, before continuing to the kitchen, humming his little tune like he hadn't just whipped Toris.

Quivering from the ceaseless pain, the manager pushes himself up to his forearms, reaching behind him to feel the ribbons of skin peeling from his back. His finger comes in contact with something wet and warm, and Toris couldn't help but throw up for the second time that night, knowing the hideous welts Ivan left on his back would scar and never would go away.

Exhausted, injured, and broken eternally, the manager barely manages to fall to his side to avoid his puke.

Feliks…Raivis… Eduard… the team… Alfred…

The dark horrors of the house seem to close in around him as he teeters close to sleep. I'm sorry…

His failing gaze finds the window, where dark swirls of clouds are beginning to weave into a storm.

Toris has never seen something so beautiful.

It will rain soon… He isn't sure why he cared, but it feels better then remembering his back, or Vash, or the fact that he is in the home of his stalker. It will rain and everything will wash away…

The manager could have laid there and stare at the window for hours; only, he couldn't, when someone stands in the way of it.

"Toris… what has happened to you…?"

The Lithuanian could barely comprehend that it is Alfred talking to him, his face creased with concern. Something never clicks in his head.

"I failed… this is my punishment…"

Alfred quickly shakes his head. "No Toris. No it's not. Don't think like that. You can't just give up on the world like that."

"But you're dead… Vash is dead… all my fault…"

The hockey player approaches him slowly, and Toris drowsily watches as he kneels in front of him. "I'm sorry this is happening to you... but it's not your fault. Bad things just happen to good people."

The manager losses the strength to continue talking. He could barely hear, barely could continue to see. He never hears Ivan curse in the next room, snatch up the gun, and run out a back door. He never hears the front door kick open, or the way Alfred whispers good bye when he is snatched up in arms that are safe.

He is unaware when he is carried out of the house, because the only thing interesting to him were the ash stained rain clouds.

They would wash it all away.

"Toris!"

It feels like a dream; a beautiful yet ugly dream. The manager doesn't want to stir, doesn't want to break the tranquility that settles on his shoulders. But the insisting shaking of his shoulder jars him from the bliss.

"Toris are you okay?" It is Mathias, his face nearly bleached from the white walls behind him. The manager blinks a few times and shakes his head, trying to rid the feeling that he is underwater.

"We have to find Ivan…" Gilbert hisses.

"Ja, we know. But Toris is our first priority." Ludwig rests a hand on his arm.

Toris's eyes travel to each of their faces. How did they get here..? This didn't feel like Ivan's home.

"Where…are we…?"

"The hospital." Berwald explains, looking so plain without the shorter and more snappish Vash at his side.

Slowly, the Lithuanian pulls his body up, feeling like he weighed nothing. He has to know, no matter how dry his throat feels or how his voice cracked when he asks. "Vash… he's…"

Mathias grins a little, nudging the manager's arm. "Hey. It's fine. He's alive. In this very hospital for a matter a fact." He pauses, his face growing sterner. "Toris, you seriously need to file a police report. This is getting out of hand. We need to get the cops involved."

The cops, involved? No, that surely will make things worse. Toris shakes his head as insistently as his weak body would allow.

"No. That will make him mad. We can't."

"Your safety matters more to us." Gilbert says, with an affirmed nod from his brother. "Not how Ivan feels."

It hits Toris like a ton of bricks. Ivan's home. The whips. His skin. The welts. His weak stomach couldn't take it.

"Woah!" Mathias is smart to snatch a trashcan, holding up in time to catch anything Toris's retches, which is hardly nothing at all but the bile in his stomach.

"Look at you Toris…" Berwald points out. "This is getting to you. If the police could—"

"No..." The manager burps, feeling the sharp sting return in his throat. "They can't get involved."

It is rare when the Lithuanian is stubborn, but he is then. If they call the police, more innocent people would die—and Toris isn't sure he could handle it.

Soothingly rubbing circles on the back of the manager's neck, knowing full well to avoid the back, Gilbert says. "Alright. But we need to talk about this later. I think your brothers would want this."

His brothers. The incomplete text. Quickly, he looks around. Eduard and Raivis are nowhere in sight.

"Where's my brothers?"

"They are at home." Ludwig says.

They are home. Alone. Ivan is gone. Ivan lost Toris.

Oh God.

His mind, finally working up the speed of his body, quickly detaches the IV line from his arm. He is almost out of the bed before someone protests it.

"Woah woah woah buddy slow down. You gotta stay here." Mathias insists, but Toris bends down to get his shoes anyway, only to feel the searing pain in his back. He yelps, nearly pitching forward, if Lars hadn't caught him by his shoulders just in time. They must have been feeding him pain medication through the IV.

But Toris would fight it.

Graciously patting Lars hand, he reaches down anyway, pulling the shoes on like it never hurt at all, when in fact tears are springing into his eyes.

"I have to go check on them… have to make sure they are alright…" He stands, looking at them. "I have to."

Each one of them wants to convince Toris otherwise. He is probably safest in the hospital; but no one has the proper words to stop him before he is out the door, walking past a particular blond who does a double take and runs after the manager.

"Toris!" It is Feliks, but even the Lithuanian wouldn't stop for him. Looking over his shoulder, he says quickly. "I have to check on my brothers."

They are probably okay. They are always okay.

"I'm coming too!" It takes only a few strides for the cheerleader to catch up to his pace, but the manager doesn't have time to protest it. His body is doing it for him, demanding he go lay back down—but he wouldn't. He just needs reassurance.

Toris hurries over the crosswalk, actually beating it before the timer starts for once in all the times that he isn't playing the game, trying to usher his weakened body as fast as he could down the side walk. Feliks says right by his side, resting a hand on his arm to keep him steady. It is comforting, almost as comforting as the feeling Toris would get when he saw his brothers, perfectly fine.

Only, he would never get that feeling, because when he finally rounds the corner, he couldn't find his house; because it is the one consumed in flames.

If Toris didn't have much a voice after the whipping, he definitely wouldn't have any left now as he runs up to the house. "RAIVIS! EDUARD!"

He tries to open the door. He tries so hard to open it, but on the other side the roof has collapsed, leaving it in accessible; he tries a window, the same story, all while screaming their names.

"EDUARD! RAIVIS!" The flames shriek back at him, driving him onto the streets with Feliks with their intensity.

"Toris! It's not use!" Feliks stresses, but Toris would not accept the fact. Maybe they weren't in the house. Maybe they weren't in the house at all. "Toris!"

The manager takes off down the street like a mad man, just as the storm begins to clap overhead, applauding his useless efforts. The cheerleader chases after him, skidding to a halt just outside the Baltic Café, where the manager charges in.

"Eduard! Raivis!" Everyone stares at the manager, but he ignores them, desperately searching for his brothers while Feliks apologizes to the customers.

That's when Toris's spots it, at the booth with the peeling blue paint, where long ago he first sat with Ivan. It is a note. Addressed to him.

You didn't finish your dinner. I tried to reheat it, but you never got that faulty burner fixed.

No. No. No.

Toris's mind wouldn't process it. He quickly approaches the coffee shop's manager, who is ten seconds away from calling the police. "Where's Eduard?"

She purses her lips, thinking, and for a moment Toris grows hopefully.

"He finished his shift and went home."

No.

No.

No.

Raivis and Eduard were in the house.

No.

Raivis and Eduard were in the burning house.

No.

Raivis and Eduard were dead in the burning house.

NO!

The manager whimpers, and before Feliks can wrap an arm around him to comfort him, a police cruiser whips by the window, the lights flashing. The cheerleader quickly checks it's direction.

"Oh my God... It's going to the hospital!"

Alfred. Raivis. Eduard. Toris couldn't lose the others.

He just couldn't.

Slowly, he's growing numb inside. The only things left to cling to are what remains.

-Soul Spirit-