So I had originally thought this would be the second to last chapter. Now I'm not so sure...
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The snowy white plain stretched out unbroken in every direction, the grey sky reaching down to brush the horizon far off in the distance. Lithuania knew he had to find shelter, the sun was setting and he really didn't want to bury himself in the snow to stay warm come nightfall. But he had to find Poland first; he was out there somewhere and Liet had to find him before it was too late. So he trudged onwards through the snow, eyes scanning the endless white for a sign of the blond.
After what felt like hours, he saw a dark figure in the distance; relief washed over him as he quickened his pace, squinting against the whipping wind. But as he neared, he realized it wasn't Poland, was too short to be Poland.
It was a small boy, bundled up in skins and furs; he was crouched down in the snow, shaping rabbits and birds with bare hands. He didn't look up as Lithuania approached, totally absorbed in what he was doing. What was a kid doing out in this frozen wasteland alone?
"Hello?" Liet called, coming to a stop a few feet behind him.
The boy jumped, whirling around to look up at the Baltic with bright amethyst eyes. Oh my god…
"Russia?" he asked in disbelief.
The small child studied him warily, as if he couldn't decide whether the newcomer was safe or not. A hand strayed to a simple leather necklace, to the carved pendant shaped like a bear, while the other drifted to a bone-hilted blade at his waist.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice high and soft, like powdered snow whispering over the plains.
He didn't understand; what was going on? "Lithuania," he answered, then immediately corrected, "Lietuvos," realizing that he had given the Russian variant out of habit.
The wind blew, chilling Liet to the bone; little Russia tensed, eyes sweeping the plain quickly.
"Winter's coming," he said, the fear audible in his words. For a moment, the Baltic thought he meant the season, but the wind gusted again, and a voice whispered in his ear come you to pester my son?
"Winter's coming," little Russia repeated, and this time it sounded like a plea. He reached out and took Liet by the hand; Lithuania could feel his icy fingers even through the thick gloves. Russia tugged him forward, urging him to follow. "Quickly, before he finds yo—"
Wind slammed into them, knocking Lithuania clean off his feet. Pushing himself out of the deep snow drift, he looked up to see if Russia was alright, but he was nowhere to be seen.
"Russia?" Liet called, his voice ringing out in the silence.
A faint sobbing sound reached his ears, a little boy crying as if from very far away.
"Russia!" he shouted, climbing to his feet. Where had he gone? There was no place to hide out here.
"Da, Litva?"
Lithuania spun around to face the speaker; Russia tramped towards him, full grown and exactly as the Baltic remembered. He smiled serenely despite the blood soaking his clothes—he was staining the snow red as he walked—and in his right hand he clutched-
"Poland!" Lithuania shouted, seeing the battered body Russia was dragging along by the hair.
The huge nation glanced down briefly. "Da, poor little Polshka," he said with a sigh, the country's blond hair sliding out of his fingers as he let Poland collapse to the ground. The boy didn't move. "I hate it when I get orders like that, don't you?"
"What did you do?" Liet sobbed, falling to his knees in disbelieving horror. "What did you do?!"
"Carried out orders. Perhaps it would not have happened had he behaved, da?" he replied with a shrug, nudging the body with his foot. "Still, there is one last thing to take care of yet."
Something about the tone warned Liet, got him to wrench his eyes away from his friend's bloody form in time to see Russia draw the revolver and grab him by the collar, lifting him to his feet.
"No, Russia, don't!" Liet shrieked, but Russia placed the cold muzzle under his chin and Liet's words failed him completely.
"Hush, Litva," Russia whispered with a smile, violet eyes gleaming with a twisted mix of joy and sorrow. Liet couldn't look away if he wanted to. "We're the only ones left now, and this way Poland can't steal any more of your attention."
And Latvia let go of his collar and stepped back, leveling the gun with Liet's heart and—
"Latvia, wait!"
BANG
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"No!"
Lithuania lurched upright in his bed, eyes wild with terror. For a moment, he didn't move, frozen by the abrupt change. Oh god. A dream. A nightmare. He glanced around the room, taking a quiet comfort from the familiar sight, the grey light of morning filtering in through the curtains as he dressed.
It had snowed over night, a touch more than a half a meter. The Baltics dragged out breakfast as long as possible, knowing that as soon as they finished Russia would order them outside to shovel the porch and walkway. Sure enough, after Russia had brought Poland his meal—the boy was still trapped up in his room under solitary confinement a week later—he told them to go.
They bundled up in multiple layers to fight off the cold, gloves and fur hats and heavy boots. Liet wrapped a second scarf over his head, tying it under his chin like he had seen Belarus do on a few occasions; Russia laughed, saying he looked like a babushka, but it was warm so Liet really didn't give a damn. When they tried to open the door it wouldn't budge despite their best efforts, and Lithuania was contemplating the window when Russia noticed their plight and came over. Heaving his weight against the door, he managed to wedge it open a crack, a snow drift spilling into the hallway; the Baltics obediently filed out past him and got to work.
And it was back-breaking work, not because there was a huge area to shovel, but because there was so much snow. Lithuania found himself remembering with great fondness those big trucks America had, snow plows he had called them. At least the physical labor kept them all warm; hats came off within a few minutes of working, followed by the scarves. By the time they were done they were sweating, though in the course of returning the shovels to the shed and collecting the clothing articles scattered about, they were chilled once more.
When they trudged, exhausted, back inside, Russia had a surprise waiting for them.
"Litva, Estonia, Latvia, come here!"
They stripped out of their heavy winter wear and, sharing cautious glances, went to the kitchen.
Russia smiled happily at them. "I made hot cocoa for you!" he announced, gesturing for them to sit down at the kitchen table. They did so, nervous and wary of a trap; Russia brought them each a steaming mug of hot chocolate and stood back. Lithuania realized he was waiting for their reactions and took a sip; deliciously thick cocoa, milk and chocolate and powdered sugar and egg and… rum? From the look on Estonia's face, he could tasted it too, the alcoholic warmth that lingered after the initial heat. Trust Russia to make certain that the hot chocolate would be particularly bracing. Still…
"It's very good, Russia, thank you," Liet said, taking another sip as the huge country beamed. Hm, it wasn't overly alcoholic; perhaps Russia wasn't trying to get them drunk, just pleasantly tipsy. Then again, rum was a luxury item here, so maybe he was just being practical.
Russia brought out tea cookies, looking on with satisfaction as they savored the rare treat in silence, warmth returning to their frozen fingers and toes. If Lithuania overlooked Russia's domineering presence, he could almost pretend that things were okay, that they were all friends enjoying an afternoon together, real friends, not the forced friendship into which Russia pressured them.
Latvia finished his cocoa and sighed contentedly; Russia noticed.
"Would you like some more, Latvia?" he asked.
Estonia caught Liet's eye; oh no, the rum in it, Latvia don't—
"Da, puzhalsta!" the small country chirped, surrendering his mug. It was only incredible will that prevented Estonia and Lithuania from exclaiming 'Latviaaaa!'
"Would either of you like more?" the Arctic nation asked over his shoulder as he added a gratuitous splash of rum.
They declined politely and thankfully Russia didn't force the matter. He did, however, immediately send them back outside to run errands, quite possibly in punishment for refusing. Lithuania hoped Latvia would still be okay by the time they returned.
The list Russia gave them was primarily food stuffs, which meant not only a trip to the market, but trips all over the city. When Lithuania had first started living with Russia again, he had been confused as to why the stores were nearly empty yet people seemed to have enough food. He quickly learned that this was because food could not really be bought, but it could always be acquired. Russia had cultivated an extensive network of contacts from whom he could obtain whatever he was looking for, and of course, being a 'high ranking military/government official' with special privileges himself, he returned the favor. Lithuania found himself fondly remembering those stores America had, supermarkets full of food…
The sun was setting by the time they got back, laden down with groceries. They discovered Latvia passed out on the sofa downstairs, a darkening shiner decorating his eye and (what Lithuania prayed was not) a bite mark on his neck. After depositing the groceries in the kitchen, they carried Latvia up the stairs and put him to bed, struggling to change him out of his uniform.
"Do you think he had too much?" Liet murmured, propping up the unconscious country. "Or…"
Estonia slipped Latvia out of his maroon military coat and paused for a moment, considering, before pulling up the white undershirt. Liet stifled a gasp at the sight.
Angry bruises covered the boy's torso, more black and blue than pale unblemished skin.
"A little of both, I think," Estonia said sadly, laying Latvia down. As he tucked the blanket around him, Liet's eyes drifted to the smallest Baltic's face, not so much serene as sleeping faces are usually described but blank, as if he had vanished in his sleep and left behind an empty shell.
They returned to the kitchen and put away the groceries; Lithuania was always surprised at how much food Russia could cram into the pantry: there were shelves of glass jars filled with fruit preserves and vegetables; bins brimming with buckwheat and rye flours; cured bacon and ham hanging from the ceiling. Ropes of garlic, wild mushrooms, and drying summer fruits looped along the shelves; root vegetables were laid out in low boxes; and sacks of salt and wheat stood by the door along with crystallized cones of sugar. Barrels of cucumbers and apples in brine supported various mustards, herbs, and spices, and there was a special table set aside for fish preparation. A whole corner was dedicated to dairy products, cheeses and butters, while another corner was devoted to brandies and vodkas and bottles of rum. Food stores weren't as high as they usually were, but then again it was winter. Although, hell, even in the summer Russia stocked up like famine was imminent.
Actually, famine was kinda imminent most of the time…
"I'm going to go check on Poland," Lithuania said to Estonia in an undertone as they finished, as if Russia could hear him from his office upstairs.
Estonia looked at him, sadness in his eyes. "There is no talking you out of this risk-taking," he said, a statement, not a question.
Liet managed a tight smile. "Sorry," he murmured, leaving the kitchen and creeping up the stairs. He had been sneaking visits to Poland everyday of the nation's confinement, and while he was certain that a week straight was definitely pushing his luck, he certainly wasn't going to stop now.
The door at the far end of the hall, Russia's office, was closed, a sliver of light peeking out at the bottom; that coupled with the music—the depressingly patriotic Soviet Army Band and Chorus again—told Lithuania that Russia was indeed there. It made him incredibly nervous to sneak into Poland's room right under his nose, but so long as they were quiet and Liet kept a sharp ear trained for any sounds of Russia's approached, he'd be fine.
The door still wasn't locked—why would it be? No one had given Russia any reason to change his habit (that he knew of). Liet slipped into the room quickly, shutting the door softly before turning with a soft greeting, "Hey, Poland—"
But the blond wasn't sitting on his bed like he had been the last few days. Or at the desk. His eyes swept the room, but Poland was nowhere to be seen.
"If you're planning on jumping out to spook me, that's a really bad idea," he muttered quietly as he edged cautiously into the room. If Poland did jump out and startled him enough that he yelled, well, things could go very poorly indeed. The sensible part of his mind told him that Russia probably wouldn't be able to hear anything unusual over his music, but the paranoid part of his mind, the part that worked overtime to keep him alive while he lived with Russia, wasn't going to take any chances.
Liet checked behind the door and under the bed in quick succession, but Poland wasn't hiding in either place. His gaze fell on the closed closet door and he snuck over silently. Taking a deep breath, he threw open the door.
"Found you," he said (not yelled, that was too risky). But the closet was also empty of Poland. In fact, it was empty of everything, all the clothes Liet had acquired for Poland over the past four months.
"Polshka's not here."
Lithuania jumped, slamming the closet door shut. Russia stood just inside the room, watching him coolly, his face blank.
"R- Russia Zimavich," Lithuania stuttered, backing away from the closet (and the corner) towards the room's center. He could still hear music playing from the office; it must have covered the sound of Russia's approach, although the huge nation could be dead silent when he wanted to be. Damn it, he had been counting on Russia turning off the music and thus alerting him. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"
"There is little way you could have not meant to come in here, Litva," Russia said amiably as he walked forward, and Liet knew he was in trouble.
"Where's Poland?" the Baltic asked, backing up at the same slow pace as Russia's advance. They both knew that Lithuania would run out of space first, but Liet couldn't help it.
Annoyance flickered across Russia's face. "Germany came to pick him up today," he replied, shrugging. "They left in the afternoon, around one, maybe two o'clock."
When Lithuania had been out getting groceries. And in a flash he realized that Russia had staged the whole thing: knowing that the Baltics would draw out breakfast to avoid going out into the bitter cold, spiking the cocoa so that Liet at least would decline, making the errands appear like a subtle punishment and thus perfectly normal. The only thing that Russia hadn't manipulated was the weather itself.
"I didn't get to say good bye," Lithuania muttered miserably. His heel bumped into the wall below the window.
Russia casually closed the distance, coming well within an arm's length, well aware that the smaller nation felt the height difference keenly. "You did not remember?" he queried, a bemused expression on his face. "But you knew that your time with him was short."
Liet heard the careless cruelty in his words, the reference to both the present and the past, when Russia had destroyed the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth and dragged Lithuania off to live with him for the first time. He opened his mouth to respond, but Russia continued on regardless.
"But if you did not remember, then you still thought that Poland was in solitary confinement," the Arctic nation mused thoughtfully. "But he's not here, so it seems your little rebellion is in vain, da?"
Lithuania swallowed thickly, glancing away, but a finger slid under his chin and tilted his head upward. Fearful green eyes met chilled violet ones, and Russia smiled. Lithuania's legs almost gave out.
"What will you do now that your scheming partner in crime is gone, hm? No more hurtful tricks, da, Litva?"
But they hadn't been his tricks at all, just Poland acting out, but Russia wasn't going to believe anything he said to that effect. "R- Russia—"
"No more tricks, Litva," Russia repeated, the smile vanishing, his eyes darkening as he gripped Liet's chin tightly, keeping their gaze locked. "Da?"
The tone brokered no disagreements. "Da, Russia Zimavich," he said, his voice wavering, his whole body trembling.
Russia let go of him then, stepping back to return the stolen personal space. "Xorasho," he said, his cheery disposition once again in the forefront. "I'm glad. Well, run along then; we're having vareniki for dinner tonight, da?"
Lithuania nodded stiffly and forced himself to walk rather than run from the room, Russia's eyes following his retreat the entire way.
The Baltic managed to get all the way downstairs to the living room before the tremors were too much and he crumpled onto the couch. Taking deep shuddering breathes in the hopes of calming his fluttering heart, Lithuania rested his head on the sofa back and stared, gaze unfocused, at the ceiling.
Poland was gone, back to Germany's for he didn't know how long. He wondered what the departure had been like; knowing Poland, it likely involved a lot of whining and bitching, neither of which probably went over well with either Germany or Russia. (He also doubted Poland had the common sense to know when to stop.) He wasn't sure whom he'd rather have react in that situation, Germany or Russia. Actually, he imagined that Germany wouldn't react, choosing to ignore Poland's tantrum in favor of pure stoicism. If anything, Russia would react, chiding Poland for being so difficult, and didn't he know that things would just be unnecessarily prolonged that way?
The fact that Lithuania could practically hear Russia recite those words in his mind spoke volumes for the state of his nerves.
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This chapter's a bit shorter than the others, and I'm not entirely sure I like it... The next chapter's nearly done though!
Vocab
puzhalsta- please; for either requesting or offering something (can also be used as "you're welcome", leading to the exchange "Puzhalsta" "Spasiba" "Puzhalsta" *sweatdrop*)