My readers will be happy to know that I've decided to throw my usual chapter word length guide out the window--I'm sick of trying to cut up scenes to fit approximately 3500 words. That being said, this chapter is longer than most, and definitely longer than the last one.
Warnings for violence in this chapter, more than we've seen before from Russia...
---
Lithuania trudged down the cobble street, grocery list in hand, and headed for the stores. The warming spring sunlight fell comfortably on his back, low grey clouds in the distance threatening rain. It was finally nice enough to wear only a light coat sans gloves and hat, but the melting snow had turned the ground to mud, still calling for winter boots. The warm weather (and by warm weather he meant low fiftys instead of below freezing) had people out in the streets enjoying the change, which had the unfortunate side effect of creating long lines at the store.
He really disliked the Soviet way of shopping: going around to each unmarked section of a store and mentally tallying up the prices of everything he needed, lining up at the kassa to exchange the correct number of rubles for a receipt, then lining up back at the sections to hand over the receipt in exchange for whatever is at that section. God forbid he forgot something or got the price wrong; he'd have to line up at the kassa all over again. He recalled American stores with envy.
The Party store was no better. Despite containing all the higher-end goods reserved for Party members (and Russia proclaimed the Soviet Union had no class system—ha!), the store used the same god-awful system, with the added bonus of having to flash one's documents in order to prove Party membership. Lithuania wasn't a Party member, but Russia obviously was, and he had spoken with the store owner shortly after Liet's 'return' so that the Baltic could retrieve groceries for him without incident. Definitely not legal, but Russia was Russia, so it didn't seem to matter. At least all the waiting in line gave him time to think…
His fight with Poland, he was sure they would make up eventually. Compared to some of the other spats they had gotten into over the years, this was negligible, really… Like when Poland had taken opportunity to try expanding his borders back in the 1920s, hoping to reclaim some of his past glory—which meant attacking and taking over Ukraine. Russia might have been distracted by his revolutions, but he predictably came to his sister's aid as soon as possible. He pushed Poland back, which wouldn't have been a problem for Liet personally, except that Russia simultaneously invaded him with the idea of marrying him to his younger sister Belarus. Liet had been amazed—married to Belarus?—but Russia's condition for the marriage was that the newly created nation of Litbel would be a part of the Soviet Union, and Lithuania wouldn't give up his independence for that, not even for her. So he got dragged into a war with Russia thanks to Poland.
He had done pretty well actually, but Russia had just gotten out of his revolution and was still fighting Poland… They quickly came to a peace agreement: Liet had (mistakenly) thought that maybe Russia could be convinced that he and Belarus could stay independent if they got married, so he signed a treaty with Russia to provided (negligible) assistance against Poland. In return, Russia agreed to give him all of the Soviet-controlled territory Liet and Poland were currently arguing over. He'd never forget the look on Poland's face when he confronted him about that treaty… Thankfully, Poland still didn't want to go to war with his old partner, so when he managed to push Russia out of Lithuanian territory they had tried to come to a reasonable solution over the territory dispute. They argued for months. But then Poland suffered that coup and one of his generals seized Liet's capital. He was furious--how could Poland do that to him?!--but he didn't want another war, not right after the Great War, not after the fighting with Russia… Thus Poland got to keep his capital, but they didn't talk to each other for years. Not until 1938, when Austria moved in with Germany and Poland got really nervous—with good reasons, as it turned out—pounding on Liet's door and demanding that the Baltic be friends with him again or he was going to totally break the door down. So they had started talking again a little, but Liet was still annoyed about Vilinus—it was his capital, god damn it.
He did get it back, but… After Russia invaded Poland and forced him to sign that mutual assistance treaty—the exchange: twenty thousand Russian troops within his borders for his capital, then under Russia's control. Liet knew it was a trap, but how could he refuse Russia? And the arctic nation had confided that the troops would wind up in Lithuanian territory no matter what; at least that way he got something out of it, not that it mattered in the long run…
"Receipt," urged an annoyed voice.
Liet snapped out of his discontented recollections and handed over the slip of paper. God, his relationship with Poland had really gotten messed up over the last few decades. Their lives—himself, Poland, Russia, his brothers—sounded like one of those stupid shows he had seen occasionally when he was living with America, what were they called? Soap operas?
The store assistant handed back the receipt and no flour. Liet frowned and inspected the numbers—"Damn it…" He'd gotten the price calculation wrong. Sighing, he turned back to the kassa.
The store owner spotted him. "Trouble, Grazhdanin Lorinaitis?"
"Got the price wrong, it's nothing," he answered apologetically, showing the man the receipt.
"Ah, this is no problem," the owner responded, waving him back towards to counter guarding the flour. "Katen'ka! Measure out three kilos of buckwheat, there's a good girl."
Liet muttered a thank you, grateful for the small kindness.
The manager shook his head, "It's no trouble! They really ought to put the flour in bags, da? Premeasured, none of this guessing prices and—"
"Hey, what's this skipping ahead? I thought we did away with all that preferred treatment in the Revolution."
A police officer, whom the store owner had waved Lithuania past to get his flour.
"Oh, just a small error on his receipt, hardly worth the trip back to the kassa—" the manager tried to brush off the man's comment.
"Yeah? And you sure this little thief wasn't just trying to slip a few extra kilos in there?" the officer demanded. Other shoppers glanced in their direction, curious.
Liet shifted nervously. The last thing he wanted was a tangle with the police.
The owner spoke up in his defense. "I assure you, Tovarishch Podpolkovnik Vasnetsov, that Grazhdanin Lorinaitis is certainly not a thi—"
"Grazhdanin?" the officer queried.
The store owner froze.
Lithuania swallowed thickly as the officer turned his gaze to him. "You think anybody can just waltz in here? This store is for Party members only, kid."
Liet mumbled a negative as the owner tried to explain, "He picks up groceries for his employer—"
"And why doesn't he come and get them himself?" Vasnetsov quipped before turning back to Liet. "Papers," he demanded.
Not good, not good… The Baltic nation fished out the little leather-bound booklet out of his pocket; the officer snatched it out of his hand and flipped it open disdainfully, eyes flicking across the page as he scrutinized the information. Liet tried not to fidget, hands clenched tightly to keep them still.
"Lithuanian!" Vasnetsov exclaimed. "I thought your name sounded odd… You trying to steal from us hard-working Russians, hm?"
"N- no…" Liet stuttered, eyes following his papers as the man pocketed them. He needed to carry those at all times…
"Well, Lorinaitis, I'm going to need you to come with me and answer some questions—"
"What?" he blurted, suddenly afraid.
The owner started, concerned. "Podpolkovnik, Tovarishch Braginski arranged for—"
"Stay out of this, unless you want a fine for ignoring proper store policy," the officer snapped.
"But—"
"Or a cell next to his as an accomplice for thievery."
The store owner clamped his mouth shut, shooting Liet a guilty glance.
"But I didn't steal anything," Lithuania tried desperately, taking a step back.
Vasnetsov grabbed him by the arm, squeezing hard enough to hurt. "Sneaking into the Party store and trying to get goods with an inaccurate receipt? Looks like stealing to me," he said, marching the unfortunate nation out on to the street.
"Please, this is just a misunderstanding, I swear," he gasped. He couldn't believe it; he was getting arrested! Because of Russia! "Please, call Tovarishch Braginski, he'll explain—"
"Shut your mouth before I do!" the man barked, shaking him slightly. A mother quickly pulled her child out of their path.
Lithuania bit his lip, close to tears as he stumbled alongside the officer. He was so close to screwed: the police weren't going to believe him, a non-Party member and a Lithuanian with no political sway whatsoever, especially over one of their own. His only chance was in Russia, if they honestly tried to contact him. There was a good chance they just wouldn't bother. People disappeared when they ran afoul with the law, whether or not they had actually done anything wrong; no one saw or heard of them until years later, a letter of consolation from the government, we're sorry he got caught up in all that…
Vasnetsov dragged him through the doors of the station, the noise attracting the attention of a middle-aged officer at a desk.
"What've you got there, Vovka?"
Vasnetsov thrust him forward. "A little thief caught trying to steal for the Party store."
"Really now?" the other replied with a touch of interest, catching the tossed booklet.
"I didn't steal anything," Liet repeated.
Vasnetsov wrenched his arm up painfully, cutting off further protest.
"Lithuanian?" the other officer queried. "Why on earth would you steal from a Party store?"
"I didn't," the brunette insisted through clenched teeth.
"You're not going to help yourself by lying, kid," the man said sadly, copying down the information.
Liet groaned softly, there was no way he could win this. "Please," he said, practically begging. "Please, call Tovarishch Braginski, he'll tell you what happened, he—"
"Braginski?" the officer said sharply, putting down his pen. "Ivan Braginski?"
Oh thank god. "Yes, Ivan Braginski," Liet said quickly, a spark of relief leaking into his voice. "I work for him, he sent me to the store to pick up a few things, I wasn't trying to steal anything."
The officer considered him, then exchanged a glance with the Baltic's captor. "You didn't mention this," he said warily.
Vasnetsov shifted, suddenly unsure. "So what? What's that got to do with anything?" he huffed, loosening his grip on Liet's arm. The country remained silent, trying to determine exactly what the exchange meant for him. The older officer sounded like he might know Russia, please, let that be enough to get him out of here…
The older man leaned back in his chair, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket and tapping one out. "I'll call him," he said finally, lighting his cigarette and taking a deep drag. "I hope for your sake, kid, that he knows who you are." He blew out a thin stream of smoke. "Nobody claims that connection lightly."
Did he know? Lithuania wondered suddenly. But why would Russia tell them?
"Who the hell's this Braginski guy?" Vasnetsov demanded.
His compatriot favored him with a serious stare. "He's got connections straight to the top."
Okay, so maybe he didn't know.
"To the top? You mean, to—"
"All the way to the top," the officer emphasized.
Silence.
Well damn. They weren't afraid of Russia—to be fair, they didn't really know who he was—they were afraid of Russia's boss.
The man flicked a touch of ash onto the floor. "I'll call," he repeated, with more certainty than before. "In the meantime, lock him up in back—"
"What?!"
"—and we'll see what happens," the man finished sternly, giving Lithuania a look that read 'be grateful I'm sticking my neck out for you'. The Baltic glanced away.
"Yes sir," Vasnetsov nodded, and yanked Lithuania towards the back.
Vasnetsov put him in an empty cell, separate from the other criminals who shouted insults and curses or else pleaded their innocence. When the metal bars clanged shut, Lithuania resisted the overwhelming urge to curl his fingers around them. Instead, he went to the corner furthest from the others and sat down, hiding his head in his hands.
Please Russia, please get me out of here…
At least Russia was in his office today. Had he been out working, Lithuania would have been screwed. As it was, he thought glumly, Russia was bound to be unhappy with this turn of events. At least it wasn't Liet's fault; Russia bent the rules with that set up, and he got caught. Tch, who was he kidding? The likelihood that Russia wouldn't blame him was about as likely as Poland proclaiming his undying love for Germany.
Lithuania waited. As time stretched on with no sign of Russia, he began to get nervous, fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt, pacing the length of his cell, avoiding the bars that connected his tiny compartment with the one next to it. He knew Russia would come for him, he had to, what would he do otherwise? Leave Liet there? (His stomach flipped and he pushed the idea away.) But why hadn't Russia come yet? Was he trying to send another message, a warning? But what, aside from the usual 'I have power and own you' message? He could just be busy. Too busy to come get him out of jail? His thoughts doubled back, twisting in upon themselves and leaving him restless. And nervous.
What if- What if Russia didn't come?
After what seemed like an infinite amount of time later, the door creaked open. Liet turned, hoping—
Following behind Vasnetsov was Russia, dressed in a modern officers' uniform instead of his old one, scarf still wrapped securely around his neck.
Lithuania practically flew to the door of his cell. "Tovarishch Braginski!" He came, thank goodness; Liet hadn't realized exactly how uncertain he had been until that moment.
Russia turned to Vasnetsov. "Da, I know him," he said neutrally.
An uneasy feeling grew in the pit of Liet's stomach.
"Why was he arrested?"
"He was attempting to procure goods from the Party store illegally, and subverting proper procedure as well," Vasnetsov answered immediately.
Russia hmmed thoughtfully. "I see. Well, open his cell please."
Confusion flashed across Vasnetsov's face. "But, sir, I must insist that he receive proper punishment for—"
"I assure you, his misdeeds will not go unpunished," Russia informed him cheerfully, his smile like ice.
Fear raced through Liet's veins; maybe he was better off in jail.
The officer hesitated, "Sir—"
"Tovarishch Podpolkovnik," Russia said neutrally, expression blank, humanity absent in his voice. Lithuania recognized that tone. "As your superior officer and his employer, I take full responsibility for this man's actions. I will see that he is properly disciplined for his transgression. You have my word." The darkness passed and he smiled once more. "Now please, open his cell."
"Y- Yes, sir," Vasnetsov snapped a sharp salute and fumbled with the keys, thoroughly unnerved. The door swung open and Lithuania stepped out into the narrow hall, slightly closer to Russia than the officer (even though one was undoubtedly safer than the other). He opened his mouth to explain but Russia killed his words with a swift gesture, gaze still resting on Vasnetsov.
"Thank you, tovarishch. I'm sorry to have troubled you with all this unpleasantness," he apologized, moving to leave. Liet followed, nearly crashing into the taller man when he paused at the door, turning partially back to the policeman.
"Lorinaitis and my other two assistants will continue to run errands for me when deemed necessary. I hope this won't be a problem?"
Vasnetsov shook his head wordlessly.
Russia grinned. "I'm glad."
The huge nation briefly thanked the older officer, who apologized for his partner's rash behavior. Russia assured him that it was no trouble, don't be too hard on the boy, he was only trying to do his job and protect the people, if only everyone were as vigilant as he. Then he bid the man good day and left, Lithuania a silent shadow behind him.
The minute they reached the street—the promised rain had arrived as a light drizzle, was it already evening? How long had he been in there?—Lithuania tried again, "Ivan Zimavich, I—"
"Not now, Toris," Russia said curtly, a polite 'shut up, Litva'.
Lithuania heard the restraint his in voice and remained silent, instead focusing on keeping up with the taller nation's long strides. They went straight home, foregoing the store where the groceries had been abandoned; Liet would bet that he'd have to go get them tomorrow. Unless none of the items on the list were actually needed and the whole trip was merely a fabrication to get him out of the house. To think that he might have been arrested for nothing…
Russia's grip on his temper broke the moment they got inside the house.
"How dare you embarrass me like that!" he shouted, whirling on the smaller nation, towering over him.
Lithuania cowered, backing into the corner. "I'm sorry! I wasn't trying to embarrass you!" he said frantically, hands raised to shield, to hide behind.
"You couldn't be bothered to fix the receipt and got arrested! Of all the stupid things!"
"H-He was just trying to help," Liet stuttered.
"You should have refused!"
"I'm sorry!"
Russia grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pinned him against the wall. "I missed a call from my boss because I was talking with the police!" he hissed angrily. "Do you have any idea—"
Liet smelled the vodka on his breath, saw the red rimming his eyes—had Russia been crying? "I'm sorry, Russia Zimavich," he whispered fearfully. "I swear, it won't happen again."
The huge nation released him and stepped back, taking a deep breath. "I hope not, Litva," he said dispassionately. He looked exhausted. "I hope not. For your sake."
Lithuania shivered.
Russia went upstairs, and Liet didn't move from the corner until he heard the office door shut. His heart was pounding, and it was only partially from terror.
How was this his fault? Russia was the one who set up the agreement with the store owner. He should have realized that it would only work for so long before one of his own citizens called foul. Hell, he should be proud his methods were taking so well! But of course it wasn't Russia's fault. It was never Russia's fault…
Lithuania waited until he was sufficiently calmed, relatively speaking, then went to see what had become of dinner in his absence.
There was nothing he could do about Russia.
--
Russia came down to dinner on time, smiling and pleasant as if nothing had happened. It made the Baltics nervous; they ate in silence, listening intently as Russia happily reported on the state of the economy, both his and the Baltics'. Liet stared at his plate and refused to look at Russia when the huge nation said that all Lithuanian banks and land had been nationalized, farms collectivized, and the lita officially removed from circulation. When he commented on how things were going so well, that Lithuanian people were now much better off than before, Liet found his earlier anger creeping back over him, daring him to point out that Russia had also banned all organizations except the Communist Party and its youth group, that there was a massive shortage of goods thanks to the adoption of Soviet practices, that the standard of living had dropped through the floor and his people were miserable…
But it was getting harder and harder to hold his tongue as Russia continued to ply him with vodka throughout dinner, toasting to each Soviet success. Liet knew that this was Russia's revenge, his punishment for getting arrested and causing the arctic nation to miss a call from his terrifying boss. By the time the meal ended, Lithuania recognized in a fuzzy sort of way that he was completely and utterly drunk.
"Estonia, Latvia, you can take care of the dishes, da?" Russia commanded in question as they began clearing plates. "I want to have a word with Litva."
Oh yes, he was damned. Liet rose to his feet and waved away his brothers' anxious looks, "'s fine," he said, slurring the words. Damn it. This was so bad. He stepped away from his seat and lost balance; Russia steadied him, hand on his shoulder.
"Come with me, Litva," Russia said gently, grabbing the half-finished bottle off the table and steering the swaying Baltic into the living room.
Liet was deposited on the sofa; he flopped down with little resistance, letting his head hang forward as the world spun threatening. He felt Russia's weight settle down next to him, drape an arm over his shoulders and tug him close. The cold country set two shot glasses on the table and filled them one-handed, the other hand lightly petting his hair; Liet watched mutely, waiting for the blow to fall.
Russia offered him a glass and he took it. "To you, Litva, for coming to your senses," he declared, clinking their glasses together before knocking the vodka back smoothly. Liet did the same and grimaced as the added warmth slipped into his stomach.
"Comin' t' my senses 'bout what?" the Baltic murmured. Coming to his senses, ha—not when he was this smashed…
"About Poland," Russia replied, plucking the glass from his fingers and returning both to the table. He didn't refill them, thank god.
A small sound died in his throat and he swallowed. "What do you want, Russia?" Liet muttered hopelessly. The arctic nation had already taken over, completely changed his government, destroyed his economy, made Russian the de facto language of politics and public life, annihilated his foreign relations, banned religion, hell, banned everything that wasn't communist--what more could he possibly want?
Russia's quiet chuckle reverberated through the smaller nation's body. "You know what I am wanting," he whispered in the Liet's ear, warm vodka-scented breath ghosting down the Baltic's neck.
He shuddered, hair standing on end, breathing shaky as his eyes fluttered shut; a knot twisted in his already nauseous gut.
"All nations will become one with Russia, Litva," the huge nation continued softly, skillfully conveying a double threat. "Some just sooner than others."
"You really believe that?" Liet asked quietly, staring at his lap. "You think you're gunna get everyone? Everyone? Eastern Europe; yeah okay, maybe, but Germany? France, England? You're going to get all of them too? China, Japan—everyone?"
"All of them, Litva, I will free all of th—"
"Wha' about America?" Lithuania asked, barely noticing Russia's abrupt stillness. He thought of the confident Yankee, young and exuberant, always hoping for the best, perhaps naively so, willing to work hard to create his dreams and freedoms. "Y' can't get America, it won't work," he said, shaking his head once, heedless of how the room spun when he did so. "America, he's not— He won't fall for all of this." He gestured vaguely at the living room. "For the, the lies and propaganda. His people have no reason to believe you, they won't—"
"They will, Litva," Russia interrupted calmly. "I will offer them ultimate freedom—"
"But it's not," Liet mumbled. "And America's economy was built on capitalism—"
"America's economy was built on slavery," Russia countered.
"Fine, slavery," Lithuania conceded. "But so was yours. So were most of ours—"
"Serfdom was not slavery—"
"Bullshit," Liet slurred the useful American phrase as he pulled away from the huge nation. Some part of his mind realized that he needed to stop talking, now. "What, serfdom's slavery when you're condemning the bourgeois but not when it could make you similar to America? It doesn't work that way—"
"This conversation is done, Litva," Russia stated firmly, his eyes dark.
Lithuania continued, "You've got to realize that your people don't believe any of this shit. I refuse to believe your people are all idiots—"
The backhand clipped him hard across the mouth, eliciting a shocked gasp from the Baltic. Russia gazed at him expressionlessly as he wiped a trembling hand across his mouth and saw blood. Liet realized that he had missed all of the warning signs. His breath hitched, suddenly shallow; his eyes found a spot on the sofa and stayed there.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He knew Russia was out to punish him, he had thought it was just getting him drunk to the point of being sick, but of course not! Why stop there when Russia could get him to denounce Soviet policy?
Russia stood. "Get up, Litva," he ordered.
He tried, and found his legs wouldn't support him, half-collapsing onto the coffee table.
Russia made no move to help him, cool eyes tracking his labored attempt to stand. He managed to climb to his feet, swayed slightly, but remained upright. He was vaguely aware of Estonia and Latvia peeking fearfully out from the kitchen behind him.
"Litva, I am disappointed in you," Russia started. "I had thought that with your rejection of Poland's futile rebellion you had signaled your willingness to move forward towards a new and better world."
How is he that eloquent when he's drunk? Liet thought bitterly.
"But you disregard your people's achievements—"
When did he say that?
"—and denounce our collective ability to succeed. This sort of doubt corrodes the strength of the people and allows the evils of capitalism to sneak in through the cracks, killing freedom and snaring people in nets of debt and servitude."
Undermining the system, he's accusing me of causing dissent! Normally such a charge would land a person in Siberia— Russia wouldn't, would he?
The huge nation looked him dead in the eye, expression hardened. "I cannot allow this to happen."
Please don't send me to Siberia. Please.
"Follow me," Russia commanded, turning and heading towards the doorway.
Liet got two steps, staggered, and crashed to the floor. Damn it, way too much to drink. He couldn't have run if he wanted to.
A strong grip on his upper arm, tight enough to hurt—between the police officer and now, he was going to have a bruise tomorrow—and Russia roughly hauled him to his feet, half-dragging him to the stairs. It was all Liet could do to keep his feet under him. He tripped up the stairs; Russia jerked him up two more steps, cracking his knees into the hard wood before Liet could partially regain balance. Then down the hall, past Liet's room; were they going to Russia's office again? But the huge nation stopped short and threw open the door to—
Terror crashed over him; he dug in his heels, tried to wrench himself out of Russia's grasp, "No, Russia, please—"
Russia ignored him and shoved the protesting country into his room.
Liet tripped, fell, and forced himself back onto his feet through sheer force of will, whirling to face Russia, heart thundering in his ears.
The huge nation shut the door and locked it behind him, eyes never once leaving the trembling Baltic.
Lithuania couldn't get his breathing to even out, quick, shallow, panicked. "R- Ru- Russia Zimavich…" The plea came out a strangled whisper.
The arctic nation advanced slowly, ignoring the light switch in favor of keeping the room shadowed; Liet remained frozen to the spot. Wolf and rabbit.
Russia stopped less than an arm's length away, destroying any sense of personal space. "Take off your shirt," he said neutrally.
Lithuania lurched back, stuttering, "N- No, please, Russia—"
The man's massive hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, twisting it; Liet gasped in pain, tears springing to his eyes as he sank to the floor in a vain attempt to lessen the hurt.
Russia held his wrist just before the breaking point, knowing the exact level of pressure he needed to maintain. "Take it off, Litva," he growled, eyes a blank shade of lavender. "Or I will."
He released him and stepped back. Liet hesitated, holding his wrist to his chest protectively, trying to think of a way out of this disaster, there had to be a way—
Russia suddenly crouched down in front of him, reaching for the buttons on his shirt-
"No!" Liet stopped him frantically, cringing at the look the other nation gave him. "I'll— I'll do it, please..."
Russia didn't respond, just grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him to his feet, waiting.
Blinking back tears, Lithuania unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off, the cool air giving him goose bumps. When Russia held out his hand, Liet handed over the shirt with no complaint.
Russia walked past—Liet shivered as the tail of his coat flicked against his leg—and the Baltic turned to follow his movements, unwilling to let him out of his sight; Russia tossed the shirt on his bed and went the closet, rummaging around for a moment before straightening up and shutting the door—
A whimper escaped Lithuania at the sight of the riding crop. No, no… But he couldn't run, he could barely walk in a straight line and Russia would chase him down and then it would be worse and good god, Russia had never signed the Geneva Convention, had he? He hadn't sworn off torture—!
"Hands on the wall," Russia said emotionlessly.
Liet couldn't breath, fear choking him. "Ru- Russia- "
"Hands on the wall!" he snarled, shoving the brunette.
Lithuania managed to catch himself, hands flat on the wall, and stood there trembling. "I'm sorry, Russia, I'm sorry," he sobbed, hanging his head, wide green eyes dancing frantically over the floorboards as teardrops fell like exploding shells across the woodwork. "I'm sorry..."
"No," he heard the huge nation whisper softly behind him. "Not yet."
The first lash fell like fire across his shoulder blades and he bit back a cry. The second strike cut down his back and he couldn't stop the gasp. The third landed diagonally and a yelp escaped him. Fourth, he shrieked in agony. Fifth, he screamed. Sixth, he begged, pleas and apologies and promises of better behavior spilling out of him in a torrent of anguish; Russia continued on oblivious, raining blow after blow on his shoulders and back, deaf to everything.
-
Lithuania didn't know how much time passed. Gradually he became aware of the solid floor beneath him, he was sitting, and that it had stopped. Russia, he realized numbly, was dabbing something against his back, talking to him gently, kindly.
"—I had to; you have to learn. It's for your own good, Litva; I only do this because I care about you. I want the best for you, Litva, you and all my countries. If this means that you must be punished for your mistakes then so be it, but I only do it because I love you. I wouldn't waste my time if I didn't—"
Lithuania just sat there dumbly, noting the bowl of bloody water that Russia dipped a cloth into occasionally. He offered no protest when the huge nation dressed his wounds, nor when he was gingerly picked up and carried over a shoulder to the bed, laid out next to the wall on his stomach. Russia left and Liet drifted, thoughts sluggish, eyes closed; he stirred briefly when someone climbed into the bed next to him, Russia he assumed dully, and he knew he ought to try and get away, but his body didn't respond. He felt the covers carefully pulled up, and the other person shifted a little, then was still. Liet listened as breathing evened out into peaceful slumber.
The darkness that had been edging in around the corners of his mind pulled him under.
---
Not much to say about this chapter... Lithuania's referring to a lot of different but interconnected historical events in the first half of his chapter, namely the Polish-Soviet War and the related fallout from that. And yes, the Soviet Union did originally plan on merging Lithuania and Belarus into a single country--I'm betting that's the time when Belarus broke Liet's arm. ^^;
Liet has scars in Hetalia canon; they had to come from somewhere, and it's heavily implied that they're courtesy of Russia. Note, in Russia's "I hurt you because I love you" nonsense, he never once apologies.
Vocab:
kassa- payment desk, cash register
Grazhdanin- citizen (the opposite term of address from toravishch), used with non-Party members
Podpolkovnik- lieutenant colonel
Next chapter's half written, hopefully will be posted sometime this coming week.
Read and reviewing, comrades!