Soluble Chapter Four: Feelings of Guilt

"And this day's ending is proof of time killing all the faith I know

Knowing that faith is all I hold

And I've lost who I am

And I can't understand…"

- Shattered, Trading Yesterday

It was another full day before any of the inhabitants of the large house saw Ivan Braginski again. Apparently while Toris had been with Prussia – nearly a full two hours, despite the fact that he had walked out on the other before finishing – the Russian had up and left after gulping down the tea that Latvia had made. He hadn't even taken the time to terrorize the smallest of them, something that he normally seemed to take pleasure in. It had actually been something of a relief – with the ending of the war, Ivan had been more tied up than usual, managing issues with his country, and the peace-talks after the war. This was in addition to the sudden increase in the number of meetings the countries had with one another; meetings he rarely let the three Baltics attend together.

It had been something of a relief for them all – especially Lithuania, who wasn't sure what Ivan would say when he realized that the other had disobeyed him. Though he now regretted the rash action – it was more cruelty when the Prussian had obviously suffered enough already – Toris hadn't quite found the time to get back up there to finish the job. There was always something that was demanding his attention; though if he were to be honest with himself, he would acknowledge that he was avoiding it too.

But the reprieve was not to last. The day after he had dragged Prussia home, Ivan reappeared like some demon from hell. It was, Toris felt, an accurate description based on the way that the other had entered. A storm had appeared, suddenly as they were wont to do in this area, and he and Estonia had spoken about where Russia might be – and more importantly, what his chances of being home that night were. They had been pleasingly small – but then again, Ivan had always been one to defy the norm.

The door had blow open, banging off – and probably denting – the walls quite violently, showering the entranceway with snow. Standing framed in the doorway was Ivan, coat buttoned tight and scarf whipping out beside him like something possessed. He had stood there a moment longer, probably taking in the startled expressions of Lithuania and Estonia - who had moved to the entranceway to talk in private – before entering and pulling the door shut behind him.

"Well, don't just stand there. Put something warm on the stove, da?"

And that was how they had ended up where they were now – the three of them gathered around the too large table, cups of rapidly cooling tea in front of them. Latvia had been pointedly excused from the little late-night meeting. Russia was the only one who seemed comfortable with the thick silence in the room, and was happily downing his tea – he was already on his third cup. Eduard shifted in his seat across from Toris, trying to brush off the tension that was growing by the second.

"We need to have a little chat, you and I," Russia said, pulling out a bottle from nowhere. He splashed the clear liquid into his own teacup, and took a long sip of the mixture. He left the vodka sitting there, innocently, as if inviting the other two to take it. His comment had been directed towards Toris, causing Eduard to give the other an odd look.

"If you don't mind my asking, then – why am I here?" Estonia's voice was clipped, just short of being impolite. While none of the Baltic nations would rebel in extreme ways, they didn't have to follow all of Russia's little rules.

Ivan smiled, swirling his alcoholic tea around in its cup. "Because Toris is the unofficial leader of your little silent rebellion," he said, expression not even twitching. "And I know that if I forcefully pound into his head what I mean when I say I expect my orders to be followed; you will learn the same lesson." He took another sip; the temperature in the room seemed to drop as he spoke. "Or perhaps I just wish to, how do you say, catch up with two of the nations in my care. It has been such a long time since we were able to talk, da?"

"Ivan, please… just leave Eduard out of this," Toris said quietly, refusing to meet the aforementioned nation's eyes. He knew what this was about – and he hadn't told the other two in what state he had left Prussia the previous night.

Those horrible, dead violet eyes turned to him, and Lithuania couldn't hide a little shiver. Russia smiled again, pleased at this reaction. "Ah, I suppose you are right." Abruptly – and moving faster than Toris had thought him capable of – Ivan was standing and moving towards him. He had little time to react as one of his massive hands closed around his shoulder. "Go to bed, Eduard," Ivan said in a sweet tone. "I'll talk with you later – for now, I wish to educate little Litva in private."

Estonia opened his mouth to protest – he wasn't sure what had gotten Ivan riled up, but he knew whatever it was, it wasn't good.

"Don't." The language Lithuania used was his own, and while Estonia wasn't a fluent speaker, he knew a few words – it was another way of rebelling, refusing to use the language Ivan had forced on them. "I'll be –"

His words were cut off with a forceful whack across the side of his head from Ivan, whose eyes had darkened. "Russian, please," he said sharply – making it clear that it wasn't a polite request.

Estonia nodded simply, and sank back into his chair. Russia glared at him briefly, before hauling Toris up out of his seat by the arm, dragging the other off.

Being dragged by the Russian was not a pleasant experience. Ivan's steps were so long that Lithuania was mostly off balance the entire way, even up the stairs. As expected, he was hauled all the way to the end of the hallway, to the closed door at the end. But unlike what he had expected, Russia simply let go of him, rather than slamming his head into the wall as Lithuania had been bracing himself for.

"I know that you did not finish what I assigned to you," Ivan said, turning the doorknob slightly. Despite himself, Lithuania peeked in over his shoulder.

The room was deathly silent, and Prussia lay in the same position as he had been a day ago. His face, however, was a bloody ruin. Apparently, in his sleep, without the bandages to stop him, he had clawed at the wound, dragging it open wider. Toris felt a twinge of guilt in his stomach as Russia softly shut the door again, turning to face him.

"Normally I would be disappointed, da, and then I would have to punish you."

Toris paused, blinking, as Ivan's words caught up with him. "Normally?" His voice came out somewhat strangled. When the Russian decided to do something out of the ordinary, it usually wasn't an improvement.

"Da. But this is not a normal situation, is it?" Ivan smiled that strange, unnerving smile of his. "I'm sure you know Prussia. From what I understand you and Polska fought with him several times in the past, da?"

"Well – yes, back when he was still with the Teutonic Knights, but –"

"And you have also seen him at world meetings." Russia continued talking straight over what Toris was saying. "So you and I both understand that he is the most stubborn, irritating, and exasperating of nations, da? He has… spirit."

Lithuania had to force his expression to stay straight. To say that what Prussia had was merely spirit was like saying the war they had just gone through was a minor dispute; a gross understatement. "Well… yes, that's what he's like." He had a sinking feeling he knew what this conversation was about, and he really didn't want it to continue.

"Da. And I don't like that. I don't like rebellious nations; I want a family that does what they're told, when they're told, and how they're told. Prussia – or whatever it is he is now – will not do that. It is not his nature to bend knee to any power, no matter how obviously superior."

Then why don't you just beat it into his body like you did to mine? It's such an effective way of getting your point across, was Toris's unspoken thought. The old scars on his back twinged slightly. While Ivan hadn't actually attacked him with intent to cause real harm in some time, the memories still remained fresh.

"Physical violence is not an answer either." Lithuania wasn't sure if Russia was consciously echoing his thoughts. He hadn't thought the other nation capable of mind reading, but with Ivan, one could never be sure… "Seeing as he has a higher tolerance for pain than you. He won't scream for me like you did, Litva, da?" The expression on his face was cruel.

"…" Toris felt a coil of heat twist in the bottom of his stomach, despite the look he was getting. Yes, he had broken under Russia's treatment… but it was either give in or internalize all of it and go insane and give Ivan what he wanted anyway. He had preferred to keep his mind – screaming had let him do that.

Ivan was turning down the hall already, slow ponderous steps clunking on the wood as he paced the small area. "But you see, Toris… he is a warrior, da? Physical perfection is a must for a proper warrior. Scars are a sign of… bravery. But to be crippled by such injuries – not so brave, da? His vision is precious to him – and now that, thanks to you, he has lost half of it; well, he will be most eager to keep what's remaining, don't you think?"

The heat in his stomach froze like ice at those words, and the smaller nation couldn't help but give Russia an appalled look. They were countries, and normally mere physical violence would do nothing to them that wouldn't heal over shortly. But Gilbert was weak, very weak. His people were not Prussian any longer; they weren't sure what they were. His wounds would not heal with the speed that they were supposed to, as his current ones were already proving.

"I must say, Litva, though the lesson took much time to get into your skull, I have taught you well, da?" Ivan was in his face before he could react much beyond a surprised flinch. The Russian's eyes were dark with something that he couldn't quite place.

"W – What do you mean?" Lithuania was acutely conscious of the massive hand resting next to his head, the way Ivan was leaning down to look right into his eyes.

"You… always had such a high moral standard. You took pride in it, thinking that it kept you from sinking to my level. Don't try to deny it, Lithuania, I know how you work." Ivan's voice had lost the childish tone it usually carried. "But – leaving Gilbert alone in that room to suffer – to allow the infection to reach his eye so completely… this is not so morally correct. In fact, you could almost say it's something I would do."

Toris could feel himself shaking. His mind was so focused on finding an escape route around the massive nation before him that he didn't even pause to wonder how Russia would know Gilbert's current state when he himself had just returned home. The hand moved then, so fast that his effort at dodging was almost laughable. The large fingers gripped his collar, and Russia straightened – pulling the smaller man straight off of his feet. Toris's hands scrabbled at Ivan's, trying instinctively to pry his fingers apart. No such luck – his grip was far too strong, even one-handed.

"But just because I am pleased with what you have done," Russia continued, their noses almost touching, "do not make the mistake of thinking that I will allow you to ever disobey my orders. When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it, da?" He shook his captive lightly, heedless of Toris's attempts to escape the choking grasp.

"Y – yes!" Lithuania could see spots on his vision, and the words came out hoarse.

Russia's lips curved up into a happy smile, but he still did not let the other go. "And one more thing… Litva." He leaned forward, pressing Toris into the wall, until his mouth was right beside the smaller man's ear. "I'm not as stupid as you seem to think I am." To Lithuania's horror, the words were spoken in his language, and quite fluently so. "I make a point of learning everything about my family… even if I do not advertise the fact. You will use Russian from now on. You will obey my orders without question. You will run off to Estonia and Latvia when I put you down and you will tell them this, so that they know nothing is safe from me, da?" The words were menacing, despite not being spoken in more than a whisper.

Without waiting for a response, Ivan stepped away and released his grip, leaving Toris to fall to the ground. The large nation looked down at him for a long moment, before turning, adjusting his scarf, and clomping off down the hallway. For his part, Lithuania remained where he was, half crouched on the thick carpet, eyes still wide. He hadn't thought that Ivan had known – he had never heard – how had he – his thoughts swirled around and around, chasing one another as fruitlessly as a dog will chase its tail.

But above all, as he finally pulled himself to his feet, straightened his collar, gave Gilbert's room a last look – he hadn't been told to fix the other, after all – and turned down the hallway, Toris felt a sick sensation in his gut. It was true – his one moment of petty revenge, of anger, had reduced him to the level of a man he had despised for doing much the same. Perhaps the extended contact with Russia… living in his house and under his rule for so long was changing him, more drastically than he had thought possible.

It wasn't a comforting realization.

For once, Germany couldn't bring himself to do work. It wasn't that he didn't have a lot of it – and most of it was depressing to read in any case – but his mind continually wandered off on its own whenever he started to get into what he was doing. It didn't help that there was a large window in his office, facing directly towards the east. If he looked out of it, Ludwig could see the barbed wire barrier that separated him and his brother.

Such a trivial barrier would not have been, not so long ago, an issue for either brother. But now Ludwig found his nation crippled once again in the wake of the Second World War. His people were still gripped with a terrible grief and a guilt – both of which he shared. Adolf, in the beginning, hadn't seemed – crazy. True, Gilbert had hated him from the get go, but he wasn't Gilbert boss, and besides – Germany knew his older brother hated a lot of people. Ludwig himself had been desperate to pull his country out of the spiral of depression, debt, and hopelessness that had left him bedridden for many weeks after the first war.

This time, the victors had not exacted such crushing penalties on the losing side – well, at least as far as they were concerned. Alfred could be somewhat excused – a western nation, he was largely ignorant of the relationships many of the eastern nations shared. But England – Arthur had been the one to suggest the idea in the beginning. Francis had obviously been angry about it, but the French nation hadn't actually made any verbal protest. Ivan, of course, was only too happy with the arrangement.

"Damn it!" Ludwig slammed his fist into his desk, inadvertently crushing the end of his pen and sending ink spattering across his hand and the documents under it. The blonde barely noticed, dropping the instrument and finally giving in. He shoved his chair back, ignoring the squeal of protest, and stalked over to the window. One hand reached out to touch the glass as h is blue eyes stared out over a drizzly, gloomy Berlin. He wondered if somewhere over that border, where he could not see, Gilbert was doing the same.

I doubt Ivan would let him. In any case… after being forced to walk all the way to that bastard's house with his injuries, I doubt he's in any sort of shape to stand up and be depressed. That brought a hesitant, twitching smile to his face – though it was quite short lived. Depressed was not a word that should ever be applied to his brother – the only time Germany could recall that annoying personality being dampened was back when that boss of his, Old Fritz, had passed away.

And when they handed him a piece of paper saying he wasn't a nation anymore, a traitorous part of his conscience reminded him. That, too, had been painful to see – the look on Gilbert's face as he read slowly through the thick legal jargon. He had been a warrior for so long – and Ludwig had only known him as such – it was difficult for the older nation to understand that a piece of paper, easily thrown in the fire and burnt, was enough to end him. Frankly, he had spend the next few hours lying around looking miserable, waiting to disappear like all of the other nations who had gone before. But nothing had happened – and that had seemed like a good thing at the time.

Well, before Ivan had come along and pleasantly announced that Gilbert now belonged to Russia and was to be known as the German Democratic Republic. Before the damned arctic nation had gone and dragged off his older brother, who had only really been following Ludwig to support him in the war, who hadn't really understood what had been happening, he had been kept in the dark so much. To pay for the crimes of his younger brother. Ludwig felt that his own personal punishment – having that idiot Alfred checking in on him what felt like every five minutes, the mistrust (and hatred, in Poland's case) of many nations, and the physical damage, seemed like a slap on the wrist. His keeper wasn't inclined to brutality – or random, homicidal insanity.

"Please, Gilbert… be sensible for once." His breath created a light fog on the glass – he hadn't realized how close he had been leaning, as if he strained far enough, Prussia would be able to hear his words. "Don't antagonize him…"

It was an unlikely suggestion. Gilbert's mere presence was antagonizing enough in most cases, even before the white haired man opened his absurdly obnoxious, insensitive mouth. When he actually said something – and he always had something to say – it usually resulted in numerous pissed off nations, if not outright screaming matches. Unfortunately, where most of the others had grown to tolerate, if not particularly enjoy, the Prussia's general disposition, most of the others were not Ivan Braginski; known to be set off by the strangest things.

Later, he would never be able to recall how long he had remained standing there, one hand pressed flat against the glass, palm going steadily numb. Around him, the house was deathly silent – even the dogs seemed to be in mourning for the missing member. It was, perhaps, because of this unnatural silence that he was able to hear the soft, almost desperate cheeping noise coming from what was the room Gilbert always stayed in when he visited.

Germany had to strain to hear it clearly, to make sure that it was actually real and not something conjured up by his sleep deprived, muddled brain. When it came again, fainter this time, he was sure. The blonde man turned sharply and all but sprinted down the hallway towards the room that Gilbert used whenever he stayed over at his younger brother's house. (Which, at the time, had been annoyingly frequent – but only a few days apart, and already Ludwig found himself missing his presence.)

Gilbert's room was exactly the same way he had left it – a large Prussian flag taking up most of one wall, a desk that rarely was used for anything but a boot rest, an extra uniform looking oddly neat lying there on the still unmade bed. The window was tightly shut. On the desk, however, was the source of the sound. Sitting on top of a stack of papers (curling slightly at the edges) was a tiny little cage.

The thing was clearly meant as no more than an easy way to transport the occupant, as Ludwig had never actually seen the yellow chick anywhere but on his brother's head. The bird was cheeping pathetically on its little perch, looking somewhat bedraggled. Germany wondered how long it had been there as he walked closer, leaning over to look at it. It stared back with big, black eyes that seemed to echo his own sadness. Perhaps it too knew that its owner had gone somewhere it couldn't follow.

He hadn't ever been fond of birds – they were too fragile for his liking, and he would never understand how someone as brash as Gilbert had managed to take care of one for so long – but this w as a piece of his brother. Carefully he unlocked the door, and reached one hand inside. The little yellow ball – which had, once, been fat and fluffy – clambered onto his finger with obvious effort. Ludwig stared at it for a moment, while it stared back, before something occurred to him.

"Shit, what did Gilbert feed this thing?" He didn't want the bird to starve – Prussia had loved it almost more than anything, and Germany wanted it alive and well when he returned. As he peered around the desk, looking for anything that looked remotely edible for birds – and trying not to dislodge the one sitting on his hand – he noticed the messy note taped to the desk next to the cage. He picked it up, eyebrows furrowing as he looked at the messy, spattered script.

West; I know you don't like birds, but could you look after Gilbird for me for a bit? I know you don't like birds much, but he's real easy to take care of. Just put his seed in a dish a few times a week, and he'll pretty much look after himself. Don't let him get too fat.

Gilbert.

p.s. the seed is in the bottom drawer of the desk

Ludwig stared at the letter a moment longer. It was only a handful of words, but the messy, slanted scrawl was typical of his brother (no matter who his boss was, they always complained about it), and he wanted to take it in. It was the peeping of the bird – was its name seriously Gilbird? – that took his attention away.

"I wonder when you were last fed," Germany muttered, looking at its somewhat thin profile for a moment.

"Piyo~!" The little thing shuffled farther up his finger, fluffing up its ragged feathers.

Sighing softly, the German nation pulled open the drawer Gilbert had instructed – only to find there wasn't anything in it. Ludwig stared at the empty space, brows furrowing. Typical of his brother – leave instructions that were entirely incorrect. The little bird made another sound, this one slightly stranger, and Ludwig looked at it in concern. He hadn't gone in this room for almost a week, and he couldn't see any sign of a food dish that had been left for the little guy. He looked at the note again, as if willing the words to reform into some other instruction. (He supposed he could always ask France what birds ate, but he would be damned before he voluntarily sought out Francis.)

It was, however, unnecessary to think such things. On the back of the sheet of paper was another scribbled sentence, this one even harder to read, as if someone had been trying to get him to hurry up – or he thought he was running out of time.

If it's not there, check your sock drawer.

Ludwig had to read this several times to make sure that was actually what it said. When his eyesight confirmed that yes, indeed, Gilbert had instructed him to search his sock drawer to find birdseed, his lips twitched. A moment, and then he was chuckling softly to himself – for the first time in what seemed like forever. Still grinning to himself, Ludwig folded the note and slipped it into his pocket – before realizing that this motion was possible because there was no longer a bird sitting on his hand. He experienced a brief moment of panic, when he realized there was a strange weight on his head.

A glance in the large mirror (typical of Prussia to have a floor length one everywhere he spent long periods of time) on the back of the door provided the answer to both questions. While he had been distracted, the little yellow chick had somehow made its way to the top of his head, where it was now sitting, looking back at him in the mirror with large eyes.

"You can't –" Ludwig paused in the motion of reaching up to pluck the thing out of his hair. He could swear that the thing was giving him a deploring look. "Don't be ridiculous… it's a bird," he mumbled to himself. Gilbert had always sworn that the bird could speak, but no one had ever taken him seriously. (The traditional response to this had been "Of course none of you idiots can understand him. He speaks Awesome.")

But still the thing continued to look at him – it was that same look that Italy gave him when he was hoping for something. And just like when Italy looked at him like that, Germany could feel his resolve starting to waver.

"I can't walk around with a bird on my head," he muttered finally.

"Piyo~?" The thing shuffled higher up into his hair, a funny little yellow bump amongst the slicked back style, and entirely out of place in Ludwig's otherwise neatly put together self.

"I can't – it's –" He flapped his hand as if to emphasize the point, but already the argument was lost. The bird, apparently sensing this, cheeped once and settled further down into Germany's hair, making a little nest in the stiff strands. Ludwig glared at it, despite the fact that its eyes were now shut.

"Fine," he grumbled, not feeling quite as reluctant as he sounded. This was a piece of Gilbert, after all, that he could hang onto while the other was gone. He pulled the door open again, headed to his own to look for the birdseed that was, apparently stored in his sock drawer. He pointedly ignored the part of h is mind that kept asking why he seemed so eager to find small things that his brother had left behind if, as he had promised both Prussia and Russia, he would be getting the former back as soon as possible.

Gilbert won't be over there long, he growled silently to himself. Then he can look after his own bird, and I can finally concentrate on that mountain of damn paperwork. And then he can distract me, as always, and things can go back to normal, like the way they were before all of this started. He yanked open the door to his room with a bit more force than necessary. He'll be home before next year if there's anything I can do about it.

In the long years to come, Ludwig would find himself looking upon that brief window of optimism with a cynical sneer, and wonder why he had ever been so hopeful.

A/N: Alright, here's the much awaited fourth installment into this little bit of madness. And this time we get to see a bit more of Germany~! Took me a bit longer than usual to get it up, but chapter five is being a pain to write, and I wanted to get that one finished before I posted this one, so... yeah.

Anyway, here you are. Please review, guys! I know a bunch of you have this on fave/alert, and I'd really appreciate hearing from you!

Pheleon.