Soluble Chapter Five: A Prelude

And so he tries to paint the stars

But the clouds get in his way

He adds some white to bring them out

But the white just turns to grey

And then he tries to brush some red

But the colours seem to fade

And the clouds are back again

Yeah, this time they're there to stay

- The Painter, Mike Murphree

It was many weeks after the revealing conversation between Lithuania and Russia in that lonely hallway that Prussia finally woke. His fever had broken a week after arriving at the large house, but his body had been too weak and too busy fighting off infection to support higher brain function. So, in the almost sentient way that the nation's bodies dealt with damages, Gilbert's body had kept him sleeping.

For the first while, his sleep had been neither healing nor quiet. It was not uncommon to hear hoarse screaming coming from his closed door – it had startled Latvia many times. Lithuania, who spent more time in Gilbert's room than anyone else, having been designated by Russia as Gilbert's official keeper, preferred the screaming. Because when he wasn't making a racket, the albino man lay as if dead. Sometimes tears would run down his cheeks – but only from one eye.

As the days passed, however, his breathing became more even, deeper. His core temperature went back down to a natural level, and at last Gilbert slipped into a deeper, healing sleep. The wounds on his body lost their angry red tone, and began to heal. The largest of them, the wound on his side, had already become a mess of shiny scar tissue.

But it took many days, and for a while Lithuania had feared that perhaps this was how a nation died – their minds simply left them, and their bodies, like their land, simply remained echoes of what they had once been. It was only the telltale rising and falling of Gilbert's chest that denied this assumption. But woken he had – hoarse, weak, and several pounds lighter, but he was alive.

Ivan had been very pleased.

Since that time, the Russian had not gone to see his prize from the war. Which was strange, Lithuania mused as he carried a tray of food down the hallway, because the arctic nation had entered Gilbert's room quite frequently when the other had been unconscious. Then again, Gilbert had been in a foul mood ever since waking – at least around anyone who wasn't Lithuania himself. Apparently the albino man didn't remember anything of their conversation on the night of his arrival – and Toris had let go of his anger over it like a hot poker after Russia's confrontation with him.

"Are you going to fucking stand there with my food all day, Lithuania, or are you going to haul your scrawny ass in here and feed me?"

Gilbert's rough voice sounded from behind the door, which Toris hadn't realized he had been staring at. The albino man lacked anything approaching politeness, but for some reason, Toris found himself appreciating the change. Russia's house was normally one of muted whispers, not aggravated hollering down the hallways. (And Gilbert was singularly good at hollering – he made a point of it whenever he was bored.)

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Lithuania sighed, opening the door while precariously balancing the tray on his other arm. As he shuffled in, he nearly dropped it again. "You! What're you doing out of bed?" Indeed, Prussia was standing shakily, one hand grasping the frame, by the large window in his room. The white haired man turned as he heard the door opening, and the scolding.

"I got bored," he said, as if this explained it all. He seemed heedless of the tiny red spots that were already dotting his bandages. "All I do is lie in that bed all day, and I'm at the end of my patience with it. I'm fine – this hardly constitutes as me bleeding to death." So he was aware of the bleeding, then.

"Well, you're not getting dinner until you sit back down," Toris said, ignoring how much like a mother he sounded – he did this with Latvia and Estonia too, when they were sick.

"Any chance its beer and wurst?" Gilbert turned slowly, shuffling his way to his bed with teetering steps. "Hell, I would just take the beer now, if it came down to it…"

"I'm afraid not," Toris said, planting the tray in front of the other once he was sitting comfortably. "Beer isn't going to make you get better."

"Neither is this watery shit you keep on feeding me," Gilbert complained, staring with disappointment at the food in front of him. He still wasn't allowed many solids, and he was starting to sorely miss good old German food, instead of the Russian concoctions he was continuously given. He rubbed idly at the bandages on his face. The infection had cleared from his eye, but he knew that there was little chance of ever regaining vision – mostly, he tried not to think about it. It was rather difficult, though, when it itched so badly.

"Stop that." The Baltic nation whacked his hand away, eliciting a glare. "And that watery shit is going to make you better, if you would stop complaining for once and just eat it." Toris gave him a light whack on his head, but Prussia was too busy staring at him, spoon halfway to his mouth.

"Did you just swear?" he asked, not noticing the soup falling back into the bowl. "Did you seriously just say shit?" Prussia seemed torn between disbelief and amusement.

"It has been known to happen," Lithuania said dryly, standing. "Now, finish what I gave you, or else I'll make sure you're eating that for the next ten years."

Gilbert choked on the spoonful he had been eating – despite his complaints; he really was too weak to refuse food, no matter what it was. Once he was done coughing, he gave Toris a long, strange look. "With luck I won't be here in ten years for you to order me around," he said slowly; and despite the teasing tone, there was something more serious in his words.

"Gilbert, I –"

"It is good to see you sitting up, comrade." The voice from the door made them both jump, Gilbert's soup sloshing in its bowl with the motion. Ivan was standing in the doorway, head nearly brushing the top of it, smiling at both of them. There was a bit of snow, rapidly melting in the warmth of the house, on his shoulders.

"I – Ivan, I didn't know you were going to be –" Toris scrambled to say something to reduce the suddenly murderous tension in the air. Gilbert's red eyes were fixed on the Russian's purple ones, and there was no mistaking what he was trying to convey.

"I don't need a nursemaid, Toris." Ivan's voice remained cheerful, but there were dangerous undertones – a warning that Lithuania had overstepped some invisible boundary. "Besides, I brought something for our newest family member, and I wanted him to be awake so I could give it to him, da?"

And then both of them realized that the other had been holding h is hands behind his back the entire time. Gilbert dropped the spoon back into the soup, ignoring the splashes it made on his bandaged torso.

"I don't want anything from you, you fucker," he snarled vehemently, "Unless it's a one-way pass back to West."

Russia only smiled wider. "Oh, yes, I came to talk to you about that too," he said, moving further into the room. Toris remained rooted where he was, wishing desperately that he didn't have to stand here and watch this. "You see, everyone thinks that Prussia has been dissolved. So everyone is wondering why he's still around, and hasn't become one with Germany."

"It's because I'm awesome," Gilbert snapped back, "And therefore far too mighty to become 'one with Germany.' Besides, he's my brother. That'd be creepy. As creepy as becoming one with you. Less, actually."

"Perhaps, but in that you didn't really have a choice, da?" Ivan laughed softly, and despite lacking the deeper voice tone, it was still unnerving. "But arguing will get us nowhere. Don't you want to hear why you haven't died yet? I hear you were worried about it for quite some time after you received the news."

"I don't question a good thing," Gilbert muttered, but the venom had gone from his tone. He hadn't thought anyone but West had been witness to his period of depression right after learning he was no longer going to be a country. That had been an intensely private, secret part of his life, and he hadn't wanted anyone else to know about it.

Ivan moved closer, and for the first time Toris got a look at what he was holding behind his back – his stomach clenched, and he wondered why Russia thought these things up. It was pointlessly cruel.

"Well, do you want to hear the news, or shall I give you your gift and allow you to wonder about it for the next few weeks?" Ivan was at the foot of the bed now, looking down at his captive. Gilbert had quite forgotten about the rapidly cooling soup on his lap.

"Just tell me, you ass, and get it over with." A flash of anger surfaced from his blank expression.

"It's cute, really. The people behind the barrier have decided to form a new nation. It's weak and pathetic, as its representative clearly indicates, but they have started calling themselves the German Democratic Republic. It's a nice effort, but I doubt it will last long. I hope you enjoy your extended life, da? I'm certainly pleased we get to have you around for a while yet."

"I'm sure you are," Prussia growled, pointedly keeping his eyes fixed on the sheets. He wasn't sure he liked the new name… it was too fragile sounding. As if it would break apart at any given opportunity, and he with it.

"So, my little GDR, I brought you a gift to celebrate this news. Da, I think you will like it. I expect to see it with you wherever you go. If you do not have it, there will be consequences. Are we clear?"

"Don't call me that," Gilbert spat, leaning forward with red eyes flashing. "Do not reduce me to three initials, Ivan, or I swear to Gott on high, I will pound your fat face into the ground."

It wasn't hard for Ivan to reach Gilbert from where he was standing, and the resounding crack across the face nearly threw the slighter man out of bed. The tray of food was upset, and the soup bowl clattered to the floor, spilling its contents everywhere. Lithuania nearly jumped out of his skin, not having expected such an abruptly violent response.

"Russian, please~!" Ivan practically sang the words, not seeming bothered by the fact that the left side of Gilbert's face was now turning an ugly, vibrant shade of red. "I don't want to hear any German in my household."

"I don't fucking know Russian," Gilbert shot back, spitting out blood onto the previously clean sheets. He scrabbled backwards over the bed as Ivan reached forward to hit him again, the man only narrowly missing. He and Lithuania had unconsciously been communicating in different languages – Gilbert in his native German, and Toris in Russian out of sheer habit. Their status as nations (none of them quite understood it) had been translating the other's words as they spoke.

"Well then, I suggest you learn it, GDR, and I suggest you learn it fast, da?" The bed creaked under the weight of the Russian as he moved around to Gilbert's side of the bed and sat on it, ignoring the soup that he was stepping in. "But you've gone and ruined my good news. If you're to be part of this family, I expect you to have a better attitude in the future, da?" As if Ivan hadn't just hit him with enough force to shatter bones if he hadn't been a nation, however weak. "Besides, I've brought you a gift."

"Get away from me," Prussia growled, and the tone was low and warning. His red eyes flashed with the spirit they had shown before this war with its endless consequences had beaten him. "I don't want anything from you." He repeated it, as if by saying it, he could get Ivan to stop.

"It's a gift, little GDR. To welcome the newest nation among us, da? And I don't particularly care if you want it or not – you are going to take it anyway, or I will personally make sure that you never make it back to your beloved 'West' in more than palm-sized pieces." Ivan leaned forward, and there was that strange, dark menace that the other nations knew him so well for – the insanity that lurked just beneath the deceptively calm surface. "Now close your eyes."

Prussia glared furiously at Ivan even as the other spoke, but at the threat, some of the fight seemed to go out of him. Yes. He had to keep going – if not for himself, if so he could see Ludwig again. He could almost hear the other, admonishing him in the voice Germany always adopted when exasperated; "Don't aggravate him, Gil. Pride is fine, but it won't serve you if you end up dead because of it." The same lesson that he had taught a younger Germany – repeated back at him by a still younger Germany. Despite his burning desire to spite everything that the Russian wanted, to make Ivan fight tooth and nail to get any sort of obedience out of him, Gilbert knew the other could – and would – make good on his threats. And there was little hope of himself resisting, weak as he still was. And so, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw ached, Gilbert closed his eyes.

Almost immediately, something warm and soft encased his neck. The Russian spent a few moments fiddling with it, before leaning back with a satisfied sigh.

"It looks good on you, Gilbert," he said in an approving sort of way. "Wouldn't you say, Toris?"

Toris, ignored until this point, jumped slightly at being addressed. He was busy trying to clean up the soup that had spilled – and trying to make himself invisible. "Ah –" He glanced at Prussia, who still had his eyes firmly shut, and back to Ivan. The Russian's expression was practically daring the Baltic nation to disagree. "Yes, I suppose. Yes it does." He stared at the 'gift' Gilbert was now wearing, before going back to his work. A small frown tugged at the corner of his mouth – he didn't understand why this was necessary.

"Open your eyes, Gilbert, and see what I've brought you. It took such effort to get it made, I hope you like it. And I expect you to wear it, too, if you want to see Germany again." Ivan's voice was back to being childlike. Even as he spoke, however, Ivan was rising from the bed. Toris, from his position on the floor, thought that perhaps even the Russian knew what the likely results were from this.

Gilbert slowly opened his eye. They slid down to look what was around his neck, pooling into his lap. Then they slowly rose to meet Ivan's violet orbs. A long moment of silence passed, but Gilbert didn't say anything at all.

"Da, I'm sure in time you will come to appreciate it. Toris, be sure that you get all of that mess cleaned up. I don't want it leaking into the carpet." Ivan offered one of his thin not-smiles again, before turning on his heel and clomping out of the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind him.

For a moment the silence held. Toris looked up, pulling himself into a crouch to gauge Gilbert's reaction. The other's face was curiously blank for another few seconds as Russia's steps faded. When they were gone, his pale countenance twisted with anger and hatred. His hand moved faster than Lithuania was able to follow, and a few seconds later, the glass of water on the night table shattered against the door.

"That sick fucker is going fucking regret the day he broke us apart. Scheißen!" And then his words trailed off into unintelligible German. Toris watched the albino with something that wasn't quite pity, sitting there, Ivan's gift wrapped around his neck and shoulders like a crueler sort of shackle.

On his lap, Gilbert's hands crushed the ends of the soft scarf that Ivan had given him, which was so like the Russian's own. The red fabric stood out brightly, the crossed hammer and sickle at the end nearly drowning in it. A reminder – a brilliant red reminder – that Ivan considered him to be nothing more than a mere possession. As he sat there, staring at the water dripping down the door, Gilbert promised a silent revenge. He was stuck with the Russian for now – but that didn't mean he couldn't make every moment a living hell.

It was nearly a year before Gilbert was capable of walking under his own power for any sort of distance. In that time, he saw very little of the other inhabitants of the house, excluding Lithuania. Ivan had apparently decided to forget about him while he was recovering, and while the albino was all too happy to not have to see the Russian's ugly face, he found it irritating as well. As if Russia didn't consider him important enough to pay any sort of attention to.

Despite his newfound ability to move around – restricted mostly to his room by a worried Toris – Gilbert remained very weak. The muscles that he had spent many years honing were still in evidence, but they were fading fast, lost to body that was prone to getting sick; a body incapable of getting out to exercise. His wounds from the war were healing – though the vicious burn across his heart and shoulder never stopped hurting. The reason for his almost constant sickness and weakness was his own people.

"They're killing you, Gilbert," Toris said one day, watching the white haired man stare blankly out of the window in the room. Ivan's house was almost right in the middle of the city; apparently the Russian man enjoyed watching his people go about their business. If he looked far enough (impossibly far) Gilbert knew that he would be able to see his own country; his own people. But it was a dreary view anyway, and he closed his eyes; though Gilbert wasn't sure if that was the actuality of it, or he was just seeing things again. A lot of things looked grey to him these days.

"They don't know who I am," he rasped back, ignoring the telltale shake in one of his pale hands. "To be fair, Toris. I don't hold it against them."

"None of us ever do," the Baltic nation sighed, dropping himself into the only chair in the room. "But still… if there was anything I could do –"

"I wouldn't stop them fleeing even if I could. I would do the same, if I could run. I would turn towards Germany and never stop running." He was still speaking German; this time on purpose. He enjoyed breaking Ivan's little rules – and there were so many of them. The scarf that lay like a dead snake on his bed was one of them; one that he refused to obey if the Russian wasn't in the room. He wasn't fool enough to try Ivan's patience in person – not yet.

"Ivan isn't very happy about it, you know." Toris was speaking Russian – in an attempt to convince Gilbert to do the same, though he knew it was futile. The Prussian man knew the language well enough to at least speak it, but he still refused. "He was furious when the numbers came in… quite a few people are getting across, despite the wire and the guards."

Prussia laughed softly. "Humans will never fail to astound me… even in the worst of situations; they find a way to fight back." A fond smile – one he rarely wore – flickered across his face momentarily. "I hope as many of them as possible get across, before he finds a more permanent way of sealing us off."

A knock on the door interrupted them. Gilbert turned from the window, and shared a confused look with Toris. The one person likely to visit them wouldn't bother to knock – he normally just barged right in. Shrugging, Toris stood and walked to the door, pulling it open. The tension in his shoulders evaporated almost instantly.

"Latvia," he said by way of explanation, pulling the door open further so that Gilbert could see the short Baltic who stood in the doorway. "Come inside… We were just talking."

"I'm not staying… sorry to interrupt, but –" Latvia paused, glancing over his shoulder. "Russia just got home. He isn't in a very good mood." His eyes flickered to Gilbert, standing by the window. "I think he said something about giving you a tour, Gilbert. Now that you're strong enough to walk, I mean."

"… A tour?" The German Democratic Republic raised an eyebrow, and looked at Toris for clarification.

Lithuania shrugged. "It isn't anything too terrifying, other than that you have to spend some time in Ivan's company. He just wants to show you the house, so that when he assigns you work you'll know where to go. But if he's angry… Gilbert, don't try anything." The Baltic nation moved forward, picking the scarf up off the bed, and offering it to the other. "Just grit your teeth and do what he wants, and it'll be a lot less painful."

"As nice as it is to have people announce my presence, I think Gilbert can figure things out for himself, da?"

The voice made everyone in the room freeze, except for Prussia. The white haired man merely snatched the red scarf from Toris, winding it around his neck with a scowl. It was so long it nearly dragged on the floor – clearly it had been made to fit a taller man.

"Latvia," Ivan said, glancing down at the small nation standing just in front of him in the doorway. "Go find something for me."

The smallest of the Baltic nations shuddered. "W – What do you want me to get, Ivan?" he said, not entirely succeeding in hiding the tremor in his voice.

"I don't know," the Russian said back, eyes growing dark. "Why don't you go figure that out, da?"

Latvia took the hint, and the opportunity to escape, scrambling out the door, dodging around Ivan's bulk, and vanishing down the hallway. Toris watched him go with a distant expression. Out of all of them, Latvia was the more afraid of Ivan, because the Russian was good at sensing weakness – he was like a shark that way. He just homed in on it and kept on pressing until his victim just gave up. Latvia hadn't always been so shaky and nervous.

"And you, Lithuania." Russia moved into the room, and gave Toris a look. "I appreciate your attempts to educate our newest family member on how to act, but from now on you can refrain from doing so, da? Gilbert and I don't want your interference."

"M – my apologies, Ivan." Toris ducked his head, eyes fixed on the floor.

"I can speak for myself," Prussia said shortly, moving away from the window. "Don't lump my awesome self with your ugly mug."

Russia simply ignored the comment. "Come on, little GDR. I want to show you around – my house is quite a bit larger than yours ever was, and I don't want to come find you if you get lost."

Prussia snorted, but apparently found that a sufficient expression of his scorn, as he said nothing else. "Sorry about the soup," he added to Toris as he passed. The red scarf nearly dragged on the floor as he walked, and it stood out against his abnormally pale skin like a bloodstain.

Ivan put an arm around Gilbert's shoulder – from anyone else, it would have been a friendly gesture. Russia, on the other hand, was putting a significant amount of his not so insubstantial weight into it. Gilbert still wasn't nearly as strong as he had been before everything had gone wrong, and his knees nearly buckled under the sudden pressure. Instinctively, the nation grabbed out at the nearest thing – and found himself clinging to a smirking Ivan.

"Cut the crap, Braginski. Give me the damn tour and spare me your stupid attempts to confirm your nonexistent dominance," the white haired man spat, shoving away from the Russian in disgust. He stalked out the door – though the gesture would have been more effective if he wasn't still walking slowly.

"Ivan… he's not healed," Toris said quietly, raising his eyes to meet Ivan's purple. The Russian simply smiled back. "He's still weak, even if he doesn't act like it –"

"I know, Litva. I know." He turned away, clomping towards the door. He paused in the entranceway, to the accompaniment of several foul words on Gilbert's part about how stupid Russians should get their arses moving if they wanted to drag him out on house tours. "But he will learn the same thing that you did. That I will not be defied or denied, and I will make him scream and bleed until he understands that he is nothing. Until the man everyone knew as Prussia is dead and buried, and I have a perfect new family member, da?"

The words were said so softly that Toris nearly didn't catch them – but there was such pleasure, and such malice in Ivan's tone that a shiver ran down his back, and his eyes returned to the floor. By the time he looked up, Russia had vanished – his footsteps farther down the hall. Lithuania assumed Prussia was still there; the other's steps were too light to hear. When he was sure they were down the stairs, he softly shut the door and sank onto the edge of the bed. The scars on his back were tingling, and it took conscious effort to stop the shaking in his hands.

"Shit," he whispered to himself, and wasn't surprised to hear it come out in Russian. It had become such a habit that – well, half the time he had to consciously think to use his own language. "Shit, shit, shit…" He wasn't going to cry. It had been a long time since the Baltic nation had shed tears – Toris himself didn't think he had any left. Ivan had seen to that.

"I'm getting too old for this," he murmured, twisting his hands around in his lap, staring blankly at his fingers. "Too old to watch him destroy another nation…" Toris himself had been the first – but he had stood by when Ivan had gotten his hands on Eduard and Raivis. Sitting there, in that too quiet room, Lithuania felt something in him harden; a resolve that he had long since forgotten about.

Gilbert might be an insufferable ass, but that's just who he is. I won't let Russia rob him of that – not like he did to the rest of us.

It was a silent promise, in that room, to keep Prussia as sane as possible; as himself as possible, until Germany was able to get him back – until he was gone from here.

Gilbert was in the lead of their walking only until he reached the bottom of the stairs; and this was only because the stairs were too narrow for Ivan to push by without pitching him over the railing. (Though Gilbert was pretty sure Ivan wasn't above doing just that.) There was no sign of the other inhabitants of the house – apparently the other two nations had made themselves scarce; not that Prussia could blame them.

At the base of the stairs, however, he felt Ivan's hand on his shoulder again, halting his movement forward.

"I know where the front entrance is, Russia. I'm not stupid," he said, trying to shove the hand off, ignoring the twinge of pain this sent up his injured side. Though the infection was gone, and the burns had faded, the tissue was still tender.

A moment later, Gilbert let out a surprised yelp as the hand closed painfully tight, and the larger nation spun him around, slamming his body into the wall beside the stairs. Russia leaned in, until their noses were almost touching. Prussia was abruptly conscious of the fact that his feet weren't touching the floor, and that it was awkward trying to breath.

"What am I to do with you?" Ivan's voice was low and dangerous. "I carry you to my house; I heal you, and how do you repay me?" His free hand reached out to run along the bandages still on Gilbert's face. "By fading more each day."

What the hell is he – Ah. Gilbert's face cracked into a darkly gleeful smile, and he abruptly forgot the discomfort of the current position. "My people aren't curling up under your rule the way you thought they would, are they?" He laughed dryly. "They're escaping in droves back over to the West, and there isn't a damn thing your barbed wire and your guards can do about it, is there?"

Ivan shook him like a dog would shake a toy. "Da, your people are headstrong and stupid; too blind to see the good my country will do for them."

"Right – like the good you've done for the Baltics? It's no secret that their people hate you too, Ivan. No one welcomes your rule; nothing good comes out of having your nose ground into the dirt by some filthy Communist boot." That wild grin only grew wider. "I hope my people keep running; and I know they will. The Prussians have never been ones to give up, no matter what the odds."

"You don't see it, do you?" Ivan's lips curled into a smirk, and Gilbert felt a slight twinge of foreboding sneak its way into his happy mood. "Da, I think you are just as blind as your people… though their ignorance can be forgiven, at least. Yours, not so much."

Gilbert's hands reached up to grasp about the fist curled into the scarf around his neck, trying to pry the massive fingers apart. Another reason to hate the red item – it gave Russia far to easy a handhold on him."Don't be vague, Russia," he said sharply, grin vanished. "Just say it – I can tell you're enjoying the thought."

"What do you think is keeping you alive, you stupid, ignorant shadow of a nation? Did you think it was your stubbornness alone? Da, I can see that you did." Ivan laughed, and it wasn't pleasant. "I am the only thing keeping you from fading into nothing. I chose to let you become a new nation under me when you were given to me. I could have simply made you an extension of Russia, but I felt… merciful. We have not always been enemies, you and I, da? I considered it a… favor to an old friend, my little German Democratic Republic."

There was a long silence, in which Russia's smile became even smugger – but it was wiped from his face an instant later as Gilbert did something quite unexpected – the white haired man simply laughed in his face. He stopped trying to loosen Russia's grip, and simply hung there, shaking.

"You think that matters? You think I care if I fade? Damn it, Ivan, for being one of the strongest nations, you're pretty fucking dense." Gilbert chuckled again, the grin back. "If that was all you dragged me out of my room and gave me a headache to tell me, can I go back now?"

Ivan's confident expression faltered a bit – evidently this wasn't the reaction he had been gleefully anticipating. "I – what?" The laughter had startled the menacing tone out of his voice, and for a moment he almost sounded human.

Prussia rolled his eyes, and wiped at imaginary tears of laughter. "I've come to terms with the fact that dying would be better than living here with you." This time it was he who leaned in closer, red eye flashing with sudden malicious delight. "That's right, Ivan. I'd rather be dead than living in your house. I'm sure your other "family members" would agree with me, at least as far as the Baltics are concerned."

A heavy, consuming silence reigned for a second that stretched into a year. Russia seemed rather taken aback at Gilbert's word – though the Prussian was surprised himself that they had had such an impact. Then the frozen moment was shattered, like a fist through glass – or, more accurately, Prussia being hoisted higher and slammed into the wall behind him. The white haired man let out a sharp gasp as the air rushed out of his lungs, struggling for air that wouldn't come. Ivan's hands were curled around his neck now, cutting off his ability to breathe. There was a strangely manic look to his violet eyes – moreso than usual.

"You are a rude little nation, GDR," the larger man snarled. His voice was deep again, but there was a subtle, angrier note to it than there had in previous times. "I will teach you manners." He slammed Prussia back again, ignoring the other's increasingly red cheeks and frantic struggles against his grip. "You will learn to respect my family and I. You will learn to like living here – by the time I am done with you, you won't want to return home to your precious weakling little brother." Ivan's face twisted cruelly. "I'll make sure of it. Either voluntarily you will remain at my side, or I will make you so ashamed to be alive that you won't want anyone but me to see how far you've fallen, and how pathetic you've let yourself become."

He abruptly let go of the thrashing nation, and Gilbert crumpled unceremoniously to his knees, gulping down air. Red spots had appeared on his bandages again, and one of his hands reached up to touch his neck, as if the violent grip had hurt. Most probably it had.

"You can't make someone to want to be near you, Ivan," Gilbert spat, glaring up at the other through his hair. "You can't make them like you."

Roughly, the Russian man grabbed Gilbert's arm, wrenching the other to his feet with a pained yelp. "You make the mistake of thinking I need you to like me," he hissed venomously, starting to drag the other down the hallway. "You of all people should know – isolation makes a nation stronger."

Prussia struggled to pull away from Ivan's grip, ignoring what the other was saying. Eventually he gave up his struggles in favour of keeping his arm firmly in its socket where it belonged. "You're a lousy tour guide," he muttered under his breath instead, watching doors pass by – nearly tripping over another flight of stairs as Russia dragged him down them with no warning. "Where the hell are you taking me, anyway?"

The other man glanced coldly over his shoulder. "I am taking you to your new room." And then he looked back around, and picked up his pace.

Gilbert instantly noticed the temperature change. He assumed they were in the basement; and of course it was close to freezing. Russia didn't want to waste energy warming a part of his house that he, by the looks of the dusty stairs, rarely used. The first alarming realization the Prussian man had was that he could see his breath, faintly, whenever he exhaled.

"You've got to be kidding me," he breathed as Ivan finally halted at the bottom of the long flight. The basement was large – but this door had a strange sense of foreboding about it.

Ivan put a key into the lock – it locked from the outside, Gilbert noted pointedly – and pushed the door open. There was a creaking of hinges, as if the door itself was reluctant to open. Gilbert could barely see into the space beyond, but before he could say much, Ivan's hand on his back propelled him forward. The cement floor was cold, even through his shoes. His breath plumed out in front of him in a white cloud, and he couldn't hold back a shiver. There was only one window in this room – a tiny square, well out of his reach. The light it let in was feeble, barely even worth the attempt it was making.

"I can choose to be generous, da, or I can choose not to be." Ivan was standing in the doorframe, blocking any escape. The key bounced in his palm. "You have made it plain that you do not want my hospitality, so here you are. This is your room now. Lithuania or myself will bring you food. Otherwise you are not to leave."

"You're fucking kidding," Prussia spat, staring around the room. A bed – barely worthy of being called that, as it was merely a glorified mattress – a few sheets that looked thin even from where he was standing, and a rickety desk that was about ready for the trash heap, and a matching chair. A broken looking lamp hunched there, looking as if it would much rather be someplace else. A tiny patch of ice was growing on the ceiling near the window. The walls were plain grey, a few cracks running through them. "You can't expect me to live here, Ivan; the cold alone will kill me."

A cruel smirk appeared on Russia's face. "All the better for you… after all, since you'd rather be dead than be in my company… I hope you enjoy your stay."

And with that, Ivan turned and pulled the door shut behind him. Gilbert remained standing in the center of the room even as his light was significantly reduced; even as the key scraped in the lock; even as he heard the finalizing tromp of Ivan's boots going up the stairs, fading until they were gone. Absently, his hands reached up – wrenching the red scarf from around his neck and casting it to the floor with one violent motion. Out of the corner of his eye, it looked like blood. For a long while, he stood there, hands and feet slowly growing numb, staring blankly at the spot where the Russian man had been.

Eventually the cold got to him enough that the Prussian had to seek refuge on the mattress – at least it had a bed frame. There were a few blankets piled on top, and he pulled them about his frame, trying to stop the shivers. He shut his eyes in an attempt to pretend that none of this was happening – that he was not freezing, that he was not missing West so much it was painful; that he had not seen that flash of hurt in Russia's eyes at his comments, the flash that had for a moment made the other human. Made Prussia regret, for a brief second, his harsh words. The regret was gone now – replaced by a dull feeling of disbelief.

"This isn't happening," Gilbert whispered to himself, trying to ignore the way the room seemed to swallow his voice. "This can't be happening." He tugged the blankets closer. "It's 1772… I'm with Old Fritz… we're finally unifying… Mark(1) is being irritating, but we're together, and for the first time I'm not alone…"

His words trailed off into incoherent mumbling. Overall, there was a desperate sense of relief – he hadn't been sure that Ivan would buy his bluff. Because if he were to admit it to himself, Gilbert was scared out of his mind. He didn't want to die – not like this, wasting slowly away under the control of another. It wasn't how a warrior was supposed to die.

And then, for the first time in as long as he could remember, Prussia allowed himself tears. He let the selfish, salty liquid trickle from the corners of his eyes, a silent tribute to how terrified he was, of how he missed home and West and everything he was no longer allowed to have.

(1) This is referring to the division of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, which was ratified by Frederick II of Prussia. In actuality, Prussia got the smallest part of the division, but it brought the country together – uniting East Prussia and Brandenburg for the first time.

Mark is an OC, obviously, and is the personified version of Brandenburg – which was also known as the March of Brandenburg, or Mark Brandenburg in German, if Wikipedia isn't misleading me.

A/N: I dislike this chapter. It didn't want to be written, so I feel like I've forced it. Hooray timeskips, and Gilbert's mouth. I apologize for the swearing in this chapter. It seemed like something he'd do. =.=

I'm about halfway through chapter six. I'm sure every other author has told you the same, but with the start of school, updates will be considerably slower. Like this one was. (though that was my stupid fault, not schoolwork...) I hope the fact that it's the longest chapter to date makes up for it a bit.

Germany will (probably) be back next chapter.