Soluble Chapter Six: Letters and Meetings
"Everything which the enemy least expects will succeed the best."
- Frederick the Great
Over the next few weeks, things fell into a steady routine for Gilbert – either Lithuania or Russia would bring him upstairs for breakfast in the morning. It was usually Russia, but by morning Prussia was so cold that he could hardly bring himself to care. After eating – which usually involved him wolfing down his meager food before Ivan could decide that he'd had enough – he was carted off to a tiny desk in Ivan's office.
That was probably the worst time – he had to sit there and read and sign documents dealing with the management of his country; it was only a courtesy, really. Ivan dealt with any major decisions. Gilbert's signature was there simply to provide the illusion that he was going along with everything the Russian decided for him, not because Ivan actually required his consent. The aforementioned nation was sometimes there, sometimes not. Often the Russian attempted conversation – idle chatter about little things – but all he ever received was a stony silence. Prussia knew that he had to do what Ivan wanted him to, but that didn't extend to making small talk.
The bandage had finally come off of his face – and the damage wasn't as terrible as he had been imagining. The injury was still a dull red, but it was fading fast. His eye looked entirely normal – except for the fact that Gilbert couldn't see much with it. Occasionally, if he really strained himself, the white haired man could catch faint, fuzzy outlines of objects very close to his face. More often than not, he didn't bother. It hurt, both in the physical and mental sense.
After part of the day had elapsed, someone would come up to fetch him for lunch – one of the Baltics, mostly, if Russia himself wasn't in the room with him. Ivan had a weird thing about them all eating around the same table. Lunch was another rushed meal for Gilbert – he had had food taken away from in front of him, and he had since learned to eat what little he was given as fast as he could. But despite the food, he was noticing a definite thinness to himself – he had always been slight, but he had never before been able to see his ribs.
The second half of the day was filled with chores – as meaningful or as pointless as Ivan chose to make them. Often it w as just cleaning the massive house; though Gilbert was soon barred entrance to the more ornate rooms, as he had a nasty habit of messing thing up. This had earned him many bruises, and assignment to the dingier, less attractive parts of Russia's dwelling. There were a surprising number of them.
By the time it was dark out – when Russia considered it too late to continue doing work – they were all dragged back to the kitchen for dinner, and the usual routine concerning food. Sometimes Ivan let them go to the living room, and they would stay up quite late. The Baltics usually played cards, or read. At first Gilbert had done nothing – not sure how to react. But Estonia had come up to him one night and wordlessly handed him a book. Since then, Prussia had been rapidly reading his way through the not insignificant number of books on the shelves.
But some days Russia didn't let Gilbert join in – he was shuttled off to his room in the basement right after eating. Those nights were the worst – and invariably the coldest, as Russia seemed to plan them according to when the weather was at its worst. As a result, Gilbert was developing a permanent chest cough – one that sounded unpleasant and robbed him of all air when he had to double over, hacking.
"Stupid commie…" the nation muttered, turning a page in a long, tedious document. "He's going to kill me by exposure before I ever get back to West…" He wasn't even reading the words anymore – he wasn't even sure what the papers were talking about; probably yet another law or plan that Ivan had for the Republic, in order to keep them in line, or give them the illusion there was still hope.
People were still escaping over the border – in fewer numbers than in the beginning, as the guards had finally gotten themselves organized. It was making Gilbert permanently weak – most of the muscle he had had during the war was gone, leaving him much weaker than he could remember being. And yet the less steady his hands his hands grew, the more frequent his headaches became, the happier he grew; at least internally. His people were safe; they were surviving. West would take care of them, since he himself was no longer in a position to do that.
With an aggravated sigh, Gilbert dropped the thick document onto his desk, staring at it in frustration. It wasn't like he ever put much effort into concentrating, but today his thoughts seemed particularly inclined to wander. With another sigh, he leaned forward, resting his head on his palm. As he sat there, staring blankly at the items strewn across his desk, the pen caught his eye. So too did the blank, white paper sitting on Ivan's desk. Gilbert wasn't permitted the luxury of having his own paper to write with – he was expected to sign things, and that was about it.
Glancing around furtively, the nation carefully stood, wincing as his chair dragged along the hardwood flooring. He didn't know where Ivan was today – it wasn't like the Russian deigned to tell him such information – but it was always a safe bet to be cautious. The huge nation had a disturbing habit of popping out of places where you least expected him to. In one quick movement he had reached the desk and taken two of the precious sheets, and stolen back to his own seat.
He listened for a moment, head tilted, but since there was no clumping sound, Gilbert figured he was safe. Turning back to the paper, he pulled his chair in and reached for the pen, something close to a grin twitching the corners of his lips briefly.
West –
I know, I know, I should have written sooner. I was pretty sick when I got here though, and I was too busy being unconscious to write you. You've been looking after Gilbird, right? If you run out of seed, I think there's some in the glove box of your car. You can buy more at that pet store where you buy all that stuff for your dogs. Speaking of dogs, how's Apache shaping up with the rest of them? I know you weren't too enthusiastic about getting a husky.
Ok, enough with this boring drivel. I'm getting on alright – I'm still a bit stiff and sore from the results of the war, but otherwise I'm healing up nicely. The food's not too bad, but I'm getting tired of this Russian shit. Send me a care package, would you? I want German food. Even if I do have to suffer through your horrendous cooking.
I'm sure you're hearing all sorts of terrible rumors about what's going on over here – I know Poland enjoys telling horror stories, and from what I gather he isn't too happy with us to begin with. Don't believe it. Russia's weird, and still scary as hell (don't tell anyone I said that) but he isn't as terrible as everyone makes him out to be.
Gilbert paused, reading over the words. It took him a moment to realize what had flowed from under his pen, and he nearly crumpled the page. Ludwig didn't need to know what was going on his side of the wall; his younger brother had enough to worry about, and Gilbert didn't want to add his own personal misery to the top of that pile. What Germany didn't know wouldn't hurt him – so long as Russia or one of the Baltics didn't let on at any of the world meetings.
If you see him at the world meetings, he's just being an ass for the sake of it. Ignore what he tells you. I'm alive and coherent enough to write a letter, so nothing too horrible can be happening, right? (I mean, other than the fact that I'm actually writing to you, which is unusual in itself…) So don't get all pissy and defensive; all you'll do is confirm my suspicion that you do, in fact, lack a penis…
Your personal issues aside, I hope you aren't moping around the house acting depressed and lost without me. You're freaking Germany, and if you give our people a bad name, I swear I'm never going to forgive you. Show a strong face even in defeat, little brother. Grit your teeth and make it through. I don't know what the terms they gave you were when you surrendered – obviously they're a bit different than mine.
"Yeah, 'cause I had to bloody give myself over to the Russian bastard to keep you safe," Prussia growled under his breath. There was no regret in his words – Ludwig was his sibling, and he had to do whatever he could to protect him. Besides, the younger Germanic nation had gone through enough in the past few decades without needing Ivan lumped in with it all. He was a willing sacrifice – and Ludwig was never to know the truth of his older brother's situation.
We'll be seeing each other sooner than you know. You'd better have the fridge stocked with beer when I get back, because I plan on getting myself so stone drunk I don't remember how to breathe. Ivan doesn't have any decent German alcohol here. All he's got is his shitty Russian water here. And he won't let me have it, either. I'm not above taking it from him without his permission regardless, but vodka isn't exactly my favoured poison.
Anyway. If you get the chance, write me? It's dreadfully boring here. All I do is sign papers and pretend that I'm of some significance to the world. Which, as Ivan has pointedly informed me, I am not. Also, send me some gloves or something, would you? It's fucking freezing in this house… Russia never turns on the heat unless he has to.
Keep yourself busy. This'll pass over soon enough. You'll be yelling at me t o get my feet off of the table, and to clean up my mess in no time. And I'll be ignoring your suggestions, just like I always do.
Your brother,
Gilbert.
Prussia put the pen down, staring at the words scrawled across the previously pristine page in his messy handwriting. The ink had blotched in several spots; he was sure Ludwig would notice the way his pen had pressed in too hard, nearly ripping the paper, when he mentioned this being over soon. He wasn't sure about his younger brother (he had always been slightly more naive than Prussia himself, who had been around too long to believe in the base goodness of people), but Gilbert had the nasty feeling that this wasn't going to be a short, easily solved issue. It felt like other times had; back when he had been younger and bound to the whims of those stronger than himself. It wasn't anything tangible – it was more of something in the air. As if his status as a country enabled him to know these things that others could not.
A knock on the door nearly made him jump out of his skin.
Hastily he shoved the blank paper into one of the drawers on his desk, and dropped the letter into his lap, pulling his chair closer to the desk to hide it. It took a moment for it to occur to him that, had his visitor actually been Russia, he would not have bothered to knock on the door of his own office.
"Come in," he said, raising his voice slightly.
The door opened to reveal Toris, wearing a coat and carrying a sheaf of papers in one hand. The Baltic looked a mixture of thrilled and terrified, which made for a strange expression on his face.
Gilbert leaned back with something that was almost a relieved sound, the muscles in his frame relaxing slightly. One hand idly rolled the corner of the red scarf he was wearing around as the two of them considered each other for a moment. "Where're you off to?" he asked eventually, as Toris didn't seem much inclined to say anything.
"Didn't Ivan tell you?" It wasn't a question worth asking – Ivan never told anyone anything unless he felt that they needed to know it. "There's a World Meeting today. Someone called it unexpectedly – he's not very happy about it, but no one knows who requested it. I'm going along, and so are Latvia and Estonia."
The white haired man perked up a little bit. "Any chance that I'll –" The words died at the flicker in Toris's expression. "No. Didn't think I'd be allowed."
The other nation made an apologetic grimace. "He's just about to come upstairs. I just thought I should tell you before you found out from him and tried to throw something at him."
The smile that Prussia produced was merely a flicker. "I don't suppose I'll be allowed to stay up here while you're gone, will I?" His tone was humorless and empty.
Lithuania shook his head. "N – no. I don't think so." A moment of silent, shared pain. Toris was, perhaps, the only one who could say that he knew what Gilbert was feeling; the other two Baltics had been shielded from much of Ivan's wrath by his personal intervention and sacrifice. "He's coming to collect his work, and I guess to… take you back to your room."
"Do you know how long you'll be gone?" It was unlikely that he would get food – or released from that frigid, basement room with the locks on the outsides of the doors – if Ivan and the three other inhabitants were gone.
"Gilbert – It's going to last a while, I think. If everyone is coming out. Even Kiku is going to go, apparently, and you know what a terrible state he was in after the war."
An idea struck the white haired nation, suddenly, even as his ears picked up the sound of Ivan's heavy boots clomping up the wooden stairs. He moved out from behind his desk, the piece of paper clutched in his hands. It was shaking, but that in itself was nothing significant – his hands always had a tremor in them these days.
"Can you do me a favour?" His voice was low, rapid, and the words stumbled over one another in their haste to get out before Ivan came and ripped them from his throat.
Something must have shown in his expression, because Lithuania's eyes grew dark in that way they did when he was worried. "Uh – sure?" He certainly didn't' sound it.
"It's not hard." Gilbert pressed the letter at the Baltic nation, red eyes flicking to the hallway behind the door. Ivan had stopped moving, and Gilbert could just catch him straightening a painting on the wall by the stairs. "Just – just find a way to get this to Ludwig. I'll do anything. I don't care how you do it… just make sure that he gets it. Please."
Toris hesitated, and it was with good reason, too. If Ivan were to find out about this – not that the letter revealed anything of the treatment Gilbert was undergoing, though Lithuania couldn't know that – the repercussions for even the messenger could be severe. The Russian was not a believer in the policy of "don't harm the messenger." He bit his lip, glanced over his shoulder once, and then before Prussia could react properly, snatched the piece of paper and had shuffled it in with the others he was carrying.
"I'll do what I can. I won't promise that he'll get it, but I'll do my best to see that your brother has this in his hands by the time the meetings conclude."
"Toris –"
Lithuania shook his head. "Don't thank me until I get the job done. You're not alone here, Gilbert. I want you to remember that."
"I hate to break up such a lovely little gathering, but since the GDR has done me the favour of already not doing work, I think we should carry on as fast as possible, da?" Ivan's voice tore through the moment of silence, and the two of them turned away from each other with no more words. The exchange, for all intents and purposes, had never happened.
Prussia glanced at Ivan; he wasn't entirely convinced that the Russian had missed their furtive exchange. The man had an uncanny ability to creep up on everyone. His eyes slid back to Lithuania, who was standing there, shifting nervously. The elder Baltic wouldn't be able to lie to save his life, Gilbert knew, and if Ivan got a chance to interrogate him before they left, the letter would never reach Ludwig –
"You're not stuffing me down there," he growled, glaring at Ivan. "Especially not if you're going away. I'm going to starve, and you know it!"
"The meeting will not be long, GDR. We will be back long before you would die of starvation or cold, da? Stop whining." Russia moved forward, as if to grab the other nation. Gilbert apparently took the sudden space in the doorway between Lithuania and Ivan as an escape opportunity. The white haired man lunged forward.
Toris let out a yelp and nearly dropped his papers at the sudden movement. Ivan, on the other hand, was hardly fazed. The blond man waited until Prussia was nearly at the door, before one of his massive hands lashed out, grabbing him by the back of his collar. He hauled Gilbert back into the room, the smaller man choking as Ivan drew him close.
"Don't try to run away," the Russian said softly. One massive arm pressed Prussia's back into his chest. The other buried itself in the nation's white hair and yanked his head back so their eyes met. "I don't like disobedient family members. They must be punished."
"I've noticed," Gilbert spat, in German just because he could. The words earned him a sharp yank on his hair, which bent his neck at a painful angle.
"Lithuania, make sure that the others are ready to leave. I'm going to get Gilbert here set up before we head out." Without waiting for a reply, the massive nation tightened his grip on Prussia's hair, and proceeded to yank him out of the room.
Gilbert managed to catch Toris's eye as he was hauled past. There was a meaningful spark in his red eyes – the "escape attempt" had been to distract Ivan from the exchange that had happened. Whatever the Russian chose to do to him was what he was willing to sacrifice to have a single letter delivered to his brother.
"Get moving." At the top of the stairs leading down to Prussia's "room," Ivan pushed him forward and finally let go of his hair.
Gilbert rubbed his aching scalp, and glared back. His original purpose had been to distract the Russian, but now he was taking pleasure in pissing the other off as much as possible before he left. "Make me," he said, in German again, grinning darkly.
Unfortunately, he had forgotten one key point about his opponent – Ivan Braginski was not a reasonable, rational being. When he was told to make someone do something, the violet eyed nation had no qualms about doing just that. Gilbert felt the hand on the small of his back a moment before he found the ground falling out from under him. His arms flailed, but Ivan's shove had overbalanced him too far; he remembered to relax his body an instant before his cheek connected with the cold stone steps with an explosion of sharp, biting pain. With a yelp, the Prussian tumbled all the way down the stairs, landing in a heap at the bottom.
Ivan took the more conventional way down, and reached down to where Gilbert was struggling to force himself to his feet. The Russian grabbed his head, and with a snarl of anger, smashed it into the door that led to Gilbert's room. It wasn't locked – it never was when Gilbert himself was not in there – so it opened on contact, but it was quite a solid door. Groaning, the white haired man staggered as Ivan pushed him, falling forward onto the bare cement floor.
"You have tried my patience again and again," Ivan said, and there was nothing childish or cheerful about his voice this time. His violet eyes had grown dark and unreadable, and anger practically crackled off of him. "I have fed you. I have clothed you. I have allowed you to exist, at my own personal expense, and you repay me with rebellion and ungratefulness. I have been tolerant."
With each emphasized word, Russia illustrated his point by sharply kicking Prussia, who curled further in on himself with each blow. When he was done, Ivan was breathing slightly harder than normal, and Gilbert was hardly moving at all. The whole episode had taken only a few minutes, but there was a look in Ivan's eyes that said he wasn't done yet. Gilbert raised his head. His cheek was split, and blood ran down his cheek. His breathing was ragged and wet sounding; something was broken. Already an ugly bruise was forming on the side of his head.
"Tolerant? You call what you are tolerant? You're a fucking lunatic." His red eyes narrowed, his head tilted to the side even now to compensate for the lack of vision in the one. With careful deliberateness, the Prussian man spat a gob of blood on the floor at Ivan's boots. "That's what I think of your tolerance."
Ivan's round face twisted, and became something almost inhuman. With a silent snarl, the Russian lunged forward. Gilbert tried to recoiled, but the pain in his middle prevented him from moving quickly. Out of nowhere, a metal pipe appeared in the larger nation's hands. An insane glint had appeared in his eyes, and with one violent motion, the Russian smashed the pipe into the side of Gilbert's head.
The crack seemed to echo throughout the room. Prussia froze for a moment. His eyes widened comically, his mouth opened slightly, and then he fell back. As he hit the floor, a crumpled heap, he didn't move again. Ivan hoisted the pipe, its end stained with flecks of blood, and looked down upon the unconscious nation, a grim expression on his face.
"I will break you," he said softly, the words echoing in the room. His breath plumed before him in a sinister white curl. "I will break every bone in your body, if that is what it takes to break your mind. You will be mine. You will not disrupt this family."
The Russian turned, coat flaring, but Ivan paused at the door. For a moment, a flicker of something passed over the mask of anger he was wearing. It seemed that, for a brief instant, he was going to go back, pick the fallen nation off of the floor. The look was gone a second later, as he stepped out of the cold room and slammed the door.
Matthew shifted nervously in his seat. Despite the fact that no one was actually paying much attention to him, he could feel the atmosphere crackling with tension. He looked over the table, a silent plea with his eyes to his brother, Alfred. For the first time since his Civil War, the boisterous American nation was sitting quietly, rocking in his seat as if being silent caused him physical pain. His face was white, and his mouth pinched in at the corners, though this was more likely because of the nation sitting across from him.
Kiku Honda, representative of Japan, had been brought to the meeting; brought, because China had had to bring the battered nation in a wheelchair. The quiet young man was sitting at the table, hands carefully folded in his lap, sitting very straight. It would have been almost natural, actually, had it not been for the bandages wrapped around his eyes. Japan was, for all purposes, blind. The Asian nations weren't sure how well he would recover. He wasn't even wearing his usual uniform; rather, a very loose shirt, under which Matthew knew there were reams of bandages. And under those, he also knew, were the horrific injuries. America wasn't, therefore, paying any attention to his younger brother..
Matthew really wished he would – of all of the nations currently at this meeting, he was the closest to imminent death. If any other nation was in his place, he knew, someone would have rushed to his aid long before. If Romano had been in his seat right now, Spain would have been bending over backwards to get the Italian nation somewhere, anywhere, else. Canada supposed that was why no one had done anything yet – they could pretend he was invisible.
Still, as he sank further down in his seat, afraid to rustle his papers lest it cause an explosion, Matthew wished that fate had seen fit to have anyone else, anyone, besides Germany and Russia to choose to sit on opposite sides of him.
The latter was sitting rigidly – so rigidly that it looked like his back was on the verge of breaking – and very properly. His blue eyes were fixed forward, refusing to look to the side. No one had yet dared to comment on the little yellow bird sitting on top of his head; it was likely to assure an abrupt and forceful separation of one's head. Matthew could see the leather gloves the large nation always wore stretching with tension as his hands clenched and unclenched, as if imagining them strangling something – or someone.
Russia, for his part, was sitting there as if there was nothing wrong. He was even reclining in his chair, and perhaps this was the reason that Ludwig looked ready to commit homicide. Ivan had even walked in humming a little tune, his three pet nations trailing in behind him. Each of them, Matthew had noted, looked extremely uncomfortable to be there – especially Lithuania, who was on Russia's far side. He kept on glancing over at Germany and shuffling his papers, looking nervous and apprehensive, as if expecting the blond nation to lash out at him.
"So… er… should we get this… started?" England's voice finally broke the silence that had fallen over the entire table; the quiet liberally smeared with guilt coming from Alfred's side, and the heavily charged air from the other end. The nations trapped in between looked almost relieved to hear that they were that much closer to getting out for the day.
Arthur looked a bit unnerved to have such undivided attention, with no one trying to interrupt. "Alright," he coughed, shifting his papers a bit. "So, it's the usual process; we're going to be here for about a week, maybe a few days more, to go over numerous issues that have been called to attention. If no one has any objections, I'll open the floor to –"
"I have an objection." Even Ludwig's voice sounded like it was about to snap in half. His blue eyes were narrow as he glared as England, who shifted self consciously. "There is an empty seat at this table." And there was – right next to him, because no one else had wanted to get near to an irate Germany. "We never start meetings without all nations present, so that all may voice their concerns."
"Er – well, I'm sure – there's no standard rule –" England wasn't sure how to respond. There wasn't much he could say to the irate German; it had been his own boss, after all, who had been one of the ones all in favour of giving Prussia away. Arthur himself hadn't agreed entirely, but he knew that Germany wasn't thinking logically at the moment.
"I would like to inquire about this as well." This stiff, cold comment came surprisingly from Francis – or perhaps not so surprising, judging by the stormy look Spain (sitting beside him) had on his face as well. The three of them had been good friends. "But let us not misplace blame." His eyes turned to stare at Russia, and Canada was surprised to see hardness in them that the Frenchman rarely exhibited. "So where is Prussia, Ivan?"
The arctic nation sat up in his chair, and folded his hands, looking around the table slowly. "Prussia is dead," he said simply, and smiled. Ludwig jerked violently in his seat, and a ripple passed through the table. The Russian held up a hand to placate the other nations. "Gilbert Beilschmidt is well enough. But Prussia itself is no more. He is now the German Democratic Republic, and I would appreciate if he were to be addressed as such."
Germany snarled something under his breath in his native language that made Matthew wince. He looked like he wanted to reach over and strangle Ivan, and probably would have, if Toris hadn't taken that moment to stand.
"Everyone, please calm down." His voice was uncharacteristically firm. "Gilbert is fine." Even as he said it, Toris knew it was likely a lie – he hadn't seen what had happened in the basement room, but Ivan had been in a foul mood the entire way to Switzerland. "He is still fragile, and moving him might have caused undue damage. He'll try to be at the next meeting." It was a terrible lie to tell; with Japan sitting barely three meters away, bandaged and in a wheelchair, unable to move without pain, Gilbert should hardly be "too weak" to attend.
"There you are," England said abruptly, cutting off any further argument. He kept adjusting his tie, shifting from foot to foot, strangely twitchy. "So, if you'll all allow me to continue, I'd like to address the concerns that Turkey brought forward regarding –"
The meeting went on for the morning, but eventually the nations decided to break for lunch. They didn't actually need to eat to survive, but the room was becoming claustrophobic; Greece had even been unable to sleep by the end of it, an almost unheard of occurrence. A much harassed Arthur had eventually given in, and called an early lunch – there was no doubt that this break would be significantly longer than usual. No one wanted to go back in there. China wheeled Japan out again, murmuring something in the other's ear; no doubt they were headed back to the hotel. Kiku was in no shape to be trundling about downtown for lunch, as the others were. Russia disappeared shortly after the Asian nations had left; Matthew had grabbed Alfred by the collar and tugged until the American nation hauled himself out of his seat and trudged obediently off.
Eventually, Lithuania found himself alone in the room. He was reorganizing his notes, and hadn't expected everyone to leave quite so rapidly – though it was hardly a surprise. The room had been almost unbearable. He sighed, and pulled his coat off the back of his chair – and nearly ran right into Germany, who had been standing behind him.
"L – Ludwig!" The Baltic nation jumped backward, his legs hitting the edge of the table. "I – I thought you'd left with the others."
"I would have," the German man said shortly. "But you were staying behind. I want to talk to you where your Russian guard-dog can't hear."
Toris glanced nervously at the entrance to the conference room. "I – What about, Germany?" He tried to ignore how close the larger man was, and how trapped his current position made him.
"You know perfectly well what about, you lying little toad." Ludwig leaned closer. "You expect me to believe my brother is too weak to come here, when Japan can't breathe without pain and still comes? He was badly injured, but I know my brother. He would get here, come hell or high water, if he was able to. Which leaves me to wonder – just what is being done to him in that house of yours?"
Toris glanced over his shoulder again. "I'm not going to tell you anything," he said softly, meeting those angry blue eyes; eyes that were searching for answers he knew that Gilbert wouldn't want him to give. It killed the Baltic to lie to Germany like this, to leave the other nation hanging without a scrap of news, but he knew Gilbert didn't want his younger brother to worry himself to death. "I have nothing to tell, in any case."
"Like hell you don't." Germany leaned closer, eyes boring into Lithuania's. "I don't give a –"
"Would you let me finish a sentence?" Toris couldn't bring himself to glare; the other's anger was justified. "I have nothing to tell, but your brother does." He reached behind him, reaching to the bottom of his pile of papers, to that folded sheet tucked there. Wordlessly, the Baltic nation shoved it at Germany. "I can't be seen talking to you. But Gilbert wanted me to give that to you." He turned away, nearly whacking Germany in the face due to their proximity, and gathered up the rest of his pages. The stunned nation simply let Lithuania walk past, towards the door, staring after him, clutching the letter to his chest like it was gold.
Toris paused on his way out the door. "Ludwig… I want you to know something." The German nation blinked, but nodded. "He's not… he's not alone. And I'm doing everything I can." As he turned to leave, the Baltic nation caught sight of Germany sinking into one of the chairs, the letter shaking slightly as he read.
Eventually, the meetings came to a close; nothing of great political importance had been achieved, but everyone had gotten a sense of what was going on with the other nations. Kiku still wasn't talking much, least of all to Alfred, despite the blond nation's attempts to make conversation. His brothers were quite protective and especially standoffish near America. England and France were at odds again by the end of the week and a half the meetings had taken. Spain was still ignoring nearly everyone, and kept hounding Latvia (who didn't really know anything) for news on his lost friend. Germany had spent his speaking periods going entirely off topic and demanding that something be done about his brother; many of the nations present agreed with this, but with the Soviet Union acting like an innocent child, there was no obvious reason to engage in an argument.
Canada spent the entire time being grateful for his ability to be forgotten by the other nations; he didn't want to get involved in anything, especially since tensions were so high.
"Well, thank you all for coming out," England said, breaking the tense silence into which the room had been falling quite frequently. "It was short notice, I know. We'll be having another large conference in a few months' time. Thank you Vash, for hosting us," he added.
The Swiss man just scowled. "Whatever. If any of you start fighting, you'd better make sure it isn't at my house. I don't want to be mopping up blood." No one laughed; there was a distinct sense that many of the nations were expecting some sort of confrontation.
"Of course not." Arthur's laugh was slightly strangled. "I'm sure everyone will conduct themselves in an appropriate fashion as they head home." His green gaze was directed specifically at Germany and Russia. Several of the other nations had had the sense to get between them, leaving a much larger space than there had been on the first day. That didn't really solve the problem; Ludwig had snapped a fair share of pens already, just due to looking at the Russian.
But England's words were the cue for everyone to start packing up their things. Many did so with plenty of haste, glad to be released at long last. Lithuania took his time about it, despite the pointed looks Russia threw his way every couple of minutes. He didn't think he had acted untowardly suspicious throughout the meetings, having avoided Germany after delivering the letter; but today, the blond nation had sat himself down beside Toris, who hadn't had much choice in the matter.
"Here." Taking advantage of the moment Russia was taking to loom over Latvia, Germany shoved a neatly folded piece of paper across the table at Toris.
Without much choice, lest Ivan notice, Lithuania took it quickly and tucked it inside his jacket as he stood. "I can't play messenger, Ludwig," he said in an undertone, pretending to bend down and check his papers.
"I know. It puts you at risk." The German man was standing too, shoving everything into a briefcase. The bird sitting on his head cheeped slightly at the sudden move, flapping its wings to keep its balance. He shut it with a snap. "I won't ask you again."
"I'll see that he gets it." Toris offered a small smile, and that was that. They couldn't risk any more extended contact; Ivan would be suspicious enough with the two of them sitting together, however much it hadn't been Toris's choice.
Ludwig nodded quickly, and turned to leave. The German man let out a faint yelp as he nearly smacked right into Northern Italy, who had been standing right behind him. The brunette grinned up at the larger nation; he had been largely oblivious to the atmosphere at this meeting. Though he, too, showed signs of the war – a patch of gauze taped to his face, one hand wrapped in bandages from the fingers to somewhere near his shoulder – he wasn't letting that get him down.
"Ludwig! I haven't gotten to speak with you nearly all week~!" He looked about five seconds away from hugging the German man. "Are you and Lithuania planning something?"
Germany felt the bottom of his stomach drop. "N – No," he said brusquely, hand tightening around the handle of his briefcase. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Toris freezing in the act of moving away from the table, casting a nervous eye towards them. "We're not. Why don't you and I talk on the –"
"Why'd you pass him a note, then?" Feliciano looked up at Ludwig, unaware of the warning glare that he was receiving. "Right at the end of the meeting. It was all secret… if you're planning something –"
"Oh, dear Feliciano, I would have no doubt that they're planning something."
The air suddenly seemed to get colder. Germany took in a deep breath, spotting Toris's eyes growing wide. A sudden presence at his shoulder made the blond man flinch away, turning defensively to face the bulk of the Russian nation who had appeared behind him. Apparently harassing Latvia was not enough to keep him occupied.
"It wasn't anything, Ivan," Ludwig ground out, brow furrowing as his blue eyes met purple. "So do me the favour of not listening in on my conversations." Italy had fallen silent behind his friend, abruptly aware that he had, perhaps, said something that he should not have.
The Russian smiled, and it was not friendly. "It was most certainly something, Ludwig. I am not as stupid as you seem to think I am." His eyes slid to look over Germany's shoulder, to meet Toris's. "Come here, Lithuania. Now. Don't put those papers down."
Keeping his face carefully blank, the Baltic nation stepped up beside the other two. Their three to one situation wasn't making this any less frightening. "It really was nothing," he said quietly. "Germany wanted to borrow one of my notes from earlier –"
"Spare me the lies. He's spent the week trying to petition to get his brother back; not once has he shown interest in any of the issues we have been discussing." Russia held out a hand, indicating that Toris was to hand him the stack of papers. When the smaller nation hesitated, Ivan simply closed the distance between them and ripped them from his hands. "You see… the problem with letters…" he spoke as he flipped through the paper, dropping each one on the floor once he had considered it, "Is that they're… so very easily misplaced."
Finally he came to a crisp, folded rectangle in the middle of the stack. Russia dropped the rest of the papers with a soft whoosh, and considered it, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. Germany stared at it with eyes that were nearly desperate. Ivan grinned, and held it between two hands. There was moment of silence that seemed to stretch into eternity between the two of them. Ludwig's eyes, wild and angry, Russia's smug and pleased.
With a strangled yell, Germany launched himself at the larger nation. Russia had precious little time to react, and took a hasty step backward, eyes gone wide with surprise. Toris tried to make a grab, along with Italy, for the back of Germany's jacket, but the German man had already collided with the larger nation. Gilbird took evasive action, fluttering up off of Germany's head and onto Italy's. A fist swung, and there was a sickening crack.
"OI! What the bloody hell is going on in here?" England had reappeared at the doorway – he had forgotten his jacket – just in time to see Germany and Russia fall to the floor in a tangle of limbs, the only other two nations present staring at them helplessly. The British man stormed around the table, shoving Toris and Feliciano to either side, green eyes blazing with a fury rarely seen outside of war.
By that time, however, the quick struggle had been sorted out. Germany was lying flat on his back, expression practically homicidal, while the Russia crouched on top of him, pinning down both his arms and legs. Ivan's nose was at a funny angle, and blood was dripping off of it onto Germany's cheek.
"Just like your brother," he whispered, spitting blood onto Ludwig's face. "Headstrong, stupid, and ultimately, weak."
"Go. To. Hell." Ludwig snarled and twisted beneath the other, but got nowhere, as Ivan was a good deal heavier than he was.
Ivan gave him a conspiratorial smile before he pulled himself off the other, ignoring England's hand on his back. He glanced at the few people still in the room, and held up the paper; it was now crumpled and slightly bloodstained, but ultimately, still in his possession. With an evil look for Germany, Ivan ripped it into pieces. They drifted to the floor, fluttering like dying birds. The shredded pile they made at Ivan's feet was pitifully small.
"This is what I think of your affection for your brother. Flimsy and ripped apart easily enough." Returning England's glare, the man put a hand on Toris's shoulder, fingers tightening. "Come along, Lithuania. We're going home. I'll figure out what to do with you once we get there."
"Y – Yes, Ivan." With one last, regretful look at Ludwig, Toris allowed himself to be propelled from the room.
Germany remained where he was for a long while after the door had slammed shut behind the other two nations, sitting up with a curiously blank expression on his face. Both England and Italy seemed at a loss for what to say, and stood where they were, awkward and not sure if they should leave or not.
It seemed like an age later when, at last, Ludwig stirred. He wiped at the dried blood on his cheeks, with little success, and then pushed himself into a crouch. Moving slowly, as if pained, his gloved hands reached out to cup the pile of shredded paper that Russia had made of the letter. His fingers clenched around them, and the pieces drifted out from between his fingers. There was silence, and then Germany let out a cry like a wounded animal, slamming his fists into the ground, jaw clenched.
"Ludwig…" England moved a step closer, green eyes filled with worry. When the other nation made no response, he carefully crouched next to him, like he would to a child. The British man tentatively put a hand on the other's shoulder, which was shaking.
"Get off of me." Germany's voice was a low, menacing growl. "Get your hands off me."
Arthur's brow furrowed. "Ludwig, I know you're going through –" He never got the rest of his sentence out as much more than a yelp; Germany whirled on him, throwing his bodyweight on top of the slighter nation, pinning him to the floor.
"Don't pretend to know what I'm going through!" His blue eyes were wild, and England wondered if that darkness slinking behind them wasn't a remnant of the war. "You, who wanted this in the first place! You, who stood there and didn't say a word and signed my brother over to that lunatic without as much as a second glance! And now you stand here and pretend to understand." His laugh was ragged, and not entirely sane. "Are you happy, England? Are you happy to see what you've reduced me to? Trying to send letters that won't ever get there, not knowing if my sibling is alive… ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?"
By the time he reached the end of his rant, tears were streaming down his face. With a strangled sob, Germany pulled himself off of England and buried his face in his hands. The green eyed man picked himself up into a sitting position, staring at Germany with wide eyes. Italy, too, seemed shocked to see the usually strong, forceful nation reduced to – to this.
"I never wanted this," Arthur finally said, his voice heavy. "I – I know how you and your brother are. I was against the separation. But my boss –"
"Don't try to justify it." Ludwig's voice was muffled.
"You more than anyone should know what it's like to have to deal with an unreasonable man, Ludwig. Your history…"
"Yes, because your boss was a raving lunatic bent on killing millions." Germany pulled his hands away, and his normally light blue eyes were stormy and dark. "Yours just wanted to grind in the pain that much more. I had to watch terrible things done to my people and to my brother. We were beaten. Gilbert nearly died, because I was too wrapped up in fighting to notice that I was killing him by inches." The anger faded from his face, leaving his expression drained and defeated. "Wasn't that punishment enough?" The words were barely a whisper, but seemed so much louder in the ensuing silence.
The train car was dead silent, save for the sounds of their luggage rattling in the overhead compartments. Ivan was the only one who appeared in the slightest bit relaxed; he was reclining in his seat, eyes closed. He had cleaned up his face, and earlier in the ride, had wrenched his nose back into place. Aside from the faint smattering of forming bruises, he looked none the worse for wear due to his encounter with Germany's fists. Estonia and Latvia were trying to silently communicate with Lithuania, who was crushed between Russia's bulk and the window. But he refused to meet their eyes, instead keeping his gaze firmly fixed at the window.
His eye was badly bruised, a vicious dark mark against his pale skin. He hardly seemed conscious of the blood slowly trickling from a split lower lip. One hand was clenched in a tight fist, but the other remained limp, wrist and several fingers at odd angles. But throughout it all, even when the train jumped slightly, jarring the broken bones, Toris kept his mouth shut and never said a word.
It wasn't out of fear or pain that he refused to look at his fellow Baltic nations, or why he kept as far away from Russia as physically possible on the small, cramped seats. It was because he knew that if he so much as looked up, the secret slowly burning a hole in his chest would make itself known.
With every lurch of the train, every movement that his body made swaying with it, his heart pounded, positive that everyone in the compartment could hear the soft crackle of the secret hidden under his coat. He knew that if Russia were aware, he would receive much more than a few broken bones and bruises – and if the other two nations found out, they, too, would be held accountable.
Ludwig would never forgive him, he knew, for not telling him. But there had been no way to do so without arousing suspicion – and Toris had a feeling that he wouldn't be attending any meetings for some time. As they rolled closer and closer to home, the paper burned hotter and hotter against his skin; a ray of hope, however tiny.
A letter, written with love and with worry, swiftly winging its way across barriers of wire and will.
A/N: Hm. Happier with this chapter than the last one, for sure.
No song lyrics this time... I wanted an actual historical quote, so out comes Old Fritz!
The pace will be picking up in the next chapter or so, because we're at Chapter Six and I think maybe a year and a half has passed. I need to get to 1961 soon~! (So expect some... interesting things in Chapter Seven.)
I'm glad for all of your reviews! :)
Pheleon.