Soluble

by Pheleon

n. The quantity of a substance that can dissolve in a particular solvent. Gilbert wonders how long it will be before he falls; before he breaks his promise and Ivan gets to him, and he gives in to the darkness reaching through his heart.

8. Divided We Fall

Soluble Chapter Eight: Divided We Fall

"Insanity in individuals is something rare, but in groups, parties, nations and epochs it is the rule."

- Fredrich Nietzsche

Warning (again): There is much abuse of the word "fuck" throughout this chapter, and various other swear words, once again courtesy of Gilbert's really bad mouth. Also, some violence. And some confusing bits.

---

Winter 1961

Toris –

Sorry for leaving this in such an awkward place. I figured it was one of the few that Russia wouldn't go casually rummaging through. He's been everywhere lately; I don't want to say anything out loud. Raivis wanted to say something too, but for once he's showing some tact.

Do you have any idea what the hell is wrong with Ivan? He's been really angry lately, and you're the one who's with him most…

- Eduard

Eduard –

Awkward is an understatement. And don't go underestimating Ivan. I don't know what's wrong with him, but yes, he has been – different. I think it might have something to do with Gilbert. I haven't seen him lately either. Ivan's not letting him come upstairs. Any idea what that's about? You're the one who brings meals down there now.

- Toris

Lithuania –

Putting this in the sugar jar, because it isn't like Ivan ever actually gets his own. I don't have any news on the GDR. I bring food down, but Russia's usually with me, and he makes me leave it at the door. I'm not even sure if Gilbert's getting any of it. It wouldn't surprise me if he weren't.

Did you see Ivan's face today? Someone did a number on him. I wonder if Hungary was acting up again. I think she's too troublesome for him to handle.

- Estonia

Eduard –

I saw that – looked like someone punched him square in the face. I wonder if he nose is broken again.

I'm going to try and get a letter to Hungary, and see if she can't come over. From what I remember she and Gilbert were friends, and if anyone can force Ivan to let him out of that basement for even a few days, it'll be her.

He's kept him down there for half a year, for god's sake. You were right in saying he hasn't got any humanity left.

Sorry for the location, by the way – he came in when I was halfway through writing this, so I had to shove it somewhere.

- Toris

Lithuania –

Be careful, Toris. Getting other people involved in this might not be the best idea. Gilbert's proven himself to be strong, and you know as well as I do that people who "visit" Ivan's house tend not to leave. Don't pull Hungary into something.

And out of all the places in the fridge you could have shoved your last letter, you had to pick the butter, Toris?

Personally, I can't believe it took you this long to admit it.

- Estonia

Lithuania and Estonia

I'm leaving this where you'll both find it. Please stop assuming that I'm so dense as to not notice you passing notes. I'll ask that you please stop. I don't like secrets.

Rest assured that the little GDR is fine. He just needs some time to think about what he's done, and doesn't require your concern. And if you're going to invite Hungary over, that would be nice. This house still seems so empty.

And for the record, Estonia, I found that first note before Litva did. :)

- Ivan

P.S. You can start calling me by my proper country name in your letters any time you like.

---

Spring 1962

He was walking slowly, reluctantly, down the dusty road. Had it been anyone else, it would have been apt to describe his step as dragging. Of course, dragging his feet wasn't something this particular nation ever did, and so he was merely taking his time.

Roderich Edelstein let out a long, breathy sigh, and wondered why he was even doing this. The two of them weren't even very good friends – hadn't been even when they had been in an alliance and living together. It was, he decided, out of some misplaced (and entirely irrational) guilt that he had decided to come and visit the other nation.

He pushed his glasses further up his nose, and stopped at the driveway of one particular house. Part of him was wishing that Germany wouldn't even be home, but the sleek black car parked in the driveway dashed that hope almost immediately. He tried to find a reason to not go up to the front door – a messy lawn, newspapers piled on the doorstep – but had no luck. Everything was neat; no newspapers littered the porch, and each blade of grass on the lawn had been butchered into short obedience.

Why do I do this to myself? Austria thought, and bracing himself, started up the path. If Elizveta could see him now, he just knew she would be laughing at the absurdity of what he was about to do. Before he could think better of it, the nation reached out a hand and firmly pressed the doorbell. There was a pause, like the house was taking a breath as the sound rang inside, and then it seemed – to Roderich at least – that all hell broke loose.

There was vicious barking, and the door shuddered as something ran into it from the other side. Gulping, and wondering what kind of beast had been brought here, Austria took a small step back. From inside, he could hear a stream of words that would have made a soldier blush, and a sharp yelp. There was a click as the lock turned in the door, and then it opened slightly.

"What?" A harassed looking Ludwig peered through the opening. From what Austria could see – which wasn't much – he hadn't slicked his hair back today.

He looks like a backwater farmer, Roderich thought to himself, trying not to look horrified. His eyes flicked down, and he nearly jumped upon seeing another face looking at him – this one considerably less harassed and quite a lot furrier than the other.

"Oh, Austria, it's you." Ludwig's words broke him out of the slight stupor he had fallen into. Roderich shook himself mentally, and looked back at the other Germanic nation. "'Afternoon."

"Good evening, actually," he corrected, a tiny smile twitching up the corner of his mouth. "Or hadn't you noticed that it's past dinner?"

The look on Ludwig's face answered the question. "I've been busy," he muttered – if it had been anyone besides Germany, who usually had the emotional range of a teaspoon, Roderich would have said he was sullen.

He looked down at the dog still trying to shoulder its way out of the door, tongue lolling out of its mouth and grinning like a maniac. "I can see that," he said delicately.

"Apache, get back in the house," Ludwig grumbled, putting a leg through the door and trying to shove the animal physically. "Anyway, what do you want?"

"Well, you could be a little politer about it. I did come all the way out here." Austria tried not to smile as Ludwig's attempts to get the thing inside continued to have no effect whatsoever. "I haven't seen this one before. When'd you get him?"

He missed the pained look that crossed the German's face. "He's not actually mine," Ludwig said quietly. "He's – Gilbert's. I'm just looking after him." He managed a short lived chuckle. "And he's turning out to be a handful."

"Just like his owner always is," the Austrian muttered out of the corner of his mouth. He looked at the dog again, and its wild, mismatched eyes almost reminded him of the absent albino nation.

His words startled a bit of a laugh out of the normally stoic German, though there was a slight edge of something raw and broken to it. Unfortunately, the words also accompanied a lapse in Ludwig's efforts to keep the husky firmly behind the door. With a bark that was very nearly a laugh, Apache shouldered his way out and before Roderich could even process what was happening, launched himself at the startled Austrian.

To the accompaniment of two shouts of surprise, the nation and the dog went down in a tangle of limbs, fur, and coattails. With a loud thud, Austria fell backwards onto the porch, the weight of the husky – who was not exactly a light animal – making the fall that much harder, and subsequently shoving the air forcefully out of his lungs.

"Agh –" Roderich managed to get a sound of pain out before the dog shifted itself on top of him, crushing his ribcage again. When the nation stopped seeing stars, he became conscious of the fact that far from helping him, Germany was leaning against the doorframe, a smile on his face.

"Get this damn dog off of me, Ludwig!" Austria's voice was indignant as he struggled uselessly against Apache's weight. He glared at the animal, trying to communicate his sudden and burning desire to kill it through a stare.

The husky stared right back at him with those slightly mad eyes, tongue hanging out again, and looking altogether too pleased with himself. His tail started to wag slowly, head tilted to the side. What's that look for? It seemed to be asking.

You know perfectly well what, you little – Austria narrowed his eyes again, but the longer he stared into that face, the harder time he had holding on to his anger. The husky was staring at him with a look that almost exactly mimicked the one its supposed owner always wore when he had done something to annoy him.

The husky let out a little bark, and shifted on his chest again, tail waving wildly now, ears perked up.

"Germany," Roderich growled with what little air was left in his lungs. "Instead of just standing there, why don't you get this stupid animal off of me?"

Though he couldn't see the other nation from his position – flatted out on the porch – he heard boots clomping across the wood, and moments later, was witness to Apache being pulled into the air. Sitting up and rubbing his bruised ribcage, Austria glared at Ludwig, who was standing beside him with an expression carefully wiped blank of any sort of emotion. The husky was practically tucked under one arm. It comforted Roderich somewhat to see that Ludwig hadn't actually picked the entire dog up, just his front half.

"Must you abuse my pride every time I come over here?" he asked, cleaning his glasses, still sitting on the porch.

"You can't blame me for that," Ludwig said, and the Austrian was almost – but not really, because of course he didn't consider Ludwig his friend – relieved to hear that there was a bit more life in his tone. "I'm not the one who sat on you. If anything, it's your poor reflexes that are at fault."

"Right," Austria deadpanned, finally pulling himself up off of the floor, making a show of dusting himself off. He kept one eye on Apache, who Ludwig was let back onto all fours, and who was treating him to a mischievous look.

"So why're you here, Roderich?" Germany's arms were crossed over his chest now, and he was looking at the other nation with something that was almost – but not quite – suspicion.

Right. I actually came here for something. The Austrian coughed to cover up the awkwardness. "Well, Ger – Ludwig," he said quietly, looking firmly at the wooden boards of the porch. "I was wondering if you… ah… might… if you aren't doing something already, of course… like to accompany me to a pub?"

The awkward silence was worse than he had been anticipating, as Germany simply stared at him, eyebrows slightly raised. A vaguely bemused – and slightly disturbed – expression flitted across his face before Ludwig could hide it.

Roderich coughed into his sleeve, taking his glasses off to polish again. "It's not that strange," he said defensively, placing the frames back on his nose. "I went out drinking with your brother and Elizveta all the time when we were younger."

Ludwig seemed to be struggling with something. "From what I understood," he said instead, words carefully neutral, "that was because both of them threatened to beat you if you didn't."

The Austrian felt a light flush rise to his cheeks. "So what?" he said, voice a bit snappy, looking away. "If you don't want to go, then that's fine, but just say so."

Now it was Ludwig's turn to be awkward. He didn't dislike Roderich – though the other could be a bit stuffy and overbearing at times – but he wasn't sure he wanted to go out and have drinks with the man.

"I see." Austria seemed to be taking his hesitant silence as an answer in itself. He glanced again at the husky, who stared back at him with a lopsided gaze and who seemed to be laughing. "It was nice seeing you, Ludwig."

The Austrian turned on one heel, rearranging his coat, and started to stride away. A hand on his shoulder stopped him, and he looked around to see the German, looking as uncomfortable as Roderich currently felt.

"Look… Austria… it's not… I'll go. Just let me change." Ludwig took his hand off the other the minute he turned, as though the touch burned. "I'll be out in a minute. Wait here." Without further comment, Germany turned and disappeared into the house, dragging the husky with him.

Now I know why Alfred made me come here. Austria leaned against the wall of the house, fiddling with his glasses. I didn't think the Wall would do that to him. It was hard on me too, but…

His musing was interrupted a few minutes later as the door opened, and a much more presentable Germany stepped through. His hair was in its usual style again, and it was if he had never opened the door looking like he had just pulled himself out of bed. Between his legs, the husky's mad eyes laughed at Austria, tongue still hanging out, and looking as smug as ever.

"Right." Germany shoved the dog back behind the door with a foot, pulling it shut before it could make another break for it. The key scraped in the lock, and the intimidating blonde man turned to look down at the Austrian. "Where did you want to go?"

Feeling awkward was starting to be something of a familiar sensation, and Roderich decided that he really didn't like it. "I am – unfamiliar with the area," he muttered, not meeting Ludwig's eyes. "I figured –"

The other almost cracked a smile. "I know a good place we can walk to. Come on."

---

"So, what possessed you to ask me out for drinks?" Germany was leaning with one elbow on the bar, tapping his fingers absently on the glass they were curled around. "You don't really strike me as the type for – well – this scene."

Austria, who was sitting with his usual rigid-backed posture, swirled the contents of his wineglass around a bit, before taking a sip. "You and I were friends, once," he said, glancing sideways at the other. "Is it so hard to believe that I just want to catch up?"

"I'm not that dense, you know," Ludwig said flatly, taking a gulp of his drink. He set it down a bit harder than necessary, the liquid nearly spilling out over the rim. "You've had how many years to decide to 'catch up' with me, and you just happen to pick now? You never were a very good liar, Roderich, and your skills haven't improved much."

The brunette sighed, and put his glass down, turning in his seat so that he could look at the other squarely. "You really want to know? Fine. Alfred made me."

Ludwig's eyebrows rose. "Jones? Why would he –?"

"He said you weren't letting him in the house anymore, or something like that, and that he wanted someone to check if you were still alive." Austria fiddled with his glasses. "At least I think that's what he said. It was over the phone, and he was eating those hamburgers of his again."

Germany's mouth twisted slightly, before he could force it back into a neutral line. "I'm fine. I don't know why the damn American keeps asking me that. He phones my house, sends me letters, and now apparently plots with other nations. You didn't need to do this to see if I was alive. Was the point to get me drunk enough that I'd start spilling out my feelings?" There was a note of anger in his tone now.

Austria's expression was faintly taken aback. "Look, Germa – Ludwig. I know you and I haven't ever been close, but – you're the only one who even knows remotely what it's like. I know you lost your brother, and that gives you license to be bitter and angry over everything, but you need to remember that you aren't the only one who's lost someone to that fucking Russian's experiment." His glasses flashed in the dull light of the bar, and he was glad for a moment that the sounds of the other patrons had drowned out his rant.

"I –" Germany made a strangled sound, and his hand clenched spasmodically around the glass – so tightly that for a moment Austria feared that it might explode. "I don't believe I've ever heard you swear before, Roderich," he said carefully, relaxing his hand with obvious effort.

Austria laughed, though it was a slightly choked thing. "First time for everything, and all that." He took another drink. "But honestly… Even if America hadn't asked me to, I would have anyway. What happened… no one should have to go through that alone. And it isn't like anyone else would understand. Elizveta sometimes gets letters through, but they're few and far between." Roderich sighed, and stared into his wineglass.

"At least you get letters from her. I haven't heard anything from Gilbert since… 1959." A stiff meeting in the snow, where Ludwig had pretended that he hadn't noticed how Gilbert's body winced when he was hugged. "And he and Russia…" The German took another gulp of beer, expression strange. "They aren't exactly friendly."

Austria looked to the side, staring at the two unattended glasses sitting by his right elbow. They were each filled half-way, and though the bartender kept on looking at them in a faintly suspicious way, they would remain untouched. A mute toast to two absent people who by right should have been there, both laughing at the absurdity of the entire situation.

"Ludwig… I'm sure I hardly need to tell you," Austria started, speaking just loud enough to be heard over the background noise. "But your brother's strong. He's gone through a lot, and he'll get through this." He raised his glass, and Germany followed suit. "A toast," the Austrian said, his smile small and painful. "To missing friends and family. May they return safe and sound." The glasses clinked together, sounding absurdly loud, and just a bit sad.

Germany drained the rest of his glass in one go, and sat it down heavily, staring into the bottom of it, watching the foam slowly dissolve. Gilbert, he thought, as if the other could somehow hear him, Gilbert, wherever you are, I hope you're alright…

---

"Try again!" Prussia's laughter echoed throughout the room, accompanied by the sound of metal clinking against metal. "Or at least try harder. West gave me worse than this when he was growing up, and that was by accident."

There was a wet, cracking sound, and Gilbert's head snapped back against the wall, his eyes momentarily rolling back in his head. The white haired man let out a grunt, blood pouring from his nose down his chin, splashing onto the tattered remnants of his uniform. Lately patching it up hadn't really been on his priority list.

"You can't last forever, GDR," Ivan said cheerfully, wiping his bloody knuckles absently on his coat. "And when you give in, you'll be all mine, da?"

Gilbert spat a mouthful of blood at his captor, sorely wishing he could return the punch to the face. His arms, chained to the wall in such a way that it was uncomfortable no matter what position he was in, shook with the desire to do so. "I can last a pretty damn long time, Soviet," he snapped, voice sounding slightly off. "Long enough for your silly little Wall to crumble to dust."

"Someone else tried to escape today, did you know?" Russia's voice was still conversational, as his eyes wandered around the even sparser room. The rickety table was gone now, as was the thin mattress. The forbidding little bedroom had become, in a short time, nothing more than a dungeon. "Yes, they tried to get over my silly little Wall." He giggled quietly, running his tongue over his lips. "Do you know what happened?"

The raised red marks, perfect little circles, that peppered Gilbert's chest under his uniform seemed to twinge. While one citizen couldn't make him bleed, he had so few left, each was acutely more painful. "Enlighten me," the Prussian said, breathing slightly ragged. His arms trembled, the chains rattling louder now, and he unconsciously shifted his stance to a defensive posture.

Russia's grin grew even wider, stretching across his entire face, and his eyes flashed. "The guards saw him. Shot him down where he stood. There was so much blood all over the street, so much red. Like this room. You haven't been keeping it clean, have you, GDR? Even after I gave it to you."

"Kind of hard," Prussia said, voice deadpan, "to clean when you can't move two fucking feet away from the wall, yeah? And it's not like the bird can do much." The bird, currently, was sitting on the sill of the tiny window, little body pressed right into the corner, where Gilbert ad ordered it to go – the better to keep it out of Russia's grasping little fingers.

Russia's smile didn't even flicker. "Da, I suppose it is."

This time Prussia saw the fist coming for his face, and he moved quickly enough to dodge it. Ivan let out a curse in Russian as his hand connected with the cement behind Gilbert's head, stained with dried blood. Despite the pain the sudden movement had caused in his arms, Gilbert let out a laugh, and with what little slack the chains around his wrists allowed, slammed straight into Ivan's chest. With an undignified grunt, the larger man stumbled backwards. Though connecting with the other's ribcage had caused the dull throb in his head to grow even worse, Gilbert's grin was triumphant.

Or at least, it was until he realized – a little late – that Ivan's good hand had been holding his scarf. With a choking sound, Gilbert found his head jerked forward, whole body straining forward as the heavier Russian fell backwards.

"Let… go… of me…" Gilbert growled, cheeks turning red as the other deliberately kept his grip on the fabric.

"I think you don't quite understand what your being under my control means, little GDR," Russia said quietly, standing up but not releasing his hold. The albino's cheeks had flushed to a brilliant red, veins standing out in his forehead as he struggled for air. Ivan tugged on the scarf hard, and Gilbert let out a groan as his entire body strained against the chains keeping him attached to the wall.

"Enlighten… me…" Prussia ground out, his vision starting to go blurry and black at the edges. He wondered if nations could die by strangulation – it wasn't something he had ever tried on his enemies, having found that it took too long and was more difficult than simply stabbing them, because of course you had to keep them still while they thrashed and a dying man could have a horrible strength, and then –

"Pay attention, Gilbert. No fading out on me, da?" The tension in the scarf lessened just enough that the albino could get a few desperate gasps of air in, and then it returned. Ivan was closer now, and somehow the pipe – that damn, ever present pipe – had found its way into his free hand. Gently, the Russian tapped it against the side of Gilbert's head, receiving a red eyed glare in return.

"You see," Ivan continued once he knew he had the other's attention, a small, sick smile spreading across his face. "Now that you belong to me, I can do whatever I want to you. And I owe you for what you did to my soldiers and my people as East Germany. I won't be forgetting that war for a very long time." His voice dropped menacingly on the last few words, and when Gilbert met his eyes again, the purple was dark with intent.

They held the stare – and the ensuing silence – for a long moment, neither one twitching so much as a facial muscle, before Gilbert broke the tension. His lips curled into another wide, demented grin, teeth stained red from the blood still trickling down from his nose.

"And you know what, you little fucker?" His own voice had dropped alarmingly as well, nearly matching Ivan's for tone. "I haven't forgotten it either. I won't forget my people burning around me, you damn russki, and I won't forgive it, either. So bring on whatever the fuck you want, Ivan. Show me what your version of hell is like." The smile grew even wider, until it was deformed and nothing resembling sanity was on Gilbert's face. "Because I promise you, whatever pain you cause me, it will be nothing, nothing, compared to what you'll feel when I get my hands on you."

Summer 1965

Roderich –

I have no way of knowing if this will get to you or not, but for my sake and yours, I pray that it does. I'm sorry for the lack of communication these past few years – it's been almost three decades since you and I parted, and since then I have either been fighting with my people, or sick due to the retaliation. Ivan's 'justice' is swift and uncompromising, and while I hate him for it, I am glad that he has not chosen to invite me to stay at his house yet.

How are you holding out? The news I get from over the Wall is always highly filtered, so I've stopped trusting it. (Unless, of course, Ludwig is still continuing with the whole world domination thing?)

Please take good care of Gilbird. I don't know how he found me, or if Gilbert was the one to send him, but he didn't look very well when he arrived. I have precious little food to give him, so I hope what I have managed to spare holds him through the journey to your house.

Say hello to Ludwig for me, would you? And let him know that we're working hard to get the Wall down here in Hungary – and the minute we do, I'll start letting the East German people through as well.

- Elizveta

Elizveta –

I received your letter, and I can't even say how relieved I was. Hearing from you, even just on paper, is more than I could have hoped for. The news filtering over from your side is anything but happy. I know I can't keep you from fighting, but – please, take care of yourself. I don't think I could bear to see another broken friend.

My apologies for the length of time it took to reply to you – I decided to keep Gilbird with me for a few weeks so that he would be able to make the journey back over a few times. I don't know when he'll choose to return to Gilbert, but I hope that you get this before he does.

Ludwig has, mercifully, given up on warmongering, and I daresay he's even decided to settle down, though these past years have hardly been good to him. I can see him aging before his eyes – he's younger than you or I, but he moves like he's been around for hundreds of centuries. I think the situation with Gilbert's killing him. Maybe not physically, but I fear a Germany without a mind far more than a fear a Germany with a mind – when he's thinking straight, he won't act on the desire to hunt Ivan down and rip out his esophagus. I've been trying to help him through it best I can – I've known Gilbert for a while, so it isn't much easier for me, but… we spent so much of our time fighting, I guess it's easier for me to distance myself from the whole thing.

We've been pouring glasses for the two of you. How I wish you were here, enjoying the relative peace, laughing at me for spending time in bars. It's still hard, I won't go so far as to deny that… but we're going forward. We'll pull through, and keep going. Everything's going to be alright.

I think I've lost my muse as well. I haven't been able to compose anything as of late, and everything I do play seems – empty of something. I'm hoping that when you return that I'll be able to do so once more.

Take care of yourself, Elizveta. Fight, but stay safe. I don't want to lose you.

All my love,

- Roderich

Roderich –

What is this sappy, sentimental shit? Why the fuck are you sending it to me? I finally think I'm getting some decent reading material, and what do I get? A fucking love letter to the fucking Frying Pan Queen! I'm sending Gilbird back to you. Try not to get your damn mail mixed up next time, you specky bastard.

And you better take damn good care of my brother, you hear me? If I come back and find he's a fucking pansy and has been mooning after me all this time, I'm going to hold your ass responsible, and I'm going to rip a new one into it.

Say hi to Liz for me. I hear she's been pissing off the Soviet asshat recently. That's a nice word. Asshat. I'm going to call him that next time he visits. Tell her to keep up the good work!

Also feel free to tell her she's losing. I've given him a broken nose, a broken hand, a broken jaw, a partial concussion, and half a hundred bruises.

Tell her to come visit me. I'm lonely.

And now I'm running out of fucking paper. Damn Soviet scrooge, hides his writing material so well that even Latvia can't find it. Hope you're having a fucking fantastic time with my brother. Get drunk and do something wild for me.

- Gilbert

Elizveta –

There's a letter attached for you. I just got it myself. It looks like we're worrying over nothing. Gilbert sounds as foul-mouthed as ever, and when he's swearing, everything's good. If you can get over there to see him without taking up permanent residence in Ivan's house, please do so.

Ludwig and I have spoken at length, and I think he's worrying himself sick over his brother. He's avoiding the entire story – just missing him wouldn't justify how nervous he is about the whole thing – but I think he deserves to have his secrets. Make sure Gilbert – is still the Gilbert we knew, alright?

But – and I know this sounds callous of me – if there is any chance you won't be able to get out of that house… Elizveta, don't risk yourself. Gilbert can survive on his own, and he wouldn't want you putting yourself in danger for himself.

Don't do anything stupid, please.

- Roderich

Roderich –

Got your letter. Sending Gilbird back so he stays in one piece. I think Gilbert wants you to hold on to him for safekeeping. No sense letting our only method of communication fall into the Russian's hands.

I'll see what I can do about visiting. Not much chance to do so without Ivan being there – he doesn't attend meetings anymore, I'm sure you've noticed. Also, I'll be out of contact for a while – sorry!

- Elizveta

Summer 1966

"Wake up."

The words were accompanied by something hard cracking off of his ribs, and Gilbert groaned, cracking his eyes open. This time it took actual effort – not only from lack of sleep, but because of the fresh bruises around them. Getting punched by the six foot Russian – especially in the face – was not a pleasant experience. One of his arms was hanging awkwardly in its chain, the shoulder looking oddly detached. He had been moved, a few days earlier, to a new position – now his arms were suspended over his head, their separate chains attached to new rungs in the ceiling, toes just barely able to brush the floor. It was infinitely more painful – not to mention inconvenient, as it took away his ability to curl away from blows.

"What the fuck do you want?" Gilbert promptly closed his eyes upon meeting Ivan's gaze, returning to hanging limply. He had long since given up on trying to remain standing – his arms and back weren't worth the pain it caused to be on his feet almost all the time.

"Nothing. I enjoy doing this to you, da. Depriving you of the things you need, watching you get weaker and weaker. Did you know your people have settled down?" The Russian laughed softly. "You're the only one still fighting, GDR. The only one still resisting the benefits of my rule."

"Yeah, and look where that got you. Or are you really so blind that you don't realize that you're starving under that coat of yours? I recognize the signs. And my people haven't settled down, they're too worn out, too downtrodden to keep going." His eyes flashed, even as he had to struggle for breath after such a long string of words. "But I'll keep going. I refuse to give in to you. I'll fight until the breath leaves my body."

Ivan smiled. "That could be arranged. I don't really need you, you see. You're just an interesting toy. A piece of… culture, da? A relic. Something one would keep in a museum." He started to pace around the albino. "Old and past your time. You really should just give in, you know. You've had your little victories, oh yes… but they've turned out to be insubstantial in the long run, haven't they? I'm still standing. Your threat has come to nothing. Just as your empire has come to nothing."

"My empire is still around. It's changed form, but it's still here. My people might be few, but they believe. They believe in Prussia. What do your people believe in, Ivan?" Gilbert's grin was as cruel as the Russian's usually was. "Death that comes knocking in the middle of the night? A terror that only reminds them of a war they're trying to forget? Living in constant fear of a war with America – a war that you're struggling with and one that you will lose if Alfred decides to take it that one step further?" Gilbert laughed, echoing Ivan's soft tone. "Your people hate you, Ivan. They've always hated you. You're just too wrapped up and lost in that twisted little mind of yours to see what –"

His head cracked back as Ivan's hand connected with his cheek. The Russian's lips were thin, his face white. Gilbert was pleased to say he had never seen the other quite so furious.

"Take that back, GDR." Russia's voice was flat and low, nearly inaudible. "You know nothing about my people."

"Oh, touched a nerve, have I?" Gilbert's laugh was louder now, derisive. "Don't try to deny it. You don't even like your people! Or had you forgotten Bloody Sunday? I haven't. I marked that date on the fucking calendar, back when I had one. The day the world really saw you for what you were. I've known since Ivan the Terrible, but oh no. I couldn't be right. You hid behind your little veneer of sanity, but I saw right through you. And I still can – the only difference is, so can everyone else."

"Shut up!" Ivan's voice rose slightly, sounding a touch more childish than it had in a long while. "Shut up!"

"Oh, I have enough on you to go for weeks." Gilbert's dark smile stretched further. "How about Stalin? Do I even need to go into what he did? Collective farming. I wonder, did you even feel them dying? I did, and I'm not even part of your little Republic. I'll bet you laughed. I'll bet that you enjoyed feeling it, their last gasps as they lay dying in the streets."

Ivan's face was drained of all colour now, and if Gilbert had been anyone else – had Gilbert cared enough to look – he might have seen the faint shaking in the other's shoulders. "Stop it." His voice was shaking too, just slightly. "Stop it right now."

"So, my threats have come to nothing, has they" Gilbert laughed again, the sound echoing off of the walls of the small room, amplifying. "I don't need to touch you to hurt you. I've learned enough from you. All I need are my words, you fucking Russian bastard. My words, and the centuries I've had to suffer through just knowing you existed. That's all the weapons I need, Ivan Braginski, to make your life a living hell. And you know what the worst thing is?" He had to crane his head around his shoulder to keep Ivan in his sightline, as the other was still pacing, albeit slower now. "I'm going to enjoy every moment."

Ivan's jaw worked, but for once it seemed as though he could come up with nothing to say. Not meeting the other's gaze, he stalked past Gilbert's thin form, headed towards the door – escape.

"Going so soon, Ivan? I thought – oof!" Gilbert's words were cut off as the end of Russia's pipe introduced itself violently to his midsection, driving all the air from his lungs.

Ivan's posture was brittle as he stood at the slightly open door. "Your words might be your weapons, GDR," he said flatly, "But I'll ask you to remember who gave you those weapons. Do you even know how to speak German anymore, you poor, pathetic excuse for a nation? Do you even remember your native language?"

And with that, Ivan turned, the door slamming shut on his heels. Gilbert struggled for air for a moment longer, licking his lips repeatedly. His mind was working faster than his body seemed to be able to readjust itself, and he could feel a bubble of panic rising in his chest.

He couldn't remember. Barely a word. Not enough to string a sentence together. Had he been speaking German with Lithuania the last time he had come down, however long ago that had been? Had his mind simply been translating it? Or had he been speaking in Russian the whole time, the language that Ivan had forced on him when he had first arrived here?

"YOU GET BACK HERE!" His voice rang, ragged and desperate, up the landing beyond the door to where Ivan was standing. "GET BACK HERE AND FACE ME, IVAN!"

The Russian wore a thin smile as he continued up the stairs, the screaming fading away behind him.

And so the cracks begin to show.

Winter 1969

"So, he will be gone, then?"

"Yes, he said he'd be away for a few days at least."

"Well, that's good news."

"You are going to be coming, right?"

"I don't think I'll stick around for very long, but yes, I should be."

"Good. I really think – he needs it. He's had so little contact outside of me, and I think he's starting to… regress."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Look, it's hard to explain. I'll – you'll see when you get here. You've known him longer than me, I'm sure you'll understand. Just – come soon, please."

---

Lithuania sighed, nearly in relief, as he heard a soft knock on the door. That furtive conversation over the phone had been preying on his mind for two weeks – he hadn't heard anything further, and had been filled with horrible images of Russia having tapped the phone lines and gone to do something about the plan before it could become anything more than tentative.

"Toris, are you actually going to answer the door, or are you just going to stand there in the hallway looking like you just dodged a bullet?" Estonia was poking his head out of the sitting room down the hall, a wry look on his face. "I thought you were in love with Natalia, but by the way you're carrying on…" The second, slightly louder knock, seemed to emphasis the other nation's words.

Toris flushed, and practically threw himself at the door, yanking it open just seconds before the girl on the other side had raised her hand to knock again.

"Hi. Sorry… was a bit busy…" the Baltic nation felt his cheeks grow even redder as she simply stared at him, one eyebrow raised. There was something hard in her eyes that he didn't remember seeing the last time they had been in the same room.

"You look different," she said eventually, cracking a small smile. "Thinner than I remember."

Toris couldn't help but smile back. "I could say the same to you, Hungary."

She waved a dismissive hand. "It's just Elizveta, please. Country names are too formal among friends, yes? Now, are you going to let me in, Toris? It's kind of really cold out here, and I'm frozen in places I never knew could be frozen."

"Oh, yes! Sorry about that." He moved aside hastily. "Thank you so much for coming. I was beginning to think –"

She made no move to take off her coat once the door was closed behind her. "To be honest, I wasn't going to come. My people need me back home right now, and I can't afford to be away for long. I'm coming to check up on him, and that's all."

Toris's smile faltered a bit. He had been hoping for more than that, seeing as Ivan was out of the house for a while. "Well…"

"Besides, from what I've heard, he's doing pretty alright. Ivan certainly hasn't come out of this whole thing unscathed, has he?" For a moment there was something else besides that hardness in her eyes.

The smile fell a little further. "No. He's been giving Ivan a hell of a time. I don't think he quite knows how to deal with it. After a while we…" he gestured vaguely with his hands.

"Physical fighting isn't for everyone, Toris." Elizveta placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know you aren't passive. You just aren't as thickheaded as Gilbert and I. It'll probably do you well, in the long run." She winked at him. "Less concussions, at any rate. Now. I want to see him."

You're certainly more abrupt than I remember, he couldn't help but think to himself as he gestured her down the hallway. I just hope you'll have some patience with him. He isn't the same Gilbert that you remember. In what seemed a remarkably long time, they reached the top of the staircase leading down to the basement level.

"You aren't serious?" Elizveta stared down the cement stairs, eyes taking in the ice that had formed over some of them. "Tell me he isn't actually down – there."

Lithuania sighed, and looked at the other nation. "I won't lie to you. He's been kept down there almost since he arrived. He was allowed more freedom in the beginning, but then –"

"Then he started being Gilbert." There was almost exasperation in her voice, but Toris could see the worry in her eyes. "I knew he wouldn't listen, no matter how many of us told him to keep out of trouble."

The smile reappeared on Toris's face briefly. "Yes, he's certainly been keeping everyone on their toes. Somehow he still manages to create chaos, even down there." It was a short lived smile.

"Are you going to be coming down with me, then?" It was, Elizveta decided, an awkward conversation to be having. Certainly she had never thought that she would ever be having one like this.

"No." He looked pained for a moment. "I won't be." Toris reached into his pocket, and after a moment came out with a key. "Here. It's my copy of it, so – I'll need it back when you leave. Just give me a heads up… when you're finished."

Hungary reached out and took it from the other nation. "Thank you, Toris," she said quietly, eyes focused on the little silver object. Such an insignificant little thing to contain one of the most stubborn, violent forces the Earth had ever seen. "I shouldn't – be long." It would be too painful. She could already feel the unspoken years, the silence of things left unsaid, reaching up from the yawning basement.

"It's the first one when you reach the bottom. The – the key won't work on any of the other rooms." The last thing, Toris thought – unconsciously echoing Hungary's – that he wanted was to have someone digging around in the centuries of Ivan's history. "Mind your step on the way down… it's icy." And I think, Elizveta… you'll be longer than you think.

She watched Lithuania turn; trying to hide the look in his eyes that seemed to tell her she had no idea what she was getting herself into. Then she, too, turned, starting down the stairs. Though there were only a handful of them, they seemed to take ages to traverse. There was, on one of them, a strange dark patch, as though water had been spilled. Elizveta winced, wondering if it was something more than just water. By the time she had reached the door, the first of many doors in an unlit, chilly hallway, she could see her breath, and feel her heart beating in her ears.

Oh, come on, Elizveta. You're a nation. You're not to be reduced to this by a door. You've probably seen worse. Remember that one soldier? Nothing that's been done to Gilbert can be worse than what'd been done to him, right?

Taking a deep breath, Hungary reached out, grasping the chilly door handle. She hesitated a moment longer, before inserting the key into the lock and turning.

---

"Would you stop staring at me already?" Gilbert tried to glare, but it was difficult to summon up enough anger to do so. "It's getting really creepy."

"Well, I wouldn't have to if you didn't look like that. You look like someone shoved your face through a grater."

Gilbert snorted, trying to blow the hair out of his face. "Yeah, well, you look like you've been through the grinder yourself. The years have not been kind to you. I only pray my face n ever ends up looking like that."

"You can pray all you want, but God stopped listening to you a while ago, I'm afraid."

"Oh, shut up, would you? What the hell do you know?" Gilbert tilted his head back slightly, still trying to get the long white strands off of his nose – they were ticking him. "…Gilbert?"

There was someone else in the room with him. Gilbert blinked, and tilted his head back down, trying to ignore the way it ached when he moved.

"Yeah?" he said, trying to remember who else was talking to him.

"Gilbert, it's me. Elizveta. I came to see you."

"What is this? You've capable of making lady friends? And here I always thought you were –" There was a chuckle, and Gilbert twitched, glaring at the other.

"I thought I told you to can it, you ginger bastard. No one wants your input."

The other man ran a hand through his red hair, and then crossed his arms, grinning in that annoying way of his. Gilbert simply smirked, before flicking his eyes back to the person standing in the doorway.

"Elizveta?" He shook his head slightly, trying to clear his head. He only succeeded in making it pound more.

The figure moved closer to him, and Gilbert blinked, trying to shake off the film that was clinging to his mind like a spider web. It took his eyes a moment to focus, but when they did, the features they saw were almost painfully familiar.

"Liz?" He winced as he heard his voice crack on the end of her name.

Those features smiled, though a little sadly. "Yeah, it's me, Gilbert. I took a break from fighting. I came to see you."

"How'd you manage to get past the Russian?" Gilbert's eyebrows scrunched together, though even that movement caused the pain in his head to worsen.

She knelt down to his level. "He's gone away for a few days. There's been unrest in Poland."

"Didn't think Feliks had it in him, that cross-dressing weirdo. But I guess he did train with me, so that would make sense…" Gilbert rubbed his head on his arm, trying to scratch an itch.

Her eyes clouded. "Gilbert…" A hand reached out and touched his hair, tugging on the long strands. "You look terrible with long hair, you know that?" There were tears in her smile, the laugh slightly choked. "Really, really terrible."

"I told you that years ago, when you were running around trying to copy my hair. Really, Gilbert, you should just give up on the whole idea. You look like a drowned cat."

Gilbert made a face, turning his head to look pointedly at the other. "For god's sake, Mark, I get my first visitor that isn't Toris or Ivan for the first time ever, and you can't keep your nose out of it!"

"You shouldn't tease your betters, Gilbert. It's a sin." That annoying grin was still there.

"God doesn't listen to me, remember? That means I can bully you shamelessly, asshole, like you did to me when I was five. I haven't forgotten the well incident, you know."

"G – Gilbert?" There was a warm hand on his forehead, brushing his bangs out of his face. "Are you alright?"

Gilbert jerked away from the touch as best he could. His head protested with another violent throb, but he pushed it away, blinking to clear his eyes of the little black spots. They focused on familiar features, and he relaxed slightly, licking his lips.

"Elizveta." Her name sounded strange on his tongue. "When did you get here?" Gilbert paused, his eyebrows scrunching down, eliciting another throb from his head. "Better question – how did you get here? How'd you get past the Russian?"

"Oh, Gilbert." There were tears running down her face now. She placed a hand on his forehead, and her touch was strangely hot. Gilbert's mouth pulled down into a frown, but he didn't try to pull away.

"Liz, you haven't done that since I was seven. What's gotten into you? Did the Ottoman Empire kick the crap out of you again? I told you not to go picking fights with him. It's easier to pick fights with that Austrian jerk – besides; he's more fun to beat up." Gilbert shook his head slightly. This didn't seem right. He grasped for his memories, but every time he managed to dredge a few up, it was like someone had attacked them with a pair of scissors.

"This is what I left you for? I thought you were going to be capable of carrying on without me around." The ginger haired man leaned against the wall, eyebrows drawn forward as he twirled a strand of hair around one finger. "This is all because of that serious, snotty little blond brat that was always running around the house, isn't it? I told you not to humor that little shit – it would only cause you trouble. And look where it's gotten you."

"Hey, don't you go bringing West into this!" He showed signs of life for a moment, eyes flashing with a hint of his old fire. "of this is his fault, and don't you go blaming him. You weren't even around, so don't presume to judge my actions!"

"Gilbert!"

Elizveta's voice and her hands clamping down on his shoulders made Gilbert jump slightly, and he turned around, eyes unreadable, to glare at her.

"What?" The words were a deep snarl, and for a moment they held their stare, the tension palpable. Then Gilbert seemed to notice the tears running down Hungary's face, the slightly horrified look that was lurking in her eyes, and his eyebrows drew together again. "Elizveta…?" He wished he could reach out to touch her. "Elizveta, are you alright? Why're you crying?"

All she did was stare back at him soundlessly, mouth working as if she was struggling to say something, but couldn't quite find the right words.

Gilbert eyed her nervously. His own suffering, he could deal with. That was easy. He, on the other hand, wasn't sure how to comfort other people. "Come on, Liz," he said quietly, wincing as his voice rasped over the words like sandpaper, "Talk to me. What's going on? Something in your country?"

"Gilbert…" Hungary said eventually, her own voice sounding strained. She licked her lips. "Who were you talking to?"

He blinked at her. "Mark, of course." That particularity annoying man was still standing off to the side, muttering profanities about Ludwig. Despite the fact that the words grated on his nerves, Gilbert did his best to ignore him for now.

She grew paler, if it were possible. "… Brandenburg? Gilbert… Gilbert, you know he's been gone… for a very long time… don't you?"

The albino snickered. "Here that, Mark? She doesn't know you exist. Looks like your love-life is going to go to shit." He turned his head to grin at the other man in the room. His eyes widened slightly when there was no one standing there. Gilbert bit his lip slightly, staring at the spot the other nation had been standing in. "But – he –" His eyebrows furrowed together. "He was standing right there…" He gestured vaguely with one hand.

Hungary shook her head slightly. "There wasn't ever anyone there, Gil. You're seeing things."

"But I swear – he's been here for –"

"It's 1968. Mark – he left a long time ago. You were a wreck." Hungary's eyes were worried. "I really think you'd remember that. Even Roderich was worried about you."

Gilbert shrugged, or tried to. From his current position, such motion was difficult. "It's… hard for me to remember things… lately." He looked to the side, avoiding her gaze. Admitting weakness was hard enough, but to do so in front of Elizveta, who had been in competition with him for as long as he could remember…

She put her hands on his shoulders, and he suppressed a slight wince. "Gilbert." He looked up slowly. "I'm not judging you. I'm just glad that I got to see you. Just do your best. We're going to get you out of here as soon as we can."

"People've been telling me that for years." His smile was a little bit tired. "I've kind of stopped expecting anything." Besides, he wasn't done here yet, and he would be damned if he left before he didn't pay Ivan back for every single bruise. For a moment his expression twisted, before he forced it back to blankness.

Elizveta offered a half smile in response. "Just – don't go talking to Brandenburg again, alright? I know you and he were close, but – it's better to leave him where he is."

Gilbert frowned. "Why're you bringing him up?" There was almost accusation in his tone as his mood switched once again.

It was Hungary's turn to look confused. "But – you were just talking to him," she said, eyebrows slightly raised. "Just before. You were acting like he was in the room and still –"

"Look, I appreciate you coming to see me, Elizveta, but can you just – not? It was hard enough letting him go the first time, without you trying to dig him up all over again." Gilbert tilted his head to the side. "Alright?"

Elizveta opened and closed her mouth for a few seconds, at a loss for what to say. "Gil, you were the one talking to him. You –" She caught sight of the expression on the albino's face, and suddenly decided the better of arguing. Perhaps this is what Lithuania had meant over the phone? "Never mind. Let's talk about something else."

"About what, exactly?" His snickered. "I'd comment on the weather, but since I'm facing away from the window, I'm a bit indisposed."

"I want to know what you did to get yourself into this position." Elizveta looked him up and down. "I thought we told you to behave. Your brother is going to kill you when you get home."

Gilbert shrugged, though the motion made him wince. "I didn't do anything at all. I just politely told Ivan how I felt about him and his system, and he threw me down here." He tried to adopt an injured look, but he couldn't hold it, his trademark smirk appearing on his face.

Elizveta sighed in exasperation. "Gilbert, your version of polite would make a sailor blush," she said, poking him in the chest, swallowing a comment on his lack of decent clothing.

It looked like he was still wearing the same thing he had been the last time she had seen him. The blue military uniform was hanging off of him in tatters; the jacket was nearly destroyed, and the shirt underneath it was held together only by a few rotting threads. Elizveta tried to avoid looking at the curious dried patches, at the twisted, scarred skin all the way up his left side. She knew what that was from, and knew too that Gilbert wouldn't appreciate her staring. The silence stretched uncomfortably, and finally Gilbert let out a long sigh.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" It had been the same with his meeting with Ludwig – though this time he hadn't planned it, there was still a gnawing sense of guilt. "Things have changed." That was a lie. Things had changed between them a long time ago, before the first war. Back when she and Austria had become more than friends, and their unofficial trio had become unbalanced.

Elizveta tried to smile; the expression had been difficult in the past few years. "Yeah. But that doesn't mean… anything. We're still friends, Gil. We still have a history that could fill a few books together."

She hesitated for a moment, wondering if it weren't too awkward – or too painful – before shoving those, like the other thoughts lurking under her mind – to the side. Biting her lip, she closed the gap between them and wrapped her warms around him. The albino let out a faint noise of surprise, stiffening slightly at the touch. After a moment, he seemed to relax – and though he couldn't hug her back, Elizveta thought that he might have wanted to.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into his hair, tightening her grip slightly. "You shouldn't have to go through this."

"Don't apologize," he murmured back into her ear. "Better me than anyone else." Better me than you was what he meant to say. Gilbert bit the inside of his mouth as Elizveta's grip grew painful, and allowed his eyes to shut. Though he had always held that things like this were for weaklings, Gilbert couldn't deny that it was nice to simply be hugged, rather than – well, the alternative.

"You should probably be going," he mumbled, once it seemed that the contact was getting too long. Though they were no longer married, in his own head Elizveta would always be Roderich's. Even though he normally enjoyed doing everything he could to piss off the Austrian, some lines weren't crossable. "Ivan has a nasty habit of appearing when you don't want him to."

Hungary pulled away, but she kept her hands on his shoulders. "Gilbert," she said quietly, seriously. "We are working to get you out of here. All of us out of here. The Wall won't last forever, and then we'll have you home." She squeezed lightly, making him wince as her fingers dug into the old scars on his left shoulder.

"I'll be ready," the albino replied, pulling out his smirk again. I'll be ready to come home when I want to, not before. West would be around for a while, he had made sure of that. West could wait for him for a change. "… thanks for coming, Liz."

She pulled away. "It's – not a problem, Gil. I guess – I'll be seeing you, then?"

"Yeah. Don't forget to lock the door behind you."

With a last look, Hungary turned and left. She didn't want to say her step was hurried, but it certainly wasn't calm. Whatever she had been expecting, it hadn't been that. And though she didn't think Gilbert had realized she had noticed; she had seen the way his eyes had started to wander over her shoulder, looking at something – or someone – who wasn't really there. As she put the key in the lock, and heard it scrape into place with a dull sense of finality, Elizveta knew that no matter how much she might care for Gilbert as a friend, very little would convince her to return to this sad, basement dungeon.

Summer 1976

"So, what're we going to do about this? I mean, it's been long enough, and I'm aching to have a go at that Communist bastard, so why're we waiting around?"

"You idiot, it isn't that easy –"

"'Course it is. I've got enough weapons to kick the ever loving shit out of him –"

"You do realize that he has enough weapons to give it right back? Not to mention that all of us are between the two of you, and none of us have any desire to be blasted off the globe just yet."

"Yeah, but if I can get to him first –"

"Which won't ever happen, because all of us know that he's watching you and is just as prepared to do the same."

"Yeah, but all of his are made really badly, I'll bet –"

Germany sank down further into the couch, wishing the squishy leather would just open up and devour him on the spot. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and ground his teeth, trying to stave off t he imminent headache he could feet growing between his eyes.

"You should speak up, you know," a soft voice said beside him, nearly making the German jump out of his skin as he realized there was someone sitting next to him.

"Gott, Canada, you've got to stop doing that," he muttered, relaxing again. Now that his brother was no longer in attendance, he had taken it upon himself to be the one to notice Canada – which was a lot harder than he had thought it would be. "And I think I'll just let them continue arguing until they get tired of it. Then maybe they'll see logic."

"I think you're underestimating the lengths that Alfred's willing to go to get back at Ivan," Matthew said, resting his chin in his hands. "They've been egging each other on for the past few decades… and this is just the excuse he needs."

"Well, all power to him then," Ludwig said, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. He wanted them all out of his house. He wasn't even sure why they had decided to chose his living room as the place to argue about this.

"You misunderstand me, Ludwig," Matthew said, watching the three other countries bickering. "When I say he is looking for an excuse, I mean that he doesn't particularly care who's in his way, so long as he gets a chance to lash out at Ivan." The Canadian looked sad for a moment. "The fighting was supposed to be over in '45," he whispered, more to himself than Germany. "So why is he still trying to start something?"

Ludwig missed the tail end of the other's comments, but he had heard enough of the beginning to sit up. "He doesn't care if we get Gilbert out of the way first?" His voice was soft and none too friendly.

Canada, not looking at the German, shook his head. "Don't tell him I told you, but no. I think he'd be willing to sacrifice just about everything to have his little revenge." There was raw pain in those words – and for a moment Germany wondered just how Canada had discovered this.

Unfortunately, the argument was reaching a breaking point; England looked just about ready to strangle his ex-colony, and France was egging both of them on. America was so tense Ludwig was surprised he wasn't shaking from the strain. All of this the German registered in a few glances, before pulling himself off of the couch.

"One well placed attack on his capital would ruin half of his economy, and then he wouldn't be able to fight back –"

"You work under the presumption that he'll give a flying shit about the state his people are in after your attack, you ignorant little –"

"Why settle with half of his economy? Why not ruin all of it, non? Wouldn't that be a more effective way?"

"Francis, you aren't helping!"

"If I can destroy his major weapon stores –"

"You don't even know where the hell he's keeping them, you stupid Yankee –"

"Shut up, you tea drinking asshole. I know what I'm doing, and I'm going to do it whether or not you like –"

"EVERYONE SHUT UP!" Germany's voice resounded through the living room, making the few pictures on the mantle rattle in their frames. The three nations in the center of the room froze instantly. Arthur was in the act of grabbing Alfred by the collar, and Francis's face was fixed in a gleeful expression.

Ludwig exhaled loudly, eyebrows pulled together, his scowl black. "Learn to contain yourselves, you idiots. You're in my house – though I'm not sure why, exactly – and as such, you'll obey my rules. And the first rule is NO SHOUTING!" All of them jumped as Germany all but screamed at them. Lately, he had been on a much shorter fuse than usual, though none of them had believed Austria when he had warned each of them.

"But you just –" Alfred tried to speak up, his voice very small.

"If you continue carrying on like an overgrown baby, America," Ludwig snarled, "I will ensure that you are returned to your country in a cedar box."

"I –"

"A cedar box the size of my palm, Jones." Ludwig's eyes flashed. He had been dying to lash out at someone these past few years. He had restrained himself around Roderich, because the Austrian really was trying to help – and was friends with his brother. Italy had been avoiding his house since the ill fated meeting all those years ago, and for once, the Germanic nation wasn't missing his presence. Perhaps being stabbed in the back twice had finally snapped what tenacious basis they had had for friendship – he didn't know. Didn't want to know, either.

"Ah. Sorry." Alfred carefully extracted himself from England's crushing grip, and moved to stand awkwardly off to the side.

"And the two of you," Germany said, rounding on the two European nations. "I expect that sort of behavior from Alfred, but certainly not from you."

"Hey –" Alfred's faint protest was cut off by another glare from Germany that should by rights have turned him into a smouldering pile of ash.

"No. We aren't going to decide the fate of my brother in this manner. Because that is, first and foremost, the goal all of you will cherish. If you do anything to annoy the Russian, it is with the aim of getting Gilbert back onto this side of the wall. I don't care what your petty, personal desires are, but from this point on that is what your resources will be focused on. All of you owe me that much."

"I don't think we owe you anything, Allemagne, seeing as you're the reason –"

"I could have destroyed you, Francis," Germany breathed, and his menacing tone brought back memories of a different Ludwig. One who was even more uncompromising than he normally was; one who had the cruelty of the Third Reich, backed by twenty years of resentment. "Remember that. I could have torn you to shreds, and I let you live. I could have annexed and killed you. I could have sent you to Auschwitz like I had been ordered to, and I let you scamper off to England."

Francis had gone rather pale. "Ludwig, I think you're –"

"I'm tired of listening to what people think. I want to see some actual honest to god results. My country has rebuilt itself, but I still lack the force to destroy that wall. Combined, we could do it."

"This is exactly what I've been trying to say!" Alfred started forward, his face eager. "I've been stockpiling –"

"Without putting Gilbert's life in danger, America. Do what you like to Russia, but if you harm so much as one hair on his head –" Ludwig rounded on the younger Western nation, whose enthusiasm instantly deflated under the German's withering stare. "I'm prepared to lead an attack –"

"Hold on just a moment." England spoke up, expression faintly alarmed. "We can't just go starting a war, Ludwig." Germany's face said otherwise. "Look, hear me out. It's been a few years, but Europe hasn't recovered from the last one yet. Hell, Ludwig, do you think we've even recovered from the first one? It's too soon to start another battle, one that we all know could mean the deaths of even more people."

"You promised me," Germany said quietly. "You promised, England, along with France and everyone else. I would have my brother back. I don't see him here, do you? That means he's still over with Ivan."

Arthur's eyes were pained. "Yes, and I know that it's a horrible burden to bear, but –Ludwig, see reason. This is precisely why Francis and I came over." He shot an accusing look at Alfred. "Between the two of you, we would be facing a nuclear holocaust."

Germany flinched, the last word bringing up too many memories for him to count. "I can't just sit here and do nothing, Arthur." The strange fire was seemingly dying, and Ludwig sounded more upset than he did murderous.

"We send as much aid as we can over that Wall." This time it was Matthew who spoke up, his voice surprisingly loud in the silence. "My government is working on it as we speak – that's why I came over here." His smile was slightly forced. "It isn't much, Ludwig, I know – but if we can keep his people strong, that will bolster your brother, will it not?" A small hand placed itself on Germany's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "You and he just need to hold on a little bit longer."

"Oui, it's only a matter of time – I have already heard rumors of uprisings in Hungary these past few years. The USSR is starting to crack, Ludwig. We just need to wait until those cracks are large enough for us to exploit – without causing another world war." Francis crossed his arms. "And Gilbert – Gilbert can handle himself. He's strong, stronger than I think you realize. He'll pull through, and be rummaging through your alcohol stores before you know it, so I suggest you start stocking up." The joke fell slightly flat.

Germany would never tell anyone that he had, since the day Gilbert disappeared into the snow, been purchasing far too much beer, all in the hopes that the albino would soon be drinking it again. The last of the energy that had possessed him seemed to evaporate, and the German nation moved to sink back into his couch, putting his head in his hands.

"Very well," he said, so quietly that it almost went unheard. "No war."

"Bon." Francis seemed, for once, to be able to sense the mood. "Come, America. We should be going. Tu aussi, Mathieu."

"Francis, I don't want to –"

"Come on, Alfred, let's just go with him." Canada pushed firmly on his older brother's back, all but shoving him out of the door with a surprising show of force. "We've invaded Germany's house enough today. Let's give him some peace and quiet."

"But Iggy's staying, so why can't –"

"Arthur is staying because for some reason that I can't possibly fathom, Ludwig prefers his presence to yours. Now come on, America. Don't make me ask you again."

"Like you could do anything to me, Francis –"

The argument faded down the hall, until the front door shut behind the trio. The silence in the living room was almost palpable, as England stared down at Ludwig. The German man had never looked so – lost before.

"For what it's worth, Ludwig," he said softly, knowing that it wasn't worth much at all, "I'm very sorry. For all of this. It wasn't supposed to last this long."

"You couldn't have foreseen the Wall," Ludwig muttered into his hands, not looking at the Englishman. But you could have left him with me after the war. Did Versailles teach you nothing, Arthur? Though he didn't say the words, both of them were acutely aware of what was going unsaid.

"Well – I should be going."

Yes, you should.

"I need to make sure that Alfred isn't trying to beat Francis, and that they actually remembered to keep Matthew with them."

England, just get out of my house.

"Is there – anything that I can get for you before I go?"

I've already asked, and you won't provide.

"Alright, then." Arthur turned on his heels. "Have a – good day, Ludwig."

At this, Germany finally looked up. "You have four years, England."

Arthur paused, blinking. "I'm sorry?"

"You heard me. Four years, and then I'm going to find him. And I don't care who gets in my way. By 1980, if the 'cracks' aren't big enough, I'm going to make them bigger."

Winter 1979

There was something different about today. Ivan was almost instantly aware of it, as he carried Gilbert's breakfast down the icy steps with him. Along with the tray of food, he was carrying with him a new red scarf for the albino, and a new uniform as well. It wouldn't do for his GDR to go around without proper attire, after all. It was much the same as his old one – still in his favourite Prussian blue with a black shirt underneath, but Ivan had ordered the hammer-and-sickle to be embroidered over the left breast pocket in silver.

Merry Christmas, little GDR, he thought to himself, fumbling for his key. He tried to ignore the niggling sensation that something wasn't right. Even though he didn't celebrate the holiday himself, he figured such a gift wouldn't go unappreciated. Besides, Gilbert had been down here for so long, he was starting to wish the other was around the house more. Perhaps some sort of arrangement could be reached.

The cement room was darker than usual when he stepped inside. His eyes instantly found the answer – someone had put something over the one small window, and only tiny cracks of light were getting in through it. The light itself had a faintly red tinge to it, and he realized a moment later that it must be a piece of the old red scarf.

"GDR, do you mind explaining just what you've done to the window, da? You're lucky that I brought you another scarf for –"

Ivan's mind caught up with itself, and his words trailed off. Just how had the German man had managed to get a piece of fabric on the window while chained to the center of the room? This thought hit him at the same moment the door he had just opened slammed shut. The Russian turned, smile already in place, just in time to catch something heavy and metal full in the face.

Stars exploded across his vision, and he staggered back. The tray flew out of his hands, spilling porridge, coffee, and a variety of other food across the floor. The uniform and scarf followed shortly, dropping into crumpled fabric heaps. Something metallic fell as well, clattering loudly with the tray. His back came up against the far side of the wall, and he spat out blood. Ivan struggled to clear his vision and think past the sudden splitting pain in his skull.

"Did you really think that I wouldn't find a way out?" The ragged voice came from somewhere by the door, and Ivan's eyes strained to focus in the dark. There was a raucous laugh that sounded anything but human. "You left me alone down here too long, little Russia. Twenty years is a long time… even you can't have honestly expected chains to hold me that long."

"They held… for twenty years, Gilbert," the Russian growled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He ran a tongue over his teeth – all of them seemed to be in place, though he was sure that a second blow would knock them out. "I think you're… still too weak." Ivan blinked furiously, trying to adjust his vision.

Raucous laughter echoed from near the door, and there was a faint sound of metal on metal that instantly put Ivan on guard. "Too weak, little Russia?" That voice didn't sound anything like the Gilbert the Russian had become used to. "You think I'm still too weak? We'll see what you say once I'm done here, da?"

Ivan was too busy trying to stealthily put himself in a better position to bother commenting on the fact that the other man was speaking in Russian of his own volition. He pulled himself into a half crouch, eyes flicking up to the ceiling for a moment. His foot brushed off something hard, but he didn't risk looking down to see what it was. In the limited light, he could see two holes in the ceiling – so that was what Gilbert was using. He hadn't thought that the German had been able to get the manacles off – seeing as they had been welded to fit his wrists – but pulling them out of the ceiling -

Another faint clinking sound reminded him exactly of the position that he was in, and Ivan instinctively ducked an instant before something cracked off of the stone where his head had been. Enough force had been put behind the blow to chip the cement. The Russian crouched, and shuffled off to the side, eyes narrow. The throbbing in his temple was getting worse, and he could feel blood dripping from the injury on his face, but right now all he was concerned with was getting himself into a position where he could use his size. That would also have the added benefit of rendering the chains the GDR was using useless.

"Did you really think you'd get away with this? Thirty nine years, I've had to deal with you. Thirty nine fucking years, and I'm finally going to get to repay you for every scratch you inflicted on me and my people." That same laugh – the one that even Russia could tell was nothing approaching sane – echoed through the small room. "And guess what… no one cares if you're down here. They won't come looking. Not now, not ever. Da, it's you and me, Ivan, for as long as I fucking please."

His eyes had finally righted themselves, and now he could make out Gilbert's shape, slightly hunched over and standing by the door; conveniently, the only exit. Faint silver glinted from the makeshift weapons in his hands – and true to his suspicions, the German hadn't managed to get the manacles off. He could see the end of one of the chains, glinting wetly – but the other one snaked off into the darkness.

Again, that warning clinking as Gilbert's outline drew its arm back and lashed out. The second chain rippled and seemed to come alive – and Ivan flinched back before he realized that it wasn't coming for him. He looked down, realization on his face, the moment something cold constricted tightly around his leg. He had a few moments to contemplate the consequences before Gilbert yanked with a surprising show of strength. Already off balance, Ivan found his feet pulled from under him.

He felt the air forced out of his lungs as his back hit the floor. It was soldier's instincts that saved him then – not even stopping to think, the Russian rolled as far to the side as he could. The movement was apparently unexpected, and not a moment too soon – the minute he was gone, the second chain smashed into the ground where his chest had been.

"This isn't how you treat the person who's offered you a home, Gilbert," he said, coming up in another crouch – closer to the albino now. Close enough to see the mad look on his face. The chain still noosed tightly around his leg was something of a problem, and a tiny sliver of something he hadn't felt in a long time dug into his heart.

"Don't glorify this shithole as a home, Russia, don't you even try!" The other yanked on the chain around Ivan's leg again, but this time he wasn't taken by surprise, and his own weight kept him on his feet.

Ivan laughed, managing to keep his voice level by sheer effort. Gilbert was still blocking the door, and with that other chain, he still had the advantage. "You earned your place down here, Gilbert," he said, and though the other probably couldn't see it, made sure to sneer. "Don't you go forgetting that." He began to carefully shift his weight, aware of the second disadvantage the chain around his leg put him at – with the slack left in it, the links would make noise if he moved too swiftly.

"I earned this?" Gilbert's voice was almost a shriek, so furious was the German. In the darkness, the Russian could have sworn he saw a faint red light to the other's eyes – the same sort of glow his own took on when he was angry. "How could anyone earn this? You've humiliated me beyond human belief, you –"

"Well, then," Ivan murmured, eyes almost slits, abandoning any pretense of being the bewildered captor as he wiped blood out of his eye. "It's a good thing we're not human, isn't it, GDR?"

In that moment, the larger man launched his weight at the other. They were not so far apart that the move was impossible – with the power behind his legs, it was only too simple for Ivan. His momentum should have slammed both him and the smaller albino into the door – hopefully knocking out or stunning Gilbert long enough for something to be done. And Ivan had fully expected to do so, the minute he felt his shoulder connect with the other's bony ribcage. Indeed, he heard an audible crunch as he did so – but what he wasn't expecting was that the other was braced well enough to avoid losing his balance.

He also wasn't expecting pain to rip up his side the moment he got close to the German. Taken by surprise, Ivan fell back slightly, hand going to his side automatically. His fingers came away from his coat damp.

"Oh," Gilbert whispered; he close enough for Ivan to see that there really was a strange sort of light to his eyes. "It's a very good thing we're not human, isn't it?" This time he made a sound that was closer to a giggle than anything.

Ivan's eyes found what had stabbed him – braced against the door behind him by its curved head was the very same pipe that the Russian had gotten from Gilbert's older brother all those years ago.

"Oh, look what you've done." The albino giggled again. His eyes were on the hand holding the metal pipe. Against his better judgment, Ivan found his own eyes wandering there, and he realized that the crack hadn't been from the other's ribs, but his wrist. The manacle disguised it well, but now that he was looking he could see the hand looked strange.

"See what I mean?" Gilbert moved forward slightly, and though he wasn't sure why he was doing it, Ivan took a step back to maintain the distance between them. The pain in his side was dulling slightly, but the wet spot on his coat was growing larger. "You just won't stop. It's reasonable of me to fight back, isn't it? I should. Anyone could see that it's the only option I have left. And if I'm getting revenge while I'm getting even… that's just coincidence." A sickening smile spread across his face.

"You can hardly blame me for that," Ivan said carefully, keeping his eyes trained on the other. "Seeing as you're the one who went and impaled me with it."

"But that's just it, da? You're the one who attacked me first. I can claim all of this in self defense." Gilbert took another step forward, tilting his head. "They told me to hang on for a few more years. But you know what? It's been long enough."

Ivan was still trying to figure out who exactly had told him such a thing when Gilbert decided to launch his slighter frame at the Russian. The larger of the two twisted, ready to avoid what was a very stupid move, when he remembered the chain still wrapped around his leg – and the other one Gilbert still had control over.

Unfortunately, this realization came a little too late for Ivan to act upon it. He moved quickly enough to avoid the German's wild lunge, but not enough to get his balance back before the chain around his leg tightened again. Ivan managed a surprised yelp before Gilbert's momentum sent them both crashing to the ground. The free chain whipped out just over the Russian's head, cracking off of the wall and raining down bits of concrete. The Russian lay there for a long moment, trying to get his breath back.

There was one thing that Ivan was aware of right now, and that was the pressing need to get out of here, out of this room that was too small for him to move in properly, and too dark for him to be able to avoid everything. He knew the look on Gilbert's face very well – had been expecting to see it for some time now. There was no reason in those eyes; no stopping point. Sooner or later the other was going to land a blow that would make it –

Pain shot up his arm a moment later, and the Russian let out an involuntary bark of pain. The fall had winded him – apparently not the case for Gilbert. The other was standing over him now, that crazed expression on his face, leaning heavily on the pipe that he had just smashed into Ivan's hand. Though there hadn't been enough force – this time – to puncture through the skin, the pain that darted up his arm when he tried to twitch his fingers confirmed that it was most definitely broken.

"Don't even think about getting out of here before I'm done with you," the German breathed. "And don't think of yelling for help, either. No one's going to come to your rescue." Grinning, he leaned a bit harder on the pipe, twisting it. Ivan felt the broken bones in his hand grinding, but bit back another yelp. He wouldn't give Gilbert the satisfaction. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they would just leave you down here with me."

"You're still nothing without me, GDR," Ivan ground out. He forced the muscles in his hand to contract; though the shattered bones seemed to scream in protest, he managed to close his fingers around the pipe. "I made you. I kept you alive. If you want to go home, you're going to die." Drawing on the strength of a nation who had suffered torment after torment, Ivan gripped the pipe harder, trying to will his arm to contract. "And you're going to pay for this."

"I don't think so," the German spat back, tightening his own grip. "Because you're forgetting one key point – I don't have anything to lose." Out of nowhere, a foot connected with the side of Ivan's head. The Russian let go of the pipe with a grunt, his concentration broken.

"Yes, except what dear little Germany's going to think when he sees his big brother all violent and bloody, isn't that right? You never let him see what you're actually like." Ivan laughed, locking eyes with the other. "Even back when he was a child, isn't that right?" Keep him talking. Isn't that what the other nations had done with him back when his tsar had been going mad, when that last tsar and his family had been murdered and everything had gotten all strange and fragmented in his mind? Toris had talked to him, and it had made things better, patched over some of the cracks.

This time the pipe connected with his other hand. Gilbert looked down at him, and in that gaze there was nothing that resembled the nation that he had become over the years. Gone was the reason gained with the years; and with a sinking sensation, Ivan realized exactly what he was dealing with right now – with two broken hands and a compromised leg.

"… Prussian Empire?" The word escaped his lips before he could even think to keep it in. His violet eyes widened, and he saw something dark and primal cross the other's face.

"Finally figured it out, da?" The other giggled again. "Why should I bother to keep up pretence of civility around you anyway?" Those red eyes narrowed. "I tried so hard to pretend, to keep up this little human sham that seems to be the fashion these days." An impossibly wide grin that was more a baring of teeth than anything. His canines seemed sharper than Ivan remembered. "I've tired of this game, though. I'm surprised you're managing so well, Ivan. You've come a long way since that snotty face you had under the Mongols."

Ivan shifted, but the end of the pipe jabbed uncomfortably into his sternum. He was severely regretting bringing that down now. "I have," he said, fighting down a wince as the other nation stepped on his hand. "It's nice to see that you're regressing, though. Going back to the savage times of our past, are you?"

Gilbert's red eyes were cold; he didn't rise to the bait. "What you've done is unforgivable, Russia. My people burned because of you. My children screamed in the streets, and for that, you are going to pay."

Ivan, who had been carefully moving the chain pooled on the ground around the other's foot, ignoring the pain in his hands the best he could, looked up at that. Gilbert was staring down at him with a smile that seemed strangely familiar – and the reason hit him a moment later. It was the same look he had given to his own subordinates many, many times. It was a look that said he knew exactly what the Russian had been trying to do; it was most certainly not promising.

And suddenly he realized exactly what that sliver in his heart was. The feeling was growing larger, consuming, as the Prussian Empire leaned down, white hair tinged red in the filtered light, pressing harder and harder on the pipe as he did so, paying no heed to his own broken wrist.

"Merry Christmas, Ivan Braginski," the other nation murmured, throwing his entire weight onto the pipe.

In the surreal silence of the little room, the sound of breaking bone was loud.

---

What am I doing?

The thought came to him from a distance, filtered in bits and pieces through the hazy red fog that had fallen over his mind. The nation underneath him had long since ceased being able to make sounds, and much of the fun had gone out of what he had been doing. There was only so much available to him anyway – though he had discovered a strange limitlessness to the things one could do with a pipe and chains if one put their mind to it.

Why am I still here? Shouldn't I be running?

It wasn't that he minded the red mist that stole his senses, took away the pain, and replaced it with bloodlust and wild laughter. It was just that sometimes he had trouble remembering things that he had done if he let it last for too long – and this was something he wanted to remember for a very long time. He licked his lips and tasted something coppery – blood. For once, he knew that it wasn't his own. He had tasted that enough in the past to know.

Still, despite the fact that he didn't regret what he had done – he didn't believe in such things – he couldn't help but feel a sliver of pity for the nation below him. Twenty years of hatred – well, more than that, if he were to be honest – given back in such a short time.

He deserved it.

And that was just it. He shoved the pity away – Russia wasn't worth the wasted emotion. He didn't feel remorse either, mostly because he knew that the other would be on his feet in a matter of weeks – less, even – with none of the injuries he has now in evidence. He had seen other, strong nations recover from crushed heads in little more than a month.

He hoped that the broken neck took the longest to heal.

There were some things, the Prussian knew, though, that wouldn't heal no matter how much time passed, no matter if you were an immortal nation or a human. Being immortal, in fact, would only make the hurt that much worse, that much more lasting, and that was why he took them.

I want you to remember this for a long time.

Even though it was filthy, the red mist allowed him to stoop to a new level, to return to the primal concept of what a nation was. To return, with little feeling at the time, to the ancient way of making a nation yours, forever and always. He considered Ivan Braginski, barely recognizable. Lying there, lost to merciful unconsciousness some time ago. His coat was dark with blood – more blood than any one body should possess, but then, he was a nation, so logic didn't apply to them.

You need to go now.

But where he hell was he supposed to go? Even through the illogic of the red fog he knew that it was cold enough to kill if he didn't have a place to flee to?

You have a nation, you idiot. Go there. You can find somewhere to hide until then.

Until when? What was he even here for? He couldn't remember. He knew for certain that he had been here for a very long time – but past that, there were only flashes of things. Absently, he kicked the larger nation on the ground – there was no groan this time. The Prussian frowned, but the bloodlust was fading, and he knew that there was a stopping point.

"You've stolen everything from me," he whispered, even as he began to move around the room. The new uniform the other had brought down was difficult for him to put on with the chains in the way, but somehow he managed it. The metal links left dark red streaks on the clean fabric. The scarf, too, though it was red and he hated it, was picked up.

Yeah, West'll freak if you freeze to death before getting home.

West? The name sounded familiar, in a distant way. But the mental image it called up – the Holy Roman Empire, of all people – didn't seem right. Especially since the two of them never got on particularly well together He thought the other should be older, too, but for the life of him didn't know why. Shrugging, the ancient Empire wound the scarf around his neck, trying to avoid catching it on the chains. Though even he could tell that the manacles wouldn't come off without a professional's help, he made a mental note to ditch the long trailing links – and soon.

His eyes were dark as he turned to head for the door, bloody chains clinking behind him. He looked back only once, and was surprised to see that the other's eyes were already open – tiny slits of purple watching him flee the little dungeon at long, long last.

"… so I've stolen everything from you. Your house is crumbling, Ivan Braginski," he said slowly, the words sounding strange in his mouth. The language didn't seem right either. "Your power is waning. Soon you'll be nothing more than a forgotten empire."

"… just… like… you, da?"

That was strange. The Prussian hadn't thought that the other was able to speak. He supposed the shattered jaw was healing faster than he had expected. "You and I are nothing alike, Russia."

"Da… I… am… not… an oath… breaker… and… traitor."

The Empire sneered. "And look where that's gotten you. Bloody and broken, brought to your knees."

Part of him wanted to kick the other very badly for that comment, but he satisfied himself with slamming the door behind him and turning the lock. Hopefully no one would be going down for some time. The thought was amusing as he made his way up the icy stairs and onto the main floor.

"Gilbert?" The stricken sounding voice came from behind him, and the nation turned to see who was speaking.

"Lithuania," he said evenly, running a hand through his hair. He was unconscious of the fact that the white mop was soaked red. This nation he knew, though he wasn't sure why the other was living with Russia – last he had checked, the rambunctious young knight had gone off with his weird Polish friend.

"Gilbert, what the hell –" The brown haired nation moved towards him, mouth working to form words that didn't seem to want to come. "What happened?"

He looked down at the left over blood staining his new uniform – in hindsight, he probably should have wiped off his skin before putting it on. "Oh, this isn't mine," the Prussian said evenly, gesturing to himself. The chains dragging behind him clinked as if in agreement.

"Then – oh my god –" Toris's hands flew to his mouth, his eyes wide in something that was close to horror. "Gilbert, what have you done?"

His eyes flicked back to the stairs for a moment, and a cruel smirk appeared. "I've done what I've been meaning to do for a long time. No one humiliates me and gets away with it." He glanced back at Lithuania, whose face had gone somewhat pale. "Just remember that, little Lithuania. I let you break from my knights because it amused me, nothing more. If you dishonor my name, I will be coming after you."

The other stared at him, confusion mixing with the other emotions on his face. "A – are you… ok, Gilbert?" His voice was a hoarse whisper.

The albino man just laughed quietly, and continued down the hall. Toris pressed himself up against the wall to avoid touching the other's bloodstained form. The Prussian put a hand on the door, and pulled it open just a bit. A gust of icy wind raced through the crack, blowing snow along with it. Lithuania couldn't help but shiver, but the other nation didn't appear to notice.

"Oh, I'm fine. I'm perfectly fine," the Prussian said, glancing back over his shoulder. Their eyes met for a long moment – long enough for Lithuania to realize that their red colour had darkened considerably – before the white haired nation turned and slipped out the door.

For a full minute, the Baltic nation stood, rooted to the hallway. Then sense seemed to return to him, and he raced to the door, pulling it open. Outside the landscape had turned white in all directions, the wind whistling in preparation for a storm. There was no sign of anyone.

"Oh god…" the Baltic whispered, leaning on the door, knees suddenly weak. He had promised to look after the other, to keep him sane until Germany came to claim him. And now –

I didn't think it would happen this quickly! He was supposed to hold on longer. What the hell am I supposed to tell Ludwig now?

Spring 1980

Germany –

I regret not being able to tell you this to your face. It seems impersonal for me to write to you and tell you this, but there's no helping it. The Soviet is weakening every day, but he seemed determined to hang onto the Wall as long as he can.

I won't drag this out. Your brother is no longer with us. No, he isn't dead as far as I know, but we haven't seen him since Christmas. He's effectively disappeared, which I can only say should be good for him. I assume that he's fled to East Germany, and has found a place to hide out until the Wall comes down for good.

I feel that I need to be the one to tell you this, as it was I who promised to look after him. I offer you a warning – don't go looking for your brother. Don't cross the Wall to try and find him, Germany, because he wasn't Gilbert when he left, and I doubt he's Gilbert now.

This may sound strange, but – he's… regressed. I think being in the position he was, he felt that the only option was to return to his Prussian Empire persona. That version of himself is something that you never experienced, because when you came along, you brought sense to his mind. But the nation your brother is now is not the same nation you knew. I doubt he realizes where he is, or what's happened. He was beginning to – forget – things some time ago, but I thought that he would recover.

Please don't take this as a sign to do something rash. Gilbert will be able to survive far better as he is now than if he were still – in the present. If the Wall does fall – I think it may bring him back. Make sure you're there when it does, because even if he doesn't know what's going on, he'll follow his people.

I'm so very sorry, Ludwig. I never meant for any of this to happen. I tried to protect him the best I could but –

I hope this letter finds you. I dearly hope it finds you, and you understand. It won't be long now – Hungary is acting up, and some of the other satellites are beginning to rebel. Even though it may seem hopeless from your side, know that.

We are fighting. We're going to win. And I swear, your brother will be returned to you.

- Lithuania

---

A/N: Ok, so... that took a hell of a lot longer than it should have. I'm terribly sorry for the wait!

This chapter isn't my favourite, to be honest. I had to force myself to write parts of it, and I don't think it came out entirely the way I wanted it to.

For those of you who wondered why I didn't include description of what Prussia did to Russia... I considered it, and decided not to write it. That isn't something I want to write in graphic detail. There are a lot of authors on this site who go into specifics about things like that, but I just felt it would be in bad taste. I'll leave it up to you to figure out what happened.

And if you're still confused as to what's happened, the Prussian Empire and Prussia are two very different people. The Empire is what he was before little Germany came along and gave him a bit of humanity; right now he's got the "army with a nation" sort of mentality.

Currently, the Prussian Empire doesn't remember what's happened to get him where he is - he remembers how long he's been in Russia's control, but that's about it. He still thinks he's back in his time. So, yes. He's gone off the deep end.

If you want clarification, feel free to ask - I'll reply the best I can.

If you've read, please review!

- Pheleon.