Oh, look, I finally updated! Amazing... xD I told you all that this thing would have no scheduled updates, right...?

Well, this story has turned into at least a threeshot. I simply couldn't wrap it up in this chapter, so... There will be more sometime. When, I'm not exactly sure, but it will come.

The snowstorm had grown worse in the night, and Lithuania had trouble keeping his car on the road. He would have had this trouble, however, even had the weather been clear. His hands would not stop shaking, which made it difficult to grasp the steering wheel. He could not stop himself from thinking about Estonia's late night phone call, the entire reason he was out here at all.

"He attacked Latvia, probably. No, I'm certain that is what he did… But how badly did he hurt him? Oh, Eduard, oh Raivis… I wasn't there when you needed me… Again."

He remembered that he had already failed to protect Latvia once, and had only realized he had failed when he found the child sitting on the kitchen counter while staying over at his house, a bottle of vodka in the little boy's hands. He remembered it vividly, for it had been at that moment that he had realized the sheer extent of his failure to protect the boys. He had not even managed to protect Latvia, the sweet, innocent, blameless child. He had failed in that mission long before he had failed to protect Estonia, for Russia's vodka had gone missing many, many times, and the Baltics had all been blamed in turn, with the exception of the childishly innocent Latvia, when in reality it had always been Latvia who was the culprit.

There was a terrible ache in Lithuania's chest as he thought of this, as he realized the sheer weight of the things his brothers had endured, when it ought to have been he and he alone who had to bear such a burden.

Lithuania saw Estonia's house ahead of him, and, frustrated with his inability to keep his car headed in a straight line, he pulled over on the side of the near-deserted road, parking his car, and then running toward the house, slipping and falling into the deep snow. He struggled blindly on, seeing a light shining in one of the windows, his only guide in the darkness of the stormy night.

When he finally reached the house, Lithuania did not even pause to knock. There was no time for it. Latvia had been hurt when Estonia had first called him, hours ago, and who knew what might have happened to the small boy since then? It was more than likely that Estonia had hurt Latvia even more in the time it had taken for Lithuania to get to them…

Throwing open the door, the Lithuanian was confronted by a nearly deserted room. At first, all seemed peaceful, including the small boy curled up on the sofa.

Then, his eyes fell on the abandoned gun and the bloodstains on the carpet, and he knew that Estonia had shot and probably killed Latvia.

He had known already that he would find Latvia injured, but he had not expected anything like this. Beaten, perhaps… But never shot, and never by Estonia.

"W-who gave him a gun?" Lithuania murmured, staring blankly at the scene before him.

He realized with a jolt that Estonia was not there, and, frantically, he called out the boy's name. Receiving no answer, he shouted louder, his voice betraying his panic at finding Estonia absent.

"Eduard! Eduard, where are you? C-come out… I won't hurt you…"

And he realized, as the silence persisted, that Estonia had run away, had left him with tiny, broken, murdered Latvia. Estonia had killed Latvia… And then he had left him, running away into the snow, Lithuania knew not where.

It was all too much, then, for as Lithuania stood alone, staring at the tiny, unmoving Latvian, he realized fully that he had truly failed. He had not only failed to save Latvia from being hurt… He had also not managed to save the child from death itself. And he had not been able to save Estonia from the inner demons which the boy had not yet possessed, the demons that inevitably came from murdering one's own brother.

Once, in Russia's mansion, Lithuania had had no choice but to kill someone he loved dearly-Estonia himself. And although he had known, even then, that he had to do it, to protect everyone from Estonia's rage, the memory still haunted him.

He could still remember, vividly, the stricken look on Estonia's face just before he fell dead to the floor. What he had done to Estonia was not one of the principal causes of what he had now become, but remembering it, he sometimes burst into tears, holding a knife in his shaking, scarred hand, remembering that he had once killed his brother with a knife very much like the one he used to hurt himself, now.

And if this memory haunted him so much, although he knew it had been to protect the rest of his family, how much more would the realization that he had murdered his brother hurt Estonia, who had killed for no purpose?

Lithuania did not realize that he had begun to cry until he felt the telltale wetness on his cheeks, and it was then that he finally moved, stumbling over to where Latvia lay. There was a small smile on the child's face, and Lithuania had to wonder how it was that Latvia could look so innocent, so peaceful, even in death.

It was the look of tranquility and innocence that hurt Lithuania most, because the murder of an innocent child was somehow so much worse than the death of someone like Russia, or even Estonia. For even Estonia had done things that any human would term terrible acts, perhaps deeds worthy of the death penalty. No human should ever grasp the insanity and pain that plagued nations in their immortal lives, and Lithuania hoped that no human ever would.

Carefully, the brunet Baltic laid Latvia flat on the sofa, attempting to discover the source of the blood staining the tiny boy's clothes. He found that Latvia had been shot, not once, but twice, and seeing the sheer amount blood on the small boy's body and clothes, he began to sob aloud, unable to reconcile Latvia's peaceful face with the wounds in his body. There was simply no way that such a child ought to look so peaceful when he had obviously died in agony. But the emotion was unmistakably a peaceful one, and Lithuania realized that Latvia had become something that he had hoped the boy would never be.

Latvia, despite the expression of innocence on his face, had lost all the childish, sweet innocence that Lithuania had tried so hard to make sure that the Latvian boy would never lose. Latvia had become, through some cruel twist of fate, an adult.

Lithuania fell to his knees, whimpering in pain as his scarred, already throbbing wrists rubbed against the carpet.

"I'm sorry…" he sobbed, no longer attempting to stop himself from crying. Estonia was missing, Latvia was dead, and it was all because he had not protected them. All of this stemmed from the simple fact that he had failed to protect them once, and after that, he had failed to protect them again and again as they strove to take matters into their own hands. He had not protected them, and they had then tried to protect him. And so, by not saving them once, he had opened their eyes to his pain, and opened the door to their further suffering.

And he realized suddenly that Latvia's innocence had been shattered long before Estonia had lost his mind. For if the frequent disappearance of Russia's vodka stash was any indication, Latvia had been using alcohol as an outlet for most of their confinement in the Russian's mansion. Lithuania could not blame the boy… But it was this realization that provided further proof of his failure.

Lithuania felt the urge to scream, to curse whatever deity had condemned mere children to such a cruel fate. He wished, at that moment, to show weakness and to cry uncontrollably, to scream, to beg for things to go back to the way they were before, when he still had a chance to protect Estonia and Latvia.

The knife was in his hand almost before he knew what he was doing. No, he still did not realize what he was doing, even as, trembling, he slashed the knife across his already scarred arm. The cut was deeper than he meant it to be, but that meant it hurt more.

And if it hurt, if he was being hurt, then it was all right to cry. He did not have to feel bad about showing weakness if someone was hurting him. Even if the someone hurting him was himself, it was all right. He was allowed to cry, to scream, to beg, to curse the world. And this was the only time that he could show such a display of weakness without hating himself. Yes, in order to cry without self-hatred, he must be in physical pain.

Looking down, seeing the blood run red from his arm, Lithuania did not hate himself for his tears. He only hated himself for not saving Latvia and Estonia, who had been destroyed forever because he had not been there when they needed him.

Lithuania screamed.

It was five a.m., Ukraine thought, although it might have been a bit later. She had just stumbled out of bed, a nightmare having prompted her to leave her dark bedroom and find something to eat. Food… Yes, that would distract her. She did not use food as a distraction often, but at times like these, she could rationalize eating a little bit of something to calm herself down.

She was trembling as she walked down the dark hallway, half expecting some sort of monster to leap out at her. She was clutching at her arm, convinced that she was not bleeding, but still feeling frightened and unable to stop herself from shaking.

"It was just a dream," she murmured, turning on the kitchen light, "You dreamed, silly. Stop crying. No one is here to hurt you."

She glanced down, though, pulling back her sleeve and examining her arm, just to be certain that she was not bleeding. All that she saw was a long scar, tracing the length of her arm.

"Just a dream!" she announced, with false cheerfulness, "All is well!"

She busied herself in rummaging through the cupboards, looking for something calming to eat. There was not much there, so she finally settled for making tea. Tea would suffice, as long as it was that calming kind, the kind that put you to sleep if you drank it just before bedtime.

She had just put the kettle on when she heard a knock at the door. Ukraine stiffened, once again instinctively clutching at her arm. Really, she should not be so protective of that arm. She should not attempt to shield that arm in particular from any kind of danger. But when one's brother hurt you, cut your arm open and left you to stumble back to your room alone, leaving a trail of blood behind you… Was there not a reason to want to keep the same thing from happening again?

"W-who's there?" she called, her voice trembling.

"Russia?! What do I do if it's Russia? Should I run away? Should I have asked who was there at all? Oh, I should have just pretended to be asleep…"

"It's me," said the quiet, yet somehow unmistakable voice of Estonia, "Katya, can I come in? Please?"

Ukraine nearly began to cry, so relieved was she to find that the person at her door was someone other than Russia.

However, now that she thought of it, Estonia might not be the best person to invite into one's house in the middle of the night, either…

Cautiously, Ukraine opened the door, ready to slam it shut again if she had to. As she had thought, Estonia was standing outside. From the condition of his clothes, and the fact that his face was nearly blue with cold, Ukraine could see that he had most definitely not driven or flown to her house, and that set her on edge. Few nations would walk from their own home to the home of another nation unless they were not in their right mind, or necessity demanded it. Knowing Estonia, it was more than likely that the former option was in play at the moment.

"Hello, Eduard," she said cautiously, not certain what to make of the situation.

"Hello," Estonia whispered, and it was then that Ukraine noticed the blood staining his shirt.

"You're bleeding!" she squeaked, "Eduard, why didn't you tell me you were hurt? Come inside right now!"

She grabbed his hand, pulling him through the door and into her house, despite his stammering protests.

"Katya, I don't think…"

"I don't care what you think," Ukraine said, keeping her tone businesslike, "You sit down and tell me what's happened to you!"

"Let go of me, Ukraine!" Estonia snapped, and she pulled away, suddenly frightened of him. She was afraid of the anger in his voice, afraid that he might snap and hurt her.

"I'm not hurt," Estonia said quietly, and Ukraine saw that there were tears in his eyes, "This isn't my blood."

She stared at him, uncomprehending.

"It's Latvia's."

Ukraine screamed, and instantly hated herself for it as Estonia began to cry like the child he was. The boy's broken sobs echoed through the quiet house, his cries shattering the stillness of the night.

"I didn't mean to! I didn't mean to! I thought he was Russia! Please don't hate me!"

Estonia was hysterical, screaming and sobbing, and Ukraine could only stare at him in shock.

"You… You hurt Latvia?" she murmured, and suddenly, Estonia was staring at her, his eyes narrowed, his expression pained, and his agony evident in his eyes.

"No, Katya," he said, "I didn't just hurt Latvia. I killed him."

Ukraine still stared at him, not quite comprehending. Surely Estonia was joking? He had to be-there was no way he would have willingly harmed Latvia… Was there?

"No," she said, "No you didn't, you silly boy. You're imagining things."

"K-Katya…" Estonia sobbed, "At least believe me… Hate me if you want, but please just believe me…"

There was no mistaking the tremor in his voice, the sadness, the hurt. He had murdered Latvia. There was no question about it.

"Oh, Eduard…" Ukraine murmured. Somehow, she believed that Estonia was not dangerous to her now. She heard his sobs, saw the tears in his eyes, and, despite the blood staining his clothes, she believed that he would not harm her. He was simply too sad and too broken to be of any danger to her.

"It will be all right," she said, taking a step toward him. She cautiously extended her hand, as if he were a hurt and frightened animal, and she were reaching out to stroke his fur. He seemed almost like a frightened animal, now, and she wanted to comfort him.

"I know you didn't mean to hurt Latvia…" she murmured, "It's all right."

Estonia backed away from her, his gaze frightened.

"Don't!" he whispered, his eyes wide, "Don't come near me! I'll hurt you too, Katya!"

Ukraine hesitated for a moment, but she really did not need to think at all about what she was going to do.

"No, you won't," she said, "You're a good, sweet boy, Eduard. It will be all right."

"L-leave me alone!" Estonia cried, "Please! I shouldn't have come here, b-but… I…"

"Ssh…" Ukraine murmured, reaching for his hand, "It's all right. You can talk to me. You're safe. Ssh… It's okay."

Estonia tried to pull away, but he had quite literally backed himself into a corner. He could flee no further, and Ukraine was still coming closer, her hand extended as if to grasp his. For a moment, Estonia felt anger rushing back into his half-frozen body. How dare she keep coming closer after he had told her to leave him be? It was just like Latvia…

And he must not do to Ukraine what he had done to Latvia. So he had no choice but to stand still, bowing his head, waiting for the inevitable, gentle touch.

It was not on his hand, but on his head, that Ukraine's hand landed. Estonia felt her begin to stroke his hair, and, suddenly, he felt the pain welling up inside him, melting away the walls he had built to keep his emotions in check. It was a different type of feeling from the overwhelming rage. The sheer weight of what he had done came crashing down on him, and as he remembered tiny, innocent Latvia, dead because of him, Estonia could no longer keep himself from crying.

He began to sob quietly, his head still bowed, and Ukraine continued to stroke his hair. After a few moments, when his sobbing continued, he felt the pressure of her hand disappear, and he stiffened slightly, afraid that she had left him. But then, he felt her arms around him, felt her pulling him closer, and knew that he was safe.

But as he realized that he was safe, he also knew that Latvia was not safe. Latvia had never been safe; not with Estonia, and certainly not with Russia. Latvia, Estonia knew from experience, was at this moment dying a thousand deaths, the deaths of his citizens, even as he lay in a dead state. For that was what death was to a nation-a comatose state in which you relived the deaths of your past citizens. It was, Estonia knew, utter agony.

Perhaps by now Lithuania had found Latvia, and Estonia could not begin to imagine what might happen once Lithuania realized that he, Estonia, had murdered their brother. All that he could think of was the bandages around his older brother's wrists, and, horrified, he realized that upon finding Latvia's body, Lithuania might well choose to end himself as well. And the thought of Lithuania doing such a thing was simply too terrible, as was the thought that he, Estonia, might return to his own home only to find both his brothers there, dead and bleeding.

Estonia began to sob harder, feeling Ukraine's comforting embrace tighten. He was taller than her, but, despite this, he leaned against her, burying his face in her hair. He could not identify the scent of her hair, but it smelled nice, not unpleasant, and, like the rest of her, it had a comforting feeling about it.

"You're safe, Eduard…" Ukraine murmured, "No one is going to hurt you. You know that, don't you?"

He did know it, deep inside, but he was still haunted by the lies he had been told, and by one lie in particular.

"When you leave-and you all will leave me someday, because everyone leaves me-they won't want you with them. Lithuania always goes out of his way for Latvia, so maybe he will take him along wherever he goes. But you? You are just the third wheel, useless Estonia. Smart, but not so very useful to them in the long run. They will leave you behind."

It was not the truth. Estonia knew that, now. But he could not forget those words, for they had been forever engrained in his memory. Those words, and Latvia's actions later on the night when Russia had told him that his family did not care about him, had been the greatest cause of his insanity.

"He told me that Latvia and Lithuania would leave, and not take me with them," he whispered. It was the first time that he had said this so plainly while in a rational frame of mind, the first time he had tried to come to terms with the terrible things Russia had said and done to him.

"But you know they wouldn't do that…" Ukraine murmured, "They love you, Estonia. They always have. They always will. Lithuania risked everything for…"

"Please don't," Estonia whimpered, "Don't talk about him. You don't understand!"

"What don't I understand?" Ukraine asked, but Estonia could not bear to reply. What he had done to Lithuania by involving him now… It was simply too terrible to think about.

He straightened suddenly, but did not fully pull away from her embrace. Instead, he grasped her shoulders and looked her straight in the eyes, wondering if she could see his agony as he could see her fear and pain.

"I called him, Katya," he whispered, "I called him to help. Because I murdered my little brother. Because… Toris was… He was supposed to…"

"Eduard," Ukraine whispered, "You're hurting me."

He was gripping her shoulders too hard; there was blood seeping through her thin nightshirt. And he pulled away, remembering a similar moment in time, a moment when he had also drawn blood while gripping her shoulders, trying to make her understand what he felt.

At that time, he had felt betrayed by her. Now he felt betrayed only by himself. For Ukraine was not to blame for what had happened to him. There was no one to blame but Russia, and himself. For Russia had first spoken the terrible words, the words that had confirmed Estonia's deepest fear… But it was Estonia himself who had allowed that fear to break his mind.

"I'm sorry…" he murmured, releasing Ukraine, and turning his face away, "You shouldn't come near me, Katya. I'm not the kind of person you want to be near. I… I'm a murderer…"

"You are a good person, Eduard," Ukraine said, "Do you…? Do you remember what Belarus and Latvia told you, on that last day? The day before we left Russia? Do you remember what they said?"

He did remember. He remembered that he had fallen into the grip of insanity again, for they had failed in their mission. Their one task had been to rescue Lithuania from Russia, and not only had they failed in that, they had not only come away empty-handed, but had left Ukraine behind to face Russia alone.

And so he had stood alone, laughing and crying, and Latvia had come to him, begging him to stop. Latvia had told him then that he was wanted, needed, loved. And somehow, Estonia could not quite believe it. He could not believe that he was needed, for he could not save any of the people he loved, the people he had tried so hard to save. Lithuania, he had left alone to be destroyed at Russia's hand. Ukraine, he had abandoned out of fear. Latvia, he had not saved, despite his efforts, and this he had seen clearly even before they left Russia's mansion.

He had not even saved himself. He had allowed himself to be tortured, had allowed his mind to be broken. He was not the same child who had entered Russia's mansion. He was no longer Eduard von Bock, a child kidnapped from his home. No, now he was Eduard von Bock, madman.

This he knew clearly. He had almost accepted the fact that he would never escape his insanity. But he also knew that as long as he remained partially in the grip of insanity, his friends would never be safe from him. And he would never feel safe again.

If he retained any of his insanity, then he would never heal. And thus, he would have been destroyed in the act of trying to save the people he loved. And it was for nothing, for in the end, he had not even saved himself.

And still Belarus's voice sounded in his head, and he remembered what she had said to him on that day in Russia's mansion.

"Heroes seldom do save themselves."

So, there's a chapter. I have not the slightest idea when the next one will be written, but it should be soon.

Reviews are always appreciated, and they make Shadow very happy. :) Yes, even if you're living in 2025 or something. If you're in 2025, how's the future? I suppose I'll still be around somewhere, so I'll find out in ten years... xD