I think everyone thought I'd abandoned this fic. Well, I am back! I've had this installment in the works for a while, and just finished it up today.

As always, triggers abound, mainly for abuse, suicidal thoughts, and self-harm. (Self-harm is the big one. Guess who this chapter is about.)

Title is taken from the Vocaloid song of the same name, which, while it doesn't totally fit this story, is still definitely worth a listen. (It is about suicide...) I listened to that song a LOT while writing this. I'm not sure why, but the lyrics do fit in some respects, so yeah. 'Crime and Punishment' is not a half bad song.

That being said, on with the story!

Crime and Punishment

He broke his own heart with every slice of the knife. He knew that he should not do this to himself, and yet he could not stop it.

He was in agony, a terrible agony of mind and soul, and he could not escape it. He also could not escape the dreadful emptiness in his heart, the emptiness that came to drown out the pain for a time, but eventually left again, allowing the pain to overtake his tortured body once again.

He knew that if he saw one of his brothers doing this, he would be sickened and horrified. But doing this to himself, he could not feel that way. He was hurting, terribly so, and he needed to be able to cry out, to manifest his agony visibly.

He could not do that without bleeding, for the ability to cry without being in physical pain had been beaten from him, stolen by a man who had not realized that by trying to help the boy with the sunshine eyes, he had in fact destroyed that boy forever.

Lithuania wanted to die.

He could see no way out of the deadly, painful madness that was his existence on earth. There were possibilities, of course, ways that he could one day find peace on earth, but those possibilities seemed very unlikely. He had been hurt so many times, betrayed and beaten by so many. He could not imagine a reality where he was not hurt like that. There might be one, somewhere, in which the nation of Lithuania became strong again, and remained so forever.

But that thought was a fool's idealism, and that future did not exist. He knew this to be certain. Happiness could not exist for him. He was a nation who had been doomed to exist only to be hurt by others.

For he was Lithuania, the boy whose savior complex had caused him to attempt to save all others, even at the cost of his own sanity, and yet he had not saved anyone, although he had tried. Everyone he loved had broken, or had been brutally torn from him. One person in particular had left him when he had finally been certain that she would stay, and that had left an irreparable wound on his heart.

But the deepest pain of all was that of the knowledge that his little brothers would never be the same. Their scars and fears could not be erased, and it was only so because he had not protected them.

If he had only been there to protect them, Estonia would not be broken or insane, and Latvia would not be addicted to alcohol.

And the agony of this knowledge had led him here. Lithuania sat under the sink in an out of the way bathroom, somewhere in the building where the world meeting was currently taking place. His wrists were slit and bloody, and he did not care.

No one ever came into this bathroom, here in the back of the building.

No one was here to hear him scream, to hear him cry, to hear him beg for them to save him.

He was alone with the agony he felt, abandoned, his only companion the blood that dripped from his wrists onto the cold floor.

And Lithuania believed that he deserved this fate.

Obsessive stalking became a much harder task when the person one was stalking happened to frequent crowded, semi-public places. Most especially when the stalker herself was in said crowded place for reasons that did not completely involve stalking.

Such was Belarus' predicament at this moment. She was finally able to pursue Russia with the same vigor that she had before…

"Before Toris Laurinaitis became so very important to you. Before you murdered him," whispered the voice of Belarus. "Never forget, Natalya. You must stay locked inside of me so that you can never again injure your beloved."

Before she had loved Lithuania, before she had rejected him to further his own safety, she had stalked Russia with a frightening passion. It had taken her a long time to work back up to such a height of false love for someone she secretly despised, but now…

Now she had done it. She was once again at full Russia-stalking potential.

And she had lost him in the world meeting.

They had just decided to take a lunch break, and Russia had disappeared before Belarus could pinpoint his whereabouts. Thus, she was forced to search the halls, calling loudly for the man whom Belarus loved, and Natalya both loathed and pitied.

"Big brother! Brother, where are you?"

Russia, it seemed, was hiding from her. This was no surprise. She knew very well that she was frightening to him, but, in a way, it was her revenge on him for hurting Lithuania and every other former Soviet nation. This was her revenge, but it was also her way of protecting Lithuania.

She could not protect Lithuania if she was not near Russia, making certain that he never touched the boy again. She could not make certain that Russia was not hurting Lithuania if she could not locate her brother.

And when her initial search of the premises yielded no sign of Russia, Belarus was forced to resort to tactics that only a maddened stalker would.

She began to search the men's restrooms.

And when her search still bore no results, she found herself in the back of the building, where she had discovered a final, seemingly completely unnoticed restroom. Unnoticed, it would seem, by all except Russia, whom she expected to find hiding from her in this particular quiet place.

She did not find Russia, although Russia was what she had both expected and hoped to find.

Instead of the object of Belarus' violent affections, she found the one human whom Natalya cared deeply for.

Lithuania was sitting under one of the sinks, farthest from the door. He did not look up as Belarus entered, nor did he seem to register her presence. She stiffened, intending to leave the room before he saw her and began asking stupid questions, as he always did.

Then she saw how dull his eyes were, and immediately afterwards, she noticed a dark liquid spattered on the floor around him and on his uniform.

At first, she blamed Russia. It had to be Russia-who else would abuse Lithuania until he bled?

Then she noticed that the only cuts on the brunet Baltic's body were the deep, jagged ones across his wrists.

And she knew with a horrible certainty that he had hurt himself. She saw scars beneath the bleeding cuts, and knew that those scars had not been there when they were all but a part of Russia's Soviet Union. She had seen to it that Russia had not been left alone with Lithuania since then, and so…

Lithuania had given himself those scars. It made sense, in a way, considering the fact that he was hiding here, alone, in a forgotten restroom in the back of the building. And the knife at his side was further proof of what he had done.

The dull, sad look in his eyes terrified her, for she remembered the day when they had rescued him from Russia, and that same look had been in his eyes then. He had been in pain then, and he was in the same pain now.

She did not think of leaving him, for even Belarus could not do that. Natalya would not let Belarus leave Lithuania alone to suffer, no matter how much Belarus wanted to abandon the boy, and so, she sprang forward, noticing that Lithuania had not registered her presence.

"Don't do that," she growled, standing in front of Lithuania, hands on her hips.

He looked up at her, and she saw tears in his eyes, a dark and terrible agony written in his every feature.

"Why would you stop me, Belarus?" he asked, very quietly. "What gives you the right?"

She knew that she had hurt him, then, or at least, a flickering suspicion of guilt crossed her mind.

"Did I do this to him?"

"What gives you the right to do that to yourself?" she challenged, glaring at him. "What gives you that right? What makes this action right, Lithuania? Why… Why would you even do that?"

"Why would you ask?" he whispered raggedly, eyes dull and sad. "You don't care."

She wanted to slap him, but more than that, she wanted to berate herself for ever getting close to him, for ever providing him a reason to hurt as he did.

"But perhaps I did not do this to him. Perhaps it was something else, perhaps the abuse…"

"Perhaps I do not," she said impassively. "But your brothers do, and I would not like to see Latvia suffer, seeing you hurt yourself. You do not want that either, do you?"

"He'll never find out," Lithuania whispered. "I'll keep him from finding out. He'll never see beneath the bandages, he doesn't have to know…"

"He will find out," Belarus said. "He will find out as I found out about what Russia did to you. Latvia is not nearly as imperceptive as you believe, Lithuania. For his sake, stop this foolishness."

She turned to go, hoping that he would listen to her, but she was halted by the sound of his voice.

"Natalya… Wait."

She looked back unwillingly, the Natalya persona hating the action almost as much as the Belarus character did. The time had come to face Lithuania's idiotic questions, and neither Natalya nor Belarus liked that idea.

"What is it now?" she growled.

"Why do you hate me?" Lithuania whispered, and suddenly, he was crying again, tears running down his face, blood flowing from his arm. And Belarus was frightened for him.

"Lithuania…"

"Tell me why!" his voice was broken, she had never heard his voice so broken. It hurt. She had never seen him like this, not even in Russia's house, and it was horrible.

She had thought he was recovering from what had happened. She had thought he was better. But no, here he was, sobbing under the bathroom sink, with his wrists cut, broken. Broken because of her, or because of Russia? She did not know; she did not want to know. If it was her doing, the guilt would destroy her.

"I do not know why, Toris Laurinaitis," she said, and she hated herself for the coldness of her voice, for the impassivity that would surely injure Lithuania's frail and sensitive heart. "I only know that I cannot love you. Please attempt to understand."

He moaned quietly, buried his head in his hands, and she could take it no longer. Stooping, she picked up the bloodied knife from the floor, ignoring his whimper of protest. For a moment, she paused, feeling a sudden urge to take him in her arms, to embrace him, to kiss away all of his sorrow and to just protect him.

She could do none of that. It was her knife that had stabbed him once, and she would not allow that to happen again. If his self-abuse was her fault, then let it be so. She would not endanger him further, not because of a foolish dream.

She could never love him, and so she turned away and walked from the bathroom, ignoring the way his sobs grew louder and more piteous, like those of an abandoned child.

She left him alone, knowing that without his knife, he could not cause himself more physical harm. She also knew that he believed she hated him, and she still felt a twinge of guilt inside for what she might have done to him.

Belarus found Estonia standing at a window in the front of the building. The boy-once insane, now terribly sad-was staring out at the world beyond him. There was a terrible, sorrowful loneliness in his eyes, and it reminded Belarus of Russia.

But Estonia was not Russia; Estonia was more fragile and more broken and he must be treated with care. Yet he was the only person who could go to help Lithuania, or so Belarus believed.

She took a step toward him, intending to tell him that his brother was bleeding out on the bathroom floor, only to be halted by the sound of a cheerful voice.

"Hey, Natalya!"

The world's second most annoying nation stood behind her, looking immensely cheerful. America was obviously completely unaware of Lithuania's uncertain status.

Belarus turned to him, still impassive, and spoke.

"Lithuania is bleeding out on the bathroom floor. He did it to himself. I suggest you speak to him about what self-harm will do to him. I assume you know about it, Alfred. You have a large country. Certainly someone in your nation has harmed himself at some time. Go to your precious Lithuanian, see that he is no longer happy, and for God's sake be the hero you pretend to be for him."

She swept past America, who stared after her, a question in his eyes. She passed Estonia, and saw that the young Baltic was sobbing quietly now.

"He does not do what he does because of you," she murmured. "You do understand that?"

"Of course he does it because of me," Estonia said, his voice quiet. "I started this. He would not have been broken had I not done what I did. I know, Belarus. Do not try to shield me from a darkness which has already consumed me. Save Lithuania instead. You might be the only one who can."

She left him there, at the window, and hurried onward, desperate to find a place where, perhaps, she might turn Lithuania's knife on herself.

"If you have done this to him… You ought to pay for your crimes. But of course, Natalya, you are too weak to pay. So you will hide, you will forget his sorrow, and you must never go back to him. It is for his safety."

Lithuania heard the door open again, but he did not move, did not even open his eyes. He no longer cared what they thought of him. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered. Let them see that he had harmed himself. He did not care.

And then the voice of a child who wanted to be a hero made him question his own indifference.

"Oh my God, Toris…"

It was America who had found him, America who embraced him, and Lithuania remembered that America had once stood by and allowed Russia to take him back. He could not blame the boy. He understood that America had been hurting then, that America's people had been hurting, and that there had been nothing the boy could do.

And yet, it still hurt. There was a great deal of hurt inside of him now, and he could no longer choke it back. It was released through the red gashes on his arm, and that was the only way that it could ever be released.

"A… Alfred." He kept the hurt from his voice. It was not America's fault. America was a child, an innocent child, and it was not his fault. He must not blame America.

"Hey, Sunshine," America's voice was soft and gentle and safe…

Lithuania had not felt safe in a very long time. And he did not know how America could call him 'Sunshine' when his eyes were dulled and his entire body was broken.

"It hurts, Alfred," he said, and he knew how pitiful he sounded.

"I know, buddy," America said. "I know it hurts. But it'll get better, okay? You gotta believe that. It's gonna get better soon. Hang on."

America did not know how to save him, Lithuania realized. But America somehow, childishly, believed that he could be fixed. The boy did not yet know the full extent of his agony, did not know the severity of the scars that marred Lithuania's body.

He would have to know, and Lithuania would tell him.

But not now. He could not tell America now. His wrists were bloodied; his heart was broken. Belarus had spoken, and Belarus said that she would not love him.

He did not have the strength to explain this to America now. But he mimicked the motion of putting a gun to his head, and America understood.

"I know," America said. "I know it really hurts. I don't know what he did to you, and you don't have to tell me, okay? But if you want to, if you need to, I'll be here. I'll fix you, okay, Toris? Hang on. Just hang on…"

"But what if I can never be fixed, Alfred? What…then? Will I suffer forever? Someone please tell me, and if I am to suffer, tell me in what way I can end my life."

There might not be a way to end the pain. But he would still search for that ending, nonetheless. He had to try to release himself from torment, or else exist forever in agony.

But for now, he was tired. And so he let America embrace him as he cried, blood flowing from his wrists until he finally drifted into a blood-red slumber.

So, that was painful, da?

Anyways, I am going to attempt to maybe update this a little more often! So, anyone want a oneshot on Russia, since he hasn't appeared yet in this story at all? I have a vague idea involving him, so I may try to write it up and post it soon.

Until then, Written in Blood updates weekly as always! See ya round!