My Baby Shot Me Down {Russia and Lithuania}

[Lithuania]

Lithuanian-Soviet War
Zarasai, 25th August 1919

Toris gripped his rifle with white knuckled hands as he ducked and dove through the stragglers at the back of the regiment, his lungs bursting as he ran. Teeth bared in a grimace, his combat boots splashed through the mud from a recent rainfall as he jostled his way forward, towards the eye of the storm, to where the heat of the battle raged. A bullet screeched past him and he became aware of a sudden white-hot pain in his left shoulder as the projectile cut through the cloth of his jacket and grazed his skin, sending a thin river of blood trickling down the grimy olive-coloured uniform with its officer's insignia. And still he pressed on.

Where was Raivis now? Latvia was surely off fighting on his own front somewhere too. His army had already taken land from his adoptive brother, the Lithuanian thought with a pang of regret, remembering the little blonde boy with the shining, unhappy eyes. But now he needed every last resource he could get.

And Poland...that bastard Poland, who had promised to be at his side forever and who had left him to his fate at Ivan's hands, who was now taking advantage of his war torn state of lay claim on his territories. Poland...who could go to Hell for all Toris cared.

A burly Russian grabbed him suddenly by the forearm, pistol cocked to fire into his face at close range. But even a Soviet soldier was no match for a nation, and today Toris Lorinaitis had the full fury of his children behind him as he thrust his bayonet into the man's throat with lightning agility. As he watched the Red Army soldier crumple to the ground in a fountain of crimson, he felt a flash of sick guilt, the same flash he felt every single time he killed in battle. Mumbling a prayer under his breath for the repose of the man's soul, he pulled his blade out from the mangled flesh and whirled around just in time to pull the trigger on his rifle, hitting a startled Soviet officer in the chest at point black. The gun recoiled violently in his slender arms and for a moment he felt so desperately afraid, as all around him his children fought, killed and died. But in another split second, his jaw was set firmly again, his green eyes flashing with a kind of wild, desperate determination. It was as though something inside him had stirred, something buried deep from his Grand Duchy days.. His heart was so much heavier and his conscience so much more keen, he'd tasted defeat and slavery but today, just for today...he was that knight again, the same Toris who had defeated so many foes against all impossible odds. He was such an implausible sight in the middle of the battlefield...small and effeminate in his slightly-too-large uniform, which denoted a much higher rank than should ever have been afforded to someone with such a young and innocent face, streaked with dirt and blood though it was. But his strength was fierce and hundreds of men who were easily twice his size had already fallen at the end of his bayonet. He shot to kill, with increasingly deadly accuracy, a combat instinct surfacing which he had buried under years of domestic chores, patient compliance and learned helplessness. His kills were quick, brutal and ultimately merciful and he took no delight in any single one of them. But his hand did not falter. Not once.

Every Red Army soldier he ploughed through brought him closer to the thick of the fray. And he knew, in his heart of hearts, that there was only one person there that he would recoil from, even now, even today there was only one person who would cause his trigger finger to hesitate.

One of his own men stumbled backwards against him, wounded, and the pair of them went sprawling to the ground. The soldier looked about ages with himself, physically at least, and had that hunted, malnourished look that so many of his troops seemed to have. Blood was spurting from a severed artery on his thigh and he was crying. For his mother. Swallowing hard and setting his face like flint, Toris dragged his gaze away from his fallen child, pulled himself to his feet and whispering yet another grim prayer that day.

He had to keep fighting, to keep driving back the Soviets until they were safe again. He couldn't tell from looking around him who was winning and who was losing, but he felt it, in every single painful beat of his heart. The Red Army was caving. They were caving, and they were going to lose.

Today, Toris had God on his side, he had his men and he didn't need anything or anyone else in the whole world. And damn it all to Hell if he couldn't keep telling himself that.

Bang.

He shot desperately at an enemy soldier, shoving the body aside before it hit the ground.

Bang.

He would not think of Ivan. He would not.

Bang.

He would not think of St Petersburg, of the Winter Palace and of how hopeful everything had seemed before Bloody Sunday, before the Bolsheviks and before everything had crumbled apart. He would not think of the way Ivan's violet eyes would light up when he saw him, would not think of the smell of his sheets of the feeling of warm strong arms wrapped around him at night and the faint scent of vodka. He would not think of the night they drank limonaya and kissed in the snow, would not think of the times he'd spent curled up at his feet by the fireplace, would not think of the empty, hurt, confused expression on his Ivan's face when the little brunette had so vehemently declared his independence.

He would not think of the man he loved, who refused to see him as an equal.

He whirled around to catch a rifle barrel, wrenching it to the side just as it fired, narrowly avoiding a serious injury. And then, in the next moment, his determined gaze met a flash of familiar violet amongst the chaos of battle and his grim expression faltered for a moment to reveal pained shock.

It didn't matter how many times he had steeled himself for this inevitable meeting, he still could not keep the horror from his face as he found himself staring into the eyes of his one-time captor and lover.

Go home, Vanya. Please go home... A hushed, quiet voice was whispering in the back of his mind and he ignored it angrily, choking it down as he forced himself to focus on the battle, on the roar of gunfire and the crimson which mixed with the mud at his feet. He was suddenly reminded of the last and most fateful time he'd faced Ivan on the battlefield, after he'd first lost the independence that his children were now laying down their lives to claw back. He thought of the way the Russian had casually beaten him to a pulp, of how Poland hadn't even bothered to come to his aid, of how he'd ended up spending the better part of an empire with his pride shattered, reduced to the status of an immigrant servant. And above all, he thought of how monstrously unfair it had been of Ivan to stir up all of those horrible, conflicted feelings within him, to make him selfishly long for something he should never have wanted while his people suffered in slavery.

And almost in an instant, that horror dissolved into anger. He gripped his weapon tighter, his bayonet glinting red in the sunlight, soaked with the blood of Ivan's men and he heard his voice leave his throat in a hoarse scream, a loud, furious challenge across the sea of blood and destruction.

“Rusija..!”

[Russia]

It was a ridiculous situation to be sure, and one which Ivan had never thought he would find himself in. He had only been forced out of the recent world war for slightly over a year and already he was back into battle. He had not been able to properly supply his men last war, and yet here they were, forced to fight with pitiful supplies against an enemy which Russia had never expected he would have to face again. And to top it off, he knew deep down that they were losing.

How they could be losing to such forces was beyond his understanding. He put his heart and soul into fighting and trying to re-claim Lithuania, no matter how ill prepared for it he and his Red Army were. And still, they were losing ground fast and had been for months now. In fact, he was sure that if this battle was lost, then all hope to win the war would also be lost. It was depressing to think about and made the stocky blonde nation fight all more viciously against their Lithuanian foes, his trusty Mosin-Nagant rifle firing into the olive-clad men without mercy.

He had been so tired, stressed, confused and bewildered when his once trusted servant had approached him declaring his independence. With all that he had been dealing with, the last thing he had expected was his faithful Toris to turn against him at the first chance he got. Lithuania of all nations- who had been his lover and friend despite the fact that they had gotten off to an awful start, and Lithuania had been forced into servitude. It had been a serious blow for Ivan, who had figured that Lithuania would belong to him forever. He was still determined to try and forcefully keep the Baltic if he could, but with every battle lost he felt his hold on the smaller country weakening. Unless he could stop Toris and his army here, he was certain that he would lose him completely and his leaders would eventually force him to recognize the smaller nation’s independence. It was something that Ivan was fiercely against. He had been betrayed by that back-stabbing no good servant of his. The last thing he wanted to do was acknowledge his independence.

So he fought to the best of his ability, shooting enemy after enemy and running those who ended up too close through with a quick stab of his ceremonial sword. The pale, exhausted Russian had lost count of how many foes he had killed today. He was not keeping track, and one Lithuanian looked very much like the next to him. Only one of them would stand out in his mind, and he had yet to catch sight of Toris in this battle. He had not really caught sight of the other nation since the brunette had left after attempting to declare independence. But he knew that Lithuania was here. Somewhere. How could he not be? This was surely going to be the deciding battle for the war, it only made sense that the skinny Baltic would make an appearance even if it was only to taunt Russia for foolishly placing trust in him. A swell of anger surfaced within the Russian at the mere thought, his hand holding the rifle painfully tight as he took aim at a Lithuanian soldier.

A shot from nearby sounded and Ivan felt a stinging above his eye where the bullet grazed him. Catching sight of the poor marksman responsible, he fired his own rifle while the man was attempting to load his gun, the bullet catching him square in the chest and causing him to collapse into the bloodied mud.

There had to be mud to make things difficult. The heavy rainfall had drenched the battlefield not long ago, making the place treacherously slick and soaking Ivan and his men to the bone. At least it had let up for the time being, giving them a chance to dry out a little. Brushing his dampened bangs out of his face miserably, Ivan moved forwards through the fray, wanting to put himself in the heart of the action. He was stronger than his men, and could survive things that would cripple them. It only made sense for him to be out in the bloodiest part of the battle.

Slamming the butt of his rifle into an enemy’s face with enough force to break the man’s teeth and send him to the ground in agony, Russia searched for any signs of military rank amongst his foes. Taking out the leaders of this group would be ideal, and help tremendously in trying to win the battle and keep their ground. The higher the rank, the better the target. In the back of his mind he wondered what type of a rank his Litva held in this mess of treachery. He imagined it would be high, with his skill level. Countries usually had an easy time procuring positions of power when they wanted them, not only because they were often older and more experienced than they looked, but also because their leaders who knew them for what they were usually liked to place them in such positions. Russia himself was of a high rank amongst his people, and he wore the long, darker coat and decorations to prove it.

A flash of bright green caught his gaze even as he shot another Lithuanian in the chest at point blank range. I knew I would find you here. The sight of the treacherous Baltic killed the façade of happiness that he usually wore into battle, and replaced it with a somber frown. Some of his fellow Russians blocked his view of the other nation for a bit, and a sharp pain from a Lithuanian’s bayonet catching him in the side alerted him to the fact that he had been distracted too long. Turning for a moment to draw his blade and ram it through the man’s chest quickly and shove him backwards, the Russian nation searched for his servant as he re-sheathed the secondary weapon.

“Rusija..!”

There he was, standing not far away with his blood soaked bayonet raised and his eyes afire with what Ivan took to be murderous intent. The scene reminded him of their first meetings on the battlefield, when he had fought against the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. By all means he should have known the freedom obsessed country had been merely waiting for the moment when Russia was weakened enough for him to get free. Hadn’t Lithuania been fiercely defiant back when he first claimed him as a slave? And he had always known he was intelligent. Intelligent enough to play the good little servant until he had a clear shot.

“Litva.” The Russian nation replied simply, unable to keep all the boyish hurt out of his tone. “I knew I would find you here. You lying, treacherous, bastard of a nation.” He did not shout, but having moved closer to the other man, he was certain that Toris would hear his accusations. Ivan raised his rifle, aiming it at Toris menacingly. “I should have known better than to trust you on any level. You’re greatly mistaken though if you think for a second that you’ll win a fight against me. This isn’t the past, and your commonwealth is long gone.” His finger pressed against the trigger, but he hesitated to fire. Toris had chosen to be an enemy now, and shooting him should be no different than in the past, right? Dealing with too many mixed emotions for his sanity to cope with, he aimed the rifle for the Lithuanian nation's arm last minute before squeezing the trigger.

[Lithuania]

Toris clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth, willing himself not to see the transparent, raw hurt on his lover's face. The way those violet eyes clouded over reminded him of the confused, shocked expression he had worn on the day Lithuania had told him he was declaring independence.

But then, it was the possessive bastard's own fault. Toris would have gladly stayed and loved him as an equal, but Ivan had to have his servant. He wasn't interested in a level playing field, a partnership with a free and independent nation. He wanted to dominate, to control and to own, and if he couldn't have that, he didn't want Toris at all.

It stung, to know that the man he adored beyond all measure would never contemplate the idea of seeing him as anything more than a favourite servant.

“I knew I would find you here. You lying, treacherous, bastard of a nation.”

Russia's soft voice carried on the wind as the tall nation drew closer. Toris kept his expression hard and unwavering, even as the insults stung.

“I should have known better than to trust you on any level. You’re greatly mistaken though if you think for a second that you’ll win a fight against me. This isn’t the past, and your commonwealth is long gone.”

Toris opened his mouth to fire back an angry retort, but Ivan was already levelling his rifle at the brunette's chest and he froze for a moment, his battle instincts abandoning him in the face of his lover. He had a horrible moment of panic, where he thought that Ivan would seriously incapacitate him, stop him from aiding his men. But then, much to his surprise, the Russian hesitated and the shot rang out and grazed his right arm instead. His hand flew to the injury, stemming the bloodflow, but it wasn't the pain, or the fact that he'd been shot which forced his mouth open incredulously.

Ivan was one of the best shots he had ever known, and he never hesitated to go for the kill. There was no way he could have missed, not at that range, and Toris stared down for a moment at the blood which ran between his fingers, contemplating the idea that maybe the Russian just really couldn't bear to shoot him properly. The thought caused his chest to tighten painfully.

Around them, the battle raged, but Russian and Lithuanians alike seemed to sense, unconsciously, that these two particular soldiers should be left alone, and nobody around them interfered with their stand off. Toris had a feeling that nobody would.

“I didn't betray you,” he hissed, but his voice was a little more subdued now. “I love you, Vanya. But I'm a nation and my people have the right to be free. You would never let me have that, would you?”

His hands tightened around his rifle and he lunged towards Ivan with his bayonet glinting, aiming upwards towards his shoulder, also somehow unable to go for a fatal shot. “But you won't ever see me as an equal, will you?” he spat furiously. “I'll never be anything more to you than a servant...a favourite toy.”


He was in such close quarters with the Russian now that if he stood on his tiptoes, his lips might have grazed the other man's. Glaring up at him, his eyes burned with hurt and anger. "You're losing, Ivan," he growled in a low voice. "Can't you feel it? I can. You know fine well that you're not walking away today with a victory." He lowered his tone suddenly. "Go home. Just...go home before I hurt you."

[Russia]

His shot grazed the other nation’s arm, and feeling much slower to react than usual, Ivan merely watched as Toris clutched the injury, blood dripping between his fingers and staining the olive-drab uniform. Why he suddenly found the sight so transfixing was beyond his conscious understanding. As was the fact that he had not immediately aimed for the heart or the head. He always shot to kill when he could. It would have been advantageous for him to do so now as well, since taking Toris out would surely affect the Lithuanians on the battlefield. By all means he should do anything within his power to hurt his enemy’s chances at victory here. But he hadn’t, and he was not sure himself as to why that was. It was all so very confusing and emotionally draining for the mentally unhinged Soviet.

The blonde met his former subordinate’s gaze, reminding himself that Lithuania was an enemy and should be shot without mercy just like the others. No matter what relations they had had in the past, it was no excuse to show weakness by not trying his best to incapacitate the other nation. He would need to be just as ruthless and efficient as he had been when he had first split the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth up all those years ago.

“I didn't betray you.”

Every fiber of his being urged him to shoot the deceptive Baltic on the spot, before he could make any more outrageous claims. He glared at the other nation as Toris stated that he still loved Ivan, but he needed freedom. It was surely nonsense. Lots of other nations lived under the rule of stronger nations. Why would his people need freedom? It was a silly excuse to turn on Russia and declare independence. He thought the Lithuanians were doing rather well under his care before. Russia protected and took care of Toris and his people. So to say that they needed freedom was incredibly silly as far as Russia was concerned. Lithuania was right. He would not allow him to have freedom if he could help it.

Lithuania lunged towards him, and Ivan had to move to avoid having the metal bayonet pierce his shoulder. His enemy was apparently not aiming to kill at the moment either, otherwise he would have expected for Lithuania to stab upwards towards his throat. His eyes were kindled with indignant anger at the Lithuanian’s next words. He always thought he treated Toris better than just some average servant. It was true that he expected Toris to do his chores and other servant duties, but he still had thought they had had a better, more intimate relationship than just 'servant and master.' The Baltic was expecting too much from him if he expected a powerful nation like Russia to view him as an equal. The idea struck Ivan as insane and unreasonable.

"You're losing, Ivan.”

“Нет.” The words were barely more than an enraged whisper. He assured himself that he would still come away from this fight victoriously. Toris was lying yet again, just to lower his spirits so he could have an easy win.

"Go home. Just...go home before I hurt you."

A fresh wave of fury overtook the large blonde at those words. He would never, ever run from a nation like Lithuania. He was far too proud. No, it should have been Toris who was afraid that Ivan would hurt him. Without warning he lashed out at the Baltic with the butt of his rifle, trying to strike the other man and knock him off his feet.

“Нет Литва.” He stated a little louder than before, the words carrying a bitterness to them. “You’re right, I won’t allow you to be free. You don’t need freedom. And you’re being silly if you think that a powerful nation such as myself should view you as an equal. That’s not how these things work. You’re not an equal, and I am not going to run from you. You’ll have to kill me for that freedom you are so obsessed with.”

Sadly, Ivan’s rifle lacked a bayonet to stab with. He still had his sword in case he ran out of shots or lost his gun, but shooting seemed the quickest way to win. Wanting more space, he backed away from Toris, nearly stumbling into a few fellow Russians who were fighting off foes right behind him. Determined to win and force Lithuania back under his control entirely, the stocky Russian attempted to take aim again and fire.

[Lithuania]

Ivan's dismissal of his desire for freedom was not unexpected, but it still had more of a sting to it than any of his war injuries so far. He did not have time to retort however as the taller man raised his weapon to fire again. Fired up with the ferocity of battle, Toris let out a growl and grabbed the barrel of Ivan's weapon, wrenching it to his left, so that the shot went wide.

“Don't call my bluff, Ivan,” he spat, in reference to his lover's earlier remark about killing him. “Because so help me God, I'll do it.”

While technically neither of them could die in a human sense, “killing” another nation was still something which Toris found to be utterly abhorrent. There was no telling what repercussions such a drastic action would have on Russia's people and his homeland. Not to mention Ivan's already-fragile mental state. Still, there was no hesitation in his voice when he spoke. Only anger and bright, sharp hurt.

Still clutching the barrel of Ivan's gun, he closed the distance between them, an almost feral expression on his face. As he met the Russian's violet eyes, he choked down a lump in his throat, forcing himself to focus only on his anger, and the fight at hand.

“I think you've forgotten who you're dealing with,” he said in a low, furious tone, “Don't forget who was beating the Mongols while they were busy making you their bitch. You haven't always been the biggest power in Eastern Europe, and you won't stay on top forever.”

He could feel tears welling up in his eyes and he had to force himself to keep his gaze steady, so strong was the urge to look away. He gripped his gun with so much force that his hands shook.

“You don't understand anything, Vanya,” he blurted out. “I loved you in spite of the fact that you kept me imprisoned.” His own use of the past tense made him wince. He still loved Ivan...with all of his heart...but the love which he'd always drawn strength from had now suddenly become a weakness, something which might stop his people from claiming their right to freedom. He had to choke it down, if it killed him.

“But if you can't love me as an equal, then I don't want to be with you,” he declared, blinking back salt water from his eyes, his mouth set in a grim, hard line.

A moment later and he readied his gun to shoot, aiming straight for Ivan's chest. But his finger wouldn't obey his command to pull the trigger and he let out a loud, exasperated sob. Abruptly, he deftly flipped the rifle around in his hands and swung the heavy butt of it straight for Russia's jaw instead.

[Russia]

Ivan’s shot went astray as Toris grabbed onto his rifle and jerked it to the side. He had still been in too close of proximity to the other nation, a fact which had caused him to lose a perfectly good shot. Instantly, he pulled on the firearm in an attempt to free it from the naughty Baltic’s grasp. If Toris had been horrible enough to turn on Ivan and insist on these fights, the least he could do would be to simply stand still and accept his fate. Was that too much to ask for?

“Don't call my bluff, Ivan. Because so help me God, I'll do it.”

Not for a second did he think Toris would actually follow through with that threat. As impassioned as the usually mild-mannered Baltic was right now in the presence of his army, Ivan tried to assure himself that Toris would back down eventually. Probably after Russia’s Red Army had forced his people to call a retreat. He liked to think that then Toris would admit his betrayal, accept punishment and return back home with Ivan so that things could go back to normal. He simply could not imagine meek little Toris as having the guts or will to shoot him in the face and send him back to Lenin.

But Ivan never worried about death in battles anyways. It was always something that happened to others, not him. The rules were different for countries than they were normal humans, so of course in his long life he had suffered some bloody, often violent deaths at the hands of powerful enemies, but as far as he remembered, it happened so rarely that he usually assumed himself to be some sort of god on the battlefield.

Unable to shake the rifle free from his former lover, the violet-eyed Russian settled momentarily for fixing the other man with an icy glare. Lithuania’s next words made him frown in annoyance. I’ve forgotten who I am dealing with? Look who’s challenging the chain of command and attempting to fight his superior… Toris was clearly being silly and ridiculous with such statements.

“Don't forget who was beating the Mongols while they were busy making you their bitch….”

The sentence following that did not even register with the mentally unstable Russian, who was only focused on the fact that he had just been thoroughly and completely insulted. What a nasty, horrible thing for a former friend and servant to say! The only thought the Russian managed to form in his mind was how he was going to punish Toris severely for allowing such words to make their way past his lips. Such an insult to his power and masculinity was worth at least seventy lashes with a whip. He was tempted to cut the brunette’s tongue out of his mouth as well. He couldn’t insult Russia if he had no tongue. Not verbally anyways. It wasn't something he would do in reality since he liked hearing his servant talk too much most days, but for the time being the thought was held firmly in his mind.

“…in spite of the fact that you kept me imprisoned. But if you can't love me as an equal, then I don't want to be with you.”

Apparently, he needed to keep a tighter grip on his servants in the future. The only thing Russia could conclude was that he had been far too lenient with Toris’ “imprisonment.” If the other nation had time to think about rebelling and freedom, he had not been kept nearly busy enough with chores and work. Stricter punishment sounded like a good idea as well once he had drug the Lithuanian back home. It really didn’t matter if Toris wanted to be with him or not. He had no say in these things anyways.

He realized that the Lithuanian was no longer holding the muzzle to his gun, and quickly raised it once more threateningly, even as the other country was doing the same. He meant to shoot the other man in the face before he could be shot himself, but Toris seemed to be having problems firing, and he paused as well for just a moment too long. The tall blonde didn’t realize what Toris was doing until it was too late. The butt of the other man's firearm struck him full force, sending an agonizing wave of pain through his jaw with a sickening crack.

In a hellish mixture of pain and fury, Ivan swung his own rifle for Toris face full force. He needed to get to a better area to shoot the other nation, but with all the other fighting soldiers around them it was hard to get any space between himself and Lithuania. Shouldering his rifle for the time being, the furious Soviet drew his saber and gave a quick stab towards the slender brunette’s midsection. Wanting more space to move, he swung the blade around and rammed it all the way through a nearby Lithuanian soldier's chest, giving the weapon a quick twist before withdrawing it and allowing the man’s form to drop to the mud.

“Ah Litva, what you want doesn’t matter to me at this point. You never wanted to be a servant in my house to begin with. I claimed you forcefully then, so what makes you think I wouldn’t do the same now?”

[Lithuania]

Toris blinked as Ivan's rifle came swinging for his face, but he managed to neatly dodge at the last moment, the butt of the gun clipping his ear and causing a stinging sensation. But at least he'd avoided the worst of the blow.

“You're slow today, Rusija,” he hissed. Reflexly, there was a voice in the back of his head telling him not to provoke the larger man further, but what did it matter? They were already facing off in a bloody war, their relationship was already in tatters beyond repair.

He attempted to dodge the blade which came whistling towards him, but the battlefield was crowded and chaotic, and the ground soaked with mud. He almost lost his footing, and the split second cost him the advantage of speed he'd previously possessed. The sword came slicing across his torso, tearing effortlessly through his uniform and carving a deep gash into his stomach. It wasn't a mortal wound, but Christ, it hurt, even over the surges of adrenaline which had caused him to ignore his injuries thus far. Stumbling backwards, his boots slipping against the blood and rain soaked terrain, he barely kept his footing.

Clutching his chest, his eyes widened in horror as Ivan struck out at one of his children, plunging his blade into the Lithuanian soldier's chest. As the young man slumped to the ground, his eyes dead and glassy, Toris let out an angry, pained shout.


“Ah Litva, what you want doesn’t matter to me at this point. You never wanted to be a servant in my house to begin with. I claimed you forcefully then, so what makes you think I wouldn’t do the same now?”

“Because today I'm stronger than you are!” he yelled back over the roar of gunfire and the cacophony of carnage which raged around them. Blood oozed from his stomach, a flower of crimson blossoming over his mud-streaked uniform. He dropped to one knee, his hand over the injury, his hair hanging in front of his face. And out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the newly-dead soldier. He imagined the man's family, anxiously awaiting his return. He thought of how, somewhere in his homeland, a woman would receive the letter which would tell her that she was now a widow, a mother would be burying her son. He wondered if he had children, how the family would survive without a breadwinner. He thought of all the lives which would be torn apart because his lover had decided that, on a whim, he wanted more elbow room to fight.

A cry of rage left his lips, and suddenly his stomach no longer hurt as he found himself springing towards Ivan, feral and frenzied. His smaller frame collided at full force with the Russian and, perhaps due in part to the poor terrain, he succeeded in flooring him. Before he even realised what was happening, he was half straddling the other man, one knee pressed onto his chest. He reached up with his free hand and grabbed a fist of dirty blonde hair, jerking Ivan's head back and forcing his gaze to meet his, the way that his lover had done to him on so many occasions.

“I won't tell you again, Vanya,” he growled. “Call your children off...get the Hell out of my homeland...” he whirled his rifle around deftly in his left hand and pressed the bayonet blade to Ivan's throat. “...walk away and tell Lenin that you want a damned ceasefire, or I'll send you to him myself.”

[Russia]

It was nice to see that his slash for Lithuania had been successful. The sight of the blood decorating his former servant’s midsection was a welcoming. He couldn’t tell how bad the wound was, but it looked pretty nasty. Good. If words wouldn’t get through to Toris and remind him of his place, then gruesome war injuries surely would. In his experience, nothing was more diplomatic than cold hard metal; be it in blade or bullet form.

“Because today I'm stronger than you are!”

Ivan had not distinguished the other nation’s previous cry of outrage from all the other battle noises around them, but he did hear that. Toris was clearly delusional. He must have been hit on the head sometime near the start of the fighting, because that statement was pure insanity by Russia’s reasoning. There was just no way in Hell that his servant would overpower him. Never. Lithuania’s glory days were well over, and the sooner he accepted this fact the better. Why couldn’t he just be content with his role as a servant? It wasn’t so bad. It couldn’t be. Russia thought he had been well cared for and protected under his rule.

He must have miscalculated as to just how injured Toris was, because before he had a chance to take re-level his rifle or attack again with his sword, the other nation was up and charging him. Taken by surprise by the bold move, Ivan slid in the mud and went down when the other man flung himself into him. His head hit the muddy ground hard, and the knee in his chest painfully knocked the air out of his lungs. Dazed, he met the Lithuanian’s gaze, not even registering the rough grip on his hair at first.

“I won't tell you again, Vanya, Call your children off...get the Hell out of my homeland...”

There was a feeling of something sharp suddenly pressed up under his chin, even as he tried to regain enough breath to say something. Toris was demanding that he drag himself back to Lenin like some sort of dog with its tail between its legs. It was something that he would never do. He didn’t want a ceasefire either. In his enraged state, the more Lithuanian deaths the better. The mentally unhinged blonde did not take into account that his own people were dying out there as well.

“Пошёл на хуй, Литва.” the infuriated Soviet nation managed to practically hiss once he had caught his breath again. He struggled to get a hand up and in between the bayonet blade and his throat. Enraged and desperate to get the enemy nation off, he ignored the pain from the blade cutting into his hand as he wedged it up to act as a fleshy barrier between his throat and the point of the bayonet.

“You know that I’ll never retreat. Not from you.” Grabbing the bayonet blade with both hands, he shoved upwards against it suddenly and with as much strength as he could muster, the point tearing through his right hand in the process since it had been positioned right over the middle of his palm. His other hand had grasped the blade from the side, so he managed to keep it from being poked through, even if it was cut up from the knife-like edge.

Russia shoved against Toris himself next, managing to push the other nation off forcefully. Rising to his feet somewhat shakily, the muddied Russian grabbed his fallen blade and cast a quick glance around to see how his people were doing. Much to his dismay, there were noticeably less Soviets fighting in the area. He couldn’t tell whether or not most of them had died or were fleeing, but it was not looking good. Trying to smash down that feeling of loss that was already starting to re-surface in full at the sight, he turned his focus back to his opponent.

Toris was close, and wasting no time, Ivan lunged for him with his sword in an attempt to bring the close range weapon up and into his gut. “I don’t want a ceasefire. If your people are foolish enough to fight mine they deserve their fates. I’ll tell Lenin nothing of the sort.”
____________________
((Translation: Пошёл на хуй, Литва = Fuck off/fuck you. Roughly, anyways.))

[Lithuania]

Toris' eyes widened slightly as Ivan grasped his blade in his bare hands. The larger man seemed to be so furious that he barely noticed the way the metal cut into his flesh, and the sight made the Lithuanian feel sick, made him, just for a moment, want to pull his bayonet away and take the other man's hand in his and tend to the wound, even as his former lover hissed insults at him.

But no, he shook his head to himself and gritted his teeth, matching Ivan's snarl with a ferocious glare of his own. In the next instant, he was shoved sprawling back into the mud, barely managing to keep a hold of his precious weapon.

Toris caught the flash of metal coming towards him, as the enraged Russian made an attempt to plunge his weapon into his stomach. He managed to roll to the side, just enough to minimise the fatality of the blow, but the sword still sliced into his chest, and he felt the sickening sensation of cold, dirty metal grating against bone as the blade cut effortless through his flesh and scraped against his ribcage. Fortunately, the split second dodge caused the sword to end up lodged in the mud, rather than in his chest, but he still remained curled on his side for a moment, clutching the wound and gasping.

“Eik velniop...” he groaned, scrambling in the mud to find his footing, using his rifle as a crutch in an attempt to pull himself upright. His hair was clinging to his face with a mixture of blood and dirt, and his green eyes were wild. But he wasn't going to lose...not today. There was no way in Hell he would back down.

“Look around you, General Braginski...” he choked out, as he stumbled again, readying his bayonet in a defensive stance. “How many of your children are still standing? How many more of them are you going to send to die before you realise that you've lost?”

He was panting for breath now, blood spilling down his side and dripping onto the ground, his face turning more and more ashen. “Even if you kill me, it won't matter now. It's too far gone...there's no hope of a Russian victory. Can't you just accept that I've won my independence?” Angry tears began to spring to his eyes. “Can't you just accept that I've proved myself your equal?”



-----------------------------------


Eikvelniop = Go to Hell. Like you couldn't have guessed. XD

[Russia]

Ivan’s attempt to lodge his blade into his rebellious servant’s gut was foiled as the Lithuanian gave a last minute dodge to the side. The maneuver did not save Toris from injury completely though, and even just holding onto the blade, Ivan felt the vibrations of metal scraping across bone. He may not have delivered the fatal blow he had been aiming for, but his opponent would certainly be feeling such a wound.

The wild-eyed Russian had put too much force into the lunge, and since Toris had moved last minute and had not received the full brunt of the attack, Ivan’s sword ended up embedded in the mud instead of his enemy’s stomach.

Annoyed by Toris’ swiftness and thrown off balance somewhat, The enraged nation struggled to maintain his footing in the slippery mud. Managing to regain his sense if balance relatively quickly, he withdrew the muddied saber and raised it threateningly as he whirled to face his opponent again. With the terrain the way it was, it would be best not to miss his mark a second time. He wanted to put Toris in his place, and he couldn’t do that if he continued on with the sloppy swordsmanship and marksmanship he had been displaying all fight.

Luckily Toris had been too busy clutching at his injury to have taken advantage of Ivan’s fumbled footing. The brunette was scrambling to regain his own footing even as Ivan considered his next move. The other man muttered something that didn’t sound too friendly in his native tongue, and the muddy Russian got the feeling that it wasn’t the “I surrender please don’t hurt me” he had been hoping for.

“Look around you, General Braginski...How many of your children are still standing? How many more of them are you going to send to die before you realise that you've lost?”

His eyes narrowed threateningly. Ivan reached up and shoved his muddied bangs out of his face as he circled to the Baltic’s side. If he could find the time without being attacked by his traitorous servant, he was far enough away that Toris would not be able to grab his rifle’s muzzle in time to save himself again. His rifle was caked in mud though, and he would need to re-load in record timet to keep the distance advantage. But Toris did not look as though he was feeling as well as he had been earlier. His pretty, effeminate features had become more ashen, and he looked tired from their scuffling.

“Even if you kill me, it won't matter now. It's too far gone...there's no hope of a Russian victory. Can't you just accept that I've won my independence? Can't you just accept that I've proved myself your equal?”

“Нет. Никогда.” The stocky blonde replied softly. “You’ll never be free of me, my little Baltic. And you’ll never be an equal.” A mixture of madness and stubbornness drove him into action once more. Not wanting to waste time in reloading his rifle and taking careful aim, he charged for Lithuania again, saber at ready and prepared to slash the bayonet aside the moment he was close enough to do so. He honestly did not expect Toris to shot so soon, despite the fact that the other nation's gun was perfectly aimed right for him. He expected another hesitation to cost the Baltic the battle.

There was a loud bang, and the sometimes painfully naïve Soviet was proven wrong. Not that he fully had time to process that he had been proven wrong. One moment he had been in full charge and ready to lay into Toris with his sword, and the next moment there was a sudden pain in his chest and his feet were giving out from under him. His surprise and dismay was pathetically short lived. Collapsing to the muddy ground, the Russian nation managed a few rasping breaths before the world went out of focus and then black.
___________________________________
((Thank you for allowing me to go ahead and mention that final shot, Toris. As tempting as it was to go on attacking and trying to maim you, following history it had to end badly for Ivan. XD I imagine he’ll be pissed when he recovers from that “death.”

Translations:
"Нет. Никогда" = "No. Never"))

[Lithuania]

“You’ll never be free of me, my little Baltic. And you’ll never be an equal.”

Angry tears sprang to Lithuania's eyes at those words and, for a moment, Ivan's statement caused him more pain than even the deep wound to his ribcage. As the larger nation charged at him furiously, Toris stumbled back, and their eyes met for a brief moment.

Toris barely even registered what was happening, his body reacting out of its own protective instincts as he felt his finger tighten around the trigger of his rifle. The next instant a shot rang out, loud and clear above even the noise of the battlefield. Time seemed to slow as he looked down at the barrel of his weapon, smoke spiralling up from the end and the smell of gunpowder suddenly overpowering.

Slowly, horrified, he looked up towards Ivan, who was staring at him in mute shock. His gaze travelled down to the blossom of crimson which was already starting to spread over his heart, a single bullet hole in his muddy uniform. Pale and shaking, the Lithuanian watched in fascinated shock as his lover crumpled to the ground, his large form sinking into the mud.

He watched the blonde man struggle for a few last breaths, but the shot was perfect in its fatality and the violet eyed man was already turning a sickening, ghastly shade of pale, his lungs empty of air.

All of his anger evaporated as he sank to his knees beside the still-warm corpse, dropping his rifle and pulling Ivan's head into his lap. In “death”, the Russian still wore that look of hurt confusion, his violet eyes stark, wide and lifeless. Ignoring the how utterly bizarre his men would think his actions, he smoothed away a muddy strand of hair from Ivan's pale forehead and bit his lip, his shoulders shaking as a flood of tears threatened to engulf him.

He wasn't dead, not really. Toris knew this all too well. Each and every one of their kind had been “killed” in battle at some point. It was a hideous experience for any nation, but it wasn't an irrevocable situation. And there had been no avoiding it, Ivan would never have given up otherwise.

So why then, did he feel so utterly heartbroken?

“Vanya, I...” he began in a whisper, but a loud shout from one of his men interrupted him and he looked up into the face of an earnest Lieutenant who was staring down at him in puzzlement. Hastily, he shoved Ivan's body away with a guilty expression.

“Captain Lorinaitis, sir?” There were a hundred questions in the young officer's voice, but his face broke into an elated smile when he saw just who was lying dead beside his commanding officer. While Ivan's status as a nation might have been a secret, his reputation as a General struck fear and hatred into anyone fighting on the opposing side.

“Labas...” Toris greeted his brother-in-arms weakly, trying to force a shaky smile to reassure his fellow soldier.

“Captain, they're retreating...the Red Army is giving way!” the Lieutenant shouted over the noise of the battle. His youthful face darkened to one of concern when he noticed the blood still seeping from Lithuania's uniform. He rushed to Toris' side and put a hand under his arm. “Sir, we need to get you to a medic!”

“I'm fine, Mykolas,” Lithuania murmured distractedly, as the soldier helped him to his feet. His gaze still kept flitting to Ivan's wide-eyed corpse. “It's over...I'm fine...we won...”

“Thanks to you, sir,” the Lieutenant enthused, as Toris leaned against him for support. “Those strategies were...” The brunette nation shook his head to shush the younger man gently, one arm still wrapped tightly over his injured side.

“I've been doing this for longer than you might think...” he whispered. He thought that perhaps he should be smiling. After all, this was it. He was independent now. But he couldn't bring himself to feel anything other than a hollow, empty ache.

“I'll say! I can't believe you killed that bastard!” As they stumbled away from the heart of the battlefield, the Lieutenant grinned and jerked his head in the direction of the fallen Russian, whose corpse was beginning to sink into the mud.

“Neither can I...” Toris mumbled in miserable agreement, mechanically and painfully forcing one foot in front of the other, still choking back tears. “Neither can I.”

[Russia]

((Here is the epilogue that I promised to give this one, Toris. Just to add some closure to the event. Hope it's what you had in mind.))


“Country. Country wake up.”

As though awakening from a long sleep, it had been the first sound Ivan registered after the loud report of the rifle. Opening a weary violet eye, the Russian was greeted by an overwhelming brightness, causing him to blink and sit up hurriedly.

The muddy battlefield was gone, as were the hordes of Lithuanian rebels. Ivan looked around in surprise, noticing that he was in some unfamiliar bedroom of sorts, and that there was a blinding ray of sunlight filtering in through the nearby open window. Hadn’t it been raining before? His mind was still muddled, but he vaguely recalled the rain and torrents of bloody mud at his feet. And the gun…

The smoking rifle quickly sprang back into his mind, as the last scene he could remember began to return to him. The Lithuanians! Toris! He had been “killed.” Without him there, what had happened to his men? Surely they stayed and fought. Surely they had won, and Lithuania himself was somewhere back at Russia’s house doing his chores like a good little servant. But no more had he formed the thoughts when he knew they were false.

He finally caught sight of the source of the voice. His boss was sitting in a chair not far from him, his gaze fixed on Ivan and a thoughtful look on his distinctive features. Lenin seemed completely at ease, adding to Russia’s confusion. If they had lost, why was his boss not in an uproar? How could any boss be so calm about such a thing? Didn’t he realize the importance of keeping Lithuania under control?

“It’s about time you came to. You’ve been in a comatose state for a couple days now, Russia. A friend and I found you not far from here passed out. We’re in my house now by the way.”

“I was shot by…” the large blonde didn’t finish his sentence, a hurt frown spreading across his pale face. “Litva.” He stated the name quietly, and as though it were some sort of nasty, distasteful word. “We’ve been betrayed, Comrade.” he suddenly stated desperately, struggling to sit up straighter in the bed. The action caused his chest to throb painfully, and struggling halfway out of the blankets he realized that he was shirtless and dressed in clean bandages. In fact, though he had been certain that he had been a muddy mess during the battle, he was completely clean now, and only some dried dirt residue under his fingernails eluded to the fact that he had ever been in such a state.

“We didn’t lose. We couldn’t have. I need to get back out there on the battlefront and reclaim that traitorous servant.” Limbs still feeling rather achy from the recent defeat, Russia wildly struggled to pull the bandages off his chest. He was a nation, and the gunshot wound was more than likely healed by now. He needed to get re-clad all the way, and charge back out there to beat Toris back into submission. He needed to get even with his former lover and servant for killing him like that! The fact that Toris had been able to do such a thing even in a desperate situation hurt every bit as much as the bullet had. After all he had done for the Baltic, and then Toris had turned around and made such unreasonable demands. Once he got a hold of that scrawny brunette again, he would hold onto him with an even tighter fist. Obviously, the only reason Lithuania had rebelled was because Ivan had been too lax with him. Clearly, Toris had seen his kindness as a weakness that he could use to his advantage.

Pulling the bandages off, Ivan studied the scar on his chest. It would fade with time of course. They always did. He felt ill though and sore; results from the recent loss. Enraged and thoroughly in an unhinged frame of mind, he couldn’t shake the images of violent revenge that flashed through his mind.

“You really do heal fast, don’t you? That’s good. Get dressed then and you can come with me.”

Ivan looked to his boss in surprise. “Go where?” More than anything he hoped his boss would explain that he had a brilliant strategy for getting Lithuania back, and they were off to discuss it.

“We need to discuss the recent turn of events of course. And the Lithuanian people’s new found freedom. We’ve lost the war, Comrade Country.”

Ivan stared at his boss in silent dismay. That was possibly the last thing he wanted to hear. Well, no matter what his leaders decided, he wouldn’t accept Lithuania’s freedom. Never. No matter what his leaders forced him to do, deep down he would not let go. Even if he was forced to sign a treaty with Toris, he would not give up his ideas of dominance and ownership over his servant.