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Post by Lithuania on Jul 22, 2010 11:51:09 GMT -5
June, 1941 – Germany invades the Soviet Union and Lithuania falls under Nazi rule. “You chose the wrong side this time, Lietuva. Believe me when I say that you’ll regret it once I am done painting the walls with German blood.”Lithuania moaned a little in his semi-conscious state, disjointed images racing through his mind. The kitchen floor swimming with blood, Ivan’s violet eyes flashing with rage, the knife hurtling towards him and the sharp staccato of Ludwig’s machinegun fire... “V...vany...” he mumbled, half-delirious as consciousness began to dawn on him and he became acutely aware of just how much pain he was in. His clothing clung to him, a sticky, messy combination of dried and still-oozing blood. Ludwig’s shirt was tied tightly around him, knotted over the gaping knife wound below his left collarbone and, while he was grateful for the pressure on the injury, the makeshift tourniquet pushed painfully on the still-fresh welts that adorned his already scarred back. His eyes fluttered open and he realised that there was something simultaneously alien and distantly familiar about the room he was in, but he couldn’t quite place it. He had a vague recollection of what had happened before he’d passed out, remembered begging Germany to take him away. Ivan is going to kill me for this...
He forced himself to focus on something, but the room was stark and clinically bare. He was alone and the door was ajar. And then it hit him that he was the same spare room that Ludwig had locked him in when he’d so violently resisted being claimed as German property after that non-aggression pact which had so rapidly and spectacularly fallen apart now. Had Ludwig really carried him all the way here? He was fairly certain that the German must have taken some fairly serious injuries too, after going up against Ivan. He thought he remembered the Russian swinging for the Nazi with his pipe. “Germany...?” he choked out, and he tried to sit up a little, clawing desperately against the pillows. Toris managed to prop himself up onto his elbow and immediately regretted the decision as his whole torso flared up sharply, a current of pain jolting through him as he gasped and dropped back onto the bed again. Even though he was used to Ivan’s increasingly regular and increasingly brutal beatings and mistreatments, Toris felt worse than he could remember feeling in a very long time, both physically and mentally. The little brunette had always been adept at picking himself up and carrying on, had always prided himself on his remarkable endurance under the most difficult circumstances. But Lithuania was beyond drained, and there was no going back this time, he realised. Whether through choice or not, he really had “betrayed” the Soviet Union, and any twisted love or affection that Ivan retained for him would no doubt be utterly eclipsed by the need for retribution. Ivan. All pale hair and startling violet eyes and innocent expressions and broad shoulders and cold hands. Ivan, who looked so heart-wrenchingly peaceful when he slept, whose face lit up at the sight of sunflowers, who loved pierogi and hated to be parted from the scarf that his big sister had given him. Ivan, who just sometimes, was the only person in the world who could make him feel impossibly safe and breathlessly terrified at the same time. He belonged to Ivan, in every sense of the word. Hadn’t the Russian told him that he always would? A lump welled up in his throat as he squeezed his eyes closed and tried to focus on the simple things. On breathing in and out and on the sensation of cool sheets and a quiet room and the fact that, at least for this precise moment in time, nobody was trying to kill him. He supposed he really had to be grateful to Germany, even if he couldn’t feel gratitude at that particular moment, or indeed, feel much of anything save physical pain and a crushing sense of loss. And panic... a slow, creeping sensation that steadily rose in his chest, as though his lungs were filling with water. He felt a vicious, desperate fear grip him because surely... surely...Ivan must be conscious now and on his way round to take Toris back and punish him for...well, Lithuania still wasn’t sure exactly what he’d actually done wrong (besides inconvenience everyone by bleeding all over the kitchen floor) but Russia seemed fairly certain that his “betrayal” had merited throwing a knife into him as a starting point. “Ludwig...please?!” he called out again, using the other nation’s human name this time, a loud, fearful urgency in his voice. Ordinarily, it would have been in Toris’ nature to keep quiet, to be as unobtrusive as possible and not make a fuss. But he had an overwhelming feeling that, if he could only see that Germany was fine, that he wasn’t concerned with an immediate retaliation, if he could only get some assurance from the taller nation that Toris really was more or less safe, at least for now, then maybe...just maybe...he might be able to start breathing properly again. And for the moment, that was more important than anything else. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A/n: Sorry for the thread title, Ludwig...I couldn't resist.
If anyone happens to be interested, the backstory to this thread can be found here: s1.zetaboards.com/APH_WorldCouncil/topic/3500729/1/ (Germany invades Soviet Union) and here: s1.zetaboards.com/APH_WorldCouncil/topic/3240768/1/ (1939 Molotov Ribentrop pact)
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Post by Germany on Jul 25, 2010 6:22:23 GMT -5
Ludwig awoke almost panting for breath, the faint yet unmistakable smell of exhaust in his nose, overwhelmed by sorrow and a feeling of loss. The exhaust fumes swiftly evaporated out of existence as consciousness fully took hold and the familiar solid shapes, colors, sounds, and scents of the real world flooded his sensory.
Yet the feeling of loss and sorrow lingered, albeit in a diminished form.
What the hell was I dreaming?!
The blonde sat up sharply, then made a face at the fiery complaint this drew from his lower stomach. It felt like Ivan’s pipe was still in there, twisting into his guts. He glanced down to see that the long strip of cloth he had found in a mostly used-up medikit and bandaged his wound with was still wrapped tightly around it. Tinged — but not dripping — scarlet, it had successfully stifled most of the bleeding.
At the moment, however, he was somewhat thankful he had something else to focus on, something real and corporeal that made sense. Because, try his damndest, he could not remember dreaming anything, and the flash-flood of intense emotion coupled with the eerie scent of exhaust confused and unnerved him.
Gently, he slid his hand over the cleanest part of the bandage, feeling the smooth, cool texture glide beneath his skin, his prying fingers making doubly sure it was taught. His stomach wasn’t the only part of him that hurt; a dull, hot aching in his back also served as a reminder of Russia’s strength, and his right wrist felt more sore now than it had been yesterday as a direct result of him having been forced to use it past the point where he had stretched the tendons and muscles into shrill cords of pain.
But pain and discomfort were nothing new to the German. In his time he had been through far worse than what he was feeling now — had even been forced to fight and work in such conditions — and it was this familiarity with pain that had made him stronger, numbing his nerves and pushing his endurance to impressive heights even for a country. Of course, having a fairly strong economy, a resilient government, and highly-disciplined, organized, iron-willed people willing to fight tooth and nail for him when they needed to helped with that. He was literally made of sterner stuff, and Ivan was going to have to do a hell of a lot more than give him a few whacks with a lead pipe if he wanted to take him down.
Ivan…right from the start the soaring pride and smug satisfaction he had felt over having taken his revenge for being swindled out of Lithuania during the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact ( even though the bosses had later arranged for him to be partially compensated, it couldn’t make up for the loss of a whole country and the shamelessly condescending way Ivan had treated him when he had come to his house to retrieve the Baltic ) and having beaten a so-called “mighty” nation that few others dared to mess with had been tempered with caution. For better or worse he and his boss had just gotten the Soviet Union involved in the war they were already fighting, and now that the Soviets were going to add themselves to the ranks of the enemy things were going to get more challenging, more exciting.
He and his allies could probably handle it, but there was so much to prepare for, so much to do and plan…
Hopefully now that the anti had just been upped his boss would recognize and appreciate his strategical prowess and put him in charge of all the major planning for military operations. Or at the very least let him have a bigger say in the planning sessions. Just because he didn’t look a day over 20 at the most didn’t mean he had only 20 years of life and military experience, a fact of which he was continually reminding his boss.
Freshly alert blue eyes traveled to the alarm clock ticking peacefully on the nightstand nearby. He had to push a few bangs out of his face in order to read it. When he did, his eyes widened a bit, and his heart gave a little lurch. My god, it’s going on past eleven-hundred!
Despite the fact that he had been wounded in a serious fight with Russia yesterday afternoon; despite the fact that he had spent most of the remainder of yesterday either running as fast as his injuries would allow him to with Lithuania slumped over his shoulder or navigating a plane over dangerous territory ( thanks to his aviation training and experiences in WWI Ludwig was actually a pretty good pilot ); and despite the fact that he had not actually gotten into bed until zero four-hundred hours, Germany felt incredibly lazy and negligent for sleeping in so late. He sprang out of bed at once, ignoring the fresh wave of pain from yet another sudden movement, and hurried off at once into the bathroom to clean himself up and properly tend his wounds, because he’d been so tired by the time he’d gotten home that he’d barely had the strength and presence of mind to drop Lithuania’s unconscious form into the guest bed before casting the outer part of his uniform off and collapsing — still dirty and half-clad — into his own.
The moment he threw the lightswitch he was immediately confronted by a shirtless, cranky-looking blonde whose tussled hair was thrown every which way and in places caked into thick, sticky clumps with dried blood. There was dried blood everywhere: on his face, his hands, his chest, his clothing. Some of it was his own, and perhaps a tiny bit of it was Russia’s, but most of it was Lithuania’s; he remembered falling on Ivan’s floor, which had already been slick with Toris blood, and even with a makeshift tourniquet applied to his most serious injury the brunette had bled all over him when he had picked him up. Really, he thought, it was a miracle Toris had any blood at all left in his body.
Toris.
As soon as he was done fixing himself up, he would fix Toris up.
Ludwig turned on the faucet below his wild reflection, grabbed a washcloth from beneath the sink, and immediately began washing his face with a healthy amount of soap and the hottest water he could stand.
So relaxing…
Actually, what he needed most right now was a shower. Setting the washcloth down and turning the water off, he undressed. Then he took the washcloth back up and stepped into his shower-corner, shutting the glass door tightly behind him.
The next several minutes were filled with warm bliss. Ludwig had always been the type who loved showers — he took two a day whenever he could — but few times in his life had the almost-too-hot water felt as good raining over his bare skin as it did now. He deliberately took his time, thoroughly washing his hair and every part of his body, taking great care not to upset the now-exposed gash in his lower stomach too much. The injury turned out not to be quite as deep as he had supposed, though it was still fairly serious and bled a little more than he liked when he cleansed it, sending red streamers of water swirling down to floor.
After he had showered and dried off, Ludwig brought his medical supplies down from one of the bathroom cabinets and went to work disinfecting and dressing his injury, his mind busy thinking up new war strategies to crush the Soviet opposition with the fewest German casualties in the shortest amount of time. Because even though he had two major allies and everything in his favor, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that conquering the Soviet Union would not be as easy as conquering France and Poland, especially with Arthur and friends continuing to attack and harass him and the rest of the Axis the whole time. It was certainly doable, and logically he knew he should be a little more optimistic, but optimism was against his nature. Unlike his boss, he liked to develop strong backup plans and march into situations fully prepared for worst-case scenarios, because if seventy-plus years of life had taught him anything, it was that bad things were statistically at least twice as likely to happen as good things.
He was just wrapping a fresh bandage around his lower stomach when he heard Toris loudly call his name, a desperate urgency to his voice.
He’s awake. Oh great, now I have to hurry before he does anything stupid, or gets the neighbors over here.
Ludwig lived outside the outer limits of Berlin, off into the country a few kilometers from the nearest main road. His current abode was also a few kilometers away from all other houses, save one — an old, ramshackle two-story wooden farmhouse with chipping red paint that was in serious need of repair but still habitable. This was located only about a hundred yards or so away from him, across an open, wild field. The house belonged to a young married couple who had visited it from time to time for week-long camping vacations during the summer. Four months ago they had decided to move in permanently, which rather had come as a surprise to Ludwig as they had always seemed so terrified of him and his dogs. Fortunately they were very quiet and liked to keep to themselves, not asking questions and going out of their way not to inconvenience him. Still, they had to pass his house to get to theirs, and should Toris happen to walk by an open window or go outside, the sight of a bloody, emaciated, half-dead Lithuanian was bound to get their attention.
Ludwig really didn’t feel like explaining himself to the authorities today, especially since his neighbors had already seen him come home covered in blood once. They hadn’t said anything, but they had to have been wondering about the validity of the hunting story in which he had gotten injured and bloody taking down and butchering a large deer, and then given all of the spoils to friends before he had gotten home.
He finished bandaging himself in record time, put a towel around his waist, and shot out into his bedroom.
It didn’t sound like Toris was up — good.
Hastily, he slipped on some underwear, a pair of black shorts, and a black sleeveless shirt before sprinting into the hall. Thankfully his pets were staying with his friend Hans for the time being, or they would have been all over him with exuberant greetings which, in his current state, would have been both painful and inconveniencing, as one of them was quite young and he had yet to start obedience training to stop him from jumping up on people. A few seconds later and he was bursting in to Toris’s room.
To his relief, the Baltic was lying in bed, and not up wandering past windows. Also to his relief, he seemed to have recovered some of his strength.
“Yes?” he answered in his normal voice-tone, leaving the door open behind him as he made his way over to the side of the bed. “Feeling better?” He was looming over Toris now, studying him like a map, trying to discern just how badly he was injured and what mental frame the other nation was currently in.
He really hoped he was feeling sane today and wouldn’t try to run back to Russia.
Not that the idea of having a wounded submissive masochist chained up somewhere in his house was completely unappealing to him, even if it was just an incredibly effeminate male who looked more like a female.
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Post by Lithuania on Jul 25, 2010 11:05:42 GMT -5
The brunette blinked as Ludwig burst into the room, and he couldn’t help but wince a little at the sound of the door crashing open. He stared at Ludwig for a moment. The German had recently showered, his damp hair still sticking to his face in places, and he was dressed in shorts and t-shirt. To all appearances, he did not seem to be preparing for any imminent Soviet invasion, which comforted Toris a little.
“Feeling better?”
Ludwig’s tone of voice seemed as equally unconcerned as his appearance. The Lithuanian stared at him silently for a moment, his eyes large and hollow as he tried to work out how to even begin answering such a deceptively casual question. Because, no, he was very much not feeling better. In fact, he was struggling to remember a time when he’d felt worse. But something about the impassivity in Ludwig’s expression, the way the German seemed, to the brunette, to be looking at him as though he was simply a problem to be solved, made Toris bite back the tears which had been welling up in his eyes prior to the other nation’s arrival.
Yes, he was miserable and confused and frightened, and yes, he was injured and in pain. But Ludwig had already rescued him from Ivan’s immediate wrath, had already hauled him, unconscious and bleeding, out of the Russian’s home, despite having no obligation to do so. And Lithuania really wasn’t sure that he could ask for more than that from the impatient, austere blonde. So he simply nodded, his movements slow and pained.
“Yes sir...” he lied. “Thank you.”
And then he swallowed hard, licking dried blood from his lips as he tried to force a more measured tone to his voice. He wasn’t sure exactly what deception he was hoping to achieve, given that he was clearly caked in blood and barely able to move, but it seemed like a better alternative to breaking down into tears again. “C...could I trouble you for...some medical supplies. And maybe some old clothes, if it’s not too much to ask...?”
Taking a slow, apprehensive breath, he squeezed his eyes tight and braced his elbows against the bed again, this time managing to haul himself up into a lopsided sitting position. And then eventually, when he caught his breath and was able to speak again, he added, his voice quiet and hesitant.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he ventured mechanically, unconsciously echoing the same words he’d spoken when Germany had chanced upon him in Russia’s kitchen, the same empty reassurances that he kept using with his brothers, even with Ivan sometimes. It hadn’t really sunk in for Toris that he was fooling nobody. “If you give me some water and some bandages, I’m sure I can get on with it,” he said, a little doubtfully. In truth, he wasn’t sure exactly how he planned on doing this, given how difficult it was to even sit up. But he’d managed to get up and do his chores with some pretty horrific injuries, so just maybe, he could muddle through.
“I’m...pretty used to patching myself up.” A faint, ashamed blush spread across his cheeks at this admission. He remembered the confused, almost disgusted impatience with which Ludwig had regarded his living conditions, and was fully aware of how pathetic the other nation already considered him to be.
He stared down evasively at the bedsheets, bunching them up in his hands, watching the dark dried blood over his knuckles crack and flake. And he wanted desperately to ask about Ivan, to find out how bad a condition he’d been in when Ludwig left him but he forced himself to keep his mouth shut for the moment, deciding that such a line of questioning might not entirely endear him to his host.
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Post by Germany on Jul 27, 2010 7:03:24 GMT -5
“Yes sir…thank you.”
Being unconscious for such a long stretch of time undoubtedly had done wonders for the smaller nation’s mind, body, and spirit. He still looked like a complete and utter disaster with dried blood caked all over him, crusted-over cuts, and deep violet-and-red bruises marring his nearly colorless skin, but at least he had his wits about him now. More or less.
“C...could I trouble you for...some medical supplies. And maybe some old clothes, if it’s not too much to ask...?”
“It’s not,” Ludwig replied evenly, pinning Toris with a hawk’s gaze as he watched the other’s struggles to sit upright with what almost appeared to be a calculating lack of feeling.
Every effort the Lithuanian made just to move and breath properly was strained. Russia had done a real number on him — years of mistreatment and abuse had seriously compromised his healing ability.
Poor little guy.
For all his frosty outward appearances, Ludwig genuinely did feel compassion for Toris. Apart from the time he’d forcibly removed him from his house a couple of years back he’d always seemed like such an unassuming, sweet guy. And even then he couldn’t be blamed for wanting to stay home with his people rather than play servant to another country; if situations were reversed, Ludwig would have put up one hell of a fight to avoid becoming someone’s bitch.
No. He couldn’t fault him for that.
The sniveling little Baltic nation was weak in every sense of the word and a dozen shades of pathetic, and logically Ludwig knew he shouldn’t feel anything but disgust and contempt for him, yet he did. Seeing him in pain like this roused sorrow, not disgust, and stirred to the surface the deep protective streak within him. Come to think of it, the way he felt about Lithuania right now was a perfect echo of the way he had felt about Italy not long after they had first started meeting semi-regularly. Useless but enduring. Friendly but cowardly. Weak on the battlefield, but gifted with the ability to lift Ludwig’s spirits in times of great stress with his innocently annoying antics, free-spirit, and indomitable optimism. Over a relatively short period of time his fondness for Italy had deepened into a powerful friendship and Feliciano became the only soul in all the world besides Gilbert in whom he could confide and around whom he felt entirely at ease.
Lithuania was a little different. Unlike Feliciano, Toris harbored an intense love for physical pain. Sure, he seemed grateful enough for having been rescued now, but sooner or later after he had healed some he was going to run back to Russia to get his fix.
Unless…
Unless he expects me to take Ivan’s place. Something inside Ludwig twitched with sinful pleasure at the thought. Did Toris really expect that? Would he find sane, fair treatment boring and unfulfilling?
If so, Ludwig could think of a few tantalizing possibilities to stop him from misbehaving just to receive punishment. His mind began flashing down a few possible scenarios, each disturbing in a deliciously wicked way.
I would never take it as far as Ivan, and it would be completely consensual…
But then, hadn’t the arrangement between Ivan and Toris started out consensual? What if he began to fall too much in love with inflicting pain, got so used to Toris’s pleas being empty words called out for the sake of heightening both their enjoyment that when they became real he ignored them? What if he began dreaming in blood: craving the sight, smell, and sound of bright crimson amidst screams of pain…
“If you give me some water and some bandages, I’m sure I can get on with it. I’m...pretty used to patching myself up.”
Toris didn’t sound like he believed himself. Nevertheless, his cheeks darkened slightly, and Ludwig honestly couldn’t tell whether it was from embarrassment or pride over the fact that he was so good at fixing himself up after a beating. Either way the Lithuanian was even more insane than he had initially figured if he honestly expected to fix himself up in this sorry of a state.
Ludwig shook his head, still staring at Toris too seriously, but with a hint of genuine concern cracking his stern countenance. “Are you crazy? You can’t even sit up straight. I’ll do it for you.”
He turned on his heel and headed for the door. “Wait here.” It took less than two minutes for Ludwig to dash into the bathroom and grab his medical kit, then rush into his bedroom and hastily pick out a set of fresh clothes for his new houseguest to wear.
Re-entering the room, he set the now half-folded clothes — a dark gray sleeveless shirt similar to the black one he wore and a pair of dark green pants were the highlight of the assemblage — down on the far end of the bed. “These are definitely going to be too big for you, but they’ll do until we can get the ones you’re wearing clean and acquire some more your size.”
He set the medikit down at Toris’s side, then exited the room again. Moments later he returned with a fresh white cloth and a big bowl of water. These were placed on the floor at the foot of the bed. He left again, only to quickly returned with a wooden chair, which he positioned at the bedside where he would have unhindered access to his Lithuanian patient.
Having gotten all the preparations in place, he pulled the sheets away from Toris and began untying his shirt from the other man’s torso. “I’m not a doctor,” he admitted, “but I do know something about medicine. It comes in handy on the warfront.” He flinched a little at a particularly mean surge of pain from his pipe-wound. “Especially when you get injured as often as I do.” he added dryly.
Having undone his shirt, he began removing Toris’s own, which looked as though it had been marinated in — and then left to dry in — blood.
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Post by Lithuania on Jul 27, 2010 12:30:10 GMT -5
As Toris waited for a reply, he became aware of the fact that Ludwig was staring at him rather intently. The stronger nation’s gaze seemed to be almost predatory and it made the Baltic feel distinctly nervous.
“Are you crazy? You can’t even sit up straight. I’ll do it for you.”
This was the last thing in the world that Toris wanted and he opened his mouth to object, but Ludwig had already disappeared out of the door. The little brunette closed his eyes wearily. The thought of anyone else touching his injuries filled him with an irrational panic. Perhaps it was all the memories of Ivan’s botched medical attempts.
Not to mention, there was no way in Hell that he wanted Ludwig to see him with his shirt off.
As the German returned with fresh clothes, Toris began to protest again weakly, but it died as a stutter in his throat as the other man said something which caught him wholly off guard.
“....they’ll do until we can get the ones you’re wearing clean and acquire some more your size.”
He stared at Ludwig mutely, puzzled. Did that mean that the other nation really intended on keeping him here? That he was thinking long term enough to actually think of the practicalities of clothing him? The thought was a comforting one; in the back of his mind, he was still considering the possibility that the blonde might throw him out to fend for himself, once his injuries were no longer so incapacitating. As he briskly made his way in and out of the room with various supplies, Toris found his grip on the bedsheets tightening even further.
“Ludwig...I don’t...” he began anxiously, but the other nation had already began to pull the covers back and was busy untying his makeshift bandage. “No...really...I...”
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the other nation’s medical abilities. He was fairly confident that Ludwig was probably telling the truth about being competent in battlefield medicine. But the thought of the other nation removing his shirt filled him with an irrational horror. A large part of him would have much preferred to struggle through trying to dress his own wounds than have to face the German’s reaction at the mess of torn skin that he was hiding.
Toris had lost count of how many scars he had. He supposed they probably numbered into the hundreds, a grotesque patchwork of brutality, his back a botched canvas which told a story of decades of abuse. All nations had their scars, he was well aware of this. But they were usually battle scars. His were deliberately inflicted marks of torture. If there was anything in the world that Toris was ashamed of, it was his own skin. And he knew that every single beating that Ivan had given him stood out, clear as day, from the first time they’d met, centuries ago, right up to the still unhealed marks from his most recent whipping.
As Germany began to undo the buttons on his shirt, Toris reached up desperately and grabbed his hands, pulling them away.
“Stop!” he exclaimed, and he surprised himself with the force in his own voice. His hand flying to his mouth, he looked at the blonde apologetically. “Sorry...I...” He shook his head as his thin, pale fingers clutched at the fabric of his blood-encrusted garment, holding it tightly to himself.
“Please let me just fix myself up...” he pleaded, looking down at the bloody fabric bunched tightly in his hands.
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Post by Germany on Jul 30, 2010 6:14:30 GMT -5
“Stop!”
Such a sudden powerful, monosyllabic command shooting out of meek, wounded little Lithuania’s mouth caught Germany completely off-guard. Even more shocking, the little Baltic shoved his hands away, boldly refusing the help he was so kindly offering! His head jerked back a few centimeters involuntarily, his expression rife with an almost pained surprise, as though a tiny scorpion had just crawled out from the inside of Toris’s shirt and stung him.
“Why?! Don’t you want to take that filthy thing off and get those injuries cleaned up?”
The brunette offered him an apologetic look. “Sorry...I…” There was something suspiciously odd about the way he shook his head, clutching his messy shirt tightly to his chest with both hands. “Please let me just fix myself up...” Pallid fingers wound into the fabric even more securely, bunching it up into thick, sturdy knots.
“I don’t think so.” Ludwig said with a hint of agitation, ice-blue eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly with suspicion-tinged curiosity as he stared decisively at Toris’s chest, “You need help.” He reached out again for the bloody shirt. But the Baltic balked and clenched the garment more tightly than ever — so tightly, in fact, that it had to hurt — his already pale knuckles beginning to match the whiteness of the sheets.
The German surrendered a weary sigh; this was turning out to be more difficult than it had to.
Maybe all I need to do is put his mind at ease. He is used to Ivan’s cruelty, after all.
Making a conscious effort to soften his voice into something more hospitable, he tried the comforting approach. “I wasn’t lying about my medical experience, you know. And whether or not you choose to believe me, I really do want to help you. I promise to be as gentle as I can.”
Again, he reached for the Lithuanian’s shirt.
Again, Toris refused to cooperate.
Ludwig’s patience was at its end. “What are you hiding?” he demanded sharply, his face shifting into the austere, no-nonsense semblance of an angry bird of prey as he thrust himself onto the bed and straddled the battered country between his legs, his hands clawing for the all-important article of clothing, “Why don’t you want me to see you with your shirt off?”
Toris fought with a surprising tenacity for a nation on his deathbed, clinging onto his own shirt for dear life and pressing it into his body like a second skin. But it was all in vain, because after only a few seconds of struggling Ludwig had pushed him flat on his back and captured both of his wrists, forcing them above his head. Pinning them there with his uninjured left hand, he used his right to finish undoing the buttons.
At first, only the thin strip of skin going straight down the center of Toris’s chest was revealed. Its appearance made Germany do a double-take. Half of the collarbone knife-wound gash was visible in all its gore-encrusted glory, but Ludwig had fully been expecting to see that there.
No, what grabbed his attention were a few pale lines crossing Toris’s chest and stomach, which also bore the dark rims of a few bruises in various stages of healing. Burning with morbid curiosity, he pushed both sides of the front of the shirt down.
Alright, Ivan. Just how bloodthirsty of an asshole are you?
Unsurprisingly, Toris’s body was in an extremely sorry state: his ribs showed clearly under skin that was caked in dried blood and littered with bruises and scars of varying sizes, hues, and ages. What little bits of flesh that remained clean and unmarred were sickeningly pale, and he lacked almost any muscle-tone at all.
Ludwig shook his head pityingly. “I don’t understand how you could enjoy this.” he stated simply, a haze of confusion settling over his fair features. Before the Baltic had a chance to respond, he pulled the wrists he held towards him, lifting the him up in the process.
Best to get it over with.
Seizing the back of the shirt, he yanked it up and over Toris’s head and arms in one swift motion.
That’s when he happened to get a good view of the other nation’s back, and for a moment all sane, rational thought-processes screeched to a grinding halt.
However bad of shape the rest of Toris’s body was in, nothing could compare to the damage that had been inflicted upon his back: it was nothing but a giant mass of welts and scar-tissue, line upon line upon line of angry cuts slashing over older ones. It looked like Ivan was fond of grabbing a bullwhip and literally lashing the hell out of Toris on a regular basis: the brutality was seared into just about every square centimeter of red-and-violet-hued flesh, the depth of the little Baltic’s suffering exposed.
“Mein Gott!” Ludwig gasped in sheer, horrified awe, once he was able to formulate coherent thoughts again. Bloodied shirt still in hand, he drew back, temporarily forgetting that he was still straddling the poor little country he intended to help. “What does he make you do, guess the safety word?”
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Post by Lithuania on Jul 30, 2010 12:58:03 GMT -5
The last thing that Toris had been expecting was for Ludwig to hop onto the bed and begin straddling him, and the sudden action terrified him to the point where all he could do was cling to his shirt for dear life. But in no time at all, the German had forced him back onto the bed, pinning his hands above his head.
A whimper of pain left his mouth and his body arched as he was forced backwards, the sudden, forceful movement aggravating his wounds. A horrible, familiar sinking feeling ran through him at Ludwig’s actions and, as the blonde began to undo his shirt, he started to wonder if perhaps life here would be little better than life with Ivan.
“I don’t understand how you could enjoy this.”
Squirming beneath him, the Lithuanian looked up in sharp confusion at his words. Enjoy what...? he wondered to himself, baffled at the other nation’s bizarre statement. But he had no time to question Ludwig before he was hauled forward. He tried to pull back, but his weakened body offered no resistance, and the stronger nation had already torn his shirt off, exposing the one place that Toris never, ever wanted anyone to see.
There was a moment of mutual silence, shocked horror on Ludwig’s part and miserable embarrassment on Toris’, before the German eventually recoiled in horror, allowing him to fall backwards clumsily against the sheets again, a pained moan forcing its way past his lips at the impact.
“What does he make you do, guess the safety word?”
“S...safety word?” Even through his discomfort, Toris raised his eyebrows in confusion at the strange statement. He stared at Ludwig for a long, puzzled moment, taking in the horror and pity on the other man’s face. And then it suddenly dawned on him in a cold wave of embarrassment that the German had put two and two together, and come up with five.
His cheeks colouring rapidly with a shamed, indignant horror, he fixed the man on top of him with an incredulous stare. “Y...you think that...?” he stammered, aghast, barely able to formulate the idea verbally. “You think that...that I enjoy being hurt?!”
Green eyes as wide as saucers, he couldn’t keep the utter, dumbfounded shock from his face. “How could you think that I would...?!” Frowning, he looked away, his cheeks bright crimson as he struggled to make sense of it all. “Because I said I loved him...you think that I must...”
Hot, shameful tears formed at the corners of the Lithuanian’s eyes, threatening to spill down his cheeks at any moment. “I...can’t believe that you’d...” he looked up at Ludwig desperately, tearful and indignant.
“You think that I get off on it? That I’m really no better than Ivan’s whore?!” he choked out, bitter and suddenly very, very frightened at the other man's weight pressing down on him.
“Get the Hell off me, Ludwig!”
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Post by Germany on Aug 2, 2010 6:04:40 GMT -5
“S...safety word?” Toris frowned and appeared confused. Formerly pallid cheeks flushed with color as he stumbled over words trying to explain himself. “You think that...that I enjoy being hurt?!”
Ludwig gave a barely-perceptible nod, just beginning to recover from the shock of seeing the other nation’s hideously scarred back. To his astonishment, the Baltic seemed truly, genuinely surprised by — and upset with — this allegation.
The next few seconds were filled with confusion. Frowning and growing redder by the second, Toris struggled to order his jumbled-up thoughts into a single coherent sentence, phrasing and re-phrasing in choppy fragments his disbelief that Ludwig had come to — could come to — this totally rational conclusion a number of different ways, his expression changing in subtle, unpleasant ways with each attempt.
Ludwig waited patiently for him to settle on one, curious as to whether he was going to jump straight into denial or spew out another unhealthy load of insane delusions.
Then, without warning, something snapped inside Lithuania; he went from being meek to aggressive in the bat of an eye. “You think that I get off on it? That I’m really no better than Ivan’s whore?!”
Ludwig jerked back, his own eyes enlarging with surpise at the sudden forceful outburst and word-choice.
The more effeminate man looked up at him defiantly, fresh tears moistening the dried blood on his darkened cheeks even as his voice bristled with rage “Get the Hell off me, Ludwig!”
Damn!
Some of the pity Ludwig had felt earlier vanished, replaced by a powerful urge to force Toris further down into the bed — to challenge him to make him get off, or at the very least re-phrase that demand into a polite request. Had the other nation not been at Death’s door, he would have. Insolence was an offense which he would not tolerate, especially coming from someone this pathetic who had him to thank for waking up still fully-clothed in a warm bed rather than naked in bathtub full of ice-water with Russia’s bullwhip fiercely lashing every part of his body instead of being restricted mainly to his back. Russia would probably kill him for this perceived “betrayal”, or make his life Hell on Earth to such the extent that the perpetually-shivering little country would curse the nationhood which kept him alive to suffer through torture so unspeakably heinous and agonizing that just watching it would give the Devil himself ideas.
But just as swiftly as it had risen, much of the anger Ludwig felt towards Toris abated, and he felt mildly ashamed for even experiencing the emotion. The three-quarters dead little nation posed no threat to him, and punishing him in this condition would make him an even crueller asshole than Ivan, the very monster he swore never to emulate.
He’s probably just really scared, he reasoned, and not thinking clearly.
Yes.
That had to be it.
If there was anything Germany was good at, it was intimidation. Even when he didn’t mean to.
He’s been through so much…I’ll cut him a break. For now.
“Alright,” he relented, the frown he wore born more of confusion than anything else.
Now that he had done what he had aimed to do, there was no reason for him to remain on Toris anyway. With great care he lifted himself off the broken, beaten, and scarred body beneath him and stepped back on to the floor.
“Now,” his tone darkened, his steely gaze once again boring into the Lithuanian, his mouth twitching with agitation. “About this masochist business. I go over to Russia’s house and find you alone, barely conscious, bleeding a lake onto the kitchen floor. You’re covered in cuts and bruises. When I question you I learn that Ivan did this, yet you insist you love him. Russia comes home and I engage him in battle, only to have you pleading for us both to stop, because you’re so worried about your precious ‘Vanya’. Then my submachine gun slips into your hands, and you finally have a chance to help me and be free from all his torture and the vicious ‘games’ he plays with you Baltics, yet you don’t fire a single shot. Well, what the hell am I supposed to think, Lithuania? How could you possibly love someone who treats you like shit, who does that…” he gestured towards the other country’s back, “..to you? You must get off on pain, otherwise you couldn’t love Ivan, and you would not have objected to me taking him down.”
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Post by Lithuania on Aug 3, 2010 17:53:12 GMT -5
For a hideous moment, Toris genuinely thought that Ludwig was going to seriously hurt him, so intense was the cold anger in his glare. And then, imperceptibly, his expression softened just the most marginal amount, and the blonde shifted his weight from on top of him, moving to a safer distance. Letting out a trembling sigh of relief, Toris pulled the bedsheets up to hide his brutally scarred upper body. However, he did not seem convinced by Toris' indignant rebuttal, and proceeded to recite a list of reasons why Lithuania must genuinely be a masochist.
The worst part was, with every horrible truth that reached his ears, Toris found himself floundering more and more in his anger. Because the pathologically reasonable Lithuanian could see, all too well, why his German rescuer would think that of him. It wasn't normal to remain so utterly devoted to such a sadist. Nobody in their right mind would remain wholeheartedly in love with the person who was responsible for all the terrible things in their life.
There was no refuting Ludwig's arguments, no contradicting such stark facts. But the matter remained that the Nazi still didn't understand. Not one bit.
“You must get off on pain, otherwise you couldn’t love Ivan, and you would not have objected to me taking him down.”
With considerable difficulty, Toris sat up as straight as he could, wincing and gasping as he did so. When he'd reached a sufficient level of uprightness to be able to look the other nation in the eye with a shred of dignity, he reached out and patted Ludwig's hand apologetically.
“I know that...this seems sordid...” he began, flustered and still slightly shocked. “And I know that...once again...you think I'm ungrateful to you. But I'm not.” Reaching out, he squeezed the German's hand tightly. “You saved me. And I owe you so much. And I promise that once I'm on my feet, I'll work hard for you and repay that kindness. But...”
The brunette's cheeks coloured crimson once more, and he stared down at the bedsheets uncomfortably. “I love Vanya. I hate pain and I'm not a masochist...but I love him all the same. Haven't you ever loved someone so much that you can't stop...even when they hurt you? I know that it's not his fault....the sadism and the violence...it's all things that years of bad bosses and bloody history have done to him.”
Tearful and emotional, Toris released his grip on the other nation's hand and wiped at the salt water streaming down his face. “I wish I didn't...honestly, I wish that I'd fallen for anyone else in the world except him. He...he doesn't even understand how much I love him. He can't. But I do, I can't help it.”
Momentarily, the Baltic's green eyes flashed with a hint of his previous indignant outrage. “But if you think that I like it...you're wrong. More than anything in the world...I want him to stop. Not even for my sake, but for his own. I want him to find his peace. And I'm going to help him someday, no matter what it takes.”
He stopped and hung his head, defeated. “Just...I can't take it, not right now.”
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Post by Germany on Aug 8, 2010 5:14:42 GMT -5
Ludwig looked down with mild surprise as Toris’s hand unexpectedly reached out and gently patted his as if to thank him for removing himself from the bed. As if that one, simple action had meant so much to him, had put his mind so much more at ease.
Odd. I would have pegged him as that kind who liked being straddled by men.
When Russia’s favorite whipping boy next spoke, his tone was considerably gentler, much of his anger traded in for anxiety. Red-faced and seemingly on the verge of another teary outbreak, he swore that he was grateful to Germany for rescuing him. He gave the German’s hand a tight squeeze, and though he found himself further surprised by this gesture of goodwill, Ludwig did not mind, nor did he move to interfere with it.
“You saved me. And I owe you so much. And I promise that once I'm on my feet, I'll work hard for you and repay that kindness….”
Kindness? Germany tilted his head askance, slightly in awe. Since the war had started, nobody had used that word to describe him or his actions; certainly not other nations. To most of the humans he encountered, he was either an “evil” country or just another hard-ass military general, humorless and strict. His countrymen praised him for it, and even though he knew that a few of his fellow Nazis — particularly in the SS — considered him “soft” for his relatively humane treatment of POWs and civilians, none had called him “kind”.
He thinks I’m…kind?
It was a warming thought. Even if the majority of the German armed forces viewed kindness as useless at best and an ugly — even monumental — flaw at worst, Ludwig still saw it as a virtue. Perhaps he was just old-fashioned, but he liked being thought of as one of the good guys. To be a strong, fierce, and able warrior who slew the enemy by the scores on the battlefield and still retain at least a shred of human dignity and decency…now that was truly the mark of greatness. That the Nazis had already begun to acquire a reputation for being heartless monsters incapable of kindness both saddened and embarrassed him. His face still as red as old wine, Toris stared down the bedsheets rather than look Ludwig in the eye as he shamefully re-affirmed his strange love for Ivan. However, he insisted that he did not love pain, and that, despite appearances, he was not a masochist.
Could have fooled me.
This was one incredibly confused, messed-up little Baltic.
“Haven't you ever loved someone so much that you can't stop...even when they hurt you?”
Still as a statue, his countenance betraying none of the thoughts swimming behind his blue eyes, Ludwig considered the question.
No.
He hadn’t.
In all of his life, he had never loved anyone as deeply as he loved Prussia, but that didn’t count because it was an altogether different kind of love and Prussia actually loved him back just as intensely. Loved him without hurting him.
Romantically, he had never been in love the way he understood it. He’d had flings and brief affairs, but he’d never felt close to any of them. Which was for the best, he supposed. Loved ones were like chinks in your armor: the more you cared, the bigger the gap, the more likely you were to be hurt. Especially with humans who biologically aged and were always so vulnerable to death, but even with other nations. Though they were much harder to kill than humans, countries were no less immune to death, and because they were incapable of disobeying their leaders’ commands one bad boss on either side could really strain — if not outright ruin — a relationship.
Better not to fall in love at all than to have to deal with all that nonsense, uncertainty, and heartache.
Toris went on to blame all of Russia’s faults on his past bosses and violent history, which was a ridiculous excuse. He let go of Ludwig’s hand to wipe at the fresh salty streams pouring over his messy face before lamenting on how he wished he’d never fallen for Ivan: how Ivan didn’t and couldn’t understand how much he loved him.
And somewhere in there it fully struck Ludwig how incredibly awkward it was to be having this kind of a conversation with the gay lover of his worst enemy, and he wondered why it had taken this long for him to feel any kind of discomfort about the male on male aspect of the relationship. But he only wondered for a moment or two, as it became blindingly obvious that the reason was that, even though he knew Toris’s sex, he still had a hard time envisioning him as a male, particularly when he didn’t act or look like one.
Maybe that’s why I felt…
He violently shook the thought from his mind even before finishing it. He would sooner die than admit to anyone — even himself — that he’d envisioned consensual sadomasochism with an almost-nude man. Just thinking about it sent a shiver of wrongness down his spine and filled him past the brim with embarrassment.
These thoughts were so distracting that the German only caught the gist of Toris’s talk of wanting to cure Ivan of his sadism and being willing to do whatever it took.
Ultimately, the Baltic hung his head in defeat. “Just...I can't take it, not right now.”
Germany shook his head. “You seem to understand that Ivan’s crazy well enough, yet you’re still under the delusion that this is something you can fix.” His voice took on a more commanding quality. “Wake up and smell the blood pouring out of your wounds, Toris: Ivan doesn’t love you — he will not ever love you — and nothing you do or say is going to make him less cruel or restore his sanity, if he ever had it to begin with.” He dropped the bloodied shirt to the other side of the bowl full of water. “And you can’t pin it all on a bloody history full of bad bosses, either. Plenty of countries have had that, and they’re not cracked in the head. I don’t know why he is the way he is, but it’s an inborn and unchangeable part of him. To be in love with him is to be in love with pain.”
Speaking of pain, a fresh wave of it rolled up from his pipe-wound, causing him to grimace a little and draw his right arm up over the spot to add pressure, even though he knew that it wouldn’t do a world of good. Damn, that Russian can hit.
Forcing the discomfort back and pulling his arm away from his stomach, he grabbed the white cloth and dipped it in the clean, cool water. “You want to repay my kindness? You can start by letting me treat you. At least let me get that knife-wound. Also your back. And your face.” He made a quiet, awkward little cough and looked away, mildly embarrassed by what he was about to say. “After that, if you’re sure you’re up to it, I’ll leave you in peace to handle any, erm…lower injuries that you may have.”
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Post by Lithuania on Aug 8, 2010 17:34:19 GMT -5
“Ivan doesn’t love you — he will not ever love you ...”
The words hit Toris like a slap to the face, as he stared at Germany's impassive countenance. He bit his bottom lip and listened to the blonde's harsh, stark statements. It was as though Ludwig was voicing aloud all the horrible little doubts that had been coiling in his stomach for so long. So hear them spoken aloud, and so frankly, was nothing short of devastating.
“...To be in love with him is to be in love with pain.”
He considered the statement for a moment, his delicate features creasing up as he choked down the possibility that Ludwig might be right. Maybe he was delusional. Maybe he had Stockholm Syndrome. Maybe he was secretly a masochist and in denial about it. Maybe he had a pathological martyr complex that Ivan was feeding. Maybe he had some serious issues with self-loathing and Ivan gave him the outlet he needed. Maybe all of those things were true. Maybe none of them were. Maybe the specifics didn't matter and the simple truth was that he was just as utterly, irrevocably fucked up as his lover.
One thing was certain; Ludwig's tactless monologue was doing very little to lift his spirits.
The German was mentioning something about dressing his injuries and Toris nodded in distracted compliance, barely registering what he was saying as he struggled to accept the situation for what it was.
Ivan does love me. He does.
He has to.
“You can do what you like,” The androgynous little nation mumbled distractedly in response, leaning forward a little to allow the other man better access to his wounds. Looking at Ludwig for a moment, he realised that the other nation seemed to be both embarrassed and in pain, and neither should have been a surprise. But it was still rather disconcerting to see anything other than stoic, impassive coldness on the Nazi's face.
“This is war, isn't it?” he blurted out, his voice small and afraid. “Everyone is going to be dragged into this. Ivan won't take this lying down, he'll do anything to get back at you. He'll even go to Arthur and Alfred...” he trailed off and stared at Ludwig blankly. “A lot of people are going to die.”
Maybe he doesn't love me. Oh God, what if he really doesn't?
I need him.
He's ruined me.
I need him.
He gasped at the pain from his knife wound and carried on talking, out of some bizarre compulsion to turn the focus away from himself and his own miserable, destructive relationship. “It's going to be you and Feliciano against the world. Maybe Kiku too if you're lucky.”
Will he come for me? What if he does? What if he doesn't?
I'm scared.
Closing his eyes, he blinked back tears and tried not to think about it all, tried to focus on anything, on world affairs, on the upcoming war, on the pain in his chest, on the starkness of the white bedsheets that he was staining with his own blood. But still, all he could think of was Vanya.
“It's going to be a huge mess,” he whispered listlessly. And then, abruptly, his head shot up and he stared at Ludwig with flashing green eyes. “And he does love me, you know.”
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Post by Germany on Aug 16, 2010 4:12:29 GMT -5
“You can do what you like.”
Toris seemed to be off in a world all his own. A dark, disturbing world full of profound pain and suffering, emotional torment, cruelty, delusion, and Ivan. A world where the strength of the dominant partner’s “love” was measured not by kind words or thoughtful gestures, but by how often and how severely he whipped and beat his significant other. A world of constantly walking on eggshells, waiting for the other shoe to drop, never knowing when and for how long you were safe.
It blew Ludwig’s mind.
Kink, sadism, and power-trips he more than understood. He himself loved the overwhelming feeling of supremacy and invulnerability that came from being fully in charge of a situation: of totally and completely dominating someone and having them at your mercy, be they a sexual partner or an enemy. Inflicting real pain was by far the grandest and most lasting way to show who was in control, and it was a technique which he was guilty of using under the right circumstances.
Yes. He knew all too well what Russia was getting out of the twisted little “relationship”.
Toris, on the other hand, was a complete enigma.
Assuming he was not in denial about being a masochist, Ludwig could not, for all the life of him, understand how the Lithuanian could genuinely fall in love with someone like that, romantically or otherwise. If he were in Toris’s place he would hate Ivan with a bitter, deathless hatred, and be doing everything in his power to escape out from under his thumb and take him down. He sure as hell wouldn’t be able to look past the constant severe lashings and being treated like slime beneath the other nation’s boot for whatever good qualities Ivan may have, and he could not fathom why anyone would want to.
Toris was either in denial about being a masochist, or stark raving mad. Period. Those were the only two ways he could possibly be in love with Ivan.
But which scenario was truth?
Both were equally as likely.
Perhaps both were true.
Yet Toris appeared to be deep in thought, so maybe there was some sanity left in him after all and the reality check Ludwig had given him was finally starting to sink in. Maybe he was finally starting to realize that his feelings for Ivan were neither safe nor sane; that he needed help and a permanent vacation from his former tormentor.
Whatever the case, at least he had given up on trying to tend to his wounds on his own; when he leaned forward Ludwig moved in with the damp cloth. Gingerly, he began cleansing the nasty gash under the left collarbone, wiping away loose, dried blood particles while taking care to disturb the established blood-clot as little as possible.
“This is war, isn’t it?”
The concept frightened Toris; he sounded like a little lost child.
Ludwig dropped the now red-tinted cloth in the water bowl and reached down for the medikit. “Yes.” he answered frankly, his mind more on the task at hand.
Let’s see… Toris’s stab-wound was deep, and while it wasn’t overly wide, it was wide enough for concern. Nonetheless, it had managed to form a weak-but-functional bloodclot, which was definitely a good thing being as how the brunette couldn’t afford to lose even a single drop more of blood. Infection was always a possibility — especially in Toris’s already weakened state — but at least nothing was lodged in there. Taking a seat on the wooden chair he’d brought in earlier, he opened the medikit up in his lap and scanned the contents. Where’s that antiseptic ointment?
Toris went on about how Russia would get his revenge — how he’d team up with England and America if he had to.
Ludwig listened quietly to these concerns as he found what he was looking for and went about preparing a dressing for the wound. Half a minute later he pressed a large, medicated gauze firmly against the knife-wound, eliciting a sharp gasp from Toris. But the Baltic recovered quickly and continued along his train of thought.
“It’s going to be you and Feliciano against the world. Maybe Kiku too if you’re lucky.”
With the gauze held firmly in place by his left hand, Ludwig used his right to remove the strong adhesive bandages he had prepared and left laying sticky-side up on the lid of the kit. These were strategically placed over the gauze: he made sure they were tight.
“It’s going to be a huge mess.”
Staring down at the sheets with his head drooping and the most pathetic, dejected look on his face, Toris reminded Ludwig of a kicked puppy. A kicked puppy that kept going back and trying to make friends with the man who kicked it.
“Most wars are.” he conceded coolly, unbothered by the truth of the statement.
He was quite unprepared when, all of a sudden, Lithuania’s head snapped up, and wild green eyes fixed onto him with an alarming vigor. “And he does love me, you know.”
Germany blinked, and for a moment an expression of genuine surprise flickered across his features. It was amazing how fiercely some people could cling on to an idea once they got it in their head, even if that idea was so blatantly wrong and they were beat over the head with the evidence every day. He turned his head and stared into the bowl full of faintly pink-tinged water for a moment before returning his attention back to Toris and shaking his head. “I give up,” he sighed, utterly defeated, “If you want to believe that, fine.” He considered adding ‘Whatever helps you sleep at night.’, but decided not to. Such a comment would likely make Toris all the more defensive, and he was getting tired of this conversation. He was beginning to get the idea that he could argue with the Lithuanian about his relationship with Ivan until Kingdom Come, pointing out all of facts in a brutally detailed, crystal-clear manner, and it wouldn’t do him a damn bit of good because Toris obviously wanted the lie “Ivan loves me” to be true so badly that he was willing to overlook, warp, or dispel anything that would falsify it, even at the expense of being viewed as a masochistic lunatic.
They say logic never could convince a heart…I guess it’s true.
Maybe being away from Ivan would clear Toris’s head up, and he would come around in time.
Maybe.
He grabbed the white cloth, wrung it out, and wrapped it once loosely around the fingers of his right hand. Scooting his chair forward a few centimeters, he slid his left hand under the smaller nation’s chin to hold his head steady. “And of course Ivan will ally himself with Arthur .” he said, a faint but definite inflection of pride in his voice, “I’m at war with them both, so it would be more surprising if they didn’t join forces against me.” The wet cloth glided over Toris’s face with the same care as before. There was a lot of dirt and blood, and the more he cleaned, the less severe the damage seemed. “I doubt Alfred will get involved though. He’s not in any danger, and he has nothing to gain by throwing himself into a war an entire ocean away from his beloved homeland.” There was a brief pause as he took in a problem spot. “Sorry, this is going to sting. Your lip is split open pretty badly and I need to get all that dirt and debris out.” He had scarcely finished the warning before he was wiping away at Toris’s lip more roughly than usual. “I personally think my boss should have waited to attack Russia,” he went on, partly thinking aloud and partly trying to keep Toris focused on something other than his insane little relationship, “and it’s true that I could use more passionate and more dependable allies. But I have to admit that this does make things more exciting.” Toris’s lip was bleeding now, so he dabbed some ointment on it. “After Poland and France I need a challenge.”
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Post by Lithuania on Aug 19, 2010 17:56:49 GMT -5
“If you want to believe that, fine.”
Lithuania looked at him silently, at the exasperation on his face, as though the German was a parent who had just run out of patience with a child who was insisting that an imaginary friend was real. It made his cheeks colour a little, with indignance and embarassment.
He listened worriedly to Ludwig's blase assessment of the global political situation. He wasn't inclined to agree with the conquest-hungry nation's assertion that Alfred wouldn't get involved. Toris knew from personal experience just how much his former employer loved to play the hero, but opted not to say anything. Ludwig had already written him off as half-mad, so there was little point in voicing his opinion.
“Sorry, this is going to sting..."
The other man wasn't lying, and Toris tensed up, inhaling sharply. If Ludwig hadn't been holding his jaw, he would have jerked away. Holding his breath, he squeezed his eyes closed as blood began to drip down his chin. Ludwig was still musing aloud his war tactics, but the brunette was too distracted by the stinging sensation to catch exactly what he was saying.
"...after Poland and France, I need a challenge."
The Lithuanian froze, looking at Ludwig sharply, his green eyes widening. Wrenching his head away from the ointment that the other man was trying to apply, he stared at the blonde accusingly.
"What do you mean?" he demanded. "What did you do to Feliks?"
He might not have seen....or rather, might not have been allowed to see...his one-time commonwealth partner for a long time, but the ditzy, loveable, effeminate blonde still remained painfully close to Toris' heart, was still, in the brunette's mind, his best friend. And he'd been so wrapped up in Russia's descent into madness and paranoia that he'd hardly heard news of anything outwith Soviet walls.
"You haven't hurt him, have you?" Toris demanded, fixing the German with a look of horrified disgust. "He's completely innocent! Please, Ludwig, tell me that you haven't..."
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Post by Germany on Aug 22, 2010 9:55:53 GMT -5
Well, that certainly got Toris’s attention. He pulled his head free from the blonde’s grasp and glared at him accusingly.
“What did you do to Feliks?”
That’s right: Poland and Lithuania are best friends. And…didn’t they used to have a commonwealth together? Poland was so annoying and pathetic that Germany had forgotten for a moment that he actually had friends. How was a mystery; Feliks was more like the personification of foolishness than a nation. For one thing, he never, ever took anything seriously. Ever. Even when he was getting his ass handed to him on a silver platter and partitioned into oblivion all he could do was make all kinds of random and silly comments, gestures, and observations. All completely unconcerned. It was like he thought he was too good for death, like in his mind he was invincible. He was also pushy, uncouth, and exceedingly self-centered.
Everytime Ludwig was around him, even if only for a few minutes, he was overwhelmed with the desire to bash that irritating, cocky, perpetually mocking face in. Feliciano had a tendency not to take things too seriously either, but damn, he had nothing on Feliks. The Italian at least recognized his vulnerability and was capable of more serious thought; he was also far less conceited, eager to please, and all-around easier to get along with.
Ludwig hesitated. Such a simple question, yet it was much more difficult to answer than it should have been.
"You haven't hurt him, have you?"
The prospect clearly horrified Toris. Yet he had just hit the nail on the head.
"He's completely innocent!”
Completely innocent? Completely innocent of what? The statement made little sense. Feliks grated Ludwig’s nerves, and he had been all too happy and eager when he had received the go-ahead to invade, attack, and utterly conquer him. The Pole had needed shown his place, and Germany had done just that. However, as gratifying as it was, satisfying his personal desires was only a bonus: taking over Poland allowed him to expand and secure more land and resources for his people. Not only was this good for Germans, it was good for him — he could already feel the boosts to his strength and vitality. In fact, he hadn’t felt this good in decades.
So the forcible occupation of Poland was both practical and psychologically fulfilling. But of all the reasons Ludwig had all but murdered the cross-dressing blonde, not one of them had anything to do with Feliks being either innocent or guilty of anything. He couldn’t speak for his boss, but he personally didn’t care how “guilty” or “innocent” the countries he invaded were: he just wanted more territory, power, and glory. It was a contest of strategy and brute strength, and he was determined to prove his worth for all the world to see. That meant fighting his way to the top, and if other countries couldn’t fend him off, then they deserved what they got. The world was a brutal place where only the strongest survived.
Or at least thrived. Some countries had lasted a ridiculously long time despite being weak, simply because their neighbors lacked the ability or desire to destroy or conquer them.
Like Lithuania.
How long had his people been answering to a puppet government? How long had he himself been a tortured slave in Russia’s house?
Prussia had had the right idea: it paid to be a militaristic nation. The same would never happen to Germany, not while he had a powerful, well-trained military with which to defend himself and crush his enemies.
“Please, Ludwig, tell me that you haven't..."
What, you want me to lie to you?
Should he?
It wasn’t like him to lie just for the sake of pacifying another. Normally his policy was brutal honesty.
But he will be easier to treat if he’s not having an anxiety attack over Feliks…why am I insisting on treating him? He doesn’t like me. He wants me gone. I should just walk out of here with the medical supplies and leave him alone to suffer and try to mend himself on his own. He deserves it.
Toris was weak and far too emotional.
He set the ointment back in the medikit while he pondered his response, intense blue eyes continuing to stare into anxious green.
Then his mind was racing back to yesterday, that bloody afternoon that seemed both hours and days away. Dazed and frightened, Toris was on his knees on the floor, broken and bloody, about to faint from bodily trauma and bloodloss. Ivan’s knife was buried deep beneath his collarbone. “Please...please take me with you...”
Though they were only a recording in his memories, the words echoed in Ludwig’s soul. Toris did want him, did need him. And the poor little Baltic had mentioned being grateful, and it was heartbreaking to see him like this and hear him continue to faithfully sing the praises of the bastard who had done it to him.
Slowly, Ludwig’s frown lessened, and his expression lost some of its intimidating quality. Damn, Lithuania. I thought you already knew. It’s only been all over the news. Where the hell have you been living the last two years, Mars?
“Feliks is fine,” he lied, and he sounded as though he himself believed it, “I roughed him up, yes, but he got away before he got hurt too badly.” There. The less he said about that the better. He took his eyes off of Toris for a moment to dip the cloth back in water and rinse out the latest blood and debris. “I know you don’t think highly of me, and your life here won’t be everything you want, but I promise I will treat you better than Ivan. I’m not a sadist, and I’m not insane. After you’ve had a chance to rest and heal up for a week I’ll start expecting you to make yourself useful, but I won’t be unrealistic about your chore lists. I’m not into mind-games either. Adhere to my rules and you will be fine.”
Freshly-wrung cloth in hand, he stood up, scooted the chair back with his foot, and leaned in over Toris’s back. What a scarred mess. He shook his head a little out of sadness for Toris’s situation and disgust at Ivan’s cruelty, then went to work lightly wiping at the wounds. His voice softened. “I know we’ll probably never be friends, but…”
But what? Why had he said that?
His face flushing just slightly with embarrassment, for he was not used to letting down his guard, he went on in almost a whisper “but I would like for us to be on friendly terms.”
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Post by Lithuania on Aug 23, 2010 12:06:57 GMT -5
The short silence from Ludwig caused Toris to bite his already split lip anxiously, drawing a few fresh beads of blood from the injury. Perhaps his relationship with Feliks had been hideously precarious in recent years, but Toris was still loyal to a fault when it came to an old friendship. When the austere blonde's expression finally softened, and he gave that all-important reasuurance, the smaller nation let out a breath that he hadn't even realised he'd been holding.
"Thank God..." he whispered. "Oh, thank God."
One of the worst things about living with Ivan was the posessive nation's utter disallowance of any news from the rest of the world. Everything that Toris heard was filtered through Soviet propaganda to the point where it was unrecognisable, and Ivan himself would keep important news from Toris as and when he pleased. His violet eyed lover did not take kindly to the Baltic having ties with anyone else. He remembered sneaking away to find a phone, before the war broken out, and trying to warn Feliks that he was a sitting target. But his airheaded friend simply laughed off his concerns, and this act of desperate compassion had earned him litle more than a thrashing from Ivan.
But Germany had no reason to lie, or spare his feelings. Nor did he have Ivan's warped definition of "fine". So if he said that Poland was alright, then it must be true.
Maybe I'll see him soon...?
“I know you don’t think highly of me, and your life here won’t be everything you want, but I promise I will treat you better than Ivan. I’m not a sadist, and I’m not insane. After you’ve had a chance to rest and heal up for a week I’ll start expecting you to make yourself useful, but I won’t be unrealistic about your chore lists. I’m not into mind-games either. Adhere to my rules and you will be fine.”
Toris blinked at Ludwig in disbelief. A week...? Had it been Ivan, he would have been extremely lucky to get a night's rest, at best. He waited for the German to correct himself, but no, he seemed serious. A lump welled up in the brunette's throat as he nodded meekly and mumbled a confused, grateful "Yes, sir."
When Ludwig turned his attentions to his bloodied back, Toris felt himself stiffen, gritting his teeth. He fought the urge to pull away from the other nation, choked down the violent discomfort he felt at the German touching those humilliating marks, those scars and welts that he went to every possible effort to hide, even from himself. The only time he ever voluntarily removed his shirt was to bathe. And for Vanya... An unwanted memory flashed through his mind, of Ivan's hands trailing over his marked back, of fingernails digging lightly into scar tissue as his posessive lover pinned him helpless against the wall and...
Cheeks flushed with shame, he closed his eyes shook away the memory with a small shiver, his shoulders tensing all the more. And he made every effort to remain as still as possible, but found himself squirming uncomfortably nonetheless.
“I know we’ll probably never be friends, but…”
The brunette was cut short from his thoughts by Ludwig's voice, hesitant and almost embarassed, as though he was saying something shameful. Toris resisted the urge to turn around and stare at the German as he paused and then continued in a barely audible voice.
“...but I would like for us to be on friendly terms.”
His face softening in surprise, Toris momentarily forgot his discomfort. He realised suddenly that perhaps, underneath the austere, militaristic appearence of his rescuer-turned-captor, perhaps the blonde was seeking acceptance just like anybody else. Hesistating for a moment, he chose his next words very carefully.
"As far as this war goes..." he began gently, almost apologetically, "I'm holding on to neutrality. There is no way that my people would ever accept your boss' ideologies." Head bowed and his hair hanging in front of his eyes, he stared down at his hands twisting anxiously in his lap.
"But I would like for us to be frie...um...on friendly terms, too," he offered. "And I promise that I'll work hard for you, while I'm staying here. And..." the androgynous nation wrapped his arms about his fragile frame and sighed sadly, "...I really do appreciate you trying to save me."
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