Homecoming [Ivan & Toris]

[Russia]

Ivan kept his eyes fixed on Lithuania, as the injured country in front of him got his first good look at the bloody writing on his chest. The other man’s eyes widened with what Russia took to be surprise. Of course he expected it to be pleasant surprise. With the way the blood accumulated around each neatly carved letter, how could it possibly be anything but pleasing to the eye? In addition to his well done knife work, there was also the element that the red letters stuck out very well against Toris’ light skin. Ivan had made the naughty Baltic’s chest into a twisted, yet gorgeous work of art. Or at least, he found it to be artful.

In the next instant however, it became clear to Ivan that Toris had no taste for art. Instead of a look of appreciation followed by many thanks for making it a much more pleasant punishment, the strange little nation pushed the sickle aside and decided to roll over. Confused once more by Toris’ odd reactions, Russia set the sickle down off to the side and tried to figure out what could possibly be wrong with his servant now. The punishment was done for the time being, so it made sense that the tearful Lithuanian would be less tearful now and more relieved. Instead, he observed that his once-faithful servant was now pulling himself into a ball on the floor. The puzzled Russian found himself wondering why any sane nation would want to appear smaller and less intimidating. Not that Toris could ever be intimidating if he tried, but hunched up like that made him appear even more fragile than what he really was.

Toris was sobbing over the pain from the carving. Which was good in a way, since that was a punishment and not supposed to be in the least bit enjoyable. The wound did not look nearly so painful though as to cause the other country to carry on like that. In his years away with Germany, Lithuania must have lost some of his pain tolerance somehow. Ludwig must have been far too pampering to have had this affect on Toris.

“Now Toris, it’s only a minor flesh wound. You’re acting as though I’ve just gutted you.” Kneeling down on one knee, Ivan rested a hand on his sobbing captive. “Why all these tears? We're done here for now. I’m not a cruel nation, as I’m sure you know from all our years together. I don’t give unjust punishments, and so long as you obey me, you won’t need to worry about these little sessions.” He gave the injured nation a few reassuring pats before rising and wandering away from Toris and over to the wall where the other nation had been previously chained.

If Toris truly wanted things to go back to how they were, then he would need to pull himself back together. The shivering nation would have a cellar to clean soon enough, in addition to a few other chores that had piled up in his absence. By the state of repair that he allowed his home to fall into, it was easy to tell that Ivan was not much of a housekeeper. He was of course magnificent at strong-arming other less powerful nations into taking care of his house for him most of the time, but this happened less frequently in the four years he had been Toris-less. Being away on the war front, he had not been in his own home often enough to make sure it had been properly tended to. As a result, the place needed more attention than Ivan would ever sink into it on his own. The cellar especially had a layer of dust that would need his servant’s attention, after he had finished scrubbing the blood from the floor and wall near the chains.

Returning his violet eyes to the beaten Lithuanian, Ivan tried to asses how long it would be before Toris would be able to work. The whip marks and cuts were nothing he considered particularly bad as far as injuries went. After Toris had splashed some alcohol on them, he would probably be good to go.

[Lithuania]

“Why all these tears?"

As Ivan rested a hand on his trembling shoulders and lied to him softly, Toris decided to refrain from answering the question. Eyes screwed tightly shut and body tense and curled into himself, he waited until the sound of the other nation's footsteps were far enough away to give him breathing room, before he sat upright. Pulling himself into a cross legged position, his brown hair fell limply in front of his face as he tried to force his breathing back to some regularity. After all, did it really matter? It was only another scar, like the hundreds of others that Ivan had inflicted on him. Why did the nature of the disfigurement cause him such distress when it was no less obvious a mark of brutal ownership than any of the other marks on his body? It wasn't as though anyone else would ever see it, besides him and Ivan.

But it still made him sick with revulsion. Perhaps it was true that Russia treated him like a dog, but to be branded like an animal was too distressing and shameful to bear.

Sniffling, he grabbed the tatters of his ruined, bloodied shirt desperately and pulled it back over his shoulders, wrapping it around himself as if hiding the mark would somehow make it not be there any more.

“Are you happy now?” he asked quietly, his voice hardly more than a whisper as he stared back at Ivan's scrutinising gaze with sunken eyes. “That I'm your property again?” He emphasised the word lightly, stressing it with an almost imperceptible bitterness.

Wrapping his arms about himself and casting a hollow glance around the blood spattered cellar, he finally settled his eyes back on Ivan and trying to pretend that there weren't still tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Do you love me, Vanya?” he blurted out, clutching his ruined shirt so tightly that his hands shook. His tone was quiet, urgent, demanding and desperate. “Do you?”

[Russia]

Ivan watched Toris in silence as the other man pulled his shirt back on. Why he would want his shirt back on at the moment was completely bizarre. Who in their right mind would want to cover such lovely marks? It was not like Lithuania was fooling anyone with the action. By now most probably knew who he belonged to and where his loyalties should be. And he couldn’t very well hide the marks from Ivan, no matter what he might think. So why did he even bother? Leave it to Toris to be quirky like that though.

“Are you happy now?”

The other nation caught Russia’s powerful gaze, and it struck him then just how worn and tired Lithuania sounded. He figured the brunette really should get a few hours of rest, after such a beating. It wouldn’t do to have him pass out on the cellar floor or while trying to tend to the house. The larger country considered the question, his eyes fixed on Lithuania’s. He was happy at the moment. He was completely ecstatic to have his favorite Baltic servant back with him, and he had found the punishment of the smaller man to be thrilling.

“That I'm your property again?”

The bitterness of the statement was lost on Ivan, who was even happier to hear that Toris acknowledged himself as belonging to him. So long as the other nation kept that in mind, Ivan was sure that they would be able to live together peacefully again. Instead of giving Lithuania a verbal answer however, Ivan just gave him a gentle smile to convey his feelings. Which could have meant anything, considering the fact that Ivan had the unique ability of being able to convey just about any emotion with an innocent looking smile.

“Do you love me, Vanya?”

He silently pondered why Toris would even ask such a question. He had been hell-bent on getting the smaller nation back into his sphere of influence since being pulled into the war. If he didn’t love him to some level at least, why would he go through so much bother? Why would he have been so troubled by the Lithuanian’s betrayal? By his own reasoning he had to love the pathetic, trembling Baltic. otherwise he would not have been so desperate to get him back, and he certainly would not have been so kind and forgiving with his choice of punishment. Just about any other offender would have been injured far worse.

“Do you?”

“Of course. You’re my favorite after all, remember.” Ivan glanced to the teary eyed Lithuanian. “What would make you think otherwise?” The large violet-eyed nation was not being in the least bit sarcastic either. He truly was puzzled as to how Lithuania could come to a different conclusion concerning their relations. In his own warped mindset, everything he did to the other nation he could contribute to his strong affections for him.

“Have I ever given you a reason to think I didn’t love you, Toris? I don’t think I have. You worry about these things far too much.” Lazily wiping the blood from the knife with his coat, he placed the steel weapon back into his pocket, but kept the coiled whip in his fist. Toris would need to tend to it, and give it a thorough cleaning. Already, some of the other man’s blood had half-way dried to the rough leather tail.

[Lithuania]

“Of course. You’re my favorite after all, remember.”

Toris closed his eyes and his heart sank. Favourite what?, he wanted to demand of the larger man. Favourite toy? Pet? Punching bag? Commodity? Ivan was like a destructive child, merrily dragging a doll about by its hair with no thought for how it felt to be the one caught up in his insane whims.

“Have I ever given you a reason to think I didn’t love you, Toris?"

He stared down at the blood seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt, at his swollen and bruised wrists. He took a few experimental deep breaths and found them to be intolerably painful, the lacerations on his chest burning in protest. He thought of the last time he had seen Ivan, felt a phantom twinge in his shoulder at the memory of the knife wound, remembered the way he hadn't even bothered to ask for an explanation, had automatically accused him of such a hideous betrayal without a second thought. And there and then, he so desperately wanted to retract the "confession" he'd made, wished to God that he'd been braver and stronger and had been able to make the other nation see that he would never, ever have done such a thing to him.

He thought of his own ridiculous obsession with the other man, of his utterly self destructive determination to save Ivan from himself. He thought of how Ivan's posessiveness was so utterly all-consuming that, if he had his way, Toris wouldn't even be a nation in his own right, would cease to exist and would die, and how the other man scarcely seemed to care about this stark inevitability. And he thought of how maybe, just maybe, if he were human, it wouldn't be such a bad thing. But he had the same crushing responsibility to his own people as any other nation, had no other choice but to keep going in whatever doomed direction he was being pulled until Russia eventually consumed him completely.

All because Ivan...posessive, childish, brutal, sweet, oblivious Ivan...wanted a pet to play with.

But how could he ever articulate any of that to the man who stood before him clutching a whip in his fist, spattered with his blood, looking down at his broken, battered form and still remaining utterly baffled as to why Toris might even so much as doubt the certainty of his affections?

He couldn't. He would do what he had always done, the very thing that ensured that things continued to get worse and worse, that he continued to lose more and more of himself. He would indulge Ivan, give him what he wanted, carry out his increasingly impossible demands and hold on hope for any tiny glimpse of progress, even while he knew that deep down, he was making none.

"You worry about these things far too much.”

He stared down at his arms, thin and mottled with bruises, and bit his swollen lip lightly, anxiously. "Wouldn't you worry, though? If you were me?" he asked quietly. "Look at me, Ivan. I mean really look."

Slowly, shivering against the cold air of the cellar, he peeled his shirt back away from his wounds and slipped it off his shoulders, discarding the useless, bloodied article of clothing silently. The dim light of the cellar faintly illuminated the picture of utter brutality that was painted on his skin, the patchwork of scars on his back, the blood streaming down his chest, the other nation's name standing out stark and painful and crimson against what had surely been one of the last unmarked patches of skin he'd still had on his torso.

"This isn't love," he whispered, his thin shoulders shaking a little from the cold. "This isn't anything. It's what people do to someone they hate. It's worse than that."

He put one hand down to steady himself, finding his palm flat in a pool of sticky blood. Blinking back dizziness from sleep deprivation, dehydration, blood loss, starvation, his system crashing as his hideous adrenaline high began to crash spectacularly, trying to ignore the black spots that threatened to overwhelm his vision, he continued. "You know, I used to be a knight," he said, his words thick and clumsy. "I really did, Vanya. I was so strong, once."

His voice was forlorn, no hint audible of the once-fierce warrior whose impassioned commands had sent thousands of troops to victory. "Until you came along and everything changed. I don't even know who I am any more."

[Russia]

"Wouldn't you worry, though? If you were me?"

He followed Toris’ example, and studied the beaten little nation’s bruised arms, still failing to see how the small patch-work of discolored skin had caused the other man such grief. He couldn’t begin to fathom the emotional strain that such beatings could have on Toris. It was even stranger to think that the other man was worrying about the injuries so much. They would go away with time. And Toris had plenty of time, being the spirit of a nation. They could live ridiculously long if the conditions were right. It wasn’t like Ivan was planning on doing anything to cut the shivering brunette’s life short.

"Look at me, Ivan. I mean really look."

“You’re being overdramatic, my Litva. The wounds will heal eventually.” Ivan stared at the marks on Lithuania’s chest again. “Besides, I think you look amazing.” He gave the wounded Baltic a reassuring smile, which quickly vanished at the other man’s claim that there was no love in the beautiful bloody marks. It looked like love to Russia. Instead of complaining about being subjected to such abuse, Toris should have realized that to bear the marks of continual correction meant that Ivan really cared for his well being.

"This isn't anything. It's what people do to someone they hate. It's worse than that."

Why would someone bother correcting the actions of someone they hated? Why not simply kill them if you’re in the position to do so. Toris’ logic made no sense to him. If Russia hated Lithuania for whatever reason, he wouldn’t whip him or give him correctional punishments. He would work at trying to kill the other nation. Enemies were much easier to deal with when they were dead, which made Ivan sad that so many of his were fellow countries and therefore hellishly hard to kill. Damn those strong governments and cultural backgrounds. Silly Toris, he must not have had any idea as to what love and hate really were.

"You know, I used to be a knight,"

The words took Russia by mild surprise. Instantly, images of Toris decked out in armor and riding around on a white horse rescuing maidens filled his head.

"I really did, Vanya. I was so strong, once."

It was hard to imagine the shivering nation before him as being powerful. It was difficult to imagine Toris as anything other than what he was now. Russia had almost forgotten that the green-eyed Lithuanian had once been something other than a servant. He played the role so well, imagining him as a great knight seemed such a contrast.

"Until you came along and everything changed. I don't even know who I am any more."

“You’re Lithuania.” the blonde offered helpfully.. He had changed Toris’ life for the better in his opinion. He had given him a purpose. A much more useful role than that of a knight. “You’re my servant, subordinate and lover. No matter how many times you try to run off to other nations and escape my influence.” Ivan figured it would be soothing to Toris to know that he could never get free from him, no matter what he tried or where he went. It must surely be a comfort to know that Ivan would always be there to take care of him and protect him. And after the punishment, maybe all the other man needed was a sliver of comfort right now.

“You will be able to clean up in here tonight, da? And perhaps get the blood off of this.” moving over to stand besides the shivering nation, he offered the coiled up leather whip to Toris.

[Lithuania]

“You’re my servant, subordinate and lover. No matter how many times you try to run off to other nations and escape my influence.”

Lithuania continued to stare blankly at his captor, a horrible combination of despair and longing weighing heavily in the pit of his stomach. The cheery expression on Ivan's face and the reassuring tone in his voice made it all the worse, because the blonde really, honestly and blithely expected his role in this world to amount to nothing more than those three things. He was trapped, hideously and profoundly, by circumstances outwith his control and worse, by his own emotions, which betrayed him horribly and kept him captive even as his people continued to clamour for freedom.

“You will be able to clean up in here tonight, da? And perhaps get the blood off of this.”

Swallowing hard, Toris wished that he could feel some kind of indignance, or disbelief at the other man's thinly veiled order, but it was so utterly characteristic of their relationship that all he could feel was heavy sorrow. He couldn't work out if Ivan was genuinely oblivious, or if the Russian was simply enjoying humilliating him further.

As Ivan approached him, he winced and moved painfully onto his knees, swaying slightly. Unable to meet the other man's eyes, he found himself reaching up to accept the whip, trying to ignore the surreal sight of his own blood marring the leather. The lack of food and water, combined with the beating he'd just taken, meant that he wasn't even sure if he could get to his feet, let alone begin to tackle the mess of the cellar. But he was well aware, from years of experience that, although it might have been phrased as a question, Toris had very little choice in the matter.

Hanging his head, he closed his eyes. "Yes, sir," he mumbled forlornly. Shifting his weight with a little groan, he found that his muscles refused to obey when he tried to move.

After a few long, silent moments, he reached up tentatively, and curled his cold, bloody fingers around the hem of the blonde's coat. "Vanya...?" he asked, and his voice was tiny, exhausted, lost, meek, submissive...and everything that he hated himself for being. "C...could you please help me stand?"

[Russia]

"Yes, sir."

Ivan’s expression brightened even more at his subordinate’s affirmation. These beatings really did work wonders, both at relieving pent up frustrations and aggressions on his part, and at pushing Toris back into line. A good servant was a submissive servant. Now that the other man had been properly punished, Ivan felt it was perfectly fine to forgive him and get things back to how they should be.

Just as Russia was turning to leave the dim cellar, he felt a hand grab onto the hem of his coat. Violet eyes wandered down to the smaller man, who was still on his knees on the cold stone floor. That couldn’t be a comfortable position, and the tall Russian had to wonder why Toris would remain down there.

"Vanya...?"

“Dà?” He inquired, staring down at the other nation, his mind already trying to piece together what the injured man could possibly want.

"C...could you please help me stand?"

Reaching down, he grabbed Toris by the upper arms and pulled him up. The smaller nation was not at all heavy, and Russia had no problems at all even slightly lifting him off his feet for a moment. Toris’ slight build, made it easy for Russia to not only pick him up and toss him over his shoulder if he so desired, but also drag him around like a rag doll. Even against his subordinate’s will, if he wanted to. It was a sad fact, that he all too often exploited.

“When you say things like that, Toris, it makes it even harder to imagine you as ever being a knight.” He set the injured man on his feet, but held onto his arms for a moment to make sure he could indeed remain standing. Going without food and water on top of a beating was bound to be hellish for the other man’s strength reserves. Thinking it over, Ivan was surprised that Toris had not passed out yet. It wouldn’t be the first time he had after a whipping.

Looking at the meek Lithuanian, Russia took in his beaten and messy appearance with consideration. The other country looked like he had been drug through hell, with the blood from his injuries mixing with some of the dirt and dust from the cellar. If he were to prance on into the house and start trying to clean like that, he would just make an even bigger mess. And of course, Toris would do just that if Ivan demanded it of him as far as cleaning went. He was a good servant when he did his work, and would always put the task at hand before his own comfort.

“As beautiful as the marks are, I think you should probably wash up before any major cleaning. You’ll drip blood on my floor otherwise.” He stated to the beaten Baltic. As if to prove a point, he ran his un-gloved hand up Lithuania’s side and through some of the wet, sticky blood from a whip mark. He held up his finger to show Lithuania. No matter how hard it was to get out of carpets, Ivan had no doubts in Toris’ ability to clean the blood up, but that would take more time, and delay the other man from doing other tasks.

Squeezing the brown-haired Lithuanian into a brief yet powerful embrace before letting him go, the larger nation made for the door. “It is good to finally have you back, Toris.” And he meant it completely. Having his favorite subordinate back meant not only having a dust free home once more, but more importantly, that he would have company. They could celebrate the defeat of the Axis together now, when the time came.