Russia/America/Canada - Substitutes - 3b/??
anonymous
May 1 2012, 09:11:02 UTC
Still, he waited, listening to the footsteps as Russia made his way up the stairs. He heard the voices at the top of the stairs, Russia and someone who spoke to quietly to hear properly, but he didn't try to make out the words, too busy watching his brother for any sign of life.
As the worry built up inside of him, threatening to burst out, Litva felt that he had waited long enough, and pushed himself onto his hands and knees to crawl over to his brother's side. He moved slowly, trying to keep the shackles from rattling too much, but when he was close enough to touch, he bent over, searching for some sign that Litva would recover.
His breath caught in his throat as he realized that Litva wasn't moving.
“Litva?” His voice trembled, more suited to a small, scared child than the hero he knew he should be. “Litva? I'm sorry. Please wake up. . . . Please, Litva,” he pleaded softly, desperate to know that he hadn't killed his brother.
As though in response to his desperation, Litva moved, a small shift of his head, blond hair filthy with blood and dirt; his eyes remained closed, but it was enough - Litva wasn't dead.
He wanted so badly to curl up beside Litva and hold him close and promise that he wouldn't ever hurt him ever again, but the taste of blood and semen and dirt lingered in his mouth and his body was still smeared with blood that wasn't his, reminders of what he had done, reminders that he didn't deserve to be anywhere near Litva.
So he curled up on the floor facing Litva with his back to the stairs and pulled his knees in towards his chest, wrapping his aching arms around his legs, watching his brother's chest rise and fall so shallowly it was barely visible, his own breathing slowing unconsciously as he waited for Litva to wake up.
**
“Hello? Rossiya?” Lithuania shivered as he made his way through the empty house. Latvia had called him the day before, weeping and stuttering something about having Russia at his door. Lithuania'd only been half-awake, so he'd simply told him to lock the doors and hide under the bed and Russia would go away soon enough.
But Latvia still wouldn't leave his house, terrified that Russia was lurking just out of sight. Lithuania had been coerced into making sure that Russia was home, and not planning to re-invade Latvia anytime soon. Honestly, he expected to find Russia passed out at the kitchen table in the middle of innumerable empty vodka bottles, and then he could leave before Russia woke up and tell Latvia that everything was fine.
But Russia wasn't home.
And the door to the basement was locked.
“Rossiya?” A part of Lithuania wondered why he couldn't just leave and pretend he'd seen Russia, even as he rapped solidly on the wooden door. Another part was frozen in fear - Russia didn't lock the basement unless. . . . Something was wrong. He didn't know what, but something was very, very wrong. “Are you down there?”
There was no answer, and after a long silence, Lithuania turned to go, already trying to think of places Russia might have gone.
Then the lock clicked and the door opened. “Who is in my hous-” Russia stood gaping at him, “L-Litva?”
“I'm sorry, but you were-”
“How?!” How did you get up here?” Russia was staring at Lithuania as though he'd seen a ghost. “Why are you not bleeding?” One hand reached out as if to touch Lithuania's face.
Lithuania took an involuntary step back, muscles tensed to run. “I used the spare key. The one under the flowerpot.” His eyes narrowed, “Why would I be bleeding?”
“Did you die?” Russia didn't seem to have heard a word Lithuania had said. “Did I kill you?”
“Rossiya .” Lithuania was scared - it was never a good thing when Russia started talking about death - but the horrible feeling of wrongness lingered in his belly and urged him on. “Why would I be bleeding?”
As the worry built up inside of him, threatening to burst out, Litva felt that he had waited long enough, and pushed himself onto his hands and knees to crawl over to his brother's side. He moved slowly, trying to keep the shackles from rattling too much, but when he was close enough to touch, he bent over, searching for some sign that Litva would recover.
His breath caught in his throat as he realized that Litva wasn't moving.
“Litva?” His voice trembled, more suited to a small, scared child than the hero he knew he should be. “Litva? I'm sorry. Please wake up. . . . Please, Litva,” he pleaded softly, desperate to know that he hadn't killed his brother.
As though in response to his desperation, Litva moved, a small shift of his head, blond hair filthy with blood and dirt; his eyes remained closed, but it was enough - Litva wasn't dead.
He wanted so badly to curl up beside Litva and hold him close and promise that he wouldn't ever hurt him ever again, but the taste of blood and semen and dirt lingered in his mouth and his body was still smeared with blood that wasn't his, reminders of what he had done, reminders that he didn't deserve to be anywhere near Litva.
So he curled up on the floor facing Litva with his back to the stairs and pulled his knees in towards his chest, wrapping his aching arms around his legs, watching his brother's chest rise and fall so shallowly it was barely visible, his own breathing slowing unconsciously as he waited for Litva to wake up.
**
“Hello? Rossiya?” Lithuania shivered as he made his way through the empty house. Latvia had called him the day before, weeping and stuttering something about having Russia at his door. Lithuania'd only been half-awake, so he'd simply told him to lock the doors and hide under the bed and Russia would go away soon enough.
But Latvia still wouldn't leave his house, terrified that Russia was lurking just out of sight. Lithuania had been coerced into making sure that Russia was home, and not planning to re-invade Latvia anytime soon. Honestly, he expected to find Russia passed out at the kitchen table in the middle of innumerable empty vodka bottles, and then he could leave before Russia woke up and tell Latvia that everything was fine.
But Russia wasn't home.
And the door to the basement was locked.
“Rossiya?” A part of Lithuania wondered why he couldn't just leave and pretend he'd seen Russia, even as he rapped solidly on the wooden door. Another part was frozen in fear - Russia didn't lock the basement unless. . . . Something was wrong. He didn't know what, but something was very, very wrong. “Are you down there?”
There was no answer, and after a long silence, Lithuania turned to go, already trying to think of places Russia might have gone.
Then the lock clicked and the door opened. “Who is in my hous-” Russia stood gaping at him, “L-Litva?”
“I'm sorry, but you were-”
“How?!” How did you get up here?” Russia was staring at Lithuania as though he'd seen a ghost. “Why are you not bleeding?” One hand reached out as if to touch Lithuania's face.
Lithuania took an involuntary step back, muscles tensed to run. “I used the spare key. The one under the flowerpot.” His eyes narrowed, “Why would I be bleeding?”
“Did you die?” Russia didn't seem to have heard a word Lithuania had said. “Did I kill you?”
“Rossiya .” Lithuania was scared - it was never a good thing when Russia started talking about death - but the horrible feeling of wrongness lingered in his belly and urged him on. “Why would I be bleeding?”
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