OH GOSH YOU GUYS I am so sorry this took so long. I was away from the country for two weeks (I was in Iggy, actually) and it was a terribly busy time for me. Most of this was written on the 13 hour flight. Both ways. Gar. I'm so happy some of you are still sticking with me through this, really! And please don't expect updates very soon- the next one to be updated will be Winner Takes All. :) I'll alternate between the two, but I am still writing From the Lair of the Dragon. :D
This chapter is dedicated to dogstardreams because, due to her awesomeness, I have finally decided on a pairing! XD That... unfortunately, hasn't come out in this chapter yet, ahaha. :D
Anyway if there are any mistakes please alert me to them seeing as it's 4:24 AM here and I'm (finally) getting sleepy. Jetlag sucks but it does wonders for fic writing time.
It seemed that Prussia and America were destined to never get along.
England sighed as he watched them bicker yet again (he had stopped counting after the third day), and he wondered what they were arguing about this time- usually it ranged from petty arguments about who was more awesome to dangerous topics such as the last world war. He rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly, and from the corner of his eye, saw Germany do the same. He smiled- at least he wasn't alone in this.
"I'm telling you, you dipshit, he's not ready for that!"
America bristled at the insult, and raised his voice again. "He's stronger than you think!"
Prussia scoffed. "Strength or no strength, that guy isn't gonna like what you're saying. I'm telling you, it's a bad idea."
"We've got to take necessary measures-"
"Enough of that, you two!" England glared at them, and they withered. He smiled inwardly- he still had it in him, it seemed. "Would you kindly tell me what is going on? And don't you dare tell me it's none of my business. I'm not stupid, unlike... some."
America scratched the back of his head nervously. "Well, you see, Arthur, it started like-"
"Alfred," England said sharply, remembering the tone of voice that had always worked on America as a child. He wasn't disappointed.
"Alright, alright!" America yelped, looking away from England. "Geez, don't do that, I'm not a kid anymore! Anyway, I was thinking you could open up to us about everything that happened... that night, but this moron over here thinks you can't handle it."
England stiffened, his eyes wide at the idea of spilling everything to these men he could still barely bring himself to trust. Something in him shrank from the suggestion, withered and curled and sank heavily in the pit of his stomach at the thought of his privacy being invaded so thoroughly. "No," he said shakily, ridding himself of the irrational fear that had crawled up his skin. "I won't do it."
Prussia nodded, a smug smile half-forming on his lips before he forced his expression straight. "Alright, then, you don't have to."
"But Arthur," America began pleadingly, grabbing hold of England's sleeve and refusing to let go even as the other struggled to shove him off. "You've gotta-"
"I don't have to do anything!" England hissed. "You can't make me!You have no idea what it's like to be so damn weak that you can't look anyone in the eye without remembering that you whored yourself out to them! You have no fucking idea how it feels to realise every day that you're Arthur Kirkland, the biggest prostitute the world has ever seen-"
"Arthur!"
"Raped by my own fucking mistake-"
"Shut up!" America grabbed him by the shoulders, tightly enough to bruise, ignoring the sharp gasp of pain he let out. "Do you think you were the only one who was raped? How do you think we feel, since you know our deepest secrets, huh? Every day I can think, "shit, I fucked my father" and then I want to comfort you so badly but whenever I look at you I remember that I helped make you this way!"
"Alfred, stop..."
"Not until you've heard what I have to say! I know most of the time you think I'm stupid, but I'm not blind. You're ruining yourself, Arthur, and you're taking everyone else down with you!"
"Alfred, let go! You're hurting me!"
America's eyes widened and he released him as if he had been burned, leaving England to wince from the tender spots left behind by the crushing grip. His gaze seemed to bore straight through England, and he realised, perhaps too late, what it was that made America such a superpower.
"It's the first time you've said that to anyone in a long time, I think," America said slowly, as if finally understanding something for the first time. "You've always been one to bottle it up inside, no matter how much you're hurt."
Why do you know this? England wanted to scream. You never cared before. But he was tired of talking back, tired of fighting, so he simply nodded.
"I've known you almost all my life, and you've always been that way." England could tell America was struggling, his normally ebullient nature put down by the weight of his words. "Look, I haven't been the best ally you've ever had, and I guess you've been waiting for me to see this since forever. But nothing can change the fact that most of who I am is because of you. Seeing you like this... it's- it's not right." America's voice cracked a little, and England wanted nothing more than to pat him on the shoulder and tell him he was doing well, that there was nothing to worry about, but he held himself back, his skin still crawling at the thought of touching him.
"Alfred-"
"No. Let me talk. Arthur, I want to help you. We all do. You've gotta realise that none of this is our fault either, so just... talk to us, alright?"
"Hate to butt in," Prussia said suddenly, making England look away from the uncomfortable blue stare. "But I gotta tell you, he's right on that point. It's not just you who's been affected. I still don't think you should go blabbing on about your experiences and shit to us, 'cause that just ain't fair."
"But that's the only way!" America objected.
"No it ain't."
"It so is."
Prussia huffed. "You're a close-minded idiot."
"Yeah, well you're- you're an albino freak!"
Prussia rolled his eyes. "Oh, touche," he said sarcastically, flashing a grin at England. "See what I have to put up with because of you? You ain't the only one suffering."
"Truly, you are not," Germany muttered under his breath, but England heard and cracked a smile. "Both ideas have some merit, I must say," Germany admitted. "What I suggest is that instead of telling us all about your experience, you speak with all of us- yes, including the others- individually, regarding the... specific encounters." Here there was a hint of a blush on the bridge of Germany's nose, and England found himself flushing at the memory as well.
"I-individually, you say?" he stammered, glancing between the three men in his sitting room. He opened his mouth to reject the suggestion, to say that he would have no part in it and that he would not be forced, but he caught sight of the looks on their faces- Germany, embarrassed but firm; Prussia, smirking but worried; and America, earnest and determined. He found the words dying in his throat, and he nodded slowly, reluctantly. This is all out of my hands now.
"Excellent. I am glad you all agree. gilbert, I believe we have some business to attend to at home?"
Prussia stared incredulously at Germany. "What the fuck? I'm not even a nation anymore and you're dumping work-"
Germany gave a long-suffering sigh. "You mentioned a telephone call that you needed to place, and I must be getting back to Feliciano. Only God knows what he's done to my house by now."
"Oh yeah, right." Prussia clapped a hand on England's shoulder, looking at him with a grin. "Got some really important stuff to do. Duty calls, but I'll be back. Take care of yourself, Arthur." He swooped down to place his mouth by England's ear, saying hurriedly under his breath, "Just to clear things up, I'm really sorry about that time, but I wasn't thinking of you, really, it was, uh-"
"I understand," England replied softly, then he smiled. "I know who you were really dreaming of anyway."
"You do?" Prussia coughed and straighened up. "I mean, of course you do. Anyway, we'll be back!"
"I suggest you make the most of your time by beginning with Alfred here. If that turns out to be a disaster, then we may cancel this plan and formulate a new one." Germany's severe tone was offset by his small smile that England returned hesitantly. "We shall be taking our leave. Goodbye, Arthur. Alfred."
England took a hurried step forward to open the door for them, but winced as a recently-healed scar in his thigh twinged at the sudden motion. "I apologise, let me catch my breath for a minute-"
"No need," Germany replied, nodding gravely. "We will show ourselves out. Again, goodbye."
The door shut behind them as they left, and England threw a nervous glance at America. Suddenly the room seemed much too large and open, with too many hiding places, too many shadows an eavesdropper could hide in. The paranoia was stupid, he knew, but his stomach churned at the thought of all the possibilities. Someone could be hiding, America could sneak behind him, oh God what if he was lying earlier, what if he has another gun-?
"Hey, Artie, chill! You're hyperventilating." America said worriedly, reaching a hand out. England jerked away.
"I'm fine," he hissed. "Let's just- are we doing this or not?"
America nodded brightly. "Definitely! So, uh... Uh, do you want to move somewhere else? Or is this alright? I don't want to make this too awkward or anything..."
"I would prefer it," England said slowly, unwilling to look America in the face. "If we took this, er, upstairs." He saw from the corner of his eye the grin that America tried to suppress and found himself grateful that, for once, the boy didn't run his mouth and try to make some disgusting joke. He didn't think he could have handled it.
"Alright, then. Whatever's more comfortable for you." America held out an arm uncertainly. "Um, upstairs then?"
England nodded, taking the arm reluctantly for support as they climbed the staircase. His eyes snaked down to the hand loosely clenching and unclenching nervously in the air. This hand, this same hand that used me. But he couldn't think of that, not now. Not when America was supporting him and helping him like he had never done before.
He sighed, shook his head, and forced himself to think about how nice it was to finally lean on someone for a change.
"So Mister Ivan is out?"
Belarus glared at him stonily, and Lithuania inwardly cringed, but stayed firm. God, she was so beautiful- cold as ice and just as forbidding, mysterious and elegant and strong. Lithuania felt so small around her, so vulnerable, even if they were standing metres apart.
"He is on his way to England as we speak." The words were harsh and clipped, as if she had no time to waste on him.
Lithuania hung his head for a moment, then he turned to look at her again, inching forward a little. "I think it would be good for Arthur, to see him," he said quietly. "I've heard he hasn't come out of his home for a long time."
Belarus cast him a sidelong glance. "You do not think my brother will hurt him?"
Lithuania was surprised at the question, but answered honestly. "No." Another inch forward.
Belarus stepped back, fingers twitching as she reached for the knife that Lithuania knew was hidden in her belt. "Why is that?" she challenged. "Do you not think he is strong enough? Do you not think he is powerful enough to take what he wants? The UK government is weak now, and without the guidance of Arthur, even weaker. Are you saying my brother could not take advantage of that?"
Lithuania looked down at his feet, sure that he would feel a dagger through his skin at any moment. When nothing happened, he raised his eyes once more. "I, er... No." He spoke more firmly now, rapidly, as if a weight off his chest was being lifted, centimetre by centimetre. "No. I don't think him weak. God only knows how much I know how powerful he is. Mister Ivan may be a cruel man sometimes, but... he has a heart."
Belarus openly stared at him, surprised by his words, and for once, finding herself at a loss. She tucked the dagger back into her belt slowly, taking a step forward. "Do you truly believe that? He does not love as others do."
"No. He's different." Lithuania took another step toward her, more confident this time. "Maybe the problem is that he loves too much, gives so much of himself, and the others just don't understand his ways."
The distance between them was shrinking as Belarus crept closer, cold violet eyes piercing into him, judging him mercilessly. "He does not love." There was a hint of barely-hidden despair in the harsh tone, and Lithuania wanted to comfort her, to smooth back her beautiful silver hair and tell her it was alright, but she was untouchable, unreachable.
"He does. But he isn't understood, so he's hated. Believe me, I know the feeling." Lithuania smiled wryly. He didn't know if Belarus would catch the veiled meaning. Perhaps not. He hoped she wouldn't. "I used to think he was just some evil psychopath. Now... I'm still terrified, but I know he's just like everyone else inside. Though if he ever decides to fight back, there would be no question who would win."
Belarus studied him intently, and Lithuania felt himself growing nervous under her scrutiny. "Perhaps I have misjudged you, Toris. You are not the whimpering fool I thought."
He nodded, and they each took a silent step forward.
"I'm worried for Arthur," Lithuania said suddenly, breaking the quiet. Violet eyes turned on him again, and he shivered, but continued. "I mean... I wonder how he's doing."
"It was his fault," was the toneless reply.
"Yes, that's true. But he can't be blamed for it either." Lithuania averted his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. "I hurt him badly in my dream."
"Very badly?"
"Very," Lithuania said, biting his lip. "I- I hit him. A lot. I- I don't know why, I guess maybe I just wanted to transfer some of what I went through to someone, anyone." He knew it was a terrible idea to confess this to Belarus, of all people, Belarus, who would ignore his feelings and mock him wordlessly in her coldness and distance, but he couldn't help it. The guilt that had been gnawing at him for so long was gushing out, and it needed to find a release. "I'm not a sadist, honestly, I'm not, but-!"
"Hush." Belarus gazed at him, not gently, but almost pityingly. "I too know the need for the sight of blood and pain. There is no pleasure, only necessity. It is not pretty but... It is our way."
Our way... Poland had always hated violence. America said it was necessary, but there was too much pride, too much arrogance in his ways that Lithuania didn't believe him. But here, with Belarus here, only three or four steps away, he felt, perhaps for the first time, completely understood.
She crossed the remaining distance and stood close to him, not looking at him but casting her eyes instead on the wall. "I dreamt of love," she said softly. "A sin, I know, for my heart rests only with my family. But just once... I thought perhaps I could indulge myself just that once."
In a moment of instinct, madness perhaps, Lithuania brushed his fingers against hers, entwining her cool, slender hand in his. Her grip tightened almost unbearably, and he closed his eyes and waited for the burning pain, for the crunch of bones, but nothing came. She loosened her grip again, and he could almost pretend they were two friends, holding hands in a time of crisis. His heart soared at the realisation that their skin was touching, that he was this close to her and not yet dead, that she had allowed him to be so near.
I dreamt of love. He took a look at her eyes, vacant and forbidding as she was lost in her own unreadable thoughts, and knew she was just as untouchable as before.