Author: PandaG

Disclaimer: Don't own APH.

Inspired by a scene from Beauty and the Beast.

Lithuania has not been in Russia's house for very long yet. It still feels like it is all some sort of nightmare, and that he will wake up to Poland throwing a pillow at him and complaining about breakfast. He never thought he'd miss that. He can't help wondering if Poland is alright; he didn't look it, when Russia dragged him away. He's heard rumors of bad things.

At least Poland isn't here at scary Mr. Russia's house. As much as Lithuania would like to see him, he would not want him to be forced to live here too. The place feels empty even though there are a fair number of nations living in it. Perhaps that's because it is just so big. That leaves him a great deal to clean. Being Russia's live in maid/cook isn't fun, but it's not nearly so bad as he expected. To be truthful, it isn't all that different from living with Poland. It's only…Poland was so happy all the time. Their house felt like home, somewhere he was glad to work and relax. Russia's house is oppressive. Cold, no matter how many layers he wears. Then there is the man himself…

Lithuania looks up from dusting, turning slowly. Nothing is there. He lets out a breath and wills the hair on the back of his neck to flatten. This place makes him nervous, and Russia has a habit of suddenly appearing around a corner. He's going to start shaking like Latvia if he's not careful.

With a sigh he turns back to his work. He lifts a music box up from the shelf to dust around and under it. Despite his care, his sleeve catches on the latch and it pops open. He jumps back and just barely manages to keep hold of the fragile little thing. Its melody seems to echo through the room, and he waits for Russia to swoop down upon him.

Nothing. No one.

He breathes again, and moves to close the box. Yet…curiosity overcomes his fear, and his hand pauses. It's a beautiful, round little box; the outside is deep blue, overlaid with an intricate pattern worked in gold and pearls. But it is the inside that really catches his attention: a tiny dancer, spinning 'round and 'round to a melody he does not recognize. The details of her face and dress are so striking that Lithuania thinks she must be someone real; or someone who was real.

Who could this girl be? Why would Russia, of all nations, have such a pretty music box? He cannot imagine Russia picking it out from a store. To be fair, he cannot imagine Russia going to almost any store that does not involve weaponry or something else extremely creepy. This looks custom made, anyway; he turns it gently, looking for a signature. Instead he finds a note inscribed on the bottom.

Don't be lonely, Vanya.

All my love,

A huge hand snatches the box from Lithuania's hands and snaps it shut. "What do you think you are you doing?"

He turns to find himself face-to-face with Russia. How is it that Lithuania never hears him come in? The man looks livid; gone is the childish smile, swallowed by a scowl that makes him want to run and hide. His hands shake as he grips the edge of the shelf, trapped with his back against it and Russia pressed too close.

"M-Mr. Russia! Sir! I was just dusting, like you asked me to!" His eyes slide to the music box, and he honestly fears Russia will smash it against his face. Despite their raised voices, without the music the house seems deadly quiet again. "The box, it…opened, I didn't…"

"You were looking through my things! Spying on me, da? Well you will learn nothing! You know. Nothing." Russia grabs his wrist and wrenches him away from the desk. He trips over a chair and tries to scramble for the door.

"No! No, I wasn't spying! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to see!" Lithuania swears as he watches Russia replace the box with an incongruous tenderness.

"You have seen NOTHING!" Russia bellows, rounding on him. "You are not supposed to be in here! GET OUT!"

Fear lends strength to his legs, and Lithuania runs from the room as though the devil is behind him. Which he may well be. He's tired of this; he's tired of being terrified all the time and never knowing what might set Russia off. He never wanted to be here to begin with. He wants to go back. He wants his own house, his own bed, the comfort of his own people.

Estonia and Latvia catch him in the front hall, looking worried and frightened. "Where are you going?" Estonia asks as Lithuania pulls on his coat.

"Away. Home. Somewhere – just, I can't stay here anymore! I won't live like this, I won't be a slave to that beast!" He pulls the front door open, letting a gust of snow sweep into the house and caress the other two with chills. Lithuania doesn't feel it; his blood is hot and he is wide awake.

"Y-you can't!" Latvia stutters, peeking out from behind Estonia's legs. "Mr. R-Russia will…and it's nighttime, with the snow! You could get lost, and…and…!"

"I don't care," he replies. Whatever else they shout after him is lost to the howl of the wind and the slamming of the door. He pulls his hat down low to keep some of the snow out of his eyes and tightens the scarf around his neck. Then he runs.

The night is made darker by the snow-heavy clouds and the trees in the woods next to Russia's house. But he is a nation, and he can feel his way home. He knows the borders as well as his own skin. He'll just have to cross…Lithuania slows, the horror creeping in on him like the steadily increasing cold. There are no borders to cross. There is nowhere to go. His borders are Russia's now; he has been swallowed up. That home he's been dreaming of is gone, and Poland would not be there anyway. Nor can he go anywhere else; his friends have been swallowed too, or are embroiled in their own affairs.

A howl breaks through the snow, and Lithuania turns slowly. It is difficult to see; surely…surely it is only the wind, carrying a call from far away? No. Of course not. Lithuania has never been lucky, and now there are gold-green eyes in the dark. One snaps at him, the others growl, and fresh terror lends him the strength to run again.

The snow feels like it's getting deeper, and it hides treacherous footing. He nearly falls more than once, but to stop now could mean death. Well, not death – nations don't die so easy. But he would rather dust Russia's furniture than be torn to pieces. Putting himself back together is a painful process.

The wolves are on the chase now; perhaps he shouldn't have started running. If he faced them in his thick coat, maybe they'd think he was a bear. A small bear? Some days he really misses his gun, or even his sword. Russia won't let them carry any weapons. Lithuania can't blame him; if he got a hold of one, he would use it.

A branch slaps his face, tearing him from his thoughts and cutting a line of blood across his cheek. He needs to pay attention! Form a plan. Find a tree to climb, a river the pack can't cross, something. The woods seem to stretch for miles, and with the swirling snow and the too-new borders he can't quite tell where he is going. Everything looks the same: trees with grasping claws, faces in the wind, eyes in the dark, and over it all the swirling snow.

Lithuania ducks a fallen tree, and hears a wolf jump over it. Dear God, if they get ahead of him, he's done for. He could spend weeks out here, frozen and torn up, unable to heal properly and forgotten. He might…disappear. No! He won't let that happen. One day he will be independent again.

He forces his legs to go faster, fast enough to dance over the snow that tries to suck at his boots. But it's too late; there are eyes ahead, and from one side a wolf lunges at him. The claws and teeth miss, but the force of it is enough to send him sprawling. The pack closes in. He kicks one in the mouth and scrambles to his feet, but they don't back down. There's no way out; he can't reach the branches of any trees nearby, and he can't outrun them any longer.

Suddenly there's a new voice, a near-human roar from above. Lithuania and the wolves look up, and he's not sure which of them is more stunned to see Russia leap from the sky, out of the arms of General Winter. He lands in a crouch just in front of Lithuania, with his pipe outstretched. The wolves growl, and Russia snarls in reply. Lithuania doesn't dare to breathe, doesn't dare to wonder how Russia even got here. He takes a step back…and a wolf lunges at him.

Russia whips around and smacks the beast with his pipe, then shoves Lithuania out of the way. The rest of the pack follow, leaping at Russia, battering him with more strength than the snow storm. His bellow carries over the wind, and Lithuania stares in awe as the man fights off the pack. Claws and teeth rip into his coat, and the mound of furry bodies pile over him until Lithuania is afraid there is no Russia under it all. He starts to reach out, but the wolves go flying as Russia stands again.

His strength is nearly unmatched these days; Lithuania cannot forget that. It has not been so long since he and Poland were the wolves, getting tossed around like dolls and taking too many hits from that pipe. Yet watching it now, there's almost something beautiful about Russia, eyes glinting violet to reflect the stormy sky, the wind and snow swirling his coat in the same arc as his pipe. He's actually smiling, even when a wolf sinks its teeth into his arm and Lithuania cries out, even when the claws rake across his chest…Russia doesn't seem to feel it.

At last, Russia hits the largest wolf so hard that the pipe crushes its skull. The crack is sickening, and the sight more-so. The rest of the pack backs off, their tails between their legs. Russia snarls at them, and they scurry into the trees.

For a moment there is just the sound of the wind. Lithuania is afraid to move, afraid to look down and see the crushed wolf's head, afraid that's about to be his head. When Russia finally turns, he tenses. Russia smiles, and it is hard to see through the snow but Lithuania thinks there might be something like worry in his eyes. "Lithuania. You are hurt?"

"Ah…no, no I…" he wipes at the blood on his cheek. "No. It's just a scratch."

"Good." Russia holds out a hand, "Come home now. It's this way…" and then collapses in a heap, hand still outstretched.

"Mr. Russia!" Lithuania exclaims. He runs to him, his fear transferring itself onto the other man. How strange; afraid of and afraid for should not be so easily confused. There are wide rents in Russia's coat, and the stains that spread over the fabric are warm. He's not dead, of course; not even truly unconscious. But he's hurt, and hurt for him. Lithuania doesn't understand it. However, he owes the man. He can take him someplace warm.

"Alright Mr. Russia," he says quietly, pulling one of Russia's arms over his shoulder. "Let's go home."

XXX

Lithuania isn't entirely sure how they managed to get back to Russia's house. He doesn't know how to call General Winter, and Russia wasn't strong enough. The man is not very light, and he is not very strong. They must have scared any other forest creatures away, looking like a two-headed monstrosity with Russia leaning on him. He's glad Estonia and Latvia met them at the door, and gladder now for the warmth of the fire in Russia's room.

He must admit this was not how he expected to see the inside of it for the first time. He never thought Russia would be the one sitting in bed, for one thing. At least the scowl is a little easier to bear this time; Russia is not happy with the arrangement. He does not like the antiseptic Lithuania is putting over his wounds. That, too, is not what Lithuania expected. He barely reacted to it when the wolves were tearing into him, but now…

"Stop that!" Russia flinches away and shoves at his hands. Estonia and Latvia cower back, the tea/vodka tray shaking in Latvia's hands and the bandages getting tangled around Estonia's.

Lithuania grits his teeth. Thankfully, he has experience with difficult patients; there are none worse than Poland. "I keep telling you, if you don't let me clean them out, they could get infected." He tries again to press the long gashes on Russia's chest.

"That hurts!" he hisses, shoving harder. "Leave it alone, I heal fine!"

Really, Lithuania should leave him to it. If the wounds fester and weaken Russia, all the better. That will give him time to plan a better escape. But then…their economies are tied now. If Russia weakens, they all do. Besides, that blood was shed for him. He can't let him get sick on top of it. "Sir, please. Let me finish the worst ones, at least, and then we'll leave."

"Leave? You would leave again? If you leave you get hurt – or I do!" Russia snarls. "This is your fault!"

"My fault? You threatened me for doing my job, and now you're twisting my words! You're acting like a child! You're just like-" Poland. For a moment he'd forgotten who he was talking to.

"You are the one who goes wandering in a storm!" Russia yells. "You are the child, Lithuania! You are a bad child, who spies and runs away!"

"I wasn't spying! You wouldn't let me explain. You're just so…difficult, all the time! I don't understand you!"

At that, Russia pauses. "Difficult?" He looks at Estonia and Latvia. "Am I difficult?"

"Um…" Thankfully, the pair is saved from answering.

"I do not mean to be. I want us to be a family. We work together, then all is good." Russia reaches up and runs his thumb gently over the cut on Lithuania's face. "I do not like seeing you hurt. You are part of Russia now; when you hurt, I hurt."

There is a heavy pause. The snow pounds against the window, and the antiseptic drips from Lithuania's cloth and onto the bed. Perhaps they are going about this the wrong way. "Thank you. For saving me."

Russia blinks, then smiles. "You are welcome."

He sits back, and Lithuania takes that as an invitation to begin again. He presses the cloth gently against Russia's chest, and keeps talking to distract him. "Your house is very beautiful, Mr. Russia. But so quiet. I think…do you like music? Estonia does; he likes to sing very much. We sing together sometimes, with Latvia."

The other two look go white at their mention, and Russia stiffens. But he does not lash out this time. "You will sing for me sometime?"

"Yes. If you want." Lithuania cannot promise to stay. He cannot promise there will be no more pain, for either of them. But he can promise music in a house that has been empty too long. Beauty for the Beast.

Russia takes his hand and presses it over his heart. "I am glad."

Don't be lonely, Vanya.