Protect Me From What I Want (Russia)

[PureAWESOME]

It's the disease of the age
It's the disease that we crave

When the scenery from every window was never-ending white, one had to wonder what Gilbert found so fascinating by watching snow. Every morning he could be found in front of a window, staring out of it silently, seeming to be completely fixated by the gleaming white that surrounded his prison, his cage... The home of a psychotic Russian. However, despite his imprisonment here, and all of the trauma that he'd suffered, he seemed completely at ease here.

The albino was, in fact, not watching the snow. His ruby gaze was unfocused, seeing nothing, his mind far from the snow and caught in faraway memories that he longed to return to. He remembered the battles he'd fought in, the wars he'd won, the king he'd grown attached to... Gilbert's memory was full of these sorts of things. As he drifted through his thoughts, he remembered finding his little brother, raising him and teaching him how to fight, the first Great War, the Depression that hit him and his brother the hardest, and then the most recent history... The rise of his brother's fierce leader, watching his own brother's eyes harden to a coldness that matched the look in his boss's eyes, he remembered the first shock of how vicious Ludwig could be when brainwashed like that, the agonizing pain of every wound inflicted on him, and the wounds on his heart that the German had inflicted by telling him his orders... If they were not of Aryan descent, they were not worthy of living... Gilbert frowned as those words whispered in the back of his mind, the pain of hearing those very words as he was stripped of his country title was unbearable. And after his hellish life living there, he was taken by Russia, and shown an even worse level of hell, ripped of everything he once had, until here he sat, finally broken and forced into submission, thinking over what he used to have, and how, just once, he wanted to see his brother again. Even if it was only a brief glimpse, he would give anything to make sure his brother was still surviving.

And yet, as he sat here, his thoughts drifted to his captor, the Russian who put him through so much more after Ludwig. He hated the tall man, for every new wound that had been ripped into his body to hide the scars his brother had created, for every internal wall that had been destroyed to lay the albino open and vulnerable to the mental torture, reopening age old wounds on his heart, playing with fresh ones left by Ludwig... It was a wonder Gilbert wasn't insane...

Yet how could he tell any more? There were times where Gilbert felt as mad as the Russian, other times he could almost see what was going on in that twisted mind, and the things he found would have made him cry if there were any more tears left in his body. He could never grasp the full understanding of what troubled the Russian, what had caused him to go crazy, and yet he found himself sympathizing for him. Russia had gone through much worse than what he put through his captive, but the ex-nation's small taste of that world gave him a glimpse of the scared child that was hidden beneath the insane man.

Gilbert's heart clenched when he remembered the dream he'd had, of the small child surrounded by snow, cut off from everything else by the dark figure that loomed over him. Gilbert had woken from that with his heart pounding, and a chill in his bones. He didn't want to admit it, but he couldn't help feeling drawn to that lonely child, to Russia, wanting to break through the ghostly apparition's icy barrier to get to the crying boy, wanting to hold him close and show him he wasn't alone, but the shattered pride of the former Prussian wouldn't let him admit that to Russia, stubbornly trying to hold up even after it's destruction. He wanted to tell Russia that he wasn't alone, that the albino was there if he would just let him in, and at the same time, he couldn't bring himself to admit that it wasn't sympathy he felt, but a twisted attachment to the pale blond man who had destroyed him.

Gilbert sighed and closed his eyes, resting them for a moment, and when he opened them again, he saw the fleeting vision of that child out in the bleak snow, curled up in a desperate attempt to be warm in the ruthless cold, icy tears calling for someone to save him from loneliness. Gilbert tore his eyes from the window as his chest ached, getting up and moving away, trying to hide his thoughts before Russia would see them.

Protect me from what I want...
Protect me, protect me...

[Russia]

Never, never let you go
You are the one I'm searching for
__________________

As the Prussian's eyes opened with his gaze began to focus, a small icy figure emerged from the icy fog and smoke in a desperate struggle to get to the house. Violet eyes were wide, scared...The tears that had collected on his cheeks as well as the corners of his eyes had frozen into a sad, macabre sight. It appeared as though he was running from something...Some dark, billowing stranger hiding among the cover of the fog with nothing more than mere icy whispers that had carried through the snow. Hallowed promises of warmth, despite knowing that they would never come true. Promises that he would never be alone, that he would take care of him and that he always had. Father always provided security for his children.

The child let out a loud yelp as his foot sank inside of a deep snowbank, falling forward into the waiting arms of the snow that had cradled him and his sisters since their birth. Small fingers gripped at the snow beneath him, pained, pleading eyes looking up toward the window as he raised his hand upward toward the stranger in the window. Hot tears fell down his cheeks, melting the ice that had collected there. "H-Help me...P-P-Please...L-Let me in-inside, I-I-I can-can't l-let Fa-Father g-g-g-get m-me!" The darkness began to loom closer. The boy's eyes widened when the red eyes tore away from the window, unable to get up and run before he was engulfed by the darkness that had been following him; leaving nothing but the pure, untainted innocence of the snow behind.

_________

Every morning he would see the broken figure at the window, watching nothing but the spirits of the snow that claimed the hours of the night as well as the mere morning. Day in and day out the snow continued with it's melancholy dance of white, the Prince and Princess gracefully moving in their waltz through the falling flakes; the fabric of her dress billowing in the icy wind that Father had so generously provided. Figures of the long forgotten moving, swaying, entertaining Father with the most beguiling, the most beautiful, the most enticing of movements.

How long had it been since he had taken the former Empire under his wing? He wasn't sure, time for him had little meaning nor relevance now. He knew the glazed look that the German had claimed well, having had it for himself in recent years. In particular...After the game with Y--China. Where they both held the hilt of the gun, pressing the barrel to the sides of their heads, and pulled the trigger one at a time. It was a time that he never liked to think about, however was always fresh on his mind. A cruel, bitter reminder that his Father was correct. He would remain alone save for his merciful company. However, he couldn't ponder on it now.

He was in a war, abet a bloodless war, but a war nonetheless with the idiot of a capitalist pig who continued with his ridiculous notion that he was the so-called 'hero;' that he would save the world from the wicked communist's views and ideals. How naive, how truly childish it all was. He greatly enjoyed taunting the American, pushing at his every little button. It was so easy to get a rise out of him, though that was what made it so enjoyable.

Maybe it was why he now had his little squeeze toy, in the beginning he had put up such a struggle; such a fight against him. Though, that was what had made it fun. Though he had to make himself wonder why he did such things, possibly it was in a vain effort to try and understand how the human body and mind works. To test the psyche, to see how much abuse it could take before it would crack. Possibly...To better understand himself and why he is how he is now.

He had seen so many things in his life from the time he was young...He had seen loneliness. He had seen pain. He had seen despair. He had seen blood. He had seen death. He had seen love. He had seen betrayal. ..Bitterness, jealously, anger, and more betrayal. It had become just a basic fact of life now.

Watching as the other rose from his seat at the window, gloved fingers gave a light tap at the nearby wall. "Ah...You truly are a creature of habit, aren't you kitty?"

Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone
Soul of my soul, blood of my blood
Love's carving it in the stone
__________________

[PureAWESOME]

Wedding bells ain't gonna chime
With both of us guilty of crime
And both of us sentenced to time
And now we're all alone

Gilbert lifted his dulled eyes to look at the Russian who had apparently been watching him, doing his best to hide the sympathy he felt, looking away from the man, sighing a little as he walked toward the taller man,

“I guess I am...” The albino murmured, stopping a few feet away and looking up again, not wanting to meet that amethyst gaze, but still forcing himself to face the insanity that he was slipping into, and it's cause, even as his mind shied away from admitting it, “Did you want something, Russia?” How there was still a mask of his former glory, he didn't know, but he wondered if that mask was slowly cracking as it tried to hide the growing truth beneath it, a truth he still didn't want the Russian to know.

But how long could he hide it? How much more pressure could the mask take before it shattered and lay his feelings out for Russia to see? What would he do if he saw how the former nation felt about him? Would he step on his feelings and push him away? Or bring him closer and never let him go? As it was, Gilbert couldn't tell what the outcome would be, and it scared him.

He had to keep his feelings for Russia hidden, if he was to be rejected, he didn't want it to happen when he was vulnerable and easily broken like this. It would hurt too much, and he didn't want that. He'd made up his mind; he would guard his heart until he could be ready for rejection if it came to that.

But would it? Gilbert had figured out that Russia was reaching out for companions and friends, so how could he be so sure that he would be rejected by the violet-eyed man? What if he allowed him into his heart, to keep him from being lonely? He couldn't tell what would happen in the future, he knew that, but was it really wise of him to set on one choice or the other?

Despite all of the doubts and questions, Gilbert remained silent, watching the Russian's face, wondering what kinds of thoughts may be wandering through the expanse of his thoughts and memories. Maybe he was thinking of new ways to hurt him, or how to mess with America... Maybe he had been thinking about his past like the albino had been, or he may have gotten attached to him as well, and they were dancing in uncertainty... He didn't want to get his hopes up, but at the same times, they were still there, praying to be right. Hoping the Russian might want Gilbert to drive away his loneliness.

Protect me from what I want...
Protect me, protect me...

[Russia]

Cold and shaking
I crawled down alleys to try
To scrape away the tracks that marked me
_______________________

Ivan's faintly glazed over eyes only continued to follow the German's every movement; each careful step, each hesitant glance with those now dull, doll-like eyes. Yes, that was what he was now, wasn't he? Nothing more than a mere doll, a shell of his former self with no life nor soul left to him. Such a pity really, there was no fight left to him. No bark, no bite, no nothing. Only a life-sized doll for the sole purpose for his own needs for whatever they may be. At the very least, his doll was obedient. He knew better than to disobey. He continued to follow with a simple tug of the leash, with each little command.

Glancing downward at the other man with a soft chuckle at his question, his hand falling on top of the silver tufts of hair. Truly was a creature of habit, wasn't he? "Maybe I had, maybe I hadn't. Do you believe that I had come to call on you for something?" He asked, his voice was quiet and keeping it's childish ring to it, however there was something different about it this time. It held a faint note of...Something else.

He was surprised over the course of the months how obedient that Gilbert had become, never questioning nor fighting against any sort of command or request that he was given. Though despite such, it was a much welcomed change from his usual pace. He showed no sign of fear when he called for him, never once complaining of any sort of treatment he was getting. However for what it was actually worth, he was grateful for such things.

Stress and tension had continued to grow through the course of the years, in particular with the continuing involvement in Vietnam. It was only one more way to push the Capitalist's buttons, one more way to watch and make sure that he squirmed, one more way to make him break. Wherever the supposed 'Red Scare' was, he followed in a vain effort to squash it. Such a fool's errand it was, as well as being quite enjoyable as well as entertaining to actually watch.

Though there were many more things on his mind than just wishing to be rid of the Capitalist, though the mere thought of thrusting a bayonet repeatedly into his chest and stomach to puncture and be rid of his organs was quite the pleasant thought. He hadn't realized that a sardonic smile had crossed his lips, head giving a small shake in return. No, there would be plenty of time for that sort of thought later. He had much bigger things to tend too. "I had asked you to be in my office over an hour ago kitty, why hadn't you done what I had asked you to do?" Punishing a disobedient pet was one of the reasons, at least for now.

Slammed my face into walls of concrete
I stared, amazed at the words written on the wall

Don't ever trust the needle, it lies
Don't ever trust
Don't ever trust the needle when it cries, cries your name
_______________________

[PureAWESOME]

Wet and raving
The needle keeps calling me back
To bloody my hands forever
Carved my cure with the blade
That left me in scars

Gilbert looked down when he was reminded of being called upon, crossing his arms in a hollow attempt to shield himself from what the Russian might do to him, speaking softly,

“Sorry. I got distracted and forgot.” He tried to be obedient, to avoid punishments, but every now and then he slipped up and had to accept it. He did better when he took what he was given, rather than trying to get out of it. He'd learned that his treatment was easier that way, and he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before looking back up at Ivan, for a moment a thought flickered through his mind as he unthinkingly nuzzled the hand on his head before stopping and looking away, as if ashamed or embarrassed at showing even the slightest signs of affection for the taller, powerful man. “Sorry.” He mumbled, hugging himself a little, shying away from the thoughts that flickered through his mind. He couldn't admit the feelings that had snuck into his heart. Not to him. He could barely manage admitting them to himself when he was so close to Ivan. It scared him, not knowing what could happen in his fragile state. He didn't want anything else to break, especially not his heart.

He wished that things were easier on his mind, that they could be figured out or made sense of now that he had little to nothing else to worry about. His home was no longer under his control, his country was gone, his brother... He wasn't allowed to see his brother any more, he only had to worry about following the commands Ivan gave him and the punishments he was given. That should have made thinking and figuring out other things easier, right? Seems like personal emotions weren't following that plan. Then again, he never could figure out how he felt about others, but he never worried about it because he had focused on other things. Now, it was painfully clear that he didn't know what to do with himself any more. And he was scared of it.

The albino's dull eyes lifted to look at the Russian again, hesitant to speak at first before his soft voice began to work again, a huge contrast to his previously loud, boisterous speech, “What will my punishment be?” He felt better if he knew and could brace himself to endure what would be given, so he could focus on surviving and try not to repeat his mistakes.

Now every time I'm weak
Words scream from my arm

Don't ever trust
Don't ever trust the needle, it lies
Don't ever trust
Don't ever trust the needle when it cries, cries your name

[Russia]

Never made it as a wise man
I couldn't cut it as a poor man stealing
Tired of living like a blind man
______________

While Gilbert's actions and quiet turn of speech had caught Ivan's attention, he couldn't help but begin to think of how much of a shame of what the once great Prussia had become. Funny how the mighty could fall so much, as well as in such a short amount of time as he had. Once so proud and strong, with so fight in him now long gone. Seeing this pitiful creature now, it truly was such an astonishing thing. Such a hollow shell and a weak attempt to try and protect himself from what he seemed to believe on what was possibly coming.

While surprised when he felt the nuzzling back against his palm, his fingers slowly ran through the albino's hair. So he had named his acquisition correctly, his dear little kitten. Ivan drew back his hand when the other man's head wrenched away from his hand not a moment later, eyelids falling for a second. Even though it seemed as though he were begging for the faintest hint of affection, the little basic necessity for touch and human contact, at the same time, it appeared as though he didn't. "You claim that you have forgotten, though I'm not quite so sure that is true howver..." His train of words broke for a moment when his eyes opened again and turned toward the window, violet meeting the falling white outside of the glass.

Prussia now was very much like the falling snow, so easily moldable, yet at the same time, so easily breakable. One little hint of heat, one little gesture could lead to melting. Though, it wasn't as though he hadn't thought about it, not in the least. All in due time, once he deemed it absolutely necessary. He could feel those dead eyes falling onto his back when his own hand rose to fall onto the frost-tinted glass. "Punishment? And whoever said that I would be punishing you? At least, not now."

Not now, at least. Not when he was such easy prey. He had already been broken completely, there was no such point in causing further damage at the moment.

I'm sick of sight without a sense of feeling
And this is how you remind me

This is how you remind me
Of what I really am
______________

[PureAWESOME]

Can you give me eternity?
I offer you my life!

I stand in front of your altar
I don't know who I am, who I was

The albino watched him for a long moment in silence, taking a deep breath. He couldn't take it any more. He'd practically deprived himself of human contact, of affection, it was becoming harder to bear avoiding it any more. Gilbert moved quietly, not daring to make too much noise, hesitating as his hand reached out toward the Russian. It was now or never, he needed something to keep him going, to prevent him from becoming a porcelain doll to decorate Ivan's house. He lightly touched Ivan's coat, then slid his arms around the taller, stronger nation, hugging him tentatively, avoiding looking at the Russian's face. He couldn't, couldn't face the fact that he wanted, needed, craved attention, that he needed the nation he now belonged to.

The silence stretched on for what felt like hours in Gilbert's mind, his voice caught in his throat, the words trying to make sense of each other as the silver-haired man struggled to find the right thing to say in this moment, something to break the silence that was trying to strangle him. But what could he say? Was there anything in his vocabulary that could express anything he wanted to tell the powerful nation? Was there any word in any language of the world that could describe how he felt? Did he dare say it now? Now, when he knew the chance of laying out his heart could very likely shatter it?

Still, he felt that something needed to be said to explain his actions, at least in part. Yet he still stood in silence, arms wrapped around Ivan, trying to get his voice to work again. Finally, he opened his mouth, murmuring one word that, had he still been himself, would never come out of his mouth, “Ivan...” He almost wanted to hide when he heard the name slip off his tongue, and the underlying tone of it. He didn't just say his name, he'd just said his name with a hint of affection. He hid his face in Ivan's chest, as if hiding from the word, falling silent again, unable to bring himself to explain why he said it, or why he was hugging the Russian, trying to shy away from explaining anything.

Pain and grief consumes me
Until the train of life runs me over
This world is so empty
I do not want and I cannot any more
Exitus