[Fanfic] 1940
Apr. 5th, 2010 03:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blood_wingedTitle: 1940
Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst/Romance
Pairing: LithuaniaxPoland
Rating/Warnings: PG. Slight history abuse. Holocaust references.
Summary: Toris manages to slip away to see Feliks in the early days of the second world war.
*****
The front door was missing. Toris touched the blistered paint on the doorframe as he ducked inside, his eyes wide as he surveyed the damage. The stairs had caved in, leaving the upper floors inaccessible, and the air was filled with a choking layer of dust that had the Lithuanian wafting one hand in front of his face, coughing to clear his throat.
“F-Feliks?” he called, his voice trembling with fear and exhaustion. The house was too quiet, a place usually bustling with life and light and the silly, jaunty music that Feliks was always playing. He heard someone cough, and followed the sound, poking his head around the door of the sitting room.
The room was in a shambles, and Toris flinched, his heart racing as he caught sight of himself in the cracked and dusty mirror hanging crookedly on the opposite wall. Splinters from the shattered doorframe dug into his palm as he held tightly to it, and he used the pain to ground himself, taking a steadying breath. He could hear a sound – a shaky, trembling breathing that was barely audible over the noises of the house settling and the commotion outside. Toris swallowed, ducking into the room, glass crunching under his boots and blood-
Blood.
Eyes widening, the Lithuanian felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. Though, with it, the fear disappeared, leaving only an urgent need to find Feliks. He searched through the room, following the sound of the other man’s breathing.
He found him, his clothes in tatters and stained with blood, hiding behind an overturned sofa. The Pole had his head buried in his arms, his knees drawn tightly to his chest, his body shaking. He jolted violently when Toris touched his arm, letting out a whimper and scooting backwards until he was firmly wedged between the wall and the sofa. When Toris murmured his name he clapped his hands over his head and mumbled something in broken Polish that the taller man didn’t quite catch. Toris crouched, and tentatively, his fingers brushed against Feliks’. Slowly, Feliks lifted his head, and Toris almost recoiled.
“Dieve mano! Feliks, oh, Feliks, what did that German pavainikis do to you?!”
“L-Litwa...”
Toris moved onto his knees and shifted forwards, feeling the shudder that ran through Feliks’ body as Toris wrapped his arms around him, tucking the smaller man’s head protectively under his chin. He didn’t want to look at him again, didn’t want to see the dark, livid bruising around his eyes, the cut across his nose and his swollen, split lip. He didn’t want to think about the cruel hands that had put such marks on him, and what else they might have done. Fingers curled into the front of his jacket and clung, and Feliks quivered, pressing himself close to the warm, secure form of the other man.
“It’s alright, Feliks...” Toris murmured, struggling to keep his voice soft and soothing over the urge to scream and cry and curse whoever had hurt him. “I’m here.”
Feliks didn’t cry, but he clutched Toris’ shirt so hard that the Lithuanian wondered how he didn’t tear it. His body shook and trembled and Toris ran his hand in slow, smooth movements up and down his back. He stroked Feliks’ hair, squeezed his fingers gently, kissed his forehead and slowly but surely drew him out of the corner that he had buried himself in. He put his back to the wall and settled himself beside Feliks, the Pole sat half in his lap with his head resting against Toris’ shoulder. Toris would have needed to be blind to miss the awkward way that Feliks moved, the faint flicker of pain on his face as he scooted across to the other man.
“I’m living with Russia again...” the Lithuanian said after some time had passed. He didn’t know why he felt the need to make idle conversation – perhaps to bring some sense of normalcy to this situation.
“Ah...”
“It’s... not so bad...”
“You’re like, totally lying,” Feliks muttered. “You’re a really bad liar, y’know.”
“You could always see right through me,” Toris sighed, and rested his head back against the wall. It was almost nice... It would have been nice, to sit like this, if it wasn’t for the marks on their bodies and the uncertainty of when this would end.
“They’re killing people, Toris...” the Pole said then, glancing up at the other man. “Not just my people. They’re, like, bringing people into my country and killing them. They, the... the Germans... they have this place... they call it ‘Auschwitz’...” He said the word like it was dirty. “They’ve... taken Oświęcim, and they’ve turned it into a... a-a death camp.” Feliks shuddered, made a strange, choked sound, dry-heaving once before he stood quickly and moved away from Toris, throwing up what little he had in his stomach onto the floorboards. He rasped out a cough, wiping his lips on his sleeve, and Toris got to his feet, approaching and touching the smaller man’s shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, Feliks,” he murmured. “I wish I could... protect you from all of this.” It was hard to believe it now, in this room, with the both of them feeling the ache of war throbbing through their bones that they had once been a powerful nation, one that would not have stood for this kind of treatment, one that would have fought back, and won. Sometimes, Toris hated what he had become. It was a long fall indeed from one who had once defeated Prussia with superior military tactics to what he was now, so... weak.
Feliks turned to the contact and Toris pulled the man against him, holding him tightly, as if he could shield the Pole from all of this horror with his own body. They stood, clinging to one another as if the world was crumbling around them. Hours could have passed before Toris finally patted Feliks’ back gently and drew away from him, clasping his hands.
“I have to go,” he said. Feliks’ eyes widened a fraction.
“What? No! You can’t!”
“I have to...” Toris had known that this wouldn’t be easy, but he hadn’t expected it to hurt quite this much. He had come here with the intention of making sure that Feliks was alright, that he was alive, but now, to have to leave again so soon... “Rusija will miss me if I’m gone for too long. Please, Feliks, don’t make this any more difficult than it is already...”
But Feliks wasn’t listening. He held desperately to the front of Toris’ shirt and dissolved into tears, and the Lithuanian’s already shaky resolve began to crack.
“Feliks, don’t do that...” He put his arms around the man and hugged him gently, feeling the man trembling against him, and he brushed a soft kiss against the shell of his ear. “Come on, now... You’re better than this.”
There was a pause, then Feliks sniffed slightly, nodded, and drew back, rubbing his face with the back of his fingers. He looked up at Toris and smiled a quavering, brave little smile, and the Lithuanian felt his heart break in that instant. He lifted one hand and touched the smaller man’s cheek, brushing his thumb lightly over the bruise colouring the pale skin.
“One day very soon, we’ll be together again,” Toris said, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “I promise.”
“I trust you,” Feliks replied, placing a hand on the brunette’s shoulder. Clasping it, squeezing lightly, Toris touched gently beneath Feliks’ chin with one finger and tipped his head up, closing his eyes, blocking out the world for that one sweet moment when their lips touched. Feliks’ grip on his arm tightened, then it was over, the world intruded once again and he sighed, resting his forehead against the small blonde’s.
“I have to go,” he said again, and this time, Feliks nodded, quiet as he drew away and looked around the room as if he had only just noticed the mess. “Aš tave myliu.”
“Kocham cię.”
“Amžinai.”
“Zawsze.”
They kept contact for as long as they could, their hands clasped until the last moment when the distance finally forced them to part. Toris hesitated as his hand fell to his side, and Feliks summoned that tiny smile once again, shooing him away with a small gesture.
“Like, get outta here, Toris. I’ll be totally fine.”
“Yes... I know you will.”
------------------------
Aš tave myliu - I love you [Lithuanian]
Kocham cię - I love you [Polish]
Amžinai - Forever [Lithuanian]
Zawsze - Always [Polish]
Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst/Romance
Pairing: LithuaniaxPoland
Rating/Warnings: PG. Slight history abuse. Holocaust references.
Summary: Toris manages to slip away to see Feliks in the early days of the second world war.
*****
The front door was missing. Toris touched the blistered paint on the doorframe as he ducked inside, his eyes wide as he surveyed the damage. The stairs had caved in, leaving the upper floors inaccessible, and the air was filled with a choking layer of dust that had the Lithuanian wafting one hand in front of his face, coughing to clear his throat.
“F-Feliks?” he called, his voice trembling with fear and exhaustion. The house was too quiet, a place usually bustling with life and light and the silly, jaunty music that Feliks was always playing. He heard someone cough, and followed the sound, poking his head around the door of the sitting room.
The room was in a shambles, and Toris flinched, his heart racing as he caught sight of himself in the cracked and dusty mirror hanging crookedly on the opposite wall. Splinters from the shattered doorframe dug into his palm as he held tightly to it, and he used the pain to ground himself, taking a steadying breath. He could hear a sound – a shaky, trembling breathing that was barely audible over the noises of the house settling and the commotion outside. Toris swallowed, ducking into the room, glass crunching under his boots and blood-
Blood.
Eyes widening, the Lithuanian felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. Though, with it, the fear disappeared, leaving only an urgent need to find Feliks. He searched through the room, following the sound of the other man’s breathing.
He found him, his clothes in tatters and stained with blood, hiding behind an overturned sofa. The Pole had his head buried in his arms, his knees drawn tightly to his chest, his body shaking. He jolted violently when Toris touched his arm, letting out a whimper and scooting backwards until he was firmly wedged between the wall and the sofa. When Toris murmured his name he clapped his hands over his head and mumbled something in broken Polish that the taller man didn’t quite catch. Toris crouched, and tentatively, his fingers brushed against Feliks’. Slowly, Feliks lifted his head, and Toris almost recoiled.
“Dieve mano! Feliks, oh, Feliks, what did that German pavainikis do to you?!”
“L-Litwa...”
Toris moved onto his knees and shifted forwards, feeling the shudder that ran through Feliks’ body as Toris wrapped his arms around him, tucking the smaller man’s head protectively under his chin. He didn’t want to look at him again, didn’t want to see the dark, livid bruising around his eyes, the cut across his nose and his swollen, split lip. He didn’t want to think about the cruel hands that had put such marks on him, and what else they might have done. Fingers curled into the front of his jacket and clung, and Feliks quivered, pressing himself close to the warm, secure form of the other man.
“It’s alright, Feliks...” Toris murmured, struggling to keep his voice soft and soothing over the urge to scream and cry and curse whoever had hurt him. “I’m here.”
Feliks didn’t cry, but he clutched Toris’ shirt so hard that the Lithuanian wondered how he didn’t tear it. His body shook and trembled and Toris ran his hand in slow, smooth movements up and down his back. He stroked Feliks’ hair, squeezed his fingers gently, kissed his forehead and slowly but surely drew him out of the corner that he had buried himself in. He put his back to the wall and settled himself beside Feliks, the Pole sat half in his lap with his head resting against Toris’ shoulder. Toris would have needed to be blind to miss the awkward way that Feliks moved, the faint flicker of pain on his face as he scooted across to the other man.
“I’m living with Russia again...” the Lithuanian said after some time had passed. He didn’t know why he felt the need to make idle conversation – perhaps to bring some sense of normalcy to this situation.
“Ah...”
“It’s... not so bad...”
“You’re like, totally lying,” Feliks muttered. “You’re a really bad liar, y’know.”
“You could always see right through me,” Toris sighed, and rested his head back against the wall. It was almost nice... It would have been nice, to sit like this, if it wasn’t for the marks on their bodies and the uncertainty of when this would end.
“They’re killing people, Toris...” the Pole said then, glancing up at the other man. “Not just my people. They’re, like, bringing people into my country and killing them. They, the... the Germans... they have this place... they call it ‘Auschwitz’...” He said the word like it was dirty. “They’ve... taken Oświęcim, and they’ve turned it into a... a-a death camp.” Feliks shuddered, made a strange, choked sound, dry-heaving once before he stood quickly and moved away from Toris, throwing up what little he had in his stomach onto the floorboards. He rasped out a cough, wiping his lips on his sleeve, and Toris got to his feet, approaching and touching the smaller man’s shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, Feliks,” he murmured. “I wish I could... protect you from all of this.” It was hard to believe it now, in this room, with the both of them feeling the ache of war throbbing through their bones that they had once been a powerful nation, one that would not have stood for this kind of treatment, one that would have fought back, and won. Sometimes, Toris hated what he had become. It was a long fall indeed from one who had once defeated Prussia with superior military tactics to what he was now, so... weak.
Feliks turned to the contact and Toris pulled the man against him, holding him tightly, as if he could shield the Pole from all of this horror with his own body. They stood, clinging to one another as if the world was crumbling around them. Hours could have passed before Toris finally patted Feliks’ back gently and drew away from him, clasping his hands.
“I have to go,” he said. Feliks’ eyes widened a fraction.
“What? No! You can’t!”
“I have to...” Toris had known that this wouldn’t be easy, but he hadn’t expected it to hurt quite this much. He had come here with the intention of making sure that Feliks was alright, that he was alive, but now, to have to leave again so soon... “Rusija will miss me if I’m gone for too long. Please, Feliks, don’t make this any more difficult than it is already...”
But Feliks wasn’t listening. He held desperately to the front of Toris’ shirt and dissolved into tears, and the Lithuanian’s already shaky resolve began to crack.
“Feliks, don’t do that...” He put his arms around the man and hugged him gently, feeling the man trembling against him, and he brushed a soft kiss against the shell of his ear. “Come on, now... You’re better than this.”
There was a pause, then Feliks sniffed slightly, nodded, and drew back, rubbing his face with the back of his fingers. He looked up at Toris and smiled a quavering, brave little smile, and the Lithuanian felt his heart break in that instant. He lifted one hand and touched the smaller man’s cheek, brushing his thumb lightly over the bruise colouring the pale skin.
“One day very soon, we’ll be together again,” Toris said, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “I promise.”
“I trust you,” Feliks replied, placing a hand on the brunette’s shoulder. Clasping it, squeezing lightly, Toris touched gently beneath Feliks’ chin with one finger and tipped his head up, closing his eyes, blocking out the world for that one sweet moment when their lips touched. Feliks’ grip on his arm tightened, then it was over, the world intruded once again and he sighed, resting his forehead against the small blonde’s.
“I have to go,” he said again, and this time, Feliks nodded, quiet as he drew away and looked around the room as if he had only just noticed the mess. “Aš tave myliu.”
“Kocham cię.”
“Amžinai.”
“Zawsze.”
They kept contact for as long as they could, their hands clasped until the last moment when the distance finally forced them to part. Toris hesitated as his hand fell to his side, and Feliks summoned that tiny smile once again, shooing him away with a small gesture.
“Like, get outta here, Toris. I’ll be totally fine.”
“Yes... I know you will.”
------------------------
Aš tave myliu - I love you [Lithuanian]
Kocham cię - I love you [Polish]
Amžinai - Forever [Lithuanian]
Zawsze - Always [Polish]
