A/N: Happy birthday, Nikkidora! x3 I promise I'll try to quickly write your real fic with the Bad Friends Trio and Canada being…molested? ...By France. Owo; Ohmai~. xD;

Anyway, like. The reason for my total disappearance from posting lately is because I was hit by the hugest brick of writer's blockage imaginable in which I had lots of ideas, but no ability to write them. ;A; HOWEVER, I started on a giant Rammstein/Metallica binge and they have renewed my muse. –gringrin- (I went to a Metallica concert Thursday and Liebe Ist Fuer Alle Da finally came out in Alfred yesterday, so when I say binge I mean binge. xD)

Enjoy your first present-fic, Comrade Duck Messiah. 8D

Axis Powers Hetalia = Not mine.





"Ivan! Ivan, it's raining. You need to come inside right now." Lithuania was practically pleading by then, exasperated at the other man and upset at his umbrella for malfunctioning and dripping water all over him. "Please?" Why he had to be so stubborn, Toris didn't know. Sometimes Russia could just act so incredibly childish…

"No…I don't want to," he replied with his wispy smile, his eyes wide in wonder as he gazed up at the weeping sky. "Perhaps they're crying because a certain little mouse is trying to boss them around and it's making them upset."

Indignant, Toris sputtered, "I… I'm not a mouse, Ivan…!"

"Oh, really? I bet if I stepped on you you'd die all the same," chuckled the Russian, closing his eyes as thunder crackled through the moist air. "We can try it out if you'd like."

Biting down on his tongue, he knew well when it was time to stop trying so hard to defend himself. Often, that had used to make Russia keen to really hit him. But despite all of the inevitable violence that followed Ivan, Toris had given up trying to leave. He was always going to find himself going back there anyway, he'd admitted, and for one odd reason or another he had woken up one day and realized he'd grown to care about Ivan. Sense left him. Whether it was from past brutal beatings leaving him numb or not, Toris had lost his want to flee away. Ivan didn't hit him anymore, not in a long time, but once in a while he would see that same face trying to break out once more.

He's really just a child inside. He doesn't know what to do any more than I do myself.

Clutching the handle of his useless umbrella, Toris tried again. "You're going to be hit by lightning though… Please come inside the house, damn it!"

"Lightning?" He looked thoughtfully down at his boots. "You know, I wish I could say that I'd care, but I can't. I wouldn't mind that, to be entirely truthful."

He didn't want to hear that.

God, he didn't want to hear things like that. It reminded Toris too much of ways he used to think himself, and how much those thoughts could sting and linger.

Ivan, do you know what I wish I could say back to that? That I'm surprised. But I'm not surprised… You talk so much about me and how I'm looking sad, but I'm not the only one. Swallowing fast, he shuffled closer to Ivan through the accumulating puddles. So much for trying to keep any part of him dry… The umbrella was a total failure, and now his feet were cold and soaked as well. God damn it, Ivan! "C-come inside, please!"

"No, that's alright. Oh, perhaps if I stand here long enough, I'll catch pneumonia? Then I could die and you and the rest of the world wouldn't have to worry about me ruining your lives with my existence any more! Wouldn't that be nice, Toris?"

His stomach rolled, disturbed, and his voice took on a whole new quiver. "Ivan…please…" Gripping the slippery umbrella, he closed his eyes. Images tossed themselves around behind their lids of memories and misery and a few of happiness, but at the moment none were as vivid as one of blood dripping down skin.

He couldn't remember whose blood it was, not what particular time it was (why were there always so many people bleeding, he wondered?), but that wasn't as important as the frightening similarity that still, bleeding frame had to the raindrops on Russia's face.

It made Toris' always fractured heart ache again. A pin cushion, sliced through with needles and wearing thin, and yet never quite giving out.

Ivan had once asked him never to die forgotten, and he'd been trying to remember that with all his will.

Those sorts of things were harder than they sounded to do, the brown haired Lithuanian kept discovering. He felt Ivan's eyes on him, hovering hesitantly.

"I'm sorry…" Murmured the tall man softly, "I'm always making you sad." His eyes shimmered and he smiled. "Ne, Lithuania? I think you may need a new umbrella."

"I… Yeah, I might." There, again with the Toris, you're looking sad.

"Maybe you should go inside," suggested the Russian, putting his head to the side, looking concernedly at the umbrella and its pitiful holder.

"Only if you do as well… I… I don't want you to be hurt, alright?" Not hurt any more than he always already was. The blood and the screaming of his countrymen and everyone running away. That's why I couldn't run away anymore. Please don't be alone.

"But I told you I'm fine—"

The blood and the screams being drenched and cleansed by the rain, unlike in the snow where they only stained. Ivan was trying, trying to feel better, but he needed something more and something warm. To not think about those ripping, dreadful memories once in a while. A fireplace and someone to sit next to.

"Please!" Toris repeated yet again. What an empty, powerless word. He was so tired of hearing himself chirp it out.

This time, Ivan seemed to listen harder, though. He was quiet before letting out a warm sigh and looking at Toris rather than through him into those carts of nightmare memories. "Well. Okay. Da… Let's both dry off now." The smile was offered, and a friendly hand as well. Lithuania glanced at it, at the hand which used to hurt him so easily. "Toris?"

From that man he'd stopped being afraid of some time ago. "Of course." For that man, however…

"Good." Russia beamed, gently guiding them both out of the rain.

Everyone has scars somewhere, and at some point everyone's umbrella is bound to leak.