A/N: Hey everyone… Not really sure where this story came from… I just kind of woke up and it was there, so I'm writing it down before I forget any of the gory details. On which note…

Warnings: Blood, violence, language, implied yaoi, creepy Russia, Prussia in general, yandere-ish-ness, use of human names… Do I really need to go on?

Rating: I wasn't really sure what to rate this. I think I'll keep it T, because most of the general mature-ish stuff is implied. I suppose if you're squeamish you wouldn't really like it, but if that was the case, you probably wouldn't be bothering to read it anyways. Am I right?

Characters: Prussia, Russia, Lithuania, passing mentions of Poland, the Baltics, Germany and Canada.

Pairings: Blink-and-miss implied PruCan, implied LietPol, implied one-sided Russia/Lithuania, and maybe some others I've missed.

Summary: A bloody game of hangman leads to one Nation's refusal to submit. Rebellion is contagious, and two disobedient countries may be more than Russia can handle.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. I just borrow the sandbox to take my favorite characters down a few pegs.


Prussia was never really sure what to do when Russia knocked on his door. Putting up the façade of respecting his privacy was confusing, and usually meant that the huge Nation was in a terrifyingly good mood, which never ended well.

Prussia considered jumping out the two-story window for a few moments until he realized that his escape would probably mean Lithuania would have to deal with Russia. And he, Gilbert Beilschmidt, was far too awesome to let that happen. So, forcing his fists to unclench and exhaling shakily, Prussia opened the door.

"Dobroye utro, Beilschmidt," Ivan announced, striding into the room. Prussia took a moment too long translating, and in that time, Russia had gripped him by the lapels and plunked him down on the floor in front of the bigger country.

"It's not morning," Gilbert retaliated belatedly as the other man turned him around so Prussia's back was to him. This was looking bad…

"Take off your shirt, Beilschmidt. I'm going to show you something."

Looking very bad… "Really now? I thought that seizing vital regions was my territory…?" Prussia let the sentence hang, turning just enough to lock eyes with Russia. Ruby met lavender as the albino Nation gave the other his most seductive smirk, fingers drifting over the top button of his shirt. "Tell you what. We'll trade. My shirt for your scarf, hmm?"

The taunting offer was abruptly cut off by a gloved hand wrapping itself around the back of his neck, and Gilbert couldn't stop the gasp of shock and pain that escaped him.

Way too far with the scarf.

Hastily unbuttoning his black dress shirt, Prussia deliberately wrinkled it before tossing it up onto the table he was situated troublingly close to.

"You are familiar with the game hangman, Beilschmidt?" Russia began.

"'Course I am. Never lost."

"Impressive," the other man mused. "I relish the challenge."

Prussia snorted with laughter for a moment. "How many letters?" Was this really what this early evening intrusion was all about…?


Another chuckle. "A. For awesome. Definition, me."

The three stings that sliced across his back were unexpected enough to draw a hiss of discomfort from the captive man. Did he seriously just carve the gallows into my back?

"No A."

Unsure of what to do next, Prussia chose the next best letter he could think of. "B. For Beilschmidt. The guy who's gonna beat your sorry ass at this stupid game."

Bracing himself for the addition of the noose, Gilbert was surprised at the grim laughter from the other country. "Da."

He was halfway through his sigh of relief when a spiky letter B was engraved next to the faded tattoo on his shoulder blade. Biting at his lip, Prussia snapped, "If I'm gonna get carved up either way, what's the point of winning?"

"There's a lesson you're supposed to be learning here," was the reply. "The sooner you understand that, the sooner I can stop having to teach you."

"S. For stupidCommieideas. Definition, you."

He could feel Russia smile behind him and couldn't help the groan of pain as an elaborate S blossomed along his spine

"That the first letter?"


He was running out of ideas and fast, so for the hell of it he chose "E, I, O, U, sometimes Y. For vowels. Things words need. Like you need to get l-"

Prussia's comment was halted by a stab of a noose, a circle of a face, a slash of a body, a crescent of a U and a dagger of an I. Inhaling sharply in a sound halfway between a whistle and a whimper, Gilbert twisted the fabric of his jeans in his white-knuckled hands.

Six letters… Starting with S-U-B… Sub…Level Subtract, substance, subdue… no, that's two Us…suburban, Sub… Sub…Wait, there's an I in there… Sub…Atomic. No A. Too many letters. Submarine, submachine gun, Sub…Sub… Submit. Oh.

Prussia went utterly still and Russia ran the tip of the knife delicately over his spine, drawing the prisoner out of his thoughts with an unsuppressed shudder. Ivan had presented a quandary, to either accept his fate as captive while winning the game or risk further torment but keep his pride as a Nation intact.

Screw this.Gilbert cackled madly and bared his teeth in a cross between a grin and a grimace. "Q."

Russia gave a slight nod of almost-understanding and pressed the dagger slowly across a previous cut until he scraped bone and Prussia screamed in defiant agony. Gasping, he growled, "X. Z. V." Better to try and end this as quickly as possible.

The Russian obviously did not agree, and added legs and a face with deliberate slowness, every stroke cutting through layers of muscles and nerves. Prussia snarled and shook, burying his teeth in his hand to keep from crying out.

"Two more chances, Beilschmidt."

"Two?" Gilbert choked, spitting blood behind him in the general direction of Russia's face. "Seems like you've got me beat this time."

"Not quite. Letter?"

Prussia exhaled in a sound that would have been a frustrated sob in someone less awesome and grumbled, "F."

Russia said nothing and carefully traced what felt like a pair of glasses around the needle-stick eyes.

The albino couldn't help the near-hysterical laughter that escaped him. "Who's that supposed to be? America?"

Ivan chuckled along and repeated, "Not quite. Letter?"

Gilbert sighed in feigned boredom and drawled "W," in his best American accent, just to get under Russia's skin.

Russia mirrored his sigh and dragged the knife along the face in a swooping curl. A jolt of understanding flew down his spine and into his toes and Prussia felt colder than he had in years.

"W-who's t-t-that?" he bluffed, playing on the blonde Nation's skill at being forgotten.

"Your voice betrays you, Beilschmidt.

"Only because you keep your house so freakin' cold… Seriously, I'm gonna get frostbite here," Gilbert protested, reaching for his shirt.

"We aren't done here, Beilschmidt," Russia countered, twisting the smaller Nation's wrist until he squirmed away in an effort to keep the huge man from snapping his arm like a twig.

"Like hell we aren't. I'm done here."

Russia didn't say a word, but Prussia felt the temperature drop several degrees and yelped in surprise as he was thrown to the floor, one arm pinned beneath him, the other still twisted to the near-breaking point.

"I will break both of your arms. We aren't done here."

Prussia cringed at the words as Russia knelt, the heel of his boot digging into an old bruise. A knee pressed under his shoulder blade and he fidgeted at the texture of fabric soaked with his own blood.

"How long are you gonna make me wait?" Gilbert hissed, trying to mask the steadily building fear.

Ivan only smiled and knotted his fingers in Prussia's hair, pulling his head back until their noses were touching. Prussia's eyes were impossibly wide and bright with unshed tears. Turning his attention to the captive Nation's back he added the missing M and T with a flourish. Both countries were silent for a moment, and it was Russia who broke the stillness.

"Do you see what I was trying to teach you, Beilschmidt?"


"Of course I can't see it, you stupid Commie. I'm not some freak with eyes in the back of my head like you."

"Ah? That's understandable. The letters were drawn a bit jumbled. Here."

Russia placed the razor tip of the dagger to the S and began reopening the scabbing cuts, twice as deep as before. Prussia writhed and arched away from the knife, screeching wordless obscenities to a steadily dimming ceiling.

"Do you understand now?"

"Go… To hell… Braginski," Gilbert panted, begging silently for release.

Ivan cackled as though Prussia had just told a particularly entertaining joke and settled the knife into the deep groove of his spidery lettering.

"I'll take you with me," Russia murmured, almost too low to be heard.

Prussia stared at the grain of the wood floor, a crumpled letter to West, a stray feather, anything to distract from the slippery knife twisting into his back. There was the end of the S…


And the U.

Breathe. Do not gasp.

The B…

God, just breathe! It's nothing! You've had so much worse, just breathe, breathe, breathe…Russia's hand slipped on the M and Gilbert pressed his face into the floor to muffle his scream of pain.


And here was the I…

Hell with it. Don't breathe. Just pass out.And the T.

"Do you know what that spells, Beilschmidt?"

"Sure… Just not as it applies to me," Prussia countered.

"What about our lovely Toris, hm? How do you suppose it applies to him? Since you are getting rather boring…"

"You bastard. This is between us. If you can't even break," he paused to swallow the lump in his throat, "a dissolved Nation, how can you think he'll break?"

Russia pressed their noses together again and smiled, gloveless hands ghosting over his chest. "How do you think?" Prussia cringed at the implication and attempted to wriggle out of the icy grip. Ivan's hold was unrelenting and the albino struggled ineffectually for only a moment, collapsing against the table leg. Blood loss was making the world fade in and out of sight and not having a decent meal in weeks wasn't helping.

The sudden appearance of Russia at his side was enough to make him jump, and violet eyes narrowed in amusement, fingers tangling in his too-long hair. Prussia flinched away from the touch but Ivan pulled him into a bloody kiss. Gilbert flailed desperately, and his captor only laughed, cracking his skull against the table.

"How do you think?"

The world faded to nothing.

Annnnd, that's it for now. I had originally planned on this being a oneshot, but I figured that six pages was enough for what I hope was a solid chapter. The next installment shifts point-of-view anyways, and I didn't want it to be confusing. So yeah. This will probably end up being two chapters, with perhaps a small third chapter conclusion.

Just… Don't hold your breath for part two. I am working on it, but I'm also working on quite a few other fics. As well as working in general. Which is unfortunate, but hey. Without a summer job, I wouldn't be able to go to France in a year. So it's all good.

Also, just to explain things a bit… In my headcanon, Russia wouldn't call Nations under his rule by their country names, but their human ones. Thus, Prussia is Beilschmidt. Because I don't think they're close enough to do the whole first-name thing.

Anyways, if you'd like to drop a review, that would be splendid. And in return, I'll check out your writing. I can't guarantee I'll read it (I used to, but would run into all sorts of problems like not knowing the fandom) but I will definitely see what you have to offer.

So, till next time!