Details/Notes: I am not a historian, and I haven't ever really studied Baltic history in depth, so a lot of the historical themes/references in this story should be taken with a grain of salt. Especially everything Latvia remembers about Livonia and Lithuania's rather blatant glossing over of the crusades. Fic is set sometime (rather late) in the Cold War. My general disclaimer, as well as my other fic, can be found on my profile.

Twist and Shout:

Latvia has an interesting relationship with his eldest brother. To say the least.

"I don't u-understand, w-why don't y-you o-overthrow h-him, if you can do t-this."

He traces Lithuania's movements across the room with curious eyes, no longer as frightened of the frenetic pace and violent motions as he had been when he first stumbled across his eldest brother's practice.

Lithuania's mouth sets in a hard line as he waits to answer, saying eventually as he pauses to evaluate, "I remember these things, my, my people do not. I don't have as, as much as I once did."

"I r-realise that."

Latvia uncurls his knees from his chest, stretching them cautiously. Russia is away from the house at one of the meetings none of them are allowed to attend, and even though the cameras are always watching, he and the others like to take this time to relax.

Lithuania sweeps his left leg back, and kicks twice with his right on the same motion, before thrusting out with his hand in a deceivingly simple fashion. He pauses. His hand recoils, and he advances several steps, legs bent at the knee, feet parallel, arms changing position with every step.

Latvia can feel his heart thumping sympathetically in his chest.

He remembers Lithuania scowling down at him, one rough hand clasped firmly on Latvia's tiny shoulder, the other on Estonia's, enough to cause pain, as Poland argued in the background.

He never finds it hard to recognise Lithuania as the oldest of them.

Estonia likes to keep to himself, but Latvia should ask him sometime if he feels the same.

He peaks at Lithuania's expression now. His eyes are closed and his lips are still twisted into a frown. Latvia wonders if he should be sad for reminding Lithuania of the past.

"I b-bet Poland m-misses you t-too," he whispers, and feels Lithuania turn a patronising smile on him a moment later. He blushes a light pink, and looks down at his chest.

Lithuania continues to smile.

Latvia waits.

"I had a life before Poland, you know," he says as he relaxes out of his stance, and comes to sit next to Latvia, continuing, "I fought Prussia a very long time ago. He would come to my house at the time and hit me over the head with books I wanted nothing to do with, and I would drive him away, and again and again we did this."

Latvia scans him from under his eyelashes, curious despite himself. "Did you win?"

"I didn't. I, I couldn't have, but it hardly mattered after Mongolia showed up," Lithuania admits with faraway eyes. His smile is something a little sharper now, a little wilder, and Latvia shrinks from it. "Everything got a, a bit confusing after that."

"It must be a-awful, being h-here when you c-could h-have that."

Lithuania searches along the walls, scowling as he had in Latvia's memories, before pulling Latvia in close to him, and whispering into his hair, "It is, but I have to remind myself to have, to have hope, that I will make it through this."

"I d-don't remember being in-independent," Latvia confesses, because he can feel tears burning his throat, and if he doesn't say it then soon he will be crying for no reason.

Lithuania merely sighs, and answers with a slow nod, "No, I don't suppose you would. You were very, very young then."

He sounds tired, and Latvia sniffles as he tries to hide his tears. He thinks maybe if he just swallows back everything, all the messy emotions lodged in his throat will go away.

He knows that he cries too much.

He tries to be strong like Lithuania, and quiet like Estonia, but thinking of them just makes it worse, and nothing he does stops the aching in his chest.

Lithuania winds his fingers into Latvia's hair, and strokes the tangled, blond locks calmly.

Latvia chokes, asking, "It's better, r-right? Ruling yourself? I w-want to t-think it is, b-but Russia." His voice is a sigh at the end, and even though his eyes are hidden in the crook of Lithuania's shoulder Latvia thinks he can guess at the expression on Lithuania's face.

Especially when his fingers tug a bit too sharply at Latvia's hair.

Lithuania never sees the nice side of Russia. Even when Russia tries so hard. Latvia can't help hating him for it sometimes, when it's dark outside, and he's curled under the covers.

He doesn't deserve to be Russia's favourite.

But maybe if Latvia could remember what Lithuania does he would be the same.

His grip on Lithuania's shoulders tightens in fear at the thought, and then at Lithuania's whispered words, "I can't even com-compare them, Latvia. Independence is, is worlds above this mad dream Russia has fashioned for us."

Lithuania sighs again, heavy and dark, and trails his sweat-soaked palm down Latvia's neck, and suddenly Latvia can no longer bring himself to remain in his grasp. He pulls away, and wipes the stray tears from his eyes.

His steps are shaky as he walks away, and Lithuania's eyes follow him, but he feels better when he's alone.

Alone with the cameras.

End.

End Notes: I know some of my opinions on the Baltics and their motivations can be rather different from the general consensus, but I like writing them as a bit screwed up with each other. There's a lot of messy history there. So thank you for reading, and thank you even more to the wonderful people who go on to review/favourite, and generally let me know that my writing is worthwhile!