The official last chapter! I apologize for my extreme lateness in posting this; I go royally side-tracked by preparing for and attending ConnectiCon '10, which I attended as Russia, home-made uniform and everything! I had so much fun~! But now I'm back with the last chapter. Since you've waited long enough, I'll save commentary for the end. Please enjoy the final chapter of 1940: Lithuania!

"Liet…"

"Liet."

"Liet."

The Baltic groaned softly, eyes focusing on the sofa pattern; brow furrowed, he shifted his gaze higher, to the washed out grey light of early morning, to his pants in a crumpled heap on the opposite couch where Russia had thrown them—

He sucked in a sharp breath. Russia lying there beside him, behind him, an arm draped loosely over his waist, and he was not going to panic, or lose it, or freak out, or—

A quiet sob escaped him and he clasped his hands tightly over his mouth to stifle the sound, tears streaming sideways down his face. Oh god… He screwed his eyes shut, tried to still the tremors shaking his body, tried to ignore the soft sleepy breaths that ghosted through his hair.

Russia kneeling over him, moonbeams lighting up his hair snow white, casting his face into shadow, save for two glittering flecks of amethyst.

"Say you love me," he commanded gently, doing nothing, just watching.

A dry swallow, hands pinned above his head; struggling to arrange his thoughts in the brief moment he was allowed to think. "Ya lyubyu tyebya," he rasped.

Russia continued anyways—

Sudden fear overtook him. He had to get out of here. Off the couch, something, anything, distance, he needed distance.

Cautiously, he slid out from under Russia's arm onto the cool wooden floor, a shiver passing through him as the crisp morning air nipped at bare skin. He was keenly aware of Poland's presence as he struggled into his pants, biting back a swear as he accidentally nudged a tender bruise, one of dozens. He probably looked like hell. He felt like hell.

Poland also looked terrible, dried blood marking a trail down from his nose and lips. From the bloodied raw on the boy's wrists, Liet guessed he had tried to escape for the better part of the night.

Poland watched Lithuania intently as the Baltic unbelted him from the armchair. "Liet, are you okay?" Poland asked quietly. Liet faintly remembered him asking the same question last night.

"No, but I will be," he lied, avoiding his searching gaze. The hollow sound still lingered in his voice, damn.

"Liet…"

"Is it true?" he asked abruptly, voice hushed. "What Russia said. That he and Germany…" His hand twitched, a repressed gesture.

There was a stricken silence. It was answer enough.

"God, Poland-" His voice broke and he was crying again, hunched over choking on the sound. He felt Poland wrap his twig-thin arms around him, cotton against his naked chest, holding him gently, petting his hair and he felt awful. But he couldn't lose it here, not when Russia was so close. He pulled back, could practically sense Poland's confusion.

"What's happened to us?" Liet muttered dejectedly, staring duly at the floor's wood grain pattern. "How did it come to this? We used to be the biggest country in Europe; a few petty fights, and centuries later we're brought this low?"

"Liet-"

"Look at us, Poland." He met his friend's eyes, saw concern etched into every line and feature of his face. It nearly broke his heart. "We're crouched on the floor, battered, bruised, half fucking dressed in my case; he's just sleeping there, and I wonder, did it even occur to you that we could, oh, I don't know, bash his skull in with the fucking lamp and buy ourselves enough time to get out of here? We're broken, Poland. I'm- I'm broken." The defeat rang clearly in the confession; Liet shook his head, quiet anger spent. "I can't even- I don't have the strength to stay angry. I just- it hurts. I can't- I can't do this, Poland." Something splattered on the side of his hand, a tear. "I just can't do this…"

Poland was silent. Liet saw dust motes drift through the air, curling in Poland's breath. "Everything's for something, Liet," he finally whispered.

"What?"

Emerald weakly met his own. "All this stupid shit, it's like, totally for something. I don't what, yet, but, definitely for something," he said firmly.

"How can you be so sure?" Liet murmured.

A half smile cracked the serious edges of the blonde's face. "Because the idea that it doesn't mean jack shit hurts too much."

Lithuania blinked, then hugged him for a long minute. "We should get off the floor," he said, drawing back. He glanced at Russia; thank god the man was a heavy sleeper.

"Like, only if you pick me up." Liet was momentarily confused by the lack of expected whine, then remembered, looking—Poland's ankle, badly swollen. He suppressed a wince, standing.

"Uh, wait, let me find my shirt-" His stomach twisted-

Russia wrenching the coat off and pinning him to the couch—

He shuddered violently. Twice now. That's a bad sign…

The undershirt was missing all of its buttons, hanging loosely open as Liet helped Poland to his room, bringing him a damp washcloth to clean off the blood and the first aid kit, woefully low on supplies. Liet tended to the blonde's injuries quietly, instructing Poland to brace himself before popping in the dislocated shoulder. Then Lithuania retreated to the bathroom with a fresh change of clothes and scrubbed himself raw, biting his lip when soap got into one of the many scratches, or when he touched a bruise. And when he felt semi-clean, three whole scrubs later, he emptied and refilled the tub again, simply soaking in the hot water, his thoughts mercifully blank. And he stayed that way until he heard Estonia stirring in the room over.

He managed to make down to the kitchen before Estonia, his pace quickening ever so slightly as he passed through the living room with its slumbering time bomb. Estonia's footsteps came to a dead halt in the living room, motionless for a full thirty seconds, then swift light steps to the kitchen. Liet braced himself.

"God, Lithuania, what happened?" Hushed and urgent.

"God, Russia, please… Nn, ah, Russia!"

He didn't turn away from the stove, grip tightening on the spatula. "I'm fine," he managed, strained.

A pause. "That's a lie," his brother said softly, a statement of fact.

"Then let me have this lie, Estonia!" he snapped, whirling.

Estonia flinched.

Lithuania's shoulders slumped. "I- I'm sorry. I just, let it alone, okay? I don't, I can't handle it right now-"

Estonia closed the distance in four strides and hugged him wordlessly. Liet felt himself tearing up again.

"Heh, you know, I won't be able to stop crying if people keep hugging me," he mumbled, trying to smile and failing miserably.

"Then cry," the other nation insisted gently.

Lithuania shook his head, pulling back. "I can't. I have to make breakfast and-"

"I'll make breakfast," Estonia said, plucking the spatula from Liet's grasp, holding up a hand to silence his protests. "No, go take care of yourself. Please."

Gratitude brought fresh tears to his eyes but he stopped short at the doorway, hesitating, but the front door was still locked so he couldn't go around the back. He crept through the living room, heart pounding, too scared to look, and just barely stopped himself from running up the stairs to his room.

Forty minutes later, after he nearly hyperventilated when he heard the sound of Russia's footsteps going by twice, a soft knock dragged him out of his numb daze.

"Lithuania?"

The tension seeped out of his shoulders. Estonia.

"Yeah?" he called out.

"W- Well, Russia won't let us eat until you come down…"

Liet groaned quietly. Of course. "I'm coming," he answered, half wishing that he was the sort of asshole that could say 'well fuck your breakfast then'.

All eyes turned to him when he entered the kitchen, three pairs full of concern and sadness, one full of a quiet, pleased dominance.

"Dobrye utra, Litva," Russia greeted him pleasantly. Lithuania's stomach twisted at the sound of his voice, involuntarily recalling images and sensations he didn't want to remember. He dropped his gaze to the floor.

"Dobrye utra, Russia Zimavich," Lithuania responded, and took his seat next to him without another word. He didn't see the smirk that curved the huge nation's lips for the briefest instant before they started eating.

Russia finished quickly and left for work, pausing to kiss Liet's hair before he went. Lithuania trembled where he sat, desperately trying to ignore the feel of everyone staring at him, and the moment he heard the front door shut he was out of his seat, losing his breakfast into the kitchen sink.

How long was he going to have to put up with this?

Russia made no mention of the incident at all, but his attitude towards Liet had changed slightly. He was careful to keep his distance, in his own weird way; Lithuania noticed that Russia seemed abruptly very conscious of personal space ideas. He continued to break them of course, but every casual touch was gentle, more affectionate somehow, as if Russia did not wish to frighten the Baltic.

Lithuania flinched every time anyways.

He spent the days leading up to the dacha trip avoiding the living room like the plague—memories, sudden gut-wrenching flashbacks that stole his breath and drove him to his knees in fear. And even more embarrassing was when Poland saw that, or one of his brothers. Their witness made his assurances of 'no really, I'm fine' sound all the more hollow. And Russia was no help. Yes, he didn't say anything, and yes, he was being his odd flavor of 'kind', but he was still there and he still touched him and how the hell could he just act like nothing happened? Didn't it mean anything to him? Or was it only a big deal to Liet, was that sort of thing just not important to Russia? Liet almost wished that Russia would say something, because at this point acknowledgment in either direction was better than this uncaring indifference.

And he regretted those thoughts when Russia called him to his office after dinner about a week after, and told Liet without looking up from his paperwork that the Baltic would be staying in his room that night. The brunette trembled, staring at the other nation in a disbelieving terror, again, he was going to do this again and—?

"Ru- Russia Zimavich, please, I—"

"I expect to see you there in," violet eyes glanced at the clock on his desk. "Ten minutes."

And that was that. No argument, no threat, just a simple statement backed by Russia's quiet confidence that his order would be carried out. Liet retreated to his room, changed into his night clothes and almost, almost barricaded his door, but remembered that Poland and his brothers were there, just a room or two away, and was he willing to risk them in a futile gesture of defiance?

When Russia went to his room, he found Lithuania sitting in the armchair by the window, shaking, unable to meet his eyes.

His lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Very good, Litva."

Lithuania burst into tears.

When Russia had fallen asleep, Liet crept through the dark to the bathroom and sat in the full tub listlessly, wishing he could drown himself and feeling all the more miserable because he couldn't.

He started dreading the time when Russia would return home from work in the evening, swallowing his anxiety until it turned his stomach, not knowing if the nation would let him be that night or— He counted down the days to the dacha trip not in excitement but desperation, because surely there, with so little space, Russia wouldn't dare- But he had when Poland was right there, he wouldn't do that twice, right? Please, dear god, Lithuania had to hope, had to have something. The others watched him with concern and when Latvia quietly remarked on how exhausted he looked, Liet nearly broke down, nearly lost it, because of course he was exhausted, he couldn't sleep without having nightmares, and that was when he was able to sleep!

They woke up blindingly early the day of the dacha trip, packing their things while Russia slept in late and then finished some last minute work. Poland, with his damaged ankle—why wasn't he healed by now?—was of no help at all, sitting himself on one of the steamer trunks and babbling at them while they struggled to get things down the stairs without hurting themselves.

"This whole trip is kinda stupid, you know?" the blonde declared, brandishing a sugar-loaded tea cup. "I mean, doesn't he like, have way better things to do than totally skip out on like, responsibilities and stuff?"

Liet listened to his friend chatter in silence, letting the sound wash over him in waves, soothing away the thoughts of last night.

"Maybe a vacation will relax him," Latvia tried nervously, setting down the packed lunch by the suitcases. "Then he might be nicer…"

"Russia's a total jerk," Poland pronounced. "He'll never be nice. God, Latvia, don't you know?"

"Poland, please don't speak to Latvia that way," Estonia requested, pausing in his inspection of his suitcase's lock.

"What? Like what way? I'm just telling him that—"

"We're all aware of Russia's disposition; kindly do not point out the obvious in that tone of voice—"

"But what tone of voice? I didn't do anything—"

Lithuania had no idea how they were all going to share a room and avoid pissing off Russia. But before he could intervene in the brewing argument, a knock at the door distracted all of them.

"That must be the car!" Russia called from upstairs, freezing the countries where they stood. "Litva, get the door!"

Poland and Estonia picked right up again once they determined that Russia had nothing more to say. Sighing, Lithuania let them be and went to the door, opening it to see—

Germany.

Before he could even get a word out, the brusque nation had shoved him aside and stepped in. Poland's reaction was immediate.

"What are you doing here? Get lost, I don't have to go back yet! I don't have to go back yet!"

But Poland couldn't run on his ankle, staggering back against the wall for support as his tea cup slipped from his fingers, terror and fury lighting up his bright green eyes. Germany was there a moment later, trying to hold him, and Lithuania didn't know why he and his brothers were just standing there, stunned, as Poland shouted,

"Get the fuck off me, get off, help, Liet! Liet, help me!"

Liet turned and ran for the stairs, tripping half-way up them, knees cracking into the wood as he shouted, "Russia! Germany's here, he's after Poland!"

"Chto?" The sound of something heavy hitting the floor; Poland's protest was abruptly cut off and as Liet stumbled back down the steps he saw Germany heft the now unconscious nation over his shoulder.

"Wh- what are you doing?" he stuttered uselessly.

Germany turned, Poland swaying listlessly with the movement. "Taking Poland back. Get out of my way."

Lithuania hesitated. "B- but, he's here for another two months still…" He could hear Russia racing down the hallway upstairs; if he could delay for a little longer...

Germany gave him a disbelieving look, as if he couldn't fathom how the Baltic hadn't caught on yet, and brushed past him without another word.

Liet took a step towards him. "Germany!"

The stern nation didn't even pause, but Russia was thundering down the steps, coming around the landing shouting, "Germany! What the hell do you think you're—"

The fist caught Russia square in the face with enough force to send him sprawling; Lithuania heard his brothers gasp right along with him.

Russia sat there a moment, blinking up at Germany, surprise painted across his features. "We- We have a nonaggression treaty!" he finally sputtered.

"Had," Germany answered shortly, before walking out the front door.

No one moved, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Then Russia was on his feet, scrambling back up the stairs to his office, Estonia and Latvia racing into the living room. Lithuania stood in the middle of the hall, his brain desperately trying to process the rapid sequence of events, because Germany had shown up without an official visit which meant that the Soviet government didn't want him here and he took Poland and punched Russia and holy god…

In the living room, the radio reached his same conclusion: Germany has declared war on the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics!

As he marveled at this revelation, Russia came back downstairs, Vintovka Mosina slung over his shoulder along with a hastily packed bag. As he barked orders at them to grab him food from the pantry, digging through his suitcase for his other uniform, disheveled and frantic, Lithuania watched him wordlessly, mentally turning over the news in his head. Russia's at war with Germany. Russia's at war with Germany.

"—lock the door when I leave and do not let anyone in; I will send Polshka back here as soon as possible but I do not know how long I will be away. You are forbidden from talking to Germany or leaving the house for anything less than an emergency, do you understand? I—"

"I declare my independence."

Complete silence. Even Russia stopped, staring open-mouthed at him.

"L- Lithuania," Estonia whispered from behind him, in the same tone he used for Latvia, but this wasn't the same, because Latvia said things and didn't realize what they meant. Lithuania knew exactly what he was doing.

Russia moved, coming to tower over him, eyes dark. "What did you say?" he asked, voice low.

"I declare my independence," Lithuania repeated, slightly louder, and the trembling in his limbs miraculously stayed out of his voice.

Russia back handed him so hard he collapsed to the floor. Lithuania pushed himself up slowly, expecting another blow and not receiving it, daring a look up.

Russia looked down at him in disgust. "You declare your independence," he sneered, scoffing. "I don't have time for this." Turning on his heel, he marched out the door and left, slamming it behind him.

His brothers were at his side in an instant, pulling him to his feet, Lithuania are you okay? What did you mean, you declare your independence, are you insane? Russia will kill you, he'll—

"No, he won't!" Lithuania said suddenly, snapping out of his momentary daze. He seized Estonia by the shoulders. "Russia's at war with Germany! This is our chance!" Letting go, he darted over to the pile of suitcases, dragging his out. "We're already packed for goodness sake!"

Estonia looked uncertain. "But…"

"No, I refuse to stay here any longer!" Lithuania shouted, taking off up the stairs. He stopped just inside Russia's office, the old fear cascading over him, but Russia wasn't here, Russia was off fighting. He rummaged through the desk, shifting papers until he found—ha! a small wad of rubles, which he promptly shoved into his pocket—stealing from Russia! But he forced the panic down, returning downstairs, where Estonia and Latvia were busy repackaging their lunches into smaller spaces.

"Lithuania, would you get more bread?" the taller of the two asked with a calm urgency.

Lithuania grinned. "Sure!" He flew into the kitchen, elated, they were leaving! He grabbed two more loaves and turned to leave, then spotted Russia's vodka. He froze.

The sound of glass shattering drew his brothers to the kitchen in a heartbeat.

"Lithuania! What are you doing?" Estonia asked frantically.

Liet threw another bottle to the ground, glass shards and vodka exploding across the floor. "Making sure that Russia will be miserable when he gets back here!" he said savagely.

Estonia and Latvia hesitated only a few seconds before they joined him. In minutes, there wasn't a drop of alcohol left in the kitchen or pantry, not vodka or port or rum or anything. They stared at the multi-colored mess for a few moments, hearts pounding with a reckless giddiness.

"That- felt really good," Latvia said suddenly.

Estonia opened his mouth as if to scold him, then smiled faintly. "Yeah…" he agreed.

They collected their meager belongings and were out the door five minutes later, leaving it unlocked behind them. They managed to catch a crowded trolley and stood wedged between grim-faced older men and sobbing mothers with their uniformed sons, and it was then that the high of escaping began to wear off and Liet started to seriously think about how they were going to get back home.

They got off near the train station and at Liet's instance, ducked into an alley to change into their uniforms, then joined the flocks of soldiers streaming into the station for deployment.

"If anyone asks, just tell them you're being sent back to the Eighth Army," Liet said under his breath as they made their way through the crowd. "Honestly, with all this confusion, I'd be amazed if someone looked twice at you."

Latvia slowed, prompting Estonia to grab his hand to make him keep up. "What do you mean, 'you'?" the petite blonde asked. "You are coming, aren't you?"

"Da—" And they all winced, "but only to your capital. Then Eduard takes a train north and I go south." Lithuania immediately regretted his words, watching Latvia's face fall. "But it'll be fine, you'll already be home. Just think of that, Raivis; you'll be home," he tried, hoping to sooth the tearing nation.

"B- But I'll miss you…" he muttered.

Lithuania and Estonia shared a look. "I know, but we'll see each soon," Liet promised.

At the time, he didn't realize how true that was.

After buying three cheap tickets and then bribing one of the conductors to ignore the fact that their papers weren't in order—how ridiculous that they needed visas to get into their own countries! They were their countries!—they were nearly broke. Lithuania hoped to god that they didn't run into any more problems like that, because they didn't have enough for another 'favor'.

But the ride was long and uneventful. Most of the five-day trip was passed in silence, all of them lost in thought. They slowly ate their lunches, rationing them so they would last as long as possible, changing stations when necessary, sleeping in shifts, curled up on the seats under their coats. At the sight of Latvia using a sleeping Estonia as a pillow, Lithuania couldn't help but smile slightly, but he glanced back out the window and watched the dark countryside roll by, his thoughts turning towards darker things.

The news changed from station to station, as passengers boarded and disembarked, carrying with them newspapers and snippets of radio reports and hushed gossip, that Germany was taking Poland, that the German army was pushing forward, to the north, the south, to a full assault. He wondered where Poland was now, probably alone on a train somewhere, hopefully going home, or to Germany's. Try as he might to avoid it, he thought about Russia, probably already on his way to the front lines, just one soldier among millions. If he stared out into the enveloping darkness long enough, he could almost see him there, marching along the steppe, and a part of him pitied the arctic nation, but a greater part of him hoped he ran afoul with a grenade. And while on that topic, he had no weapon. That was probably the greatest flaw in his 'we're just reporting for duty sir' cover story, and it needed to be remedied quickly. But they didn't have the money for a rifle, never mind three, and unless they actually reported for duty it's unlikely they would be issued one. The easiest thing to do would be to go to his boss, get him to settle everything, fast, no trouble, he'd be outfitted and well supplied in a heartbeat, but technically his boss was a Soviet supporter and Lithuania doubted he would be given arms. Not went he felt like this. Not when he heard snatches of news, a rebellion in Vilnius, in Kaunas, the Lithuanian people rioting against the Russians…

Once they reached Riga, they parted admits hugs and tears and wishes of luck and strength. Latvia disappeared into the city, Estonia boarded a train north, and Lithuania turned south. He managed to get a compartment to himself, because who in their right mind went towards the fighting? So he sat alone, tense and weary, dozing off despite his best efforts. Then he was abruptly wrenched from his sleep when a jolt coursed through his body—he was home. For the first time in over a year, he was home.

The tears fell soft and silent as he stared mutely out the window.

A few minutes later, the train slowed. Lithuania straightened in his seat; their first stop within his borders shouldn't be until Panevezys. Flatting himself against the window, he saw ahead to the station platform, where a small group of Soviet soldiers waited. His heart sank.

Word spread through the cars like wildfire; everyone off, the army needed the train to move supplies. Lithuania meekly filed off with the other passengers but before he had the chance to flee a soldier had him by the arm, dragging him off to the side. He saw the lieutenant's stripes just in time to snap off a salute.

"Name, tovarishch?"

They went through his papers, frowning at the lack of visa, but when they asked him why he came and he answered to fight, they backed down, merely berating him for losing his visa (don't you know you could get arrested without it? Trying to enter a country illegally—and Lithuania bit back his response with difficulty). Otherwise they left him alone, assigning a private to escort him back to the barracks for orders. And as they walked through the city in the dying sunlight, Lithuania tried to figure out how he could get away; when the soldier 'leading' him ducked down an alleyway for a shortcut, Liet took his chance and lunged, snatching the TT-33 pistol from its holster. The soldier had just enough time to turn, eyes wide with shock, before Lithuania pulled the trigger.

He raided the ammunition and supplies quickly, leaving the alley as fast as possible, staying off the main roads until he reached the outskirts of the town, where he changed out of his uniform into regular street clothes. And blessed be his people for kindness—a car stopped on its way out of town, not full of Soviet soldiers, and the man was willing to give him a lift. Over the radio were broadcasts in Lithuanian, his national anthem, declarations that Lithuanian independence had been restored, a call for greater resistance, praise for the German Luftwaffe which was decimating Soviet forces across the country, and Lithuania spent the entire ride listening, dazed, exhausted and happy and a part of him still couldn't believe it.

The man's wife took one look at him and refused to let him leave until morning, so Liet slept in a guest bedroom with a door that locked on the inside and came down to an already made breakfast with a family that spoke to him in Lithuanian, who told him what they had heard was the best way to get to the capital, and that there was rumored to be rebel forces forming sporadically in these parts even, wouldn't you believe it? He thanked them and left, and after about forty minutes or so walking caught another ride, a family of three trying to get to the child's grandmother, and they nearly made it all the way to Ukmerge before they ran into a military road block, but it wasn't Soviet.

It was German.

They got out of the car, hands in the air, surrendered their papers, and at the soldier's insistence, both Lithuania and the man surrendered their pistols, Lithuania's garnering far more attention for being a Russian model than the man's old German version. While Liet tried to explain how he acquired it, another soldier found a problem with the family's papers, and before Liet knew it he was cuffed and being shoved into an armed truck, to be transported to the army's base in Ukmerge proper. Once they arrived they were subjected to another round of questioning; Lithuania became more and more frustrated as the mother and child became more and more frightened, finally losing his temper and shouting at the soldiers, which got him stuttering apologies when no less than a dozen Gewehr 41s were aimed at him. As he haltingly tried to request that the family be allowed to leave, they were just trying to get to their relative's house, a second army vehicle pulled up, out of which stepped Germany. Lithuania's heart soared hopefully.

"Was ist diese?" Germany demanded, walking over with sharp, efficient strides. The other soldiers made a way for him, one man in particularly saluting crisply before giving a quick summary. As he was briefed, Germany's blue eyes found Lithuania's own green ones and held them. Liet couldn't read the look there.

Germany examined the family's papers, his expression blank; he handed them to one of his men, conveying his orders in an undertone that had the family shifting nervously. They were led away and Germany turned his attention to Lithuania.

Lithuania saluted; Germany blinked once, then returned it. "Lorinaitis," he greeted shortly.

"Guten tag, Herr Beilschmidt," Liet responded, dragging up his knowledge of German, hoping it wasn't too terribly out-dated. "Thank you for liberating the country from Soviet control."

Germany nodded. "I think you and I need to talk."

"Agreed."

The stern nation turned and headed back to his car, Lithuania following. Once they were out of earshot of the other soldiers, Liet repeated softly, "Really, thank you for kicking Russia out. I, it means a lot to me."

Germany slid into the front seat. "He needs to be stopped. Russia's icy steppes might have stopped Napoleon, but Napoleon did not have the advantage of modern technology."

Lithuania nodded, climbing into the back seat at a soldier's gesture. "As soon as I get my army organized, I'll give you all the assistance I can in driving him out. A Provincial Government has already been formed, I'm sure it can be formalized quickly—"

"The Provincial Government is not the governing body here."

Lithuania blinked. "What? Then—"

"Once Russia is driven out, Lithuania will be incorporated into the Reichskommissariat Ostland," Germany stated.

The car door slammed shut on the silence that followed. "But, I'm my own independent country," Liet said slowly, frowning.

Germany glanced into the rearview mirror as he started the car. "Du bist ein Teil des Dritten Reiches," he said calmly, adding, "Du sollst glücklich sein; du willst jetzt stark sein."

Lithuania opened his mouth to deny his inclusion when a volley of gunshots cut him off; he jumped, swiveling towards the sound.

The family laid in a crumpled heap near the compound's outer wall, blood splattered across it. Lithuania stared, breath coming in shallow pulls. "Wh- what…?" They were… Lithuanian civilians…

"Their papers were forged," Germany answered simply as he shifted the car into gear. "They were Jews, trying to flee the country."

Lithuania took in Germany's unruffled composure, how totally unaffected he was by the family's execution, saw the bodies being dragged aside as they drove past, and was struck with the sudden fear that this was going to be far worse than Russia's.

He was right.

On June 22, 1941, German forces invaded the Soviet Union, taking Poland while simultaneously sweeping into Ukraine, Belarus, and the Baltics. Immediately following news of Germany's assault, Lithuania declared his independence and his soldiers mutinied, rebel groups seizing control of strategic positions in Vilinus and Kaunas. The Lithuanian people initially greeting the German forces as liberators, thinking that Germany would recognize Lithuania's independence. This hope quickly faded as Germany disarmed the rebel forces after driving out the Soviets from the area and the country was swiftly incorporated into 'Ostland', which included the Baltics and Belarus.

The invasion was marked by early German success, the Luftwaffe absolutely obliterating the Soviet Air Force within a month of the first offensive. The Baltics, Belarus, and the Ukraine all fell to German occupation, and Russian troops were eventually forced back all the way to Moscow, which came under violent siege. However, as the Soviet forces retreated, they burnt their crops and fields; that, coupled with the Russian peasants that were hiding in the forests, waging guerrilla warfare against the invaders, made it nearly impossible for Germany to supply his troops as they pushed deeper into hostile Russian territory. Germany had also grossly underestimated Russia's strength and did not get the clean, quick victory they were hoping for.

Then winter hit. Yeah... Pretty much enough said.

German translation:

Was ist diese- what is this?

Du bist ein Teil des Dritten Reiches. Du sollst glücklich sein; du willst jetzt stark sein- You are a part of the Third Reich. You should be happy; you will be strong now.

I wanted to thank everyone for reading my fanfic; this is actually the first fic I have managed to take to its completion, and it's gotten such a wonderful reception. I am considering writing a sequel of sorts, snapshots of scenes from WWII; is this a good idea? Is anyone interested? Let me know!

As always, read and review, comrades! And thank you again for seeing this through.