So this is the companion fanfic to my story "The Upside-Down Smile". I wasn't planning on it being the companion fanfic, but it just kind of happened. Energy drinks man.

That chiz does stuff to you.

But this is focusing on Germany. Poor Germany. He seems to have quite a few fans. -_- Whatevs. Italy and Germany were the first characters that I was actually introduced to, so they're naturally mah favs! (no surprise there, eh?)

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. It belongs to its rightful and respectful owners.

Enjoy~!


It was easy to lose sense of reality, to drown in the thoughts that plagued the mind. To grow accustomed and comfortable with the sound of the pencil scribbling neat words on various stacks of paper that seemingly grew smaller. Words were drilled into his brain, added to vast sea of the knowledge that he constantly floated in. These words were comprehended at an inhuman pace, at an inhuman skill though. It offered a content nature that droned out the constant stress of holding a power multiple others would kill for…the reality that there was no such thing as thoughts, as free will, but that they were a robot that was controlled by the mass majority of the people.

The content nature existed for a long period of time, offering a break from reality only to immerse himself in other problems that allowed him to understand the troubles other face, and to help, to do good, to be the hero that annoying blonde kid with glasses always cheered about.

But that content nature was soon drilled away after he looked up from the bathroom sink, meeting his reflection.

Shadows were stained under his eyes, a never leaving crease painted itself between his eyebrows and a constant frown was worn like a super model wore make-up.

That's when the reports that informed him of the struggling economy arrived, of the disasters that occurred in other countries…and when a letter from a human family would somehow reach his hands, which had tinted his knuckles white.

The letters contained heartache, the knowledge of pain, of seeing others get torn away forcefully, of fleeing from country to country…sometimes even informing that they would be dead by the next month. Sometimes, he would even shakily pull his laptop out in front of him, trembling hands typing in information the writer had offered.

And it was always true.

The worst one was when he saw the picture of the writer, seeing a smiling, bright face and knowing that that joy was long lost, buried underneath a heap of hopelessness, pain, hurt, agony… It made him slam the laptop shut, dig his hands through his hair, close his eyes, and offer silence.

But silence was something that was no longer content.

Silence offered time to think.

To allow thoughts to reach comprehension.

To allow judgment to pass and register.

To cause regret and guilt to swell.

But he couldn't stop himself.

He found himself desperately searching for those letters…It wasn't rare to see that he'd scribbled the wrong thing on the wrong paper. It was quite common, actually. He just wanted to find those letters...to find the one that didn't speak of the harsh things they'd been forced to do…the one that didn't plead for his help…the ones that thanked him for trying to help when in reality all he had done is demand for better opportunities in the country.

It was only when a worried Italian wandered in the room, wearing nothing but boxers and a white shirt that hung open and loosely on him. A hand would always be placed on his shoulder, drawing him out of his frantic frenzy. Aqua would meet amber.

A small, understanding smile would be sent his face, and a warm, familiar face would nuzzle itself into the crook of his neck. His own eyes would flutter shut after a period of blank staring, yet the other would understand this blankness. It was coming to reality, the return to the harshness and the brutality the world was made up of.

And that was when arms would wrap around the taller one, drawing him into his comfort, into his understanding embrace, the one that whispered, "Lasciar andare."

He almost always did.

He almost always let his façade crumble.

But he never did.

Instead, he'd wander to his bed, fall asleep, wake up at a much too early time, train for three hours, and return to his search.

He never did notice those open amber eyes, the ones filled with sorrow and pity, the want and need to see some form of resolve within those bright, determined blue. They followed him around subconsciously, yet were never known by either.

And that was anything but content to either, because they were both aware of the need and want for resolve.

They would just never admit it aloud.

But one did.

And it started with hastily written script on a dirty, wet piece of paper.

Dear whoever you truly are,

I don't know where to start. I'm sure you get so many of these letters, most probably containing the same sob story that makes you rub your temples in annoyance. I would too…but just hear me out, okay?

My name is Katarina, but my friends call me Kata (Kay-ta…a lot of people pronounce it wrong. Do you know how annoying it is to have almost every person mispronounce your name?) Well, they were my friends…but then, well, crap hit the fan, basically.

It was around two years ago, when I was eleven and my older brother was sixteen. We were a middle class family, but my family was awesome and took my brother and me everywhere! We asked for a lot, and we always seemed to get it. My brother once asked to visit the United States, and we did. We stayed there for a whole month. They're really weird over there…they sound strange…but they're accents sound kinda cool.

So the point is that they spent a lot of money on us in order to make us happy. Apparently, my dad got into some bad business…got on the wrong side of some rather powerful gangs around town. They came around one night. They shot down my dad and mom. My brother and I were about to be shot when his 'video game instincts' kicked in. He went all ninja on a few of the guys, grabbed me and fled.

We lived in Russia.

I don't know where I am anymore. My brother…he got shot just below his ribcage on his left side. He…passed a week after being on the run.

I'm thirteen now. I've been on the run for two years, and I think I'm somewhere in Switzerland…or Germany…or, know what? Somewhere in that general area.

So yeah. Typical sob story. I just thought that I'd share it with someone in case something happened, but that's not the main reason why I'm writing this.

My family and I lived in Germany for five years, and then we moved to Russia. In the first year of living there, I thought life was terrible. I hated it so much. I just wanted to go home (which was, at the time, in the U.K), but over the next two years, life improved. More jobs sprang ups, my parents were much happier, and we found ourselves getting a better education.

It was amazing.

I truly began to love it.

My dad's last words formed by his last breaths were, "Go to Germany. Contact this address. Ask them for help. It's a higher up...they'll help...I promise."

And this is how I located you. I know that he was associated (big word for a girl who hasn't written in years) with politics, but never this high up…

So basically, I'm asking for your help.

But I'm also thanking you for whatever help you've attempted, because if I am in Germany right now (I've been in the same country for a year now) then it's steadily improving, no matter what people say. I mean, I'm kind of watching from the bottom of the social ladder, seeing changes around the city almost every day.

And if you can't save me, oh well. I'm just a typical teenager. There's over 6 billion people in the world. It won't mean you're a monster for losing one.

Thank you for making life easier for me (I can get my hand on bread a lot easier than three months ago ^_^ ).

But don't fret.

Because if I do die, I'm content knowing that everything will get better even if I'm not there to see it.

Sincerely,

Katarina (Kata for you) Green

The sound of glass shattering could be heard from outside.

The sight of trembling shoulders, hands digging into a covered face could never been unseen.

And those silent sobs…Oh, those silent sobs brought back so many memories, all bad, all remind him of the pain, of the hurt, of the agony that the amber eyed man suffered through in order to find his blue.

And this was his blue.

His blue was the most humane person.

The person who worked the hardest.

The one who would travel a million miles in order to save just one person.

The man who fell into their darkness, into a nightmare that was once reality…and clawed their way back to the surface with their bare hands as their own façade trembled.

A hand rested itself on another shoulder, touch feather-like, angelic, comforting.

Bloodshot blue eyes were revealed as a head moved to an angle.

Another small, empathetic smile graced the smaller one's lips as their hand moved from the shoulder to the face. A thumb wiped away the tears.

"They understand…You need to stop blaming yourself. You can't save all the lives that come across you," a soft, Italian voice murmured, twirling throughout the air as smooth as glass. That blue looked away for a moment, but the hand was gripping their chin, and yanked their face back, the amber much closer to the blue. "Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop-" Their voice was growing more desperate, more pleading as composure was slowly slipping through their fingertips. Those eyebrows twisted at the top, and that amber suddenly held such sorrow, such hurt… "Stop. Stop…just stop. We understand if you lose one…if you lose another…if you need a break from the mess of a job we have. We're humans after all. We have emotions." The other one opened their mouth, yet the hand on the chin covered it.

"I don't care what you think. That regret you feel…that guilt…It's something only complex organisms have…only those with complicated brains can withstand…it's something only humans contain."

Those blue eyes gazed into that amber, feeling their composure get eaten alive as they saw those emotions, as realization sunk in, as the girl's words true meaning finally became clear…

"Lasciar andare…"

And that he did.


Lasciar Andara= "Let Go" It was said at the end of "The Upside-Down Smile" and I've grown a large attachment to the saying because it looks cool.

And when I try to say it I sound like a dying hippo and it makes my friends fall to the ground laughing (can't roll her r's, flips tables because of so)

Welp, I hope you enjoyed it! This thing is not proof read since if I proof read it, I'd miss absolutely everything (as usual).

Anywho, reviews are highly appreciated! There's no need to be shy about them too. I'm as friendly as I seem (unless Imma angry Madface...then chiz hits the fan, but that's very, very rare ^J^).

Thanks for reading! Have a great day/week!