Author's Notes and Disclaimer:

This story is a crossover of sorts with the post-apocalyptic Alternate History timeline, 1983: Doomsday, which chronicles the aftermath of the Cold War going hot and the nuclear holocaust that ensued. As bleak as it is, I tried my best in making the pain here as in-character and merciful as possible. Also, in addition to themAustriaxHungary-ness, there's also some implied SwitzerlandxLiechtenstein present, if you look closely enough.

As an aid, Versailles refers to the real world treaty that not only formalized the dismemberment of Austria-Hungary (among others) but also helped set the stage for World War 2. Yalta meanwhile refers to the conference that practically gave the Soviets domination over Eastern Europe after 1945 and helped set the stage for the Cold War.

I don't own Axis Powers Hetalia or 1983: Doomsday. All rights belong to their respective owners. Also strong apologies for the last-minute editing and corrections.

A Wasteland Melody

Or, A 1983 Doomsday Tale through a Nation's Eyes.

Somewhere near the Sopron Frontier. 2009.

The cold November winds coursed through the empty cottage as Austria let his hands recreate Mozart's brilliance from the myriad piano keys. He no longer wondered when he first started this peculiar ritual, out here at the very fringes of not only the Alpine Confederation but also of civilized life in Mitteleuropa. He knew that the proud men patrolling the still irradiated borders who heard it at the very least considered it a relief from the dreary reality of their watch. And yet deep down, he knew that he was playing for an old love he hoped against hope was still out there in the wastes. Not since Doomsday, he thought bitterly as the notes grew more disjointed. That he was in what had once been Hungary's doorstep made it all the more difficult.

He could still vividly remember that day in 1983 when the world nearly ended. When at long last, America and the Soviet Union finally decided to wipe each other out along with large parts of humanity. When the bomb fell on Vienna. How after years of hardship, he, Switzerland and Liechtenstein formed the partnership that was the Confederation and became the most powerful force in Central Europe, as much as he tolerated the siblings' close intimacy. How for a time they saw themselves as the last surviving remnants of the old world before a strangely rejuvenated Prussia came crashing in their side of the Continent, which he appreciated as much as he denied it. But if he were truly honest, his mind seemed to go back to Hungary, desperately trying to recreate her in the same way his music could invoke Brahms.

Why now? In his memories, he could still hear his beloved Elizaveta's voice. The beauty of her culture. The warmth of her body. The precious moments spent with her. In hindsight, the separations that were Versailles and Yalta seemed to pale to the nuclear hell that came not long after. They had promised to meet each other in secret the night before Doomsday. He had been buying edelweiss in a market outside Vienna when the bombs fell. The bouquet was long gone, but the scars were still there on his skin. I never even got to say goodbye... He felt his hands banging wildly on the piano. You can't be dead, right? You're stronger than this! Damn them all, please hear me!

"Herr Edelstein?" Austria turned to find his young, though robust assistant nervously waiting by the door, gasping for air and his uniform ragged. He carried what appeared to be a freshly sealed military-grade container. "Have...I interrupted something?"

"Nothing at all, Franz," the aristocrat replied with an emotionless tone that seemed forced than measured. At least your people's children are safe. "Though I take that it is of importance to interfere with my privacy?"

"Ja. The expedition just returned, and... I think you should see this." He hurriedly placed the box by the study table and proceeded to unlock the lid. As he switched the lamp on, the contents became clear for the Nation to see: Shreds of laced clothing and what appeared to be a rotted flower that used to grow around Lake Balaton, a few strands of hair still attached to it.

"Where did you find this?" the Nation asked, briskly standing up. "Where?"

"It..it was found by some ruins not very far from here. In miraculous condition too, though there was no corpse found there. To think that we overlooked it after all this time..."

The Nation's mind no longer seemed to listen as Franz continued to describe their findings. In his head, he was screaming at God or any deity who was listening. He wanted so much to get revenge at the monsters who took his dear Hungary away. To make them all suffer, whether or not Alfred or Ivan were even alive now. To somehow turn the clock back just to see her one more time.

But in the end, a few teardrops fell on the flower. The wind continued blowing.

"I missed her..."

"Sir?"

"I meant that it would be best that I keep this container for now," Austria said in a barely composed monotone. "That will be all. Danke." As soon as he was sure that the man's footsteps had faded away, he brought the box towards the piano, placing it right alongside him. For a very brief moment, it almost seemed as though he sensed the air of the Hungarian plains and the faintest hint of a whisper. A weak, lopsided smile crossed the Nation's face as he readied his hands for another piece.

"It's been too long, Meine liebe..."