Heya! Cherry here. With another story. This one, I wrote several months ago, at school, and I never found the time to post it until now. It may not be completely historically correct, but... enjoy!

Also, the song I used at the beginning is Uprising by Sabaton. I do not own it, or Hetalia, for that matter.

Peace!

~Cherry

Warsaw, city at war, voices from underground, whispers of freedom, 1944, help that never came, calling Warsaw, city at war, voices from underground, whispers of freedom, rise up, and take the call, history calling to you, Warszawo walcz!

Dark, cloudy skies loomed over the doomed city, still smoking ever so slightly from the downpour of bombs that had hit it not long ago. Several buildings still stood, the flames on the inside slowly burning away at the foundation. It wouldn't be long before they would collapse as well. The only thing on the barren streets of broken, blood-spattered cobblestone was a lone figure, making his way through the deserted town.

Slowly, he trudged on, amidst the darkened clouds, the weaving smoke and flickering flames. Slowly, as if each foot was holding a cinder block, forcing each step to be painful and drawn out.

"So empty... " The man muttered to himself, stopping at the corner of two streets. "I wonder... "

For the man was looking for someone. A friend. A lost friend, who had been trapped in the dying city when the German bombs had rained upon it. A man with a certain style, almost flamboyancy, along with cocky arrogance that made him insufferable, but, at the same time, desperately clingy.

He had not seen said friend in years, not since the awful war had started. Even then, their relationship was strained.

"Hey Liet! Can you believe it? We're countries again!"

He shook his head, attempting to clear it of the images he had been trying to erase. Even so, he looked upwards, staring at the grim street and desolate buildings, hoping to catch a glimpse of the person whom he was searching for.

However, all it took was a glance at a deserted flag, torn and burnt, to make his breath hitch and shoulders tremble in remembrance.

"You know I didn't want to do it."

"Still. You could've fought!"

"I tried! You have no idea-"

"No. I do. You were so caught up in being a country again that you let your bosses, well, boss you around. It didn't matter who you hurt."

"Liet…"

"Don't call me that!"

"Germany's getting restless. Sooner or later, he'll want to rejoin Prussia and realize that I'm in the way. I can feel it."

"So what?"

"Please… I need your help."

"No. You don't deserve my help."

"Liet!"

"Good luck fighting Germany. You'll need it."

He didn't realize he was on his knees until the flashback had ended, but, even then, he still wasn't quite aware. Oh, how he wished he could get rid of the painful memories! It was like a plague, slowly killing him from the inside, eating away at his soul until there was nothing left. If only he could find his friend. Then, and only then, would he be able to cleanse himself of the voices, the awful voices that would murmur in his ear when the silence was heavy to bear.

He walked another couple of steps, his dark green eyes glancing around at the city. Nobody would be able to guess this was once the capital of Poland. Not with the craters that may have once been buildings, the landscape all burned away from the might of the bombs. All of the people were carried away, although whether it was to Germany or the Soviet Union he didn't know. He supposed neither was good. After all, the Soviet Union was Germany in disguise. He was surprised that the Allies never said anything, that is, if they even knew about the genocide taking place there as well.

"He's murdering my people by the thousands, burning my cities, taking children and imprisoning them… do you think I can just sit here and watch?"

Sometimes he longed for the same amount of defiance that his friend held firmly, although somewhat arrogantly. It was one of those things that, although he resented his friend then, now he had a longing to see what he once considered rude, if only it meant that his friend was alive.

For he wasn't sure if his friend was alive. There was a very slim chance, after all. He was in the capital city the day of the bombings. However, the thought of never seeing his friend again made the man want to cringe, so he held on, desperately hoping that somehow his friend had gotten out of the atrocity.

After another hour spent wandering the lonely roads, he was no longer sure of where to look. After all, all the buildings looked the same, and he wasn't sure of where he was going. By now, a steady rain had begun, slowly putting out the remaining fires. He wasn't bothered by it. In fact, it almost seemed as if the heavens themselves were crying over the demolished city.

He was ready to give up. Sure, he loved his friend, and wished that he could find him, the sun was setting, the rain was pouring harder, and he seemed to be getting nowhere.

However, right before he turned around, came the slightest sound. A cough, light as a feather.

It was such a sound that sent the man spinning around, glancing at the surrounding buildings. Finally, after hours of walking in near silence, he allowed himself to speak.

"Feliks?"

Another cough, weaker than the first.

This second sound sent him running, desperately hoping that the coughs were coming from his lost friend.

He came upon an old building, the foundation trembling, as if it was near the end of its life. However, he was certain that the cough came from inside the building.

"Feliks?"

Despite the lack of answer, he reached out, determined to carefully make a hole into the abandoned room. It took several minutes, but soon he was crawling into the building, wincing at the smoke that curled out.

His heart quickened when he spotted something - a hint of green and yellow amidst the brown darkened with grey and black.

He rushed forward, hands scooping up the trembling blonde man, pulling him into his arms.

"God, Feliks…"

The man before him coughed again, weakly, and emerald eyes flickered open, slightly unfocused.

"Lithuania?"

The use of his actual name caused the brunette to wince. The blonde never used his real name. Never.

"Are you okay?" He asked, a touch of concern laced in his voice.

It must've been the idea that he was actually concerned, despite the anger and hostility shown merely five years earlier, than caused the blonde to burst into tears, grasping the Lithuanian's shirt and sobbing.

"I… I can't… I can't feel anything!" He cried, burying his face into the other's chest, "It doesn't hurt, but it should, I know it should!"

Lithuania sighed, wrapping an arm around the Pole and gently tracing circles onto his back, "It'll be okay." He murmured.

"H-how can you say that? You of all people should hate me," Poland mumbled, still sniffling.

"What?" Lithuania was shocked, "I may have been mad at you," Really mad at you, "But I don't think I could ever hate you."

Before Poland had a chance to reply, though, the building shook, dust and debris falling to the ground.

"We need to get out of here. Can you stand?"

Poland nodded before shakily getting up onto his feet.

Lithuania, after also standing, held Poland's arm, hoping to help him steady himself. After making sure he would be alright, the brunette started to move, hoping to reach the hole before the building fell.

Well, he got what he wished for, just… not what he was wanting.

Right before reaching the open area, Lithuania heard the man behind him screech. Then, the arm he was holding slipped out of his grasp, and the Lithuanian spun around, hearing a crash.

Poland had fallen.

With a ton of debris on top of him.

Lithuania darted forward, bending down to reach the blonde.

Poland was coughing even harder now, green eyes glazed over in pain. Only his head, neck, arms and upper chest were free of the fallen brick and wood that the building had been made of.

"Shit!" He cursed, his hands reaching out to lift the debris. However, he quickly found that it was much too heavy for him to lift.

"Liet…"

Lithuania glanced down at the Pole worriedly, still attempting to help.

"Liet, stop. Please." The words were followed by another cough.

"What? No. "

"Liet, I'm dying anyways, and you know that."

"But-" Lithuania bit his lip. He abandoned the debris, and instead focused on the blonde's face. Straight blonde hair, cut choppily to his ears, which was an unusual look for the man. Green eyes, normally so bright, but now dull due to the war. Feminine features, once giving him an element of grace, now sentencing him to his fate.

"I won't let you die."

"It's too late." The building shifted again, more small pieces of rock and dust falling to the floor.

"Liet, get out of here."

"I can't leave you!"

"Please, " Poland coughed again. He blinked, and Lithuania noticed how red his eyes were, how irritated they had became.

"Poland, I-"

"Go!"

Lithuania flinched. He didn't want to leave his friend, but… The Pol was glaring at him, silently begging him to go away. Such violent mood swings, his friend had.

With an unspoken apology, the brunette fled the building, only to turn around and feel tears streaming down his cheeks as it collapsed, the entire area going up in smoke.

"I'm sorry, Feliks." He murmured.

However, as he was walking away, trying to get out of that broken town, he knew something. It was the hope that what he was believing to be true that kept him going, kept him focused on his journey to reach home.

Poland was the phoenix of Eastern Europe, and, with that knowledge, Lithuania knew that he would be back.

One day...