Hello there, my lovelies. This is my first PruCan story, and I really regret not writing them sooner, because they really are my favorite Hetalia pairing. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it (:

I don't own Hetalia; that honor goes to Hima Papa.

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Canada has grown accustomed to (and quite fond of) waking up to Prussia's presence in his bed. His calm, even breathing, along with the soft smile that graces his features in sleep are pleasant to arise to, as is the warmth of his embrace on those rare occasions on which Prussia awakes first, pulling Canada close the moment his violet eyes open. Canada's inevitable squeak of surprise will draw an exuberant laugh from his dearest love, and earn him a gentle, chaste kiss on the forehead before the two of them rise for breakfast, normally including pancakes and either coffee or tea. Or Prussia will simply hold Canada close and the two of them will drift again into sleep, contented to simply hold and be held, contented with each other's presence and warmth.

Although there are occasions on which, in the wee hours of the morning, Canada will awake to hear Prussia muttering in his sleep, low and fast and usually in German, his face taut with distress. And Canada will take Prussia's hand between his own and squeeze it gently, hoping to bring Prussia forth from his slumber and vanquish whatever it is with which his subconscious is torturing him. Prussia will awake always with a soft gasp (his years with Russia having ingrained it in him not to scream) and will stammer out a string of apologies that Canada will disregard as he holds Prussia close, stroking his soft, silvery hair, assuring him that it will be okay, it was just a dream, go back to sleep love it's alright, and Prussia thanks him by nuzzling close to Canada's chest.

And then, on nights when thunder and lightning reign the sky, Prussia will awaken to find Canada curled in a tight ball of panic, eyes shut tight and hands clamped over his ears to shut out the storm. Very gently, Prussia will pull his dearest love into his lap, wrapping his arms around him protectively and rubbing consoling circles into his back as Canada buries his face in Prussia's neck and clutches desperately at his bare back. Prussia will hum softly, and on occasion will sing a soft, sweet French lullaby, and Canada will smile, for he finds the French words comforting and, when combined with Prussia's distinctly not-French accent, highly adorable and greatly amusing. Eventually Canada's muscles will relax and he melts into Prussia's soothing embrace and the two simply lie there, content in each other's arms, listening to the rain.

But never before has there been a night like this one.

Tonight, Canada awakes to an empty bed, the sheets cold, rain pattering softly against the windows. Confused, he sits up sleepily and gropes around the nightstand for his glasses, his fingers fumbling with the wire frames as he shoves them on before glancing to the alarm clock. The bright red numbers read three AM. Canada looks first to the en suite bathroom, expecting to see the light shining under the door, but all is dark. He rolls over to Prussia's side of the bed and pulls open the drawer on Prussia's nightstand, where he knows his love keeps a flashlight used mainly to quell Canada's paralyzing fear of thunderstorms. Canada clicks the device on and heads down the stairs, checking first the living room and then the kitchen, and in retrospect, at the kitchen table with a beer in his hands is probably where Canada should have expected to find him, but the sight still startles him slightly. Prussia does not react to the sudden light flooding the kitchen from the flashlight, instead continuing to stare straight ahead, turning the half-empty beer bottle slowly in his hands, his eyes rimmed with red from crying and tear tracks running down his face. Canada places a hand on Prussia's shoulder, and Prussia flinches away from the touch, looking around with frightened, tear-filled eyes and nearly spilling his drink. His eyes land on Canada and he relaxes, releasing a breath neither realize he's been holding. Canada takes a seat next to him.

"You okay?" Canada asks, though he knows the answer. Prussia shakes his head. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Prussia hesitates, but puts his arms around Canada, pulling him into a tight embrace and clutching desperately at the back of his shirt, a tiny sob escaping his chest. Canada holds him close as more sobs come, even if Prussia refuses to let their volume escalate above a broken whisper. Several minutes pass before Prussia composes himself enough to pull away, and he still cannot meet Canada's eyes.

"Was it a nightmare?" Canada asks, for he knows the look in his lover's eyes; it's the look that accompanies that soft, startled gasp of awakening and those stuttered requests for forgiveness.

Prussia nods and takes Canada's hand, seeking comfort. For a long moment the only sound is the rain outside, but then Prussia speaks.

"The concentration camps," he begins, his voice soft and shaky, and Canada's heart aches. "And all of the bombings. London, Warsaw, Paris…" Prussia trails off for a moment. "And there was nothing Ludwig and I could do," he says desperately. "We're nations, dammit! We're supposed to be involved in these decisions, and Hitler wouldn't have any of it. His mind was made up and there was nothing we could do. 6 million Jews died, and there was nothing Ludwig and I could do to stop it."

Canada sighs, taking Prussia in his arms gently when he again succumbs to sobs. He continues to speak, and Canada listens intently, unwilling to miss the words Prussia can only bring himself to whisper into his chest.

"And I kn-know it was a long time ago," Prussia stammers quietly. "But I-I felt so goddamn useless, a-and I'm not a n-nation anymore, and I feel s-s-so fucking useless now a-a-and—"

"Gil," Canada interrupts him. "Breathe."

Prussia draws a deep, shuddering breath, dissolving into tears before he can manage a second.

"I'm scared, Birdie," he whispers. "I'm so scared. I can feel people getting sick of me, and I don't even go to the meetings anymore because what's the point? I don't have a reason to exist anymore, Matt, and everyone knows it a-and-" he breaks off and chokes on a sob. "I can't be alone, Matt," he says, and the sound makes Canada's skin crawl; no one as strong and brave and stubbornas Prussia should sound so broken. "I can't take it, I can't be alone anymore."

"Gil," Canada says softly, holding Prussia tighter and noting Prussia's hands desperately clutching at his back like he might disappear if Prussia let go. "Gilbert, you are not alone. I'm still here, and I'm not going anywhere. I love you. And so do plenty of other people. You still have Ludwig, and Francis and Antonio. Gilbert, it's alright. You may not be a nation anymore, but you're still a person and we still love you."

"I'm s-sorry," Prussia stammers, and Canada sighs sadly.

"Don't apologize," he admonishes gently. "It's not your fault at all. It makes sense. And it's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I love you," Prussia says. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," Canada assures him, for he knows sometimes all Prussia needs is to hear those words. "More than you can imagine."

And the two of them rise and head for the stairs, the half-full beer bottle forgotten on the table. As they crawl back into bead, Prussia nuzzles close to Canada's chest, taking comfort in Canada's open arms and the thin, gentle fingers running through his hair. Canada smiles softly at the man in his arms, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead as the two merely lie there, content to hold and be held, listening to the rain.

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Thank you so much for reading! Here's a hug for you =(:= Please review (: