A/N: This might be a oneshot, but let me know if you think I should add more- I'd gladly write more chapters if you all like it! Please review!
Broken. Unstable. Irreparable.
Take your pick at what you want to call me. Curled up in a defensive position, my shirt stuffed in my mouth so I don't scream, I certainly feel all of these things. Probably more. Many more.
"Prussia? Prussia!"
My eyes look up, dull and exhausted. I haven't slept in so long, but I worry if I go to sleep, I will drown in my nightmares. I can't decide which is worse- sleeping or staying awake.
"Prussia, where are you?"
"Germany?" I mumble, but it sounds horribly deranged because of my shirt and the fact that I haven't spoken in weeks except to scream, giving me a raw, terrified voice.
I glance around. Cold, gray light is filtering in through a single window in Russia's cellar. I crawl slowly and painfully to the base of the stairs, listening. West and Russia are arguing, their voices loud and sharp like broken glass.
The cement floor is frigid under my hands, and I wince. Blood has stained the ground, patches of dark red splattered around the basement, and I long to get rid of the sight.
"We'll be okay," Hungary says. I turn to face her. She does not look how I do. I am ragged and scarred, my eyes dull and expressionless, but her hair hangs softly, glowing in the faint light, her green eyes illuminating. She is gorgeous.
"I know," I reply, coughing. I sit down next to her on the ground. There is nowhere else to sit. "I want to go home."
"You will," Hungary encourages me. "I promise, some day you and I are going to knock that wall down and you'll see West and Austria and little Ita-chan again. I promise."
"Really?" My voice is getting stronger. I never talk except to talk to Hungary. I stopped trying to converse with Russia after I realized no matter what I said, it was going to hurt. I could tell him he was a frozen drunkie. I get a broken rib. I could tell him I loved him. I get a bruised chest. You see, that's when I gave up.
When I realized no matter what I said, it wouldn't make a difference, so why say anything at all?
Once Russia came downstairs to 'talk to me', and he found me sitting in my usual spot, casually chatting with Hungary and mentioning what I planned to do after I was released. He laughed and laughed until a tear ran down his cheek, and he patted me on the head, but not in a nice way, and explained to me that Hungary wasn't there.
He said Hungary wasn't here, she is not here. She will never be here.
I told him, Of course she is. She's right there!
He just looked at me with these eyes filled with pity, ruffled my hair again, and said, "Nyet, Prussia."
I've never understood him.
It wasn't until later- maybe a day or a week or a month, time is all the same- that I realized he was right, that Hungary really wasn't there.
The girl of my dreams was just that.
Of my dreams.
She still comes, though, maybe because my mind is so destroyed and abused that I see her even though I know the truth, but just because she isn't real doesn't keep me from having nice conversations with her. She keeps me grounded.
My insanity keeps me sane.
West left shortly after Hungary disappeared from the cellar, leaving me with loneliness so intense I have to lie down on the bloodstained ground and stare up at the dark ceiling. I don't cry anymore. I forgot how to cry. There are a lot of things I forgot how to do.
Crying was a comfort that abandoned me a long time ago. Laughing isn't an option at all. Care. The only thing I care about anymore... is nothing. Even the faint hope I had of escaping, of running with my arms outstretched to embrace West as the Wall fell down, was shattered.
If you asked me, right now, to get up and run and dance and imagine a scenario in which West and I were reunited in the great world, I would not even know how to stand up.
More time passes, an uncountable number of seconds turning to hours, hours to days, days to weeks. Fifty-two weeks in a year. My mind is a blur. I have done nothing for an unmeasurable amount of time.
Then a light shines into the cellar. So bright and blinding I can't see, and I scream and hold my hands to my eyes, wondering.
Maybe I'm dying.
Maybe this is what it feels like to die.
Instead, I hear Russia. "Prussia. Get up."
I open my eyes slowly, adjusting to the light. I am out of the cellar.
I'm so disoriented, it takes me a second to remember what the world looks like, even if I'm just in Russia's kitchen. I forgot color existed in the world. Hungary was the only color I ever saw, and I was probably imagining it wrong, so everything I see looks gorgeous. Light shines on the tiles of the kitchen floor, and I stand slowly.
"You're shaking," Russia comments.
I say nothing. I try to force something from my lips, a Ja or da or You don't freaking say? But no sound comes out, so I just nod, once and quickly.
"You're going home."
I don't understand what this means, so I tilt my head to the side.
"The Berlin Wall is going to be demolished," Russia says.
Berlin Wall? My eyes widen, and I almost smile.
"Can't you speak?" Russia demands, punching me in the face. "Say something!"
"Something," I whisper, so quietly I almost can't hear it, but Russia does. His violet eyes light up and he nods. "You are free to go." Like I've been in jail or in court.
I walk slowly to the door. Russia hasn't hurt me in a long time, so I think most of my broken bones have healed, but I'm so sore and battered every step hurts. But I have something to hold onto now.
Hope.
Because there is color in the world, I'm out of the basement, and I'm... free.
Hungary.
The thought hits my mind randomly. But everything I'm picking up is random. The fact that the walls in the foyer are cream colored. The fact that there is a small window in Russia's door and I can see the world.
The outside world. It's snowing, so blinding and white and bright I flinch.
"Get going," Russia barks, and I jump.
"Kill yourself," I snarl, opening the door. The cold hits my face, but it's nothing I'm not used to. Freedom. Safety. West and Hungary and Austria and 'Ita-chan'.
I trudge down the three stairs on Russia's doorstep and slam the door shut behind me. Like babies, I guess, nations are resilient, so I feel a little bit of my strength returning. Though I'm not technically a nation anymore, I suppose, so who knows how that stuff works.
Even though the snow is Russian, even though the sky rests above Russian territory, gray and lifeless, it is gorgeous. The bare, black trees are beautiful. A tear slides down my face.
I'm crying. Crying.
It takes me a minute to realize I've fallen to my knees in Russia's front yard, the snow drifting down around me, and I stand up.
I know it's not my imagination, because I could never imagine anything this bright and vivid.
I start making my way to the Berlin Wall.
Though the Wall is falling, I am ready to rebuild my life.
I tell myself something I never dared to tell myself when I was with Russia, something I didn't even play around with the idea of.
I am safe.
Safe and sound.