AN: Hello everyone, and welcome to "A Very Asian Family"! I know it's been a long wait (... a very long wait) but, alas, I have returned! This is the third and final installment of the 'Very Asian' trilogy (the first being A Very Asian New Year and the second being A Very Asian Vacation) which you can easily find on my profile page! In order to understand this story, I do advise you to, at least, read through a Very Asian Vacation- it'll make this chapter a bit clearer.

Hope this chapter is worth the wait!

A Very Asian Family

"I'm sorry! I'm s-sorry!"

"Hush, aru. It's alright, it's just a scratch-"

"No! I-I'm sorry! I- I-"

He felt terrified. His little hands shook. They clutched his face with horror. He was terrified.

"I'm sorry!" his voice cracked. It was hoarse. "I'm sorry!"

It was a mantra that became nonsensical as it escaped his trembling mouth. His eyes threatened to split. His heart threatened to break. He felt the gushing of in his veins become frantic and frenzied. But China gently placed his two wide hands on Japan's frail shoulders and leaned down slightly, to match his little height. His soft smile, gentle and understanding and patient, broke him a little more.

"I know it was an accident, aru. You didn't mean it."

The words shocked him. Japan twisted away and took a sharp step back, eyes wide and lips gnawed. His arms tightened around his chest like choking chains. Hot tears, prickling and painful, oozed from his red-rimmed eyes.

China looked slightly hesitant, but he masked it.

"You didn't mean it, aru."

Japan couldn't stifle his sob. It left his mouth like a traitor, searing his ears as well as that of his bleeding brother's.

"You didn't mean it, aru," China pressed softly. "I know you-"

The moment he tried to come closer, Japan sprinted. He pushed all the doors and ran out into the open, open fields under the dismal, dismal skies. He ran, his bare feet plunging into viscous mud and jagged stones until, like the blood from China's arm, his soles began to bleed. Only when his little lungs could breath no quicker and all the energy had been sucked out of his muscles did he collapse, splattering mud on his knees, his hands gripping the hair on his head.

Terrified.

He felt terrified.

It was a game. A game with swords. Practice. An exercise. China was smiling. Was he himself smiling? He couldn't remember. He couldn't feel it. He could only see the blood pouring from the gaping wound- could only see the pouring- could only see the blood-

But it wasn't that.

That wasn't scary.

He was used to blood. He didn't mind it. Blood was fine. Blood was normal.

But the pain in his brother's arm- the hiss from the sting in his brother's throat-

Japan gripped his head tighter- trying to quell it all in his head-

He had meant it.

He felt this tightness in his chest. He felt terrified. He felt scared.

He had meant to hurt him. He did mean it.

He gripped his head. He clenched his teeth.

He felt scared.

When he blinked, his vision was bleary. It was as though he was looking through distorted glass- that, or looking through his own tears. He could hear his breathing, heavy and painful, against his ringing ears. He could see lights spot his vision before black lines danced before his lids.

He watched the steam rise from the ancient wok, and could almost hear the bubbling of the saline water as the rice simmered. He fidgeted, shifted from toe to toe, and wrung his little fingers. He debated with himself as he watched China cook, and felt an ongoing battle being waged inside him. So caught up in his bitterly clashing thoughts, he didn't notice his brother come towards him a place a gentle hand on his hand.

"Why so troubled, aru?" China smiled. "Go play outside, dinner's not ready yet."

"I don't want to play outside," he mumbled.

He immediately chastised himself. He felt babyish and immature.

'Toughen up,' he heard himself say. 'Don't act like a child.'

But China only chuckled and went back to the simmering rice while Japan went back to his internal struggle. He couldn't control those little feelings that wanted to creep out of his heart, but, at the same time, he forced himself to exert a self-control that would mask his emotions. He couldn't let his feelings overtake him. It was dishonorable. It was juvenile. He had to be stronger. He had to reign himself in. He had to take control. He had to mask it. He had to-

"I hate them!" he exclaimed and, to his utter horror, angry tears streamed down his face. "I hate all of them!"

China came towards him, concerned, but Japan backed away and crossed his arms around himself. He wanted to cause a fuss. He wanted to be difficult. He had so much pent inside his little being that he couldn't contain it. It shattered out of him.

"Shh, it's alright, aru-"

"No!" he jerked away from China's hands. "No!"

His eyes were burning and he couldn't see anything beyond the tears. Only when his angry sobs became uncontrollable did he relent. China gathered him into his arms and Japan threw his little body against him. He clutched his brother's soft shirt with tiny, trembling fingers and dug his face into his brother's shoulders with desperation. He was hurt. Inside, he was very hurt. There was a burning scratch inside him that was never going to heal.

China rubbed his back soothingly and murmured.

"I-I h-hate all of-f them!" he cried.

"No you don't, aru."

"Y-yes, I do! All of-f t-them!"

He had been walking around the paddy fields, alone… as he usually was. It was gaping, his loneliness, leaving this void inside him. He was always alone. But he heard laughter and, when he looked around, he found Im Yong Soo and his twin brother playing. He bristled, apprehensive. They ran circled around each other, their young faces radiant, before South caught him watching and stopped. His brother bumped into him, they giggled for a bit, before both of them stared at him.

He felt nervous. Their eyes bored into him, scanning him from head to toe. He felt belittled.

Slowly, South whispered something in his brother's ear, eyes never leaving Japan's, and both twins started to snigger. Their laughter was caustic. They said something about him. They were laughing at him. He flushed. Immediately, he turned on his heel and ran. He couldn't mask his frustration. He couldn't mask his anger. He burst out of propriety and self-control.

China wiped the tears from his eyes but Japan could hold back his heavy frown.

"Ignore them, aru," huffed China. "That Yong Soo, always causing trouble…" China cupped his cheek. "You don't need them, aru. You've got me," when Japan looked up he could see a small, playful smile on China's face. "And between you and me, aru, you're my favourite out of them all."

Japan felt his lips part. China patted him on the head. The rice simmered. The steam rose. Clouds began to hide the setting sun. Impulsively, Japan dashed away from the kitchen, his soft feet padding against the cool wooden panels, until he could see both Koreas making their way towards the house. They caught sight of him and stopped. Before they could do or say anything, Japan visibly and purposely scanned them from head-to-toe and stuck his chin up before giving them his back with blatant arrogance.

Though he couldn't see it, he could feel their outrage.

He smiled.

He tried blinking, but his vision was still blurry. His arms felt like lead. His head throbbed. He was bathed in this instilled silence that was deafening yet, at the same time, welcoming. When he could feel a tingling in his fingers he tried opening his eyes once more, cringing from the painful light, before concentrating on the whiteness of the ceiling.

"Kiku?"

The voice was muffled, as though someone had filled his ears with cotton.

"Kiku?"

"Kiku!" her voice was sweet. "Want to go to the river? I want to count the colours of the fish!"

She took his hand before he could answer and pulled him along with her.

But he didn't mind.

He liked her. She was nice and she was really pretty. She was gentle, happy and said nice things that made him warm. She didn't prick him with his words and he never felt apprehensive with her. He liked Mei. She was sweet. She was a girl. He liked her very much.

So he we went with her, hand-in-hand, and let her chatter on happily about whatever she liked. He liked listening to her voice. It was like wind chimes.

"All the girls in the city are wearing purple scarves around their shoulders," she said as they sat by the stream, their feet submerged into the cool banks, "I really want one! And some golden flowers in my hair as well! But older brother said I'm too young to think about things like that. It's not fair."

"You can live with me," he said quietly, "and then you can have whatever you want."

Taiwan blinked at him before laughing. It sounded like giggling streams. "But we already live together, silly!"

"Not forever."

Her laughter faltered but her smile fell. There was innocent confusion in her eyes.

"But we're a family," she said. "We have to live together."

Korea's not my family, he wanted to say bitterly. Both of them could rot for all he cared. Them and their accusing eyes. Them and their stupid language that he could never understand no matter how hard he tried. Them and their idiotic laughter, their smug smiles and their teasing pranks that he couldn't stomach.

"We won't grow if we stay here," he said.

"Yes we will!" she said determinedly. "I grew a little bit since last month! I marked it in older brother's bedroom!"

He wasn't going to stay, he thought as he looked at Taiwan's pleading face. He was going to leave at some point. Maybe not now, but definitely in the future. He was going to leave China and was going back to his own land. He was going to grow, become stronger, become richer and become greater. He wasn't going to let anyone hold him back. He wasn't going to let anyone belittle him- anyone depreciate him- anyone patronize him.

But he didn't say that to her.

She stood up, "let's play under the trees," she pointed to the distance. "I want to see all the flowers!"

He followed her but made sure to take her hand. He wasn't going to let go of her. He liked her. He didn't feel so lonely when he was with her.

"Kiku? Are you awake?"

It was a warm voice. He tried to speak but his throat was parched. He sputtered. He could taste blood in the back of his dry throat.

"Wait, I'll get you some water…"

Footsteps tapped away…

Xiang was small and he was being dragged. His face was a canvas of utter confusion and his eyes were windows of open panic. He kept looking over his shoulder as he was being pulled away by the haughty, arrogant, sauntering stranger with wheat-yellow hair and unnatural green eyes.

The water was cold against his numb lips. He didn't think he could swallow.

Vietnam was strong. He admired his sister. She lived sternly and spoke wisely. She reared and cultivated her own land with her own hands and sweat. He respected her.

A soft towel was placed between his lips and he slowly sucked the cool liquid. It dripped down his throat, tantalizingly painful, but slowly began to soothe the irritated, raw skin.

But then, her rebellions were crushed. Her voice was lost amidst the thick dense wilderness of her land. Apparently, she spoke French now. Apparently, she bowed because of the iron boot on her back.

"Kiku?" a warm whisper. A warm hand on his. "Are you awake? Does anything hurt?"

Yes… something hurt. Something was hurting very much.

He didn't remember what they were arguing about. They always argued anyway. They were always fighting. Always at each other's throats. Their childhood in China's small house had consisted of scratches, sharp words and glowers across the dinner table. But, this time, he didn't remember what he had said but he did remember Korea who, instead of lashing out as usual, burst into tears.

Korea rarely cried. But, when he did, it made Japan both satisfied yet guilty, torn between running after him and staying put.

"Do you want me to call the nurse? I can call the nurse but I really don't want to be because we might not be together and I really want us to be together," the whispering warmth continued. It felt like warm sun breaking through the dense clouds. Japan could blink out of the blurriness of his gaze. He focused slightly. The picture was hazy. The face was clearing up.

Italy.

Feliciano.

"You're not deaf, are you?" Italy's eyes widened slightly, his whispering edged with panic.

Japan tried to shake his head before Italy would burst into frantic hysteria. He didn't need that now. He needed the calm.

"Oh good," Italy sighed. He looked weary. There were rings under his eyes. He looked tired. He looked relieved. "You've been sleeping a lot. Are you sure it's ok if I don't call a nurse? I don't want to call a nurse now."

He didn't feel like talking to anyone. He couldn't. He felt exhausted. He felt weary. He felt depressed. He simply lolled his head to the side, all his weight against the fluffed pillow, and stared out the grey window. For once, Italy said nothing. His hand simply tightened around Japan's.

They were warm hands- hands exposed to Roman suns, bright summers and sultry afternoons. But, they weren't soft hands. They were scared and marred. If they were any closer, Japan would definitely be able to smell the blood that stained those warm, loving hands. They did come closer eventually, brushing the hair that pricked his eyes. He could smell the blood of massacred people and the tears of howling widows. It wasn't fresh. It was aged and rotting on Italy's sultry skin, like a rash that would never heal.

"I think Germany's really tired," said Italy softly. He was all soft tones and hushed whispers. He was quite weighed down. His smile was exhausted. "When I woke up he was sleeping which is really weird because I always wake up after him and I never wake up before him, right?" Japan said nothing. "I think I should let him sleep. He didn't sleep for a long time. I don't want to wake him. I think he's scary to wake up, right? Do you wake up before Germany sometimes?" Italy's voice waited. "I think you do. You always wake up crazy early, right? You do a weird dance thing outside the room before the sun comes up. That's really crazy. You're so funny Japan. Do you want me to call a nurse? Are you not feeling well? Are you going to vomit? Is that why you're not talking to me- because you're scared you're going to vomit all over me? That's really bad- I think I should call a nurse-"

"No-" he croaked. He coughed.

"Ok!" Italy chirped. "That's good because I want us three to stay together for a little while longer! If a nurse comes she might tell Germany and me to leave and I don't want to leave because I want us to stay together, right? Also, the nurses here aren't very pretty."

Germany was sitting by the doorway. If it wasn't for his closed eyes he would've looked perfectly awake. His arms were crossed over his broad chest and his back was as straight as a rod. His head didn't even droop to the side.

"Kiku?" Italy's voice was soft once more. "I'm sorry," suddenly, he sounded as though he was on the verge of tears. "Close your eyes. You should sleep again."

He wasn't a child anymore. He wasn't in his soft kimono and sandals. He didn't run through the paddy fields or out into the open Chinese terrace. That was centuries ago. That was years ago. That was insignificant.

He stalked down the hallways of the grandeur of his house, sword strapped to his lithe waist, buttons glinting on his haughty Imperial uniform. His footsteps were echoed by the quick steps of Taiwan who this time, walked behind him rather than in front of him. He stopped, turned, and saw her panting slightly. He took her soft hand in his and she looked up at him in surprise. She was still so small. She would always be small to him.

He smiled at her- just at her- and continued to move forwards. She followed soundlessly.

He led her to her new room.

"It's all yours."

The silk beddings, the fine wooden dressing tables, the grand draping curtains, the opulent bottles of luscious perfumes, the brand new gowns that hung off silver hangers, the scented candles that wavered in the corners like soft prayers- all of it. Mei ambled in, taking in the sight of the room and letting her fingers run over the smooth surfaces. She turned to look at him and bowed.

"Thank you so much."

Though she smiled, there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. But, they caught sight of something on her bed. A purple scarf and golden flowers for her hair. She pressed her lips and looked away. Japan watched her. She bowed once more, her smile wider but her eyes sadder, and thanked him again.

He left her to rest. The journey from Taipei had been long. However, he stopped as he walked down the hall and turned back to stand by her door. Behind the thin wood he could hear her crying. Beyond the dark hallway he could feel Korea seething. Across the sea that split them apart, he could feel China crumbling.