A/N: Yeah, so! If anyone who read my last Hetalia fanfiction is reading this now: thank you so much for all the favorites! I feel so adored. *bats eyelashes* Seriously though, if anyone wants to show me some sign that they're truly human and actually leave me a review, I wouldn't mind. Feverish praise, grueling critique...Hell,even flames, I don't care-I'm currently sitting outside slowly contracting hypothermia because my aunt's internet is down and at least chain restraunt's wiifi is being put to some good use at the moment, no? But yeah, reviews are welcome. ( Though if anyone tries to pull the " " find the N", I WILL come through this computer screen and punch you in the face. )
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, or any of its characters. Nor do I own the world, or any of its vital regions therin.
A good night's sleep was not a concept that Estonia was familiar with. Of course, he knew there must have been a time in his life when peaceful nights were a tangible reality, but years of living with the Baltics at Russia's place had transformed such memories into fuzzy obscurity. Like trying to do paperwork without his glasses on. In one sense, Estonia considered himself fortunate for being the one lone person in the entire household who did not nightmare. Getting to sleep was difficult enough as it was without a range of horrors springing up at you through the dark. On the other hand, that very thing seemed to happen to him on a nightly basis, when he would inevitably be awakened by the sounds of unconcious despair. Perhaps the single earthly way in which Latvia and Russia were alike was the fact that they both talked and cried in their sleep-as predictably each night as their breathing-and Estonia was always troubled by them both. Thanks to the house's unusually thin walls, Russia's crying reached Estonia from several rooms down as easily as his younger brother's sobs right beside him, but quite thankfully for the poor Baltic, neither person was ever awoken by their was the best at consoling Latvia anyhow, and Estonia lived in a secret terror that Russia would one night be driven to sleepwalking, and God help them all if that were ever the case, for they were allowed no weapons to defend themselves with and their bedroom door had no lock. So far luck had been on their side, but nonetheless Estonia went to bed each night with a prayer in his head and a large and rather heavy shoe tucked beneath his pillow.
And then there was Lithuania.
The leader of the Baltics obviously had a great deal of trouble on his mind, being the primary target of Russia's bullying and constantly worrying about the welfare of his siblings, not to mention his own people. There were other things, too, problems that Lithuania kept bottled away, but not well enough to keep hidden from Estonia's radar. He could see it in his face, when Lithuania's eyes would become distant and sad, almost glazed, and his skin would turn pale and he would drift off to some far away place that no one else could reach on the physical plane. Estonia knew, with a slight pang of annoyance, that these moments heavily involved Poland in some way-that flighty ditz of a blond who was constantly causing everyone grief. Just what exactly had went down between the two of them remained unclear-Lithuania didn't make a point of talking about it-but Estonia doubted he would have been able to understand even if he had have been supplied with the proper knowledge. Poland was a jerk. Everyone else seemed to be caught up where this fact was concerned, but Lithuania remained blissfully unaware. Or if he did realize it, he simply didn't care. But why? Why was he always so concerned, always trying to aid him, always trying to watch out for the other nation when all Poland did was stab them all in the back at every oppritunity? Why did Lithuania care that much? So much even that it haunted his dreams. Night after night the nightmares returned, but Lithuania did not sleep through them. He slept in them, and emerged as a tear-stained mess in tangled blankets. Some nights were worse than others. At their best Lithuania was able to reassert himself into reality fairly quickly, and with a few stammered apologies to whoever had been disturbed he was soon quiet again. Those were the "good" nights. But the bad ones were all too frequent, and were marked with shouts and hysteria to the point where no sight of a familiar bedroom could assure Lithuania that his nightmare had ended. On those nights he would sob like a child, shaking and crying Poland's name until his voice was hoarse from yelling and his limbs worn out from thrashing around, and only in a state of complete exhaustion would he finally fall alseep again. On those nights Estonia held them, Lithuania in one arm and Latvia in the other, until both were able to rest, and he would lie there and wonder what Poland's name meant, and Russia's, and America's, and how they all managed to tie together, and why on Earth Liet needed them when he had brothers who loved him, and he would wonder if perhaps a sleeping nightmare made any more sense than a waking one.