Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia- it is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya, not myself. This is merely a work of fanfiction, and as such I claim none of the characters. I also do not own any music/lyrics quoted herein, they are owned by the artists that wrote/sing them.

Warnings: Mentions of the holocaust. Implied and stated male/male relationships. Implied het.

Flames shall be extinguished with great force because it is bush-fire season and I hate bush-fires. Many Australians do.

These drabbles include implied Germania/Rome, stated Celt/Germania and implied Celt/Germania/Rome in addition to what could be interpreted as Germerica.

One of the two drabbles I've posted today involve a character invented by one of my friends to embody the Celtic people- Aveta. Kudos to Yeyana for inventing such a kick-ass character. Also, I should explain that my head-canon is that Germania can't disobey a direct order from the chieftain among the tribes who holds the most power; (his boss) In my headcanon the only reason he murdered Rome was because it was a direct order- and he couldn't disobey. Another theory I consider entirely plausible is that he passed this to one of his sons- Germany. It would explain the horrors of the Second World War, yet keep Germany in-character as seen in canon.

-Ireina

Leave out All The Rest- Linkin Park.

'I'm strong on the surface, not all the way though.'

He stood, looking down at his body, watching as the armoured men clamoured around the bloodied and broken body lying lifeless on the ground. He watched as the blond-haired, blue-eyed man who'd taken his life flew across rooftops, and irrationally he hoped the man would escape. His gold eyes stared longingly at the man's fleeing back.

A loud yell pierced the eerie early morning silence as a tall man flew up, face gaunt and haunted, cheeks hollow and his blue eyes clouded and wide, his blond hair falling in tangles around his face. He sprung from the bed, running out, out, throwing open a window to take deep breaths of the air outside. A hand covered half his face and he stared unseeingly out across the rooftops, as silent sobs racked his form.

'Death would be a kindness I do not deserve.' he thought despairingly to himself.

Sunbrowned arms slid around his waist, and a light kiss was pressed into his shoulder. "Another nightmare?" a gruff, feminine voice asked, not un-kindly. "Thought y'were drinkin' to stop the blasted things?"

"They never stop, Aveta." his voice was hollow, and he stood unmoving within the circle of the tiny woman's surprisingly strong arms. "Ever since…"

"Come back t' bed. I'm still drunk enou' that I'll forget comfortin' ye in the mornin'." she offered, pressing against his unclothed back with an equally unclothed body.

He turned in her grip and looked down into her green eyes and gently stroked a lock of wild brown hair from her face. He closed his eyes, succumbing briefly to the pain. He knew she'd pretend she didn't see the pain and self-hatred on his face in the morning.

"I miss him too. 'F that helps." she offered gruffly.

"You didn't kill him." Germania whispered, looking at her in despair, clinging to her and burying his face in her hair. Then, and only then did he allow tears to slip.

'When my time comes forget the wrong that I've done…'

I Need a Hero- Frou Frou.

The age of heroes had passed. Their time was gone. And yet… and yet… This young nation (so young!) who boldly and proudly proclaimed he was a hero; he stirred something in him. Something he'd thought long dormant, if not dead deep within.

"Why do you help me?" he demanded. "You don't have to. You could let me die completely. Let my people die out completely." He scowled. "Especially after what my boss made… made us do." he ground out from between gritted teeth. "It is only what I deserve."

After what Russia had found in Auschwitz he had been violently sick. He'd known his boss was having Gilbert and the SS do horrible things- he'd felt all the deaths, but the horrors that had happened in that place… Even for him, they were terrible.

The bright blue eyes, so familiar (because eyes of a similar colour shone at him from the mirror every morning as he shaved) behind glasses that glinted in the light smiled softly at him. A hand reached out, not gloved like his own but bared to the small amount of dusk light in the room, reached out and lightly, tentatively, skimmed his jaw. "Because I'm a hero." the younger nation said seriously. "And I had to save your people from your boss too, remember? He killed lots of your people too. And a hero doesn't neglect people after he's saved them. Not a real one anyway." He made to lift his hand away, but Germany caught that hand and clutched it tightly in both of his own, and he solemnly stared at the blond man before him, unable to prevent the thought that flitted through his mind that wouldn't his boss- his old boss- have just loved this man if he hadn't known he was the embodiment of the United States.

"Thank you." he said simply, finally able to let his stoic mask fall.

It was then that it hit him, really hit him. It was finally over. No more would he feel the burning and stabbing that signified his people dying in their hundreds each day.

He didn't bother to try and stop the tears that began to slip from the corners of his eyes.

I hope you enjoyed these drabbles- look forward to some Prussia and Germany as well as a drabble or two of Russia in the next update.

-Ireina.