Berwald came in with some force and without knocking. This caused a surprised German to leap to his feet and meet him halfway down the hallway with some urgency. He met the soaking, dripping Swede half way between the kitchen and the entry.

Sweden could hear the television softly playing in the back ground and his mind wondered where his son was but Germany wasn't allowing anyone to go any where until his own questions were answered. This surprised Sweden, let alone a German who wasn't used to all this chaos and left a tiny nation sleeping on Bel's couch.

Both nation's squared up and stared at each other, wondering what the other was doing there. Both Alpha males stared each other down briefly before a slightly louder moan emitted from upstairs. Belgien was clearly in pain and something needed to be said before both of them pummel each other over a misunderstanding.

"Vhy are you here", the German asked with a stern, yet quiet voice. His muscles flexed waiting for the wrong answer. "P'ter is my son. Bel was w'tching h'm fer me." Germany nodded and made a hand signal for Sweden to keep his voice low as the German stepped to the side pointing to the living room.

Berwald walked up to edge of the entrance to the medium sized room. His son was passed out and curled up on the couch, covered by a soft, yellow quilt. The green sofa seemed to engulf the boy and he seemed peaceful as he slept. Sweden couldn't help but smile, a part of him was relieved that his son was sleeping so soundly.

Berwald's dark blue eyes drank in his son's image. His pounding heart began to slow. Sweden's body was slowly turning to normal for the most part. As Peter shifted in his sleep, frizzy strands of hair popped straight up, like three long cow licks.

Germany crossed his muscular arms. "Belgien vill be alright in about a week, give or take." The German spoke softly and slowly, caring not to wake the sleeping nations. Berwald's smile quickly faded into a frown as his eyes stifted and stared at the German, now leaning on the wall.

"Why?" Sweden wasn't one for much talk but his demanding, yet quiet tone was enough to have the German straighten up. "Broken collar bone, broken ribs, broken nose, broken fingers, and possibly a broken hip."

The German continued with a heavy heart. Seeing his friend in this condition wasn't easy for him at all. "She's a nation though. Bel vill heal faster den a human. You know dis. I'll take some time off..." Berwald quickly interrupted the helpful German.

"Nej, I'll do it. She s'ved my s'n. I 'we her one." Germany nodded as he understood. "L't me 'sk you dis though." The blond, German nation shoved his hands into his pockets and stood silently. "Vhat is it?" "Why d'dn't you c'me to her s''ner?" The German nation ran his fingers through his blond hair, slicking it back as a rouge lock of hair, fell forward. The man's eyes fell to the floor.

"I vas valking my dogs. Vhen I got home, die poor woman vas trying to make it up the die stairs. I helped vhere I could." Sweden's eyes fell to the floor as well. The wooden floor boards were now muddy from his own boots and wet cloths. "Ve can discuss dis another time. Bel seems to be in pain, I called Italy to bring more pain killers for her."

That particular sentence disturbed Sweden. To bring more, had she had problems and needed them or was his suspicions correct and this happens more so on a regular basis? He was a little disturbed to think the last part was something of a reality. Sweden would have to inquire more as he went into the kitchen and the German went upstairs.

The men knew this was going to be a long stressful night. Both of them wished it never happened and only God knows why it did...