This didn't really look right without a starting author's note. The end one says more important stuff. Now that I'm rereading I don't think this chapter is all that great, but I really don't see myself re-doing it. It gets the point across and I'm no Charles Dickens so it is what it is.

"I won't let you fly, I won't say goodbye." -Ryan Dan

"Just go, Germany."

"Prussia, no. I can't leave you here." There was a slight hint of desperation in his voice that only someone who'd known him his whole life would be able to detect.

"I've told you a million times that I will be alright," his voice cracked, "so can you please just-"

"It's not even important!"

"Germany! You know you have to go!" Prussia stood at the front door about a foot away from his little brother with an angry sorrow in his expression. He tried his best to stare him down, try to intimidate some sense into him and force him out the door, but the blond in question simply shook his head.

"West, you cannot miss this meeting. They are completely changing the geographical organization of your country! Your boss will be there, and bosses and leaders from all the Allies. You have to go."

"I can't."

"West..." There was a silence as Prussia studied his brother's face. He noticed the tears welling, but it seemed a little ridiculous to even suggest they could fall. The German man stood his ground with a stern determination in his expression and his usual, dead, deep, blue eyes.

"They're dissolving you, Prussia."

Silence.

"I can't leave, and then come back, and find you not here."

"West-"

"I can't."

"West," Prussia sighed and rested a hand on his sibling's shoulder, "I will be here. I will." He prayed that that statement was not a lie.

"I'm calling Hungary to watch over you."

"I've already called for someone."

"You have?"

"Yes," Prussia assured, grabbing his brother's other shoulder and using his grip on both to turn the man around, facing him towards the door. "If I so much as blink weirdly, we will call you immediately. You know you can't miss this meeting, and I don't want you missing it for me when that doesn't make any sense, so go." Germany stood in silence, his gaze sliding down the door to it's knob. He knew he had to attend, he just didn't want to. He wanted to act foolish and protest the inevitable and hope that doing so would change something. Make the situation into some kind of mistake or misconception. Make it so that he could ensure his elder's safety and go on happily has if nothing had happened. But still, he knew he had to go.

"Bruder?" the blond questioned, not turning from the door for a fear of what he would see if he did, "are you okay? Not physically, but...are you okay?" He heard the man behind him sigh and felt two, cold hands drop from his shoulders.

"This is a hard time for you, West, so don't-"

"A hard time for me?"

"...Yes. You have always made me so proud, mein bruder. You built yourself up from a collection of crumbling disasters into a socially and economically prosperous country. You've grown into a polite, hard-working, strong...ridiculously stubborn man," he laughed, giving his brother a little shove, and let a warm smile take his face, "You've carried on everything Vati stood for, and I can't thank you enough for that. War has not been kind to you - not that it ever is kind. You're on hard times, and need to recover, and that's more than okay. But, I need you to be on top of it. I don't want this one loss to destroy everything you've become. Everything mein awesome has taught you."

"But in comparison-"

"DON'T compare yourself to me right now. Don't. West, I'm telling you this is not that big a deal," he tried in vain to let his usual playfulness slip into his voice, "I fell from being an empire or country and am fine. This doesn't mean anything. Please just worry about you. Make sure..." he let his voice trail off but that didn't keep his mind from thinking it. Make sure you don't fail and fall apart like I did. Like Holy Roman Empire did. Like Germania did. Like so many did before us and like so many will after us. Don't be like them. Don't be like me. Be stronger, because I know you can. "You're going to be late."

Germany, finally, reached out and turned the knob of the door. "You have someone coming?"

"Yes. Swear." His brother pulled the door open.

"And you will call me?"

"Ja." He stepped a foot through.

"And you're sure you're okay?"

"Go!" He stepped the other foot out and began to pull on the opposite side of the knob. Before he let the door close fully, he said one phrase he hadn't said in a long time. Honestly, said is a bit of an overstatement, he more so whispered it, but that failed to stop Prussia from hearing.

"Ich hab' dich lieb." A familial 'I love you'; a simple notion the eldest brother thought to be tragically dead in the eyes of his younger companion. The door squeaked closed. The Teutonic Knights, the empire of Prussia, the sector of Germany, the pitiful, albino now alone in the world and weak in his body found himself laughing blissfully as he pulled out his phone. He'd gone into it to check his messages, but before he even could the doorbell rang, and he looked up and through the glass on either side of the door. A grouchy man stood dressed in dark blue skinny jeans, a brown blazer, and a graphic shirt that said something catchy in Italian - or was that Spanish? He opened it.

"Hey, Roma." All things considered, Romano was the perfect person to call. They had been quietly helping each other since they found out both were weak. Prussia was the one who discovered band aids made even the smallest and most ridiculous of wounds stop stinging. Romano had studied makeup, so that if there was a scar or cut on a place they couldn't easily cover with clothing, they had other means. Prussia both kept Italy away and nursed Romano to health when he sprained his ankle and had to wear and obvious brace. Romano cleaned the dirt, blood, and debris off of Prussia when he was too weak to do it himself after having fallen out of a tree. If ever they got sad, they thought of each other. If anything went wrong, they called on one another. They both quietly loved having someone who understood, and sometimes even just seeing the other in passing or being in their quiet presence was enough to set their nervous stomachs at ease.

"I told you not to call me that," his tone was peppered with it's usual distaste, but he dare not spit any insults. Not at this person. Especially not right now.

"Whatever. So, you will be pleased to hear the awesome me took the time out of my awesome day to watch that tella novella you were freaking about."

"I was not freaking," Romano commented, stepping over the threshold of the door-frame, "and if you say awesome one more time I'm going to strangle you. What episode are you on?"

"Season 2, episode 13."

"So am I and I've been watching for a month, not a week."

"It's really good, man. I just had to marathon!"

"Put it on then." And put it on he did. The two sat side by side, at times even leaning on each other, sharing chips, salsa, beers, and an ordered pizza prepared for an all night long viewing of El Amor en la Ciudad.

Everyone thinks themselves invincible until their last moment comes. Until they breathe their last breath, the determination found in a human keeps them hopeful, keeps them waiting to be saved, keeps them waiting for their next day. Germany wondered then if he and his brother could be considered human. He had no hope, he had no faith to fall back on, he had no one to support him; he had nothing but fear. In 1618, Prussia lost his union with Brandenburg and instead prevailed as a kingdom. In 1918, the kingdom was gone, but his brother lived on as a free state. In 1934, Germany finally understood what it meant to be at his boss' control. He could connect with a story China had told him of how he was burned alive 30 times as punishment for trying to kill his leader. 'How could he ever do that?' he had originally thought. Some of his bosses had been more friendly than others, sure, but he could never, till that moment, see himself hating one of them enough to try to end their life. Never until that god-forsaken man,Adolph with all his talk of reformation and glory, stripped his brother's land of its independence and weakened him further. However, despite it all, Prussia lived on. He always prevailed, he always came out on top, and Germany thought him invincible.

Until now. Until the 25th of February, until a cloudy day in 1947, until the words "abolition" and "disillusion" were thrown around the room like candy. Fear and disgust rolled around in his throat as he was forced to stand in that crowded office in Berlin. Several men crowded around a mahogany desk reading over a document together. They wanted to make sure that the nails they were planning to place in his brother's coffin would stay down this time. For each of pair of nameless, shameless humans stood a nation personification. England, America, Russia, China, and France all stood side by side on one end of the room with him, awkwardly. No country wanted to see another fall, no matter what it would mean for their own. Germany knew deep down that they had all plead with their bosses, had all tried to get them to find another solution, but he couldn't help but feel repulsed by their faces. How dare they step a single foot into his country and threaten his brother's life. How dare they just stand there like that, and France most of all, as if he wasn't once Prussia's dear friend. He mentally cursed them, cursed them all to deep, dark corner in the the flames of Hell. He wished-

A flicking sound rang through the room and the German man's head snapped to the desk. A diplomat stepped away from it, handing a gold and matte, black pen to the next man in line. He leaned over the desk, most of his weight on one leg, and pressed the pen to the paper letting it glide up and down left and right. His signature. He wondered if they felt any guilt at all, or if they could smell the blood of his poor brother on their hands. The flick rang again as the pen sharply left the paper and was handed off to the next man. He suddenly felt a hand on his arm and realized he was shaking. A rage built up in his body. Who had so much audacity to even look in his direction, better yet touch him right now? Italy wasn't in the room. Japan was dealing with crisis of his own. His brother was at home. The rest of his Germanic family was off mourning. So who had the gall to try to support him right now as if this whole thing wasn't their fault? The grip tightened and his scowl adjusted to his left to find a pale, French hand attempting to calm him. Attempting. Germany turned his head back to the desk and whispered towards France, his tone lined with daggers.

"Don't touch me."

Flick. Then pen left the paper yet again.

All these, people, every last one of them in the room, nothing more than murderers in his eyes.

Flick.

Not that Prussia was going to die. He...he would be alright. He would prevail! Just like he always did. He would be alright. Germany touched a hand to his pocket where his phone was resting. Had it vibrated without him noticing? Did Prussia need him and was he here in this room, doting like an idiot?

Flick.

No, surely not. Prussia was stronger than that. He had to be. The only weak ones where his fellow countries, who had the power somewhere in them to stop this from happening, and selfishly chose not to. Rage. Disgust. Fear. Denial. It was all Germany knew and all he could feel standing in that room as flick after flick of the verdammt wrist signed his brother into oblivion. Curse them all.

Flick.

Prussia and Romano sat together, their legs sharing a blanket and propped up on a glass coffee table, their bodies leaned on the other for support, food splayed out atop them. In Romano's hand rested the bag of chips, salsa to match was in Prussia's lap. One would reach over the other, chip meeting salsa and crunching away as they listened to the screams of rage and passion from the television.

"Kill her."

"No!" Prussia cried with a laugh, "Don't kill her, Lacey!"

"Kill. That. Puta!" The two went back and forth, arguing over whether or not Lacey should kill Rosalie, until she slid a dagger into her sister's stomach.

"That's what you get! You don't steal Lacey's man!"

"Mien gott, why is she so crazy?" They laughed.

Flick. It thundered through Prussia's head, sounding so loud to him he was sure the entire country could've heard it. The sound of the last line being drawn with the last dots of ink in the last signature on the sheet of parchment vowing to dissolve him. He clutched his head with one hand and his chest with the other as his heart burned. He leaned forward and moaned, beginning to wheeze, not noticing the salsa bowl tumble off of his thighs and crash to the ground. He gasped for air and none came. He tried to speak and his voice died.

"Hey, Prussia are you okay?" Romano set a hand on his shoulder and felt a tremor of panic sweep his chest. No, Romano. Stay calm. You swore you would help; you can't do this. The albino fell into a fit of gasps. He can't breathe, oh God he can't breathe! His gasps faded to rough, course coughs.

"Prussia?!" With one more cough, blood splattered across the entire coffee table and made it so far as the wall.

"PRUSSIA!" He continued to cough and wheeze, clutching his chest, and spurt after spurt of blood left his mouth. The heat in the albino's chest intensified, it seemed to set him ablaze, burning through his skin, muscle, bones, and soul. Tears pricked his eyes at the pain. He was unsure of if he fell to the ground or if he had started there, and he could hear someone gasping and coughing, but couldn't process that it was him. All he knew was pain.

Oh no, oh no, oh no ohnoohnoohno. Romano grabbed his face and shook him, begging for a response.

"Prussia?!" He slapped at the paper-white cheek now dotted with blood splatters.

"Hey! Come ON! PRUSSIA!"

Recognition and desperation flashed in the maroon eyes. Prussia. That was his name was it not? He raised a shaking hand and felt fabric. A shirt. It was soft. It was familiar, but it didn't stop the burning. His chest convulsed with a mixture of coughs and gasps. He felt a wetness on his chin.

"Don't do this, Prussia!" His eyes locked with red sunken ones for just a moment as they struggled to stay open. The fallen nation's eyes tried to focus on a tan man before him. He knew him. His name was R...Ro...Rome? When had they last seen each other? A day ago? A year? They ate something spicy together. His vision blurred and the pain faded to numb.

"PRUSSIA! PLEASE!" Romano felt hot tears lining his eyes. No! No this can't be happening! He was fine! What changed? What happened? What did he do?! Prussia's voice in the form of a flashback hit him. 'If anything happens, handle it. Do NOT call Germany.' Don't call Germany? Was the man crazy? What else was he supposed to do? He didn't know how to save him, he couldn't-

Red eyes began to roll to the back of the man's head as it lulled and slumped away from him.

"PRUSSIA!" DON'T DIE ON ME RIGHT NOW!

There it was again, that name. The albino was sure he heard it but it was distant, faint, barely an echo in the back of his skull. Maybe it was a mistake? His vision faded to black. A mistake, it must of been. His ears clogged and heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing. All the pain stopped, finally, and he let his consciousness escape him.

The man fell limp. Romano screamed. He cried out in horror, he burst into weeping, and he wretched on the carpet.

When the sirens of an ambulance finally came, he was still screaming, tears beading down his face as he held his friend who was covered in his own, crimson blood. Romano wailed.

Okay, so I want to leave this on a cliffhanger but considering the nature of this story, I feel it's only necessary that I say Prussia is not dead and he is not going to die yet. Also, I feel it a little cruel to leave this on a cliffhanger, considering this news. School is about to start back up where I live. It's going to be senior year for me, so I expect stress. While I will continue this story, updates will most likely be fewer and farther between. Mein apologies. But anyhowdy, I hope you liked this chapter. I really don't have much to say now and didn't even have a starting author's note like I usually do, it just is what it is.

I just want to stop and say right quick that I love you all for reviewing. Currently, for every thousand words I've typed I have a review, and then one more for good flavor. That makes me feel awesome that y'all are enjoying this that much and I hope to read more from you all. Glad I can touch your feels with my crappy writing :)

If anyone knows where I got the "he was still screaming" bit from, tell me in the reviews. You know how they say writers read? Well I read something similar-ish to that in a book I love and adapted it for this story. Hopefully it was good. Okay, bye. Thanks for reading!

Edit: Have to thank Marvelite5Ever for the German translation tip :)