Okay, so I am now on my fourth re-write of this chapter. Yes. My FOURTH. The first couple times I wrote this it just did not seem GOOD enough. I don't need every chapter to blast your feels to infinity and beyond, but the first couple writes were just so bad! Like I couldn't keep them in here they were just so bad.

According to my plan for this story, this is the second to last chapter. According to how this story ended up writing itself, this is not even close to the end. I predict this tale will have 15 chapters (that's really just a random guess). So, anyways, since I'm diverging from the original plan, I've run out of song lyrics to title the chapters with. Until I get back in line with my original plan for this story, I'm going to use something random as chapter titles. Here, I've chosen a re-occurring emotion in the chapter. Sorry about that but I need this story to be longer than I'd planned for it to make sense and have proper resolution. Anyways, let me write this chapter right quick...

BTdubs, I have to thank Marvelite5Ever for the idea to have Germany react like this. He/she is really just so right that I had to throw it in. I just don't know if I'm doing this complex idea any justice. *nervous sweat*

Guilt

Germany, currently stuck at the mercy of a traffic light that tended to stay on red for far longer than it need to, banged on his steering wheel impatiently as if the action would force the light to change color and the two cars in front of him to vanish. He leaned back and let his stiff shoulders sink into the leather of his seat. With a sigh, the man allowed himself to calm. He had felt like his body was lit ablaze the entire way home, but soon all would be well. He would walk inside and find Prussia lounging about someplace, or perhaps feeding his bird, and the day would continue on like any other. There was no reason to worry. No reason to fret. No reason to be so angry. He let the sounds of the radio drown away the seemingly endless amounts of stress that had been previously resting on his shoulders. The bright, red light cast a shadow of a passing bird as it flew across the road. The sun beat down on his skin, offering him an irresistible warmth. Yes. There was no reason to be drawn so tight. He would be home soon, and his brother would be fine. And after all...

The German man shot up from his slightly reclined seat, eyes wide, and gripped the steering wheel. There was a honk. The light had turned. With a quick activation of his blinker, the man swapped lanes and pulled a U-turn around a median. No. No. No! He had not just thought that had he? An all too familiar feeling bubbled up in his stomach. He drove past a stop sign without realizing and began to tense all over again, shaking his head in disbelief and disgust. He had not just thought that, there was no way. His car turned onto autobahn and his foot slammed into the gas pedal. 'It makes sense' his mind told him and he began to bob and weave between cars going all too slow. 'There's no point in lying to yourself'. He had half a mind to wonder how many laws he had broken in these few seconds of barreling down the road at near 200kmp before the forbidden thought crossed his mind again and he forced himself to slow down. The previously bubbling feeling now began to boil over and spill out as the blond broke into a sweat with trembling hands.

He knew this feeling. He knew these thoughts. He hadn't been plagued with them in so long. He hadn't allowed himself to think something so heinous since the blitz in England. He hadn't felt this feeling so intensely since the German unification. Guilt. It ate at him, threatening to break through his skin and devour him alive. It embodied him as a monster, a hideous abomination with rasor-sharp teeth, a hair-covered body, and malicious intent. The man's car made its way to the side of the road and he pressed the triangular button to turn on his hazard lights before plopping back into his seat. It really did make sense. It wasn't such a bad thing that he had thought. He knew it, and his brain knew it, and no matter how much he and his guilt tried to fight it, it was true. Prussia's time had come. The sanctum that was Prussia was hardly even in Germany anymore - mostly being contained in Poland - was lightly populated, and no one really cared about it. It sort of didn't make a difference whether or not Prussia was part of Germany. His dissolving made sense.

Germany reclined his seat as far as it would go and closed his eyes. Germany bombing England during a war was a strategic move. All of young Germany's friends and family collapsing their land over to him was the best blessing he ever got. As far as his country went, his land, his people's happiness, his own chance of survival went, these things were perfect. But that didn't stop the monster that is guilt from manifesting inside him. The horror on England's face as his capital crumbled, the warm, last hug he had received from a shaking Saxony, and now the slow deterioration of his brother's health were all stopping him from basking in his "glory".

"Gott..." he mumbled under a heavy breath, raising a hand to rub his cheek. His only goal in this time was, whether or not liked it or wanted to accept it, to stay alive. America and Russia's bosses seemed to hold all their power over him, and at any moment, they could swipe his country from the map and toss him out of existence without a second thought. Honestly, without Prussia around, chances for prosperity where higher. If his government just heeled over and did what they were told, he could've made it out of this in another couple decades generally unaffected, and in this case, that included letting Prussia go. Half of Germany was happy. Happy it was just Prussia being let go and not Hamburg, or, Gott forbid, Berlin. It really was time. Prussia needed to...

He slapped himself in the face - hard - before sitting back up. Slowly, his seat elevated to join him, he clicked off his hazard lights, pulled back out onto the road, and drove to nowhere in particular. How could he just lie there and even muse these thoughts of treason against his bruder? He needed to think, he needed to breathe. He checked his phone again, careful to occasionally glance back at the road, just to be sure. No calls, no voice messages, not so much as a text. He sighed, set his phone into a cup holder, and gripped the wheel, driving a little faster. He needed to think. At least Prussia, his brother, would be okay while he did so.

The room was musty, with recycled air from coughs, sneezes, and wheezing attacks from weeks ago. It smelled like the clothes you kept in the drawer too long that come out seeming to be covered in a layer of grime. Everything was white, and florescent lights turned this white from a nice, crisp color to an overly bright, yet equally dreary coat of blandness. The chairs were unbearably uncomfortable and germ-covered and, good God, the room was small; far too small.

Romano rested both elbows on his knees and his temples in his palms. He was panting, shifting positions every so often on a tiny, green, worn, uncomfortable armchair. The floor he was eyeing shifted in and out of focus as ran both hands through his locks and felt himself break into a sudden sweat. His eyes kept open resulted in him being plagued with that brown spot on the otherwise blue carpet, the people in the room coughing, moaning, praying, and the man in the corner quietly crying. He couldn't close them either, because then off the back of his eyelids images of an albino man vomiting a pint of blood bounced about. He saw red eyes rolling to the back of their head, the feel of the lifeless form in Romano's arms, it felt so real, as if it were happening all over again. He pants turned to groans as he doubled over, clenching his churning stomach.

He was scared. The man wanted to burst into tears, and considering he was sitting in an E.R. waiting room, he doubted anyone would judge him too harshly. What if Prush-douche doesn't wake up? What if the doctors can't help him? What if not having land any more really did mean he was done, that it was his time to die? How had it all happened so quickly? What if I could've done...something to help and I hadn't? He looked at his hands and willed them not to shake. What if I'm next?

Half the man's thoughts wouldn't even form, he dare not let them. They were too scary, too possible, too real. He wiped beads of sweat from his forehead and began to flap the collar of his shirt about hoping to whip some wind onto his overheating body. It really was so hot in that tiny ro-

"Left wing! The only available rooms are in the LEFT WING!" A feminine voice called out from not too far down the hall. The presumed woman, dressed in light green scrubs, hideous white shoes, and a surgical masked pushed along a wheeled stretcher with two men running along, pushing as well. In the few seconds the triad spent pushing the patient through the waiting room, Romano caught a sight of a little boy on the stretcher. He really was just a child, no older than ten or twelve, and he had dusty blonde hair. His skin was not only pale, but greening a bit. An oxygen mask, similar to the one an unconscious Prussia was given, rested on his face. The horrid part was the child's torso. It was marred, bloody, and confusing with flaps of skin and muscle sticking up and out in all directions. Were Romano standing, he would have been able to see the rest of the bit of the child's ribcage that was revealed. His form was limp, and were it not for the team trying so hard to help him, anyone would've just assumed that in that awful condition, the boy was already dead.

Romano furrowed his eyebrows and bile built up in his throat. He stood, took a step, sat back down, shook his wrists, and pulled both hands to his face. His skin was burning. The fear in him ran a cold shiver down his spine. Prussia needed help, and Romano couldn't be the one to supply it. The hospital workers refused to tell him much of anything other than to call for a family member or emergency contact. Wh-What if he needs a blood donor and I don't match his type? What if-

No. He couldn't take any more "what if's". The man shifted in his seat to allow access to his back pocket and whipped out a black smartphone. Prussia needed help. He unlocked the phone and cringed as it dinged. He set his phone to silent, quickly, and pressed the icon for his contacts. Prussia needed someone else's help. He scrolled through the named list, passing A's, B's, the few C's. Prussia needed someone else's help now. And suddenly, he froze, and all of his will-power escaped him. The highlit name in the middle of the screen, Fratello, made his activity halt. He sighed.

His promise not to call Germany rang in the back of his head as he recalled why again the albino didn't want his brother to know. Italy was always so happy, and at times his unwavering smile was extremely irritating to his grumpy, elder brother, but it was part of who he was. Over the years, Romano had come to secretly like it. It was the one constant with his bubbly brother; his joy. He couldn't be the one to take that from him, or do something that would so much suggest it. He couldn't tell his little brother his fears, or about his wobbly position in existence, because he knew, that smile would be wiped clean from his face. Had he been the one to be thrown into an ambulance, and had Prussia called Italy, Romano just couldn't stand the thought of his brother's expression. It wasn't like he had never seen the little idiot cry before, it's just, his tears were rarely attached to a deep emotion. The few times he had seen is brother actually cry, from actual emotional trauma, he couldn't comfort him, or quiet him, or know what to say or do. He just felt his heart wrench. He couldn't cause that, he couldn't do that to Italy.

And he couldn't let Prussia do that to Germany.

But, his friend, one of his only friends, needed help. He was the only one who knew it. He was the only one who could do anything. If it were Fratello, he would help no matter what. If Spain, the dumbass that he is had gotten himself into trouble, he would help no matter what. So now? He had to help. No matter what.

And thus, he scrolled down a bit further through the names on his phone.

He hovered over the one he was looking for.

And pressed the green button to call, feeling an internal monster eat at him.

Who was he to tell himself he should be guilty? Countries fell every day. Borders were changed, new leaders reigned, names were altered, nothing was for sure. So what if Germany's country had fallen victim to a bit of alteration? It wasn't his fault his people were suffering after World War 1. It wasn't his fault the leader they'd so confidently elected went insane. It wasn't his fault the allies were so opposed to him expanding his borders. It. Was. Not. His. Verdamt. Fault. That Prussia's land had to go. It was fine.

Because his bruder was fine. Clearly, history, or the future, had some kind of plans for him. Prussia was no more, but it didn't need to exist anymore. He did. It didn't. It wasn't Germany's fault - he'd done nothing wrong and there was nothing he could do. Nein, there was nothing he'd want to do because it truly was better this way. At least, that's what he told himself as his car barreled down the road at sunset.

Hungary found herself a fair bit creeped out by how uncharacteristically Romano was acting. First, there was the phone call.

"Hello, Elizabeth?"

"Uhm, yes Lovino?"

"C-Can-Could you, uhm, come to Wilmersdorfer Strasse 52 in Berlin?" Could she? Of course she could but she was fairly certain Romano didn't even know what asking for something was like. She figured all he knew how to do was be pouty and demand things, and, wait...

"Isn't that a hospital?"

"Yes."

"Why are you in a hospital, Lovino?" That had explained why he called her by human name when she answered the phone. Maybe that's also why he was being so...cordial for once, or so she thought.

"Pru- uh, Gilbert had an episode."

"An episode?"

"...Could you just come?!" It was snappy, as per usual, but still asking instead of demanding. With hesitation, she agreed. On her drive to said hospital, she wondered how exactly Prussia had managed to not only get himself into so much trouble he ended up in a hospital, but how he had gotten Romano, an otherwise disagreeable country, to do the idiotic stunt with him. The second thing that set the woman off was Romano's reaction to her walking into the hospital. She had made her way to a fairly large waiting room with white walls, green and blue chairs, and blue carpeting. Romano was hunched over in an armchair, rocking back and forth on his heels, clutching his stomach as if in pain. She walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. The man jumped, stared at her wide-eyed for a moment, before a touch of color returned to his cheeks and he smiled.

"Elizabeth! Did you speak with the receptionist?"

"Yes. She told me a nurse would be out soon to explain the situation to me."

"Oh, well that's good. It's nice that Gilbert put you as his emergency contact, it's really such a life-saver."

"Uhm..." he was still smiling, "Yes. Very nice Lovino." The third thing was what made her look at the man in disbelief, her face twisting in confusion, and she even pondered if perhaps she was dealing with Italy in disguise. 'Romano' actually got up from his seat, gestured to it, and offered it up to Hungary. He had done something gentlemanly to someone other than a beautiful Italian woman, and without so much as a push from someone else to do so. She also realized then, that he had yet to call her Skillet or in all the time she'd been there. Was he really alright? Was he even sane?!

"R-Lovino, what happened?" There was a silence settling between the two once she asked that as the smile faded to a frown. A non-grumpy frown at that, a genuinely sad one.

"The doctors wouldn't tell me anything because Gil and I aren't related," he said.

Gil?

"So, why didn't you call Ludwig?" She half said it to give him ammunition, expecting an outburst about how he would never voluntarily talk to that 'Potato Bastard', but all she got was a shake of the head.

"Gilbert doesn't want him here. I tried to call, but couldn't make myself."

"Why doesn't he want him here?" The man was silent. Hungary grabbed him by his shoulders and shook lightly until his averted gaze returned to her eyes. "Lovino, what happened?" What was said next made the woman forget herself. Forget where she was. Forget what she was doing. Forget how mad she had gotten at Prussia for doing something she presumed was so dumb that he ended up wasting doctors' and nurses' time at the E.R.. It made her remember how very little she was paying attention to German politics and made her recall how she wanted to visit Germany and Prussia, but had yet to find the time. It made her forget to blink, forget to breathe, and made her sick to her stomach. She felt as if she were standing in a dark room, the only light being used to cast a shadow of a beast on her fearful face, the living-horror creeping up slowly, preparing to devour her. Romano pulled her in gently by the arm and whispered into her ear, as to avoid the lingering eavesdropping from the other non-countries in the room.

"Prussia's land was dissolved earlier today."

So, this is STILL not that good. I could honestly go on and have a couple more sections but the chapter is getting lengthy. And after 4 attempts I'm just going to say the concepts in this chapter are odd and I can't do it. The next one I feel I have a much better grasp on but we'll see when I start writing it. Also, as you can see, this story is slowing down. This chapter, the last, and the next one or two where all supposed to be one chapter but I just got so detailed it dragged on. I don't mind this being a little long, I'm just saying. It's different than planned so don't expect much from me. I feel like I should apologize for the lateness but I've been re-writing, I never had a schedule in the first place, and you guys were warned so...sorry not sorry-ish.

Some explanation. First, Romano, when interacting with Hungary, is being very polite (or well, polite for him). This is to me because he's so drained and spent from worry that seeing someone who can help lifts him right up in relief. Is that...apparent? Second, I don't know why but fanonly it's become relevant for the countries to call each other by human name. It's used as like a sign of family-ness or close friendship, and that's a cute idea and all, but my headcannon does not buy into it. I'd imagine it can't work, because, every so often they'd have to change their human name to throw off historians (or so I figured), and in my head there's not a lot of Humans who know about the countries. Their bosses, their bosses families, and some elite people in the military and government, sure, but not your everyday citizen. To me, the purpose of the human names is to deter people from knowing about the nations (think about it, don't you think they'd be famous or infamous or blamed for war if everyone knew they existed? Hints all the fanfics about disaster after they get exposed), so they seem like irrelevant titles to me only used when around humans not in-the-know, i.e., the people in the hospital. This is why Romano is called Lovino, Prussia called Gilbert, Germany called Ludwig, and Hungary called Elizabeth. Next, I don't know if I'm taking Germany's reaction on properly. Like half of him is supposed to be Germany the country/representation of his people who doesn't give a shadangle if Prussia leaves. It'd be like if in America we renamed Billings, Montana. NO ONE WOULD CARE. But if Billings was a personification, America would get attached to him/her. The same way Germany the person is attached to Prussia. So like he knows he doesn't really care, but he knows that the situation could lead to Prussia fading away, so then he gets all bothered, but he doesn't want to think about that so he dismisses it. Like...you feel me? Finally, guilt is personified here as a monster (so mosterified?) and is felt by Hungary, Romano, and Germany alike. Did...did you...did you get that or am I reaching?

Question: Yea, I'm going to let you guys decide what happens next. Should Germany ever find out about Prussia's hospital visit? Either way, Germany is not going to confront Prussia, so don't expect the brotherly fluff (yet), it's just, should he find out? Lemme know in reviews. As always...

Review, Review, Review! They make me happy and y'all are some smart cookies with good suggestions. Alright, bye bye for now :D