So it's been four weeks since I updated. School kicked my ass y'all, I'm sorry. I'm already stressed...no, I'm not stressed. I refused to be stressed again! I just...have a lot to take care of. Yea. That's all. Anyways, I'm finding little snippets of time between homework, college applications, club meetings, work, my internship, and just relaxing to maintain my sanity to come in and write. I hope that that's not too bad for you guys as far as waiting goes. I'll try to lessen it but no promises will be made.

So I found out Prussia and Romano is an actual thing. A ship called prumano. I only see them as friends, but it makes me happy that other people see them getting along for this reason. Romano has taken a bigger role in this story than I planned for him to, but I'm not complaining, and hopefully none of you are either. So in this and the next chapter, I will be writing Spain. I don't want him to be stupid, something people tend to do with him. Oblivious or kind of ditsy, okay, but he's got to have a brain. Excuse me if I seem OOC with him, I just can't make him an idiot, he's a nation personification. They can't possibly be stupid.

HUNGARY'S HUMAN NAME IS ELIZABETA, NOT ELIZABETH! WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME?!

Road to Recovery

"Mrs. Hedervery?"

"Yes?!" Hungary hopped up from a green, stuffy chair next to Romano's that she had been waiting impatiently in for the past hour and a half. By now the sun had set, it was nine or ten at night, the duo was getting hungry, but they remained far too high in their own thoughts and fears to notice, and one of the two was starting to lose hope.

"A Mr. Beilschmidt has regained consciousness. If you would like to see him he can take one guest at a time in room 44C. It'll be the last door on the left." The nurse, a chubby woman in graying scrubs, hobbled off down the hall and left Hedervary and who she assumed was her tan, gorgeous husband to discuss. The two simply looked at each other.

"You can go," Romano stated, slouching a bit farther in his seat. Were it not for the tone in his voice, one could have easily mistaken his nervousness for being kind. Hungary, who wanted to take the opportunity before the man changed his mind, immediately grabbed off the couch a small bag she had come with, and began her trek down the hall. The main floors of the hospital were marble instead of carpet, left blood-stain free, and made a small thudding noise as the woman's shoes edged towards last room. A dim light was shown passing through a rectangular, plexi-glass window on the door. She stood in front of it for a moment, trying to calm her breathing, and then pushed the door open.

A man lie on a single, tiny bed near the center of the otherwise completely white and bare room. His skin was unrealistically pale, white as paint on the walls, with blue veins and spots of green and red making their way to an unsightly surface. He lie on his back with both arms at his sides, the one Hungary could see appeared to be thinning with the outline of his bones near his wrist covered just barely by skin. Just as quickly as nations could heal, a paper cut vanishing in seconds, they could deteriorate, a man at his prime aging to dust. She began to hate that fact as she took a step closer; the woman noticed his lips were a pale blue, and his eyes remained shut. What would have once been silver eyelashes were now grey and dull, and what would have once been hair as lively as its owner slopped out on the pillow and looked a mess. She reached a hand out only to stop halfway near the man's shoulder. He looked so delicate, as if a faint touch could shatter him. Hungary let herself me comforted by the gentle whirr of machines and the soft beeps of a heart monitor until she found her gall and spoke, softly, for fear the wind from her breath would blow him away.

"Prussia?"

Burgundy eyes opened about half way and the ex-country in question turned his head slowly, to a minute degree, and looked at her. When their eyes met there was a moment of confusion, followed by shock, and finally, a light smile graced the man's blistered lips.

"Hungary," he lifted his arm and gestured with what looked like all his strength to a chair near the bed, "sit." He coughed after speaking two simple words. Hungary did as she was told, pulled the chair in so it'd be facing his bedside, and took rest in it. The two stayed still for a moment, Prussia with a weak smile on his face and Hungary with a sorrowful expression leaning into his bed.

"Are you okay?" she finally asked.

"Ye-" his voice was horse. He paused to cough again, a pain radiating through his head and throat as he did so, and spoke again. "Yes. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." He smiled further in response. He felt the gentlest of touches against his forehead and let his eyes lull closed to the sensation.

"Prussia, you're freezing cold. Do you know what happened to you?" He raised an eyebrow in lui of speaking. "Internal bleeding, lung damage, you went into cardiac arrest, stopped breathing, not to mention the random external wounds...Prussia you almost nearly died." He opened his eyes and thought something about 'mein awesome' and it not being possible for him to die, but preferred not to try to speak. Hungary removed her hand from his forehead, dusting some hair out of his face before doing so, and returned it to her side. She sighed, leaned back, and watched the usually boisterous and slightly annoying country before her lie near motionless in horrid condition. The corners of her frown began to tremble.

"Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?" He shook his head all too slowly.

"I know you said you had suspicions but, you never...told me..." He seemed to smile and frown at the same time.

"Prussia..." Tears came to the edge of her eyes all at once and blurred any vision she could have had, turning the albino friend and his mattress into a mesh of white and red. She couldn't even be bothered to blink them back, and stared at her blobby hands as tears slipped off her eyelashes and onto them. "You didn't tell me it was this bad."

Hungary remembered the last time she had openly cried in front of Prussia; they appeared to be teenagers or older children then, and Hungary had, at Austria's request, worn her first dress. She stood before Prussia, in a predominately yellow outfit with her hair in a bun and shoes freshly polished feeling pathetic. He laughed, nudged her on the shoulder, said "very lady-like," and kissed her hand in a sweeping gesture. Hungary promptly burst into tears. At the time, she wanted nothing more than to be a man; men were powerful, men owned property, men worked in the government, men were fighters, men had nothing holding them back. Women were belittled, unappreciated, and abused. Women couldn't fight. Women couldn't lead. Women couldn't do what she, as a country, needed to do. The albino paused his mocking, looked at her pitifully, and then slapped her across the face hard enough to leave a red, burning mark. Hungary beat him down with a tear-induced fury and continued to bash her pan into the side of his head until both burst into crying laughter.

Similarly from then to now, he knew her well enough to know exactly what to do.

"Lay with me," he said, reaching a shaking arm out to cup her cheek. The woman again, did as she was told, and climbed over Prussia into the unclaimed right half of his twin bed. He rolled into her, and wrapped an arm over her head. She struggled to keep quiet, and keep from shaking too much or falling apart right then and there.

"I-"

"I know," the albino replied, running a hand through half the length of her hair, as that's all he could manage.

"No," she said, trying to steady her voice between sobs, "no you don't. I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I didn't want to believe you whe-"

"I know."

"But what if you had died and I hadn-"

"I didn't." He shushed her and began to rock lightly, back and forth, trying to will her to calm. "I'm okay. It's okay, Hungary." He left it at those words, and continued to rock in silence until her shoulders stopped shaking. Embarrassed, the woman sat up, red-faced, and wiped the last droplets from her face. She sniffled as she climbed off the bed and made her way around it, back to her chair.

Much went unsaid. No one ever said how scared Hungary was that she had lost him without a chance for a proper goodbye. No one pointed out how she felt horribly guilty for nearly forgetting he was even around, better yet caring for his well-being. No one talked about how after a couple months from his confession, Hungary just assumed Prussia would remain invincible. Prussia didn't need to tell her he was sorry for making her worry. He didn't need to say he knew she cared for him and didn't need constant reassurance. He'd found no reason to vocalize his hidden content with her even just come to see him. The two simply looked at each other, and all was made clear, all that they didn't have to courage to say was out in the air for both to grab.

"You're an ugly cryer."

"Would you like me to add more injury to your medical chart?" she asked, rolling up a sleeve and shaking her fist. The Teutonic Nights let out an amused sigh-laugh and a veil of normalcy lowered over the two as they bantered back and forth like always. She helped him sip some water, and the more he had the more he could speak. In a burst of re-gained strength, he even went so far as to push himself up and sit leaning against his pillows. There was a sudden knock at the door, and at Hungary's approval, Romano walked in.

"I thought they said one at a time?"

"Yea, well you were taking all year. You two caught up yet or did I interrupt a disgusting make-out session?"

"Actually, South, if you could give us another minute," Prussia joked, which was met by a gentle slap to the stomach by his female companion.

"Should I go then?" Hungary remarked, standing.

"No, no point. We got to get this one home anyways."

"Guys wait, no," the Prussian interjected, gesturing to himself, "I'm not up to my full awesome yet. I look pretty...well, bad, and if we go back West will know something happened."

"Why are you avoiding him?" the woman in the room asked. The two boys looked at each other, locked gazes in a mutual understanding, and ignored the question.

"Either way, you're being let out of the hospital. You can't stay here and you can't go home, so do you have any ideas, genius?" Romano snapped.

"You can come stay with Austria and I."

"No, Germany would probably go over there at some point," the Prussian sighed, mentally ruling out Japan, Italy, Romano, and Switzerland's as places he could stay "it's kinda sucking right now that we're friends with all the same people." The three stayed silent for a moment in thought, and it was the Italian who got the first idea.

"Aren't you friends with Tomato Bastard?"

"Oh yes," Hungary cried, clapping her hands together. "Germany rarely ever needs to talk with Spain, that'll be perfect! Do you really think he can handle someone in this condition by himself though?" Before his mind could object and stop him from speaking, Romano replied with:

"Well he always took good care of me." The sideways glance he received from Prussia made the man's cheeks heat up with realization. "The idiot will probably need help though, he is clueless."

"As much as I hate to bring him into this...well into anything," Hungary started, looking back and forth between the boys and trying to stifle her laughter from Romano's flustered expression, "isn't France a mutual friend of you two's?" At that moment, a nurse entered the room with a cheery smile and a wheelchair. She shifted it up to the side of Prussia's bed, acknowledge everyone in the room, and saw herself out.

"Okay, call it a plan then," Prussia said, leaning forward trying to shift himself out of the bed. Romano jumped to his side and grabbed him under his arm, lifting his weight off the bed and half-carrying him a step to the wheelchair. He felt like skin and bones in the man's hands. His muscle had seemed to deflate with the blood loss and all of his skin was deathly cold. He had recovered a bit already since his initial greeting of Hungary, but was still bent far out of shape. The excursion to the wheelchair seemed to drain him and he leaned into it with all his weight, sighing. As he did so, Romano eyed a strip of blue, a vein snuggling up against his skin, just under his eyebrow on his near pure-white completion.

"You really do look terrible."

"Yea, I have to take his side on this one."

"Danke [Thank you}, Romano, Hungary. Where would my self-confidence be without you?" The two tormentors laughed, before one grabbed the arms of the wheelchair and the other opened the door. They made their way to the lobby to retrieve Prussia's clothes to replace the hospital gown.

At eleven o'clock at night, Germany pulled into his driveway. He sighed, and sat in the car for all of three minutes before turning it off. The man had given up on making some kind of resolve regarding how he should feel about his brother's land disappearing. After hours of driving, stopping down to eat once or twice, even popping in to talk casually with Italy, and his mind playing tug of war with his emotions, he was just exhausted and decided to go home. Maybe seeing Prussia would clear something up. The albino's phone had died, every call sent the German man straight to voicemail, but he appeared to still be awake as the lights glowed yellow through the house's windows. The bulky, blonde man unbuckled his seat-belt and climbed out of the car, got his bag from the back seat along with a bag of trash he'd yet to toss out, and began to make his way towards the door. Surely, if he could just see Prussia, smiling like an idiot and spouting some of his usual nonsense, the German man would feel some sort of release. A relief from realizing that his reaction was acceptable, was okay, and that Prussia had more to become.

At the sound of jingling keys, three dogs made their way to the front door, tails wagging in triumphant joy. When the door finally opened, they jumped up and playfully attacked their owner, barking and panting in his face.

"Yes, yes, Hallo. Hungry?" Germany made a hand gesture to match his question, and the dogs ran off to sit by the back door. Take that as a yes. Why didn't Prussia feed them though? He's usually on top of this if I'm not here, and he feeds them when he feeds his bird. The German man made his way into the kitchen and found a fluffy, yellow chick resting patiently at the edge of it's feeding dish. Gilbird's gone unfed too? What is he doing?

"Prussia?!" He called out to a silent house. The man sighed. He went out and didn't even turn off the light in the living room or feed the pets first. The German poured a serving and a half of bird seed into Gilbird's dish and then opened the back door to step onto his house's patio. Each of his three dogs got an equal portion of food, along with some time outside to run and play. Once that was taken care of, he left the kitchen and headed around the other way to turn off the useless light. As he walked down the hall, he couldn't help but notice a horrid smell that was growing worse with each step.

When Germany got to the archway leading to his living room, he froze. The entire room, once tidy with creme colored walls and carpets, was now covered in a layer of red. Blood splashed from the couch, to the table, to the fireplace, to the wall. A few drops had made it to the TV where a Spanish show played on mute. It soaked the lap shade, stained a blanket, and was collecting in a bowl - or rather that was salsa. Salsa coupled with crushed ships, slewn wrappers, and more blood. Murder was the first word to come to the German's mind. Who his brother had managed to murder, he had no idea, bu-

Suddenly something clicked. Why Prussia wasn't returning his calls, why no one else he got into contact with seemed to have seen him that day, why the light was on, why his pets were starved, and why his living room had become a Law and Order set piece. Something happened. A wave of panic overtook the man. How long ago had this happened? What had he been wasting time doing since then? Where was Prussia? What if...he...

In his rampant survey of the room, the German found a single, familiar shoe lying on the ground. It was Romano's. He whipped out his phone and called immedatly one of the few numbers he had yet to try that day.

"What do you want?"

"Romano, I..." he tried to fake calmness, "Did you spend the day with mein bruder?" There was an oddly long pause on the other line.

"Yes, Prussia's still with me," the man responded, faking irritation.

"Where are you two?! And what the hell happened to the living room?" He breathed in the stench of decay that had taken rest in his home.

"No, we didn't make a mess. I know what I'm doing, asshole," the Italian retorted, ignoring him entirely.

"ROMANO! This is a horrible mess! And it's blood no less! What are you taking about?!"

"We didn't! Calm your man-tits."

"Romano I don't have time for this! Where are you and Prussia?! Tell me now."

"Fine, Puta. I will head back there and clean up our not-mess. When are you getting home? I don't want to have to see you."

"ROMANO! I AM ALREADY HERE!"

"You won't be headed back home tonight? Perfect. Now I definitely won't have to see your idiot face when I come over there." The way he exaggerated the end of the sentence made the German man pause in his frustration. Come over? Surely he hadn't fallen deaf suddenly and knew Germany was already at the house.

"...Are...you coming over to explain this, Romano?"

"Yes. Now I got better stuff to do than talk to you." The line fell silent and the blonde lowered his phone from his ear, half confused and half nervous and impatient.

"Who was that?"

"Germany. He said he's not going back to the house tonight, but just in case I'm going to go clean up the...situation."

"Alright," Hungary commented, interjecting on the two. The three of them where walking and rolling out of the hospital, making their way to Hungary's car with the wheelchair. They spoke quietly to avoid lingering ears. "I can handle Prussia."

"Does he suspect anything?"

"No. I'm a golden liar. Now go get some rest, don't get raped by France, and don't let Espania's idiot rub off on you." With that bit of 'encouragement' Romano left-stepped and ran in the other direction to hail a cab. Hungary wheeled Prussia up, opened the passenger side door of her vehicle, princess-lifted Prussia into it much to his displeasure, and put the wheelchair in the trunk. The two buckled up and the ride down to Spain was mostly filled with the radio, some horrid, Prussian vocals, and the occasional banter. When they arrived at the Spaniard's gaudy mansion, a bright red Lamborghini belonging to a certain, hysterical Frenchman, had already long since pulled up. The moment he got the call that told him his friend was weak and in need, he broke just about every road law he could and crossed the border in a fraction of his usual time. Hungary maneuvered Prussia back into his wheelchair, wheeled him up to the front door and up the steps, and rang the doorbell. It wasn't even ten seconds later the door burst open, and France, who immediately burst into tears, wrapped his arms around Prussia best he could without moving his wheelchair. Spain, who was a little more clam, took Hungary's information about what bandages to change, what he could and couldn't eat, and for how long he should be in bed during the day. One message in particular didn't come from the hospital, but rather the man in pain himself.

Keep Germany out of this.

It was uncomfortably quiet. The gentle whirr of a ceiling fan a room over was all the German man could barely make audible in his otherwise silent house. He wondered then what he would look like lest someone walk into his home. He was sitting in his living room, Spanish news playing, but silenced, in a very stiff position with one lip curled over the other, completely unmoving, watching blood dry on his walls. He'd pondered cleaning up the mess as he waited, but figured it best be left as evidence, so Romano couldn't deny anything any further when he arrived. If he arrived. The man moved for the first time in four minutes and awoke his phone to look at the time. 12:13am. It had been four minutes since he last looked at his phone.

He took a non calming breath and refocused his eyes on the slowly darkening blood adjacent himself.

He blinked.

Germany felt it would have been better if the source of this blood were simply an elaborate prank, rather than what he thought it was. If the blood were actually not blood, but red paint, or perhaps ketchup. If this sight where the result of Prussia having murdered several children, even that would have been better than what he was thinking. Or, what he was thinking he would be thinking if he'd let himself think. But he hadn't.

Another blink.

Verdamit that blood was irritating! Every muscle, hair, and fiber of the man's obsessive compulsive cleaning disordered begged to be put to use and get rid of the red, the smell, the stains, the mess, but the man knew he needed every drop to stay where it was. The sheen of crimson needed to be there, and he knew deep down why he wanted it to be there, but he hadn't allowed himself to think about this, and was too busy playing mental tug-of-war to push the issue further. So there the blood remained, for some reason, and there the German man sat, in the center of it, looking insane, and feeling insane.

"Hyaku,...tu..tuuu...tuskumo, uhm, Kyujunana" The man was doing his usual stress-reliving activity of counting. Backwards. Down from 100. In Japanese. "Patience is a virtue" he told himself between numbers, as if doing so would make him suddenly have some.

"Sebun, paitence, six, must be patient, go." Romano appered in the archway, and the two stared at one another in silence for a moment. Germany stood, and opened his mouth to greet Romano in a way he would a govornment official, but caught himself before he got too formal. Was he really that nervous? He sat back down and waited.

"Prussia doesn't know that you know," Romano began, ignoring the blond's falter and taking another step to assert himself in the room. He tried to find a place to look, one that wasn't the German's face but also wasn't blood spattered. It was difficult but he finally settled for a spot on the couch where he'd previously been sitting. A shiver slid down his spine as nasty memories resurfaced.

"Where is he?"

"At Spain's."

"Well then I'll-"

"No," Romano put a hand up, stopping Germany in his tracks, "I talk. Shut up for half a second, Bastard." The other man sighed, but obeyed, as he often found it easier to just give in to what Romano asked of him lest it involved killing himself.

"Look, this is...he..." the Italian paused, having gotten lost in thought after gesturing to and looking at a spot of burgundy on the floor. "I took him to the hospital."

"Wha-"

"YOU KNOW, IF YOU DON'T WANT TO HEAR THIS INFORMATION I DON'T HAVE TO SAY IT!" Germany silenced himself and waited for a continuance. He always felt a bit like a spurned child when talking to Romano, having to put up with the man's insults and nonsense to make anything close to progress with him. It would normally result in Germany doing or saying something that left the brunette in tears, but given the occasion, he decided to let it slide. "After doctors patched him up and let him out, Skillet took him to Espania's so he and The Perv Next Door could watch over him. He doesn't want you to know all of this happened to him."

At his pause, Germany assumed it was his turn to speak. "Why?". The other party in the room took a step backwards, beginning to leave as quickly as he came.

"Why do you think, dumbass?! He doesn't want you to worry. So stay quiet about this."

"But, Romano I can't just-"

"Yes the hell you can! Clean up the living room, act like you didn't come home tonight, and as far as you're aware this never happened! What is riling him up going to do?! JUST-" The man paused, and sighed. He'd yet again caught himself yet again caring a bit more about Prussia than he though he should, it's just, with someone in his exact position he couldn't help but vicariously live the same life as him. If that was the case, then Ital- Germany, shouldn't know about this kind of thing. "Just stay quiet."

And at that he made his way out of the house. Germany remained, sitting on his couch, and shifted his attention back to blood on the wall that had dried and begun to crackle. It wasn't Prussia's smile, it wasn't his idiotic banter, and it was not making the pit in the man's stomach, or the painful replay and self-chastisement from his thoughts against his brother earlier in the day disappear. It seemed to highlight them, and belittle him. The man sighed, and decided to finally clean as a way of ignoring his feelings. He prayed nothing had stained.

Okay! There you go! With school this took me a GOD AUFUL long time to write, but I've discovered a method to make the writing process faster, and will hopefully be able to use it. BTT galore in the next chapter! I'm excited to write it, I've been waiting for them :DDD Not sure how good a job I did on Hungary's section, but like, whatever I just don't even anymore. I can't write crying scenes. I just give up.