I'm kind of feeling like not much has been…like…happening in this story? You know like it's just everyone jumping around their feelings. I am more than cool with the story going in that direction, but, like, I DO have a plot point coming up. Really. It's not gonna be JUST tears in the next chapter.

This chapter...mmmm...I don't know how I feel about it. This whole story has been sad sad cry cry sad so I wanted to shake it up, this is kind of my first time writing not-angst. I MEAN THERE'S STILL ANGST, NEVER FEAR, but there's moments without it too. It may be funny...or just like...there? I don't know. I feel like I kinda pressed fast forward on their relationship, which is needed considering the nature of the story, but like...? Also, this chapter was originally going to have a whole section where Germany visits Italy at his home, but I decided to go without it as it had little purpose, but I still wanted to throw Italy in. Evidently, this MAY have gotten a little GerIta (I don't even ship them hard or anything) so I'm sorry if you don't like that. You can totally think of it as plutonic if you want, but, just the way it happened is…questionable.

So you know how a couple chapters ago I kept asking everyone if Hetaoni is scary, and everyone said no? Well I was still scared, so I watched an MMD based off of it to prelude, and the first screen had a jump scare of the monster. I immediately closed the tab, but came back to the video weeks later. I watched all of it (yes, the jump scare I KNEW was going to happen did scare me AGAIN) and it broke my heart. Especially China and Germany's lines! BROKE. MY. HEART. So, now, because I am still freaked out about watching it (I will one day guys) I'm reading a fanfic adaptation of it. It's wildly incomplete, as no one has even died by the end, but its giving me a taste of the action. Normally stories don't scare me, but when coupled with the image of the jump scare, well, sleeping wasn't the EASIEST last night. I've had worse but, still.

SOMETHING THAT NEEDS TO BE CLARIFIED: Prussia does not live with Germany yet at this point in my story. If I established that he did in an earlier chapter, please let me know, because I do not want him to have moved in yet. Come over a lot and have Germany kind of watch over him, sure, but not move fully in!

Concern and Contentment

A short while after entering Spain's house, the Spaniard and Frenchman stopped coddling him. Spain made his way to the bathroom and spare bedrooms to rearrange some things for his guests, and France took to a side office to finish the last bit of his nightly paperwork for his boss the next morning.

Prussia remembered doing paperwork when he was a country. He hated it more than anything. Fighting a war, he was at the front lines, being diplomatic, he was drinking or flirting with other countries, as far as nationality went, in his prime Prussia quite nearly thought he was a God, so pumping up his citizens was no issue. Paperwork, however, was the bane of his existence. He would have hundreds to thousands of sheets of parchment to go through all at once, day by day a deadline teetering closer, and whatever aggravating boss he had continued to throw themselves down his throat. He despised doing paperwork when he was a country.

Today, he was not a country, and despite it all, he missed his paperwork. The thought made him roll over on the couch he was resting on, and reach over to the coffee table where he had collected a stack of all the beer he could find in his friend's house. He grabbed a bottle and popped the cap on the edge of the table before taking a half-bottle sized swig. Listening to the sound of papers shuffling a room over made him frown and gulp again. He missed having a boss, be it one of his more annoying ones, or his all time favorite. He missed fighting wars, feeling a bit of a badass as he shot down his enemies and led with his sword. He missed winning, and he missed losing. He missed his days of sporting a cross as the Teutonic-Nights, or at least as one of them. He smiled sadly, and took another swig as he remembered one of the other nights, dressed in similar white with a huge cross across his chest. His friend was a happy little boy who was almost always singing. Prussia found him odd, couldn't understand his constant enthusiasm, and occasionally fell jealous to how much more people seemed to love him, but Lord did he miss him now. Worst of all, out of everything he'd had as a country, or empire, or sanctum; the thing he had up to the last second, was people.

He missed his people.

He missed his heart beat aligning with theirs, he wished he could still fell them bustling around, or even when they were in pain. Every inch of his body used to be a city, a neighborhood, a section of land, and his people used to be there. They used to think about him, they used to appreciate him, they used to love him unknowingly as they felt a nationality for their place of origin or love for the land. His people used to be all that he was, and now he had no land, and he had no people on that land, and he was nothing.

He grabbed the remote, clicked on the television, and immediately wanted to die. The first show that came on was of course, the news, where of course, they were discussing the new arrangement of Germany. Naturally, at just the second he turned the show on, one of the announcers had an interesting comment to add.

"I didn't even know what Prussia was," she commented in smooth French with a light, playful laughter. "But," the screen behind her showing the old arrangement flashed away and showed a newly distributed Germany, "it doesn't exist any longer. The sanctum has been replaced by-"

He clicked off the news and downed another full bottle before turning it back on and quickly flipping to some sort of sit-com. Background noise, booze, and bad feelings was about all Prussia needed to engage his pity party. He spent the night thinking and writing about his old clothes, his old values, his old life. He thought of when he met his first Gilbird, and excitedly ran the creature up to Germania, believing it to be magical and bilingual, and begging his father - who was struggling not to laugh at him - to let him keep it. He remembered when the bird started to grow into a chicken, it's feathers changing color, and being completely freaked out by it. He went to Vati and told him the absolutely unbelievable lie that Switzerland was scared of the bird now that it was getting bigger, and that he wanted Prussia to replace it. He laughed at himself and took another drink as a painful memory of Old Fritz resurfaced. He loved that man like he was his second father, and every thought of him, much like thoughts of Vati, were bitter sweet. He thought specifically of the day Fritz, who realized he was near his death, told Prussia he would like his new boss and that he would do very well in his future. His "very well" amounted to the emptiness of not being anything and not having anyone.

By the time he finished his eleventh bottle, France had finished his paperwork and come back into the room.

"Mon cher, what are you doing?"

"...hallo Francey."

"Did you drink all of these?!" the man cried, making his way around the couch and gesturing to a pyramid-arrangement of empty, beer bottles and cans.

"I was thirsty."

"Mon Cher!" he threw himself at Prussia and cupped the man's face in his hands. "You cannot drink like this! You just got out of l'hospital! You must be careful!" Spain, then, upon hearing the commotion, joined the two and relayed the scene for himself. His usual smile faded, and he too kneeled by the couch with his friends.

"Amigo, you can't-"

"I can't what?" the drunken man forced, sitting up and pulling bitterly away from human contact.

"You can't sulk around like this." The notion actually irritated the red eyed man to no end. Yes the hell he could sulk if he so desired. He could sulk for what little fraction of the rest of his life remained and no one could tell him otherwise. No one else had been stripped of literally every and anything they had once had. No one else was existing in an odd state of limbo, not being a country, not being a person, but also not being dead. No one else felt what he felt, and no one on this planet had the right to tell him how he should react, not even Spain. His expression seemed to relay all of this.

"Prussia," the olive toned man pled, readjusting to once again have his hands on his friend's knees, "come on, you have to try to see the positives."

What positives you-

"You could be dead right now. And judging by your medical history, you nearly were."

"So?"

"SO?!" France, in his usual over dramatic flamboyancy flopped to the ground and threw a hand over his forehead, "What do you mean SO?! You can't just up and die on us!"

"I'm practically as good as dead, so what difference does it make? No one will miss me anyways." Maybe it was the alcohol that was making him so blunt and open, whereas he would usually mask his feelings behind a smile and a few 'awesome's.

"Oh I swear, he is trying to kill my poor soul! Prussia, you cannot say z'ings like z'at!" the Frenchman moved his hands to over his heart, not noticing his worsening accent at his frustration. Prussia ignored this revelation, and leaned over Spain to acquire another beer. He opened it with just his bare hands and as he raised the bottle to his lips, it was plucked from him. He gave Spain, who was now holding his drink, and vengeful scowl.

"Prus, we know it must suck, but-"

"You know? No, you don't know. You have no earthly idea, Spain."

"...We know!" France retorted, "we know we don't know. And we won't for a very long time, maybe we never will, but, still!"

"Still what?"

"You can't give up, Amigo." The albino's face didn't move a fraction of a hair. "You can't just...fall apart like this." He looked back and forth between his Spanish and French friend, who seemed to be thinking the same thing, and carrying the same message.

"I am going to die."

"No-"

"YES! I am. I will. I don't exist anymore, so really, I should already be dead. I'm waiting for the inevitable. I. Am going. To. Die."

The room fell silent after he said it. His grimace deepened and his friends stared at him in shock, as if the thought had not yet fully crossed their minds. He hadn't given up, he had been defeated, and now in the ultimate way. There was nothing to fight for, no reason to continue on, and nothing to stop him from feeling pathetic. He'd amounted to nothing, and felt his fate sealed - he was going to die. No amount of Spanish positivity or French romanticism was going to change that.

Spain said nothing more, he simply stood and stat beside Prussia on the couch, one arm draped over his friend, and pulled him closer. France mimicked this movement, sitting on Prussia's opposite side, squished between him and the armrest, and leaned into the man's shoulder. Prussia did not object, and the three of them sat in silence until France began rubbing his arm and asked,

"Are you okay?" Prussia thought back to earlier that same morning, though it felt like decades ago, when Germany repeatedly asked him the same question, and when he failed to answer it.

He burst into tears.

They were silent at first, a few quick streams escaping his eyes and wetting the Spaniard's shirt, but before long he fell to loud, shaking sobs. No, he was not okay. He felt a pair of arms wrap around him more tightly and the trio began to rock. Prussia was horribly embarrassed, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd genuinely cried in front of someone; he'd always even tried to hide his tears from Germania, but he couldn't help but let his feelings be enveloped in warmth. The warmth of the two bodies around him, and the warmth in his heart. In the last few years, he made new friends with Japan and the Italians because of the war, he'd grown closer to Liechtenstein and Hungary, from time to time he could even catch Austria or, God forbid, Switzerland, taking note of him. He'd never felt so close to so many people; he always knew he'd take a bullet for his brother any day, but was just starting to see that that was a two way street. He now had Romano to share in his pains, and these two idiots never failed to make him laugh. He wasn't left out anymore, no one forgot him, and everyone seemed to care more about him. As a country, he was broken and abandoned, but as a person, he felt warm and needed. Somehow, he'd never felt he'd ever been more loved.

The man began to giggle, and all at once his tears of remorse became those of joy. Mein Gott, his friends were stupid. They were both laughing and crying as well, rocking around in circles growing dizzy and tired. They were such idiots, and Prussia was so verdamn grateful to have them.

"You guys are so dumb," he said between laughs and sobs, further indenting his brain's only complete thought, and he pulled away from their grasp, wiping his cheeks. The three had huge smiles on their faces.

"We love you too, Prussia."

"Prussia, do you know what you need, mon ami?"

"A billion deutsche marks. That'd amount to a lot of cats."

"What? Non! A pick-me-up! We should play truth or dare!"

"Now?" The Spaniard asked, joining the circle. His friends were still in their pajamas, splayed out on a floor-bed of pillows and blankets the trio had planned to share to sleep on. "It's past one."

"The best dares come from nighttime!" The former-nation called, actually a fair bit excited.

"Alright then, Prus, truth or dare?" France asked, already knowing the answer and thinking up a response as he went.

"DARE!" The Frenchman leaned in and whispered a dare into Prussia's ear.

"What?!"

"Or you can actually have sex with her. That'd be good too."

"France, Hungary has actually been nice to me lately. Hitting on her will launch me back onto her bad side!"

"Oh, so then you are chickening out?" Spain teased, flapping his arms as wings mockingly. France mimicked the motion and it only took seconds of it for Prussia's pride to kick in.

"No I am not," he stated, standing. Next thing he knew he was sneaking into Austria's house, via one of the windows, with a camera in hand, and a grin rearing. His plan was already half-way in motion. He'd waited for the two to start their usual night routine, now delayed because Hungary had to burden herself with dropping him off. Austria went off to re-heat dinner, and Hungary to shower. While she was under the running water, he stole every pair of her pants and dresses that he could find, and left her a provocative note, dispelling his location in the house. He sat in Austria's biggest music room, one leg crossed over the other, half the buttons on his shirt undone, and gave a thumbs up to his now hidden camera. Suddenly, the door burst open.

"PRUSSIA!"

"Yes?" He tapped a key on the piano several times, summoning Austria.

"WHERE ARE MY PANTS?" She stormed in, slamming the door behind her.

"I don't know."

"YOU TOOK THEM, DID YOU NOT?!"

"Yes."

"SO WHERE DID YOU PUT THEM, PRUSSIA?!" The man shrugged in response, grin rising on his face. "Prussia, I don't have time for this! I can't go around without a full outfit!" Prussia eyed her up and down - she was wearing the only long shirt she had, with a low-dipping neckline, and no bra, revealing a fair bit more cleavage than she would have liked. She was also fairly certain that a bit of her red, lacey underwear could be seen if she stood a certain way. The man watching her sent a red flush to her cheeks.

"I don't know, you look pretty comfortable wearing next to nothing." She gripped him by the collar and pulled him to a standing position, before slapping him hard across the face. She watched the spot quickly fade from white to a glowing red and felt a twinge of guilt, as the night prior that had been where a deep cut was on Prussia's face at the hospital.

"Where are they?" she snapped, and added less convincingly, "tell me, or next time it will not be a slap!" She raised a fist and tried to look menacing. Prussia smirked at her. The woman heard the doorknob turn, and before she could turn her head fully to look at it, she felt Prussia's hand on her inner thigh. Before she could object to that, she was forced to let out a small yelp as her body was being flung to the ground. The albino slipped in over her quickly, before gravity made her legs fall, and resultingly, one landed on the floor hitting as hard as her head did, the other over his shoulder. The door then opened fully and Austria peered in.

He had come in to check on why his piano had been touched, but completely forgot the instrument once his bespectacled eyes met the sight. His ex-wife was now laying on the ground, half naked, one leg flung over the shoulder of the man who was straddling her, Prussia, who was also nearing being half naked. The room was still and silent for a moment as realization struck Hungary, and her face twisted to horror. Austria quietly soaked it in. He stepped out of the room and closed the door.

"Austria!" Hungary cried in a guttural, tormented groan. Guilt was stripped from her instantly - the Prussian was quick to heal anyway - and she removed the leg from his shoulder to use it to kick him in the face. She stood, scrambled to the door, and turned back to Prussia who now had a bloody noise.

"I'll murder you later!" were her last words before she stormed out.

"You actually did it," Spain commented, a bit shocked as he watched the play-back on the screen of the camcorder.

"Yup. You know what that means!" It meant he got to assign the next dare. He looked back and forth between his companions, until a dare sparked in his brain, and he instantly knew what to do.

"France, truth or dare?"

"Dare, mon cher."

"Alright. England. I want his hair to be electric blue."

"Done." He ran out the door and returned an hour later with photos and a black eye. England in his house, and France standing behind him. The Englishman was obliviously sipping a mug of tea before, as the picture alluded, France clocked him in the head with a fire-extinguisher. Next, was England "asleep" with a plastic bag over his head. The next photo included England looking horrified into a mirror at his bright blue head of hair standing up on end. The final photo was a very blurry depiction of an angry Londoner lunging for the camera man.

"You guys were right," Prussia finally replied, that is, once he regained his breath from having laughed it all away, "I needed this."

"Alright, if that is the case, I pass my dare onto you!" France commented, smiling and tearing up from having looked at his mangled reflection.

"Good. I've been meaning to get back at Romano for spilling tomato sauce on my sheets. Spain, truth or dare?"

Prussia woke that morning to a ray of sunlight streaming in through his window. It was warm, bright, and encouraged his rousing himself out of bed. The man threw his legs over the side of the bed, stood, tussled his hair, turned towards the door, and nearly had a heart attack.

"Vati?!" Standing in the doorway was a tall, bulky, German man with the same ocean blue eyes and golden hair as his youngest son. As opposed to his usual style of down with a single braided accent, all of the man's shoulder-blade length hair was in a loose fishtail braid, with a few strands left out and framing his face. He had a light smile on his face, contradicting his usual sternness, and was dressed in all white. The sunlight seemed to frame him, offering the translucent man a Godly halo.

"Hello, Prussia. I need you to come with me, I have something to show you."

"Wha-" Before he had time to properly object, Prussia found himself being gently forced back into bed. He was set to lay down, a blanket pulled half over him. His father grabbed him by his hands and pulled him up, sending a freezing chill to his form. The albino watched in helpless horror as a half-real image of himself slipped out of his deathly-frozen body. He turned slowly away from Germania, while still holding hands with him, and studied his body laying limp in bed.

"Vati, I ca-"

"I'll bring you back if you want, I promise."

"I DO WANT!"

"But I have to show you, first." His father, glowing brightly and now holding only one of his hands, led his ghostly son through his bedroom door. Instead of it landing the pair in the hallway, they walked into a graveyard.

"My son, this is your future." Prussia watched as images of his brother, Italy, Romano, Hungary, Japan, Canada, all his friends and family faded into existence. They stood about a navy-blue casket, his presumably, wearing black and looking grim. Canada kept his head low, allowing blonde bangs to hide his facial expression. Japan acted out of character and voluntarily touched someone, that someone being Hungary, offering his shoulder for her to lean her head against. Germany stood in-between the two Italians, jaw hard locked, with one hand over his chest where two cross necklaces clanked against each other. France was crying, England was dealing with him, and Spain was embracing Romano, a look of pain on his face, Romano's hidden in his friend's shirt. The image skipped time now, and Germany had begun the ritual of pouring out alcohol; he'd chosen beer. Austria, so Prussia noticed, poured a bottle of Samuel Adam's, a fairly expensive brand, with no regrets. With another time fade, Germany came to the gravesite, and set deep, blue flowers on the ground. He lingered for a moment before turning to walk off. Gilbird, who had been on his shoulder, flew off of him and landed atop the tombstone. In another fade, Hungary was sitting behind the tombstone, leaning against it, eyes closed, and murmuring to it. With another fade, no one was there. It grew to get dirty, to become a home for ivory plants, and to crack, all alone.

"People will mourn your death greatly Prussia, but as they did with me, and others before me, they will move on."

"Why are you showing me this?" Prussia asked, realizing he had forgotten to breathe in all that time and that his knuckles had gone white from his grip on Vati's hand.

"Because, I am in eternity. I have no reason to move on, or get over my kids. None of us do."

"None of-"Before Prussia furthered his inquiry, he looked up at his father, to find forms behind him. The other Teutonic Nights, Saxony, Ancient Rome, humans he knew, some of his favorites from the military, other countries, other empires, Old Fritz, everyone he knew who had passed was there. They smiled at him in a mesh of white and golden glows.

"Someday, Prussia, you will join us. That day is supposed to be today. Your land no longer exists, so you have died. You may stay; we may be able to find new purpose for you, but you may also join us." Prussia looked at his gravesite, abandoned and grime-covered, and then looked at his menagerie of old, missed friends.

"It's midday Prussia, wake up!" Germany cried from the doorway. His brother lied in bed, still, only half under the blanket. Normally, a scream would rouse him awake, but he didn't move a muscle. After several more yells, Germany huffed and made his way to the side of the bed. He poked Prussia's face. Then he poked a bit harder. He nudged his shoulder, then shook it. He grabbed Prussia by both shoulders and roused the man, panicking. "Prussia! Wake up!" Panic overtook his tone as he shook the limp form to no avail. He noticed the other man's lips starting to blue. "BRUDER!"

And suddenly, he heard his brother's voice. The Prussia in his arms, however, still ceased motion.

"I told you he would freak out, you took me too quickly. Please, just give me a minute with him," Prussia stated then, still motionless.

"Just a minute," another, vaguely familiar voice added. Germany turned around to where he'd heard the source of the voices and saw his brother fading into existence. His form stopped half-way, remaining translucent.

"Mien bruder," Prussia commented, holding hands with who Germany realized was the semi-recognizable voice, his past father, both murky and ghost-like, "I must go."

"No! PRUSSIA! What do you mean?!"

"I apologize Germany, I kept him too long. I did not want you to distress like this," Germania explained.

"You will get over me, Bruder."

"Prussia! No!" The albino stepped away from Germania, finally releasing his hand, and grabbed at his necklace. He yanked the iconic cross of his neck, and held it out to Germany. As it fell into his outstretched hand, it faded the remainder of the way into existence and landed with a weight Prussia himself no longer had.

"Look over that for me. I love you." The two hugged, and before Germany was even close to ready to let go, his brother faded into oblivion, leaving the blonde with only a cold corpse.

Germany then jolted up in bed, eyes wide as they adjusted to the darkness. His back and shirt were both drenched in sweat, and his heart beating a kilometer a minute.

The odd thing about a dream is that you never know they're a dream despite them being in the third person. You have no thoughts in a dream, and can see what's going on, but are often not in your own body, rather, watching it. That should be a clear sign of a dream, but it never is. Germany didn't realize it was just a dream until he had already bolted out of bed, and took a half step towards the bathroom, while looking at his clock. It was bright, glowing, green, and showed him 2:47 a.m.. He had to stare at it for a few seconds, as he felt his breathing calm, his heart slow, and his legs straighten from their half-sprinting position. Yes. It was just a dream. Or was it? It didn't much make sense that it was a dream, it felt so real. A light snore roused his thoughts and his head snapped to a body in his bed. The undeniable curl sticking up from the blanket assured him it was just Italy, as usual.

Germany then clutched his chest, and felt that he didn't have his brother's cross, only his own. Also, that it was no longer midday, but the middle of the night. Yes. It was just a dream.

It was just a dream.

Everything is alright.

My brother is alive, and well, and in his room- no, he doesn't have a room. He's at Spain's house. Yes. Everything is fine, Germany. Go back to sleep. He looked at the window, still locked and shut, and then to the room door, also bolted. How Italy always managed to sneak into his house without leaving any traces of having done so, Germany was unsure, but for once, he was thankful for the man's presence. It was far too dark a night for him to lie alone; if he did he foresaw himself crossing several borders and sneaking to Spain's yard, just to peer through a window and see his brother sleeping. See him breathing. Germany made his way slowly back to the bed and climbed in, a fair bit closer to the Italian than necessary.

"Hmmm?" the smaller man hummed, roused slightly from his sleep.

"Nothing. Hush yourself." Italy nodded, before scooting over in the sheets and nuzzling his head into Germany's chest. In moments, he relapsed into dreamland, and only vaguely felt the muscular arm wrap around him.

"Just a dream, sleep now or you'll be tired in the morning." Germany whispered, his heartbeat loud in his ears. He shut his eyes and rested his chin on soft, brown hair. Be still. Sleep.

And stay still he did, try to sleep he did, but, actually engage in a peaceful slumber - impossible.

ALRIGHT! CALL THAT ISH A CHAPTER! Why is England awake and drinking tea at like 1:30 in the morning? I don't know, you tell me (It's because that section was originally written as if it were the next morning). In the next chapter, things get bad for Prussia. I'm probably going to warn you guys about it before the next chapter starts in more detail, but just so you can get a hint of what's going onnnn, here's a fun fact.

I don't like Russia. I can like him if I change how he behaves entirely and place him next to China, but the way he's portrayed on the show and in the manga, I don't like him. He has a trio of trembling nations around him and a "metal pipe of pain" to threaten others with – people are scared of him because he's evil. He may be misunderstood and lonely, and that's fine when I'm in a RoChu mood, but, China's not in this story *vicious coughing*. Do with that information what you will.

Thank you so much to everyone who's stuck around the entire run of this tale so far. At some point I want to go back and re- title these chapter so they do all fit the song. Lord this story's plot has run very very very far away from me and is not like what I'd originally planned, but I like where it's going, so whatever! :D

Here's a question – this chapter is over 5000 words long. Most my chapter are 3-5 thousand words. So my question is, do you guys like a longer chapter and longer waits, or would you like me to split up my chapters (say this one was only the first and second sections) so you have less of a wait? I'm cool with whatever, so let me know in your reviews! :DDDDD