So, I don't know if you guys know this, but I saw in a video a flash of a Hetalia strip and stopped to read it. Basically, Russia was kind of concerned/irritated because Latvia kept trembling; he wanted to make it stop. So, Russia's solution to this, was:

To pull Latvia's head off.

I just find this very amusing. Like, Russia just standing there, holding the corpse's head like "ahh, it stopped the shaking!" and being genuinely pleased with himself like he did something good. Estonia's face was priceless.

Writing this chapter was very difficult, because I kept getting headaches every 500 words, which doesn't happen to me normally, so I didn't know what was up. I don't really know where I'm going from here…more chapters in Russia's to explain more? Wrap it up to just get back to the action? Re-write the last two chapters? Still unsure, but I do like (I think?) what I have here so it's fine. Whatever. Just read.

These Wounds Won't Seem to Heal - Chapter 12 - Questions

Hungary was not a poet. Nor was the woman a lyricist, nor a writer, nor a playwright. For some silly reason, she thought this was obvious, but, judging by the bag of crumpled, torn, and discarded papers that Prussia had told her to "piece together", the world was unaware.

So, hear her now, world. She is a fighter, horse-back queen, a bit of a gossip, yes, a music lover, and even had a decent waltz; but she was not a poet.

It didn't really take a poet to "piece together" a letter back home – it's a fairly simple gesture. However, after a week of the Prussian somehow successfully hiding the fact that he was writing his letter from his captor, he decided it would be safer to get rid of the evidence. When it again became time for the Hungarian's turn to feed him or tend another round of wounds, the single, well-written, simple gesture she'd promised to risk her butt delivering, was handed to her in this mess with not so simple instructions of "piece it together".

The woman grabbed another sheet, and could gather just from the marks all over it, that this entailed more details for possible starts to her "pieced together" letter (yes, that's right, after an hour and a half of shuffling she had let to write a single word on the final draft).

Dear Bruder, This line was crossed out with a thin line of black ink.

Dearest Bruder, This line also did not fully convey what the Prussian was trying to say, and had been crossed through.

Bruder, Nor did this one meet his expectations, so it was met with the black strip of death.

Germany, Or this one, for some reason. What? Too formal? Too informal? It was just a name!

Hello, This line was also crossed out.

Hallo, Are you sensing a pattern? Crossed out.

The entire page continued like that; a guten morgen here and a salutation there, each false start to the note crossed out with a flick of the wrist. All she was able to "piece together" at this point was that she ought to try another paper.

Hallo, mein bruder,

I know I haven't seen you in a long time "long time" was crossed out and in small text above it was written "little while".

-but, that was crossed out, and, that was crossed out, but I'm not even that lonely. The words "that" and "even" were discarded of. They were actually crossed through twice, because the second line went through the entire sentence surrounding the words as well. On top of it all, this page had been crumbled into a very tiny ball.

The next page she tried was a half. Half to another half she'd already found. When reunited, they had scribble marks all over them, and a word here or there was hard to discern, but Hungary figured she'd try to read through the mess regardless.

Little Bro,

How you been? I'm having a hard time figuring out what I should tell you, but I read once that when you have a writer's block it's good to just write about anything without worrying. So, I'll tell you where I am. I'm in Russia's basement, but, don't worry about it! It's cool down here! I have - there was a blotch of ink here where Prussia rested his pen, likely while he was trying to think of something he had down there other than chills and bandages,- fun.

Wow, Prussia. Maybe you're not a poet either.

I made this new friend, this cute little boy called Latvia. He's really sweet and, oddly enough, kind of reminds me of Gilbird. I miss Gilbird. I think it will be good when I get to go home and finally see him again. Aside from that, I have Hungary and Poland to talk to, so I don't even need anyone else.

Hungary pondered how she and Prussia had not really spoken much but a few sentences to each other the entire time he'd been there. Most of his stay was alone, in the cell. She decided it wasn't really her place to correct him if he wanted to lie, so, she just kept reading.

Everyone keeps the place clean, - this was by force, and it's not like they cleaned anything in his cell but him.

and last night we had sautéed potatoes for dinner - no, actually, they did not.

so it's kind of like being at home. Speaking of my home, have you been paying my bills? It might get repossessed at this rate. I've been here a while right? But it's fine, because I'll be coming back soon, I'm sure. Or, maybe not, but that's okay. I could get a new place, or, I could live with

– there was a very heavily written "y" at the start of the next word, and the Hungarian could imagine Prussia's pen running over the space again and again as he tried to convince himself to write the rest of the word, but, he didn't. This was when he decided he was done with this page and marred it with scribbles and a tear.

The next one seemed more hopeful, save a couple crinkles from the ball-formation it was in earlier.

Hello, Germany, it is your brother. I know we haven't seen each other in a while and I figure you might be worrying about what his-awesomeness is up to, so here's an update. First of all, if you didn't know, I'm staying at Russia's. I heard that through all this you're under America's control, kind of. Does that mean you live with him? I bet his place is nice and spacious; Russia's is too. It's got a really cool library and a basement! Plus, there's a lot of people here. Hungary and Poland are here, currently fangirling over something dumb upstairs, along with Russia's cute sisters (well, one is cute. The other is cute, but taken, apparently), and the three Baltics. Thankfully, Poland, Russia, and Lithuania are not as awkward about things as I thought they'd be. So, it's okay here.

How are you, really Bruder? Have you been cooking healthy food? I know when you make a cake and no one is there to eat it you take the task on all by yourself and you need to stop that! I'm not coming home to a tubby brother I'll have to whip back into shape. Have you been feeding the dogs? Is Gilbird okay, do you know? What about the lawn – I hope you're watering your lawn. And try to stay on cleaning the inside of the mailbox; I'm telling you your diagonal neighbor's snotty kids keep putting dirt in there.

But I know you're doing well. I love you.

Following that statement there was a line that stretched from the period to the bottom of the page; a lazy drag of the pen. The Hungarian woman couldn't find the problem with this essay really, but it's original crafter didn't even find it good enough to finish. She figured she would try one more letter before quitting, one more, just to try. This was specifically because it started with:

Hungary, if you're seeing this, do not read or consider this one given that it somehow ends up in the pile, I'm just trying to sort through some thoughts.

Obviously, the woman did not know that it started with that because obviously she "missed" that line when she opened up this folded paper, and now was obviously just obligated by sheer…concern for Germany…yes, that, to read what came after it.

Hungary, seriously, don't read this. She "hadn't" read that either. I'm just going to write 100% openly here and it's going to be stupid so please don't read this. It wasn't even supposed to end up with you, so come on. Please. He had said please…twice…and it almost made her stop, except that that didn't make any sense because she "didn't" even read that.

Obviously.

Hello Journal,

Wait, a journal entry? Not another silly letter? Maybe she really should stop…

Today, I was awesome, as per usual.

That was the only line crossed out in the entire paper.

I'm sick of this. I want to go home, but I don't even know if I have a home. Home is supposed to be where you feel grounded, the area that is represented by every centimeter and hair on your body, where your people are all rooting for you, and where you just fit. Is this supposed to be East Germany for me, or where my old territory was, or is it just nothing? This is the kind of thing I need to talk to China or Japan about, they usually know about these things from somewhere in their long list of experiences. But of course, now I can't ask, and I never did ask Germania about his fading away, so I don't really know what's happening. I wish I could reread what I wrote that day, but, I'm pretty sure it was just that I went to find vater and he was leaned against a tree. Myself and Switzerland tried to talk to him, but he told us to leave him, and that he was tired and wanted rest. He said he loved us, and kissed each of us on the forehead, and when we left, so did he, I presume. So, is that going to happen to me?

She really should stop reading.

Am I just going to get tired one day and kiss the world goodbye? I mean, he must've known what was happening, right? Otherwise he wouldn't have been so, - here was a little curling line that extended for a while - well, I can't think of the word I want, but the point is, he must've known. Will I know? Is that what this is now? It's just so confusing and frustrating and I don't want to have to be here for it! I don't feel like a country, but they tell me that I am, and when I was one I wasn't paying too careful attention so maybe I do feel like one, and am just scaring myself. I don't seem to be any physically weaker, but my healing is slow as shit. Does that just mean it's slow or does it not exist anymore past a human level? Japan would be able to help me, I just

– the next two words couldn't be read. The ink was blurred into one, gray circle, like a drop of water hit the paper.

I hope someday I re-read over this taped into one of my journals and feel stupid. I hope future-me is laughing at current-me's idiocy. But right now, I can't laugh. I'm fucking painfully scared and confused and just…fuck. When am I going to figure this all out? I feel like I've been in the same place about everything for years. YEARS! And after all that time I still can't say anything for sure, like that I have or don't have much time left, or whether or not bruder will be left alone, or anything at all because I simply do not know. Every time I try to sit down and think about it all I get overwhelmed and lost.

You'd think I'd know this shit! You'd think I'd be able to tell what I am, and where I belong! You'd think, Journal, but you're wrong and I'm just a clueless moron. Don't want to infect the rest of the nations of the world with my ignorance, so I may as well just bow out of this existence now. No one would care. I mean really, HOW DO I NOT KNOW THIS STUFF?! WHERE WAS I WHEN EVERY OTHER COUNTRY GOT THIS BASIC INFORMATION?! WHY AM I SO STUPID?!

Hungary was not appreciating this moment. Simple sentences, letters combined into words combined into thoughts and ideas on a sheet of paper were not supposed to make her frown. They were not supposed to make her feel things like…this…this…this feeling! All of the pits forming in her stomach and worry lines etched into her forehead had to stop, because they were just words on paper – Prussia's words at that – and being a country was simple. You could just feel it. It feels like…well actually, what did it feel like? Her forest-colored eyes slowly shut as she forced the lump in her throat back down and tried to focus. Her heartbeat was the first thing she noticed, thumping in her chest just hard enough to be felt from the outside. This made her think of her blood, and see each of her citizens as a drop or cell of red marching along the road-map of veins.

It made her think of all this, but in all honestly she realized it just felt like having a body.

When her economy lulled, she got sick, but was an economic sickness any different from a human one? The common cold or a regular fever? And even ignoring that, did the economic change cause her sickness or health, or did her sickness or health cause the economic change? Would she be able to tell the difference if her role on the planet altered? She didn't want to think about this, and then could understand why Prussia didn't want to think about it either. She folded the journal page in half and set it aside, vowing not to read anymore.

She wasn't going to read anymore.

She really was going to stop.

No, she had not just looked at the folded paper again. She had moved on, and was working on the letter home, and she wasn't going to look again. She swore!

Well…it's not like she swore on her life or anything.

Kill me. Fine universe, let me die. No one knows what the Prussian flag is anymore, those crayons named after Prussian Blue got their name changed, I don't see a brigade of countries coming to save me, it's getting to a point where people didn't ever even know Prussia was a thing, so clearly I'm irrelevant. Just let me die. I don't care anymore, can I just get some kind of a WARNING PLEASE?! A SIGN?! I can't just disappear on bruder like that, and I need to

I had to stop writing. I was crying, and I don't know what that sentence was supposed to be.

She should really, really, really stop reading.

Pussies like Austria are supposed to cry over this stuff, not me! I just want to be back where I'm comfortable: with Germany and birdie and pushups and cleaning and quiet. As far away from here as possible. I'll never complain about being lonely again.

A pang of something hit the woman's heart and stomach as she read that. "Clustering is for losers" or something like that was what Prussia always said, and she always let him say it. The Hungarian always let him shy off into his corner of solitude and didn't really care for more than a second if he wanted to sulk while she was away with Austria. But now…now, she should stop reading.

I'll never write another entry about so and such abandoning me and them and those leaving me out if you can somehow get me out of here. Clearly, the walls are blocking out God, or he's busy or something, because he's not giving me anything to work with right now. So, I'm depending on you, Journal.

I want to go home.

I want to be home.

I need to be home. Wherever that is. So, help me.

With the journal entry declaring itself over by a simple goodbye to "Journal", the Hungarian re-folded the page and set it aside. She slapped her cheeks twice with her palms.

Okay, get it together Hungary, you can do better.

She was not going to get emotional over that stupid piece of paper she "never even saw". She was just going to put it back in the pile of "read" and ignore the bag of "unread" and pull out a pen. She was going to press the pen to a sheet of paper, and she was not going to wipe her eyes because she did not need to, and her face was not going to be wet. She was not hearing her heart beat in her ears and getting a little freaked out by it. She was certainly not eyeing the stretch of blue vein peaking to the surface of her skin and feeling a bubble of doubt form in her stomach, asking, "what if my people actually aren't in there?". She wasn't doing any of that. She was not going to pretend to be a poet, because she was not one for "piecing together" and-

Damn it, she was not tearing up right now! She was not going to feel bad because this was just Prussia, who she hated, and she honestly didn't give a damn what happened to him.

Unless he faded away.

NO! Even then she didn't care! She really didn't. She…she didn't…

Okay, maybe she did, A LITTLE, but either way the point was that she wasn't doing any of the above. Not feeling bad, or getting emotional, or tearing up, or being some wimpy little girl. No.

She was writing! Writing a non-poetic letter back home, and nothing else.

He was told he would be playing cards, but he was sat in front of a chess board, handed a set of dice, and read the rules for Sudoku. The two males on his team seemed equally confused by it all, and as the youngest gave up his last bill in monopoly money, the eldest slipped off his latter and down the chute to sudden death.

However, Estonia, the middle child, sat at the head of that chess board determined to win. There had to be some kind of order here, some something he could figure out – everything in life had a solution. He'd decided some time ago to simply observe instead of play, hiding behind door frames, or leaning over the unnoticed upper-banister, silently watching, taking note, and hoping the stars would finally tell him how to make sense of these people he was forced to live with.

Ukraine was easy; she was granted more immunity to the peril of the situation because of her blood relation to the symbolic king and queen of the household. She was relatively normal, save being a little over-inclined to cry, perhaps strategically, and being a little too optimistic to make logical sense. She was to be avoided because she was sheltered by the others. Belarus, also to be avoided, was his next mystery. The dark, cryptic, woman with her way of seeming completely empty in the brain one second and too intellectual the next took some time, but was figured out just the same.

The woman was, for whatever reason, quite infatuated with her elder brother. She claimed she was in love, but her love for her brother, in a way, was like Lithuania's "love" for the woman – illogical. As far as anyone could tell, both loves were unrequited and ended in heartbreak, but Belarus' was not just an affection of beauty like Lithuania's. She was not in love, she was obsessed. The woman failed to notice, or rather, failed to acknowledge the fact that her affection was one-sided, only making the insanity inside her sprout. Insanity that lead to her perhaps to being able to see ghosts, and seeking comfort in cardboard and television static when he brother didn't want her. It was this obsession to be with her brother that made her strive to act like him as well. She had violent tendencies, felt no guilt or remorse at hurting others, and was greatly pleased in seeing her brother do so too.

But Belarus, like Estonia, did not understand Russia fully. She may not have known she didn't understand, but Estonia feared she may be wrong to simply be violent for the sake of violence, because Russia was…complex. He was to be avoided, this was rule number one, but he lacked…intelligence. No, he was plenty smart, he knew exactly what he was doing to his victims and was an unfair bit too good at it, but...

Well there wasn't yet an end to that sentence. The Russian master's violence, aptitude to smile when angry, and lack of compassion in general were initially written off as cruelty, villainy at its finest, but moments like this one made the man reconsider. It was the Russian's reaction to another nation's suffering that Estonia and Belarus alike didn't fully understand.

A nation often didn't know why they were suffering; they just would be. They would be fine one second and then have a migraine the next, or faint, or feel a horrible pain rack through their entire body, or feel a burning in their chest, or start screaming at the top of their lungs. When this occurred, they might know that there was a terrorist attack, or that thousands had died, or they might know there was a bombing, or a flood, or that a dividing wall had been erected overnight – or then again they might not.

They might just be confused and scared by their sudden disposition, or might relate it to something else. The nation got sick because of the pollen, not the economy. The nation was confused and scatter brained because they were tired, not because their government was undergoing structural changes and didn't know how to run itself. The nation was wailing as hard as he could because he had been tortured, and scared, and simply lost his resolve, not because of anything happening in his country.

Estonia figured Russia would love this. According to his calculations, Prussia, or should he now say the German Democratic Republic, was never kind to Russia. As children they were constantly at each other's' necks, Prussia causing a lot of suffering for the other. As they grew, and Prussia's focus shifted to over-watching the German unification, they stopped meeting on the battlefield quite so often, but bitterness grew between them. It was in this second world war that they met again, and Russia had suffered, greatly. So, his sadistic tendencies and hatred of Prussia would mean he would love to see him down. It was the next logical move in the game, but Russia from time to time would be reading from a different rule book.

"My comrade is…more hurt than I'd expected by this." The Russian's face genuinely looked saddened as he spoke, with an honest frown and authentic cloud of dread – not terror- surrounding him.

Estonia simply nodded in response. One rule was that it was best to agree, another being that to Russians, "comrade" was a very powerful word and relationship. What about the abusive, submissive, intrusive relationship made Russia and Prussia comrades, Estonia had yet to figure out, but he'd accept it for now.

"We just wanted to find a way to stop them," the Russian mused, looking with a depressed eye over his papers at the table, "and now even more people are trying to go."

Was Russia depressed because he knew Prussia was negatively affected, or because his plan had sort of back fired? By "stop them" did he mean "discourage them from leaving" or "trap them"? Too many uncertainties existed for anyone to try to wrap up the rule book.

"Prussia," Russia's smile intensified, welcoming a blackened cloud into the room, "will likely die if this goes on." Was he smiling because he wanted his prisoner dead; was he still holding grudges over the war and happy to see him fall? Why was GDR his comrade then? He would never want to see his comrade this miserable. No, this must be a smile of anger, or frustration, over the impossibility of the situation. He feels helpless that his dear friend was going to be in pain, and wants to help.

But, the bespectacled man had already concluded that Russia didn't understand compassion, so that didn't make much sense either.

"We will keep stopping them," the taller of the two continued (again with the word 'stop'), "by any means necessary."

"If no one else can flee, the GDR, he will have a steadier population." Now the word of focus was 'flee'. Flee meant they were running, from danger. So he understood that he was putting the German peoples in danger, right? He could see that they were suffering because of him? If that's the case, he must really not hold any concern for Prussia or anyone inside of him.

"Prussia won't feel so sick anymore, and will be able to play with me." Play like play or play like pipe?

"We already warned the people of what would happen if they kept trying to get past the block, so it's not my fault if they keep coming." Saying he wanted to block people in was a strong word. Was he using 'block' because he had built an actual, block-shaped thing, or because he understood it was interchangeable with 'imprison'?

"Should we…quit?" Estonia was not allotted time to answer. "No! We can keep all the people on my side!" Yes, Russia would encase them in communism, crush their spirits, and bash in the heads of anyone questioning his authority. He would make the German people divided, and miserable, and it would destroy the physical representation. The silver-haired nation currently below them would have to stay alive, only to suffer with his people, bound by literal chains to embody their figurative ones. Russia had resolved to make Prussia suffer, and it would be quiet, skillfully placed revenge for all of the suffering the other had caused his way just years ago.

"My boss will love it," the Russian concluded, patting himself on the back and playfully smiling for an evil-plot-well-done.

"It will keep everyone where they're supposed to be, and safe." With that sentence a barrage of mancala marbles and Tetris cubes drove into the Estonian's side, further complicating the game he was clearly already losing. As Latvia entered the room they were in, Estonia plotted his escape so he could get out before he somehow did something wrong and lost in a more… painful way.

"Lativa,"

"Y-YES?! Yes, Mr. Russia?"

"Go and check on Prussia for me. The door from the basement is sound proof so he might need help and we'd never know it." And there was his chance.

"Yes Lativa, let's go check," the Estonian commented, smiling and standing, "I know where Hungary left the key last time she went down there."

Not to be confused with loneliness, isolation is a good form of torture. The effects of it wore in very quickly, after about half a day alone, and it was very simple to enact (only requiring in this case a slot in a door to push food through and the key to a room that could only be unlocked from the outside). It was easy, quick, and effective.

Its effects involved hallucinations, and the Prussian knew this all from his years of military experience and study, so he was confused as to why he had yet to start hallucinating. Unfortunately, he'd only remembered to keep count of how many days he'd been in the basement when he forgot how many days he'd been in the basement. He lost count on the sixth, seventh, or eighth day, and now was the day that was somewhere between the twenty seventh and the thirty third. His isolation began on the twenty second or twenty fourth day, so it had been a fair bit of time, and this time made Prussia snigger. He was clearly immune to the effects of silly isolation, and the insanity it caused, because nothing had changed.

He was still in a damp, dark, cold room, and still almost always by himself. There was just him, four walls, and a floor that occasionally moved. There was the small window, about the size of four bricks, two side by side and two more on top of them, and it was about a height and a half above the Prussian's head, still providing little light. There was a ceiling, a small mattress on the ground, darkness, near silence, and hooks on the walls for chains. Nothing new.

Well, nothing too new. There was the rhinoceros, and she was new. She had walked into the room one day, and then she died. Her head just decided it was done and fell off, letting the body crumble to the ground in a big heap. The rhino remained there, slowly starting to decay with a pool of red-brown blood around it and a few flies attracted to the carcass. It stunk of death itself, and was just as grotesque, grey, and slimy-looking as it ought to be, so it was real.

There was also the voice that could not tell time, because the voice on the other side of the door would tell him things like that food would come in two minutes. Then, the Prussian would count and the food came rather early, 92 seconds early to be exact. He made his concerns clear to the voice, but the silly thing would always insist it waited a proper two minutes, so even the voice was confused whereas Prussia wasn't.

Then there was white light that someone kept flashing behind him, only to turn it off every time he spun around, and that was just some cruel prank. Likely, the work of Ensyde. Ensyde was a cat, cloud gray from top to bottom save what looked like a scarf of white around its neck and two indignant eyebrows. On his chest was a gigantic nametag reading "Hello, my name is Ensyde", the 'Ensyde' written in a hideous, mustard yellow.

Ensyde made his way from one end of the room to the other, effortlessly scooting around the glasses of substance (they appeared in the room one morning when Prussia awoke, likely Ensyde's fault), and sat in the corner, waving his tail in slow, rhythmic ticks.

Verdammt cat.

The cat cocked its head to the side, very slowly, and then puffed out its chest. Look, Ensyde communicated without speaking, what is my name? This animal spoke by excluding the process of opening its mouth or moving its tongue, all of its questions bouncing about the inside of Prussia's head. It was also quite annoying that Prussia, and Prussia's new "friend" had the exact same voice, but the albino considered the other far snarkier and dangerously curious.

"I know your damn name is Ensyde, and I don't care, so go join Ms. Rhino in death."

Ensyde laughed, or he would have laughed if he were not a cat, and with a long drag of his eyelashes in a blink, he asked his usual, stupid question, yet again. What is your name?

"I don't know." Ensyde rolled onto his back. "No, it's not Prussia. Prussia no longer exists." Ensyde began to shift about, rubbing his back on the ground to scratch it. "It's not a or the Teutonic Knights either. I haven't been called any of that in a long time." Now, the feline stopped scratching and floated to the ceiling. "Maybe." Ensyde walked across the ceiling to be nearer to Prussia. "I said maybe, damn it! Maybe it's East Germany. I can't be sure." His paws left the ceiling and landed again in the Prussian's lap. "I don't know when I'll be sure, but I'm not sure now, so I don't know. Shut up, Ensyde."

The cat's – the satanic little sadist of a cat's – response made the man take a sharp intake of breath as his maroon eyes went wide. He bucked his hips, sending the creature flying off his body, and away from his touch. Verdammt. Ensyde.

"No. It's not Gilbert. Gilbert is my human name, so if that's my name now, then I'm basically just a human." It twisted its nose side to side, jostling its whiskers until satisfied, and then responded. Did I ask you if it was Gilbert, or did I ask you what if it was Gilbert? The question was rhetorical, and annoying, but it cleared up what Ensyde wanted him to say.

"Then I'd be human, I already said that." What would you do if you were human? Ensyde purred quietly as he asked this, his golden-green eyes glistening with mischief. This is why Prussia was a bird person, even a dog person, but cats? Cats could all just go explode for all he cared. "Always with these questions you know I don't know the answer to. Go away, creature." In response, Ensyde simply stared, a bright emerald meeting a deep ruby, until the darker gem cracked.

"If I were human I guess I'd die. It might take a second but, it'd happen eventually I guess." Ensyde blinked. "'What else?' What do you mean 'what else'?" Humans still live lives, the feline mused, licking his paw, so what would yours look like?

"I don't know. The same I guess. I'd hang around my friends and just wait it out." Ensyde, just to be a spiteful little beast, summoned his house. It was a boot, old and torn, but on the inside a cozy bed of feathers with a baby-blue blanket and eternal heat. It had a nametag, similar to Ensyde's, announcing its occupation as "Ensyde's Home".

"Yes I would." The cat floated himself into the mouth of the boot. "I would!" He stretched once inside and tucked his head under the blanket. "I would too stay around the countries! They're not gonna be like that, Ensyde." A grey tail made its way to the top and slung itself over the boot. "No, I…no. I won't…I mean, maybe at first, but, I'll get used to it. It'll be fine." A murmured purr met the Prussian's ears. "No! Being around humans will just make me feel stupid too! Each one of them I see will be from somewhere or act like someone, and they'll just remind me of what I'm avoiding. I'm not going to leave the nations."

Will you have purpose with them? The Prussian could feel his cheeks distorting, and possible wrinkles forming as the corners of his rosy lips downturned. Yes, of course he would have purpose, but for whatever reason, he didn't want to say that and instead just listened to the voice in the back of his mind. When a world meeting occurs, what will you do? What if everyone is too busy with paperwork you no longer have? There was a stinging, as if hundreds of microscopic poles poked at the backs and insides of his eyes, begging to break free. Will you get invited to nation's banquets if you are not a nation? Now his forehead was wrinkling too as his eyebrows tried to meet, and a pain in his chest where he'd forgotten to breathe.

Will they speak to you only out of moral obligation? He wasn't blinking and it intensified the sting; no, now he was blinking too much. His chest, heart, and lungs made themselves horribly present, seeming to turn into one big brick to force him to end his resistance in breathing. Will they pity you behind closed doors? When he sucked in, he did so harshly, and heard the reminiscence of a sniffle. Now his eyes were really burning, and his ears were really ringing, and now he couldn't see. Blink more, no, that's not helping, blink less.

Would you be enough for them?

The water escaped, a bit at first, and then all at once the flood gates opened and began copious downpour. Look what you did, you vile creature. Look at the tears you forced out of these stinging eyes, and feel bad.

Prussia picked up the nearest glass of substance and threw it at "Ensyde's Home"; it simply bounced off before floating right back to where it was on the ground before he touched it, none of the substance inside disturbed. A frustrated heat met his head, flowing from a burning in the chest, to a hot, unbearable lump in the throat, and a steaming behind the eyes.

"That's not true!" See what you did, you stupid, fucking cat? "I…they…" Prussia's nose was stinging thanks to the pest, the left nostril burning with the same heat behind his eyes, pained by the same tenseness in his chest. "Shut your mouth."

Look at him, cat. You did this. How many times had you been told to be quiet? To go away? But you stayed and you kept asking and now you've brought this upon yourself.

"West will-" Ensyde cut him off by abruptly jumping out of bed. "Be quiet. Go away. West will too help me." With a cock of his condescending head, Ensyde asked, but will he want to?

A sharp intake of breath - pointed enough to slice the Prussian's body into two halves - overtook him. The floor was running, the room was spinning, and the cat was grinning. Goddamn creature. Stupid, ugly, heinous creature.

"DON'T YOU DARE SAY MY BROTHER WON'T HELP ME!" Did I say that Ensyde asked in a coo and upward pitching of his voice.

No, he had not said that. He never said anything, always just asked, and forced the Prussian to think, and compelled him to believe. He never claimed or pushed or insinuated anything, but at the same time that's all he did. The man's head was pushing in on itself, throbbing at the tension. He really hated this snide, base, moronic cat.

"SHUT THE HELL UP, ANIMAL!" The pale body racking with sobs was demanded to see and realize things it had buried beneath confidence in the opposite, and he was not going to stand for it. Prussia pressed his eyes shut in an effort to evade Ensyde, though knowing he was still present, but popped them open when he heard a jingling noise.

Keys. Keys to the door of his cell were right outside jingling away. There was only on person who came in here: it was going to be 'him'. And there were yells, cries out in agony coming from somewhere. Who had 'he' just tormented to make them wail like that? No. God, no. It was too soon. 'He' had just come the day before; it was too soon!

The bloodcurdling scream echoing loudly and harshly off the four walls of his tiny confine. The person's voice sounded like their throat was raw, burning, and it sent a bout of panic to the wide, reddened eyes. No, please no, anything but this. He was not one to cower, or cry, or fear, but it was just too damn soon! The shouting continued, ringing, louder and louder cutting off all his senses but a painful jostling of his skull at every shout, every time the culprit would suck in breath and force another strained cry for help.

The voice came; it said something from behind the door but it was too loud in the room to hear. The door opened, and it would be 'him'. Prussia knew it would be 'him' and tried to sit still, tried to make his tiny, crumpled body look stronger and bigger than it was. Why did he have to be fucking crying right now? That stupid cat, and its stupid words. Prussia was enough, he had always been enough, and he would continue to be enough, and…and he didn't want to think about this.

There was a voice nearing him. The voice. The voice came in the cell, except that it had a body, that of a cute, little boy. It wasn't the 'him' Prussia was waiting for.

The screams didn't stop and the little boy looked panicked and spoke in a tone Prussia could not hear. His throat was hurting from crying, and he covered his ears, but the screaming in that way only grew stuffy, yet louder. 'He' would come soon, Prussia was sure. 'He' would come and plot against him with Ensyde, and kill him with 'his' pipe. Then what would be of Prussia? A forgotten memory? No. No one would forget him. Even if he had no home, no rightful place, no role in life, and even if he wasn't enough; they would not forget him. Not his brother, or his friends, or his bird, or anyone else. Ensyde…had to be wrong. He would see; in a few seconds when the albino lost his life, the cat would see how wrong it was.

Two hands that were not Prussia's met the sides of his face. They squeezed on his cheeks and the sounds of the screams faltered. The hands forced his mouth shut, silencing the screams Prussia now understood had been his all along, but he couldn't stop. He heaved wails to the surface, bound by the barrier of a shut mouth, but aching his sore throat all the same. He couldn't breathe but to release another cry, he couldn't see but a blurry outline of the little boy holding him, rocking him back and forth. 'He' was coming, but Prussia would be enough. The man would die, but he would not go forgotten.

"Shhhh, it's okay," the voice cooed. What was okay? 'He' was coming! The voice held one hand behind his back and another running soothingly through his hair.

'He' was coming. 'He' was still coming. 'He' was just around the corner. 'He' would storm in here, and make the pleasant voice leave, and then kill Prussia.

And would anyone really notice? Stupid cat.

The unfamiliar hand was not on his jaw, so an albino's mouth found itself open, and the man with his dirty, silver hair and tired, droopy eyes took what little he was worth and blared it all out into the confine in one final scream till his voice was too burned to force anymore.

Ensyde (if not a cat, would have) giggled, but agreed to silence their thoughts and questions for a while. Too short a while.

"When I leave this world, I [will] leave with no regrets. Leave something to remember, so they won't forget; I was here. I lived. I loved. I was here." -Beyonce. Music is so powerful, and I keep finding more and more astounding songs that seem to fit this story. Do you guys have any you'd like to share?

I was really scared writing this and tempted to send it to some betas and get more opinions, and in theory that's a good idea, but I write to improve. I don't want betas to just fix every major thing I do wrong. I good idea here and a spelling or grammar check there, okay. If I do something that makes absolutely no sense or loses focus of the original story *cough*, alright, please correct me. But, when I know what I'm doing and trying to make amends, I don't know, I just wanted to see if I could do it by myself. I'd rather fail and try again than never fully understand my failure in the first place because someone just fixed it for me. So did I? What do you guys think of it all? The next chapter is proobbbaaabblllyy still going to be at Russia's house (sorry), but I'm really getting near the end of this arch. Really.

Okay, you guys, this does not at all pertain to the story, but I just read something so sick and so vile (it was a HetaFanfiction in which [spoilers but I'm not even telling you what story or characters it is so…] character A was in love with Character B's dad/brother/grandad/uncle [not being specific], relative dies, and so character A forced character B to have sex with him. It wasn't exactly rape, Character B had a choice, but not really, because if they didn't do it, Character A would not offer B the economical help they needed to survive.) And I am shaking and screaming and emotionally distraught. I should be doing so much homework right now but I just have to say this: if anything traumatic has ever happened to you, anything on any level, I am so sorry. You don't have to endure your pain alone, feel free to tell someone who you love and trust; they will help. Someone out there wants to make it better for you. And I am just so, so, very sorry for any pain my readers have ever felt. I'm so shaken up after READING fiction about it, so I can't even begin to imagine experiencing something like that. You are truly strong if you've made it even a step after something so terrible.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this longer chapter, sorry it took me so long to write again, and review all your lovely thoughts for me! :D