Well, hello there. Remember me? Let's see, it's been three months and…actually, almost 4 months since I've updated. Haha.

Okay, so, I know it's been about a billion years since I've last updated this story. I SWEAR TO YOU I was working on it the whole time. It really is hard to get myself to be satisfied with a chapter, so I'm sorry this took so long and isn't even like…anything. Coming soon is summer, where I'll have less school, more time, and will therefore hopefully be able to update more and maybe even finish my story before summer ends? Let's not hold me to that one, but, just, sorry for the wait. Here ya go.

My issue with writing this chapter was that I wanted it to be as good as the last chapter, but the issue with that was simply that I didn't even think the last chapter was all that special. Responses from it were extremely heartwarming, as y'all are all a bunch of lovelies, but I didn't think it would be anything too special. So, consequentially, I didn't know how to rub off some of that specialness into this chapter. I eventually just had to let go, write the best I could, and now I'm just hoping it's worth the read.

I always have to ask myself "is there enough emotion?" and while I sort of don't think there is, I dare not make you all wait for another month. So here. Read it. *runs and hides*

6/5/17 EDITS - I always claim when I get critique that like "oh yea, I'll fix that!" and then I don't. Well, I actually did for once! It's all small stuff. No one should have to go back and read this chapter again. But to new readers, hello! To the old, I'll be updating soon-ish maybe :)

These Wounds Won't Seem to Heal Chapter 13 - The Eyes and Adelina

Germany ran his fingers over the almost perfectly smooth wood. It was sanded flat so that only the tiniest of corrugations were left to tickle his skin. Overtop this sandy wood was a layer of cold, white paint. Or well, he was certain white was what it once was. There were now chips in the paint towards the bottom of the sign, contradicting the smooth texture. A fleck of white that was turned into a cream color caught on his ring finger, and fell to the leaf-lined ground.

The sign was cracked in the top left corner, but otherwise a perfect square with a line of yellow along the outer edge. Some of the black paint made to make the message had also chipped, but it could still be read. It was an old thing, maybe hung here three or five decades ago. In the sign's glory days, it was probably loved by Adelina, a girl whose name was painted onto it. The sign begged in some man's place that Adelina marry him. The sign's brothers and sisters bore messages for Adelina involving wishes for four children, the house they would live in, and the love they would share.

Germany could imagine the day Adelina found these signs. Her tears slipping from her face, and into the crumpled leaves on the ground as her heart swelled. Her eyes probing along the forest for her love - the man behind this sign's creation. Her skin accepting the cool, rain-scented breeze that was ever-present in this land, and her hair flapping though it. He could sense Adelina's joy.

So, why did the sign annoy him so? Why did he think of these mementos as nothing more than litter in the forest? And the most appalling fact of it all was that the man wasn't willing to remove the signs because he couldn't be damned enough to care about this forest. This forest in – well actually, he was only lead out of his car because he realized he was lost, so he hadn't known where it was besides that it was between Berlin and Dresden. This forest, that was his. A patch of land that was represented somewhere on his body.

His heart was all of the bumping footsteps of the people in Berlin, his first, left knuckle was a small town near Hamburg, and he was the land of Germany. He knew himself. If he were lost in Rhine Valley he could glance at the back of his hand, or use his nation sense to find his way out. He was Germany, and he was in Germany, so he should be able to do this! He should have been able to traverse the land that was technically inside himself, and he should have been able to love Adelina and the man and these signs and this forest.

But all of it was lost to him. All of the repeating greens and yellows of these trees were not easing his mind, but boring it to sleep. Getting lost in sleep got him lost in general as he tried to drive with one eye open, but he'd never expected to lose his way anyways. How could he? He knew this land like the back of his hand, or his foot, or his thigh, or his hair's natural part down the middle that made gelling it in the mornings a little more difficult than it had to be. He was supposed to know all of his land, and love all of his people, and share in all of their happiness.

So why didn't he when he imagined this girl? It was as if Adelina wasn't even his child. As if this girl with the clearly German name, who's soon-to-be fiancé wrote in German, was some other nation's citizen. It was like the land he stood on was represented nowhere on him.

Of course, if this really wasn't his land, a dark, dreary, empty forest would bore his tired mind. In that instance, flashes of yellow on signs could be irritating. But this wasn't that instance. He was in his eastern half, but it felt like an entirely different place. This sign, with smooth sanding on the left edge and a slight bump on the right, felt entirely foreign. He didn't feel anything for Adelina, one of his citizens, that he should have. It made the man feel undeniably guilty.

He set the sign back onto the branch of the dilapidated tree he'd pulled it from. As he did, he heard a shuffle of paper; it was his mail. He had brought it and placed it in his pocket because he was in such a rush to leave that morning. A single letter, addressed directly to him, was opened.

Germany, what the hell are you doing?

The sender knowing his real name, rather than his human alias, did not make him uncomfortable. Neither did the fact that he was getting cursed at immediately. He swallowed, looked at "Adelina" in a carefully scripted font on the sign, and then proceeded reading.

Your brother wanted to write to you, so I'm having to attempt to do that for him, but you should know you two are irritating me a great deal.

He looked up again at the sign. Was "Adelina" with a heart for the dot of the "I" mad at him…and his brother apparently, for not loving her properly? Was her image in this forest and that sign on the tree branch the reason he felt this way? His eyes jumped to the end of the page to find a quickly scrawled "Hungary". Why was she, of all people, upset with him?

First him with all of his lies, and now you insist on delaying our release.

At least she had a roof over her head at all. At least Germany was still trying for her, and trying to get Adelina and all of her people back on his side. At least he was trying to figure out why he no longer felt the way he should for his own land and his own people and his own body.

We don't have full access to outside news or anything, but I'm not entirely cut off. I can see that it's been ages. When are you or America or France or whoever the hell going to get us out of here?

First of all, your brother shf eheabd hefbhae ab bej fhsedjs eh sbef

Germany caught his eyes playing tricks on him, focusing and refocusing in the light of the sun filtering through the trees. He blinked, several slow times, and with wide eyes, dared the paper again.

…whoever the hell going to get us out of here? First of all, your brother… Hungary – P.S. Do not reply to this.

He stood there, holding the page for a moment, processing, before he realized he had read the whole thing without reading it. He sighed, shook his head lightly to dislodge whatever nonsense had taken hold of and distracted his brain, and tried again. From the start.

Germany, what the hell are you doing? Your brother wanted to write to you, so I'm having to do that for him, but you should know you two are irritating me a great deal. First him with all of his lies, and you insist on delaying our release. We don't have full access to outside news or anything, but I'm not entirely cut off. I can see that it's been ages. When are you or America or France or whoever the hell going to get us out of here?

First of all, your brother, your idiot elder brother, is

The page went out of focus.

Germany, a little frustrated at this point, folded the note and placed it back into its envelope. He slid the torn envelope into his jacket's inner pocket and decided to be on his leave. He had to get out of this rotten forest – or, no, he meant…antique. He had to leave this beautiful, antique forest and the…the…nostalgic signs behind. There was no time for Hungary and Adelina to shout at him. The letter would be easier to deal with when…when he had his reading glasses. Yes. That's what he needed.

He opened his car door, and slid inside. He looked at "Adelina", and then to his glove compartment. It's not like he didn't know there was a glasses case in there, he just had a feeling it was empty. His glasses were probably on his bedside table, and he was far too lost to just go home and get them. Adelina was not going to be mad at him. This forest wasn't going to confuse him. Hungary wasn't going to worry him. He'd wait until he had glasses to deal with this mess.

"Germany-san, there's a letter here addressed to you," a Japanese man standing behind the island in Germany's kitchen commented. It wasn't odd that there was a letter for Germany in Germany's house, it was odd that it was the only thing out of place in the otherwise pristine home.

"Ah, that. I started to look at it, but never got through the entire thing", he feigned being too busy with highlighters at his place at the kitchen table to pay it much mind, "could you read it out to me?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," it was probably the only way he'd ever get through the damn thing, considering the fact that he'd attempted in vain four more times since his getting out of wherever he was lost, "it shouldn't be anything confidential."

"Right, well then," his nimble fingers found the tear in the top of the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of thin, quickly scrawled on paper. He began to read.

"August 19, 1962

Germany, what the-" A silence pulled the German man from his trivial highlighting. He considered the black and empty eyes that had ceased reading to check in on him. Japan wished he could see the taller man properlu, but with his behind faced to him as Germany hunched over his papers, Japan could only study the muscle fibers of his back.

"It's fine," the German assured, "I've already read most of it. I know what to expect."

"Okay, if you're sure, then - Germany, what the hell are you doing? Your brother wanted to write to you, so I'm having to do that for him, but you should know you two are-" he paused again to regain his gall, "are irritating me a great deal. First him with all of his…lies, and you, you insist on… on delaying our release. We don't have full access to outside news or anything, but I'm not entirely cut off. I can see that it's been ages. When are you or America or France or whoever the hell going to get us out of here?"

There was a long pause wherein which Germany did not bother to cease highlighting, but he could feel eyes upon him.

"First of all, your brother, your… idiot elder brother, is going to die in this house." Again, eyes bore into the German's back. He was very careful not to stir. Nothing to stir about after all; it was just a letter from a woman who didn't know what she was talking about that he simply hadn't found the time to read on his own.

"Russia feels, and constantly tells him, that he is now representative of the eastern half of Germany, and while he's not too sure, I believe it. I'm just going to assume you already know this, as I imagine you can feel when you lose half your land and population to another. So, as I'm sure you can see, this is really…"

Japan had paused reading yet again and found himself looking wearily across the kitchen at his old ally. The granite countertop he'd had his hands rested on suddenly felt ice-cold. "Germany-san?"

"Yes?"

"I do think you should be reading this. It seems sort of personal, and I'm not exactly comfor-"

"It's fine." It'd come out sharper than he intended, but he wanted Japan to read it. He needed him to. Having someone else do it for him meant he didn't have to stop what he was doing for it. And it would mean his reaction was in someone else's presence, and would be forced to be a little more…he shook his head lightly dismissing the first word that came to it, 'controlled'. He could control himself with or without Japan; he was a grown man after all. He just needed someone to save him time. That was all. "Please, read on, Japan."

"…Hai," Japan stated timidly, letting his voice fade behind him as he yet again studied the muscles on the German's back through his thin t-shirt. There was no extra movement. A shift in the right trapezius as the light squeak of the highlighter hit the page, and other than that, motionless. He looked back down at the paper.

"So as I'm sure you can see, this is really killing him." Germany's back twitched now.

"He insists on not informing you of this, but you should know, Germany. It seems like every time someone dies to the red guard, h- uhmm, I mean…. he has a bit of a panic attack." The almond-shaped, watchful eyes did not miss a strain in the shoulders as the blond took a larger than necessary gulp of air.

"When the wall first went up he had this whole episode that Latvia described to me as probably hallucinating about something he kept calling "Ensyde", and then… losing his mind screaming." The chair Germany was in shifted, making a loud, screeching noise on the floor.

"Are you sure this is okay, Germany-san?" Germany held a dryness in his mouth that made it difficult to pull his tongue from the roof of it. The sweat that had collected on his hand from the highlighter made the stupid thing difficult to hold, and the slight tremors in his hands were no help. He nodded. "Again, I can't watch the news too carefully, but from what I've seen, his outburst are all reactionary."

"I don't know what your plans are Germany, or for how much longer you're going to keep-" Japan broke off again, not wanting to continue with the parcel. His line of sight shifted to a blond man who was fidgeting ever so slightly in an oak chair, scared of the upcoming accusations. The blonde's stomach ran away from him in an attempt to recede itself into a tight corner of his body, and the man could feel his rapid heartbeat in his temples. He wanted to tell his friend to keep reading, but his mouth was still dry, and would not open.

The silence collected in the air between them, thickening into an unbearable paste. A page's crinkling sound echoed through it as black irises again found the black text. "How much longer you're going to keep twiddling your thumbs, but we can't take this-"

There was an inaudible sigh. They weren't his thoughts. He just had to remind himself that he was doing exactly what Germany told him to, and that these weren't his thoughts. He had to watch how Germany's back would twitch this time, or how his hands would tremble, or how his head would droop from these thoughts. These thoughts that, he again reminded himself before resuming reading, were not his. "we can't take this suicide anymore."

Germany didn't twitch, rather, his neck spasmed entirely. He seemed to have noticed Japan saw this, and thus twisted his head to the other side, waiting till a loud crack was heard. The other man, with the slightest hint of concern on his brow, and a barely visible frown on his otherwise perfectly straight lips, continued reading.

"First they split you two up, Prussia's idiot Chancellor is forced to join Warsaw, they cut off supplies…but the airlift settled that." Japan added with some hopefulness.

"the connection between east and west was completely cut off, and now, a literal wall. I genuinely think" He read ahead on the conglomeration of accusations before him, and then recited the seething phrase from memory, eyeing that back intently.

"Russia's trying to kill him," Japan said, slowly, watching Germany cap his highlighter as he did, "and I know your half is economically prospering, but I hope you weren't planning to," he observed with his keenest eye, "leave your brother out to dry."

Germany swallowed. There was some pain to squeezing his hands together that tightly, but it was the only way they wouldn't shake. His mouth opened, and he wished to speak, but his wishes as of late tended not to want to come true. He was doing everything he could; everything he could to get his country back into one piece. And now, the crumpled letter with chicken scratch hand writing dared to tell him it wasn't his country anymore. That Dresden, and half of Berlin, and Adelina's signs all belonged to his brother, and that that's how he got lost and bored there.

He realized his forehead hurt from his downturned eyebrows, but he couldn't stifle his anger long enough to settle his expression. The letter dared to tell him as his fingernails dug into the skin on his knuckles, that he was abandoning his brother. His blood. The man who raised him and taught him to be who he was. The loveable idiot he always took the time to apologize for, and stress himself out for, and watch over – was somehow being abandoned to dry and shrivel up to nothing in the icy sun of a Russian winter. Somehow his efforts meant absolutely nothing. The man spoke, but only in tongues of silence with his voice caught in his throat, and black eyes focused on his tense, trembling back.

"Germany-san," he received no response, "could you please look here?" There was a pause, a long one, but eventually Germany twisted in his chair and blue and deep brown met. With their eyes locked, Germany realized he was being scrutinized. Where his eyes opened too wide? His lips shaking? He broke the eye contact to glance at the man's chin instead.

Japan's eyes were not something he wanted focused on him. They were too empty, and too knowing; they saw nothing and everything all at once. They lacked the lifted or drooped eyelids of an expression, or the shine of a thought. Empty, and dark, and black, but when one saw them this close, the black wasn't flat black, but a sort of swirling black, grey, and brown that knew something you didn't. They studied you too carefully and in an instant, could see parts of your soul you had forgotten were there.

And the eyes saw someone who was small, and scared. A child of a nation trapped in an adult body that couldn't hide under the covers when things fell apart.

Neither of their faces moved, Japan's because he was too busy focusing on the still slightly red, flustered, and defensive one before him – Germany's because he was too busy trying to figure out how to come back from this moment of having lost himself. He decided simply to turn from those probing eyes, reclaim his seat, and wave his hand dismissively. He scoffed for a this-is-not-that-serious effect.

"Of course she would say something like that. I'll talk with her later," another scoff, just in case, "on with it. Read."

Japan noted that Germany would not normally demand things of him, but instead of voicing this concern, he returned to the paper.

"Poland and I have discussed making an escape to get back to our people, but Prussia can't leave with us. Russia keeps him locked in the basement, and he's far too weak to get out on his own." Did the monotonous manner of Japan's speech make the words better or worse? Would it have burned brighter or caused Germany's heart to trip over itself even more if this was all being said with or without the intended emotion?

"If our escape plans slip up even a little we'll be completely damning ourselves. Therefore, Poland and I will wait six more months." That wasn't long at all. He could barely plan something this elaborate in six months, better yet initiate it. Maybe it'd of seemed longer if Japan had elongated and exaggerated it. Something like, 'Poland and I will wait six…more… s…..

M

O

N

T

H

S'.

No. That didn't help. He was still scared.

Show us some kind of improvement by then and we won't risk trying to leave." The Japanese man shook his head at this letter. He never would have guessed some nation out there would have audacity quite like this. It was just so demanding. So exacting. "Also, Prussia needs it." And it came with a guilt trip. "If there isn't an improvement soon, I don't know how much longer he's going to last in the house." And they finish it off by putting the weight of another's life on his shoulders. Very clever – he glanced to the end of the note to see who'd written it – Hungary.

It was rare, on his end as her friend at least, to see the woman so angry in this fashion. Passionate and reactionary anger he had seen many times before, but this anger was one she couldn't take out on anything. She couldn't hit it. He supposed the passion and reaction formulated in the scathing letter that she maybe hadn't even realized was so harsh when she'd first written it.

"He's your brother, and now your second half; you should worry about him."

"Wha-" Germany began. His voice caught again behind the sheet someone put in his throat. His mouth fluctuated, as he tried to speak, or even breathe. He did worry. He did! Why, he thought, his eyes reddening and watering in fury, could no one see that? Did they not notice his trips to Berlin, and talks with his bosses, and pleads to America, and days without sleep, and plucked grey hairs, and tears shed in the night? Why were Adelina, his chancellor, his Hungarian friend, his people, and the allies, and his brother worst of all, angry with him? What more could he do?! Two light puffs of air were all he could filter through the block of frustration.

Japan continued reading.

"I guess Poland and I haven't been your best friends in all the world, but I do know you, Germany, and I know you're trustworthy, and that I don't have anyone else I can depend on." Germany stiffened, tightening his hands into painful fists. What more could he do?

"I'm not going to lie to you and write about how okay and perfect and great everything is over here," Germany remained stiff with his jaw locked as he feared the heat collecting in his eyes. What else did they expect?

"because you know it isn't," still stiff and unblinking. What more could he give?

"and you need to fix it." Somehow, he was stiffer. What else could he fix on his own?!

His chest tightened, just between the pecks; lungs begging for air he refused to deliver. It was goddamn embarrassing to have tears streaking down his face right then, and he was not going to sit at his own kitchen table and sob. He'd rather just choke, because what more could he do? Give the man six months and he'd still rather sit there and wait to suffocate than be held and consoled for crying again when his people needed him.

Where was his backbone? His people should not have been doing pole vault competitions in high school track meets as an excited audience encouraged them with chants of "over the wall!". He should not have felt pity at the story of a man who sat on his roof every night to look over the divide and see his wife sitting on her roof too. He should have been enraged and invigorated! He should have figured all of this out before this letter even had time to find itself being crafted, but he had yet to even figure out how he was going to wipe his face without Japan noticing.

"And then there's a dash," the man who couldn't notice this continued, "and it says Hungary, so we can presume it's from her. It ends with, P.S. Do not respond to this." Japan set the letter down on the granite. There was a small number four written in the corner, a trademark for her indicating that it was her fourth attempt writing or sending this letter.

It had been four months after Prussia first told her to "piece together" correspondence home that it finally made it home.

It was just four drops of salty water that had made their ways down past trembling lips. Germany looked to the ceiling now that he was regaining hold of his body's controls, and breathed slowly. The throbbing of his furious headache ceased, and his heart found a normal pace to beat at. His eyes scanned the table for something that could help him, and he found his capped highlighter, a document from two years ago that he'd highlight for little reason, and a glass of beet juice. Perfect.

"Thank you for reading that off. Hungary? Or, I mean, hungry? We ought to order in." The eyes were on him, but he told himself they did not make him nervous. Nervous of what anyways? There was nothing for Japan to find, or even to bother to look for. Germany raised his glass and "accidentally" missed his mouth entirely, pouring the red juice all over himself. Japan observed silently as his friend stood and rushed to the bathroom a ways away from the kitchen.

He seemed to move in a manner that insisted his face not be seen.

"Fine then, a little something." With that the two men left the lofty music room and made their ways down the hall.

The 'little something' the German man had decided on to eat was cereal. Austria tried to serve him, but he insisted on getting it himself, guest or not. As the two got to talking, Germany got himself settled in. First, he retrieved a bowl.

"Not much, Germany. It's just been a little quiet around here without the frequent visits."

"Visits from who?" Then the German man poured the flakes into his bowl while ignoring the fact that his disobedient hands were still trembling.

"…from Hungary. I recently got a letter from her, but, I just haven't seen her face in so long. And, I do see Liechtenstein occasionally, but whenever I do I tend to speak of Hungary and it makes her sad." Austria shut his eyes and allowed his mind to fill with reminiscent qualities of his ex-love. The gold and amber streaks in her chestnut-colored hair. Her big, beautiful, shimmering, olive eyes.

At the thought of her sultry whisper and nectar-sweet laughter he found his fingers tracing the high arching 'n' and low looping 'y' in her name over and over on the table with a bitter smile. H-U-N-G-A-R-Y. Germany placed a spoon to the left of his bowl.

"I'm sure you get it, Germany," the Austrian continued, still tracing light letters on the smooth glass of his table, "I know everyone in the west is trying for her, but I wish I had the financial capita to do more."

Germany supposed he was expected to say "me too", but, he didn't comment.

He had the financial capita to do all he could do, so he would do all he could do, and everyone would stop questioning him for it. He was not about to dread stupidly and trace the characters of Preußen when he knew that that wasn't going to change everything – or anything, actually. He was doing the best he verily could and everyone just needed to start understanding that.

He made his way to the Austrian man's fridge, and opened it.

Germany stared into it, motionless, for so long that Austria noticed him doing so. The man shifted his weight left, then right, up, and down. He reached a hand into the cool fridge and shuffled a few jugs and Tupperware containers around; each one made scraping sounds as plastic slumped past plastic in the tight spaces.

He closed the fridge, and Austria took some relief in knowing the other man was done wasting his power. He continued running his fingertip against the table and mused to a time when they'd done that together. She came up from behind him and wrote, very slowly, an invisible message on the wood. Once he pieced the letters together in his head, he wrote back. For what felt like eternity, they "wrote" on that table and played with pocking each other, slapping hands, and soliciting giggles. The man could still feel her warm and soft cheek pressing against his at a time when they had time to be in love.

"I miss her," he stated, more to himself and the table than anyone.

Of course Austria missed her. Anyone would miss her. Germany missed her. Her with her brutal strength, and the spunk she adopted when she decided she could be a woman, and not be stepped on by men at the same time. Her with her long hair and beautiful eyes; a rare dose of femininity added to the sausage fest that was the world personified. She was strong both in muscle and in heart, and she was a light that the other female nations needed. She inspired them to stand up for themselves, to not be afraid to have a character past "girl", and to be who they needed to be for their people.

Austria missed her, and Germany missed her, and little Liechtenstein who undoubtedly looked up to her as a wise older sister missed her, and Switzerland would never admit it, but he missed her.

Anyone who'd ever known him missed him! They missed his stupid, annoying ass laughter, and they missed when he would feed the indignant bird because that damn thing didn't want to be fed by Germany and would peck at his fingers, and they missed having someone to help them clean who genuinely enjoyed the task. He missed an annoying voice to push him in his workout. He missed lightly mocking the strange coloration of red eyes, silver hair, and pasty white skin.

The world wanted them to be missed. The Germans started another war now they were being punished for it by having to miss their loved ones across the wall or across the continent. If they weren't chastised just enough to break their spirits, but not enough to anger them, his people would surge again. His nation would rise up and he would feel that familiar, elating, and horrifying feeling of nationality flooding to and filling his veins.

His nation had to be treated the way it was treated now because he couldn't feel that again. He couldn't keep sipping on poison to enjoy the high it gave him because eventually he'd sip too much and end himself. It didn't make him happy; it was a terrible, disorganized, belittling system that made him want to, and in some cases brought him to, rip his hair out.

But it was the system. And it involved Russian control of certain places and that was not his fault. He was in no position to question it. So why for all of his life were Prussia and Hungary and some of his people and Adelina and now Austria questioning the very system that was saving his life?!

He couldn't question the system. He was supposed to miss Prussia.

But, he wished he could know that his brother could be there, even if he wasn't.

"There's no milk," Germany announced, with an air of unnatural calmness to his voice and stiffness in his face.

"Okay, well-"

"It's just frustrating, Austria!" Germany said. Or rather, he thought he'd said it but he'd more so screamed it.

"I try!" he went on, still yelling, "I try to have milk in my fridge but sometimes I can't!"

"This is my hou-"

"Try as I might, sometimes things get taken away. Sometimes the system requires that Germany doesn't have any milk! And I'm okay with that, I am! And so are my people!"

"Germany-"

"And no matter how terrible it is that now I can't have cereal, or milk and cookies, or bake cakes, because I have no milk, I eat other things and we abide by the system, and let Russia have the milk because that's the system!"

"Germany."

"And we hate the system!"

"Germany!"

"BUT THAT'S THE SYSTEM!"

"DEUTSCHLAND!" The man was thrown from his thoughts when he realized he was crumping the iron plated door of a refrigerator in his hands. He looked at Austria who was staring at both him and his destroyed appliance in silent terror. Germany set the door, which was now about the size of a beach ball, in front of the fridge.

His hands were bleeding. Dots of red seeped from the joints in his fingers to either side of the spaces between each one. Drops of bloody, fallen people – real people with thoughts and emotions and families – all drowning in their own vitality on either side of that wall. Shot down as they tried to enter their own home, left only to drip onto the hardwood floors of a chilly, Austrian kitchen.

"I will pay to replace that."

"Germany, what happened?"

"I just…I…," the man sighed, ran his bloodied hand over his hair forgetting to care about the flecks of red that might catch in it and mar his appearance, "I'm doing the best I can." He only had his power and his money to work with. What could his money do but the bare minimum to save his or his brother's country? What could his power do but allow his new "allies" to worry about their own nations first, and take as long as they so desired to subdue Russian forces? He pulled the fridge out from the wall and looked on the back of it for a brand name, wondering if the company would even sell him just the right side's door. A bright rose color was now smeared on a white label reading "Liebherr".

"I know you are," the raven-haired man stated. He had gotten up from the H-U-N-G he'd begun on the table and now rested that hand on the German man's tired shoulder, "…and I'm sorry."

"I'll have the fridge taken care of by Monday," he replied. As for rest, he feared he'd never get that into order.

"Italy, this doesn't make any sense," Germany observed. And it didn't. He was studying a proposal the Italian boy was considering taking to his boss that he had first asked Germany to proof read. Surprised by his friend's initiative for once to actually do his job, and needing a distraction from the name "Adelina" and his hungry stomach craving only cereal, Germany made his way over to look.

"How so?" Italy asked from his spot on one side of the table for two they had at a small restaurant.

"Well, it's beneficial to your half of the country, yes, but why would the tax reduction only apply to the north? Not applying it to the south would entice people to move north increasing your population and income, but simultaneously sabotaging your brother."

"Ah," Italy noted, absent-mindedly spinning the straw from his milkshake in a now empty glass, "it does look like sabotage, doesn't it?" The usual up down swinging of his tone that made his words sound like song wasn't present. "How do I fix that?"

"Just extend the tax reductions nationally."

"No, I mean, how do I make it not look like sabotage?"

"You don't want it to look like sabotage?"

"Correct."

"…but…you still want to sabotage him?"

Italy didn't answer immediately. He seemed to find the straw swishing around brown, melted liquid more intriguing than their conversation, or perhaps swishing the straw just made that sad smile a little less sad.

"How's Prussia?"

"Italy, you haven't answered-"

"Fratello will be mad at me if I don't find out. He hasn't said it, but he seems to want to know. He keeps mentioning him…," the sad smile upturned just the slightest bit more, "it's good to see him making more friends."

"Prussia is fine," Germany lied with as much brevity as he could. He was growing impatient with the food that had yet to come out.

"Oh that's good! When will he be back? I really hope he can see Fratello soon~!" His statements seemed to be something he should be excited about, and he said them now with the same bubbliness he'd always had, but he wasn't very good at faking his joy in his face.

"Why?"

"I just want Fratello to make sure he sees all his friends as much as he can in..." Italy broke off, catching himself almost saying something he hadn't meant to, "well, just soon."

"Why soon? You say this like he's got somewhere to go."

Italy sipped the last of his milkshake and then used the straw to scrape the excess from the sides of the cup. He used his time to sip that too. The man had been aging since the end of the war: where he once had his smooth baby-face, he owned bags under the lackluster eyes, black circles, and the shadow of crow's feet lightly etched in beside the eyes that had no more cheer. He still mostly looked to be in his twenties, just tired, difficult twenties with years in his tens that had not been so kind to him.

"How can I fix the proposal?"

"Italy, you were all smiles until we started discussing this and now there's something you're not telling me. Why are you being so cryptic regarding your brother?"

After a minute of full silence, Germany took the milkshake cup from him, leaving Italy with only his hands to fiddle with.

"I fear that if I can't…deepen the divide between north and south that we'll…unify."

Italy said "unify" like they were broken. Like they weren't both a part of the same country, and weren't having to worry about the Adelina's of their land, and the refrigerator door, and installation costing more than just replacing the fridge.

"Isn't unification a good thing? Wouldn't you want all of the country to be equally prosperous?"

"Yes, but my side has always been…we've always had different talents and interests. But, now with schools and people moving, anyone can learn to excel at anything they want, and natural disasters can be prepared for, and the south is improving..."

"Italy, your brother isn't going to overshadow you."

Apparently, it wasn't what he was supposed to say. The Italian started to twirl a finger in his bangs, perhaps to keep his hands and arms over his face to hide the tears welling in his eyes. He was always crying, but if he had decided long before sitting at this table that he was going to get through this without sobbing.

"I know, I just..." Italy trailed off and looked at his friend. He shouldn't have looked. For some reason the straight-set brows, and pools of blue for eyes always scared and enticed him in equal bits. He wasn't scared enough to run, and not enticed enough to stare, but that face always made him open up, whether he wanted to or not.

"I fear Fratello, or I…or both will cease to exist if we unify into one Italy." It came out of his mouth so quickly that Germany almost missed it. Yet again, Italy was reacting to something the wrong way. When an enemy confronted you, you should not run away. When you are told to surrender, you usually shouldn't willingly do it without so much as the batt of an eyelash. When you fear another nation's power, you shouldn't sabotage them…at least not like this.

"Italy, it's okay," Germany assured, "just because you and your brother…"

"…"

"…"

"…my brother…?" an eyebrow raised as the shorter of the two waited on the other to finish his statement. It was a long wait.

Germany had stopped speaking entirely, and stared at the corner of the table without motion. His Italian friend leaned forward, snapped in his face, and began to worry.

"Germany?"

You and your brother, Venesiano and Romano, North and South, West and East, Germany and Prussia.

One was more prosperous than the other, and that is what split them up. One side was abused by Russians or nature itself. The other side was working with the rest of the Allies, or a vast history of talented musicians and artists. One side, North or West, was superior. As nations they worked to improve, and please their people, but how much good could they do for themselves, how many economic-crash-fevers could they get over, and how many strains in the back from poverty could they stretch out before bettering their health meant killing themselves? The South or East sides had to maintain inferiority to remain in existence.

As nations, the sets of brothers saw the same things. As nations, they both recognized the benefit to unifying. Their people would be happier, and their boss would rest a little easier, and the nation would be able to raise its GDP and standard of living. As nations, they strived to unify and return to their hypothetical or former, Italian or German glory.

But, as people, they were siblings of the same ruby red blood. They loved each other, and wanted to be together; even if the brute or stubborn hot-head of the duo dared not admit this aloud. If the Italians unified, one of the two of them would stop existing.

If there was only 'Germany' and not 'The German Democratic Republic' and 'The Federal Republic of Germany', there would only be one. If there was only one Germany, there would only be one person to be Germany. If Germany reunited, he would once again feel Adelina's love.

But he would never again feel his brother's.

Or touch him.

Or yell at him.

Or be yelled at by him.

He wouldn't ever again see his brother.

Not only did Germany not know how to react to this information, but he couldn't react. His mind simply ran over it again and again ensuring there were no skimmed over plot holes. Yet again, there was no way to save himself and save his family. It was always one or the other, and he, as the youngest with the most potential, seemed to keep winning. He seemed to keep growing lonelier and lonelier in his victories.

A tap on the shoulder shook the man from his rapidly running train of thought.

"Germa-"

"We- you can't sabotage your brother. You have to think about his people and their quality of life. This just has to play out the way history and the future want it to."

"But, Germany-"

"You can't just leave your brother out to dry."

"I-"

"Don't you want your whole nation to prosper?"

"I do! But,"

"You shouldn't just let him fall!"

"Germany, you're speaking too fast!"

"You have to help your- his people!"

"I-"

"Think of all those people!"

"Helping his people won't help him!"

The blond opened his mouth, but in the split second it took his mind to process the last comment, his prepared retort died.

"Helping him will help him. But helping him won't help him."

"I…I think so," he made some sort of airy sound effect here, "Germany that was confusing. What should I do?"

The German's face went completely blank.

"Would you like pepper?" a man asked. He stood over Italy, who had just been handed a plate of steaming hot pasta, with a pepper grinder. Italy shook his head and received no pepper. He broke away from the man and looked back at his blonde friend to find the other man eating voraciously, and avoiding his gaze.

"Adelina or my brother," he wondered? As if he had any choice.

Italy picked up his fork, not wanting to keep talking, and not willing to let the pasta get cold.

Well if that didn't take me forever and a day to write. This is, you guessed it, a re-write. The first version had this whole thing with Austria and Liechtenstein that I just didn't like.

I never know if I describe emotions well enough before they overflow. Like when Germany sort of cried a little. Originally, I WASN'T GOING TO HAVE ANYONE CRY FOR ONCE. LIKE SERIOUSLY. But for whatever reason, as I was revising that section, I myself could not stop crying. I was like, why am I crying? Tears are making it hard to read here bruh. But I took my own emotion as a sign that Germany needed a little more. So, I just slipped it in. Little build up to how his throat was closing and eyes stinging and face distorting, just one second he was mad and in his head, and in the next he was mad because he cried. Hope that worked… *wipes face covered in tears*.

*wipes face again because I typed another section, and again started sobbing for no identifiable reason. Maybe it's because I know this chapter is garbage but am too rusty from not writing in forever to know how to fix it.* I feel like unless one of my characters has a mental breakdown, the chapter is just not that good. However, I feel like I'm kind of compromising the status and personalities of the nations. You'd think after hundreds to thousands of years of dealing with stress that they could handle not crumpling a fridge and getting mad about "milk", but I kind of need to stretch their emotions for the story's sake. So, I'm sorry every single character is a big weenie. But again, even with the breakdown, I didn't feel it was all that good, therefore it took me forever and a year to write and edit and is nearly 4,000 words longer than I usually write.

I also wanted this chapter to specifically NOT check in on Prussia, and while I did that, I don't know what else to write about while I waited. So, not much happened here. I'm sorry if it's a bit of a disappointment after last time, especially considering how long you all waited. Next chapter will return to our hero, and finally get over this Russia arch, so maybe you'll like it better?

Anyways, I want to thank you all for the splendor of positive feedback in reviews last chapter. They all made me extremely happy, and giggly, and stupid, and I love y'all for taking the time to post.