My goal in life as an artist is to create a masterpiece (shocking, I know). A real piece of art. Something that can touch the hearts, bodies, minds, and souls of its viewers simply by being. The latest masterpiece I've been exposed to is Dear Evan Hansen. It is a BEAUTIFUL Broadway play, and while I don't live in NY and had to watch it online, if it ever does a world tour or I ever get to travel – I WILL go see it.

If you've never seen it, and have some tissues nearby, get on bootlegbroadway right now and WATCH IT. This is unless you can actually go to a theater to see it. They need legitimate, monetary support. One song from the musical that was particularly masterful was You Will Be Found. I feel this way about that song because as I listened to it, it reached me in different ways. I cried a lot during the first half of this musical.

This song was (another) tear fest for me because it kind of sounds like Gospel. My connection to God and religion is wobbly at best, but if you even have just the slightest fragment of belief, hearing a chorus scream "you will be found" made me throw my hands in the air in a "Jesus take the wheel" fashion. There's something powerful about having someone or something to believe in (even if it's not God).

Furthermore, I cried because of the lyrics. Our protagonist, Evan, has been through a LOT at this point, and you are made to relate to him. Even if you don't have any kind of clinical depression, anxiety, or other such issue, everyone has felt the motions at some point. Loneliness, heart break, feeling irrelevant, unloved, anything really; we have all had a time where we felt alone and worthless. The musical does a great job of pulling up those discarded feelings in its viewers and then blasting them with exactly what someone wants to hear in that moment. "You are not alone, you will be found". It gets you right in the feels.

Finally, I cried for the protagonist. I just wanted Evan to be happy damnit! I wished I could jump through my screen and give that man a hug. I knew he was an actor, I knew it was all fake, but I still felt so BAD for him. It made me wonder if there were truly lonely people in my life who I could've loved as much as I loved Evan, but had been neglecting. I wanted to call someone and tell them I loved them. I wanted to give the universe a collective hug.

So really, the single song in the musical hit me four different ways. Spiritually, personally, with my relationships with others, and in the way most things try to – by making me care about the characters involved. That was just ONE PERSON's interpretation of ONE SONG. Never mind the whole theater or the whole musical. THAT is what a masterpiece looks like to me. A bunch of people sobbing.

Now, is this story I'm writing a masterpiece? No. Not by any stretch of the word. I doubt it's hit anybody spiritually, good luck finding a personal connection to personified dirt, in writing this I as the author haven't thought of loved ones or friends so why would you given that you as the reader are even more disconnected from all this than I am, and the only reason you care about the characters is because of Hima-papa, not me. So that's 4pts Dear Evan Hansen, 0pts this Story whose title is a reference to a song that gives everyone the preconceived notion that they should be sad upon reading it rather than the story actually making you sad.

Has anything I've ever drawn or painted or worked on been a masterpiece? If so, no one cared to let me in on that secret. But if working on embarrassing fanfiction or getting frustrated with drawing hands gets me a step closer to creating something that can touch even one person the way Dear Evan Hansen perfectly touched its entire audience – then I'll be more than happy to do it.

Welcome to the next chapter. (The title is a reference.)

Dear Gilbert Beilshmidt,

Today is going to be a good day, and here's why: you're home.

Germany opened his mouth, fully ready to say it this time, but his jaw opening and a drawing of breath was as far as he got. No sound came. He sighed and glanced at the time, and it mocked him by being a half hour ahead of when he'd planned to wake his brother.

Prussia was supposed to get started on a schedule of sorts. Wake up, shower, get dressed, eat, do normal things like a normal person instead of counting the cracks in the floor or the veins in your arm out of sheer boredom.

But his chest rose and settled so carefully, and the ceiling fan gently whipped cool air on his face making him hug into the blankets. There was a slight blush on his nose from the bit of a fever he'd gotten, and Germany could only imagine the teeny smile on his face was the result of good dreams. Who was he to stop that?

Stop that and bring Prussia into what? His comfortable home? Beilschmidt Manor that, once upon a time had a large lawn stretching back into the vivid, freshly cut, green grass? A glorious, lavish, expensive, flamboyant show of wealth with just the right amount of homely touches?

No, Germany couldn't take him to that because now upon the times, the grass had turned to weeds that stretched up to the windows, and the furniture was gone. The floors were dull, the stairs were dusty, and the carpets were messy. Beilschmidt Manor now it stood slightly dilapidated and hiding in the shadow of its lost dignity.

It sounded pitiful in theory; a man who's fallen so far he now had to live in his little brother's basement, but it was the only viable option. It was all Germany had to offer. When his government cut his funding, he could no longer afford to pay two mortgages, so the more expensive one had to go. Everything from the manor made its way into a grey cube of storage, or a pitiful, unnamed basement in the heart of Berlin.

135 meters of measly space in that basement wasn't a large enough containment field for such glory as Prussia's possessions, at least according to the thoughts hiding in the corner of Germany's brain.

Rather than a house, all he had to offer was three rooms; bedroom, bathroom, and living space. It was too small, and too dark, and these blue books from his brother's endless collection did not make good wallpapering.

The wood floors and carpet had been swept, mopped, polished, and vacuumed, and the window sills were vigorously dusted every day awaiting Prussia arrival. But the lightbulb still wasn't bright enough, and the TV still had a glare, and the ceiling fan still wobbled as it spun. If he couldn't get the space perfect, Germany hoped he could at least have made it good, but the man was struggling as it was to believe it looked acceptable.

At around five in the morning when they finally made it home from The Wall, Prussia hadn't bothered with changing, or asking questions, or even turning a light on. He threw himself onto his bed in exhaustion and was asleep in minutes with his brother sitting by his bedside. He'd slept like a newborn baby since then.

But the schedule, the schedule was important. Even if now sunlight streamed in through the opened blinds and revealed to Prussia the horror he'd now have to call home, he had to wake up and see it eventually. Sleeping for 29 hours was honestly cause for concern, so Germany had to wake him now.

He opened his mouth.

"Prussia." He'd said it as if he feared his own voice, and such a sound didn't make the man in question even stir, better yet wake. Germany willed his vocal chords to make sound again, but he'd lost his will, and his body would no longer obey.

Very carefully, not wanting to wake his sibling with the sound, the younger of the two unfolded a crumpled sheet of paper and his eyes scanned it.

Loud noises… When she won't eat I have to… Usually wakes around two in the morning… Freezes up at the sound of…

It was all written in the loops and scrawls of Austria's elegant hand writing. Upon receiving his invitation to Prussia's welcoming party, Austria express mailed Germany his own letter; a list of Hungary's triggers and solutions he'd found. From what Germany had collected, Hungary wasn't a complete mess, but there were some things that caused her slight discomfort, which build to paranoia, which became fear. Living in fear is no way for Germany's brother to live.

I know we're trained to deal with this kind of thing, and see it all the time, the man had said, but it can be a little hard to think militarily when the one involved is someone you care for. I still don't know all of what happened, she won't tell me much and a lot of my knowledge is simply speculation, but the results are messy.

I've heard Poland has simply fallen into a depressed state – Poland, of all nations – and Hungary is clearly dealing with a Post-Traumatic Stress. Neither one of them have completely fallen apart as the humans would, so maybe Prussia will be just fine, but in case he's not, here's some of what I've discovered works for Hungary and me when she's having a moment.

He had already read it, and read it again, and re written it in a small notebook for himself, and then read it from the notebook, and had a light panic because of it, and memorized the first half of it, but just in case, he read it again.

She's good at following the new schedule now that she's on it, but if I have to wake her, I just try to do so gently. On days I send her to sleep at her own house, she seems to do fine if she's woken by sunlight or birds chirping instead of a wild alarm clock.

So then, gently. He just had to wake his brother gently.

"Prussia." It was still too soft.

"Prussia!" Oh God, not gentle at all. He rested a hand on his brother's slender shoulder, and with some internal battle, he made himself shake it – lightly.

"Prussia, it's well past time to get up." The albino man let out a murmur.

"Prussia, will you get up?" It sounded like more of a command with his deep voice, but he was trying his best.

Prussia arched his back and pulled his arm over his head stretching every knotted up muscle from those in his fingertips to his toes. The man glanced to the left, letting the fog and blurriness clear from his vision, and saw the only person he wanted to see. A smile stretched across his pale cheeks from the splotch of discoloration on the left, to the still-healing scar on the right. He grabbed him.

Germany didn't melt away, he wasn't out of reach, and when hugged, he didn't force his brother away like he did in the dreams. He was big, and warm, and actually there, and that's all Prussia needed.

"Ah, uh, good morning," Germany said from inside his brother's chest, a little startled and confused.

"Ni hao. C'est mon bruder," Prussia replied, and you could hear the smile in his words.

"Um…that's a lot of languages you've got going on there…right, I think you should get ready for the day," Germany gently pulled away from the embrace with something that was almost a grin on his face, "people will be here to greet you in a few hours."

"I thought the party was the 11th."

"It is the 11th. You slept all day yesterday and I didn't want to disturb you…so…" Prussia was looking around the room with one eyebrow raised and the gesture ended Germany's train of thought.

He hated it. He hated it, and he wasn't going to say he hated it, but he hated it.

Prussia's smile returned. "You moved all my recent bookshelves in here?"

"The others are in storage. I didn't want to have them everywhere so I only put them in the bedroom. I know they take up a lot of space lining the walls like this, but I didn't know how else to…to…Prussia?"

The man was grinning wildly, eyeing every shelf, letting himself be enveloped in the scent of paper and a sea of blue. Then he was giggling, then full on laughing. He covered his face and laughed into his hands.

How had his brother thought of this? It was so perfect; to have all of his dearest possessions surrounding him, and to put his latest bookshelf right near his bed so he could write and then go straight to sleep.

"Thank you," he said through giggles.

"You're thanking me?"

"Yes," and he smiled again towards his little brother, "thank you. I just- OH! MY WARDROBE!" Prussia jumped from bed and ran to the only place in the room that wasn't blue, "YOU MOVED MY WARDROBE!"

"Well, there isn't a closet in this room so I figured you'd need…"

Prussia threw open the Oakwood doors and chuckled into his clothes. They smelled like victory.

"You know this thing is antique," he said, pulling out his old, favorite pair of blue jeans, "it doesn't look like it because I've kept it well, but I always really loved it."

Germany threw himself into a wind of panic. It was 13th or 14th on the list! He couldn't recall which one exactly, but he knew that Hungary's weigh loss was one of her triggers. Prussia had lost a lot of muscle, and a good bit of fat too. His hands, wrists, and shoulders were basically skin and bone, and the rest of him barely held up. Germany hadn't had a chance to gently explain how his old clothes probably wouldn't fit.

There Prussia stood, inside his jeans, pulling the waistline away from himself creating quite a lovely gap for some "after" picture in a weight loss commercial. He looked shocked, horrified, mortified, and as he released his pants and they fell off, right to his ankles, he howled.

In laughter.

"I knew I lost weight but would you look at this?" he bent over, turning red and losing his breath, "they don't fit at all!" It was apparently the funniest thing that'd ever happened.

He stepped out of his pants and ran to his brother, hugging him.

Again.

For whatever reason.

"I guess we'll have to buy me new clothes," he said, struggling to stifle his snickers, "that is until I get my workout back in order. I don't plan to look like this forever! I'm gonna go right back to being bigger than you."

Germany couldn't remember a time when his brother was bigger than him, but he didn't think mentioning that would do any good.

"Did you make breakfast? You did didn't you? I smell something great."

"Yes. Go eat some and then maybe shower. I'll go out and buy you smaller pants so you don't have to wear that same outfit you came here in. I made Schlackwurst and a strawberry jam."

"Awesome! I love strawberry!"

"I know. That's why I… are you okay?"

"Yea. I'm not still tired or anything." Prussia did a little shoulder dance in anticipation, "I have not had strawberry in forever! Bruder, come eat with me!"

"But I have to buy your clothes." By the time Germany said that he was already being led halfway up the stairs.

"We'll buy them together."

"But there's likely to be a big crowd at the store, and-"

"Y…You won't know what I like."

"I do know what you like. I'll just get one or two sizes smaller. It's fine, I don't want you to get caught up…in…" Germany's voice faded to silence as Prussia paused his assent up the stairs to look into him; past the icy blue irises and dilated pupils.

"Bruder, let's eat," he'd said, not letting his hold on his sibling's wrist slack, "then we'll go together." There was just the slightest change in his face. A minute wobble of the smile, and bit of a crinkle in the brows, and a sheen of worry barely in the eyes. It wasn't boldfaced, it wasn't anything a horrified human would show the German man, but it was there.

The younger brother nodded in agreement.

It was a small space, but in Prussia's opinion that made it better. Everything was tight. You couldn't look at the banner reading "Welcome Home" in bolded, German letters without noticing the circular table with a cloth draping to the ground and a cake raising three tiers tall.

If you saw the cake then surely you had seen that table of finger foods, and if you were looking at that your eyes hadn't missed the wine and beer coolers. The confetti fell closer and covered the entire floor – a fun cleaning project for later – and the lights shined brighter in such a small space. It was the perfect place for his party.

"Hello."

Prussia spun around and gasped at the wavy hair flowing to his friend's shoulders and the glisten of light in his violet eyes. His glasses looked bigger than Prussia could remember, and he looked taller too, but it was still the same man.

"Canada!" he greeted with far too much enthusiasm and a tight hug, "What's up dude?!"

"Nothing much. Good to have you ba-"

"Oh, I know you've missed me," Prussia claimed with a sorrowful expression on his face, "I can't imagine the kinds of horrifically unawesome things you've done without my influence."

"Mon petit has been very excited to come by," the duo heard echoing down the staircase until France appeared in view with an Englishman trailing grumpily behind him, "but not nearly so much as I!"

With that, France threw himself onto Prussia in a passionate hug. He cried in a dramatic reenactment of his days without his "dearest friend and lover", and then kissed him dead on the lips just as Italy made his way down the steps. This lead to Italy also wanting to kiss Prussia, Germany becoming rather stressed, and Prussia giggling in response to his sexual assault.

Before long, the entire world had begun to trickle in.

There were some people, like America, who were just endlessly happy to see him, and the feeling was mutual. Denmark insisted on telling him that, over and over again, and each time Prussia would say, "thank you! It's good to be back!" and his smile would reach his eyes. Japan was his usual self, entering with a deep bow and general indifference past that, except that he sort of smiled once, and didn't seem 100% uncomfortable when he was hugged. Maybe more like 75%.

Some nations chose to come with gifts. Hungary had forced Austria to carry in a microwave while she had the mini-fridge, as she was certain Prussia would enjoy being able to eat whenever he wanted. Lichtenstein had come in with a set of ballpoint and fountain pens in an array of colors, with each one tied in ribbon. Switzerland, upon being looked at after this, claimed his presence was gift enough. Prussia agreed. China - who was not really invited, but came along with all of Asia anyways - had prepared a very large pot of food no one bothered to question, and ate to the last grain of rice.

While the Prussian was more than willing to talk, for some people, Germany became a liaison for conversation. He and Austria spent the entire time huddled in a corner watching Hungary and Prussia with sharp eyes. Spain came in and awkwardly asked Germany questions he didn't know the answer to, such as "is he mad at me?", "what should I say to him?" and the often repeated, "has he said anything about me?".

This is until Germany grew annoyed with it and loudly announced, "Spain's here!". The Spaniard jumped at the sudden hollering of his name, and once Prussia spotted him he seemed ready to flee. However, within minutes, France, Prussia, Spain, and Scotland were playing tag with Sealand (who was later chastised by his adoptive parents).

Romano came in being a real hard-ass about things, but claimed that since he had Amor en la Ciudad on DVD, Prussia would have to come to his house to continue watching it. He was the only one of all Prussia's guests who didn't receive a hug, because he threatened violence if such a thing were to befall him. Prussia settled for grinning in his direction every couple seconds like a schoolboy in love. The other found it rather irritating.

The entire time, that broad smile never left his lips. He was happy when Romano cursed at him in a mixture of five languages, he was happy when Belarus didn't see him, sat on him, and then refused to move, he was happy when Latvia giggled at Belgium's joke and then repeated it to Prussia as if he somehow hadn't heard it, and he was happy when nothing was happening at all.

He looked around the small space of his little party – the place that he would be able to call home for a little while. After all, Russia was probably right. He was nothing without the man's protection.

"Hello, Prussia. I've been here an hour already and I haven't even spoken to the guest of honor." It was Cameroon. He sat down beside Prussia and offered a bit of a grin. "How are you enjoying being back?"

"Very well."

"And what's the plan now?" the man asked, his black eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

"Enjoy the time I have left."

Cameroon took a moment to sit with that, before his eyebrow raised in confusion. "Time left of the party? Germany said on the invites it could go all night, but he'll probably kick us out at some point."

The deep, dark skin of his people combined with broad shoulders, a wide chest, a deep voice, and a certain air of authority in his gaze. The triangular patch of "Africa in Miniature" near the Gaul of Guinea had personified into such a powerful and intelligent man – characteristics Prussia wasn't quite sure he himself possessed anymore.

"Yea," he looked away from his past and back into his small celebration in his small space, "the party."

"Let's cut the cake!" Prussia announced with giddy yell. It was about 5:30p.m. by then, and while most nations planned on staying all night anyways, the food was getting a little stale and soon they'd have to take to a bar or restaurant to continue festivities.

"Right then," Germany said, walking up to the table. And then he remembered the one thing he forgot. A knife. With an "I'll be right back," the man bound up the stairs to his kitchen to retrieve it.

It should've been in the third drawer from the stove, but it wasn't. A plethora of knives were there: some smooth, several serrated, two butcher knives, a peeler, but no triangular cake-cutter. Perhaps he'd put it in the second drawer with the spatulas, but it wasn't in there either. Just red and yellow silicone.

The man sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Here he was searching frantically for a plastic triangle when he had work to do. He still had a report to file, and a survey to instruct the union to conduct. He had to find someone to clean the rubble from the wall, and…and now that they were unified…he had to figure out what Prussia was.

Why he was still…

Maybe he'd washed the cake cutter in preparation. He glanced in the utensil bin and - nothing. Why couldn't he recall where he'd put the darned thing?!

A shrill ringing and strong vibration in his back pocket jolted him from his thoughts.

"Hallo," he sternly said into the receiver. His boss was on the other line. Seeing the name on the caller I.D. had confused him for just a moment. His mind went back to his "decade off".

It was a saying of nations that when their land was in a time of peace and prosperity, and the nation personification didn't really have much to do, that they were in a decade off. The decade off didn't always last a decade, but regardless they filled this time partaking in human activities.

America had a law degree from the 20's, during his Enlightenment France opened an art gallery, and in his "decade off" Germany had taken up work as an accountant. It was an oddly entertaining time, being a small man who was irrelevant amongst many others, doing small things for the few. He typed numbers into machines and that would either make clients happy or his bank happy, and that was all he was responsible for.

No wars, no famine, no genocide, no pollution, just numbers and a cubicle he'd decorated with a mug reading "World's Best Dad", a photo of the wife and two daughters he'd pretended to have, and a stack of books having nothing to do with military tactics. At that time he'd inputted his boss' name into his phone simply as "Boss", and for some reason, seeing that name again in the device made him wonder where his excel sheets were.

"Yes sir, I actually already emailed that to you yesterday," he replied into the phone with a rhythmic consistency.

There was just something fun about being human for a while. Something about it that made everything easier. Judging by some literature he'd had time to read, humans seemed to think they envied a life of immortality. They believed it would be better for them. An intelligent few had delved into this issue in a more realistic way though.

If things never ended, there would be no point to doing anything. If you had all the time in the world, why not sleep and go to school tomorrow? Or perhaps society would continue on as it were and people would be forever stuck in an endless life of miserable labor.

Or maybe there would be no time to throw a little gathering for your "brother" because he wasn't your brother. He was nothing more than the physical interpretation of an idea. He and you and all your friends are nothing more than dirt, and the people on said dirt, and the government established over said dirt, and the sovereignty of the people who established this government in the containment field of their conquered dirt.

Prussia was really just land, but as soil with a specified guideline around it he had to do so much. There were millions of people who would die if he was unsuccessful, they would be unhappy or impoverished if he failed, he along with them would be subdued and forced into a life of fear if the government triumphed too far over his head. He had no time to work for a little sinecure crunching numbers in a box-shaped office. He was some very important land.

Or was he? Now one couldn't be sure if he was some very important dirt, or if he still is. Was his relevance fading or had it cemented itself in some new way yet again? Was that even possible?

"Alright, I will get that right to you." He'd said it into the device with the same aggressive tone he'd liked to give his new bosses, but his face had become solemn. Why did he have to be Germany all the time? Why couldn't he step away for a moment and be Ludwig? Why was his other name, the only thing other than his appearance that made him even just a little bit human, nothing more than an alias?

"Thank you. Goodbye." Germany hung up the phone, and then he decided to become Ludwig.

It didn't matter who his "brother" was, and he wasn't about to put quotes around brother anymore either! Gilbert was his brother. His human brother. His human brother who had a wife with short hair and a son who came out blonde, and Ludwig was a human man who had a wife with long hair and a daughter who came out with a streak of silver.

His daughter was excited when the streak grew in and had told her father she was "transforming into uncle Gil!" They joked often about trading kids, and their wives were friends, which sort of scared them. However, when their families were away they'd throw little get-togethers like this and just relax. They could relax and stop worrying. Stop thinking. Stop wondering.

And they could remember that they'd put the cake cutter on the drying rack over the fridge.

He grabbed the dastardly thing and rushed back into the basement where he was welcomed rather pleasantly.

"Oh, he's back!" Francis announced, his eyes a little wide, as if fearful.

"Yes," Kiku cooed, resting a hand on Gilbert's back as he spoke, "we can cut the cake now."

With a wild grin, Ludwig handed over the cake cutter and watched his one and only brother stand from his chair, turn around, and slice a thick triangle into the bottom tier of vanilla. Rodrich gave Ludwig a bit of an odd look, but it was brushed away when Elizabetha handed him a plate.

Gilbert then reached to hand Ludwig a cake with a second-tier slice of chocolate on it.

"Danke, bruder," Ludwig responded, and Gilbert followed close to sit next to him on the couch.

"This is gonna be good," Prussia thought in anticipation for his cake. He watched his brother shuffle around the base of the cake table before announcing that he needed to go get a cutter. He knew each level of the cake was a different flavor, and he was most excited for the triple chocolate middle portion with moist chocolate cake, Belgian dark chocolate to make the frosting, and chocolate chips and sprinkles baked in.

Germany had made it, so that meant, of course, it would be delicious. Prussia watched his brother walk off, and up the steps, and after the fourth step he turned to continue up.

And then he was gone.

Germany was gone, out of view, vanished.

Where had he gone to?

"Prussia-kun?" Japan asked, his brows furrowed.

Prussia stalked his head around the room. There were faces, lots of them, but none were right. None of them where of heads taller than his with the hair brushed back and eyes an icy blue. None of them were right.

"Prussia-kun?"

"Where's Germany?"

"He-" Japan seemed surprised, "he just went upstairs."

Upstairs. Out of the basement. Out of the cellar and he was gone forever. What was happening to him up there?

"Prussia-kun. Are you alright? You're looking paler than usual."

Prussia was startled to find he was moving. Chains in the shape of Japan's hands forced him onto his cot. Austria looked over him. "Austria, run!" he wanted to say but his lips refused to move.

"What's wrong with mon ami?" he heard a voice a million miles away ask. The plush carpet beneath his feet morphed itself into a cold, cracked, cemented basement floor. There were sounds but they were all too muffed and muddled to hear from behind the iron door. The chains pushed him back again.

"Prussia-kun, say something."

Speak? He couldn't. Not when he could hear the steps. The thick, spiky snow boots stomping down the staircase to destroy him. He knew it was fake, it all had to be. It was a rather elaborate trick, but of course it was a trick. Why would Germany be back? Why would they get a chance to be together? Why would Russia let him go?

A raspy gasp escaped his lips as the steps got closer to the bottom of the staircase. He glanced up to see "Welcome Home" scrawled atop his head.

Home.

Why did it say that?

It seemed such a far away and foggy word, almost incomprehensible. He should've known he no longer had such a place allotted to him.

"He might start hyperventilating," Austria said to the small group of onlookers, "give him some space."

Following the command Austria, Hungary, France, and Japan all took a step or two away from Prussia's frame. Everyone else at the party seemed too distracted with food, games, talk, or the spectacle that was drunk-England to notice anything.

"Prussia? Prussia. You need to calm down. Deep breaths," Austria tried, before adding, "He's not hearing me." The Prussian appeared to have shut down entirely, eyes dull, and his whole body unmoving.

"Prussia," Hungary said, kneeling before him, and he looked at her wide eyed.

What was she doing down here? If Russia caught her he'd bludgeon her to death!

"Go!" he whispered.

"Go?" Hungary furrowed her brows in confusion.

"Oh, he's back!" France announced, his eyes a little wide with shock. France as a nation didn't like to think of the humans as entirely fragile, just inexperienced. Even with them and their lack of experience with the horrors of the world, it was hard to find something that would break a person's resolve.

Countless numbers of their friends would fall, they could hold bleeding carcasses or still beating hearts in their hands, and somehow, they'd fight on. It had to be either time to let everything sink in, or something particularly terrible to make a human lose it. So, to see a nation react like this wasn't unheard of, but still startling never the less. And react to what exactly? What was living with Russia like?

"Yes," Japan cooed, resting a hand on Gilbert's back as he spoke, rubbing small circles into it in hopes of calming the man "we can cut the cake now." Was that what Prussia wanted? To cut the cake? No, he must have wanted Germany back. He only started to panic once the man had left.

He was a cold, shaking, sniveling, pathetic little mess chained to that basement cot. Prussia wondered with growing anxiety why Russia didn't just kill him. Kill his brother. Kill their people. What was the point of this separation anymore? It was too painful. He'd rather just-

A plastic cake cutter was placed into his hand. Prussia looked up and his blacked-out vision cleared, to show his brother grinning at him. He was to cut a cake.

He stood, turned towards the tower of sugar, and pressed down onto it, watching the frosting split about the knife. This cake was commemorating his "Welcome Home".

Home.

It seemed such a far away and foggy word.

He couldn't signify an exact location that was his home anymore, but more the feeling of what being home was. It was something like this; a smile in his brother's face with all his friends and family around to welcome him.

"This cake is going to be really good!" He thought.

Austria glanced at Germany, but not long after, his ex-wife shoved a plate in his face. "Later," her eyes said. She was happy she was blessed with only Austria knowing the intricacies of the struggles she was having. When she'd had a bit of an episode in front of Lichtenstein and Switzerland, she wanted to die once it was over.

Hungary took a glance in the siblings' direction. What had they thought of her? Surely that she was pitiful to be so out of control of her emotions after just a couple decades of misfortune. She should've been able to withstand more. Especially considering that treatment like that had essentially become the Baltics' entire life. She wished she was stronger, and she was sure that soon Prussia would wish he was stronger too. No use further embarrassing him right then.

The last person to get a slice of cake was Germany himself. After handing it to him, Prussia grabbed his own plate and went to sit with his brother, and he grew excited for the taste of the melty chocolate chips.

"Is it good?" the German man asked after he'd seen his sibling take a bite.

"Yes," Prussia said, admiring the flecks of golden confetti on his floor. If he could just be allowed to stay here, just for a little while longer before he had to go, then it would all be, "perfect."

I HAVE AN ETSY - even if you're not going to buy anything, would you have a look? kaygeecreative. - Okay, sorry for the shameless (shameful) self promotion.

How was the ending? I rushed it. In all honesty I am SO SAD I DON'T GET TO WRITE MORE OFTEN! *sobs*. This story has made it up to 50 reviews, which I thought would mean I did something celebratory! I know on youtube at big view counts they do Q&A videos, or give aways.

I have no money. I cannot give you anything but a story. And I would LOVE to do a Q&A, but as I thought about it I realized you all probably don't come here for me and my page long author's notes. I mean some of you read them, and you are blessed angels, but that's not the main reason. You're here to watch Prussia fall apart. So, with that being said…

Thank you all so much for 50 reviews. If I get to 100 reviews before the end of this story, I will commit to a posting schedule (say a chapter every two weeks or something), but regardless of that, I greatly appreciate all the time and care you guys have put into typing your reviews. It's not only helpful critique, but it makes me extremely happy to see that you like what I write.

So, as a thanks for giving me 50 lovely reviews I promise I will post AT LEAST once every 2 months. I know it's not a very big commitment, but having just started college it's all I can manage. You all came here for the story, so as thanks for reading it, I promise more story. I like writing, so despite my time constraints I feel I should commit even more of myself to it anyways. So there you go.

Now, let's do what I usually do in an author's note and talk about this chapter. I actually don't have much to say. Just that one review that I saw that had me a little bent out of shape said my depiction of Romano is OOC. This isn't false at all, but when I go OOC, I try to keep it as on character as possible.

By this I mean, let's say I needed Japan, the stiffest and most emotionless board of them all, to cry. Well, first he'd need a lot of stress. A lot of time stuck with his emotions. And then, he wouldn't burst into sudden sobs. He'd cry maybe like one or two tears, preferably in private, and then respond by being very ashamed of himself. It seems Japan-esc to me while still allowing him to follow my plot and cry.

So here, in this story, I have concepts that are certainly not touched on in the anime or webcomic. As Japan never (seriously) cries, the characters have also never suffered (visibly) from PTSD. However here I am trying to work that into my story. I struggle to make all of my characters seem authentic, while still being able to slip out of the lines of how they usually seem, and be a little daring. So, I hope that here I sort of…corrected my overly-loving Romano while still making him friendly, and found a way to play down while playing up the PTSD in Prussia and Hungary.

They are both still fine, they can both still live their lives, but they struggle in their own respects. Prussia (As alluded here but will be further elaborated on later if it isn't clear) doesn't even remember these moments, and Hungary is ashamed of them. This…this is something they'd do? Right? All I'm trying to say is, I hope my choices with the events in this story don't make everyone seem so OOC that it ruins your reading experience.

That's pretty much all I wanted to talk about. Thank you for your abundant patience on this chapter and THANK YOU FOR 50 REVIEWS YOU LOVELY PUMPINKS YOU! What are your Halloween plans? Mine are to miraculously make college friends and miraculously finish all my work so I miraculously have time to buy or make a costume and look sexy but not slutty and go to a party and miraculously have fun even tho all I've done so far is struggle alone. 😊 wish me luck.