I do not know what I want to do with this story. In the months I've been gone I've been writing, but nothing is sticking. I've gained and lost motivation, loved and hated ideas, and just been afraid. I want to do something a little rash, and a little different. It's 2am five days after I had to break up with my boyfriend and two days after I find out yet another of my relatives is having (possibly) fatal health problems, perfect time to slap this together and make a "decision".

I'm writing this story because I like to write, and while the format I've had has worked chapter after chapter, for this one, it's just not going to work. I want to spend some time focusing on Prussia's mind and no one else. I just don't feel like writing about anyone else! So, I won't force myself to. I think if I free myself up a bit more I can get this chapter written.

Everything going on in my personal life is really keeping me from finishing my usual 5000-7000 word long chapter, so, this chapter is cut EXTREMELY short. My next chapter (to be uploaded Saturday February 3rd unless there are some extraneous circumstances) will also be short, just FYI. They're an experiment for me. Because I love what I have written by now but just CAN'T for the life of me make it fit into my 3 or 4 part, character-swapping format that I have going now. So, I hope that you will all accept this deviation from the norm for what it is.

These Wounds Won't Seem to Heal - Chapter 16 - Awkward

"You won't lose track of me. You will all know exactly where I'm going, how long I'll be there, and when I will return" Germany insisted. He could feel his phone vibrating in his back pocket, and reached to grab it.

"Not lose track of you," America started, swishing his pursed lips from side to side in thought, "lose track of…your mindset." He looked at his companion and offered a light grin. Germany did not grin back. Nor did he pause the conversation to answer his phone.

"My mindset. By that you mean-"

"We just don't want you to fly off the handles again, dude. Got to keep things kosher."

The German began to wonder if it was fair for him to feel insulted. They sat side by side, America driving and Germany trying to find something he could resonate with in the side of the other man's face. There was nothing but a smile, twinkle in the eyes, and general radiance that gave no sense of understanding of the weight of their conversation.

"I will be fine."

"Listen dude, I just doubt anyone will agree with this. You gotta know how it sounds," he turned towards his German companion with the car sat at a red light. "You want to go to visit Japan completely unsupervised? And you have no other purpose for seeing him, just, to see him? It's still way too soon."

"I'm not there just to see him, I have purpose."

America raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Which is?"

"I need to ask him some things."

"About?"

"The past."

The driver turned his head back to the road just as the light flashed green with a chuckle and a notion on how 'the past' was rather vague. What he failed to understand was that it had to be vague. Not everyone in the world deserved to know what was happening to Prussia; this was assuming Japan even knew.

"Japan has lived a very long time, thousands of years, and he's seen many things in this world that we haven't," Germany began, seeing the fault in his explanation as he said it, "I need to discuss matters I don't understand with him."

"China's older," America commented, unfortunately also finding that fault, "he'd probably know too, so ask him instead." They fell into silence as Germany again studied the side of that face. The man really was his nation. He had the sunbaked skin of a Californian who could be caught rolling in the wet sand of his hair. Stretching from coast to coast was a lovely, radiant blue sky that reflected in his eyes. And his smile, the American smile, gleamed with a childlike joy.

"I don't know China very well."

The childlike joy shined brighter as America chuckled. "He's a cool dude. Makes good food, and he'll totally sit down and talk with you if you ask."

"Japan already understands my situation," At his phone beginning to vibrate for a second time, Germany adjusted in his seat to grab it, "and-"

"Just explain this situation to China."

Prussia was on the caller ID. "Things would be easiest for everyone if-"

"Things can't always be easy, man." At that statement, America took a left turn. Germany decided to get back to his brother later. He was always calling with nothing at the worst of times.

"It'd actually be best if you stuck around," America continued; the car was filled with that joyful radiance, "because we still have to meet with our bosses, and sort out the accords, and all types of stuff."

"I understand that, but-"

"We really can't justify you leaving right now when things are so busy." The American flipped his hair, and for Germany it was like watching sand blowing up into his eyes with no time to react and do a thing about it.

"I can work from Japa-"

"And there's no reason for us to send you to the enemy when you could ask China."

"Well 'the enemy' is a little-"

"And don't you care about your country?"

The blasted phone went off again, and Germany slammed it on the dashboard after pressing 'end call'. "I beg your pardon? Of course I-"

"It's not going to ever get sorted out if you keep running around like this, man. I know things have been a little weird because of the separations, and the war criminals, and the wall and, Russia in general (I do not like that guy), and Prussia and all his…"

The joy in that stubborn smile barely faltered, but for just a moment, the skies in America grew slightly dimmer. "You know…like…stuff," America concluded with a sigh before the peaks of his sun kissed cheeks rose in a refreshed smile, "but we really need you around right now Germany. Okay?"

America was his land, and he was his people. He looked a child, and a surfer, and a father in suburbia, and the countryside, and a skier all at once. But most of all, he looked like the beach.

Germany, as a land-locked country, didn't much understand the beach.

"Okay."

It was really rather annoying to attend his therapy sessions with Mila. She was just a human – just a fragile creature in her 40's with a piece of paper from a school verifying that she was supposed to do this. But how could someone with just 40 years of linear experience understand the life of a 1600 year-old artifact?

"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder," she had said one day before beginning to explain it, as if Prussia didn't already know what it meant. How absurd of her to claim he had a disorder. Nations could barely have scratches, but with that being said, he wasn't much of a nation anymore, now was he?

She claimed he had made a quick progress in handling his "insomnia" and supposed "issues with isolation".

"But," she said, after he had proudly told her that his awesomeness himself had gone three weeks without 'an episode,' and deserved to finally be rid of her, "you're still upset. If you won't open up to me, I hope you will at least open up to yourself."

That didn't make any sense. As if he could he open up, and look inside his own body.

"Let's try an exercise, Mr. Beilschmidt."

Oh, to Hell with her exercises.

"The next time you're feeling upset, why don't you sit down in front of a mirror and ask yourself what's really upset you."

The exercise was complete and utter nonsense he was sure, but Mila had assigned it a week ago and he still hadn't done it. They had another cursed meeting soon, and she would ask for his progress. So, Prussia sat himself on his bed, across from a large mirror he had set up atop a dresser, and he looked at himself.

He was nothing. Nothing like what he remembered. He was getting bigger, but he wasn't as strong as he should've been. His skin was livening up a little, but he wasn't quite so bright anymore; he swore his hair had gone from silver to a dulling grey. When he looked in the mirror he barely saw Prussia, just that man's shadow.

"I'm scared," he whispered to Prussia's shadow. He watched the man in the mirror's voice crack as those words snuck their way out of captivity. In that man, pools of tears collected in the brim of his eyes.

"I don't want to die," the man said. His lip quivered. Prussia moved to lay on his back, eyes averted from the remnants of the man he used to be.

"but…I… I don't much see a reason for me to go on," some ghost's voice resounded into the walls.

He knew it in his heart and mind, but the shock of admitting it to his speckled ceiling drove a chill down his spine. He didn't have his people or his land or his pride or his strength or even his sovereignty anymore. There was no reason for the walking husk to march on, or for it to wipe its face of hot, wet tears.

He curled up into a ball on his side and let out a slow, steady breath. With it the drops multiplied, and Prussia wondered what kind of "nation" would cry this often.

But, it felt good.

It honestly felt amazing to be relieved of emotion. Not running from it, or evading it, or being forced into it in uncomfortable fear and pain. Not to be hiding under a thin, fragile veil of sanity; but to let himself run loose without anyone but himself making him do it.

The pain escaped his eyes in tears and his nose in sniffs, all in a race to expel from his insides. It slipped out of his body in shakes, and finally slid off his back as goosebumps.

He was smiling, and then he was laughing to himself, but he had to raise his hands to his forehead to keep it from bursting. He'd forgotten how much crying like this hurt his throat, especially in his struggle to stay quiet, only letting bits of anguish escape in his gasps. He was depressed and drawn to his end and confused and alone and sacred – just as much so has he was yesterday – but somehow this was good today. Somehow it was making him happy.

He stilled his body and the tears stopped flowing, but he wasn't content with things just yet.

"I no longer serve any purpose, and my prolonged existence isn't fair to Vati, who died immediately."

A bit of a stinging behind the eyes.

"And bruder…"

Oh God.

"He's a grown man, and wildly prosperous nation. He…," Prussia felt his heart drop into its familiar put of despair.

"…doesn't need me anymore."

His eyes, his nose, his entire body burned as the embers of a fire within him. His brother barely spoke to him anymore, relaxed with him, hell now-a-days he was too busy to even take the others' calls.

"Or even want me around."

And with one last crack of that flame, the misery was moving again to some new, unfortunate home, and his lip was quivering as tears fell now straight from the lashes to his shirt, missing the race down the face entirely. He hid his shame in the crook of his arm and felt the wetness pool there as his heart raced.

His soul hid in the joys of his misery, skipping from a dark disposition into a dilapidated psyche. And there was a relief filled weightlessness beneath the bounds of his abundant burden. Carefully trickling out and into the last cracks and divots in his resolve, the tears slowed.

And as the downpour ended, Prussia almost longed to cry more.

In the bathroom - where he would first wipe his face, and then shower, and feel the warm water trickle down his skin, and perhaps let it lead him to cry another blissful stream– he saw his face and immediately laughed. Every inch on the curve of his cheeks shining with moisture, dribbles of wetness still visible under the eyes and a pool grasping at his chin for dear life.

He laughed at the ridiculousness of his appearance, with even his eyelashes wet in silly clumps of matted silver, and made a towel meet his face. He dried the tears, rinsed in the sink, dried again, and smiled, as he looked a little less ridiculous.

His cheeks were a rosy pink, and his eyes were still crimson in places they normally weren't, but he looked calmer. He thought he appeared to have sobbed bitterly for hours, but then the unusual pink flecks in his eyes made him think of citrus, floating daises, and the soothing scent of… perhaps lavender or jasmine.

He left the mirror and headed towards the shower. A soothing stream of warm water pelted his back.

Mila would hear nothing of this.

"Hallo Bruder," Prussia said as the other walked in.

"Prussia."

"I called you earlier."

"I know," Germany said. Prussia blew lightly on the liquid in his spoon. "I couldn't answer. I was rather busy with other matters."

"What matters?"

"Just things."

"Okay," the other stated with a slow, rhythmic nod, "With?" Warm porridge slid down Prussia's throat.

"Not important."

"It is important. Because you care, so I should want to too-"

"I was talking with America about some things, Prussia." There was a certain indignation in his voice.

Prussia stirred his spoon once, twice, three times in the frumenty. "You won't tell me what these things are?"

Germany responded at first with silence, then, "don't worry yourself." Prussia blew a splattering of his nutrients onto the table.

"What else did you do today?"

"Nothing." A wet cloth smeared white about the table.

"At all?"

"Why did you call me anyways?"

Prussia responded at first with silence, stirring his spoon once, twice, three times in the gruel. Then, "don't worry yourself, Germany. Just wanted to talk about…" there was a clear tone about his voice, as if implying indignation, "some things."

"Okay," The younger said with a slow, measured nod. Prussia blew gently on a portion of his meal seated in his spoon.

"Auf Wiedersehen, Bruder," Prussia said as the other stormed out.

"Prussia."

The porridge was cold.

I was very inspired by poetry. You can see it even more in next week's section, I think. I might even be writing a poem there. Poetry has just been capturing my interest entirely – it's all the fun of a book what with hidden meanings and metaphors and symbolism – just much shorter. The writer has the challenge too of incorporating alliteration, rhyme, or (as used here) parallelism and repetition wherever appropriate. All while setting a tone and mood. As trash as I am at reading poetry, once I actually get to understand it, I really love some of what it does!

So yes, I know this chapter is short. I know it's a bit different. I know it doesn't much make sense in time because of the placement of the second section – but this mess was what I wanted to submit. Call it an experiment. I just can't make myself make anything different because I'm just not feeling it. You've all waited well into long enough, so, I hope that was somewhat enjoyable.

PLEASE REVIEW – How do you feel about this? Both this section and me experimenting in general. If I were to write original works as well (poetry, short stories, a long novella situation like this…) instead of fanfiction and post to tumblr or wattpad or wordpress, would you all read them? Am I a freak? LET ME KNOW IN YOUR REVIEW! 😊

SEE YOU ALL IN A WEEK – for real this time.