(February 1975)

It was too late for most visitors, Germany thought as he made his way down the stairs, rushing towards the door. And, burglars did not normally knock. Certainly not this enthusiastically, at least. The loud, fast knocking continued until the moment (and maybe a little past the moment) when he opened the door.

Both parties froze when he did.

Finally, he managed to stammer out, "I- Italy?"

"Um," the shorter nation said. "Hi, Germany."

Germany was at a loss. He hadn't really spoken to Italy since…not since the war. Not since they had nearly killed each other. Memories of the day he had found out that Italy had surrendered and defected to the Allies still haunted him. He had been so angry. But what his soldiers had done next…how could he forgive himself for allowing that? He had seen travesties done in war, but those were some of the worst. Of course, it was also then that he found out that Italy was not as pathetic in a fight as he seemed. Italy's people had resisted his armies, and then the Allies had driven him out of the country, though honestly Germany was glad of it. He had already done so much to hurt him.

"Get out! Get away from us!"

He remembered Italy screaming at him. The anger, and the tears streaming down his face. He hated that he had done that to his former ally; his friend.

They had seen each other, since then, yes. At world meetings, or with other nations, but they had never had a real conversation. They had exchanged a few pleasantries when it was unavoidable, and otherwise they avoided each other's gazes.

Germany was about to invite him in, when Italy suddenly started talking.

"I'm really sorry, Germany, and I know it's really late, but I had to talk to you. And I know you're probably still mad at me, and I wouldn't blame you if you were, I mean I was still kind of mad too, but I still wanted to talk to you, so that's why I came. And I need to say everything now before I get scared, because it's really, really important!"

He stopped for a breath. Then he started to speak again.

"I hate that I'm not talking to you anymore! You were my best friend, and I still care about you, even though things got really bad between us. I never wanted to hurt you, but my boss and my brother and everyone said we had to, and… and, I was scared of you too, of what was happening to you, and I wanted to stop it, but I didn't know how. But, I think you're better now, so it's okay for me to at least come and see you, right? But wait, that's not why I had to come. I know I was always a really weak ally, and I'm still weak, but- but I think I know why now. I think I stayed weak because I don't want to be strong. I hate fighting, and every time someone I care about gets stronger or tries to get more power, something bad happens!" Germany's heart twisted in his chest as he saw tears start to form in Italy's eyes. "First my grandpa disappeared, and everyone I knew became mean and started to fight. And then… and then I lost Holy Rome, because he went to fight, too, only he didn't come back. Even though he promised he would, he never came back. And I thought I was going to lose you too! And I've been thinking, and I realized that if I did lose you too, I couldn't stand it!"

"Italy-" Germany began, but he got cut off again. Italy did not even seem to realize that he had said anything.

"So that's why I had to come. Because the whole world seems to want to start fighting again, with America or Russia, and I know that if they do start fighting, you'll be right in the middle. And I was so scared that something would happen, and I wouldn't have talked to you, so that's why I had to come now, even though Romano yelled at me and Switzerland shot at me again on my way here. I guess… I just want to say that I forgive you for everything, and I really hope you can forgive me too. And I want you to know that even though you didn't become the most powerful empire ever, I don't care. I like you better the way you are. So, are you still mad at me?"

Was this really happening, Germany wondered with disbelief. How could Italy be asking him for forgiveness? How could Italy want anything to do with him, after all that he had done to him? Yet, there he was, about to burst into tears on his doorstep. He should probably say something.

"I- I'm not angry with you, Italy," he said, figuring it was a good start.

"Really?" Italy said, his expression brightening considerably.

"No. Of course not. I'm only surprised that you are not still angry with me."

Italy smiled at him. "Don't worry about that. Romano can stay mad enough for the both of us. So does that mean we can be friends again?"

Even after everything, he was so full of life, Germany reflected. He wanted nothing more than to invite Italy into his house, to talk with him, listen to him laugh, watch him cook… He had been so lonely, lately.

But he couldn't.

"Italy," he began. "I care very deeply for you. I want you to know that. But, maybe it is better if you don't associate with me." Italy was still so innocent. Why couldn't he see the monster standing before him? Well, if he wasn't going to see it, at least Germany could make sure he didn't make Italy suffer any more. And if this self-imposed exile was to be his punishment for all that he had done, so be it. He was ready to accept it.

"What do you mean," said Italy, crestfallen.

"You've…you've seen what I've done. What I'm capable of doing," Germany said. "I hurt you once. I will not allow that to happen again. Italy, I don't deserve you."

He was prepared for Italy to cry, to plead, to walk away. Germany was prepared for anything except for precisely what came next.

Italy looked him square in the face and said, flatly, "I think that's stupid."

"What?"

"That's stupid," Italy repeated. "I mean, I still like you and you say you still like me, so why can't I be around you? What will making yourself lonely and miserable do to help anybody?" Italy asked. Germany realized that he didn't really have a good answer. "When we were allies, you saved me a lot. And now it's finally my turn to help you," he said, his beaming smile returning. "So, I am not going to leave this spot until you say we can be friends again. And you have to mean it," he added quickly.

Germany sighed. It was a familiar sigh. It was part mild frustration, part tried patience, and part warm affection. He hadn't sighed like that in a long time. He had only ever sighed like that for Italy.

"Very well, Italy. If it means that much to you, we can be friends again."

"Hooray!" Italy exclaimed as he jumped up and crushed Germany's rib cage in a hug. "We should celebrate with pasta! I'll go make some!" Italy darted past him, and ran into the house that Germany and America had rebuilt. "Hey, Germany!" Italy called. "Your kitchen moved!"

"Down the hallway on the left, second door," Germany called back. "And don't make a mess!"

"I won't!" Italy yelled. Germany followed him into the house, and watched as Italy gathered all the ingredients he would need. Germany hadn't realized until now that he had kept Italy's usual ingredients stocked in the kitchen all this time. Force of habit, he supposed.

In spite of the constant urge he had to clean the smudges he was sure Italy was making, Germany found that he enjoyed watching the jovial nation. Italy hummed to himself while he cooked, a familiar tune, though Germany could not actually place it. The smells of spices filled his kitchen and made the entire place seem warmer.

Steam rose from the two heaping bowls of pasta that Italy set on the table. It was past midnight now, and Germany knew that he should not be eating such a large meal this late, but he could not bring himself to care at the moment. He was just glad to have Italy back.

"Do you like it?" Italy asked eagerly. Germany nodded, and Italy replied with a wide smile. "I'm glad! It feels like such a long time since I could cook for somebody. Whenever I try and cook for Romano he says I should stop being frivolous and focus on important things. But I think food is important, don't you Germany?"

"I do," he said after swallowing another bite.

"Good! Then I can come and cook for you again?"

"Of course," Germany replied.

Together they ate all of the pasta Italy had made. Germany offered to let Italy spend the night, since it was so late, and was glad to see that Italy accepted.

"Let me show you were the guest bedrooms are," he said, leading Italy up the stairs and down another hallway.

"Thanks Germany," Italy said. Germany nodded, then excused himself so he could go and clean the kitchen.

There was not as much of a mess as he had expected, not that he minded, since he was getting rather tired. He first decided to clean off the dishes, and then he would clean the countertops before going to bed himself. It had been years since he'd had someone else's mess to clean up in the kitchen. He liked it. He missed having someone else around him. Someone other than politicians. True, he had friends and allies now who came to visit him, usually America, but they all had something else on their minds, and it was inevitably something of massive international importance. No one just came by for his company. But now Italy was here, for just that reason. Remembering the first day they had met, Germany could not help but think that he would have called anyone insane who told him just what kind of impact the other nation would have on him.

For some reason, that made him think of his brother. After all, Prussia had been the one to send him down to fight in Italy, without telling him at all what was in store. Prussia must have fancied it a good joke.

Germany sighed. He hadn't seen his older brother since the day Russia had dragged him away. He hadn't heard from him since that letter America had delivered on his behalf. Any information at all he had on Prussia's wellbeing came from Austria who only managed to get snippets thanks to Hungary. Other than that, he was unable to contact him directly, and neither of their governments would allow any sort of communication. And then the wall had gone up. God, he hated that thing. The night it had been raised had been one of the worst nights of his life. The agony, like someone was ripping him in half, had been almost too much to bear. If America hadn't been visiting him, and able to call a doctor, he didn't know what could have happened. That memory still gave him nightmares, sometimes.

Germany suddenly realized that he had been rinsing the same bowl for about ten minutes straight, but after shaking himself out of his musings, he managed to finish cleaning the kitchen.

We're both alive, he told himself. This Cold War can't last forever. There's time, as long as we can both be patient.

He had used that thought to reassure himself before, but it seemed to ring truer now. After all, Italy had come back, the one person he was sure would never forgive him. He would see his brother again as well.

Germany walked into his darkened room, flicked on a lamp, and then started suddenly as he saw something lying in his bed. But after a moment, he sighed, realizing it was just Italy. Wondering why he hadn't seen that coming, he changed, carefully folded his clothes, and climbed into bed, feeling Italy's warmth beside him.

(February 1975)

"Shh, Gilbird," Prussia whispered. "Sorry, buddy, I can't take you with me tonight."

The little yellow chick, looked mournfully up at him with his black eyes, but he nestled back into his little bed. Prussia sighed, wishing he could have the tiny bird's company, but he could not risk him making a noise at the wrong time. Besides, it was cold out that night, and he didn't want the poor little guy to freeze.

And so, under the cover of darkness, he climbed gingerly out of his window and moved as swiftly and as silently as he could down the side of the apartment building, using windowsills, the gutter, cracks in the wall, anything he could find as a hand or foothold. Prussia's room was five floors up, and a fall might alert the Vopos stationed around the building to his escape. Plus it would hurting like hell. Cold made his fingers stiff and clumsy, but still he climbed down, flinching at even the slightest noise. At last though, he was only a few feet up, and he let himself fall into a crouch. From that position, he sprung up, and darted down the first alleyway he could find. As far as he could tell, no one had spotted him, but his pace was quick, nevertheless.

After a time walking unchallenged through the quiet streets, Prussia grinned and congratulated himself on his escape. Why he had decided to attempt it, or what he intended to do with his success, he did not know. But Russia had been watching his every move for far too long, and he was sick of it. He was sick of this entire place.

He supposed it would not have been so bad if he hadn't known that he was a prisoner there, in East Germany, his supposed country. The others liked to pretend otherwise. Some of the other Soviet countries visited him and acted as if there was nothing wrong; like they hadn't noticed the armed guards looming outside the building, or the camera outside his door, or the fact that his rooms were obviously bugged, or that the cleaning lady was reporting back to whatever secret police was shadowing him. Then there was the rank smell, the fumes of exhaust from those stupid, little Trabants. And more than anything else, he was sick of that damned wall.

Tall and ugly, the concrete monolith seemed to loom over him nonstop. The wall that kept him from his brother, his friends, and that kept him and the others captive. His wanderings had brought him within sight of the buffer zone, although he was careful not to get close enough to spook any of the wall's guards, who would not hesitate to shoot into the night. Getting shot after his daring escape would be entirely unawesome.

But there it was, right in front of him, challenging him, mocking him. Just on the other side was freedom from the Soviet's eyes and ears. There was Germany, who he hadn't been allowed to see since leaving him broken and beaten after the war. And just a buffer zone then a few feet of concrete in the way. Well, that and some armed guards and barbed wire. In spite of himself, Prussia grinned. He was not one to back down from a challenge, and he was feeling emboldened by his escape from his apartment.

First thing to do was to find a blind spot. He had looked before, so he had some idea of where to check. Trying to look and unsuspicious as possible, he sauntered near the buildings across from the wall, seeking out a chink in the armor. Surely there was a sleepy guard, or an unattended post, or just a spot where the posts couldn't see.

Finally, he found a suitable position. It was across from an alleyway, where he now stood, eyeing the potential opening. If he could rush up and climb the wall, maybe he could make it over, if he was fast enough. The wall was even in some disrepair here, so there were foot and handholds for him to use. The barbed wire was an issue, but that was something he could deal with. It was too perfect.

So he should not have been surprised when he felt the pressure of a knife tip at his back and heard a low voice say, "Don't move."

He rolled his eyes. So, one of Russia's dogs had sniffed him out after all. That was annoying. Still, he was the mighty Prussia! He could take down one measly guardsman. He whirled around to meet his would-be attacker head on.

"Oh shi-" he began, as soon as he saw the black bow sitting atop long, platinum blond hair. However, before he could even finish his curse, Belarus was on him. He managed to raise his arms in his defense and after a short scuffle, forced her to drop the ominous looking knife. But, after another confrontation, he was on the ground, with Belarus twisting his arm up, painfully, behind him and pressing her foot into his back.

"Geeze! Uncle! Uncle!" he called, but she only pressed down harder on his spine.

"What were you doing out here?" she hissed. "You were trying to run away from my big brother, weren't you?"

"Uh-" Prussia started.

"No one," she growled, "tries to leave my brother and gets away with it. You should be punished, punished, punished..."

"Bela?" another voice said. Prussia raised his head, and probably for the first time in his life, was actually glad to see Russia standing before him.

Belarus gasped. "Big brother!" she cried. "Why are you out so late?"

He shrugged. "Just out for a walk. But what are you doing?" he asked, looking down at Prussia, raising a curious eyebrow.

Her voice darkened again. "He wanted to leave us. I saw him. He wanted to cross over the wall. I saw him, brother."

A distressed look crossed Russia's face. "Is that true?" he asked.

"Damn right, it is," Prussia spat, ignoring the nagging thought in the back of his head warning him to be a little more cautious with his words.

"But, why?" Russia asked, looking genuinely hurt.

"Oh, why the hell do you think?" he said. The resentment that had been boiling up for years laced his voice with rage. "The fact that you and your stupid Union are strangling this place? The fact that no one can get a job, or how about the brother I haven't been allowed to see? Or the stupid cops outside my house! That enough of a reason for you?"

Russia, damn him, actually looked taken aback at the rage in Prussia's tone. Belarus let out a low growl. "How dare you say those things!" she cried. "I should rip your arm off for saying things like that to my big brother!"

"Wait, Bela," Russia said. "Don't do that." Then he addressed Prussia. "I'm sorry if this is hard for you. But we are a family now. All of us in the Soviet Union, we will make the world better, da? Everyone will be equal, and everyone will be happy. I'm sorry it's hard now, really, I am. I am having difficulties too, you know," he said sadly. "But just wait. Everything will get better soon."

Prussia gave a humorless laugh. "That's a load of crap and you know it. God, get some new propaganda already, we've heard that speech before." Russia looked surprised by Prussia's outburst. He was not used to anyone talking back to him.

So, against all wisdom, Prussia pressed on. "You're insane if you think this will get better. Admit it! You can't keep up!" he accused. "After all this crap, you just can't keep up with that kid across the pond! Funny thing, isn't it, that America can afford nice, shiny bombs for himself and feed his people, huh?"

A sense of dread filled him as he looked at Russia's face. The sad, confused expression he had worn changed into a cold, and dangerous glare, directed straight at him. Prussia knew he had gone to far.

"Bela," Russia said, his voice now hard and sharp as steel, "break his arm."

As soon as he had said it, Prussia heard a sickening crack, and intense agony shot up his arm. He bit back a cry, not wanting to give the bastard the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. But pain was blurring his vision, and he didn't even notice that Russia had advanced until he was practically right on top of him.

"Please, step aside, Bela," Russia ordered, and she obeyed immediately. Just as Prussia felt the pressure lift from his back, Russia's hand had reached down and grabbed the collar of his shirt. He was hauled to his feet, and Russia hit him hard, across the face, sending him reeling back into the ground. Before he could right himself, Russia had grabbed him again, and slammed him into the wall of the alleyway. Prussia saw stars as his the back of his head collided with hard brick, but he could still feel cold fingers curling around his neck.

He heard Russia chuckling. "You forgot, didn't you?" he said. "I tried to be kind to you, truly I did, but I guess that won't do." His fingers tightened, and Prussia had to gasp for breath. He brought his own hand to Russia's wrist, and attempted to pull the other nation's hand away, but his weak resistance did nothing. "I can crush you like an insect, if I wish," Russia said, icily. "Right now, if I wanted to, I could snap your delicate, little neck, and no one could stop me."

He was right, Prussia realized with horror. He hated admitting that, but even he could not deny it now, with the larger man's weight crushing him, helpless, against a wall.

"Do you think I have forgotten what you did to me?" Russia said, his violet eyes glinting dangerously. "It wasn't so long ago, you know. I haven't forgotten the millions of my people you and Germany killed. And I never will," he hissed. He brought his other hand up, and began to slowly run his fingers through Prussia's hair. "So much death, so much pain. And it was so cold," he said, his voice now growing distant. His eyes no longer met Prussia's. "He never paid properly for those lives. The others told me that retribution was pointless. But they didn't see what I did. They could never understand how my people suffered." Now Russia sounded as if he were close to tears. But that vanished as his gaze locked Prussia in again. "Germany could still be made to pay, though. A life for a life, after all. True, it's only one life, against millions, but the life of his brother? Perhaps that could help him feel at least some of the pain I felt?" Russia stroked his cheek. "Fitting retribution."

Now Prussia's struggle returned, with more vigor. Could Russia actually mean to kill him? And no matter how much he fought against him, it was useless. His broken arm hung limp at his side, and Russia grabbed his other wrist and pinned it against the wall, above his head. A terrible smirk crossed his icy cold face as he watched Prussia try and break free. He leaned forward, and moved his face to the crook of Prussia's neck, inhaling deeply, making Prussia shudder with disgust at the closeness. "The smell of this place is on you," he said, with a chuckle. "And you actually thought to run away?" He laughed again, sounding half mad. "You can't escape from me."

"Let go," Prussia said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. Russia only gave him that deadly smirk, and tightened his hold.

"Do you understand how pointless it is to fight against me? I hold the power here. Me, no one else. You are all mine," he said, moving the hand on Prussia's neck up to his jaw. "All mine to do with as I please."

Prussia's tried again to jerk away, but he was practically being crushed by Russia's grip. So then he met Russia's steely, violet eyes. If he was going to die, at least he wasn't going to go out like a coward. Let the bastard look at his face while he killed him.

But, something had changed in Russia's demeanor. There was no malice in his stare now. It was gone, just as suddenly as it had appeared. Instead there was…fear? Russia shoved him away, and Prussia fell to the ground, of course landing on his injured arm. He winced, and he heard Russia's voice behind him.

"Bela, get some VP officers to take him back to his apartment," he said quickly. Prussia noted that, yes, he did indeed sound afraid: like a child, who had heard too many ghost stories. Russia looked around him, as if expecting something to happen, but when nothing did, he ran off into the night. Belarus sent an ugly glare Prussia's way, before walking off, herself.

That left him alone in the alley, to massage his sore neck and an equally sore wrist. Before long though, certainly before he could think to run off again, some officers came and dragged him back to that apartment, and then doctor came after about an hour. None of them said anything. When the doctor left, Prussia had a fresh cast on his arm, along with the wound to his pride.

How could he have been so weak? He hadn't even put up a fight. Anger, frustration, and despair all welled up inside his chest, until it was all he could do to keep himself from throwing up.

Had he believed what he had said in the alley? About Russia not being able to keep up? It had to be true, or at least he had to believe it was. Frankly, it was the one glimmer of hope he had left. At this point, the other countries in the Soviet bloc were too afraid, too weak, or too loyal to oppose Soviet rule. And it wasn't as if he could work against his own people… No. No, these weren't his people. These were Germany's people too.

After all, he had long since come to terms with the fact that he was no longer a nation. It had happened so quickly, so easily. Just a quick resolution, a signed piece of paper, and the Kingdom of Prussia was no more. Honestly, it amused him, more than anything else. He supposed it should have upset him, since he had fought so hard to achieve his status as a country. But then what had it ever done for him?

In the end, he was a soldier. He had changed the world with the force of his armies, kicked Austria's ass a few times for good measure, brought up his little brother. Not a bad run, all things considered.

In spite of everything, he grinned to himself. Since there was no reason for that run to be over. He didn't need to be a stupid country to wreak a little havoc (and he had a diary to prove it). The wars may be colder, and the threats more dire, but he wasn't going to back down now.

He heard a tweeting sound, and then a little yellow ball of feathers came flapping into the room. It perched itself on his head, and started nuzzling his hair.

"Hey little guy," he said. "Miss me? Of course you did." The chick chirped again, and Prussia even managed a laugh. "Man, can't believe I almost left you behind," he said. It was true. How could he even think of leaving without Gilbird?

The little bird only cheeped and pecked lightly on his skull, bright, and innocent, and unaware.

Author's Note

Welcome to the Cold War, everybody.

But first, some explanation of WW2 references:

German War Crimes in Italy: In September of 1943, the Italian government began secret negotiations to defect to the Allies, which were then made public on September 8th. German forces gave many captured Italian troops the option of continuing to fight with them, and those that refused were sent to forced labor camps in Germany. The murder of several thousand Italian prisoners of war after the battle on Cephallonia in 1943 is considered one of the worst single war crimes committed by the Wehrmacht (the German army during WW2).

Nazi's Invasion of the Soviet Union: Since Hitler apparently didn't get the memo about what happens to people who try and invade Russia (seriously, look it up, it never ends well), he invaded the Soviet Union in summer of 1941. After a brutal war, German forces actually came very close to succeeding. But by 1944 it was the Soviets poised to invade Germany. Hundreds of thousand of soldiers, and around 25 million Soviet citizens lost their lives.

And now back to the Cold War,

The Berlin Wall: Erected in August of 1961, almost literally over night, the Berlin Wall split East and West Germany, going right through the middle of Berlin. Streets, railways, subways, even cemeteries were split. The German Democratic Republic (GDR), aka East Germany, put up the wall to stop the massive emigration of people from East to West Germany. On the Eastern side of the wall, there was a buffer zone with armed guards. The Western side, on the other hand, was covered with graffiti protesting it.

Thanks for reading, and (obviously) reviews are appreciated.