"Prussia? Prussia, please say something." She trembled in her seat by the bed. Machines beeped, saying things she wouldn't allow herself to understand.

"Please tell me you're still here, because you were really…really a good friend, and I don't want our last words to be an argument, because-," Hungary's voice cracked and she blinked rapidly. "…because even though we fought, I…have never regretted meeting you, Prussia."

She wasn't going to cry. Hungary quickly wiped her sleeve across her face.

The figure on the bed let out a ragged cough. "Hungary." The name was pronounced very slowly, each syllable accentuated. A single tear slid down the pale face.

"Prussia! H-how are you feeling?" This was, she knew, a silly question for someone lying in a hospital struggling to speak. It was the only thing she could think of, as if her mind had gone blank.

"Not…not the best." He wheezed, and attempted to smile.

"Don't waste your breath. Here, let me fix your pillows for you. I really thought those doctors outside were quite rude-,"

"Hungary." Prussia's voice rose above her chatter. "I have…to tell you something…important. You might hate me."

"Okay. D-don't overexert yourself."

"When I found Germany…a long time ago, he was not…West, as we know him." Prussia took a shaking breath. "That…was my first lie to you."

"Yes, he was – it looks like you know already." Hungary's eyes were wide.

"How could you do this?" she whispered. "To Italy? To Austria and I? He was the son we could never have. You let us think he'd died?"

Prussia winced. "I knew you'd hate me for it." He closed his eyes for a moment. "But…I had to be careful."

"Careful of what?"

"When I used to say…Holy Rome, West…would get paralyzed. His eyes got wide. It was..." Prussia struggled for air. He coughed. Hungary held his hand.

"Don't talk any more." Her tears fell freely now.

"Will…you still hate me…when I've gone?"

"No. I don't hate you. You're still…my friend."

"Then…see you later, Hungary. I love you." His shaky breathing became a sigh, and his eyes slid shut, a peaceful smile on his face.

"Italy? Italy!" Germany's yells echoed through the street. Guilt weighed heavily on his heart. What had he been thinking? That wasn't where one was supposed to kiss one's crush. There was supposed to be a candlelit dinner, or moonlit walk in the park – Germany shook himself from his thoughts. He needed to find Italy now.

His mind had another idea, though. Suddenly he was thrown into another awful vision. There was blood everywhere again. "Holy Rome! Oh my God," it was Prussia, he thought. Germany wanted to respond and say he was okay, but everything was a mess and his voice wouldn't work. The vision faded.

He was almost immediately in the new vision. Facing an army led by France, a smaller version of him cowered before them. His entire body ached. The few men he still had behind him were injured.

"The Holy Roman Empire." France's voice dripped with contempt. "What a majestic display." He sneered. "Why not give up now?"

He contemplated. He was so, so tired, and his land had been almost completely ravaged by this point. What was he even fighting for?

"Are you ready to come with me, little boy?"

"No." Came his answer. "Because…I'm going back to Italy. And Hungary and Austria and everyone! I don't want to look like a coward." He tried to smile.

The blade of the sword glinted in the sun as it came down on his head.

Germany liked the next vision a lot. It was a familiar one, with a younger Italy and a younger himself. Italy cried. He gave Holy Rome a push broom to remember him by, and he was about to give him a kiss, one last one before he left on a long, long journey...

And suddenly Germany wrenched his consciousness from the placid vision and realized he was lying on the sidewalk. He knew what was in the chest in his attic.

Italy was hopelessly lost. He realized he probably shouldn't have dashed quite so far from the hospital. How long had he been out here? Snow was beginning to fall, swirling in the wind. His cell phone was dead.

Of all things, laughter was the first thing that bubbled in his throat. He laughed so hard that tears stung his eyes, at his own misfortune, at the silly drama that had led him all the way out here. Shaking his head, Italy turned back the way he'd thought he'd come and began to whistle.

He suddenly was aware of three cries of "Italy!" They were a ways off, but not too far, and he could just about decipher that they were Germany's, America's and Hungary's.

He broke into a run.

A/N: Only one more chapter! Hope you'll all stay tuned for the (hopefully thrilling) resolution...