Soluble Chapter Nine: Crumbling Foundations

"A rush and a push and the land that

We stand on is ours

It has been before

So it shall be again."

- A Rush and a Push and the Land is Ours, the Smiths

Warning: Some poorly translated words. There's less violence in this chapter, though, so I seem to be getting better!

And on a historical note… Prussia was never officially referred to as the Prussian Empire; it was known as the Kingdom of Prussia. It was mostly a personal preference to have it the way it was.

Summer 1981

"What the hell is this supposed to mean?" Ludwig waved the crumpled paper in his hands under England's nose.

"I can't very well tell you, Germany, when you haven't even let me look at it. All you've done since entering my office is shout at –"

"I think I've damn well earned the right to do some shouting!" The taller man slammed his hands down on the other's desk – the wood groaning alarmingly under the force. "This is the first thing I hear about my brother, and what does it tell me? That he's regressed? Regressed to what, exactly?"

Off to the side – keeping quiet for once, and only through supreme effort – Francis felt the blood drain from his face as he listened to Germany's words. Though he had promised Arthur to keep his mouth shut and his hands to themselves, the blond man couldn't help himself.

"Do you mind if I see that?" His voice was slightly strangled in the silence, and he held out a hand that he wished was unsteady due to wine.

Ludwig turned, his face stormy. The two of them hadn't been on good relations for a very long time, and Francis wondered when the last time the German nation hadn't looked at him with a similar expression had been. "How is this any of your business, frog?" he snapped.

Normally France would have responded with something cutting – but he was tired of fighting. And looking at the nation before him – hair falling out of its style, his uniform wrinkled, the telltale shadows under his eyes – the older man couldn't bring himself to say something cruel.

"Ludwig, I'll be frank. I've known your brother a lot longer than you have, and unlike Arthur, I have actually been friends with him. The only other person who knows what the significance of Gilbert Beilschmidt retreating into the past is Spain." He rubbed his temples, eyes closed.

Germany didn't come any closer, but he straightened, taking his weight off of England's desk. "Explain, Francis. Lithuania wasn't exactly explicit, and I have no idea what this is –"

"It's a – sort of last resort thing for nations." France didn't look up. Talking to the floor was a better prospect. "And it usually isn't intentional. All of us have something – darker – in our pasts than we'd care to admit. A side to us that can deal with things in a way that we as we are now cannot." Only briefly did he look up, catching Ludwig's expression. "You've only just recently created such a persona, Germany."

His eyes narrowed. "I've defeated that side of myself, Bonnefoy. I won't be –"

"Yes, that's just it. You realized on your own that you had gone off the deep end. Most of us don't, and that side of us haunts us." Francis closed his eyes again, looking pained. The conversation was dredging up old memories that he had spent decades trying to bury away. A younger version of himself, hair stained red from the permanent wound on the back of his neck, fingers blistered from trying to pry the shackles off, drenched in blood, shoulders shaking with almost constant, uncontrollable laughter that turned to raw, screaming sobs at the least –

"Francis." Arthur's sharp voice broke him out of the recollections. Francis looked up again, and realized that his hands had been digging into his skull. "Stay with us, old friend."

"O – oui," he muttered. "Navré."

"If you'd like me to explain this –"

Francis's laugh was raw. "What, and find myself calling up your Tudor self? Or maybe one of your civil war personas? Non, Angleterre, I've started this. I'll finish it."

"His Tudor self?" Germany glanced back at Arthur, who sniffed and made a show of being engrossed with his work.

"One of his – other sides that's been created over the centuries. Like his pirate half, though I'm not sure if you ever ran into him then –"

"Francis, if you're just going to go through a rundown of my past, I think I should be the one to properly explain –"

"I was getting to the point." Francis ran a hand through his hair. "Which is what I've been saying. Gilbert had one of these personas as well. They aren't consciously created – we are affected by the times, after all. Most of us don't even realize what we've been doing until our country shifts, and us along with it."

"So you're saying that Gilbert – has decided to act like this other version of himself in order to cope?" It wasn't so unreasonable, Germany supposed, even though he didn't like the idea.

Francis shrugged. "Not exactly – acting. When this sort of thing happens – we become that other version of ourselves mentally. It's very likely that Gilbert believes that he's living in the time of the Prussian Empire."

Germany blinked, and a tiny frown appeared on his face. "And this is somehow – bad?"

The French nation's colour still hadn't returned. "Oh, Ludwig, it's very bad. You see – you didn't know Gilbert in the early days of the Empire. When you arrived, you brought reason to his mind – something that we didn't think was possible. It was getting to the point where we were thinking that we would have to find a way to – contain him."

Germany's frown grew, and his eyes widened slightly. "What's – that supposed to mean?" Suddenly his voice was very small.

"It's not by conscious choice, you must understand that! Clearly some part of him couldn't take what was happening any more, and that part of him just – took over. To preserve his body, and his mind." Francis didn't like the look on the other man's face. "But he –"

"Honestly, Francis, stop beating around the bush. It isn't helping any of us." England was looking at his desk, face dark. His pen had snapped at some point, sending black ink splattering across whatever it was he had been reading. When the British nation looked up, there was something close to pity in his eyes.

"I knew Gilbert during those times as well, and I'm sorry. He wasn't just a knight in his early days as the Empire, Ludwig. He was completely insane."

Winter 1983

He ducked as another projectile shot past; it left a searing heat on his skin as it just brushed by his cheek. He honestly hadn't thought they would start firing at him so quickly – but lately he had been skulking around too much. They were all on edge, and as tensions in the city itself heated up, the situation was not being made much better.

The white haired demon cackled as he launched himself behind the protection of a stone ruin. He pressed his back against it, his breath pluming in the dark night before him, feeling the sturdiness of what had probably once been a house. He could hear muffled shouting from behind him, but it wasn't getting any closer.

Good. That meant the guards weren't chasing after him – as much as Gilbert liked chases through dark ruins in the middle of winter, he wasn't about to complain. He curled further in on himself, moving just enough to peer around the wall –

Brick exploded over his head with a nasty sound, and the albino hastily withdrew his head. It had taken him two years to find his way to this particular city – Berlin, a hazy part of his memory told him – and he still hadn't figured out the weapons they were using; nor had he been able to get his hands on one.

What the Prussian Empire had figured out was that the borders as he had known them before captivity were different. Very different. Thirty nine years was a long time, yes, but surely the rest of the European nations hadn't managed to change everything so fast?

"I'll bet it was that Austrian idiot and that pretentious Holy Roman bastard." Those two were always howling at his borders like dogs in the night. He rubbed at his shoulder, grimacing – one of the projectiles he hadn't completely succeeded in dodging had left a stinging sensation where it had passed. They had been faster than he had expected – the Empire had been struck many times when he had first encountered them. But he was getting better, and besides that, he was a nation. He wasn't going to be bested by some mortal invention.

Still. The wound stung badly in the cold.

The Empire shivered again, pushing the pain to the back of his mind and tightening the scarf around his neck. Though the thing had been made by his captor, the Prussian had found himself thankful that he had taken it. It had kept him from slipping over that precarious edge one reached when the temperature really began to drop, and there was no immediate source of warmth.

"Heh." He breathed out a puff of fog, which dissipated into the dark sky. Their weapons had fallen silent, and there wasn't any more shouting. Which meant that they were either waiting for his head to make an appearance again, or they had decided that he wasn't worth the effort tonight. It wasn't as if they wouldn't get another chance – he was here almost all the time.

One of the advantages of being a nation, I suppose, the Empire thought to himself, loosening the scarf – just enough to wrap around his hair, which stood out a bit too starkly for his liking in the dark. I don't have to stop to eat. Unfortunately, he was finding himself having to sleep to keep up his energy – an irritatingly human thing that he couldn't really remember doing since becoming the Prussian Empire.

"Well, I suppose that would be the crux of the problem," Gilbert muttered to himself, pulling out of the crouch. Another tentative peek around the corner of the building – and no ensuing explosions – was enough of a confirmation as he was willing to wait for in the sub zero winter temperatures. "I'm not much of an Empire at the moment… forced to skulk in a hovel and avoid my own people."

Keeping low, he began to move off. The cover of night – and the soft flakes of snow that were beginning to drift down – would offer him enough protection until he was out of the range of their weapons. That had been a pleasure to discover – that as always, there were limits to what the humans could do.

Of course, he mused once he felt safe enough to stand straight, that worked in both directions. His own people had been trampled and defeated, that much was clear. And like the weapons they used, they could only go so far – they seemed to have reached the wall where they were unwilling to do anything about their situation. The petty rebel group he had come across – had attempted to join, to influence – had been a pathetic, watered down version of the political powerhouses he was used to, their leader weak minded. Wasted energy and effort, the so called plans more likely to get innocents killed than achieve anything useful.

Their leader's death had been for the greater good.

It was part of a nation's duty to cleanse their own people, the Prussian Empire knew. At least it had always been his practice – some of the others thought he was mad, but their opinions mattered little. And while the murder might have troubled anyone else, the mighty white haired warrior wasn't about to let it weigh down his conscience.

But even as he pushed open the door to the dark, cold ruin that could loosely be termed a house, the Empire couldn't shake the feeling – deep down – that something about all of this was wrong.

Fall 1987

His side felt like a knife was lodged there, each rough motion jarring the blade in further. While he could handle the pain, it was the difficulty breathing he was most concerned about. The unseasonably humid air was sticking in his throat and nose like cotton, each breath taking more effort than it should have. And while normally the Empire wouldn't have been worried about any of this at all, even he couldn't escape the fact that he didn't have a weapon – and he was getting tired.

Not to mention there were more of them than there were of him.

And while being outnumbered by mortals wouldn't normally bother him either, the field was leveled out when they were all carrying guns. The Prussian had taken – foolishly, he now realized – to the back streets. He had wandered them enough to know mostly where he was going; but right now a crowd was what he was most interested in finding.

Kkkssshh… I've got him crossing… and… kksssh… head him off at kkkkshhh…

If he strained hard enough, he could hear their obnoxiously loud radios, the tiny snippets of information letting him know the ever increasing hopelessness of running away from the soldiers. He caught the names of what he supposed were streets – but like the signs in this place, he found that, while irritatingly familiar, he couldn't actually understand them.

The Empire darted down an alley, abruptly changing his course in an attempt to shake off the soldiers watching from the roofs. The darkness of the high walls on either side enveloped him like a lover, wrapping around his body. He took a brief moment to pause for breath, however unwise that was. Blood was pounding in his ears, but the smile on his face told of the exhilaration coursing through that same blood.

The alley was, of course, a dead end.

"Come and get me, then!" The Empire laughed, moving further back into the darkness so that they wouldn't be able to see him from the street. He glanced at the barriers hemming him in on either side, and dismissed those – the watchers up high would notice him before climbing would make much of a difference.

"Citizen, come out with your hands above your head." He could see three soldiers – two of them quite young – standing at the mouth of the alley, their weapons trained on the darkness. Only the man in the middle, slightly older, was aiming it in the correct spot.

"Why don't you come in here and make me?" His laugh reverberated off the walls, bouncing up into the sky. "If you're so powerful?"

"Citizen, we won't hesitate to shoot. You've proven to be a danger to society. If you come willingly, you'll be spared." The leader was clearly getting impatient. And with good reason – they had been chasing this man for a good few years, and this was one of a handful of times they had even come close to catching him.

"Spared what, exactly?" His red eyes were narrow, but the smile never left his face. "A quick execution here, to be replaced by an excruciating, drawn out death elsewhere? I know how your people work, captain, and I'm not about to –"

Sssshing – !

A bullet cracked off of the stone, and ricocheted just over his shoulder. The Empire didn't even flinch.

"Your lackeys are getting nervous. I wonder how long I have to hide in the dark before they start wetting themselves?" His tone was unpleasant, even as the Empire searched for another way out of this place. Being immortal, the prospect of torture was not one he looked forward to.

"If you don't come out of there in ten seconds, Citizen, I will shoot."

"Бог, you remind me of someone with your never ending seriousness." That Holy Roman Empire sprat, always walking around with a scowl on his face. "I don't really like him either." He started to move forward, hands spread out in a mockery of a peaceful gesture. "So why don't you just go to hell?"

This time the bullet hit him in the thigh, metal connecting bone with a sickening sound. The Empire hardly felt the sting, was heedless of the blood staining through the uniform he was wearing. He grinned wildly, even as one of the younger soldiers spooked and another bullet lodged itself in his shoulder. Warmth spread down his chest.

"Come on, then!" The Empire howled with laughter, striding forward into the light. His eyes held not a single spark of sanity – but it was the colour that was most unsettling. One of them was red and clouded, a vicious scar cutting straight through it. The other, bright and shining, was a brilliant violet. "Kill me if you can –"

In a nameless backstreet of Berlin, under the dying sun, blood sprayed across the cooling stones.

"I'm serious, sir. There's absolutely no records of him at all. It's like he doesn't exist."

"Then obviously you haven't searched enough –"

"Sir, we've gone through the records three times, and there's nothing. Absolutely nothing. Whoever he is, he isn't from Berlin. We spend hours last night phoning, and no one else has heard anything about him. All we really know is that his name is Gilbert – and that's because he flat out told us the first time we asked. So either he managed to get here from the other side, or he's a ghost."

The captain sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Anyone who voluntarily comes over the Wall is crazy. This was the last thing he needed right now. "Well, check again," he said at last, trying to give the exhausted looking soldier a sympathetic look. "I want to make absolutely sure that he has no records. Nothing stuffed away in a back room somewhere."

"Sir, the chances of us finding something – he could be from anywhere." The soldier wasn't looking forward to the prospect of spending another day in among the musty rooms filled with their dead documents. Faces, many of them probably dead, staring out at him accusingly whenever he opened a record.

"I know, Nikolai. I know. But he's been screwing with us for long enough, there has to be something. A newspaper clipping. An address. A family. You can't tell me he doesn't have one of those."

"Unless he actually is a ghost." This was muttered, and the captain didn't think he was supposed to have heard it. Nevertheless, his eyebrows pulled down.

"Soldier, he's no more a ghost than you or I. He's solid enough to shoot at and grab –"

"Sir, I'm good friends with one of the men who helped you bring him in. He said you shot him repeatedly. That man should be dead by now." His eyes flickered slightly, something close to fear in them. "And yet when I saw him, he was fine; breathing, no sign of any bullets. He isn't even bleeding, and it's not like there's doctors to spa–"

The captain's eyes were steely. "You're to keep this under wraps, soldier. No one else is to know about this." He held up a hand to halt any protests. "No. As far as everyone else is concerned, we dragged him here like this. Now, get back to –"

The sound of a phone ringing cut his words off. Both of them jumped, and turned to look at the source of the noise. It wouldn't normally be such an odd thing – except for the fact that both of them were pulling a long overtime, and the city around them was sleeping.

It rang again. Insistently.

"Hello?" The soldier sitting at the desk had reached out and picked it up. "Yes, sir. One moment." He turned and mutely brandished the phone at the captain. "He wants to speak with you, sir," the young man said, hand covering the mouthpiece.

"Did he say who he was?" The captain eyed the phone. Calls in the early hours of the morning were never something to look forward to. The younger shook his head, and he reached out to grab hold of the phone, holding it to his ear.

"Captain Dashkov," he said briskly, disguising the exhaustion in his voice. "To whom am I speaking?"

"Hello, Captain. My name is Ivan Braginski." The cold voice on the other end sent shivers through his toes, though Dashkov couldn't say why. "And I would like to know if the name Gilbert Beilschmidt means anything to you."

"Do you really think this is such a good idea?"

"It's a brilliant idea, that's what it is. It's not like he can complain, either – we're staying strictly on this side. Gilbert loves loud, colourful things – and this is sure to get his attention."

"Yes, and I suppose even that thickheaded idiot couldn't miss the signs. He should be able to feel it by now."

"Roderich, watch how you refer to my brother." But for the first time in a while, Ludwig's expression wasn't tense or severe. His blue eyes were smiling, even if he wasn't – not that anyone would have expected quite that much out of him.

The three of them made quite an odd group, walking through the streets of Berlin with boxes in their arms. In the middle was Ludwig, tall and imposing despite his unusual good humor. Matching him stride for stride was Roderich, looking slightly more harassed than he usually did, but still seemingly determined to enjoy this moment. And on the other side, taking two steps for every one of the European nations was Matthew, cheeks flushed with the cold wind.

"… Ludwig, where are we going to set these? Not to mention how are the three of us going to –" The question occurred to the Canadian a moment later, as he struggled to adjust his hat – which had fallen over his eyes – when both of his arms were full.

"Don't worry about that. We'll have help, you can be sure of that." The German nation actually chuckled, reaching over with his free hand and pulling Matthew's hat back into its correct position. He had no trouble seeing the quiet nation now; the two of them had become something close to friends – though there was always that lingering memory of a laughing Italian that prevented Ludwig from getting too close. He hadn't seen Italy in some time, and was, despite their history, finding himself missing the boisterous nation. Matthew was a good friend, but sometimes Ludwig found him a tad serious for such a young nation.

"I do expect to be paid back for these, you know." Roderich's tone was that one where Ludwig could never tell if he was actually joking or not. "I'll be sure to hand Gilbert the bill when he gets back."

Ludwig rolled his eyes as they continued down the street, kicking up snow and passing citizens shielding themselves against the cold. That was, he thought grimly, assuming that his brother was going to be mentally sound enough to pay bills. But he refused to believe what Francis and Arthur had told him about this so called regression – they hadn't been able to give him the names of any nations who had gone through it. Perhaps Lithuania had simply been overreacting.

A gust of warm air hit him as the three nations reached his house at last, their cheeks worn red by the chilly wind. It had been a fairly mild December so far, but the cold was still persistent enough to reach deep down into the bones. Ludwig took a moment to lean on the closed door, watching Roderich trying to pull his boots off with his hands full.

I hope you're somewhere warm, Gil.

Captain Rolan Dashkov was only aware of one thing at the moment – that for the first time in his life, he wanted to simply curl up and disappear. It was a forcible effort to keep his hands from shaking as he took the other's identification; he made sure to inspect it carefully despite not wanting to take his eyes off the visitor.

"Is everything in order?" He shuddered inside. How could a voice that was so smooth and calm be so unnerving? There seemed to be an undercurrent to that question – Dashkov wondered whether, had his papers not been in order, if he would have even left when told.

"It appears so, sir." At least his voice came out level, if a bit strangled. The other seemed completely unaware of the effect he was having on the man. "I do apologize for the wait, but we need to check everyone's –"

An uplifted hand made him nearly choke on his own words in his haste to stop speaking. The man smiled, eyes curving up. "I understand, Captain. These things must be done. It pleases me to see how efficient you are, even though your little… establishment is but a tiny cog in a greater machine."

"Thank you very much, sir." Had that actually been a compliment? From the smile, Dashkov got the unsettling feeling that he was being made fun of. He stood abruptly – too abruptly, nearly upending his desk. "Now, if you'll follow me, I can –"

"Your assistance will be unnecessary, Captain." The smile was gone now. Dashkov wished it would come back, all of a sudden. The blank faced stare was worse.

"Sir, I can't just let you wander unaccompanied –"

"My papers were in order, yes?" His eyes were getting even colder.

"Well, yes, but –"

"And you are aware of my position, correct?" His voice had gone all strange and flat.

"I am, sir, but –"

The taller man leaned forward, his eyes as chilly as a Siberian winter, until his face was an inch away from the captain's. "Then you will understand, Rolan Dashkov, exactly what I can have done to you. Your presence will be a hindrance. I suggest you remain here, at your desk with your papers, and leave me to my business. Have I made myself clear?"

Was it just him, or had the temperature in the room actually dropped? "Y – yes, sir." He sat back down, never taking his eyes off the other, even as the imposing man straightened up, the smile back in place, and began to walk around behind the desk.

"Thank you for your help and diligence, Captain. You do your country a great service." And with that, he was past the captain, and Dashkov turned back to his desk, mouth slightly pinched around the corners.

He knew, with absolute certainty, that if he never saw Ivan Braginski again in his life, it would be too soon. And despite the aggravation their white haired prisoner had been causing them for years, he hoped that whatever he had done to earn the personal attention of such a man, it had been worth it.

"We seem to be finding ourselves in this situation a lot, Empire." Ivan smiled as he looked through the bars of the cell, hands clasped behind his back.

"Do we?" The albino leaning against the far wall stared back with a bland expression. "I hadn't realized. Last I saw of you, you were –" A thin smile. "Well, not in any condition to be walking. Tell me, Ivan, are you feeling better?"

The Russian's expression flickered. "I would watch your tongue. You're on the wrong side of these bars to have any authority."

The Prussian Empire's icy smile faded, mismatched eyes darkening to echo the look in Ivan's. "What do you want, Russia?"

The larger nation wasn't paying attention anymore, reaching into his pocket to come up with a ring of keys that he had most certainly not obtained properly at the front desk. As the Empire watched, Ivan picked through them until he came across the one that seemed to fit the lock. As the Russian slid it in, he raised his eyes to meet the albino's.

"I've come to claim what is rightfully mine, Empire. You might not be aware of the current situation in your own country, but I am." Ivan fiddled with the key for a moment. "You see, the Wall is going to fall. I know this. I have come to accept it." A smile appeared, one that gradually grew more and more ominous as Ivan managed to get the lock open. "However, I am ever a nation of my word, unlike you."

"You wouldn't know the first thing about loyalty, you –" The Prussian Empire had pushed himself away from the wall, watching Ivan warily, muscles tense.

"Oh, please." There was a strange, flat calm about the other's voice. "You're the oathbreaker here, and we both know it. You murder your own people, attack without discretion, and are a disgrace to the position you hold." He pulled on the cell door, and it opened with hardly a sound.

"Come on then, Ivan." The Prussian Empire's hands were twitching reflexively, his eyes narrowed. "Let me see what someone like you can do to an empire."

The Russian laughed; a curiously high pitched sound. "You really don't know. And that's what's going to make the reunification so much sweeter." While he was talking, the nation pulled the door shut behind him, hard enough to jam it shut.

There was a subtle edginess in the Empire's attitude now. "What the hell are you talking about, Ivan?"

With speed that he shouldn't have been capable of with such a large frame, the arctic nation lunged forward, closing the small gap between them. The Empire thrashed as Ivan's hands closed around his shoulders, slamming him into the wall – but this wasn't a Russia taken by surprise in the dark. This was a Russia who knew full well how to utilize his strength. The Prussian snarled, but found himself powerless to do much else. He lashed out with his legs, but their close proximity – and the deliberate angle at which the Russian was grabbing him – removed any advantage that might have brought.

"An Empire, are you? So weak that you can't even resist me… tell me, Gilbert, is this how it's supposed to feel?" Ivan leaned in closer, eyes narrow. "You have to sleep like a human. You even have to eat like a human just to get through a day. You can't run, and you have no strength. You can't even remember how you got here."

The thinner nation struggled again – but the effort left him panting slightly, eyes flashing angrily as he tried to keep Ivan in focus while the other was so close. "Go to hell, you Russian –"

"Sshh." The childish giggle again. "I wouldn't insult me, if I were you. I'm in a good mood, despite our history together." The smile was getting sickeningly wide. "Ludwig can have his damn reunification. But I'm going to take away the thing he loves most. I will make sure a part of you will always be mine."

The Prussian Empire stared at the Russian for a long moment, confusion lurking behind his mismatched eyes. When the other merely chuckled in response to the look, the albino chose the most sensible option he could think of.

He spat in Ivan's face.

The smile disappeared quickly, and the other's grip became nothing short of painful. The Russian's eyes grew even darker and despite his usual attitude, some part of the Empire wondered if shutting up and keeping still wouldn't have been a better idea.

"Sir? I really don't think we should be –"

The captain waved a hand, cutting off the protest. His other was clenched around a pen, which was digging a hole in the document in front of him. "Shut up."

"But sir, this is in –"

"No. This isn't our responsibility. We don't get involved."

The other officer settled down after a moment, and turned back to his desk. But despite their attempts to act as if nothing was wrong, neither of them was doing anything. It was as if they couldn't concentrate on anything else in the silence of the front entrance.

As the pen in his hand finally broke, spraying black ink across the formal paper, the captain tried to block out the muffled sounds of snapping bone and screams coming from the back.

Winter 1988

It was the sound of something exploding – cold and sharp in the winter air, like a gunshot – that jerked him out of his thoughts. Languidly, he lifted his eyes to peer out the single window. Outside, the sky was black and still – but he could see people in the street despite the curfew, many of them looking at the sky. Their murmurs were too loud for them to be gathering for some sinister purpose – and he thought he could even see some soldiers among them.

He glanced back to the sky again. Still as black as ever. Even the stars hadn't been able to find the energy to come –

A brilliant streak of colour and noise lit up the sky. Something tiny trailed sparks as it soared into the sky. For a moment he was tense, waiting for the inevitable destruction such a weapon would bring – and then the whole sky lit up.

His mouth opened slightly, and he leaned closer to the glass. The blinding explosion of lights faded after a moment, but it was burned onto his eyes. This time he kept his eyes trained on the sky, eyes wide.

Another shrieking whistle, another beautiful explosion of sparks that lit up the dark sky like miniature suns.

The Empire watched the colours, wondering what they could be – some new invention from the East, perhaps? They were always coming up with strange, mostly pointless things – though as he considered the way the lights lit up the streets, part of him wondered if these weren't the prelude to some sort of attack.

"… I wonder who's – aggh…" He tried to speak, but was cut off as a stabbing pain lashed through his chest, his entire heart seeming to seize up. The albino let out a long, low groan, leaning back against the wall of the tiny house he was in. He had been getting these spasms a lot as of late, and while he wasn't normally worried about physical pain – these were starting to get rather alarming.

This one, though, seemed to be worse than others. He struggled to his feet – lately it had been difficult to do much of anything without quickly becoming exhausted – and tried to move back to the equally tiny bed that he had been given.

He managed to get halfway there before the pain grew even worse, and the Empire collapsed to the floor, cursing.

"We're nearly done, Ludwig! We've just got this last big one –"

"Thanks be to heaven. I can't feel any to my extremities anymore – only lunatics stand out in the middle of winter for three hours –"

"Oh, can it, Austria. We all know you enjoyed doing this just as much as Germany and I."

The Austrian replied with something that was decidedly not refined. The Canadian he was insulting just laughed, pushing his hat back up his head, cheeks flushed. Germany, trying to set up the last firework, just rolled his eyes. The Austrian had learned to see the quiet Western nation as well, and the two had hit it off for some reason that the German was still trying to figure out.

"Come on, you two. I need some help keeping this one steady. It's the last one, and then we can go inside and get something warm." For once the blond man seemed to be in a genuinely cheerful mood as he struggled to keep the thing from tipping over on him. "Now get over here and hold this, would you?"

Still laughing, Matthew jogged over, seemingly totally unaffected by the chilly atmosphere. He held the firework steady as Ludwig tamped it into the bucket of sand properly. Roderich sniffed, and kept his distance – he still had scorch marks in his hair from the last one, which had gone off prematurely while he was still trying to hold on to it.

"Alright, everyone stand back!"

There was a flash of a match from the German, and then he was scrambling backwards as the base of the firework began to spark. A moment of anticipation – and then in a concussive explosion of sound, it rocketed skyward, spilling sand across the pavement. The three of them watched its progression, until it lit the sky up with red and white lights, each exploding into their own miniature bursts, crackling loudly.

"I hope he sees them," Roderich said after a moment, watching the sparks spiral down, face lit strangely.

"I hope everyone sees them," Matthew said quietly, tucking his hands into his jacket pocket. "Just so they all know they aren't alone."

Ludwig remained silent for a moment, before – to the surprise of the other nations – he started chuckling softly. Roderich and Matthew shared a mystified look, which the German nation caught out of the corner of his eye.

"I was just thinking," he said, crossing his arms as the last firework dissipated. "This has to be the best Christmas gift ever. Gilbert's going to spend the next twelve months trying to figure out how to top it."

Roderich stared for a moment, before he too smiled. "That would be just like him."

"In any case," Canada murmured as the trio finally turned away from the Wall. "I hope he's having a good Christmas over there… wherever he is."

His eyes finally left the sky, somewhat disappointed that the show hadn't lasted longer. The nation turned back to prod at his meal – though it was well past the normal mealtime, lately he had found himself staying at work for longer and longer periods. It wasn't that there was that much more to do – though his pile never seemed to get any smaller – it was just that his office was more welcoming than his house.

Today, though, he was glad he had opted to not return home yet – though dinner in said office wasn't anything special, it had been nice to be able to see the fireworks. His heart had lifted as the bright colours burst across the night sky, and for a while he had been able to forget everything.

"Oh, Ludwig." Ivan Braginski speared a vegetable on his fork with a touch more viciousness than required. His usual smile was lurking around his lips as he considered it. "Your gesture is cute… but ultimately, meaningless. Your brother might as well be dead; for all that you and the Empire have in common…"

His entire body had gone numb. The only sound in the tiny house – given to him by Russia for reasons that he didn't care to contemplate – was his ragged breathing and the sound of his heartbeat.

How the hell is this even – what the fuck is this supposed to – what the hell has he done to me?

The Empire's thoughts chased themselves around in his mind the way a dog would chase its tail; to no point or resolution. His mind simply couldn't grasp what it was that was going on; never before had something like this happened – and he was the kind of person who usually wasn't fazed by anything.

His free hand wandered up to his chest, carefully exploring it without his ever looking down. It wasn't as if it hurt – though the process certainly had. Now it was just more of a funny, empty feeling. Part of him wondered how he was managing to survive, considering the blood that was running down his chest, pooling on the floor around him. These thoughts were secondary, however, and mostly disorganized, his mind unable to get past the thing he was looking at.

His own heart – bloody and still beating – lay there on the floor where it had ripped itself from his chest.

Winter 1989

"Herr Beilschmidt, Herr Beilschmidt!"

Ludwig didn't look up from his desk as his office door burst open. The only indication he gave of having heard the disturbance was the crease that appeared between his eyebrows. Still writing, he waved his guest towards one of the two chairs in front of his desk. Used to having his orders obeyed without question, the German nation didn't look up to ensure they were. He wasn't expecting to have someone wrap their arms around him, hugging him with far too much enthusiasm.

Ludwig stiffened in his seat, the pen jerking wildly across the document at the unexpected and forceful embrace. The crease deepened, a scowl appearing on his features.

"Herr Schulze." His voice was brittle as he recognized his personal secretary from the corner of his eye. "Kindly remove yourself from me this instant."

"Apologies, sir, it's just –" The normally composed man looked positively over the moon, his glasses slightly askew, his hair mussed.

Ludwig wasn't impressed. "Schulze, there are very few things in the world that would call for you to hug me. I suggest that you start explaining –"

"Hungary's letting people through!" The shorter man could hardly contain himself, rocking back on his heels. "I'll get to see my mother and little sister before tonight!"

Ludwig blinked, momentarily confused. "What? Hungary's letting people –" His eyes widened as he realized just what his secretary had meant, and he felt like hitting himself for a moment. How the hell could he have been so wrapped up in work – his eyes flickered guiltily to where his radio used to stand. He had broken the thing only a short while ago, frustrated beyond all words.

"The barrier's broken, sir!" Schulze was practically beside himself with glee. Ludwig remembered vaguely that the other was one of his many staff members who had family on the other side of the Wall. "The people in East Germany aren't waiting for the official portals to open, they're just climbing straight over the thing – it's all over the news, you have to come!"

The German man hardly needed any more prompting. Thinking only enough to grab his coat off of the rack by the door, the tall blond left his office at a dead run, his heart in his mouth.

There was something going on. The Empire winced as pain stabbed through the left side of his chest, but he hauled himself to the door anyway, pushing it open and leaning on the doorframe. He carefully avoided the dark patch that he hadn't been able to scrub from the floor. Some part of him worried that something so simple – getting up and walking – had cost him so much energy, but the sight outside was enough to banish most of those thoughts from his mind.

People. Everywhere. Yelling and shouting – but it wasn't in panic, he realized a moment later. They were making such a noise because there was something going on, something big, that was –

"Come on, then, you're not just going to stand there, are you?"

The Empire looked down to the source of the voice, blinking as his eyes settled upon a girl who couldn't have been more than thirteen.

"Mister, you're not just going to stand there, are you? Mommy says they're taking down the Wall, and that we can all go home now!"

Home? The albino blinked, confused. Wasn't this home? He was a nation, and this was where he was, so it fell to reason… "What's that mean?" The words came out without his thinking of it, and from her expression, he could tell he'd said something wrong.

"You're weird – of course this isn't home! Or, at least it wasn't while that ugly Wall was up. But now they're taking it down – come on and help out! The soldiers aren't stopping us!"

She didn't wait for the Empire to reply, laughing and merging back with the faceless stream of people rushing by. The white haired man stared after her for a long moment, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment. Gradually, his lips twitched upwards into something that might have been called a smile.

"Yeah…" he muttered. "I'll come… help." With a sigh, he pushed himself away from the doorframe, walking away from the crumbling house.

It was the first time in a while that he had seen his own people so cheerful. Ten years of living among them, and they had seemed so broken – and yet here they were, laughing and hugging and celebrating with complete strangers. There was a distant sort of thrill in his body – as if he should have been feeling this same euphoria. Instead, he was feeling a sense of sadness – underlined by something that he placed as bitter satisfaction. Grimacing, the pale nation tightened the red scarf around his neck as if to ward off these sensations, and kept on walking.

It was as if something was pulling him to this Wall – the barrier that he still didn't understand the purpose of. The Empire couldn't shake the sensation that he was forgetting something very, very important.

Ludwig was sure, in years to come, he would remember this moment. He had reached the Wall just as his own people began pulling it apart with anything they could get their hands on. Some of the more adventurous citizens had staked out spots along the thing and were scaling up the stone. Everywhere there was a sense of euphoria, and the German nation laughed as his nation's joy filled his own heart.

Feeling a century younger, the blond moved through the crowd until he reached Russia's stone monstrosity. He placed a gloved hand on the stone, brushing over it for a moment, before his hand curled into a fist.

"You see?" he demanded of the sky, his voice lost in the many behind him. "You see, Ivan? I've won, in the end! Your Union is collapsing, and I will have my brother back!"

Pulling his gloves off, the German nation began to follow the example of many of the other citizens – he started climbing. As he rose above the people, their cheers boosting him up all the way, he couldn't help but let out a laugh. He stood on top of the Wall, and looked out over East Germany, looked down at the people gathered below on that side, cheering just as loud as their Western counterparts. The soldiers dotted among them looked lost in the sea of people, but a few of them were tentatively smiling as well. With the sun to his back, Ludwig let out a laugh as the first people climbing the Wall from the Eastern side reached the top. He leaned down and grasped the hand of the first young man, hoisting him up.

"Willkommen zu hause," he said, squeezing the other's shoulder even as he turned to help the next person up. "Endlich."

The Empire waited.

Having gotten close enough to the structure to see his people tearing the thing apart with everything they could find, he decided to hang back. He couldn't really explain his reluctance to get closer to the construct, only that something in his heart was telling him to stay away – to stay here. But curiosity always had been one of his faults, and so the Empire was torn – remaining where he was, but unable to get any closer.

"Come on," he muttered under his breath, hands trying to dig themselves into the brick of the ruined house he was lurking behind. "You've been so damn interested in the whole thing for the past ten years… stop being such a damn coward and just go up to it…"

But despite his words, the Empire couldn't move.

Instead, he let his eyes wander the Wall, watching people clambering over, helped up by who he could only assume were his citizens from the other side of the thing, despite the total disconnect he felt when he looked at them. It was impossible that they belonged to anyone else, though – his Empire was not so small that another nation would have appeared on his doorstep without his noticing. Perhaps the separation – which, when he tried to think about it, he couldn't recall how long it had been – was to blame for it. They were his; he just wasn't used to seeing them. Was such a thing possible for a nation?

As he watched the figure of a tall blond hoist a little girl – was that the same girl who had told him to come here? – to the top, the Empire nodded to himself. Yes. Such a thing must me possible.

Alone, perched on the roof of a building, stood the Russian. A wind was tossing the ends of his scarf wildly behind him, but he remained unmoved, leaning on his pipe. There was a faint smile around his lips as he watched the stream of humanity reach the Wall.

"You haven't won, Germany," he whispered, one hand resting over his heart. "You haven't gotten anything back."

The Russian tilted his head back and laughed as his family collapsed around him, the raw, broken notes lost to the wind and the isolation of the rooftop.

As the day wore on, the Empire felt a gnawing sensation start up in his stomach. As more of his people fled over the barrier – and now through it, as the checkpoints had been opened – he felt himself growing more and more tired. As if his strength was draining away with his people. A cough had started somewhere about midday – one he remembered having while imprisoned, but that he had thought had disappeared upon his escape.

And still he refused to move, red-purple gaze confused and wary.

Had anyone who had known the Prussian Empire been there to witness it, they would have been shocked. Caution had never been one of his traits – he would have been the first one over that divide, simply to see if there was anything to invade on the other side. And yet he was here – skulking behind rubble, unable to make himself move forward or go back.

"What the hell…" he muttered to himself. The crowd was significantly smaller than it had been at the start of the day – though the blond man who he had first seen was just getting down from the top now. Licking his lips – unable to explain the reluctance that lurked in his heart – the Prussian Empire pushed himself away from the rubble.

He could tell instantly that something was wrong as he approached the huge construct. The Empire managed to slip through the crowds of people trying to get through the opened checkpoints, until he was standing right at the entrance to one. As he reached out a hand to idly brush the stone, a wave of dizziness washed over him.

"I know, right?" A young man who looked about the same age as the albino had come up beside him, and whacked the nation across the shoulder. "It's a total rush. We're going to go home! I get to see my dad for the first time! Oh, come on, don't give me that look. You've probably been out here in the sun too long." He seemed strangely cheerful – though that appeared to be the mood of most people around them. "Come on, I'll give you a hand."

He had apparently missed the outraged look in the Empire's eyes as he slung one of the albino's arms over his own shoulder. The nation let his hand fall away from the wall, and at almost the same time, the dizziness started to fade.

"I can walk on my own," he growled as the two of them started to make their way under the stone. All around the press of people was immense, and despite himself the nation found himself getting edgy. There was a funny sensation in the back of his head that he was, for the moment, ignoring."

"You sound absolutely awful, you know that?" His helper didn't seem to be affected by the Empire's tone. "You got some sort of chest cough? Not to mention you're skinny as hell. I think I could carry you without trouble, if I tried –"

"If you try, I will ensure that it will be the last thing you ever do." The Empire was still trying to separate himself from the other when the tight press of people suddenly seemed to relax.

It took him a moment to figure out why, exactly, this was. The sunlight hit his face, and squinting, the Empire tried to make sense of where he was.

"We're home!" His companion let out a laugh, finally letting the albino go. "We're finally back in West Germany!"

West Germany? The Empire blinked. What the hell was "West Germany?" Last he had checked, this entire area was still under his control, and he was pretty sure he hadn't renamed it recently. The sensation in the back of his head was growing, as well as a dull throbbing in his chest, as though his heart was trying to –

He clutched at his chest, eyes wide. He wasn't going to let that happen again. It had been bad enough the first time around, and he would be damned if he let that kind of weakness show in front of his own citizens –

But were they his own citizens? His mind was swirling in circles, catching bits of conversation in a harsh language that he didn't understand, and the throb in his skull and chest was turning into a pounding sensation. There was something wrong, but he couldn't articulate what it was –

"H – hey." The voice of the young man again, at his elbow. "Are you alright? You don't look so good –"

The Empire latched on to him as the one person he could understand in this sea of colour and noise. His fingers dug deeply into the other's shoulders, with a strength that his thin frame shouldn't have had. A moment later, though, he was letting go again, trying to fold in on himself, fingers digging into his chest. Choking coughs escaped his mouth, but he was focused on trying to keep his heart where it was.

"Hey!" The young man was shouting, trying to be heard above the crowd. "Help! I need a doctor! There's something wrong with him!"

The Empire was vaguely aware of people stopping. Several tried to reach out to touch him where he was hunched over, but he let out such an animalistic snarl at every attempt that most were too wary to continue trying. These weren't his people, he knew. They were strangers, and he didn't know them, and oh god someone make it stop –

"What's going on?" A stern voice broke through the sounds – people still celebrating in the background, the frantic cries of the young male trying to get someone's attention. The Empire shied away from that voice, too, not understanding the harsh language.

"I don't know, he was looking a little ill when I helped him over, and then he just started to grab his chest and cough, and –" Now the only person he had been able to understand was speaking in that same language, and the Empire staggered away from him as well, clutching his chest.

"Gilbert?" He thought that might have been a name – he wasn't sure. "Brother, what's wrong? What happened?"

The pavement met his knees painfully, and the albino let out a ragged gasp as a pair of hands gripped his shoulders. He raised his head with effort, sweat running down the sides of his face, and stared into a pair of impossibly blue eyes. There was fear in them – far too much fear for the condition of a total stranger.

"Brother! Tell me what's wrong!" The voice was frantic, and perhaps slightly familiar, but – the Empire groaned again, his heart pulsing rapidly. "I need a doctor, now! Don't just stand there, get moving! Can't you see he needs help?"

The face swam into view again, and the larger man shifted his grip so that he was cradling the albino. The Empire wished he wouldn't do that, but there was no strength left in his limbs.

"Don't worry, brother. Someone's coming. You're going to be alright. Just hold on."

He opened his mouth slightly, breath rattling. There was darkness eating away at the edges of his vision, but before he collapsed completely, the Prussian managed to get three words out – three words that left the blond man holding him staring back in undisguised horror.

"Who… are… you…?"

A/N: Again, that took waaay too long to write for it being a span of ten years. Agh. On the bright side, I did manage to get it out sooner - though I'm dreadfully sorry for the month long wait. I'm graduating this year, and it seems that this semester is giving me a massive overload of work. On top of that, I'm taking a full load, so I don't really get much of a break between school, work, sports, and my other stuff.

Anyway, my personal stuff aside... a few notes...

From this point, whenever the story is focusing on Prussia, and someone's dialogue is all in italics, it's because he can't understand what they're saying. I, however, want you guys to be able to read it without flipping to footnotes every other line.

If anyone can guess what's up with Prussia, feel free to share. If you get it right, I'll let you know! :D

If you're wondering where 1985 went... I was going to write something for it, but I just couldn't think of anything... so I just kind of... deleted it. But hey, you got 1988!

After what... 70,000 words, I think? This story has certainly taken a completely different path from what I originally thought it would...

Thank you so much for all of your reviews - they make my day when I see them!

If you've read, please review!

Pheleon.