The phone rang once, then again, and again, until the line was connected.

"Hello?"

"Hey Poland. I was kinda hoping I could talk to you."

"Yeah? Who is this?"

"It's America." Poland laughed on the other side.

"Alfie? What are you calling me for?"

"Well, I've been spending some time with an old friend, and I think he needs some help. Your help."

"What are you talking… Is this about Liet?"

"Yeah, it's about Lithuania."

"Is he okay? He's not like, in the hospital or anything, right?"

"No, no. He's not. But I'm really worried about him."

"Did Russia do something to him?" Poland's usually soft, playful voice became sharp and dangerous.

"No… man, I wish it was that simple…" America rubbed the back of his head uncomfortably and flopped down on to the couch. This wasn't as easy as he thought it would be. "He's come over to my place a couple times since we've all been in London," Poland grumbles angrily under his breath and America chuckles awkwardly. "It's not like that. Anyway, he's been over here and the first time he needed a place to stay, which was fine..."

"What? Why didn't he have his own room?"

"I think he might have. From what I can tell something happened between Russia and him." America coughed uncomfortably.

"And he didn't stay with those other guys?"

"You mean the little guys that hang around Russia?"

"Yeah, them."

"Jeez, I don't know why. That's not the point. The point is I think he's been hurting himself." Poland breathed deeply.

"How bad is it?"

"Pretty bad."

"Anything still scabbing?"

"Not at the moment, but there were some pretty fresh ones. They were deep too." Poland shuddered before replying with a shaky voice.

"And what do I do?" He whispered, asking himself more than the man on the other end. He remembered the scarring… the long straight lines across the small man's forearms. He remembered wishing and praying there was something that he could do to lower the wall between himself and Lithuania... some way that he could get in and fix whatever was hurting inside of him. It had been years since they had spoken comfortably with one another and every day had been torture. Poland had never been a man to dwell or obsess… He simply didn't care about most things and didn't bother focusing on them. Politics, war… he'd seen enough and didn't care to bother with them anymore. But Lithuania… Lietuva… What could he do to help him?

America stayed silent allowing the man some time to think. It wasn't an easy situation and neither really knew how to progress.

"Poland?"

"Yeah?"

"I uhm… I overheard him call your name in his sleep. That's why I thought…"

"…Yeah. I got it."

"You've got it?"

"Mmm. I'll call him up this afternoon." There was a comradery shared across the line as the men thought about the many ways the situation could play out.

"Good luck, Poland. Help him."

"I will."

As Lithuania walked from America's apartment to his own he thought about what the blonde had told him and especially what the man hadn't told him. America said that he cared about Lithuania and seemed genuinely concerned, but despite the fact that he had obviously seen the scars on his wrists, the blonde didn't treat him any differently. Lithuania had always expected America to treat him as just another damsel in distress if he were to get involved, but now, America was definitely involved, but Lithuania was still a person to him and a valuable friend. He felt as though his thoughts and opinions were valued by someone in a way that they hadn't been for a long time. Something had to change.

Lithuania had thought for years about the path he was heading down and where it might take him. He had been a great nation once. But now… now what was he? He wasn't the strongest, the largest, or the greatest producer. He wasn't proud of who he was anymore. He respected his people and their strength and tenacity, but he just couldn't accept how broken and dirty he felt after living with the USSR. His nation still bore the shadows of the power of Russia and he- well, he'd never again be good enough. He'd never be able to go back to being the nation he was before… but he could however, decide the nation he would become. As the hotel door closed behind him, he was decided. With his back straight and his head held high for the first time in a long time, he picked up the phone.