This chapter is a little collection of one-shots from Germany's point of view after WWII. Like the last chapter, it's more serious, but it has some light-hearted moments. I'm fairly certain most of this is historically accurate, but please, by all means let me know if something isn't. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. :(

Germany stared out at the ruins of his city with tight frown knitted on his brow. A hard stone of despair dropped into his stomach with the knowledge that countless other cities and towns were the exact same. Actually…all of Europe…

"Germany? Are you…alright?"

The blonde haired nation didn't bother to turn around. He knew that voice too well. The voice that, twenty years ago, had offered a cease-fire on Christmas.

England approached from behind on Germany's left side. When Germany didn't reply, England took the hint and stood in silence as they both looked out over the rubble of a once bustling, prosperous city.

"What will happen now?" Germany finally asked after a few minutes had passed.

England put his hands into the pockets of his green military uniform, "It won't be like the last war. France is too weak to make the same demands. I think I heard someone say that it wasn't two world wars. It was the Great War: Part I and Part II. We won't make the same mistakes again."

"France may be too weak," Germany agreed, "But Russia isn't. I know what he wants. He would see everything German burned to ashes on the ground if he had his way."

"America won't let that happen. You know how he feels about Russia. America is already making arrangements to preserve as much as he can. He's going to keep Russia as far back as possible."

Germany swallowed hard, but no tears came to his blue eyes, "Russia already has my brother. My eastern half."

England sighed through his nose, "I know. Your boss did a good job of making Russia hate all things German. Russia won't let go for a long time."

"So what now? You did not answer my question clearly."

The older nation was quiet for another moment before he solemnly answered, "We rebuild. We make our cities great again, and better than before. We acknowledge that Russia is a powerful new threat, and we do not have the strength to oppose him. As much as it pains me to say it, we need to let America step in and take care of things. While you, me, France, Italy, and the others recover, we need to let the git handle the problems we can't."

"Rebuild…and make ourselves better…" Germany quietly repeated.

England forced out a small smile, "Destruction tends to be a good opportunity to renovate. Granted, this war destroyed more, but we can move past it like we always have."

Germany stared out at the ruins of Dresden, turned to England, and shook his head, "No. Moving past implies that we will leave this all behind us. We can never forget what happened. Never forget, so we will never repeat."

They both stared out into the rubble again, and England slowly nodded, "Never forget, never repeat."

"You have many cities that look like this, don't you?"

"London is the worst, but not as bad as this."

Germany bowed his head with clenched fists, "Never forget, never repeat." He swore to himself in a whisper.

England was right when he said that they were too weak to oppose Russia. Germany felt his people slowly starving with the Russian roadblocks cutting off Berlin from supplies. It had been awhile since he had seen anyone (other than Russia, at least). Italy had his own country to rebuild as well. Japan was still recovering from the atomic bombs. Technically, Germany had been divided among the allies, but France, England, and America had yet to show their faces.

Hunger twisted in Germany's stomach, as it had for the last three days. His people were already so beaten down by the war, and many of them had not had any part in it. The hungry faces of children haunted Germany wherever he turned. Honestly, that hurt him more than the pain in his stomach. He needed to help his people…but how? He couldn't—

A hum began to fill the air, and everyone froze at the sound. The sound of aircraft was all too familiar to them, and was always a noise that meant death was soon to follow. Before Germany could shout for everyone to take cover, two planes broke through the gray clouds from above. He couldn't bring his jaw back up from his feet when he saw an American flag stamped on the side of one and a British flag on the side of the other. They began to descend towards the airport, but Germany was already sprinting for all he was worth with adrenaline practically giving his feet wings.

He skidded to a halt at the same time the first plane came to a stop. The other plane had to circle around to try again (most likely because they realized the runway was too small for both of them to land at the same time), but would be joining them in a few more minutes.

America leapt out of his plane clad in his familiar bomber jacket, half-rimmed spectacles, and larger-than-life grin, "Germany! It's been awhile, dude. You look skinny."

Germany narrowed his eyes ever so slightly at the powerful young nation, "America. What are you doing here?"

"I mean, I know Russia and the others have been picking at you like vultures would eat a piece of dead meat, but I figured—"

"What are you doing here?" Germany interrupted with poorly concealed frustration.

America looked a little lost for a moment before his face lit up again, "Oh yeah! So England and I heard that Russia was being a total jerk, and we decided that he couldn't let him get away with that. You know, since this part is our half of you and all. Anyways, we couldn't abandon you, so we came to help you!"

Germany couldn't answer due to the roaring plane engine that landed behind America's plane. From the cockpit of that plane came England, who looked slightly annoyed. In the back of his mind, Germany realized that England's plane had been in front of America on the way in. America must have edged England out to get into the airstrip first, thus ticking off England.

"If the look on your face is anything to go by," England stated, "America hasn't properly explained what we're doing here. First things first though: we need some strong, able-bodied men to get the supplies off our planes. There are going to be at least twenty more coming in today, and we'll need as much runway space as we can."

At Germany's stare, England smacked his forehead, "And there I go not explaining it properly either. You see—"

"We brought a bunch of stuff to keep everyone alive and kicking!" America excitedly interrupted, "Come on, let's start moving stuff!" He flung open the cargo door on his plane, and Germany couldn't feel himself moving forward as he approached the aircraft.

Flour, wheat, powdered milk, potatoes, lard, cereal…

"America and I are airlifting supplies into Berlin," England softly explained, "My boys back home have done their homework, and we've rationed out how much each person will eat in a day, how many planes per day can fly in, how many tons we can carry, etcetera. We're not saying that everyone will be fat and happy—far from it, actually—but people aren't going to starve to death. We'll make sure of that."

America lifted God knew how many tons when he hoisted a ridiculous amount of stacked boxes onto his shoulder, "So where should we put this stuff anyways? The next planes will get here soon, and those have the meat, fish, and fuel aboard them, so we need to get moving."

Germany might have been in severe danger of crying if it hadn't been for England reprimanding his former brother in a shout, "America, you git! Don't carry so much! The last thing we need is for stuff to fall and break! Everything has been rationed just right, and if you mess things up, you'll be making the extra flights out here!"

After a moment, Germany was able to pull himself together and round up as many men as he could to unload the two planes. As the day went on, more and more planes came in. America and England helped unload every one of them right beside Germany.

It was strange how just three years before, the three of them had been at each other's throats and would have tripped one up sooner than give a helping hand. However, now they were working seamlessly together. Hell, America and England weren't making any kind of profit off this. They were spending the fuel for the planes and their own resources to feed a city of over two million people…because they couldn't leave them behind.

When the last plane was unloaded, and America was clambering back into his own personal aircraft, Germany looked out at all what had been brought. It was nowhere near enough to feed his city, but the promise of many, many more planes gave him hope. Hope that he hadn't felt in three years.

Germany felt a pair of eyes on him, and he turned to find England staring at him with a small smile, "You look like you're in a bit of a shock."

"I was…taken off-guard," He reluctantly admitted, "Thank you, England. Thank you for helping my people."

England shrugged, the same smile still in place, "I told you it wouldn't be the same as the last war. I'll see you around, Germany."

"Uncle Wiggly Wings!"

"The Chocolate Flier!"

Germany only had that two-second warning before a solid object crashed down on his head. Children scrambled as more objects fell in little homemade parachutes, so he refrained from swearing aloud. He was beyond thankful for the assistance from the two blonde nations (not that he would admit that to anyone), but if America would stop dropping chocolate bars on his head during the random fly-bys, he would be a little happier.

That last bit is really based on true events. A pilot in the Berlin Airlift dropped chocolates in homemade parachutes for the kids. It sounded like something America would do, and naturally, he would somehow know where Germany was too so he could drop chocolate on him XD Anyhoo, I've run out of plot bunnies at this time, so if anyone has any requests, I'll see what I can do! Thank you for reading!

Fearlee