Just my luck.

I've started school this week, and I'm like, oh, that's fine, I doubt I'll have time to write a whole lot during the school year, so I'll just finish up my writing over summer break.

And then four days before school actually starts, while I'm drawing, I suddenly get ANOTHER Modern-Day PruHun Hetalia plot bunny.

Seriously, Hetalia will not let me stop.

But that's not entirely a bad thing~ ;D

I am rather doubtful that that one would be formulated (I'm already having trouble deciding whether or not I actually want to publish that Gakuen one now) but the fact that I keep getting story ideas is rather comforting. Means Hetalia has finally hit my writing well and I'm actually getting somewhere. :D

I just noticed that ironically, unlike my other historical oneshots/longshots/whatever stories of Hetalia I've written, I had done very little research for this story. Erp.

Does it still count as a history-based fanfic? 8D

Le gasp, I'm turning sixteen this weekend. O_O

Anonymous Review Reply:

The Krayon: *ducks as pieces of your heart flies my way* Ahaha...it's a lot easier when it's physical torment, but when it comes to mental/emotional/personal torment, I start to feel a lot guiltier...(which is sort of ironic because considering the plot lines of the two potential stories blooming in my head...)*coughs* Anyway...I shall try my best to stay awesome! :'D Thanks for reading~

Demi: Haha, I feel pretty bad for Hungary as well. Her conscience will not let her go so easily after that...and I'm glad that my OCs are acceptable~ ^_^ Hrmm, you could be right about the cannons (I have been rather lazy when it came to researching weapons from this era OTL). Thank you for your feedback!

Teacup: Wahh, I'm glad you're taking time to read my story even though you have homework! ^_^;;; Thanks a bunch, it really means a lot~

"Hungary."

It seemed so odd to hear that voice now. After being locked in a prison for so long his smooth voice was now brittle. When she and Austria were escorted far from Prussia's land, they immediately treated his many injuries. Hungary refused to take off her gloves; she did not want to see her own fingers stained with Prussia's blood.

Hungary turned wearily to him, her eyes glazed with tiredness. She could not bring herself to sleep after they had escaped. It seemed unnatural to her now. How was she able to go to sleep peacefully?

"Are you all right?" Austria asked concernedly. Hungary nodded and looked away. The horses were trotting slowly enough for conversation, but she wished that they would quicken their pace. She wanted to go back home and forget everything that had happened.

"Did you get hurt?" asked Austria.

"No," Hungary said quietly. "I stayed by the wall like you said. The fire didn't reach me." She regretted the emptiness in her voice. She truly rejoiced that Austria was safe now, but at what costs? Did it have to reach that point?

"When you were with Prussia," Austria said carefully. "Did he—?"

"He didn't hurt me," Hungary admitted, her heart sinking lower and lower as she spoke. "I'm fine. I'm—I'm completely all right."

An awkward silence filled in between them, with only the sound of horse hooves clawing the loam. Austria reached out to take her hand, but she jerked away immediately. She was afraid that somehow Austria could feel Prussia's blood on her hands and know what she had done. Austria resignedly let his hand fall to his side, crestfallen and confused.

"You…probably think I'm monstrous, don't you?" Austria said softly. His face was filled with genuine sorrow, which made Hungary hurt even more.

"I don't," Hungary said slowly, though her tongue felt heavy as she spoke. "It was—" She didn't want to say 'necessary' because it was too much. "It got you out. That was the entire purpose in the first place."

Austria knew Hungary too well. He could sense the hesitation and reluctance in her, but could not pinpoint any other reason except what he believed was wariness and anger toward him for his violence.

"I'm the monster, anyway," Hungary murmured. Austria turned confusedly at her.

"How can you say that?" Austria said perplexedly.

Hungary didn't answer immediately. For some reason she couldn't dare tell Austria about Prussia. What if he turned away from her after finding out what act of violence she had done? So many questions were flooding her mind. Where was Prussia now? Was he dying?

Don't be stupid, Hungary, she scolded herself. Countries can't die as easily as humans.

But what if another country had murdered—?

"Austria, what would make you hate me?" Hungary blurted out suddenly.

"What?" Austria exclaimed, absolutely bemused. Hungary didn't look at him, only keeping her eyes forward.

"What would make you hate me?" Hungary repeated, raising her voice.

Austria, still puzzled from Hungary's question, shook his head. "Nothing ever would."

Hungary gave a weak chuckle in spite of herself. "But I hate myself."

"What are you talking about?" Austria asked, baffled.

Hungary bit her lip, her mouth feeling extremely dry and sticky. "I don't know how to explain it." There was so much guilt inside her for so many reasons; for stabbing Prussia after pretending to be allies with him, for growing close to Austria's enemy, for acting so miserable and cold after freeing Austria and getting everything she wished—

—for wishing she never left—

"I'm officially in the war now, aren't I?" Hungary said, trying so hard to change the subject. "Now that everyone knows I'm against—against Prussia."

"Yes," Austria said regretfully. "I wish you didn't have to get into this trouble, but I can't thank you enough for helping me escape."

"You don't have to," Hungary urged. She didn't want to be reminded, but she didn't know why. Austria was free from that horrible prison. That was all that mattered, right? "You heard me before. I wanted to join the war. I wanted to—" She stopped short, remembering how she promised herself to destroy Prussia. Her past self must have been thrilled with her.

"I'm just glad you're safe," Hungary blurted out. It was the entire truth. If anything, she wished that Austria was never kidnapped so she would have never seen Prussia again. Perhaps all this madness, this guilt and confusion, could have been avoided. She rubbed her hands uncomfortably, fidgeting in order to distract herself.

"What happened?" Austria asked concernedly. Hungary gave him a confused look until he pointed to her hands. She froze; while she was fidgeting with her hands, her gloves shifted just slightly and revealed the telltale bloodstain on the heel of her hand. She quickly pulled her gloves down to cover Prussia's blood.

"Nothing," she said firmly.

"Were you hurt?" inquired Austria anxiously. Hungary swallowed, apprehension crawling with its spindly legs on her skin.

"It's not my blood," Hungary said calmly. She snuck a glance at Austria, half hoping that he would understand so that she wouldn't have to explain, so that he would understand why she was so distraught, but at the same time she couldn't bear if Austria would discover.

She saw the flicker of sage accepting in Austria's eyes and she knew that even though he may not understand everything, he just knew her. He was still her love and heart, after all.

"I've done things I've regretted, Austria," Hungary admitted quietly. "But I—I shouldn't regret them." She bit her lip, afraid that Austria might take it the wrong way. She didn't regret coming to save him, but the means she took to do so…if she had just run away when she had the chance, when Austria was urging her to climb over the wall with him, she wouldn't have these feelings, would she? Why, why, why did she stay behind?

"Whatever you did," Austria said slowly, his eyes searching her face as if to try to find some small bit of truth, "you still won't be any different to me. I had told you, haven't I? Nothing would ever make me hate you. It's all right."

No it wasn't. It couldn't be. She had given Austria a grateful smile and remained quiet for the rest of the way home, but inside she was not a bit relieved.

She could not stop feeling Prussia's warm blood on her hands.

First there was a powerful pain that knocked him off of his feet. He couldn't breathe; he felt like he was drowning in hot, thick liquid. He couldn't see or distinguish anything in front of him; all he could see was red, black, and brown. He tried to stand straight or at least move, but his legs suddenly became weak and brittle underneath him.

Next there was nothing underneath him. The world shook as if God placed both hands on the Earth and dribbled it. Before he knew it, he was falling into Hell. He could feel the heat all around him, Hell's fire reaching out to embrace him as he plummeted into who knew where—

Then there was nothingness. Absolute nothingness as if everything ceased to exist. Hell disappeared in thin air. There was no heat, no pain, no comfort, not even warmth or cold. He couldn't think straight; all his thoughts seemed to slip from his grasp like water through his fingers. Time must have passed—could it ever stop turning?

Finally, he could breathe. He could feel the warm air in his throat and it hurt his chest to inhale. It was warm and soft, but there was still pain paralyzing him. He felt something inside his fingers until he realized that it was just his muscles moving. The swirling, unfathomable sounds floating above him slowly formulated into words with meaning. He could recognize the voices, but he couldn't tell what was going on. He tried to open his eyes, but they felt so heavy and he felt so weak.

"…mostly made out of stone, otherwise the entire place would have been burnt down."

That was France's voice, wasn't it? What was France doing here?

"But it was still really bad," Spain's voice answered worriedly. "Considering the fact that there was oil poured over the place where the fort was burned…"

"It's a miracle the whole place wasn't destroyed…"

Prussia finally managed to open his eyes. He winced at the bright light from the fireplace. He blinked blearily, trying to see clearly. Spain and France were sitting by the bed, and once they saw that he was awake they immediately crowded around him.

"Are you okay?" Spain said, frightened. "I was almost sure that you were dead! I thought you would have died! I mean—"

"Let him breathe, Espagne," France urged. Spain backed away, abashed but still anxious.

"What's going on?" Prussia mumbled. He tried to sit up, but his chest suddenly seared with horrible pain and forced him back down onto the bed. With that jolt of pain came the memories of what had happened, rushing through his mind like a wave. He felt another bout of horrible pain in him, but this time it had nothing to do with the stab wound at his chest.

"I'm still at the fort, right?" Prussia said, his voice very soft and barely audible. He turned tiredly to France and Spain. "What are you two doing here? I thought—isn't this—?"

"When we heard what happened, we came over here right away," Spain explained, nodding. "I couldn't believe my eyes when I came here…"

"Why? What's wrong?" Prussia said, expecting the worst as France elbowed Spain in the rib for his lack of tact. "My men—how are they? Are many hurt?"

"You should relax, Prusse," France said firmly, pulling the sheets over Prussia, "else you won't heal properly."

Prussia could immediately tell the discomfort in France's voice. He threw the covers off and pulled himself up, fighting back the horrible pain that wracked his chest.

"I need to make sure they're all right," Prussia muttered, placing his feet on the ground. "What happened?"

"We were going to ask you that," Spain said timidly. "All we know is that Hungary's army battled yours near your fort…"

"What happened? What was the outcome?" Prussia demanded. He couldn't believe that a battle had occurred and he—he didn't even know where or how he was during the entire event.

"Your army fought them off, but…it was quite a price," France admitted. "Many men were lost. The fort is protected still, but so many were killed…"

Prussia could see the questioning in France's eyes. He immediately felt growing discomfort and pain inside of him that even masked the stab wound on his chest. He swallowed hard, realizing that he was shaking.

"Where's…Hungary?" asked Spain, watching Prussia warily.

Prussia shuddered and he couldn't look at either Spain or France anymore. All that trust he had put in Hungary…what of it now? Had it been completely pointless from the very beginning?

"Gone, isn't she?" Prussia muttered. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of her. He didn't want to think of her anymore. He had to move on. "My soldiers. Where are they all?" He tried to push himself off the bed but he couldn't even stand anymore. Not one, but now both his legs were petrified with pain and he fell. France caught him before he could reach the ground and pushed him back onto the bed.

"Don't even think of walking," France said. "You've broken some ribs and your leg."

"How the hell did I manage to do that?" Prussia muttered.

"Some of your men said that you fell from the wall," Spain said quietly. "After…um…"

"I'm supposing that they told you a little more than just that, hm?" Prussia said flatly. Even if his mind just flitted toward Hungary, he would feel an unnatural cold and hurt sensation seize him. He tried to remember anything about her instead of that bloodied, stricken face he had last seen before the world crashed around him. He tried to see her happy smile, her innocence before any of this happened, but every time he tried the memory would distort to that night in the burning fort and everything inside him hurt.

"I—" Spain hesitated, biting back his words just in time. "How—? Um…how are you feeling? Your heart was almost cut out, practically. The dagger barely missed."

Prussia could only shake his head. His chest was throbbing with horrible pain, and he knew too well that it was because of his heart rather than his injury. He couldn't help but suspect that even if the metal had missed, his heart had been cut out of his chest already. He tried to ignore the excruciating pain and stand up in spite of his broken and sprained legs.

"I need to know how my boys are," Prussia said sharply when France tried to stop him. He balanced himself mostly on his sprained leg since he was so used to abusing it. "I can't just stay here in this—this—" He looked around to see where he was. "—my own office while my men are dying after fighting a battle I wasn't even able to help them in!" How many boys had he let die? If he had not trusted Hungary…would they still be alive?

"Prusse, you can't even move—" France tried to reason.

"I don't care!" Prussia cried out. He leaned against the chair, trying to stay upright. "All this time—this whole time I thought—maybe things were different—" He fell sideways and clung to the back of the chair, his entire body shaking. His body protested and was wracked with pain.

Everything was falling apart around him and he didn't know how to fix anything. His men had to die for him and he did nothing to help. He had trusted Hungary, had been so convinced that she felt the same—what was he thinking? How could he have been so mistaken? This whole entire time, she must have not felt anything but disgust and hatred toward him. How could she feel otherwise when she was only here to save Austria? Austria, though he had no strength or power to protect anyone including himself, who had no power or pride in his name, had taken away the only thing Prussia truly yearned for. Power, control, victory, fear lacing his name…he had them, but they all no longer mattered anymore.

But that didn't matter, did it?

All those things she had said to him, about caring about him and wanting to be free…they were all blatant lies, weren't they? The gentle words and concern she had given him…they only masked burning hatred and anger toward him. That thought drove a knife sharper and deeper into his chest than any metal ever could achieve.

What had he done wrong?

France pulled Prussia from the ground and pushed him back onto the bed. Prussia did not protest or fight back anymore. It was true, wasn't it? He wouldn't even be able to make it across the room in this state, no matter how long or hard he tried.

"France?" Prussia said quietly. France almost did not catch it. France glanced inquiringly at Prussia as he laid him back onto the bed.

"What?" France asked concernedly.

"You were right," Prussia muttered. His hand was reached out toward nothingness, lingering in the air before he let it drop weakly to his side. "It's better to be loved than to be feared."

He needn't say more. France knew with a jolt in his heart that Prussia had been thoroughly, utterly broken down.