A/N: Well, here's another one after a very long break. Thank you all so much for your support! I truly appreciate it!

He had kept to himself for the most part. The only interaction he really had with other countries was primarily to gain knowledge and further improve his own culture. For centuries, the waters that surrounded him kept him safe from unwanted change and invasion, kept him unaltered by any hand save his own.

Of course, it all changed when Westerners started taking notice of him, and he finally began taking notice of them.

He became aware of the fact that time never could stand still… that he had to advance, just as the Westerners had. As he did before, he began taking the parts of the foreign cultures that he liked and incorporated them into his own. It seemed like a good thing…however, as he and the world grew and strengthened, things like the boundaries of water became less and less potent. Some things that he wanted kept out couldn't be forced away as easily as they had been before, and some things in his culture started to become rarer and rarer.

Sometimes, it annoyed him. Sometimes, it thrilled him.

It made him wonder… did he truly like the other countries with whom he shared the earth? If one were to ask him at any other moment, he wouldn't have been sure how he would have answered.

"Japan!" a far-off, desperate voice called to him, "Japan! Can you hear me?"

Japan forced his eyes open and was met with nothing but blurred sight. The voice sounded again, "Japan?"

He blinked, slowly becoming aware that the voice was from the person supporting him. Italy, he figured.

"You'll be okay!" A loud, nervous voice exploded a little further away, "It…it doesn't look too bad!"

America…

Japan shifted, but as he did so, pain shot through his entire body and he was forced back into his original position. Why does it hurt so much…? …and why is breathing suddenly so hard…?

"We-we got rid of the beast for you," a voice said, sounding slightly stiff, "I… I'm sorry we couldn't have gotten here sooner."

Don't be sorry, it wasn't your fault… Japan wanted to say, but when he opened his mouth, all that he could force out was a weak cough. Feeling slightly embarrassed, he gave a feeble smile.

"Do… do you think you'll make it, Japan…?" Italy's voice whispered.

"Don't ask him that! Of course he will!" America's voice yelled, sounding high and desperate, "It's impossible that he wouldn't!"

"We've already lost others…" the soft voice of Russia murmured, "It's not impossible at all…"

"Don't listen to him, Japan," America's voice said, suddenly up close to his ear, "Come on… survive… for us…?"

The young nation was just so naïve, so innocent… Japan smiled tiredly, turning to face America's voice. He wanted to tell America that he would get better, that the injuries he sustained wouldn't get the best of him. He wanted to answer Italy in the affirmative; he wanted to be able to respond to all of the other voices murmuring softly in the background.

…but he could not.

He could not… and it pained him.

He had wondered for a long time whether or not he had liked the other nations of the world. Did he only keep ties with them because they bought his products, sold him theirs, and allowed him his choice of new cultural features…? Could he live in isolation again without ever caring what happened to these other nations?

Before, he might not have ever been able to answer those questions.

…but in this mansion, with these people…

With all he had seen, all he had experienced…

As his breath faded and his heart stilled, he finally knew.

He couldn't have lived without them.