Rusger Oneshots

Patching Up Our Broken Pieces

Hello I'm back! Exams are over! :D

And here's the sequel to Kiss It All Better, Part 3 of the alternate storyline to Cutting, Angst Week No.5!

And It's Very Long. Easily the longest thing I've ever written XD (I may have a small bias on who I prefer to vent through. Russia is nice to project but Germany is just another level of angstiness okay >:3)

Here's a comparison of the previous one to This one. Kiss It All Better is roughly 8000 words long. The part before the Timeskip of This oneshot is already 7353 words long. It is highly recommended by me the writer that you have a small break when you get to said Timeskip, drink some water, just go do something else you should actually be doing instead of reading this for like 5 minutes.

I also wrote this over a period of two months in bits and pieces, so it might not be very smooth or consistent. Tried my best though! I hope you'll still like it!

Extra note: Germany's thoughts are in German. I can't write in German very well and I don't want to make any translation issues so just imagine them in German if you know the language XD

Warnings: Self Harm, Blood(Moderate amount and only a small part), WW2 events and Nazi Germany will make an appearance(As a flashback/memory), Small bit of child abuse. One good paragraph of all caps angry shouting. 

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Germany wakes up like clockwork at the exact same time during weekdays, which was 7 am. And after only finally falling asleep at 5 am early this morning after their whole emotionally spent talk, he felt absolutely exhausted. Far worse than any other time before.

This whole week with him and Russia's problem, he had hardly gotten much sleep at all, the most he got was 3 hours each night, the rest of his time in bed spent on thinking, and then a whole full day of drowning himself in work to try and ignore their problem and his pain. Even for a workaholic like him, this schedule was taking a toll on him.

He had to keep going, though. Even though it still hurt. He still didn't know how to help Russia. He didn't know how to help them both get back to where they were before this whole thing. How could he ever trust Russia in the same way again?

No. Wrong. I should not be thinking that way. He told himself automatically, like he was programmed to say them whoever he did something wrong. 

I do trust him, he's my boyfriend.

The clock struck 7, on the dot, and Germany's eyes fluttered to full awareness, despite the bloodshot and tear stained state they were in. He winced slightly at the uncomfortableness of it all and rubbed them, hand brushing a warm surface as it moved.

Russia was still out cold beside him, laying unmoving on his back as he breathed calmly, features relaxed in sleep. Germany pushed himself into a sitting position, scooting away from his side and shivering slightly from the chill on his body. 

At least he got some of his problems out of his system last night.

But how much, exactly? How many more layers of problems and trauma did he have to beg and plead and ask Russia to tell him so that he could try to help him? Why couldn't he just be upfront with them? Why does he still hide them away, when time and time again he had told him that he wanted to help him?

No. Wrong. I should not be thinking that way.

Germany scrubbed at his face and forced his sore body to move. He needed to shower, and get ready for work. But his eyes strayed to Russia again, and he stared at his boyfriend's own tear-stained face, which had dried overnight and now just formed a crusty layer over his skin. 

His hand moved on its own accord and gently brushed Russia's cheek with the tips of his fingers. He didn't even so much as twitch. He must be really tired if he doesn't react at all, being such a light sleeper, Germany thought as he carefully tucked the blankets around him, pulling the collar of his shirt higher up his neck so that he didn't get cold.

Ow, ow, ow, ow- He hissed to himself in his mind when he forced himself to get up and get fresh clothes, go take a shower, wash his hair, wash his face, do so many things. But it was all routine. Follow the routine, and he'd be fine. Germany took a deep breath, and straighten up when he reached the closet, and slowly began pulling out clothes. 

He stared at himself in the mirror of their bathroom, hands pressed against the sink, trying to control the memories, the emotions, the turmoil, and the sounds of his own screams that happened in this very room as he shook Russia's limp body frantically after he passed out, the emergency number going ignored as he screamed for him to wake up, stay with him, don't die please don't die I'm sorry for what I did wrong-

Did I do anything wrong? How am I to blame for his actions? What did I apologize for?

Damn, I look like a mess, Germany cut through his own thoughts, and finally exhaled, staring at his reflection with determination. Keep it together for one more day. Just one. Don't think about the next day, just think about the present and what has to be done. 

He had to fill out several documents today. Write the report he was assigned by his government. File up the finished documents and prepare the ones that were ready to be flown to Berlin. So many other things. He kept his mind busy and controlled by listing every single one of them out while he pulled off his clothes and turned on the shower first so that the water could warm up.

Germany inhaled again, and looked at himself in the mirror as he began to unwrap the bandages just under his ribs. It was a miracle Russia didn't feel them at all when they hugged last night. He hoped it stayed that way. He could deal with the guilt. He'd done it before, and he can do it again.

The bandages came off to reveal his own cuts, from various sessions within this week and equipment. Razors, his own nails. There were tiny puncture wounds on his fingers where he stabbed himself with a pen to focus on the pain and nothing else, along with more scratches that formed more red lines on his shoulders. They were red and curved and slightly raised around their edges, layers of skin raked away in attempt to see muscle, see blood.

He just felt numb. And tired. Probably from all that crying and his pathetic attempts of comforting. Staring at those wounds on his body felt like nothing, in fact he thought that maybe he deserved to hurt himself again.

No. Wrong. I should not be thinking that way.

Germany looked away from the mirror, pulling off his shorts and underwear before quickly stepping into the shower to wash. His face contorted into a pained grimace and he nearly made a sound when the water felt like fire on his cuts, sinking into his body and burning down to his bones. 

"I don't have the time for this-" He mumbled to himself under his breath, and just ignored it all with clenched teeth, rinsing his hair and putting shampoo on it quickly. He had never been late to work ever, and he didn't want today to be any different. His wounds slowly dulled down to nothing under the soapy water.

Well, now they wouldn't be infected, Germany thought to himself, and started to wash his face. Did I cry last night? How much? I really shouldn't have, I'm not the victim, I should be comforting Russia properly. Why do I always seem to be the one that cries all the time? It's disgusting. 

The darkness behind his eyelids and hands seemed to creep into him, he hated the dark. Yanking his face up to the spray of water again, he washed it off, rubbing his eyes and making sure no trace of redness or tears were in there, even running them under the water until they stung. He'd rather have dry eyes later in the day that tear-filled, sobbing pathetic ones. 

What does Russia feel when he cries? Does it feel relieving to him? Maybe it makes him feel better at ease with himself, like a calming effect? Am I the only one that doesn't feel anything no matter how much I cry? 

What DO I do to make myself feel better? ...hm. I honestly don't know. Work? No. I drink, maybe watch TV. Doesn't necessarily make me feel Better, though. This is such a weird question, it's my OWN question, and I have no idea how to answer it. Kind of funny, to be honest.

Germany shook himself back to attention instead of talking to himself in his mind, and stared at the floor where the water swirled around his feet. He suddenly realized that he was also picking at a half-healed cut made with a razor on his ribs with a fingernail, brown pieces of scab tissue coming off and revealing the reddish cut again. Cutting without cutting.

Oh, that's right. I distract myself with more pain. That's what I do. 

No. Wrong- That automatic speech spoke up again, but he shushed it, scratching harder until blood appeared on the wound again. It didn't hurt though, and Germany quickly finished his shower and turned off the water, grabbing his towel and wiping himself and the cuts dry. After that, he scratched at it again, finally sending a burst of pain through his body.

He sighed, half relieved to feel it again and also half annoyed that now he had to stop the bleeding before he got dressed. He simply grabbed the bandages he had just took off a few minutes ago to soak up the small amount of blood, making sure the cut was sealed properly, and pulled out the first aid kit from the cabinet to get more fresh bandages. 

Winding them around his torso was fast, easy, and he snipped off the excess and taped the loose end in less than a minute. The roll was put back into the first aid kit, then it was closed, put back to its original spot, and the cabinet door closed after it. Germany breathed out another sigh, now he could pretend nothing was wrong, and he went on with his routine as normal.

Clothes, his usual white dress shirt, a black sweater over it, so that the bandages were invisible underneath, and black slacks. Black and white. Russia was his colours, he was his blue and red and pink and green and purple and brown and yellow and orange. When Germany told him this one day long ago in the past, Russia had laughed.

'How, in what way or form, am I colourful?' Russia had his arm around his shoulders, they were sitting on the couch, leaning against each other, while some German TV program chattered on in the background.

'You're not just colourful, you're...vibrant. You're exciting and full of life and just...nice to be around. At least, only to me. You should really try to be more expressive to other people, you'll be much more approachable-' He teased, poking him lightly and snacking on grapes.

'I AM approachable, Ger! All the politicians love me and always come up to talk to me a lot.'

'That's for politics. All you need for that is good hair and a silver tongue to brag and lie well with. See what I did there? Silver? There you go, colour.' 

Russia laughed again, one of his laughs that made the corners of his eyes crinkle up and his ice blue irises sparkle when they were turned toward him again. He leant in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Germany smiled at himself in the mirror thinking about that memory, feeling slightly pleased with how it made him look slightly better. If he and everyone else he was going to meet today could ignore the black circles under his eyes, the red streaks in them, the tiredness he still felt despite the shower, and the fact that he didn't know what was wrong in his life, he might just look presentable.

Russia was still there in bed when he came out, damp black hair drying in the air. He put his sleeping clothes in the laundry bag and double checked the bathroom for bandages, razors out in the open, or anything not supposed to be there, before turning off the light and walking out. 

When was the last time I heard Russland laugh? From true happiness?

That thought made the corners of his mouth fall again, and he slowly walked towards the bed, looking at his sleeping face. He supposed he must seem like some creep, staring at someone while they were asleep, but come on, that was his boyfriend. Germany told him weeks ago that he should go get a haircut, because the length of his hair was getting ridiculously long, almost covering his eyes when he was leaning forward. He supposed at that time, Russia had already started cutting himself again. Not that he didn't like the beautiful snow white hair, he absolutely loved running his hand through it, but it had to be at least trimmed away in the front so that he could see properly.

The white locks covered the top half of his face now, shielding his right eye and leaving the left just slightly exposed. They fluttered slightly at the tips when Russia breathed. He missed running his fingers through the soft, almost silk-like texture, last night was the first time he had done it in a week, and it ended up making Russia cry. The second he reached up to touch it, he broke apart. He felt slightly afraid to ever do it again.

It's just an affectionate gesture, right? I used to do it all the time. Why did he react so much to it now? Did I do something wrong?

Germany rubbed his face tiredly and remembered to pick up his glasses from the bedside table, trying not to look at his boyfriend. But also, he didn't think he could leave without seeing him first. At least he looked...peaceful. He looked like that day on the bathroom floor. He was just sleeping, he wasn't plagued with nightmares, he wasn't sick, he wasn't dying, he was fine. Russia is fine and asleep. 

He wanted to touch his cheek. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to see his stunning, ice blue eyes that could turn into cold, hard steel in less than a second, and also soft, sparkling spring ice in the same amount of time. He wanted to tell him I love you, with all the sincerity in the whole wide world.

In the end, he didn't none of those and just put on his glasses, then reached out a hand towards his sleeping face as a one last ditch attempt, hesitated, pulled his outstretched fingers back into his palm and dropped his limp fist back to his side. The door opened quietly, and Germany walked out, turning to their study room to pick up his briefcase and shifting through several documents to bring with him.

The sun was rising, golden streams of light coming from underneath the front door that shone at his feet when he walked down the stairs to the kitchen. Just a few hours ago, he was chugging beer here, trying to quieten and push away the dream he had, Russia had actually died, his eyes were open though, and they stared at him so terrifyingly while blood trickled out of his mouth. It's your fault. You did something wrong. You made me this, the dream Russia whispered, and then didn't move again. His last words to him. It wasn't the first time he had this dream. In the third time or so, he couldn't wake up, and was forced to shake his cold corpse even though all he wanted was to just wake up. When he finally did, he cried into his pillow for the rest of the night, refusing to even look at the alive Russia next to him.

I can't drink beer for breakfast, Germany reprimanded himself, and dropped his bags down on a chair to start digging around their fridge. He wasn't hungry. But he pulled out eggs and milk and butter anyway and started up the stove. After so many years of dating Russia, and half of those years living in the same house as him, he could blinis with his eyes closed. It was fast, simple, and routine, the same steps repeated over and over again. That was probably why he liked cooking, at least, the simple cooking.

'Germania!! Cooking is not like that!! You can't cook like a robot!!' Italy would screech at him, bouncing in his seat or on his feet like he always does when he got excited. 'Cooking is a dance! Cooking is something you put your soul into and every time you cook, it's different! Maybe one day you're feeling sad, and you put more salt into a dish, it tastes different, and maybe another day you're Happy, and you decide to go ham with EVERYTHING!! It's fun and you can play around with it however you like!'

'A dance is also routine, Italy' He would laugh back. 'For every pasta I make, no two batches will ever taste the same. Neither will a dance! There's always variations!' Italy answered, then a duck captured his attention and their conversation was cut short. 

He should really mix this batter faster. Germany closed down his memories and focused on mixing the pale yellowish batter. The coffee machine was already grinding and churning out the life-giving black bean juice that could save his sanity and keep him alive for just one more day, give him the energy to keep working, keep ignoring the cuts, keep focusing.

Medium-high heat. Oil. Coat the pan. Pick up the pan. Pour in the batter. Swirl. Cook for 90 seconds. Germany recited to himself in his mind and started counting manually, numbers helped calm him down sometimes. He inhaled, closed his eyes, and kept counting the seconds. The coffee machine beeped at 45 seconds, and he automatically walked over to pick up the pot and fill his mug, blowing and sipping gently. He honestly didn't even remember starting up the machine, maybe he just did it on reflex.

Flip. Cook for another 60 seconds. One, two, three, four, five, six....

Repeat.

Russia usually ate 4 of those thin pancakes, and by 7:44 am, they were set on a plate with honey drizzled on top and sour cream next to them. Germany finished his first cup of coffee and went to refill, setting the plate of food on the table with a cover over it. He didn't know when Russia would wake up, and so didn't pour a cup of coffee for him. 

I'm not hungry. I'll probably just have lunch...what do I want to eat? I could make enough time to go out to eat after I write the report. How long will that take? Maybe an hour. What do I eat to make sure I can finish it fast? I can't afford to take my time today. A lot to do. How many things again? Maybe I just won't eat, since I don't feel hungry-

What will Russia do at home? Will he do work? Can he manage himself? Will he be okay? What if he freaks out because I'm not there? No no he'll be fine. He doesn't always need me. Should I come back at lunch time to check up on him? Stop asking so many questions, I need facts and statements, I need a proper schedule. 

Germany took a larger sip of coffee to wake himself, slipping a finger behind his glasses to rub his eye, then briefly press two fingers against his right temple to rub at the beginnings of a headache. Why am I questioning myself so much today, it's weird. No, I don't need a to-do list, thats- why would I need a To-do List?? He smiled around the edge of the mug before putting it down to roll up his sleeves and start washing the tools he used for cooking. 

Okay. I'm not tired. I drank coffee. I'm fine. I can do work. First in order is to reach the office. Oh wait, I should write Russland a note. A note? I think I'll drive today. Wait, he didn't bring back his own car this time, we only have mine. Yep, have to write that down so he knows.

He quickly dried off his hands and looked at the clock. 7:56 am. Work started at 9. He was going to be late. (No, he was not)

I have good time-management skills, I tell myself, Germany grumbled in his mind as he pulled out a piece of paper to start writing in...English. Usually he would write in German if he wanted to tell Russia that 'I wrote this message', but he felt detached today, like it wasn't completely him in control even though he was thinking. He just couldn't put his whole heart into the writing. 

I'll have to write the report and documents in German, though.

He walked up the stairs to their bedroom again and slipped through the door, seeing Russia still sound asleep, in the exact same position he last saw him in. The note was placed next to his right hand, where he could easily see and touch it whenever he woke up.

Russland, I left for work and I'm taking the car today. Breakfast is on the table and there's coffee in the pot. I'll be home after 5. - Germany.

8:02 am. It usually takes 15 minutes to drive to and back home from work. 8:17 am. 5:15 pm. Russia would be home alone for 9 hours and 13 minutes. What will he do then? Will he be okay? He'll be fine. He just had to believe in him. 

He was going to be late he didn't have time to keep thinking. Stop thinking. Stop overthinking.

The keys clicked in his hand, their serrated metal edges stabbing into his palm. It woke him up better than the coffee. Could I cut myself with keys? Maybe I could just use them to poke myself, in the hand. But razor or a pen is best to draw blood. Maybe if I stab myself hard enough it can puncture through skin? I don't want it to go too deep, or make the wound too noticeable though. No, keys won't work very well.

Germany locked the front door after him and walked to his car, getting into the driver's seat and dropping his stuff on the seat next to it. The moment he sat down, he felt a new wave of tiredness creep up on him, and slowly leant back against the seat, eyes drooping.

It's so comfortable, like...I forgot what you could call this. This...feeling. Wait-wait what am I doing?!? I can't be tired I Have to get to work.

He tried to sit straight up, pat his cheek and fix his sight on the view outside his windscreen. It was a beautiful day in Belgium, the sun rising and colouring the world, even the plants looked a bit greener. Maybe Belgium was feeling good today. He would like to think so. His own territory must look bleak, since its countryhuman had been feeling so down. The headache was starting to hit full force now, maybe he should go back and grab some painkillers. Just maybe.

What do I do to make myself feel better?

The car key was turned in his hand, and then brought down into his palm, digging into his skin and making a red indent after he had pulled it away, breathing quickly while he blinked back to full wakefulness. 

Okay. I'm fine. I can do this. I have to start the car and start driving now. 

The engine purred to life underneath him, and he took another deep breath before gripping the wheel with both hands, easing out of the driveway and down the road. 

Okay, okay okay okay okay. I can do this. I just have to keep thinking to stay focused, I could just continue to think about what to eat for lunch later. But I don't feel hungry at all. It's important to eat, though. Could I maybe just drink more coffee? That'll work, right? Traffic light. Stop. Okay. I like that guy's scarf. It's red and striped. Right, lunch. What about Russia. Will He Be Okay? Green light. Maybe I should have asked him to text me. What if he's busy? Why would he be busy? Turn left. Okay, I'll ask him to text me later when I reach the office. He'll be okay. He'll be fine. Just like I will be. Traffic light.

Germany pulled to a stop and looked around a bit, taking the sights of normal people just walking around, jogging, going to work, talking on phones, tying shoelaces before standing up again and continuing to whatever destination they were going to. 

How are they all so...energetic. They must have their problems, too. I'm nothing special, a Countryhuman is still a human, why can't I just feel normal? Then again, I was never really normal. I'm so tired. No, No I can't feel tired. Look at them, they're fine out there. Get it together Germany. Is the traffic light Green?

Press down on the pedal. 

No! Is it green?

It's green. Green means Go. I don't know, I don't know what is happening. Just go. Keep going. Have to keep going. I can't see. Why is everything blurry? Go, go go go-

I pressed the pedal Pedal means Go Green is Go I'm following the rules I- TRUCK SHIT-

STOP- 

STOP STOP STOP STOP-

Germany stomped down hard on the brake pedal, fully awake again and right hand clamped over his mouth to hold in a scream. Truck, where did that come from- The Light Is Red- What happened what is going on why was I not paying attention The truck was on the opposite side of the road. It was also waiting to cross, it's right there, it's not going to crash into me what happened just now-

He could hear metal, ringing in his ears. Metal grating, crushing into him, tearing apart, screeching against the ground, unforgiving and brutal, silver staining with red, perhaps smaller shards breaking apart, shrapnel, they were sharper than the glass, more potent than bullets. It was hard to imagine tiny pieces of metal doing so much damage. One explosion, one gunshot, aimed against a head, body crumpling to the ground with brains spilling out on the carpet he once used to play on with toy soldiers and tanks with their red and crossed flag designs gifted to him from one of the officers.

He heard a muffled sound, and realized it was coming from himself. Adrenaline felt painful in his veins, the shock felt so bad it was like he was frozen stiff and paralyzed right where he was. I don't understand, I'm supposed to understand. Green light. His foot changed pedals instinctively and he felt the car move, jerky and unstable. Germany dragged his scattered, frayed attention back to the road, hardly remembering to breath unless his own terrified eyes caught himself in the rearview mirror, chewing on his lip and trying to appease his headache somehow. He forgot about the metal and the gunshot. 

I have to keep going. It's dangerous. What if the truck had hit me, it wasn't going to hit me It wasn't even moving What happened. I feel- No no I don't like this I'm tired I'm scared I'm a mess I don't know what happened. 

He exhaled shakily, feeling his stomach start to grumble and churn in a way that made him curl into himself just slightly. Great, more things in his body that hurt. This one was probably brought on by the alcohol from early this morning.

More coffee. Tired. I need more coffee. Right. That'll keep me awake again. It'll also help with the stomach. I just need coffee. I'm fine, it was just a lapse of tiredness. It will not happen again. I'm sorry. Coffee immediately when I get to the office. I'll be fine. I probably shouldn't tell Russia this happened he doesn't need to know. 

He doesn't need to know everything. He has enough to worry about. I can't tell him anything anymore. I have to learn to deal with things myself. It's fine. Stop thinking about it and it'll go away. Not everything will though. But this will. I know it will. It has to. 

Germany clenched his teeth and patted his cheek harder again, trying to get his attention on the road, his left hand gripping the wheel so tightly until the leather squeaked underneath it. So many thoughts, they all sounded like his own, but it was so much, like rapid gun fire in his brain. 

I thought it was right in front of me. It was moving. I swear I heard the horn. It- it was fake. It was...a hallucination? Can't be, do I hallucinate now? What if I do. What will I do if I do, it's not true. Enough, please no more thinking. We're here. I need to get coffee now.

He found a parking spot surprisingly easily, and quickly got out of the car before his body dared to relax again. He had to keep moving, there was no other way. There can't be another lapse in his concentration. Germany grabbed his stuff out and slammed the doors shut, locking his car with a sharp beep. A few seconds later, he found himself double checking again out of mistrust in himself. 

It gave him the opportunity to look at himself in the reflection of the window. What a mess. He tucked his briefcase in between his body and arm, and tried to brush his hair neatly again using his fingers. You know what, I could care less. 

He turned away and marched towards the entrance with determined, steady footsteps, hoping that the mask that covered the lower part of his face could help hide himself from the prying eyes of other people. 

Keep calm, act natural. Act like you belong, and no one will question you. I can do this. Get to the lift. Don't look anyone in the eye. Not today. I just need to my office. It's safe there. I can concentrate there. I'm myself there. I'm useful there, I can do work and contribute properly there. I'm not useless, I know what I'm doing there. 

Germany nearly punched the button, feeling like his brain had just short-circuited as it left him breathless for a quick second. The receptionist looked over at him, questioningly. He didn't look back, and simply walked as fast as he could into the lift the moment it reached his floor. 

Useless Useless Useless Useless Useless Useless-

The doors closed after him, but without any direction of what floor it had to go to, the lift remained still. Germany grabbed the bar around the lift and steadied himself, feeling that familiar feeling of tears in his eyes again. No no no no no that's enough this- I'm not useless, I'm not. I can't cry here not now not ever again I have work to do. I'm stronger than this. I can overcome this. 

He straightened up again, hand over his mask and adjusted his grip on his briefcase. Once he had collected himself, he finally tapped a button on the wall, staring fixatedly at one point on the ceiling as the lift started to move up. I'm fine. I don't have to keep thinking about all this. I just have to focus on my work right now. Keep Russia out of my mind for just a while.

I know I wouldn't do that. I'll keep thinking about him and I can't stop it. That's why I have to work more, work harder. It won't do to not pay attention, I have to be vigilant. I'm doing this for the both of us. 

The doors of the lift opened again with a loud ding, and Germany took a deep breath before stepping out. He just had one goal. He had to reach that goal, and he'll be okay. There could be other goals ahead of it, but one step at the time.

"Hey, Deutschland?" 

"Austria!" Germany jumped and flinched from shock, looking to his left to see the red and white face of the other countryhuman. "Sorry, you- startled me." He laughed, clearing his throat after and pulling on a smile easily. 

"I was wondering what was taking you to come up. I saw you arrive in your car almost 15 minutes ago." Austria said in his smooth, calm voice. "It's nothing, I guess I'm just walking slower today." Germany answered back awkwardly, tucking his hair back behind his ear and making his way toward his office. His friend slash unrelated uncle walked alongside him.

"Were you crying?" He murmured under his breath in German. Their footsteps slowed down, before started up again faster. "No. Are my eyes red? I probably just yawned. I'm a bit tired today." Germany answered back using the same language, smiling and trying not to make it obvious that he was nervously looking at Austria's direction every three seconds. But his orange eyes were looking steadily at where they were going, they weren't judging, or pitying.

"Deutschland, we all sort of know what happened, with Russia. You're probably going through a lot, and we're all here for you both, okay?" 

Germany looked around for a second and after seeing no humans around, took of his mask and shoved it into his pocket. "Yeah. We talked. Everything's fine now." He smiled again, fingers coming up to brush at the corner of his right eye for a second. He felt just as surprised as Austria when they came away wet. 

I'm crying. How pathetic is this. I'm so stupid. Useless idiot.

They pushed on quickly, mainly just Austria rushing after Germany when he started walking faster. "You missed your office-" He piped up suddenly, grabbing on to Germany's arm gently  in attempt to catch up to him and also make him slow down. 

"I'm just going to grab myself a cup of coffee first," He answered back, going up to the coffee machine in the break room. He tried not to react to the hand holding his arm, and relaxed his pace, letting Austria walk beside him again. They both grabbed a mug and put it down on the machine, and Germany was both comforted by Austria's presence, and very anxious. The headache and his increasingly aching body made it hard to concentrate on much.

Stay calm stay calm stay calm. Everything will be fine. Once I get my coffee I'll just excuse myself to go do my work. Okay honestly I feel really bad right now, there must be painkillers here right. Inventory. I have a headache, nausea?, hangover, feeling hot, and cold, shit I hope I'm not sick. 

"Deutschland, the coffee's ready." Austria's hushed voice broke him out of his thoughts, and he blinked quickly to see the most lovely sight of a full mug of nearly pitch black liquid that smelt down right heavenly. "How do you drink this-" He heard his less enthusiastic uncle say beside himself, and cracked a quick smile again.

While Austria was grabbing every packet of sugar and cream in his sights, Germany was contemplating whether he should just go, maybe adding a quick goodbye before? He wanted to leave. He had to work. That task was the only thing he felt was keeping himself and his mind together. Along with the coffee, of course. He took another big sip despite its temperature, feeling the harsh yet kind bitterness flow over his tongue. 

Good. This is good. This'll- make me better. I can be better. We should go, I want to go. Is- that Luxembourg? It is. She's coming here, why is she looking at me why does she look- mad. Is she mad at me is she judging does she hate me what if she sees a scar or cut I forgot to cover what is she looking at me for why is she looking was there something I had to do? She's walking fast she has her bag with her what am I going to do stupid headache should I ask her what's wrong was it me did I do anything wrong-

"Hey Lux," Austria greeted cheerfully, turning his back to Germany as she approached them, sweat gathering on her forehead and holding on to the strap of her handbag on her shoulder tightly. "Good morning, Austria." She huffed back, speaking German back to him.

"My darn car just had to break down, I was so scared I'll be late I have a meeting at 10 with EU and you know how he is. Gosh what time is it? I left my watch at home-" 

"Just 9:34." He smiled as she leant against the counter in relief, fumbling around for a mug. "Thank god. Hopefully my car will be fixed by today, I seriously should consider getting another car soon, this one's been with me since 2001."

"Really? I had one that lasted me nearly 30 years, if you take care of them right they really could last longer than you think. And- Deutschland?!" 

stupid stupid stupid stupid what the hell no wrong this is bad I don't like this please no I can't- stupid stupid throwing up here now why 

He run away as fast as he could and staggered into the closest bathroom with his hand clamped over his mouth, eyes watering when he choked again on the burning liquid rushing up his throat. 

I hate this I hate me 

Germany coughed and gagged again, eyes squeezed shut as he retched into the toilet. He held on to the cooler white edge with both hands tightly, kneeling on the ground. There was just coffee and acidic bile coming up, and they tasted disgusting, he didn't have the words or energy to describe them. 

He just knew he was alone, helpless, disgusting, trapped here, he didn't close the stall door after he stumbled in, anyone could see him. Anyone could see him, pity him, judge him, laugh at his weakness, his mess his fault his failings his irresponsibility how is he so useless he can't even take care of himself Ew-

 His legs were shaky when he stood up finally, forced himself to do so, he wasn't going to wait for anyone to find him, he didn't need Anyone to help him. The toilet flushed behind him while he held one hand against the wall and the other under his chin, taking tiny steps towards the sink to wash himself off. 

I hate you, Germany thought spitefully as he glared at the teary, red-eyed reflection in the mirror, the lower part of his face dripping with water while his black hair flopped over his forehead, sweaty. This is no way I should present myself, I look disgusting. I hate you so much, you're pitiful, you're nothing like I'm-...You. You're nothing like You're supposed to be. 

The reflection cried, its golden eyes filled with more tears and they flowed down to join the water droplets already on its face while Germany rinsed out the inside of his mouth again to get rid of the foul taste. He slowly reached up to take off his glasses after he was done, setting them down gently. Everything was so blurry.

"Deutschland. Can I come in now?" A quiet voice came from the door. He didn't remember closing any door at all. Germany rubbed again at his eyes and cleared his throat, ran a hand over his torso to feel the bandages under his shirt briefly before he said yes. Austria's gentle hands were on his shoulder and supporting his back before he could pull up his walls and be on guard again, and he couldn't help the small stumble backwards when his body leant into the touch. It was different, they were both nearly the same height, and Austria also fell a step backwards from his reaction. He didn't know why he expected a firm chest to catch him. 

"Hey, are you okay? Do you feel sick still? Should I call Ru- do you want to sit down?" Austria said quickly, his orange eyes full of concern as he looked at him through the mirror, a sort of fatherly protectiveness around him when he accidentally mentioned the name. He did watch him, two of him, grow up after all, from the eleven year old after World War Two to now. He was glad to call him his uncle even though they weren't blood related.

"I'm okay." Germany breathed out, steadying himself on two feet and tugging lightly at the bottom of his shirt. "I...I'm fine. I don't feel sick, probably I just ate something that my stomach didn't agree with." He reassured, staring at his messy mop of hair and wishing he could reach up and push it back from his forehead. His arms felt frozen to his sides.

"Well, you should go home and get some rest, ja?" 

"No!" He yelped and shook his hands off his body, shivering slightly. "No, b-because...it's still early. I have work to do here, I can't just not do them." Germany explained quietly, turning away slightly and picking up his glasses from where he left them just now. 

"...you're not avoiding him, right?" 

He opened his mouth to answer again in disbelief, of course he wasn't, they were fine, but he found that suddenly, he didn't actually have a proper answer. He had said all those before, repeated them several times in his head and to anyone that asked throughout the week. He's fine, he's recovering, everything's okay between us. Me? Oh I'm...okay. He's more important though, I just want him to feel better again. 

I don't think- you shouldn't put yourself beneath him You're important too Ger-

Ah, that's- That doesn't matter. I'm really sorry, I have work to do.

Oh, okay then.

I'll talk to you later. 

I hope he gets better soon. Tell him that I said hi and, I'm always available if you want to talk. 

Yeah, I'll tell him. 

"Deutschland are you there?" Austria said, gently touching his elbow to get his attention. "Yes. I'm...here, Österreich. I'm good." He mumbled, flashing a smile as he shoved down whatever bad emotions he felt from the memories into a deep dark hole and raised the barriers around himself, smiling at himself and his uncle in the mirror.

Smile for the camera, sohn- his father whispered lightly to him and tickled him in the side with gloved fingers, which made him giggle and squirm on his knee to avoid the teasing hand, grinning as widely as a three-year-old could grin while the camera flashed brightly in front of them. That picture was used in a newspaper, he remembered feeling even more excited seeing the both of them actually printed on a page a few days later, surrounded by German words in fancy font. 

'Look, look! It's you! And Me!' He squealed in half-fluent German, reaching out to touch the grayish paper held open in his father's hands. Nazi laughed and put down his cup of tea before scooping him up onto his lap, letting him see the page clearly. 'You look so cute, with that big smile.' His father beamed down at him, ruffling his hair playfully when he giggled, every tooth on display like in the picture.

"I-I'm sorry. Come on, let's go." Germany said again, stepping aside and feeling relaxed having his own personal space again. They walked out of the bathroom and made their way back towards the offices, after a renovation and re-organization, Germany actually had his own office room now, and would gladly stay there until the day was over so that he wouldn't have to meet anyone else. They all had their own rooms, so hopefully everyone would just- stay put.

Embarrassing. Disgusting. How dare you show your face ever again-

No. Wrong. I should not be thinking that way. 

I really need to get my work done. I should focus on that and not on this. He thought to himself and quickly went into his room, saying goodbye and one last thank you before shutting the door. There, now let's start. I don't want to think about anything other than what I have to do in the next few hours. Neat desk that's good. Now for a file- damn where did I leave my briefcase it's okay I guess the things I need for now are here I'm going to organize the Berlin paperwork first I'll drop them of at the embassy later in the evening okay here's one about trade...

--- (Time skip) ---

That took longer than I expected-

Germany lowered his head and got into his car again, breathing slightly heavy with exhaustion. 6:30 pm. He felt a slight pang of guilt and worry in his heart as he stared at the numbers on the clock, and sighed, starting up the car and driving towards home.

The report's done, so is most of the paperwork. I'll finish them tonight if I have time. It looks like it's going to rain. Might even be a thunderstorm. It's getting dark real fast. I hope Russ will be okay. Please let him be okay. I didn't watch the time, and well- the embassy had a long line. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be making excuses. 

He drummed his fingers on the wheel when he waited for the lights, just briefly remembering the 'incident' that happened this morning with the truck. It wasn't a good thought, especially when thunder was rumbling through the sky already, echoing from a distance. Green light. The sun was still there too though, it wasn't all the way blotted out by dark clouds, which comforted him slightly.

What about Russland. He was different, he wouldn't find that comforting. Please let him be okay.

6:48 pm. 1 hour and 48 minutes later than what he told Russia. The guilt started building up again when he parked the car in the driveway, and turned it off. He was gnawing on his finger unconsciously, he'd been doing it since morning, using his front teeth to bite into his skin and draw his focus, relieve whatever stress he was feeling. Sometimes he ripped bits off, sometimes he drew blood.

Germany finally noticed and pulled his hand away from his mouth. He was just a bit disappointed, and to think that he thought he had been doing well for the past couple of days, no biting at all. Now the tips of his fingers were a ugly mess again, bloody and ragged. The process of getting out of the car, taking his bag out with him, closing the door, walking to the front door, and taking out his keys were blurred out with his thoughts of Do not Bite. Do not Bite. Biting is Wrong. It looks bad and it is Wrong.

Home. No biting. Have to keep my hands away, hopefully he doesn't notice. Where is Russland. I'm sorry for being late. It's quiet. Wait, kitchen. What if I just sneak up the stairs and to the office maybe he wouldn't notice but I want to see him- I can't see him like this I look like a mess and disgusting and-

"Ger?" 

 He blinked once, and looked straight ahead to see Russia. Russia, his boyfriend, standing completely still there across the room, midway through wiping his hands dry on a handcloth and staring at him with those blue eyes he just realized he didn't have to chance to see all day. 

"Where were you?"

Red-rimmed blue eyes. Germany froze as well, one hand held behind his back and the other holding on to the handle of his briefcase for dear life. They stared at each other longer, neither of them saying anything. Russia stared until he gave up with a huff, frustrated and anxious and scared all in one, wiping his hands one more time before putting the cloth away. 

He kept on staring, even though it was usually Russia that won these staring matches. He was too numb to do anything else. He barely gathered up enough strength to move forward again until Russia walked back into the kitchen and disappeared completely from his view once more. The stairs were so close, he could just go up them, avoid this. Even though he didn't what 'this' was.

Before he could think about going up the first step, Russia reappeared, jaw set, holding out his phone. "52 messages. I texted you 52, times. Not a single reply. You didn't answer any of my calls either. I thought you- I didn't even what to think about what could have happened to you! Why didn't you answer?" 

My phone was on silent. I didn't touch my phone today at all. I couldn't handle all of those messages. It's in my briefcase. Great job, Germany. You're an Idiot. I made him worry.

"The least you could do was a quick text to tell me that you were okay! What's so hard about typing I'm Fine, Ger? Anything would have been fine, as long as you Replied!"

I'm sorry. I really would have texted you back. I would have gotten over whatever anxiety I have that prevents me from texting other people back immediately after they texted me, and then leaving it off until weeks later. That's bad, That's Wrong, I know. I'm sorry. I swear I never feel that way to your texts.

"And after 5, why didn't you just tell me you were going to be late?! I would have understood completely, but at least tell me things so that I can prepare for them! All it takes is One Text, Ger. I got even more worried then, because I didn't know what is happening with you!"

 I should have done that, I know. Please I don't want you to worry, you have enough to worry about. Please stop. It's my fault, I'm sorry. It will not happen again. 

"I'm sorry. It will not happen again." Germany repeated softly, looking down at the ground and tightening his grip on his briefcase. He felt like a child getting scolded by their parent, or a new worker's first harsh reprimanding from their boss on poor work. He hadn't been either of them in a very long time, and he felt so, so bad being brought down like this. Russia got very quiet. 

"Германия..." A red hand came into view, hesitant and unsure, reaching out to him but not knowing where to touch him. "I'm...I'm not angry, you know that, right?" 

Yes, I know. I know you so well, too well, I know you're not. But you still Sound angry. I don't want to feel this way towards you. I know you don't mean it. And I know that's just how you express yourself.

"I just....I was worried. I...I know I did something wrong and I hurt you...but I didn't think that you would Avoid me like that." Russia said, and held his hand closer to his face. Germany looked up slowly, and saw the bandage on his elbow first, stark white against the red of his skin. He didn't look at his face, and just stayed still, passively, holding back emotions boiling underneath the surface of his barriers threatening to burst. 

He was getting closer, his hand was going to touch his face, maybe gently hold his chin and lift him up, make them see each other, make him see all His emotions he didn't have the capacity to see right now, he was struggling enough with his own, he couldn't deal with more. Then what, was he going to draw even closer and kiss him again, like last night. How would he respond to that, he didn't want that kiss, no, he did want it. 

No, right now, I don't want This.

Germany stepped back just when his hand moved and would have done exactly that, touch his jaw and get closer. Russia made a small noise of surprise, and Germany saw his hand seemingly lose its confidence, wilt like a flower, lost and uncertain now without getting what he wanted. He wanted to say something, but decided against it, he was exhausted, body sore and headache still pounding away inside his skull faintly.

"Германия? What's wrong?" His hushed voice broke the silence. 

It felt like it broke more than that. Is that all he can say?? That's it? Well then, it's Everything. How is that going to fix anything? What's WRONG?? Everything's wrong. How could he ask such a dumb question? (No. Wrong. I should not be thinking that way)

'Remember, smile and greet him like I taught you, okay? Don't talk unless he asks you something-' Nazi said quietly as he reached down to straighten the black neckerchief tucked under the brown collar of his uniform again, touching his cheek comfortingly for a second. 'But I don't want to smile at him, papa. He looks so scary all the time.' Six-year-old him whispered back, glancing at the big oak door they were standing in front of that opened up to the Führer's office. 

'I know, but sometimes he's not, right?' His father tried, but his eyes clearly stated that he thought so too. 'He likes you, so just...pretend- and make a good impression, ja? Can you do that for me?'  He started laughing when his father's gloved fingers playfully pinched his cheeks, shushing him while smiling himself too. After collecting himself a few seconds later, Nazi patted his back gently, using his index finger and thumb to mimic a smile over his own mouth and straightened his posture, clearing his throat and knocked on the door. He kept his promise, and smiled as nicely as he could throughout the whole meeting. 

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong." Germany said now, blinking quickly to get rid of the memory, finally lifting his face up to look straight at Russia and will himself to give a small smile. He hoped it looked real. Clearly not, when his boyfriend looked at him with more worry and concern, questioning. His hand reached towards him again.

Germany took another step back, just staring at his hand. "Germany-" Russia's voice was soft, but almost like someone calling their misbehaving pet. Another step, why wasn't he getting the message? "No." He forced out, shaking his head left and right slightly as he held on tighter to his bag. Please don't touch me, I can't deal with this right now. Later, maybe. But not now. 

Russia finally relented, pulling his hand back, but still staring at him. He could see the hurt and sadness in his expression, along with something else. He was going to apologize, he always had that certain look when he was about to say he was sorry about anything. He didn't want it, he couldn't accept it, not when it was his own fault. He didn't want to see that expression, because it made his heart hurt. 

"Don't."

Such short words, he couldn't find the energy to say more. It had led to many miscommunication problems between the two of them before. Usually he was the more talkative one in their relationship, but when he was like this, he just couldn't say anything. Russia sort of adopted that too, becoming even more silent than normal. Which leads to even more problems.

"Ger, please-" Russia said in a pleading voice when he looked away, trying to find a way pass him. "Did something happen? In the office?" He tried, raising a hand to Germany's shoulder to hold him back when he tried shouldering pass him to get to the stairs. Germany immediately retreated, hugging his briefcase in front of his chest to act as a shield of sorts. 

"No. Everything's fine. Nothing happened. Let me pass, Russ." He said quietly, lied, staring at the ground and not at his face. Russia didn't yield, and took a step forward instead. Germany cowered away, stepped back twice, eyes narrowing in fear and anger as he snapped his head back up, just to see him staring again. "What happened to your hand." 

He froze for a second, then looked down. Stupid. He quickly pulled his briefcase away, and drew his other hand from behind his back to readjust his bag back to its original position, only to realize his mistake another second later. Stupid, stupid stupid stupid. Russia got even closer, looking down at them in concern. "Germany?"

"What." He said in defeat, feeling his eyes burn with tears as he turned to his left, trying to ignore him as much as he could. "Ger, look at me. Your fingers-" 

"Don't touch me!" He snapped and moved away from him abruptly, anger sparking out of the undecipherable mess of emotions swirling inside him first. "I clearly tried to tell you Not to touch me, why can't you just let me be?!" 

He touched me he touched me I don't want him to touch me I hate him No Wrong That Is Wrong Very Very Wrong I don't want to be angry but I am right now stop how do I stop bad I don't want to be angry at him it's my fault I should not be angry

"Germany!" Russia said loudly, and suddenly he was hit with a memory of his father saying that exact same thing in the exact same tone, scolding him because of the mess he made and the tantrum he had thrown because of the punishment he had been given. 'You do Not say things like that in that tone to Me, Deutschland!' Nazi had exclaimed loudly from where he stood, crimson eyes sharp with anger. During that time, they were just getting used to secretly calling him Deutschland at home, instead of by his human name, because his father had a hunch that he wouldn't be named Nazi Germany after him. 

'No! That's just unfair!' He shouted back, stomping his foot on the ground and glaring back. 'You will stay in your room until the maids have cleaned up what You did, unless you would like to clean it up yourself.' His father growled firmly, gesturing to the toppled cupboard laying face down in the middle of his office, the things on its shelves scattered all over the carpet. In the end, he had chosen to sit in his room, and with the determination of a seven-year-old, would have sat there pouting forever and ever if it wasn't for dinner time.

Germany shook himself out of his daze, and clenched his teeth, before remembering that he didn't want to be angry about this. Russia only stared on, expression a mix of emotions, but mainly sadness, frustration. He gathered his courage, and moved quickly when Russia was seemingly distracted, darting pass him and finally reaching the stairs. "Германия!!" 

Yelping when a bigger hand closed around the wrist of the hand holding his briefcase and yanked him back, he staggered backwards, one foot teetered in the air with only the other one planted on the second step and keeping him upright. Adrenaline shot through his body painfully again, and he nearly sobbed from that split-second of panic, thinking that he was going to lose his balance and fall. 

"Ger?! Ger I'm sorry I didn't mean to pull you I'm sorry I'm sorry-" Russia rambled from an echoey distance. All Germany could focus on was the raw pain the shock caused him, he didn't know if he was already crying, he didn't know if he was even still standing.

When he regained some form of awareness, he pulled back his wrist towards himself, but was stopped by a grip still holding on. I told him I don't want to be touched. "L-Let go." He growled shakily, blinking quickly and glaring at the blurry face in front of him, pulling with more force. Another hand touched the fresh bite wounds on his fingers, and he flinched violently, dropping his bag and yanking his arm to his chest, snarling, like an animal, eyes burning hot with tears.

"DO NOT-" Germany shouted, lost his train of thought, and stumbled backwards, leaning against the banister as he caught his breath, legs shaky, panic flaring up inside him like a furious serpent, writhing and hissing threateningly. He looked away quickly and closed his mouth, pressing both arms firmly against his chest, hands clenched into fists to hide his fingers. 

"Okay, okay." Russia breathed out, his voice moving further away. "I'm sorry, Germany. I...I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just going to stand here, is here okay?" He inhaled weakly, turning his head slightly to look through his tears, and saw Russia on the ground, just slightly away from the stairs, both hands held up, empty palms facing him gentle and in a position as if to catch him if he fell. 

His hands started to tremble from the force of him clenching them, and he crossed his arms over his chest to hold them still. Germany looked away and continued to stare at the spot where he was looking at just now without giving an answer, forcing his teeth to stay tightly gritted in his mouth, preventing any words from escaping, because he thought if he didn't, he wouldn't be able to take them back, and he wouldn't be able to control his tears from making the situation even more confusing.

"Germany, Germany please, look at me, I just want to know if you're okay. Just look-" Russia started talking again, voice pleading, and somehow, the first word that came to Germany's mind was clingy. Russia was too clingy. It was a good thing, it should have always been a good thing, his want to be close, his presence always there, his comfort and his touch and his seemingly never ending love, not matter what he did. 

But when it got to be too much, which even himself tried to deny and force the bar lower, it was devastating, for both of them. No, it wasn't the clingy that was bad. It was his dependence. He depended on Germany too much, and sometimes he felt horrible for that. What if he was gone one day, what would happen to him, what would he do if he wasn't there. He knew he could take care of himself, he was an adult, he was not all completely the softness he shows only to him.

But Russia had made it pretty clear whenever they were apart, for two days or for two months, and when they were finally reunited, that he physically needed him, if all those tight hugs and frequent skin contact and impossibly tangled sleeping positions was considered. Of course he returned to normal after the first day and night, and gave him the space he needed without question, but every time Russia became like that, a small part of him always worried for him.

And he felt like it would be his fault if something ever happened and Russia was left alone without him.

A tear slipped down his eye, and Germany grimaced slightly, lifting one hand to rub at his face, felt his teeth chatter from all the emotions. Most of his anger had dissipated, and was now replaced with a dreadful, cold pit of sadness. He didn't realize one of the wounds on his fingers had been pouring blood, and he had a whole fistful of red blood in his left hand which he used to wipe away the tear. 

Russia's cry of alarm had shocked him again, and the sudden movement of him, rushing up the stairs, hands holding him seemingly everywhere while his face expressed fear and panic and his voice loud, an urgency in it that made him panic more, had his fight-or-flight instinct lashing out and causing him to push against his chest, screaming in terror. 

"LET GO OF ME. GO AWAY- DON'T TOUCH ME!!" 

He's touching my cheek he's touching my cheek he's touching my cheek he's touching my cheek he's touching my cheek-

"STOP!! I HATE YOU!! CAN'T YOU JUST STOP FOR ONE SECOND?! I DON'T WANT YOU NEAR ME, I DON'T WANT YOUR PITY OR SYMPATHY! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO! YOU WERE THE ONE THAT HID YOUR CUTS FIRST,  YOU LIED TO ME FIRST! YOU BROKE ME, HAPPY?! YOU DIDN'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT WHAT I FELT, YOU KEPT ALL YOUR OWN FEELINGS SECRET AND TO YOURSELF, AND NOW, YOU WANT ME TO TELL YOU EVERYTHING ABOUT ME, LIKE WE FINALLY HAVE NO SECRETS BETWEEN US AND ITS A NICE LITTLE SHOW AND TELL WITH NO JUDGMENT?!! NOT A CHANCE. I DID ALL THIS FOR MYSELF, RUSS, I NEED AN OUTLET TOO, AND IT'S NO LONGER YOU." 

Germany glared, fuming, teeth bared, and curled his bitten fingers back into his palms and away from sight. The other injuries hidden under his clothes felt like they burned as well. He bent down and grabbed his briefcase off the floor, and turned up the stairs quickly, ignoring Russia's calls. He's following me. 

Instead of turning to the study room first, he heading straight for their bedroom, walking faster when he heard Russia's footsteps in pursuit. The briefcase was dropped to the floor when he started genuinely panicking again from being chased after, more tears clouding his vision as more and more realization crashed into him about what he had just screamed at his boyfriend. Germany ran into the bathroom and slammed the door shut, locking it firmly behind him with a solid click.

"Germany?! Germany open the door!! Germany!!" Loud raps on the door rang sharply through the room, along with the futile twisting of the doorknob from outside, he even tried forcing his body weight against it. Germany stumbled backward, hitting the edge of the sink and flinching in surprise. 

He covered his ears with his hands, the room echoing with all the noise making his head spin. After a while, it finally stopped. He bit his lip to stop it from quivering as the thoughts returned, making the tears start flowing again, pouring down his cheeks and dripping steadily down his chin. 

I said that. I said all of that. I told him all that, no filter whatsoever. It's true, but I didn't want him to know like that. It's all true, and I hate that it's what I feel. It should be wrong, it is wrong, and wrong deserves punishment. 

He straightened up, turned around, opened the cabinet, pulled out the box, took out a razor, slid out the sharp piece in it, and finally looked. His reflection was muddled, gray and silver on the smooth surface of metal. All sorts of memories and thoughts filled his mind, most of them 'No this is wrong', but still, there was some that said 'Draw blood, feel something. You caused this yourself.' It was enough for him, and he raised the sharp piece of metal to his wrist, aligned it with one of his old scars, one of many there. A blue vein was visible underneath it, right in the middle of the line.

Why is my hand shaking so much. Dangerous. I don't want to cut myself. 'Oh my god' So much blood. His eyes wide, terrified, he was crying, knees pulled up to his chest in a ball and shaking, on the verge of a panic attack. 'Russ, let me help you-' Panic attack, he knew how to help. Let me help. He was rambling, he was drifting too far away too quickly, he had to get him back. He screamed, like he had hurt him, he was so scared he had hurt him. But he hadn't. Is it fatal? I don't know, but the least I can do is calm him down. I'm not mad, I'm not mad at Him, I don't know why I shouted, I hate to shout, it hurts, and more importantly it hurts Russia. But I have to help him first. That's more important. 

Slapping him is not important. Why did I do that.

The razor nicked him, when his trembling right hand pressed too close and too hard, making a small cut over the scar, it gleamed in the low light. Germany whimpered, a real, pathetic noise came out of his throat, and his left knee buckled, sending him tipping to the side slightly. He caught hold of the edge of the sink quickly.

"Germany, I'm going to turn on the lights in there, okay?" A quiet voice came from outside. He forgot he was there, he thought he would have left long ago. The lights flashed on, blinding, and he winced slightly, looking away. The bathroom turned into a soft grey, floor tiles in orderly squares just a shade darker than the walls. The toilet and bathtub were white, touches of silver on them, like the handle and the faucets. 

Germany kept looking around slowly, his eyes getting used to the brightness. That's when he turned his face up again, and locked on to the mirror right in front of him and the sink. If he wasn't already drained from the outburst just now, he might have screamed again. Now his face just paled in horror, eyes wide as he turned his face to the side to see the red and smudged streak of blood on his left cheek. Where Russia was touching him, pressing his thumb against, trying to rub it away.

His hand was next to be discovered, the whole palm of red and the wound on his ring finger still bleeding sluggishly. When did this happen. I thought I smelt blood, tangy and copper, why didn't I notice. My god, what did I do, did I lash out because of this. There's so much red. So much blood. 

The bloody handprint on the marble-patterned surface of their sink was the last straw that sent him skittering away in panic, moving to the other side of the room and hitting his back against the wall close to the door. Germany pressed his not-bloody hand to his mouth, and tried desperately not to cry. By the time he slid down the wall, sat curled up on the cool floor, the tears were already streaming down. 

"Germany, Germany baby it's okay. It's okay, please don't cry. I'm here, Germany listen to me, it's going to be okay. I know you're scared, and angry, but I won't leave you, I'm so sorry for hurting you in the first place-" 

He was wailing into his father's shirt as they walked back into the house, only faintly picking up their words and slight laughter. Nazi put him down on a chair, and tried to pry him off while Anna kneeled in front of him with a small smile and the med kit, pulling on gloves and taking out a very intimidating bottle of iodine and metal tweezers. He cried louder, clinging on to his father's shirt and writhing around to get away. 'Hans, sit still. She can't help you if you keep kicking like that.' His father said with amusement, giving up trying to pull himself free and wrapped his arms back around him, fingers carding through his hair. 

His knees were eventually cleaned, pebble-free, medicated and bandaged up. 'There, all done.' Anna said in her gentle, warm voice, resting her hand on his right knee. He sniffled again, peeking out one eye to look at her. Whining, he pressed his face back into his father's chest, hearing more laughter from the both of them. 'Are you going to let her get the one on your forehead?' Nazi teased, pulled away slightly to look down at him. He shook his head quickly. 'Does it not hurt?' Another shake. 'Okay then, do you want to go back outside to play?'  

'...later.' The adults laughed again, and Anna took her leave to let the two of them have their time together. Nazi continued stroking his hair, gently lifting his face away from his chest and observing the small scrape wound on his forehead. 'You sure it doesn't hurt?' He asked again, lightly touching around it with his thumb. 'No.'  His father started humming, lifting him up from the chair and carrying him in his arms again, walking around the room slowly. He remembered calming down and leaning his head on his father's shoulder, listening to the song.  

Germany sobbed again, dropping the metal razor onto the floor with a tiny clatter, and moved the hand on his mouth up to his hair, grabbing the black locks painfully. I miss him. I miss him so much. But he's gone.

"I love you, Germany. I love you with all my heart and soul, please don't cut yourself." Russia said, outside the door. He sounded clearer from here, almost like he was right next to him, separated by a wall.

"You told me yourself last night, cutting is never the answer. You're right, you're always right. So listen to your own advice for once, please." He shivered, feeling teardrops dripping down his chin. The razor glinted on the ground again, and he sent it whizzing across the floor with a shove of his fingers, as far away from him as possible.

Russia, Россия, Russland, my Russland. I love you too, I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for shouting. I'm sorry for being angry. I'm sorry for hurting you too. I'm sorry for not being there for you. I'm sorry for being this way, selfish and angry and inconsiderate.

"Okay, Ger, if you are listening to me, I need- I need you to give me a response. Just one, it can be anything- anything you want. Feel comfortable with. Okay? Please?"

Germany inhaled again, listening to him, hearing him hold back tears as well, sniffling quietly. "I just need to know if you're okay. I don't want what happened to me to happen to you." His voice was quiet, barely audible if he wasn't listening hard enough. He raised his left hand, still bloody, slightly off the floor, shakily approaching the door, knocked twice weakly, and rested it at the bottom of the door where a sliver of light from outside could be seen. 

Russia's breathing hitched outside, so he knew he must have heard him. He wiped away the tears in his eyes so that he could see clearer. A shadow appeared next to his hand through the light underneath the door, staying. "Thank you, thank you so much." Russia whispered softly to himself, but Germany couldn't help but hear that raw relief and gratitude in his voice, the way it wobbled slightly, heavy with unshed tears. 

He knocked on the door again, leaving the back of his hand pressed against the wood for a few seconds. Russia coughed, clearing his throat. "Germany. Ger, okay. We can make this work. Um...how about one knock for yes, two for no. Can you do that? I just want to ask a few things, you don't have to answer anything you don't want to, just don't knock for that question." He bit his lip and nodded slowly, before remembering to knock his answer.

"Are you hurt anywhere else? Badly- hurt?"

Two knocks. He felt his right hand prod his mouth again, fingers tempting to be bitten and bloody, and pulled away in frustration. Habits were hard to break. "Good- I mean that's- good. Okay, how can I help you? Do you need- god I don't know what to say- do you need anything? Medicine, water..." Russia trailed off, and he tried to listen, waiting for him to continue. He knocked twice again anyway.

They lingered in silence for a while, both of them quiet. Germany looked at the shadow on the ground, he wished he could slip his fingers through the gap under the door, touch him, to comfort him. 

'How do you cry so silently?' He asked softly, genuinely curious, holding Russia in his arms after one of his dreams. His boyfriend shrugged weakly, and pressed his face closer against his neck, breathing still uneven and faint. 'I don't know, its just- something I do I guess. And it wasn't too bad, tonight. It...was a pre-war dream.' He nodded slightly, and lifted a hand to caress his face, his fingers brushing against his hair and tucking it behind his ear. Russia shuddered, and he felt more of his tears drip down, little droplets hitting his skin. Other than that, he was so quiet, sometimes he thought that he had fallen asleep, but then Russia would shift slightly, move an arm, curl up tighter around him, reach over to ask for a kiss. There was never a need to say a word.

"I think you should go shower, I...need to check on dinner. Germany..." He preferred to show his love through actions, through touches, light or passionate. And I shut him out. Put this barrier between us. Made him defenseless. "Do you need me to get you some clothes?" Russia asked quietly.

"...yeah." He answered back, voice rough and awful and weak. He knew exactly when Russia departed, when the shadow of his hand lifted away and outside became quieter. The closet door creaked just slightly. 

"They're outside the door. Wash up, alright?" He left immediately after that. I deserve that, Germany thought, and sat there for a while longer. I don't get to miss him, for one, he's still in the house, and two, I treated him so horribly, he's the one that's hurt, the one that needs the help, not me. 

For God's sake, Germany, when will you get your shit together? 

You've held the spotlight for long enough, give other people the chance. 

Yeah I think he's kind of an attention seeker. Why else does he work so hard when he doesn't need to? Right?

Come on, he's trying. You know, go easy on him. He's fragile, probably still has PTSD from the war. 

I didn't know Russia was into your...type. 

Maybe that shower would really help. He needed to get his mind to shut up. Germany forced himself to his feet and stood face to face with his reflection again. Jeez, when was the last time you slept? You look like a panda. Very charming. 

Stupid, making a fool of yourself, he said to it in his mind, and looked down, avoiding it to get to the sink, washing away his blood. The water turned into a pale brownish colour as it swirled. He tried not to think as he took off his clothing and bandages, wincing slightly when the water hit his wounds again just like this morning. It was freezing cold.

'Anna went out of town, so she can't take care of you tonight.' Nazi explained to him, his voice sounding nervous. He nodded understandingly and watched his father ponder, confused about this new experience. He was already five, so he did his best to tell him what Anna usually did after dinner. 'Sometimes she lets me play for a few minutes in the playroom, then she gives me a bath. After that I get dressed, by myself, then you come in and tell me a bedtime story.'  He beamed at him, emphasizing on getting dressed on his own. Nazi thought for a while longer and finally nodded, huffing in determination.

'Papa!! The water's cold!!'  He wriggled out of his grip, ignoring his father's panicked noises and landing on the dry floor. 'It's been running for five minutes, how is it-' Nazi plunged his own hand into the shallow water. 'Anna usually lets it fill up halfway.' He tried helpfully. His father stared at him, then back at the bathtub, and started laughing after a while. 'I don't remember the last time I had a bath myself, so I don't really know what I'm doing.' Needless to say, Nazi was soaked head to toe by the end from all his splashing, while he laughed gleefully, because Anna would have never let him do that when she was around.

She also wouldn't allow him to run around when he was still mostly wet, hair dripping water everywhere and soaking the back of his nightshirt. He giggled as his father chased him around the bedroom playfully, shrieking with laughter when he was caught from behind and lifted into the air. When both of them caught a cold a few days later, neither of them said a word about what had happened that night.

Germany lathered on soap slowly, trying not to get too much on his cuts but also not caring about it. His hands were becoming numb from the pain, the tips of his raw fingers throbbing. The water helped as he washed the suds off.

He picked a white shirt. He stared at the folded pile of clothes set just outside the door for him through a small gap. Russia was nowhere to be seen. It'll be see-through. He knows that the bandages will be visible through it. He chose it on purpose. 

No. Wrong. I should not be thinking this way. It means nothing. I just won't wrap them, they need to air anyway.

He grabbed them off the floor and closed the door again. Do I really wear black and white so often? Is it my only colour sets in the closet- Germany smiled a bit at that, and slowly dressed himself in the clothes without any bandaging. 

Oh, it's raining. I forgot about that. Raindrops were hitting the glass panes of the window loudly, he wondered how he barely even heard it in the bathroom. The room was chilly, lights turned on and the curtains to their window drawn apart. He walked slowly towards it and looked outside, feeling his heart grow as cold and bleak as the weather. He wanted a cigarette. 

'Hey. Hans. Do you smoke?' He looked up from his desk to see the group of British boys he was working with for a project in university. He did, but not often. Britain didn't like it, even though he smoked sometimes too. But for the sake of socializing- 'Yes.'  A pack of cigarettes was handed down to him, and he shyly took one, noticing all the other boys already had one in their mouths. The lighter was eventually passed down as well, and he cupped the flame close, feeling its temporary warmth in his palm. 

A few puffs later, his chest felt warm, filled with smoke. He felt more alert, from the nicotine in his blood. He wondered if East had cigarettes on the other side, if he went to school.

He quit years ago, when smoking became less commonly seen in public spaces and rejected for endangering people's lives. He didn't know whether Russia did or ever did. Germany took a deep breath and pretended for a moment that it was smoke he was blowing out when he exhaled, staring at the tree swaying about in the strong wind outside. 

After a few minutes of looking, and maybe waiting, he turned around and crawled into bed. It was warmer in there. What's taking Russland so long. What are we going to do. I don't know what I want to do, I don't have a plan. 

Germany pulled the blankets around himself, they made him feel warm but didn't necessarily have warmth of their own, not like skin, not like his boyfriend. He should feel guilty. Yes, I should focus on that. I'm wrong. That's the plan, I have to apologize. I don't want to though- 

The door opened, and he didn't have time to think. Couldn't think even if he tried, since his mind decided to blank out when he heard footsteps coming in the room. He had to force himself to turn his head and look instead of staring at the wall. "...I thought you were asleep." Russia said softly, standing there holding a tray.

They moved slowly, both of them acting like they didn't want to spook the other. Germany made himself sit up, with the blanket still around his shoulders for some childish sense of protection and also for the cold, and Russia sat at the edge of the bed, looking awkwardly at the food he was holding. There were two steaming bowls and two plates of sliced bread. 

"It's sauerkraut soup." He mumbled softly, ice blue eyes darting up to peek at him through white hair as he handed him one of the bowls, gently placing the tray in the space between them.

'I swear I'll get the recipe right this time.' Russia grinned with determination, brandishing yet another jar of sauerkraut in his hand as he speeded back to the kitchen to turn off the stove before things started burning. 'Wow, Россия is in the kitchen, cooking. Quarantine is really bringing out your domestic side, huh?' He teased. 'Hey, I've cooked for you before.' He objected back, swiveling around to glare playfully. 'Yeah, but nothing really 'German'. Try not to botch my traditions again.' He smiled and walked forward to give him a kiss good luck on the cheek. 

He did end up perfecting the recipe. Germany stirred his soup slightly and watched the pieces of sauerkraut move inside the bowl. Russia hadn't touched his yet, he just sat there, watching him, waiting for approval? I should say thank you. And apologize. He scooped up a small spoonful and put it in his mouth without saying anything.  

'Did I do it?' Russia asked smugly after he tasted the first spoonful. It was perfectly tangy, sour, and had just that right amount of smokiness brought from the paprika and bacon. '...yeah. Yeah you did.' He admitted and continued chewing through an adoring smile when Russia beamed triumphantly, eyes sparkling with joy. 

"Are you still mad at me?" His voice broke through their silence, straight-forward and abrupt. Germany looked up at him and stared into his eyes for a second, before they moved away and looked down at his bowl. "Sorry."  Always with the apologizing. He continued eating the food when it was still hot. 

Don't say that. Don't ever say that when it's not your fault. How can you always say you're sorry so easily, Russ. 

He bit into a piece of bread to just let himself feel less desperate to bite his fingers again. The soup didn't taste like blood, but it didn't make him feel pain either. Germany chewed quickly, taking another bite a few seconds later.

"Um-" Russia's spoon suddenly clattered against his bowl, before he gently set it down on the tray again. It was barely touched. "I don't think I'm hungry. You can have mine if you want." He looked at him silently mid-chew as he pulled his legs up the bed, back leaning against the headboard as he tucked his knees to his chest as tightly as he could, staring off into thin air. 

This is stupid, he knew where this would lead to. Germany swallowed, put down his own half-eaten soup and bread on the tray as well and scooted over, to his boyfriend's surprise. He picked up Russia's bowl and offered it back to him. All he said was a soft "Eat."

Russia looked absolutely dumbstruck, staring straight at him with that piercing blue, all sharp and brittle edges inside his iris. He definitely cried.

Why is this so awkward. Germany tried not to lose his confidence and stopped his hands from trembling, keeping his gaze steady. The bowl was heavy. Please don't spill it. Russia seriously needs that haircut, but then again, that hair looks really soft. Focus, please take the bowl. Please eat. I should apologize. I should answer his question. 

"I'm not mad." He whispered, looking down from his eyes to his nose, to his lips. Passionate touch. That was how he liked to show his love too. Two hands took the bowl from him, and he snapped out of his thoughts, looked back at his eyes before taking his own hands away from the bowl. Russia held it gently, like it was something precious. 

It's so quiet. Other that the thundering rain outside, it was quiet. He didn't feel like he should go back to eating immediately, but he also didn't think staring at his boyfriend while he tried to slowly eat again was good either. So he choose to just look away, watch the rain at the window. His fingers drummed on his knee. A four-count beat of little pin-pricks of pain each time they hit.

"Were you biting yourself again?" Russia asked. Boldly. A part of him didn't want to answer. A tiny part of him bristled defensively again. He was too exhausted to even bother to acknowledge it. He just nodded. They both looked exhausted. Russland had a breakdown just early this morning.

Germany picked up his bowl again and continued eating beside him. He found himself eating faster so that he could push away the bowl for good and do something. I still haven't apologized.

"Austria texted me." His spoon hit the side of the bowl with a loud clink, and he froze. "When...after I went back down to the kitchen. He said you threw up this morning. Didn't give him a reason." Russia ate another spoonful of soup, not looking at him. 

'Is fried rice okay with you?' Austria knocked on his door during lunch time, smiling as he sat down on a chair, holding out two boxes of takeout. 'You could come out to eat with the rest of us, if you like.' He declined, even though it made Portugal whine and complain playfully from a distance. Austria stayed with him in his office though, keeping him company. 'Are you sure you're okay?' He said gently later, orange eyes looking at him. 'Yes, I'm perfectly fine. You didn't tell anyone right?' Austria shook his head, still staring at him like he was trying to decide whether he was telling the truth.

'Including Russia?'

He paused, and slowly shook his head again. 'Good. Thank you. Really. I just...don't want him to know.'

'Why? He is your boyfriend, right?' Austria asked again. 'I know, he is, but like you know...he has a lot going on with himself already. He doesn't need to know everything, especially if it isn't important.' He smiled, faked it and pretended. 'Just, don't tell him, please?' 

Germany didn't blame him, he knew Austria was just trying to do the right thing for him. He finished off a slice of bread and looked outside again, ignoring the unspoken question Russia was trying to ask. 

'I hate it, I hate when I can't say anything and everything is just stuck in my mind and I just can't say them out loud. It physically hurts, Германия-' He choked out between sobs, muffled by his hand. Where does it hurt, let me help. Who dares to hurt you. I wouldn't let anything hurt you, let me help. I know how that feels, I know how it hurts. I'm sorry you have to feel it too. 'I'm listening. I can hear you. You're doing good, Russ.' You really are. I'm so proud of you. 

"I'm fine, it's nothing serious." He started, feeling the need to smile right after that statement. 'A smile proves that you are having a good emotion, a happy emotion. 'People are very easily convinced by happiness. If you learn to master it, present it on command, you can keep people at your will and influence, Hans.' He wished the memories would stop, and clenched his spoon tightly between his fingers.

'They're moments where you have to smile, or you are allowed to smile, Hans. But sometimes you have to stay completely still, give no emotion. You cannot betray yourself by letting other people know what you feel.' Nazi's voice spoke softly, a sort of nervous kindness in it as he held his shoulders with both hands, kneeled in front of him so he could directly see his crimson eyes. 'This is one of those moments. This speech is important, alright?' He saw the Führer out of the corner of his eye, taking off his hat, approaching the red curtains where a large crowd was gathered outside, murmuring loudly. 

He squeezed his eyes shut on reflex, trying not to see those red flags, not see his father's anxious expression as he looked left and right, making sure no one saw them. Protecting them both. "Germany?" Russia's voice helped. He opened again, seeing their bedroom. 

"I don't want you to worry. You have enough to worry about." He blurted out in one exhale, fingertips rubbing against his palm so that the pain kept him focused. He quickly set down his nearly finished bowl on the tray again and tugged the blanket tighter around himself, staring at his right hand. 

"But I can't just- Ger you're not making any sense, How can I Not worry about you?" Russia placed his bowl down as well, he felt his eyes on him, staring. "Is that why I had to find out from Austria, why you didn't tell me you threw up? What if you were actually sick, Германия?" 

"Then I'd just have to deal with it myself." He answered back, using his thumb's fingernail to stab into the wound on his middle finger, barely noticing the pain anymore. Germany looked up at him again. "But like I said, it's not serious. I'm fine now." 

He wished he didn't look up, and see those blue eyes looking so hurt and upset, and slowly filling with tears. I did that, shit no It's my fault I- 

"I thought..." Russia said quietly, then clamped a hand over his mouth, just like last night. He knew he made him cry again when he turned away from him so he couldn't see his face, his other arm wrapping around himself. I hurt him. Again. I didn't mean to I was just telling him the truth I'm sorry-

'He's dangerous! We know next to nothing about him!' A English voice whisper-shouted loudly outside, and he slipped down from the thin mattress he was given in the field hospital to peek out of the green curtain. From here, he could see three adult countryhumans, with flags that he had learnt from school on their faces, wearing their country's respective military uniforms. 'We don't know what ideologies have been planted into his head, he could be corrupted, he's not fit to be next in line, not when he was raised by one of Them!' 

'We cannot kill him, mon ami.' France said. 'Of course we are not going to kill him, this isn't two hundred years ago, but all I'm saying is that he should be sent to one of our prospective treatment camps, set him right-'

'He is an eleven-year-old boy, Britain.' The man with the American flag on his face cut him off mid-sentence. Papa always told him it was rude to interrupt people when they were speaking.

'An eleven year old NAZI boy. He was wearing a Hilter Youth uniform when my soldiers found him.'

'Nazi's Son. Our Friend's son. Don't you have any compassion for him?!'

'What are you talking about, he wasn't our friend, we barely even speak with him, hiding in his own country. You've never even met him in person, America!'

'But I've heard him. Didn't you listen to his telegraph? The one he sent out a few months ago, he risked his life to send it to us! He knew they were losing the war, he literally begged for us to make sure his son would be safe and unharmed. I don't think he corrupted him, Britain. Nazi was not his government.'

He accidentally pulled the curtain back too far, and the French countryhuman made a noise of surprise when he saw him, making all three of them turn around. Britain looked horrified, and guilty, when he noticed his dusty, tear-streaked face. 'Hey, it's alright.' The American said in a hushed voice, approaching him. He was too scared to run away.

The man, slightly older than his father squatted down in front of him, a kind smile on his face. 'I didn't get the chance to meet you before, my name's William. You can call me Will, or America, of course. What's your name?'

'...Hans.'  He answered, glancing nervously at the British countryhuman and rubbing at his left upper arm. He was the one that tore off his armband, and stamped on his father's mark when it hit the floor. He gathered that Britain hated his father, and so, must hate him as well. 'That's a nice name.' The American was nice. 

Why this memory. Why now. This is bad, Russland is most important right now, I have to help him. I hurt him. Why would he want to accept my help. Why did he ever choose me. Germany blinked away his own tears and focused on Russia again, seeing only his back. His first instinct was to hug him, hold him close and plead for forgiveness. His mind reminded him that he didn't want to be touched.

I don't care, He is more important, I will do anything to make sure he's okay. Even if it means doing something I don't want to do.

"Russ...Россия. I'm sorry." He reached over, raw, bitten, ugly finger tips curled up towards his palm, and touched him with the back of his hand. "I'm sorry for making you upset, I...I'm sorry-" Two strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug. Germany gasped silently, fought to keep his dinner down, fought to stay still and not flinch away at the abruptness of it all. 

He was both touch repulsed and touch starved, feeling threatened and comforted by this warm embrace. As long as Russia is alright, as long as Russia is alright, as long as Russia is alright- He kept chanting in his head, biting his lip hard and making himself hug tightly back. That wasn't as hard, he was doing it on his own free will. Sacrifices are needed to make a relationship work. I will do that, because I want to. At least so I tell myself.

And so, when they pulled apart again, he initiated the first move to kiss him first, gently, trying to pull out the right emotions to put into the kiss, and keep his real ones hidden away deep underground. Not very hard, either. Russia hummed into his mouth, but didn't do anything else. He took charge, pressed close, held his face in his hands, tilted his head to kiss him deeper. 

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout, hit, or hurt you. It's my fault, please accept my apology. Please forgive me. I don't want to touch him, I want to have my space. No, I don't get that option, not after what I've done. This is for him, I hurt him and I have to apologize. This is how it has to be done. 

He pulled away gasping when Russia finally pushed him away, after tapping his shoulder, mumbling his name through the kiss to get his attention with no avail. "You don't have to do this, Germany-"

"But I want to," He insisted, leaning forward to kiss him again. Yes, I do want this. "No, you don't. Ger, stop. Please, I know you don't want to be touched right now, why are you doing this?" He couldn't help but flinch slightly when Russia grabbed his shoulders and held him still, which only supported his point as he scanned his face thoroughly, sharp blue eyes trying to make sense of the situation. 

"Tell me the truth, do you really want to do this?" Russia asked softly. Yes, I do. I'm doing this for you, you are the most important thing in my life. His eyes seemed to stare harder into him, streaks of red in the white surrounding his irises, wet with tears. The truth. The truth always hurts. It would be so much easier to lie. "...No."

I failed. The one thing I can make right and I failed doing it. How can I be so stupid, if I just said yes we could continue and he would feel alright. Why did I tell him no. Now he's going to be upset again. Why am I crying. Why- I don't like this feeling, stop it, why am I crying I can't cry Russia is more important-

"Germany...shh- hey hey hey it's okay. It's okay-" He sobbed horribly as he was gently guided forward and held, uncontrollably shaking against a firm chest. No wrong this is wrong all wrong this is wrong, I should not be thinking this way I should not be acting this way this is Wrong. I'm Wrong I'm the bad one I'm corrupted. 

'My father wasn't always like that, you know?' RSFSR, nineteen-year-old Russia said quietly as he helped him bandage his swollen cheek in the middle of the night in his room, still wearing his army jacket and combat boots from when he came home earlier this evening. He was gone for three months. 'When I was younger, he used to be nice, play with us, and laugh with happiness. He never would've beat us, or yell at us. It wasn't until...the War, after...Nazi Germany betrayed him...' He trailed off after that, closing his mouth tight. 

He felt bad, and kept quiet when the older boy resumed wrapping up his own callused palms and knuckles silently, tugging up his sleeves and winding the gauze all the up to his forearms. He watched the red lines on his wrists disappear one by one underneath the white strips. He was seven when his father told him that Soviet and his children will not be coming over to play anymore, forever. It wasn't my choice, I tried to stop it, Nazi said, and held his face in his hands. 'I remember when we used to tend to our vegetable garden together, back in our old house.' Russia spoke up again, changing the subject, and walked over to his closet to stash the roll of gauze underneath his pile of clothes after he was done with his bandaging.

'Mostly, it was me and my siblings playing along the rows, but we still helped, like picking weeds or climbing up the tree to pluck pears. You would have liked it.' He smiled at him, purple eyes glowing faintly. He had hardly gardened in his old life. 'I meant the tree-climbing part. I remember you used to like climbing trees, back...then. The pear tree was Huge-' Russia emphasized with his hands, still talking softly so that they didn't disturb anyone else in the house. It made him smile. 'It had many branches too. We put up a tire swing on one of them.'

He came and sat beside him on the carpet, crossing his legs and lightly pushing his fingers through his red and blue hair. USSR'S flag was sewn on his right sleeve. 'So...wie geht's, Ostdeutschland?' He gasped and hunched down fearfully. 'You can't speak that here. USSR said- he forbade me-'  He whispered in Russian, feeling tears welling up in his eyes from hearing just those few words of his own language. Who cares about his accent making it sound funny, it sounded like music, it sounded like home. 

'He didn't say anything to Me. And plus, I spent too time reading that dictionary and practicing with myself just to not try it out. Did I say it right? It means how are you, right?'  Russia grinned back, rocking back and forward slightly with self-pride. It didn't exactly mean how are you, but he put a hand over his mouth to stop himself from making a sound as he nodded, tears threatening to spill over.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Sorry sorry sorry sorry-" Germany rambled, clenching the bottom of his T-shirt tightly as he continued to cry his eyes out. He was being rocked, back and forward, knees gathered up to his chest as two arms held him firmly, one over his shoulders and back, and the other under his knees and holding on to his hip, sitting in the cradle of his lap. It felt like every point of contact was on fire, blazing hot, spitting painful sparks everywhere, comfortingly warm, cozy. 

The tears were like acid instead, burning in his eyes, flowing down his cheeks and dripping down his chin onto his shirt easily, like they were moving on a well worn path. How do you cry so silently. It was impossible for him, he sobbed and coughed and sniveled uglily, face contorted and probably red as a tomato, choking over his own breaths pathetically.

Russia was close, he was so close, touching him, holding him. His forehead was pressed against his temple, breathing against his cheek. He wasn't saying anything, just rocking them back and forward, and crying. He was crying too. They were crying together. 'I cut to feel that same pain that I got whenever he hit me, starve me when I misbehaved, yelled till my ears rang. I hated that kind of pain, because it reminded me of him. So I decided to take control of it and make Myself hurt, so that no one else could do it, only me, because I felt in control. Pain of my own doing, and no one else.'

And you think he had never done those to me, to East, before too? I remember East starving for nearly three days, locked in some dark room, I remember so much pain from him. You think I never wanted it to all end, to just fall into that pit of pain and forget about West's memories and end it? What about other people's pain, Russ. Why did you not think of me when you did this to yourself, why didn't you think of the pain you would cause Me when you did this. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being angry. I can't control it, I should have been in more control, I'm so sorry for lashing out at you. I'm sorry for playing the victim again.

A hand reached up and touched his face, and he flinched. "S-Sorry." Russia pulled it away. It was the arm that was supporting his knees previously. Germany rubbed at his eyes and blinked, clearing his vision, only to see him staring, down, at his torso. He had bunched up his shirt so much in his hand that his cuts were visibly displayed out in the open. Where's the bandag- oh right I didn't bandage them at all. Stupid. What now. 

He shoved his shirt down, covering his skin again and fixed his eyes on his fidgeting hands, still sniffling. "Ger...did you- was that because of me?" His hand was hovering in midair, unsure of where to put it. Germany bit his lip and clenched his hands together, reminding himself furiously not to bite his fingers. I don't care that I'm stressed out. It's wrong and it looks bad. He wanted to move from his lap back to his side of the bed, not touched. He wanted to stay right here, and hug him until they both felt better again. Or just until He felt better again. That is enough.

"I didn't...I didn't know. I'm sorry." Russia mumbled, his voice genuinely apologetic. "I- I really didn't mean to hurt you like this, I was stupid, and only thinking about myself. But I swear...Ger, I thought about you too when I was...cutting. Every time. You're the thought that always makes me stop in the end."

Germany continued ignoring him, but stayed put in his embrace, head lightly resting against his shoulder. The burning brought on by the touch diminished slightly, but was still uncomfortable. "I just- I can't stop thinking about other things first, the war, my father, I tried to stop them but it's so hard-" 

"Then why didn't you tell me, why didn't you tell me before you thought to hurt yourself instead?" He couldn't help but interrupt, too tired to filter through his words, too tired to keep the emotionless mask or a smiling face on. 

'Listen, whatever your Papa taught you, throw it out of the window, okay? I don't want- Not when you're under my care. I don't know what America lets you do when you stay with him over in his country, but not in my house, got it?' Britain said when he arrived at the huge mansion, the chauffeur bringing his suitcases out of the car and setting them down behind him. He nodded quickly, switching his thoughts to English in his head. He was attending boarding school in London in a week, after Britain had convinced America that he should have a more European education. At thirteen, he still wasn't completely fluent, and he was nervous that he would fall behind because of it. Britain told him it was a very prestigious school, and he should never be speaking German there, not to himself or to anybody. How he would hide or try to excuse his accent was up to him. The people were still very skeptical of the German people back then, it was for his own safety. His name was Henry Anderson.

"I..." Russia hesitated, slowly letting his hand fall, but not touching him. "...I'm sorry..." He hated how guilty it sounded. He hated how guilty it made him feel in return. How could he blame him, that was Wrong. He didn't want to feel these emotions being connected to anything to do with their relationship. "I really am, Ger. I don't know how I can tell you otherwise-"

"Just promise me you wouldn't do it again." Germany butt in quickly, closing his eyes and leaning harder against his shoulder, completely drained. "...okay. I promise." He breathed in slowly, smelling cologne, tears, clothing detergent, spices used from dinner on him. He just wanted to go to sleep like this. "We still have to talk over some things."

"I thought... we already talked last night." Russia said, voice surprisingly cautious and quiet. "Well clearly, it didn't really do much." He answered back immediately, opening his eyes again and feeling just a bit of annoyance flaring up instead him. Wrong. This is a wrong feeling. "...I'm sorry." 

Germany turned his head and pressed his face against his shoulder, engulfing himself in his smell and just forgetting about the world for a few seconds. He shouldn't have said that. "We don't need to talk. Last night is...enough. For now." For now, stupid. Enough is enough. What do I mean by For Now. I should have just kept my mouth shut. His shoulder was so warm, underneath the shirt he was wearing. He missed them sleeping together shirtless, so that he could feel his warmth all night long. 

"...if you feel like it didn't do much, we should talk-"

"No-No. I'm sorry about that. It did do- a lot. I'm just..." 

"It's what you really feel, right? I'm willing to talk. For you. If you feel like we should talk, let's talk. I'll talk and listen to you forever, if that's what you want, Ger." He said, so kindly and softly. Romantic, even. Why did you ever choose me. "It's not what You want." Germany whispered back, pulling his face away and looking at their bedroom again.

"Yes it is. We have to if we ever want to resolve this." Russia insisted gently, finally putting his hand down, over both of his hands. He didn't have the energy to move away. "Let's talk, okay? I promise to tell you everything you want to know." 

Germany felt like crying again. Eyes burning but nothing flowing out, just that constant pain. He grabbed on to Russia's hand, holding it tightly with both of his own and leaning against him again. He felt like he couldn't breath otherwise, if he wasn't holding on to something, holding on to him. 

"I just need to tell you I'm sorry." Germany said softly, barely louder than a breath of air. "I'm so sorry for everything, for not being there for you, for slapping you that day, for shouting, for not being what you should have had when you were going through so much." 

'Henry, aren't you going to write a letter home?' Robert said, in that classy posh British accent that had surrounded his whole life here. Not a single wisp of German. They were all sitting around, in their common room, papers and pens in hand. 'I don't have anyone to write to.' He answered back in the quiet, monotonous voice he had learnt to use, lacking any emotion, any accents that might make the teachers or other students look at him suspiciously. 'Why, your parents, your grandmother, surely someone.' Robert sniffed and stood up, walking away to write his letter somewhere else. Good. He'd rather be alone. He wasn't going to write to Britain, he wanted to write to America, but he knew he hardly ever looked at letters that wasn't stamped as government work. He didn't even dare think in German these days, scared that somehow someone would read his thoughts or something, and condemn him. He wanted to write to his father, to his other half. 'I miss you. I'm afraid. I hate everything here, it's so different. I want to go back home.'

Russia leant in and pressed a gentle kiss over his cheek. "...if it helps you, even just slightly, then I'd say I forgive you, Germany." He couldn't see it, but he could feel his ice blue eyes staring at him, cooling, chilling the fire inside him, cold wind wrapping around him and somehow helping him breath easier. "I forgive you." 

He wanted to do something more than sitting in his lap and staring at thin air. Or leaning against him and holding his hand. Russia's breaths were ruffling his hair, going in and out. The rain continued pouring down, this would have been perfect to sleep to, just this closeness, this fake sense of all is well in the world. 

"Will you forgive me, for what I did?" He mumbled. "I'm sorry, for making you hurt yourself because of me. I'm sorry for causing you so much pain. I'm sorry for not telling you things first, if I had told you, all this would have never happened." 

Germany turned his head and looked at him, their eyes meeting. Several white strands of hair cut through his view of those beautiful, delicate blue irises, which made it seem even more like a wintery scene playing right before him, snow falling over a frozen pond. There were too many memories of him and his father, Anna, sometimes Soviet and his family, his childhood friends, playing in that sort of scene, hundreds and hundreds of them, all crowding around at once now in his mind. 

It's not winter, it's spring. That time doesn't exist anymore. All that was nearly a century ago. He cleared his head, blinking several times. Russia's brows were furrowed, concerned, sad. "Germany?" 

He nodded slowly, then focused on the present again and nodded more sincerely. "Yes. I forgive you. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pause like that. I forgive you, Russland." I screwed up again, he's wondering why I didn't answer him immediately. I'm sorry I didn't mean to I- excuses, all excuses. I screwed up again and this time it's too late.

"Ger, can you look at me?" A soft voice whispered, and his hand moved. Germany let him go from his grasp and felt him brush against his chin, gently cupping his jaw and tilting it upward. He followed along compliantly, too tired to resist much. Those ice blue eyes were there again, sharper this time, scanning his face and seeing every small detail, staring into his soul. 

"We're going to get through this. And...we're going to be okay in the end." Russia said. 

"Just trust me."

'Your eyes are beautiful.' He said softly, glazing up at him with a dreamy smile as they laid in bed together, waking up slowly from the warm morning sun streaming in through the window. 'Hm? Well thank you. But you know what's even more beautiful?' Russia smiled sleepily, showing just a bit of teeth. 'Yours. Gold is such a rare colour, I've hardly seen such a colour on anyone else.' 

'Kazakhstan has gold eyes. So does Saudi Arabia, and Egypt, I think.'

'Kaz's is more of a yellow than gold. Saudi has well...solid gold. Egypt's is kind of gold, but a more sandy colour. Yours is...soft, like a more honey colour and melted chocolate.' 

'I better start watching out for Switzerland.' He hummed and heard Russia chuckle above him. 'But yours is just...so much more interesting to look at.'

'Blue is a normal colour, even amongst normal people.' Russia stretched, yawning and getting ready to get up. He whined and held him tighter, but reluctantly sat up as well. 'But no one has blue eyes that's such a sharp, ice-like glow to it. I think amongst all of us, your eyes glow the brightest in the dark. Like a star.'

Russia snorted and leant over to kiss the tip of his nose playfully before standing up and going to the bathroom. 'Poetic this morning, are we.' He had to laugh at his sleepy English, which was even more slurred than his Russian.

Germany concentrated on his hand on his jaw again, hearing the rain slowly fade back into his ears. 

'Get ready-' Nazi grinned, and he quickly put his hands over his ears, giggling. A loud boom of thunder rang through the room, and both of them laughed, rolling around on the rugs like the loud sound was the funniest thing they both have ever heard. 'Again!! Again!!' He squealed, getting up and running to the window sill, bouncing on his feet as he looked outside for a flash of lightning. His father joined him enthusiastically, staring out at the dark night sky and wet window. When another flash happened, both of them skittered away to the protection of the round rug, giggling chaotically when another boom echoed loudly.

"What do you think about, when you get those thoughts? What do you remember?" He whispered quietly, looking up at Russia's face. He looked surprised at the question, and turned away briefly, eyes dimming. "Um...war. We had to leave our old house because of Operation Barbarossa. I've never seen my father so mad. That was the first time he hit us, and he took out his anger on us pretty badly. I guess I just think of every time he...abused us." 

Germany gently held his wrist and pulled him away from his jaw, clasping his hand comfortingly. It wasn't smooth, or soft or otherwise lovely and flowery. The calluses from his military training still remained after all these years, scratches and rougher patches of skin on his fingers where he gripped rifles. 

'Enough!' Soviet was yanked back and suddenly bent double, with Russia standing behind him, pining his arm to his back in a lock hold and glowering with anger. He shoved him away and stood in front of him and Estonia, still glaring at Soviet. No one had ever stood up to him in years, and now Russia was protecting them, bandaged fists raised slightly and clenched in preparation to fight. 

 "He did abuse you, East, the rest of us, but...we're here now, and we're safe. You saved us." He mumbled quietly, running his thumb across the toughen skin along the stretch from his thumb to his wrist. "When? How did I- save you?" 

"1980s. I think." Germany answered, meeting his eyes again. They were so close to each other, if he just tilted his head slightly and leant in, they could be kissing again. "Do you get...nice memories? Times before, happy ones-" He asked gently, in a tone that let Russia know that he didn't have to answer if he didn't want to.

"...yeah. Sometimes." The ice blue eyes diverted, staring at his shoulder for a moment before fixing on some point of his hair. "Me too." Germany breathed out, listening to the rain and lightly squeezing his hand. "The nice ones hurt the most." 

Russia hummed his agreement. 

'Don't go, Papa.' A hand plopped on top of his head, ruffling his hair playfully as his father squatted down in front of him, wearing full SS uniform and hat, smiling. 'It's only for a few days, I'll be back soon. You'll have Anna, right?' He nodded, but still reached out his arms and hugged him tightly. 'Oof, such a strong grip! You're killing me ackk-' He started laughing, letting go of his father's neck and giggling at the choking sounds Nazi was still making. He hugged him again after he was done, gentler this time, and felt his father's arms around him firmly. 'My strong boy...you're special, never forget that. I'll always come back and be with you, I promise.'

"Я люблю тебя, Германия." Russia said, sincerely. Timidly, he'd never heard him say it like that before. He turned his head and looked at him, seeing his white hair hanging over his eyes, him biting his bottom lip with his teeth as if anxious. Waiting. "Я тоже тебя люблю."

Germany felt his heart sink when he heard a sniffle, and immediately reacted by using the back of his fingers to brush away his hair, staring into teary blue eyes again. What's wrong. What did I do. Why are you crying. I hurt you again, didn't I. I'm sorry. He cupped his cheek with his free hand, and felt him smile.

"I'm fine. It's just that you haven't said that to me in a really long time-" Russia choked out, grinning now with tears flowing down his face. Just like last night. Germany cracked a smile as well and felt his body tense, heart racing when he leant forward and pressed his forehead against his boyfriend's, closing his eyes.

'Tell me what you feel, Hans.' Nazi's voice said coaxingly. '...Angry. And sad.' 

'Why?'

'Because Peter broke my toy.' He pointed at the broken pieces of what once was a model airplane laid out on his father's desk in front of him, pouting angrily again at the sight. 

'Yes, but we don't go around and throwing temper tantrums in the park, correct? He didn't do it on purpose.' Nazi explained slowly, as he would to a four-year-old. 'That wasn't nice when you yelled at him, if he didn't mean to break it, right?' He thought for a bit, and reluctantly nodded. 

'If he's there again next week, you should go apologize to him, okay?' Another slow nod, he meant this one a bit more. Peter was nice, he would share his snacks with him when they played in the park. 

Nazi stood up from his chair and walked to him, getting down on his knee at eye level, with one hand held behind his back. His red eyes glimmered mischievously, and his smirk grew when he held the suspense longer before finally bringing out another plane held in his hidden hand, presenting it to him with a flourish. It was the exact same one that he had, brand new and shiny. 'Now what do you feel?'

'Happy.' He answered back, enthralled by the toy and instantly forgetting about the incident at the park. Nazi laughed, gently giving the toy to him and lightly poking his cheek with a finger. 'Then you can start smiling again. Smile when you're happy, ja?'

"What am I going to do with you-" Germany said, pulling away and wiping away his tears gently, pressing a kiss to his forehead and throwing his arms around him, hugging him tightly. Russia wrapped his own around his torso, burying his face in his shoulder. 

"What are We going to do." He whispered, holding him, doing nothing else. Russia moved his head away and blinked slowly at him, reaching up to take his left forearm gently from over his shoulder and tenderly kissing his palm. "I don't know...but I- want... to do it with you." He mumbled, voice rough and shakily sounding from his crying. 

Germany stayed still and let him kiss his hand again, nodding when his blue eyes flickered over to him to ask. They moved back to his hand and gazed at his bitten fingertips, ghosting over the skin wounds. "Does it hurt? We should bandage them." He said softly, cradling his hand in both of his lovingly. 

"They're okay now. Russia..." He got his attention and took in that sharp bright blue again, holding it firmly. "We've hurt each other, but we've both said sorry. We've done more than cutting ourselves, we said things we shouldn't have said. How...how do we make this right again?"

Russia sighed. His expressions were all over the place, expressive, emotions flashing like morse code in his eyes. "It takes time," He mumbled slowly, hesitant. "We can't go over a whole month and week's problems over one night of talk, but we will eventually." 

'Don't go. Please don't leave me, I'm so sorry for everything. I'm sorry I'm not good enough. Please don't leave me alone, I can't live without you Germany.' A moment of weakness, he was panicking at that point. He hadn't heard him sound so terrified in a long time, clinging so desperately to him. 

"We will." Germany repeated after him with more determination, moving his right hand to cup his cheek, lifting the corners of his mouth into a weak attempt at a smile. He felt Russia lean into his touch, relaxing slightly from relief. "We'll be okay, not today or probably not tomorrow, but sooner or later. The both of us."

"I love you. No matter what. That's one thing I'm a hundred percent sure about right now." Russia murmured, turning his head to kiss his palm again. "Me too." He managed to whisper out, enamoured by all of him. You are everything to me. I'm sorry for hurting you, but I know we're going to recover from our hurts together now, we're going to be okay. I'll make sure you're okay, I swear on my life. Germany tilted his lips back to him, leaning closer, seeing his ice blue eyes glint with love once more before sealing the promise with a kiss.

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Congrats for reaching the end! You've read around 20k words in total here! :DD

Ahhhh I really hope you like this!! Votes and comments are always appreciated especially if you have any pointers or thoughts! 

Maybe just maybe- as a treat- I could make a oneshot with memories of Russia and Germany as children- fluff I promise. Any requests? 

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️