Now here's the updating schedule we're all familiar with, right? Lol. I really tried hard to get this done before now, but it was hard to find the motivation (surprise, my mental health still sucks - but that's a different story lmao). My socially distanced marching band rehearsals have also started (and my blended school learning experience will soon), so I don't know when I'll be able to update next. I hope updates don't become too inconsistent or stretched out, despite what the description currently says. I'm really shooting to not have the next update take more than a month after this one!

Hope you all enjoy chapter 11. I didn't realize how angsty it was until I was almost done with it, lmao so have fun with that. Sensitive topics are discussed, so please keep that in mind!
Stay safe out there!

~Emily Believes xoxo

Prussia felt a small nudge against his arm.

"Gilbert?"

Another nudge.

"Gil?"

Ugh.

It took a moment for his groggy brain to re-register the past two days. In all honesty, he was still hoping it was a dream, but the pieces soon fell into place. This was real, so annoyingly, frustratingly real.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately (though poorly) to go back to sleep. He didn't want to deal with his questionable nation status or his weird reincarnation or his human mother or her stupid reservations about his decisions or—

"Gil."

…But he probably didn't have a choice.

"Mm," he finally grunted.

There was soft laughter in response. He felt someone — Canada, his Mattie, he fondly realized — gently brush the tangled hair out of his face. Unfortunately, such a benign action allowed a bright light to curse Prussia's eyes, the same light that his hair had so graciously covered.

"Morning," Canada whispered, as if he'd done nothing wrong.

"Mmhm."

The nation proceeded to commit another act of betrayal — shifting his weight to sit upright. Criminal. Prussia, however, was undeterred, and held tightly onto his boyfriend as he was dragged upwards.

"I think we should get up now," Canada said softly.

"Noooo…" Prussia drawled. He clung tighter to Canada's torso.

As he glanced up, Prussia saw Canada's mouth curl into a small smile. "No?"

"Too much bullshit," Prussia murmured into his boyfriend's chest.

Canada hummed. "Well, I think America and Hungary are downstairs, and Al has quite the imagination when he puts his mind to it. Who knows what he's saying."

"You're only saying that to get me up."

"Maybe," the nation mused, "or maybe he's trying to convince your parents how you and Elizabeta are—" his voice suddenly switched to a convincing imitation of Alfred's, "all the talk at school."

Prussia mumbled out, "That bastard," earning a chuckle from Canada.

The ex-nation let out another groan as he begrudgingly untangled himself from his boyfriend and rolled off the bed. Canada followed suit.

Groggily and quite clumsily, Prussia rustled through his dresser for some sort of decent clothes, throwing some jeans and a jacket in Canada's direction as he grabbed some for himself. After a quick change, the couple made their way downstairs to the kitchen.

Indeed, Hungary and America were already there, but luckily only Abigail was in there with them, and she seemed to be doing all the entertaining, despite Canada's earlier outlandish prediction. Prussia sent a brief glare towards an unsympathetic Canada as they approached.

The silly exchange was a nice, albeit short-lived, distraction from the current situation. Prussia hated to think about it. Even just being downstairs caused his heart to race.

So human, he ruminated.

Too human.

With the entrance of the two boys, Abigail's story (something about Gilbert in elementary school) was abruptly cut short. "Good morning," she greeted, that insincere smile flooding her face again.

She's still mad, Prussia thought bitterly. Just to prove it, it seemed, Abigail's expression soured as she essentially shouted, "Hide that bird!"

Prussia reflexively put his hands up in defense. Gilbird gave his own protective chirp from atop Prussia's mop of white hair, startling the ex-nation further. He must've been too tired to notice his feathery friend landing there in the first place.

"Oh, it's fine, Mrs. Beilschmidt. Gilbird just likes to follow him around. They have, like, a psychic connection or something," Canada explained nonchalantly, sliding into a chair next to his brother.

"No, we don't." Prussia stubbornly crossed his arms. "He just has good taste."

Hungary raised a brow, not looking up from her plate. "Are you trying to insinuate that Gilbird is attracted to you?"

"Good taste in nations, Hungary."

She tutted. "Not good enough."

He didn't know if it was because he was tired or nervous or stressed or some weird combination of the three, but Prussia found himself slamming his hand down on the dinner table hard enough to make the plates jump. The sudden gesture startled Abigail and Canada, though America and Hungary remained unphased. A flustered Gilbird flew to Canada's shoulder.

Equally unphased, Prussia fumed, "Well, he came back, didn't he?! He's the one who started all this! He's the only reason you're here! And you!" He pointed an accusing finger at America, who, having already finished his breakfast, was currently scrolling through his phone with his feet propped up on the window seal. "Who said you could take my clothes?!"

America looked up, confused. "It's... just a t-shirt," he said.

"Still my stuff!"

America rolled his eyes, throwing his arm in the direction of a concerned Canada. "Mattie literally has a whole different outfit!"

"Yeah, and he's my boyfriend! That's different!" Prussia barked back, his knuckles turning paper-white from gripping the edge of the dining table.

"Enough," Abigail demanded.

She barrelled over, sharply grabbing the plates from the table. "For a bunch of, symbolic personifications of nations or whatever—"

"Anthropomorphic personifications," America supplied.

"—that." She groaned. "For being those… oh, you bunch are so immature."

"You don't know the half of it," Canada mumbled, crossing his arms, though he soon found himself cowering at the end of a rather nasty glare from Abigail.

"Just," Abigail let out a deep sigh, setting down the plates suddenly, "stop squabbling. I don't want to explain that bird to your father when he wakes up, and I don't want him to be woken up by you lot screaming about nonsense, supernatural or otherwise! If you're going to talk about," another sigh, "the situation, please do it quietly."

"Yes, ma'am," America replied, though he sounded more offended than obliged. Canada followed up with a proper apology.

With that, Abigail returned to her cleaning, now more aggressively than before.

"Resembles your brother, does she not?" Hungary joked in a low voice, only to get a grumble in response from Prussia, leaving her words hanging in the air.

The kitchen followed with an eerie silence, leaving Prussia alone with his frustrating thoughts (never a good thing, if the last two days were any indication). He plopped down in a dining chair, a headache growing.

Abigail was just trying to honor his wish of not telling Ed anything until all nations were out of the house. Deep down, Prussia knew that. However, knowing that didn't stop her sharp words from stinging, her accusatory tone from hurting. It didn't stop him from feeling like shit.

What didn't she get? Was it a matter of not understanding — not quite getting this whole nation thing, not quite changing her view of him despite the evidence piling up? Was it a matter of not letting go — not wanting Prussia to leave her life? Was it a combination, neither, something else entirely? He picked at his nails. The headache grew.

It was frustrating regardless.

He just wanted her to understand, but instead, she was still mad at him, and in his humble opinion, it was ridiculous.

The quiet was suffocating.

After several minutes, Hungary was the first one to cut through the thick atmosphere, whispering, "Gilbert, do you really believe—" she briefly glanced at Abigail as the latter hotly rinsed a pile of dishes, "—Arthur will be able to solve this with his… uh, magic?"

"What other options do we have?" he replied, his voice dripping with melancholy. "Not like there's a book on this stuff."

Hungary coldly furrowed her brow. "You didn't answer my question."

"Yeah, do you actually think Arthur of all people can pull off some grand trick to make you immortal again?" America piped up.

"Al," Canada warned.

"What!?" America defended, earning a shush and a glare from his brother, both of which he waved off by only slightly lowering his voice. "You've seen his bullshit magic! You really think it's gonna do anything?"

"I have to give it a chance," Prussia cut in. It wasn't lost on him how tired he sounded. "I have to do something. It's not enough to have you visit while I finish goddamn American high school and deal with the stupid legalities of being human. I know who I was. I remember hundreds of years of life before this. I…" He clenched the sleeves of his jacket. "I have to go back. Mundane human life won't cut it anymore."

"You do know a good part of our lives is still 'mundane human life', right?" Canada asked with a raised eyebrow.

"It's different." Prussia sighed. "Look, I'm used to being alone, but at least when I was alone as a nation, I knew you guys were there. I could always bother Ludwig or Roderich, and later on I could hang out with Mattie when he wasn't doing nation shit, but now… Listen, I can't really explain it. I was reincarnated for a reason, and… well, shit, maybe this is why. To go back."

At this point, Prussia's knuckles were now paper white from clenching his fists so hard. He didn't even notice Canada had moved so close to him until he felt the gentle touch of the Canadian's hand on his.

Hungary cocked her head to the side. She pursed her lips, waiting a brief moment before asking, "You… don't know why you were reincarnated?"

"What's with all the questions?" Hungary shot him a look that was somewhere between annoyed and pleading. Prussia still scoffed. "No, I don't," he admitted, "and it bothers the hell out of me. Like I said yesterday: just chillin' in Heaven and then I don't remember shit about my nation life until like, two days ago."

"Do… do you know how long you were in Heaven before being reincarnated?" Canada asked, turning to his boyfriend.

Prussia paused, staring blankly as he did some quick math in his head. "About a decade."

"A decade?!" America exclaimed, dramatically dropping his legs from the window seal. Another shush and glare from Canada didn't deter him this time.

Prussia looked back to the kitchen briefly, only to see Abigail had left somewhere in their more hushed conversation. He continued in a more normal volume, "Well, German reunification officially happened in 1990. I'm technically seventeen in dumb human years, born in 1999. So, about a decade, yeah." He shrugged, though his shoulders were still incredibly tense.

Canada rubbed soothing circles on Prussia's hand in comfort. "Did anything important happen in 1999?" the nation asked softly.

"That," Prussia clicked his tongue, "is a Ludwig question." He sighed, wiping his face with his free hand. "I'm not really up-to-date on world affairs."

"We'll just have to ask when we get back to the hotel, I suppose," Hungary commented dryly. She slumped in her chair, and just like Prussia moments earlier, glanced at the kitchen island only to see Abigail was currently elsewhere.

Even still, she was careful to watch her volume. "Will you even be allowed to go with us?"

America gave a dry chuckle. "Don't think he's really allowed to do much until he's eighteen, unless I can pull some strings," he said casually.

At that, Canada gulped loud enough for Prussia to hear it loud and clear, gripping his boyfriend's hand ever tighter. Prussia furrowed his brow as he looked over at the Canadian, whose peachy skin was just about as pale as his.

"...Canada?"

"What are you gonna do if you can't get out of here until you're eighteen?!"

Internally, Prussia groaned. That was the question, wasn't it?

What would he do?

He didn't want to think about it, but the question still lingered in his mind. What would I do? What could I do? Could I even do anything?

Despite his internal agitation that just seemed to grow and grow, outwardly, Prussia shrugged. Now that Canada was clearly worried, he couldn't let his nerves get the best of him.

The ex-nation elected to give the nonchalant answer of, "Easy. I'm gonna fake my death."

"You're kidding!" Canada squeaked at the same time America gleefully exclaimed, "Dude, that's awesome!"

"Do you even know how you'd do that?!" Hungary pressed.

Prussia waved his hand dismissively. "No, but I'll think of something. I always do."

"Riiiight," Hungary drawled, causing yet another glare shared between the old rivals.

From the other side of the table, America was practically vibrating. He obviously had a list of ideas on how Prussia could fake his death, and it looked as though he gleefully wanted to share them, but between Hungary and Prussia's glaring contest and Canada silently panicking about his boyfriend, America took the hero's route and decided not to give out his totally awesome ideas, even though it left him terribly saddened. Instead, he opted to ask a question that popped into his mind:

"Speaking of death, do you think there's a separate Heaven for humans than there is for nations?"

And the other three turned to him in bewilderment.

"...What?"

"Well, it would be kinda weird for humans to go to Heaven and just randomly stroll upon, like, the Roman Empire, right?" America elaborated, swinging his feet back up onto the window seal.

"That... makes sense, surprisingly," Canada commented.

"Were there any humans there, Gil?" Hungary asked skeptically.

Prussia licked his lips as he wracked his brain. "I don't... think so, now that I think about it."

America cheekily pushed up his glasses. "Strong evidence for the Separate Heavens Hypothesis."

"Anecdotal evidence isn't 'strong evidence,'" Canada corrected.

"Why would there even be separate Heavens?" Hungary inquired. At that, Prussia laughed in spite of himself, causing Hungary to send another glare, grunting out an, "I'm serious."

Prussia chuckled a bit more before gathering himself. This'll be rich.

"Because, if nations were judged by normal standards of morality, all of us would be sent straight to Hell. Think of all the people you've killed. Think of all the people you've hurt — the people you're still hurting. Think of all the war crimes you've committed but you never went through international trial for because our identities are supposed to be a closely guarded secret. God would one-hundred-percent have a 'no nations' sign pasted on those golden gates."

His commentary was quick to sober the room. Prussia wasn't surprised. In his nation days, he didn't give his death a second thought, because he ignorantly assumed he would never die. Even then, every nation (including him) just assumed they'd go to Heaven if they actually did die. That's where ancients visited from, after all.

But as he thought about his death and his subsequent reincarnation, that kind of fell apart. He saw his life not through the lens of the conquering force to be reckoned with, but as the everyday citizen of the enemy. Death was more permanent when you couldn't come down from the Heavens. Burnt cities were more permanent when you had to rebuild them. War was more damaging when your psyche wasn't built to handle the trauma.

Of course nations would go to Hell under human standards. It would be long-awaited retribution.

America was the first to respond, "Not all of our decisions are entirely our making, though. You saw what happened to Ivan after Bloody Sunday. When we act out of line, we're at risk of breaking. Our leaders can just—" he snapped his fingers "—and all of a sudden you're burning down a city. Try to resist that, and..." He trailed off, and Prussia could've sworn he saw tears in the superpower's eyes.

Prussia remembered that feeling — the feeling of being controlled, of killing someone in cold blood without any control of your limbs, the feeling of choked back cries and tears mixing with dirt and blood. It was not something he dearly missed.

"But that's the scary part," he mused, "because it means humans are just as capable of horrible things as we are."

"Often moreso," Hungary added. Prussia looked over, and it was clear she had softened considerably as her glazed eyes were glued to the pantry across the room. "Over the years you learn the value of a human life. They're so fragile compared to you. Even if they're the enemy in a war..." Hungary shook her head. "It's a person with a life. What's more precious? How can a human bring themselves to kill another human that's done nothing but exist in another country?"

America groaned, holding up his hand. "Power. Money. Land. Hate. Resources." He put a finger down for every listed item. He gave his own crude chuckle as he wiped his eyes. "All five, if you've got a real scumbag."

"We've become desensitized to war after so long, to death, to... to murder, even after we've learned about the fragility humans have. All that still doesn't excuse what we've done," Canada commented, "or what we're doing… Of course we'd go to Hell if we were humans." Prussia was quick to notice that his eyes seemed just as glazed as Hungary's, and, upon closer inspection, America's were too.

...Were his?

"Maybe you're in the best position of all of us, Gilbert," Hungary observed, snapping him back to reality — she'd addressed him more kindly than she had all day. "Human perspective on nation memories that... humble you, I guess."

Prussia couldn't stop his lips from maliciously curling upwards. "Oh, yeah, humility. That's what's eating at my insides right now." Another crude laugh escaped his lips. His heart raced. "Imagine all that guilt you've bottled up over the years and multiply it by ten, and then another ten for good measure. That's how it feels to be me right now. Centuries worth of slaughter and trauma all processed by a human brain. I'm surprised I'm not like Ivan right now."

And that was true. Canada could probably tell it was just by Prussia's grip.

He continued, "Just wonder how much of me is nation and how much of me is human at this point, y'know?" He chuckled, but it trailed off into a sigh. The conversation left him with that same horrible feeling, a grim reminder of just how much he wanted to leave this life behind and go back to his old one.

Before he could get too deep into existential dread, the doorbell rang.

Hungary shot out of her seat. "Who's that?"

"Ooo," America started, cringing as everyone turned to him with exasperated expressions."I totally texted France to pretend to be our dad to pick us up." He then shrugged as if it didn't matter, though his nervous smile betrayed him.

"Are you serious?!" Canada whisper-yelled at him.

"What? Pru—euh, Gilbert—knows our phone numbers. He can text us when he wants and we can text him updates from the hotel. Not a big deal, right?" he lilted, his voice getting faster and louder the more he talked. Hungary and Canada shushed him, but the effort was in vain. Abigail reappeared in the kitchen archway.

"Gilbert, who's at the door?" she sighed.

"Francis," Prussia answered nonchalantly.

"Why?"

"He's going to pick up Alfred and Mattie."

"Why?"

"Why are they leaving? I mean, I'm sure they can stay longer—"

"No, why does Francis have to be here?"

"To pretend to be their dad, duh. He looks a lot like them."

In the following beat of silence, a door opened from elsewhere in the house. Prussia could feel the pit in his stomach drop even further.

Ed was awake. Great, just great!

The group cowarded back into the kitchen as they heard the man's footsteps growing closer and closer. Prussia peaked from behind the archway to see the disgruntled German shuffling towards the door, the latter perking up when he saw a chipper-looking older man.

France.

"Hello, mister," France began in a surprisingly good American accent. "I'm Francis Jones, here to pick up my sons Alfred and Matthew. Oh, there they are!" He gestured broadly to the twin nations.

As Ed turned towards the kitchen, the nations' demeanors changed instantly — Hungary folded in on herself, appearing every bit the shy foreign-exchange student she was supposed to be; Canada relaxed his tense posture, all of his nerves seemingly evaporating from his body; America shamelessly leaning against the archway, his embarrassed face returning to that well-practiced facade as he waved at France.

"Sleep well, Mr. Beilschmidt?" America asked politely.

"Wonderfully. Had the strangest dream about der unsterblicher farbloser mann. Oh, your kids can tell you all about it, Mr. Jones. It's a fun family story.

France could hardly contain his laughter — the same obnoxious laughter that nearly blew their thinly-veiled ruse last night. "Oh, I cannot wait," he managed to say with Canada and Hungary glaring daggers at him out of Ed's view.

"Why don't you boys go get your things?" Ed suggested, rubbing his eyes with one hand and gesturing vaguely with the other.

America and Canada exchanged confused glances before Hungary muttered, "Your dress clothes?", prompting the twins voice agreement and saunter upstairs, leaving the rest of the nations to play their roles on their own.

France, in all his paternal pretending, started a conversation with Ed about his "sons" and their behavior that Prussia couldn't be bothered to listen to. Hungary remained more coiled in on herself, but in her darting eyes, Prussia could tell she wanted to be out of here as soon as possible. He couldn't necessarily blame her.

Wait a second.

As France and Ed continued their small talk, Prussia's face lit up. "Hey, while we're all leaving, I can go take Elizabeta back home."

"Gilbert—"

Before Abigail could think of an excuse, France thought it funny to slap his hand on Prussia's shoulder. "Chivalrous young man!" he bolstered.

"Gets it from his dad," Ed joked.

Abigail sighed in defeat, causing Prussia to dawn a shit-eating grin. She knew she was backed into a corner. "Only if you promise to come right back."

"I promise."

"Keep your phone on," she warned.

"Yeah, yeah."

As if on cue, America and Canada reemerged, folded clothes in hand. Prussia smirked and went to grab his keys from the living room mantle. The group bid their goodbyes to the Beilschmidt parents and then exited the house.

Prussia was going to the hotel. He could see the other nations without being perceived as a crackpot; he could check with England on the process of the spell! He could hang out with his friends, and, if he was lucky, just maybe return to his old life.

It was go time.

The first ten or so miles to the hotel were relatively comfortable. Hungary answered a few emails, took a few calls — various nation tasks. The two even had a brief chat with the other three nations, though France was quick to end that once the conversation showed the slightest sign of turning too serious.

The next ten miles were spent listening to a variety of music, from Hungarian folk songs to modern American punk rock to old lullabies that Hungary would sing to Holy Rome and little Italy. It was soothing, and best of all, required little communication.

They'd gotten about thirty miles south before either of them decided to start any sort of meaningful conversation.

"The 1999 parliamentary meeting in Bonn," Hungary had blurted over the music.

"...What?"

"That might be the event that reincarnated you," she explained as Prussia turned down the music. "It's when the government in Germany officially moved back to Berlin."

Brow still furrowed, Prussia asked, "Why do you even know that?"

"We have to keep updated on world events," she answered dismissively. Though, her confident face quickly faltered, and she hesitated before continuing, "And... it was the first time I'd seen Germany cry since the second World War. He said you would have been furious, because Bonn was closer to France's house than Berlin."

He gave a soft chuckle. Of course West would say that, wouldn't he?

"Don't have fond memories of Berlin anyways," he opted to respond, a lighthearted air coating his words.

Though, the more he thought about it, the more he too faltered. "...Why would that of all things be the event to bring me back?"

Hungary tutted, her brow furrowed in thought. "Well, you only lasted as long as you did after the Paris Peace Treaties because you represented East Germany, right?" she asked. Prussia hummed in agreement. "The reunification in 1990 made you disappear, following the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989. The capital was then moved to Bonn until 1999. Berlin is obviously an important city, and moving the capital back there after the reunification might have triggered the reincarnation."

He was almost offended at the thought. Maybe it was his haughty nation arrogance showing, but to him, it didn't seem like an important enough event to bring him back.

"Maybe," was all he said, however, quickly following up with, "We can ask Germany about it when we get there."

A hum of approval followed. Then, quiet.

Hungary fidgeted in her seat. They both knew it was a long drive to the hotel from here, and neither of them could really stand long beats of silence, especially the tense silence that seemed to follow them around. The music was already off; there were no more emails to check. Just them and forty more miles of traffic.

But what to talk about?

Five more miles and Hungary eventually piped up, "Austria still doesn't believe you're back."

Prussia snickered. "Sounds like he's in denial."

"Well, I think if you threw on an old uniform and spoke in a German accent, he'd be convinced. Or he'd think you're a ghost," she joked.

"He'd be scared either way, and that's the important thing."

Hungary shook her head, though it seemed more playful than anything. Out of the corner of his eye, Prussia could see her smile fade as quickly as it came.

"You have to admit, though, this is rather... strange."

"Strange?" he questioned. "Strange how?"

"Reincarnation doesn't happen every day, especially for nations," she clarified with a great sigh. "Dead nations just... come down and visit from time to time. They don't become reborn as humans and go through some aggravating memory-revival process. If they did, we'd already know what to do with you."

Prussia gripped the steering wheel tighter. Too human. He was too human, and he needed to change that. He needed to be a nation again, whatever the cost.

Why was he the first? Why didn't they know what to do?

Too human. Too human.

"Thought you'd be more concerned about my accent," he joked weakly in an attempt to change the subject.

Hungary, however, wasn't deterred. "Prussia, I'm serious," she held. "I woke up this morning and I thought everything was just a weird dream. Until I saw your room, that is… and you. Seeing you again is just… weird."

The words just made him even more tense. Too human. She didn't know the weight of those two wretched words. Too human. Too human.

"Hmph. You don't even know the half of it," he said.

"I think I can imagine," Hungary contested sharply.

"You can't."

"Oh, I can't possibly, can't I?!"

"No! You can't imagine what I'm going through," Prussia hissed. "No one can. Not even fucking Fritz. I'm the only person who's been through this nation-reincarnation bullshit. I have thousands of years of memory in a brain that can hardly register one hundred. I have to decide between a human family I still care for and a nation family that didn't seem to give a shit about me until after I died.

"I have to deal with the fact that I might not even get to go back. I might be fucking stuck as a human until I die in the blink of an eye to you guys, and oh, remember that lovely conversation we had earlier? Oh yeah, I'm definitely going to Hell. I won't even get to see you guys when the world blows up due to a nuclear war or some shit because I'm a human, so stupidly fucking human with the track record of history's worst atrocities!"

He slapped the wheel so hard that, in his previous life, it would've flown out of the car. He wanted to scream so bad, to let out all these pent up emotions, but he was just so tired. Human emotions were draining, and he'd certainly had enough of them over the past few days. He pretended there weren't tears in his eyes.

"Mortality puts those years of life in a different perspective," he said in a shaky voice. "How many lives you cut short. How many lives you ruined. How many promising governments have toppled at your hands. It's one thing to think it over as a nation, but the guilt you feel is just… so much stronger as a human. I know how fragile humans are first hand because I have experience as one."

The 'I'm fragile' was left unspoken, but its implication wasn't lost.

Prussia melted into a more defensive position, nervously glancing over at Hungary. Of all people, of course she was the person he ended up breaking down in front of. Just his luck.

For some reason, he expected her to berate him. Maybe make fun of him for crying, knock some sense into him… But she didn't. In fact, she showed to soften considerably. No, there was no mocking or malice in her voice. Just one small question spoken so gently:

"You weren't necessarily immortal anymore after World War Two, were you?"

Prussia gave a crude laugh. "No, I don't think so."

It still wasn't anything like this.

He sniffed, tears falling down his face. He allowed himself to relax just enough to wipe them away. "Not gonna lie," he continued. "I knew it was only a matter of time before I went away. Still surprised I'm back. Seems the best thing I did was disappear."

Hungary sputtered out, "W-Well, Canada doesn't think so."

Just the thought of the shy nation made Prussia decompress considerably, a small smile creeping onto his face without him noticing. "Because he's awesome like that," Prussia replied.

If Ed and Abigail weren't watching as they left, Prussia would have totally taken Canada and left Hungary to deal with the idiocy of America and France. He would much rather spend this ninety minute car ride with his boyfriend, breakdown included. Canada was a lot better with (as Canada liked to call them) his "explosions" anyways. What he wouldn't give for a nice, long conversation with his boyfriend, just like old times, especially now…

His bittersweet fantasy was rudely interrupted by a sharp pain piercing his arms. It felt like swords slicing through his skin — some hardly more than papercuts, others just shy of dicing arteries. Every new affliction happened so fast, so painfully that he wanted them all just to come at once so he could curse and curse and get it over with. He winced and hissed with every new phantom wound, trying his best to not draw any suspicion from the passenger seat.

He almost wrote the stabbing slices off as some physical nation flashbacks until he saw scrapes and scratches carving up his hands.

What the fuck?

"Are you okay?" Hungary gasped.

"Fine," Prussia grunted out, so obviously not fine. He swiftly pulled his sleeves over his hands.

Hungary seemed to notice that little detail — he felt her analytic stare on him for a solid minute — but, luckily, she didn't press the issue further. Instead, she simply opted to give a sad, hesitant smile and say, "I am happy you're back, Prussia, I really am, even if I'm rude and stand-offish."

Prussia managed a smirk. "Happy to bother you again, Ms. Hungary," he quipped. His voice faltered, and he knew Hungary noticed, but she decidedly didn't comment on it.

He wondered if she noticed the blood beginning to seep through his jacket. He wondered if she noticed how he winced when he moved his arms, or the odd lack of motion he now had. Maybe she just chose not to comment on those, either.

Twenty more miles, he thought, and Lord, would it be the longest twenty miles he'd ever driven.

He was too human, so incredibly human.

Or perhaps, maybe not enough.

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