Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers Hetalia or any of its characters.

Till We Meet Again

He wasn't sure what time it was anymore.

He had been here so long that time no longer had any meaning on him.

It was frightfully quiet here. In the room. In the hallways. In the whole building. There was nothing. No animal to stir up a racket. No guards to bark orders and their heavy steps echoing down the hallways.

Not even the abandoned residents made a sound. Not anymore, at least.

For the first few days they had been abandoned, the residents certainly made a lot of noise and racket. He made a lot of them himself.

There had been screams, yells, cries and sobs, mingling together in perfect harmony. Occasionally there would be a banging of tiny fists against the metal doors that stood between them and freedom. Sometimes, if he focused hard enough, he could hear the shuffling and movement of objects in other rooms down the hall, crashing, ramming and being thrown against the doors.

But he knew those things wouldn't be able to break open the doors. He had already tried it and in his state - which was starved and dehydrated and feverish, like the other residents - the door merely had a few scattered dents. He even tried to claw at the door, digging scratched, dirtied nails at the keyhole to try to get it to open to no avail.

Out of frustration, he heaved a nearby bed as high as he could (unfortunately for him, which wasn't very high off the ground) and flung it towards the window in desperation. The stubborn steel bars that sealed his fate were not even affected. They seemed content to mock and taunt him as he gazed emptily at the cracked glass he had caused by his fists but wasn't able to escape through them.

Days had crawled by slowly and all his energy by now had been spent and wasted. All was silent and he couldn't even hear the screams in his own head. That was how quiet it was.

To his surprise, there were no sounds today, on this – morning? Afternoon? Midday? Anyways, on this day, he didn't hear anything. Which was odd. Normally, there would be at least one sound of movement, one shout of desperation, one attempt to bring down the door, one sob of anguish. Maybe two at the same time. But not today.

It was quiet. Silent. Dead.

Perhaps the rest of the residents were like him, exhausted physically, psychologically and mentally, worn down until there was nothing left inside of them to hold them up.

He closed his eyes, resting his head against the last pillow he had. The rest he had ripped and tore in his anger. He buried himself within it, trying to ignore the painful stabs of his stomach. The rest of his body ached and moaned from the strenuous torture it had endured through.

For every day since he had arrived here, he had ripped a piece of toilet paper, rolled it gingerly in his shaking fingertips and shoved it under his pillow from the guards. Then, every night he would count them, slowly and tenaciously, to assure that time still existed in his mind. Last night, he had tallied up thirty-six rolls of toilet paper.

It was more than a month he had came to this hellhole.

Part of him wanted to scream. To simply cave in his madness and his despair. He feverishly eyed the steel bars at the window and wondered if he shoved his thin frame hard enough he could fit through it.

Before he could carry out of his delirious plans, his hand brushed across something soft and very real.

A stuffed bear gazed blankly back at him, its dark eyes seemingly glowing in concern. With a muffled sob, all he could do was seize the bear and crush it to his chest, hoping it alone would smoulder his madness.

This stuffed animal. It might be the only thing he had to save him from the insanity. The funny thing was that this bear, this childish, pure creature stitched of white fur and black button eyes, did not belong to him. He had long out-grown such frivolous, trivial toys.

This bear had once belonged to his brother.

His twin brother.

Matthew.

He inhaled deeply, breathing into the bear's soft fur. He could still smell his brother's scent, even after all this time. And it comforted him, woke him from the nightmares and kept him sane enough to realize that he was still alive and he would not rest until he was reunited with his brother again.

Shy, friendly Matthew. Innocent and carefree. So optimistic. Even when they were in this nightmarish prison, his brother continued on with the hope that they would escape and return home.

He would hold his hand when he was suffering from fever, telling him stories, reminding him of home, their mother's freshly made pancakes and chocolate milk set on the table and their father returning from the war, arms wide open, welcoming them.

It was a nice dream. But that was all that it was.

A dream.

Nothing more.

Nothing but an illusion and a fantasy. A brief escape from reality.

Only for him to open his eyes and come crashing back down. And he would still be here and his brother would still be lost.

They came for Matthew days ago. He tried to stop them and Matthew tried to resist. But by then, both of them were weakened and lacked the strength to fight back. And the guards took advantage of that little fact.

The last thing he saw before the guard's gun collided with his head was Matthew being dragged out of the room, still trying to reach him, calling his name desperately. And he let his brother down.

Long ago, his father took him aside and explained to them that despite he and Matthew were twins, he was in fact older than Matthew by fifteen minutes. And because of that, he was the older brother and it was an older brother's job to protect the little ones that come after him. A job that he eagerly embraced.

But one that he had failed.

Minutes must have gone by. Perhaps even hours. But something stirred outside, making him jolt awake from his hazy dreams.

It was a low rumble. Akin to a truck's engine. Too weak to drag himself to the window to see, he strained his ears and listened. By now, it had halted and replacing its sound was the voices of people. They spoke in hushed, wary voices, spreading out, mingling here and there, though he couldn't make out what they were saying or what language they spoke.

Frozen in anticipation, his heart coming alive for the first time in days in his chest, he pushed himself up on the bed, still clutching the stuffed bear as if it were a lifesaver. The rest of the residents also awakened from their locked rooms, moving sluggishly. There were some whispers and hurried hushes and hisses to be quiet.

They didn't know whether it was the guards returning. They didn't know whether they were allies or enemies. Better to be cautious and silent than be foolish and boisterous.

Still, many of them were pressing their ears against the hard, cold metal, trying to hear, wondering if at least the ones coming in brought some food.

There was a thunderous crash that made some shriek and others scattering from the doors. Then, a heavy silence befell upon them once again, as heavy footsteps echoed dimly somewhere down the hallway. This time, when these intruders spoke, to his wildest delight, he was able to understand it. After all this time, he could still understand his mother tongue of English.

" Damn. What is this place?"

" A scout reported it ..."

" Looks abandoned though ..."

Then, there was a shout, breaking the silence.

" There's – there's children in here!"

All at once, the tranquillity was destroyed with these intruders running, shouting and making more noise as they clambered about. Even from where he was, he could hear the harsh metal screech as it tumbled down and the intruders were shouting even more.

" Someone get a doctor here now!"

" If you can hear me, step away from the door. We're going to break down the door, okay? Es ist alles gut - "

" - amn it, this one's already dead - "

" Blankets! Get -"

" It's all right now. I got you. I got you now. It's ..."

Their voices and the consuming racket dimmed in his ears and he sat dumbly on the bed, simply waiting, not bothering to move from his spot or yell like a lunatic. He was just so tired ...

Someone appeared at the grimy window of the door, frantically wiping against the filthy glass and their mouth opening and closing soundlessly. He simply stared back at the shadowed figure trying to tell him something.

A minute later, the door came crashing down like many others before it.

There was a man standing before the door, holding a battering ram in his hands. He was dressed in a soldier's outfit, like the guards, but with a more lighter feel. His darker blond hair was a mark contrast compared to the guard's white blond hair and his green eyes gleamed of fraught worry rather than solemn malice.

The first thing the man did was swear violently at the sight of him. " Lad, can you hear me?" he asked frantically, approaching him cautiously yet hurriedly.

He spoke in a funny accent, low and urgent. " Can you speak? Do you understand what I'm saying?"

How long had it been since he had last talked? From what he could remember, it was when he had last saw Matthew. He tried to speak, a hoarse gurgle from the depths of his dry throat.

With a smile, he placed a hand on his bony shoulder, careful not to squeeze too tightly lest he might break the boy's arm. " It's all right, lad. I'm going to take care of you now."

The soldier lifted him from the bed and all at once, he never felt lighter in his life. It was as if he were flying. In his delirium, he didn't notice how the soldier grimaced at how frightfully thin and meager he was.

" Can you tell me your name?" the soldier asked him kindly. " I would hate to call you "lad" all the time. And you can call me Arthur, if you like."

When he couldn't answer properly, the soldier continued talking, his voice chattering away in the distant corners of his mind.

It was happening so fast. This rescue he had often dreamed about was not what he had imagined. His head floated and he felt terribly dizzy from being moved too quickly from the feral position he had taken up for days. The stuffed bear nestled closely to his chest, reminding him of the only thing that occupied his mind.

He tried to tell the soldier, feebly gripping at his sleeve, that they had to hurry. Because if they did, they could still catch up to Matthew, where the guards and the Doctor had taken him away on that fateful night. It was still early. There was still time. These soldiers were fast and adept trackers. If anyone could find his brother, it would be these men.

" M-m-m-m ..." he choked out.

The man in midst of climbing down the stairs started and blinked at him in surprise. " Did you say something?"

" M-m-m-m ..."

" Mmm? What's that? What are you trying to tell me?"

He tried to get his tongue to work, but it was thick and sore after days without water. " M-m-m-Matt ... M-m-Matt ..."

" Matt? Who is that?"

The soldier didn't understand. He croaked out again, his vision going dark, voice growing faint.

" Matt ..."

" Hey, lad. Stay with me. Hey! Damn it! Where's the doctor? This kid needs - "

He didn't hear the rest of the soldier's sentence. He was already sinking further and further down in the blissfully cold darkness.

~.~.~

Author's Notes:

Es ist alles gut (German) - It's all right

I know that it was the Soviet troops that liberated the Auschwitz concentration camps, not the British. But the sake of drama, it doesn't hurt to say that Arthur was helping out Ivan. ^_^