So this is my second Hetalia fanfiction that I've had at the back of my mind for a while. The story itself does include more than just Prussia canon wise as well containing OC's. There are some pairings but they wont come into play at the very beginning of this story.

Well then I hope you enjoy it, please review your honest opinions as well as giving me some critique on various parts of the story or how its written.

In every end, there is also a beginning . . .

The world seemed to be in a stand-still. Nothing around Prussia had ever been touched by human hands for hundreds of years. No birds were there to chirp or even squawk for that matter. If there had been water, even the smallest of ponds would have stood out from the copper-colored dirt that looked like an endless desert. In the middle of everything laid the motionless body of one former nation. A passing person might have thought he was dead from his ragged appearance.

The sudden sound of a choking gasp finally started time up again once more. A cloud of dust was kicked-up around the nation as he began to sit up. Various cracks emanated from his joints with each gradual movement. His disused red-eyes dilated upon opening to the sun's rays. For a few seconds his mind was as blank as the scenery around him but, like a breaking dam questions began to flood his mind.

He reached down to dust off any dirt that might be on his clothes but his hand grazed his dirt-encrusted stomach rather than his shirt. Looking down he noticed that half of shirt wasn't even there anymore. Further inspection showed it wasn't the only part of it missing.

If he had a way of looking at himself at this moment the person he saw would be unrecognizable. 'Is this a joke...or did I get drunk and end up here?' He stopped his line of thought and rubbed at his face, trying to remember anything that might have led him here.

He turned three hundred and sixty degrees, his gaze wandered all over the strange land. To him it was similar to the Australian outback except for all the plants.

'Those jerks put me here, didn't they?' People like Austria and Russia came to mind immediately when he thought about who would have done this to him. He tried to run a hand through his hair but the moment his fingers began to move they became halted by an army of tangles.

Little attention was put into pulling his hand away; for each theory or question had all died down. Except for one. 'But . . . why am I here?'

. . .

Germany sighed in bliss as he leaned back into the couch with a book in his hand. He honestly couldn't remember the last time his boss let him go home early, for a very long time he has had to either stay longer then he should or when he did get off on time there was always some errand that needed to be done.

He glanced from the prologue to the clock hanging on his living room wall. It was five o clock and he had officially nothing left to do, before turning the page he reached for his beer bottle on the coffee table in front of him.

"Germany what's that sound?" His bottle slipped out of his hand and cracked on the floor, the amber liquid pooling at his feet as Italy walked into the room. Oven mitts covered his hands as he carried a large steaming pot.

"When did you get here!?" The blond yelled as he jumped up from his couch and pointed towards Italy frantically. He specifically remembered locking all of his doors and windows and even turned on the security system.

Italy's face dropped into a somewhat disappointed frown, oblivious to the problem of making a surprise visit at his friend's house. "I don't know, I called your boss looking for you and he said you were home."

"But how did you get in here?!" There had been no indications of Italy breaking in and hoped that he didn't short circuit the system by accidentally dumping pasta sauce on it again.

Italy bent down to place the pot by his feet before digging into the pocket of his suit pants. Germany's eyes twitched faintly at the sight of the small silver house key, its glimmer taunting him. "Where did you even get that from?!" Italy tilted his head to the right, confused as to why the blond was so upset.

The reason was because Germany knew that there were only three keys and he specifically remembered where he put all of them. His thoughts came to a halt the moment they went to his brother; a low growl escaping his throat as he bawled up his fists on either side of him.

Without thinking, Italy took a step forward, concern shining true on his face. Germany's urge to explode stopped with a gasp when the pot was kicked over by Italy's foot, a sea of rotini and tomato sauce flooded onto the floor like a tidal wave making the spilled beer tiny in comparison.

Chunks of diced tomatoes and other vegetables splattered onto Germany's shoes and pants; Italy's eyes darted from the floor to Germany's wide open mouth. The Italian gave a choked chuckle as the previous expression made its way back on to the other mans features.

Germany suddenly extended his arm, pointing towards the door to the right of the room. "Foyer, Broom closet, mop, get it." He ordered through clenched teeth. He closed his eyes for a moment and heard the all too familiar dash of feet retreating from the room.

He stood stiffly among Italy's mess till he opened his eyes and remembered why Italy had chosen to walk into the room.

"What could he of heard other than me breathing?" He shut his eyes tightly again and focused on the background, at first her heard nothing but the sound of Italy scrambling through the crowded closet till a beat began to vibrate into his ears. Someone was playing music.

. . .

Germany darted down the dark stairway to the barely lit basement, stopping suddenly before walking off the first step. The concrete-floor before him was littered with various bits of trash, a lot of them being empty beer bottles and Styrofoam boxes for leftovers.

For any other nation they would have thought it was always like this, however the blond knew better especially since he had been down here yesterday morning and everything seemed to have been fairly clean. His eyes traveled from the floor to the couch in the middle of the room and from there, to an old TV in front of the couch; which, for some reason was on a Spanish soap opera.

The source of the noise he heard up stairs, though, was playing from the speakers of a computer that was currently in the only other room in the basement-an unoccupied bedroom. He navigated his way next to the couch and half-glared at the sight before him.

He expected Prussia to be sprawled out with some of his limbs hanging off the sides with an idiotic smile plastered onto his face but was surprised to see that his back was facing the TV and that his body was in a semi-fetal position, one of the empty bottles clutched to his chest.

Prussia's chin was pressed up against his neck while his face was covered by a pillow hiding his face from Germany. He groaned softly as Germany began to shake him, thinking that he was asleep. "Bruder wake up, I need to talk to you." Prussia's arm reached out and swatted at the air as a way of telling him to go away.

"Go away West." His words gruff, hinting to Germany that he was likely hung-over.

"Nein, not in until you tell me what the hell happened here and why you gave Italy a house key."

He didn't respond at first, only when Germany started to shake him again. "Ugh, fine." The blonde's hands went back to his sides as Prussia slowly started to sit up but refused to face him. "You see." His eyes darted around the room. "Austria broke in here last night and trashed the place completely I of course beat him senseless but he took one of my keys as he escaped on the back of Hungary's horse and gave it to Italy so he could annoy you." Germany rubbed at the top of his forehead not amused by the situation in the least. "We're going to go beat him up, right?" Prussia demanded, looking to his brother for the first time.

He grunted. The pasta covered floor, the fearful Italian, and the lying ex-nation all meshed together to form one perfect headache. "I kno-"

"Come on West, now is the perfect time to get revenge on the pansy for ruining your day." He started to poke at Germany's chest, eyes shifting away once again.

Germany growled. "We are not going to, he's not the one who spilled pasta all over my floor."

"Come on, just a little ass kicking that's all I ask."

Everything appeared to jump at the force of Germany's foot as it stomped into the floor; cracks forming beneath his boot. "Nein! We are not going to beat Austria, possibly Italy, but not Austria. Right now all I want to know is the truth and I'm not going until I hear it!"

"If you don't know the truth then how do you know that what I'm saying is the truth?"

"Because it is ridiculous and obviously a lie."

Prussia fell silent, much to Germany's annoyance Prussia sat back down into the position he was in before. For a second, Germany thought to slap him, but something from the corner of the room caught his eye. Germany could have sworn the empty trashcan in the corner had been full yesterday-and situated across the room.

The rim of it had a crack running from the top to the base and was lying on its side. "Did you-" He paused. "Kick it across the room?" It would explain why the majority of the trash seemed to be in a line. Fake snores sounded from Prussia. "Damn it tell me what happened!" Germany snapped.

In a second Prussia jumped up from his spot and turning to face his brother. "Why should I, it's not like what goes on in my personal life matters anymore. Personal drama is weak in comparison to the shit that comes with nation problems."

"What are you trying to say?" Germany's expression fell upon seeing his brother's face, it looked as if a purple bruising by his right eye was just barely starting to go away.

Crossing his arms, Prussia grumbled under his breath. "Just go back up stairs and play with your little friend. Maybe if you're lucky he'll wear that pretty green dress while he cleans for you."

"What green dress, you're not making any sense!" Germany sighed in exasperation.

Prussia smirked. "Of course it makes no sense to you; you're not awesome enough to get what I'm saying."

"Now you're just acting like a child."

"I'm older than you so you don't have a right to call me a child!" Prussia snarled

"This is my house and I can say what I want to if anyone should be restricted it should be you!" The blond roared back.

Prussia's grin only strengthened as Germany's patience began to wear down. "You mad?" He taunted.

"I'm always mad at you."

"Then why don't you slap me, huh if you hate me that much?"

"What?"

Prussia stepped closer to him. "Go on slap me, it's not like anyone will suffer from it. I don't have people, so it's not like anyone but me will be on your conscious."

"My people are your people a-"

"Although I don't think it would matter much if I did have people, innocent lives suffering never seemed to bother you before," Prussia sneered.

The force of slap reverberated off the walls like metal as Prussia fell backwards into the couch, he watched Germany with wide eyes.

"Fine don't tell me what's wrong." The younger scowled, giving up and walking away. "It's not like I care!" He called back, ascending the stairs.

He took long irritated strides back to living room; Italy was there by the time he got to the top. To his relief, the pasta mess was already gone and Italy was now in the process of sweeping the broken glass into the dust-pan he held. Hearing him walk up behind him, he turned around; facing Germany. "I cleaned it up for ya." He motioned to the floor and the pot that was now on top of the coffee table.

Germany inspected his work. "Wow, I knew you were a fast runner but I didn't think you were a fast cleaner."

Italy's eyes glanced down towards the spotless wood floor. "I've had lot of practice." Germany was quiet, too awed by Italy's trance like state to say anything. "Oh I forgot, did you find out what was making that sound?" Italy inquired, leaving his trance.

Germany blinked, a bit taken back by the sudden change, but easily composed himself once more. Sending a furtive look to the stairs, remembering the incident with his brother. "It's just Prussia being . . . himself," he muttered before recalling the key. "Which reminds me, why did he give you a key?"

"Huh? Oh um I remember him saying that he wanted me to come over more often so you wouldn't be so lonely. Then he mumbled something about distraction."

Germany despite his better judgment decided against asking Prussia further, if he wanted his help than he would ask. "Oh who cares, as long as you're here you can make dinner."

Italy nodded. "Yay! would you like to help?" He implored.

Germany shook his head. "You go ahead without me." He watched as the Italian ran out of the room and into the kitchen with glee in each step.

Prussia was never the emotional type if anything he did a pretty good job at hiding things; even with his annoying personality, there were occasions in which a glimmer of something would show up in his face, yet he never sulked very long about it; if anything, he disdained such behavior if the way he went about calling Austria a little girl for sulking was anything to go by.

Germany growled. 'So what's wrong with him now?' He wondered.

Back down stairs, the last of Prussia's memory of before began to fade away as he finally started to fall asleep with the TV and the music acting as a lullaby. He felt numb, a taint of bitterness on his tongue. He could no longer recall why his last thoughts were of her or why he drifted in to peaceful sleep after all that had happened.

. . .

The dirt around rose up like a cloud; Prussia's viciously narrow stare seemed all the more intimidating by the jagged appearance of his body, but just as suddenly as his features had taken up the look it faded away.

"Should have known that would be the breaking point for West." The dryness of his mouth easily being passed off as due to breathing in the dessert's air and not for what it truly was. "Of course Italy joined him in doing this and Austria must have jumped at the offer to get rid of me here too."

But, he had a reason for the way he acted towards his brother, a reason that he believed led him here. His jaw twanged with pain as he clenched his teeth and his fingernails dug harshly into his palms; there was a point in old anger and regret where hitting things just didn't work anymore. "And.." It came out as little more than a hoarse whisper.

He shook his head causing dirt to flutter around his face and he let his 'manliness' come back to him. "And after that . . . I would be surprised if Hungary refused to help as well." The specific memory hit him hard, yet not hard enough to leave him utterly destroyed. The feeling in his stomach was not an uncommon one, but a strong example for why he drinks.

"Take a deep breath." He whispered while easing up his hands and jaw. "And let it all go." He complied with himself, letting the old problem disappear to join the other ones in the back of his mind.

With no better idea in mind he started to walk, knowing that there had to be an end to this somewhere. All the while unaware that some things can't be forgotten.

. . .

A tiny puff of dust rose up from the ground at the impact of a rock, thrown on the ground by an olive-skinned man. His Dark brown eyes stared at it for only a moment before moving his gaze towards the other rock that was almost invisible from the distant he was from.

His blistered fingers smoothed down his darkly-colored hair and stopped once he felt the straight part of his hair start to curl by the base of his neck and stopped completely to his shoulders; noting the auburn tint was much more visible in the sun's rays.

One hand tried to shield his eyes as he gaze out at the empty expanses; the weightlessness of the worn sac slung carelessly over his shoulder helped decide for him if it was time to turn back.

Even if he didn't turn back, whatever direction he took wouldn't change a thing. There was no way he would find an end to it with the amount of markers he had left. The man shrugged his shoulders, not really caring that there wasn't anything more out here. He bitterly remembered that this was a pointless action, but they insisted...

Why he agreed in the first place had more to do with the fact that he felt better out here than back there; it was their loss anyways, he figured. Slowly he turned back, getting ready to take as much time as possible to follow the trail. A fleeting image had him stop in mid-turn, other than the prints behind him, everything else seemed untouched which made the markings in the dirt even more noticeable to him.

It wasn't in until he was a few feet away from it that he could he clearly tell what it was, from the size and shape he made the assumption that it was feet walking off towards the West. He knew that they were newly formed or they wouldn't even be there to begin with.

'But who would be dumb enough to go that way.' He thought, remembering that the sea was in the opposite direction.

'Maybe they didn't need to go that way . . . maybe they all already have enough food and water to survive without stopping.' His right hand pulled back from the where he had rested it on his hip; suddenly he felt a stinging pain from the fresh red gash at the top of his index finger. He hadn't even realized that his hand had slipped off the cloth covering of his knife.

His other hand pulled out the knife and brought it up to his face. 'They wouldn't want me to.' He thought.

A grimace soon made its way onto his face, 'They also want food too...'

The next thing he knew was that he also was following the tracks step by step made by a person he had never known and never seen which made it all the more reason for him make up his mind. 'Food is food, doesn't matter where it comes from or where you get it and they should be grateful to have it.'