We're all just liars here

-*Forgiveness is a tricky thing and death is just a burden *-

America

I brushed his hair, a long slide down to the ends that were so healthy and looked after. Not a fracture or split, just beautiful dark tresses.

He was silent and I shuffled around to the front, working from the top of his scalp, down and down, brushing strands away from the sharp planes of China's girlish face.

He watched me with old eyes that waited, wary and unmoving and I smiled and hummed a little Chinese song he'd once sung to me, the words coming off my lips so easily because Chinese was an easy language for me to speak. So many of my people could trace their ancestry back to China, so we were practically family. I loved having a family, I'd grown up so alone, wandering and wandering until I found the first of my people, and then I'd lost them, just as I'd lost my Mayans, and Incas and Aztecs. And even when I'd had them, I'd come and gone, as I pleased, and so I couldn't get close to them. They'd seen me as a god, child-god that is, and I'd been revered with sacrifice and fear.

There hadn't been a lot of room for love.

And then I'd met him, the first of my real, true Nation family, and he'd cried tears of sadness not to have me, a child-god, want him. He wanted me for me, because he was like me. So I'd taken his hand and started this family.

I was so happy to have a family.

I finished singing and asked, "Isn't that song about Kiku?" China's mouth tightened just a fraction but that was okay, I would make everything okay between them, they would be brothers again. My brothers.

I swept back his hair behind his shoulders and clucked my tongue. "All done."

I spun around on my feet, giggling and throwing the brush off to the side. "Doesn't he look pretty Kiku?"

Kiku didn't answer.

I stopped giggling.

"I said, doesn't he look pretty?"

Kiku said nothing. I took a step forward.

"Kiku, why won't you talk to me? I'm sorry I got mad. I didn't mean to."

"Ame – Alfred," Yao interrupted, voice high and light. I turned around, ran back to him and collapsed at his feet, resting my cheek against the smoothness of his bare thigh.

"Kiku's ignoring me."

Yao shushed me, all shadows and angles because the light from the bedside lamp was not enough to brighten the whole room, and he placed a delicate hand against the top of my head.

"He's not ignoring you Ameri- Alfred. He is just sleeping. Yes, sleeping."

I rubbed my cheek against his thigh, shifted and kissed those gentle fingertips.

"Sleeping?"

Yao nodded, and continued to pet my hair, the movements calm and relaxing.

"He's just a little tired. He needs to recover."

Was it because I'd hurt him? I didn't mean to, I hadn't, I'd just –

"Okay, I shouldn't get mad then."

"No," Yao said softly. "You shouldn't."

Kiku's chin slid across his collarbone with his weak gasps, his eyes half opened and blearily trying to focus. Blood coated the bed and I would have to change that, the dried blood would completely ruin the mattress. Even if I loved Kiku all covered in red.

The scratched in words of mine on his arms and chest were just so pretty.

Prussia

"Mattie, what the fuck is happening?" I screeched, not that I screeched, cause that's unawesome, but I asked, nicely. But with demandingness because I'd just woken up with a pounding head ache and a worried, stressed out little pancake-making Canadian. It made me stressed too, especially because all the visible parts of his skin were covered in bites and bruises. And that was not cool at all.

"Oh god, Gilbert. Don't mov-"

Something cold and metal tightened around my neck as I bent to sit up, cutting off my air. Mattie grabbed me, pushed me back because I was straining, fighting with my teeth bared like the wild thing I'd been in the past, all instinct with no logic. Shameful, and I wouldn't admit it to West, but I'd reacted and it was only Mattie forcing me back with his super-powered strength that had the thing loosening.

I took a deep breath and Mattie's fingers clenched around my shoulders. Behind me a chain smacked against my back with the slack.

"If you go too far it will strangle you," Mattie said. I bent my neck, chin bumping into the smooth edges but I couldn't see it.

Mattie retreated, falling back on his legs that were folded underneath him on the bed and I gripped and tore at the collar around my neck. I may no longer be the Nation I once was but I still had some strength left in me.

I yanked and my muscles shook and Mattie watched with violet eyes and violet stained skin and I couldn't get the collar off.

"It won't work." And I had to shuffle back against the headboard because the chain wasn't that long and I couldn't breathe again.

"What the fuck is this?"

It was too much like –

He'd done this to me, collared and shackled and held me down like some dog that –

"What the hell is going on," I shouted and Mattie, the merest slip of white cotton that could be classed as a large shirt, covering barely any of his body, rubbed his hands over and over each other.

"America," he said softly and shit, this wasn't awesome, because we were in a closed room and the chain went into the wall and I just noticed the barred door that had to be impenetrable because otherwise Mattie wouldn't still be in here. I'd seen that kid play hockey against Russia, I knew he had some serious strength in those girly little arms.

"Gilbird."

Mattie looked at me incredulously, cheeks painted pale and shit, he didn't look good, only I was allowed to make him look like that and I wouldn't cause he was all sad and depressed and hurt.

I didn't hear the tell-tale cheep of Gilbird and I gave the chain an absent tug. The last thing I remembered was the gas in my mouth, trying to find Mattie cause he wasn't here and neither was France, though Spain was near the food, trying hard to get South Italy to eat some food from his plate. It had been America's birthday party.

Mattie had said America.

That crazy fucker had finally lost it. I'd been saying it for years. Sure, he was usually a pretty mad bro but he was twisting the way Spain did during his conquests and France did during his civil wars. This was bad. This was really bad. I'd been around a while, I knew these things, and we were living in a pretty cool time with peace (mostly) and technology and laws about not taking over other Countries.

"What did he do to you?"

Mattie trembled and bit his lip, eyes filling up with that shit that men don't have unless their me because I'm so awesome I can do that and it just made me angry. He'd made Mattie cry. Mattie didn't usually cry. I'd seen him cry after his Brother had burnt down his parliament and I'd had to deal with a raging, furious Canadian tearing down all the trees in his backyard. But those were tears of betrayal and rage. And then there had been WW1, the Battle of Passchendaele. I didn't like remembering that time, I didn't like what the Allies had done to one of their own, what they'd asked of him. I'd been on the opposing side, trying to lead my little brother to glory though I didn't see the point in this war, not for Austria and Hungary whose leaders had reacted with rage after the murder of the heir to the throne. Sure, it sucked, but the assassins had been Serbian and then those two had gotten into a piss-off and then drawn everyone else who had treaties into it. And then those people had brought in their colonies and at this time, I was really just focusing on staying home with the dogs, maybe hanging out with France and Spain every so often. I wasn't in the mood for war but Austria and Hungary, the great Austro-Hungary empire, had told me that I'd had an obligation.

West had been all too eager to step up to the plate, and maybe that was my fault, for what I'd taught him and what he'd seen me do but he was young and inexperienced and he was right, we were bound by duty. Both mine and he had our signatures on the treaty and though I'd turned on allies before, taken what I could, I'd always been clear about it and I'd never gone back on my word.

I never promised to protect them for eternity, just until I won this place or that. It was their fault for assuming we'd stay on the same side.

So WW1 had happened and then, the battle. Mattie had been sent there to be a meat shield and I'd turned up near the end, to a battered down troop, slicked with mud and blood and death and I'd fought with them.

I'd seen Mattie then, and it had been a while. He'd grown and matured and in the midst of the screaming humans and those drowned under mud, I'd seen the glint of his sweat-soaked hair behind a rifle and the steely gaze of determination.

And I'd wondered how they could send such a sweet, innocent boy to do this.

I fought him, gave it my all because he deserved no less and I had a brother to protect. And he'd won.

And he'd also let me leave.

"He's not himself, he doesn't mean it."

I jerked up, not caring that the collar went tight around my throat and this time I was the one who had Mattie by the arms, his delicate, little, bruised and bitten arms and disgust filled me because they had to be America's teeth marks.

"It doesn't matter if he meant it or not. He did it. We have to get out of here. He's gone fucking insane and he's, what did he do to you? –" I shook Mattie and he glared at me with defensive eyes that angered me as he smacked my hands away. I swallowed on nothing because I couldn't get any air. It wasn't because of the collar.

He was going to defend him, defend the fucker that had done this to him.

Sweet and innocent Mattie, he'd cried at what the Allies done to him, but still, he'd proved them wrong and he'd persevered and still, they forgot him. They didn't even understand what that battle had done to him. They didn't see him stare at those poppies, or understand where all that fire came from when he played Hockey. I'd seen him cry. I'd seen him drop to his knees and with a bloodied face and tear-filled eyes, pick up his dead and carry them off the battle-field.

"I can't leave him! We have to save –"

"Fuck saving him! We have to save ourselves first and then deal with the biggest superpower on the world trying to do a Russia all over again," I shouted back because the look in America's eyes, the twist to his face, the way he'd ask me if we could do the Berlin Wall all over again.

He was going to do a Russia, he'd snapped, gone off the deep end.

He wanted us all to become his.

Germany

"Italy, stop crying."

Italy continued to sob, his hands weakly pulling at the electric manacle that was around his ankle.

"Italy," I grabbed at his wrists and held them there because last time the manacle had sent out an electric charge and I'd had to see my long-time ally, nuisance, possible friend, shake and convulse on the ground.

"Doitsu," he cried and I leant him throw himself at me, as per his usual way except this time his hair was matted with blood from where he'd knocked his head against the corner of the bed and his movements were weak because he'd been hurt. Tortured.

Once, in that War, when Italy had turned on me, he had ordered Italy ransacked and I had gone, but only to convince Italy to come back. I had not wanted to hurt him but I had been too late, had not even been able to warn Italy of the attack and I'd seen him.

Crying, dishevelled, betrayed as he watched his people die.

And I had hid because I did not want to see the actions of my people against his and I could not – had not, I hadn't been able to fight him.

Cowardly, weak.

Italy was meant to be shining, happy, annoying, useless.

I patted him on the head, feeling the shapes of his body against mine. I felt warmth, glanced down at the red on my hand and then I was tearing at the sheets from the bedspread.

Act, don't think, react and fix it, you have a job to do, just like in war, in all of the Wars.

He cried and I shushed him. Bandaged his head.

Planned. Thought. Scrapped them all and went back to trying another way to get us out of here.

I shuffled him to his feet, ignoring the way he held on to me.

"We need to get out of here."

"B-but the door is l-locked." Sniffle, cry.

"Yes it is."

There had to be another way.

America was very smart. He had won wars, he had separated from the longest Empire recorded, and I had been with him as he'd helped rebuild my country. He was intelligent, charismatic, a worthy adversary.

But we were meant to be living in times of peace now. I had taken that for granted. Now I had to protect Italy.

"D-doitsu," he murmured and I absently glanced down, taking my eyes off from my search for weaknesses in this room that had to be underground because of the lack of light, the sterile walls and that sense a Nation had when they can tell they are surrounded by earth and dirt.

By foreign land, something else; America.

"What is it Italy?" Gruff, short, I didn't know how to comfort him. I would just get us out of here and then Italy to the doctor's. I would even make pasta for him. He would eat it, and say I'd overcooked it but pasta was pasta and he loved it.

"W-we'll be fine," he said, voice clogged with tears. "A-america will come back to himself. Or, or, you'll get us out of here."

His brown eyes gazed up at me and I felt something unnecessary, unneeded, useless, stick in my throat.

"I don't want you to get hurt, America won't hurt you okay Ludwig. I won't let him."

The bandage started to seep red around his forehead and I swallowed. Weak, useless Italy. It was better that way. I wouldn't force him fight, to change.

I felt. I felt.

Anger, that rage he had once stoked in me and my people after World War 1. I couldn't be blinded by it again. I couldn't.

Italy tightened his grip, his soft nails pressing into my bicep.

"I will not let him hurt you again, Italy."

Italy nodded, sniffled. "Promise?"

"I promise."

Lithuania

Hungary slammed against the door again, her dress all tattered and hair a mess. Latvia shook and sobbed silently in my arms, years of experience allowing him to curl into the tiniest ball possible.

Bam. Hungary smacked into it again, expect this time she stumbled, the thick heel of her shoe finally snapping off. She screamed in frustration, kicked the door and collapsed. Austria rushed in, his glasses missing, cravat and cloak gone and a bloodied shoulder from where he'd gotten in the way when America had come in.

They were all still so weak from the poison and Lithuania soothed his lips and hands over Latvia's shaking head. He hummed a tune, a little Lithuanian tune he'd come to sing after one of Russia's moments, when they were hiding after the aftermath and Russia was in the lounge room, trying to freeze away the guilt.

Lithuania knew Russia very well, as well as you could know a mad, psychotic, child of a man and he'd always known what Russia had been doing. But in those moments, Estonia and Latvia had needed him more and he'd made his decisions years ago.

He would not change from it now.

Hungary, frustrated, ashamed of her supposed weakness in failing to protect them and with worry for the others, tried to get back up from her ex-husbands arms. He did not let her, silencing her with a quiet, "no, that will do no good."

Lithuania, legs folded underneath him, kept humming, trying to calm the others and slowly, so slowly, Latvia fell into one of his fitful sleeps.

Until the door slammed open, and America dropped a battered and swollen-faced Poland onto them both, startling Latvia awake.

America smiled widely but it was mad and Hungary got up to attack.

America took her down easily, throwing her weaker, gentler ex-husband onto the bed after her and he stared at Lithuania.

"Toris, Toris, Toris," he sang. "Poland wouldn't play nice so I had to punish him, but you've always treated me nice. How about you and I spend some alone time together? Everything will be happy then. I can make you happy. We can play house just like we did in the 20s."

Poland twitched weakly in his arms, groaned out a "no, Toris," as Latvia shook and the two older Nations tried to overcome their pain.

And Lithuania, knowing that insanity, having seen it in both him and another, did what he had always done. He stood and he protected his brother and his people. He reached out to America's hand, kicking off Poland's shaky grip on his ankle and they left the room.

America shut the door behind, breathed in the scent of Lithuania with his nose to Lithuania's neck and his mouth pressing kisses lower. He'd left them behind but it was for a reason. He prayed for Poland, because he still prayed in times of need and he knew the boy would be okay, he would bounce back as he had always done.

So Lithuania waited and bided his time, as America hummed happily and led them to somewhere else in this underground lab. They passed other doors, with hoarse voices screaming out, in all a matter of languages and others just kicking the door. He even heard the familiar cries of the younger Italy, sobbing and begging Germany to not worry because he was sure everything would be okay.

He had to remember, all the doors, all the Nations. He'd come back for them later.

Because as Lithuania slipped the knife out, the knife he'd always kept in the sole of his shoe and then moved to his pocket before America had returned, he knew that they wouldn't make it wherever America planned for them to go.

America wasn't Russia, he wasn't in charge of his Country or his people or politics. This time, Lithuania could fight back, threaten War, protect his friends. This time he didn't have to play weak.

I'm not dead. I just went to Japan. That was fun. Thank you to my amazing anonymous reviewer who told me all about the Battle of Passchendaele, which was absolutely fascinating. If it quirked your fancy, go read up about it. Mattie totally has PTSD from it.

I did not expect Lithuania to go this way, his shining moment was meant to be with Russia, not with America but I'm quite happy with this character arc. Lithuania has been through a lot, and he knows how to be calm in these situations. America is a danger to them all, he hurt Poland, was going to hurt Latvia and Lithuania will not stand for it. He has not Treaties with America condoning this, he's made no Oath to let America have control of him or his people and Lithuania will not go back to a crazed Nation again.

Lithuania cares for America, America did save him from Russia for a time after all. But, in being his friend, he feels that is the responsibility of someone that loves America, to be the one that takes him down.

Lithuania is going to stop him. Or at least try. I say no more.