AN: I'm sorry for writing so much Hetalia stuff lately. Also, I know not everything is entirely accurate; please don't get mad at me.

Let me see redemption win

Let me know the struggle ends

That you can mend a heart that's frail and torn

- Tenth Avenue North, 'Worn'

It's a damp, gray morning, and the smell of chlorine and ashes is strong on the breeze. Germany's cap is pulled down farther than it needs to be, as if to shield him from what he sees. The muddy ground sucks at his boots with each step he takes.

There are soldiers at every turn, and each salutes as his nation passes with a practiced, "Heil Hitler." Germany just nods wearily in reply without making eye contact. He is here for a single purpose: to oversee the camp until a new supervisor is found.

His boss had been clear in giving the order. Germany is not to interfere with the soldiers. And more importantly, he is not to befriend the prisoners.

A distressed cry rings out - too young-sounding to belong to an adult. None of the soldiers so much as bats an eye, but Germany's head immediately snaps up. He just as swiftly looks back down.

After visiting camp after camp, he should be as numb as his soldiers. Yet every time, the crack of a gun butt against flesh makes him cringe.

Germany continues his march through the camp, soon reaching the yard where the prisoners are kept during the day. All around him are men and women who back away the moment they see his iron cross. Off to one side is the source of the cry, a young boy curled around an even littler girl. There is a soldier looming over them, but the boy isn't looking at him. He is staring at one of the other prisoners, his breath coming in harsh, shallow pants.

"Vati," he pleads. "Vater, bitte..."

Germany struggles to remain where he is. Whenever Prussia talks about their grandfather, he calls him Vati.

The boy is no older than Prussia when Germania died.

The soldier looming over him brings his gun down again, and this time, there is an audible crunch.

Weaker, the boy repeats himself, "Vater, bitte." His left arm is hanging limply at his side now, the little girl held to his chest with only his right. Although she doesn't cry, she is clearly terrified.

With a dark query written on his face, the soldier turns to the prisoners, searching for the boy's father. All of them quickly turn away, fearing for their lives. Only one hesitates, but he, too, turns his back.

The boy begins to panic at this. "Vater! Vat-"

A gunshot, and his plea is silenced.

Germany can only watch as the soldier leaves, and the little girl starts pulling on her brother's clothes in vain.

The boy's eyes are wide and glassy, his face painted with red, and underneath that, his skin a sickly gray. He will not rise from the mud ever again, but no one bothers to tell this to the girl. She continues to tug at his ragged clothes and touch his cheeks with her mud-stained hands. Her fingers come to rest on his lips just as a set of soldiers comes up to prod a prisoner, ordering him to burn the boy's body.

Then the soldiers notice Germany lingering in the background. "Heil Hitler," they say in a stilted monotone.

In the same weary manner as before, the Aryan nation nods. He pivots on his heel, resuming his march towards the current supervisor's office.

After a brief chat that had concluded with the ex-supervisor being tossed out into the mud, Germany removes his cap and sets it on the desk. For the first time since arriving, his eyes are visible. They are listless, dull, and there are dark markings on his eyelids from innumerable sleepless nights.

He can't stop thinking about the girl. While he knows it's against orders, he makes up his mind to find out what will happen to her now that her brother is dead and her father has abandoned them.

In silence, he rises from the chair, removes the jacket, holster, and iron cross from his uniform, and musses up his hair. Even like this, he knows everyone will recognize him. He is Aryan, and his crisp attire reveals that he belongs among the soldiers rather than the prisoners.

Regardless, he exits the building. The irritating squelching sound of the ground as it tries to steal his boots is present in the back of his mind, and he entertains the thought that sneaking up on a deaf person - let alone a child - would be impossible in these conditions.

He approaches the group of prisoners again, forcing himself to ignore the odd looks they give him. There, on the edge of the group, is the little girl, who is using the tips of her fingers to draw pictures in the mud. She stays focused on her drawings as Germany draws closer and clears his throat.

"Is something wrong?" he asks. The girl doesn't even lift her head to acknowledge him, so he tries again. "You look upset." Again, she seems to ignore him. Germany places a hand on her shoulder. Finally she looks up, but she turns around only after he gives her shoulder a slight squeeze.

"Hallo. Are you alright?"

She stares up at him, uncomprehending. Her lips are parted, and a silent question passes between them.

"Your Vater and your Bruder... Are you alright?" Germany repeats. She still does not appear to understand him. He switches to Polish. "Are you alright?"

She blinks, motioning for him to come closer to her.

Germany lowers himself into a crouch in front of the little girl and repeats his question, this time in English.

Slowly, warily, the girl brings her hand up and stretches it towards his face. Her fingers come to rest lightly on his lips, barely brushing them. Without moving, she waits for him to do something. Germany reverts to his native language, unsure. "Are you alright?" he reiterates.

'Alright?' the girl echoes silently, her mouth forming clumsily around the word. She shakes her head sadly and removes her fingers from Germany's lips. Turning back to her drawings, she picks up where she left off.

"Little one," Germany says softly, but the girl doesn't turn her head. The gears in his brain finally click into place. He picks her up and places her on his knee. He takes her hand in his, placing it back on his lips. "What's your name?"

Her eyes close and she shrugs almost imperceptibly.

"How about 'Mausi'?" The rational part of Germany's brain is telling him to leave the girl and get back to work. He's violating orders - direct orders, at that. Despite this, Germany can't seem to stop himself. "Would you like that?" He waits for her to nod. "Alright, then, Mausi. I'm Ludwig." He sets her back down, and then he walks back to the building, feeling as though the atmosphere had shifted.

Soon enough, an odd friendship forms. Germany comes to visit her every day, and while she waits for him, she draws pictures in the dirt. Mausi is old enough to know not to approach when there are soldiers nearby, but she is also too young to understand exactly why she is here in the first place. She is patient with Germany, never questioning his stutter as he struggles to truly be open with her.

After a week or two, Germany tells her that there are some new people he wants her to meet.

'Are they soldiers, Ludwig?' Mausi mouths, her eyes clouding. For a millisecond, she is back in her brother's arms as the bullet takes his life.

Germany shakes his head. "No, Mausi. They're friends." He signals for her to wait here while he retrieves the others. No sooner has he done so than Mausi returns to drawing. He rises from the crouch he had settled into and starts back towards the main building, where Italy and Japan are waiting. They are both curious to know what he wants to show them, given that he decided to make meeting Mausi a surprise.

Italy, as always, is chatting hyperactively with the much quieter Japan. His focus shifts the moment his other ally enters the room. "Germany! You said you wanted to see me?"

"Calm down, Italy," Germany says with just a trace of annoyance. He spares the brunette no further thought. "Before we go, remove your weapons and your jackets." Japan's hand slides across to the hilt of his katana, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Germany notices this, and makes a show of removing his holster and pistol, quickly following by taking off his jacket and messing up his hair, just as he had done that first day.

Japan still isn't convinced.

Italy, however, doesn't hesitate in complying with Germany's request. He holds out his gun holster to the Aryan man, waiting expectantly for him to continue.

Finally, Japan unstraps the weapon from his belt and takes off his jacket. He inclines his head, indicating that he trusts his ally to make the right decisions.

Germany accepts Italy's weapon before heading back towards the door. "Follow me."

They reach where Mausi is still drawing her pictures. Germany quietly tells the others to wait. He taps Mausi's head, and she looks up. After waiting for her to put her fingers on his lips, he says, "This is who I wanted you to meet - Feliciano and Kiku."

Her lips tighten, and she casts a wary glance at the other men. 'Can you stay close?' she mouths.

"Of course." Germany turns away from the girl, motioning to his companions. "Come here. This is Mausi."

Italy approaches first, quickly dropping into a crouch in front of Mausi and babbling in a complicated string of Italian and German. It takes Germany telling him that Mausi only speaks German for him to adjust. Even then, he remains too far away for the young girl to implement her usual method of communication.

"Italy, you have to be closer than that." Germany glances around to make sure no one is looking before he adds in an undertone, "Mausi is deaf."

The young nation's eyes widen in surprise, but he leans forward and waits for Mausi to move her hand up to his face. "You look so pretty, little one."

Mausi's eyebrows knit together. 'No, I'm not. I'm dirty.'

"I mean it - you look pretty."

Mausi grins at this, her eyes sparkling. 'Thank you.' She looks up at Germany quickly before turning back to Italy. 'My doll was pretty, too.'

Italy blinks, almost pulling back. "You had a doll?" he asks.

Mausi nods, replying, 'I lost it when they brought me here, and I really miss it.'

Japan takes a couple of steps towards the girl, and when Italy notices, he gets back to his feet to let the other man speak to her. Ever patient, Japan allows Mausi to look him over before she puts her fingers on his lips. "Hello, Mausi."

'Hallo.'

"You're very little. How old are you?" Japan's voice is clipped and controlled as he speaks, hoping to ensure that Mausi doesn't feel threatened.

Mausi thinks about it for a minute or two. Finally, she holds up her other hand, fingers outstretched. Her expression conveys a certain amount of doubt, so Japan concludes that she's likely a year older or younger than she indicates.

"You haven't been here long, have you?" he continues. If any of the commanding officers discover her disability, they won't hesitate to-

He doesn't even want to finish the thought.

Mausi shakes her head, completely unaware of the potential danger. All she knows is that these men are her friends and that she trusts them.

Italy opens the door to Germany's temporary office the next day, his hands behind his back. He is grinning broadly. "Guess what?" he calls. Germany doesn't bother to ask what his ally is so worked up over, as he knows that he's about to be shown regardless. Italy takes an expensive-looking doll from behind his back, and his grin grows wider. "It's for Mausi!"

Germany pinches the bridge of his nose. "Italy, you can't give that to her."

"But she said-"

"I know what she told you." Germany makes eye contact with the other nation to guarantee he is understood. "But you know as well as I do - if a soldier sees that she has anything pretty, they'll take it from her."

Italy's gaze slides to the floor. He sets the doll on Germany's desk, sinking into one of the chairs. For once, he is silent.

The door opens again, and this time it's Japan who enters the room. He's quick to slam it behind him. "The new supervisor will be here tomorrow," he announces.

"And our transfer isn't far behind," Italy finishes for him.

Germany says nothing, instead staring at the far window, his chin resting in his palm. The other two men know what he is thinking about, or more specifically, who he is thinking of. It takes a few minutes for him to lift his head off of his hand. "We have to get her out."

"You know what will happen if we get caught," Japan cautions.

"I also know what will happen if we leave her here," Germany insists, standing. He looks across at Italy.

The brunette man also rises. "I'm with Germany. We can't leave her."

Japan squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head away. Not only would they be breaking countless rules, they would be risking their own lives. Still, he knows why Italy and Germany want to do it. "Alright," he agrees eventually. "When we leave, we're taking Mausi with us."

Two days later, the three nations have their things packed and are ready to leave the camp. However, they make one last trip to the yard before they head out. Once there, something immediately catches their attention.

Germany heads over to one of the soldiers, greeting him with the customary, "Heil Hitler." He receives the same greeting in reply, as well as a respectful salute. "Where are the children?" He has to restrain himself before he asks the question that is truly on his mind: where is Mausi? His eyes widen at what he is told, and he swallows several times before thanking the soldier and walking away.

Italy reaches out to the Aryan nation. "Germany..." he begins, but Japan places a hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. Defeated, Italy's arm drops back to his side.

Near the edge of the yard, Germany stops with his head bowed. He reaches into the pocket of his uniform and pulls out a dirty, stained rag-doll. In silence, he lifts it up to press its cloth hand to his lips.

It's a damp, gray morning, and the smell of chlorine and ashes is just a little bit stronger on the breeze.