A Little Drop Of Healing: Bigger Than Love

America lay sleepless in his bed, his mind fogged with memories and images he had no desire to recall, but did anyways. The white chairs barely filled with black clad people in the far corner of Arlington cemetery. The flowers in hand and the ones that lay amidst the blades of still green grass. And the way it had rained. It wasn't more than a light drizzle, but it was there all the same. How could it not be? After all, his tears were the raindrops themselves on his own land.

He remembered standing shoulder to shoulder with Vincent as the eulogy was given, a single eulogy. A young man who could not have been older than Zack had been with spiky blond hair gave it, his head lowered the entire time as if he was trying very hard not to cry. There were a few more supposed schoolmates, and a neighbor or two, but otherwise, no one else came. America and Vincent had laid the folded flag in Zack's arms as they closed the coffin for the final time, and only the blond stayed with them as they watched each and every shovelful of dirt fill the grave.

"He didn't have any parents," the young man said as they stood there, as if that offered some sort of explanation for the small attendance to the ceremony. "We were orphans, he and I. He was . . . All I had . . ."

There had been nothing he could say to that. What could he say? That he was sorry? That it was all his fault? That if only he could have stopped this useless war sooner, it never would have happened? No. He felt that that would have only made it worse.

"It's Cloud, isn't it?" He'd said finally, keeping his eyes trained on the pit in the ground that was slowly being filled. "It's a pretty name."

Cloud smiled a bit, though America could tell his heart wasn't in it, "Yeah, everyone says that. Zack named me, back at the orphanage, he was a year older than me and it was one of the first words he said when I arrived." He raised a hand to point at his silver-blond hair and his blue eyes, "Because my eyes are like the sky, and my hair was almost white as a baby." The smile faltered, "He . . . He may have said that he hated being drafted, but I know he wanted to prove himself . . . I wonder if he ever did."

"He was very brave," America whispered with a small nod.

"Brave and stupid," Cloud laughed softly. It was a cold laugh, one of someone trying their best not to break down.

Vincent had taken him home, and America had gone back to Washington. It had been almost twenty years since then. Time passed so swiftly for him sometimes, he hardly noticed it passing at all. But the memories still lingered, and he could not make them leave.

His phone rang, and he cursed into his pillow, wondering exactly who would be calling this early in the morning. He rolled over and grabbed it with a heavy sigh, bringing it up to his ear, "'Lo?"

"Alfred, do you watch TV at all anymore?" the voice was annoyed, but the blonde recognized it right away.

"I was trying to sleep, Vincent," he muttered in reply, smacking his face back down on the pillow with a groan. "And this phone number isn't so that you can bug me about some stupid TV show." Vincent sighed on the other end, "Alfred, it's not a show. Turn on your TV you idiot. The Wall-" America had swung his legs out of bed as soon as the words had left his friend's mouth, grabbing the remote from his bedside table and pushing the power button. "-The Wall is falling."

It was true. Every other station he went to depicted both West and East German's tearing the Berlin wall apart, piece by piece, flooding through the openings they created and climbing the barrier itself, straddling the graffiti covered cement and brick with triumphantly raised arms. He could hardly believe it. The Wall was falling down. "Oh . . ." He had no words to describe what he was feeling. The relief, the triumph, and the anguish at the thought of what it had taken to get this far.

"Will you go there?" Vincent asked softly.

"I should," America replied, a hand to his mouth as he watched the proceedings with glazed eyes. "I'll set up a meeting to take place there tomorrow, with everyone." He smiled, "You can come too, Vincent. It's best that you see it come full circle, hmm?" There was a light laugh, which once again reminded America how much his companion had changed over the years, where he had healed and America had not. Then again, mortals had so much less time to heal, it was better if they got over it sooner. "Wish I could. But then I'd have to explain to Cloud why he has to look after twenty-three screaming kids on his own then. He'd be so pissed."

"Everything's going well at the orphanage then?" the blonde asked, allowing himself to lapse into friendly conversation as if this world changing event hardly mattered.

"Well, Cloud woke up with finger-paint all over in his hair two days ago, but you know how that is," Vincent went on, and America could almost feel the smirk behind the words.

"God, I know. When England used to bring Hong Kong over when I was younger," he shuddered. "That kid was such a brat. Of course, for me it was glue. Yuck."

Vincent snorted through the phone, "I'm sure that was just boatloads of fun-"

"Thanks," America retorted sarcastically.

"Anytime," Vincent replied coolly. "Now I think you have some buddies to call, correct?"

"Yes, mom."

Arthur couldn't help the annoyed groan that escaped him when the phone rang. "Francis, phone," he growled, raising a hand to push the other away from him. A soft moan slipped out as France ignored both the warning and insistently ringing phone, grinding down against him as he worked on the buttons of England's shirt. "Francis, seriously! Stop a sec so I can get the telly!" England snapped, "It's probably about the- ah!" he gasped as the other blond managed to slip his shirt off, dipping his head down to bite at his chest. "Francis! It's probably about The Wall!"

"Oui. Which is what we are in the middle of celebrating for," France muttered, obediently drawing back with a frustrated glare at the phone.

England rolled over on the mattress and grabbed it off the dresser, "Hello?"

"God, took you long enough to answer. What the heck were you doing? Wait, scratch that, I don't want to know," Alfred laughed into the phone.

"Yeah, yeah, get on with it," England said, rolling his eyes. "It's about Berlin, isn't it? Are we going to have a meet-ah!" He twisted around, finding that France had moved behind him and had suddenly grabbed his hips and pulled his pants down to his knees. "Francis!" he hissed sternly, the thought of America hearing anything remotely like sex over the phone causing his face to redden, "Cut it out!"

"Don't want to know. Don't want to know. Don't want to know," America sang from the other side of the line, and Arthur just knew he had his eyes closed, though it would make no difference on his hearing. "Meeting tomorrow at noon, German time, at The Wall. Bye." There was a rather loud click and England found himself staring at a silent phone. He rolled his eyes again with a sigh, hanging up as well. "That was a mess. You're a right git, frog. You know that, right?"

"Oui, I know cheri," France grinned innocently before practically pouncing on the other, making England let loose a very unmanly squeal as the older nation began tickling him under the ribs.

Romano was about ready to smash the phone against the wall when it rang in his hand, making him pause and stare it, trying to smother the half-hope in his chest. "Romano here," he said, answering it after a moment.

"Ah, Romano, sorry about this. I can't seem to get a hold of Italy or Germany-"

America. The older of the Italian twins sighed, "Yeah, I know. I've been trying them for over an hour."

"Sorry, sorry," America apologized quickly, "I just thought you might be able to get a hold of them. I'd like for us all to meet by The Wall tomorrow at noon."

Lovino sat down on the edge of the couch where Spain was perched, his eyes glued to the television, a long gone cold cut of tea in one hand. "I'll see what I can do," he promised. He hung up before America could reply, chucking the phone across the room where it burst into pieces against the wall. Slumping down in his seat, he took the mug from Spain's hand and set it down on the small coffee table between the TV and the sofa. "We've gotta go look for them," he whispered, a faint wash of fear flowing over him as he watched the mobs of citizens swarming the Berlin Wall on the screen.

Spain didn't tear his eyes from the set, "Yeah, I know." He stood, grabbing a coat from the arm of a nearby chair and tugging Romano towards him in the same movement. He draped the coat over the other nation's shoulders, leaning forward until their foreheads touched, "Don't worry about them, Lovi. They're going to be okay." Antonio placed his hands on either side of Romano's face, cupping his cheeks, "It's over now. The Wall is down."

Romano shook his head, and for the first time in his life, Spain couldn't tell if the tears welling in the younger man's eyes were of relief, or fear.

Hong Kong was asleep when the phone rang. After all, it was already dusk where he lived, and he'd had an agonizingly long day at meetings with China's government. It was days like this when he resented his older brother most of all, and the society and life he was trapped in with his status as a mere city. He yawned and reached behind his head for the phone on the table beside the couch, finding that he couldn't sit up as Korea was sound asleep on his chest.

"Hey, Jin," America greeted slowly, using the other's human name. "Korea's there with you, right? I'm trying to get everyone together to meet at The Wall tomorrow."

"We'll be there," Hong Kong assured instantly, reclining back again and trailing a lazy hand through his sleeping sibling's hair.

"Great," the oriental nation didn't miss the relieved tone in the other's reply, "Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure," he may be a part of China now, but Hong Kong had never been one to let his Aniki's government control him. America was as much of his brother as China was, and in his eyes, a better one at that. The blond was the only one besides England and Korea he ever let call him Jin. He would not turn down a plea for help.

America hesitated a moment, "I know it's asking a lot . . . But could you . . . I need you to call Kiku for me. Until I can be completely sure that this isn't some trap Russia's set up, I can't put him in danger by contacting him myself. Can you please-"

"Of course," Hong Kong interrupted, "It'll be risky now that China is no longer part of the Soviet Union, but I can do it. Ivan shouldn't think twice about me calling Japan."

"Thank you," Alfred breathed, "And about Yao . . ."

Hong Kong bit his lip, "He's still Communist," he informed regretfully. "I would not count on his allegiance or trust for a very long time, America."

There was silence on the other end for a few heartbeats. "That's too bad," America said finally. "But it's his decision, I suppose. And where will you stand, Jin?"

The other smiled, "Wherever I need to, America. But for now, you can count on my support."

"Awesome," Hong Kong could practically hear the grin on the nation's face. "See you tomorrow then!"

"Feliciano, get off The Wall!" Germany scolded, jumping to try and catch the other nation's ankle a second too late, Italy scrambling up onto the crumbling structure and squishing himself in between the German citizens perched there. Ludwig groaned in exasperation, hauling himself up beside him, "Feliciano, don't be an idiot. It's dangerous."

Italy merely grinned, "Ve, Ludwig," he laughed, careful to use the other's human name around the citizens of Berlin, "It's fine. The Wall is coming down, the only danger would be from falling off." He smiled, swinging his legs over onto the east side, "We can see Gilbert again soon."

Germany's shoulders hunched at this, worry clear on his face, "Feliciano-"

"He'll be fine," Italy reassured softly, reaching over and twining their fingers together, "Ivan may hurt him, yes. Scar him enough sot that the scars Gilbert has are equal to the number he has himself. But he'd never kill him."

The blonde's eyebrows furrowed together, uncertainty in his blue eyes, "How can you be so sure?"

Feliciano smiled, "I can't. I just know. I've known Ivan for a very, very long time, Ludwig. I remember when he and Gilbert were close. He's never close with anyone, even with China it was just another game to him. Gilbert will be fine. He'll come back." He leaned back where he sat, his eyes rising to the sky, "It really is beautiful, isn't it," he whispered.

Ludwig followed his gaze, "What is? The polluted air?"

Italy shook his head, "No, Doitsu, the people. The Wall falling only proves that we're powerless compared to the strength of our people. Look what they've managed to do, all on their own. They've rebuilt after our mistakes, held strong even as this thing separated them from their families, and now they're making their own future and tearing it down, brick by brick." He closed his eyes, a small smile on his features that looked almost serene, "It's things like this that make me glad I'm a nation."

The blond turned his gaze down towards the German people climbing up and over the wall they sat on. He watched as they threw their hands in the air, practically dancing at their victory on the top of the structure, yelling out loud their joy. "Yeah," he said after a long moment, "Me too."

An annoyed shout sounded behind them, and a voice cried, "Oi! Idiots one and two! Do you know how fucking worried we've been!"

Feliciano stood, swaying slightly until Germany caught hold of his legs and held him steady, "Romano!" he whooped, "Romano, come on! Look at The Wall!"

In a few moments, both Romano and Spain had managed to find a place to sit on Italy's other side, the older twin flicking Feliciano on the head, "Everyone's been trying to get a hold of you two! And you've been at this stupid place the whole time?"

"Lovi, calm-" Spain started, only to earn a glare from the other.

"Everyone's going to be here soon," Romano went on, "America has called for a meeting."

"Here?" Germany asked in disbelief, "Is that really wise?"

"It's America," Lovino deadpanned.

Italy had moved to stand on the bricks again, peering around for the nations that would be gathering at any moment. Germany kept an eye on him, making sure he didn't fall but otherwise trained his eyes on the east side, waiting. After a few minutes, Italy let out a loud "Woo!" of delight, and literally, much to Ludwig's alarm, launched himself off the Berlin Wall towards the west side.


The younger nation laughed, practically bowling a very startled looking Austria over with Roderich only just barely managing to catch him. "Austria! The Wall is falling!" he squealed, hugging the aristocratic country tight.

Austria was nearly doubled over with the extra weight, but he still managed to find a place on the crumbling stones with the other nations, Italy clinging to him as he had not done since France had taken him from the other's care. "Have you seen Russia or anyone yet?" he asked, and by anyone, Germany knew he meant Hungary.

"Not yet," the blond said, "But they should be here soon. I assume America called them too." He did not voice aloud his fears that neither Hungary or Prussia would ever see this side of The Wall again.

Roderich caught his gaze, noticing the look in his eyes, "They're strong," he murmured over Italy's head on his shoulder, "They'll be all right."

"I hope so," Ludwig whispered in reply.

They watched the sun in it's slow assent in the sky in silence for a long while before they heard the last of their western allies arriving. And heard them they did, long before they caught sight of them. France and England made a ruckus that probably could have been heard for miles around as they belted out a very old, what sounded almost like it could be Latin, drinking song. Close behind them, America and Canada urged them along, trying to keep them from stumbling into innocent passerby. It wasn't surprising that the very pissed pair insisted on taking up a perch on the wall top, it wasn't however that they nearly fell right off upon doing so.

Austria, who looked absolutely mortified at their behavior was first to comment, "Are you drunk?" he incredulously asked a very bleary eyed France.

"Non," France replied, a rather creepy smile on his face, "I am just very, very happy, ami." He promptly linked his arms through Canada's and England's in turn, beginning another ancient drinking chant that Canada mostly ignored, and England joined along with enthusiastically.

"I'm so sorry," Canada apologized, using his free hand to support America as his twin decided to stand in the middle of the group. "We had to go looking for them and found them like this at a local pub. But Alfred insisted that they had to come, so . . ."

"I could use a drink right now too," Germany commented forlornly, casting an envious look at the completely out of it England, who had yet to acknowledge anyone outside of the small bubble of space that was Canada, America, and France.

"Ludwig!" Austria exclaimed, aghast. "This is not the time!" Germany merely rolled his eyes before standing and slowly working his way through the other nations on the wall top to stand at America's side. Alfred smiled at him as the other blond placed a faintly trembling hand on his shoulder, a reassuring, confident smile that Ludwig hadn't seen since before the second war. "This is it then, huh?" he asked softly, "Once everyone on the east side gets here, this Iron Curtain shit is over."

"No," America whispered, too quiet for anyone but Germany to hear, "It's too late to make that barrier disappear forever. It's there to stay, and that will never change. China, Vietnam, Cuba, North Korea . . . As long as they're still 'red' nations, there will always be a threat from them. But," he nodded out towards the east side, blue eyes shining behind his glasses, "I can promise you that it's going to get a hell of a lot better, at least for a little while." He paused, pulling his bottom lip up between his teeth, "Thank you, Germany . . . For choosing to stay on this side. I know it was hard, and that it would have been so much easier for you just to keep your pact with Ivan, but . . ." Alfred smiled again, a slow, hesitant smile, "I'm glad you didn't. You helped save Kiku, and you held strong even when your brother was taken. I'm glad you were my ally."

"After all the mistakes I made, I wasn't about to make another," Ludwig said almost inaudibly. "I'm happy to be your ally, America."

America grinned, leaving it at that and looking out to the east side once more. His smile only grew broader at this, however, which made Germany whirl, hope flaring in his heart at what he'd see. And he wasn't disappointed. Spain flung his hands in the air with a cry of delight, "There's Gilbert! He's all right!"

Prussia sprinted across the expanse of ground between The Wall and the slowly forming crowd of nations behind him, scrambling up onto The Wall with an exclamation of, "West!" before Germany found himself suddenly on his back on the west side of The Wall again, the albino having tackled him to the ground from the wall's top. Italy followed suit, sobbing as he joined their little group huddle that slowly worked it's way around through a gap in The Wall to the east side.

America stayed on top of the falling structure, watching as Hungary worked her way over to them, maintaining a calm composure until Roderich was only a few paces away, at which point she promptly backed him against the bricks and collapsed into his arms, crying silently into his shoulder. Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, Estonia, and Ukraine didn't draw much closer to the others, except for when Poland and Italy moved to shake hands and talk for a moment, and Lithuania gave a grateful nod in America's direction. He watched as Canada slowly approached Prussia, all but hidden fear in his eyes from their last unfortunate encounter.

There was no mistaking the tension in that particular moment, Prussia trying to force a smile, and Canada doing the same before they hesitantly each extended hands to shake. It wasn't perfect, and it was far from what they may or may not have had before The Berlin Wall went up. But in that action, America could clearly see that it could never go back to that ever again. Whatever had been between them had broken, and it was something that even time couldn't fix.

He climbed down from The Wall as a young girl with almost silver hair worked her way through the bustle of people towards him. "Natalia," he smiled.

She nodded curtly to him, "America."

"Thank you," he whispered.

Belarus either ignored the soft spoken words of gratitude, or she had not heard, and she made her way over to join her sister and Lithuania without another glance at the blond.

His eyes shifted as a tall man with ash-blond hair and bright lavender eyes emerged from the throng of overjoyed German citizens. It was almost as if a wave of silence settled over the rejoicing nations as blue met lilac for the first time since the Cuban Missile Crisis, and all movement stopped. "Hello, Alfred," Russia nodded after a moment of uneasy quiet.

"Hello, Ivan," America replied evenly. It was as if the air around them were poisoned, as no one dared to approach, and hardly anyone breathed. Until the blond took a step forward, staring directly into Russia's eyes for a long moment before he let his head fall to the taller nation's shoulder, twisting a hand into the front of the other's coat. "Ivan . . . I-" he started.

"I'm sorry," Russia finished, his voice shaking slightly. "I should have never . . ."

"It's okay," America stopped him, shaking his head. "Your eyes aren't dark anymore. We don't have to talk about it, all right? It was my fault anyways. You were there for me when my people split the land in two, and I wasn't there for you when Nicholas was killed." He looked up, a hesitant smile on his face, as he glanced around at the gathered nations again. France and Spain had gotten a hold of Prussia and had formed a spinning circle made of the three of them. Austria, Hungary, Italy, and Germany were standing off to the side together, talking in low voices, light smiles being passed between them.

Ivan blinked as England approached them suddenly, a dangerous, almost accusing look in his emerald eyes. "Where's Hong Kong?" Arthur demanded, worry clear in his voice, and with his drunken state, that was only intensified.

America glanced around the crowd, alarm flaring through him, "He's right, I don't see Jin or Korea." And now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen Kiku yet either. "Ivan . . ."

"He didn't touch them, I can assure you," Prussia said, suddenly appearing beside them and laying a hand on Russia's shoulder. "He couldn't have, he's been with me almost the whole time since your armies pulled out of Vietnam. There wouldn't have been any chance to-"

"America!" a voice sounded from the crowd, accented with that familiar English tone though it was not Arthur who had spoken.

The blond whirled, faint relief in his eyes as both Hong Kong and Korea pushed through the bustle of people towards them. "Did you have problems getting here?" he asked.

"No," Hong Kong breathed, "But America, we-"

"We can't get a hold of Nii-chan, da-ze!" Korea burst out. "We don't know where he is! He's not answering his phone and-"

"He's probably fine," Hong Kong went on, trying not to worry the blond, "But-"

America held up a hand, silencing him, "Calm down." He turned towards Russia again, "I know we should technically get something signed before I go, but I . . ."

"Go find him," Russia said with a nod, "I'll make sure my boss doesn't act on it. Just," he reached into his coat, drawing out a pocket knife, "Do this first." He flicked open the knife, pressing the blade to his palm and dragging it across, a thin line of crimson welling up in it's wake.

Without a word the knife was passed to Alfred, and he mirrored the motion, reaching out to clasp their hands together without instruction, the blood pooling together between them and dripping down onto the ground. Prussia glanced at a confused looking Hong Kong with an amused smirk, "It's how old pacts were made way back when." He tilted his palm upwards for the young city to see, a web of fine white scars crisscrossing it's surface. "The older nations, like Russia, France and I prefer to continue to use it. It's more a more permanent promise than any piece of paper."

America pulled away, a broad smile in place as he wiped the blood from his hand and pulled a handkerchief from his hand and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wrap around it, "Thank you."

Japan had been in and out of meetings with his boss and China for the past three days, and had only heard news of The Wall through political discussions. The sun was just barely peeking over the horizon when he finally made his way home, taking the longer rout through a nearby park. At this time of year, the sakura trees were just starting to change from pink flowers to green leaves, and he paused beneath the boughs shading the path to look at them. This was the time of year he enjoyed the best, the season of subtle, small changes and warm air. Of life and growth just before the leaves would begin to brown and fall.

There was a bench nearby, vacant and bathed in gold with the early dawn. He sat down on it, straightening out the small wrinkles in his formal Yucatan with glazed eyes. The Wall had fallen, so he'd heard, and he had not been there to see it. He wanted to see Germany and Italy rejoicing, and Prussia being reunited with his brother. He wanted to see England's triumphant eyes and France's drunken stupidity. And yet he'd missed all of it.

Would America have been there? He had no doubt he wouldn't have. Except that when he'd asked China about it, his brother had merely looked at him with cold, unforgiving eyes. He was trying not to let that get to him. His gaze wandered up to the flowers overhead as he tried to forget it. But the fact that this was the time of year that the pink blossoms were starting to wither and dry, at the same time The Wall was falling thousands of miles away, unnerved him immensely. He'd always been one to take the smallest details too seriously, and this was just one more thing that didn't sit right with him.

His fingers clenched into the folds of his Yucatan above his knees, and he stood, pacing towards the base of the tree to stare directly up into the dying flora high above. "Kami, you bring him back to me," he whispered through clenched teeth, closing his eyes. "I'm tired of war, I'm tired of politics and the running around in endless circles just to please my boss. All I want is just a little piece of mortality, of normalcy, is that so much to ask for?" Opening his eyes again, he glared up at the silent branches high above, "No, of course it is. It always is." He sighed, his shoulders slumping with defeat as he let his head fall against the broad trunk of the tree. "It always is . . ."

"Beautiful, isn't it?" a voice asked in perfect Japanese.

Kiku smiled to himself, letting his eyes roam upwards at the dull, dying pink of the cherry blossoms, "Hai," he replied, "I suppose it is."

"Do you like them? The sakura trees I mean," the voice went on.

The nation slowly shook his head, not turning to face the speaker, "As much as anyone else, I suppose. But there are so many other flowers in the world to enjoy, it would be selfish of me to like only this one, wouldn't it." He allowed his eyes to fall closed again, his mind wandering. Yes, there were so many, many flowers.

There was the cornflower, the blossom given in a small bouquet to a young Italy by a blushing Holy Roman Empire, and a millennia later, from Italy to Germany as their fates were unknowingly once more intertwined.

There was the rose, France's long time symbol of his love, passed back and forth between he and England for centuries as their bond wavered and fell, and then remade itself all over again, only for the process to be repeated.

There was the sunflower that Russia had first held in his hands so many years ago, a gift from Prussia when they first met. It would be forgotten with the centuries that passed, only the faint memory of it's color and warmth remaining as the icy nation tried to recreate that feeling with countless others, China included.

And then there was-

"Do you like chrysanthemums?" the voice asked, close enough to his ear that he could feel the speaker's breath on the back of his neck, and he shivered. His eyes snapped open as soft golden flower petals tickled under his chin, and he drew in a shaky, shocked breath. The person standing just behind him took a good number of steps backwards as Japan took the flower, the sound of his footfalls clear in the lifeless calm of morning. "They're your favorite, right? Like your name?"

Kiku bit his lip, shaking his head furiously as hot tears welled up in his eyes. No, no, no . . . This couldn't be real. There was no way . . . He turned slowly on the spot, almost too afraid to look in case he was really dreaming a cruel, cruel dream. The flower slipped from his fingers, falling slowly to the ground as his eyes met brilliant blue, "A-America-san," he breathed.

Alfred smiled, his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he rocked back on his heels, looking for all the world as if he'd only been away for a few days, rather than nearly thirty years. "Hey," he said softly, "Did'ja miss me?"

Japan's fingers curled against his palms, and for half a second America thought he was going to punch him. But instead, Kiku shook his head fiercely, tears falling off his cheeks glinting silver-gold with the sunrise as he rushed forward, arms wrapping tight around the other nation with a sob, America letting out a huff of faint surprise as he was nearly bowled over. "Baka . . ." Japan murmured against the blonde's chest, "Baka! Of course I missed you! How could I not? I-" he drew off with a strangled, choked cry, burying his face against Alfred's chest.

"I know," America whispered, holding Kiku tight in his arms, "I love you too."


Thank you all for being such good little patient kiddies while I sorted out my senioritus and end of the season Supernatural fangirling and whatnot. (Don't look at me like that, it happens every year at this time! I was in a panic!) I'm most looking forward to writing the epilogue, let me tell you, I finally figured out the last few details for that bologna, so hopefully it'll be very heart wrenching and cute. :3

And btw, the reason that Prussia and Mattie are basically broken up, and Gilbo is with Ivan now is because my upcoming fic, Nation, is actually a sequel to this one. So it had to be done. Sorry Russia/China and Prussia/Canada fans. It had to be. *thumbs up* I'm trying to finish this patootie up so I can go on my usual Summer Hiatus and work on my novel, but I'm already pressed for finding time to do so. D: next chapter's almost done tho, no worries.

REVIEW! You too, Lizzi, (insert epic glarage here) even though we're bestest bestest buds and all, make my review count go up. O_O *stares awkwardly at you* and the same goes for you, Chibi-chan.