Broken

Author's Note: So, I have a head canon that nations have this real duality between their roles as Nations and their own personalities, and some of the older nations try to suppress their human emotions to avoid getting hurt. But eventually they have to accept they they are not just Nations, but humans as well, and that means living with human emotions and personalities. So this combined with my newest OTP equals this fic.

The morning sun crosses over her face, and she looks at the man who has provided her sanctuary in her moment of need.
He gazes back at her, that face revealing nothing of the turmoil within.
"You know, you were right." She finally says. He raises an eyebrow at that. "We're never going to be whole. We're just humans that have been... Broken..."
He says nothing, and then reaches across and takes her hands in his. She looks at him in surprise.
"No. We aren't."
***
1944
European Theater
Alfred looked like shit. Even worse than Arthur.
She went to bandage the back of his head, which he had managed to keep hidden from his men somehow. That was the problem with being semi-immortal. You take an execution style bullet to the brain and somehow still get up and keep going.
"Hell, Maddie, first you had to dig it out, now you have to put as much pressure on it as possible?"
"Would you rather let me send Arthur in here to do it? It would go real well since his dominant hand is broken. Or I could ask Ivan. He'd have to fly here from the Eastern Front and he'd probably do a shit job, but I'm sure he'd love the chance to..."
"Okay, I'll shut up. Just hurry, will you?"
She finished tying the bandage and nodded. "There, done."
Alfred stood up, a smidge shaky, and now she knew why he had begged her to do it. He didn't like to appear weak, even for a second. Once he was back on his feet, he nodded, a smile crossing his face. "Thanks Maddie. This was sure one hell of a long day."
She tried to laugh, but they also knew it was only the first day of many. She may have secured her beach the fastest, which she would remind the men of later in their drunken gloating, but she had also not lost nearly as many men. It was hard to joke when you knew how many more men would have to die for Europe to be free.
They walked out of the room into a hurried meeting with French resistance officials and England. He nodded when he saw them.
A telegraph was handed to them, and they read the coded message, quickly deciphering it.
On house arrest in Paris. Keep up the fight. Resistance forces will help where they can.
"Can't even fight on his own soil. The damn frog."
Maddie said nothing. Almost all the occupied nations were under similar conditions. Norway was only running free because he had hidden in the mountains before Germany arrived.
As they began to make plans for the liberation of Paris, Maddie began to nod off.
"Maddie?"
She looked up to see Alfred over her, watching with concern. He pressed a hand to her forehead.
"Don't tell Arthur." She muttered, knowing that a fever was definitely felt in her brow.
England had barely taken notice of the exchange between his two previous charges. America sighed.
"Alright, where's the damn wound you've been hiding all night?"
She pointed to her leg, and Al helped her up. They left the room, and he rolled up her pant leg, instantly seeing the piece of shrapnel.
"Jesus H. Fucking Christ, Maddie! Don't keep these things hidden."
She shook her head as Al began the process of removing the metal. "Had too, for my men. It was hard enough to convince them to follow me. I couldn't look weak in front of them."
Al yanked it out with a hiss from his sister, and then poured rubbing alcohol into it, making her lock her jaw together, but he could still hear the soft whine. Once it was bandaged, he nodded. "There."
She started to stand, and then he spoke.
"Maddie, when we reach the Netherlands... Stop there. I don't want you to face Germany or... Prussia."
She knew why he said that, but that didn't make her happy.
"I can put aside old romances for this war, brother!"
He looked at her in a way that suddenly reminded her of the fact that he was really the one in charge here. It was more by default than anything else. He and Russia were strong. So when Russia wasn't there to butt heads with him, he became leader by default.
"Alright, we will discuss this later, then." He said, before exiting the room. "But please begin coordinating with the Dutch resistance. They might be able to give us some valuable information on places of significance that we should strike."
***
Lars was lying on his bed, exhausted and hungry. Winter had set in, and his people were starving.
Where had the lofty promises of Allied liberation gotten him? He was miserable. The resistance had told him people were coming, but it was hard to believe when he was locked in a small room in Amsterdam.
He wondered how his royal family was doing? Was his princess alright? How about his Queen?
He was wondering that when he heard a shout, and then the nation of Germany barged his way into Lars room.
"Who is she?!" He shouted as Netherlands tried to sit up and not look so weak in the face of his enemy.
"Who's who?" He asked, rubbing at his face with a tired expression.
"The damn woman who gave your resistance forces guns!"
"They have guns now? Good for them."
Germany was fuming at that little comment. Netherlands looked at him and sighed. "Are you done?"
The brat finally spat something and then marched away. When the door shut, Lars sighed in relief.
He closed his eyes to sleep, but woke up a while later, feeling like something soft had brushed against his cheek.
Eyes fluttered open to see a bouquet of red tulips waiting for him. He blinked in shock at seeing the flowers in winter.
Then he saw the note, which he quickly picked up.
Delicate handwriting graced the page.
Your royal family is safe. We will be coming as soon as we can. Stay strong.
-Canada
He blinked at the name, and then burned the note in the fire, and stared at the tulips.
Red tulips.
He had to smile at the flirtation. Any child of France would know that red tulips meant love in the language of flowers.
He placed them in a vase and smiled. If Canada had been able to sneak past the guards and into his room without anyone noticing, than maybe he could allow that feeling they called hope take root in his heart once more.
***
The coordination with Dutch resistance had been amazingly successful. Her forces marched in and soon enough, the Germans gave up.
She marched upstairs in the house and threw open the door to see the sandy haired man looking at her in surprise.
"Bonjour, Netherlands. You are free."
He blinked in shock, and then a small smile crossed his face. He stood up, a smidge shaky, and walked over to her, offering his hand.
"You must be Canada."
She nodded, and noticed the empty vase near the window she had entered through months earlier. He noticed where he gaze had gone and chuckled.
"How is my princess and her child?"
"My government declared the hospital room Dutch territory. Your newest member of the royal family is only Dutch.
He blinked in surprise, and she took his hand. "Come downstairs, the others are waiting for you."
He was confused what she meant by the others until Emma and Emile tackled him, knocking his tall frame to the ground in a haphazard way.
"Big brother, we missed you!" Little Luxembourg shouted, and he smiled, ignoring his aching bones and muscles in favor of kissing his sister and hugging his brother.
"I missed both of you as well."
He looked up a while later to realize Canada had slipped away, but in her place was a bouquet of red tulips.
When he picked them up, Belgium giggled. "Someone has a crush on you, big brother."
He kept his face hidden in his scarf and put the tulips in a vase to admire them as the sun rose.
He was free at last.
Thank God, he was free at last.
***
Indonesia.
The name rang off America's tongue like it was coated in honey, and she knew why. China might have fallen to communists, but Indonesia was anti-communist, and he had freed her.
But while Alfred strutted around like a rooster, Canada commissioned a flight to Amsterdam. She hadn't seen him since liberation, though he had sent her a gift. Thousands of tulips were blooming across her capital, a gift from a thankful royal family.
She greeted the young princess born in Canada with a smile before continuing to her real destination.
Lars was sitting at a table, a bottle of beer from his sister's country in his grasp. He looked up when she opened the door in surprise.
"Why are you here?" He finally asked as she sat down. "Isn't your government just as happy as your brother's that Dutch Indies is no longer mine?"
Madeline didn't say anything, seeing the scratch on his face that he hadn't bothered to bandage. "I'm happy she isn't communist, but I'm not happy to see you in pain."
He snorted, as if he doubted she was sincere.
"Lars..."
He turned at the use of his human name, and she looked at him for a long moment.
"Why do you think we're like this?"
He paused for a long moment. It was a strange question, but when he looked at her, he was reminded of a strange fact. She and Alfred were both so young. They had only achieved their power because they had almost been abandoned to grow up on that continent by themselves. She was only four hundred years old, and she had only become her own true nation after the Great War.
"I think that we are broken human beings. We don't age, we don't feel things the same way that they do. We are ideas wearing bodies, and our minds change with our people. There isn't a difference between Lars and Netherlands. They are one and the same. Lars is only a disguise for me. I think we're just broken. That's what I believe."
She nodded, and then stood up, going to his side. "Will you please let me treat that scratch?"
He nodded, and delicate hands carefully bandaged and covered his wound. Then a soft kiss was placed on his forehead.
"Goodbye, Lars. Until the next time."
When she left, something inside him longed to cry out, but he shut it away, ignoring the pain blossoming in his chest.
It would be years before he realized his mistake.
***
The pangs of jealously he felt at the end of the Cold War were intense when he saw her laugh with Russia.
Russia, of all people!
It wasn't like Alfred was paying attention. He was to busy flirting with Belarus, who seemed to like the attention she was receiving, given those soft smiles and gentle tones she was using. Ukraine was talking to England and France about joining the United Nations and possibly the European Union. They seemed to be happy with her choice.
He had to contain himself when Russia suddenly handed her a sunflower, with a comment along the lines of how much she reminded him of one. Her cheeks went pink, and she smiled, standing on tiptoes to place a quick kiss on his cheek.
He nearly stopped breathing at that, and suddenly stood to leave the room.
"Brother?" He heard Bel call out, but he was already exiting the meeting room. He barely made it to the nearest trash an before hurling.
He finally stood and looked around. No one had observed his disgrace. He felt parts of his mind he refused to acknowledge trying to speak to him, and he tried to lock them away like he always had before, but they were refusing to be silenced.
He had wandered over to a window seat and was examining the scenery when a hand was set on his shoulder.
"It's sickening in there, isn't it?"
He turned to see Prussia looking down at him. He stood up to leave, but Prussia said the words his mind agreed with.
"To see her with Russia... I want to be sick."
He nodded in agreement, and Prussia sighed.
"She was always so careful. It was hard enough for me to gain her love, but I had it for a while. Until the war. She blamed me, and I can understand why."
The Netherlands blinked. "You and Canada?"
He nodded. "England and I were getting along well enough, so I asked for permission to court her. We were together until England declared war for West invading Belgium. Then, it was over."
Netherlands kept his face stony, but Prussia looked at him and knew.
"You can't keep it all locked away up there, Lars. It's going to kill you eventually if you don't man up and admit it to yourself."
"I don't know what you mean." He responded, looking out the window.
"There's a difference between you as Lars and you as the Netherlands. As the Netherlands, you have ties to her, but they are ties of the past. As Lars, well, simply put, you love her."
"I do not love her..."
"Please shut up. Anyone who's seen you at any world meeting since the end of the second war knows you do. You wouldn't keep gazing at her if you didn't."
"And how do you know so much?"
"Because while Prussia could care less for his previous fling, Gilbert still loves her."
Lars gave Prussia a glance, but Prussia was also looking out the window.
"The problem isn't Canada. The problem is Madeline. And Madeline no longer loves Gilbert. It's hard for that part of myself to accept it, even though the other half of me moved on a long time ago."
They stood in silence, and then Prussia made one final comment.
"You think that we're all broken humans. And we definitely aren't normal. But we aren't broken. There is a part of us that is just our country, and a part of us that is just human. The problem is when we forget to acknowledge that human part of us, or use it as a disguise. That's something we all have to learn, and given your age, it might be time for you to learn it."
Before he could come up with a retort, Prussia left, leaving him alone at the window, craving a cigarette and a good stiff drink.
***
Where is the line between Lars and Netherlands?
He spent weeks in his own self imposed exile, locked in his room with notebooks and pencils, writing down everything he could think of, trying to figure out where the line was between the two halves of himself that he had tried to make a single unified whole for centuries.
He finally went outside to buy some food and as he overlooked a canal, it came to him.
He suddenly looked up at the sky and smiled.
Netherlands was what he had to be.
Lars...
Lars was what he himself chose to be.
He looked down at the water and gave himself a small smile.
I am not broken.
I am just two halves which make a whole.
***
March 2014
G8 emergency meeting.
America was about to yell himself at the tall figure across the table from him when a quiet figure did it for him.
"YOU'RE LYING, IVAN!"
Everyone looked at the normally quiet woman in shock, and Russia stood.
"I am not lying, Canada. Neither I nor my government approved those troops to enter into Ukraine."
She laughed, and America decided to watch this unfold.
"Oh yeah? Prove it. We all know your boss has dreams of the glory days of the Russian Empire!"
Russia glared at the woman. "I do not approve of this."
"Then. Why. Did. Your. Sister. Beg. Me. To. Call. This. Meeting. To. Order."
Everyone froze, remembering how the summons for an emergency meeting had come to each of them.
"Canada..." England began. "Is there something you're not telling us, lass?"
She nodded. "The goddamn bastard talks in his sleep."
Russia went pale, and then a volley of curses in his native Slavic tongue were hurled at her, but Canada held her ground.
"Ukraine was scared, and told me that if any forces came her way, they were sent! And his sleep talk just confirmed it. He even mentioned the launch and that it was 'all part of Putin's plan'!"
Russia went silent, and the two glared at each other.
"I was the first to recognize Ukraine's independence, and I will be the first to tell you to call back the forces immediately!"
"No."
Canada nodded. "Alright than, Ivan. I look forward to placing sanctions on your homeland, and I will announce this right now. I'm dumping you."
That caused a stir. The Russian and Canadian had been an item since the end of the Cold War, even with tensions.
"Consider any help from your frozen neighbor as over, and consider any smiles that come your way from my face just little murderous wishes. I will not sleep with a man who hurts my best friend."
And then she whirled. "I think the G8 should become the G7 until such a time that Russia comes to his senses and abandons this foolish plan."
Slowly, one by one, the other nations followed Canada out of the room, and left Russia to be alone in his misery.
***
Alfred was congratulating her for standing up for her ideals and herself, and England was laughing, but France noticed pain on his daughter's face.
He waited until the others were talking among themselves to slip over to her.
"Why did you do that, mon fille?"
She looked at him and sighed. "It had to be done, and if Al had done it... Well, it wouldn't make nearly as much of an impression." She turned to see Italy, who still seemed uneasy. "Feliciano will suffer the most from this. He and Russia have become major trading partners."
France nodded, and then spoke. "Do you want to stay?"
She shook her head. "No. I'll be leaving."
"Where will you go?"
"To visit an old friend."
***
The knock at his door had been a surprise. He wasn't expecting any visitors.
But when he opened the door, there stood Canada, soaked in the rain, and only wearing a thin hoodie to separate her from the elements.
"What are you doing here?" He asked.
"Needed a place to stay for the night. Can I come in?"
He nodded, and she slipped inside.
Soon enough he heard hot water running, and he knocked on the door. "I'm leaving an old shirt and a pair of shorts out here for you to use as pajamas while your clothes dry."
"Thanks."
He went downstairs and waited. Eventually she joined him, warm and dry, wearing the clothes he had left for her.
"Have you had dinner?"
She shook her head, and he quickly assembled a meal.
They ate in silence, and she looked out the window into the rainy night. He thought about asking her another question, but he kept it quiet.
She finally retreated to the guest bedroom, and he went to his own room to brood.
***
"We're never going to be whole. We're just humans that have been... Broken..."
He says nothing, and then reaches across and takes her hands in his. She looks at him in surprise.
"No. We aren't."
They stare at each other for a long moment, and he speaks.
"For years, I really did believe that. There was no separation between nation and man. But someone told me I was wrong. And soon enough, I realized it was true."
The silence is immense.
"Netherlands is what I must be. They are one half of me, the half that listens to my people and obeys their commands. But there is another half of me, one named Lars. Lars is who I chose to be. And together, they make a whole person. We aren't normal. We aren't ever going to be normal. But we are...human... We have emotions, we consider ourselves individuals that are a part of a greater whole. And maybe that greater whole is our nation, but we are part of something bigger. Lars and Netherlands are no longer the same. They may be very similar in some aspects, but they aren't the same."
The moments pass, and she looks at him with an intense violet gaze.
"And Lars... Well, Lars is in love with Madeline."
She says nothing for a long time, and then speaks on her own.
"Madeline is... Unsure at the moment. She... Needs time."
"Lars is willing to wait."
She stands up, pulling her hands out of his, but she crosses the table, and he stands up himself, spreading his arms to offer her an embrace.
She accepts it, sobbing into his shoulder as he comforts her. He allows the feeling that pulled at him in 1949 to take over.
A feeling that is the ultimate expression of the humanity he fought for so long.
Love.
Human love.
***
Prussia noticed it first, the way Madeline seemed to smile in a way he hadn't seen in a long time, glancing at the delegation from the Netherlands, ignoring the way the Russian delegation glared at her from the other side of the table. He had to laugh when Netherlands returned her glances. He didn't really smile, but those green eyes said it well enough.
And one night, he saw them walking along the street together, hands held, a smile on Madeline's face.
He chuckled from the window of his room.
Finally.