Crossing Borders [Hetalia]

prologue

I'm wandering, not in any particular direction, with no particular destination in mind.

It's cold, biting my cheeks raw, freezing the wind-induced tears as they leak from narrowed eyes so that they cling to my frozen skin, unable to fall. 

Why am I walking?

Why is it so cold?

Snow. I'm trudging through snow. Close to knee-high, thick and clogged, it's like walking in slow-motion, my movements deadened, the world around me just the same. I wrap my arms around myself, savoring the meager warmth my frozen fingertips manage to rub into my arms. 

The frantic beating against my ribcage is growing fainter and fainter with every minute that passes, every foot I burrow through the icy sea around me. I'm fading, I can feel it. Whatever reason I'm here, whatever I'm doing, it will all end soon. 

What's going on?

Where am I?

What am I doing here?

Why is it so cold?

The numbness begins in my fingers, in my toes, curled fiercely within my soft, fur-lined boots, then travels slowly outwards, reaching wrists, ankles, arms and legs. My knees buckle first, toppling me into the ice and snow without so much as a gasp of surprise. My throat feels too tight, too blistered to make a sound, however pitiful it may be. The landing is soft, at least, save for the sharp ice crystals that cut into my exposed skin, slashing red, raw lines into my cheeks, my unfeeling hands. 

The clear, smoky cloud that puffs from my chapped lips looks smaller than it did some time ago. Is it my imagination? No, no I don't think so. Each cloud is coming quicker now, as well, only small, fleeting seconds between each heave of my chest. 

I'm dying.

Without any destination to think of, without any reason for being out in the bitter, biting cold. Without a thought, without a word of my own.

I'm dying.

I let my ice-encrusted lashes fall, struggle to untangle themselves from the ice below, rise, fall again. For a moment, there's a panicked flickering beneath my closed lids, searching desperately for the dim light I've left behind. Then that, too, stills.

A breath so shallow it barely fills my aching lungs, screaming as it's exhaled past a burning throat, a useless, thick tongue, lips too craggy to form even one coherent word. 

Then, a soft, subtle blankness washes over me, freeing me from the haunting snow and ice, the coarse, unforgiving cold. No troubled breaths, so helpless, bouncing thoughts. No wind howling, no ringing plaguing my ears. Simple silence and nothing more.

It's like this for some time. I don't know how long exactly. Long enough for a welcoming blanket to fall across me, bury me, hide my fallen form. But I can tell when the peace is fractured, jagged pieces falling like icicles, pricking feeling back into my useless limbs, if only just a bit.

A steady, hopeful warmth flows through me, slipping through layers of frost to flush heat into my stilled heart, returning to it its usual ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump. My eyes remain closed, too heavy with fatigue and ice to lift even for a moment, but I don't need them.

On instinct alone, my body - unresponsive as its been up until now - curls into the source of warmth, and I hear it, right against my ear.

Another ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump.

Another heart, this one working properly, all on its own.

I wonder... who it belongs to.

I wonder... if they know where I'm going, what my destination is.

I hope so.