A young boy of twelve trudged the streets of Ljubljana as the rain poured down. He was soaked to the bone and his brown hair was stuck to his face, but he didn't care. All he cared about was that the rain hid the tears that threatened to spill from his blue-green eyes. Pain coursed through his body, making him feel like he was being torn to pieces. But he ignored it. There was much more important things on his mind.

He couldn't believe what they had done to him. They were his friends and familial figures yet they were literally tearing him apart. Then again, he shouldn't be surprised. After all, nations never could trust anyone. And he was stupid enough to put his faith in the belief that they would never hurt him; that he was immune to betrayal.

"Aleksander!" a familiar voice called, interrupting his thoughts. He turned and saw Italy running towards him, his blue uniform and auburn hair soaked with his strange curl stuck to his cheek. "Aleksander I-"

"Don't call me that!" the boy fumed. "You lost the right to use that name when you, along with Germany and Hungary, invaded my land and divided it among yourselves. It is Slovenia to you."

"Aleks- Slovenia, let me explain, per favore." Italy pleaded, his honey gold eyes wide open for once and full of regret.

"Ne." Slovenia said coldly, tears stinging his eyes. "I do not want to hear your pathetic excuses, Italy. Poslovite."

He ran off before the other nation could attempt to plead with him. He ran into an alley and leaned against the wall before bursting into tears. He cried because he was betrayed and hurt. He cried because his people were doomed to a bleak future. But most of all, because he was all alone. It was 1941 and Axis occupation had just begun.


A year later, Slovenia stood on the beach, walking the shore of the Adriatic Sea. The cool, spring waves lapped against his ankles. For the first time since the previous April, the Balkan nation was content. He had been avoiding other nations at all cost and was trying to assist his people the best he could. But at the physical age of twelve, war going on all throughout the world, and the little experience he had running his own nation, there was very little Slovenia could do. On the plus side, Romania and Finland had surrendered the year before and America had joined the Allies in December.

Slovenia saw his life as the weather. The day could start out bright and sunny, that one decided it was a good day to go fishing. But next thing one knew, it was storming and they were trapped on a boat with the threat of being sunk and lost at sea. Things had been going great after he gained his independence from Austria-Hungary. He and Croatia had formed the State of Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes and then joined their brother Serbia to form the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes before renaming it Yugoslavia. They were also living with Bosnia, Montenegro, and Macedonia. It was great. They were a country of just southern Slavs and they were living as a family. Now, Slovenia was living a nightmare. He was separated from his brothers, Croatia was playing puppet for the Axis, Bosnia was being oppressed via Croatia, and Serbia, Montenegro, and Macedonia were being attacked by the Axis. There was also the fact his best friend had stabbed him in the back, his mother figure had also betrayed him, and his father figure passively allowed Germany to attack him.

"Slovenija!" a voice called causing the nation to stop. He hadn't been called by his country name in a year, let alone the Slavic way of saying it. He turned around and saw a man of about eighteen walking towards him. It was his older brother, Croatia. He was dressed sharply in a military uniform, his face was unusually clean shaven, and his normally messy brown hair was trimmed neatly. His usually warm, brown eyes were cold and distant. "Aleksander, where have you been? I've been worried sick."

"If you were so worried, Stjepan, then you would have looked harder. But I guess you were too busy keeping Bosnia hostage to notice my land has been split into four. Though I guess it is technically three since you are just one of Germany's puppets and all you have taken are small areas here and there." Slovenia said coldly. "Has your puppeteer sent you here to kidnap me?"

"Ne, Aleksander. I came to make sure you were alright." Croatia replied.

The younger nation let out a cold, mocking laugh. "'To make sure I am alright.' That is a good one, Brother."

"I am serious, Slovenija. Are you hurt?"

"What the Hell do you think?" Slovenia snapped. "My best friend, parental figures, and brother have stabbed me in the back, I am separated from my family, and my people are oppressed."

Croatia flinched at his little brother's words. Slovenia was shaking with anger. Tears of rage and sorrow stung his eyes. "I-I hate you, Croatia. I hate you for abandoning me; for helping the people that hurt me; for taking my land. I hate you so much. So leave. Leave me alone. I don't want to see you."

The older nation's face fell. "Aleksander, moj brat, I-"

"Didn't you hear me? I said leave! Go! Get out of my face!" Slovenia roared. But his brother didn't move. Slovenia started hitting Croatia's chest in rage. "I hate you. Can't you see that? Si izdalalec! Sovražim te. Samo pustite."

A look of regret and hurt appeared on Croatia's face. He walked away disheartened as Slovenia fell into the sand on his hands and knees and cried. He cried because he never thought he could feel such hatred towards Croatia. He cried because of the situation he was in. But most of all, he cried because he was all alone. It was 1942 and resentment between brothers began to brew.


Two weeks after his confrontation with Croatia, Slovenia was in a small Alpine village located in the Julian Alps. He had calmed down since and thought about what he told his older brother. He knew he hadn't thought through his words when he said them and he knew they were harsh, but he had every right to be upset with Croatia. He was allowing the Axis to use him as a puppet, which separated Slovenia from his other brothers. And he didn't keep Slovenia safe from occupation and trisection.

But Slovenia couldn't dwell on what he said. Someday the war would be over and then he and Croatia could fix their relationship. But until then, Slovenia had to help his people. Which is why he was in the Julian Alps despite the fact there was a downpour. He had to make sure the villages in the mountains were okay and getting supplies and food. He couldn't do much but he could make sure his citizens were taken care of.

People greeted him as if they could tell what he was. He talked to merchants and citizens, asking them if they needed anything. In return they told him news from Nazi occupied Austria and how the Germans were treating them. Slovenia was alarmed when they said people, namely the few of Jewish faith, began disappearing within the last year. He didn't like the sound of that. He knew for a fact that Germany's boss considered both Jews and Slavs inferior to the German people. He feared that they wouldn't be returning.

Other than that, everything was fine until trucks began rolling into the village. Slovenia's eyes widened in horror as he realized what they were full of. Nazi soldiers began pouring out of them as mothers pulled their children into their homes. The soldiers began pounding on the doors and screaming at people to gather their things and come outside. Slovenia saw Germany staring at a clipboard near one of the trucks, dressed in a green uniform with his blond hair slicked back neatly as usual.

"What the Hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded the Germanic nation.

"Hallo to you too Slowenien." Germany replied as men, women, and children were loaded into the trucks. The larger nation was indifferent to the screaming children and the people pleading for their lives. "If you know what's good for you, then you'll stay out of the way."

"Ne, I will not!" Slovenia yelled defiantly. "You have no right. Ustavite to!"

"Nein. I can not expect an ignorant, Slavic child like you to understand the beliefs of the Reich. Just be thankful that your position is keeping you from going too."

"Strahopetec!" the smaller nation cried in outrage before hitting Germany. "Ti prekleti strahopetec! They are innocent!"

The larger nation grabbed Slovenia's wrist right enough for it to bruise and threw him into the mud. Two soldiers came and dragged him away from Germany. They kicked him in the stomach. One turned to another soldier. "Nimm ihn!"

"Nein!" Germany barked. "Rühr ihn nicht an! Er ist nicht auf die liste."

"Aber-" one soldier began.

"Nein! Er bleibt." the larger nation growled.

"Jawohl." the soldiers said in unison before returning to loading people.

Germany approached Slovenia and looked down at him, his icy blue eyes cold and indifferent to the suffering around him. "You were lucky this time. Next time, you might not be and I might not be so generous. Stay out of the way from now on."

He walked away and climbed into one of the trucks. The soldiers finished and got back into the trucks before they pulled away. The remaining villagers hesitantly came out of their houses. Some were crying but all were outraged. They all wanted to know where their friends, relatives, and neighbors were taken or when they would see them again.

Slovenia began to cry. He cried because he knew that they were never returning. He cried because he knew more would be taken. But most of all, he cried because he was all alone. It was 1942 and the future was painted a dark hue.


Slovenia was back his home in Ljubljana a month later. He was still mourning the fact that Germany was taking his citizens in the north. He had heard whispers of rumors of what happened to people that Nazi soldiers took. He heard some were taken into black vans and gassed. Some were lined up in front of ditches and shot, their bodies falling on top of the people shot before them. Some were sent to work camps and forced to work to death. And some just disappeared in cattle cars. Any place they were taken, though, they were never heard from again. To think that was happening to his people just because they were Slavic was horrifying. Slovenia couldn't fathom how one man could hate several groups of people and convince others to help him exterminate those groups.

He grabbed a pen and started to write a letter to the Allies. He knew it was useless. They probably wouldn't receive it because the mail was most likely monitored. And if they did, they either wouldn't care to read it or they wouldn't believe him. But the way his hand was shaking, his penmanship might be too sloppy for them to read. He also had to think about writing in English because not many people spoke Slovene as a second language when their first was English, French, Russian, or Chinese.

He was about to sign his name when he heard a commotion outside. Confused, he put down the pen and went to the window. He let out a gasp of shock. There were Italian soldiers pulling people into the streets. Slovenia ran outside and found Italy. He grabbed the Romance nation's wrist.

"What are you doing?"

"Spiacente Slovenia, but my boss ordered me to. Don't worry though; they're just going on a vacation." Italy told him.

"Vacation?" Slovenia repeated, completely and utterly livid. "Only a fool would believe that. You promised you wouldn't."

"I know, but my boss is scary." the larger nation defended.

"Does our friendship mean nothing to you?" Slovenia demanded.

"No! No! It is important to me. But I can't disobey my boss." Italy cried in his defense.

"I always knew you were a coward. But I didn't think you were this spineless until now."

Slovenia walked away with tears in his eyes. He ran inside his house and locked the door before pulling out the pistol the Serbia had given him after World War I. He figured that if Italian soldiers were entering houses and pulling out residents, he needed to defend himself in case they came into his. Half an hour later, he went to the window and saw them leaving. He went to his desk and pushed everything onto the floor in anger. The lamp and paperweight shattered when they came into contact with the wooden floor. His jar of ink that he still had broke and ink spilled all over everything, ruining his letter to the Allies. But he didn't care. The letter wouldn't fix his friendship with Italy. It wouldn't rejoin him with his brothers. And it wouldn't make the Germans, Italians, and Hungarians leave his country.

He sat down in his chair and put his face in his arms before beginning to cry. He cried because his supposed "best friend" didn't care about their friendship enough to stand up to his boss. He cried because war turned friendships and familial ties sour. But most of all, he cried because he was all alone. It was 1942 and from the seeds of friendship, bitterness grew.


Slovenia could barely stand. Civil War had broken out between the Slovenian Partisans and the White Guard, an anti-Communist militia sponsored by Italy. On top of that, the Resistance had been rebelling against the Nazis, Fascists, and Hungarians, but only veterans of the Spanish Civil War were having any luck because of Guerrilla Warfare. It was painful. Slovenia had splitting headaches that were so bad that he couldn't even leave his bed some days.

He had been in such a pitiful state for a month now. It had all started a few weeks after Italy began deporting his citizens. The Communist Party was yelling about injustices by the Nazis and Fascists. The Partisans were fighting the Italians. The Nazis were deporting citizens in the north, primarily the Jewish population and Gypsies. The Italians were deporting thousands of people in Ljubljana.

Sometimes, it was so violent that Slovenia threw up blood. He ran fevers and would collapse. He had never wanted another nation more than he did then. He would settle for any nation at all, even Germany or Italy. Anyone to help him get better. He wondered how other nations like America or England handled their civil wars. He wondered if they were as miserable as he was. He began to cry. He cried because things were so violent. He cried because so many of his citizens were dying. But most of all, he cried because he was all alone. It was 1942 and chaos began to ensue.


The following September, Slovenia was in a village in the southeastern part of his country. He was still sore about Italy's betrayal and the civil war was still somewhat going on. But things were looking up. The Allies had invaded Italy and Italy's boss had fled Rome. A rare letter from Albania had said Britain and America had captured Italy and his older brother, Romano. Italian concentration camps were being liberated but Germany was taking some of the prisoners to keep them out of Allied hands. In Europe, Bulgaria, Hungary, and Germany were the only ones that hadn't surrendered yet. There was also still Japan causing chaos in the Pacific and Asia. As a plus though, he learned how to handle keeping the civil war from making him violently ill.

"Gospod!" a resistance boy cried as he ran up to Slovenia. "Gospod Zupan!"

"Mirna." he ordered before switching to English. "What is it?"

"Italy surrendered. They sign treaty with Allies." the boy said.

"And the Slovene lands under Italian control?"

"Germany take them." he replied. "Not controlled by Italy, controlled by Germany."

"Albania? Greece? The rest of Yugoslavia?" Slovenia demanded.

"Ne. Still Axis controlled." the boy answered.

"Hvala." the nation said before walking away.

He couldn't believe the Western Allies didn't have troops on the Balkan Peninsula. He would've thought they would have at least liberated Greece. Then again, they were probably leaving that to the Soviet Union while they worked on liberating France and the rest of Western Europe. But Slovenia had a bad feeling that something bad would happen if the USSR liberated Eastern Europe and forced both Hungary and Bulgaria into surrender.

But he repressed that feeling, figuring it was stemming from the whole Axis occupation. He wiped his eyes. He didn't realize he had been crying. And now he couldn't stop. He cried because the Allies were so close, but weren't coming. He cried because the prisoners Italy took would be moving from one Hell to another instead of coming home. But most of all, he cried because he was all alone. It was 1943 and still his nation was not free.


Three months later, Slovenia returned to Ljubljana for his third Christmas alone. Since the Italians had surrendered, the city had become a miserable sight. Flags of the Third Reich were displayed everywhere. German soldiers patrolled the streets night and day. Each day, more and more people vanished. Slovenia could tell that it would be the worst Christmas in his entire life.

He didn't bother with the decorations or Christmas dinner. It was just him and he didn't see the point in keeping up traditions in the middle of a war. He decided all he was going to do was go to Mass, something he'd been neglecting to do regularly since his land had been annexed. Besides, his citizens couldn't celebrate peacefully because they were afraid they'd be the next to go. Every knock on the door practically gave them a heart attack. And food and supplies were limited, so they couldn't have the tradition of a large dinner. So why should he celebrate? There was nothing to celebrate and if his citizens couldn't, then he wouldn't.

So, Slovenia sat at his desk writing a letter to his southern brothers, even Croatia. He made it a habit to write to them on holidays and their birthdays, but he doubted they were receiving his letters. It was okay though, because he didn't receive any from them. He didn't think it was because they weren't writing; it was because it was hard to send a letter anywhere since his nation had been trisected back in 1941. Anyway, he didn't care if they received his letters or not. Writing to them kept him sane. It allowed him to pretend they were alright and that one day, he'd receive a response from them.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Slovenia looked up at it in fear. He figured it was the Gestapo, coming to take him away; that the Allies were advancing and Germany was desperate to keep Slovenia in his possession. Slovenia hesitantly approached the door before sighing. It was amazing he lasted this long without being arrested. But he figured it would happen sooner or later.

He closed his eyes and opened the door. To his surprise, it wasn't the Gestapo. It was Austria and Hungary, the two people he considered his parents. Hungary's pink flower in her brown hair was wilting from the cold and Austria's stubborn piece of his brown hair that always seemed to defy gravity was laying down due to being wet with melting snow. "Mati? Oče? What are you doing here?"

"We came to spend Christmas with you, if you'll let us. War or not, we still consider you our son." Hungary explained.

"I-I'm still your son? Even if you are sided with Germany?" he asked sheepishly.

"Of course. Hungary and I raised you and I'll admit I have grown fond of both you and Croatia." Austria replied as if it were obvious his violet eyes not betraying his thoughts or emotions. "I can play Christmas carols on the piano and we can sing them in three different languages just like we used to. You loved it when we did that."

Slovenia considered turning them away after all they had done, but he couldn't. They had come all the way from Vienna and Budapest to Ljubljana just to spend Christmas with him. And admittedly, he was happy to see them. So instead of turning them away, he threw his arms around them. "I missed you both! I'm sorry Oče, but I don't have a piano. But you both can stay. I'll admit, I don't even have a tree or food for Christmas dinner."

Hungary put a hand to his cheek affectionately, her green eyes full of joy. "That's alright, Aleksander. We'll manage something. And we can still sing without the piano. We can have your father play it the next Christmas we spend together."

"Actually Mati, I'm not really in a singing mood. I'd be happy just spending time with you and Oče."

Hungary frowned and pursed her lips. "Are you alright Aleksander?"

"Forgetting the fact my nation is occupied by the Axis, da I'm fine." he assured her. She looked like she wasn't buying it but sighed in defeat.

"Alright, we'll just catch up. The important thing is that we're here together."

Slovenia let Austria and Hungary into his house. Hungary studied the living room that doubled as an office. He mentally cringed. He hadn't dusted or swept in ages nor had he washed the windows. In fact, he boarded up the windows to make look abandoned. He didn't see the point in cleaning anyway. For all he knew, Germany was going to have the Gestapo arrest him as soon as his parental figures left. There were ink stains on the floor from when he knocked everything off the desk and he was pretty sure he had mice somewhere.

"Aleksander," Hungary said in an authoritative, yet worried tone, "give me the gun Serbia gave you."

"Elizaveta," Austria said, "why on Earth would you want that?" He hesitated. "Er braucht es sich zu verteidigen wenn sie kommen."

"Igen, I know." Hungary said softly. "But that's suicide and I will not have him shoot himself with it either. And Serbia would agree with me." She turned to Slovenia and held out her hand. "The gun, now."

He knew it was useless to argue. He opened his desk drawer, took it out, and handed it to Hungary. She laid it aside and pulled him into a hug. "Szeretlek, Szlovénia."

"Ljubim te, Madžarska." he replied. "If you see Croatia, can you tell him I'm sorry and I love him?"

"Igen, I will." she assured him. "I won't ask why you won't tell him yourself."

And so he kept quiet about the fight, even though Croatia was probably going to tell her. He didn't tell her he hated himself for pushing his brother away like he did. He didn't tell and she didn't ask.

Later, Hungary managed to put something together for Christmas dinner. Austria sang Christmas carols in German and Hungary joined in with Hungarian while Slovenia hummed along. When it came time for them to leave, he hugged them both and gave Hungary a kiss on the cheek. He went to the window and waved goodbye from between the boards. When they were out of sight, he watched the snow fall for awhile before drawing the curtains.

He went to his desk and sat down. He had a bad feeling that was going to be their last Christmas together for a long time. He cursed himself for not singing with them in Slovene or providing a better meal or putting up decorations. He wished he hadn't drove Croatia away so he would've been there and they could have been a complete family. Eventually Slovenia began to cry. He cried because his brother wasn't with them. He cried because one could not truly celebrate a holiday in a war. But most of all, he cried because he was all alone. It was 1943 and not even Christmas had any glee.


The following June, Slovenia was finally cleaning his home. Things were getting better. The Allies were working on liberating France. The USSR was getting closer to liberating more of Eastern Europe. So he was finally motivated to clean. Serbia would have a fit if he walked in and saw Slovenia's house was a mess. The Balkan dared to get his hopes up that he would be seeing his brothers again.

A knock at the door caused him to stop cleaning. He glanced at it curiously but figured the wind blew something against it. He returned to cleaning. Maybe when the war was finally over, he'd go to Lake Bled with his brothers and catch up. There was another knock at the door, this time more forceful. He glanced through the boards and backed up fearfully. He quietly sat down his broom and went to his bedroom as fast as he dared. He carefully crawled under the bed, his twelve year old body allowing him to do so.

The pounding on the door was more forceful. "Mach auf!"

There was the sound of the door being kicked off its hinges. A German soldier barked orders to find him and bring him out. Slovenia had been expecting this day, but he wasn't really prepared and it didn't stop him from being afraid. Suddenly, strong hands grabbed his ankles and pulled him out from under the bed. They grabbed him by the hair and pulled him out on to the street. He was shoved into the back of a metal truck and the doors were slammed shut. Immediately his nostrils were hit with a horrible stench that made him gag. Luckily, he had skipped breakfast otherwise he would have thrown up.

The truck began moving. Slovenia shook with fear. He was going God knows where and wouldn't be returning to Ljubljana for God knows how long. He began to cry. He cried because he was scared. He cried because now his citizens were completely on their own. But most of all, he cried because he was all alone. It was 1944 and the Gestapo broke down his door.


Nine months. That's how long it took for Slovenia to return to his country. He cried in happiness when he crossed the Hungarian border. Germany had him, Czech, and Poland sent to Auschwitz in order to keep them out of Allied hands. Czech was so devastated to be separated from her husband that Slovenia didn't have the heart to tell her off for marrying her twin brother and couldn't point out that they were fighting with each other. Later, Czech was separated from him and Poland and sent to the women's camp.

During his stay, Slovenia had lost a lot of weight to the point where he was practically a skeleton. He had seen and heard so many horrible things. He and Poland were extremely lucky. Being nations, they were kept from being gassed or shot. But they were still beat, starved, and forced to work. At least they knew German, so they understood orders that were constantly barked at them. The two of them stuck together as much as they could and Czech somehow sent notes from the women's camp to them, an offense punishable by death of she was caught (not that she could die). Poland, being older, tried to keep Slovenia as safe as he could and the younger Slav was grateful for his cousin.

When Russia liberated the camp, Slovenia hugged his cousin and cried in relief to see another nation. The older Slav allowed him do so and comforted him. He promised that he would be liberating Yugoslavia soon. Russia even made sure his three cousins found safe transport home, despite the fact he and Poland hated each other.

Now Slovenia was back and Ljubljana, sitting on the dusty floor of his home. Somebody had fixed the door and cleaned up, probably Hungary. Slovenia didn't dare sit on the furniture though. As far as he was concerned, furniture was a luxury that he didn't deserve.

There was a knock at the door, causing him to jump. He was scared it was the Gestapo again. The door knob jiggled and he closed his eyes, expecting someone to kick it open. The door flew open and a pair of boots ran across the hardwood floor. A pair of arms wrapped around his neck. Slovenia dared to open his eyes and saw it was Croatia.

"Slovenija! Aleksander!" he sobbed. "I was so scared I was going to lose you and never get to apologize and tell you how much I love you."

Croatia was outright bawling and rocking Slovenia back and forth. Slovenia slowly wrapped his arms around his older brother and buried his face into Croatia's shoulder.

"Ljubim te, Hrvaška. Ljubim te." he whispered as he cried. "Žal mi je. Žal mi je. Oprosti mi, brat. Ljubim te, Stjepan."

Slovenia cried. He cried because of what he had been through. He cried because he missed his brother. But most of all, he cried because he wasn't all alone anymore. It was 1945 and he found the will to survive.


Two months later, Slovenia stood on the streets of Ljubljana celebrating. The war was over and he was liberated. His southern brothers had come through with the help of a nation named New Zealand. Every one of the nations that made up Yugoslavia cried, even Serbia who was tough as nails. The Serb, a man of nineteen, swore to kill Germany for what he did to Slovenia, his green eyes full of tears and rage. Montenegro, a man of the same age, ruffled Serbia's black hair and told him he was full of shit, his blue eyes widened in laughter. Serbia pulled Montenegro's red hair and told him not to touch him again. Fourteen year old Bosnia began cursing at them both until they stopped fighting, but he wasn't really angry because his sea green eyes were full of happiness to be reunited. Montenegro ruffled his dirty blond hair and told him he missed Bosnia's beautiful language. And Macedonia, a man the same age as Croatia, hugged Slovenia and cried, his light blue eyes filled with joy Slovenia was okay and sorrow at what Germany did to him. Serbia yanked Macedonia's light brown hair and ordered him to stop smothering their youngest brother.

Slovenia walked up to New Zealand and rubbed his prisoner number sheepishly. Nothing he could say would show the other country how grateful he was. And he was afraid he'd blurt out what was on his mind and insult New Zealand by pointing out the way Pacific country's brown hair was styled made him look like a sheep. He gulped nervously, pushing down the childish thoughts so the other country didn't think he was rude. "Thank you, New Zealand. Thank you for reuniting me with my big brothers."

New Zealand ruffled his hair affectionately and smiled warmly, causing his green eyes to light up. "No problem, Slovenia. You should get back to your brothers before Serbia freaks out."

Slovenia smiled at him before rejoining his brothers. Serbia put an arm around him. "What do you want to do Aleksander? Tell me and we will all do it as brothers."

"Can we go to Lake Bled, Viktor?" he asked.

"If it's okay with the others." Serbia replied.

"I also want to go see Mati and Oče so they know I'm okay."

Slovenia flinched, expecting Serbia to yell since he hated that Slovenia referred to Austria and Hungary as his parents. Instead, Serbia got down to his level, his normally hard green eyes were soft with affection. "Alright Aleksander, we'll all go see Austria and Hungary. I'm sure they're worried about you."

Slovenia smiled and hugged his oldest brother. "Hvala Srbija! Hvala!"

"No problem Slovenia." he replied with a smile as he returned the hug. "Hey Marko." Bosnia turned towards Serbia. "Is it alright if we go see Austria and Hungary?"

"Da." Bosnia replied noticing how eager his younger brother looked. "If that's what Slovenija wants." He turned to Macedonia. "Zoran, we're all taking a trip to Austria and Hungary's."

"Huh? Okay." Macedonia replied before turning to Montenegro. "Petar, we're going to see Austria and Hungary. Tell Stjepan."

"Alright." Montenegro said with a smile before leaving to find Croatia.

The celebrations continued throughout the night. Slovenia's brothers stayed with him and doted over him. Sometime later, Austria and Hungary showed up. They both hugged him and cried, even though Austria tried to brush it off as something got into his eye before caving and admitting that he was crying because he was happy Slovenia was alright. Hungary pulled Serbia off to the side and talked to him about something serious. Whatever it was caused Serbia to grow worried. The Serb pulled Slovenia off to the side.

"Aleksander, you're going to stay with me in Belgrade for awhile."

"Why?" Slovenia asked.

"Because of something your…," Serbia started before gulping and continuing, "mother told me. Don't be mad at her. She loves you and she's worried. And after what you've been through, I think you need to stay with someone. And I- Slovenia, don't cry."

Slovenia brought his hand to his cheek and found that he was in fact crying. But he wasn't sad. Now that he started he couldn't stop crying tears of absolute joy and relief. He cried because his people were free. He cried because the war in Europe was over. But most of all, he cried because he wasn't alone. He was surrounded by family who were going to take care of him. It was 1945 and he was happy to be alive.


So, I've had this written for a while. This is the longest one-shot I've written. Slovenia was the only modern day European country to be trisected during World War II. It was Axis occupied from April 1941 to May 1945. It was liberated by Yugoslav and New Zealand forces. Both Hitler and Mussolini considered Slavs inferior and had Slovenes arrested and sent to concentration camps along with other groups of Slavic people. The conditions of Italian Concentration Camps were just as bad as Nazi ones, only there wasn't the mass extermination. Mussolini literally did say that the people arrested were "going on vacation." When Italy surrendered, Germany took the Italian prisoners that were Jewish and had them place in Nazi concentration camps. Hitler had plans for ethnic cleansing in Yugoslavia. Croatia and Slovakia were the only Slavic nations to not have their non-Jewish citizens arrested because both Slovakia and Croatia were puppet states of the Axis, which is how both nations avoided being charged with war crimes. Italy got away with their war crimes because of the fear that Italy would end up like Germany if they were punished (split in two, one side Communist.) Italy's war crimes were erased from the history books in most of the western world. Seriously, in 10th grade history when we went over World War II, Italy was mentioned as being part of the Axis and how they were the first of the major Axis to surrender. No mention of Italian Concentration Camps or anything like that.

And the part about Slovenes in the Spanish Civil War is completely true, believe it or not. I had a great-great uncle from Slovenia and he flew planes in the Spanish Civil War. I believe he actually died in it because my grandmother said he died in 1939, which was the end of the Spanish Civil War. People from all countries fought in it, like Ernest Hemingway, the American author. Some of Hemingway's novels, I believe, were inspired by his service. It was kind of a free-for-all where countries chose once side just to join a war.

I apologize for any historical or language errors. I don't speak German or Slovene (though I'd love to learn Slovene). I tried to stay historically accurate, but Wikipedia is my only source. I don't own Hetalia. Slovenia, Croatia, Serbia, Montenegro, Macedonia, and Bosnia are my OC's. Thank you for reading!

Translations:

"Poslovite" is Slovene for "Goodbye."

"moj brat" is Croatian for "my brother."

"Si izdalalec! Sovražim te. Samo pustite" is Slovene for "You traitor! I hate you. Just leave."

"Ustavite to!" is Slovene for "Stop it!"

"Strahopetec! Ti prekleti strahopetec!" is Slovene for "Coward! You fucking coward!"

"Nimm ihn!" is German for "Take him!"

"Rühr ihn nicht an! Er ist nicht auf die liste." is German for "Don't touch him! He's not on the list."

"Er bleibt" is German for "He stays."

"Jawohl." is German for "Yes sir."

"Spiacente." is Italian for "Sorry."

"Gospod" is Slovene for "Mister."

"Mirna" is Slovene for "Quiet."

"Hvala" is Slovene for "Thank you."

"Mati? Oče?" is Slovene for "Mother? Father?" Slovenia refers to Austria and Hungary as his parents because they raised him and it's how he shows them respect.

"Er braucht es sich zu verteidigen wenn sie kommen." is German for "He needs it to defend himself when they come."

"Szeretlek, Szlovénia" is Hungarian for "I love you, Slovenia."

"Ljubim te, Madžarska." is Slovene for "I love you, Hungary."

"Mach auf!" is German for "Open up!"

"Ljubim te, Hrvaška. Ljubim te. Žal mi je. Žal mi je. Oprosti mi, brat. Ljubim te, Stjepan." is Slovene for "I love you, Croatia. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Forgive me, brother. I love you, Stjepan."