#greport

The young man's sandals had blistered and scabbed his feet. He was hobbling through the wilderness alive because of sheer will and a sense of direction alone, he figured. That and he believed quite strongly despite being a heathen in the eyes of the Ottoman empire he could escape Him. The nomad that wandered the Egyptian dessert now because of a false tip, his Holy robes soaked in the blood of his people and those before him.

Finally something gave in his soul. Exhaustion he wanted to believe...not surrender. He fell hitting the ground but barely felt a thing. He wasn't sure how long he lay there either, dehydrated. Long enough to feel his consciousness slip when the sun was setting, wondering what kind of animal would benefit from his weakness. He had no weapon but the dagger that hung by a threadbare string tied through a hole in his ratty toga. His eyes drooped and darkness consumed him, his fingers dragging through dirt engulfing the soil below in a loose fist.

That was why it was odd to awaken in the arms of a stranger. As his vision blurred and water ran down past his cracked lips he swallowed and gasped, coughing with several convulsions before the face came to clear. A fresh scar marred the handsome rugged beauty of his saviours face - the only clear indication to the Greek he wasn't some apparition brought on by sunstroke. His hand lifted and was caught by a firmer one that squeezed it. His eyes widened. The Demi God was real...and his voice was as moving and divine as he always imagined a heavenly being of Mount Olympus to have. 

"Can you hear me?" he asked Heracles again. The third time he squeezed his hand. He sighed in relief. "Good. He's alive." Greece had not noticed another man practically identical to the one that held him with his arms crossed, lurking in shadow protectively. His dress was much more interesting... and as more came into focus he saw the weapon. A long...axe it looked like. In the possession of the other warrior God like a spawn of Ares himself. He stiffened and the man holding him barked something to the other in a language he did not understand save for a few scant words that strayed rooted in his own language.

"Leave Antonio. You're only scaring him," Diogo barked. "Don't give me orders brother," the dark haired Spaniard replied but adhered to the glare that followed, ducking out of the tent for the time being. 

Heracles flexed his toes, finding feeling in them again and only then noticed he'd been bandaged and changed. He looked back at the nation curiously, his eyes wavering over his face. Getting a better look at him he was alright, wasn't he? The more he looked into the warm colours that seem to circulate in and behind his pupils the more he was comforted. Security and comfort was something he hadn't been graced with since the untimely death of his Mother just years ago that seemed like hours still whenever he gave her thought. 

"I'm sorry for him," Portugal apologized setting the Greek man back down on the makeshift cot as he went to wet a cloth for his ward's forehead. "He doesn't trust many strangers." He took a rag and dunked it in a pale of fresh river water, watching Heracles blank face venture round his surroundings with the curiosity of a newborn kitten. He wondered...

"You don't even understand a word I'm saying, do you?" Diogo said kneeling back by his side. Placing the cloth underneath his bangs his wrist was caught. He watched as the stranger shook his head slowly and took Portugal's hand covering it with both of his. His expression reflected concentration as he stumbled over inflections and words that surprisingly meant something to the Portuguese male.

"I understand," Heracles managed to piece together. "Very little." For the first time since he'd woke he smiled, an action that caused Diogo to react, his stomach stirring unusually. His hand slid through both of Greece's and he rose. "Rest," he told him. Miraculously the fallen warrior's eyes closed shut and he exited the tent to find his brother.

Heracles strength returned the next week and with it he was able to watch these people. His fascination with the people of the village was obvious to Diogo. He was responsible for him and anything he did here. He understood that and as his brother wished for him to follow him around he did. Although the opposite seemed to happen quite a lot. Where ever he went he'd learnt Heracles was never far behind and he seemed to be picking up the language so they could talk (but it was quite ironic how the Greek could 'forget' whenever he told him to stay back at their camp). Truth be told though he didn't particularly mind the added companionship. His brother was always off protecting his new charge, an orphaned kid named Lovino with a bad attitude. So bad that every conversation with the brat always left a sour after taste in his mouth. And Heracles, oddly enough, seemed to fit here. When he wasn't working in the fields he was down at the docks showing local fishermen how to tie better knots in their nets or helping fishwives dismember and clean whatever their husbands brought home. He was a natural with humans where Diogo found he wasn't. He had never been able to just walk up to someone and start a conversation. Ah well.

"Diogo!" Heracles called out waving to him. "Look! I caught this one with my bare hands!" He chuckled shaking his head. "C'mon man we've got to be heading back."

The night that followed was cooler and had him uncovering the old woven blankets Portugal and his brother had shared before as children by campfire, draping it round his and Greece's shoulders. "You warm enough?" he asked gruffly, to which the other nation nodded and offered him the other half of his fish. "I'll pass thanks." "Suit yourself," Greece replied. "Uh...Diogo?" "Hm," Portugal hummed poking one of the logs back into place outside their tent. "I can't stay here." 

"I know you can't. My brother wouldn't let you either."

Greece laughed softly beside him hugging his knees and resting his chin on top of them. "That's not to say I don't want to. Just that I can't."

Portugal's eyebrows rose but his face turned away from the fire silently contemplating the repercussions of saying something he couldn't take back.

"My brother doesn't speak for me. I'd let you stay if you wanted to."

"That'd be nice." Heracles sighed contentedly. "More nights like this. I like it here. It reminds me...an awful lot of how my home used to be."

Diogo's mouth turned down. That was right. The man he knew now to be the nation of Greece had lost to...

"Did he do that to you?" he asked quietly running a gentle hand along the Greek's side where beneath his clothing laid a terrible long scar that cut around his back and off to his hip like the one that ran across and over his eye. Greece's jaw tightened along with his arms gripping his legs. "It doesn't hurt any more. You helped that." Portugal's head fell to lean against his shoulder.

"Grécia..."

Heracles embraced him, dragging the blanket around the two of them more and buried his face in his hair breathing in and commit to memory Diogo's warmth. Diogo cracked another rare smile that was soon there after lost in a tempestuous crash of passion as his face turned up to capture his Greek's lips as the stir in his stomach worsened anxiously knotting. This fallen hero of war had been dropped in his lap by the Fates and he was to just let him go back to his death? Never, his soul raged. If he had to carve all of himself and his selfish greed into Greece to make him stay he would. He deserved him and wanted him more than for power like the Ottoman conqueror. Heracles could have been the actual son of Zeus, for all he knew of him and his light, his courage, his grace all that led to Diogo's next actions. He was strong and kind and would likely persevere through any hardship but at what loss? He did not want him to take the risk, did not want him to go back to the carnivorous monsters that would devour him and take all that he could give and left of himself unprotected. 

As their bodies entwined and drifted together in perfect synch Greece's whine's became more apparent even as he tried to muffle his cries hiding himself in the crook of Portugal's neck. Exclamations of pure happiness, as if passion was something he'd never experienced in full to this day.  The mark Portugal carves on him with his fingertips is scorching.

I'm afraid I'll lose myself and go crazy. Please. Please don't. Gods, don't make me...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lips kiss the dancing light-flames off his back, streaks cast by the fire. Heracles has never been more spent and made raw by the softness of any other mouth. He flinches finding enough strength left in him to smile as Portugal rests against him, his exhalations slowing but remain harsh. His warm breath tickles the skin on the back of his neck now.

"Let me rise," he murmurs caught chuckling towards the end of his plea as Diogo's arms tighten. "No," he hums, almost growling. "If you want to move move." Greece's stillness rises a smirk and quiet laugh from him.

"Didn't think so."

"Close your eyes," Heracles replies doing the same. "Just rest with me."

Portugal obliges him, yawning and gives into the Greek's request. 

When he woke, he was gone.

Like the immortal beings in his tales, Heracles vanished and once again, the seasons began to change. Days became weeks. Weeks, months and months years.

Two centuries give or take and as was common over time his memories began to change and later fade. Where had he heard about the fight? Diogo rarely took any interest towards any others business but apparently the rebellion was something to witness. His brother had visited Greece, newly independent and he said if ever there was a warrior it was him. He described him as tall, a wild mass of hair and a man whose wisdom and mystery was written across his face in the form of maturity lines, damage from the sun and faded scars from battle. Nothing like the once-memory that teemed in the back of his mind subconsciously of a bright, barely tarnished wide eyed innocent. Antonio liked to talk about other countries a lot, didn't he? He sighed and put up with it. Many countries, himself and his brother included were starting to change...it was only natural some connections wouldn't be made and fleeting ghosts of his past forgotten. 

Then again, maybe deep down he was aware of the fact he'd always wanted to forget these things.

"This meeting is finished," Germany grumbled shuffling his papers. Present day, the members of the EU were being let out and Portugal had decided to skip out on the last bit of it. He was here to pick up his brother. He'd be damned if he caught the Spaniard getting out of Netherlands car again.

He pushed out of the back door, grunting as it was heavier than he'd anticipated and gave it a good shove. He heard another soft annoyed exclamation and realized the door had swung into someone sitting to the side of it. "Sorry," he said quickly. The back of the other country's head was dark brown and his hair was quite messy, given his clean kept but loose attire.

Greece looked over his shoulder up at Portugal, pushing his reading glasses back up and closed the folder in his lap. "It's fine."

Silently Diogo removed a lighter and pack of cigs. He paused. "You don't mind, do you?"

"No."

A small fond smile formed on Greece's face. "I've never seen you smoke."

"I've never seen you with glasses," the Iberian retorted irely sitting down beside him. "I don't believe we've had much time to talk at length. I'll introduce myself again."

Greece shook his hand. "No need. I know who you are."

Diogo grinned casually. "Didn't know I was so popular at the country club."

Heracles gave a facial shrug appearing blasé. "Didn't know I was included in such a group given my poor status." Hedging Greece turned his attention back to the notebook Portugal noticed him holding for the first time, unable to read the complex symbols...save for a few he thought he knew from somewhere...

"What is that?"

"That?" 

Portugal pointed to the letters. He was taken aback when Greece laughed, removing his glasses and hooked them over his shirt's breast-pocket. "That's my human name. The one my mother gave me. Ηρακλής. Like the son of Zeus."

"Oh."

"Want to see how yours is written?"

Portugal decided to bite. "Sure."

διoζo, he wrote and showed the country. "Your name is not a common one of my country so I write all the letters out individually. See?"

"Mm," Portugal hummed. 

Greece paused before shutting the book and standing. "I just thought on the time, I'd best be heading home or I won't get much done and my cats will be hungry. Need a hand up?"

Diogo smiled and accepted gladly when he felt a thump pass through him as he rose, gripping the nations hand just for a moment in what seemed like deja vu...nostalgia....

When he looked up he was surprised to see Greece's gaze had turned practically mirthful, as if laughing over something he didn't understand and that was infuriating. He took his time letting go, watching the nation measure him up before his smug expression was carefree again.

"Take care," Heracles said walking away from him. 

That back...

"Grécia."

The nation stopped but didn't look back.

Diogo strode over and stood behind, taking the time to sift through the words that always stopped coming around him.

His head fell to rest between the Greek's shoulder blades and one of his hands gripped the nations shirt. 

"You're going to have to let someone catch you eventually."

He could picture the Mediterranean's smile by the light tone of his voice. Like a summer breeze.

"What then?" Greece answered. "Will you boast of your victory? That's what you want?"

"Nah, I want to go fishing and see what I get from the Aegean Sea."

Heracles slipped out of his arms like water, laughing as he walked backwards smiling at him. "You'll need some very good bait."

Diogo set a hand on his hip and smirked. "I've got all I need for this evasive exotic fish."

Greece felt his lips give an involuntary tug. "...."

He was right. He couldn't resist.

"I'm not all that."

Diogo started walking after him. "Não. You're a catch worth the chase."

He spun round and round in a frenzied dance, laughing so hard the country's sides ached as he was wacked on the back by other Greeks patting him. They all kept congratulating him, saying he'd done a good job and he was happy to see the fire and joy back in all their faces. For years this had been a celebration of family and as he surveyed the streets both ways he couldn't find anything out of place - no one was alone save for him. This was good. This was very good. They deserved this, after the hard week they'd had.

He adjusted his toga as a group of children in masks chased a cat with a big fish in it's mouth, all brushing past him in their pursuit. One boy stopped to look up at him and offered up a white field flower he'd picked to the nation, smiling so widely he noticed he was missing two front teeth. He chuckled ruffling his hair and nudged him. "You're going to lose your friends," he said accepting the gift, "thank you." 

He weaved through people, following the pure sound of several church bells ringing from the centre of the small island village, In the square couples and children were dancing here too and elders sat clapping. Though they were no longer as spry as they once were they still joined in the merriment of the youth and reflection dawned on Greece's face. 

He looked up at the church. Unlike the ones in his capital these were well kept and cared for. He could touch the clay stones of the wall and lean up against it smiling with emotion. Sighing he took one last wistful look at the crowd before letting himself inside and closing the doors.

Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, bathing the white chapel in colourful light. He walked up to the alter, taking a knee and folded his hands. He always felt at home here. There was a...familiar serenity. One he could connect with. It was silent save for the noise from the festival taking place outside but it was like he was in another world...and here he could relax.

"Aren't you going back?"

His head came up. He had not heard the other nation come in. He rose. Diogo was resting against  the back wooden entrance doors with his arms crossed seeming pensive.

"I might." Heracles started walking towards Portugal. "Are you staying?"

"That was the idea," he hummed. Greece stopped in front of him, silent save for prying eyes. Those damn bewitching eyes of his. Portugal took the wild flower Greece still clasped and tucked it behind the nations ear. Greece laid a hand on his beating heart and both stilled. The place Heracles touched felt warmer than the rest of his body. Diogo covered his hand with his, to keep it there. He started to lean in when Greece's other hand came up to touch his mouth. "We're in a church..." he trailed off. Portugal glanced up past Greece to the alter then back before his lips stretched into a small smile. "Before God."

Greece's lips parted in wonderment, letting the fingers that touched Portugal's lips slip down. He met him halfway with a chaste kiss. One that was just...tender and full of kindness. The warmth spread more through his chest as he thought and died fading when both men drew back to smile at each other. 

"Come and dance with me," Greece said pushing open the doors. "I don't want to dance-" Portugal started to argue but the hearty roar of the island people covered it and he was swept along with the tide. It was nothing like Portugal could ever say he had experienced. People hugged him and touched him, fed him and sang with him and Greece...

Grécia.

He was teaching him to embrace all of it, to connect with people and heal. He kept thinking he couldn't do this and yet he was giving in to the urging of others and he ended up learning all of their traditions. 

And he saw. He saw how he loved them and how much the people loved him. Despite how bad things had gotten he saw they still had him kiss the foreheads of their new infants, had him try their wine and bread, shared with him stories of their work days and he felt as if he'd seen a side of Heracles many didn't get to. How much this man cared for others and it made him sober and humble. 

He reached for Greece and caught him, startling the nation and dragging his attention away from a cat that had come to visit weaving around the nations ankles. Diogo's smile grew as he embraced the confused country. He was on to him and if Greece wasn't careful he'd end up like all the others, caring to much about him when he really wasn't worth the trouble. It was odd though. The more he thought about that...