Countryhumans One shots! (cause shipping is cute)

Cracks and Rain (Bracolo)

Warning: A lot of Colombian history at the beginning... Which will be probably preeeeeeeeeetty boring to you XP... Also... This is just angsty...

Am I making a OneShot of this ship again? Yes... Will people like it? Probably not... But I had to do it so I don't forget about it... TvT sorry. (Just ignore it if you don't want to read it)

*Cries in spanish*
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Colombia knew how cracks looked like.

He had knew from the very moment his father, the Spanish Empire, had forced him and his siblings to start working. He remembered the nightmares, the screaming of natives, the blood of slaves, his heart throbbing as they were killed, the pain on his wrists as the invisible chains pulled him, forcing him to shut up whenever he questioned the white flagged country about the wounds.

He had believed that his first Independence would heal the lines that covered his arms, but then he was reconquered. The years after that had been pure hell, a reign of terror whose only culprit was his own idiocy, his own weakness... He had lost hope until Venezuela and Gran Colombia had made him believe again, joining Ecuador and Panamá in their definitive Independence.

The cracks finally had started disappearing.

Then he had seen the cracks take possession of Gran as he and his brothers started distancing, making him weaker and weaker as the days passed. One day he just dissolved, the bed filling with dust as he exhaled his last breath in front of him. After that, he changed his name on Gran's honor, wishing to hold onto his memory, trying to keep him alive for a little bit longer.

And then everything went down.

After thirteen civil wars, Panama's separation, a whole period of pure violence and a completely new war silently going on (with just a few years to heal), he had normalized the awful sight of cracks filling his body, the solid and sore edges of the broken skin, the bloody bandages and the restless nights.

He had normalized the vision, the skin of all of his brothers and sisters showing the same problem. Like if it was just another characteristic of being latinoamerican.

The causes were all the colors of the rainbow. Corruption, violence, massacres, genocides, hunger, injustice, dictatorships... And the list went on. From Mexico in the north, going through all Center America, passing Venezuela, extending to the islands and to Chile, they were all in the same condition. Some had less, some had more, some were healing and some falling apart, but everyone knew to ignore the cracks when a new one appeared.

Sometimes, when he acknowledged them, he wondered if they were a curse from his father, a last ' f*ck you' towards them before dying.

He sighed.

The point is, he was used to it.

Since the very moment he had met Brazil he knew he had those damn cracks too and when he had finally started dating him he had finally see them.

He had learned to love them, kiss them softly when they were making love and he had learned everyone of them, like a painful map he was used to trace with his fingers, the never closing scars that proved how strong his boyfriend really was.

Every country had their own way of dealing with the open wounds.

Some of them tried to fight back, teeth showing and cries of battle as they made everything in their power to survive. Others, like him, were too divided to do anything, choosing to ignore the existence of the marks, trying to live as if they didn't exist. 'Fake it till you make it' America would say.