Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Prussia was unusually withdrawn during dinner, Germany thought. Again.

Once he could overlook it, maybe twice. When several days passed and Prussia just glared at his chipped plate and drank too many beers in gloomy silence, not even Germany could keep pretending that everything was all right. He still didn't want to pry too much. Germany had long since realized that Prussia dealt best with his own problems alone and did not appreciate a worried little brother.

Instead, he fried pork chops and made a mountain of mashed potatoes. It was one of Prussia's favourites, the dish that had him eating with even less decorum and more enthusiasm than usual. Except today, apparantly, when he seemed more interested in pushing the meat around instead of tasting it.

An old worry nagged at him, though he struggled to brush it away. It had proven unfounded every time so far after all.

Germany had been unnerved when, despite his best efforts, he could not get Prussia to regain all the weight he'd lost during their split. What his memories told him, of a brother almost as heavy and tall as himself, solid and stocky, had changed in their years apart. Now, Prussia was noticeably slighter than himself, or at least Germany noticed; he couldn't claim that he'd heard other nations remark on it.

Despite his worry, and even after a dozen books on the topic of eating disorders, he had never seen Prussia show any symptoms that he suffered from something.

This was, Germany had finally come to understand, how his brother was nowadays. Just a bit less than the images in his memory. His eyes were no longer the colour of fresh blood, but instead clear as water running water. His jeering was often too bitter and the laughter, while loud as always, lacked the deep confidence Germany remembered from his youth.

"How's your day been, then?" Germany asked once he had finished his own meal. They tended to eat in silence; both brothers too busy shoving potatoes into their mouths to talk much.

Prussia traced the green-chequered pattern of the tablecloth, poking at a loose thread as if itwere the most fascinating thing he'd seen lately. "Same old, same old. Hungary called. And I took the little one to the vet for her check-up."

He was referring to their dear Blackie. The dog's years were finally catching up with her, slowly but surely.

"Is she alright?"

When Prussia nodded, his hands could relax around the cutlery again. Every time Germany had to say farewell to a pet, he would swear that this was the last time. But then, he'd see another pair of dark eyes that needed someone; needed him. He'd remember how lonely the house had felt lately and...

There was probably a reason that he’s had seven dogs for a while after the war besides the obvious one; nobody else had time to care for the four strays.

"Don't worry, West." Prussia reached over the table to pat him awkwardly on the shoulder. "She'll stay with you a while yet."

A shadow seemed to move over Prussia's face then, but he calmly gathered his plate and put it in the sink, even remembering to scrape off the leftovers and rinse it. Germany would have been able to enjoy this little show of responsibility a great deal more if not for the nagging suspicion that it was only an effect of whatever melancholy had attached itself to Prussia.

He wondered if he should prod him a little more for information, but Germany dreaded having personal discussions with Prussia. They tended to lead into the uncomfortable land of the past or, even worse, the future.

So he remained silent. Prussia dried his hands and left. For a while after, Germany just sat there, watching the arms of the cuckoo clock move and playing with his old necklace. Remembering.

* * *

Germany didn't know what woke him a few nights later. Not the dogs, for they were all dreaming happy canine dreams. Not Veneziano's warm body sliding into bed with him. Although he was barely disturbed by that at all these days. His body got used to the intrusion years ago and now? He almost welcomed it.

He lay awake for a moment, but couldn't hear any suspicious noises even when he strained his ears. Not that any regular thief could break into Germany's house. And what nation would dare to secretly invade him?

But there was still that sense of something off, a scent of wrongness in the night air. It almost reminded him of the Wall.

God, how he hated that thing, a big wall of raw concrete straight through his home, it cut off half his garden and stole both his office and the second guestroom. And his...

The dogs made inquiring sounds when he rose, but he hushed them easily enough. They subsided and did not try to follow when he snuck down the hall.

Why was he thinking of that damned Wall again? It had been gone for several years already. Yet now, when the memory was disturbed it was most difficult to lay it to rest again, feeling like a raw thing in his mind which hadn't scabbed over with enough years yet.

The flickering light of the TV surprised him, because he was certain he had turned it off before he went to bed. Then he spotted Prussia's foot sticking out from the couch and the confusion turned to mild annoyance. Now his brother would be tired and grumpy all day tomorrow, Germany knew, and the chances that he would remember to do the laundry had plummeted to nothing.

It was impossible to see whether the other was awake or not, but Germany did not think he would be very attentive either way. He snuck closer; letting his feet slide slowly over the floor, avoiding the places where the old wood would creak.

Utterly silent, he looked down at the couch, finding Prussia clutching his ratty old pillow, the one with baby ducks on it that he refused to get rid of. His face was turned towards the TV, but seemed mostly asleep, his eyelids drooping heavily. Germany fought back the urge to gather a blanket and tuck him in.

"Get to bed, you!" he ordered instead, poking Prussia in the shoulder. The other nation twitched awake and looked up at him, wild confusion written on his features.

Were those...? No, it was impossible that Germany had seen tears. The strange light was merely playing tricks on him.

"West," Prussia muttered, and rubbed his eyes. "Why the hell are you up?"

"Needed a drink of water," he fibbed. "Saw the light on."

"Oh. Just, just go back to sleep." His arms tightened around the pillow. "I'll just finish this," he gestured at the machine. "Er, amazing golf show."

A tired sigh escaped Germany. "You should sleep properly in your bed."

Prussia's laugh was unpleasant and slowly, the sounds twisted into something much wetter. When his face scrunched up and his hands clawed at the soft pillow, Germany could no longer deny that he was actually sobbing.

"Brother, what is the matter?" he asked, fully awake now and coming round to kneel in front of the couch.

"I don't..." Prussia shook his head and gritted his teeth, fighting down the sobs, though he appeared unable to stop the shaking. "Don't have one."

"What?"

He'd long suspected that his brother was - No, not broken.

Germany's mind shied away from that word. But there had been something wrong with him for years. Something that went deeper than his old megalomania or his undiminished longing for Friedrich. Like the disturbing flush on his face after battle and the way his touches lingered a little too long when they celebrated a victory, those things were just Prussia. Annoying as he might be, all these little traits defined him and Germany had long ago come to terms with them.

The hollow laughter, those too-blue eyes that seemed to be some cruel twist of Germany's own, the ever-increasing drinking, and his refusal to get involved in the handling of the country. It had been there, all of it, since they had reunited, but never had he seen him break down like this before. It scared Germany; more than he cared to admit.

"Please, Brother," he tried. "What's the matter?"

"No bed. No bedroom any more," Prussia said, then bit his lip as if to try and hold all further words back.

"How can you not have a bedroom?" Germany asked, feeling more than a little stupid. He laid a hand on Prussia's shoulder, clumsily offering his support.

Prussia fumbled for the lamp on the coffee table and a warm golden light flooded them both. Once Germany's eyes stopped stinging, he looked back at the man in front of him. He saw how tired Prussia looked, deep rings beneath his eyes. How he sagged against their worn old couch as if unable to properly support himself.

"What's the matter?" he asked again, feeling uncomfortable under the scrutiny of those water-clear eyes. "What did you mean, you don't have a-"

Prussia shook his head and then, in one quick motion, smoothed his hair back. The effect went beyond surprising; if he was honest with himself, it gave Germany the fright of his life.

Of course, his cheeks were still tear-stained and Germany could not recall ever wearing a smile like the one now spreading over Prussia's face. It contained not a lick of joy in it, looked almost like a grimace, as if his face was about to crack in two under the strain. But other than that it was like looking into a discoloured mirror.

Germany's hand reached for Prussia out of its own volition, touched almost fearfully. In his mind, the thoughts were rattling past too quickly to grasp, making checklists and comparing to past knowledge.
His brother's cheekbones, surely, they had been somehow different before? He'd always possessed such lively features, unlike Germany who'd always heard that he inherited his grandfather's stoicism. Not even the rare times Prussia looked serious had the two of them been this alike? Had they?

The too familiar stranger with his face just kept staring at him, silently accusing.

"You're becoming..." Germany could barely recognize his own voice, but Prussia nodded.

"You."

He had to move those hands Germany realized, had to see Prussia again. Bot this mockery of a twin brother whom he'd never possessed. There was no resistance when Germany mussed up his hair again.

He tried to think logically, because if he didn't, he may just run screaming from the house. That wasn't the German way to handle problems, tempting as the idea was right now.

The problem was identified, that was progress. Yes, progress. So what could they do about it?

Nothing.

No, he sternly told himself. That is not a helpful attitude. Maybe there were books to investigate? He searched his mind for anything remotely similar that could happen to humans; co-dependency problems? Something; he'd take a look first time tomorrow.

"Maybe you should move out?" he suggested after another few moments of vigorous mental debate.

"Are you fucking stupid?" Prussia's voice rose in anger at the last words, and he knew he had said the entirely wrong thing, as per usual.

But once Germany had decided on a course, he was not quick to abandon it. He continued, voice brimming with false confidence. "Maybe proximity makes it worse? And, you used to have that lovely apartment in Berlin."

"That apartment," Prussia muttered, "became my rooms, remember?"

"Oh, right."

It had been an early morning back in 1990, when Germany had come into the kitchen, in search of his first cup of coffee for the day. He had found Prussia instead.

To be more specific, he had missed seeing Prussia standing on the counter, hunting a missing stash of cookies. When he opened the cupboard, he accidentally smacked his leg so that Prussia stumbled and fell on top of him. Germany found no coffee that time, but received an armful of angry brother instead. It nearly gave him a heart attack and then, just to top it off, he had to listen to Prussia's whining about the cookies had been lost during the little surprise merger.

The Berlin Wall had been torn down the year before, but it was only when they finally signed the documents that Prussia's apartment attached itself to Germany's house. As the years went on, the house settled properly around the new rooms. Concrete walls disappeared behind wood panelling andsoggy grey carpet rolled back and revealed fine hardwood floors. Step by step, Germany's meticulously ordered possessions found themselves accompanied by Prussia's debris.

It had all been so smooth, that once the roof stopped looking like an Escher-painting, Germany almost forgot that his home hadn't always been this shape. Just as his history had grown, taken in Prussia's past, so his house had become the home of them both in a series of steps where each was too small to notice. Not to say that there hadn't been conflicts – the great Wallpaper War of '93 one of the more memorable ones. Germany had been forced to make a stand there and had refused both the white wallpaper with gothic crosses and the green one with frolicking baby animals. But, all in all, they had managed without too much strain.

"What about your library?"

If one room could be affected, then who knew what was happening in the rest of the house? Prussia was so very fond of all his old diaries and the endless folders of letters, that Germany did not even want to contemplate what their loss would mean to him.

"Still there. For now."

Finally the realization that there was actually something he could do, entered Germany's head and he almost hit himself at how simple a solution it was. Considering how much he had hung out with Italy, this shouldn't feel quite so awkward.

When Germany's arms slipped around Prussia in a stiff hug, he first felt him go tense. But then he heard another choked sob and his head fell limply against Germany's shoulder.
It was, oh, it was impossible to describe how odd it felt to hug his brother like this; as another person, as someone he could help.

It seemed he was not the only one marvelling over the awkwardness of the moment. When Prussia spoke anew his voice was wry even through the thickness. "We've never really... been good at that comfort thing, huh?"

His breath was warm against Germany's collarbone and he could feel wetness slipping down his arm and shoulder. He only hummed in agreement, feeling uncomfortable and wondering what to do about this stiffness.

He tried to recall earlier situations where they had touched. Winced when he realized how often those involved a drink, or twenty.

They'd hug after victory (increasingly often, this meant football) with Prussia beating his shoulder almost painfully hard, while Germany allowed himself a small smile in acknowledgement of a job well done. Oh, and they'd hugged at the fall of the Wall! He remembered that moment in stark clarity. They had been smiling and crying at once, halfway drunk on joy.

And Germany didn't know how many times he'd dragged Prussia home from the pub! It was always slow going, for he tended to be quite under the influence himself, after an evening with Prussia. Then add his brother, hanging off his shoulder, a giant boneless lump around his neck. One that made inappropriate remarks too, calling out to most everyone they passed, and who cackled in his face with stinking breath even after Germany threatened to hit him.

When they bathed the dogs, especially feisty old Berlitz, there had been no time to think of propriety either. Not when there was soapy water everywhere and a big dog who wanted nothing more than freedom. He remembered how they always had to strip to their underwear. Then Prussia would hold the dog and laugh like a madman (at least until he swallowed some water, after which he would sputter and spit) while Germany tried to shampoo the unruly beast. Those memories, the little warm flickers of familiarity that lay spread between them during the years, helped Germany relax.

"At least," he said, hoping to spread some of his newfound lightness to the other man. "I don't just pour iodine on you and tell you to take it like a Teuton."

"I never! Or, well... once doesn't count!"

They stayed silent for a while. Germany tried to feel how the house had shifted around them, trying to feel if the change echoed in their bodies too. He understood now why it had all felt so odd. When his brother's heart was closed to him, he remembered the shadow of the Wall in his mind years after it stood physically on their land. Now the mental wall was falling away again, once Prussia no longer desperately hid his pain.

"Your things are still here," he said after a while, very gently petting the white hair. Thank God it hadn’t turned blond yet. He really would scream if he ever saw his own hair colour, his own body, walking through his home.

"Really?" Prussia looked up. "I couldn't find the fucking room! I've looked all over for two days!"

"I can't, either," Germany admitted. "But I think I can feel the presence of your birds somewhere, or rather, their birdcage. It's an antique, isn't it?" And thus, like most of their things it was weighed down with memories and history; another part of what made them themselves.

"Oh thank God!" His words left him in an explosive breath. "I thought they'd been smushed out of existence."

Since Germany's knees were starting to hurt a little and Prussia seemed to cheer up at hearing that his beloved pets were safe, he decided he could sit up on the couch instead. He found the remote control and silenced the TV, not certain what they would do, but convinced that it would in no way involve golf.

"I used to listen to them at night," Prussia said after a long silence, his voice sounding muffled in the sleeping house.

"All the people dreaming, fighting, and... and just being my kingdom." He pushed his shirt to the side, giving Germany a glimpse of the mess of thick scars covering the left side of his chest, before his hand covered the area.
"Couldn't hear most of them, only once I was free and whole. But when I could, I listened."

"I don't really do that. Feels too much like peeking." Intimate and thus uncomfortable, in much the same way that it was to see Prussia here in the cold half-light of the television. Too close for comfort. Germany preferred the safe distance of daylight and propriety.

"No, it's not," protested Prussia. "They're in you, inside your house and all, how can that be peeking?"

"Do I want to know how you treat people who come visiting?" Germany countered.

That, unfortunately, had been the wrong thing to say. Prussia's hand clawed at his flesh and he shook his head. "Nobody comes to visit me any longer."

"That isn't true," he protested, but Prussia just waved him off.

"Shut up a little, West. I wish I could still hear them all clearly, but..." That broken smile again and his eyes closed. "It seems as if they're slipping away from me. Again."

For once he did not allow any thoughts of what he ought to do or what was proper confuse him. Instead, he pulled his brother close, until he rested against his own heart. As he put his palm against the scarred area of Prussia's chest, he felt a heartbeat there. Too weak to be right and healthy. He suspected then that they were running out of time even faster than the transformations implied and wondered how long Prussia had known. Wondered why he hadn't spoken, but knowing that it was not in his brother to beg for help, even on the brink of destruction.

"Listen," he whispered. "Listen to our people. They won't forget you. Somehow we'll make sure of that."

They stayed there throughout the night and if Prussia did not seem much improved when the sun rose, he at least was no longer openly crying.

Once the birds were found, he seemed to almost bounce back to his usual self. They, like all the other junk his brother had gathered, had deposited themselves in Germany's workshop. Prussia immediately insisted on a second veterinary visit to make sure they hadn't ingested anything harmful. Meanwhile, Germany had the pleasure of trying to separate his tools from Prussia's endless amount of trophies and souvenirs.

He began on the thankless task, letting it consume his uppermost thoughts while trying to remember the odd mood of the night before. Maybe, somehow, he would figure out what to do about its implied dangers.

* * *

Germany's quest to find information on how to stop a former nation from fading away, hopefully without them having to start a civil war, had not been met with much success. His one furtive try to question Prussia on the topic of all the brothers and sisters the history books indicated that he should have, had been answered with a bland grin and a blatant change of topic.

That was, all in all, not an unexpected development. Prussia had refused that topic during his entire life, and it was still as vexing as when he'd been a teenager and asked for the first time.

Changing his plans accordingly, Germany decided to question the other nations. Unfortunately, it turned out that one side effect of Prussia's condition was that he was becoming increasingly good at following Germany's thoughts. He figured out what was planned before Germany had the chance to actually ask anyone and immediately forbade him from mentioning the situation to anyone.

After much cajoling, they agreed that Italy was an exception if Germany felt that he just had to tell him. All right, Prussia relented after even more nagging, China too. Germany's rationale for that was simple. As the oldest nation, he was most likely to have encountered this situation before and if they had to ask anyone, why not go straight to the top?

Austria, however, was absolutely out of the question, as was England and all the other bastards. Especially Russia.

His plans to only hint at things to Italy failed miserably, since the other nation refused to discuss the topic until Germany had spilled the whole story. After which he had to spend the better part of the hour comforting him, while Italy mourned his grandfather and fretted endlessly for his own brother. Worst of all, it turned out he had been too young at the time Rome left to really remember what had happened.

"But Germany," he had finally said, as Germany was preparing to leave. "I don't think it matters what happened to Grandpa. He was too great and fell too far to recover. But Prussia has already fallen and survived!"

"Then how do you explain what is happening?" he asked. "It must be because West and East Germany are united under my name."

"Then shouldn't it have happened at once?"

He dismissed that, as he had when Prussia had suggested the same thing. "It's just taken a while for things to catch up."

If he stretched the meaning of the words just a tiny little bit, Prussia had already given him permission to talk to Italy Romano. Not, it turned out, that the sour southerner had much useful information either. The only thing Germany learned was that Rome hadn't begun fading away at his end. Neither had he transformed into someone else. Instead, he had aged like a regular human, the years piling up until he was a scarred old man.

"But in the end," Romano said, glaring at Germany with unusually vicious hatred in his eyes, "someone murdered him. I know they did."

"Aha?" When Romano proved unwilling to elaborate, he thanked him and left, puzzling over the mysterious ways of Italian minds.

China at first proved as unhelpful as Romano.

"But is it not a good thing that he goes away? Germany is always complaining how messy his brother is."

"Yes, but I want to be annoyed by Prussia. I'm used to it."

"Feh, you are strange in the West," China sighed.
"I have my provinces, of course. Memories flock in cities old as mine, yes. But I would never tolerate another nation living within my borders."
His eyes narrowed and the girlishly sweet voice took on a slightly sinister tone. "That is why I will enter my fifth millennia soon while Prussia is forgetting himself."

Ignoring exactly what China meant about 'not tolerating' another nation, Germany focused on the more relevant part of what he had said. "Forgetting himself?"

China nodded. "What makes him Prussia today? Nothing but his own memory."

And his inflated ego, Germany thought. He was willing to bet next year’s GDP on the fact, though he didn't really feel like sharing the notion with China.

"So, like these," China lifted his teacup and showed Germany the swirling leaves inside. "He floats, outside time. Without land, nothing can anchor him."

"But he was the GDR! He's still East Germany!"

"Is he?" China raised an elegant eyebrow. "Then, you ask for help for the wrong brother."

"But he is still– Ahrg!" The implications were worrying. Germany couldn't imagine his brother changing his name to East Germany, no matter what happened. Still, this was the first hint he'd found that Prussia's end wasn't inevitable.

"Maybe, maybe," China said and finished his tea. "I must work now, Germany. But listen to my advice, young one. Let go of your brother in peace and live on to honour his memory. That is the right way of things."

Mutely, Germany shook his head while China turned his eyes to the heavens as if imploring them to share their wisdom with this hopeless child.

Even using the road on the border of the real world and the world of humanity's imagination, it was a long journey home and it took him many hours to cross the great mountains and deserts of Asia. Germany didn't mind, he had plenty of things to consider and the long road was good for meditating on the problem of Prussia.

Here, in the 'between', Germany had once been born to a land far away. Here, nations could travel freely, battle each other with minimal interference from bosses or civilians. But they still lived out most of their lives in the physical world. It was only in the real world they could find names and identities, where they could grow strong and whole. It was where their homes were built.

If Germany were to 'let go' of Prussia, as China suggested, would that mean that his brother would lose the anchor to reality? Perhaps it was really only Germany who kept him alive these days, although he imagined Prussia might as soon decapitate himself if he ever thought that was true. If things continued as they had, would he die or just... leave? Or, Germany shuddered, would he become another Germany somehow? He saw an unnerving mirror of himself, until East and West became completely like one, and he could not imagine a worse end for someone like Prussia.

Actually, all outcomes were painful in different ways, and when his tired steps led him over Turkey’s lawn and into Europe, he decided to postpone any further investigation into the matter until tomorrow.

Despite the curiosity he must have felt, Prussia didn't ask any questions. Instead he heated up leftover pizza from Italy's last visit and they began eating silently. Only when Germany absentmindedly threw some sauerkraut on his pizza and proceeded to eat the cabbage-covered slice, did Prussia poke him on the nose with his fork.

"Whm?" Germany blinked at his brother, mouth full of pizza and sauerkraut.

"You used to claim I was disgusting when I did that," Prussia said in a low tone.

The unfamiliar taste combination finally registered and Germany's stomach clenched in worry. He dropped his food, not realizing that he splattered sauce everywhere. "And you used... used to say....

"Food shouldn't be wasted," Prussia finished for him. He took Germany's slice and tasted it, some amount of tension leaving him. "Still like it."

"Ah, well, things like that happen, don't they?" Germany tried for a light tone. "I guess my tastes just changed."

Prussia nodded in complete agreement and hurried to polish off the last of Germany's piece. "Happens all the time. Heh or we'd still be eating turnips all the time instead of potatoes."

"Exactly!" They laughed in slightly giddy relief, clinking their beer glasses together. When Germany tried to steal a piece of pizza in retaliation, Prussia threatened to stab him in the hand and all was normal again.

Except that Germany couldn't forget that horrible moment when he hadn't been certain which one of them used to hoard food and mix up leftovers in disgusting combinations. Or had they both done that for a while? He couldn't bloody well remember.

Still, he tried to reassure himself, that was one little disaster averted. Try to see the positive side of things.

After dinner, they decided to take the dogs out for a proper long walk before turning in for the night. By unspoken agreement, Germany hadn't actually invited Prussia to his room. In return, Prussia didn't throw a tantrum, not even when he saw Germany take out another pair of sleeping boxers and put them by the bed.

Germany was just untying his shoes when the phone rang.

"Who could be calling now?" he said, frowning when Prussia shrugged and made no move to take the phone.

Italy rarely called, unless he was in trouble somewhere, though he did have a tendency to turn up when you least expected him. Austria would never disturb anyone this late and though France sometimes did, he usually waited until even later, when he'd have time to get good and drunk.

"Germany here! Whom am I speaking to?"

"My condolences."

"Hello? Anyone there?"

"Yo, Germany! We heard the news man, real downer!"

"America?" He raised an eyebrow at Prussia, who shook his head and looked as confused as Germany felt.

"Yeah! My brothers are here too and when we heard, Canada thought we'd better call in and shit and– Hey, waittaminute, England! You'll get your– Gimme that!"

There were sounds of a scuffle for a moment. Germany could almost have sworn he heard someone whisper that he hoped Prussia had gone in peace, which made no sense whatsoever, before England's unmistakable voice yelled in his ear.

"Germany! Izz't true?" The familiar voice was speaking at a far too loud volume, making it clear that he was dealing with a thouroughly sloshed island. Carefully, Germany moved the receiver further from his ear and winced. Drunk Brits, just what he didn't need on top of everything else...

"Tha asshole's r'lly dead?" England continued in a barely understandable slur.

"What? Who?"

"Yer bloody brother!"

Germany froze, not daring to look back at Prussia who must have overheard.

"What the hell is going on!" Prussia snarled, an angry flush covering his face as he stomped closer and tried to grab the phone. "Give that here, West!"

Mutely, he handed it over.

"What the fuck are you on, you idiots!" Prussia screamed into the phone. "Prussia's right here and I'm not going anywhere!"

"A ghost! Ahhh!!"

"America!"

"Save me, England!"

"Getoffa me you– Yeargh!"

There was a loud crash and then, abruptly, silence. Prussia kept glaring at the receiver while Germany frantically tried to come up with an excuse. Just as he was about to suggest that they end the call, Prussia lifted the receiver close to his ear and nodded tersely at something Germany couldn't catch.

"We'd heard you had passed away," Canada's voice floated through the phone. "I'm glad it isn't true!"

Prussia started. "Passed away?"

If Germany hadn't already learned to recognize the bared teeth and hoarse tone as signs of danger, the clenched fists were very clear indicators.

"Who told you that?" he breathed, voice almost as soft as Canada's. "Who said I was dead?"

Oh dear, Germany thought as he began to puzzle things together. He waved for Prussia's attention in a vain attempt to end the call before they re-enacted the little battle they had just heard through the phone. "Brother, really, what does it matter..." He trailed off as a bruise-purple glare pinned him accusingly.

Spain, Prussia mouthed to him while Canada continued to speak, you told Spain about this? Germany could only shake his head in honest denial, still staring at Prussia's anger and marvelling at the change it had wrought in him.

"No prob," Prussia said into the phone- "Just clear things up with the idiot duo too, would'ya? Yeah. Thanks, man." He hung up and stuck his hands into his pockets, glaring furiously at Germany.

"Apparently America heard from Spain, who heard from that little ass Italy Romano, that I was no longer among the nations. And I bet that he heard it from you, you idiot!"

Prussia's brows were furrowed in anger above a sharp nose, his teeth clenched in an attempt to control his temper and his presence as dangerous as on any battlefield. Fury, Germany began to realize, brought his brother back to himself like nothing else.

"I only thought... Rome, you know," he tried. "He is the one who remembers him the best."

His brother hissed angrily, glaring at him as if he'd betrayed him. "You know he hates us both!"

The punch that followed those words wasn't really a surprise, but even so, Germany's head was thrown back rather painfully.Instead of following up with another attempt, however, Prussia seemed to sag in place.

"I... I'm not dying," he said, voice containing only the smallest amount of trepidation. "I'm not!"

Germany grasped his shoulder, tried to find the words to make everything right again and failed miserably. "I know you're not," he finally managed. "Look, you eve-"

The empty blue eyes that met his when Prussia lifted his head were as cold as ice and as comforting to behold. "No," he sighed, even his voice just a whisper of what it had been. You don't. You have no idea."

They gathered the dogs in silence and walked out into the cool night, both wrapped up in their own dark thoughts.

* * *

Germany breathed in the reassuring scent of another man lying in his arms and hugged Italy a little tighter. If someone had been watching him, they would have seen an interesting procession of expressions flit over his face as he slowly woke up. First, relaxed sleep turned into slight puzzlement. Then his mouth turned downwards and Germany tightened his grip again, sliding his hand over the arm lying flung out. A small tic showed around his eye.

"Wha'st?" a too hoarse voice muttered and Germany's eyes flew open in panic. With a curse, he flailed and pushed Prussia from the bed.

"Ouch! What the fucking crap?"

"Br– Brother, why were you in my bed?" Germany sputtered, trying to remember how much they had drunk last night.

Prussia glared at him over his shoulder, massaging the bridge of his nose. "How hard did I hit you, again?" he mumbled. Then he turned fully around, and let Germany see him properly.

Again, a sense of vertigo overcame Germany when he saw his brother. Here, in the sunlight, without his customary sloppy clothing and making a gesture that Germany knew perfectly well he used himself, sometimes several times a day. It was like looking into a slightly distorted mirror. The body had a few scars too many, his musculature was slightly too thin, though Prussia looked heavier than he'd ever seen him these last the last sixteen years. And the pale mop of hair, that was still entirely Prussia's. But otherwise? In the lines of his face and the structure of his bones and a myriad further little details he couldn't pinpoint but knew he recognized...

"Oh God," Germany said, stark terror flooding him at the sight."My God, Prussia, look at you."

"I'd rather not." He shook his head, seeming very tired. "It's happening faster and faster, isn't it?"

Germany nodded and dragged his suddenly lethargic brother off the floor, simply holding on to him as if he could stem the changes with his grip. They sat silently on the edge of the bed for a while until Prussia snapped that he'd better stop squeezing him before he broke something.

"We're kinda screwed, aren't we?"

He grinned at Germany and there was something there that made his heart ache sharply. Perhaps the memory of gallows humour when they'd retreated off a failing front; whatever it was, it stung deep inside of him.

"Hey, if I turn into you first, do you think you will gain weight when I disappear or-"

"Don't! Please."

There was a weary sigh, before the older nation shook his head and stood up. "We have mutts to feed. Come on, West."

* * *

The days slipped between his fingers. Germany tried to hold on to them but it was as if the world around him had turned to water. Prussia faded from day to day, only sometimes regaining his old spark, and Germany felt himself flounder while he helplessly witnessed the process.

When Austria and Hungary paid them a visit to discuss the rumours making their way all over the world, the brothers had a flaming row. Finally, Germany threatened to tie Prussia down if he refused to meet his oldest remaining friends, all the while trying to hold back the elation he felt at seeing Prussia so upset. His eyes had become deep red again and his cocky smile and proud swagger remained for hours after their guests had left.

His brother had become a familiar and comforting presence in bed. The almost nightly changes where uncomfortable, but he could handle them. Until the morning when they woke to find Prussia's hair a murky blond only about a shade grayer than his own. He just managed to control his panic until Prussia reached, apparantly on a reflex, for the jar of pomade on the dressing table.

It ended with a broken window and Germany sitting on the floor, staring at the sticky shards that was all that remained of his favorite pomade. He knew with a sick certainity that he would never, ever be able to use that brand again.

Prussia was blessedly gone for the day. Next morning, France's chauffer dropped his hungover brother off in front of the house and that was when Germany made a decision. Prussia would have to tell him, before there wasn't anyone around who remembered the truth.

"What happened to the others? You must know why they disappeared!" he asked the same night.

There was no reply from Prussia. He sat on the unmade bed in his boxers, and it nagged at Germany that he ought to be more bothered by how none of them had made the bed in three days. Somehow, it didn't seem as important any longer. Just as separating plastic from paper or being on time to work had become a lesser priority, though the confused looks he received when he arrived two minutes late still filled him with incredible guilt.

"Prussia! You have to tell me!"

No answer. Prussia only sat there and traced his old scars one by one.

At least they were still there; Germany dreaded the day the scars would begin to fade. Houses, habits, languages... Such things were much more fluid for them than for their individual citizens. But, young as he was, he did have an instinctual knowledge for thise things that ought not change, even on one of them. When the borders truly transformed, when changes went deeper than a map redrawn at the whim of the latest victor, it shook a nation to the core and it left a mark on their bodies, to match the wounds left in their souls.

When a new nation rose in old land, when familiar valleys, rivers, cities changed... When battlefields that used to be part of one’s heartlands were taken away, stripped of meaning and given new names; then, even their past could change. They were only nations, after all, ideas come to life. And without a past, without dreams for the future, everything they were could simply unravel. Germany has seen it happen, had caused it in Prussia once before.

Although then, he hadn't understood what was going on, had been to young to realize the final consequence. Now, though, he could see it with painful clarity. If this finished, if he took even those old pains and scars, willingly or not, what would be left? Of East, of Prussia, of his older brother?

England, who could see things Germany has never glimpsed, had brothers lost to history, as well as those still hanging on. Since the entire world knew of their predicament anyway, Germany had approached him for information a while ago. Bribed with copious amounts of alcohol, England had been happy to speak, but his opinion had been too similar to China's.

They have to let go of the past, England insisted, because the Prussian state was long gone. If he wanted to remain as himself, instead of just a part of Germany's past, he needed to change. Immediately.

That suggestion had gone over about as well as Germany feared, when he'd presented it to a tired and angry nation who had just been out drowning his sorrows and he had made the mistake of backing down again. Had backed down, had tried to wait Prussia out and the only result was that he had lost more precious time.

"Nobody else knows our past as you do," Germany tried a different approach, refusing to give up this time. "I've tried, you know! I've talked to everyone I could think of!"

Prussia shrugged, trying to look so perfectly innocent that Germany wondered if he really was hiding a murder or two. "There's nothing to tell," he said. "I haven't the faintest idea what happened to old Germania. Never even met Rome."

"I'm not talking about them. I'm asking about what happened to all my other siblings? All our other siblings?"

It appeared that the scab on his knee was of great interest to Prussia, because he sure picked at it with near obsessive focus.

"If you're dead, who'll tell me?" Germany finally said, voicing the truth that neither of them wanted to acknowledge. "Isn't it my right to know?"

"Oh, lay off. I know Italy told you about how the Holy Roman Empire faded away after the wars broke him."

"Not him. I mean the rest."

Prussia swore to himself when the scab broke off and he started to bleed slightly. In a move that made Germany wince and supress a desire to run out for soap and disinfectant, he wiped off his fingers on the sheets. No distractions, he reminded himself, just ignore everything except the question.

"I talked to Lichtenstein about it too," he said.

At least that garnered a reaction, Prussia sneering at her name. He had always had some kind of dislike for the two of them interacting, one which he refused to explain to Germany. It wasn't even as if he seemed to mind her much on her own.

"She confirmed that we used to be a large family," Germany continued. He had always known that deep inside, but it had been quite uncomfortable when she began recounting all his lost relatives. "She said, that they all began to disappear during the Thirty Years’ War. Now, she thought that was mostly due to starvation and bad fortunes in the war. She said that it wasn't until later, when Bismarck– "

"Stop!" Prussia raised his hand, ordering silence, and Germany felt the words dry out.

He had almost completely buried his curiousity on this topic years ago. It hadn't seemed very important and bringing it up always turned Prussia turned taciturn and moody for days. Now, the desire to know and understand bubbled up inside of him again, and he had a hard time hiding his eagerness.

"What happened, Brother?"

Did you kill them? The question Germany had never dared to ask. The accusation he had heard in the voices of the Allies when they finalized Prussia's dissolution, an accusation he tried to keep from his words now.

Prussia had always, always been there for him and he wanted to pay back that trust. He had bowed out from the world stage when Germany grew strong, though he could have rebelled, perhaps even stolen his younger brother's land. Perhaps his resistance wouldn't have changed things much; the humans decided, in the end. But Germany was not so naïve as to think it wouldn't have been much more difficult for him to grow up, for the German Empire to unite, if the soul of the strong Prussian nation had fought back.

"You all think I offed them, don't you?" Prussia asked now, the shadow of a sneer on his face. "I know for certain that eyeglasses thinks I did."

"I just don't know," Germany had to admit. "But I can't, no, I won't believe it. You're too much my brother. I don't see why you wouldn't be the same to the others."

"Hmpf." Prussia shook his head. "You have no idea."

"Please, trust me. For once?" Because it might very well be the last time, he didn't say, but they both seemed to hear it.

"It's not that... You don't want to know." Prussia looked down at his hands, closed his eyes as if seeing another time. The small soft smile that played on his face was not Germany's at all, who knew he had never cherished anyone in quite that way. No, Germany couldn't imagine stepping back for the sake of a nation he had raised and it stung him, to see Prussia's lack of fighting spirit. Wasn't he worth something now, fully grown? Why couldn't his brother believe in him, fight with him for a future?

When Prussia next spoke his voice was sad, as it had only been once before, when he spoke of his greatest king, a man the world would never know again. "You asked me, you see. You've asked me before, and I answered."

"What?"

"How to forget, that was what you wanted to know." Prussia lifted his head and looked straight at Germany, eyes like water. "And I promised, didn't I? That you wouldn't have to remember again."

The words stirred something inside him, something deep and painful. But whatever he would learn, Germany realised, it could never be greater than the pain that he had already known. All those times he had failed, all the mistakes he had made. What possible event in his past could ever surpass the moment when he finally realized how much blood he had shed and how hopelessly, terrifyingly wrong all his justifications had been?

"I'm not a child anymore."

Prussia nodded. "That you aren't."

"I think," Germany closed his eyes and tried to remember. Back to a time before he became who he was. The years he knew should exist, but which Prussia always refused to speak of, that he had never allowed himself to recall. "I think I was one, the last time we spoke?"

"Yes."

"Then trust me. Please. You know I have grown up."

"My trust in you, West, has tended to be somewhat... misplaced. If you care to recall."

It hurt much more because he knew it was true. But when Germany reached blindly for the other's hand, he was not surprised to find Prussia's grasp waiting for him.

The older nation sighed deeply and fell back on the bed. He stared at the white ceiling intently, as if it held the answers to all the world's mysteries and his hand held onto Germany's.

"I guess. I guess we need to begin with your first name, your first life in a way. You still don't remember anything, do you?"

"No."

"Well." He snickered weirdly for a moment and squeezed his grip a little more. "To start with, you have always been fond of Italians..."

* * *

Germany's head swam. He was trying to focus on making dinner, but while his hands mechanically peeled potatoes and stirred the sauce, his mind whirled with the revelations of the day.

It had taken Prussia several hours to tell him everything, with plenty of interruptions and a few angry denials from Germany's side. Despite how much he might have wanted to, he felt it all resonate too strongly within himself to deny.

He had given up.

It was that simple. When he had failed to grow up, when he had begun falling to pieces in the long war. Despite his promises and obligations, he had just. Given in. Closed his eyes and tried to let go of it all.

That was how Prussia had found him. A gangly teenage nation, abandoned on a battlefield with nothing but corpses for company. His brother, who had then officially been his subordinate, had seen him and known him for what he was. He had, in his own words, "kicked your sorry little ass out of the grave because by hell, you didn't deserve the peace of it!" and dragged home the broken ruin of a nation that never quite was.

"I should have gone back to him," Germany had said, face buried in his hands as he sat on the edge of the bed and wished he could hide beneath it. "God, why didn't I go back to him?!"

"Because you were a coward." Prussia's voice was cool, but his hand rested warm against Germany's leg. "And you were afraid he would not accept you."

It had been that fear, coupled with his weak body, which had made him ask for a release from all obligations. And, amazingly enough, Prussia had agreed to help him.

Help him forget, help him release the past. Had helped him, in essence, to be reborn.

"Why?"

Prussia only smiled.

"Why? Why was I worth it? Why not somebody better or braver! Who wasn't SO BLOODY WEAK!”

His brother only shruggedm put his hands beneath his head and returned to contemplating the ceiling. "They wouldn't have needed to beg for my protection, now would they?"

"But..." Germany fell silent, words leaving him as his mind was filled with memories. Not the bitter ones they had just discussed, but more recent ones. He thought of cheerful smiles and clumsy kindness; of a coward, a fool, and a friend, who needed him as he had never been needed before.

"We had to break it," his brother said. "The bond to, basically, yourself. Only worked because you were still a brat."

It took time. Germany had always known that; it took time for the ties to firm up properly, for borders to sink into their bones and language to become part of their blood. Centuries might pass, but until all the thousands upon thousands of things that made a group of people become a true nation came together, their kind remained half-formed, more dreams than men. Never before had he understood how personally grateful he should be for the long, slow growth of a nation.

Even so, he had been on the cusp of manhood and beeing freed had left him an empty husk. There were no recalled memories from these years while Prussia spoke, no feelings stirred in him. Only once the story moved on, beyond his rebirth to those years when he walked namelessly through the world, did he feel a vague sense of familiarity. Yes... He'd been that, Germany knew, that lost youth.

Finally Prussia mentioned a name, a sister he had never seen and he knew the smallest taste of recognition.

"She was tall, wasn't she?" he said, trying to grasp the hazy image.

"Yep. So was the second one, our brother."

"I think I can almost..." Germany looked down on his hands. "He built things, didn't he? I think I might have that too. When I make something, it always satisfies something in me."

"Perhaps it's a shadow of him," Prussia shrugged. "Perhaps you just like it. Who cares."

They had come, all of them, to that lost young nation. Some had followed Prussia's directions gladly, in particular the oldest ones. Their uncles and aunts, the first children of Germania. When they saw their end near, it was a release from a confusing new world.

"Guns were a big change," Prussia mused. "Guns and writing and the new worlds they found. Some of us adapted. Some..."

"Didn't want to anymore." That was in him too, Germany suspected, a legacy from those before him that had resisted change. Traditions and order, the reverence for it had been given him so many times.

Others had refused. Lichtenstein ran before he could ever ask, knowing in some undefined way what Prussia had desired from her.

"So I kicked her out, later," he said with grim satisfaction. "Hoped she'd just fade away without leaving anything behind. Blasted little Swiss-man had to interfere."

Germany hadn't dared ask if anyone had to be forced. He hadn't needed to, though, because Prussia swore swore that he'd never done that.

"Didn't need to," he claimed. "The more the people dreamt of it, and when the bosses agreed. We couldn't resist, none of us, no more than we can turn history back."

"But you are still here."

He was silent for a long while after that. When Germany dared to look at him, he saw the glitter of tears gathering in his brother's blue eyes. It was not his usual awkward, embarrassed panic, which Prussia always tried to hide. Just an oddly dignified weeping, too unassuming to fit with the mental image Germany had of the other nation.

"He left in my stead," Prussia said. "We'd shared it so long, but he left and spared me."

Germany felt his mouth go dry, but managed to still form the word - who?

"Brandenburg."

"You said he died when you took over."

There was a wave of a hand, then a flick to clear his face of tears.

"I've always been a bit of a liar."

"Were you..."

"Brothers," Prussia said. "Brothers who fought and quarrelled and teased each other."
He didn't sob. His voice did not shake, but Germany nevertheless wanted to reach out and hold him. Wanted to, but couldn't manage, for guilt and confusion and a myriad of other things that lay between them. "We trusted each other."

"I'm sorry," he said instead. He was. For everything they had lost and everything he had not dared to remember.

"He'd been the land and the folktales, all the common people and their common lives," Prussia continued in a flat voice. "I'd been the fighters and the masters, the cities and the roads." He sat up, put his hand against Germany's heart and stared straight through him into a past only Prussia knew.

When Germany's own hand came to rest against his wrist, he shuddered. His own heart beat steadily, butPrussia? His pulse had become almost impossible to feel.

"Everything I was, rested completely on him."

"I'm sorry."

"And still, it was different than with the old man, you know, the first one. The first Prussia. He was neither my kin nor my friend," Now his attention seemed to have returned to Germany again, for he waited for his nod before continuing.

"I kept him almost as a serf, until he faded away in age and bitterness. Didn't miss him a bit," he stated. And it was impossible for a young nation with only the vague memories of his past to know whether he was lying or not.

"Berlin was his first, wasn't it?" Germany said, testing the images flickering in his mind. "Your...our brother's."

"That it was. Remained, even after he left." And now his voice finally broke and Germany felt his hand claw at his shirt. "It's always been a city to share."

Splitting and sharing wasn't the same thing, Germany thought, but he knew he'd never be able to put that in words Prussia could understand. Instead, he asked the question that burned most strongly inside him.

"Why didn't you try to stop it?"

And now when Prussia looked at him, there was the oddest smile on his face. Perhaps, Germany had thought with painful clarity, despite all the pain and the tears this was the truest smile he had seen on his brother's face ever since he had been torn loose.

He was startled back to the present when the dogs began barking around his feet. With an embarrassed curse, Germany realised he had cut himself. It was only a minor wound, but he cleaned it properly anyway. It was fascinating, really, to see this blood and know to how many it belonged to before. Not just his people, all the Germans, but his own kind. Of all the ones who had come and gone before him, the ones who had made him.

"Everything I am," he said softly. "Rests completely on them."

And how had he thanked them for their trust and hopes? By repeating the same mistakes that had destroyed him once. Only on a much grander scale.

"See?" he told the dogs and held up his hand, covered by a fresh plaster. "Completely fine."

At least this time, he hadn't tried to run from his responsibility. He hadn't asked somebody else to be his strength, hadn't needed the gifts of life and past, of realness from his family. A good thing too, considering how few relatives he had left.

Germany carried the food to the table where Prussia sat waiting. His hair had still not faded back to its true colour, but there was something in him again. Not a spirit, Germany thought, more like a desire for, or a belief in tomorrow. He hadn't seen that in quite a while. It was amazing, he thought, how he could miss the older nation's greed after so many year of trying to quench it.

"Brother," he said once they realized that they would only manage half the potatoes tonight, and he had put the rest into the refrigerator. "I am not you."

"Yeah? One could almost say it's starting to be the other way around, huh?"

"No. I am not you. I don't wish to be alone."

"Well, hell, if wishes were guns, I'd be the king of the world! We're supposed to be, don't you know that?" Prussia threw him a beer and opened his own against his teeth. Yet another thing which Germany had once despaired of, that now brought him a little bit of joy. It was Prussia, after all. It was Prussia, as the fussy eating and too long brushing of teeth or too careful folding of his clothes, was not.

"Hello, anyone home?"

"I'm sorry." He shook his head and tried a smile, opened the beer the proper way and even got up to get a glass. "Just drifted off a little."

"Hmpf. But we’re nations, you know? Not really made to be two in the same place."

"You've never cared much for rules before. Besides, for all your posturing, you haven't really spent much time alone, have you?"

"Don't go there," he was warned.. "That was different."

"Really?"

"Really." Prussia finished off his beer and grabbed another one. "No," he said sternly. "I'm not going to discuss this with you. You have your answers now, so go on. Figure things out."

"Don't you want to live?"

For a long time, Prussia remained silent. Finally, he walked up to the counter and pulled down a steel pan. As everything else in Germany's kitchen, it was polished to a gleaming shine and he looked at himself for a long while before answering.

"Depends. No." He finally said, touching his blond hair, mouth curled in disgust. "Not while you try to remake me into you."

* * *

Almost a week had passed since Prussia's revelations. Germany didn't know whether to celebrate that his brother had not faded completely, or despair because nothing he did or suggested seemed to help him find a balance.

They still slept together every night, despite Germany's growing terror that he would one day wake up and find no warm body in his arms. That he would never again be kicked awake for tossing and turning too much or have to wince and squeeze his eyes shut as Prussia's morning breath after several dozen beers hit him. And yet, to have Prussia so close, even when his body had grown too tall and his nightmares were no longer entirely his own, was a kind of companionship he had never possessed before. He could not imagine refraining from it, until forced to do so by the inevitable.

He tried to call Italy too. Germany knew he must speak to his friend, but every time the dear voice answered with a happy "Ve!" he smashed the receiver down, heart thumping in heavy panic. Still a coward, it seemed, when it came to some things.

Then he woke up one morning to find not just his right arm trapped beneath the heavy weight he'd come to recognize as Prussia, but his left one too. By a smaller, weaker nation, yes, but one who had held him securely as any manacle, who had done so through burning war and all that came after.

He had tried to speak that time, he had really truly tried, but Italy could only stay a little while and the words stuck in his throat. Only when his old friend had thrown his arms around him and kissed him goodbye, did he find the strength to do something. It was so surprisingly easy to answer in kind and there had been a startled blush on the shorter nation as he left them. But, also, a very pleased smile and Germany knew they would be all right.

Naturally, Prussia had teased him mercilessly once Italy had left. Especially because Germany had been so dazed that he hadn't been fast enough to protest when he suggested that they take after Italy's 'sleeping gear'.

"Come on! It's summer soon!" Prussia said with barely restrained glee.

"I'll throw you out of the window if you even consider it," Germany finally managed, feeling as if his face would explode.

"Ahh, well. Guess it's not as much fun when you don't really have my awesome body to snuggle up to." Prussia's hand stroked down his own body, and his smile took on a very odd twist as his nails scraped over fabric strained tight by muscles. "Not that you're too bad looking yourself, heh."

"Stop that! That's sick!"

"You're imagining it, aren't you?" Again, Prussia pulled his hair back, licking his lips teasingly. "Come on! Admit it, you're a bit curious, hmm?"

"Brother. I am not," a deep breath, "the narcissist in this household. And would you stop doing that!"

"You could consider it a practice run. Before," he nodded towards the closed door. "Letting you-know-who give it a run."

"I'm NOT LISTENING!"

Prussia's clothes had become too tight lately, although he stubbornly refused to stop wearing his favourite shirts or jackets. Now when he stretched his arms out behind his back, the fabric pulled tight, seams nearly pulling apart.

"It's fucking unfair, getting a body like this without a proper workout," he murmured, a dangerous red gleam appearing in the depths of his eyes. "Don't you agree? West?"

As if hearing his name, that particular name, broke a spell, Germany tore his eyes away. Managing a weak excuse about very urgent paperwork, he escaped into his office. Prussia's triumphant cackle followed, tormenting him all the way.

The worst thing was, he realized when he finally dared to climb into bed after hours upon hours of punishing paperwork, that he really wasn't a narcissist. No, it had been that thrill of danger, the challenge that his brother always presented that had almost, almost...

"AAAH!"

"Wha's't now, W'st?" Prussia mumbled sleepily.

"PUT SOME BLOODY CLOTHES ON, YOU LUNATIC!" he roared as he grabbed the blanket and escaped to the safety of the living room and its (blessedly narrow) couch.

Since he had to go take a cold shower the next time he even considered calling Italy, Germany decided that sharing the revelations about his past could wait a little. Not too long, just until he had solved this latest problem.

Or killed Prussia himself. An option that was becoming increasingly tempting.

* * *

"I have a solution," Germany finally said.

"That's great." Prussia didn't even look up from his computer game, biting his lip in absolute concentration as the enemy troops approached. "Splendid. Hah, yes!" His hand shot into the air, balled into a triumphant fist while a tiny victory fanfare played. "That'll show him."

"Are you listening to me?" Germany adjusted his glasses and tapped his foot. Prussia continued to play. He glared down at the nation completely absorbed in his game, feeling hands clenching slightly too tight around the ten-page long explanation he had prepared.

"Bloody ass," his ungrateful brother muttered, hands flying over the keyboard. "What? Yeah, listening, go on."

Since Prussia's eyes had not once stopped following the little, Germany squinted, vehicles on the screen, he met these assurances with a certain amount of scepticism. When he tried waving a hand between the screen and his brother's face, the older nation swatted him on the nose with unfailing aim.

"Please save and finish your game, Brother," Germany said in a tone that brook no discussion.

"Yeah, hang on a mo'. I think America and Russia are ganging up on me, what the hell is that, huh?"

"America and Russia?"

"Unless it's that little wimp, Liet, that's playing Russia today." Prussia hummed suspiciously and did something that appeared to start a virtual explosion on the screen. "Yeah, thought so. That defensive move?" he nodded at something, possibly the second explosion. "Totally Liet. Bitch."

"I warn you..."

The answer was merely a further vague humming and Germany felt his patience snap. If it had made a sound, he thought with a slightly evil smirk, it would have sounded almost exactly like an electric cord pulled from the wall.

And sweet, justified revenge? Why, if he had to give that a sound effect, Prussia's hurt howl as the screen flickered to black would fit very nicely.

It took some cajoling and two beers before his brother was calm enough to listen to him again. At least that was much more entertaining than hearing him crush his enemies on the computer. A task, Germany knew from long-suffering experience, which could keep him busy until next sunrise, when Korea came online and soundly trounced any sleep-deprived opponent that dared remain.

"What's this fucking brilliant solution then?" Prussia asked, mollified by the beers and Germany's declaration that he'd certainly have defeated the others during the next two rounds if it hadn't been for his interference.

"Ahem." Germany looked down at his papers. "It's really not that difficult, I think and it may not be a permanent solution, but I believe we should give it a try." He cleared his throat and shuffled the papers a little more. "Yes. As I was saying, if we do these ten steps, we will find ourselves in a far better situation."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Here, I prepared a copy for you too." He pushed over a pale green folder with a pattern of frolicking rabbits on it.

Prussia couldn't keep a snort back as he took it, and he shook his head, glancing at Germany from beneath his messy bangs. "Bunnies, eh?"

"Bunnies," Germany agreed, very solemnly.

"Don't tell me it's the same pattern on the papers?"

"No." It wasn't; Germany had found a lovely set of stationary with a different set of puppies on each page.

"What do they say when you keep buying this stuff, I wonder?" Prussia's eyes shone up when he opened the folder and he shook his head. "You big dork."

"Remember, you're not allowed to turn to the next page until you've read it all!" Germany warned him. "Otherwise, I'll ask England to make dinner for you. Whilst I go visit Italy."

Closing the adorable folder with a mock shudder of fear, Prussia leaned back and nodded sagely. "I'm no fool. Know when I'm defeated." He waved his hand in a regal movement and put on the mask of vague but benign interest, which Germany had seen him use on far too many bosses to trust in the least.

The steps were simply and, in Germany's opinion, most logical. Prussia needed something that was his to remain here. So, he would take over a few things and handle them completely on his own. They could discuss the details on how the transfer of responsibility would go, but Germany had included several suggestions beneath steps six to eight on what he thought was the best way of doing it.

"I promise," Germany finished. "Whatever happens, I won't interfere. Not even if every damn Autobahn in the country breaks down."

He looked up from his papers. Prussia had kept unusually silent during his little explanation. However, in the spirit of things he had forced himself not to glance up as he usually did, choosing to trust that his brother's attention hadn't wandered off to somewhere more entertaining.

It hadn't, amazingly enough. However, far from the satisfaction of having a plan, perhaps even some renewed hope, he could only see a stiff disapproval on Prussia's face.

"You don't have to take the roads, if you don't want to." Germany said. "I just figured..." He trailed off beneath Prussia's glare. "Since you've done it before. And you like to travel, right?"

He had expected some resistance, certainly. Only he had imagined something along the lines of annoyance that Prussia would actually have to work! Perhaps even a refusal to touch areas that he considered beneath him. He had not expected this cool, and almost level-headed show of complete disapproval.

"I told you," Prussia said, enunciating each word too clearly. "I refuse to become you."

"You're not!" Germany put his papers down and wiped his suddenly sweaty palms onhis trouser legs. "I promise, some things will be yours and some mine and we can-"

Prussia cut him off. "Will you let me rule your army?"

He fell silent. "The army? Uhn..."

"The army, The navy." Prussia rose, beginning to pace around the table. "The airforce and the police, the secret police; everything, in fact," he leaned over him, voice still too serious and cold, "which has power."

"I don't know if– "

"The power to hurt people. The power," his smile showed teeth that were slightly too sharp. "To hurt you, who would not have these forces."

"Nobody would agree to that," Germany said, raising his chin. "Even if I wanted to!"

"You can't!" Prussia continued to pace and Germany sat frozen on the couch. "Because they were mine once. They. Were. Me. Don't you get it?"

And Germany closed his eyes, hearing the truth in those words. "They are me too," he admitted. "So much."
Despite how he had wished otherwise after the war, Germany could not shake the ties to his forces, no more than he could cut off his own head and keep on breathing.

"That they are." There was no longer anger in Prussia's voice, only a deceptive lightness. He came around Germany, put his hands on his shoulders and bent down to whisper close in his ear. "That's what makes us strong, to have, to be the power to dominate," he told him. "It's what you lacked as a child."

"I didn't even have a people!"

"Well..." His brother was so close that he could feel a smile curve against his cheek. "Neither did I to start with. But see what a little slaughter brought me?"

When he turned around, Prussia did not draw back. In a way, Germany was not surprised when their lips brushed together; this, too, had been building for a while. It was neither a true problem of its own, nor a solution to anything. Still, for a few moments they allowed themselves to indulge in the fleeting cure against loneliness.

Prussia's lips only just touched his and when Prussia drew back a little, Germany realised that he was as unable to move forward as he had been to withdraw.

"Ah." Prussia's hand on his head was warm and large, but it touched him with the softness of a farewell. "So that's how it is."

"I don't know what to do," Germany admitted, feeling the useless papers in his hand crumple. It’s trash, all of it. His last desperate hope, nothing but paper to be recycled after all.
"I thought that maybe, like this, we could find a balance. You have managed before, after all."

"Only because my masters forced me to," Prussia said and moved away from him completely. "And even then, I didn't have to bow to anyone but them. It's not in my nature, see?"

Germany turned forward again, staring into nothing. There was an odd hush around the house; they could hear no neighbours, no traffic outside.The silence was peppered only by the creaking of wood, and when Germany reached with his other self, he felt the ties between them and the real world change again.

Prussia's storage closet was vanishing. The place was sliding out of existence as he sat here. Now there were only two rooms left; the rarely used office and the library with its near millennia worth of memories captured on paper and parchment. He couldn't let them disappear too, he couldn't. Because Germany feared that those memories were all that kept Prussia here.

"Something's going on."

"Yes." Germany put a hand over his heart, feeling the scar over Berlin pulse slightly. "Something is."

"In a way," Prussia said while walking slowly over to the great gilded mirror on the wall. "I guess one could see this as you finally healing?"

That particular shade of blond on Prussia’s head was startling, to say the least. Germany hurried to avert his eyes before he glimpsed the face in the mirror. He could not close out Prussia's small keen of pain, though, nor un-see the way his hands grasped the bureau until the fingers turned white.

"What about further back?" Germany said, the words falling too clumsily out of his mouth. "I mean, you were officially part of the Holy Roman Empire. Wasn't he, well, me?"

"I-" Prussia's voice choked off, but he struggled to straighten and continued to speak. "Hardly noticed it, honestly. You weren't really present enough to bother with, West. Bastard Austria, on the other hand..."

"But you were still you," he said, remembering the years he had spent under the control of the Allies. "Like I have been me for as long as I can remember."

"Exactly."

"Is there no way?"

"Prussia isn't a country with an army," his brother quoted, "but an army with a country." One of his hands lifted, trembling ever so slightly.

It took all of Germany's self-control not to follow the movement with his eyes, not to see the truth in the mirror.

There came an unsteady laugh from Prussia. "I've never been easy to handle! Should've seen Fritz when he was young."

"You've told me."

"Ah? Yes. Guess so."

"I remember him, a little." Germany considered. "Bit more now that you've told me about my past. But it's still only bits and pieces."

"That man was too great to be grasped as a whole," Prussia said, slowly sliding a finger up and down the mirror, making Germany's teeth ache with the squeaky sound he caused against the glass. "And I tried to understand him his entire life. My entire life, since the day he almost ran away, when I-"

"Yes?"

"When I realised that, though I was angry, and his father was angry, I still couldn't help it."

He turned from the mirror and, finally, Germany beheld his own face. There was no difference as far as he could see. Nothing off in the slightly bewildered look. They had the same dark rings of worry beneath the same blue eyes. There was the unruly blond hair that met him every morning, until he tamed it with combs and pomade. Nothing left that reminded him of Prussia. Except the voice which spoke of a man who had died long ago but somehow managed to stay more alive in his brother's memory than most people who were alive today.
"Could never stop loving him."

"And it's not worth it, to go on? For his sake, his memory?"

Even the tiny smile was Germany's, awkward but honestly nervous in a way that Prussia's smirks never were. Better to lie once too often, was his motto, than to reveal a weakness to an enemy.

"He'd probably try and force me to go on," Prussia admitted. "Him and his father too. They were both, in their own way, too fond of me."

"There is no way your kings could have been too fond of you."

"Perhaps not," he admitted. "But it could damn well be the other way around. Think it's a family trait, sometimes. We follow and serve too well."

Germany had to shake his head at that, and raised his hand in protest. "No!" And not just because there had never been any of that fondness lost between them, him and his mad boss who dreamt of making him into something that should never have been. "You have never served 'well'. You've served stubbornly, protesting all the way, until they've given you what you wanted."

"What I wanted?"

"The next war," Germany said, remembering his youthful lessons and the fervour his brother had always shown. "You wanted the next battle, and the next after that. No king could ever give you enough, could they?"

Prussia nodded, then cocked his head in a way that was achingly familiar to Germany and, thank God, for once not from the mirror. "Guess that's true. You know I remember that it was, like, the only fucking thing I liked about Russia."

He blinked, unable to follow the sudden shift in the conversation.

"Used to call me his dog all the time." He showed his teeth suddenly and Germany marvelled at the sight. Perhaps South Italy did have a point when he called German smiles scary.

"And her, he dared call her his bitch." Prussia pressed his palm flat against the mirror, kept pressing until Germany wondered why it did not break. "Doesn't deserve to lick her shoes, asshole! But, you know, West? We were his guard dogs." He nodded slowly, as if recalling a moment of pride from a time when he had too few things to take pride in.
"First line of defence, if the idiot with the stars and spangles showed up. If," he looked at Germany as if measuring him with his eyes, "you were to try anything."

Germany wondered how many other nations had met their own eyes like this, and seen how they found themselves wanting.

"Hah. I didn't mind being his dog quite that much when I thought of it so."

"Even when he had mastered you, one you hated?"

"Even then." The disconcerting eyes closed and Prussia nodded slowly. "I guess he gave me just enough of what I needed. Someone to hate, someone to serve and someone..."

"... to fight?"

The crack of the glass breaking rang sharp in the stillness of their home. "Someone to fight for," Prussia breathed and looked at his broken mirror image. "That's all I ever needed. Enemies?" He cackled, his laughter as shattered as the mirror. "Oh, they tend to show up on their own!"

Germany wondered if his mind, too, had broken. Or, perhaps, an old spirit had been released from the other side. Someone to whisper in his heart and point out the solution that suddenly blazed clear in his mind.

His hand searched for the table lamp, finding and curling ever so slowly around its cord, while his gaze remained locked on Prussia.

"I think it depends on why we are born," the older nation continued his monologue, fingers teasing along the cracks in the mirror. "See, some rise from the farmer's soil while others descend with the stroke of a sword."

He tugged once, and felt the cord come loose. Still not seeing, not thinking, Germany rose and felt the cool weight of marble in his hand. "Go on," he whispered. "Go on. Tell me why what you have now isn't enough."

"I can't become like you," Prussia said. "Even though I try and I try. I thought it would be my only hope, that if I could look at the world as you do it, everything would fall in place again."

"And I looked at you," Germany said, still speaking so low that it was a miracle Prussia heard him at all, still coming closer step by slow step. "I saw what I wanted you to become without remembering who you are. Yes. I think I understand now."

Prussia brought both hands up, laying them flat around the image of his face. They were, Germany was not surprised to notice, only the slightest bit translucent.

"Then you see why I don't have the energy to keep trying, don't you?"

The marble felt so good in his hand, he thought, as he lifted it high. Smooth. Old. Familiar, but it was still beautiful. It only lacked a few scars, and it would remind him of a dear person.

"I think I can give you what you want, Brother. If you give me one last chance"

Though to Germany's ears, his voice sounded odd, Prussia did not appear to notice anything out of the ordinary. Perhaps he was simply transfixed by the sight of his own new visage.

"What would that possibly be? You hardly need my protection anymore. I'm useless."

"Someone to fight against," Germany breathed, tensing his entire body, clenching the lamp until his arm trembled. "And a master to fight for."

Prussia's eyes finally flickered his way, but it was too late; he had already begun swinging the lamp downwards. Those awful, fake blue eyes widened, the disgusting stolen mouth opened – before it could protest, he slammed the marble lamp into Prussia's head and watched him crash limply to the floor.

The lamp dropped from his suddenly nerveless fingers. Now it was Germany who had to grab hold of the bureau unless he was to follow Prussia's fall. And, oh crap, the older nation was still lucid. Though he groaned in pain, he clawed viciously at Germany's leg.

"You. Little. SHIT!" Prussia howled and tried to jerk him to the floor, receiving a swift kick for his trouble.

Acting mostly on instinct, Germany dropped himself onto his brother before he had time to rise. He tried to grab him and lock his arms but discovered that the older nation was too wily to fall into that trap. Instead, his hands found themselves a more vulnerable target still moving mostly on their own. They were drawn to grasp around the vulnerable throat. While Prussia tried to claw his eyes out, he began to squeeze, first softly but within moments firm enough to choke.

"Is this what you need?" he whispered, feeling a burning madness taking hold. "Is this... did any of them, who ruled you before, try it this way?"

The flash of red in the faded eyes, the familiar defiant snarl, was all the answer he needed.

"Yes," Germany whispered and pulled his struggling brother up by the throat, ignoring the deep scratches he was given, not caring that he could not avoid the forceful kicks.

"I don't need to convince you to stay, Brother," he murmured, releasing Prussia with one hand and managing to catch one of his flailing arms, twisting it painfully. "I just need to hold you here!"

Prussia no longer had air enough to speak, but the mouthed expletive was still clear as day. It would have made Germany chortle if he'd dare to relax, because it was so beautifully his brother and he had missed this anger for too long.

"Don't worry," he whispered as he turned Prussia around. "I won't ever let go."

"Fuck off," the other coughed when his tortured throat was released, so Germany could take a firm hold of his hair instead. "Ha– Have you lost your mind?"

Germany considered for a moment. He held Prussia securely now, both his hands held tight and then additionally trapped between their bodies. His brother's head was pulled backwards, revealing the throat in a move that Germany recalled felt both horribly vulnerable and oddly degrading; especially when one was surrounded by four victorious and vengeful nations. Though, he had to admit, there was probably more than one nation who would testify that his own presence could be terror-inspiring too.

"No, you know what?" he said, pressing a knee against Prussia's leg, unbalancing him before he could mess things up. "I don't think I have." He smiled a little upon seeing them in the mirror; they looked like identical twins and for once, Prussia was not fit to fill the role of the evil one. "But it's hard to be objective about that."

He pulled Prussia even closer, for once initiating the unsettlingly intimate touches that had begun to appear between them these last weeks. As Germany's lips touched Prussia's cheek, he watched in the mirror the telling way in which his jaw worked while a blush began to spread over his face.

"Will you trust me?" Germany asked. "Again?"

His brother's face– or rather, his own– was a mixture of fury and fear. But he hadn't refused yet. Even as he kept struggling against the grip, twisting his head until it looked as if he might scalp himself, Prussia did not refuse. In the end, when it became apparent that despite their identical looks, it was still the younger brother who was stronger, he stopped squirming and held himself stiffly as far away from Germany as he could manage.

Their eyes met in the mirror, and Germany could have sworn there was something just a hint sharper in the other set, a tilt of an eyebrow that differed from his own. Just a hint, but enough to pin his hopes on.

"Please. One last time..."

The reply was the merest breath, a soft sound he so rarely heard Prussia use. "Always."

Germany took the word like a precious treasure and hid it deep inside, beneath the self that strove through daily life, argued and commanded more often than he'd wish. It would rest there, at the bottom of that secret place where he hid all the other beautiful things, those he dared not touch for fear of breaking their very memory by doing so too often.

Just as he would now proceed and break his brother.

It took an eternity to manage that first twitch of his arm, to grasp Prussia's head tighter so that he snarled in discomfort, but it took hardly a moment to finish the movement where he smashed his brother's face against the wooden bureau.

Then another moment – a second that stretched yet took no time at all – when he waited for a familiar, furious scream. He lifted Prussia again, forced his head down with increased force, again and again until the screaming was abruptly cut off.

It seemed to him as if the time in which he had done this, was unreal; as unreal as he felt standing here with Prussia limp and bloody in his arms.

One moment that had not been, an attempt to take back something time had tried to steal from him. It was, Germany decided, worth it. It must be.

His lips moved over the bloodied face, feeling the broken nose, tasting the salt and iron that covered Prussia.
"Just trust me," he said, not caring how his voice shook. "I'll hold you here, if I have to nail you to this world, piece by goddamn piece."