Chapter Text
You think bleeding to death would provoke other thoughts, but of all things, why is he thinking about how pretty the skies are today?
If you tone down the sounds of gunshots, the bitter smell of smoke, and screams in a mix of languages, the skies are a lovely shade of light blue with a few white clouds in sight. It’s truly a peaceful sight that could cover all of the regrets in his mind.
Because he knew already that after today, the war would be over, and he would lose truly and honestly. The next few years will be rough for all of Germany, but the pain may numb his pitiful regrets and shame for all the sins he’d committed in the previous years.
Prussia hates the fact that he has to wait for his medicine like this. In Austria’s pharmacy business, it’s just a tab harder to get desmopressin if you're a foreigner. He got his paperwork in order, but he is afraid that he might have to get his whole embassy in order to get his meds. But yet, he is here with little kids staring at him. Not that he can blame them. Children always have some sense of curiosity when it comes to his albano colorization. While on most days, Prussia would entertain their interest by talking to them and explain his condition with great enthusiasm, today isn’t one of those days.
Not with a political climate like this.
“Gilbert Beilschmidt,” a woman calls from the counter.
Finally, Prussia stands up from the seat and stretches. His drugs are ready, but how long since he last took desmopressin? He knows he hasn't taken it since his home got destroyed by a riot, but it has been how many months already? All Prussia knows that it has been enough months for the random, unexplainable bruises to show up again. He takes the medicine from the pharmacist with not much than a “thank you”. After all, the longer Prussia stays in public, the higher the risk that someone would notice him, and if someone notices him, he wouldn’t be surprised if they try to post his image on social media. And it would be a snowball effect if that were to happen.
Once outside, he looks inside the little white bag and sees the transparent orange pill bottle, filled with a month worth of doses. Even if he is seen as a drug addict, Prussia takes the bottle, pops it open, and dry swallows two capsules on the spot. He knows the medicine won’t work immediately, but Prussia still feels better the second the pills hit his tongue and falls into his stomach. But unfortunately, he can’t say the same to his little brother at homebase, who’s still grieving away.
But Prussia is convinced that he’s one step in the right direction.
After the Great War, there was so much debt Germany had gained, and soon, hyperinflation happened. There were so many useless paper bills around that it was used as wallpaper and toys for children to play with. It was burned because the money was more useful as kindling for your fireplace rather than for buying food.
It was awful. Germany had to work around the clock to pay back the debt, but no matter how much work he did, his people - the individuals from deep inside - were losing hope. He can feel himself dying within each day as the debt seems to never go down.
Then this group and their leader come up from the woodworks. Their leader was smart and charismatic. His words speak to the people in a raw understanding that made Germany’s heart bleed. Soon, Germany was working with the group’s leader as his boss, and for once in many years, he started to feel better. His people start to feel better.
The economy is recovering. The people were more happy. And even at one point, his leader was Man of the Year for his great efforts. While it seems wonderful at the beginning, Germany would find out years later that everything was gilded. Behind the gold-plated appearance of his leader was someone so black and ugly. Someone that is even less human than the personification himself.
Of course, Germany wouldn’t agree on every point his leader told him since every person on his land - either it’s German by blood or by birth or something else - is his and also, Germany himself has his own opinions, but it started to get twisted. It started by his leader’s words, then laws and other actions, until it ended with an invasion of Poland.
Then the Great War wouldn’t be remembered as the Great War anymore but as World War I.
While Germany never once agreed with his leader’s actions or how his leader somehow idolized him as being ‘perfect’ with his blonde hair and blue eyes, his biggest regret for the rest of his life would be he never voiced his opinion. Of how killing these people his leader hated is hurting him as well.
Of course, during that horrible time, he founded two men that are still his friends to this day, but Germany still knows that the whole war he was in was horrible and eight-five million people died due to a war he could’ve ended it sooner.
Germany is a Christian, and he knows he’s going straight to Hell for all of the things he did and allowed during that time.
“In our situation, sulking isn’t the best idea,” a cup of tea was placed in front of the German. A minute passes and the tea remains untouched. Austria sighs at the sight and places a small pastry in front of the man. “You could do some exercise,” he comments. “Your biceps shrunk by half of a centimeter, which is concerning.”
Germany remains quiet. Austria huffs, his impatience growing by the second.
“A few German-speaking nations are coming over within the next few days,” Austria states. “Our bosses have to discuss something, and maybe we all may do a press conference on a set date.”
Germany remains quiet.
Austria gives up and turns aways. “If you have any ideas, just let me know,” Austria walks away and enters the hallway. “This conference is very important for all of us .” He takes a stressful deep breath and reflects on the situation. This is one of the few times he had seen Germany like this and it’s honestly quite scary. Germany has always been a strong willed man, but to see him mope about like this really brings light to the grim situation that all nations are in.
But Austria can’t think like that right now.
All he can do is wait and formulate a meeting involving as many of the German-speaking nations as possible. That’s the only proper way to cope with this situation without getting married again. Though if it comes down with that, Austria wouldn’t be exactly against either. However, in the end of the hallway, Austria sees a small blonde child curled up and staring at their phone. “Kugelmugel?” Austria calls. “What are you doing?”
The little boy glares at his phone screen, angry at what he is seeing. “These people . . .” Kugelmugel bites his thumb. “They’re treating Wy as another product. She is art, but they are just lusting over her like nothing. No one lusts over Greek statues since they’re art, but why Wy then? It’s disgusting.”
Before Kugelmugel could monologue anymore, Austria takes the young boy’s phone and pockets it. “You have been looking at social media too much,” the elder complains. “You need to focus on something else for once.”
“Sir,” Kugelmugel stands up. “I appreciate the concern, but social media is the only place where I can get some information about my friends.”
“Social media is filled with lies,” Austria defends. “Do something more productive, like painting.”
Kugelmugel opens his mouth, but he holds back. He puffs his cheeks and walks around Austria to get out of his sight. Austria shouldn’t be too concerned with Kugelmugel. Compared to Italy, Kugelmugel was an easy child to raise. He is simple, like just give him some healthy foods and paints and a corner to play with.
Knock! Knock!
“Knock! Knock, dark age aristocrat!” a voice yells outside his front door. “I just got my meds and I’m hundred percent again! Now, let me in.”
This is Prussia, and Austria has a choice to make. Let the now healthy German in and let said German annoy him, or just let go to his bedroom and take a nap. “Aus - tri - a!” Prussia calls. “Let me in!”
The Austrian turns and walks to his bedroom.
“Mr. Germany?” A small voice calls. “Can I use your phone for a few minutes?”
It’s Kugelmugel, standing near the entrance of the room. Germany takes a moment to remember the odd boy. Yes, he knows he’s the micronation associated with Austria, but Germany never recalls a time where he talked to the little boy. So this child - or any regular child in general - talking to him like this is quite strange. “Yes,” Germany replies. “What do you need?”
“Your phone,” Kugelmugel adjusts his hat and stands up straighter. “I need to check on my friends please.”
Germany highly doubts that any of the child’s friends would pick up, but he didn’t have the gall to break it to Kugelmugel, who just gave the grown man these pleading eyes. After taking his phone out and unlocking it, Kugelmugel takes over and sits next to the man. “Um,” Kugelmugel taps on the phone. “You don’t have a Twitter, don’t you?”
“For personal use, no,” Germany explains. “Is that a problem?”
“No, no,” Kugelmugel waves. “It’s fine. I’ll log in with chrome instead.”
For the next minutes, Germany watches as Kugelmugel sits next to him and struggles to log in. The boy struggles with the new non-app Twitter format and how to navigate it. To him, it seems like a puzzle with which buttons to push and which buttons to avoid. After all, you could accidentally retweet porn to all of your followers with this kind of format. “Wy . . . Hutt River . . .” Kugelmugel mutters, biting his thumb. “Ladonia . . . Sealand . . . Seborga . . . Niko Niko . . . Where is the rest? I thought Molossia declared war on America or Americans or something? So where are the articles? There’s only a few about those two streaming and some about Wy. Nothing about the others. God, I wish I knew more languages. There’s probably some Italian or Japanese articles about micronations.”
As a mix of frustration, worry, and confusion filled the young boy’s face, Germany commented. “You should get off of there,” he says. “Social media is bad for your health.”
“I can’t,” Kugelmugel retorts. “Social media is the only way to know what happened to my friends. I’d tried to call them. Text them. I’d tried to send them a letter, but nothing works. It’s like too much happened at once and no one knows what to do. This is the only way to know something about them. But now that Austria took away my device, your phone is my life line.”
Germany pauses for a brief moment. “You do really care about your friends, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Kugelmugel agrees. “I used to be on the fence about joining these guys and their ‘activities’, but once you get to know them, they are really some great people. But now . . . I’m unsure what to do. My friends don’t know if I’m safe and I’m not sure if they know that I’m safe. It’s just a rough time . . .”
Germany feels bad for the child. Despite being unheard and ignored by the general population in the midst of this chaos, Kugelmugel is still shakened to his core by the discovery. What a frightening mindset, Germany thought to himself. He didn't think he could handle this when he was the child’s age. Hell, he’s even doing a pissed poor job in coping with the situation as an adult. “Hey, Mr. Germany,” Kugelmugel calls, looking up to the man. “Did you ever get in contact with your friends?”
“No,” Germany bluntly states.
“O-Oh!” Kugelmugel turns back to the phone quickly. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine,” Germany continues. “It’s not like they’re -”
Tap! Tap! Tap!
“Hey!”
Tap! Tap!
“Little brother!”
Tap! Tap! Tap!
“Little brother, you better look over here!”
Germany can feel his residual headache come back to full force. Literally. Germany turns around and sees Prussia pressing his pale face against the window and smudging it. “So . . .” the elder brother starts. “Wanna let me in?”
“You know? I’m starting to feel much better than before!” Prussia jests, chuckling. “I think I can actually do some exercise without bruising so much!”
“Be careful,” Germany warns. “If you drop a dumbbell on your foot, it will take ages to heal still.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Prussia waves, leaning against the seat he’s in. “I dealt with the worst. Remember the time where I have a sword going through my guts and left it there for days?”
“No -”
“So it begins with a battle,” Prussia continues, hearing his brother groan in the background. “And I was being awesome and stuff until some guy gave me a gift. Through my fucking organs. I got a fucking sword through my stomach! I killed the guy who did it, but after the battle, my guys are like ‘we have no fucking clue what to do’ and decided to leave it in because it. Even though Knights Templar tried to help by pulling the sword out of me, he put it back in after I gushed out too much blood. So just imagine! I traveled around with a full length sword in me. I didn’t even sleep because I didn’t know where I could lay down or if I could sleep standing up. So when we finally countered a doctor - which, plot twist, the doctor was just a fruit stand guy who can’t even read. Anyways, the fake doctor just took the sword out and said to leave it like that until it heals. Of course, I died, which honestly, I was surprised that I didn’t die earlier. However, my guys think like I had died for reals and bulited a grave for me. Which is a nice thought, but I am not dead yet! I just woke up when I was in the said grave and my friends were about to toss dirt on me. Can’t you believe it? Can you believe it? ”
As Prussia poses himself in Kugelmugel - who was looking at the phone still - the child huffs, annoyed. “Your method of storytelling is frighteningly unentertaining,” Kugelmugel comments. “And brutish. I suggest reading more books.”
Prussia scoffs. “You’re like Austria, you know.”
“I know,” Kugelmugel absertmindingly scrolls on the phone. “I’m related to him.”
Prussia grunts as he sits by the child. “Also,” he leans in to look over what the child has on the phone. “Whatcha lookin’?”
“Politics . . .” the child pulls the phone towards his chest.
“Ah, really?” Prussia shorts, choking back a laugh. “What kind of politics do you have as a micronation? People barely can spell your name without googling it first.”
Just about Kugelmugel about to (softly) hit the self-proclaimed “awesome” nation, the phone rings to the instrumental sounds of Is he Gay or European? Quickly, Germany reclaims his phone and frustration taps on the screen with cherry red cheeks, almost to the point of breaking it. America! He thought. How dare you corrupt my phone with . . . This music! I will never let you “borrow” my phone ever again!
Ohhhhhh
Gay or European?
It's hard to guarantee
Is he gay or european -
Just the chorus is finished, Germany chucks the phone out of the nearest window, breaking its glass. It’s better to pay hundreds in damages rather than spend another second of his brother teasing him. If America was here, Germany would have -
“Hey! Everyone!” Austria runs into the room, breathless. “Can you check your phones? I just got an email from America, and I want to make sure it was true.”
If his day wasn’t shitty enough, then what Germany did was the cherry on top.
“A world meeting . . . ?” Germany leans in and rereads the email again. “Is this real?”
“I got the same email,” Austria says, showing his phone with said email. “Prussia, did you get the email too.”
The two German-speaking nations wait for a response, but it’s oddly quiet. “Prussia?” Austria calls again.
Oh no . . . The little brother thought as anxiety sinks in. He knew better than let Prussia walk around unsupervised. The silence is clearly a red flag. Like a mother coming home to a quiet household, something happened. Either there’s shit on the ceiling or Prussia is bleeding out again. Something happened .
Germany stands from his chair. “Prus -”
“See child? This is why my bread is the best in the world,” Prussia explains to Kurgelmugel, walking back to the tense room with freshly made bread on a plate. “Unlike Japan’s, my bread is crispy on the outside, a bit savory, and soft on the inside. See?”
Prussia lowers the plate so the micronation can see his masterpiece. “Isn’t this Austria’s bread though?” the child pokes at it. “I know Austria baked it a few -”
“Our breads look similar,” Prussia yanks the plate away.
“Brother! Where were you?” Germany bellows, bouncing off the walls and shocking the two absentees. “We just got an majorly important email, but you’re stealing bread again!”
“No . . . ?” Prussia draws. “This is my bread.”
Germany growls. Just as he’s about to come over and punch his brother in the head, Austria sticks out his hand. “Stop,” he says. “We got something more serious to deal with.”
Germany sets back in his seat. His irritation still presented. “You’re right,” he mumbles. “It’s better that we focus on the now rather than dealing with . . .” Germany looks back up, witnessing his brother still chatting up the micronation about “his” bread.
“Brother,” Germany calls him, but it didn’t stop the elder from talking. “Brother!” he calls louder, but again, he didn’t listen. “I swear to God! I will -”
“Chill,” Prussia hands off the bread to Kurelmugel. “I was just helping this kid with his bread knowledge.”
“I -'' Kurelmugel was quickly cut off by Austria.
“Can you be serious for once?” he scolds. “We are in the midst of a historic moment that will affect us for our entire lives!”
“But we all had those moments, right?” Prussia shoo the child away. “We’d dealt with things like this before. What’s the difference?”
“The biggest difference is this will affect us more personally than ever. We could no longer find behind our leaders for our mistakes,” Germany states. “Do you understand that?”
“Yep!” Prussia pulls a seat and sits down lazily on it. “But let’s get it over with. I have stuff to do.”
“What stuff?” Austria asks. “We have to stay inside because people are treating us like war criminals.”
“We are war criminals,” Prussia plainly says as an uncomfortable silence falls. Austria stiffed. Germany had a face that one can’t fully understand. Confusion? Anger? An outsider wouldn’t understand.
“. . . Anyway,” Germany turns his computer. “There’s an email from America. It said there will be a meeting.”
“Okay,” Prussia plainly says, almost bored.
“It’s going to be at Portugal’s place,” Germany continues.
“Okay.”
“Brother, are you listening?”
“Okay.”
An inhuman noise rises from Germany’s throat as he slams his hands on the table and stands. “ Can you cut it for once? ” he hisses, breaking through Prussia’s relaxed facade and causing the older brother to focus on the younger. “We lost our house. It was burned to the ground!”
His sentence bounds off the walls and resounds inside of Prussia’s ears. Even Austria pauses what he’s doing earlier to stare up at the German.
“They tossed our exercise equipment from the windows,” Germany states grimly. “Our dogs got beaten up. If it wasn’t for the few people that come to their senses, our dogs would be dead . And not only that -”
“Relax, relax,” Prussia stands up and comes closer to his brother. “Sure, everyone knows we were Nazis -”
“ Exactly! ” Germany cuts him off, glaring. “Everyone knows that we were some unpunished Nazis that did those things in the past, and they are looking for our head! And they have the right to! Honestly! Because no matter how much time passed, millions of innocent people still died because I decided to follow some psychopath since I was using marks as wallpaper instead of buying bread with it! J-just saying that made me sound pathetic! God! I just -”
“Brother -” Just as Prussia reaches out to comfort, Germany slaps his hand away, almost disgusted.
“When will you mature?” Germany asks, spitting anger from his throat. “We are on the path of no return! The question for now is how are we going to deal with it? Because I’m sure no matter what I do, no matter how many redeemable acts I did, nothing will change the past!”
For once, Prussia has nothing to say. No annoying wits or a story to tell. Just silence. Germany - sensing the silence - offhandedly comments he’s going to his room and left without another word.
Leaving Prussia and Austria alone together.
“Well . . .” Austria closes his laptop. “At least, you’re not the home country to the worst person to ever live.”
“I -”
“Leave Germany alone for a while,” Austria tucks the laptop under his arm. “I’m not the best person to talk about relationships, but my advice is common sense. Leave the man alone. He’s hurting, but he eventually needs someone to talk about his problems.”
“But -”
“Prussia,” Austria walks up to the man and gives him a stern look. “If you are as ‘awesome’ as you said, be an awesome brother then, because right now, you’re anything but awesome.”
Austria then leaves without a word.
Prussia - the older brother he is - broods in the room’s newfound silence. Germany shouldn’t feel guilty for all of the shit that the Nazi did. It’s not like he has a choice in leadership. But yet, many years later, his little brother is still grieving over it.
. . . It’s not like he feels too much about it too.
He reaches for the top of the drawer despite the pain filling his arm. Kugelmugel saw that Austria had conveniently placed his phone on the edge of the top drawer, and he thinks he can get it. On his tiptoes, Kurgelmugel manages to touch the corner of the phone before sliding it into his hand. Yes! The child cheers, turning on the screen. Now, I can -
He stops when he reads his first notification. No . . . he thought, shocked. No, is it a joke post?
Just as Kugelmugel taps on the screen, the door knob turns and Austria enters the room with a sniffed frown. His frown deepens when he sees Kugelmugel in his room with his confiscated phone. “I thought I told you -”
“Austria,” Kugelmugel runs up to the man, showing his phone and revealing his Twitter feed. “This is bad!”
“What are -” But he reads the latest tweet. The tweet that would change all of his plans.
MEMEKO! @Niconicop
Hell yeah! Let’s go kill some
Nazis! I got the kerosene!
You get the matches! Let’s make
sure that the victims get their
peace! #RevengeParty20XX
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