Alternate title is "What To Do When Your Little Bro Starts Dating the Douchiest Douchebag in the World"

Originally written for the kink meme for the prompt Prussia reacts to Russia/Germany.

I: France Delivers a (blow) Message To Prussia

It all started rather innocuously.

Russia and Germany had been secretly dating for months. Astonishingly enough no one caught on, too wrapped up in their own personal dramas to notice a string of heated looks, coinciding disappearances, and overly friendly gestures. All of these should have been red flags, especially in relation to the normally ultra-reserved Germany. However, it seemed as long as he wasn't yelling at them during meetings, the other nations were content to not pay him much attention and missed all the early signs.

Until one day Veneziano saw Germany holding hands with Russia under the table at a café in Switzerland and told Romano who told Spain who told France who called up Prussia in a fit of laughter so intense he could barely get the words out.

(As a point of interest, France also told England who told America who told Canada, and so on. Suffice to say, the encounter didn't stay private for long)

After several rounds of screams, curses, threats (Prussia), and laughter (France), Prussia finally got the full story. Which was essentially, West and Russia were holding hands under a table at a café in Switzerland. It made sense in a way, Prussia thought once he calmed down slightly. Italy must have been en route to visit West when he accidentally stumbled upon him on his stupid date.

Prussia hung up and saw red all over again. What the fuck was West thinking?

II: In Soviet Russia, Party Always Finds You

If anyone had ever bothered to ask, Prussia would state (quite clearly and loudly) for the record that he didn't spend the entirety of the Cold War as some sort of unwilling fuck toy for Russia, thank you very much. Sure, he might have ended up on his back (or stomach, or knees, whatever) a fair amount of the time, but he was the awesome Prussia and he always gave as good as he got.

The bottom line, Prussia thought to himself after hanging up with France, was that despite their sordid history, he wasn't afraid to give Russia a piece of his mind when the situation warranted it. And right now, it most definitely did. If that Russian bastard thought he could date West while Prussia stood by and did nothing, he was about to get a harsh education in Prussian values, the first being that little brothers were too good for castle-razing, capital-city-stealing ex-commies who smiled too much.

Russia, for his part, wasn't exactly Prussia's number one fan either. Back in those days Russia was always brimming with great and wonderful plans for the future, but Prussia insisted on being a continually uncontrollable, obnoxious nuisance. And rude, too. It really hurt.

Though he could never prove anything, the little warning-voice in his head that never failed to foreshadow his country's most tragic and violent events kept insisting that Prussia had been sabotaging his every move in the long uncomfortable period following the Second World War. He had long since learned to listen carefully to that voice. Decades of interacting with the crazy-stubborn Prussian only solidified the theory that having Prussia on his side of the iron curtain had been a mistake from day one, and that any traitorous actions weren't a question of if but of how.

Thus, when Russia became romantically involved with Germany he knew the time would come when he would have to tolerate Prussia again, and that it wouldn't be pretty. He didn't like it, but he would play nice for Germany's sake.

He wasn't even surprised that this new era of cooperation began with a shotgun. The flamethrower though, that was unexpected.

III: Bros Before Hoes

Germany arrived home and immediately wished he hadn't.

Prussia was sitting in the kitchen drinking a beer, the fallen empty bottles of its compatriots strewn about the floor around him.

Sitting was a relative term. He was leaned back in one of the wooden chairs, delicately balanced on the back two chair legs, beer in hand, his still-booted feet propped up on the kitchen table. Germany was tempted to shove those feet right off their formerly pristine table, but knew who would be left cleaning the mess when beer inevitably spilled everywhere. He settled for leveling his best glare instead.

Prussia glared right back. "I hear Switzerland is nice this time of year." His voice practically dripped with sarcasm and disdain.

Germany sighed. It seemed nations could gossip faster than a school full of pre-adolescents. (To top it off, now he owed Russia €100; The news of their rendezvous did indeed beat him home.)

For months now, he'd been dreading disclosing his new relationship for this exact reason. He was well aware that his brother and his lover had a thriving hatred of one another (though he was occasionally grateful for said animosity. If those two ever teamed up for real, the world was doomed), and that Prussia was not going to take the news well.

Sometimes Germany hated being right.

He may have ceded the time and place of this discussion– a tactical error he was sure Prussia would berate him for later – with his uncharacteristic procrastination, but he was unwilling to yield on the matter itself.

"You're being childish. I know you are capable of acting like an adult, so start doing it."

The response was immediate and heated. "Someone has to watch out for you, since you're obviously incapable of making sound decisions. Russia is the complete opposite of awesome. You can't trust him." Prussia was very nearly hissing by the end. He took his feet off the table and rocked forward in the chair in one fluid motion. The chair's front legs hit the floor with a resounding crack.

"We're friends now."

"It's not his friendship I have a problem with, West." Prussia's voice had gone soft and low, a sign of impending danger recognizable to anyone who knew him well. He took a last large pull from the bottle in his hand and slammed it down on the table, as if to prove his point.

Never mind that the words were a complete and utter lie, thought Germany sardonically. Even if their relationship was strictly platonic, he knew his brother well enough to know that he would still be reacting in exactly the same way.

"What can you possibly see in him?" Continuing his tirade, Prussia pushed himself to his feet in agitation. "After everything that bastard put us through."

It wasn't intentional, but Prussia brought up an uncomfortable point Germany had brooded over frequently during the past half century plus, and still had yet to completely resolve. He frowned. "By that logic, practically no one should even be talking to me at all, after what I did back then."

That was not the conversation Prussia wanted to be having. He and West had gone down that path before and it usually ended with heavy drinking. What he wanted to be talking about was a certain someone's world-shatteringly bad judgment of romantic partners.

But dammit if West didn't have a point. Not that he was ever going to admit it.

"We are friends now," West repeated, fists clenched tightly at his sides, knuckles white. "You can't absolve me of my past crimes and still hold a grudge against the rest of the world. I have forgiven Russia and he's forgiven me."

The statement hit Prussia like a bucket of ice water, tempering his ire somewhat. Prussia knew how much forgiveness meant to his younger brother and was loathe to take that away from him, even if it meant not pressing this particular, critical point. The things he did for West sometimes, he told himself. He deserved a freaking medal.

"What's wrong with that cute Italy you spend so much time with, or France or Spain? I bet they're much better between the sheets than your frigid Russian weirdo." That was a cheap and juvenile shot, Prussia knew, but couldn't bring himself to care.

"Now you're just being ridiculous." Germany tried very hard not to roll his eyes at the immature taunting, and let himself relax. He knew when Prussia got to the point of crude insults and name-calling, it meant that he had reached the end of his supply of sound logical arguments. He was proven right an instant later.

It looked as if Prussia was gearing up to continue the fight, but the breath abruptly went out of him and he slumped, looking thoroughly miserable.

But he said nothing, knowing his brother had to come to terms with this on his own.

He was surprised and dismayed when, instead of conceding the argument as expected, Prussia's eyes abruptly hardened and he straightened, taking several long strides towards him until they were within arm's reach of each other.

"You're happy," he said simply.

At first he couldn't tell if Prussia was stating or asking. He must've been asking because when Germany didn't answer, Prussia reached out and clasped both his shoulders in a firm grip, looking up into his gaze unblinkingly.

"Are you happy with him, West? That asshole's treating you okay?"

"Yes, Prussia. And yes. You're overreacting –I told you, we're friends. Besides, if he wasn't 'treating me okay' as you say, you know full well I am capable of defending myself. I was taught by the best, after all."

They both smiled at that.

Tentatively, Prussia bridged the remaining distance between them and they embraced. "I still don't like it but if it's what you want, then I'm happy for you."

In response, Germany's arms tightened around his brother. They stayed that way for a long moment before pulling away.

Germany was grinning like an idiot.

"Alright, enough with this emotional crap. Let's go get a beer." For once, the brothers were in complete agreement.

As they left, Germany spared a glance at the graveyard of bottles littering their kitchen but said nothing. He'd ask Prussia to pick them up in the morning. They headed out and didn't speak about Russia for the rest of the night.

IV: How to Apply Your Tactical Genius to Solving Other Life Issues

It was late and Prussia couldn't sleep, so he was currently in his bedroom engaging in an activity second only to diary-writing. He was drawing up battle plans. More specifically, he was making a strategic list of strengths and weaknesses in order to determine his next move.

The list looked as follows:

Pros

- Easier access to North Italy

- He would get the house to himself much more often

- Getting steady ass might remove the stick up West's

Cons

- West wouldn't be around as much to cook dinner and fetch beer

- Russia sucked

- That creepy, vodka swilling, wall-building, godless bastard was fucking his brother (or being fucked by his brother; Prussia didn't care and didn't care to know)

As evidenced by his superior list-making skills, Prussia's mixed feelings ran deep. His little brother, whom he raised and fought for and taught to be awesome, was dating Russia of all people. Ugh, he wanted to throw up in his mouth just thinking about it.

Granted, Russia wasn't all bad. There was that time they got completely shit-faced on crap vodka – Prussia would've killed for a beer in those days – and went rampaging around Moscow in a flurry of slurred words and bar fights, only to both wake up naked and half drowned on the banks of the partially frozen Moskva River three days later in a sparsely populated area nowhere near the city (getting home was a little awkward). Occasional good times notwithstanding, that didn't mean Prussia wanted Russia as part of the family, or even to be civil to him.

What swayed him into not doing anything rash and overly violent was the last bullet point he was writing on the Pros list

The scarf wearing freak made West happy

Prussia looked at the words and sighed in defeat. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to watch out for his younger brother's best interests. He would make sure Russia knew that Prussia was watching. If he hurt West (hell, if West gave himself a paper cut while in the same room as Russia), all bets were off and there would be hell to pay.

The only thing left was to make sure his message got through loud and clear.

Interlude: Smashing The Stack For Fun and Profit (Arms Smuggling remix)

Prussia was on his way to see a problem solver.

Anyone who'd ever been to war with Prussia knew firsthand that he excelled at efficiently moving people and supplies to where they needed to be for maximum impact. So when he decided his upcoming confrontation with Russia would occur at the end of some heavy firepower (it was less of a decision and more of an assumption), he turned his mind immediately to the task. Narrowing down which weapon to use initially posed a challenge, but after hours of hard thinking and deliberation he was left with one perfect option.

A flamethrower.

It wasn't the most wieldy of weapons but what it lacked in maneuverability it more than made up for in personality. And Prussia was going for theatrics. Not to mention the ability to seriously defend himself if things got ugly.

Which is how he found himself meeting with Estonia. Not for the weapon itself; Prussia had caches hidden away in various locations around the world for times like this. Unfortunately, none of them were in Russia, forcing Prussia to seek a means of transporting the firearms into enemy territory. It would've been easy enough to wait and procure the items within Russia, but Prussia was a big proponent of knowing your weapons and he didn't want to chance getting saddled with some old soviet crap that was equally likely to backfire as not.

Smuggling weapons across national borders had gotten a lot more complicated since the height of his power, when it was expected to show up with an army at your back just to be taken seriously. Estonia was his ace in the hole - being pretty kickass and technologically adept, he hopefully had the answer to Prussia's logistical quandary.

Surprisingly, Estonia wasn't too difficult to convince once he learned the reason for the illegal transport. The kid definitely had more backbone than he let on, Prussia thought approvingly.

Two days earlier

Estonia's phone rang.

"I've got the best idea ever, but I need your help getting a flamethrower through a security checkpoint."

For several uncomfortable seconds, Estonia was utterly bewildered. Who was this madman on the phone? His fiercely logical mind kicked quickly into high gear. The sheer absurdity of the request put the pieces together, excluding all but one person as the mystery caller.

"Prussia," he replied, "Is this some kind of prank? I swear, it wasn't me that dyed your bird-friend bright purple."

"And a shotgun," Prussia continued, as if Estonia hadn't even spoken, "into Russia." He had already dealt with Gilbird's assailant and this was not the time to get distracted.

Estonia was silent for a long beat. Was it possible that he partied too hard with Finland the previous night, and this was all some bizarre alcohol induced figment of his imagination? Deciding that yes it was possible, but if his mind was going to conjure up a hallucination it wouldn't be this random and certainly wouldn't involve weapons smuggling with Prussia, Estonia shook the thought away and refocused on the conversation.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch all that. Are you saying you want to smuggle weapons into Russia?"

"Mostly just the flamethrower. The shotgun's just for show. I'm sure you heard by now that West is dating Russia."

In fact, Estonia hadn't heard, but declined to say so. This was getting better and better by the minute. And what did he mean, only the shotgun was for show. He wasn't actually planning on attacking Russia with a flamethrower? Even Prussia couldn't be that batshit insane, Estonia thought.

"Anyway, I wouldn't be an awesome big brother if I didn't let Russia know I was on to him."

Dear god he was serious. "And you're going to do this with a flamethrower?"

"Is there any other way?" Prussia sounded genuinely confused, as if initiating a civil conversation sans weapons was so beyond the realm of possibility it was never even on the table. Estonia decided right there and then to never ever get on Prussia's bad side. Ever.

He made a snap decision. "Fine. But I want to watch."

"Kinky."

"I'll be in touch." Estonia hung up, a sly grin slowly spreading across his face. His week just got a lot more interesting.

Present Day

Sure enough Prussia had received an encrypted email containing a set of GPS coordinates. He found himself approaching a comely house in a nondescript town on the outskirts of a nondescript city.

Centuries of habit meant that he had already unconsciously noted the best vantage points for attack and defense. Almost without thinking, he was creating and discarding plans as the steady flow of information about his surroundings accumulated in his head (the house sat at the top of a small hill with good lines of sight, standard security cameras and motion sensors, sparse landscaping provided little cover), until he was left with the most effective strategy for capturing the house. He laughed to himself and suppressed a sharp smile; anyone who thought he'd lost his edge was deluding themselves.

Pushing aside the plans he had no intention of using, Prussia walked up to the front door and knocked. It was opened almost immediately and Estonia stood in the doorway, dressed in casual wear and glasses.

"Nice place you got here," Prussia said in lieu of a greeting.

"I prefer to keep my special projects secluded from my daily responsibilities, or I'd never get any real work done." He gestured for Prussia to enter. "It's in the lab."

The lab turned out to be a cavernous open space spanning the entire second floor. It was in stark contrast to the rest of house, appearing as sleek and modern as the downstairs was quaint and homely. Computers were everywhere, in various states of disassembly and use. In the far corner was an area that looked more like a construction zone than anything high tech. Prussia noticed a soldering iron and realized that Estonia must build his own hardware out here in addition to all his software and IT work.

They made their way to the center of the space, where a long work table was strewn with various devices, tools, and more computers. Sitting at one end was a large black suitcase which Estonia unzipped and opened wide. The interior was empty save for its incredibly thick sides, effectively shrinking the capacity of what the suitcase could carry, though it would still suit his needs.

Prussia stared in puzzlement.

"The suitcase is lined with smart fibers along the sides, top, and bottom. My own invention," he added somewhat proudly. "Smart fibers can be configured to emit pre-programmed patterns of high energy photons identical to x-rays in order to mimic the shape of an item regardless of what is actually inside, and will fool any technician who reads the results."

"So I could make them think I was carrying a suitcase full of dildos if I wanted?"

"I have no idea why you'd ever want to do that, but yes."

"Awesome! You should consider selling these for recreational use."

Was this guy for real? "Yes, what could possibly go wrong?" He was going into sarcasm overload, but Prussia either didn't notice or didn't care, too wrapped up in his own plans.

"This is going to be awesome!" Prussia laughed, already thinking ahead to how hilarious it would be the next time he and West had to attend a summit meeting. His brother was definitely getting this suitcase. The look on his face would be priceless.

Sex toys aside, this was a spectacular piece of equipment and worth every bit of the exorbitant fee he would now transfer over to Estonia (those caches weren't limited to only weapons). He practically bounced out of the house with excitement. All of the pieces were in place.

Time to pay his old enemy a visit.

V: For This Performance, a Flamethrower Will Take the Role of Shotgun (aka, the "Shovel Speech")

It was afternoon and Russia was taking tea when he was disturbed by an unexpected knock at the door. Not so unexpectedly, it was Prussia. He was sorely tempted to slam the door in that smug pale face and return to the comfort of tea and solitude, but Russia resisted. He knew this confrontation was coming the moment little Veneziano burst upon them during their café date.

He gently closed the door in order to disengage the chain lock. Before re-opening it, Russia reminded himself that good manners were very important, especially in the early stages of a new relationship. It would not be polite to hurt Germany's brother, no matter how annoying his constant talking was. And it would probably made Germany unhappy. He didn't like it when Germany was sad. With that settled, Russia opened the door fully and saw that Prussia wasn't alone; he'd brought a gun.

At first Russia saw the shotgun cradled in Prussia's hands and laughed. "Do you really think a puny old weapon like that will scare me?"

Prussia pretended to consider it while Russia loomed over him. "You're right," he said, and threw the shotgun aside like a child's discarded toy. "That's why I brought this." He reached sideways out of the door's line of sight and hefted a massive flamethrower over his shoulder, nozzle pointed squarely at Russia, grinning like a maniac.

Russia backed up abruptly before remembering himself and halting, his familiar close-lipped smile firmly back in place. "See, that is a respectable weapon. Now we can talk, yes?"

"I'm only saying this once, so shut up and listen. My brother doesn't make friends easily, but once he does he's an awesome friend, so count yourself lucky."

"You have come a long way to tell me something I already know."

"I said shut up, I'm not finished yet," Prussia snapped, not moving from his place right outside the door's threshold. "West talks to his dogs when he's upset, like serious sit-down discussions, so if you see him doing that you've probably fucked up somehow. Don't ever disturb his workouts unless you want to be dragged into them. I'm not sure about this one, but you might want to check if he still sleeps with his gun before startling him awake in the middle of the night."

Russia blinked in surprise. He didn't know which was more unexpected, Prussia giving him advice or Germany's alleged nocturnal intimacy with his sidearm. Prussia continued speaking before Russia could ask for additional clarification.

"He likes cornflowers, because they're awesome. They also match his eyes but he gets embarrassed if you tell him that. If you hurt him I will come back with this very well-made flamethrower and use it for its intended purpose. And then I'll beat your unconscious body with it until it's nothing but ashes."

Suddenly Prussia smiled brilliantly, all traces of malice gone, though he didn't lower the flamethrower's wand in the slightest. "I'm glad we had this talk."

Red eyes flicked downward to look at his watch and then he started to back away (he knew better than to actually turn his back on Russia, especially after a monologue like that). As if on cue, a large black car pulled up and Prussia jumped inside.

Russia merely watched him leave, imperturbable as usual. It was nice to know Germany had family looking out for him. He was also keen to try out that flamethrower. It looked like fun.

Prussia slid into the passenger seat. "Enjoy the show?"

Estonia tossed a set of unused binoculars into the backseat and produced a high end camera sporting a comically large telephoto lens.

"Immensely," he replied. "And now I have Latvia and Lithuania's Christmas presents for this year covered." Estonia looked very self-satisfied.

Prussia felt pretty fucking fantastic too. He protected West's honor, got to threaten Russia, and would soon be returning victorious to Germany. Life was good.

Their mission accomplished, the two rode off into the distance together.

Epilogue 1: Germany is Mostly Not Amused

Using tactical skills he was rarely credited with these days, Prussia shook the tail that followed them from Russia's house and went underground for a full week, just in case Russia was feeling vengeful. Or playful. They often resulted in the same consequences.

As expected, the international gossip circuit worked its magic and in almost no time at all news of Prussia's trip to Moscow became common knowledge. Having never left the car, Estonia's role in the affair remained unknown. This left Germany to field questions and comments from inquiring nations who wanted the full story and/or to offer Prussia their undying devotion. (Germany had absolutely no intention of passing those particular sentiments on. Prussia's ego was big enough as it was. He was also a bit irked on Russia's behalf.)

There were two things wrong with being the primary contact point for his brother's outrageous stunts: one, Germany didn't know the full story, as he'd only been informed of it at all when the phone calls came rushing in and wasn't that a surprise; two, he was going to find and throttle his brother immediately.

The phone rang again. Correction, he was going to murder his brother after he berated whoever was calling.

"Dude, that was baller!" America's overenthusiastic voice rang out over the line before he even had a chance to say hello. "I'm seriously insulted I wasn't invited along – that was my ultimate fantasy come true! Please tell me Prussia video'd that shit."

In a brusque voice, Germany repeated what had become his mantra over the past day or so. "I have no idea what happened, so stop bothering me! I don't know if there is video, I don't know where Prussia is." For good measure, he added, "If you have so much extra time to spend on trivial matters then I look forward to your presentation at the meeting next week. Congratulations, you are now presenting first."

With that, he slammed the phone back down on the cradle. Then went and unplugged the line. And turned off his mobile phone, to be thorough.

After that bit of cathartic yelling, he reflected that maybe the situation wasn't so bad after all. Neither Russia nor Prussia was apparently hurt, and he reluctantly admitted that the mental image of his brother with a flamethrower was kind of cool. Knowing Prussia, his outing to threaten Germany's significant other was equivalent to some grand brotherly emotional gesture of acceptance (though why all of his grand gestures had to involve weapons was another question altogether).

Germany was grateful to have them both in his life.

Epilogue 2: Eight Months Later

Returning home late after another Christmas, Latvia was intrigued to find an unmarked brown envelope slid under his front door. He picked it up curiously. It was about the size of a sheet of legal paper and obviously contained documents of some sort. Mysterious envelope in hand, he padded over to his well-stocked liquor cabinet (people were always so shocked to discover he was a pretty heavy drinker. It wasn't his fault he was so short!) and poured himself a nightcap before investigating further.

He sat down in his favorite chair and turned the envelope over slowly. There was no return address or even recipient's address. It must have been delivered personally. In eager anticipation, he broke the seal and opened the envelope.

He was correct; inside was around 15 sheets of thick paper. The top page simply read Merry Christmas. Though there was no signature, Estonia had made no attempt to disguise his handwriting. Strange, thought Latvia. What could possibly be inside to warrant such cloak and dagger operations? He put the greeting aside, saw the page underneath, and gasped.

Gleeful laughter immediately followed, reverberating so loudly it practically reached the entire Baltic coast.

The sheet of paper was actually a high resolution photograph of Prussia sporting a flamethrower and a smile while Russia was quite obviously in the process of backpedaling, a look of complete and utter surprise frozen on his face for the briefest of seconds. He didn't know how Estonia got ahold of such precious photographic evidence, but Latvia vowed to do something especially nice for his neighbor in the coming year.

It was the best Christmas present ever.