"We may as well get this over with." Sighed England, leaning against the wall. There was a vacant silence as nobody brought themselves to reply. America nodded reluctantly, for once agreeing with the other. There could be no argument. Not this time.
"It's only fair, I suppose." He finally voiced, the absence of France's argument pronounced in the thick atmosphere. The normally flamboyant and cheerful country was hiding away in his house, trying to ignore what the end of the war meant. He never had much of a stomach for this sort of thing. When Russia had taken Hungary the day before, he had nearly broken down. He couldn't handle chipped people, and the sight of Austria's silent despair and the heartbreak on both of the pair's faces was too much for the war-weakened Frenchman. Neither of the two remaining Western Allies had protested when he had asked to be excused from the rest of the procedures. He had been through enough.
Russia was the only one of the three Allies in the room who didn't look upset, his childlike expression thinly veiling the maddened, sadistic need for vengeance beneath.
"I take Germany, da?" The nation's eyes were alight with malice as he looked at the beaten opponent. Germany remained as stoic as possible, standing as straight as a ramrod. Accepting his fate would not be something he would do cowering like a child. He tried not to wince as his injuries ached at the memory of the pain inflicted on his people. England and America concealed their pity far worse than he did his fear. Despite all he had done during the war, they both looked uncomfortable and distressed. Handing anyone over to Russian control, no matter what they had done, was enough to give them nightmares. Germany ignored their pity. It wasn't like it would help.
Russia took a step forwards, before there was a movement from the other wall, the other, nearly forgotten, occupant of the cell speaking.
"Nein!" A loud voice proclaimed. The assembly turned to look at the speaker. Prussia struggled to his feet, anger radiating from his features, his scarlet eyes blazing. He was leaning heavily on his left side, his right leg in bandages and his broken wrist cradled to his chest. He still stood as if he were at complete ease with the situation, his mind forcing his muscles to relax into the well-crafted facade of prideful scorn.
"Not mein Bruder. The awesome me will go. West is far too unawesome to leave." His head was raised high in a charade of his old confidence.
"Prussia, nein!" Germany struggled to move towards his brother, but America's grip was strong as he restrained the bloodied country. Prussia gave his best attempt at his trademark smirk, giving a look to the three present allies, daring them to challenge his decision.
"I'll go. Du kannst stay here, Bruder." He carefully avoided looking at Germany, focusing on his current opponents.
"Very well. I take East Germany. You are under control of Mother Russia, da?" The childlike glee in the cold purple eyes made Germany want to scream at his brother. He could see the tension in Prussia's shoulders as he limped across the room, the fear he was concealing behind a mask of arrogance. England and America's looks of apprehension mirrored the disbelief in the younger brother's mind. He could hardly move as his brother gave himself up for his sake. All the irresponsible, insane, ridiculousness that was Prussia came to a jarring halt as the white-haired figure spoke.
"Auf Wiedersehen, West." Prussia turned back to his shocked sibling. The words sounded like the nails in a coffin, ringing through the silent room; the cold, finality of them threatening to tighten around the lump in the speaker's sibling's throat and choke him.
Germany's stone expression refused to crack as his eyes asked a silent, pleading question.
Prussia turned away, squaring his shoulders and walking as calmly as he could from the room and into Russia's control.
The words they left unspoken hung in the air, swinging like convicts from the rough noose. Germany blinked away the tears that he refused to allow the Allies to see, turning away from the closed door and the ghost of the minute old memory; his brother walking away.
Why, Prussia? Why would you do this?
Because I am your big Bruder, West. And that's what brothers do.