Just a little headcanon that blossomed into a one-shot. Read on and I hope that you enjoy it!
I apologize in advance for any historical discrepancies (I'm guilty as charged for using Wikipedia as my information source), and if you do see any do point them out, I'm happy to learn.
"I'm too awesome, the awesome me doesn't need your help to get back, kesesesese…" this was convincingly punctuated by continuing to lean heavily on his friend as they stumbled down the road together.
"As if," France had scoffed and rolled his eyes but the motion turned out to be unwise, for it sent the world spinning and the two of them to the ground.
Well, at least Prussia's front garden was mostly lawn, France thought hazily without making any effort to get up, if it was that England's place the rose bushes would hurt like a bitch. Those roses were thorny just like their owner, but also just as…
His muddled train of thought was cut off by the sound of the door uncertainly inching open, then a gasp and a light patter of footsteps.
It was a child, he thought, a blond boy of perhaps ten in human appearance – ah, Angleterre should have just stayed an enfant, he had been much cuter then…
The boy had reached them then, and was standing over Prussia's snoring form with a frown that could only look adorable on one so young.
France chuckled. "There's no need to worry about that idiot, mon lapin, come help big brother instead~"
Large blue eyes turned towards him in obvious confusion. How cute, he thought, remembering a certain pair of large green eyes.
Smiling fondly, he reached out a hand to pat the child on the head as he introduced himself.
What happened next no one expected.
With a sudden burst Prussia had grabbed his collar in a chokehold, tumbling the two of them painfully to the ground.
"Don't touch my brother," the albino had hissed, eyes flashing with blood and flames, and France saw again the face of the warrior nation some had called Devil. "Don't you dare touch my brother again, France, or I swear to God I'll cast upon you the pains of hell and worse, friend or no."
France could only stare with wide eyes at this turn of events, the previous haze of alcohol burned away from his mind.
Time seemed to pause, the panicked cries of the child fading away as if some unearthly echo. His gaze slid sideways to the boy who was frantically trying to pry Prussia's arm away from France's throat to no avail.
Blond hair, blue eyes… common enough features in Europe, but one particular person – one nation – leap to the forefront of his mind. That exact shade of blue was what haunted him in sleep, had been so for years.
Vivid blue eyes, glaring up at him with fury, resentment and just the lightest touch of fear – but the emotion that overshadowed them all was determination; the desire to live that warred with the knowledge that death loomed close. Bright blond hair, half caked in a dirty shroud of dried blood, an ominous foreboding to his soon to-be-fate.
He had killed that child, been hated by others and himself for it, yet by some strange contriving the mirror of that boy stood before him. A miracle… No, this was no miracle. It could only be credited to one man, the very same one pinning him to the ground.
Born from the ashes of the Holy Roman Empire was the North German Confederation, nurtured in the heart of Prussia.
Prussia finally let go, allowing the child to drag him away from France, only to tug the younger into his arms.
"…Bruder?" the boy was visibly confused but allowed Prussia to hold him, his own little hands coming to clutch the fabric of the older nation's shirt.
The albino nation had fallen asleep soon after, and France had helped the boy drag his brother back to the house before leaving.
They didn't talk about this later – he wondered if Prussia even remembered, and the child (a ghost of the past, yet not a ghost) had not understood.
But France had, and so now he knew.
That the Holy Roman Empire lived on in the boy now named Germany; and this was a secret that he would carry to his grave, even as he remembered big brown eyes filled with tears.
You might have noticed my OTP slipping in here, haha. Unintentional, I assure you, it just happened on its own. All I wanted to do was to show France's alcohol-muddled thought processes, and whaddaya know, he starts thinking of England! (is shot)
Anyway, do leave a review, I really appreciate it!
PS - I have more Germany-is-HRE oneshots sitting in my pc waiting to be completed, so stay tuned for more!
