Prussia had always kept a close eye on his little brother, Germany. They were after all, the only members of their family that were left on this earth. There were many times though, that the elder had to rely on the younger. The Franco-Prussian War was a hard time that even after winning, Prussia had to stay with Germany for awhile so he could get back onto his feet. Prussia saw it as an opportunity to make sure his brother was safe. Germany just saw it as älteren Bruder being a dummkopf. Prussia was proud of his little "West" and how big and strong he had become; He was getting to be a regular empire, that is, until the World Wars, when Prussia knew his brother had bitten off more than he could chew and it was all thanks to a certain Herr Mustache...

The time was World War II...

Prussia stationed a look-out tower at his home, looking to the west for any signs of his brother in possible distress. There was nothing for Prussia to be looking out at, for the night was silent, save for the occasionally rumble of a bomb going off to the south. The days and nights have been like this since th ebeginning of the war. Silent. The albino didn't like getting involved, for he knew how tough the enemies were. Every now and again he would help his brother in a blitzkrieg, but that was it.

Now Germany had been able to take care of himself for a while with the help of his own allies, Italy and Japan, but Prussia feared the worst when things started to really get out of hand. First was the day in late 1943 when Italy declared war on his old friend; next was the destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Prussia knew the battle was over for his little brother, but he was also sure that the Allies would come after him as well. It wasn't long before his prediction came to fruition.

From Prussia's look-out, a flurry of bullets rained just above his head. He ducked down and hid behind steel barriers. Below him erupted several hand-grenades, and his little tower began to cave-in. He crashed to the first floor, but he didn't stay there for long. He got up as soon as he could and ran towards the direction that the bullets from earlier had been fired in. On the way, he found one of his flags. He grabbed it and took off again just before a support beam collapsed. All around him, the house was being destroyed, and fires were quickly spreading behind him.

Prussia finally made it to an exit, but to his dismay, he was out of the house and in the courtyard, which was surrounded by the concrete walls of the building. Across the way and to his flanks were flames exploding through windows and doors. He walked sorrowfully to the small fountain at the center of the court. He sat on the edge and watched as the home he had built with his other brothers fell before him; the only bit of his past not destroyed was the flag he grasped tightly in his hands.

As the fires burned down, a familiar voice called out.

"It's over, you barmy git. You and your brother are through." Prussia soon saw the commander of the voice saunter through the smoke. Behind him were the other members of the Allies. None of them had weapons, for now.

Prussia noticed this and thought he may just have a chance. Behind him, though it was now a pile of rubble was an old clock tower; inside it was stashed several machine guns and other sorts of artillery for emergencies.

Britain began to speak again. "Yes, we are unarmed. It's only because we believe that we don't need to take you out, just take you in as a P.O.W. It wouldn't matter if you tried to fight back, there's five of us, and only one of you. SO what do you say?"

Prussia just looked back at them, a scowl on his face. Without warning, he jumped up, and made a mad dash to the old tower. He turned around once to look back at his doomed enemies, but as soon as he did, something pierced through his chest. He was shot backwards into tower wall. What now stuck out of Prussia's chest was something very familiar to him; a rusty lead pipe with a faucet at the other end.

The once great country laughed, though he knew what he was about to say was wrong. "You think you can kill me? I am ze von und only Prussia! I'm too awesome to die or be made someone's slave." Russia walked over and pulled his prized weapon from the body of his enemy.

"Oh, shut up," the larger country growled. "And besides, didn't you use to be Poland's bitch?" Prussia was stunned, but what Russia said, of course, was true. He bowed his head in shame, failure surging through him. The Allies, being done with him, started to walk away.

"Bitte, töten nicht mein Bruder." France was taken aback by this. He had heard these words uttered before. He stopped and turned to look at his old friend. His allies stopped as well.

"It wasn't West's fault. He never wanted war. His boss was just a verrückter!" Blood dripped down Prussia chin and tears down his cheeks. "Please, that nut is dead now, he killed himself! My brother won't fight anymore! I swear to it! Don't kill him!"

"Alright, we will." Prussia gasped and looked up at America. The usually rude and loud country was now solemn, thinking of his own little brother, Canada, and what he would do if they were in the same situation. He was not alone, for France and China also had younger brothers of their own that they would always want to protect. As for Russia and Britain, well, they were younger brothers.

"I can't say show him the same mercy if he starts another fight." America, bowing his head, walked away and didn't look back.

The Great Prussia, at this point, had only one regret: not being able to say good-bye to Germany. He wasn't going to try to hold on; there was no point to it. He may have been a country, but 1) he had lost a lot of blood and 2) it was the end of the war and he lost; he had basically just been conquered and destroyed.

He was about to close his eyes and sleep for eternity when he heard someone walking through the rubble. He sat up, alert and looking for the interloper. To his right, he caught a glimpse of blond, shaggy hair. Knowing what this creep was up to, Prussia decided that he would try to stay alive, at least until Germany showed up to inspect the carnage, or until Britain left.