Broken Berlin
Bloodshot eyes stare hauntingly at the once great and imposing building in Berlin. Fires bloom and burn everywhere the sky blue eyes can see. The man's raspy breath, labored by his extensive injuries, creates small clouds of breath in front of his face and, as it unravels itself, blurs his already impaired vision of the semi-destroyed building. He felt a renewed pain in his chest, making him hunch his shoulders and grab at his chest – right where his heart was – like he was trying to stop the pain. Slowly, he took a hesitant step towards the six monumental columns. As he hesitantly walked up the cracked a broken stone steps, surrounded by bomb craters, empty shells and… bodies, he wearily leans his head back causing his blonde hair – that was capped in mud and dried blood – to shift from his pale forehead.
"Dem Deutschen Volke" the blonde murmured under his breath before letting out a pitiful chuckle. He continued to laugh until his body was racked with coughing fit after coughing fit. Falling to the stone on his knees – probably bruising the already abused joints - he hunched over, wheezing. Minutes, which seemed like hours to the solitary man, his coughs subsided. He made to stand up once again, but his legs couldn't hold his weight.
"… Pitiful" He looks himself up and down. Once clean, crisp Waffen-SS uniform was now just a shadow of what it used to be. Blood. His or others… he doesn't know. His black jack boots, which he shined to perfection – are now scuffed, dried blood clinging to the peeling sole and leather. Matching jacket and trousers that were, once upon a time, ironed and clean now hang onto the mans body ripped to ribbons, blood soaking through and singed at the cuffs, neck and seems. Feeling something trickle down one side of his face, he moves a shaking hand to wipe the unknown substance away, and then retracts the appendage to see scarlet fluid dripping off his long, thin fingers and onto the palm. His eyes widen as he sees his own blood. This simple knowledge causes all the pain that the Führer caused in the eleven years of being in power. All the people... both German and of other Nationalities... dead.
"Mein gott!" The memories of shooting the Allies soldiers only hours ago in defense of a corrupt government cause so much guilt to flood his veins and very soul he never realized that he had finally broken down. Not even when his body was shaken by heart-wrenching sobs.
The poor man stayed like this from when the moon was high in the sky, throughout the night and into the following day.
Hours after he finally broke down, the blonde German was still in the exact place. The tears had stopped. In his head, the outside world was mute. Like a mantra in his head, he kept repeating 'It's all my fault… it's all my fault'
Soft footsteps stumbled to a halt at the sight before their owner. Acidic green eyes widened as unusually large eyebrows shot towards the man's hairline. No matter how heartless and cruel this green eyed man acted, he would always care – it was who he was. Cautiously, he walked towards the huddled figure on the stone floor in front of the remains of The Reichstag. As he neared the hunched man, he crouched down and, slowly – not wanting to make this man jump – he reached out to place a comforting hand on the German's uninjured shoulder.
No response
"Ludwig?"
No response
"Ludwig?" he softly shook the shoulder under his hand.
No response
"Ludwig? G-Germany?" a pale head gradually appeared from the bundle of bloodied green uniform. Eyes bloodshot and wide, skin waxy, pale and cuts numerous. Ludwig's hair, that the green eyed man had only seen slicked back, clung to his sweaty forehead. Blood oozed down from a particularly deep cut hidden beyond Ludwig's hairline down the left side and even into one eye.
"A-Arthur?" the German shrunk from the other man, obviously frightened. But stopped before he moved more than a few inches because of the hurt in the green eyes of his British friend. Guilt surged back as he noted the stained bandages that were wrapped securely round one of the Brit's arms and peaked out of the green military uniform to circle the man's thin neck.
"Who did you think it would be, idiot" Arthur replied softly, earning him a small smile from the blood covered German. He stands up and holds a hand to Ludwig "Come on, you need to know something. I've already told Prussia to meet us at Brandenburg Gate… You wouldn't want to keep him waiting, would you?" Ludwig stares into Arthur's eyes, contemplating. He sees no deceit in the green eyes, so he reaches out and takes the offered hand.
