The Pain of Holding On

by Seiliez Wingalas

Pru/Can semi-historically correct ww2 themed story. Near the end of the second world war, Matthew and Gilbert are unexpectedly thrown together by fate! M rated for Death, mature themes, and bromance.

WARNING! BREIF GORE, IMPLIED RAPE, LANGUAGE, HISTORICAL INACUARACY AND EVENTUAL YAOI (BOYxBOY MATERIAL)! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ!

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Matthew whimpered in torment as lines of icy hot agony split down his body. He couldn't see but he could hear the sound of his flesh being cut, could smell the tang of his own blood. Metal clicked loudly on metal as several voices spoke in another language, which he could have deciphered if he had had the energy to try.

He heard the cracking and ripping and squelching, as he was pulled apart, his insides poked and prodded, giving the wet sound of bloody flesh.

His back was pressed to cold metal, every movement could be felt as something cold prodded at the feebly beating center of his being. Someone was touching his heart! He realized with a jerk, immediately the quality of darkness changed to that of unconsciousness, and he welcomed the reprieve.

XXXX

Gilbert Beilschmidtt didn't bother announcing himself as he pushed into the Doctors study room. Immediately wishing he hadn't come at all. The doctor had told him of a new and fascinating discovery, but that didn't prepare him for the spectacle he saw here.

Spread on the metal operating table lay a young man, nude except for a bloodstained sheet over his lowest regions. His blonde hair was spread like a halo around his face, tilted towards him. Blindfolded though he was, Gilbert could still see the smooth contours of his face, the soft planes of pale skin—he couldn't have been more than seventeen—and the swell of lips still rosy even in such a position as he was in.

The horror began with what had been done to him.

The doctors had slit open his chest, cracked open his ribcage and stretched them out of the way like the gates of some bloody hell, exposing the sinfully bright jewel hues of his glistening organs.

"Mein…gott…" Gilbert couldn't help but breath out in a horrified whisper, as his eyes took in the pins and knives stretching and holding him open. And finally the true horror was revealed.

For though it should have been impossible, the young mans ruby hued—nearly a twin to the color of Gilberts eyes. —Heart was still beating—albeit weakly—within his gaping chest.

No, that wasn't true, it was not impossible, but it could only be done to those like him. The exact same thing could have been done to him at any time. That someone on earth actually had the stomach to do the deed was an entirely different matter. He lost a large amount of his respect for the Doctor in that moment, as he stepped forward, lucky that no one was present to see the sudden flash of anger in his eyes.

He placed a pale hand to the damp, clammy skin of the young mans forehead.

He was a country just like he, Gott how his people must have been suffering from this. Gilbert started a little as the young man stirred under his touch. Straining momentarily at his bonds, and whimpering painfully as the movement pulled at his pinned flesh.

Gilbert felt very un-awesome, being part of a nation that allowed such things to be done. He could not help the boy, not now; he would have to make preparations. He could do very little as of this moment.

He did not know what country this boy was, which language he spoke, or even if he understood German and he did not have time to find out—he could hear footsteps outside—so he did the only thing he could do in that moment he had before the doctor returned.

His tone was soothing, and he put all the reassurance he could into the German words.

"I cannot help you now, but I will do what I can…" then he stepped back, affectively blanking his expression as the door opened and the doctor swept in. He began speaking in rapid excitement almost immediately.

"Quite a spectacle isn't he? His healing process and resilience to wounding is stunning! I had very good luck discovering him when I did, he was about to be put into a labor camp, once he got there I would never have found him." Gilbert did not reply immediately, his ruby red eyes locked on the limp form on the operating table. Finally he spoke, his voice crisp.

"How quickly can you finish with him?"

The doctor was busy as he replied, his back to Gilbert, as he rearranged some selection of metal tools.

"Hm… I am almost done gathering data, so two—at the most three—days. Why do you ask?" the clattering of metal instruments continued as Gilbert paused, having second thoughts about what he was about to say, but then the boy moaned quietly, the sound full of hopelessness and numb pain. Like someone who had felt every cut and wished that they would be finished off soon.

"I wish to have him." The Doctor spun around in surprise, leaving the implements he had been fooling around with in disarray.

"What? So you have become human!" Gilbert did not comment on this, he knew what was said about him because he had not claimed a "toy" as of yet, because he did not feel the desire to hear screaming while relieving his needs. He was more human than the others in his opinion, ironically enough he wasn't even truly human!

"Why the sudden change, did your hand go dead?" The doctor jibed rudely, making a lewd gesture near his crotch with one hand.

Gilbert did not comment, and did not show any reaction to the implication.

"It does not matter. Take care to leave as little scaring as possible. I want him healthy. At least as much as possible under these circumstances." He gestured at the way the boy had been gutted.

The doctor harrumphed, disappointed at the lack of reaction from the officer, but nodded.

"Very well, sir."

"I will retrieve him tomorrow when the sun sets. It is still early, I suggest you get to work." The Doctor nodded once again, his expression showing discontent at the short time period he had to finish his work. But nonetheless he saluted politely.

"Sir." And headed strait for the body moaning on the table. Gilbert spent no more time in the building and nearly ran into the darkness outside.

XXXX

The moment that Gilbert could see the morning light he began to work, not even bothering with food. He had been kept up all night by sounds that had never truly bothered him before. Screams, moans, pleads… He had never had a face to associate this pain going on around him with, now he did and it was unnerving, disturbing and made it impossible for him to sleep. The result was a foul mood roiling just under his skin.

It lingered even as he made his plans, but by the end, success had softened it a little. He had spent many hours this day making calls, using a few of those favors and tidbits he had gathered over the years to persuade the wardens and higher ranks that it would be better if they let him have his way.

It didn't take much. They were more concerned for their own reputations as 'upstanding citizens' in the Nazi Regime than for the fate of a single boy and the soldier who was so much higher above them that no rank could show it.

It was not hard to persuade them.

XXXX

Gilbert stalked through the camp, the entire world dyed red by the setting sun. He growled in annoyance, his mood had been escalated by one of the soldiers, carrying a limp, lifeless body through the middle of camp thrown over one shoulder like a sack of waste. A thin, feminine, darkly bruised body that Gilbert knew wouldn't even be given a proper burial, that nameless girl who had passed out of the torture of this place would be burned and forgotten. It made him furious, swearing to himself angrily that this boy would never see that sort of treatment from him. Gott knew it wasn't necessary, just look at Feliciano and his brother!

He came into the laboratory with an irritated frown and a fierce slam of the door. The doctor stood next to the operating table where the boy still lay, a careful line of black stitches marking where his chest had been sutured back together. He still had a blindfold on and his hands had been tied in front of him, a tattered, stained, and torn pair of pants clung to his thin form.

"Doktor." Gilberts voice was dangerously cold. The man seemed to finally realize that this albino man was not one to take liberties with.

"Guten abend, herr Beilschmidtt. I have done as you ordered, sir."

"Gut." He didn't say anything else, refusing to spare him a glance—knowing that if he did the man wouldn't survive this meeting—as he swept past, scooping the blonde boy into his arms and turning stiffly on his heel, storming towards the door. He paused.

"Oh- Ja. Dieser Junge gehört mir jetzt, gehört Preußen, älterer Bruder zu die Seele von Deutschland. Think well on that before speaking to your superiors. Am I understood, Doktor?" Suddenly his eyes flickered to the iron cross around the other mans neck and his rank-less shoulders and widened as if in understanding. The doctor nodded, he understood a threat when he heard one, especially one as serious as this. He yielded almost as easily as the others had, without any need for blackmail.

"J-Ja, Herr Beilschmidtt." With that Gilbert swept from the room, leaving a stunned doctor in his wake.

XXXX

Gilbert kicked his brother's door in leeway of a knock—to angry to knock properly—and it opened almost immediately. "What now- was?" Ludwig's eyes darkened as they fell on the bloodstains on his clothing and the duffle bag slung over his shoulder. "Bruder, was ist dis?"

Ludwig crossed his arms stiffly, blue eyes annoyed, his blonde hair perfectly slicked back even though his sweat told of recent exercise.

"What do you think, Westen?" Ludwig's cerulean eyes narrowed a bit in response to the dark look on Gilbert's usually grinning face.

"I got myself a 'Pet'." He snarled with more than his usual brash harshness, rage virtually rolling off him in waves. Ludwig's eyebrow twitched in confusion.

"Was?"

"What. I. Said. He's in the car now." Gilbert gritted between his teeth. Ludwig frowned sharply, and opened his mouth to interrogate his silver haired brother. But before he could The Prussian shook his head sharply, jaw clenching. "And I'm going to take my new 'pet' home." He snapped.

"Wait a minute- wait. Home?"

"Ja."

"We are in the middle of a war, Osten! This is no time to be irresponsible! You cannot just-" Prussia hissed, like a rabid tomcat and grabbed Ludwig by the collar of his jacket. Every one of his sharp teeth bared.

"Don't give me that shit, Westen! I will not stay here any longer! I don't give a rats ass if this is a war front, I don't give a shit if the Führer himself ordered us to be here, I don't even give a fuck if we win this war anymore!"

"But-"

"Nein! Just. Listen, Westen! For one. Fucking. Second!" Ludwig went silent "If you want to stay in this shit hole, than- well- I won't try to change your mind no matter how much I disagree with you. But I want you to think for one mother fucking moment-" his voice lowered even more, as if he was breathless with anger. " – Of Feliciano." Ludwig's eyes widened, anger of his own glowing from their icy blue.

"We all know I'm not the most scrupulous of men, West. But even I know its wrong and fucking sick to listen to screams and pleading as you try to sleep! It makes me want to vomit boiling tar and razor blades when I realize that I ignored it for so long! Now imagine what that must be like for a soft soul like Feliciano..." the anger drained from Ludwig's face, followed quickly by every drop of blood in his already pale skin. "Good. Looks like it finally got through your stupid dumb-fuck skull." he loosened his grip on his brothers collar and released him." If I were you I would end this stupid endeavor, it has already gone to far. Italy already left you, and the only way Feliciano is still with you right now is because he loves you, and you have to pretend he's your whore." He grimaced in distaste for his brother's sake. "Stop being a Fucking pussy and make the right decision, as a country, but until then you won't be hearing from me."

And with that he headed from the door, yelling harshly in German for the car to be brought. He paused, giving his brother a weak smirk over his shoulder.

"Auf Wiedersehen, Bruder. "

And with that he disappeared into the darkening dusk.

XXXX

Matthew woke still blindfolded and bound to agonizing pain in his body, centering in a line down the center of his chest, whatever he was laying on was bumping beneath him and the sound of a motor roared in his ears. He was being taken somewhere… he shivered and curled in on himself, feeling rough wool shift over him and uneven leather cling beneath him. His stomach boiled queasily but his toes felt numb and cold, he groaned.

"Schließlich wach? Das ist gute. Ich begann zu denken, daß Sie nie aufwachen würden." He shook, unable to see, sick and convinced that this person with the harsh, sharp voice had come to bring him back to the pain.

He wracked his feverish brain, looking for German words in his mind before speaking, but could only remember a little. He couldn't even bring himself to translate what the person had said, but nonetheless he tried.

"B-Bitte… verletzen Sie mich nicht wieder…" there was no response for a long moment but then the rough voice was grating on his eardrums again. He didn't even have the energy to differentiate between the individual words anymore.

Matthew faded again.

XXXX

The next time Matthew roused he was still blind, aching from what felt like a line of stitches down his chest. He twitched under the weight of what felt like blankets—blankets! Oh, how he had missed them!—Finding that he could move, though his hands were bound in front of him. He shifted and heard the creak of wood, and the give of a mattress beneath him. Where was he? Had the allies finally remembered him and come to rescue him…? No that couldn't have been it, if that was the case why would he still be bound and blindfolded? He jumped, wincing as he heard a doorknob turn and hinges creak.

"H-hello?" he croaked shakily. No one replied for what seemed like forever, though he could hear footsteps shifting. He flinched away when he suddenly felt something touch his hair, and bumped into something else on the other side, he began to tremble before realizing that they were attempting to fidget with his blindfold, he froze and allowed them to finish. Still trembling with nervousness.

There was one man before him, holding the black strip of cloth that had recently blinded him. The first thing that Matthew noticed—oddly enough—was his hair. It was fine, sleek and silver, not gun metal grey, but a silver so pale it was nearly white, then his eyes were drawn downward by the movement of a raised eyebrow and he was struck frozen by cardinal red eyes. They were deeply set and sharp, ringed by pale grey lashes and gleaming with a strange harsh wit. And their color was so sharply striking, like fresh spilled blood in the snow of his white face that Matthew couldn't help but flinch.

The man grinned with slightly sharp teeth and tapped a finger just bellow one of the lust red eyes. "Pretty aren't they?" he laughed harshly, putting the blindfold in one of the pockets of his dark blue uniform with a large, spindly hand. He took a seat at the far end of the bed, seemingly not noticing the plain nervousness—though it had calmed a bit since the removal of blindness—that held the others body tense and shaking.

Matthew stared at him with nervously cold eyes, "Wh-who are you?" he finally whispered, voice hoarse and trembling with strain.

"Gilbert. Gilbert Bielschmidtt, and what are you called, little Birdy?" his voice was rough, grating and harsh but somehow managed to communicate a certain amount of friendliness. Matthew gulped painfully—it felt as if his throat had been damaged as well—and opened his mouth to reply before doubling over coughing as the first vibration caught unpleasantly on the torn nerves. It hurt, oh god it hurt, tearing through his chest and ripping in agonizing hacks from his jaws. He stifled his retching between still bound wrists.

Suddenly they were nudged out of the way by a hand that soon gripped at the back of his neck firmly. Matthew gasped, eyes going wide as he fought for breath. "Here. Drink this, Birdy." The edge of a crystal glass was held before him and unthinkingly he latched on hungrily, feeling cool water pour down his throat as the glass was tipped gently—slowly enough that he wouldn't choke—it soothed the stinging tingle in the back of his throat and cooled the pain in his chest.

He longed to prolong the cool flow but at last his already deprived lungs ran out of air and he pulled away, breathing heavily. "Th-thank you..." he murmured, voice significantly cleared and stronger. A chuckle. "You're welcome, mien schatz." The mattress shifted and Matthew watched dully as the man—Gilbert—placed the glass somewhere to the side before reaching for his wrists once again. "Here, how about we get rid of these?" The albino inquired rhetorically. His other hand disappeared for a moment bellow the edge of the bed and quickly reappeared with a gleaming flourish. A nasty looking curved and notched blade held in his hand, shiny and looking wickedly sharp.

Matthew flinched at the sight of the knife but did nothing at its blade was slid between his wrists—he began to shudder in fear at the familiar feel of cool metal against his skin—and sliced neatly through the thick rope as only a perfectly sharpened knife could. The rope unwound from his skin stickily, exposing nastily chaffed flesh that stung smartly once exposed to the air, adding to his growing list of pains. He groaned and pulled away from Gilbert's grasp hastily, rubbing gently at his wrists, trying to regulate the hindered circulation.

Matthew glanced up at Gilbert shyly, continuing to wring his wrists gingerly before allowing them to fold in his lap atop the quilt. It was a nice blanket, thick and warm besides the slightly faded colors. He allowed his eyes to flick to the side and around the room, the walls were whitewashed, but the trim around the small window was blue and the walls were hung with various picture frames. There was a carpet on the floor, a strange, dark green affair that somehow complimented the room. Within a second he had taken this in and had settled back on the albino German.

"W-where…?" he asked in such a low voice that it was nearly a whisper. That raucous chuckle rang through the room once again, uncomfortable to his ears before the man responded. "My home. And mein bruders, but he isn't here…" For a moment his face darkened and his eyes turned the color of rust before they quickly brightened again. "But it's safe! No one will touch this place. They wouldn't dare!"

"So, who are you?" in normal circumstances Matthew would have been hurt by the question—particularly if his brother, or some other person who had known him for years said it—but this time he didn't feel anything. After all, it was a logical question. "I-I'm Matthew Williams…" the albino smiled again but continued to stare at him. "That's nice to know, Birdy. But where are you?"

Matthew froze and stopped breathing. Eyes fixed on Gilbert. He couldn't know what he was, could he? It was impossible… wasn't it?

"I-I'm in your house…?" another chuckle though by now it seemed less grating.

"Nein, nein. I mean what country are you?" there was no mistaking that.

"C-Canada…" Gilbert's teeth flashed white.

"Nice to meet you, schatz! I'm Prussia, also known as Awesome!"

XXXX

The albino Prussian had fed him surprisingly well over the time he was in his home, breakfast, lunch and dinner every day along with a near constant stream of snacks in between. Even when the loud man wasn't there he was well supplied with books, which he devoured nearly as fast as they came, proud that he could read the German so easily now that he had his senses back fully. He was glad of it, but the lack of activity had nagged at him, he wasn't the sort to sit in bed day after day.

Nonetheless it was an entire week before Matthew could stand well enough to go down the stairs to the bottom floor. He had hobbled down the stairs the first time, the Prussian hovering over his shoulder, it had hurt to move so much, but not overly so and he had fought his way through it to reach the last step. When he did reach his destination he found every inch of the house just as neat and pleasant as the room upstairs. All decorated like an old farmhouse, complete with an entire stone wall in the kitchen.

The Canadian was happy to be out of bed, sitting at the table with Gilbert making a meal of wurst, stew and bread. And though he would have done almost anything for a good old pancake, he was strangely content to go without, with this strange new food in its stead.

XXXX

Gilbert was becoming a warm presence to him.

He had realized it one day almost a month after his first escapade down the stairs. When the Prussian had given one of his mysterious loud laughs that Matthew could never quite discover the cause of and instead of scraping like sandpaper for the nerves, it had simply slid through his ears. A sign that there was another body not so far away in the house, that he wasn't all alone.

Over time, the sound of him had become a constant, a backdrop. Random laughter ringing through the rooms, the sound of the Prussian yelling at various inanimate objects that had frustrated him, the sound of him rushing down the stairs to get something, he was all around loud. Loud laugh, loud talk, loud walk, loud confidence, loud self. Always with a word or request or question for Matthew.

It made him strangely… happy.

Matthew hadn't expected to be happy in a place like this. He was virtually a hostage, most likely forgotten by his family, still pained by the wounds inflicted on him, but he was content. Happy. It was simply impossible to be unhappy with the Prussian there, and he was always there.

His presence was constantly around to keep the loneliness and lurking depression at bay, so much different than his brother's similarly loud personality. Instead of drowning out, muffling, and covering the voices of others, erasing them with his own opinions and words Gilberts loud was continuous and forceful, but like a tide it ebbed and flowed even when it never truly disappeared. Pausing to give others a chance at a word before his reply rang out like thunder.

Prussia had a warm, accommodating, constant and attentive sort of tone.

He was the sound, Matthew was coming to realize, and like a catchy song he was becoming lodged firmly in Matthew's thoughts.

Matthew nearly jumped out of his skin as a sharp curse rang through the house, breaking him from his thoughts. His eyes widened and he looked up at the ceiling, where the sound had come from and followed it with his eyes as something crashed and feet thundered on the floor, this was a different loud then usual. The Prussians footsteps quickly clattering down the stairs and around the corner into the room where Matthew sat. Matthew sat frozen at the Prussian cursed loudly, language so colorful that it nearly made him wither. Wild. It fit his appearance perfectly. His eyes were wide, his hair bristling, his teeth bared angrily and his entire body tense as he paced agitatedly, gesturing wildly, as curse after curse fell out of his mouth, a poisonous mix of German and English. He was speaking in such a jumble that though he sensed that the red-eyed man was trying to communicate something to him he couldn't understand what it was.

"G-Gilbert?" the Prussian's head snapped around and Matthew flinched. He looked furious, fearful, worried, and in pain all at once, the different feelings shifting across his face so fast that it was hard to differentiate between them.

And then it melted and in a moment he was collapsing onto the couch beside the stunned Canadian, dropping his head into his hands with a loud "fuck!" and groaning to himself.

Silence dragged on for a collection of tense minutes, filled only by Gilbert's heavy breath and Matthew's pounding heartbeat. Finally Prussia began to speak.

"… They- Russia and the allies, I mean- they… they've bombed Berlin. Two fucking days ago… and they just now announced it on the radio." he ground the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. "…Berlin is my brothers capital. His fucking heart… I don't… I don't know if he'll be alright." Matthew breathed in sharply, and scooted across the distance between them, wrapping an arm around the albino's shoulders before he could think on it too much. He couldn't say anything, what could he say in a situation like this? He was torn between concern and triumph. He was happy that the allies were winning, but at the same time he could almost feel every twinge of what Gilbert must be feeling. He had a brother too…

"I-I can't do anything… I doubt I could reach him even if I tried, I don't know where he is, and the capital is probably being bombarded as we speak… Gott… I- I'm so un-awesome right now…" he choked and within a moment he had turned, had his head buried in Matthew's shoulder and was shaking quietly. Matthew circled him in his arms carefully, silently showing his support even as he cheered inside and ached along with every long, shuddering exhale of strain that escaped Gilbert's body—brushing damply against his collarbone.

He held him in silence, shushing him quietly and murmuring unintelligibly into his ears, hands stroking down his back in long comforting strokes. Matthew's eyes stayed closed, lips brushing the Prussian's hair with every whisper and gentle rock.

Gilbert had warmed on him. Perhaps it was this that influenced his almost unconscious motion. He barely considered the meaning behind it as he pulled back a little, slid a hand to tilt Gilbert's head, and place a delicate chaste kiss on his wrinkled brow, tenderly smoothing it. Gilbert froze, his entire body going still and suddenly Matthew was reminded that this man was—or had been—a part of a movement that persecuted affections between men… he went stiff. For a moment he attempted to pull back, withdrawing his arms from around the Prussian's still motionless body. He wouldn't let go, and Matthew gave up at Gilbert's arms showed no sign of releasing him, instead letting his hands drift back into place against his shoulder blades.

It was a long time before the Prussian straitened up and pulled away. Matthew stared strait into Gilbert's red eyes and smiled weakly.

"Thanks Birdy. I feel a little better now." Gilbert mumbled but his tone was indeed brighter and calmer than it had been a moment ago. His eyes clearer—though still watery—and a small smirk gracing his lips.

"I-I'm glad…" Matthew said quietly. Gilbert grinned a little wider and leaned in rapidly to peck the blonde just on the edge of his lips, just a firm brush before pulling away and wiping at his damp eyes with irritation. He was just putting his arm back around the Canadian when he wavered and blinked, rubbing at his eyes as if they stung him. Suddenly Matthew was aware of the darkness under his puffy eyes and the nest of his white hair and frowned.

"Gilbert…? Have you slept…?" The albino smirked ruefully and shook his head, swaying. Before he knew it Matthew had gripped him by the shoulders, slid off the couch and virtually slammed him onto his back among the cushions. Gilbert stared up at him with something between alarm and suspicion before he relaxed as no sign of aggression was shown. Matthew held him down gently but firmly by the shoulders until he was sure that he wouldn't resist. "Gilbert. Rest. I'll listen on the radio for you, alright? Just sleep!" he flicked his blanket off his own shoulders and slid it over the Prussian's body. Blinking in surprise, the albino hesitated for a long moment before nodding in agreement and settled into the couch cushions.

Within minutes of leaving to settle in the kitchen with the radio on quietly he could hear the snores emanating from the living room. He smiled. Even when sleeping the Prussian was noisy—in fact, he swore that he sometimes heard him in his nightmares, and when he did they always rapidly shifted to brighter subjects.

It was grim news to be heard, every other word on the radios told of something new about the war and its proceedings. Berlin was indeed under fire, since the 20th of April, and the Red Army was most likely still on the offensive, if the chatter over the airwaves was anything to go by. Matthew sighed, listening and struggling to decipher to the smatterings of German, English and Russian that were coming through as he adjusted the dials one by one, scanning through various army waves which told differing stories.

From what he could gather of it all, the Germans were in an ill disguised panic, the American and English troops were grimly holding on, the majority of their attention still in Italy, and the Russians were determined to win in as short a time as possible. Once the Canadian could have sworn that he heard the familiar enthusiastically angry voice of his own brother, but it was too garbled to understand and by the time he had tuned in fully he was gone.

After an hour or so of this—by which time he had heard nearly every word he could handle to hear without going out of his mind— Matthew was leaning heavily on the table, hand toying with the knobs of the radio, and half an ear cocked in case there might be something new.

By the second hour he was well on his way to his fourth cup of coffee and had settled on one channel after discovering that all he would get out of scanning was repeats of virtually the same thing in several different languages.

Twenty or so minutes after that he had fallen to his own thoughts, realizing with a shock that not only had he been gone from the Allies for almost four months—the last date he could remember being with them had been midway through January and now it was nearing the end of April—but that he had nearly forgotten about his place in battle. This little house in Germany seemed so far away from it all, even though they were probably closer than he had ever been before to the epicenter of the conflict… he sighed, grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes.

How could he have been gone for four Fucking months and care more about the well being of his enemy when his side was so near to winning? When had this happened?

There was no clear answer.

XXXX

Matthew must have fallen asleep there on the kitchen table with the radio still fizzing information into his skull at some point. Because it was dim outside with rainclouds pouring torrents of water down on the roof the next time he woke, but that wasn't what had roused him. Someone was pounding on the door with a force that made the windowpanes rattle in their settings—strangely enough, his first thought was not of who it might be or why they wanted entry so badly. Instead it was a rush of irritation as he realized that they had most likely woken Gilbert from a well-needed rest.

He was on his feet and storming towards the door in an instant, the ache in his belly ignored as his hand closed around the handle and he yanked the door open with a hard look, and his mouth open in preparation to spew something foul that would probably have gotten him in a great deal of trouble had it been someone of importance. However the words quickly died in his throat at the sight before him.

There was a very tired, very wet, very angry and bloodstained man on the doorstep, leaning heavily on the doorjamb as if his legs might give out at any moment. Matthew didn't even have time to open his mouth before a trembling hand was fixed in the front of his shirt, dragging him forward until he was nose to nose with the furiously glaring German soldier. "Where. Ist. Mein. Bruder?" Matthew gulped and was about to answer. He never had the chance, however, as he was shoved to the side, slamming into the wall with a grunt of pain, the collision driving every drop of air out of his lungs. He could barely hear the sound of the German yelling down the hall past the ringing in his ears and the resurfacing screaming pain of his side.

He dimly registered the entry of a new voice in the yelling as he sunk down, trying to gasp a breath in. In normal circumstances he would have been able to take a blow like that with little trouble, but after the torturously drawn out experiments that he knew had been done to him his body took it with little of its old grace. Matthew could only be thankful that it hadn't knocked him unconscious—as he suspected it would have done to a human who had been through anything even vaguely similar. He did his best to split his concentration between breathing and discerning between the sounds of the two yelling voices but had little success, only able to tell that most of the yelling was being done by one voice.

Finally, just as his hearing began to steady, there was a final burst and then a barely decipherable sentence in hushed but sharp German. Barely a second later a strong hand was helping him to his feet. Matthew blinked dizzily and leaned heavily on the familiar pointy shoulder. "-Y-al-t-b-y?"

He shook his head to try and clear it, forcing himself to look up into an uneasy blood red gaze. "What…?" he murmured once it seemed that the pain of the jolt had mellowed enough for him to concentrate. Gilbert's grating voice repeated the question slower, in that way people do when they haven't been heard the first time. "Are you alright?"

Matthew attempted a shaky smile at the loud Prussian's ill concealed concern. "It'll pass. Just give me a moment." He gripped gently at the corner of Gilbert's shirt to steady himself, hoping that he wouldn't mind the clingy gesture, as he breathed slowly in and out. What seemed like an eternity later he straitened with determination and nodded—not relinquishing his grip and still taking advantage of Gilbert's support.

"Where's your brother, Gilbert? You didn't send him back out into the rain did you?" the sound of teeth clicking together and grinding near his ear was clear, but the albino shook his head, helping the Canadian hobble into the kitchen.

The other German was sitting at the kitchen table, rather stiff, with his chin dipped to touch the iron cross at his throat as if he didn't have the energy to keep his head up, and yet he forced himself to straiten up as they entered the room. Matthew took the opportunity to take a better look at the man he had been fighting against as he was lead to a chair at the opposite end of the table and helped to sit down.

The other blonde was certainly bloody and rattled looking on the surface, but Matthew tried to guess what he must have looked like during better times. Behind the shadows of fatigue beneath his eyes and the slight frown on his face, Matthew thought that he could see a gleam of old pride—like Gilbert's—in the turn of his largish nose and strongly cut features. He had a determined, stubborn gleam beneath the dullness of his exhausted cornflower blue eyes and an air of barely held together control in the deliberate neatness of his bloody uniform and the careful manner in which his drenched hair had been slicked back.

A smear of blood lay on his chin, as if he had hastily wiped away the evidence of a bitten lip though there was no sign of any wound.

He was brawnier than Gilbert, wider and more muscularly built, but at the same time only slightly taller which gave him the look of a sturdy sort of robustness. There was a tilt of confusion to his brow and a dash of hysteria in his stiffness. All in all, Matthew couldn't help but feel that he—similar in aspect to his brother in many ways, though Gilbert was more appealing to him—would normally have been a very noble looking man if it weren't for his current situation… whatever that may be.

The clink of a glass of water being placed in front of him snapped him from his observation and he flickered a smile at the thoughtful gesture of the Prussian now sitting at his side. Thankfully taking a sip of the cooling liquid, glancing between the two Brothers as one glared and the other stared at his hands in the awkward silence.

Finally, just when Matthew was on the verge of blurting something—anything—out in order to alleviate the thickness of the air, he was beat to it by Germany.

"I made mein decision, bruder…" he paused, glancing tiredly at Gilbert as if to gauge his reaction before continuing. "I made the better decision." Matthew quickly realized that he was witnessing the continuation of a previous conversation and settled into the role of spectator as it unfolded before him. The Albino bent forward, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"Und?" Germany let his head sink into his hands.

"I killed him. Is that enough for you, Gilbert?" Matthew was forced to grip at Gilbert's shirt quite tightly to keep him from leaping to his feet in what he could only assume was triumph. The Albino looked down at him in confusion as Matthew yanked him back down into his seat, leaning over to give him a quick rebuttal. "Now is not the time, Gil. Look at him; he's in enough pain as it is without you rubbing it in. Later, alright?" when he pulled away he flushed in embarrassment as he found himself pinned by Germany's blue eyes, realizing that the ringing in his ears had made his whisper into something else entirely and that the German had just heard every single word he had said.

"Bitte schon… but, I don't deserve it…" he paused for a long moment, looking Matthew up and down, a guilty gleam in his eye as he spied the shake in the Canadian's breathing. "Es tut meir leid, I hurt you, I did not mean to do so…"

Matthew felt a flash of pity for his—once? —Enemy, and heaved himself up in order to hobble over and take the seat beside the German. "I know. It's not so bad, I forgive you. Now why don't you tell us both what happened to get you in such a state." Drat. His old English formality was making an appearance again.

The following story was shaky and rather patchy but what Matthew was able to piece together was this.

The German Nation had become sick of the pain of his people, the agony as so many of them where killed under his nose, and had finally snapped in a manner of speaking. He had apparently sent away his lover in a rather needlessly violent manner in order to keep him—Matthew was shocked, the national representative of a country that had persecuted homosexuals was gay? —Safe. Germany had then made plans that had only come into play a day or so ago. They had involved poison, a handgun and the careful planning of a staged suicide for Hitler. His wife and loyal dog had stumbled into the nasty affair by accident and there had been no other choice—this seemed to cause Germany a good deal of pain—but to kill them as well.

It was a wild tale, and full of pauses to accommodate for Germany's bouts of self hatred and guilt, involving the careful set up of the murder site, the burning of the bodies and an entire rampage of blackmail and lies before he had been able to flee the scene.

The blood all over him was the residue of Hitler's death and of his own wounding in Russia's siege. Matthew fell to rubbing the distraught German's back half way through, and after a while Gilbert had scooted down to join them. Even though he offered no more comforting than his 'awesome' presence, it still seemed to help.

It was dark outside and still pouring when Germany finally seemed to settle down, so Matthew had quickly became a sort of mother hen/drill sergeant in order to get him back on his feet—and hopefully—keep him there.

It was surprisingly successful.

In less than thirty minutes the German had been ordered to and dutifully fulfilled the tasks given him. He had taken a shower; scouring all traces of murder from himself; dressed in a new set of clothes and was soon well on his way to finishing a second bowl of the hearty soup he had helped Matthew prepare with a dutiful kind of concentration.

He almost wanted to laugh as his own brother stood at attention as the Canadian—still in pajamas—marched stiffly in front of him, lecturing him on his self pity and how he had 'better get over it before it got him killed' and just barely restrained a click of his heels as he was dismissed to bed.

His shoulders did seem straighter though and his stride stronger, and for that Gilbert was thankful.

XXXX

Matthew groaned, rubbing at his eyes as the last sign of Germany disappeared around the top of the stairs. Why was he so tired? He had been downing coffee all night long! It had admittedly been a very tiring, emotional day, but that didn't seem like enough of a reason to make him as tired as he was at the moment. The thought of a bed seemed almost unimaginably appealing at the moment, combined with the lingering ache of what he knew would become a nasty bruise on his shoulder and side it was a sensation that made him want to simply collapse onto the nearest available surface and sleep. Sleep and sleep and sleep until he was healed and all of this god forsaken pain was gone from his-

Gilbert was suddenly wrapping himself around his aching body like a blanket, arms circling his waist and chin resting on Matthew's shoulder with an odd sort of possessiveness as he aligned himself with the blonds back.

"You look tired, why don't we follow his example and get too bed?" Ah yes… bed… sleep. That sounded blissful.

XXXX

Matthew winced as he came too. He felt like he had been run over by a tank! What had happened last night? He remembered Germany and that whole fiasco, but after dinner he couldn't remember anything except a vague blur. He felt like he had… oh fuck it all. He had. Matthew groaned in exasperation as he remembered the pitcher of cold 'coffee' in the fridge that he had drank. How had he not noticed the obviously not-coffee flavor and realized what it actually was? God damn it. Why hadn't he paid more attention? He hated hangovers! Besides that, what in the world was that volume of beer doing randomly laying about?

In the process of rolling in order to hide his eyes from the brightness of the morning light he felt the catch of something holding him down. He opened his eyes a crack, blurry and stinging, and saw… Gilbert?

W-what? Why was he in Gilberts bed?

For a moment he stiffened up like a board before realizing—thankfully—that his body did not ache in the way that He had been told that it would, and relaxing and venturing to scoot closer to Gilbert.

Red eyes flashed open and Gilbert went almost as stiff as Matthew had but clearly for different reasons as his hand flew under his pillow and withdrew with a gun only in the seconds before he realized who it was that was touching him. Matthew blinked at him with wide eyes as the gun was re-concealed and Gilbert's momentary alertness faded back into sleepiness. He grinned, the cockiness muffled a bit by the haze in his eyes. "Sorry, Birdy. Battle Reflex and all that un-awesome crud, you know." He mumbled, flinging a long arm out and drawing the somewhat disturbed Canadian into his arms, a hand guiding Matthew's head into his shoulder and staying there. "Go back too sleep, its too damn early to be waking up."

Recovered from the shock of finding himself at gunpoint so early in the morning, Matthew chuckled, giving Gilbert a quick squeeze as he began to snore quietly. He remained there for a few more minutes, drowsing, before he sighed as he realized that the twinge in his temples wasn't going to allow him to sleep again at which point he wriggled himself free of Gilberts embrace with a little difficulty. It was morning, and even if he was suffering from the mother of all hangovers he would be damned if he was going to lay about. Besides that… it was habit. He had been a practicing soldier not so long ago, and waking early was part of his long time regime.

He was just leaving the room when suddenly a low whine began to rattle against his eardrums and his eyes widened. At first he thought his ears must be playing tricks on him but it grew louder, he quickly bounded down the stairs. He could hear the sound of Gilberts cursing from behind him and Germany's door—the room Matthew had previously occupied—slammed open just as he darted past it.

"BIRDY!" the voice interrupted his rush at the same moment that a big hand gripped his shoulder and stopped him with a jerk. He fell back as his momentum was abruptly reversed and found himself tumbling back into the arms of both Germany and Gilbert.

Outside the sound of planes had risen to a roar, circling the house and had been joined by the deep grumble of what Matthew recognized as tanks. He scrambled out of the two Germans arms and rushed to the nearest window. It was indeed tanks. And there—unsurprisingly—perched in the open hatch of one was none-other than Matthew's ever extravagant brother, Alfred.

"It would seem the allies have arrived." Germany's deep voice stated from slightly behind him. Matthew nodded grimly.

He should have expected this sooner or later, and perhaps before he had gotten to know the two Germans he may have welcomed it, but that wasn't the case. He had gotten to know the two and had found them much different than he had expected. Not only was Germany against this entire nasty business of the Nazi party and Hitler, but had gone to great lengths to rectify it—killing his own boss, a crime even to the nations—even if it had come a little late. And Gilbert… Gilbert was just that, Gilbert. A wonderfully spirited and roguish man with a bold soul and a heart more heavily stocked with scruples than most men could truthfully claim.

Neither of them was evil by any standard, neither of them had asked for this, and one of them had wriggled his way deep into the soft corners of Matthew's heart.

Oh yes, not so long ago he might have been glad of the fact that the Allies had come, but now, it was the last thing on his mind.

"What are we going to do now?" he murmured to himself quietly as they watched the combined forces of the allied powers encircle the house. Neither Germany nor Gilbert bothered to answer, one gripped Matthew gently by the arm with milk white fingers while the other raced back down the hall. Matthew looked on as Germany and Prussia proceeded to arm themselves, pocketing boxes of shells.

He paled and sat down with a thump as he heard the fist demands and threats spoken thunderously over the loudspeaker. They wanted unconditional surrender—which Matthew knew was almost the same as a death sentence for the German Nation and the Axis.

He barely noticed as Gilbert pressed the shiny handle of a gun into his hand and Germany disappeared again.

He couldn't let this happen. He just couldn't. He couldn't let another battle be added to the long string trailing back from this war, he had seen both sides and had no doubt now who the winner was. Germany and his brother knew it was time for this war to end, knew that they were—rightfully—on the loosing side, but he could also see that if they could, they weren't just going to go down without a fight. The country would be defeated, this Matthew knew, but… but he couldn't just stand by and let them all be torn apart by this.

His Brother and the allied powers were good people, even Russia was not fundamentally bad—as so many assumed—but at the same time… Prussia, Gilbert, was far more than just a good person; he was a wonderful, humorous freehearted one. One who had not only saved and treated his enemy, but had done so at the cost of his brother and his loyalty to his own country!

Matthew loved him, loved him so, so much in a different way than he had ever loved another nation. And he loved his brother, and Arthur, and papa Francis, and all the others on his own side, and in his own way he loved Germany too, because Gilbert loved him, and he so clearly loved him back. Neither side deserved more pain.

He wouldn't just let this happen. He steeled his heart, turned his head upward, clutched at the gun in his hand and gazed at Gilbert—trying desperately to keep all his feelings from showing in his eyes.

"G-Gil? I don't feel well…" He watched as Gilbert's red eyes turned to him and softened, his affection translating Matthew's pain and torn feelings as weakness and innocent shock. He nodded and without a word left to get soothing to make Matthew feel better. Nothing could make him feel better with what he was about to do. He prayed Gilbert would be able to forgive him this.

As soon as he was sure that Gilbert was gone he slipped out of the room and hurried down the stairs as silently as his inhuman body would allow. He stood there for a moment, hoping that this was the right decision—his forehead pressed to the cold wood of the front door.

"Birdy?" He barely caught the call, and as he forced himself to not reply he could hear the cogs turning in the mind of the man he loved. He could almost discern the subtle sound of realization as it all clicked.

He took a deep breath—listening to the sound of footsteps on the stairs—shed a single tear of regret and stepped out of the front door and into the dreary morning light and the crosshairs of countless guns.

His eyes scanned the encircling forces until they met with familiar sky blue. He didn't give his loud younger brother the chance to speak; instead Matthew took in a big gulp of air, forced himself to stand strait and looked his allies directly in the eye as he spoke;

"I, Matthew Williams, the Representative of Canada, surrender in the Name of Germany, and the representative called Prussia." The silence rang true in the wake of his preposterous statement, and it made the sound of the door opening slowly behind him all the louder.

"Birdy?" He closed his eyes in preparation for the anger he knew would come soon. Another tear escaped between his shut eyelids and slowly made its way down his cheeks. He expected anger, but it never came, instead he was faced with the gentle pressure of a singly word.

"Why…?" He couldn't ignore it. All the walls he had put up to protect himself from anger had left him terribly vulnerable, and like most surprises it had a greater effect than any attack. Matthew turned slowly and smiled weakly, staring at his feet.

"I won't see you die…" his words where so low that Matthew doubted anyone else heard them…but somehow it seemed that Gilbert understood them simply by the soft ripples they left dancing in the air, like the gentle disturbance of a single fallen leaf on the surface of a mirrored lake. The silence seemed to drag on—the silent build up of calm before a storm, or something else, Matthew couldn't tell—And with every breath that passed it became harder and harder to believe that he had made the right decision.

"Alright." Matthew nearly startled as that single word disturbed the now familiar, heavy silence. He looked up purely by reflex and felt his breath nearly stop in his chest as he watched Gilbert do the unthinkable. He pulled the boxes of shells from his pockets, letting them clatter to the ground, and tossed his guns to either side carelessly before—with not a smidgen of ceremony—raising his hands in an unmistakable gesture. Matthew had seen it many, many times before, in many, many battles, but never before did it bring as much relief as it did now.

"Lets end this with class, shall we Bruder?" his voice rang out clear—as it had so often before—and Germany stepped out behind his brother, nodding with dignity. "Ja. It is beyond overdue by now."

Matthew's carefully collected strength left him in a rush, and before he knew it, he was gone, crumpled to the ground without a sound.

XXX

They wouldn't tell him anything about what was going on now. Ever since he had woken up in the sterile white of a hospital the other allies had been skirting around it, changing the subject any time he asked a question regarding the war. He had been told that it was over now, but that was all they would give up. They wouldn't tell him anything else about it. Or about the German brothers. He would ask whomever it was that came to visit him each night—most often France, America, and England—but they would alternately apologize and give him a kiss and say goodnight, change the subject, or frown and pretend he hadn't even asked. Each scenario garnered the same anger and frustration… that lead inevitably to a deep sorrow that had him crying himself to sleep.

He could tell that his reaction was troubling to them, and that they wished that he would just forget about it and stop asking about the Germans… but he just couldn't. Gilbert and Ludwig had trusted him. They had taken a leap on his judgment, on his choice, and had given themselves up to what Matthew imagined had been a gauntlet of anger the likes of which only war could create.

He would never stop asking, even if they kept him locked up until the day his country ended.

It was several months more before his persistence finally began to pay off.

It started with Francis. He had come as usual to sit on the edge of Matthew's hospital bed to wish him a good night. This time he had seemed more troubled though, his witty chatter lacking some of its usual flair. Finally, as he prepared to leave, Matthew passed the usual plea, this time the Frenchman faltered in the doorway.

"You will never stop asking, will you?" He asked without turning around.

"No."

With that he had left.

The next time Francis came to visit him, he looked more tired than before, and spoke even less. They exchanged some small conversation—Matthew feeling slightly uncomfortable under France's tired gaze—until the end. When Matthew asked again.

This time France remained seated on the edge of the bed, searching the Canadian's face slowly.

"Why does it mean so much to you, Mathieu? What happened while you were with them?"

Matthew returned his gaze evenly. "I was happy. For once I was free from the constant opinions of everyone else and I… well, I was able to see my own heart clearly for once." France peered ever more closely into Matthew's eyes.

"You're heart…?" It wasn't so much a question as a breathed exclamation. And it was the last that was heard of the matter before he was given a quick kiss to the forehead and a goodbye.

The time after that France did not speak for a very long time, and Matthew let him sit in silence, reading a book and waiting patiently for his papa to break it. When he did, Matthew put down his book and listened as his father posed yet another question.

"Mon fils… Last time when you said that you were able to see you're heart clearly, why did you choose that word? You could have said mind, or belief or any of a million other words… so why did you choose… heart?" Matthew sighed heavily. He knew that France had already guessed this, he already knew.

"I think you already know the answer."

"Love. You've fallen in love."

"Oui."

"I see…"

It was nearly a week of frustrating visits from a too quiet England and a too loud America before France returned.

This time it was very late at night that he came, long after visitors were aloud in the hospital.

Luckily Matthew was awake when he quietly entered the room, and turned the lamp beside his bed on with a click as soon as he guessed who it was.

"Papa…?" France shushed him and took his place at Canada's bedside.

"My old friend, Gilbert, you really love him?" Matthew didn't bother asking how he knew it was Gilbert and not Germany that Matthew loved, he simply nodded. France nodded in return and ran a hand through his long hair.

"We all made an agreement not to tell you, to hope that you would just forget them… but I cannot stand to let you keep crying every night. Even now…" He reached out and cupped the Canadian's cheek, brushing a thumb beneath one puffy eye. "It is not right to keep things from you when it causes you so much pain… who are we to stand in the way of love?" the Frenchman gave a small, almost rueful smile. "I will tell you."

The events after the surrender were long and convoluted in France's telling. The long and short of it being that America had blamed Germany for the harm that had been done to his brother, and had had the two brothers promptly thrown into a prison while they decided how to punish them. France had seen them briefly—they had been in much better condition than he had expected, but had been far more battered than would have been ideal. He suspected that this had something to do with the fact that Matthew had surrendered for them, putting himself in the strange position of being partially in charge of them.

In any case, no one seemed sure what to do with the two of them. Obviously, they did not believe what the Germans told them, but they were also reluctant to do any harm to them until their position was clear.

That didn't stop others from doing them harm, but the two were nations. They survived.

France had to breathe for a bit before disclosing the last. His eyes radiating sympathy and sadness.

"They have decided that Germany is too big of an economy to throw out, but see no reason why the country should be divided in two…" he hesitated. "They are going to dissolve Prussia, and put his land under the control of Germany. They see it as a merciful act to let Germany live…" It was clear that the Frenchman could see the truth. It was the worst possible punishment they could bestow on their enemy.

Matthew felt tears begin to leak down his cheeks. The anger welling up like a tidal wave.

"When?" he whispered. France let his head fall into his hands.

"Sometime next month." Matthew choked on a sob.

They both cried for a very long time that night.

XXX

The day had come.

Matthew strode down a long, stone hallway behind one of the wardens. Where they were headed was at the very center of the prison. Already the blond had seen far too much, he already hated this building.

He didn't blame the people—they were only doing their job—but the building and what it was being used for was worthy of his hate. He tried not to let it show as he was lead into a small room with one wall made of double-sided glass. The other nations clearly hadn't expected to see him, as they all stared at him from around the room. All the allies were here. Matthew didn't bother to greet them beyond a curt nod.

He took a seat and turned his full attention to the window.

A twinge twisted in his chest as he saw the set up on the other side of the glass and the clear cruelty of it.

They had locked Ludwig—so exhausted and careworn that he barely seemed alive—into the room with Gilbert. There was no questioning weather he knew what was going to happen, he knew, and they had planned to force him to watch it happen.

And Gilbert… Matthew could barely repress a sob of sorrow at his plight. He knew too. He was trying to hide it—though he wasn't looking much better than his brother—grinning cockily, and gesturing at his brother as he spoke. At least they couldn't hear it through the thick glass, the speakers were off. That would have been too much for Matthew to bear.

The clock on the wall struck the hour and the forcefulness of Gilbert's words strengthened visibly. He was trying so hard to hide his feelings from his brother, but all his brother could manage was the occasional weak smile and nod to reassure him.

As the clock neared the time and all the other nations gathered around the proclamation that would mark the end of Prussia, Matthew stood up from his chair and stepped up to the glass, pressing one hand to the cold, hard surface. He wished that he could tell them that it would all be alright as the first signature was made and Gilbert jerked, paling suddenly.

By the third Gilbert was unable to stand anymore, his hands now gripped between his brothers.

By the fifth he was gasping for breath, hunched in on himself and shaking. Ludwig was weeping.

The sixth was made and he collapsed into his brother's arms, no longer able to support himself.

Matthew cursed evilly in his head at the others in the room as he was called to put his own name on the paper. He had known that this would be required of him if he came, but he had come anyways. Slowly he stepped up to the table and took the pen from France's own hand. He simply stood there for a long moment, staring at Gilbert as he lay limply on the floor under the hunched curve of Germany's distraught form.

Tears of his own poured unbidden down his cheeks as he put pen to paper and signed the last signature, his eyes never leaving the silver haired man who lay dying on the floor.

Everyone in the room jumped as Prussia's shriek of agony penetrated the thick stone walls. Matthew ran back to the glass and collapsed against it, sobbing wretchedly and apologizing endlessly in every tongue he knew. He didn't bother to look to see if the others were disturbed by his sorrow—if they weren't then they were dead, soul-less bastards. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on Gilbert's pale, pain stricken face. His body arched off the floor, spasmed, and began to fade out of existence—slowly turning transparent around the edges. He was almost entirely gone—his form so insubstantial that you could barely see his outline when something changed and in flickering augments he began to solidify once again.

Matthew felt relief rush through him and was on his feet and out of the room in a flash—even as the others began to murmur in confusion. It was working! It was really working! He could feel the change beginning in his own body as well, things twisting around as if to make room for a new organ, as he rushed down the halls, snapping at guards when the occasion called for it until he finally reached the door he was looking for.

A simple glare was enough to get the guards on either side of it to stand down and step aside.

The moment when the door opened was like the first bird singing in spring. But, as so often happened, he didn't stop to appreciate it, instead bursting into the room and falling to his knees on the other side of Gilbert's now solid form.

He was pale, and wracked with shivering and twitches—but he was still alive and growing more so by the minute. The new thing inside him gave a twinge of demand, and he obeyed, gathering Gilbert up into his arms without even bothering to give a single word of explanation to the bewildered, and shaken German on his other side.

He held him close, burying his face in silver hair, and whispered more apologies as his breath slowly evened out against the Canadian's neck.

After what seemed like forever Gilbert twitched into motion, weakly pulling Matthew's face down towards his own and stretching upward from his place against the Canadian's shoulder to press his lips to the corner of Matthew's own, and then fully against his. He could feel the slight, trembling, movement of Gilbert's chapped lips against his own, frightfully cool, slightly damp, but persistent and gentle. Quite without thought he found himself responding, tilting his head instinctively and returning the kiss in kind. All the awkwardness faded out of the picture; there was nothing to be awkward or nervous about—at least not between them.

The kiss was wet—Matthew realized with a jolt that it was tears that made it so—tired, and slightly clumsy but that didn't change the fact that it felt wonderful, nor did it make it any less important to either of them. Even when it ended, and Gilbert could no longer keep himself up, the calm around them prevailed.

France was the first one to reach them, but he made no move to separate or interrupt their quiet moment—now joined by Germany who had wrapped his own arms around the both of them—still weeping, but now with different reason. The others arrived shortly after, panting, and stopped dead at the scene before them.

"W-what in the bloody hell…?" England started, but Matthew didn't give him time to finish, straitening enough to stare him directly in the face.

"Did you know, England, that as of a last week there is a new province in Canada? It's called 'New Prussia', the Prime Minister say's it's sure to flourish." He glanced at everyone else. "I think that these two have learned more than their allotted lesson."

No one argued.

XXX

Ludwig helped Matthew bring Gilbert home to Canada the following morning. He seemed stronger than ever, more robust and filled with vital energy than before—and guilty of the fact.

Matthew could guess why, and found it a little silly. What did the German expect? The addition of so much land was bound to strengthen him, but that he was blaming himself for stealing it from his brother was just plain ridiculous. There had been nothing he could do to stop it, besides that, Gilbert was recovering just fine!

Canada was a vast and strong country; Matthew could feel it settling comfortably under the new responsibility almost as soon as the change occurred. New Prussia had become a province with almost startling ease, and already the land and people were unwittingly sending in a flood of energy to help their new representative recover. There was no need for guilt, and as soon as Gilbert was settled in, Matthew took Germany aside and told him so.

"Ludwig, stop it." The German nation looked baffled by this sudden and unexplained demand. "He won't blame you for this and there's no point blaming yourself!"

"But…"

"No. Just stop it. He's your brother, he'll be glad that he was able to help you after this war, and he will be fine." Matthew sighed at the torn look on Ludwig's face and abruptly yanked the bigger man into a hug. "You're to noble for your own good… He'll be fine, Ludwig. His strength will help you, and he knows that. And I promise you, he'll be better before you know it."

For a few moments the German stayed unresponsive, then he returned the hug tightly.

"You are a very kind person, Canada, now I see why mein bruder loves you." Germany mumbled quietly. Matthew wasn't exactly sure how to respond to this, so he just held on a little tighter for a moment before taking a step back. He smiled at the tall blond man peacefully.

"That makes me very happy, thank you."

"It's only the truth…"

Soon after that Germany made his excuses to his brother, promised to come back soon, and departed to try and repair the damage that the war had done to his newly enlarged country.

XXX

Honestly, Matthew had expected it to take longer for Gilbert to recover from his near dissolution, but as it turned out he was back on his feet in only three weeks. He wasn't quite as loud as he had been, seeming a little subdued—knowing that most of the world had deemed you so unimportant that they tried to kill you would do that to a person. Sometimes he would go into an odd silence and wouldn't come out of it for a long time, just sitting somewhere in the house in motionless silence brooding.

When this happened Matthew just didn't know what to do, he wanted to go and do something to cheer him up but at the same time he was afraid that disturbing Gilbert would just upset him more.

Gilbert had fallen into several of these moods before Matthew finally recalled that time in Germany clearly and really thought about it. At the time Gilbert had been in a similar mood, and it had been him who had reached out first, hadn't it? And Gilbert hadn't pashed him away, had he? In fact he had been thankful for the comfort! And… the point was that at the time He had been the one who had to make the first move.

C-could it be the same this time?

After thinking about it really deeply, Matthew decided that he wouldn't just stand around anymore.

One evening a few days after this decision, the silence fell again and Matthew put down what he was doing and went to search the house for the Prussian.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, head bowed and shoulders slumped, when Matthew found him. For a moment he lingered indecisively in the doorway, he was just stalling though and in a heartbeat he crossed the room quietly. He sat down on the edge of the bed, leaving a space of about a foot between them, and placed a hand oh his shoulder.

"Hey… are you alright…?" Gilbert jerked slightly, and looked up in surprise. Matthew looked down at his hands nervously, fidgeting. "I- I can go if you like, you just looked so…" There was a pause that seemed to go on forever…

"Birdy?" He looked up. Gilbert had twisted at the waist and was reaching out in offering, a small strained smile on his face. "Komm zu mir, mein schatz."

Matthew nearly collapsed with relief, but managed to accept Gilbert's invitation instead, half pulling him closer and half falling into his arms. He could warm breath blowing damply against his shoulder and he smiled slightly. "I'm sorry if I worried you, Birdy. I was just over thinking things." Matthew nodded into Gilbert's neck.

"It's alight Gil." He wavered. "What were you thinking about that made you so troubled?"

Gilbert chuckled. "Just a lot of depressing things really, mostly about the last few years, and dying and… other things." Matthew suddenly decided to play his cards.

"D-does living with me make you… depressed?"

Gilbert shook his head and frowned, pulling Matthew almost fiercely back into his arms. "-Nein, nein, mein kleiner idioten! Das ist nicht was ich-!" While Gilbert paused to breathe, trying to sort out his words, Matthew held his own.

"That isn't what I meant, it is the thought of you not… not… agh! Ich liebe dich, damn it!"

Matthew let a Cheshire grin spread slowly across his face. He gripped at the Prussian's shoulders almost roughly and pulled him closer, burying his face in the crook of his jaw to hide it. His shoulders began to shake.

"Please don't be upset… I know it's weird, and I understand if you don't feel the same and…" Matthew burst out laughing, smothering it desperately in the crook of Gilbert's neck. There was a pointed moment in which the Canadian could almost feel the confusion rolling off of the other's body in waves before a tentative understanding seemed to dawn on him.

Gilbert went as stiff as a board. "W-wait… did you do that on purpose…?" Matthew nodded franticly into his shoulder, but didn't let go of him. "…Should I take it that you're not upset then…?"

It was Matthew who pulled away this time, taking Gilbert's face in his hands and smiling at him. "Quite right! I already knew, you idiot!"

"How did you-? How did you guess?" Ducking closer, he pressed a firm kiss to the Prussian's lips.

"Besides the fact that it was painfully obvious, and that you kissed me first-" he kissed him again. "-Your brother told me… and, if it makes you feel better…" Matthew smiled shyly "I love you, too." Gilbert blinked, a small twist of hope forming at the corner of his lips. "Really? You do?"

Matthew ran a hand down the plane of gilberts cheek, "von ganzem herzen, mein süsse." It was Gilbert's turn to laugh at his own foolishness, leaning in to return Matthew's kisses.

"That-" kiss. "Traitor-" kiss. "I told him not to-" Kiss. "Tell you."

Their lips met again and again as something relaxed between them finally and a strange desperate relief welled up in its place. "But I just can't stay angry with you around!" He somehow got out between kisses. They grew calmer and savored each other more with each one until they were just holding eachother again, letting all of the warm, fuzzy, hurried feelings of the moment settle into a more patient glow.

"What do we do now? I know you love me, and you know I love you but… what about everyone else?"

Gilbert made a low sound of consideration before answering. "Well, I think it's fair to say we're lovers. And my bruder gets to know before anyone else, I think you will agree…?" Matthew nodded. "Well then… as far as I'm concerned, let the world know! I love you, and if they have a problem, well, then they can go and shoot it out their ass!" The vehement cheerfulness of the last statement was almost too adorable—though the phrasing made it hilarious as well. Matthew snorted softly, shook his head, and gave his new lover another soft kiss.

"Agreed."

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DEAR LORD LOOK AT THIS MONSTER! O.O its so… LONG. (That's what he said. XD)

It sucked to hurt him like that… but, you know, this story has a happy ending/begining… I know this is a sort of dark story and that it is only slightly historically accurate, but it feels strangely satisfying to write this… and why do I keep hurting Mattie? First in "In here" and "Lock and key" and now in this?!

IMMMMMM SOOOORRRRYYYY MMATTTTIIEEEEEE!

*Ghostly whisper*

Please review~...

~Sai