Prussia ran his hand over the old sword, grimacing as the grimy dust that had gathered on its surface came off on his fingers. He rubbed them together, looking down at the steel object that had once been his greatest friend. How long had it been since he had wielded this weapon? Since he had fought with everything he had, vanquishing anyone who dared to stand in his way?
Too long...
He wrapped his hand around the handle, picking up the sword. It was heavier than he remembered. Or maybe that was just the fact that he had lost almost all of his former strength. He still held it firmly, though. His red eyes reflected back at him off the surface. Despite being kept in storage for many years, it was still a beautiful weapon, if not a bit dusty. He traced a finger down the edge, still sharp from his days of battle.
The corner of Prussia's mouth twitched up into something reminiscent of a smile, only a hint of his usual wide, cocky grin. He looked at the pad of his finger, which had been sliced on the steel, a small trail of blood running down to his palm. He clenched his hand into a fist, ignoring the slight sting as he squeezed the small cut. He had experienced worse.
So much worse...
He could still remember all of the battles, like they had happened only moments ago. He could still hear the cries of pain and victory, the rush that flowed through him as he defeated enemy after enemy.
He had once been so great. No one had been able to defeat him. Then, everything had started slipping, falling through his fingers, and before he had known it, his great empire was gone. Everything was gone. He had found himself alone, broken to pieces under the might that was time. Just like Rome, he had experienced his moment of greatness, and then crumbled under that very power. Becoming the East portion of Germany had saved him, kept him from disappearing completely like Rome had. Then, even that began to die. After the war, when he was separated from West by that damn wall...
Prussia felt his breath coming quicker as he remembered those moments in the darkness. He had been so cold, so hurt, no one around to help him, not even his dear brother... West had tried so hard for years to break down that wall, to help him, to rescue him from that Russian bastard. Even when they were reunited, there was no fixing what had happened. He had experienced the feeling of his people, his nation dying, twice, and been brought back from the edge of death, both times.
He couldn't take it anymore. It was all too much for him to handle, the pain, the screams. He could hear every one of them even now, years after. It had been so much worse right in the middle of it. Prussia had felt each one of the deaths; they all resonated deep within him, twisting his mind into something that even he himself was afraid of. Every night when he closed his eyes, he felt the agony of those lonely years, before he had joined with Germany, before the wall had been broken.
He couldn't feel something like that again. He couldn't take the looming possibility that it would happen again, that slowly grew larger and larger every day. Something was coming, he could feel it. Something was going to happen, and he knew it would leave the world in tatters. He couldn't stand the thought. Maybe his brother could, maybe the rest of the world could, but not him. Not he, who had experienced the pain of his nation crumbling away under his feet, not he, who knew how agonizing it would be, who had lost the will to try.
He wanted to warn the rest of them, tell them how it felt to die as a nation, but couldn't. They needed to find out for themselves. They needed to know what being a Nation meant, all the agonies it brought with it, all the scorn, the pain, the cold, the loneliness, the terror. They needed to not only know, but to feel it for themselves.
Prussia took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He tilted his head up, grip on the sword tightening so that his hand shook and his knuckles turned white.
He wasn't proud for what he was about to do. He knew it was cowardly, but if they knew... If they knew what was to come... They would understand why he did it.
Prussia smiled as his brother's face flashed behind his eyes.
West... He would miss him, wouldn't he? Prussia could practically hear him, what he would be saying to him if he were here right now.
"Stop it, East! This is foolish, even for you!" Germany would scold him, but Prussia knew that was his way of saying, "Please, don't! I love you, I'll miss you, please just try to live!"
A small, solitary tear rolled down his cheek.
Damn it...
"Sorry, West..." he murmured to no one in particular. "But I just can't..."
He opened his eyes, looking up at the dark brown ceiling. It was kind of dull for a last sight, but Prussia knew that wasn't what he should be thinking at the moment.
He raised the sword, his companion, his friend, and settled the tip against his chest, right over his heart. He could feel it pounding against the steel, taking its last few beats. With one last whisper of an apology, he plunged the sword into his chest.
The pain, though only lasting for a moment, was overwhelming. Still, it didn't compare to how he had felt before.
This may have been the end for him… he may have lost his will to survive… but maybe the others would make it. Maybe they were stronger than him. Maybe...