This story was written on the Hetalia kink meme as a response to the following prompt.

The Allies want to execute Prussia after WW2, but Russia saves him. How, why, I don't care.

ALL ACCORDING TO PLAN

Chapter 1

Russia was not in a happy mood. He couldn't help but get the feeling that even though he was among the winners of this war, his own allies were treating him like dirt. He had worked so hard and suffered so many losses, and they still cast wary glances in his direction. Their hushed conversations ceased whenever they noticed that he was near. He hadn't been invited when America had produced some liquor from who knows where and had decided to celebrate.

It wasn't fair. Who had taken Berlin? He and his men. They had caught their enemies, first Prussia and then Germany. He should have been the one praised as a hero, but instead he was treated like he was barely better than the defeated nations before them.

In a way, Russia could understand that. The world was a cruel and cold place. History had shown him that his fellow nations were utterly incapable of getting along for long periods of time and always reverted back to hurting each other, no matter how many peace agreements they signed.

Maybe they didn't like him because they feared him. This war had shown them just what he could do and that he was a frightening enemy.

Russia had a vision of how he could make the world better for everyone – then they would finally see him as a friend and an ally, not as someone to be tolerated out of necessity – but that was only the grand goal. Smaller steps would have to be taken before that.

And one of these small steps was currently standing before the council, trying to cling to the last shreds of his dignity because his little brother had already given up. Prussia held his head high as he listened to what was being said, how the list of his and Germany's crimes kept getting longer and longer.

It was only a formality at this point. All of this had been said before. Germany was already divided into occupation zones. Prussia had been dissolved and had miraculously survived that. Their worst war criminals had been tried and sentenced. The only reason the brothers' crimes were being read out loud again was that the Allies needed a little something to give them the courage and justification to do what had to be done.

"And that's why," England said, his voice shaking only a little, "we've decided to wipe Prussia off the map."

"You've already done that," Prussia pointed out, not caring that he and Germany weren't supposed to talk unless addressed.

"Apparently it wasn't thorough enough. You're still here." France's voice was dripping venom, and it irritated Russia like it was being smeared against his skin. Friends weren't supposed to talk like that to each other, but Russia guessed it only proved how rotten his western allies were.

"So? Taking everything from me didn't kill me. What're you going to do? Lock me up forever?"

"No. We're going to execute you."

The expression on Prussia's face didn't change at England's words, but Germany looked up from his hands in alarm.

"Hah! Very funny," Prussia said with a snort.

"There's nothing funny about this. You're a terrible influence on Germany, and we've seen what that has led to. At first we thought we'd just separate you, but that's not enough. It's our responsibility towards the whole world to make sure nothing like this war happens again," England said.

He was trying to convince himself. Russia's allies thought it was very important that everything they did was right and justified. They were the heroes, as America kept insisting at every turn. And in the name of justice, they were willing to kill one of their own.

Prussia was still grinning at them, but there was a new gleam in his eyes that Russia immediately recognised. He had seen it on the eastern front and when his men had stormed to Berlin. It was anger, desperation, fear and pride – especially pride – all mixed together.

"Hah," Prussia chuckled hoarsely. "I guess you aren't such spineless cowards after all. Didn't think you'd have the guts to see everything to its end."

"Prussia..." Germany whispered to him.

"What?"

"Don't insult them. They won't really do it, but nothing good will follow if you keep pushing them."

"Too late for that. Take a look at that pansy France. They'll do it."

Germany turned his eyes from his brother to the council. "You can't do this. You can't kill him."

"We've already discussed this. It's not something we particularly enjoy doing –"

Russia chuckled jovially.

"–but it's what has to be done for the greater good. It's your own fault, so don't blame us," England said, repeating what they had all said to each other when they had been talking about the matter amongst themselves.

Germany shook his head, his eyes wide and desperate. "No, you can't do that! There has to be something else! I'll... I'll let you have more of my lands! I'll pay more reparations!"

"This matter isn't up for discussion anymore. We'll settle it right away," England said.

Russia guessed he was afraid that if they had to look at Germany's frightened and anguished face any longer, they might end up changing their minds after all. And that wouldn't do, would it?

England motioned for some of his soldiers to approach and grab Prussia's arms. At that moment, the first flash of fear appeared on Prussia's face, but he quickly tried to hide it behind his usual grin. It made him look twisted and broken, but he was still able to speak in a clear voice when he turned his head to address his brother.

"I guess that's that, then, West. Hope you learned at least something from me because I'll come back and haunt you if you end up being totally unawesome after this."

The soldiers started dragging Prussia away.

"No! Don't do this! Wait!"

Russia spent a moment watching the terrified look on Germany's face and listening to his screams, wondering if that was how the countless people his men had arrested, tortured and sent to the camps had looked and sounded like. He hoped Germany would learn his lesson.

Just as the soldiers were at the door, Russia stood up.

"Wait. I volunteer," he announced.

Everyone turned to look at him.

"What?" America asked. "What are you talking about?"

"I said that I volunteer. I want to kill him."

"We agreed that we'd let our men do it," England pointed out.

"You only suggested that because you're afraid of getting your hands bloody. I don't mind. I've actually been looking forward to this all this time," Russia said with a smile.

"But... what..." England stuttered, and Russia knew that the idea of one of them killing Prussia didn't sit so well with him. Too bad. That was going to be only the beginning of his discomfort.

"Oh, just let him do it! At least he'll get the job done," France said.

"Thank you for the confidence." Russia walked to where the soldiers were still holding Prussia and shooed them away, grabbing the former nation by his arm. Oh, it felt like he had lost some weight since the last time Russia had grabbed him. How unfortunate, but it was the way of the world that losers had less than winners.

Prussia said nothing, but he glared at him with such hate burning in his eyes that Russia simply didn't want to wait any longer to show him what surprises he had up his sleeve. Prussia would be so amazed, and so would everyone else.

"Wave goodbye to everyone," he said in a sing-song voice and shoved Prussia through the door, ignoring Germany's desperate cries behind them.

Russia had prepared the perfect place for his plan. Some of his most loyal men were waiting for them outside the building with a car. He pushed Prussia roughly on the backseat and went to sit with him. He gave the driver an order in Russian, and the car started moving.

"Hmm, it really has been a long time since we last spent any time together, hasn't it?" he asked after they had been driving in silence for a moment.

"Fuck you."

"Now that's not a very nice thing to say to me. But you've always been a little rude. Do you remember the Miracle of the House of Brandenburg? Even then you wouldn't thank me properly," Russia said.

"That had nothing to do with you. The stupid bitch died, and you were just following the orders of your new boss."

"Don't talk about my royalty like that."

Prussia laughed. "Why not? You don't even have any anymore. And why is that, huh? Murdered, all of them, and you're following their killers' orders like – "

There was a smack, and Prussia flew against the car door.

"I'm sorry, but I will have to hit you when you say things like that."

"What does it matter?" Prussia asked, wiping the corner of his mouth. "It's all going to end soon anyway, right?"

"That's right," Russia agreed.

Just then, the car turned a corner, and they arrived at an open space between two destroyed buildings. They were near the edges of the city at a spot that had been hit by a bomb and hadn't been rebuilt yet. In the midst of the ruins of the once mighty Germany was a wonderful place for an execution.

Russia got out of the car first and walked around it to open the door for Prussia.

"Beautiful place, isn't it?" he asked pleasantly.

"As good as any," Prussia drawled, his hands in his pockets as he eyed the scenery. "So, what now?"

"Now my men grab you so that you won't try to run away," Russia said.

He snapped his fingers, and the men immediately caught Prussia's arms and held him in place. Panic flashed briefly in Prussia's eyes, and Russia knew he was trying to decide if he should fight back like a warrior or take his death with dignity. It was a tough decision, so Russia was sure Prussia would appreciate that he was going to take it off his hands.

Prussia chuckled, but his arrogant demeanor was ruined by his suddenly shaky breathing. "And now?" he asked. "Going to shoot me in the head and be done with it?"

"No," Russia said happily. "Your men didn't want to waste ammunition when fighting against mine and would bludgeon them to death instead. I don't think it would be very fair of me to give you such an easy death."

He saw Prussia's muscles tense and knew that at that moment, he had made up his mind and wouldn't go down without a struggle.

"Oh, so that's the game you want to play? Your men could fight back! At least give me that!" Prussia snapped.

"Begging already, hm?"

"Fuck you, you Russian bastard! Tell your damn lapdogs to let go and I'll show you how easy it'll be to kill me!"

Russia smiled as he watched Prussia struggle in his men's hold, how his face had grown flushed and his eyes desperate and angry. He was bearing his teeth and panting through his mouth. He was like a wounded animal that had been driven to a corner and that knew the end was near.

Quite pathetic but such a lovely sight. Russia spent one more moment admiring all the emotions that Prussia was normally too proud to show.

"Fortunately for you, I'm not going to bludgeon you to death. I'm not very happy with the way America and the others decided to get rid of you when there's still use for you," he said.

He took a step closer and caught Prussia's chin with a gloved hand and forced his head higher so that it had to be uncomfortable. "You're a little rough around the edges, but I'm sure we can come to an agreement that'll benefit us both."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Let's make a few things clear first, alright? First, the others want you dead. I don't. That is why I won't kill you. However, you can't go back because then America and the rest would think I did a poor job and would get someone else to kill you. I rather like my reputation, so we can't have that. Are you following me?"

Prussia didn't reply, but Russia didn't care and kept going.

"That means your only chance to live is with me. I know you don't like me very much, but I'm sure we can change that and learn to get along. Especially since you really have no other choice," he said and stopped there to let Prussia mull over his words.

"I think you can let go now," he said to the soldiers who immediately obeyed and retreated. For a moment, Russia didn't know if Prussia would be able to stand on his own after the surprise, so he was prepared to catch him if needed.

"Are you saying you won't kill me?" Prussia asked.

"I thought I said that already."

"Fuck you! You goddamn asshole! What the hell was all that about, then? Why did you let me think you were going to – Shit, I hate you!"

Prussia's eyes were afire with fury, and his whole body reminded Russia of a beast that was ready to attack. He supposed it was understandable that he'd be a little upset, so he wasn't going to be angry about that.

"I wanted to have a little fun first. I really liked that look on your face. I thought you might cry," he said. He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He offered them to Prussia.

Prussia stared at them in suspicion but then took one. He brought it to his lips with a shaky hand and glared expectantly at Russia.

"Got fire?"

"Sure."

Russia didn't like smoking, so he let Prussia have both the cigarettes and the lighter. He watched how the hand holding the cigarette trembled and how pale Prussia looked now that his anger was mostly gone.

"Would you like to sit down?" Russia suggested.

For a moment, Prussia looked undecided, but then his pride won.

"No." He took one more puff of the cigarette before tossing it to the ground and stomping on it. "And now you're going to cut it with the crap and tell me exactly what's going on here."

"Where do you want me to start?"

"First you could tell me why you let me live. Don't tell me you did it just because you're such a bleeding heart."

Russia hummed in irritation at Prussia's accusing tone. He really wasn't in the position to talk to him like that. Where was his gratitude, his relief and joy? Russia had been so looking forward to them.

"I have several reasons. I don't like it that the others wanted to kill you. It's ugly. We aren't supposed to do that to each other," he said.

Prussia snorted. "Didn't take you for such a softie."

"I want to get along with everyone. Even those who say they hate me. It's just a matter of perspective, and I'm sure everyone will become my friend in the future," Russia said. "In fact, that's where you're going to help me."

"Oh, so now the demands start. Should have known. Okay, let's hear it. What the hell do you want?"

"Your brother's lands are divided into occupation zones now, but it won't be forever. Sooner or later, the others will let him have his own government again, but they will keep an eye on him. I don't want to give up my zone and let it become part of a capitalist country where America can do whatever he wants. When the time is right, my zone will become an independent country, and I'll need someone to represent it," Russia explained.

Prussia's expression had grown sourer by the word. He spat at his feet when Russia was finished.

"So, you want me to turn against my brother and become a communist asshole like you? Fat chance!"

"What else can you do? If you go back to the others, they'll execute you as a fascist. There isn't anyone in Europe who would take you in. Only me. But I won't do it for free." Russia softened his tone and offered Prussia an encouraging smile. "Besides, don't you want to be a nation again?"

Greed flashed in Prussia's eyes, and Russia knew that even if the idea of going against his brother sickened him, it was tempting.

"You shouldn't feel too sorry for Germany. He got himself into this mess. He got you into it. Without him and his boss, you might not have lost anything. Maybe Königsberg would still be yours."

Ah, that was like twisting a knife in the wound.

"But you could have Berlin."

"And Potsdam."

"Yes," Russia agreed readily.

"And lands and people and... But I don't trust you. I'd be nothing but your puppet. I'm too awesome for that. Nope. Won't do it."

Such stubbornness, Russia thought in annoyance. If everyone was like that, it would take him forever to convince the world that they should accept his friendship.

"You don't have any choice. Either you join me or I'll tell the others that I got cold feet and couldn't kill you after all. I'm sure England's soldiers will be happy to shoot another fascist like you. Or maybe France will send his men to do it. They'll be even more blood-thirsty, I'd imagine."

Prussia gritted his teeth and glared at him in defiance, but Russia was sure he knew that his words were the truth. He could imagine the clockwork in Prussia's mind turning. Maybe he thought that if he accepted for now, he could change his mind later. The poor fool had no idea that soon enough, he wouldn't even want to have anything to do with his brother and former friends again.

"If I say yes, what then? Can I tell the others I'm still alive and kicking, or do I have to hide in your closet for the rest of eternity or what?" Prussia asked.

"Later. Right now is not a good time for that."

"I want to tell West."

"I said later. It will do your brother good to feel at least a fraction of what he has made others feel and know that your death was his fault."

"You fucking sadist," Prussia growled.

Russia smiled. "I think I'm being quite merciful. Without me, he'd lose his big brother. I'm sure he'll thank me one day." He hummed, as if something had only then crossed his mind. "But we can talk more later and have some vodka and tea. Now I have some other business to attend to, and I have to drop by my lodgings first to get a new coat."

"Why?"

"Because this one got all messy when I killed you."

Prussia cringed, and Russia gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Life with me won't be as bad as you think. You'll learn to like it."

They got back into the car that drove them to where Russia was staying for his time in Berlin. He gave the men the instructions to take Prussia away to a secure location where the wrong people wouldn't see him and then dropped by his room to pull a new coat over his form.

He was certain that the others were still at the conference room. They wouldn't dare leave before he came back and told them that the job was done. And that was what he would do. Time to teach his despicable western allies a lesson.

"I'm back," Russia announced when he pushed the doors open and stepped into the room.

"What in God's name took you so long? You were gone for an hour!" England raged.

"I'm sorry. I had to get changed. My coat got a little stained."

"Stained?" France repeated.

Russia offered him his sweetest smile. "Yes. I thought I could finish him with just one bullet, but I'm afraid my aim wasn't very good, and I missed. I could only blow off his jaw. I didn't have my pipe with me, so I took this rock and -"

"Okay, stop! We don't need to hear the details!" America snapped.

"It doesn't matter how it happened, does it? This is what you all wanted. To wipe Prussia off the map for good."

With that, Russia took his place among the others. He smiled at Germany in a way that he was sure was reassuring, but the poor man was in so much shock that he didn't even seem to notice Russia's friendly gesture. Oh, well.

"So, he's dead," America stated somewhat nervously. He had been the least eager to do this, but pressure from his older allies had eventually made him give in. He hadn't had the heart to say no to Poland, France and the others who had suffered so much and had wanted to see blood spilled.

"Yes. You should have been there. His crying was most amusing." Russia turned towards France. "He said that he didn't blame you. That he would see you as a friend to the very end and that he understood why you decided to do this."

France paled and looked like he might be sick. "You lie," he snarled.

"Why would I? I didn't like him any more than you did. I'm just sharing his last words with you all."

"Fine," France said, slitting his eyes. "If that's what he said, fine. Easy for him to take the high ground when he's pushed into a corner. It doesn't change what he and his brother did to me. To all of Europe."

"Pity," Russia said. "I thought you might have had a little more sympathy, especially since Vichy –"

Everyone turned to look when Germany suddenly collapsed against the table at which he was sitting and buried his face into his hands. A sob shook him, and for a moment the other nations could do no more than watch him break down. Even Russia was surprised into silence. Germany hadn't cried like that even right after the war.

England cleared his throat awkwardly. "Right. I think we're just about done with our business this time. Another meeting next week, am I right?"

"Yeah," America said forlornly.

The others didn't want to talk to Germany. They weren't even looking at him anymore, not even France who had been so vengeful when the meeting had started. Russia had no problems watching Germany sob against the table, but unlike the others, his heart wasn't being crushed by guilt.

Quite the contrary. Things were developing exactly like he had planned.

America fidgeted with the chocolate bar in his hands. He had been saving it since breakfast because even though he and his men had candy and cigarettes and other nice things, they didn't have so many of them that he could gorge on chocolate the way he was used to. But now his appetite was gone, and he was sure that if he as much as nibbled on the bar, he'd throw up.

What they had done was wrong. He had known it in the pit of his stomach ever since the idea had first been proposed. Killing one of their own was never the solution. There weren't so many of them in the first place, so they should have stuck together as much as they could. If they started killing each other, their coming centuries would just keep getting lonelier.

Now granted, he had been pretty damn angry during and right after the war, too. The things he had seen were atrocious, and he was sure that wasn't even the beginning. But compared to his allies, America was a young nation. He was already full of hope for the future. The war was over, and now was the time to re-build and heal.

"Man, I can't eat this today," he muttered and finally shoved the chocolate back into his pocket. That goddamn commie bastard had totally ruined the day. Okay, they had all agreed to execute Prussia, but had it really been necessary to volunteer and then be so gruesome about getting the job done? It was sick.

Furthermore, all of this made him feel like he was suddenly... well, not the villain of the story, of course, but not the hero he wanted to be either. This just wasn't his style. He would have much rather worked things out with Prussia and let him rebuild Germany with his brother. Germany had to be strong if they wanted to stop Russia from spreading his stupid ideology westwards in Europe.

America sighed. That wasn't going to be easy now. Germany would hate them for a long time for what they had done. He could understand that. If someone did to Canada what Russia had done to Prussia... America wasn't sure what he'd do, but it wouldn't be pretty.

He turned around and decided to go and hang around with his soldiers to get his mind off what had happened that day. However, he didn't make it further than behind the corner when he almost walked into France.

"Oh, hey, sorry! Didn't know you were still here," America said.

"I came looking for you."

"Okay. What can I do for you?"

France frowned and glanced to his side. "Do you still have the half a bottle of booze from last week?"

"Yeah, not much time to drink these days. Why? I thought you didn't like it."

"I don't. I..." France drifted off and gave America a glance that was probably supposed to be meaningful, but America had to admit he had no idea what France wanted. Heck, he had complained so loudly about his American liquor and said that he'd never pour it down his throat even if his life depended on it.

"Can I just have it?" France asked, sounding impatient.

"Sure, but why?"

"I think I'm going to need it tonight."

It was as if a light bulb had been turned on in America's head. "Oh! I get it! It's because of... what Russia did, right?"

"What we did," France emphasized.

America frowned in confusion. France's voice had been the loudest when the demands for the execution had been made. Maybe he was having second thoughts already.

"Yeah, can't really disagree with that. It sucks," he said. He paused to think. "Do you regret it?"

"No," France said at once. "I don't. He had it coming. Now matter how we feel about it, what we did was right."

"Okay, how do you feel about it? Because I'm kind of feeling like a jerk. And I can't help but think that rebuilding Germany would be easier if we had another pair of hands to help. And maybe Germany would be more co-operative if we hadn't, you know, beaten his brother to death with a rock."

France's frown deepened, and America noticed only now how tired he looked. And even more alarming, not a single line of innuendo had passed France's lips.

"Can I have the booze or not?" France asked in irritation.

"Sure, but you'll have to make a trip to my lodgings."

"Doesn't matter. I have a car."

They went outside and got into France's car. America leaned back on the front seat while France drove, looking at the buildings and ruins they passed on their way.

"What do you think Germany is doing right now?" America asked.

"I don't know."

"Man, he's probably really upset. I'd be trying to tear down the whole world if someone did that to Canada. Or England since he's the one who raised me and all that, so maybe that's a more appropriate comparison."

France said nothing. They drove in silence for a while. America tried to not let it bother him, but he was growing bored, and he was still feeling a little uneasy about the whole deal.

"Do you think it took long?" he asked.

"What?"

"When Russia killed him. I mean, we nations are pretty sturdy. I hear England once had his stomach blown off and lived. I wonder how long Russia had to be at it before –"

"Oh, shut up! Why are you talking about that?"

"I don't know. Why do you need my booze?"

France's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "This is not the best moment for you to develop a sharp eye for things like these!"

"Hey, just asking. It's my last bottle, and it could be a while before I get more, you know. But you can have it if you need to forget about Prussia and how he died because of our actions."

"You're vile. You don't have a shred of sensitivity in you," France muttered.

"It would be a lot easier if you guys were more straightforward about what you want and why."

They spoke no more before they reached the building where all the Allies were staying during their time in Berlin. America let France into his room and took the bottle from under his bed. He handed it to France, but instead of leaving, the other nation stared at the bottle in his hands for a long time before raising his eyes.

"Do you want to share it?" he asked.

Agreeing to have a drink with France in his room was usually a recipe for disaster, but America could tell that France was pretty desperate for company, even if it was just getting drunk and talking. And to be honest, he'd rather get rid of the rather vivid mental images he had stuck in his head due to Russia's words.

"Sure," he agreed.

When Russia came to visit him in the building where his men had taken him, he brought a beautiful silver samovar with him. He placed it on the table between them and asked him if he knew how to use it. When Prussia said yes, Russia took a seat and told him to make some tea for them.

Prussia was anxious to ask what had happened at the conference, but he decided to use the chance to calm his nerves and observe the nation he would be living with from now on. He couldn't say he was looking forward to it. At all. He didn't agree with Russia's ideology, and what he had seen in the countries under his influence hadn't been pretty. Maybe communism or socialism or whatever it was worked for some people, but Prussia didn't count himself among them.

But it was better than death. He wasn't stupid. He knew he had to try to swallow his pride, at least for now, and just go along if he ever wanted to see Germany again. It wouldn't take too long. He'd ditch this asshole the first chance he got.

"So, what happened?" he asked once the water was boiling.

"I told everyone that you're dead."

"And?"

Russia chuckled. "I think they were a little shocked to hear what a bloody, violent death you suffered. Even France looked guilty."

"Well, yeah, he should be," Prussia muttered. That back-stabbing traitor. This wasn't the first time the two of them went on a rampage in each other's countries, so what the heck had crawled up his ass this time around? They had never demanded for each other's death before.

Russia produced nice porcelain cups from somewhere in the depths of his coat.

"What about West?"

"Your brother took it very badly, I'm afraid. He was crying, and someone had to escort him out of the room." Russia handed one of the cups to Prussia. It had dancing bears painted on it. "He's probably going to blame himself."

Damn, Prussia thought and felt something tug at his heart. Nobody had the right to make his kid brother cry.

"I want to call him," he said.

"I already told you that you can't. You're going to be my little secret until I'm ready to declare my zone an independent country. Once you have the status of a real nation again, the others can't demand for your death without causing a bigger conflict than they can afford."

"The others don't have to hear about it. I just want to let West know! Come on, you can't expect me to just sit here twiddling my thumbs while my brother thinks I'm dead!"

These words caused no change on Russia's smiling face. Fuck it, if he couldn't appeal to his sympathy, maybe some common sense would get through to him.

"I mean, how do you expect him to rebuild his country if he's that upset? He's going to make a mess of it, and that leaves him vulnerable and –" He never finished because a sudden thought crossed his mind. "Bastard. So that's what this is all about."

"It's just a fortunate side effect, I assure you. What I really wanted was to have someone represent my new country and to save your life. Please take my word for that. I would have saved even America even though I can't stand him."

Prussia snorted. "Yeah, right. But this is going to backfire on you like you wouldn't believe. I raised West. Yeah, he's upset now, but once he gets over it, he's going to rebuild Germany into the best country in the world." Now that there was no Prussia anymore, at least, he thought with a stab of regret.

"And that doesn't bother you?"

"Why should it bother me?"

Russia leaned over to take a look at their tea. Deeming it ready, he picked up the pan from atop the samovar and filled their cups with steaming black tea.

"If he wants to rebuild his country, he's going to have to work together with the Allies. The people who wanted you dead. Is it alright with you that your brother accepts their ideology, makes friends with them and forgives them, all the while thinking they're responsible for your death?" he asked.

Prussia gritted his teeth. No, that wasn't alright with him. Germany shouldn't associate with those assholes any more than was necessary. However, he had no choice.

"West has to think of his people. If you think you can make me hate him just because he's doing what is necessary, think again. I'm old enough to know how the world works," he said with a chuckle, and he was pretty darn proud of himself for making it sound convincing.

"I'm glad. Then you'll have no problem with the fact that your brother and the Allies probably won't take well to your new country and will see you as an enemy," Russia said pleasantly.

"We'll see about that when it comes to it," Prussia said. When he was a nation again, he could do whatever he wanted. He'd just switch sides and... end up allied with the people who had wanted him dead. Damn, not cool. Well, he had time to think of a better plan. Maybe the Nordics needed a sixth member.

Russia took a sip of his tea, seemingly immune to how hot it was. "But it's always possible that your brother hates them instead. Maybe he'll join me in a year or two."

"Yeah, not fucking likely. You're the one who gave me a bloody and violent death, remember?"

"Yes, but once I let him know you're still alive, I'm sure he will be very, very grateful. I wouldn't be surprised if he decided that accepting my generous friendship would be the best option for him and his country."

Prussia chose not to answer. Russia's smile was suddenly so sweet that it made him a little ill.