A/N: First Hetalia Fanfic. Whoo-Hoo! Not historically accurate, doesn't follow a specific war, and it isn't Germancest. Umm… Pith is a type of German war helmet at least that is what I have learned. Also, when I say Prussia has a German-slang accent, I mean my grandma told me that Prussians used a German that had a type of slang to it which made their accent sound kind of different to an actual Germans. Sooo… Long A/N is long! I ask for no flames. Reviews no matter how short mean a lot to me. Thanks for reading!
Summary: A fight, a brother, a moment. Short, yes. T. Germany's POV.
Word Count: 445
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
Brick Walls
The night is warm and muggy; the air is stale, the smoke having settled hours ago. I sit here, my back against the remnants of this dirty brick wall. I take out a pack of cigarettes and as I go to grab one I am met with nothing but air. I look down at the empty pack and snort, throwing it across the debris filled waste-land. Nein, war-land.
"Yo, West." My bruder calls out in his thick German-slang accent. I turn to look at him, as he rounds the dirty brick wall, and I let out a grunt of acknowledgement. He slides down the wall, settling next to me, and just like that here we are, side by side, two brothers, in the middle of a wasted war-field. The eldest and youngest of three forced to fight for their country in a losing war.
Gilbert chuckles and I glance over at him. Pith dented, face almost unrecognizable with dirt, uniform the same. He is looking to the empty sky, rubbing at his left arm as he kicks at a piece of, what I assume is, brick.
"So un-awesome, ain't it West? Looks like all the fighting scared off the stars." I was taken aback by his tone- always arrogant and cocky- now low and somewhat… Broken? I looked back to him as I heard him trying to pull something from his pockets, cussing as he dropped it. He took out a cigarette and lit it with a match, leaning back up against the dirty brick wall.
"Here," he said, offering me one, "you aren't talking anyway." I nodded, taking it and mumbling my thanks. I reached into my breast pocket and then realized my matches were in that empty pack I threw across the field.
"Schieße." I cussed.
"Kesesese. What would you do without the awesome me, West?" Gilbert said, lighting my cigarette with his own. Taking a drag I let out a low chuckle and moved closer to my older brother. I was relieved he wasn't totally gone. I looked around at the broken rubble, the broken lives this war created, and I unconsciously moved closer. Throwing my cigarette, Gil doing the same, he put his arms around my shoulders. We sat that way as we gazed into the nothingness.
"It's ok Ludwig, it's just us. Remember when we were little and you would sneak into my room at night crying to sleep together? Crying for big brother Gil to make all the bad stuff go away?" Gilbert removed our helmets and buried his nose into my hair. I gripped his jacket as I let my brick walls fall.
"We'll go home."