Consanguinity

A/N: I think I've been away form the Hetalia fandom for months now, and honestly, I feel kind of bad so I decided to post this. Consanguinity is just something I wrote a little of a long time ago, kind of serving as a piece I just add a sentence/ paragraph/ etc. to when I was bored. It got kind of long, so I decided to split this into a multi-chaptered fic. The story covers events from 1937- 42 during the era of the Second World War and a little of what happened before. It ends at Stalingrad, and I assure you I did my research.

I tried to portray Prussia as I see him in that time. He's confused, angry, lost and all those things you expect him to be in a world like Nazi Germany.

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*Like a total idiot, I somehow managed to delete the first upload by mistake. Please forgive this.

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Act One: No Goodbyes

Prussia was and had always been a soldier, ever since he was born on the battlefields of the Crusades- a little boy with a sword in hand (and a grin of bloodlust that only showed some of the insanity hidden behind his unnatural scarlet eyes), to when he was declared a country proper, and to what came thereafter. Whenever he looked back in time, he could not remember an era where he was without his weapons and the blood that stained them- when he had been without his purpose of which he was originally born for. That said is quite clear: to kill, to protect- with the sentiment of an executioner wielding Death's scythe; to defend his land and people so that he wouldn't be pushed off the map by his surrounding neighbours. So that he would never have to let go of what he had conquered.

But the old horizons were blurring as time continued to pass. Before, the standard expectations were cut clear like rivers in stone- dictated by necessities and bound by honour- a code that Gilbert had lived by. Now things had changed (more for the worse than for the better). All had been replaced with bloody red flags and stone faced men wearing swastikas on their arms. And as for his brother, he didn't even want to think about it, let alone talk about it.

He had never willingly disobeyed his superiors when it came to command, but now whenever he acted on his orders, he found a needle stabbing at his heart- one that pierced deeper with each day that passed him.

1937

This is stupid, Gilbert thought sullenly as he threw a cigarette butt in the ashtray, exhaling a last mouthful of sweet nicotine laced smoke.

He looked at the pile of paperwork he still had in front of him and fought the urge to throw it all in the trash, with a snide thought on the sheer ridiculousness of it all in which he would have been put in charge with crap he never really cared about in the first place. It was so much like West to do that, the jackass, not ever giving his brother what he wanted to do and instead assigning him with the likes of useless dogma. They had people hired to especially sign documents and write flattering letters to this politician and that minister, so why make he, the awesome Prussia suffer? Gah, it was pissing him off more just to think about it. Best not to, actually. He thought that he had already made the point clear that diplomacy wasn't his strong point after calling the Polish ambassador a petty bastard in a dinner party that the Fuehrer had been holding, and though he was reprimanded for it, a lot of the generals slipped a word to him after the meeting that they had approved of what he had voiced.

Politics were for the diplomats. He swore of every inch of the world that if he had the patience to be one when needed like Ludwig, he would no longer be the personification of Prussia.

"Tea, sir?" his secretary (the only thing good about the damned office, Prussia had frequently noted) asked as he scrawled down a note about… the approval of the budget for road building, he didn't really care, "You looked tired."

"Not tired. Bored." Gilbert smirked stretched out his legs- asleep from so many hours of sitting, "Tell me this is all the crap for today, please."

Or maybe not. "You have a meeting with Reichsmarschall Goering and some others in charge of the Luftwaffe over the new Messerschmitt designs. That is all, I believe."

"Not as bad as expected. At least he's not a boring ass like Keitel."

"General Keitel would not be pleased if he heard those words, sir."

"Who cares. What can he do anyway? He's nothing more than a professional sock puppet in any case."

Gilbert met miffed blue eyes with a scoff, and went back to blindly signing the remaining pile of documents. He was really starting to hate Berlin, not for the city because of course, it had been his heart for a few centuries, but rather because of the claustrophobic atmosphere that always hung around the officers and government buildings and such that made him feel like as if he were a prisoner in an elaborately made cage. And the higher up Nazi officials he always detested, at any rate- like Goebbels for an instance, the stuck up bastard. Though he always pretended to respect the albino, it didn't take rocket science to figure out what the man was thinking whenever he looked at Prussia with the disapproving stare. The only reason why Gilbert hadn't bothered voicing his own disapproval out loud yet was because he wasn't born yesterday and didn't need to provide the propaganda minister with more reason to make his life difficult for him. He was more at home with the members of the army, obviously. If anything, he was itching to be out somewhere where he could dust the nauseating political dirt off of himself. And maybe vent out some of the energy and frustration he had been holding back for these few weeks as well.

He didn't approve of the Nazi regime, but he could not for one deny that it had been useful. Hardly ten years ago, the streets had seemed more like a gathering place for the starving and the homeless more than anything. Unemployment had reached its peak, and Gilbert and Ludwig both had grown ever the more weaker day by day as their economy collapsed under the Versailles treaty demands. Riots had broken out in open space, and as for hope…

It had seemed slim. But at least, more believable than the thought of a mad failure of an artist with a mouth to talk his way into the heart of the government. Prussia in actuality disliked Hitler with something that bordered onto resentment, a resentment that he had forced with every fibre of his will not to show. It a skill that he had to thank Fritz for teaching him two hundred years ago.

Accepting the racial laws was bordering on masochism for someone like him (because in all senses, he was an example of what the Nazis preached against), and asking a nation to deny his people was purely illogical. Regarding the former point, the stares and on common occasion- glares that he had gotten from people made his skin prickle in discomfort and irritation.

But yet, this hate undeniably was what kept the whole structure from falling apart. Nothing could have been as bad as the Depression after Versailles and those painful days starving as the rest of the country starved. It was a difficult decision: to go back to anarchy or to accept what had come?

Gilbert couldn't go back to the past, and he did not want Ludwig to become that pale shell of a man he was back at that time again. If anything, they were brothers, and perhaps the only reason why Prussia bothered at all with the Nazis was for reasons of consanguinity alone.

A knock on his door broke him out of his thoughts, and Prussia knew the knock well enough to figure out who it was without batting a lash. A moment later, a tall blond walked in with the stiffness of one who probably thought the entire world was some sort of military marching ground. Even he, lifelong soldier as it was, didn't stand like he had something lodged up his ass to keep himself as straight as a dried stick like Ludwig. He used to make fun of his little brother for that, before the irritated man had put him on silent treatment for a week or so and bombarded him with more paperwork than usual.

And even then, he couldn't deny that West was the image of the perfection that the Nazis had sought- Aryan features, efficient workaholic, discipline, obedience, loyalty, and a cold assed attitude towards everything to boot. It wasn't a lie that sometimes when Gilbert looked at him, he couldn't find a trace of the kid that he had raised into an Empire, the kid who ran and laughed and acted like as if he were fucking alive and not some sort of machine. Or maybe that was just how things were now. He might as well get used to them and be flexible with his options.

Life was a bitch that just needed to be tamed a little, after all.

"Speaking of the devil," the albino drawled and threw his boot clad legs onto the desk, lighting another cigarette, "What miracle has been done so that the great Ludwig Beilschmidt would visit his awesome big brother?"

Germany didn't bother responding, but only gave a look that spelt no nonsense so acutely that even Prussia's sarcasm withered a little in its path. A mandatory "Heil Hitler" was made that the older returned with a distinct lack of relish and an air that was even bordering on impatience- clearly he was tired of all of the formality between them, but to reason with Ludwig on breaching of regulations was like trying to tell a rock to grow legs and run. It was met with a raised eyebrow and a hint of a frown on the blond's face, but otherwise he refrained from commenting on why his brother did as he did so. Instead, he said in a clipped tone, "Remove your feet from the desk, Prussia. It is hardly appropriate."

"Fuck, Ludi. You're turning into Specs…" Gilbert shook his head but did as told, "Cigarette?"

"No, thank you. I have come here to ask for your opinion on this particular file. It was just read out in maybe every church still operating in the entire nation, and somehow got smuggled in without notice." Ludwig's annoyance showed even more clearly now, "Pathetic. After the Fueher has done so much for them, the common masses are still willing to listen to the words of a man hundreds of miles away who has nothing but fraud at his heels."

"But some say the same about the Fuehrer-"

"Your words are treason, brother. I advise you to keep them in your head, or get rid of them altogether."

That stung, but it was the truth. The truth however, did not prevent Prussia from glaring at his sibling and saying back, "When you learn some respect again, maybe I'll consider shutting up. Until then, go kiss my ass."

They stared at one another for a few moments before Ludwig looked away and muttered a brief apology. The albino nodded in acceptance before going on to read the document, as was going to before. It was a papal bull on the suppression of religion or something, but with a smattering of truth on the topic of discrimination at least. Though Gilbert had stopped caring about religion a long time ago ever since his era of the Teutonic Knights had fallen, he couldn't deny that this particular statement carried by the Pope was nothing short of an open edict of criticism for the Nazi party and its axioms. Nothing that he cared too much about of course, but Ludwig seriously looked pissed off enough to punch a hole in the wall, literally.

"I'm not a diplomat." Gilbert shrugged, "But you really can't afford to have that spreading… which it probably already has. I wouldn't be surprised if there would be a few protests here and there of course. Get the... Gestapo or something to start confiscation." (Or prosecution, but it was not something he said out loud.)

"It is already being done. I am glad to see we are of the same mind on something, brother."

Gilbert rose an eyebrow, but chose not to comment. Instead, he took the opportunity to slide onto another subject, one that he had been meaning to bring up for some time. "Speaking of which, I'm planning to stage a protest of my own. I'm dying from all this… junk, West. You know how much I hate paperwork. The awesome Prussia is not a fucking office clerk, alright?"

"Duty is duty, not want. Your immaturity is becoming a liability."

"You never let me do anything, West."

"It's not me." The blond said, "It is actually your own fault why you are where you are- simply because you are actually doing a good job with what you are doing. I do not see why anyone would cast away a useful piece on the chessboard, for one."

Prussia only scowled in return, "It's not like I have much of a choice in the regard."

"And neither do I. We have our orders and it is our responsibility to see them carried out. It is only the natural order of things."

When pigs fly. Red eyes narrowed a little in irritation. He fought the urge to slap some sense into his little brother and tell him that it wasn't a stranger he was talking to but his own family member. How long had it been since they had last been since they had had a moment or a conversation even, that didn't concern the aspects of profession? As time passed, Ludwig grew ever more distant from whom he was closest to before. He became obsessed with his work, drowned himself in it day and night, and had seemed to wipe from his mind everything but the Nazi doctrines. But he was the representation of their nation after all, and so really, it ached Prussia not being able to do anything about it. He had sacrificed his brother for his brother. That hardly even made sense but yet it was exactly how it went.

"You know," he said in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, "We haven't exactly done anything together lately. Maybe we could go to Potsdam when you're free and you know, loosen up a bit for us both? I think the awesome me may be catching a case of permanent muscle cramps if this keeps up."

Scarlet orbs met icy blue for a moment, and saw nothing but empty depths in what were so turbulent before, a deep ocean- frozen, like endless stretches of arctic glaciers. He couldn't tell what Ludwig was thinking anymore either, when he could with no difficulty before, when they both lived together at the Imperial palace and there had been no fears in the world because they knew that they were the strongest the world had to offer. Things had changed so much in less than thirty years- a bat of an eye for nations like themselves.

And would they change more?

He was by no means a far sighted sibyl, but as for the future…

"I apologize. I have no time to spare for now." the blond sounded almost impatient as he declined the offer, and before his brother could get a chance to reply, he had already slipped out the door- leaving the albino with half a word dangling on open lips.

Damn him. Prussia gritted his teeth in frustration as he slammed a fist down on the hard surface of the wooden desk. He didn't even say goodbye.

I'll try to update as soon as I can. Please leave a review!

Notes: The "Papal Bull" was actually a real document called "With Burning Sorrow" issued by the Pope that accused Germany of racism and the suppression of religion. It was smuggled into Germany sometime around March 15th, 1937 and read at every church during the 21st, if I have my dates correct. As predicted after that, every copy of it found was confiscated by the Gestapo.