Author's notes are at the bottom due to excessive length.


He hated being bound.

The aversion to it was natural, really. A former nation that, even in his young age, had rampaged across a continent, and sought to conquer it all, could surely not wish to slow down. Funny, then, how the tides of time had changed.

Prussia leaned his head back against the wall, straining his vision as far as he could from that angle to catch a glimpse of a sliver of the light blue sky from the window above and out of the corner of his vision. With a grunt, he strained to slide on his bottom to the side, and get a wider view of the window. The chains binding his legs from the ankles to the hook in the wall across from him in the narrow chamber squealed at the movement, but unfortunately did not give, being too heavy. Prussia's eyes narrowed as he realized too late that he had slid too far, positioning himself directly beneath the window, and shutting the color of the sky out of his vision.

Groaning heavily, Prussia tilted his head forward, and crashed it back against the wall. The impact jolted him, and caused white spots to explode into his vision. He lowered his head from the self-inflicted dizziness, and raised his manacled hands, which had been resting upon his bent knees, to his forehead, rubbing it against the throbbing. He chastised himself for giving into frustration; considering how he no longer was a nation, injuring himself was not the best of ideas.

That wasn't to say the emotional weight wasn't there, rather it simply didn't hold up to the logical. Once upon a time, the Kingdom of Prussia had spanned over a vast territory. Now here Prussia himself was, a mere shadow, bound at wrist and ankle, locked in a chamber too narrow for him to even stretch out his legs, and chasing after slivers of daylight. Lowering his hands, he barked out a laugh. In retrospect, it was rather funny. He had bragged more than once over how awesome he was, only to fade away with nary a whimper.

He smirked, and shifted to make himself more comfortable. On the other hand, his predicament wasn't that difficult to stomach, considering his past. He'd grown a little soft, it seemed, over the years. The room wasn't that much smaller than that in the cloister in which he dwelled as a knight of Teutonic Order, minus the amenity of a cot. Granted, he'd been physically smaller then, but even so, at least he got a glimpse at the sky, as opposed to staring at the thick concrete ceiling of a bunker. The light from the sky was also constant, as opposed to flickering and swaying like a bunker light.

XXXXXX

In the swaying light, he recalled, Germany's usually steady hands trembled, his half-empty glass of schnapps slipping from his fingers to break on the floor with an exclamation of annoyance from his younger brother. The light flickered out with a rocking explosion from street level that sent a layer of dust down. Germany leaned against the wall, and hissed, "Oh, what now?"

"Simple," the older sibling replied, clapping his hands together once, "wait for it to come back on!"

Germany shook his head at him. "Normally, I would take that for levity, but I wouldn't consider this to be the case."

Prussia brushed off the dust that had settled on his uniform. "You're still young yet, Germany. You have much to learn."

Germany's eyes narrowed. "Don't talk down to me. How can you still call me young, in light of what has transpired within the last six years?"

Prussia eyed the pistol holstered at Germany's side. His younger brother lowered his hand to cover it self-consciously. "I don't call that growth." Rolling back his sleeves and loosening his collar, Prussia revealed a series of scars that mapped out his pale skin here and there in a bizarre parody of a grid. Some were very old, the fine white of them nearly melding with the skin. Burn marks from the end some of the knights of the Teutonic Order met with the flame after being proclaimed as heretics, deep scars from slashes of the blade that soldiers under the banners of Prussian kings had taken, rope burns around his neck from the hanged generals of the ill-fated Operation Valkyrie, and, upon most recent occurrence, pale pink scars from the retribution exacted by the Red Army upon East Prussia. The scars from this current era were not fine in the slightest, instead carving deep and viciously, making it appear as if parts of Prussia's skin had holes bored into it. Now that the enemy, having swelled to horrific anger by vengeance and outrage, stood upon the doorstep of Berlin, it could only be imagined the amount of carnage that would come to pass with each day.

Prussia had seen Russia angry several times over the course of his life, but not to this extent, though not without cause. Russia had seen his sisters bleed, he had seen his neighbors bleed, and he himself had heard the tortured screams of millions as they were starved, beaten, shot, raped…The list went on without end, it seemed. In short, Prussia feared for what his brother would be facing in the wake of it all. That was not to say of the sheer anger from the opposing side, though it was highly unlikely that America, despite his cockiness, would be able to arrive in time. He had taught the little Narcissus well in his fledgling years, but even that would not be enough. Nevertheless, a completely western takeover would not necessarily be favorable. England would understandably be furious with Germany, though the recently-freed France would be more so. Not to mention the sheer amount of extortion that had been committed upon Belgium and more so her brother, or the devastation that had been faced by Greece. However, it would still be preferable to the steamroller that was bearing down upon them from the east.

Gilbird shuddered, his wings tucked into himself, from where he sat on his master's shoulder. Prussia patted his bird softly upon the back, pausing to stroke at his wings.

Germany smirked at him, and replied, "How easily you seem to switch in your opinion. Were it 1941, you would have called it growth." His gaze hardened, and he continued on, "But of course, that is you, isn't it? You find a way to stare down your nose at me, even if I fail for just one moment."

July of 1944 stood quietly between them. Germany's gaze lowered toward Prussia's wrists, wrists upon which almost a year prior, he had cuffed in irons with his own hands, and dragged his older brother at gun point into the kangaroo court. There he had forced Prussia to stand and listen without a word passed as the court jester himself, Roland Freisler, yelled and threw tantrums like a child, all but wagging his finger at the accused generals, whose hands were kept busy with holding their pants up.

XXXXXX

Truth be told, during the circus of proceedings, Germany had taken an amount of schadenfreude in how the trial utterly destroyed his brother. He had, after all, betrayed him, and nearly killed his boss. What would have happened then? What greater good could possibly justify throwing the country into tumult, especially in such a dark year as that? However, as Prussia gripped the railing of the balcony too tightly, slouched in his pose, and bit back venomous exclamation after venomous exclamation, Germany lowered his pistol to his side, overcome with shame.

After the convictions were given, and the court adjourned, Prussia swept promptly past him, only to be seized by Germany's hand on his shoulder. "You were not dismissed." He twisted his shoulder out of his grip, and spun on his heel to face him, fixing him with a withering glare. Germany, expecting but still shocked by the sheer hatred in his brother's gaze, felt his back touch the balcony's rail as the room below them descended into the chaos of human movement, their confrontation unnoticed. Despite Prussia's hands being bound before him, rendering his upper body movement lacking in strength, Germany gripped the rail behind him to still his own twitching fingers. It felt as if his past played back to him in a film reel, unwinding before his eyes, his brother holding his frail body close in one arm as he fought off an assailant with another hand, his brother groaning and slumping down, yet still cracking a smile at him as he clutched at a wound, his brother stroking his back, covered with a blanket, as he drifted off to sleep…It went on, unwinding as if it were in a clock.

"Don't worry," Prussia had reassured Germany, the young child standing before him, nervous yet curious about the large world before him. His sword driven into the ground, Prussia had knelt before him on one knee. In retrospect, the brothers had found the scene to be too full of pomp and circumstance, but to a child, it was rather a sight to behold, a former knight pledging himself to a small boy. "I'll be with you always. Wherever you go, I'll protect you."

Prussia's words marked the end of the unwinding. "I don't take orders from impudent little boys who pretend to be men."

Seizing his advantage, and dodging his brother's scorn, Germany let go of the bar, and replied in a tone that held a sense of mocking triumph, "Nevertheless, you are subject to my commands. By order of my boss, and by extension, yours, I hereby place you under house arrest."

Prussia's mouth moved, and he turned his head to look down at the judge, who was being congratulated by members of the press in his "triumph."

Germany added, "You may look upon me as you please, brother, but you also had a hand in my crimes."

Prussia swung his head up. "Yet when I try to stop them," he held up his hands, "I am bound in chains. Which one is it, Ludwig, rebel or conform? You can't have both from me at once."

"You didn't try to stop them when times were still good for you," Germany replied, his tone flinty as he pointed at him. Indicating himself, he added, "We both have turned a blind eye to the atrocities committed in the name of our boss, and look what it has led to. Where was your outrage when Sophie Scholl was decapitated? Where was your anger when the Solf Circle was betrayed?" At Prussia's silence, Germany continued on in a slightly gentler tone, "You are not the only one to have martyrs."

"Yet the machine continues on," Prussia replied with contempt, "You and I both know that the amount of martyrs is miniscule in comparison to those who stand by and allow this to continue. Don't play the innocent card with me."

"If I'd been given my way, I wouldn't have dragged you here," Germany's voice took on a pained edge, "in his name, no less. Do you realize it? We would never have reunited, if not for him. My people were starving, and there was hope given to them again."

"Was it all worth this, Ludwig? You know what continues on to this day. Look at what abominations exist on Poland's land," Germany winced at that, and lowered his gaze as Prussia continued on, "Built by men of your country, who represented your boss, with no other use but to kill. Something that your Sophie Scholl protested about. Feliks likely won't ever forget the screams, even after they are long silent."

Germany waved a hand in a chopping motion. "You nearly decapitated Poland centuries past. What does it matter to you? Ivan himself murdered his chain of command; you can't pin that on me."

"That isn't my point," Prussia replied, shaking his head, "I nearly killed him once, yes, but I didn't force him to bear the agony of having so many die on his land in so agonizing a manner."

"My prejudices," Germany curled his hand in towards himself, casting his gaze away, his voice lowering in volume, "I learned them from someone."

Prussia sighed heavily. "I know, but I would like to think that this was not your intention, and neither was it mine. Regardless, I can see why you were so enchanted by your boss's words in the beginning, and even as you began to lose. What did it matter to you, the dark side of his rhetoric? It was no different from the rants you heard from my bosses, so why should you think different, especially considering you heard them from me?"

"There isn't any changing it," Germany replied with a shake of the head, "The war will continue on now until the end game, you know that."

Realization dawned upon Prussia. "Is that why I was brought here, then?"

Germany folded his hands behind his back. "I'm sorry, Gilbert. It was completely self-driven."

Prussia made a dismissive gesture. "It's passed. Had you been young still, I would have arranged for your safety, as well."

Germany looked away from him. "Italy was my comrade. I couldn't allow for him to be subjected to the punishments that my boss allotted him."

Prussia twisted his wrists back and forth, rattling the manacles. "Had you been caught, you likely would have been given the treasonous charge." He laughed darkly. "Funny, I thought I wouldn't have been caught, considering how awesome I am."

His black humor, unfortunately, didn't bring a smile from Germany, though it did soften him further. Turning back, he explained with remorse, "In light of the occasion, I can't arrange for your escape. I apologize, but—"

"But your boss demanded that you bring me in," Prussia cut him off, "and you completed the order to the letter." He smirked. "You're a good soldier, as always."

Germany gnashed his teeth for a moment, and shook his head. "You don't think me completely cold, brother. Don't try to get a rise out of me now."

Prussia turned away from him, and walked to the edge of the balcony, staring down at the banners that bore the swastika and blood red of the regime. He found them to be more and more garish with each passing day. "We'd desired reunification, and now we'll pay for it. Don't think that I'm only staying here out of familial love."

Germany, understanding his underlying meaning, said nothing on the matter.

Prussia had held well to his sentencing, though there wasn't much else he could have done, detained as he was. East Prussia and the Reichsgau Danzig-West Prussia had fallen, and he had not even been there to witness the mass exodus of its people. Though, it did wake him, the pain his body endured, each pull, rip, and tear, blood running onto the tile, or the faucet. Staggering, he'd grasped about blindly for assistance, and his brother was always there to catch him, or to hold him up, despite his protests of, "I'm fine, I'm fine, don't worry about me."

Germany's boss had been quite disgusted at the sight of his scars, and refused to look at him. Prussia frankly didn't care, for every time that he was regarded as a failed state, he met the blow (mentally, as he wasn't foolish enough to get Germany in trouble) with the insult that this clown didn't deserve to stand within Old Fritz's shadow, let alone to claim his title as his own.

But what did it matter, really, within this dreary bunker? Germany's precious Italy was safe, far from this war. At least he could take what little token of happiness he could from that. He didn't have to see him as this broken shell of a nation. Then again, Prussia figured, albeit begrudgingly, that was what brothers were for, to see each other so broken, yet to also drag each other up off the floor. Ironic, really, considering that Germany's boss despised homosexuals, yet the nation himself carried a torch for another nation of the same sex. It was almost tragically romantic, the soldier dying in war while his love was stowed safely away.

But Italy would have his dues to pay, as well. Abyssinia, for one. Prussia hadn't been privy to the parting, but he could assume that it was something he wouldn't have wanted to see, anyway. He'd taught Germany that men didn't cry, but he suspected that his brother must have come rather close to breaking it on that day, if not actually doing so. He'd taken notice of the fact that in darker days still, his brother had had to leave the room on more than one occasion. Sometimes, when he did walk in on him, Prussia chanced to find him, his hands braced over his desk, staring down at photos at what had once been, his back rigid, and his head lowered.

Typically, Germany would order him to get out, which Prussia would oblige, if only for the fact that nothing could be gained from the conversation. On other occasions, however, he would say nothing, silently acknowledging Prussia's presence. Prussia would keep his distance for the sake of tact, leaning against the doorway through which he had entered, or sitting on a chair in the room, never hovering about, only remaining near.

Today, Germany had swiped the photos off the table, sending them to the floor, and grasped his brother's shoulder, staring into his eyes as if demanding to know where this all had led him. Prussia, much to their mutual disappointment, had had no answer for him, save for a touch of dark humor. "An awesome ending to it all, don't you think?"

Germany had looked half-compelled to strike him, but instead relented, dropping his hands and digging beneath the desk. When the shine of the bottle of schnapps caught the light, Prussia outright grinned at his brother's cunning. Turning the bottle to reveal the year to Prussia, Germany explained, "I'd been saving this for a better day, but I think that this is the best day we'll get at this point."

XXXXXX

Tilting the bottle to pour himself one last drink, Prussia responded without looking at Germany, "That's wrong, and you know it."

"Not entirely," Germany corrected him.

Prussia sighed, placing the bottle back down. "If you were right, would it satisfy you to know that? Or is it one of the last victories you wish to take before this war is over?" Turning, full glass in hand, he regarded him with a sardonic smile, his cheeks already having reddened from his last few drinks. Saluting him with his glass, Prussia answered his own question, "Of course you find the last victory that you can." He tipped back his glass, and drank.

"Do not judge me so," Germany replied, a slight terseness to his voice serving as a warning.

"You judged me last year," he continued evenly, thumping the glass down upon the desk, and smacking his lips, "It is only fair that I return fire on that front."

"A year of suffering, and that is all you can think of?" Germany hissed, though the shaky undertone of it told his brother that he was deliberately dodging the implications of the remark.

Prussia, however, refused to allow him to dance around it, and plainly responded, "Six years will be held against us both. Just because a wound was taken in 1942 or 1939, it doesn't mean that the pain it has caused has diminished."

"We're tired of war," Germany's tone was heavy, but there was a pleading note to it.

Prussia nodded. "Likely Kiku is, too, but he continues on, as well, of his own volition."

Germany looked up that. "Kiku has his emperor, and we have our Fürher. It is not as if there is a choice here." He waved an arm. "The cream of the Wehrmacht is gone. What have we left but amputees, young boys and girls, and old men?"

Realizing that the conversation was going in circles, Prussia replied gravely, heading over to the doorway, "Then they had better count."

"Where do you think you're going?" Germany inquired.

Looking back over his shoulder as the light flickered back on, Prussia replied, "Nowhere of significance. I am under house arrest."

Swaying light bulbs illuminated the hallways, with the echoes of explosions sounding from the level above. Footsteps thundered down the corridor as secretaries, aides, and communications men rushed off, some pushing past Prussia. Reaching up, he grasped Gilbird, and brought him down to the level of his greatcoat. "Stay quiet for a few moments. I'll give you a treat later," he ordered his pet. Obediently, Gilbird crawled inside his inner coat pocket.

The messenger sat slouched on a stool in a dark corner near a broom closet, tugging on his gloves absent-mindedly. The uniform looked overly large on him, his face covered in soot. He started up with a quick salute as Prussia approached him. Motioning for him to sit down, Prussia pulled his payment, a couple of tins of food, from within his pocket to present to him. The boy, thanking him multiple times over, gladly took them. "How old are you, Hase?"

Hase glanced up at him from where he was quickly putting the tins away in his satchel, and utterly failed at keeping the stammer from his voice. "Just turned fifteen about a few months ago, sir. Thank you for allowing me a rest down here while in wait of your decision."

Prussia knelt down to get on his eye level. "Have you a family?"

Hase nodded. "Yes, a mother and three sisters." He bit the side of his lip. "My father was run over by a Soviet tank on the Eastern Front. My youngest sister is only five."

"I can assume that you would desire to follow General Wenck in his breakout?" Prussia inquired.

Hase gulped, and shrunk back, but Prussia made no comment upon his movements. Realizing that the nation wasn't judging him on his values, Hase relaxed, folding his hands over his bent knees. "Forgive me, but I fear for them. This may be our only chance." He shook his head, his voice breaking. "I do not want them to suffer the fate my father did!"

"Calm down, calm down," Prussia soothed, his voice low as he looked about to see if they were overheard. Looking back at Hase, he ordered, "Take the message to Wenck that you will be taking the spirit of Germany with you in the breakout. He will know what I mean."

Hase nodded his head, standing up. "Very well, Colonel Beilschmidt."

Prussia smiled, finding his ruse to be effective. Reaching into his coat once more, he withdrew a bar of chocolate. "My second payment. My advice to you is to use it for bartering purposes. Money will not be of much use now."

Hase took it graciously, and stood, putting the chocolate away. "Thank you, sir. It will be done." Taking his leave quickly, Hase was lost in the chaos of the hall beyond the small alcove.

Prussia placed the palm of his hand upon the stool on which Hase had sat, and leaned his weight upon it. He had felt as if he had been late to board a train or bus, and was watching it rush away from him. Yet, as the moments ticked by, Prussia stood straighter, feeling a small sense of peace falling over him. At least his brother would have boarded that train or bus. It would not be easy for Germany, but it would be preferable to Prussia's fate. He had his dear Italy, anyway, and the saccharine sweetness that came with their little bond.

Reaching back into his greatcoat, he withdrew Gilbird, and stroked him behind the feathers. "Come on, it's time for your treat."

XXXXXX

The sound of the cell door's heavy lock releasing caught Prussia's ear, and broke him out of his reverie. The door opened slowly with a feminine grunt behind it, indicating that the woman was having a difficulty getting it open. Prussia chuckled at that, figuring that Ukraine was probably using her hip, her hands currently full.

Just as he had suspected, she entered with Gilbird, his groomed feathers giving off a handsome sheen, upon her shoulder. In her hands, she bore a tray, upon which sat a glass of water and a modest paska. Steam rose from the paska, causing Prussia's mouth to water.

"It's Easter Sunday already?" Prussia asked in surprise at the sight of the paska.

Ukraine nodded her head, kneeling down to set the tray upon the floor, her breasts bouncing with the movement. "I managed to receive permission to give you a slight indulgence for the occasion. There is also this," reaching into the pocket of her overalls, she withdrew a letter titled in Cyrillic. "That is your name upon the envelope."

Prussia decided to put off opening it by allowing her to place it on the side of the tray. Gilbird fluttered over to land upon his master's head. Prussia smiled at that as Ukraine procured the key from her pocket to unlock his cuffs, and allow him to eat. He hesitated before picking up the fork and knife that were lying upon the tray, and Ukraine apologized, "Forgive me, I have to watch you eat, you know that."

He shook his head, knowing that this had been routine for a few years already. Any hesitation or desire for privacy brought out the same verbal response from Ukraine, her warning unspoken to him. "I just found it odd, is all," he explained, "Religious holidays pass like ordinary days to me now."

Ukraine smiled at that, bending her knees to bring them together. "I would say that you are living within a biblical story now, Lazarus." The humor elicited a smile from Prussia, which fell as he dug into the paska. "What time of year did you think it was?" Ukraine inquired.

"Sometime in the middle of winter," he replied, taking a moment to swallow, "You forget that the window into this cell is always closed, so I can't hear any changes from outside. Even the small parts of sky I can see don't tell me very much, as there are plenty of winter days with clear skies. You yourself know better than I how long winters here are."

She agreed, and he noticed the dried mud caked upon her clothing in places, along with her hairline. A smell of earth rose from her. She herself proved to have been taking an examination of him, as well, by noting, "Your wounds are healing well."

"I don't own a mirror. You'll have to be more descriptive," he remarked plainly, "At least I can see out of both eyes now." Prussia felt embarrassment fall over him. Ukraine fed him bread and water, as allowed by Russia, once a day, thus this allowed her to see him in states that he had found to be rather unbecoming of himself. On occasions when he'd been beaten or interrogated were the worst, though the most humiliating had been after his uniform had been all but torn from his body, him leaving half-naked. He'd been given a much shabbier outfit to wear the next day, but the intention was understood. Ukraine had taken the liberty to say nothing about his state that day, focusing her gaze upon his hands and mouth as he ate, but her unspoken pity had hung between them. Prussia had eaten briskly that day, despite knowing that it would only hasten his return to being manacled, and Gilbird leaving with Ukraine, but he hadn't cared; he'd felt so ashamed.

"Your bruises are of a yellow color now," she explained, "Likely in a couple of days they will be healed."

Prussia set down his fork, and was about to wipe his mouth on his sleeve when Ukraine offered him a handkerchief. He suspected that the knife and fork weren't from Russia, since he was never allowed a napkin. Accepting it, he cleaned himself off. "He's slowing down," he noted.

Ukraine cracked a smile. "It's a good thing, yes? You are left alone more."

Deciding to ignore the implications of the envelope once more, Prussia picked up Gilbird, and placed him down upon the floor between them. The bird preened his feathers before taking flight about the small room, stopping to perch upon the windowsill. "He's in excellent shape, Katya."

"I keep my promises," she replied simply, though the word "promise" was stretching things.

His hands cuffed, and his ankles bound by leg irons, Prussia had ordered Gilbird to fly and land upon Ukraine's shoulder upon the day Berlin fell. The next moment, a rag had been jammed into Prussia's mouth to keep him from barking another command. Ukraine, surprised at the bird alighting upon her shoulder, had glanced Gilbird before looking back at his master, who stared up at her pleadingly before his head was shoved into the asphalt pavement. Wincing from the impact, he'd glanced up from out of the corner of his left eye, and saw her nod and take Gilbird gently between her gloved hands.

The look upon Ukraine's face that day had been a rather curious mix, but one that appeared to age her quite a bit. All at once, she appeared appalled at the violence around her, standing back from the Red Army soldiers, and turning her head, as if staring through the scene, not focusing on any one part of it. She also had a feeling of vengefulness, as indicated by the tightening of her grip on the hilt of her saber. Above all, however, there was the sheer weariness about her, and the utterly haunted look about her eyes. There was blood splattered upon her uniform, and she was covered in soot and dust from falling plaster. There wasn't a sense of joviality about her for the destruction around her, rather it was a sense of tired detachment, as if she was wandering through a dream. The lack of maliciousness at that moment had indicated her as a safe choice for his pet.

His sword was the first thing that had been taken from him by Russia, and Prussia figured that he had no intention of giving it back. The greater humiliation had sunk in, however, upon staring at the Allied nations altogether, and seeing them point, and condemn his existence for much of what had occurred under the regime of his brother's boss. Prussia had kept his head held high upon the dissolution, but upon returning to his cell, had allowed the tears to fall in silence. He couldn't bring himself to think of Old Fritz, knowing that the man would have thought of him as weak.

Placing the knife and fork upon the empty plate, Prussia began, "As rare as this is to hear from me, thank you."

She smiled at him, though it slipped off as she picked up the letter. "Would you like me to read it?"

"If its contents are written in the same language, I will have no choice," he replied, leaning forward to scratch and rub at his ankles where the cuffs were beginning to cut off circulation.

Opening up the letter, she scanned over the page. Prussia glanced up, and could already guess as to the contents of it as her face slowly fell. Folding it, she placed it aside. "I'm sorry, Gilbert, but you've been called by my brother to perform manual labor for the better of the Soviet Union."

Prussia took the news with a wince. "When do I begin?"

"Tomorrow," she replied simply.

"I hadn't expected anything different. I won't be kept in here again, will I?"

Ukraine shook her head. "No, but you will be quartered within a workers' dormitory."

Prussia thoughtfully placed his hand to his chin. "Hmm, so the alternative is to fade into obscurity."

Ukraine shook her head, leaning forward. "You'll be outside. Isn't that what you want? You aren't living in here, Prussia, merely existing. Imagine what a few more years could do to you!"

Prussia leaned back against the wall. "Time moves more quickly for us, you know that. Days slip away into nothing before they can even be grasped."

Ukraine grabbed his hand, but Prussia snatched it back. Narrowing her eyes, and propping herself up on the palms of her hands, she demanded, "Don't tell me you're giving up, not after the self-indulgent rants you have given over the centuries."

"Does it look like I am?" Prussia hissed, his hand raised in the air.

"You might as well be," Ukraine responded evenly, "You aren't given a choice in this. Should you try to stay, you will be dragged out, anyway. Is that what you want?"

"It's better than to bow my head, and take what I am told!" Prussia snapped, dropping his hand to the floor and turning away from her.

"That's a nice way to think of Hungary and me, isn't it?" Ukraine prodded.

Prussia tensed at her words. Leaping to the defense of his friend, he rounded about on Ukraine. "What exactly could Elizabeta have done? She had given everything she could have, and what did it lead to?" He pounded his fist upon the floor, sounding out each word, "Enslavement. Rape. Pillaging. Utter devastation wrought upon her by your brother." His palm flattened on the floor. "You yourself saw what was done to her. What Roderich was put through was your doing, however." Prussia broke off to smirk at that. "Though I have to say it was a good beating you issued out upon him, Cossack. The breaking of the glasses was a nice touch, and I must say I haven't seen limbs twisted that many ways since Waterloo."

Ukraine raised an eyebrow. "All these items can be laid at the feet of your brother and you, and tenfold, at that." Prussia found he could say nothing at the stinging remark, and she continued on. "Let us not forget the mining of undesirables from Hungary and Austria, as well." Prussia winced. Sensing that he was clearly disturbed, she rested her case, continuing more gently, "It is your way out of this cell, Gilbert. Ivan very well could have left you in here for the rest of your days. Is that what you want?"

Prussia found his voice again. "It clearly isn't something that you want." Glancing up at Gilbird, he remarked, "You could have killed him, but you didn't. You're an odd one, Katya."

"After seeing the deaths of so many of my people in just two decades, I have altered my perceptions."

Prussia looked back at her. "Don't try to hide things from me, Cossack. I know what you are, prone to crying over the smallest injury to others, yet willing to leap into the fray, as well. I can see where Russia and Belarus get it from."

"As do I, Teuton," she replied evenly, a catch in her voice from the biting undertone of his remark. The catch slipped, and was replaced with a knife's edge of sarcasm. "My 'liberator.'" The irony of the statement was not lost upon Prussia as he leaned down to scratch at his ankle again. "On that note, you can also lay the blame upon me for the atrocities," she added, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, "as opposed to demonizing my brother further."

Prussia paused, glancing up. "I'm surprised you'd admit that."

Ukraine snorted. "At least one of us in this room did."

His hand fell to his side. "Fine, I'll admit it one thousand times over if you want! I'll take the Final Solution and the entire Eastern Front upon my back!" His voice dropped in volume, the strain of his tone considerable, "But it won't bring back the dead."

Ukraine held out her hand, palm up, and Prussia stared at it for a few moments before grasping it tightly. "How is Feliks?"

She sighed. "I commend his attempt to put up a light-hearted face in spite of it all, but it isn't the same. Toris tells me that there have been quite a few nights already where he can't sleep for the screaming, and there are moments where he mentally wanders off. I'll be speaking with him afterwards today." Prussia felt a sense of covetousness at that, but let it slide. Poland needed her and Lithuania at the moment, and it was understandable why.

"Funny, isn't it?" He remarked, looking up at her, "I haven't done this often either, but I suppose the occasion is appropriate, considering the day. I'm sorry." Ukraine's eyes widened at that, and her breath caught in her throat with a damp sound. Taking her hand from Prussia's, she brought it to her mouth, while another wiped at her eyes. "It isn't nearly enough, but I'm sorry about what my brother and I did to you." Bracing his shoulder against the wall, Prussia explained himself. "I'm not a nation anymore, Katya, and therefore I'm not sure how much time I will have. Likely it will be about a century, maybe two, but I don't want to live out my years as a forgotten laborer."

He lowered his head so that she would not see the expression upon his face. "My count of days has not yet slowed down; they race by me still, and I can't get them to slow down." His voice cracked as he added, "I want to see Ludwig again! I can't bear the thought of dying without seeing him!" The corners of his eyes burned, and he rubbed hard at them.

Her hand found his shoulder, and he looked up. Ukraine's face bore no judgment, rather her glance held sympathy. Prussia felt embarrassed by it, but didn't comment upon it. "You will," she reassured, smiling at him, "As I recall, you trained America, didn't you? Have a little faith in your student."

Prussia tried to crack a smile, but found that it didn't hold. "Faith is one of the things I have lost these days."

She glanced about herself. "Ludwig wouldn't want for you to live like this."

Prussia relented, knowing she had beaten him on that point. "No, he wouldn't. I suppose then that I will start working tomorrow." He whistled for Gilbird to descend into his hands, and held him out to Ukraine. Gently taking the bird, she placed him upon her shoulder, and withdrew the key to the manacles with an apology.

As the cuffs clicked shut, she elaborated. "After the establishment of the Reichkommissariat upon my land, I feared that I would never see my brother and sister again. Ivan was badly bled, and Natalia…I was honestly worried that she would have faded away, she lost so much. Yet, we are together again." Laying her hand on his wrist, she added, "I speak to you in light of the tragedies that I have experienced when I say that you will see him again. It will likely not be immediate, but you will."


I originally had intended this only to be a one-shot, but the story expanded to a point where it will have to be a chapter fic. Chapter 2 is already completed on file, and 3 is in production.

The argument scenes between Prussia and Germany, while both holding weight from each side, also are pissing contests between the two, thus they aren't being fair to each other on purpose. Other than the word "schadenfreude," I'm going to be careful to not use gratuitous foreign words in this, unless they are of historical importance. Please note that I've only watched the anime series, therefore I'm not quite sure exactly how the countries work when interacting with the people that dwell upon their lands, though I can figure that they attempt to blend in with their people.

Originally, I had Germany smoking in the bunker scene, but this wouldn't have been accurate, as Hitler would still have been alive at the time. It wasn't until after Hitler shot himself in the head that his staff lit up cigarettes within the bunker.

Historical notes:

The Vienna Offensive was launched by the 3rd Ukranian Front, thus Ukraine is credited in the story with beating up Austria.

Belarus had it the absolute worst on the Eastern Front, thus Ukraine worried that her sister would have faded away. To this day, I am still shocked by the staggering amount of death and destruction that country faced during that period of time.

General Walther Wenck was the commander of the 12th German Army in Berlin at the conclusion of World War II. When he was ordered to assault and retake Berlin from the Soviets, Wenck refused, and instead ordered his army to escort German refugees and civilians to the American lines, and immediately surrender. As a result, a quarter of a million German refugees (including 25000 German soldiers) were saved.

Hungary lost 60% of its economy as a direct result of World War II.

The Solf Circle was a gathering of German intellectuals as a short-lived resistance movement against the Nazi regime. The circle was betrayed, with the majority of the members being arrested and executed, after an undercover Gestapo official attended one of their informal tea party meetings on September 10, 1943.

Sophie Scholl was one of the most famous members of the White Rose Resistance, but far from the only member. A non-violent protest group of students and one professor from the University of Munich, the movement spread pamphlets protesting against the atrocities of the regime, starting in June of 1942. Unfortunately, the movement came to ruin, with the students and the professor being executed via guillotine in 1943.

After Operation Valkyrie proved unsuccessful, the generals were forced to the stand on trial without belts for their pants in order to further humiliate them. The hanging judge, Roland Freisler, died in a bombing raid in 1945, still clutching important files to himself that he had attempted to retrieve. It should be of note that he punished several members of the White Rose Resistance. Valkyrie is credited to Prussia in this story due to the assassination attempt occurring in East Prussia, and from several of the generals involved hailing from Prussian lineage. There were other resistance movements in Nazi Germany, such as the Edelweiss Pirates and the Swing Kids, but I couldn't cover all of them for the sake of brevity.

Out of revenge for Abyssinia (Ethiopia) kicking out Italian colonial forces, the country became Mussolini's first target. Mustard gas was employed against Abyssinian (Ethiopian) soldiers, which was a clear violation of human rights. That is to say nothing of Yekatit 12.