Prussia braced himself, preparing to push himself up to grab the wire at the top of the wall, when something embedded itself in the concrete next to his hand, causing him to lose balance from surprise and fall heavily onto the cold, wet street. He landed on his back, causing the air to come out of his lungs, and banged his head on the ground. His ears were ringing, and he saw stars, but somewhere in his mind he realized that the thing that had hit the wall had been a bullet.
A chill went through his body as he suddenly became aware of a presence. Prussia's eyes traveled up the Stasi uniform to meet the face of the person who was responsible for all this pain and suffering, responsible for separating him from his brother.
"Dobryy vecher," Russia greeted. He looked like the picture of childlike innocence, and the only thing to mar that image was pistol pointed directly at Prussia's skull. "Why are you in such a hurry to leave, Prussia? Don't you know it is rude to walk out on a guest?"
Before the end of the war, Prussia had never taken Russia seriously. Sure, he'd acknowledged that the country had grown up into a force to be reckoned with, but he'd laughed when Japan was paranoid enough to try to assassinate him, or that whiny Lithuania was always trembling around him. All that Prussia could think of was all the pranks he and the Nordics had played on him while crusading.
There was the time he had taken the northern nation and strung him up like a piñata from a tree. His little baby face turning red like a beet from the blood rushing to it had been hilarious. Or when Denmark had snuck a bear into his house. The sight of him rushing out of the cabin in terror had made Denmark and Prussia collapse from peals of laughter.
He wasn't laughing now.
"Just trying to get some beer from my brother for you," Prussia offered, sarcastically. "His place makes much nicer stuff than this shithole."
Russia closed his eyes and his grin grew larger, clearly amused at the insult. "Hehe, you should be nicer to me." In one smooth motion, Russia stomped down on Prussia's outstretched arm and to keep from screaming, Prussia had to clench his teeth so hard he thought his jaw was going to break. He would not give Russia the satisfaction.
"Do you feel this?" Russia asked, shifting his weight to crush Prussia's arm even more. "I am doing this because you are like a cockroach. No matter what happens, even when you are dissolved, you refuse to die. You cling onto whatever baseless hope you have left." Russia gestured to the Wall, the Wall that was keeping Prussia away from Germany, that was keeping so many families away from each other. "After everything you and your brother did, I'm still letting you keep your life. Be grateful."
Prussia would rather die a million times over than live with that Wall for one more day. And of course, Russia was lying. None of the Allies had fought that war without ulterior motives, but Russia's motives of expansion had never really been all that ulterior in the first place.
Prussia really couldn't see an end to this. Maybe he never would see Germany again... Then he grinned, showing off a dazzling smile that hadn't changed at all in nine-hundred years. "My little brother's waiting for me, and that's what's keeping me around. I don't owe my life to anyone as douchey as you."
…
Normally when most of the nations of the world gathered into one place, it was noisy beyond all belief. Everyone was yelling at each other, either because of current issues or past skirmishes, to the point where fistfights often broke out.
Today was not a normal day. Everyone present was sitting quietly in the rows of chairs set out, some dressed in fine suits, others in military uniforms. It wasn't as though there was no tension between the guests; it was just very subdued. There were several possible reasons why: maybe because there was a small number of human guests who shouldn't get caught in the middle of three-hundred-year-old quarrels, or because the nations were suddenly very aware of their mortality, or perhaps some of them genuinely were in mourning. It was hard to stay.
When it was time to give tributes, France and Spain got up there, as was to be expected, talking about the "awesome pranks" they had played on people with him. America, naturally, told about how Prussia had made him into a "hero". Hungary came up and told a few stories that she probably shouldn't have in a church. One by one, many other nations gave their tributes, and the last one to gather up the courage to saying something was… Italy.
"Um…" the southern nation said, seemingly a little nervous to be in front of all these people. "The first time I met Prussia, I didn't know what to think of him … He reminded me of someone I couldn't save when I was little and being around him made me angry at myself. Even after he helped me get my home back from France, I didn't want to see him." Tears started forming in the corners of Italy's eyes.
Italy rarely spoke of his past love to Germany. The only thing he would say was that even though he didn't love him the same way anymore, he still missed everything about him. Germany had asked Hungary about it once, and she had simply told him that Italy had tried to stop him from destroying himself and had failed.
"But, then I met Germany much later… And once I realized how-" Italy choked back a sob. "How Prussia had taken care of the most important person in my life…" Italy was trembling, and Germany wondered if he should go up there and get him. He didn't, though, because he wanted to hear what he had to say. "And I-I don't think I could ev-ever thank him enough for that." He bowed his head and left the podium. For once, Germany was pretty sure he was crying as hard as the Italian was.
With the tributes finished, the nations stood up as one and gave their military salutes. To anyone who didn't know exactly who everyone was here, it would look very uncoordinated, but Germany knew that all of them were giving the highest respect they could to the fallen nation in their own unique ways, and he appreciated it.
…
Germany stood at the site of the grave. He'd visited here every day since the funeral, and he would continue to do so until his boss ordered him to stop.
His brother's body was here, six-feet underground in Stahnsdorf Cemetery. Even though it was covered by heaps of flowers and flags, Germany was very aware of the fresh dirt that had been dug here. In some part of his mind, he was expecting Prussia to pop out of the ground to scare the living shit out of him.
Instead, someone else came.
"'Gilbert Beilschimdt; forever in the hearts of all of Germany," a soft voice, dripping with false reverence, read off the grave marker. "It's funny how everyone is a saint after they die."
Germany turned around to someone he very much had not wanted to see today. "You shouldn't be here," he told the terrifying being.
Russia smiled his childish smile, a smile that hadn't changed in all the time Germany had known him. He gestured around the graveyard, stretching as far as the eye could see with gravestones. Prussia's stood out as the only one with his flag, though. His former flag. "This is public place. I have a passport and am in this country legally," Russia replied, patronizingly. "Even though I am used to it, it is so cold of you to not let me see him off. After all, we knew each other for a very long time." Russia's voice didn't exactly change, but it had a hidden edge to it.
A hot feeling of pain rose inside Germany's chest. Even though the older nation was a bit taller, Germany stepped closer to him, staring harshly into Russia's maddening purple eyes. Russia did not react.
"You… you're responsible for this," Germany hissed. He stepped even closer to Russia, his voice rising along with the pain in his heart. "You dissolved him! You left him vulnerable! If it weren't for you, he'd still be here!"
Russia regarded him the same way one might react to a child of a business partner; with thinly veiled disinterest. He pushed Germany aside easily and approached the grave. He didn't touch it or do anything else, just stared at it. "I defended myself when you broke our agreement and attacked me. I joined the Allies and we defeated you. We all decided you needed punishment for what you did, and we split you two apart. How was I supposed to know what would happen?" Russia's tone told Germany that he very much had known what would happen and had looked forward to it immensely.
"You tortured him," Germany said, marching to the side of ex-Axis Power. "He wouldn't tell me what you did to him, but I saw. I saw what you did to East Berlin; what you did to my brother!"
Again, Russia didn't react, not even turning to look at him. "I kept him alive. The other allies didn't care about him, not Britain, nor America, nor France. I was the only one who decided he was worth my time." Russia looked up to the sky, which, despite the forecast calling for clear skies, had begun to turn dark and foreboding. "You were the one who wanted him back. You were the one who took his body from him and made this happen, not me. You could have given him half your body like the Italies, but you didn't." Germany's jaw clenched at the mention of the brothers. He wanted Russia to stop talking, but he was only saying things that had been echoing through Germany's mind for days. Even though he knew his boss was the one who decided that and he couldn't have gone against him, he had wondered if he could have been more aware.
Russia didn't stop. "He said that you loved him, but I only ever remember seeing you scold him and telling him to mind his own business. No wonder he didn't tell you what was happening to him." The icy cold nation turned smoothly and began walking towards the gate of the graveyard. "He probably through you would be happy."
'I just kicked a little twerp's ass today! Soon he will feel the awesomeness of Catholicism with my boot in his face! Stupid, giant-nose, scarf-wearing douche!'
Germany's eyes widened. He remembered being very young and hearing Prussia telling him about invading the east.
"You didn't do it to punish me. You've always hated him, haven't you?" Germany called after the departing nation. And finally, finally, Russia did react. He stopped dead in his tracks. "He used to bully you when you were little. And he was mean and hurtful… but you... you couldn't get over it, could you? And you responded with outright cruelty."
It was nearly impossible to see, but the tiniest of tremors went through Russia's shoulders, though Germany wasn't sure if it was from fear, sorrow, or barely suppressed rage. He turned around, still wearing that infuriating childish smile.
"Children… are incredibly interesting creatures" Russia stated. "Their actions don't hold any malice and yet they are capable of causing unimaginable pain." Russia's grin dropped. "Which is why you are wrong: I did not do it out of a grudge, I returned his cruelty in kind." Germany stared after Russia, his eyes burning.
Russia paused one more time before reaching the gate. "About everyone being a saint when they die… They say that the deepest pit of hell, where Satan himself is chained, is reserved for those who betray their friends. If that is true, from the moment of our creation, we are all destined to rot there."
Honestly, I felt a little nervous writing about the Berlin Wall. It really didn't fall all that long ago, and it's so horrifically sad. I can totally understand why Hidekaz has never written about it, so I tried to be vague.