I know this could be expected, but still, this chapter came later than I wanted it to be.
Anyway, at least I had a great time in Rome! No real inspiration for my fics, though. Mostly just been torturing my poor feet, which aren't used to walking from dawn 'til dusk. Well, they are now. It's fascinating how one just gets used to the pain after a little while and keeps walking... (which, I just realised, is a little fact that I might be able to use in my writing sometime, who knows)
Thanks to everyone who favourited, followed and/or reviewed! It's always great to hear from my readers ;) You're all awesome!
I hope you'll like this chapter, and thanks all for the patience!
Prussia was still surprised when he saw his own troops mingle with the British for a Christmas celebration together. He hadn't expected this at all. Beside him, Germany was staring wide-eyed at the soldiers, too confused to say a word it seemed. As the humans prepared a makeshift football field, Prussia glanced over at Scotland, who had orchestrated all this; the older nation looked approvingly at the human soldiers as they let go of their animosity for one another. Were they even truly enemies in the first place? After all, how could men who had never met before be enemies, just because their countries were at war with each other?
Scotland then sat down in the snow at a little distance from all the others, watching. Prussia had half a mind to join him there; they had gotten along well in the past. Maybe they could rekindle that sense of amity between them. But for now he felt he had to stay beside his little brother, until he settled down more.
Soon enough the two armies were playing a game of football. The sight warmed Prussia like he was sitting by a fire, a nice mug of coffee or something else warm and just reading a book. Eventually, after he'd watched a few minutes of the game, he leant closer to his little brother and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you go as well, Ludwig?" he suggested carefully. "Should be fun."
To his disappointment, though not surprise, Germany shook his head. He looked uncomfortable with the idea of being seen… well, playing. "I don't want to, brother," he sighed. "That's all."
But you do want to. Prussia decided to let these words be left unspoken. Germany probably just needed an example, and besides, Prussia himself could use some time off from this war as well. Looking forward to it already, he laughed and gave his brother a firm pat on the back. "Well, if you don't go, I will!" Then he dashed off to the edge of the playing field, calling to the British soldiers: "Hey, Tea-Suckers! Next round, the Awesome Me is joining in, so look forward to getting your butts kicked!"
Some of the soldiers chuckled at this, and the Prussian got a few quick thumbs up to show that they were okay with it. Minutes later, as he'd joined the game, he glanced at Germany a few times, wondering if his tactic was working yet. He was proud of his little brother being such a great, reliable leader to the soldiers of his corps, but he wanted him to for once just act his age again, too.
Germany had by now sat down on the snow like Scotland had, watching quietly. But as time passed, he got just a tiny bit fidgety. Yes! Now that was what he wanted to see. Clearly Germany didn't want to have to be the straight-laced, serious soldier he had to be in battle, not now. No worries, little bro, Prussia said to him in silence, smiling a bit and keeping an eye on him as he finished up this game of football. Then by the end of it, he said a quick goodbye to the human soldiers, thanked them for the game, then ran back to Germany. He feigned exhaustion, though not all of it was fake; he hadn't been sleeping well for some time, and Germany knew of it. Hopefully he believed Prussia now, because that would make this all so much easier. "The Awesome Me's done!" he choked out, laughing a bit as he reached Germany's side. "Go take over for me, little bro, and be awesome!"
Germany hesitated for just a moment, staring Prussia straight in the eyes, but then that childlike excitement he still possessed at this age took over and he got to his feet with a quick nod. Without a word, he went to the playing field instead, where the two armies were making teams for the new game.
Prussia watched until the game began, then sighed, breathing out a white puff of air. Then he turned to look at Scotland, still sitting on his own a little way off, and he walked over to him instead. Scotland was watching the soldiers play their game with a warm smile as well, and he only seemed to notice Prussia when the albino flopped down onto his back in the snow beside him and stared up at him with shining red eyes. "Well, this sure was a Christmas present, Scottie!" he chuckled warmly, smiling when Scotland looked down at him with an amused gaze. "How did you come up with the idea?"
Scotland laughed then, too, and shrugged. "Nah, it was my men, not me," he confessed softly, turning back to watch the game. "I don't like football that much, so I would've never come up with it myself." His smile got a bit wider, his pale blue eyes filled with warmth. "They all seem to be enjoying themselves, though."
Prussia snickered a bit. "They sure do!" He then glanced over at Scotland and quickly inspected him a bit. Germany had said he'd shot the man, but Prussia couldn't find any trace of that injury on him now, not in the way he sat, not in the way he moved; he didn't show any pain or difficulty moving, at least. He also didn't seem to resent Germany for it as he looked at the young nation from a distance, so if Germany had even been right in the first place, Scotland didn't seem to hold it against him anymore now. The Prussian then shook his head and decided not to think about any of that. Instead, he sighed. "You know, I came here specially for Ludwig, so that he wouldn't be alone on the battlefield with Christmas. He's just a kid, after all, and I didn't want his first holidays during wartime to be without his awesome brother." His smile faded quickly when he realised what he'd said, and he gazed up at Scotland again. He could think of only one reason why Scotland would be here, and why he was here alone at that. "You don't have your brothers here today, do you?" he asked softly. Scotland only shook his head silently, and Prussia sat up. "Must be shit."
The Scot only sighed and gave a short nod, which made Prussia feel bad for him. Being separated from one's family was one of the worst things in the world. In an attempt to cheer him up, he put one arm around him, grinning wide. "No matter!" he assured him with as much joy as he could manage in his voice. "You've got me today! We can hold an awesome drinking contest, and I'll give you some real German beer!"
Scotland grinned now, too, snickering a bit and agreeing to having that contest, stating that he was confident he would win –very few people could hold their liquor better than a true Scotsman, after all. Then he fumbled in his pocket and then held out a cigarette to Prussia. "There you go, laddie," he said jokingly, still chuckling as Prussia excitedly took the cigarette and the lighter the Scot offered him right after. "If you're giving me one of my addictions, I should do the same for you, eh? I see you still enjoy them."
"Sure do," Prussia mumbled back through gritted teeth as he lit the cigarette. He paused for a moment to take that lovely first breath, then went on: "It's as you told me all those years ago, really. They numb the mind, and I… I could use that in wartime, especially being separated from Ludwig most of the time." It had been Scotland who had introduced him to the sweet poison that was smoking. Thankfully it held little to no consequences for a nation, whereas for humans it was undoubtedly unhealthy, Prussia could tell that much from how his own body reacted to the smoke he inhaled.
Minutes later, when Scotland had lit a cigarette of his own as well and the two kingdoms sat there in the snow together, getting a bit cold by now of course, Germany came to join them. He seemed a bit confused over seeing his brother with another nation like that, but his happiness over this break from the war overpowered it by far. "So, polluting the air together?" he asked with a hint of laughter in his voice as he walked their way. Prussia's heart swelled with joy as he heard his little brother's voice free of worry for the first time in months. Scotland shrugged and said that their 'poison' was by far not the worst that had been spread in the air lately, so it was okay. Germany's gaze darkened only a little bit at this obvious reference to the poison gasses, but he didn't mention it. Instead he queried curiously: "So since when are the two of you all buddy-buddy together?"
"Actually, we go way back," Scotland answered for the both of them, and Prussia was surprised at this. He had always assumed that his sort of 'friendship' with Scotland in earlier centuries had been one-sided, that the Scot more than just tolerated him but that it would be an exaggeration to say he liked the Prussian in any way. He had always been kind and friendly to the younger kingdom, but he seemed to be like that with everyone unless he had a good reason to dislike them, so he never thought much of it. Scotland then gave the Prussian a friendly nudge. "You see, laddie, we worked together quite a bit as allies in the Seven Years' War. It's back then that I taught your brother English –did you know that was me?"
Germany allowed a short snicker now, and a tiny smirk as he glanced at his brother with an amused twinkle in his eyes. "If he hadn't told me, I could've figured it out by his weird German-Scottish hybrid accent, yes."
Scotland nodded, laughing softly. "Yeah, it does sound weird, doesn't it?" Prussia, though he was amused as well and took the joke well, thought it unfit not to comment on this, but both Scotland and Germany ignored him for a moment as the old kingdom went on again: "I also taught him to smoke, which… I'm sorry, kid. It's my fault."
"He was basically the only mental support I had in that war," Prussia added, still grateful for that fact. "Aside from Old Fritz, of course. But Scotland was there for me after Kunersdorf, for one, and other battles." He looked to his side, his gaze meeting the old nation's. "I guess you could say we're, sort of… friends."
"Sort of?" Scotland snorted before getting up from the cold and wet ground. "Whatever floats your boat, laddie." He held out his hand for Prussia to get up as well, but the albino defiantly jumped to his feet without sparing him a glance, though he gave him a friendly shove right after. Then he suggested that the three would go inside somewhere and start that drinking contest, to which Scotland was only too glad to agree and Germany immediately stated that he would join them.
Prussia just wished that day, that careless time, could last a century.
Of course, the hours were just that: hours. Too soon, the war resumed to remind them that it had never even stopped yet. It had reached a real stalemate now, and the German army tried to preserve that stalemate. But as Prussia had told Germany, they were also working on stronger chemical weapons, which in turn was hardly a 'preserving the status quo' of this war. The first time they used Chlorine was on 2 January 1915, and soon after Germany got a report from Major Von Zingler, who stated that the gas was a 'horrible weapon'. It had killed 140 British soldiers, he'd written. Uncomfortable with this, the young nation soon put that report away and never looked at it again.
Prussia too, now that battle had resumed on the Eastern Front, where the German army had decided to place most of their energy so that they would get rid of Russia, made use of gasses now. He'd been there personally when they had tried to launch a large-scale chemical attack on Russian troops, but the attack failed when the gas froze in the harsh cold.
In February that year, Prussia's Eighth Army, together with the Tenth Army, fought the Russians at the Masurian Lakes, in which they all but obliterated the two Russian armies they fought against. They had barely suffered any losses themselves in comparison. Germany had received a long and detailed report about it from Prussia, who was excited and proud over this victory. It was almost embarrassing that Germany had to write back that they were hardly making progress at all over in the West, though that wasn't their main goal in the first place.
Germany didn't get to see what poison gas was like for himself until May, though he had felt it long before; it stung in his lungs, he often got into sudden and rather bad coughing fits and he had trouble breathing sometimes. All signs that his army wasn't the only one using these chemical weapons. He'd imagined it was bad, of course, but until he saw it used in the last days of the Second Battle of Ypres, he found he had severely underestimated its horror. It killed, and it killed many, German and Allied soldiers. It killed horribly.
Germany, safe with a gasmask on, could only watch as human soldiers choked to death on the poison they inhaled, blood still bubbling at their lips as they drew their last breaths on the cold ground, their skin raw with chemical burns and their eyes left as nearly unrecognisable, hazy orbs. He feared that Scotland was there, or France. He even feared that Belgium was there that day, even though he knew that she was locked up somewhere as a prisoner of war.
After this, he requested again and again that he'd be given a time out from the battles, though he never told anyone why he did so; he would not admit that he was too horrified by his own army's actions to stay there any longer. In June, he finally got that permission, and instead worked on the General Staff for a month, to be expected back at the Western Front halfway through July.
That month had done him more good than he had imagined it would. By the end of July, Germany set out with a portion of his troops to make another gas attack on British troops, meant to chase them away rather than kill them. Still, Germany knew as well as any man did that there were going to be many casualties again today. But this time, he managed very well to do as Prussia had told him nearly a year ago and shut down his emotions. He was just doing his job, he was just following orders. He had no reason to feel guilty; the ones who had given him this command had to. Not him.
With his gasmask on his face again, Germany and his troops sought a place upwind from where they knew the British were, so that the gas would be carried their way on the breeze. Once they had found such a spot, they set down their shells with Chlorine, waited for the right moment when the wind was strong enough to carry most of the gas away from them, hoping to avoid as many casualties in their own ranks as they could, then opened the shells and retreated immediately, out of its reach. They would return here later to count the casualties and perhaps find some unlucky survivors –whom they would then put out of their misery, for Germany could not imagine anyone wanting to live with the aftermath of exposure to a poison as potent as Chlorine.
Not all of his soldiers seemed comfortable with this, though, and neither was he if he allowed feelings to slip into his consciousness for longer than a second. "Sir," one young soldier asked him with terror in his eyes, "we're not fighting them, they're not fighting us… so why are we doing this?"
"I know they're our enemies, but…" someone else added, agreeing with his fellow soldier. "Can't we just… leave them be?"
Germany was quiet for a moment, looking them in the eyes then glancing over his shoulder, where he knew that, a few miles away, a massacre was now taking place without there being any soldiers fighting one another. Then he sighed. "I don't know," he confessed, in as flat a voice as he could manage. "Maybe there's a good reason for this, maybe there isn't. Whatever the case, it is not up to us to question our leaders' decisions. It is a soldier's duty to follow orders and not ask questions. I am here to do exactly that, and for your sakes, it would be better if you did, too. Try to keep some peace of mind, impossible as that might seem. It's the only way we can do this without… without going insane." He then looked at all of the other soldiers, some of which looked doubtful as well. "That goes for all of you. We're merely the tools used by our leaders to perform this act; we do not bear responsibility. You all got that?"
Some of the soldiers, to his dismay, seemed to have no trouble at all setting aside their guilt, if they even felt any in the first place. He questioned their humanity for a moment, but decided it was best not to think about this, either. Others, like him at first, struggled to let go of the knowledge that right now, people were dying because of what they'd done. But they tried, and that was the most important part. He was proud of them for it, knowing full well that it was difficult not to drown in guilt. He still struggled every day to keep his head above the churning black waters of regret and guilt, after all, and keep breathing despite how hard the currents tugged at him and nearly forced him under. He could not and he would not give in to it. Just as his brother had told him to. Just as what he now knew was a soldier's duty.
Germany used a telegram to make a brief report of what had happened so far and that things went according to plan up to this point, then prepared to go into the area they had attacked together with a couple of the soldiers present –as many as they had gasmasks for. He dreaded the first few corpses he found, but only the first. After that they were just part of his job. Unpleasant presence, but no nuisance.
The few people still living, those were more difficult to come across. After all, they were dying all right, just moments away from death in most cases, nothing that could be done to save them. It was when he saw them gasping for the breath they would never draw in again that Germany allowed himself to feel a little of the guilt, just a little, without letting it envelop him. Just enough to remind himself that he was no inhumane, cruel monster, but just a soldier doing his job. It was that day that the young nation realised just how well he had learnt to control his emotions, though he felt no pride over this newfound ability. He felt no disdain for it either, just a quiet acceptance and acknowledgment of its usefulness in times like these. Prussia was the one who had instructed him and had done so well, but he had taught himself. He had learnt well.
It was that day that the young nation also learnt that some emotions were too strong to ever hope to control.
Some time had passed since Germany and his troops had entered what had become a field of corpses, a field that here and there stretched out into the nearby woods, when he stood still for a moment, looking around. It had been their leaders' plans, for whatever reason, to catch this platoon unawares, and it looked like they had succeeded. It also looked like they had killed every man in it. Is this what you wanted? he asked his General Staff in silence, looking at all the corpses around him. But why? I won't voice my questions, I know I shouldn't, but will you answer them nonetheless? You would see this as a victory, but so far I've only seen a meaningless massacre. If there was any reason for this at all… tell me.
A gunshot somewhere to his left, up a slope in the edge of the forest, alerted him, and he looked up from his pondering. Two of his soldiers had found another unlucky soul who was still alive. Double unlucky, Germany now saw; judging by how close his own two men were to one such barrier, this poor Briton had come across a barrier with barbed wire, a common sight around trenches and any military camps. How the unfortunate man had survived both the gas and the wire, he had no idea. But his subconscious seemed to have one, because he nearly jumped when he saw the human soldiers fire at the man on the ground again. Wasn't he dead yet?
It can't be… Germany's feet brought him to them before his mind could even process anything. With every step he got closer his feet moved quicker, until he crossed the last metres in a single heartbeat. He came to a sudden halt, staring at the soldier who should be dead now, after poison gas, barbed wire and two bullets going through his body… yet still lived.
The wire had cut the man all over and he was bleeding profoundly from myriad wounds, some small and shallow, others long and deep. His right cheek had been torn open by one such razor sharp barb, and the blood that poured from that deep gash mingled on the forest floor with the blood that dripped from his lips, where the thick red liquid still bubbled.
It bubbled.
He was breathing.
Of course, standing over the man now, though it was difficult due to the many injuries, Germany recognised his bright auburn hair, which he knew now would be a fiery red when it caught sunlight, the white skin which only last winter had rivalled Prussia's in paleness… Of course he knew that no bullet fired by a human and no barbed wire could ever kill Scotland.
Still it astounded him that the old nation had lived through this so far, considering Germany himself had planted some of the shells containing the poison that had stricken the old kingdom down.
Germany stood motionless, breathless, his heart pounding so hard it hurt and his blood rushing through his veins so loudly that he could hear it as it pulsed through his ears. He scarcely registered it when one of his soldiers sighed something about this poor bugger being a stubborn one and raised his rifle once more. In a rush of fear that the other nation might still die, some foolish belief that, in this state, it would be enough for even a human to lay so much as a finger on him for him to be killed, he threw himself in front of the weapon. He knew from personal experience that if he shouted a command to leave the injured nation alone now, it might startle the soldier enough to have him still pull the trigger. This, though the most painful one, was no doubt the safest solution for Scotland.
"Sir!" the soldiers exclaimed simultaneously. "Sir, why did you-?"
Germany didn't give them the chance to talk any longer than that, when the gunshot forced him onto his knees (he'd never been shot in the stomach before, and it hurt terribly) but he still instantly turned around to Scotland. Carefully, he shook him, dreading knowing that he wouldn't react. But some foolish hope still forced him to try. "Scotland," he tried feebly. "Scotland, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- I didn't know you were- please, don't die!"
"S-Scotland?" one of the men behind him stammered. "My God… That explains why he wouldn't die…"
"So now what?" the other one snapped, though Germany could tell he sounded agitated like this only because he was scared. "We just attempted to kill Scotland, of all people! A-and I just… I just shot Germany, too…"
Gritting his teeth, Germany got to his feet again, clenching the wound in his stomach tightly to prevent himself from bleeding too much until it healed. He was beginning to feel shaky. "Now," he answered hoarsely, "nothing happens. Not to you, I promise you. You couldn't have known it was him, and I'm the one who acted so rash. None of this is your fault." Somehow he managed to act calm, though to be calm was a mission impossible. "As for Scotland… We'll bring him to a nearby village," he decided in a split second. "They will know what to do with him. They will recognise from his uniform, if not his appearance, that he's a British soldier, and even a blind person could see he needs help. We'll take responsibility for what happened today, but 'taking responsibility' doesn't necessarily mean paying for our mistakes. All right?"
The two soldiers, terrified, exchanged a silent glance, then looked back at Germany and nodded. The nation sighed in relief, having now found what seemed like a good solution to this mess he had unwillingly and unknowingly created. But that motion hurt more than he thought it would, tiny as it was, and he grunted. Immediately the two soldiers told him to sit down somewhere, take it easy until that wound was doing better again. For once he did not mind taking such an order; he could feel himself that it was a necessity. But when he glanced back down at Scotland, he couldn't bear leave him on the ground like that. He had already hurt him once before in this war, and so far Scotland had only been kind to him whenever they'd met. He didn't deserve any of this. So the young empire sat down beside him, carefully unhooked the last barbed wire from his legs, which were still tangled a bit, and pulled him very carefully and gently out of there. And then he just sat there, by his side, until more of his soldiers joined them and they could help move Scotland away from there and to a village, by which time Germany's own injury, much to his guilt and dismay towards the old kingdom, had mostly healed again.
Just weeks later, both Germany and Prussia were called to Berlin to discuss the Scotland incident. Germany had written a letter about it to Prussia the very same day it had happened, in sheer panic, when the meaning of what he'd done finally really sunk in –because when he'd seen Scotland half dead on the ground hadn't been the worst yet, clearly. Prussia seemed to feel as guilty over it as if he'd almost killed his new friend himself, as if he'd been there and he should've done something about it. As if he even could have.
Germany, feeling very uncomfortable about it all, couldn't help talking privately to his brother before their meeting with the Emperor and General Staff would begin, and ask him what he knew would be a difficult question: "Is this what you once told me, that you did horrible things once? Was it… was it as bad as this?"
Prussia stood rigid when his little brother asked him that question, and the young empire almost regretted asking it. Especially when the albino sighed and shook his head, answering in a simple whisper: "Worse."
Germany wanted to ask more, he wanted to finally know what it was his brother had done that he regretted so much. But Prussia already walked away, clearly not wanting to talk about any of this, and Germany lost his chance again. Instead he just followed him to the meeting room, and sat down under the disapproving stares of his Emperor and Foreign Minister; his General Staff didn't seem quite as frustrated and worried. Prussia sat beside Germany, and the younger nation shoved just a tiny bit closer, just for moral support.
"It took us some time," the Foreign Minister sighed when everyone had gathered, "but my British colleague has finally given me some information as to the state the personification of Scotland is in after the incident a few weeks ago." Germany couldn't breathe for a moment and his heart skipped a beat just before the human could break the news to him and Prussia. "He is alive and recovering, but he is understandably unable to re-join the war for the duration of it, if not for the fact that his injuries are too grave and the gas messed up his lungs, then for that fact the Chlorine also… left him blind."
"Blind?" Germany choked out, that one word pulling the ground from under his feet and opening a crevice too deep to see the bottom. He'd done that to someone? To a fellow nation? He'd… by some stupid mistake… made someone blind?
He whipped around to stare at Prussia when the older nation whispered something, in pure horror, added what almost sounded like a whimper. The albino was paler than usual, his gaze focused on something only he could see, it seemed. His lips moved, but Germany could hardly hear what came over them. "Saxony," he caught. "I'm sorry… so sorry…"
"Prussia…?"
But Prussia got up then, without a word, spun around and ran out of the room. Germany only briefly glanced at the humans before he got up and ran after him. Prussia was fast, but unsure where to go to, and his brief moments of hesitation every time he reached the end of a corridor were what gave Germany the opportunity to catch up to him eventually. "Brother!" he called out to him when he was but a few paces away from him. To his surprise, Prussia halted. The albino didn't quite look up, but he didn't avoid Germany's gaze, either.
Germany didn't know what to say for a moment. His mind was still reeling from the news about Scotland, and questions about Prussia's reaction to it flooded his mind as well. How to go about this? What to even ask? He had no clue. But at least he was certain that Prussia wasn't going to try and run away again now, because finally the kingdom met Germany's blue gaze with his own red one. The younger nation took a deep breath. "Gilbert, what… what was that all about?" he asked carefully, hoping he would get an answer. He didn't even care if it was a clear one, just if he got one would be fine. "What does Saxony have to do with any of this?"
Prussia shook his head and averted his gaze again. "You don't want to know," he choked out, his muscles tense and his voice soft. "Really, you don't."
"Really, I do," Germany insisted. Why couldn't Prussia just answer the damn question? Why did he always feel the need to keep secrets, even from Germany, his very own brother? Nothing that Germany could imagine could ever make him love his brother less, why didn't Prussia see that? Whatever it was, it would be fine. He just wanted –needed- to know.
Prussia shook his head again, but more feebly now, and then he sighed and gave in. "I… I blinded someone before," he confessed in a whisper, sounding miserable, his voice full of regret and guilt and sadness. "In the Seven Weeks' War against Austria, before you were born, I was attacked by Saxony. I don't fully remember what led up to it, but where we at first fought each other verbally, he charged at me at one point and I… I drew my sword on instinct." He shuddered for a moment, and Germany could think of nothing to help him feel even a little better right now. He himself was stunned, though what else could he have expected? This explanation made a lot of sense, considering how Prussia had reacted to Scotland having gone blind because of the Chlorine. The albino wasn't done explaining yet, though. "When I drew my sword like that, I ended up cutting him right across the face. From his left jaw to the right side of his forehead. It cut into his left eye… He wouldn't have been fully blind, I think, but at that moment he was because the right was covered in blood."
Wouldn't have been? That was an odd tense to use. Germany started piecing the rest of the story together automatically, though Prussia told him after some hesitation, anyway. Since he'd figured this out already now, he wasn't surprised to hear the end of his brother's story… but it still shocked him.
Prussia paled even more as he spoke the last few sentences, his eyes glazed over with utter horror at the memories. "I tried to help him, I swear I did. I stitched the cut and tried to disinfect it, but I didn't have the supplies to help him as much as was needed, and… I-I went to look for help once I'd done the basics, Ludwig, I tried so hard to find help for him! But… but it took ages before I found others who could help, and by that time it was… it was already too late." He stood motionless for a few seconds after he finished telling this to Germany, then sighed deeply and closed his eyes in shame.
Germany stood rigid. Was this what Prussia had meant with that he had done even worse things? It sure fit the bill. After all, what he had told Germany just now had been as much an accident as the Chlorine incident with Scotland had been. Only Germany's mistake hadn't been a fatal one.
He didn't want to believe it. He couldn't. "You… you killed Saxony?" But he did believe it. Prussia wouldn't lie about this.
The albino nodded slightly, silent, still not looking at Germany. But when the younger nation asked why he had never talked about it before, he did answer. "Because it was never the right time to tell you," he sighed, voice barely louder than a whisper. "I didn't want to tell you in the first place. It… was never necessary for you to know."
Somehow, this got Germany's blood boiling in rage. "Oh, really?" he snapped, raising his voice. "So it's not important for me to know that you –by accident of course- killed your own brother? I don't need to know any of that?" He gritted his teeth, hands clenched into angry fists. Prussia had killed one of their siblings, but had never considered telling Germany about it? The empire wouldn't have condemned his brother for it, absolutely not. Clearly he hadn't wanted to hurt the Saxon, accidents just happen sometimes. He'd learnt that the hard way just weeks ago himself. He did, however, condemn Prussia for deciding it was a good idea to keep this from him. Because why would he, other than because he either thought his little brother was maybe too young, too naïve, or in any way not ready to hear such a thing, or because he was afraid Germany would hate him for it. The latter being the most selfish reason; lying to someone so that they would love you!
A low growl rose in Germany's throat. "Sometimes you are unbelievable, Gilbert," he muttered to the older nation, who flinched at the anger in his younger brother's voice. "How many more things have you been keeping from me all my life? More importantly, why would you lie to me? Don't you trust me?"
Prussia's only answer was silence, and a wide, pleading gaze. As if he was begging for forgiveness.
Honestly, he would get that. Of course Germany would forgive him for this. But not now, not yet. "I don't care that you killed Saxony, you know," the young empire grumbled. "Not in so much that I blame you for it. It was an honest mistake, just like what I did to Scotland, I'm sure of it. But I'm getting tired of you keeping things from me, for whatever reason! Prussia, I'm old and wise enough to deal with things like this, don't you see? I don't need you to protect me from reality, I'm not a child anymore! So would you finally stop it with the lies, the secrecy?" Other emotions now washed over him, replacing the anger. Guilt. Pain. His mind was back with Scotland, imagining what the old kingdom must feel like now, injured and disabled for what could be the rest of his life. Choked up, Germany added softly: "I only want your help dealing with things that are happening now, brother, not to shield me from the world… I've seen with my own eyes what the world is like!" He fought to keep his emotions under control, but it was no easy task. Still, he managed to keep his voice from cracking, managed to stop tears from welling up, no matter how horrible he felt. "I've seen with my own two eyes that this world is cruel, unforgiving and cold. That it can be a living Hell. Stop pretending it isn't, stop pretending the world is a better place than it is, please."
Prussia stared straight at him in shocked silence, unable to respond for a few moments. Then he turned his gaze to the floor instead. "I'm sorry, Ludwig," he whispered. "I… I never pretended that I hadn't done such terrible things –I've told you, I've done things too horrible to recount… Too horrible for me to ever want to talk about them again…" He took a deep breath and looked back up at Germany, his eyes still holding a silent plea. "It's not so much that I didn't want you to know, honestly. I mean, I didn't want you to, and I still don't, but that's not the main reason. I… I just don't want to talk about any of it. Ever." He sighed then, his breath shaky with emotion. "Please, Ludwig, I'm begging you… Please don't make me."
Finally Germany cooled down again. He'd overreacted. He knew he had. "I'm sorry, brother," he said softly. "But please… don't lie to me. All right? I shouldn't have reacted like I did, I… At least you told me the truth for once. Thank you for that."
Prussia nodded, calming down a bit now, too, now that he knew that his little brother wasn't too angry. "You're worried about Scotland," he guessed softly. "Aren't you?"
Germany couldn't speak anymore now. Instead he just nodded.
I'm so sorry for what I've done…
