Okay, so... personally I'm not too sure about this chapter ^~^'

I've been busy this week, it's my last week of exams before the Nationwide exams later this year, so yeah... Lots of studying. Speaking French for roughly 15 minutes about randomly picked topics without the use of any keywords, for example... Sooo easyyyyy (*screaming*)
But hey, I've survived yet again and managed to write another chapter, so it's all good ^w^

Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed, followed and/or favourited. I've said it before and I'll say it again, you're awesome!

Now I hope you'll like this chapter~

Early in January 1941, Germany was told that he was to be reassigned to the African Front soon. Prussia, in the meantime, was tasked with preparing for Operation Barbarossa, the invasion of the Soviet Union that they had been planning for some time now. From the very beginning, they had known that their mutual neutrality and sometimes cooperation with the Russians would come to an end when the time was right.
This was one invasion that he had no trouble with. Actually he hadn't minded the invasions of France and Poland, either; the invasion of Poland being the start of a large-scale war was the only thing he didn't like too much about it, really. There were no three people he wanted to hurt more in the world than Poland, France and Russia. If he could get his hands on that blasted communist, he would join the battles again just to be able to defeat Russia. He hadn't forgiven the attempted murder yet. That, and he just wanted to hurt the man. He always had. Something about Russia had always made him want to hurt the younger nation, even though Russia terrified him. Actually, it was probably because Russia was such a creep that he wanted to squash him. After all, plenty of people hated bugs and they squashed bugs all the time.
It was all just natural instincts.

As all these things were planned and slowly put into motion, Prussia was working over the border, in occupied areas of Poland. Now that the government had begun sending Jews from Austria to the ghettos here in Poland, the German soldiers in these parts had trouble with the locals more frequently than before. That in turn meant they needed some medical attention more often as well. When he had to work on strategies, he was also closer to do so when he was in Poland than anywhere else: Hitler had a base in East Prussia, so whether he was in Berlin or over there, if Prussia was in the middle, he could get to meetings far more quickly than from elsewhere.
What his leader probably didn't know, and what he also didn't need to know as far as Prussia was concerned, was that the nation didn't just help their own soldiers; sometimes he would approach random people he came across on the streets who looked like they could use a hand. A few soldiers were aware of it, though, and a few other medical staff members as well, so it wasn't completely a secret. However, unlike Hitler might do (although honestly, he might also praise Prussia for it, the nation truly had no idea how the man would react) these people encouraged him to keep doing so, and one or two of his colleagues joined in every once in a while. They said it seemed to give the locals here some trust in them, that maybe not all of the Germans who were in their cities and towns were bad. Prussia didn't see it much, as the Poles still seemed to distrust them all greatly and despise them, and honestly he couldn't blame them. Occupation wasn't exactly nice business, and he had to admit that, considering the history between the Poles and the Germans, mainly Prussians, he could understand their strong feelings of disdain for the German soldiers.
After all, Prussia shared that same hatred, but for Poland instead. It was all mutual, so it was all good. However, hating Poland didn't mean he hated all Poles, so if someone looked sick or injured, he helped. These were people, just people, not the man who had made his life difficult for centuries. Although… if he was in a particularly foul mood, he honestly couldn't care less. Which was also fine, he told himself. It wasn't part of his job to help out random locals in the towns he went to.

Right now the Prussian was busy disinfecting and stitching a cut on a soldier's cheek, which he'd gotten in a little skirmish with some poor fool who was now to be executed for attacking a soldier with a knife. Potentially also having killed one, actually, as there had been a murder on a German soldier just days ago, and no one had figured out yet who had killed the man. This human could have been the murderer, perhaps, but Prussia wasn't sure about that. Still, it was basically their policy to let no resistance and especially no crime go unpunished, even if the one receiving said punishment hadn't actually committed the crime. They had to pin the blame on someone.
So yes, the poor unlucky fool, but only in the event that he hadn't killed that soldier a few days earlier. If he had, well, then he would get what he had coming.
"This will be a scar, won't it?" the soldier sitting in front of Prussia sighed as the nation finished cleaning up the cut.
Prussia nodded as he quickly grabbed his stitching equipment. "No doubt about it, and I'm afraid it won't be a small one, either." The cut was a deep red, vertical line in the middle of the man's cheek, slowly oozing blood, which dripped from his jaw onto his leg. His uniform was stained with it, though only a little. "Look on the bright side, though," the albino said with a tiny smile as he pierced the soldier's skin with his needle -the human flinched when he did this, having had no painkillers, on his own request. Prussia ignored this and just did his job. "It could have been a lot worse yet. Any higher and that knife would've cut out your eye. The scarring it is likely to leave also won't be too bad."
The young man snorted a little at this. "Not too bad? It's not a tiny papercut, and it's in my face." He seemed disgusted at the idea, which amused Prussia a little.
Oh, good, we've got a vain one here, he said to himself, biting back a few soft chuckles and struggling to keep a straight face. "Well, I know that I am lucky enough not to have any scars in my face, but I have seen my fair share of battles in my life," Prussia replied calmly, though a hint of laughter must have been audible in his voice, because the human's eyes flashed with annoyance for just a moment. Once again, though, Prussia chose to ignore that. He was becoming very good at ignoring people's attitudes lately. "Just hope you won't end up with a body like mine by the end of this war, all right?" Pausing his stitching for a moment, he used one hand to left his trousers a bit, exposing his left leg up to his knee; centuries ago, his leg had nearly been torn up in the Battle of Kolin. Even now, scars criss-crossed his pale skin, leaving his left leg with a mangled look.
The human soldier took one look at the nation's collection of scars -even though this was really only a small portion of it, a preview one could say- and instantly the young man paled almost fearfully. He looked unsure what to say as he quickly averted his gaze, colour slowly coming back to his face now -and going in overdrive when he turned red seconds later. "Err, well…" he stammered nervously for a moment. "I, err… F-forget I said anything, sir."
Prussia smiled for a moment, showing that it was all right, although he didn't say a thing as he quickly finished up the stitches. "Now be sure not to move your face too much," he warned the soldier when he put his supplies aside. "Try not to laugh or make any other facial expression that might tear the stitches. You'll feel it when it's safer to move your face some more -the tugging won't be as bad anymore."
The soldier nodded and thanked him, a lot more solemn suddenly than he had been when he'd first come in, and Prussia felt a twinge of pride that he'd managed to do more than fixing that man's face; there were a few soldiers around who would do well to realise that, whatever happened, there could always be worse.
Separated from your family for some time? Try losing them forever.
Got a new scar on your skin? Try having more scar tissue than actual, still untouched skin.
Things could always be worse, and Prussia was pretty certain that even his life could have been a lot more difficult than it had already been. If he'd never met Holy Rome, Brandenburg or Fritz or all the other people who had pulled him through the ages… Hell, he could even go as superficial as that soldier just now and be grateful that his more-scar-tissue-than-skin was normally covered up almost entirely, just so long as he wore long sleeves and no shorts.
Right now, he could still be stuck fighting for his maniac leader instead of working on something he liked. Things could be a million times worse, even now.

As he was reflecting on this, the Prussian took off his gloves and tossed them aside to be cleaned later, then picked up the needle he'd been using to start cleaning that off already. He wasn't thinking about anything in particular as he did this, or when he put the stitching thread back in a drawer afterward. When he next picked up the little glass bottle with the medicinal alcohol in it, however, his mind started reeling. He'd never really used a lot of chemicals before, but over the past months, he'd become more acquainted with various substances that he could use for healing.
They could be used for harming just as easily, though.
The few sedatives he had in his little storage of medicine had various other uses, if one knew what to do with them. Prussia had this natural curiosity that made him read up on all the details of the chemicals he worked with. Side effects of certain medicine could be very interesting. Propofol, for one, was a sedative that could, in some cases, stop an individual's breathing altogether.
Chloroform, another anaesthetic, was also being used less and less because of the risks it held. Like with many medicine, an overdose was lethal more often than not.
The things he could do now that he had access to potential weapons that most other nations did not. If he came face-to-face with any of his enemies, such as Poland or Russia in the near future, he could easily make use of all the things he had stored here. Chloroform wasn't too efficient when used on its own, but if he were to mix it with muscle relaxants or hypnotics, it should work a whole lot better already; some pressure points could also induce a temporary paralysis, which would make using chloroform easier as the person wouldn't be able to resist.
He wouldn't even need to fight them, not much, though for the fun of it he would likely break a bone or two as well -before administering any sedatives, of course.
After knocking them out, well, he could do literally anything! If he wanted to regain some trust from Hitler, though, he would probably first have to bring them to him and let his leader decide. He might actually do that, if he got the chance. He really didn't like the man, but Hitler was his leader, and there was nothing he could do about it. The best thing he could do now was to avoid hurting innocent civilians and following orders as much as he could without harming any humans who did not deserve it.
Prussia looked at the shelves with bottles lined up on them, each one filled with a different liquid or pill or powder, each one with so much potential. He chuckled, completely satisfied with his little collection. Looking at it, he felt as if he was looking at both the medical supplies anyone else would see, and his new personal armoury at the same time.
He really did love his job.

"You really couldn't send more troops, could you, Potato Head?"
Germany sighed at this unimpressed comment from Romano, which sounded somewhat like an accusation. "Actually, no," he answered truthfully, not looking at the older nation as he spoke. He'd been growing increasingly tense and frustrated the more of his cities were being bombed. Especially the bombings on Berlin angered the young nation. It was one of the worst things he knew of, to be unable to do anything about such attacks. Comments such as these could really piss him off, when he was already tense because of the bombings. "We're still fighting the United Kingdom, we've got soldiers in all of the territories we've occupied and resistance hasn't died down yet in those areas and we're planning and preparing for future invasions," the young German explained with an edge to his voice. "I do believe we're busy enough already, thank you. No need to make things worse for ourselves than is necessary."
Romano didn't really seem to buy it yet, or at least, he didn't seem to accept that as an excuse. "Not even for your allies?" He huffed, narrowing his eyes indignantly. "Wow, what a great alliance we've got, truly!"
Germany could just about feel his blood begin to boil at the look Romano gave him. It was as if the Italian was accusing him of being the most untrustworthy, lousy ally they'd ever had, while the German army had been working their asses off for nearly two years already. "Just so that we get this straight, Romano," he said in a tone as sharp as a knife, "we've sent all the forces we can spare to be your backup, and if that number doesn't satisfy your needs, maybe you should consider helping us in our battles some more, too, so that we'll be able to spare more troops in the future!" He gave the smaller nation a hard poke in the chest as he added accusingly: "I haven't read much about your precious Corpo Aereo Italiano being of much use in the Battle of Britain!"
Romano looked ready to retort to that, but Veneziano then sighed, rather loudly so, without looking at either nation. "Would you two please shut up?" he asked them then, sounding agitated but still somewhat polite at the same time. Somewhat. "I'm trying to read something here."
Romano sent Germany one last, murderous glare, then walked over to his younger brother and looked over his shoulder to see what the report Veneziano was reading was about. Just then, the younger brother whimpered, and Romano cursed a few seconds later. Germany could pick up just enough of what they were talking about after that to know that it was potentially worrisome. "England and Scotland are here?" he asked, just to be sure, as he approached them calmly.
Veneziano gave him a surprised look at this, but then a twinkle appeared in his brown eyes. "Look who's learning Italian! Was about time, don't you think?" He grinned as he said this.
Germany silenced him with an annoyed look, if the older nation had been planning to say anything else on the matter. "Drop it for once, will you?" he muttered with a sigh.
Romano snorted. "Well, you were wrong, anyway," he said, sounding almost amused by it -which sparked some more anger in Germany yet. "They're not here yet, according to what's written here, but there are some signs that they're likely to be sent to fight alongside their troops here sometime soon."
Veneziano whimpered again, planting his face on his desk. "I don't like the English…" he whined softly. "England is scary. Scotland is terrifying."
Germany could just barely suppress a fit of laughter at the older nation's words. Those two, scary? In what universe? England tried to be intimidating, but he failed more often than not. Even as a child, Germany hadn't found him 'scary' in any way, and now that he was older, he knew that England didn't exactly have a strong build and Prussia had told him the man wasn't quite as skilled in battle as them, either. Then again, neither of the Italian brothers looked all too strong, so they would likely have more difficulty in battle against England.
Scotland could look intimidating, all right, but he was too kind and gentle, he'd learnt over the years, to be considered scary. The man was like a bear: grizzly on the outside, teddy on the inside.
Were these two just cowards, or was there something about the British Isles that he didn't know of? While it was true of course that there were many things he didn't know about the British Isles, he doubted there was much to be afraid of about them. There was also another thing he found strange. "England is… He's your brother, isn't he?" he asked, wondering how anyone could be scared of their siblings.
To his surprise, Romano and Veneziano answered in unison. "No."
No? Had Prussia been wrong, then? But the Italian brothers were related to France and Spain also, and Germany did recall Wales mentioning how France and England were half-brothers, so… No?
The two older nations must have noticed his complete confusion, and Romano sighed. "Look, if you want to talk about biological stuff, then yeah, I suppose he's our half-brother. In any other way, shape or form, we're not related." Veneziano nodded and agreed to this immediately.
Germany, his momentary confusion gone now, blinked at them with a blank stare. "So, basically," he replied flatly, "you're denying that you're related." They really were such idiots.
"We don't want to be," Veneziano answered matter-of-factly, as if that was the most normal thing in the world. "Why should we be? We're nothing alike. Also, he dislikes us as much as we do him, so that's all fine." He shuddered then. "It also doesn't help that he's creepy…"
Maybe he should just let this go. It didn't even matter why both Italians would be scared of the British Isles, and he clearly wouldn't get any real answers out of them about it. It was always bad news to have fellow nations on the battlefield, as it completely eradicated the concept of immortality for them, but neither England nor Scotland was here yet. There was nothing to worry about as of yet.
Germany sighed and shook his head, walking away to sit down at another desk. Silently he grabbed paper and a pen. He bit back an agitated retort when Veneziano asked him, actually in a rather kind tone of voice, what he was doing, then answered tensely that he was going to write to Prussia.

Dear brother,

Working with the Italians is perhaps the most difficult task I've been given so far. Romano constantly gets on my nerves and he appears to do so on purpose more often than not. Veneziano at least tries to be of use, but it's clear to me that he is a man of culture, not warfare. He knows what he's doing, that much needs to be said. He just doesn't know that was he's doing is ridiculous.
I hope my time on the African Front will be brief. I certainly do not wish to spend the summer here: I do not fare any better in warm weather than you do, after all, although I do of course have a better tolerance for sunlight.
I do hope your work in Poland is any easier than this. Now don't take this the wrong way, but I also hope you've been behaving yourself a little. That you haven't been provoking any fights with the locals or anything of the sort, I mean. To be frank, that seems like just the thing for you to do.
Do you know where Austria is at the moment? I would also like to write to him sometime, even if just to serve as some distraction from his work, but I have no address.
Either way, I'm still glad that you've got work that you can enjoy now. Last I heard, Hitler seemed to approve of your position completely now; it appears he's realised that fighting isn't your only skill at last. Maybe if you keep this up and follow his orders to the dot again from now on, he might forgive that little incident last year, and you'll be in the clear again. I do, admittedly, still worry about that from time to time. You really crossed a line that day, brother, and while our leader may be many, many things, quick to forgive is unfortunately not among those.

Take care, brother. Hopefully we'll soon be allowed to go home again, preferably at the same time of course, so that we'll be able to spend at least some time together. If we're lucky, Austria can join us then. Perhaps, if we get such a chance, we could ask Hungary if she would have us over for a week or so: personally I don't feel too much for being in Berlin for longer periods of time, what with all these air raids going on.

Please do write back. My current address is on the back of this letter, and my next scheduled address is underneath it; I shall be heading there in two weeks' time. Your letter should find its way to me one way or another, I'm sure.

Dein Ludwig

Prussia really did love it whenever he got a chance to put to practice what he'd been imagining for a long time. So when he got word from some soldiers, after a couple of months of working in Poland, that they believed they had located the nation himself, Prussia's heart began racing with excitement. He waited for orders to apprehend Poland, during which time he made preparations, and the very moment he got word from Hitler, he went to the town the soldiers had told him to look.
It was a small town close to Warsaw, and Prussia decided to go there dressed as a civilian. He hadn't been to Warsaw yet since the initial invasion, and he wasn't entirely sure how much resistance he could expect if he walked around in his uniform. He also wouldn't stand out too much this way: his albinism had always made it difficult to go anywhere without drawing attention, but he guessed albinism combined with a military uniform would be even worse right now.
He had three syringes under his coat, although he likely would only need to use one; he had filled them with a little cocktail of chemicals which should do the job of making Poland easier to apprehend in under two minutes. He had tested it on himself first, just to make sure it wasn't lethal, and although any self-inflicted damage on a nation's body would still heal more quickly than if another nation did it, his own reaction to this sedative-cocktail had assured him that he wouldn't end up killing his enemy today. Provided Poland wasn't allergic to any of these things or had any condition that would worsen the effects, trigger side-effects or anything of the sort. But, he had decided, the odds of Poland, or any nation, having anything of the sort were next to nothing. This would be totally fine. A little unethical, perhaps, but no worse than Prussia had already done before in his long life riddled with sin. Whether everyone had been right about him in the past, or he'd just been made into that due to circumstances, he didn't know, but Prussia could not deny that all the people who had ever declared him violent, twisted, a maniac or even evil… had a point.
Maybe 'evil' was a bit too much, but Prussia was well aware of the fact that he had a sadistic side to him. Honestly, after trying to kill Poland twice, shattering both of Austria's legs, murdering Bavaria, beating up Russia several times and plenty more of such things, well… How could he deny it? He generally wouldn't hurt anyone, but he had his moments when he loved hurting certain people.
This time he would be merciful, though. Sedatives didn't hurt, after all. The needle might.

Once in town, it didn't take Prussia long to locate Poland, and he was happy to find that it was him indeed. Poland wasn't so happy about it, however.
The moment he saw Prussia, the older nation cursed loudly, dashing off into what was apparently his house now. Prussia sighed and went after him calmly; he knew Poland well enough to know that he wouldn't flee anymore now. He would fight, he would do whatever he could to defeat Prussia, even if it was clear from the start that his efforts would be futile. Mere seconds later, the Prussian faced Poland again, in the hallway, Poland tightly gripping what was quite possibly the largest knife he had available; it bordered on being a dagger, Prussia thought with a twinge of fear, just a tiny spark of worry. It would be more difficult to dodge than a butter knife would be for sure, in a space as narrow as this hallway.
Poland's green eyes were alight with rage and fear. "Why am I not surprised?" he sneered, his voice quivering a little as he spoke. "Yet, I'd hoped you wouldn't be around anymore after that invasion! Foolish mistake on my part, I'll admit."
Prussia shrugged and sighed. "Well, who would've thought? We agree on something." He calmly opened the buttons on his coat to be able to reach his syringes more easily. "I, too, had hoped not to be here anymore, but I was sent back. At least I get a chance to do what I had been ordered to do in '39 already."
Poland didn't wait any longer. With an angry roar, he suddenly moved to stab Prussia, and the albino could only just dodge his attack. "Careful there!" the younger nation snapped, twisting on one foot and swinging the other through the air to kick Poland, but in this confined space, he had to hold his leg at an awkward angle to even be able to make that kick, and in the end it didn't hit. His blood boiling with frustration, the Prussian jumped back when Poland spun around and made another attempt to stab him. "You shouldn't play with knives, Polly," Prussia taunted him, hoping to provoke an attack that would be less controlled; if he kept on dodging, Poland would get frustrated, which would make him rash. The moment he let his guard down, Prussia could try his little experiment.
Poland wasn't listening. "Again!" he shrieked at the younger nation as he kept on trying to land a blow on him. "Goddammit, Prussia, again! What reason do you have to make my life so difficult all the time?!" He screamed in frustration as the knife missed Prussia's face by a hair. "Do you realise what I gave you back then?" the blond nation went on, almost desperately, hatred etched into every one of his features and dripping from each word. "I gave you a home, I gave you guidance -when we first met, you hardly knew what being a nation was about, dammit! You had no clue what you really were, you had no direction in your life, and I gave you that direction!"
Prussia tried to block out the voice in the back of his head, trying to tell him that Poland was making sense. He wasn't. A home? Guidance? He'd only ever given Prussia a prison to live in, an illusion of freedom. For a long time, he hadn't been allowed to leave his own land without Poland's consent. Negotiations with other countries had been mediated by Poland. Maybe it wasn't so obvious in day to day life, but whenever Prussia had stopped to think about it, he'd known that being a fief to another nation was like being their pet. All he had ever wanted to do was to tear off that collar and leave some bite-marks to remember him by.
"Did I get any thanks?" Poland yelled, stopping his attacks for just a few heartbeats as he said this, and Prussia couldn't bring himself to take this perfect opportunity to strike. He couldn't. Poland spat at him. "Of course not -I got rebellion instead! Rebellion, betrayal, an attempted assassination and finally partitioning! You treacherous little brat!" He thrust his knife forward again, and Prussia reacted in a flash.
Both nations stiffened a heartbeat later. Poland's eyes were wide with shock, confusion and pain as Prussia plunged his syringe into the older nation's neck, injecting the sedatives quickly. Meanwhile, the Free State himself was robbed of his breath as he felt the cold blade of Poland's knife lodged in his left shoulder.
But Poland soon let go of his knife and stumbled back a step, his hand pressed to his neck, trembling as he stood staring at Prussia almost questioningly. Prussia dropped his syringe instantly, the empty object clattering on the wooden boards under his feet. Clenching his jaws, he pulled the knife out of his shoulder, biting his lip in pain. Joints were among the worst places to get stabbed. He looked up with a glare when he heard Poland's voice.
The older man was shaking even more violently now, and Prussia grinned a little at the realisation that his little cocktail was working splendidly. "W-what… what was that…?" he choked out almost fearfully. Poland was gingerly rubbing his neck with one hand then looked at his fingertips as if he could find any clues to what Prussia had done that way.
Prussia shrugged, biting back a gasp of pain as his left shoulder seemed to light up with flames at that motion. "Just some sedatives, is all," he answered, sounding a lot calmer now that he knew the fighting was over. "Take my advice and sit down already, or you'll crash in a few seconds, I'm serious," the Free State added when he saw Poland's knees getting ever more wobbly. A moment later, the blond nation really did collapse, and Prussia sighed. "Told you."
Poland struggled against the chemicals rushing through his veins, his eyes narrowed in fierce determination and his jaws clenched tightly. He glared up at Prussia, with a look as if he wanted to watch the albino die right then and there, and preferably slowly and painfully. Then he snorted. "Of all the things you've proven yourself to be over the years, Prussia," he sneered, fierce even though his voice was growing weaker along with the rest of his body, "a coward has never been one of them. Now you even back out of fights and resort to dirty tricks? You're pathetic."
"I'm resourceful," Prussia countered without looking at the man, annoyed that he clung on to his consciousness so well. Oh well, it wouldn't get him anywhere in the end anyway, he was only delaying the inevitable. Meanwhile, Prussia was trying to get a look at the wound in his shoulder. "I had no intention of fighting you, that would be such a bore. Done it a million times already, after all. Trying out new things keeps life interesting."
"You became weak," was Poland's rebuttal, quick and without hesitation. He lay on his side now, clenching his hands into fists and then relaxing them again. His voice was starting to sound slurred. Still he was defiant to the last second. Defiant and annoying. "Don't think I haven't noticed, that all of us haven't noticed," he taunted Prussia, who turned to look at him again, taken aback by those words. Noticed what? Poland went on feebly. "We're not stupid; bad eyesight is common for albinos, and you don't see as well as you used to -your health is failing you, isn't it?"
Panic exploded in Prussia's mind like a flame bursting and becoming an all-consuming blaze. Was it that obvious? Was Poland just bluffing, or did the other nations know this, too?
It got even worse. "It's been nearly a decade, but I do still remember your little incident at the League. 'Exhaustion' my ass…" The nation was struggling more and more to stay conscious, and by now his voice was barely any stronger than a whisper. "If that were true," he forced over his lips, "your brother wouldn't have been in such a panic… You were sick. Really sick. And now… now you're too weak to fight me." With what seemed to be his last strength, Poland glared at Prussia, and despite his position there was a victorious light sparking in his eyes. "That's why you resort to dirty tricks. And that will be my consolation."
Whether he stopped fighting it or the sedatives finally overpowered him, Prussia wasn't sure, but Poland was unconscious just seconds later. Even with his task fulfilled now, minus the taking Poland prisoner part, the Prussian felt sick as he stood there, staring at his lifelong enemy. His words had hit closer to home than Prussia had expected, and for a moment he could only wonder, frantically, if other nations knew as much as Poland did. Why shouldn't they? It was so obvious, they'd have to be blind not to see that Prussia was weakening. Even though he'd put so much effort into hiding it, denying it, fighting it… It was plain to see.
Don't think about that. He had to patch up his shoulder first. Foolishly, he had decided he wouldn't need any supplies for patching up wounds today, so he didn't have any with him. Hopefully Poland had something useful around here. You're not weak; you're adapting. He went into the kitchen, finding his own two feet unsteady as well, although he couldn't tell whether it was the pain, the blood loss or his own panic causing that. Your body's done the job for centuries, now it's time for your brain to stand in the spotlight. Rummaging through several drawers, he eventually found a poor excuse of a first-aid kit; at least there were bandages in it. He quickly took off his coat and slid his shirt off his shoulder, exposing a deep wound. He clenched his jaws and went to work. Your brain's always been the most underappreciated part of you. That's what you've been told, and it's true. Shit, Poland had really done a number on his shoulder. Damned bastard. You're a genius. Time to put that intellect to good use. That doesn't make you weak.
He shuddered for a moment, telling himself that last sentence a few more times before he went back to the hallway. It was difficult without his left arm, but eventually he managed to swing Poland over his right shoulder and carry the smaller man's limp body with one arm.
On the streets, he was followed by anxious, frightened stares, but no one tried to stop him.

He had finally been able to follow orders to the dot, he'd managed to do his little experiment and he'd come out victorious. Hitler would no doubt be pleased, and that in turn would make life a little safer for Prussia. He would have more freedom if he had his leader's trust. More freedom meant that he could limit the immoral things he had to do. Although if it was Russia or France next, he would be all too glad to repeat today, minus the part where he got stabbed himself.
He wasn't weak. He was just… resourceful.

Germany was back in his own land by the start of June that year, in preparation for the planned invasion of the Soviet Union later that month. On the 15th, he was reunited with Prussia once again, who, to the younger nation's surprise, was not planning to stay on the side-lines when the attack on the Soviet Union would start.
"Russia and I go way back, Ludwig," the Prussian said with a grin and a twinkle in his red eyes. "I couldn't stay behind while our armies fight one another -Russia would be so disappointed!" He laughed for a moment, sounding genuinely happy for some reason.
Germany wasn't quite so happy about it. "You left the army," he argued, his pale blue gaze fixed on his brother. "You left because you're not supposed to fight anymore. You know that, you said so yourself!" He just didn't understand Prussia's decision at all. He sighed and shook his head. "Don't do it, Gilbert, please. You'll only get in trouble."
Prussia shrugged and looked away, a stubborn look in his eyes that made Germany lose all hope of convincing him not to fight. "It'll be all right," he protested, although his voice was softer now, more serious. "I've been doing really well, you know? It's not like I've been sitting on my ass all this time -I've had my share of excitement, trust me, and I've had no trouble whatsoever. Well, aside from that little stab in the shoulder, but that's got nothing to do with blood pressure or anything of the likes." He huffed for a moment and shook his head, then turned to look at Germany with his eyes narrowed, an almost angry look in them. It took Germany a moment to realise that the anger wasn't directed at him. "Whatever may have happened in the past, Ludwig, I'm still stronger than you might think! Did you know I haven't been taking my medication since January?"
"What?" Germany felt as if his own heart could give out at that moment. Was Prussia absolutely insane? Suicidal, maybe? "Brother! Oh, for goodness's sake, you're the most stubborn, foolish person I know, did you know that?!" Maybe he shouldn't be angry, but he didn't very well know what else to feel.
Prussia didn't like that response much, though. "Oh, yeah? Well, good! At least that means you didn't get it from a stranger!" The albino was tense all over by now as he glared at his younger brother, and this time, it was clear that his anger was directed at Germany. "You're such a hypocrite sometimes, you know that? You and I are so alike, yet you have to criticise me over everything I do! I mean, what the fuck were you thinking when you wrote that letter, telling me I had to 'behave myself'?! What gives you the right?!" He grabbed Germany by the collar of his uniform, and Germany tensed in shock -but he didn't fight back. "Have you forgotten which one of us is the elder brother, Ludwig? You do not go around telling me what I can and cannot do, do you understand? And, for your information, in all the time I spent in Poland, I haven't fought a single human! I had a little skirmish with Poland and it ended with me taking him prisoner, finally. Meanwhile, you're off in Africa somewhere, picking fights with your own allies!"
Germany struggled to stay calm, but this one he wouldn't let slide. "I'm not the one picking a fight all the time," he protested, fighting back his anger. "You know what Romano is like, brother. He's an annoying asshole who-"
"Whom you should learn to ignore," Prussia interrupted him harshly. "A lesson I, too, have learnt the hard way."
Germany shook his head, getting frustrated with this. They were getting nowhere this way! "All right, I'll try!" he gave in. "Now can we please not fight-?"
Prussia's grip on him only tightened when he said those words. "Why?" he snapped, his red eyes ablaze with anger. But underneath that anger, Germany now noticed, lay something else, far stronger. The younger nation realised his brother's anger was just a mask to conceal his despair, and he felt a rush of pity for him. Prussia only yelled at him more. "Because I'm too weak to fight, is that it?" Finally there was a quiver of emotion in his voice other than anger, convincing Germany further that the albino nation was just feeling miserable. "I'll have you know, Ludwig, I have always been the strongest nation in Europe! No one could defeat me!"
When Prussia said this, Germany suddenly made his mind up. In a swift, smooth movement, he slid his right arm over both of Prussia's, right above the elbow pits, and pushed down hard. The sudden motion forced the older nation to let go, but he retaliated immediately, reaching to grab Germany. The younger of the two brothers didn't know what Prussia was trying to do, and he didn't find out; he blocked this attack with ease, to his own surprise, and he realised his brother was letting his emotions get the best of him. He wasn't focussed enough, making rash attacks and paying the price for it.
Germany pushed Prussia's outstretched arm aside with one hand, twisted so that he stood behind his brother now, then gave him a swift kick against the back of his right knee, which unbalanced him to the point he nearly fell. Then the blond nation only had to give the albino a hard shove against the shoulders, and Prussia was face-down on the floor a second later.
Taking a deep breath, Germany sighed. "Well, I just defeated you, brother," he told him in as gentle a voice as he could muster. He kept his muscles tensed for a bit longer, half expecting Prussia to jump up and attack him again.
But the albino lay motionless aside from his hands clenching into fists. He didn't say anything, and he made no attempt to get up. Germany watched him for a moment longer, then after a few seconds heard a soft sniffle. Somehow that didn't come as a surprise to him, and he knelt down with another sigh. He just carefully laid his hand on his brother's shoulder, and Prussia scrambled up a few heartbeats later, until he sat on his knees. The Free State had his jaws clenched tightly and his eyes shut, tiny tears shimmering in their corners. He sniffled again, but made no other noise.
"It's all right, brother."
Prussia shook his head. "It's not," he protested feebly. "He was right. I'm weak. I have been for years, and I'm not going to get any stronger anymore, either… I'm… not me anymore…" Having said that, the Prussian bit back a sob, only half managing to stay quiet.
Immediately Germany put his arms around his brother, and Prussia didn't hesitate to return the embrace. Pressing his face into his elder brother's soft, snowy hair, Germany took a deep breath. "You're not weak," he promised him, hoping Prussia would believe him. "You never have been and you never will be. But you've got limits. We all do. You had to learn that this century, you and me both." He hesitated for a moment, adding more softly: "Accepting your own limitations is just another form of strength."
Prussia let out a shaky sigh. "It's not the same," he protested softly, his voice just a whisper.
"No," Germany agreed, feeling a rush of grief as he remembered before. Before the wars, before the chaos, before Prussia's steady decline. Such a bright, happy time. So far out of reach.
"But then, life never will be the same anymore for either of us, will it…?"

So, uh, some contrast with the previous chapter: yes, Prussia has accepted the fact that he won't live forever, because being dead will mean being with family. Until then, though, the gradual decline is difficult to deal with.
Poor thing spent so long trying to prove what he was worth, trying to show the world that he wasn't small, weak and unimportant, that he was strong in every way and had potential to be great...
And then the German Empire happened, which should have made his position as the most powerful state even more definitive, instead he lost power little by little until... Well, until 1947 happened.
Actually quite a tragic part of history, thinking about it, even without Hetalia in mind.

Anyway, I do imagine that, although the war overall is something neither Prussia nor Germany agrees with, certain aspects, such as getting a chance to kick some Polish, French or Russian ass... Yeah. Will never say no to that, of course.

As for it not being explained why the Italian brothers are afraid of England (and the rest of the UK), well, that would be because I've got no clue. If it was ever stated why that is, I must have missed it, but I honestly cannot think of anything!

Anyways, that being said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thank you so much for reading!