Chapter 7

Prussia looked out the window of the car as they drove through the far east streets of Berlin, his Berlin. The traces of the war could be still be seen around the rebuilt buildings. They drove past a few more that still lay in rubble on the ground. He closed his eyes, last time he'd seen those buildings, they'd been littered with the mangled corpses of soldiers, and women, and children. He opened his eyes again, keeping his eyes fixed outside. He watched as women washed clothes outside in buckets. No one smiled. They kept their heads down. He watched them back away as soldiers patrolled the streets. Soldier's he'd trained himself. He sighed deeply as they passed the ruins of the church. His favorite building reduced to nothing but dust and stone. They turned onto another street, and his eyes met those of a beautiful young woman. Her eyes were sad, begging him, a Soviet soldier she didn't know, 'why'? He turned away, unable to look into her face.

"Sometimes, coming home is the hardest, da?" Russia spoke softly, sitting beside him in the car.

Gil turned to look at him. He was looking down, not out of the window. There was a sorrow in Ivan's voice he hadn't heard before. He'd only ever heard that kind of pain from a country, an old country, someone who'd seen too much. He nodded to Russia.

"Ja." He sighed deeply again. He almost felt angry with himself for feeling pity for Russia. He was the one who had destroyed his home, and now he dared to point out how much it hurt? But, he couldn't ignore the pain in Russia's voice. He turned to look out the window again. They passed the old brick building, still standing, where he'd dragged his brother's unconscious body as bombs fell all around them. He didn't know how long they'd sat there, leaning against the stone, as he tried to stop the blood gushing from Ludwig's side with complete neglect for his own injuries. He turned away again. He'd lived through more wars than most of the other countries, even the older ones, but that war was something different. The world had gone mad, again. It wasn't a war. It was hell.

He glanced out the window again, the hotel they were staying at coming into view. It was less than two miles from the center of the city. He saw one of his generals waiting for them at the once-grand front door.

The car came to a slow halt at the front of the building, with his side of the car facing the door. He sighed once more, opening his door.

"General." Prussia nodded to the human as he stepped out of the car.

The general stood straight and saluted him. He saluted back.

"How are the men?" Prussia asked, smiling internally to hear the militaristic tone back in his voice.

"They are well, comrade."

That term he wasn't sure about yet. He nodded once to the general, turning to watch Russia step out of the car. The giant country walked up to the general and they exchanged another salute.

"Is the project finished?" Russia asked calmly.

What project? They hadn't told him about any project. He resisted the urge to ask, but he didn't like being uninformed about things, especially when they related to his soldiers.

"Da." The general nodded.

A small dark-haired boy walked out of the hotel, wearing the uniform of an attendant. He approached the general almost timidly.

Prussia smiled a little, the three of them together were an intimidating sight. It felt good to feel powerful again.

The boy looked up at the general, "Your rooms are all ready, sirs." The boy nodded respectfully to them all.

The general gave him a single nod in return and all three of them followed the boy into the hotel. Prussia looked around the lobby. Berlin was still recovering, and the hotel was no different. It had once been one of the most beautiful in the city but was reduced to just a step above functional. The walls were plain and bare. The carpet had been stripped from the staircase, the paintings ripped from the walls, and the once beautiful gold detailing around the molding scraped away. Prussia looked around at the people working in the hotel, they were quiet, looking away from them. They kept their heads down, no smiles, no happiness. He saw some of the women quickly slip back into the staff rooms when they saw the Russia. He didn't blame them. He glanced at Russia's face, it was stoic as always, a soft smile growing on it as he spoke with the general. It made him feel sick. The last time Russia had been to Berlin, he'd destroyed it. The whole city was still recovering. His mind drifted to West. They'd divided the city between them, at least on paper. He knew many of his people still worked on the west side of the city. He smiled softly at the thought of maybe being allowed to see his brother. They were, after all, in the same city, at least for the next few days.

The three men followed the attendant upstairs, others already carrying in their luggage. Prussia smiled to see that all three of them had separate rooms. For once, he would get to be alone. He took his key from the boy with a polite nod to him and a soft smirk.

The boy looked up at him and smiled, his giant brown eyes still terrified, but less of him, Prussia thought, than of Russia.

"How old are you?" Prussia asked, kindly.

"13," The boy smiled.

"Do you have family?"

The boy looked down for a moment, "I have a mother, and three…two older sisters, sir," he said, obviously trying to hide the emotion in his voice.

Prussia sighed, "Your father…?"

"My father died in the war, sir."

"And your sister?" He was almost afraid to ask.

"Russian soldiers," The boy said, his voice visibly shaking with what Prussia guessed was anger.

Prussia sighed again, "You take good care of your mother, and sisters all right?" He reached into his pocket, slipping enough money into the boy's hand to buy at least one meal for a family of four. He noticed Russia saw him. He didn't care.

The boy looked up at him, his eyes wide with surprise and gratitude, "Danke Herr…"

"Beilschmidt," He said simply.

"Danke Herr Beilschmidt." The boy turned, practically running down the stairs.

Gil turned back to Russia, who stared at him, amused. "It's the least I could do." Gil shrugged.

Russia smiled, with a nod, "He won't forget that."

"Maybe someday he'll repay me by joining my army," He said simply, mainly for Russia's benefit.

Russia smiled again. "You're smarter than you look."

"I try." Gil smirked, looking at the key in his hand, "So, are we settling in first, or are we actually going to talk business?"

"Do you Germans ever relax?" The general chuckled.

Prussia rolled his eyes with a smirk, "Usually only when beer is involved." He smiled, they were in Berlin. He could get beer. He still hadn't gotten used to the lack-of-taste that was vodka. "And," he continued looking at his watch, "It's much too early in the day for beer."

The general laughed, shaking his head, "Well, then I suppose all we have left is business."

Prussia smirked again. He turned around to see the attendants had brought up their luggage. "I suppose we should at least take these into our rooms." He nodded, taking his suitcase from the attendant with a polite nod. He took his key, and turned it in the lock of his room, opening the door slowly. It was plain, a simple bed with tan covers, a dresser, table and chairs, mirror, nightstand, and two lamps. It was functional, nothing more. He smiled, setting his suitcase on top of the bed. Slowly, carefully, he lifted each item from its place and set it in one of the dresser drawers. Everything stacked and arranged meticulously. He smiled, it was extremely satisfying to see everything so organized. He set his suitcase in the corner of the room, adjusted his uniform in the mirror again, and walked out of the door, locking it behind him.

…

"Why won't you take me to my men?" Prussia fumed, slamming his gloved hand on the table, looking up at Russia and the General. "Why bring me all the way here, and not let me see them?"

Russia and the General looked at each other without a word.

"Honestly, why am I here?" His voice was hot with rage, "Let. Me. See. My. Men."

"All right," Russia said simply.

Gil took a step back. He hadn't expected Russia to give in so easily. "Good," he nodded, "let's go then." He saw Russia and the general exchange glances again. He ignored it.

They walked to the car without a word. He wondered why both of them had suddenly become so quiet. Once inside the car, he didn't look out the window. He glanced at Russia few times, trying to read his mind. It didn't work. He looked out the window, they were heading further into the middle of the city. He looked back at Russia, who took a deep breath before speaking.

"Do you remember when you were dying?" The giant country almost whispered.

"Ja." Gil's voice was still angry.

"And I told you that there was a plan made to keep you alive?"

"Ja…" He turned to look at Russia now.

Russia didn't speak again.

Gil turned to the window again, trying not to think about how close he'd been to death just a few months before. Slowly, they approached the center of the city.

"Stop the car…" he whispered, "Stop the car!" He turned to look at Russia. He wasn't sure if he was shocked, or angry, or both. He threw the door open before the car had stopped, running. He didn't care who saw him, or what they thought. He froze, looking straight ahead. "Nein…" He whispered, walking slowly towards the object of his horror. He reached forward and touched bare concrete. A giant stretch of concrete as far as he could see in either direction. A barrier dividing the city into east, and west. A wall. His breath grew shaky, and he fought back tears of both rage and pain.

"Nein!" He shook his head, clenching his hand into a fist. He shouted as loud as he could and slammed his fist into the wall. He heard, and felt, bones cracking in his hand. He didn't care. "WEST!" He tore off his glove and pounded his fist into the wall again, and again, and again, as if he could tear it down himself. "West…" He fought back tears, "Bruder…" He whispered, leaning his forehead against the now-bloodied concrete. He sank to his knees, leaning against the wall, his bleeding hand resting flat against it. He felt tears spill over his cheeks, and he let them.

He flinched suddenly, turning to see Russia standing behind him. He stood, seething with rage, and looked into Russia's face. "What have you done?" His voice was shaking, tears still streaming down his face, blood dripping from the torn skin of his broken hand.

"GDR…" Russia put his hand on Prussia's shoulder.

"Don't touch me." Gil pulled away.

"Gil," Russia tried again, holding Prussia's shoulder more firmly this time. "You were dying. Your people were leaving… they can't leave now. You're safe. You're getting stronger every day, you'll keep getting stronger…"

"Not like this…" He shook his head, gritting his teeth, "Not like this…" There were no more tears. He looked away from Russia, who pulled him into a hug. He didn't know if he should pull away, or fight, or let himself be comforted.

"This is keeping you alive, Ptitska." Russia's voice was kind.

Prussia shoved him away, "I. am not. your 'little bird'." He spoke through his teeth, his voice thick with hate.

"Don't you like your cage?" Russia smiled.

That smile. Prussia debated punching it off his face. He held back. Russia was right. This was keeping him alive. Without he, he had no doubt he would have died months ago. "I hate you…" he whispered through his teeth, not looking at Russia.

"Da. I know." Russia sighed, "You're still learning. It's all right." He put his hand on Prussia's shoulder again.

"Get away from me." Prussia shoved Russia's hand off his shoulder and ran back towards the hotel. He didn't stop at the car. He wanted to run the whole way. He stopped when he reached the door, leaning against the stone building, panting. He closed his eyes, trying to process everything he'd just seen. A wall. A wall to keep his people in, and his brother's people out. A wall to separate him from his brother. He set his jaw, hard, trying to keep the tears back again. He knew Russia was right. He knew this was the only way to keep his people safe, to keep them alive, to keep his country from falling apart, to keep him alive. He'd never wanted so badly to die.

"You do what you have to do to stay alive. Stay. Alive." His brother's words forced themselves into his mind. He sighed, trying to fight back the tears that insisted on filling his eyes. He took a deep breath, and let out a shaky exhale. So this is what he had to do to stay alive. He hated it, everything about it, but he would keep his promise.

"Someday, little bruder, someday…" He brushed the tears away with his good hand, "I'm not getting out of your hair that easily." He tried to smile, trying to picture West. He wanted to imagine him happy. America was taking good care of him, his people were growing stronger. He was going to be all right. As long as Ludwig was all right, he would do anything, even stay away from him forever. He sighed, standing straight just as the car pulled next to him. Russia walked out, looking at him kindly. He almost thought he saw pity in his eyes. He didn't move as Russia placed his huge hand on his shoulder.

"Let's go inside, Gil," Russia said.

Prussia nodded slowly, walking with Russia. He was almost scared more by Russia's kindness than his cruelty.

"Please understand," Russia continued as they walked up the stairs, "You belong to me now. I have to protect you. I take care of what is mine."

He knew Russia was trying to be comforting, but it wasn't working. He hated being owned by Russia, but there was nothing he could do. His country was barely holding together enough to keep him healthy, he wouldn't survive a revolution, not yet.

"It's late. Rest in your room. I'll have them bring up beer for you if you want." Russia smiled at him kindly.

He nodded. A beer sounded like a good idea, especially a lot of beer. He didn't care how much he had to pour down his throat, he didn't think he was going to be able to sleep unless he got too drunk to stay awake.

…

Gil almost jumped out of bed to the sound of gunfire coming from the center of the city. He grabbed his shirt and jumped out of bed, tugging on his shoes. He grabbed his pistol, shoving it into the pocket of his sweatpants, and ran out the door and down the steps. He heard Russia's door open behind him, and the country's shout for him to stop. He didn't stop. He ran out the door, and down the dimly lit street. He didn't care how insane he looked. He stopped at the wall, looking up. He noticed the guard towers for the first time. They were still firing.

"HALT!" He yelled up at the towers. They didn't stop firing. He heard screams. He looked back over his shoulder as he saw the headlights of the car approaching. He shook his head, and took a running leap at the wall, digging his hands into the concrete, trying to pull himself over. He caught the top, just managing to look over before he fell back. He let himself stay on the ground. Another shot. He screamed in agony as he felt the bullets rip through the body on the other side of the wall. He let the tears run down his face, breathing hard. He closed his eyes with another cry of pain as the man died. He pulled himself to his feet, turning to look at Russia, who walked towards him slowly. He said nothing, only stared at him. He'd never hated someone so much.

"What have you done?" He whispered through his teeth, tears still streaming.

"GDR…" Russia's voice was calm, "They were trying to get back to West Germany, and that is not allowed."

"You're killing them!" Prussia shoved Russia back.

"They aren't true members of the GDR. They aren't loyal to-"

"DO YOU THINK I CARE?" Prussia swore.

"GDR" Russia's voice was no longer kind, "They are not allowed to go back to West Germany. I will not allow it."

"This is MY country!" Prussia spat back.

"Nyet, GDR, you are my country." Russia's voice was cold, colder than he'd ever heard it, "You belong to me." Russia grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer, "What my government says, your government does. What I say, you do. This is how it works. I. own. you."

Prussia looked at him with more hate than he knew he could have. "You don't own me. You will never own me." His voice shook with rage, "You. can't. cage me."

"I already have." Russia let go of his shirt, pushing him back.

Prussia looked at him, his hands clenching into fists. He didn't care how much it hurt.

"Now," Russia straightened his coat, "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way, your choice."

Gil set his jaw hard, looking up at Russia with a smirk. "I choose the hard way." He slammed his good hand into Russia's face as hard as he could.

A/N: It's late so I'll be brief. This was hard to write.

Please review! I always reply!