Chapter 69

Gil rolled over in the hard hotel bed. He couldn't sleep. Slowly, carefully quiet, he sat up, trying to get a good look at Heinrich in the other bed. He was sleeping. Gil sighed. He was worried about him. He was young. Far too young. Gil pressed his hand into his forehead, trying to think. Trying to process an answer as to why he would be assigned to something so dangerous as handling a nation. He sighed again, laying back down, glancing at Heinrich again. He didn't have answers, and he wanted them. He sighed, frustrated, throwing the covers off his legs. He stood, walking up to the long mirror on the door of the bathroom. He looked at his face. He didn't like it. He looked tired, and he was still too skinny. He looked at his bare chest, smiling sadly as he looked across hundreds of years of memories etched in scars. Wars and battles where he'd fought beside his men. He touched the long deep scar down his chest. One scar he hated. One of two. The bullet scars from helping Gisela were almost completely faded. They wouldn't leave permanent marks, at least not on his body. His eyes drifted from his chest to his right arm. The inside of his elbow was scared, badly, and the track marks left along his arm were bruised and angry, the marks from his first dose from his boss were especially dark. The man had been rough, but Gil hadn't argued. He needed the drugs too much to risk fighting.

Gil took a long, slow, deep breath. The air was different in his city. He felt stronger, and the memories of who he was were clearer, more vibrant. He tried to push them away. He'd promised Russia he wouldn't come back as Prussia. He would stay GDR. He had to. He had to survive. He set his jaw, determined to be GDR until he could break down the wall he hated with everything in him.

A chill settled into his stomach. Once the wall fell, would they give him back his name? What would he become? East Germany wouldn't exist. GDR wouldn't exist. He… wouldn't exist? He looked away from the mirror, trying to process the thought. He was almost sure America and the others would never agree to give him back his name, his real name. He'd almost fully resigned himself to that. He closed his eyes, smiling sadly. Maybe, just maybe, he could fade away as his brothers and sisters had before, making Ludwig stronger. He opened his eyes again. He didn't want to leave. Ludwig was still young, he still needed help, protection. He couldn't leave. He didn't want to disappear. He shook his head, looking back up at the mirror. He felt uncomfortable suddenly like someone was watching him. He turned to look back at Heinrich's bed. The feeling hadn't been wrong. Heinrich was sitting up, looking at him. Gil could see the young man was still tired, but his eyes were bright with alert concentration. Gil saw them drift over all the scars he carried.

"Curious about how many of these were fatal?" He smirked, trying to erase the tension, praying he hadn't seen the scar on his back.

"S-sir…?" Heinrich's voice was rough and shaking.

Gil sighed, looking at him still, "Well? Ask."

Heinrich sat up further, looking at Gil, "Sir? Are you all right, sir?"

Gil sighed again, "Well, that's an interesting question," he shook his head, looking back at his scars in the mirror, "But, I'll say yes. I'm fine."

"The scars, sir?"

So he had noticed. "They're from a long time ago," Gil nodded, "Most of them anyway. A few of them are from the war."

"Which war?" Heinrich asked simply, but something in his tone made Gil turn to look at him.

"World War Two… now I'm asking if you're all right?"

Heinrich nodded, "I'm fine… I just… lost my father during that war. That's when I knew I was going to be a soldier…"

Gil nodded, "Good reason. I just hope you don't get yourself killed…"

"What do you mean by that, sir?" Heinrich asked, standing this time, taking a step towards Gil.

"I mean that whoever assigned you to me obviously doesn't care if you live, or if you die. You're expendable. Hell, they probably even want you dead…"

"W… what did you say, sir?" Heinrich stared at him, shocked.

"I said they probably want you dead. My track records for keeping humans alive near me isn't great. You might make it a week if you're lucky."

"I don't think so, sir," Heinrich shook his head, "I'm a better shot than you seem to think!" he said indignantly.

Gil smirked, the indigence in Heinrich's voice was almost amusing, "I'm sure you're a fine shot. It has nothing to do with that. I get people hurt and killed. One of the few things I'm good at. That and killing people. I'm a soldier. I kill people. A lot of people. I've killed thousands of men with my own hands, Schulz. Thousands. Over several hundred years… but still…" he looked into Heinrich's face, "Am I scaring you?"

"Nein," Heinrich shook his head, "I'm not scared… it's just hard to wrap my head around how old you are, how many things you must have seen… the battles you must have fought…"

Prussia nodded, "Yeah. A lot of battles," he sighed, "Anyway, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up," he turned back to his bed, crawling under the covers, pulling the blanket up over his shoulder, turning away from Heinrich. He didn't close his eyes. He couldn't sleep. He heard Heinrich get back under his own covers. He didn't want him asking questions. The more he knew, the more danger he would be in.

Gil grabbed the gun from under his pillow, standing up instantly as he heard banging on the door. He looked to his left, seeing Heinrich had done the same. He was impressed. He hadn't expected him to be that fast. He nodded to him, "I'll go," he walked towards the door. "Who is it?" he almost snapped.

"You're needed, sir."

Gil glanced at the clock, "It's nearly 3 in the morning… who am I needed by? And why?"

"Your boss has a new mission for you, GDR."

Gil sighed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment, "Give me five minutes." He sighed, grabbing his uniform and throwing it on. He didn't have time to adjust it perfectly. He glanced at Heinrich, who had changed into his own uniform. He nodded to him again, motioning for him to follow him. He opened the hallway door. He struggled, fighting the arm that wrapped around his shoulders, trying to force him to his knees. He kicked and elbowed desperately as giant arms held him down. He looked back, trying to see where Heinrich was, trying to reach for his gun. A hand caught his wrist, and he felt a needle press into his neck.

…

Gil opened his eyes slowly, his vision still blurry. He groaned, closing his eyes again, trying to adjust to the light. He struggled, realizing he was bound to a chair. He shook his head, he'd had more than enough.

"HEY!" he called towards the door, waiting as his voice echoed in the silence. He didn't like the trembling he could hear in his voice. He shivered, more terrified than he would admit to himself. He winced, hearing footsteps outside the door. It took all the willpower he had to convince his mind that it wasn't Russia. He wasn't there. He wasn't going to open the door and walk in. He wasn't there. He forced himself to keep his eyes on the door, angry with his body for shaking. He couldn't stop it. He tried to force his breathing to slow down, tried to push away the sick ache of dread in his stomach. He shivered again. He bit his lip, worried about how much time had passed. His body was starting to beg for the drugs. He didn't want them, but he needed them. He was too easy to control. He hated it. He jumped as he heard the latch on the door click. He forced himself to look at the door as it opened, trying desperately to hide the shaking. He sat up straighter, looking at the small leather package in the hands of a man he'd never seen before.

"What are you doing?" he tried to make his voice sound authoritative, "I'm your country, how dare you tie me here. Let me go. That's an order!"

The man said nothing, walking around behind him.

Gil shivered, mentally kicking himself for it as he heard the man open the leather package.

"I'm here to give you this. That's all, sir."

Gil struggled, trying to turn to look at the man. "What is that?"

The man was silent.

Gil winced as he felt the needle slip into his neck. He relaxed, his heartbeat slowing to normal again, his breathing relaxing. He jumped again as he felt more of the drugs slip into his blood. He glanced back at the man, "That's too much… I…"

"I had orders. I followed them."

Gil shivered again, grinning with a slight laugh, closing his eyes. When he opened them again the man was gone, and his boss stood in front of him. He smiled again, "So…you wanted me high, huh?" he shook his head, "What would Russia say?" he smirked, laughing slightly. It felt good to be high. Russia had never given him enough.

His boss shrugged, "I don't really care what Russia says, I don't want trouble from you."

Gil nodded, "Well… I'm not going to be trouble now," he laughed, shaking his head, "Not like this," he ignored the prick of worry in the back of his mind. Why did his boss want him this high? What was he afraid of? Why was he tied up? Did Russia know what was going on? What even was going on? He didn't have answers, his mind too calmed by the drugs to care. He looked back up at his boss as the man walked closer to him.

"You said you wanted to help your brother…"

Gil nodded, watching as the man went to sit in a chair he pulled from a corner. He sat across from him, leaning forward, folding his hands.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that."

"What…?" Gil asked, confused, upset, "Why not I… I told you I'll do anything…"

"Oh, yes I know you would. Now, I'm going to get Russia to come get you."

"No!" Gil struggled, "What have I done? You asked me to keep out of trouble, I just want to help my brother, tell me what I can do! Please!" he tried to force himself to think clearly, the drugs getting in the way.

"I would, except I want your brother to get attacked by RAF. I want them to destroy West Germany. Don't you understand? If we can convince everyone that your brother is still a Nazi, then they'll listen to us. The whole world will. They'll see that Russia is right and that your brother and America are wrong. That's how this works. So don't cause trouble."

Gil shook his head, "I want… please… Don't make me go back…"

"Prove to me you won't cause any trouble, and I might think about letting you stay."

"How? How do I prove it… please…"

"I'll think about it. For now, you can stay here and think. Oh, and Heinrich is fine. He doesn't know where you are. We've briefing him on you. By the time that's finished he'll know everything. We weren't planning on telling him-"

Gil started laughing again, "He figured it out himself! He's smarter than you all seem to think he is!" Gil shook his head, grinning. He watched as his boss stood, moving the chair back into the corner.

"I'll be back in an hour or so. Then I'll have a job for you. Proof."

GDR nodded, still grinning, "Sure," he didn't care. He didn't care what he had to do. He didn't want to go back to Russia, and he needed to help his brother. He needed to prove himself. He shivered. Even the drugs couldn't erase the memories of the last time he'd proved himself. He shook his head, trying to erase the image of Lithuania's broken body in his mind, trying to stop feeling the ring of the pipe in his hands as it crashed against Estonia's back. He closed his eyes, the drugs doing their job, bringing the few happy memories he had left into clear focus. He shivered again. He just wanted to feel normal, just to feel ok…

"Hey, Preußen. ('Preussen' - Prussia)"

Gil turned his head to his right as fast as he could. His mouth fell open and he gasped in surprise, then grinned, "Liesel!" He shook his head suddenly, "Please… I'm dreaming…. I can't be that high… I… you're not here…"

"I'm here."

He shook his head again, looking away, "There's no way…" he bit the tears back, "I'm just high…"

"Preußen…?"

He didn't turn to look at her, closing his eyes. The sound of her voice was painful. He couldn't take it. But he hadn't seen her face in so long… so long… He turned to her again. He didn't care if he was dreaming. He missed her. He missed all of them… "Bavaria?" he whispered, looking up at her, her beautiful dark red hair shining in the low light. He shivered as she touched his face. He could feel it. "You… Are you really here? How… how I don't…"

"I got permission," she smiled, shrugging.

He didn't care what that meant, "What are you doing here…?"

"You need it. I'm worried about you. You always were an idiot."

"Oh, Danke," he rolled his eyes sarcastically.

"Bitte," she shrugged, smirking.

"Of all people that could get sent to help me…"

"Oh, come on. I'm your favorite sibling," She crossed her arms over her chest.

Prussia rolled his eyes, "Keep telling yourself that. I know you hate my guts."

"And you return the favor!" She put her hands on her hips, looking down at him disapprovingly.

"Why are you here again?"

"To help you!"

"And how exactly are you doing that?"

"I don't know, we didn't get that far before it was decided that I was needed down here right away."

"Why haven't you shown up sooner?" Prussia rolled his eyes, "There have been a few times when I could have really used your help you know…"

"I didn't get permission… but… you're tied to a chair in your own city, and you're high."

Prussia laughed, nodding, "Oh, I'm definitely high, that's for sure."

Bavaria bit her lip, looking at him, "I'm worried about you, kid."

"Kid? Who are you calling 'kid'?"

"You!" Bavaria rolled her eyes, "Because you're acting like one!"

"Can't help it, did I not just explain to you that I'm high?" He shook his head again, still chuckling, still grinning.

"I'm supposed to remind you to keep fighting…"

Gil laughed again, louder this time, truly amused, "Oh, is that all? Have you seen what happens when I fight?" he looked up at her, his voice shaking again, "Have you been watching this whole time…? Do you know what he's done…. to me, to my friends… what do you mean keep fighting…?"

"Preußen…" she knelt beside him, turning his face towards hers gently, wiping the tears from his cheeks, "You have to keep fighting. I know.. I know it's hard, but… please… Please keep fighting, don't let Russia win."

"Let him win? Liesel... he already won… he won the war… he owns me… please… Don't ask him to fight him… I can't fight him anymore…" he leaned his head on her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him, holding him gently. He shivered again, the drugs still trying to keep his mind off anything painful. They weren't strong enough.

Bavaria held her brother gently, petting his hair, trying to comfort him. She turned to the cuffs binding him to the chair and unlocked them, letting them fall to the ground.

Prussia knelt instantly, throwing his arms around his sister, again resting his head on her shoulder, letting himself be held. He hadn't let anyone touch him in a long time. He'd grown to hate it. He winced as he felt her hand press against the scar on his back, the horrible mark he wanted nothing more than to scrape off.

"Did I hurt you?" She pulled her hand away, suddenly.

Prussia shook his head, "Nein…" he whispered. The drugs were just strong enough to not let him cry. For the first time in a long time, he wanted to. He closed his eyes, letting her hand rest on the scar again, "Luddy is going to be so disappointed with me… isn't he?"

"Nein!" Bavaria pulled back from the hug, lifting his face gently so he looked at her, "He won't! He'll understand. He's a good kid. He won't be angry with you…"

"He should be after what I've done…" Prussia looked away.

"Stop it. Stop talking like that. What happened to the 'awesome Prussia' you always used to talk about?"

"He met Russia. And Russia beat it out of him."

"I don't believe that."

"I don't have any. fight. left…" Gil shook his head, "I don't…" he closed his eyes, resting his head on her shoulder again. He didn't care how many times they'd fought in the past. He missed her, but he couldn't cry.

"Gilbert… please… please don't give up. Please."

Gil looked up, closing his eyes again, looking down at his own arms. She was gone.

…

Germany looked at his watch as he set his tray of food on the table. He looked at Italy, Fredrick, and Hans. He didn't want the bodyguards there. He tried to eat quickly, he didn't want to lose any time, despite knowing that he couldn't make the plane ready any faster. They were working as fast as they could. They were going to get those people off that plane. They'd made a deal to release the imprisoned RAF leaders, and they had a meeting place. Operation Fire Magic was in full force, and he planned on being on that team himself. He glanced up at Hans and Fredrick. They would never let him go on that mission. He hadn't exactly explained that he intended to be in the field with the men, not just waiting on the sidelines. He wasn't going to let them go alone, especially not when he couldn't die, and they could. He wouldn't risk their lives if he wasn't going to help. Italy's face caught the corner of his eye. The redhead looked curious and a little worried. Germany knew he could tell he was stressed. He looked at his best friend's face, trying to smile, trying to make it seem like nothing was wrong. He caught something in Italy's face. An idea? He followed Italy's eyes as the redhead looked down at his hand. He saw the man close a packet of sauce in his hand. What was he doing? He looked up at Italy again, confused. The redhead only grinned.

Italy, what are you doing…? Germany kept his eyes on his friend, jumping up suddenly as Italy brought the hand with the sauce packet to his chest, splattering the bright red paste everywhere with a cry of pain.

Hans and Frederick stood instantly, turning to Italy, who fell back in his chair.

Germany stood stunned for a moment before running towards the plane. He shook his head with a slight smile. He hadn't expected Italy to help him ditch his bodyguards, but he would take it. He glanced back over his shoulder as he turned the corner. Hans and Frederick were still looking at Italy, who was making a great deal of noise and being somewhat overdramatic. Germany ran outside and up to the stairs of the plane. He slowed his pace to a walk and stepped towards the men standing at the end of the stairs.

"Ludwig Beilschmidt. I need to be on that plane."

He didn't need to say more. The guards let him up. Immediately, he ran into the cockpit, turning to the captain, "There's been an attack in the base, we need to leave now," he nodded, "That's an order."

The captain nodded back to him, "Yes sir."

Germany walked back into the main cabin and took a seat, glancing around the room at the soldiers who were going along. Good men, many of whom he'd chosen himself for the mission. If they anyone could save the people on that plane, they could.

A/N: Terribly sorry for how long it's been since my last update! Here you guys go! A little bit of a slower chapter, but rest assured lots of things will be coming soon. I wanted to have more of Gil in this chapter since he hasn't honestly been doing a whole lot lately... and I do like what I have. Since it's canon that 'dead' countries are able to come and visit the live ones with 'permission', I thought it would be nice to Prussia to get some encouragement from one of his siblings. XD He needed it. Seriously, he's given up so much... :( And Italy is helpful, and Germany is trying to go rescue some people! That idea isn't exactly practical... but it was funny and I wanted some humor in here, so Italy pretending to get 'shot' with a ketchup packet it is. Because Germany needed to ditch those guards! (his boss is going to be so mad... thankfully Germany's boss is nice!) Prussia does get a little bit of his spirt back when he's in Berlin. It's his city after all. It makes him feel stronger. And without Russia there he's much more himself. Hopefully he can keep it that way... not if his boss gets his way, but if Prussia can hang on...

As always, reveiws are deeply appreciated. I want to get back to my regular schedule (possibly another chapter coming tonight guys!) and you guys leaving reviews is definately encouragement for that. Thank you so much for taking the time to write them! Treats for all of you! Lemonaide, cookies, and all things yummy! :D