Chapter 84

Prussia took a long deep breath as he woke. He smiled, enjoying the feeling of working lungs again. He sat up quickly, threw off the covers, slid out of bed, and dressed in his uniform. He sighed deeply, looking at his face in the mirror. He touched his cheeks. They were still thin and shallow, but he tried to convince himself that they weren't as bad as they were before he started slowly taking less and less of the drugs he hated. He turned to the door, surprised to see Poland leaning against the open doorpost, the low light just barely illuminating his face.

"What are you doing here?" He forced himself to sound cold, turning away. He shouldn't be here. He wasn't an enemy, but he wasn't a friend either, and Gil didn't want to talk to him.

"What's, like, wrong with you? Did I totally defend you from Hungary, like, yesterday? Not to mention saving your life a week ago…" Poland shrugged.

"Ja. Danke," he still hadn't looked up at Poland.

"Gilbert…" Poland shook his head, "Why are you so, like, stubborn?"

"I'm stubborn?" he glanced at the small blond country for a moment, before turning back to the mirror and pretending to comb his hair. It was a useless endeavor, but he tried anyway.

"Yes. You're stubborn," Poland nodded, "So…we're not going to talk about it?"

"What's there to talk about it? You still hate me, I feel nothing towards you, and we've never really gotten along. I don't think talking is the best idea."

"I… I don't… I don't still hate you. I don't exactly like you. But I don't hate you. Not anymore…"

Gil looked at him without a word.

"Look…" Poland stood from leaning on the door, talking with his hands, "I know I'm not…" he tried to think of what he intended to say, dropping the pattern of speech that he used to make himself sound less intimidating. He didn't care. He knew Gil didn't care. "Gil… I… I don't quite forgive you… but… but I don't want to see you hurt anymore. Our governments have been getting along for a while now, but you and I still don't talk."

"There's a reason for that…" Gil still didn't look at him.

"What, are you mad at me now? Because-"

"I tried, Feliks. I tried. And you made it quite clear that you didn't want to hear it. I will never stop being sorry… but… but I don't want to talk to you."

"Why not? Why? You don't want to hear that I might actually listen to you now?"

"And why the hell would you do that?" Gil snapped, turning suddenly to face Poland, forcing himself to not close his hands into fists.

"Because there's something about seeing someone you know on the ground turning blue and gasping for breath that hurts a little! Gil, it was horrible and… you… the drugs… Gil, I have to know…"

"Know, what?" Gil's hand shook. There were things he didn't want Poland to know.

"The drugs. When did you start taking them…. exactly…?"

Gil shrugged casually, "A long time ago. That's all I know or care."

"Was it after I told you… after I told you what happened?" Poland winced. He didn't need an answer from Gil, he could see it on his face, "Gil…"

"Please… please get out…" Gil looked away, "Please…"

"Gil, I didn't…"

"Oh, yes you did," Gil shook his head, "You said you wanted me to hurt. That you wanted to watch it tear me apart to learn what I've done…" he forced his voice not to break, "There are sins I will never redeem myself from… not even with blood…"

Poland kept his eyes down, his hands shaking, "Are you saying… are you saying it's my fault that you… that what happened… that you taking those…"

"You didn't force me to take them," Gil shook his head, "And I doubt you're really hurt by it…"

"How can you say that?"

"I hurt you. You remember what I did to you!? You're right. Don't forgive me, please, don't, I don't deserve it…"

"So you're just giving up!? You can't give up! Don't you get it, Russia's weak! He's weak and we can get away! What about seeing your brother again? The whole world's forgiven him, don't you think they'll-"

"Do you?" Gil turned to look into the deep green eyes that glanced away from him.

Poland closed his eyes for a moment, then ran out of the room without another word.

"That's what I thought…" Gil walked out the door slowly, closing it behind him. He sighed, closing his eyes again. He wanted to keep fighting. They all wanted him to keep fighting. He was fighting, his people slowly getting bolder, stronger, more willing to fight the Soviet Union. It scared him a little. He wasn't sure what he wanted. He didn't want Russia's games to win, but his mind was cloudy, afraid to even think of rebellion. He looked down at his hands, just barely starting to tremble. He needed the drugs again.

He took a deep breath and walked to Russia's door, reaching up and knocking. He opened it slowly as he heard Russia call for him to enter.

"You had asked to see me this morning, comrade?" he kept his eyes straight ahead, not looking at Russia, standing at attention, his hands behind his back.

"Da," Russia stood, "I want to talk to you about some rumors going on. Started by Poland, I believe? With Estonia's help…" Russia smiled, walking towards Gil, circling him slowly, threatening.

GDR closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing hard, trying not to shake. He wasn't a Baltic, he could take this, Russia hadn't even touched him… "Da, comrade?"

"About the drugs I gave you almost one week ago. You remember?"

"Like I could forget…comrade," GDR remembered the respectful word, hoping it would calm Russia. He could almost feel the buried anger from the other man.

Russia nodded, "No, I'm sure it wasn't…"

GDR took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment again.

"They question your loyalty to me and mine to you… but there's nothing wrong, da?"

GDR nodded, "Nothing wrong. Nothing at all, sir-Comrade."

"What's your name?"

Gil winced hard, "German Democratic Republic…"

"And what are you?"

"A Soviet satellite state," he breathed hard, daring to include the extra word, praying it wouldn't trigger a reaction.

"And who do you belong to, GDR?" Russia's voice was ice.

"The Soviet Union… you…"

"And that means you have to obey me, doesn't it?"

Gil turned to look at Russia, nodding, "Ja."

Russia grabbed his face, turning it towards his own, which was threateningly close, the violet eyes flashing with rage, "If you EVER try to lower your dose again-"

Prussia pulled his face free, pushing Russia's hand away, "You… you knew…?" His stomach turned, weight instantly hitting his chest. He tried to hide how badly he was shaking. It didn't work.

"Did I forget to tell you the rumors were right? Lessons aren't always easy, GDR, you know that! You need to think about your loyalty, da? What's your name?"

Gil clenched his hands into fists, setting his jaw and looking straight into Russia's face.

"What. Is. Your. Name?"

Gil looked into Russia's eyes, a faint smirk daring to cross his lips as he whispered with all the buried defiance he could find, "Prussia."

Russia struck his face hard enough to send him to the ground.

"Did they tell you I was weak? I'm not! I'm not and I never will be!" Russia's voice was angry, pained, the words reassuring himself as much as GDR.

"Your father might disagree!" Prussia spat back, looking up at him, turning to stand again.

Russia kicked him back to the ground, letting his boot rest against the smaller country's throat, "Don't bring up my father, do you understand? Ever…"

Prussia looked up at him, bringing both of his hands to Russia's boot, trying to pry it off his neck.

Russia stepped back towards his desk, letting Prussia stand.

Prussia looked up at Russia again, "Was there anything else you wanted, comrade?" he kept his eyes fixed on Russia's, his hand clenched into fists.

"Da," Russia sighed, "I've been ordered, by my own boss, to send you to Berlin."

"What?" Prussia looked at him steadily, confused and worried. It didn't make any sense. With Russia weakening, he should want to keep his enemies close.

"I said, I'm sending you to Berlin. Apparently, you're needed there more than you are here," Russia picked up a small case and tossed it towards Prussia.

He caught it, looking down at the zippered leather. He glanced back up at Russia, his hand shaking more than he wanted them to.

"It's good, I promise. I didn't do anything to it."

Prussia nodded, turning towards the door.

"Are you going to thank me?" Russia asked coldly.

"For?" Prussia looked over his shoulder towards the bigger country.

"For the lesson?"

Prussia winced, setting his jaw, "Nein. Nein, I'm not." he slammed the door behind him, walking quickly through the hallway, expecting to hear Russia's footsteps close behind him.

Nothing.

…

Germany rolled to his side, pulling his pillow over his head, trying to drown out the noise, trying to stop the horrible pounding behind his eyes. He groaned in his sleep, his legs tangling in the blankets as he tossed and turned, begging his mind to go black with deep sleep. He couldn't take the nightmares.

"Gil!" Luddy screamed, running to his brother's side as his men carried him into the palace. Blood soaked down his brother's chest and sleeve, dripping off his fingertips onto the marble floor. He ran to him, grabbing the collar of his brother's uniform, shaking him, trying to get between the men carrying him inside, trying to get to his brother.

"Please let us get through, Junger Herr (young sir)," the soldiers tried to keep Luddy back, pushing the small boy away gently, "Please we need to get him inside.

"Please tell me he's not dead… please…" Luddy whispered, trying to reach for his brother's hand. He slipped on the blood, unable to keep his grip.

The soldiers said nothing, continuing to carry Prussia into the nearest room, laying him on a table and ripping open his uniform.

"Is there a doctor coming, please!?" Luddy begged, grabbing Prussia's hand, leaning against the table, pressing his brother's fingers into his cheek, "Weißer Ritter…(White Knight)" Luddy whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks, "Bitte…. bitte stirb nicht…bitte….(please don't die)"

"Junger Herr, please," one of the soldiers gently pushed him away, his voice full of urgency, "You shouldn't be in here."

"Nein, I need to stay here!" he clung to his brother's hand as the soldier grabbed his waist, picking him up, "Nein! Nein!" he kicked, screaming, trying to hold on, clawing at the table… "Nein I want to be with him… nein…"

The soldier said nothing, continuing to try and drag him away.

"NEIN!" he screamed again, his grip on the table stronger than the soldier could pull him away from.

"Ludwig, please, please, you shouldn't be here!"

Luddy let go of the table, grabbing onto the soldier's uniform, sobbing on the man's shoulder, "Bitte…"

The soldier let him go suddenly, standing to attention as the door to the room opened again. Several men rushed in, one of them clearly a doctor. Luddy stood to attention with the soldiers suddenly, staring into the face of the young man who ran to his brother's side. The man looked right at him like he was staring into his soul.

"Seine Majestät… (Your Majesty)" Luddy whispered, trembling in awe.

Friedrich nodded to him quickly, immediately turning to Prussia as the doctor began working on the country's chest.

"Luddy, you should go," Frederich said without looking at him.

"Please… Please, Seine Majestät…"

"Nein. You need to leave," Friedrich looked into his face

Luddy bit his lip hard, nodding, not taking his eyes off his brother as he walked to the door. He glanced down at his hands, wet and sticky with his brother's blood. He looked up at the table again, turning away with a gasp as he saw the doctor took out a knife.

Germany winced, rolling over again, shaking, pulling the covers up over his shoulders. He shook his head, trying to think of something else, anything else.

Germany hit the ground, covering his ears, dropping to one knee instantly.

"KEEP GOING!" He snapped to his men, looking up and across the field to the enemy lines. Only it wasn't an enemy, they were Italy's men.

The world blurred. Smoke, ash, dust… the ringing of explosions making it hard to hear or see or feel anything other than the vibration that turned his legs to liquid. He clutched the strap of his gun, running forward with his men, tanks clearing the way. Italy's men were loosing and losing badly. He climbed over a low hill, scanning the battlefield before him. He shook his head, ignoring the thousands of bodies piled on the field. He slid over the hill, carefully looking over the field for anything dangerous. Nothing. He turned suddenly as another soldier ran up behind him.

"Italy's surrendered the battle, sir," the soldier nodded, grinning, putting his hand on his shoulder.

Germany nodded, barely registering the news. He looked at the battlefield again, dread sinking into his stomach. He stood slowly, walking forwards a few steps, looking down at the dead soldiers as he passed them. He froze suddenly, an electric blue uniform bright against the dull grey smoke.

"Nein…" he whispered, running, scrambling over the soldiers to the man. He knelt beside him, his jaw falling open in shock. He reached forward, touching the soft red hair, "F-feli…?" he whispered, his fingers shaking. He shook his head, reaching under the little country, trying not to think about the feeling of blood-soaked fabric on his fingers.

Slowly, gently, he lifted Italy up and onto his shoulder, gasping in horror as he looked down at Italy's left arm…what was left of it.

"Please…" he whispered, looking down at the wounds all over the redhead's body, tearing through the uniform, torn through his body from shrapnel and bullets. He looked away, pressing his forehead against the man's chest, shaking his head, trying to keep the tears back.

"L-Ludwig…?"

Germany looked up into his face, "I'm here… I'm here…" he brushed Italy's blood and sweat-soaked hair out of his face, ignoring the damage the action revealed. He felt Italy's right hand on his arm, grabbing his sleeve. He tried to hope Italy was in shock so there was less pain, but he wasn't convinced.

"I'm so sorry…. I had to I'm so sorry…"

"And… and I had to leave…" Italy squeaked in pain, his grip on Germany's sleeve tighter. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Stop talking…" Germany almost snapped, brushing Italy's tears away, his hands shaking.

"Can…" Italy whispered, ignoring Germany's order, "Can we still… be friends…?"

Germany didn't know how to answer, looking up at at the battlefield around them. He didn't want this. He didn't want any of this.

"I'm sorry I left…" Italy choked, "I had to leave… I… I had to…"

"Shh… sh… I said stop talking… please, Ita, please…"

"I… what you're doing… I can't… I can't help you…" Italy shook his head, a deep, gasping sob shaking his whole body.

Germany winced, looking away. He didn't want to watch him die. He couldn't watch him die. He wasn't an enemy. He had to be, but he couldn't be. Italy was his best friend. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. He closed his eyes, shaking his head. His brother was right: war was hell. War was nothing but hell. He looked back at Italy.

"Feli… Feli…?" He shook his head, lifting him up more, trying to wake him, "Please, Feli please, please don't, please… please…"

Germany sat up with a gasp, shaking. He felt sick, bringing his trembling hands to his mouth, pressing them into his face.

"Germany…?"

He looked at his door, hearing a faint knock. Slowly, he stood, walking to the door and opening it gently. He looked down at the redhead, trying to seem normal, trying to seem like everything was ok. He'd gotten used to playing that game.

"Germany… I heard you… crying…?" Italy whispered.

Germany closed his eyes with a deep sigh.

"What happened?" Italy hugged him, pulling away to look up at the tall blond country.

Germany said nothing, looking away, shaking his head.

"You watched me die again… didn't you….?" Italy bit his lip.

Germany nodded slowly, "Ja…"

Italy hugged him again, "And you had the weird dreams, didn't you?"

Germany nodded again, "They're… memories? Maybe? I don't know… I don't know where they come from. They're foggy… foggy and…. distant? I think they're mine. I was just a child… I think…?" He shook his head, trying to think, trying to process, pressing his head into his hands.

Italy bit his lip, "I don't know… I don't know but… but we're still friends. It's over. I'm alive again, and… It's gonna be ok!" Italy made himself smile, reaching up and ruffling Germany's already messy hair, "See? Better already?"

Germany rolled his eyes with a very faint smile, pushing his hair back off his forehead, "Now it's better…" it flopped into his face again with no gel to hold it back. He ignored it.

Italy smiled, "Would pasta help?"

Germany shook his head, "No… not now anyway…"

Italy sighed. He could see how upset Germany was in his face, how he was standing… he didn't like it, "You're going to do something, aren't you? Something about… something?"

Germany nodded with a deep sigh, "I can't lose anyone else. I can't…"

"Ve?" Italy smiled.

"I'm getting my brother back. I don't care how, or what it takes. I'm getting my brother back!" Germany set his jaw, turning back into his room and grabbing his phone, calling America.

"HEY" America's voice cracked on the other end, "Wait… dude, isn't it like, 3 am there? Why are you calling me instead of sleeping? Sleeping is the BEST-"

Germany cut him off, "America… Alfred this is serious…"

"Ok, go for it, bro."

Germany took a deep breath. He didn't want to, but he needed to. "I need your help…"

A/N: It's late... er... WAY early... so... very short ANs today. Historical things and moving closer and closer to the wall coming down!

Poor Gil... he's just so done, he's just given up so completely... surrendered to the idea that he will never get-over or redeem himself from his 'sins' in the war... that he doesn't even want Poland to forgive him anymore. I think he might be a little afraid of what he'd do if he didn't have that to hold onto... poor Gil...

Germany remembering pre-1900's... so... I think he doesn't USUALLY remember, not in normal life. But he does have vague 'snippet' dreams sometimes. Sometimes more often than other times. This can happen with amnesia sometimes. So I'm going with that. :)

Thank you for the reviews! Cookies and hugs for all of you! Thank you SOOOOO much! :D :D :D