Chapter 89

Prussia scrambled to his feet as he was shoved into his hotel room. He immediately went for the handle of the door as he heard it lock from the outside.

"HEY!" He slammed the side of his fist against the door, "Let me out!"

No reply.

Prussia swore loudly to whoever was listening, then growled a few more as he turned to his bed, flopping onto it and bringing his hands to his aching head. He practically ripped off his military jacket, throwing it on a hanger as he stood to address the pounding in his chest and the ache in his stomach. He unzipped his luggage the pulled out the little leather case, taking the same dose as the day before. He would ease off more tomorrow. He didn't want to deal with it now. He sighed deeply in relief, rolling his head back, stretching his sore neck. Hospital chairs were less than comfortable. He smiled, the high completely invading his mind. He pulled the needle from his arm and tossed it, replacing the syringe in the case almost tenderly, zipping it in and slipping it into the hidden pocket on his suitcase once again.

He glanced back at the bed and smiled again. Sleep sounded wonderful. Dreamless sleep. He pulled off his undershirt, not bothering to fold it, and stepped towards the bed. He stopped, looking back at the shirt draped over his luggage. He turned back and folded it properly, placing it in the suitcase. Now he could sleep. He laid down, not bothering to take off his boots, and rolled to his side, wrapping his arms under the pillow and burring his face in it. He laughed a little, not sure what was exactly so funny. It didn't matter.

A knot twisted in his stomach. He shook his head, refusing to acknowledge it, trying to ignore it into nonexistence. Throwing up was less than pleasant, and he didn't want to get up. It was from the drugs. It had to be. It felt different. He wasn't sure, his mind to cloudy to think. He didn't feel nauseous, just… nervous? He tried to think, trying to piece together why. He knew Johan had escaped, they'd told him that much, angrily yelling in his face about it. That had been fun. He knew his brother was doing well… he shook his head. He couldn't be worried about anything. He couldn't be. He wasn't afraid of them telling Russia, he'd expected it.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. He was missing something. There had to be a reason. Something with his country? He couldn't figure it out. He glanced out the window. It was late evening. He'd spent the day being interrogated by just about everyone his boss could think to throw at him. He shook his head again, trying to will away the feeling in his stomach. He glanced back at the nightstand, and the clock that sat on top of it then turned to the television. He turned it on, sitting back on the bed to watch. It was some kind of press conference. He sat back, annoyed. No one told him this was going on. He doubted they cared since he was locked in his room. They probably just didn't want him causing trouble. He'd been told they would 'deal with him later'. He figured that meant Russia, and that meant pain. He didn't care.

…

Germany smiled at Italy, who'd fallen asleep on his shoulder. The redhead had never been one for watching the news. Gently, Ludwig pried the sleeping man off him, helping him slowly rest against the pillows on the couch. He smiled at him again, just happy he was there. He hadn't expected him to come along to Berlin. Because of Cort's work in the government, he and Eva had been allowed to choose the hospital they wanted their twins to be born in, and they'd chosen Berlin. Germany hadn't exactly been surprised. It was Cort's home city, and the west side was safe. Safe and happy and bustling with industry and ingenuity. He'd been asked to come along to help with the preparations and just to 'be there'.

Germany sighed. Cort had asked. Eva had barely spoken to him for months. Not since she found out. She was polite, a little more than civil maybe, but he wouldn't go so far as friendly. It hurt, but he hadn't expected her to react any other way. Somehow the honest still felt right, even through the pain. He missed seeing her smile. But she and Cort were happy, and that was all that mattered.

Slowly, Germany stood, leaving the TV on in the background, and walked towards the small kitchenette in the hotel suite. It was late and he hadn't eaten since lunch. He hadn't intended to skip supper, but he'd gotten caught up with work. Italy had almost yelled at him for it. Almost.

Germany glanced back at Italy, still sleeping soundly on the couch. The redhead had insisted on coming along to Berlin, completely opposed to the idea of staying home when there were babies to be born soon. He seemed to believe that newborns were adorable. Germany wasn't sure, based on photos he'd seen. He'd never met a newborn in person. He paused for a moment, trying to think. Could he really 'meet' a newborn? it couldn't meet him back… it would be too small. He didn't think he'd ever been that small, not that he could remember. Nations weren't exactly 'born' like normal humans. He considered that he'd never actually asked how Nations are born… He shrugged. It wasn't really important.

Germany pulled a beer out of the fridge and set it on the countertop, turning to the small cupboard to look for some kind of snack, preferably a healthy one. Some nuts maybe? He glanced back at the TV, just to listen a little more.

…

Gil turned down the TV, standing again, walking to the fridge in the room and searching it for alcohol. He didn't have any left. He threw his head back with a frustrated groan and grabbed a bottle of water. He tried to tell himself he was too thirsty to care, but he wished it was beer anyway. He sat back on his bed and stared at the TV mindlessly, laughing at how silly everyone looked. He wasn't sure why they looked silly. He blamed the drugs.

Gil sighed deeply, picking up the remote and aiming it at the TV to turn it off so he could sleep. He stopped, caught off guard by a question from one of the reporters.

"…when does the law opening the borders go into effect?"

Gil stared, lowering the remote, shaking his head, "What kind of stupid question…" no one had talked to him about such a law. He rolled his eyes. "Idiot…" he lifted the remote again, waiting just one moment to hear the reply, his stomach tying in a knot again.

The man on the screen looked around, "As far as I know, immediately."

Gil froze. The pain in his stomach twisted into almost unbearable disbelief. His heart stopped like a bullet had gone straight through it. The world blurred, moving in slow motion as he stood and turned to the window. He looked right at the wall, and the people running towards it. His people.

…

Germany stared at the screen, frozen, his jaw dropping in disbelief. The reporters all clamored for more information, asking again and again if what he'd just said was true.

He dropped the small container he held and rushed to the door, practically tearing it open. He ran down the hallway as fast as he could, not willing to waste another second. It'd been too many years to waste seconds.

…

Gil threw himself on his knees in front of the nightstand, picking up the phone and calling his boss on his own private phone line. No answer. He tried again. No answer. He growled, his hands shaking, barely able to dial the number. It wasn't the drugs. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing. He tried again, begging, praying his boss would answer.

"Yes?" his boss answered finally, his voice almost nervous.

"Is it true. Please, God… are you actually…. opening the… " he couldn't say it. His tongue refused to shape the words.

There was a long silence.

"Yes. Yes, it's true."

Gil gasped again, his body unsure if it was going to scream for joy or break into sobs, "Let. Me. Out of here…" he whispered, his voice shaking almost too much to be understood.

"Gil, I can't do that yet, I-"

Gil dropped the phone, not bothering to hang up. He didn't care. He didn't need his bosses help. It didn't matter anymore. He turned to the door, slamming his fists against it, "HEY! LET ME OUT! SOMEONE!" he begged. No answer. She shook his head, grabbing the door handle, pulling it as hard as he could and shoving his body against the door, trying to break it down. It didn't move.

He swore loudly, his body almost panicking with excitement, his hands shaking too much to be useful. He grabbed a sweatshirt from the hanger in the open closet and ran to the window. He didn't care if he had to break it with his bare hands, he'd get out. He had to get out.

…

Germany looked up at the wall, his people all around him, cheering, shouting, calling for the wall to come down, for the guards to let people through. He looked at his watch. It had been almost an hour since the announcement had been made, and people were already trying to break through, pounding against the concrete with sledgehammers and shovels, picks, anything they could find, anything to help tear it to the ground. He looked down the line of people, down the giant wall of concrete. It was over. It was actually almost over.

He looked up at the wall again, and ran to it, slamming his fist into it, tearing at it with all the immortal strength he had. He didn't care if people saw it. He didn't care what kind of questions they might ask. He didn't care if his hands were torn to shreds by the end of the night. The wall was coming down if he had to break it himself.

…

Gil beat his fists against the locked window, shouting, swearing, screaming in frustration as his drug weakened body didn't have the strength to break the window. He crumpled to the ground, burying his head in his arms, trying to force the tears back. He could hear the people outside shouting, cheering, laughing. He stood, turning again to look out the thick clear glass. The guards were giving up. They were walking away. The towers were dark.

Prussia shook his head. He wasn't giving up. He looked around the room for something, anything he could use to help break the window. His eyes caught the lamp. He smiled, running to it, ripping off the shade and removing the bulb. He couldn't see where the cord was attached to the wall, but he didn't care, pulling it until it fell back, taking him with it to the floor. He scrambled to his feet and swung the heavy brass against the window as hard as he could. It shattered into a million pieces, glass flying everywhere, sharp pieces sticking up from the bottom. He used the end of the lap to break them, giving him a clear path through. It was a two-story fall. He didn't care, not bothering to give it a second thought before jumping. He landed on his feet with a wince. It hurt a little, but he didn't care and barely noticed. He just ran. As fast as he could, not bothering to stop as his breath barely kept up with his steps, his boot-clad feet barely touching the ground as he almost fell forwards with speed.

He didn't stop until he ran into the wall, pushing through the crowd of people. He looked down the concrete, trying to find a space to get through. He saw three young men working on a slab with sledgehammers. He ran to them, begging for a fourth hammer to use against the wall. They handed him a pick with a giant smile. It would do. He used all the strength he had left to slam it into the concrete, tearing it away in chunks, begging it to shatter into nothing.

Finally, a sliver started to open, quickly growing wider and wider. It was barely big enough to fit through, but he didn't care. He threw himself into it, pressing his body between the concrete edges, not caring as it scraped his arms and tore his sweatshirt and pants.

Gil stopped on the other side, looking at the death strip in front of him, and up at the towers. No guns, no bullets, no guards to keep him back. No orders to keep him back. No Russia to keep him back. He ran. Down the death strip that was just a road again. Across the rocky ground where he'd heard and felt so many people die. Imagines, names, sounds flashed through his mind. Memories of people and faces and everything else blurring his vision with tears he refused to cry.

.

"What about East?" Germany asked, almost hesitantly.

"East Germany is formally responsible for the war. He will be shown no mercy by this conference." America shook his head, glaring at Prussia.

Prussia kept his head up, looking straight ahead, not meeting America's eyes. He half waited for his brother to defend him, but he knew Ludwig was too smart for that. He closed his eyes with a sigh as Russia stood.

"Your brother," Russia walked around the table to Prussia slowly as he spoke, "Has agreed to come with me, in exchange for your freedom, West Germany."

.

"Stop the car…" Prussia 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. "No..."

.

They ran. There was a long pause before bullets flew past them, one of them almost hitting the back of Prussia's jacket. They ran faster. Prussia moved Gisela to the side suddenly. A bullet hit his side. He ignored it, running faster, half dragging her along. Another bullet tore into his leg. He winced, stumbling for a moment.

"Gil!" Gisela stopped, turning back to him.

"KEEP RUNNING!"

.

Latvia smiled, "Hungary's going to to… to let your people through…"

Prussia froze, "What?"

Latvia smiled, "She's going to let your your your people through. She's opening the b-borders to West Germany from her side… she's going to let let let let them go through…"

.

Reality reinvaded his mind as he scrambled to climb up the wall, onto the top, onto the ledge. He stood for a moment, looking up at his brother's side of the city. He smiled. It was beautiful. The air felt cleaner somehow, crisper, more alive. He looked down at the crowd, scanning all the faces for his brother's. He ran along the ledge, trying to look for his brother, trying to watch the faces of all the people. All the joy in their eyes was infections. He could feel his people's hope again. All the pain, all the sorrow disappearing, the knot in his stomach giving way to unbridled joy. Joy he was allowed to feel. Hope he was allowed to feel again. And more than hope: reality.

Prussia jumped down from the wall, breaking through the people, calling his brother's name, asking if people had seen him, trying to describe him, trying to find him. He just had to find him. He shoved his way through the crowd, trying to think of some way, any way to find him. He just had to find his brother.

Prussia froze suddenly, his lips parting to speak, but the words weren't there. His brother. His brother was there, just a few meters away. Ludwig hadn't noticed him, and Prussia just stared at his brother. He looked so strong, so tall, so alive and so very much all right. Tears filled his eyes, refusing to be held back any longer.

"WEST!" He ran into his brother's arms, feeling strong hands wrap around his shoulders, and he broke, overwhelmed with joy he couldn't express any other way than tears. He gripped harder, rolling his fists around his brother's shirt, almost clinging to him. It had been so long. So long since he'd held his baby brother, so long since he'd felt his brother hold him as he was doing now. He could feel Ludwig's lungs heave with a sob, and feel his breath on his shoulder, shaking with relief. He forced himself to pull away, looking up into his baby brother's face. He touched his cheek, wiping away the tears he found there. He closed own eyes, more tears slipping down his own cheeks as he felt his brother's hand on his face too.

"You're alive…" Germany whispered, looking down into his brother's face. A face that was worn and tired like the body he held in his arms. A body so thin and weak it scared him. But alive. Alive and in his arms. Alive and with him again.

"I…" the words barely made it through Prussia's tear-choked lips, "I really missed you, kid…" he whispered, looking up into his brother's beautiful bright blue eyes, the sparkling hope inside them filling the deep ache in his chest. Then his brother smiled, and he lost it. He buried his face in Ludwig's shoulder, sobbing, breaking, letting his brother's arms wrap around his broken body. Letting his brother hold him as he was barely able to stand. He gripped Ludwig's shirt to keep his balance, thick, heaving sobs shaking through his lungs as he could barely breathe from tears. He wasn't ashamed of them. He didn't care who saw him cry. He didn't care who was watching. All that mattered was that Ludwig was right here, holding him and being held by him. It wasn't over, but for just a moment, everything was ok.

A/N: The chapter you've all been waiting for! It's been so long guys, SO LONG. Also... THIS IS NOT THE END! The story definitely isn't over yet! :) But the wall is down. This part is closing, and new challenges begin. But, as I said, for a little while everything is all right again, and Gil and Luddy are together! YAY!

Thank you so much for the reviews! I love reading them! And you all review so fast! *GIANT HUGS* extra hot cocoa and cookies and happiness for this one, guys. Thanks!