In the back of his mind, Ludwig vaguely wondered if he was going deaf. Couldn't have been, not yet, because just moments ago the distant sounds of gunfire could be heard beyond the cover of trees and the crackle of his footfalls on dry leaves were sharp and loud enough he'd winced. He was never good at being sneaky.

The noise had stopped so suddenly and been replaced with a dull kind of ambiance, as what he could only assume was adrenaline coursed through his veins. Blood rushed to his ears and his face was hot. His nerves were on fire. Sweaty palms gripped his gun as blue eyes locked on the approaching figure with intent. Sound returned, but it was only the pulse in his ears beating heavily in time with his heart. The weapon in his hands felt surprisingly heavy despite Ludwig being extremely comfortable wielding such a firearm. It was nothing new to him.

Maybe it was the weight of what he was about to do that made his once-sure hold on the gun feel alien to him. The figure inched closer and Ludwig could see now that it was Alfred, and the American's playful grin had dropped to something of confusion. He didn't have time to turn before the German pulled the trigger.

Alfred jerked back as the force of the shot hit him square in the chest and wet, red liquid permeated his white shirt. He fell with a dull thud in the grass at Ludwig's feet and lay still there in the dirt.

The German released a sigh he hadn't known he'd been holding and stepped forward to examine the man on the ground. Alfred didn't move.

"Stop being dramatic," Ludwig muttered with a frown and very gently kicked at the other's side with the toe of his boot.

"Can't," came a reply from below in a breezy, uncaring tone. "I'm dead."

Ludwig rolled his eyes and knelt to offer a hand to his downed friend. "You are not."

"I am!" Alfred cried, that grin back on his lips as he sprawled his arms out dramatically once again beside him, seeming very much alive. "You got me," he continued in a pitiful voice. "Shot down by my own lover. What a terrible fate." He clutched his breast.

His 'lover' rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You should have shot me. What were you thinking, sneaking up on me like that? You could have shot me. You should have. You guys are losing."

"I was going to protect you! Chivalry and all that jazz. Can't expect to get to third base if I go and shoot you, could I? Eh. Maybe paintball wasn't such a good idea, huh?" Alfred sat up.

A snort. "That's against the rules, Alfred." Besides, Ludwig was damn sure he could protect himself.

"Well. You got yourself a prisoner anyways, babe." The American drawled coyly. He dragged a finger through the slick red paint that had soaked through his shirt and the vest behind it and reached up to tap a glob of it onto Ludwig's nose.

"That's not how this works!" The larger blonde sulked as he wiped away the paint, nose wrinkled in distaste.

"It is." Alfred insisted, in that unnerving, cocky way that always got Ludwig into trouble some way or another. "You're stuck with me."

A beat of silence before Ludwig ventured, "I liked you better dead."

"You're blushing."

"It's the paint!"

It wasn't.

Hurray for misleading violence and bloodshed! A 10-minute ficlit inspired by a conversation between a roleplay partner and I. May or may not get a sequel, if we decide to play it out. R&R please? I know it's been a while but TwiGo just updated their story for the first time in a long while (Check it out, it's amazing) so I had a little extra Germerica muse to write out something small.