"Poor little mite needs a bath," England cooed to my baby brother as he stroked the infant nation's dirty bit of hair.
I raised my eyebrows. It was my second full day of staying with England, and I was tired as hell. Baby Germany required my constant attention, and America required England's. I did most of what England told me to… this, however, seemed a bit much.
"How do you bathe a baby without drowning him?" I queried.
England looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, but he refrained from actually doing so. He had set up America with some paper and a pen so he could draw, which would hopefully keep the little colony busy while we bathed Germany. "Follow me," he ordered, handing my brother back to me. Normally I would have protested that no one other than Fritz could order around the awesome me, but I reminded myself that it was for Germany.
England filled the tub with only warm water rather than hot, explaining that Germany's skin was very sensitive since he was only a newborn, and a hot bath, while it might be nice to us, would only burn my poor baby brother. I unwrapped the little guy from his blanket when England was done filling the tub with water and soap, and waited for further instruction.
"Hold him the whole time, under his armpits, like this," England instructed, and showed me how to correctly hold my baby brother and gently wash him at the same time. "Sing to him, talk to him, it's best if you do something to make him laugh or smile," he added. "America would cry whenever I didn't distract him from the water, he'd think he was being drowned, poor little bloke."
I considered from a baby's point of view that I wouldn't like some giant holding me in a tub and sending waves over my newly formed head while scrubbing my body with some suspicious, white, foamy substance. I nodded and, while I was bathing Germany, made funny faces at him, inducing the cutest little laughs I have ever heard.
When Germany's bath was over, I dried him gently with a towel and dressed him in a little sailor boy outfit that America wore as an infant. He started getting fussy, and I asked England what to do.
"It's time for his nap," he explained, "little lad's been up too long." He checked his pocket watch and grimaced. "You put him to bed, Prussia, I've got to check on America, it's been too long for him to not have caused trouble already."
I chuckled. Little America reminded me of myself as a kid; loud, energetic, and always getting in trouble, but pretty awesome and adorable, if I do say so myself. I wondered what Germany would be like when he got a little order and started, well… developing a personality. Would he be boisterous and talkative like little America? Or quiet and reserved like England? I was looking forward to finding out, but at the same time, as I tucked in my little brother and kissed his little newborn nose, watching him falling asleep after a heartbreakingly adorable yawn, I knew I would miss him being this age when he got older.
I was getting pretty tired too, and thought I might nap on the floor or something. I took one last look at Germany to check on him and whispered, "Good night, Germany." I paused. My kleiner bruder needed a nickname. I always gave nicknames to everybody. I thought for a moment.
Well, his land, from a map Fritz had shown me before I left for England's house, would be to the west of mine. That was it! I'd call him West!
I smiled at my little brother in the cradle, hearing baby breath after adorable baby breath. "Good night, West."
