A/N: I wish I could get these out faster DX But here is the next chapter! Hope you like it!
Prussia lay in the bed. His body ached; bullet wounds decorated his limbs and an infected knife slash ran across his abdomen. A newspaper sat folded on the bedside table next to him.
The war had ended. Everyone was going home.
The albino could find no happiness in the news. Not with the knowledge that Germany was headed for a very rough time. The road ahead was worrisome. Prussia could not read the expression on his brother's face, but he knew.
They were both worried.
And there was also the blame. Prussia was used to being blamed for his idiocy. For messing up people's lives and causing destruction. For being a complete hooligan.
But now, as the soldier laid there in the bed, healing and listening to the conversation going on around him, those thoughts flooded his mind.
It was not all Germany's doing completely; there were multiple people to blame for the war. It was not one person/country's fault alone. Yes, Germany had declared war on Russia in the beginning. But ally pulling on ally, and other countries' declares of battle, really began the Great War.
Germany's demeanor had never changed as he listened to it all, saw all the fingers pointed at him. He had sat there calmly, face neutral.
There was not one ounce of evil in the blonde's heart. Prussia knew that. He knew that his younger brother was a good person. Ludwig had been under orders. Gilbert had been his own leader half the time in his youth. Ludwig was good.
Gilbert was evil.
Old Fritz and Holy Rome may not agree; they may have convinced Prussia at various points in time that the albino was truly good on the inside, and that he was just caught up in the wrong ideas and desires. They could have convinced him that he had morals and a heart.
But Prussia had already convinced himself that he was not good. He had no heart. He lacked morals. No matter how hard he tried, he always wound up in battle. He always wound up killing people for power.
And yet… who had proven to be the super power of the world now?
The United States of America. And Prussia could not hate him. In fact, he had even helped him achieve the freedom to allow the growth of power and development. Perhaps America owed him for it.
Perhaps.
Prussia rolled over in the bed, flashes of pain shooting throughout his pale body. His bloodshot eyes fell upon his brother, sitting in the bed beside his. Blue eyes were trained on the book he held in his hands, reading it intently.
How could he be so calm? So focused on a simple novel? Prussia tried to read his face, but still, it remained neutral. Did his brother crave such power as Prussia did when he was young?
Probably not.
But, Prussia knew, if he had really wanted so much power as, say, Rome, then he would never had let Germany take over most of the land. He would never had let him live. He would have taken it all for himself.
But he did not do that.
The voice in his head relaying all of this for him was not his own; it was an older voice. A determined voice. The voice of a long dead king Prussia had not seen or heard for many years. Prussia knew these were his own thoughts… But perhaps he thought, maybe, that if he believed it was Old Fritz reminding him of all of this, it would be more convincing to himself.
He wished he could just believe it.