Canadaslighter here :D Next chapter and one more today :D
"Matthew?"
Gilbert had dived into an old cottage, just missing being shot. It had hurt his shoulder but he figured it was better to have a bruised a shoulder than a hole in his chest. It turned out that the younger nation had disagreed.
He was propped up against one the walls, pressing a hand to the red stain on his uniform. The sound of artillery faded away, the only thing registering with Gil was the fact that the kid he had sworn to protect was bleeding out in front of him.
"Of course. Of the entire allied side, you had to be the one to find me." Matthew muttered, trying to push himself up more. He whimpered as he did so, the sound spurring the albino into action.
He fell to his knees next to the boy, carefully removing the sticky hand from its place to study the small hole.
"Sorry about this Birdie," he pulled him forward, ignoring the sharp intake of breath as he searched for an exit wound. There wasn't one. He swore.
"You called me Birdie."
"What? Yeah, got a problem with it?"
Matthew just laughed quietly.
"No, no, just…Europe's stupid."
"Ja, we're all stupid," he smiled, remembering when Matthew went by Mattieu and was as tall as his thighs. "But I think you're stupid to for agreeing to fight with us."
"I think it's contagious."
"Fuck you, Birdie."
"You wish."
"Well this is awkward."
"Sorry I'm not much for conversation. I have a hole in my chest. What's your excuse?"
"The awesome me is trying to fix said hole."
"Oh, how's- how's it going?" His breathing was getting shallow.
A shell went off a few buildings away, dust falling from the roof and onto the pair. Shouts filled the streets and a woman's screams were cut off before they could truly be heard.
"It'd be going better if you took your shirt off."
"Dinner…first."
"You are definitely Francis's son." Prussia muttered as he undid the buttons going down Matthew's chest. They were stiff, and Gil's fingers were cold but he managed to take the shirt off and gasp.
"Like what you see?" Matthew gasped, his face almost as pale as the albino's as he let his head fall backwards and eyes close.
Matthew woke up on an uncomfortable mattress with enough bandages wrapped around his chest for an entire division. His face hurt, and he could feel swelling around his eye. The last thing he could remember was Gilbert tending to his wound, and then he must have passed out.
"Hey bro."
Alfred stared down at his younger brother, squeezing his hand, smiling. It had been three days since he'd helped Artie and Francis raid the POW camp where they found him. He'd been half delirious, muttering about birds and bears, only start repeating the name 'Gilbert' again and again.
"Where am I?"
"Hospital, well the closest we could get. Do, do you know what year it is?"
"It's December right? December 1917?"
"It's November, Mattie. November 1918. You've been in a prisoner of war camp for nearly a year."