This chapter was inspired by the song 'Wild Horses' by the Rolling Stones. I wrote it for a friend of mine, who has been dragged over the coals. I am thinking about you, wolfkinq, and I hope that you are thinking about yourself. You cannot carry the world on your shoulders. I know. I have tried.

Wild Horses

Canada crouched beside Prussia, slamming his knees against the upturned stones, and threaded his fingers through his tangled mane. He checked him for cuts and bruises. He checked him for worse. He cried.

"What the fuck did you do?!"

Prussia grinned up at him, weak and stretched thin. He pressed his palm against his heart. The badges and medallions on his uniform clicked and jingled.

"Grenade," he supplied, coughing. Canada covered his hand with his own. He squeezed.

"You're supposed to duck," he stressed, laughing between the tears. Hopeless. He was hopeless.

"Oh, right, I always forget that part. I must have missed that bit of training. My bad."

"Fuck you, asshole."

He licked his lips.

"Yes, please."

Canada leaned back on his haunches, not quite far enough to let go, and ran his left hand over his legs. There were tears in his uniform, frayed and dyed red, but he seemed to be in one piece. Unlike his aching, desperate heart.

He reached for the medical kit on his belt, tucked against the curve of his tailbone, and pulled on the gauze with his teeth. He was trembling.

"You're such an idiot, Gilbert."

"Guilty as charged."

"What were you thinking?"

Prussia frowned.

"Not much, really. It went something like 'Matthew', 'grenade', and 'jump', actually."

"I would have ducked. You didn't need to…"

"You didn't see it."

"You shouldn't have pushed me."

He let go of him long enough to wrap the gauze around his thigh, around his forearm, across his chest. He covered the shrapnel. He knew that he did not have the time to dig it out and stitch him back together. He covered it with gauze as if that might make it disappear.

"What else could I have done?" Prussia shrugged helplessly, wincing as he rolled his shoulders. Canada curled around him, breathing him in, and ignored the gunfire and explosions behind him. It was just background noise.

"Anything else," he choked on the plea. "I can't lose you, Gilbert. I can't."

"You won't. It would take more than that to drag me away from you. You know that." He brushed his curls out of his face and tucked them underneath his helmet. He traced his nose, his cheekbones, and kissed him softly. "I'm not going anywhere. Ever."

"… Do you promise?"

Prussia pulled off his gloves and raised his left hand. The engagement ring caught the glint of artillery fire and burning bodies. It sparkled.

"I do."

Canada chuckled, twisted and broken, and wiped the tears from his eyes. He kissed Prussia once, twice, three times for good luck. He threw his arm around him and helped him up.

Prussia hissed and cursed and flinched. He stood up anyway.

Canada kissed him again.

They marched through two miles of churned earth and spent bullets, arms around each other, because there was no other choice.

And they would not have it any other way.