Winning (Prussia, Canada) - Pt 1
Title: Winning
Warnings: Blood and sex. Glorification of war.
Summary: Canada had never lost a war-- but he had never really won one either.
Characters: Prussia, Canada
Year: Present
Part 2
Canada doesn't remember much about the Seven Years' War. He remembers that France and England yelled at each other a lot, and that there was a lot of fighting, and a lot of people died. But he didn't understand why, and anyway, they both did their best to keep him away from the battlefields.
He was more connected to America's revolution; the people were divided, some wanting to support the other nation, some wanting the agitators gone. His memories from that period are confusing: flashes of England drinking late into the night in a bloodstained uniform, France's smug face, the terror and hurt when the Americans marched on Montreal. But by a year later, England had come and shooed the Americans out, and all that was left to him was damage control.
He remembers the War of 1812 much more vividly; they were his children dying-- he had started to think of them that way, sometime in the last thirty years-- not France's or England's. It was his territory invaded, and they were, to some extent, his armies. But the war? In the end, it wasn't about him, any more than the first two. He was simply, for the second of many, many times, caught between England and America.
The Boer War, the First World War, the Second World War. Each time he would be dragged in as an extension of England; these wars would be even less relevant to him. Fought oceans away from his soil, between countries he had never met, he would hear about them in the newspaper and later the radio, and in the form of coffins shipped to him from far away. Each time, his side won. Each time, he felt nothing more than relief, that he wouldn't need to send any more of his children away to die. Canada had never lost a war-- but he had never really won one either.
Which is why, two centuries after he first met America on the battlefield, he is sitting, enthralled, listening to Prussia's tales of his glory days.
“Oh man, and then at the Battle of Lobositz? I wiped the floor with that asswipe. You should have seen his face. You could have swam in all that Austrian blood.” Canada shivered. “And then Torgau? Shit, man,” he leaned back, arms behind his head, letting out a satisfied sigh. “That was a day.” Canada opened his mouth, but no sound came out. That happened every once in a while when he was nervous. Prussia didn't notice. “And that--”
“Prussia?” Canada got out. Prussia did a double take. Canada ignored it; you got used to that kind of thing. “Prussia? What's it like?”
“What's what like, kid?”
“Winning.”
Prussia leaned back in his conference, chair, letting out an expansive sigh. “Kid,” he said, “it's like nothing else in the world.” Canada studied his expression, wistfully-- hungrily. Prussia blinked at him in confusion. “You've won something, right? You must've-- you look like a cool guy.”
Canada shook his head, refusing to follow that inference to its logical conclusion. “Not... not like you have.”
“Well,” said Prussia. “You'd have to be pretty awesome to win like I have--”
Canada cut him off impatiently. “No, I meant, not like you in Europe have. All the wars I've fought it, they've either been overseas, or-- or with my brother.”
Prussia's face went strangely distant. “We fight our brothers in Europe too, kid.” Before Canada could respond, he added. “What was your name again? Something with a 'W,' right?”
Canada nodded, straightfaced. “William,” he said.
“William,” repeated Prussia, snapping his fingers. “Anyway, Will. These 20th century battles...” he shook his head. “Nothing like how they used to be. Back then you could look your enemy in the eyes when beat the shit out of him, while he was lying on the ground, soaked in the blood of his children--” Canada took a deep breath, eyes fixed on Prussia's hands, which he was gesticulating with like an Italian. “I've totally come in my pants, not gonna lie.”
Canada felt his face get hot, and-- shit-- was he getting a hard-on? “It sounds intense,” he said, quietly.
Prussia shook his head again, eyes misty. “Man,” he said, and Canada noticed he'd been promoted. “I'd give anything-- anything-- for just one more really good war.”
Canada opened his mouth, and no sound came out. Dammit. He tried again. “Prussia--” the other man looked up. “We could pretend,” he finished, quietly.
For a moment, there was no response. Then Prussia's face split into a feral grin. “We're doing it,” he said.
Warnings: Blood and sex. Glorification of war.
Summary: Canada had never lost a war-- but he had never really won one either.
Characters: Prussia, Canada
Year: Present
Part 2
Canada doesn't remember much about the Seven Years' War. He remembers that France and England yelled at each other a lot, and that there was a lot of fighting, and a lot of people died. But he didn't understand why, and anyway, they both did their best to keep him away from the battlefields.
He was more connected to America's revolution; the people were divided, some wanting to support the other nation, some wanting the agitators gone. His memories from that period are confusing: flashes of England drinking late into the night in a bloodstained uniform, France's smug face, the terror and hurt when the Americans marched on Montreal. But by a year later, England had come and shooed the Americans out, and all that was left to him was damage control.
He remembers the War of 1812 much more vividly; they were his children dying-- he had started to think of them that way, sometime in the last thirty years-- not France's or England's. It was his territory invaded, and they were, to some extent, his armies. But the war? In the end, it wasn't about him, any more than the first two. He was simply, for the second of many, many times, caught between England and America.
The Boer War, the First World War, the Second World War. Each time he would be dragged in as an extension of England; these wars would be even less relevant to him. Fought oceans away from his soil, between countries he had never met, he would hear about them in the newspaper and later the radio, and in the form of coffins shipped to him from far away. Each time, his side won. Each time, he felt nothing more than relief, that he wouldn't need to send any more of his children away to die. Canada had never lost a war-- but he had never really won one either.
Which is why, two centuries after he first met America on the battlefield, he is sitting, enthralled, listening to Prussia's tales of his glory days.
“Oh man, and then at the Battle of Lobositz? I wiped the floor with that asswipe. You should have seen his face. You could have swam in all that Austrian blood.” Canada shivered. “And then Torgau? Shit, man,” he leaned back, arms behind his head, letting out a satisfied sigh. “That was a day.” Canada opened his mouth, but no sound came out. That happened every once in a while when he was nervous. Prussia didn't notice. “And that--”
“Prussia?” Canada got out. Prussia did a double take. Canada ignored it; you got used to that kind of thing. “Prussia? What's it like?”
“What's what like, kid?”
“Winning.”
Prussia leaned back in his conference, chair, letting out an expansive sigh. “Kid,” he said, “it's like nothing else in the world.” Canada studied his expression, wistfully-- hungrily. Prussia blinked at him in confusion. “You've won something, right? You must've-- you look like a cool guy.”
Canada shook his head, refusing to follow that inference to its logical conclusion. “Not... not like you have.”
“Well,” said Prussia. “You'd have to be pretty awesome to win like I have--”
Canada cut him off impatiently. “No, I meant, not like you in Europe have. All the wars I've fought it, they've either been overseas, or-- or with my brother.”
Prussia's face went strangely distant. “We fight our brothers in Europe too, kid.” Before Canada could respond, he added. “What was your name again? Something with a 'W,' right?”
Canada nodded, straightfaced. “William,” he said.
“William,” repeated Prussia, snapping his fingers. “Anyway, Will. These 20th century battles...” he shook his head. “Nothing like how they used to be. Back then you could look your enemy in the eyes when beat the shit out of him, while he was lying on the ground, soaked in the blood of his children--” Canada took a deep breath, eyes fixed on Prussia's hands, which he was gesticulating with like an Italian. “I've totally come in my pants, not gonna lie.”
Canada felt his face get hot, and-- shit-- was he getting a hard-on? “It sounds intense,” he said, quietly.
Prussia shook his head again, eyes misty. “Man,” he said, and Canada noticed he'd been promoted. “I'd give anything-- anything-- for just one more really good war.”
Canada opened his mouth, and no sound came out. Dammit. He tried again. “Prussia--” the other man looked up. “We could pretend,” he finished, quietly.
For a moment, there was no response. Then Prussia's face split into a feral grin. “We're doing it,” he said.