I killed Pruessen. Also known as "I'm trying to get back into angst."
A while back I wrote that little thing about the Allies killing Pruessen and ripping apart Germany, right? Well. I was bored. So I decided to kill Pruessen just one more time.
Germany had seen death many times.
His most noticeable and affecting memory was of the first time he had seen his bruder, Prussia, fallen. His fellow soldiers, his comrades and servants on the battlefield, had rushed him in while Germany was cleaning the main room diligently, and it was a horrible sight. Dripping with thick blood, face and skin disfigured by a rough-edged sword, his armor dented and a hand completely missing, the shocking white bone peering out between layers of red and dripping tissue. Almost ceremoniously, they placed him on a couch in the room, and hurried back out, following strict orders from the head of their nation. Leaving Germany with the un-ending and everlasting horrendous vision of his bloodied and tattered, destroyed and mutilated, slaughtered elder brother.
After almost two days, two long days of Germany avoiding looking down and holding back his tears of distress and disgust, Prussia rose again. Germany had been sitting at the table in front of him, very slowly eating his meal, very deliberately ignoring the scene behind him, and he only looked behind him when he heard that familiar, raspy and chuckley voice call out his human name.
“Bruder,” was Germany’s curt response.
Prussia simply chuckled and pushed himself off of the bloodstained couch with bloodstained hands while wrapped in bloodstained clothes. When had his hand grown back? “Don’t be like that, Ludwig. Get me some grub, why don’tcha?”
Germany obliged, moving quickly, as if his bruder was going to scold him if he didn’t return with the plate fast enough. Very fluidly, he returned with the food, set it in front of Prussia, then went to clean up his own. It was very stressed and awkward, and Germany could feel his brother watch him.
There was silence, for a long while. Aside from bits of scrapes from Prussia’s still un-removed armor scratching the plate and the occasional sound of him chewing, the entire house was enveloped in complete silence. Neither spoke to the other, neither voices any thoughts of anything, neither mentioned anything from the past two days. As if it was an entirely normal occurrence and they were currently sharing just a simple meal with one another. If they could pretend, perhaps it could happen, and Prussia would then return to the battlefield, glorious and healed and commanding his troops with his own dignity and brashness once more while Germany remained behind and watched as more land was slowly claimed for him.
Only when Germany moved back to the kitchen again did one of them say anything. A stutter from dry lips, a nervous question, and with hidden eyes did he slowly sound out the interrogative words.
“Does… It hurt to die, Bruder?”
Prussia smiled at this, although it wasn’t his normal cocky, challenging and competitive smile. It had the reminiscence of caring and tenderness and seemed to be the sole smile he held back for his sole bloodmate. “Kinda. This one really sucked-he went to town on me.”
At Germany’s wince, Prussia reiterated. “Sometimes they don’t. If this had been a spear through my neck, I would’a barely noticed. But I was fighting this man until we both died, so it’s no wonder my-ow,” He flexed his wrist again, slowly, watching the healed but sensitive veins move with his muscles. “It’s no wonder I’m in an ache right now.”
If Prussia had done a good job of calming down his little brother from whatever fear he seemed to have of dying, he didn’t seem to realize. He continued speaking, honestly believing that he was being a wise elder and was teaching his fellow nation the workings of death and how they affected those who couldn’t stay dead. “But that’s only with murders. The quicker they are, the less they hurt, and the faster you wake up. I know Feliks once woke up two minutes after this guy sliced his neck randomly. He actually chased him down and tackled him,” He chuckled at the memory, then continued calmly. “But some things can take forever-how long was I out? I think my longest was almost a week. I, uh. I killed myself, then.”
Amazingly bright blue eyes flashed to the pale face, and Prussia sighed.
“Suicides take the most out of people. Some can stay down for a month if the situation, or economy or anything is bad enough. I was having my own share of problems, and, uh. Killed myself. Woke up to panicked bosses and everything,” Another, stupid chuckle. “But suicides hurt the least, I think. Since you know you’re going to be getting rest.”
“Rest,” Germany repeated, the sound and word common and comfortable on his lips, but the context unable to unwrap itself in his mind.
“Yeah. Rest.”
~*~*~
Germany had died many, many times after that. In wars, through diseases, via assassinations, and once in a fire. He never stayed dead longer than two days-the black plague raged his body for three days before he died slowly-he never stayed dead for a shorter time than 15 minutes-a bullet through his right eye in the middle of the night, Prussia had taken down the man before Germany’s eye had even regenerated itself. He found himself lucky for having a warrior as a sibling, especially through his early, turbulent years. Death never frightened him again. With the knowledge that he could stare into God’s eyes and then turn around to continue fighting his war, the knowledge that the blackness he saw and felt for seconds was actually more than a day, the knowledge that he had the power to rise when others only fell, he was no longer ever afraid.
Death was part of life, what good would it do to be scared?
He had never killed himself, though. That was the one act he never committed. To live and fight was a blessing, he could not understand nor comprehend what could cause a person to end such a precious gift. Even if he could never disappear like his humans, his people, he still knew that the time he was missing would be time not well spent. So he never took his life.
That could be misconstrued as a cliffhanger. Hmmr. I might continue this.
Germany had seen death many times.
His most noticeable and affecting memory was of the first time he had seen his bruder, Prussia, fallen. His fellow soldiers, his comrades and servants on the battlefield, had rushed him in while Germany was cleaning the main room diligently, and it was a horrible sight. Dripping with thick blood, face and skin disfigured by a rough-edged sword, his armor dented and a hand completely missing, the shocking white bone peering out between layers of red and dripping tissue. Almost ceremoniously, they placed him on a couch in the room, and hurried back out, following strict orders from the head of their nation. Leaving Germany with the un-ending and everlasting horrendous vision of his bloodied and tattered, destroyed and mutilated, slaughtered elder brother.
After almost two days, two long days of Germany avoiding looking down and holding back his tears of distress and disgust, Prussia rose again. Germany had been sitting at the table in front of him, very slowly eating his meal, very deliberately ignoring the scene behind him, and he only looked behind him when he heard that familiar, raspy and chuckley voice call out his human name.
“Bruder,” was Germany’s curt response.
Prussia simply chuckled and pushed himself off of the bloodstained couch with bloodstained hands while wrapped in bloodstained clothes. When had his hand grown back? “Don’t be like that, Ludwig. Get me some grub, why don’tcha?”
Germany obliged, moving quickly, as if his bruder was going to scold him if he didn’t return with the plate fast enough. Very fluidly, he returned with the food, set it in front of Prussia, then went to clean up his own. It was very stressed and awkward, and Germany could feel his brother watch him.
There was silence, for a long while. Aside from bits of scrapes from Prussia’s still un-removed armor scratching the plate and the occasional sound of him chewing, the entire house was enveloped in complete silence. Neither spoke to the other, neither voices any thoughts of anything, neither mentioned anything from the past two days. As if it was an entirely normal occurrence and they were currently sharing just a simple meal with one another. If they could pretend, perhaps it could happen, and Prussia would then return to the battlefield, glorious and healed and commanding his troops with his own dignity and brashness once more while Germany remained behind and watched as more land was slowly claimed for him.
Only when Germany moved back to the kitchen again did one of them say anything. A stutter from dry lips, a nervous question, and with hidden eyes did he slowly sound out the interrogative words.
“Does… It hurt to die, Bruder?”
Prussia smiled at this, although it wasn’t his normal cocky, challenging and competitive smile. It had the reminiscence of caring and tenderness and seemed to be the sole smile he held back for his sole bloodmate. “Kinda. This one really sucked-he went to town on me.”
At Germany’s wince, Prussia reiterated. “Sometimes they don’t. If this had been a spear through my neck, I would’a barely noticed. But I was fighting this man until we both died, so it’s no wonder my-ow,” He flexed his wrist again, slowly, watching the healed but sensitive veins move with his muscles. “It’s no wonder I’m in an ache right now.”
If Prussia had done a good job of calming down his little brother from whatever fear he seemed to have of dying, he didn’t seem to realize. He continued speaking, honestly believing that he was being a wise elder and was teaching his fellow nation the workings of death and how they affected those who couldn’t stay dead. “But that’s only with murders. The quicker they are, the less they hurt, and the faster you wake up. I know Feliks once woke up two minutes after this guy sliced his neck randomly. He actually chased him down and tackled him,” He chuckled at the memory, then continued calmly. “But some things can take forever-how long was I out? I think my longest was almost a week. I, uh. I killed myself, then.”
Amazingly bright blue eyes flashed to the pale face, and Prussia sighed.
“Suicides take the most out of people. Some can stay down for a month if the situation, or economy or anything is bad enough. I was having my own share of problems, and, uh. Killed myself. Woke up to panicked bosses and everything,” Another, stupid chuckle. “But suicides hurt the least, I think. Since you know you’re going to be getting rest.”
“Rest,” Germany repeated, the sound and word common and comfortable on his lips, but the context unable to unwrap itself in his mind.
“Yeah. Rest.”
~*~*~
Germany had died many, many times after that. In wars, through diseases, via assassinations, and once in a fire. He never stayed dead longer than two days-the black plague raged his body for three days before he died slowly-he never stayed dead for a shorter time than 15 minutes-a bullet through his right eye in the middle of the night, Prussia had taken down the man before Germany’s eye had even regenerated itself. He found himself lucky for having a warrior as a sibling, especially through his early, turbulent years. Death never frightened him again. With the knowledge that he could stare into God’s eyes and then turn around to continue fighting his war, the knowledge that the blackness he saw and felt for seconds was actually more than a day, the knowledge that he had the power to rise when others only fell, he was no longer ever afraid.
Death was part of life, what good would it do to be scared?
He had never killed himself, though. That was the one act he never committed. To live and fight was a blessing, he could not understand nor comprehend what could cause a person to end such a precious gift. Even if he could never disappear like his humans, his people, he still knew that the time he was missing would be time not well spent. So he never took his life.
That could be misconstrued as a cliffhanger. Hmmr. I might continue this.