[Fanfic] - while ( true ) - (1/2)
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters Germany, Prussia, various OCs
Rating: Teen
Contains: some violence
Word count 12,650
Status: complete
Summary: A frustrating morning ends in tragedy and Germany wakes up to discover himself back at the beginning of the day. It seems impossible, but then it happens again. And again, and again, and…
Note: in computer programming, a while loop will repeat as long as the specified condition is true. This can result in an infinite loop that never ends.
Written for the Germanfest event on tumblr.
“Incoming!”
The whip-crack of Prussia’s voice startled Germany from sleep and he bolted upright, nearly toppling to the floor in an undignified heap.
Regaining his bearings, he was taken aback to realize that he wasn’t in his bedroom but rather on the living room couch, and-he looked down-still fully dressed in yesterday’s suit, save for the jacket draped over the nearby armrest. Visions of unfinished reports danced along the edge of his memory, and of working late until he dropped from sheer exhaustion.
Before he could do more than frown at his own poor time management, something large and round caught him across the cheek, whipping his face to one side. Pain drove the air from his lungs and he doubled over, ears ringing and feeling like he’d been in a bar fight, but without the benefits of actually having been in a bar.
Opening his eyes, he saw the culprit. A football sitting innocently in his lap where there was none before.
His well-ordered mind put the pieces together and came up with one conclusion. He looked up and, sure enough, there was Prussia standing off to the side of the room, silhouetted by the morning light filtering in through the curtains of the large window at his back. One leg was still extended and Germany didn’t need his vision to clear to know he’d be grinning widely in that way that seemed designed to cause the maximum amount of irritation in others.
“You were supposed to catch that,” his brother said, the matter-of-fact delivery at odds with the energy practically crackling around him.
“It would help if I wasn’t asleep when you kicked it at me.” The words sounded muffled and stuffy thanks to his now swelling nose, and Germany sent a renewed glare across the room. “Also, it hurts and now I sound funny.”
“Excuses, excuses.” Prussia grinned, far too manic for this early in the morning. It brought to mind the many mornings long past when he used to delight at running training drills at dawn, rain or shine. “Constant vigilance, West!”
It took a moment for the words to register, but when they did Germany raised an eyebrow. “Did you just quote children’s books at me?”
“Children’s books!” Prussia was outright gaping. “Did you actually read them, or are you-” he broke off with a careless shrug. “Whatever. Good advice is good advice. Doesn’t matter where it comes from.”
With that, he sauntered over and took a seat on the nearby coffee table, reaching out to ruffle Germany’s hair. “I really did think you’d catch that, you know.”
And that was just like Prussia, attempting to apologize without having to come out and say the words. Germany bristled, catching his brother’s wrist and twisting before smoothing the mused strands back from his forehead. There were times when he didn’t mind Prussia messing with his hair; this was not one of them.
If Prussia was bothered by the rough handling he didn’t let on, merely shaking his wrist out and continuing as if the interruption had never occurred. “It’ll be good as new before you know it. I swear, sometimes you think you’re human. It’s kind of cute.”
Germany’s retort was forgotten as he felt something tickle his upper lip, and he frowned at the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. Quickly, he tipped his head towards the ceiling. It wouldn’t do to get a stain on his white dress shirt. Or the couch, for that matter. Remembering the handkerchief in his jacket pocket, he took it out and put it to its intended use. “I think you broke my nose.”
Pale features twisted in thought before seeming to come to a decision. “Alright then,” he said, picking up the offending ball and placing it on Germany lap. He winked and threw his arms out wide. “Have a go at me and we’ll call it fair. I’ll even close my eyes!” Not waiting for an answer, he did exactly that.
After several seconds one eye cracked open. “Well? We doing this or not? You should be honored, you know. I don’t give a free shot to just anyone.”
The thing of it was, it was true. Prussia was adamant about not caring if he won or lost a fight as long as he gave as good as he got. Looking at him now, eyes closed and waiting for a blow, Germany did the only thing he could.
Moving silently, he took aim and flicked the edge of Prussia’s nose with his forefinger. “You’re an idiot.”
To his credit, Prussia didn’t flinch at the contact, just opened his eyes and stuck his tongue out. “Your loss. But I’m calling it - now we’re even,” he crowed, looking far too self-satisfied.
Germany sighed. Dealing with Prussia was an exercise in contradictions, being both deeply frustrating and deeply endearing. At times like this it was difficult to determine which emotion he was supposed to be feeling. After a moment’s deliberation, Germany settled on endearing and let himself be charmed. It was hard not to when Prussia was looking so unabashedly happy.
Chiding himself at his own gullibility, he ran a hand across his face, wincing when it made contact with the tender area over the bridge of his nose. And nearly jumped again when a buzzing noise sounded from behind him, followed by a sharp vibration embarrassingly close to a very private area.
Heat flooded his face and for an incredulous moment he was convinced this was another of Prussia’s pranks designed to embarrass him. How had his brother even managed to slip such a device on his person while he was asleep? It happened again, and a wholly different type of embarrassment swept through him as he realized it was not a prank at all but his mobile phone, still tucked into the back pocket of the slacks he’d fallen asleep in.
Regaining his composure, he answered the call with a brisk, “Yes?”
“Beilschmidt, you’re needed by the front entrance.”
The voice was cool and professional, and Germany recognized it as Greta Hirsch, Director of Berlin’s Cultural Heritage Museum. It was the site of a new exhibition featuring a large number of priceless German artworks thought lost during the Second World War. Germany had tasked himself with acting as liaison between the museum and the Federal Government, which was providing funding for the event. As such, he’d been working closely with Ms. Hirsch for months in preparation for the exhibit’s opening.
An opening that was scheduled for today.
Germany nearly fell off the couch for the second time that morning as he scrambled to check the time on his wrist. What he’d thought was early in the morning was actually mid-morning. A haze of panic settled over him and for a moment he sat there stupidly. He distinctly remembered circling the date in his paper planner, entering it into his phone, and underlining it on several different ongoing task lists. How had he managed to oversleep?
He was late.
The thought jolted him awake faster than the cup of coffee he no longer had time for. “I’ll be there in-” The telltale beeping of a dead battery cut him off.
“So, wanna play?”
The words snapped Germany from his musings and he glared.
“Well?” Prussia reached over and grabbed the ball from where it still sat on the couch, and something in Germany snapped.
“How could you not have woken me?”
Prussia scrunched his nose. “For what?”
“The Everett collection at the museum. The opening is today. And instead of doing something useful you’re throwing that ball around like a child.” The throbbing in his nose intensified and Germany could feel a headache coming on.
“Fuck you.” Shoulders stiffened and eyes flashed in challenge. “What am I, your god damned secretary?”
“You were out here anyway. The least you could have done was to wake me!”
“Fuck, West, I didn’t even know that was today. That’s your pet project not mine. And I’m not the one who fell asleep all over my work and forgot to set an alarm.” Ball held tightly in both hands, Prussia stood. “You know what, screw this. It’s more fun to play by myself, anyway.”
The front door slammed shut in his wake.
Germany pinched the bridge of his nose on reflex, wincing when it agitated his new injury, and got to his feet.
An ice pack and shower later, he was dressed in a fresh, crisp suit and feeling much better.
Making his way to the garage, he discovered that apparently the day wasn’t done taunting him.
His car wouldn’t start.
Turning the key in the ignition yielded no more than a pathetic sputter and Germany resisted the urge to bang his head against the steering wheel. There was no time to look under the hood, and he glared at the dashboard as if by will alone he could intimidate the vehicle into action. Just when he began to give up hope, his eye caught the gleam of Prussia’s motorcycle (as sleek and black and well cared for as any of the horses his brother made no secret of still preferring) and he cracked his first smile since waking up.
The open air did much to improve his mood.
This far out from the main city, the street was thankfully mostly empty. Speeding down the rural roads towards the city center, Germany had plenty of time to muse on the morning’s debacles, to pick over each one and file it away in its place so he could face the rest of the day with a clear head. But he kept getting stuck on the last exchange with Prussia. It weighed on his mind as the road disappeared steadily under the motorcycle’s front tire.
Prussia didn’t deserve the way Germany had treated him, and he already regretted the harsh words spoken from misplaced anger. Well, he admitted, not all the anger was misplaced. His nose still stung. But it wasn’t Prussia’s responsibility to ensure Germany did basic things like wake up in a timely manner. He would apologize later, he told himself, making a note in his mind to pick up a few bottles of Prussia’s favorite beer as a peace offering. For now, traffic was starting to thicken and he needed to concentrate on the road.
Green suburbs gave way to clustered apartments which gave way to the familiar bustle of his capital city. The roads were swamped with cars and taxis and Germany ground his teeth in frustration, feeling the drag of every minute as his arrival became later and later.
Finally, he turned the last corner. The museum was a glass fronted building on a tree-lined street already packed with cars. Out in front, a crowd was gathered near the building’s entrance, spilling over onto the sidewalk. Farther out, several large news vans were already providing coverage of the event. Once the ceremony concluded, the museum would officially open and the Everett collection, named for the woman who had rediscovered the cache of lost artwork, would be unveiled for display.
Germany slowed to a crawl, looking for a place to park and quickly resigned himself to the necessity of parking illegally. Maneuvering as close as he could, he scanned the crowd - mostly stylishly dressed men and women with a smattering of news camera crews, assorted staff, and a couple of people in postal service uniforms - but there was no sign of Ms. Hirsch, and Germany concluded that she must be inside the building.
He felt it before he heard it.
A shockwave of heat and energy smacked him full in the face as the large windows shattered, spraying glass shards like a rain of knives onto people and pavement alike.
The roar of the explosion seemed like an afterthought.
In an instant, the motorcycle skidded out from under him and Germany was swept to the ground. The wool of his suit was no protection from the rough asphalt and he could feel his skin being scraped bloody and raw as he fell. He ignored it as inconsequential. He’d experienced worse injuries - and worse pain - over the course of his life, and the wounds would heal soon enough. His priority was the people inside the building.
Rolling out from under the downed motorcycle, Germany sprinted towards the museum entrance, blinking away the smoke and debris that had gotten past his helmet. He’d barely taken a handful of steps when the world jerked as if pulled sideways.
---
“Incoming!”
Germany sat up and blinked, confused. He ran through a quick mental checklist. He was tired but otherwise uninjured. He was dressed. He was on a couch. He was-
A football smashed into his nose like a bludgeon.
Pain and anger jolted him into full awareness as adrenaline pierced through the fog of his mind, the events of the morning flooding back in a surge of horror. The explosion, and Germany had seen enough of those to know it was no accident but a deliberate act. He must have collapsed at the museum and been taken somewhere else.
He looked around, recognizing the familiar walls, bookshelves, and couch. He was home.
Prussia was standing by the window with a little half smirk on his face. After the tragedy that had occurred- Germany’s throat tightened just thinking about it, about all those people-how could Prussia possibly think this was a funny way to wake him?
“You were supposed to catch that.”
Germany leaped to his feet, a haze of red settling over his vision. “What is wrong with you? Explain yourself immediately!”
It was more of a roar than a shout and Prussia actually took a step back. Recovering instantly, he plastered an ugly sneer across his face, planting his feet wide as if the traitorous backpedaling had been his plan all along. “What the fuck has gotten into you!” Prussia matched him in volume, teeth bared and eyes flashing.
“Into me?” Germany thumped a hand against his own chest, balling it into a fist to keep from striking out. The urge to march across the room, grab Prussia’s shoulders, and literally shake some sense into him was overwhelming but Germany resisted. Violence would only inflame his brother, and though a physical brawl would no doubt be satisfying, he didn’t have the luxury of being that irresponsible.
Instead, he counted to five in his head. Slowly. The seething rage was still there when he was done.
“People have died and you’re playing games. Have you fallen so low that you can’t be bothered to care about our own people anymore?”
Prussia’s face twisted, one hand twitching as if itching for a weapon. “How fucking dare you say-” He broke off, visibly collecting himself. After a tense, drawn out silence, his eyebrows furrowed together and he asked, “Wait, what? Who died?”
The pause succeeded in breaking through Germany’s fury and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “At the museum. There was an explosion. I was there. I have to get back.” He strode forward but instead found himself being pushed back down onto the couch by a pair of hands on his shoulders.
“West, stop. Please, just stop.” Worried eyes gazed down at his own as Prussia said, strangely gentle, “You haven’t been to the museum yet.”
That made no sense. Of course he’d been to the museum. He saw the whole thing happen.
He kept staring as Prussia reached a hand into the suit jacket draped on the couch’s armrest, pulled the handkerchief from the breast pocket, and pressed it to Germany’s nose. “Here, you’re bleeding.” He gave a muted smile. “I really did think you’d catch that, you know.”
In a daze, Germany flicked his gaze down. The shirt and slacks he wore were the same ones he’d woken up in, rumpled but otherwise fine. Not dirty or sooty or bloody or torn. Exactly the way he’d fallen asleep. It didn’t make sense. Absently, he took the handkerchief where Prussia was still dabbing at his nose, holding it steady and tilting his head up to stop the bleeding.
There was a buzzing noise from behind. A sharp vibration from his rear pants pocket. With a sense of unease, Germany fished out the phone and answered. “Yes?”
“Beilschmidt, you’re needed by the front entrance.”
Germany’s breath caught in his throat at the familiar voice of a woman who was supposed to be dead. He swallowed tightly, elbows resting on his knees as he exhaled. “Greta,” he breathed. “Ms. Hirsch, you’re okay.”
“I won’t be if you don’t get yourself over here. I’m-”
The phone cut off and Germany nearly dropped it in his haste to reconnect the call.
Gentle fingers pried the phone from his hand. “Battery’s dead.”
It was Prussia, leaning over him and watching with concern etched into his face. Silently, he offered his own phone.
Germany smiled thinly, wondering what he must look like to merit this level of seriousness from Prussia. Not that his brother was incapable of it, but he had often (and loudly) professed that life was too short to waste it on unnecessary worrying. That thought, more than any other, helped snap Germany back.
He looked up and smiled, for real this time. “You know, you’re not so bad when you’re not launching projectiles at my face.”
That made Prussia laugh. “What are you talking about! I’m the best, always, and don’t you forget it!” He reached out to muse Germany’s hair, and this time Germany did nothing to stop him.
With a deep breath, he took Prussia’s phone and redialed, relieved when the call was answered on the first ring. “Are you okay?” he asked immediately.
“I won’t be if you don’t get over here!” was the answer, and Germany let himself breathe normally at the aggrieved tone in her voice. Aggrieved wasn’t terrified and that was one more bit of proof that nothing bad had actually occurred. He returned his attention in time to hear, “…and how many times can one person ask for the same damned paperwork! These state bureaucrats are impossible and you have that magic touch with those guys. Get over here and get these clowns off my back.”
“Paperwork?” he asked, mind busy racing through a hundred different explanations and discarding them all in rapid succession. “You need me for paperwork,” he confirmed, voice flat as he scrambled to turn this day into something that made sense.
“Cheer up,” was the glib response. “I’ll buy you a beer once this thing is over. Speeches start in two hours, and you’d better not make me suffer through it alone.”
The call disconnected.
Germany stared at the phone in his hand. Ms. Hirsch was alive and expecting him. And according to the phone it was still mid-morning. Was it possible he’d dreamed the whole thing?
No, not a dream, he amended. A nightmare. A terrible nightmare.
Nodding to himself and basking in the relief of his newfound knowledge, Germany hurried to his bedroom to shower and dress. He deliberately picked a different suit than he’d worn in his dream, dark grey instead of the brown he preferred.
He paused at the door leading to the garage.
Prussia was there, casual clothes traded in for slacks and a dark button down shirt, neatly tucked in. “You want company for this?” he asked.
When Germany didn’t immediately answer, Prussia squared his shoulders and pressed on. “I don’t have anything going on today, you’re acting fucking crazy, and an idiot can see that something’s still bothering you.”
Germany’s eyes widened, and the corners of Prussia’s lips curled up in that I have better intel than you think expression that never failed to enrage the rest of the world.
“Come on, West. A little credit, here. I can read you like a cheap romance novel. You don’t have to tell me about it, but you damn well know I’m here if you want some backup or anything. Or someone to distract all those annoying paper-pushers so you can get the real work done.”
A rush of affection chased some of the tension away. It was on the tip of his tongue to say yes, but Germany suddenly felt incredibly foolish. He was a grown, powerful nation, not a child in need of a security blanket. He shook his head. “Thank you for the offer, but it’s unnecessary.”
A shadow passed over Prussia’s face before smoothing out into indifference, and Germany hasted to explain, “It’s only bureaucracy and a public relations appearance, and I know how much you hate those. All talk and no action. You’ll just be bored.”
Prussia didn’t look convinced, so Germany added, “And when I get home, prepare to have your ass kicked at football. I still have to repay you for this.” He touched his nose lightly. It was already mostly healed, but Germany wasn’t against standing on principle. And Prussia was going down for that stunt.
At that Prussia did smile, entire face lighting up as he threw his head back and laughed. “Not a chance!”
Feeling lighter already, Germany clasped him on the shoulder and left the house. Remembering the freedom of the open air, he bypassed his car and fired up Prussia’s motorcycle, enjoying the sensation of the sun on his back and the wind in his face. All the while his mind whirred with plans and strategy for the promised football match later on. Prussia was as serious about his sporting tactics as he was about fighting and Germany had no intention of being beaten at his own challenge.
He rounded the final corner, destination coming into view. The Cultural Heritage Museum’s glass facade loomed large at the end of road, and Germany felt a chill despite the sunny autumn day and pleasant breeze. He took careful note of his surroundings; it was eerily similar to his dream. Again, Ms. Hirsch was nowhere to be seen.
Suppressing a mental cringe, he parked the motorcycle illegally and made his way towards the museum.
As he stepped from the street onto the cobbled sidewalk, the building exploded in a roar of flame and noise, blasting him backwards.
---
“Incoming!”
Germany sat up, eyes wide and chest heaving. The explosion. It was real and it had happened again and-
Pain exploded in the side of his face.
“You were supposed to catch that.” Prussia practically crackled with energy, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet in his place by the window.
Germany stared. They’d done this before. Twice, now three times.
But it was impossible.
He needed more data. Trying a small test, he spoke words he remembered speaking once before. “It would help if I wasn’t asleep when you kicked it at me.” The whole ridiculous notion felt surreal but he forced himself to continue. “Also, it hurts and I sound funny.”
“Excuses, excuses.” Prussia grinned manically. “Constant vigilance, West!”
The same response. Germany mentally checked it off against the list of memories in his head. There could be no other explanation. He’d been sent back to the beginning of the day, however impossible.
Which meant there was a bomb at the museum that was going to explode. The knowledge hit him like a bucket of cold water, the memories of dust and blood and screaming feeling like a physical blow. He wouldn’t let it happen again. Not this time.
He jumped to his feet and ran. He was still wearing yesterday’s suit but that didn’t matter. He had to get to the museum. He had to stop the bomb from exploding. He could make up some time by skipping over his conversation with Prussia and the rest of his morning routine, but that still didn’t leave much left.
“West, what the hell! Where are you going?”
“Museum!” he called out, jerking open the door to the garage. “There’ a bomb. No time to explain.”
Not looking back, he mounted the motorcycle and sped towards the city.
Halfway there rational thought reasserted itself and he realized he should call someone. For once he found himself grateful for Prussia’s obsession with blogging and technology. Because it meant the helmet he was wearing came equipped with a built-in Bluetooth headset. Prussia had spent what Germany considered at the time to be a shameful amount of money on the high tech device, but as he fished the phone from his pocket and dialed Ms. Hirsch, he considered that perhaps he should apologize for that.
To his relief, the call picked up on the first ring. “Beilschmidt I was just about to call you. You’re needed-”
“At the front entrance, I know,” he finished. “Forget about that and listen to me. You need to evacuate the building, there’s a-” A series of beeps followed by dead air indicated that the battery had died. Germany cursed, having forgotten about the damn battery, and picked up speed, the engine roaring to life beneath him.
What felt like forever but couldn’t have been more than ten minutes later, he was forced to slow down by the congestion of city traffic. He made record time weaving through it, entire mind bent on making it early enough this time. For once not stopping to fret about the breach in traffic law, he dropped the bike right at the museum entrance and sprinted for the open door to the building.
A short, stocky man Germany recognized as Torsten Schmidt, the museum’s Head of Security, blocked his way. “Sir, this building isn’t open to the public.”
Germany stared in confusion. Then remembered his face was still obscured by the helmet.
Unfortunately removing it failed to improve matters.
Schmidt let out a bark of laughter. “What the hell happened to you? Finally piss off the wrong guy and get what’s coming to you?”
It took a moment, but Germany realized the other man must be referring to his nose. He wiped at it absently with one hand. “What’s the status of the evacuation?”
The edges of Schmidt’s lips curled up in a smug grin and he rocked back on his heels. “What evacuation.”
A sense of dread lodged in Germany’s stomach as he said, “You cancelled the evacuation?”
Schmidt leaned forward, mouth twisting into a sneer. “Listen up, you paper-pushing little shit. I don’t know how things work at those pretty office buildings of yours but nobody makes me look bad around here. The security here is airtight and the building’s been swept twice already. Now run along.”
Incredulity turned to bright hot rage. Though he didn’t like the man, he’d never thought him incompetent until today. “What the hell do you think you’re playing at!”
Schmidt crossed his arm. “Your job is to keep the schedule and play kiss ass with the other bureaucrats. Security is my job.”
Germany could have him on the ground in two moves, and he was so very tempted. But it would only hinder his efforts if he had to deal with the rest of the security force dogging him. Not for the first time, he regretted that the existence of nations was no longer common knowledge. Despite not knowing who he was, most people unconsciously treated Germany with an automatic kind of respect, perhaps recognizing him on some base level. Whether it was to be contrary or because he simply wasn’t attuned, Schmidt had been giving Germany trouble since day one, and his attitude made Germany yearn for his military days when he could give orders and expect them to be followed.
He settled for the next best thing, looking at Schmidt with pure disdain. “You make a very poor head of security if you never bothered to look into what exactly I do for the government.”
Schmidt opened his mouth to respond but didn’t get the chance.
“I work directly with the Chancellor and unless you wish to anger us both you will do exactly as I say and start evacuating people.”
Something in his voice must have slipped out, and Schmidt paled, throat bobbing as he swallowed. “F-Fine,” he managed to stammer.
“Very good,” Germany replied, marching further into the building, past the long counter where ticket sales would normally occur and into the main atrium where the speeches were to be held.
It was a spacious room, open save for four thick pillars spaced to form a large square. At the center, in front of a tall glass-encased statue, was a raised podium facing a sea of chairs arranged in rows, all of them occupied by suit-clad people waiting for the event to start.
Ms. Hirsch was at the podium with the museum’s curator and several representatives from the state government. Germany himself was representing the Federal Government.
Keeping his face carefully blank, he strode as quickly as he dared across the room. With each step every muscle was tense, itching to run and hurry this up. He forced himself to stay loose, experience having taught him that causing a panic would be the worst possible thing he could do in a situation like this.
Ms. Hirsch turned to greet him but Germany cut her off before she could speak. “Forget Schmidt,” he said. “I took care of him. Get everyone out of here.”
Confusion turned to determination and she nodded despite the fear she was trying and failing to hide.
Knowing the task was in good hands, Germany went in search of the bomb. He wasn’t in the building the previous times it had detonated, but the atrium was an obvious target, both for its structural location in the center of the building and its potential for maximum casualties. It was the most logical place to start and so that’s where Germany did.
Keeping his posture casual, he paced the perimeter of the room, alert for anything that could serve as a suitable hiding spot for an incendiary device. Behind display cases. Under the benches that sporadically lined the walls. Amongst the scattered tables with their informational brochures. From the periphery of his vision, he saw people beginning to file from the room, and tried not to cringe at how slow it was going.
After a complete circuit, convinced that he hadn’t missed anything, his eyes turned towards the inner atrium. In the very center was the large statue he’d passed earlier, some sort of pagan god dating back almost a thousand years, according to the tiny placard mounted on the base. A brief inspection confirmed it was clear, and so he moved on.
Next was the podium. Tall and boxy, with an angled top which could be used to keep notes. There were compartments along the body, facing the speaker, but they were all empty. He was about to move on when he realized the entire setup was on a raised platform. A platform that was hollow.
Ducking down to look into the space beneath, a glint of metal caught his attention.
He slowly reached inside, drawing out a black leather briefcase. It was the metal clasps that had caught his eye he realized, shuddering at how close he’d come to not noticing it at all. Not daring to breathe, he released the catches on both sides of the handle, the dual click of the release mechanism sounding unnaturally loud in his ears.
His heart raced as he took in the briefcase’s contents.
It was filled with military-grade explosives, all wired together into a fuse connected to an electronic keypad. There was no display on the keypad, just four rows of numbers similar to a telephone. Germany was trained in the basics of bomb creation and defusion, but this was beyond him. He bit back a curse, heart pounding against his chest and hope running out of him like a sieve, leaving him feeling empty and drained.
The steady patter of feet on marble sent his spirits sinking lower. The evacuation still wasn’t complete. It was only pure luck-and the raised top of the briefcase- that hid the device from sight from sight and kept the situation orderly.
His mind scrambled to come up with a plan. He’d handle the briefcase gently, take it upstairs to the top floor where it would likely do the least damage, and hope he could get out before it went off. That last part wasn’t strictly necessary, as the blast couldn’t kill him, but there was no reason not to include it. Being at the heart of an explosion would hurt a lot and he’d rather avoid it if possible.
It was a shit plan, as Prussia would say, but it was all he had.
He took a deep breath and closed up the briefcase. And then the world burst into light and sound and searing heat as the case exploded in his hands.
---
“Incoming!”
Germany shuddered into awareness, eyes wide, the scream dying in his throat as he realized the fire consuming him was only in his mind. He sat up, panting heavily and staring at his unmarked hands, waiting for the world to resolve into something that made sense.
When the football hit his face, he barely registered the contact.
It was the pain in his nose that brought him back to awareness. That was real pain, not in his head, and he focused on it, banishing the flames to the deepest recess in his mind with all the other horrors. (He’d seen far worse - experienced far worse- on hundreds of different battlefields but it never made it any easier.) Blinking, he turned towards the window where he already knew Prussia would be, and saw that instead of the restless ball of energy he was expecting, Prussia was strangely still.
The moment their gazes locked, Prussia crept closer, looking more like he was approaching a spooked animal than the brother he’d been in the middle of pranking. Germany wondered what he must look like and made an effort to smile, lips feeling thin and stretched. If Prussia’s face was anything to go by, the attempt was not a rousing success. Germany swallowed, throat feeling dry with dust that didn’t exist.
Another step put Prussia directly in front of him. “West? You okay?”
The explosion flared bright in his mind but this time he didn’t flinch from it, years of combat training letting him focus on the here and now. He didn’t have time to wallow. There were still things to do. He’d been working on instinct and adrenaline before. It was time to start using his head.
Giving a halfhearted, “I’m fine,” he turned away from Prussia and dialed Ms. Hirsch’s number from memory.
“Beilschmidt I was just about to-”
“There’s no time,” Germany cut in. “There’s a bomb in the building and I can’t get there in time. You need to-”
The phone went dead and Germany almost threw it across the room. How could he have forgotten? Looking at Prussia, he held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”
Prussia didn’t argue, merely placed the phone into his waiting palm.
“Evacuate the entire building,” he continued, the moment the call connected. “Do you understand? Everyone. If security gives you trouble, tell Schmidt he can take it up with the Chancellor if he’s so inclined. That should shut him up.”
There was stunned silence on the other end. “I-What’s…How can this…”
“Clear the building,” Germany repeated. Voice softening, he added, “I know you can do this. The bomb disposal team is on its way.”
“You don’t ask for much, do you?” she said, a tinge of hysterical laughter clouding her voice.
Germany ended the call, immediately dialing the promised disposal team and explaining the situation (minus the part about the repeating day) and describing the bomb and its location. When he was done, he simply looked at the phone in his hands as if it had some sort of answer. He needed to leave, he knew. Regardless if there was anything else he could do, he needed to be there.
Prussia sat down next to him. “West? What’s going on?”
The exhaustion of the past several days (one day several times, he corrected) seemed to crash down on him all at once, and no words came out. He settled for the next best option. He laughed until he gasped, shoulders shaking, doubling over until his elbows rested on his knees. After several tries, he got himself under control. “I have to go,” he said, standing.
Prussia grabbed his hand and tugged. Germany didn’t resist, allowing himself to fall back to the couch.
“Whatever it is, it can wait. You look like shit.”
It couldn’t wait but Germany was loathe to leave. He’d done what he could and now the urge to confide in someone was overwhelming. Nevertheless, something held him back. Saying it aloud would make it real, an admittance that he was caught in something outside of his control. Or perhaps it would only confirm that he was going mad.
He slumped and looked at his hands. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.” A hand rested on his knee. “Since when is there anything you can’t tell me?”
Since a long time, Germany thought but didn’t say.
Prussia must have seen it on his face because he flinched, just for a moment and then it was gone. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me,” he pressed.
For a long moment, neither of them said anything.
“The day keeps repeating itself,” Germany finally said, cringing at how ludicrous it sounded.
“What-”
“I’m reliving the same day. This is the third-no the fourth time now. Every time, you kick the ball at me.” He rubbed at his nose. “Then you say-”
“You were supposed to catch that.”
Prussia spoke the words in time with him and Germany nodded.
“And then I say…” He trailed off as Prussia’s free hand caught his in mid-air, halting the sweeping gesture he’d been unconsciously making.
“I think I get the picture. So we’ve had this conversation before? About the day repeating?” he asked, head tilted in contemplation. There was no hint of the good-natured mocking that so often dominated his features, and Germany felt the knot in his stomach loosen.
“No, this is the first time. Usually I leave and then I get blown up.” Once he stated talking he couldn’t stop, and it all spilled out. He told Prussia about waking up, getting to the museum in time to watch it explode. Then waking up for the second time, thinking it was a dream, and doing it all over again. How he’d realized that he was re-living the same day and how even when he’d made it in time, it still wasn’t enough.
“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “I don’t know why this is happening or how to stop it.”
Saying it aloud felt like a weight had been removed from his chest, more so when Prussia wrapped an arm around his back, fingers kneading the tense muscles in his shoulder. It was a small comfort, a throwback to a time when Germany was young and small and Prussia was always there to guide him. Germany didn’t desire to go back to those times but he couldn’t deny that at this moment, he was happy Prussia was here.
“I think you’ve already figured it out,” Prussia said softly. “The bomb,” he explained at Germany’s blank look. “You said it happens every time?”
Germany nodded.
“So that’s probably it. At least, it’s always something like that in the movies. You need to stop something bad from happening. And you did,” he finished, sending a pointed glance at the phone in Germany’s hand.
The optimism was infectious and Germany found himself smiling. He didn’t need Prussia to take care of him anymore, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want his brother by his side. It was a relief to find him already there without even being asked.
When Ms. Hirsch called soon after to inform him of the successful evacuation, he allowed himself to feel hope that this nightmare was at an end.
“There wasn’t time to contain the bomb,” she explained in his ear. “Unfortunately they’ll have to let it detonate in the building.”
There was a muffled noise in the background, as if confirming her words. It wasn’t the news Germany wanted to hear but no one was going to die and that was all he could really ask for.
He’d just opened his mouth to speak when the world jerked sideways.
Next Part
Characters Germany, Prussia, various OCs
Rating: Teen
Contains: some violence
Word count 12,650
Status: complete
Summary: A frustrating morning ends in tragedy and Germany wakes up to discover himself back at the beginning of the day. It seems impossible, but then it happens again. And again, and again, and…
Note: in computer programming, a while loop will repeat as long as the specified condition is true. This can result in an infinite loop that never ends.
Written for the Germanfest event on tumblr.
“Incoming!”
The whip-crack of Prussia’s voice startled Germany from sleep and he bolted upright, nearly toppling to the floor in an undignified heap.
Regaining his bearings, he was taken aback to realize that he wasn’t in his bedroom but rather on the living room couch, and-he looked down-still fully dressed in yesterday’s suit, save for the jacket draped over the nearby armrest. Visions of unfinished reports danced along the edge of his memory, and of working late until he dropped from sheer exhaustion.
Before he could do more than frown at his own poor time management, something large and round caught him across the cheek, whipping his face to one side. Pain drove the air from his lungs and he doubled over, ears ringing and feeling like he’d been in a bar fight, but without the benefits of actually having been in a bar.
Opening his eyes, he saw the culprit. A football sitting innocently in his lap where there was none before.
His well-ordered mind put the pieces together and came up with one conclusion. He looked up and, sure enough, there was Prussia standing off to the side of the room, silhouetted by the morning light filtering in through the curtains of the large window at his back. One leg was still extended and Germany didn’t need his vision to clear to know he’d be grinning widely in that way that seemed designed to cause the maximum amount of irritation in others.
“You were supposed to catch that,” his brother said, the matter-of-fact delivery at odds with the energy practically crackling around him.
“It would help if I wasn’t asleep when you kicked it at me.” The words sounded muffled and stuffy thanks to his now swelling nose, and Germany sent a renewed glare across the room. “Also, it hurts and now I sound funny.”
“Excuses, excuses.” Prussia grinned, far too manic for this early in the morning. It brought to mind the many mornings long past when he used to delight at running training drills at dawn, rain or shine. “Constant vigilance, West!”
It took a moment for the words to register, but when they did Germany raised an eyebrow. “Did you just quote children’s books at me?”
“Children’s books!” Prussia was outright gaping. “Did you actually read them, or are you-” he broke off with a careless shrug. “Whatever. Good advice is good advice. Doesn’t matter where it comes from.”
With that, he sauntered over and took a seat on the nearby coffee table, reaching out to ruffle Germany’s hair. “I really did think you’d catch that, you know.”
And that was just like Prussia, attempting to apologize without having to come out and say the words. Germany bristled, catching his brother’s wrist and twisting before smoothing the mused strands back from his forehead. There were times when he didn’t mind Prussia messing with his hair; this was not one of them.
If Prussia was bothered by the rough handling he didn’t let on, merely shaking his wrist out and continuing as if the interruption had never occurred. “It’ll be good as new before you know it. I swear, sometimes you think you’re human. It’s kind of cute.”
Germany’s retort was forgotten as he felt something tickle his upper lip, and he frowned at the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. Quickly, he tipped his head towards the ceiling. It wouldn’t do to get a stain on his white dress shirt. Or the couch, for that matter. Remembering the handkerchief in his jacket pocket, he took it out and put it to its intended use. “I think you broke my nose.”
Pale features twisted in thought before seeming to come to a decision. “Alright then,” he said, picking up the offending ball and placing it on Germany lap. He winked and threw his arms out wide. “Have a go at me and we’ll call it fair. I’ll even close my eyes!” Not waiting for an answer, he did exactly that.
After several seconds one eye cracked open. “Well? We doing this or not? You should be honored, you know. I don’t give a free shot to just anyone.”
The thing of it was, it was true. Prussia was adamant about not caring if he won or lost a fight as long as he gave as good as he got. Looking at him now, eyes closed and waiting for a blow, Germany did the only thing he could.
Moving silently, he took aim and flicked the edge of Prussia’s nose with his forefinger. “You’re an idiot.”
To his credit, Prussia didn’t flinch at the contact, just opened his eyes and stuck his tongue out. “Your loss. But I’m calling it - now we’re even,” he crowed, looking far too self-satisfied.
Germany sighed. Dealing with Prussia was an exercise in contradictions, being both deeply frustrating and deeply endearing. At times like this it was difficult to determine which emotion he was supposed to be feeling. After a moment’s deliberation, Germany settled on endearing and let himself be charmed. It was hard not to when Prussia was looking so unabashedly happy.
Chiding himself at his own gullibility, he ran a hand across his face, wincing when it made contact with the tender area over the bridge of his nose. And nearly jumped again when a buzzing noise sounded from behind him, followed by a sharp vibration embarrassingly close to a very private area.
Heat flooded his face and for an incredulous moment he was convinced this was another of Prussia’s pranks designed to embarrass him. How had his brother even managed to slip such a device on his person while he was asleep? It happened again, and a wholly different type of embarrassment swept through him as he realized it was not a prank at all but his mobile phone, still tucked into the back pocket of the slacks he’d fallen asleep in.
Regaining his composure, he answered the call with a brisk, “Yes?”
“Beilschmidt, you’re needed by the front entrance.”
The voice was cool and professional, and Germany recognized it as Greta Hirsch, Director of Berlin’s Cultural Heritage Museum. It was the site of a new exhibition featuring a large number of priceless German artworks thought lost during the Second World War. Germany had tasked himself with acting as liaison between the museum and the Federal Government, which was providing funding for the event. As such, he’d been working closely with Ms. Hirsch for months in preparation for the exhibit’s opening.
An opening that was scheduled for today.
Germany nearly fell off the couch for the second time that morning as he scrambled to check the time on his wrist. What he’d thought was early in the morning was actually mid-morning. A haze of panic settled over him and for a moment he sat there stupidly. He distinctly remembered circling the date in his paper planner, entering it into his phone, and underlining it on several different ongoing task lists. How had he managed to oversleep?
He was late.
The thought jolted him awake faster than the cup of coffee he no longer had time for. “I’ll be there in-” The telltale beeping of a dead battery cut him off.
“So, wanna play?”
The words snapped Germany from his musings and he glared.
“Well?” Prussia reached over and grabbed the ball from where it still sat on the couch, and something in Germany snapped.
“How could you not have woken me?”
Prussia scrunched his nose. “For what?”
“The Everett collection at the museum. The opening is today. And instead of doing something useful you’re throwing that ball around like a child.” The throbbing in his nose intensified and Germany could feel a headache coming on.
“Fuck you.” Shoulders stiffened and eyes flashed in challenge. “What am I, your god damned secretary?”
“You were out here anyway. The least you could have done was to wake me!”
“Fuck, West, I didn’t even know that was today. That’s your pet project not mine. And I’m not the one who fell asleep all over my work and forgot to set an alarm.” Ball held tightly in both hands, Prussia stood. “You know what, screw this. It’s more fun to play by myself, anyway.”
The front door slammed shut in his wake.
Germany pinched the bridge of his nose on reflex, wincing when it agitated his new injury, and got to his feet.
An ice pack and shower later, he was dressed in a fresh, crisp suit and feeling much better.
Making his way to the garage, he discovered that apparently the day wasn’t done taunting him.
His car wouldn’t start.
Turning the key in the ignition yielded no more than a pathetic sputter and Germany resisted the urge to bang his head against the steering wheel. There was no time to look under the hood, and he glared at the dashboard as if by will alone he could intimidate the vehicle into action. Just when he began to give up hope, his eye caught the gleam of Prussia’s motorcycle (as sleek and black and well cared for as any of the horses his brother made no secret of still preferring) and he cracked his first smile since waking up.
The open air did much to improve his mood.
This far out from the main city, the street was thankfully mostly empty. Speeding down the rural roads towards the city center, Germany had plenty of time to muse on the morning’s debacles, to pick over each one and file it away in its place so he could face the rest of the day with a clear head. But he kept getting stuck on the last exchange with Prussia. It weighed on his mind as the road disappeared steadily under the motorcycle’s front tire.
Prussia didn’t deserve the way Germany had treated him, and he already regretted the harsh words spoken from misplaced anger. Well, he admitted, not all the anger was misplaced. His nose still stung. But it wasn’t Prussia’s responsibility to ensure Germany did basic things like wake up in a timely manner. He would apologize later, he told himself, making a note in his mind to pick up a few bottles of Prussia’s favorite beer as a peace offering. For now, traffic was starting to thicken and he needed to concentrate on the road.
Green suburbs gave way to clustered apartments which gave way to the familiar bustle of his capital city. The roads were swamped with cars and taxis and Germany ground his teeth in frustration, feeling the drag of every minute as his arrival became later and later.
Finally, he turned the last corner. The museum was a glass fronted building on a tree-lined street already packed with cars. Out in front, a crowd was gathered near the building’s entrance, spilling over onto the sidewalk. Farther out, several large news vans were already providing coverage of the event. Once the ceremony concluded, the museum would officially open and the Everett collection, named for the woman who had rediscovered the cache of lost artwork, would be unveiled for display.
Germany slowed to a crawl, looking for a place to park and quickly resigned himself to the necessity of parking illegally. Maneuvering as close as he could, he scanned the crowd - mostly stylishly dressed men and women with a smattering of news camera crews, assorted staff, and a couple of people in postal service uniforms - but there was no sign of Ms. Hirsch, and Germany concluded that she must be inside the building.
He felt it before he heard it.
A shockwave of heat and energy smacked him full in the face as the large windows shattered, spraying glass shards like a rain of knives onto people and pavement alike.
The roar of the explosion seemed like an afterthought.
In an instant, the motorcycle skidded out from under him and Germany was swept to the ground. The wool of his suit was no protection from the rough asphalt and he could feel his skin being scraped bloody and raw as he fell. He ignored it as inconsequential. He’d experienced worse injuries - and worse pain - over the course of his life, and the wounds would heal soon enough. His priority was the people inside the building.
Rolling out from under the downed motorcycle, Germany sprinted towards the museum entrance, blinking away the smoke and debris that had gotten past his helmet. He’d barely taken a handful of steps when the world jerked as if pulled sideways.
---
“Incoming!”
Germany sat up and blinked, confused. He ran through a quick mental checklist. He was tired but otherwise uninjured. He was dressed. He was on a couch. He was-
A football smashed into his nose like a bludgeon.
Pain and anger jolted him into full awareness as adrenaline pierced through the fog of his mind, the events of the morning flooding back in a surge of horror. The explosion, and Germany had seen enough of those to know it was no accident but a deliberate act. He must have collapsed at the museum and been taken somewhere else.
He looked around, recognizing the familiar walls, bookshelves, and couch. He was home.
Prussia was standing by the window with a little half smirk on his face. After the tragedy that had occurred- Germany’s throat tightened just thinking about it, about all those people-how could Prussia possibly think this was a funny way to wake him?
“You were supposed to catch that.”
Germany leaped to his feet, a haze of red settling over his vision. “What is wrong with you? Explain yourself immediately!”
It was more of a roar than a shout and Prussia actually took a step back. Recovering instantly, he plastered an ugly sneer across his face, planting his feet wide as if the traitorous backpedaling had been his plan all along. “What the fuck has gotten into you!” Prussia matched him in volume, teeth bared and eyes flashing.
“Into me?” Germany thumped a hand against his own chest, balling it into a fist to keep from striking out. The urge to march across the room, grab Prussia’s shoulders, and literally shake some sense into him was overwhelming but Germany resisted. Violence would only inflame his brother, and though a physical brawl would no doubt be satisfying, he didn’t have the luxury of being that irresponsible.
Instead, he counted to five in his head. Slowly. The seething rage was still there when he was done.
“People have died and you’re playing games. Have you fallen so low that you can’t be bothered to care about our own people anymore?”
Prussia’s face twisted, one hand twitching as if itching for a weapon. “How fucking dare you say-” He broke off, visibly collecting himself. After a tense, drawn out silence, his eyebrows furrowed together and he asked, “Wait, what? Who died?”
The pause succeeded in breaking through Germany’s fury and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “At the museum. There was an explosion. I was there. I have to get back.” He strode forward but instead found himself being pushed back down onto the couch by a pair of hands on his shoulders.
“West, stop. Please, just stop.” Worried eyes gazed down at his own as Prussia said, strangely gentle, “You haven’t been to the museum yet.”
That made no sense. Of course he’d been to the museum. He saw the whole thing happen.
He kept staring as Prussia reached a hand into the suit jacket draped on the couch’s armrest, pulled the handkerchief from the breast pocket, and pressed it to Germany’s nose. “Here, you’re bleeding.” He gave a muted smile. “I really did think you’d catch that, you know.”
In a daze, Germany flicked his gaze down. The shirt and slacks he wore were the same ones he’d woken up in, rumpled but otherwise fine. Not dirty or sooty or bloody or torn. Exactly the way he’d fallen asleep. It didn’t make sense. Absently, he took the handkerchief where Prussia was still dabbing at his nose, holding it steady and tilting his head up to stop the bleeding.
There was a buzzing noise from behind. A sharp vibration from his rear pants pocket. With a sense of unease, Germany fished out the phone and answered. “Yes?”
“Beilschmidt, you’re needed by the front entrance.”
Germany’s breath caught in his throat at the familiar voice of a woman who was supposed to be dead. He swallowed tightly, elbows resting on his knees as he exhaled. “Greta,” he breathed. “Ms. Hirsch, you’re okay.”
“I won’t be if you don’t get yourself over here. I’m-”
The phone cut off and Germany nearly dropped it in his haste to reconnect the call.
Gentle fingers pried the phone from his hand. “Battery’s dead.”
It was Prussia, leaning over him and watching with concern etched into his face. Silently, he offered his own phone.
Germany smiled thinly, wondering what he must look like to merit this level of seriousness from Prussia. Not that his brother was incapable of it, but he had often (and loudly) professed that life was too short to waste it on unnecessary worrying. That thought, more than any other, helped snap Germany back.
He looked up and smiled, for real this time. “You know, you’re not so bad when you’re not launching projectiles at my face.”
That made Prussia laugh. “What are you talking about! I’m the best, always, and don’t you forget it!” He reached out to muse Germany’s hair, and this time Germany did nothing to stop him.
With a deep breath, he took Prussia’s phone and redialed, relieved when the call was answered on the first ring. “Are you okay?” he asked immediately.
“I won’t be if you don’t get over here!” was the answer, and Germany let himself breathe normally at the aggrieved tone in her voice. Aggrieved wasn’t terrified and that was one more bit of proof that nothing bad had actually occurred. He returned his attention in time to hear, “…and how many times can one person ask for the same damned paperwork! These state bureaucrats are impossible and you have that magic touch with those guys. Get over here and get these clowns off my back.”
“Paperwork?” he asked, mind busy racing through a hundred different explanations and discarding them all in rapid succession. “You need me for paperwork,” he confirmed, voice flat as he scrambled to turn this day into something that made sense.
“Cheer up,” was the glib response. “I’ll buy you a beer once this thing is over. Speeches start in two hours, and you’d better not make me suffer through it alone.”
The call disconnected.
Germany stared at the phone in his hand. Ms. Hirsch was alive and expecting him. And according to the phone it was still mid-morning. Was it possible he’d dreamed the whole thing?
No, not a dream, he amended. A nightmare. A terrible nightmare.
Nodding to himself and basking in the relief of his newfound knowledge, Germany hurried to his bedroom to shower and dress. He deliberately picked a different suit than he’d worn in his dream, dark grey instead of the brown he preferred.
He paused at the door leading to the garage.
Prussia was there, casual clothes traded in for slacks and a dark button down shirt, neatly tucked in. “You want company for this?” he asked.
When Germany didn’t immediately answer, Prussia squared his shoulders and pressed on. “I don’t have anything going on today, you’re acting fucking crazy, and an idiot can see that something’s still bothering you.”
Germany’s eyes widened, and the corners of Prussia’s lips curled up in that I have better intel than you think expression that never failed to enrage the rest of the world.
“Come on, West. A little credit, here. I can read you like a cheap romance novel. You don’t have to tell me about it, but you damn well know I’m here if you want some backup or anything. Or someone to distract all those annoying paper-pushers so you can get the real work done.”
A rush of affection chased some of the tension away. It was on the tip of his tongue to say yes, but Germany suddenly felt incredibly foolish. He was a grown, powerful nation, not a child in need of a security blanket. He shook his head. “Thank you for the offer, but it’s unnecessary.”
A shadow passed over Prussia’s face before smoothing out into indifference, and Germany hasted to explain, “It’s only bureaucracy and a public relations appearance, and I know how much you hate those. All talk and no action. You’ll just be bored.”
Prussia didn’t look convinced, so Germany added, “And when I get home, prepare to have your ass kicked at football. I still have to repay you for this.” He touched his nose lightly. It was already mostly healed, but Germany wasn’t against standing on principle. And Prussia was going down for that stunt.
At that Prussia did smile, entire face lighting up as he threw his head back and laughed. “Not a chance!”
Feeling lighter already, Germany clasped him on the shoulder and left the house. Remembering the freedom of the open air, he bypassed his car and fired up Prussia’s motorcycle, enjoying the sensation of the sun on his back and the wind in his face. All the while his mind whirred with plans and strategy for the promised football match later on. Prussia was as serious about his sporting tactics as he was about fighting and Germany had no intention of being beaten at his own challenge.
He rounded the final corner, destination coming into view. The Cultural Heritage Museum’s glass facade loomed large at the end of road, and Germany felt a chill despite the sunny autumn day and pleasant breeze. He took careful note of his surroundings; it was eerily similar to his dream. Again, Ms. Hirsch was nowhere to be seen.
Suppressing a mental cringe, he parked the motorcycle illegally and made his way towards the museum.
As he stepped from the street onto the cobbled sidewalk, the building exploded in a roar of flame and noise, blasting him backwards.
---
“Incoming!”
Germany sat up, eyes wide and chest heaving. The explosion. It was real and it had happened again and-
Pain exploded in the side of his face.
“You were supposed to catch that.” Prussia practically crackled with energy, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet in his place by the window.
Germany stared. They’d done this before. Twice, now three times.
But it was impossible.
He needed more data. Trying a small test, he spoke words he remembered speaking once before. “It would help if I wasn’t asleep when you kicked it at me.” The whole ridiculous notion felt surreal but he forced himself to continue. “Also, it hurts and I sound funny.”
“Excuses, excuses.” Prussia grinned manically. “Constant vigilance, West!”
The same response. Germany mentally checked it off against the list of memories in his head. There could be no other explanation. He’d been sent back to the beginning of the day, however impossible.
Which meant there was a bomb at the museum that was going to explode. The knowledge hit him like a bucket of cold water, the memories of dust and blood and screaming feeling like a physical blow. He wouldn’t let it happen again. Not this time.
He jumped to his feet and ran. He was still wearing yesterday’s suit but that didn’t matter. He had to get to the museum. He had to stop the bomb from exploding. He could make up some time by skipping over his conversation with Prussia and the rest of his morning routine, but that still didn’t leave much left.
“West, what the hell! Where are you going?”
“Museum!” he called out, jerking open the door to the garage. “There’ a bomb. No time to explain.”
Not looking back, he mounted the motorcycle and sped towards the city.
Halfway there rational thought reasserted itself and he realized he should call someone. For once he found himself grateful for Prussia’s obsession with blogging and technology. Because it meant the helmet he was wearing came equipped with a built-in Bluetooth headset. Prussia had spent what Germany considered at the time to be a shameful amount of money on the high tech device, but as he fished the phone from his pocket and dialed Ms. Hirsch, he considered that perhaps he should apologize for that.
To his relief, the call picked up on the first ring. “Beilschmidt I was just about to call you. You’re needed-”
“At the front entrance, I know,” he finished. “Forget about that and listen to me. You need to evacuate the building, there’s a-” A series of beeps followed by dead air indicated that the battery had died. Germany cursed, having forgotten about the damn battery, and picked up speed, the engine roaring to life beneath him.
What felt like forever but couldn’t have been more than ten minutes later, he was forced to slow down by the congestion of city traffic. He made record time weaving through it, entire mind bent on making it early enough this time. For once not stopping to fret about the breach in traffic law, he dropped the bike right at the museum entrance and sprinted for the open door to the building.
A short, stocky man Germany recognized as Torsten Schmidt, the museum’s Head of Security, blocked his way. “Sir, this building isn’t open to the public.”
Germany stared in confusion. Then remembered his face was still obscured by the helmet.
Unfortunately removing it failed to improve matters.
Schmidt let out a bark of laughter. “What the hell happened to you? Finally piss off the wrong guy and get what’s coming to you?”
It took a moment, but Germany realized the other man must be referring to his nose. He wiped at it absently with one hand. “What’s the status of the evacuation?”
The edges of Schmidt’s lips curled up in a smug grin and he rocked back on his heels. “What evacuation.”
A sense of dread lodged in Germany’s stomach as he said, “You cancelled the evacuation?”
Schmidt leaned forward, mouth twisting into a sneer. “Listen up, you paper-pushing little shit. I don’t know how things work at those pretty office buildings of yours but nobody makes me look bad around here. The security here is airtight and the building’s been swept twice already. Now run along.”
Incredulity turned to bright hot rage. Though he didn’t like the man, he’d never thought him incompetent until today. “What the hell do you think you’re playing at!”
Schmidt crossed his arm. “Your job is to keep the schedule and play kiss ass with the other bureaucrats. Security is my job.”
Germany could have him on the ground in two moves, and he was so very tempted. But it would only hinder his efforts if he had to deal with the rest of the security force dogging him. Not for the first time, he regretted that the existence of nations was no longer common knowledge. Despite not knowing who he was, most people unconsciously treated Germany with an automatic kind of respect, perhaps recognizing him on some base level. Whether it was to be contrary or because he simply wasn’t attuned, Schmidt had been giving Germany trouble since day one, and his attitude made Germany yearn for his military days when he could give orders and expect them to be followed.
He settled for the next best thing, looking at Schmidt with pure disdain. “You make a very poor head of security if you never bothered to look into what exactly I do for the government.”
Schmidt opened his mouth to respond but didn’t get the chance.
“I work directly with the Chancellor and unless you wish to anger us both you will do exactly as I say and start evacuating people.”
Something in his voice must have slipped out, and Schmidt paled, throat bobbing as he swallowed. “F-Fine,” he managed to stammer.
“Very good,” Germany replied, marching further into the building, past the long counter where ticket sales would normally occur and into the main atrium where the speeches were to be held.
It was a spacious room, open save for four thick pillars spaced to form a large square. At the center, in front of a tall glass-encased statue, was a raised podium facing a sea of chairs arranged in rows, all of them occupied by suit-clad people waiting for the event to start.
Ms. Hirsch was at the podium with the museum’s curator and several representatives from the state government. Germany himself was representing the Federal Government.
Keeping his face carefully blank, he strode as quickly as he dared across the room. With each step every muscle was tense, itching to run and hurry this up. He forced himself to stay loose, experience having taught him that causing a panic would be the worst possible thing he could do in a situation like this.
Ms. Hirsch turned to greet him but Germany cut her off before she could speak. “Forget Schmidt,” he said. “I took care of him. Get everyone out of here.”
Confusion turned to determination and she nodded despite the fear she was trying and failing to hide.
Knowing the task was in good hands, Germany went in search of the bomb. He wasn’t in the building the previous times it had detonated, but the atrium was an obvious target, both for its structural location in the center of the building and its potential for maximum casualties. It was the most logical place to start and so that’s where Germany did.
Keeping his posture casual, he paced the perimeter of the room, alert for anything that could serve as a suitable hiding spot for an incendiary device. Behind display cases. Under the benches that sporadically lined the walls. Amongst the scattered tables with their informational brochures. From the periphery of his vision, he saw people beginning to file from the room, and tried not to cringe at how slow it was going.
After a complete circuit, convinced that he hadn’t missed anything, his eyes turned towards the inner atrium. In the very center was the large statue he’d passed earlier, some sort of pagan god dating back almost a thousand years, according to the tiny placard mounted on the base. A brief inspection confirmed it was clear, and so he moved on.
Next was the podium. Tall and boxy, with an angled top which could be used to keep notes. There were compartments along the body, facing the speaker, but they were all empty. He was about to move on when he realized the entire setup was on a raised platform. A platform that was hollow.
Ducking down to look into the space beneath, a glint of metal caught his attention.
He slowly reached inside, drawing out a black leather briefcase. It was the metal clasps that had caught his eye he realized, shuddering at how close he’d come to not noticing it at all. Not daring to breathe, he released the catches on both sides of the handle, the dual click of the release mechanism sounding unnaturally loud in his ears.
His heart raced as he took in the briefcase’s contents.
It was filled with military-grade explosives, all wired together into a fuse connected to an electronic keypad. There was no display on the keypad, just four rows of numbers similar to a telephone. Germany was trained in the basics of bomb creation and defusion, but this was beyond him. He bit back a curse, heart pounding against his chest and hope running out of him like a sieve, leaving him feeling empty and drained.
The steady patter of feet on marble sent his spirits sinking lower. The evacuation still wasn’t complete. It was only pure luck-and the raised top of the briefcase- that hid the device from sight from sight and kept the situation orderly.
His mind scrambled to come up with a plan. He’d handle the briefcase gently, take it upstairs to the top floor where it would likely do the least damage, and hope he could get out before it went off. That last part wasn’t strictly necessary, as the blast couldn’t kill him, but there was no reason not to include it. Being at the heart of an explosion would hurt a lot and he’d rather avoid it if possible.
It was a shit plan, as Prussia would say, but it was all he had.
He took a deep breath and closed up the briefcase. And then the world burst into light and sound and searing heat as the case exploded in his hands.
---
“Incoming!”
Germany shuddered into awareness, eyes wide, the scream dying in his throat as he realized the fire consuming him was only in his mind. He sat up, panting heavily and staring at his unmarked hands, waiting for the world to resolve into something that made sense.
When the football hit his face, he barely registered the contact.
It was the pain in his nose that brought him back to awareness. That was real pain, not in his head, and he focused on it, banishing the flames to the deepest recess in his mind with all the other horrors. (He’d seen far worse - experienced far worse- on hundreds of different battlefields but it never made it any easier.) Blinking, he turned towards the window where he already knew Prussia would be, and saw that instead of the restless ball of energy he was expecting, Prussia was strangely still.
The moment their gazes locked, Prussia crept closer, looking more like he was approaching a spooked animal than the brother he’d been in the middle of pranking. Germany wondered what he must look like and made an effort to smile, lips feeling thin and stretched. If Prussia’s face was anything to go by, the attempt was not a rousing success. Germany swallowed, throat feeling dry with dust that didn’t exist.
Another step put Prussia directly in front of him. “West? You okay?”
The explosion flared bright in his mind but this time he didn’t flinch from it, years of combat training letting him focus on the here and now. He didn’t have time to wallow. There were still things to do. He’d been working on instinct and adrenaline before. It was time to start using his head.
Giving a halfhearted, “I’m fine,” he turned away from Prussia and dialed Ms. Hirsch’s number from memory.
“Beilschmidt I was just about to-”
“There’s no time,” Germany cut in. “There’s a bomb in the building and I can’t get there in time. You need to-”
The phone went dead and Germany almost threw it across the room. How could he have forgotten? Looking at Prussia, he held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”
Prussia didn’t argue, merely placed the phone into his waiting palm.
“Evacuate the entire building,” he continued, the moment the call connected. “Do you understand? Everyone. If security gives you trouble, tell Schmidt he can take it up with the Chancellor if he’s so inclined. That should shut him up.”
There was stunned silence on the other end. “I-What’s…How can this…”
“Clear the building,” Germany repeated. Voice softening, he added, “I know you can do this. The bomb disposal team is on its way.”
“You don’t ask for much, do you?” she said, a tinge of hysterical laughter clouding her voice.
Germany ended the call, immediately dialing the promised disposal team and explaining the situation (minus the part about the repeating day) and describing the bomb and its location. When he was done, he simply looked at the phone in his hands as if it had some sort of answer. He needed to leave, he knew. Regardless if there was anything else he could do, he needed to be there.
Prussia sat down next to him. “West? What’s going on?”
The exhaustion of the past several days (one day several times, he corrected) seemed to crash down on him all at once, and no words came out. He settled for the next best option. He laughed until he gasped, shoulders shaking, doubling over until his elbows rested on his knees. After several tries, he got himself under control. “I have to go,” he said, standing.
Prussia grabbed his hand and tugged. Germany didn’t resist, allowing himself to fall back to the couch.
“Whatever it is, it can wait. You look like shit.”
It couldn’t wait but Germany was loathe to leave. He’d done what he could and now the urge to confide in someone was overwhelming. Nevertheless, something held him back. Saying it aloud would make it real, an admittance that he was caught in something outside of his control. Or perhaps it would only confirm that he was going mad.
He slumped and looked at his hands. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.” A hand rested on his knee. “Since when is there anything you can’t tell me?”
Since a long time, Germany thought but didn’t say.
Prussia must have seen it on his face because he flinched, just for a moment and then it was gone. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me,” he pressed.
For a long moment, neither of them said anything.
“The day keeps repeating itself,” Germany finally said, cringing at how ludicrous it sounded.
“What-”
“I’m reliving the same day. This is the third-no the fourth time now. Every time, you kick the ball at me.” He rubbed at his nose. “Then you say-”
“You were supposed to catch that.”
Prussia spoke the words in time with him and Germany nodded.
“And then I say…” He trailed off as Prussia’s free hand caught his in mid-air, halting the sweeping gesture he’d been unconsciously making.
“I think I get the picture. So we’ve had this conversation before? About the day repeating?” he asked, head tilted in contemplation. There was no hint of the good-natured mocking that so often dominated his features, and Germany felt the knot in his stomach loosen.
“No, this is the first time. Usually I leave and then I get blown up.” Once he stated talking he couldn’t stop, and it all spilled out. He told Prussia about waking up, getting to the museum in time to watch it explode. Then waking up for the second time, thinking it was a dream, and doing it all over again. How he’d realized that he was re-living the same day and how even when he’d made it in time, it still wasn’t enough.
“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “I don’t know why this is happening or how to stop it.”
Saying it aloud felt like a weight had been removed from his chest, more so when Prussia wrapped an arm around his back, fingers kneading the tense muscles in his shoulder. It was a small comfort, a throwback to a time when Germany was young and small and Prussia was always there to guide him. Germany didn’t desire to go back to those times but he couldn’t deny that at this moment, he was happy Prussia was here.
“I think you’ve already figured it out,” Prussia said softly. “The bomb,” he explained at Germany’s blank look. “You said it happens every time?”
Germany nodded.
“So that’s probably it. At least, it’s always something like that in the movies. You need to stop something bad from happening. And you did,” he finished, sending a pointed glance at the phone in Germany’s hand.
The optimism was infectious and Germany found himself smiling. He didn’t need Prussia to take care of him anymore, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want his brother by his side. It was a relief to find him already there without even being asked.
When Ms. Hirsch called soon after to inform him of the successful evacuation, he allowed himself to feel hope that this nightmare was at an end.
“There wasn’t time to contain the bomb,” she explained in his ear. “Unfortunately they’ll have to let it detonate in the building.”
There was a muffled noise in the background, as if confirming her words. It wasn’t the news Germany wanted to hear but no one was going to die and that was all he could really ask for.
He’d just opened his mouth to speak when the world jerked sideways.
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