Hetalia fic: [WIP]
Fandom: Axis Powers: Hetalia
Characters: Germany, Prussia, Russia, England, America.
Progress: WIP
The dust had only just settled and now the wind blew in sudden, strong, and cold. The kneeling German shuddered, eyes half-opened and staring at the ground before him, not able to think. Something had gone wrong. He was there, alone. There stood before him the large, towering man, covered in bloodied red--his own blood among others. The rifle he held aloft being prepped for use, slowly, the only sound in the air besides the wind.
The screams of the dying had faded long ago with the cry of surrender.
The bullet slammed into the chamber with the ease of repetitive practice and use.
At one point during the war, he would have cringed at the sound. Possibly. Now, he only remained on his knees, hands held to his head, cuffed at the wrists. His arms shook with the effort it took to keep them in that position. The same way his body shook, his fingers spasmed against the crown of his skull, adrenaline long since burned away.
The cool breeze only served to make his trembling worse. Bleeding wounds, open and sore and weeping, freezing him through. His strength drained away with the air that crossed across the land--not his land anymore. That had been determined, he was able to remember foggily. It had all been taken from him. His heart, his first and then second capitols. Divided and conquered.
He closed his eyes as the rifle was then held before the other man, vertical in the air and parallel to that colossus of a figure.
"Bruder! Bruder..." The stirring of the body the large blond held made bite back a sob as he held that head closer to his chest. As well as he could, hands cuffed together just as the smaller man's were. Even beaten and bloodied as they were, they could not be trusted. The Allies looked down on them with trepidation, not knowing what they would do even when defeated. "Bruder, don't move. You're in no condition to move."
Those were the words he quickly whispered, a thread of fear and panic in his voice as those dark eyes opened and, after a moment, focused up on his own blue eyes. Hailed as the colored of the race that was meant to be supreme, that could have been the thought behind the look of confusion and then wonderment. No, that wasn't it. The smaller man lifting his hand to his face was to show his astonishment in how his younger brother had made it out alive. Had returned even after he'd been beaten days, weeks, months ago. Come back for him, and yet all was lost. And he knew this from the tears in his brother's eyes.
The younger brother struggled to keep his composure, gripping the other man closely. Too pale, too bloodied, too weak, too small--so small.
Especially when compared to the one who'd done the damage, the Russian looming beyond the rubble, talking amongst his comrades--his allies who spoke as if the ones they had just defeated weren't like them. Were beneath them.
The older brother could only laugh. That laugh, oh that laugh, the younger thought to himself suddenly feeling wretched.
It only reminded him of the ideals of his leader--former leader, for he had killed himself before the final moment. Before the Allies could bring him to justice.
It reminded him of the fool he was, and the fool his brother must have been to have followed him this far, knowing the consequences.
"East? You're kidding, right?" was the incredulous question.
Germany continued to work on the papers that crowded his desk. "That has been the plan all along. You should know that, Prussia."
The smaller German nation--former nation, at this point, he thought lowly to himself, reminding himself that he was now subservient to his brother--frowned heavily at this. It was one thing to be given this back-handed response by the people running the show, but to have this behavior exhibited by his own brother just went to prove just how much influence those men had in events.
Not only that, but there was something wrong. The timing was off and there was no way--
"You're betraying Russia," he stated as clearly as he could, hoping that it would get a different response than the one he was expecting. The response that would have been given by the younger nation's superiors.
"You know the Agreement was only a surface dealing," said Germany frankly, not even bothering with glancing up to his brother, busy with whatever the hell he was messing with on that mahogany desk of his. "We have no interest in remaining allies with Russia. Imagine if he were to attack before we were ready--"
"We'll never be ready for an invasion against that monster," broke in Prussia sharply, flatly. How he wanted to plant his hands on the desk, get into the younger German's face, but even he knew that would be crossing a line. He would maintain his support of Germany. He'd already chosen that path--was forced to choose. And really, what other choice did he have?
The more direct method wasn't even needed as pale, blue eyes locked with his, bringing a chill down his spine.
"Of course we will be," he stated shortly, leaving no room for argument as he stood himself up and walked around the desk. "It's all going according the Fuhrer's plan. Perhaps not according to the time line, but Csechoslavokia, Poland, and France have all fallen. The east supports us--"
"Choosing between us and Russia, who wouldn't support us?" retorted Prussia smoothly, hands gripping each other behind his back as Germany came closer. His eyes were so fixed on him, as they became so often since Prussia'd lost his standing as an independent nation. A bit of a thrill came with that look, the same as how dread slowly trailed its finger down his spine. "France is a push-over. I don't need to even tell you that. The west isn't won yet. England is still standing despite our best efforts--"
"Are you concerned for your former ally?"
That made Prussia pause, glance at his brother who somehow stood taller than the other German state could remember. "... my interests aren't with the past," he answered with a sharp smirk. "You should know better than anyway, mein Bruder."
"England will fall. As will all the rest," said Germany quietly, eyes not moving away from Prussia's. The thrill and dread sank into his stomach somehow settling heavily at the pit of it and heading straight for his groin as the taller brother put his hand to the wall behind him, pressing in close. "And it was all end with the fall of the east--specifically, Soviet Russia."
Prussia said nothing, not trusting himself even as he continued to stand tall--or as tall as he could in comparison to this large presence before him.
And those eyes, light as the skies on the days the winds blew right and the fog and smoke and dust of war and battle were dissipated, stared into his own reddish-violet. "Tell me. You are not afraid of him, are you? That backwards nation."
Ice and cold and knights crying out in battle, in pain, in search of salvation that would not come as the winter came in, as the lake froze, as they fell through and drowned, water pulling them to its depths and there he stood with the figure of a man behind him, smiling, laughing, asking, 'Play with me, little Teuton?'
The smirk returned, sharpening into a toothy grin. "That's funny, Germany. You're a riot. Hell, I'll even lead the campaign myself."
There was dissent between the Allies. This was apparent even without looking. Their words, their actions, they were so tense, arguing and bickering and taking their own time to decide matters. It was not as though they were going to take words of their enemies, so they were left with making their own decisions--most of which had already been made.
The West would give part of Europe to Russia.
A piece of Germany was meant to go to him as well.
It was only deserving, considering the sacrifice his people had given. Their lives--well over twenty-five million of them--had given themselves to keep their lands safe, to drive back the war machine until it reached Berlin. Freeing the Baltics, the Balkans, the whole of the east from the Germans who had gotten so far only to loose so much. And even then, Russia had had to put in effort to another front, the Pacific where Japan and America also fought.
How was it all to be done? Split Germany apart?
The younger German shook at the thought, clutching his brother to his chest once more even as the other man weakly gripped his hand, giving him his support. Even after all that had gone wrong, all the mistakes he'd made in regards to this bloodied and beaten warrior, those darker eyes looked up to him, buoyed him up as he felt himself sink. So he clung to this brother of his, swearing to himself that he'd never put this brother through any of this again. It was enough. More than enough.
There was no other way to apologize, and yet, he was sure that the other man never wanted an apology. Just to remain by his side.
Those words, loud and insistent and in accented and clear-spoken English--the language of business and delegation these days--drifted to Germany's ears, causing his blood to run cold in fear.
"The problem lays with his authoritarianism. And we all know where it is he learned this," said the British quietly, voice hard and strong despite how his cities were bombed, practically leveled throughout the war.
Then, almost comically during this time of judgment, the newest superpower of the world spoke up cluelessly, still with the energy of revived and invigorated youth, "We do? Where? You Europe countries kind of all blur together around the edges, you know."
"Aw, but must we?" asked the childish, accented voice of the Russian, the smile in his voice obviously cold--as cold as the winters in Moscow. "I have grown fond of him over the centuries. He could be of interest to us in the future--"
"We need to make a decision," snapped England. "In their conditions, France and China won't have too much to say and I would know that wine-bastard's vote better than anyone else."
Germany tightened his hold on his brother, but Prussia could only manage a small noise of confusion, unable to understand what exactly what was going on. The injuries were too extensive. Moreso than even Germany's even as Germany himself shook as if frozen to the bone, warmth stolen by the fear and the dread that pressed his heart into a vice. He struggled to remember how to breathe even as his brother began to try to reassure him, seeming to know just how these things went.
These wars had been so much different than what the former kingdom had known throughout his life.
Characters: Germany, Prussia, Russia, England, America.
Progress: WIP
The dust had only just settled and now the wind blew in sudden, strong, and cold. The kneeling German shuddered, eyes half-opened and staring at the ground before him, not able to think. Something had gone wrong. He was there, alone. There stood before him the large, towering man, covered in bloodied red--his own blood among others. The rifle he held aloft being prepped for use, slowly, the only sound in the air besides the wind.
The screams of the dying had faded long ago with the cry of surrender.
The bullet slammed into the chamber with the ease of repetitive practice and use.
At one point during the war, he would have cringed at the sound. Possibly. Now, he only remained on his knees, hands held to his head, cuffed at the wrists. His arms shook with the effort it took to keep them in that position. The same way his body shook, his fingers spasmed against the crown of his skull, adrenaline long since burned away.
The cool breeze only served to make his trembling worse. Bleeding wounds, open and sore and weeping, freezing him through. His strength drained away with the air that crossed across the land--not his land anymore. That had been determined, he was able to remember foggily. It had all been taken from him. His heart, his first and then second capitols. Divided and conquered.
He closed his eyes as the rifle was then held before the other man, vertical in the air and parallel to that colossus of a figure.
"Bruder! Bruder..." The stirring of the body the large blond held made bite back a sob as he held that head closer to his chest. As well as he could, hands cuffed together just as the smaller man's were. Even beaten and bloodied as they were, they could not be trusted. The Allies looked down on them with trepidation, not knowing what they would do even when defeated. "Bruder, don't move. You're in no condition to move."
Those were the words he quickly whispered, a thread of fear and panic in his voice as those dark eyes opened and, after a moment, focused up on his own blue eyes. Hailed as the colored of the race that was meant to be supreme, that could have been the thought behind the look of confusion and then wonderment. No, that wasn't it. The smaller man lifting his hand to his face was to show his astonishment in how his younger brother had made it out alive. Had returned even after he'd been beaten days, weeks, months ago. Come back for him, and yet all was lost. And he knew this from the tears in his brother's eyes.
The younger brother struggled to keep his composure, gripping the other man closely. Too pale, too bloodied, too weak, too small--so small.
Especially when compared to the one who'd done the damage, the Russian looming beyond the rubble, talking amongst his comrades--his allies who spoke as if the ones they had just defeated weren't like them. Were beneath them.
The older brother could only laugh. That laugh, oh that laugh, the younger thought to himself suddenly feeling wretched.
It only reminded him of the ideals of his leader--former leader, for he had killed himself before the final moment. Before the Allies could bring him to justice.
It reminded him of the fool he was, and the fool his brother must have been to have followed him this far, knowing the consequences.
"East? You're kidding, right?" was the incredulous question.
Germany continued to work on the papers that crowded his desk. "That has been the plan all along. You should know that, Prussia."
The smaller German nation--former nation, at this point, he thought lowly to himself, reminding himself that he was now subservient to his brother--frowned heavily at this. It was one thing to be given this back-handed response by the people running the show, but to have this behavior exhibited by his own brother just went to prove just how much influence those men had in events.
Not only that, but there was something wrong. The timing was off and there was no way--
"You're betraying Russia," he stated as clearly as he could, hoping that it would get a different response than the one he was expecting. The response that would have been given by the younger nation's superiors.
"You know the Agreement was only a surface dealing," said Germany frankly, not even bothering with glancing up to his brother, busy with whatever the hell he was messing with on that mahogany desk of his. "We have no interest in remaining allies with Russia. Imagine if he were to attack before we were ready--"
"We'll never be ready for an invasion against that monster," broke in Prussia sharply, flatly. How he wanted to plant his hands on the desk, get into the younger German's face, but even he knew that would be crossing a line. He would maintain his support of Germany. He'd already chosen that path--was forced to choose. And really, what other choice did he have?
The more direct method wasn't even needed as pale, blue eyes locked with his, bringing a chill down his spine.
"Of course we will be," he stated shortly, leaving no room for argument as he stood himself up and walked around the desk. "It's all going according the Fuhrer's plan. Perhaps not according to the time line, but Csechoslavokia, Poland, and France have all fallen. The east supports us--"
"Choosing between us and Russia, who wouldn't support us?" retorted Prussia smoothly, hands gripping each other behind his back as Germany came closer. His eyes were so fixed on him, as they became so often since Prussia'd lost his standing as an independent nation. A bit of a thrill came with that look, the same as how dread slowly trailed its finger down his spine. "France is a push-over. I don't need to even tell you that. The west isn't won yet. England is still standing despite our best efforts--"
"Are you concerned for your former ally?"
That made Prussia pause, glance at his brother who somehow stood taller than the other German state could remember. "... my interests aren't with the past," he answered with a sharp smirk. "You should know better than anyway, mein Bruder."
"England will fall. As will all the rest," said Germany quietly, eyes not moving away from Prussia's. The thrill and dread sank into his stomach somehow settling heavily at the pit of it and heading straight for his groin as the taller brother put his hand to the wall behind him, pressing in close. "And it was all end with the fall of the east--specifically, Soviet Russia."
Prussia said nothing, not trusting himself even as he continued to stand tall--or as tall as he could in comparison to this large presence before him.
And those eyes, light as the skies on the days the winds blew right and the fog and smoke and dust of war and battle were dissipated, stared into his own reddish-violet. "Tell me. You are not afraid of him, are you? That backwards nation."
Ice and cold and knights crying out in battle, in pain, in search of salvation that would not come as the winter came in, as the lake froze, as they fell through and drowned, water pulling them to its depths and there he stood with the figure of a man behind him, smiling, laughing, asking, 'Play with me, little Teuton?'
The smirk returned, sharpening into a toothy grin. "That's funny, Germany. You're a riot. Hell, I'll even lead the campaign myself."
There was dissent between the Allies. This was apparent even without looking. Their words, their actions, they were so tense, arguing and bickering and taking their own time to decide matters. It was not as though they were going to take words of their enemies, so they were left with making their own decisions--most of which had already been made.
The West would give part of Europe to Russia.
A piece of Germany was meant to go to him as well.
It was only deserving, considering the sacrifice his people had given. Their lives--well over twenty-five million of them--had given themselves to keep their lands safe, to drive back the war machine until it reached Berlin. Freeing the Baltics, the Balkans, the whole of the east from the Germans who had gotten so far only to loose so much. And even then, Russia had had to put in effort to another front, the Pacific where Japan and America also fought.
How was it all to be done? Split Germany apart?
The younger German shook at the thought, clutching his brother to his chest once more even as the other man weakly gripped his hand, giving him his support. Even after all that had gone wrong, all the mistakes he'd made in regards to this bloodied and beaten warrior, those darker eyes looked up to him, buoyed him up as he felt himself sink. So he clung to this brother of his, swearing to himself that he'd never put this brother through any of this again. It was enough. More than enough.
There was no other way to apologize, and yet, he was sure that the other man never wanted an apology. Just to remain by his side.
Those words, loud and insistent and in accented and clear-spoken English--the language of business and delegation these days--drifted to Germany's ears, causing his blood to run cold in fear.
"The problem lays with his authoritarianism. And we all know where it is he learned this," said the British quietly, voice hard and strong despite how his cities were bombed, practically leveled throughout the war.
Then, almost comically during this time of judgment, the newest superpower of the world spoke up cluelessly, still with the energy of revived and invigorated youth, "We do? Where? You Europe countries kind of all blur together around the edges, you know."
"Aw, but must we?" asked the childish, accented voice of the Russian, the smile in his voice obviously cold--as cold as the winters in Moscow. "I have grown fond of him over the centuries. He could be of interest to us in the future--"
"We need to make a decision," snapped England. "In their conditions, France and China won't have too much to say and I would know that wine-bastard's vote better than anyone else."
Germany tightened his hold on his brother, but Prussia could only manage a small noise of confusion, unable to understand what exactly what was going on. The injuries were too extensive. Moreso than even Germany's even as Germany himself shook as if frozen to the bone, warmth stolen by the fear and the dread that pressed his heart into a vice. He struggled to remember how to breathe even as his brother began to try to reassure him, seeming to know just how these things went.
These wars had been so much different than what the former kingdom had known throughout his life.