(no subject)
Die Zeit vergeht, unentwegh, sei steht nei still.
(Time Passes, Continuously, It Never Stands Still)
“Get them off, brother.” Germany’s clutching onto his top, fingers twined so deeply into the material that Prussia can hear the fabric strain as his fists tighten further. Something twists deep in Prussia’s stomach at the term of address - that’s all West calls him any more, never Prussia, never even East just … brother. But he forces the thought down with the ease of long practice, and rubs one hand through West’s hair in subtle revenge before switching into big brother mode.
“What are you talking about?” He asks, and yes, his voice is perhaps a shade too soft for his usual brashness, but he’d been woken up by whimpering. The only time that Germany whimpers in his sleep - not screaming, not crying, but whimpering - is when he’s having dreams about Before, the time that he never remembers, cannot remember when he wakes. It breaks a little more of him every time he wakes.
“My back-!” Germany chokes out in response. “Hurts. Bad.”
Prussia makes a soothing noise without being aware of it, there’s this smell, like iron, getting stronger, teasing his nose with flirting glimpses of familiarity, and he slides his hands down West’s back to -
Blood. Slick and sticky and how could he have not noticed this when there’s so, so much of it and then -
There’s something coming out of Germany’s back - something slick with blood, all he can get a feel of is bones and thin skin and -
No, it can’t be.
“Come on.” He carefully keeps the worry out of his voice, and tugs Germany to his feet, pulling him into the bathroom without letting him catch a glimpse of his own back in the various mirrored surfaces. It’s … they’re …
Wings. Two beautiful wings, covered in blood and feathers and - as he finds out when he strokes a hand down one and Germany shudders and arches away in pain - very sensitive.
He leads West over to the sink, blocking his eye line with his own body, fumbles for the taps and flinches reflexively when the water explodes downwards, hissing a muted roar, and sending a sick feeling of relief through Prussia’s stomach when the sound of the water covers the sound of Germany’s whimpers. He lifts handfuls of water to West’s back, not caring about how the water is slowly staining both their pants with tinted red. He doesn’t want to risk washing them with a rough hand towel, not when even the water makes Germany make these sounds, like he’s not sure if it hurts really bad or if it hurts really good…
Well, that’s something that will have to be explored later. Because while it sends a frisson of … of … something blasphemous down Prussia’s spine to see those lovely wings half washed, feathers half virgin white and half well stained with his baby brother’s blood, that’s nothing compared to how Germany responds when he finally sees them.
He screams, and screams and screams; he falls to the ground and begins to sob like how a child does. The wings come up to wrap around him, but Germany screams again, or makes a sound that would be a scream if his throat wasn’t blocked by tears, and tries to flinch away from them.
Prussia stands frozen; one hand uselessly stretched out towards his brother’s back, paused in mid-wash and just … watches. That seems to be all he can do these days….
“Germany.” He says finally, softly, ever so softly, like Germany’s a wild animal that’s going to startle and run off never to be seen again. “It’s not that bad.”
His brother doesn’t reply for long, endless moments. “It is.” His voice is hoarse and the remnants of tears still linger in the frayed edges of sounds. “I don’t deserve-” and here his brother’s voice breaks and he makes a wounded noise, leaving Prussia’s stomach to twist itself into never ending Celtic knots “something like this. I’m dirty and these are…”
Prussia hauls Germany up by the hair and punches him in the nose. Germany staggers backwards, one hand automatically going up and he cracks the broken nose back into place. West doesn’t seem to register the pain, his blue eyes are wide and bewildered and haunted and Prussia has had enough of this bullshit.
“die Bundesrepublik Deutschland,” Prussia hisses, and he knows that there’s the sound of a thousand murderers in his voice, “You are not dirty.”
Germany’s eyes go shuttered and dark and he looks down, looks away. “But I am.” He answers softly, telling Prussia the answer that millions beat into him every day, that the Allies carved into him when he lost and that history will remember him for.
There’s silence for a time that probably seems longer than it is, and in Prussia can feel nothing but each and every one of the beats of his nonexistent heart.
He finally snorts, and shifts one hand up to catch Germany’s chin and pull his face up so that their eyes meet. He grins, and forces as much of his bravado and cockiness into it. “There’s two of us, right?” He asks rhetorically, shaking Germany’s head when his eyes slide off to the side in a futile escape attempt. “You can be the good, okay? The future. I’ll take the past.”
“Brother - no, I can’t … I have to take responsibility-” Germany says hoarsely but Prussia cuts him off.
“You have.” He says, simple and direct and what he knows is the truth. “You have and you are. But if you keep just looking at the past … It’ll twist you up.” And isn’t that so true for the both of them - Germany, who crumbles because he cannot remember the name of that little girl waiting in the fields, and Prussia, who lives and breathes and eats the past because he has no future and is just running from the end. “I’ll be the past.” He repeats, unsure of what else to say, not liking how much this conversation is revealing.
“I’ll be the past.”
It’s not like he isn’t already.
Omake:
Japan gets a very strange order the next day, for a pair of black leather bat wings. He can do that, easily, he muses, reading down the list. Let’s see, wings, pants, tail that …. Oh. Oh.
He blushes, and leaves for the kitchen, not wanting to disturb Greece as he dials Hungary’s phone number.
Omake 2:
Greece yawns and rolls off the bed, a cat haughtily stalking off when he disrupts her sunspot. He yawns again and stumbles over to Japan’s open laptop, scratching as he goes to check his emails only to find that Japan is already logged in and has gone off without logging off. He goes to change it, only there’s an email open and his eyes flicker over it and then slow down, reading it properly. He smiles, slow and satisfied, and if Japan were around to see it he would start blushing and then run out of the house. If there’s a devil tailed version of this then perhaps there’s a cat version? Greece has a brief vision of his small lover with a cat ear headband on and a long black tail peeking out from in-between his legs before he has to go and find where Japan has gotten off to.
Title from here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z-ukicrxjZU
Finally figured it out! Firefox hates scripted windows. /sob I can't remember the last time making a cut was so easy!