Can't break what's already broken <3/?>
anonymous
June 6 2010, 17:08:55 UTC
I get the feeling it's going to take me quite some time to finish this... =^=;;
"Brother?" He turns to look at the boy beside him and starts. There is no boy; in his stead there is a proud and attractive young man and suddenly, he feels both old and unneeded. "Brother?" Ludwig asks again, his tone coloured with worry and a hint of impatience.
Where has it all gone? What happened to him while time flew past and left him in its' wake? Gilbert wonders. It seems like only yesterday that he'd found Ludwig; had raised and fought for him tooth and nail and savage claw to become Germany, proud and strong. "Brother!" Impatience has won out, and Gilbert turns; smiles brightly, wickedly.
"Here I am," he calls. "Here I am."
No air. The thought was a strange, incongruous little bubble within his mindscape and it took his conscious mind one, two moments to process. No air. He couldn't breathe. Prussia's eyes flew open. There was a large, leather-clad hand across his face, and it was suffocating him with the kind of thoughtless curiousity he'd only ever observed in small, simple-minded children.
"You were dreaming," Russia observed. He did not remove his hand. "Was it about your brother?" Prussia struggled, in vain. He was getting dizzy and the world had a sickening greyish tint around the edges. If he didn't get air soon, he'd - well, granted, he probably wouldn't die, but it would still hurt like shit. With the last of his strength, he tried biting Russia's hand.
It worked. Russia jerked his hand back and swore, and Prussia drew in a great, whooping wheeze of air. "That was unnecessary," Russia spat reproachfully. His fist clenched and unclenched fitfully by his side, as though he were contemplating hitting Prussia.
"Fuck you," Prussia croaked. His throat hurt like a bitch. He wanted out, wanted to see his brother, or Hungary, or even that bespectacled ponce, Austria. Anyone other than the psychotic bastard in front of him. Anywhere. God, anywhere, even Africa again. Have to get away. Things had gone on this way for long enough.
"Where's my brother?" It was a futile, pointless question, he knew. He'd lost count of how many times he'd asked it already. But he asked, without fail, each time Russia came. And Russia came, his "visits" as inevitable as the withering winters that wracked his shithole of a country.
Russia ignored him, as always. "Stubborn as always, little Prussia. But for how much longer? How long will you fight before you realize that you are mine now?" Prussia watched through narrowed eyes as the larger man approached him again. Just fucking try, untermensch. I dare you. I'll bite your fucking hand off, he thought. But Russia had apparently learned his lesson and kept his hands to himself.
"Mine, little Prussia. And there is nothing your brother, or any of the other fools can do for you. You see that, don't you?" Russia cajoled.
"Shut up," Prussia ordered coldly. He hadn't bathed in blood and been baptized in fire to have some stinking Slavic hulk blather at him. "Shut up. I am not yours. I am not anybody's. I am Prussia, asshole, and I want to know where my fucking brother is."
"Brother?" He turns to look at the boy beside him and starts. There is no boy; in his stead there is a proud and attractive young man and suddenly, he feels both old and unneeded. "Brother?" Ludwig asks again, his tone coloured with worry and a hint of impatience.
Where has it all gone? What happened to him while time flew past and left him in its' wake? Gilbert wonders. It seems like only yesterday that he'd found Ludwig; had raised and fought for him tooth and nail and savage claw to become Germany, proud and strong. "Brother!" Impatience has won out, and Gilbert turns; smiles brightly, wickedly.
"Here I am," he calls. "Here I am."
No air. The thought was a strange, incongruous little bubble within his mindscape and it took his conscious mind one, two moments to process. No air. He couldn't breathe. Prussia's eyes flew open. There was a large, leather-clad hand across his face, and it was suffocating him with the kind of thoughtless curiousity he'd only ever observed in small, simple-minded children.
"You were dreaming," Russia observed. He did not remove his hand. "Was it about your brother?" Prussia struggled, in vain. He was getting dizzy and the world had a sickening greyish tint around the edges. If he didn't get air soon, he'd - well, granted, he probably wouldn't die, but it would still hurt like shit. With the last of his strength, he tried biting Russia's hand.
It worked. Russia jerked his hand back and swore, and Prussia drew in a great, whooping wheeze of air. "That was unnecessary," Russia spat reproachfully. His fist clenched and unclenched fitfully by his side, as though he were contemplating hitting Prussia.
"Fuck you," Prussia croaked. His throat hurt like a bitch. He wanted out, wanted to see his brother, or Hungary, or even that bespectacled ponce, Austria. Anyone other than the psychotic bastard in front of him. Anywhere. God, anywhere, even Africa again. Have to get away. Things had gone on this way for long enough.
"Where's my brother?" It was a futile, pointless question, he knew. He'd lost count of how many times he'd asked it already. But he asked, without fail, each time Russia came. And Russia came, his "visits" as inevitable as the withering winters that wracked his shithole of a country.
Russia ignored him, as always. "Stubborn as always, little Prussia. But for how much longer? How long will you fight before you realize that you are mine now?" Prussia watched through narrowed eyes as the larger man approached him again. Just fucking try, untermensch. I dare you. I'll bite your fucking hand off, he thought. But Russia had apparently learned his lesson and kept his hands to himself.
"Mine, little Prussia. And there is nothing your brother, or any of the other fools can do for you. You see that, don't you?" Russia cajoled.
"Shut up," Prussia ordered coldly. He hadn't bathed in blood and been baptized in fire to have some stinking Slavic hulk blather at him. "Shut up. I am not yours. I am not anybody's. I am Prussia, asshole, and I want to know where my fucking brother is."
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