bits of my mind

mourn (germany)

TW: illness, death 

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The moment the wall was down, East Germany rushed into the open arms of West Germany, with a smile on his face. He was considerably frailer and skinnier from when they still lived together, during the war.

Soviet and Britain stood to the side, having been the guardians of East and West Germany respectively for the past few years. "You have to tell him," Soviet said, crossing his arms.

"Tell him? The boy has already lost his father. I can't tell him. If you want him to know now, then you should tell him yourself," Britain replied firmly, frowning. "He's been through too much, the poor child."

"Have you gone soft, Britain?" Soviet mocked. "Has he grown on you?"

"Why yes, he has. He is like a son to me, and I treat him well. Do you treat his brother just as well as I do?" The British man spat, fury in his words.

As they bickered, the two German brothers made their way to them, hand in hand. "Do we get to live in the same house now? Where will we be living? Can we go back home where we lived before the war?" West Germany asked, optimistic, grabbing his brother's arm.

The Soviet man sighed, casting a dirty look towards the Brit. "Kid, I have to talk to you."

"West, your brother is sick. He's got cancer, um, leukaemia," Soviet explained. "He's getting treatment now-"

"He'll get better, right? Then he can come home and we can live with our father again like a happy family, like how we lived before the war, and he'll be happy, because there's no more war," West Germany asked, clasping his brother's hand tightly. East Germany winced, wriggling his hand a little to get out of his brother's tight grasp. The said boy realised, loosening his grip.

"Блять... эмм, да, sure, kiddo," Soviet shrugged awkwardly. He didn't know how to explain that his brother was really, really sick, and that his father was dead, and never coming back.

West Germany smiled, exchanging glances with East Germany. "Well, where are we going?"

"Actually, West, I'm really tired. Can we go back home? I want to rest. My bones hurt," East Germany mumbled, voice weaker than usual. His posture was slouched, face twisted in a mild grimace. Britain rushed forward to support him, nodding.

"Yes, we should bring you guys home. When your brother is better, you two can go back to your old home and go on as many adventures as you'd like, alright? But he has to rest, so he can recover," Britain persuaded, guiding the two into his car.

"Well, I'll take my leave." Soviet paused, hands in his coat pocket. His expression softened as his gaze landed on his former ward. "Get well soon, alright, East? Russia and the rest of the kids miss you. Get better soon so you can play together again one day."

East Germany nodded, waving at the tall man from inside the car. Soviet lifted a hand, palm facing out, in response. Then he let out a sigh, and turned back.

Britain drove them back to his house, where he got the twins settled in a room, before he gathered his own children and gave them explicit instructions to avoid being rough and loud around the sick child, explaining that he was prone to injury easily.

A few years later, East Germany was still alive, albeit a lot sicker. He had been receiving treatment from the best doctors Britain could find for him, but it was becoming evident that the cancer was slowly chipping away at his life force, and West Germany was starting to understand the weight of the situation. He stayed up on the nights when his brother was especially sick, keeping watch and being ready to sprint out of the room to alert the adults if something was wrong.