Smoke... Dust... and the residual stench of gunfire and dead soldier's filled the air. Tanks, cars, and shell casings littered the streets with the broken ruins of majestic buildings. Cries of pain from dying soldiers broke the horrible silence, along with the crackle of fire, and the screams and sobs of women and children. For two weeks they'd fought without sleep. For two weeks they'd been slaughtered, men, women, children... civilians and soldiers alike buried and burned under rubble, ash, and flames. Russian soldiers ran through the city, laughing, drinking, carrying the spoils of their conquest.
Prussia's red eyes scanned the once beautiful city, his Berlin. He closed his eyes, trying to drown out the cries of his and his brother's people burning through him. He looked up to the Reichstag as a Soviet soldier climbed to the top, letting the blood red flag unfurl into the wind, holding it high above the city for all to see. The hammer and sickle, with a star above them. Rage surged through Prussia, rage, and hate. He looked down at bleeding face of his brother, cradled in his arms, leaning unconscious against his chest, a giant gaping wound in his side. Prussia let his head fall back against the brick of the building he'd dragged Germany to, one of the last few standing structures of the city. He winced, taking a shaking breath, and swallowing the blood he tasted. Blood seeped from the wound his own side bore. Carefully, and with what he thought might be the last of his strength, he lifted his brother's body enough to shove his own arm between them to reach the trauma where a few hours before shrapnel had torn through him.
He pressed into the wound, inhaling sharply in pain, and letting his brother's head fall against his chest again. He touched Ludwig's face gently with his free hand, brushing the dirt away from his eyes.
"Well, Bruder..." Prussia whispered, his breath short from pain and exhaustion, "The war is over... we survived hell." He turned slowly, looking into the distance, the smoke clearing in the wind to reveal two figures standing at the edge of the city. Russia and America were walking slowly into the ruins of their own making. Prussia took a deep breath, preparing himself. He looked down at Ludwig again and shook his shoulder.
"Wake up." He whispered still, "You have to wake up." He pulled his head away from the wall and pressed into the wound in his side harder, desperately trying to stop the blood that ran out between his gloved fingers. He pulled himself up with his free arm and gently laid Germany down on the broken stone around them. Slowly, bracing himself against the brick, he forced himself to his feet and reached down to grab the rifle beside him, his pistol still at his hip. There was fight left in him yet, defeated or not. He pulled the rifle up to his shoulder, and let go of his wound to hold the stock of the gun. His hand slipped, the leather glove too soaked in his own blood. The barrel of the gun dropped. He ripped off the glove and forced stiff fingers to try and hold the gun steady. He raised it and took aim for America, who lifted his rifle in return.
Bullets ripped through Prussia's chest throwing him back onto the rocks at his feet, the gun slipping from his hands and landing beside him. He was too weak to reach his hand to his head, but he felt blood soaking through his hair. The gaping wound on his side, and America's bullet holes left an ever increasing pool of blood around him. He craned his head to look back up at his brother, who was just starting to stir. He smiled faintly, at least Ludwig was alive. He couldn't watch him die... not again. He was snapped back to reality as a heavy black boot pressed against his chest. He looked up to see Russia towering over him aiming a pistol towards his face.
"Russia?" America's voice broke through the air.
Prussia took the opportunity as Russia looked away. He stabbed behind Russia's knee with a knife he grabbed from his boot. The bigger country's leg gave way, and he brought his hand to it with a sharp inhale of pain. Prussia kicked him down and forced himself to stand, aiming his own pistol and Russia's face.
Russia smirked, almost amused, and looked up at Prussia, easily able to stand if he should so choose.
Gilbert's finger twitched on the trigger. It wouldn't kill Russia, but his pride needed a small victory.
"Gil, stop."
Prussia felt the cold steel barrel of America's pistol pressed against the side of his head. He didn't take his eyes, or his gun, off of Russia.
"Gilbert," America's voice was shaking from pain, and Prussia could just see the blood pooling around the young country's boots, "Please. Please don't make me do this."
Prussia kept his eyes fixed on Russia's smiling face. It made him angry. Russia wasn't threatened by him anymore. He lowered his pistol from Russia's face to his chest and fired three shots, ducking away from America's gun.
Before America could return fire, Russia had kicked Prussia's legs out from under him, and grabbed a fistful of white hair, forcing Prussia to his knees. Prussia gasped as Russia pulled his head back kicking him in the wound at his side. His body shook with pain and the last of his remaining pride. His head was forced back further as Russia's pistol pressed against his chin. He looked straight up into Russia's face with a rebellious smirk.
"Do it you commie b-" Prussia's words were cut off by Germany's voice.
"Russia! Don't!" The tall blond was standing, barely, leaning against the brick wall. "Please..."
Prussia turned his eyes to his brother. It hurt to see him so defeated. He didn't have any fight left. He gasped in pain suddenly as Russia pulled him closer, leaning in to whisper in his ear, pressing the gun into his throat.
"You owe me for sparing you, da?"
Prussia swore at him through his teeth.
Russia said nothing, only smiled a sickening, childish smile, and brought the gun down to Prussia's chest. He fired three shots.
Prussia fell back as Russia released his hair. He fought for breath as Russia once again pressed his boot onto his chest, over the already bloody wound where all three bullets had ripped through him. He looked up at Russia, who's own bullet wounds were starting to soak his long tan coat in blood. It didn't seem to bother him. Prussia gasped for breath, the blood in his throat almost choking him. He didn't even try to swallow it, pushing it out of his mouth in a desperate attempt to breathe. Russia's boot pressed harder into his chest, forcing more blood from wounds that had already bled too much.
"Russland, please... I surrender. We surrender." Germany's voice held more fear than Prussia had heard in a long time.
Prussia grabbed at Russia's boot, trying to get him to release the pressure on his lungs. Instead of relief, he cried out in pain as Russia pressed harder into his body, cracking his ribs. He looked up to see Russia smile, and pull his boot away. He clutched at his wounds, rolling to one side, coughing hard, trying and free his lungs from the blood that was filling them. He closed his eyes, crying out in pain again as Russia pulled him up by his hair, forcing him to stand. He tried to twist free of Russia's iron grip on his arm and hair uselessly. He kept struggling against Russia as he was dragged out of the city, America following with Germany close behind them. Once away from the smoldering ruins, Russia shoved him face down onto the ground, hard. He gasped for breath again, letting the blood seep through his lips, unable to keep it back. He didn't move, it was too painful. He opened his eyes to see his brother dropped down next to him by America.
"Both of you. Say it." Russia's voice was cold, not a shred of mercy left in it.
Prussia watched as his brother struggled to find enough breath to speak. He closed his eyes, trying to erase the image from his mind.
"I surrender..." Germany whispered.
"What was that?" Russia grabbed Germany's blond hair, pulling his head back hard enough to evoke a sudden cry of pain from him.
"He said we surrender!" Prussia reached out to grab Russia's hand away from his brother. Instead, Russia grabbed his wrist and pulled him up, then threw him back down harder than before. Prussia bit his lip hard, not willing to give Russia the satisfaction of a cry of pain.
"We... Surrender." Germany's voice was stronger, firmer.
Prussia looked back at his brother, the pain in his eyes almost more than he could take.
"Full, unconditional surrender?" America's voice came closer as the young country stepped forward, between the two brothers.
"Ja," Germany whispered, his voice shaky and weak.
"I didn't hear you." Russia pulled his head up again, rougher than before, smiling in satisfaction when Germany let out a louder cry of pain.
"Stop..." Prussia whispered too softly and choked for the other's to hear.
"Russia, that's enough." America put his hand on Ivan's arm. "I heard him."
Prussia looked up at America with something like thanks as Russia let go of Germany's hair. Was that pity he saw in his eyes? No. America would never forgive them. He doubted anyone else would either. He wasn't even sure if he forgave them.
"Let's just get them back. We have a lot of negotiations ahead of us." America nodded, trying to sound braver than he felt.
Prussia kept his eyes fixed on Ludwig as America and Russia walked past them.
"Get up." Russia snapped at them, firing a shot between them.
Prussia jumped as the dirt sprayed from the bullet hit him in the face. He looked up at Russia with hate as the stronger country followed America. He looked back at his brother and forced himself to his knees. Slowly, he stood and reached his hand to his brother, who took it, trying to brace himself to stand.
"I'll help you." Prussia smiled weakly, gripping his own side. He pulled Ludwig's arm around his shoulders, catching him with his other hand as he almost fell again.
"I've got you, Bruderchen. I've got you." Prussia bit back the pain, praying Germany didn't see it. Both of their uniforms were soaked with blood, both their own and each other's. He could barely hang on to Ludwig, clutching his brother's belt in his hand as he helped him slowly step towards America and Russia, who stood waiting for them by the trucks.
Prussia looked up at Russia with hate in his eyes, then at America, who watched with what Prussia hoped was guilt. America couldn't be happy about what Russia had done to them... could he?
Finally, they reached one of America's trucks. Prussia collapsed, shielding his brother from the cobblestone road and letting himself fall onto it first. Germany's body crashed against his broken ribs, and Prussia again coughed blood. He nodded gratefully as America helped Germany stand, and pushed him into the truck. He looked up at America's outstretched arm, ready to help him. He shook his head, standing, pulling himself up by gripping the back of the truck. He didn't need America's help. He didn't want America's help.
Once inside, he collapsed onto the bench, looking over to see that Germany had done the same across from him. He didn't fight when America tied his legs to the bench and bound his hands together. He was too weak to fight anymore. They'd lost. He didn't want to accept it, but they'd lost. He couldn't fight anymore. He looked over at his brother, who was already unconscious. Germany's blood dripped onto the floor along with his own. He looked at his bloody hands and closed his eyes, too weak to keep them open any longer. The bumpy road beneath them didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered. They'd lost. Russia had nearly killed them both. But they were alive. At least they were alive, at the very least they were both alive.
