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Breaking the Wall [After WW2]
Topic Started: Aug 26 2009, 03:47 PM (618 Views)
FortunesRevolver
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((So, the below isn't really a spoiler, just a quick bit of information that explains facts for those who wish to join it.))

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Prussia's short silvery hair blew softly in the breeze, making the albino shiver slightly. A slender and frail hand, hand brushed over the surface of the large wall in front of him. Even when covered by the glove, the hand looked abnormally thin, and one could only imagine how pitiful it must appear under the material. His once proud Prussian blue uniform hung loosely over an almost anorexic figure, dirty and torn, with haphazard stitching holding the tears closed.

Ludiwg... he thought sadly, pushing against the wall gently, as if that might suddenly knock it down. Liebes Brüderchen... I never knew just how much I missed you when we were apart... until I was locked away where I couldn't return when the day was done.

The hand fell limply to Gilbert's side and he sighed softly, staring dully at the ground. I wonder, Brüder, how was I able to survive this long? Damn russki... he's a demon. I knew there was a reason I hated him so much...

"...Tomorrow," he muttered softly, his voice raspy an strained, as if he hadn't used it properly in a long time. "This stupid wall... it finally comes down tomorrow."

With a broken smile, the albino turned away from the cement and started back toward his own personal hell on earth, dreading the moment he walked through the door. Today was the last day Russia would have power over him, and even his ego wasn't thick enough to know that the somewhat sadistic nation wasn't going to let it pass lightly. I'll be lucky if I get a heated room tonight... The only reason he hasn't killed me is because he knows everyone will be after him if he does. Heh... it's... so pathetic.

It had taken him less time then he originally intended to get back to Russia's house, and he regretted having not walked slower. He wasn't supposed to leave the house. No, Russia hated when he left. It was wrong, forbidden. He still barely remembered how he'd had managed to slip from the room his captor kept him locked in more often than not. He shuddered, not wanting to step through the front door. Maybe he could just go back to the wall and sleep there for the night. He could stall until it got dark, right?

No. He shook his head. Russia would know. Russia would find him. He was better off just going inside. After all. It was just one more day. Just one. He could do this... he was sure of it. Just one more day then... the moment he reached the door, he almost turned and bolted. He could almost feel Russia's presence on the other side of the door.

Before he could move, the door was thrown open and something cold and hard connected with his face, right over his right eye. The albino fought back the urge to scream as the vodka bottle shattered and he felt his skin tear, burning violently as the alcoholic beverage washed over the cuts. There was no time to fight back either, a hand grabbed his neck in a vice-grip and he was slammed against the wall, eyes screwed shut in agony.

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Just one more day... Just one more day... he repeated, again and again in his mind. Just one more day... Tomorrow... Tomorrow...

He'd been unable to tell how long the torture went on, he only remembered the ending when he was shoved roughly into the cold cement room he was kept in. Not more than an hour later, a small boy--was it Latvia? Prussia couldn't tell--came in and bandaged his wounds.

His chest was wrapped completely in white bandages, covering the gashes and cuts that lined his pale skin. How had Russia not broken a rib? His left arm was bandaged from the shoulder down to the tips of his fingers, and his glove was quickly shoved on to hide the evidence. His right arm, happily, was only wrapped from his shoulder to his elbow. Easy enough to hid under his shirt.

A long white stripe of cause had been wrapped around his neck as well, in attempts to stop the trickle of blood that fell from numerous small cuts in the area. His left cheek was bandaged and his right eye was wrapped completely. Would he be able to see from it again? He didn't know. It wasn't as if his eyes weren't already blood red. Maybe that would keep people from noticing when they finally came off.

The boy who'd dressed his wounds helped him dress. A new uniform, just like his old one. The boy had smiled and said he'd took it from his clothes when he first arrived, knowing Russia would dispose of the rest. Gilbert was grateful. He still couldn't tell who was helping him, but he was grateful.

A fleece blanket was pushed into his hands and the boy smiled once more before leaving. The blanket was warm, and Prussia sent another silent thanks toward the one who had helped him. At least he'd be warm tonight. He just wanted to sleep anyway. He didn't have the strength for anything else. Not even for tears.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Prussia had nearly cried out in joy when he was told Russia wouldn't be joining him at the wall today. If he'd had the strength, he would have run the entire way. He walked, feeling the joy swirling inside him. He would be able to go home. To Ludwig. To his little brother and the only people he could ever consider friends.

When he reached the wall, he waited. Quietly with a large group of other people. It wasn't down yet, but he could faintly hear shouts from the other side in German. They were going to take it down. right now. He smiled weakly, praying that Ludwig would be on the other side waiting for him.

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Formidonis

Breaking the Wall.


Ludwig did the same thing he had done to start every day for far too many years now. He stared at the Wall. He knew every inch of it, intimately. Every buttress, every turn, and every crease. He knew all of its strong points, where it was reinforced and where it was weaker; he could even tell you how many kinds of concrete Russia had used building it.

And Gott, how he hated it.

He hated it for what it represented, for the way it had divided his people. For it’s being a constant reminder of his pain and his shame. But still, he came every day. He walked along its length, reached out with a gloved (always gloved,) hand, touching it. He did this, for a very important reason. It was the closest he could be to his brother.

“Gilbert…” He said, involuntarily. He hadn’t seen his brother in so long. It was like a wound that wouldn’t heal. Supposedly, his brother was the prisoner, and he was the free one. But without Prussia, knowing that if he did anything, anything to help him, or just to see him, his brother would suffer for it… Russia had built a prison for him too. It was so different here in the city now, in the years since he and Gilbert had stood here together. This was the city his brother had build, and then given to him on the day he had decided he was old enough to look after it. He had made it his own capital. They hadn’t spent more than a week apart, in those days, no matter what. But now… So much had changed, since he had last seen Prussia. Most of his old enemies were his allies now. No, more than that, his friends. They had forgiven him for the things his mad boss had made him do, helped him to rebuild, to grow strong again. And he was grateful, he was. But it had all seemed so hollow. Everything he had done, everything he had overcome, it was dust. Because he would always turn, to where his brother should be, ready to laugh, or smile, or make wise. But he wasn’t there.

He knew why his brother had gone with Russia. It had been to protect him. Shame and anger welled up within him. He wasn’t there when the agreement was made. Russia had send one of his lackeys to tell him. He hadn't even allowed the brothers the opportunity to say goodbye.

He remembered it so clearly. It had taken the combined strength of all of his friends to restrain him, and still he had fought them. They had tried to reason with him, told him that he wasn’t strong enough to fight Russia now, which he knew all too well. It hadn’t helped. It was Japan, an even older friend, who had stopped him. He had told him the hard truth. That if he didn’t stop what he was doing, the increasingly unstable Russia would kill his brother.

His gloved hands tightened into fists. With long controlled breaths, he opened them. No, he would not give way to anger. Not now. He had waited so long. He would not do anything that could ruin today. He would not

He looked at the wall, through the rain. Big machines were moving around him, people too. They were nervous, but excited too. Ludwig felt the same. Would Gilbert understand? Would he know how much he had wanted to see him? He’d written him a letter every day, but had never gotten a reply. Maybe his brother was angry with him. Maybe he despised him for his weakness. He wouldn’t blame him. He’d tried to pretend to be indifferent, hoping Russia might decide to free his brother, if he didn’t think Germany cared. Or at least let him talk to him. He never had.

The machines had reached the wall now. And they waited. The waited for the last few chimes of the clock. Then, slowly, agonisingly slowly, they began to pull it down. It was happening. It was finally happening. He could control himself no more. First, he began to walk towards it, and then he began to run. Soon, he was at the wall, amongst his people, and tearing into the hated wall. The rain had made the wall slick, and his gloved hands could find no purchase, so he tore off his gloves, and began to dig into the gaps that the machines had made, pulling away block after block until his fingers were cut and bleeding, and still he tore into the wall, tears falling uncontrolled from his eyes. The gap grew, until it was wide enough for an arm to reach through, then a body. People began to push through, in this space and others, from both sides. Looking for friends, loved ones, mothers, father, sisters… and brothers.

And brothers. “Gilbert?” Germany pushed through, eyes wide. There were many people. So many. It was hard to see. Maybe his brother wouldn’t be here. Maybe he didn’t want to see him. Maybe-

And then he saw him. He wasn’t sure at first. He was so small. His brother had always been thin, but fit. And so strong. This man was emaciated. Starved. And his face was covered with bandages, but he knew his brother. He had held him in his heart all this time, he could have found him blindfolded. “Ludwig? And it seemed that everyone else around them, just disappeared. He stepped forwards on shaky legs, feeling as though he would collapse at any moment, or that his brother would disappear and he would wake up, and this would be just another cruel dream send to torment him. But he didn’t, and finally, after what seemed at eternity, he stood before his … “großer Bruder ?”
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The sound of the wall crumbling echoed in his ears as he watched the only barrier between himself and Germany fall. He gulped, stepping to the side as he felt people push past him. His legs would barely hold him up for more than a few minutes. If he got knocked over, he was done for.

"...Ludwig," he murmured, his crimson eyes carefully scanning over the crowd, feeling something in his chest collapse. Was he not there? Had be forgotten him? Worse... had Germany given up on him? Had he moved on? Was he just a toy soldier in Germany's closer and now that he'd been gone for so long--no. Ludwig wasn't like that. Even after Prussia had fallen from power and could no longer claim himself as an official nation, his little brother had still offered him a place to call home. He'd carried on parts of his [Prussia's] once great country into his own and still looked up to him as he had before (even if Gilbert teased him [Germany] about the smallest of things.)

A flash of golden hair appeared in his vision before it disappeared, the flame of hope that had lit in Gilbert's chest lighting and dying as quickly as the hair did. Maybe he's not...

“großer Bruder?”

For a moment, Prussia was sure his heart had stopped. Crimson eyes locked with bright sapphire blue and, if only for a moment, the world seemed to stop turning. Not even the throbbing pain that coursed throughout his body from Russia's cruel treatment could stop this moment for him.

Lugwig was here, in front of him. His brother, his precious, precious little brother. The one who kept him going throughout the entire time he'd been with Russia. Just the memories of his brother... it had kept him alive. Kept him fighting.

"West..." he muttered, his voice raspy and weak, the old nickname like honey on his lips. Tears gathered in the corner of his crimson eyes, and spilled over, creating small rivers on the albino's face. "West--Ludwig... Liebes Brüderchen..."

Letting out a soft sob, the Prussian threw himself forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Germany's shoulders as the already crumbling dam broke and Gilbert's tears turned into heart-wrenching sobs. "West... my West... I... I-I'm home." I'm finally... finally home. I'm where I belong. I swear, I won't tease him for a week, a month, whatever it takes. Please... if there is a God out there, just don't take me from him again... please...
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Formidonis

No-one, even those closest to him, would have accused Ludwig of being an emotional man. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel emotion; it was just that he rarely allowed himself to show it. He did now. He held his brother, his long wished for, so sorely missed, brother in his arms, and cried. He held him, as tightly as he could, feeling that somehow his brother would disappear, or be taken from him again, if he let him go.

And as he held him, and he wept, he gave thanks in his mind, over and over, for being able to see him again. Being able to hold him again. He had waited so long, and feared that this day wouldn’t come. But it had, it finally had. His brother was free, and so was he. His big brother was in his arms, and unless Prussia made him, he was never letting him go again. Not ever.

Still shaking with the release from tension, from long suppressed emotion, and from relief, he slowly regained the ability to concentrate, to think rationally. And as he held his brother tightly in his arms, he couldn’t believe how small he was. His brother even seemed to wince a little, as though his arms around him were somehow too much. He loosened his grip, just a little. He looked at his brothers, eyes wide in shock and pain. There was nothing of him. “He’s so thin…” He thought, sadly, “…And so frail”

“Lieber Brüder… I have missed you so much. I have longed to see you, I-” He stopped. He had rehearsed what he want to say when he saw his brother time and time again, but what he needed to say now wasn’t part of it. He didn’t want to say this, but looking at his brother, blood leaking through the bandage covering one of his eyes, and with so many others covering him, he had too. “My Gott… Brüder, what has he done to you?”
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Gilbert honestly couldn't remember having ever been so glad to feel Ludwig's strong hugs. It wasn't that Prussia hated physical affection, he just wasn't the touchy-feely type, and after Russia... Well, after Russia, the idea of being touched by another wasn't a good thing in his mind. But given who Ludwig was, the albino wasn't nearly as jumpy as he'd been earlier when walking to the wall.

“My Gott… Brüder, what has he done to you?”

Prussia winced, pulling away from Germany slightly as his single visible eye flickered toward the ground. He'd been hoping to avoid that topic for a while. At least until he was able to get Ludwig far away enough that he didn't try something stupid.

"...Russia," he muttered quietly, not wanting to go into details. "He... Heh. I was... nothing more than his toy. Something to vent his sadistic frustrations and sexual tensions on." He rendered me too weak to defend myself... then took advantage of me. If I were female... heh. Gott, I'm glad I can't have that bastard's children. "It isn't important, West... please..." his voice dropped, almost pitiful in it's tone. "...I want to go home. I can barely stand, West... and you're no match for that russki bastard alone. I..."

The albino was unable to finish the sentence as he groaned softly. His body was beginning to give out on him. How many days had it been since he last ate? Two? Three? Was it an entire week? He didn't know. Lithuania was often able to slip him scraps and water, but that was always so late at night and he'd often be too exhausted to chew and the younger nation had been forced to help him in eating. He'd made a note to remember that. He owed the small nation.

"West, I..." Gilbert swayed dangerously, feeling his head swim and vision blur as he began to fall sideways in slow motion, his body going limp, no longer holding the strength to hold him.
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Formidonis

Gilbert’s blunt words shocked Ludwig. Rage and hatred burned inside of him, screaming out for vengeance for what Russia had done to his brother. He would never forgive Russia, or forget what he had done, and if it took him eternity, he would have his revenge. He pushed those feelings down, hard, when to his surprise his brother… simply collapsed, against him. Ludwig stared at his brother, eyes beyond sad. He reached down, and lifted his brother up into his arms. There would be plenty of time to talk about things, to reconnect. The most important thing was they were together now. Things would get better. “Come, Gilbert. Let’s go home.”

Later

It was almost a week later, and Ludwig sat on the bed beside his brother. He had scarcely moved from East’s side since he had brought him home. He laid his hand upon his brother’s forehead and frowned. “… Still so hot.” He looked down at his brother, unable to conceal his concern. His brother hadn’t truly awakened since he had collapsed in his arms. He had drunk little, eaten less, and kept down only a fraction of what little he had eaten. He would eat only from his hand, and even he had needed to resort to almost force feeding him, more than once. He rubbed his eyes with his other hand, absent mindedly. Long nights of worry with little sleep were starting to take their toll on Ludwig, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but Gilbert.

He checked the dressing covering his brother’s eye again, as tenderly as he could, and his frown just deepened. It didn’t look good. None of this looked good. None of Gilbert’s wounds were healing as they should be. They wouldn’t begin to truly heal until his brother’s fever broke. And as for the wounds that didn’t show on the outside, well… who knew when or if they would heal. He had tended to as many of his brothers wounds as could personally, and so it was only the two of them (and that bastard Russia, of course,) who knew quite how badly he had been brutalised. The scars upon scars, the burns, and worse. All had been inflicted with the imagination of a lunatic and the skill of a professional torturer. How his brother had withstood it, he had no idea. But now, it seemed… it seemed maybe it would all be for naught. His brother was weak, and hurt, and couldn’t even sleep properly, due to the nightmares he had, every single night. He slept beside his brother, and held him when he cried out. It seemed to help a little, but it still didn’t change the basic facts. Gilbert was getting worse, rather than better, and unless something changed soon, they would have been reunited, just to part again. And this time, without any hope of seeing each other again, at least not in this world.

Ludwig looked down into at his brother’s face, and felt his eyes well with tears. They fell from his eyes like rain, down onto his brother. It just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. He had longed to see him for so long. He had ached for the need of him. And yet, now, as always, when his brother needed him most, he could do nothing for him. “Gilbert. You were so strong for me. For so long. You suffered so much, for me, and I never knew. Gilbert, please… please don’t leave me alone.” He sniffled, feeling pathetic. Even now, when he should be doing for him, he found himself having to rely on his brother, hoping his amazing strength would hold out. In all the time he had been alive, there was one thing he had never done. He had never begged. He did now. He begged and prayed, over and over, and most of all, he just hoped his brother could here him. “Please, Lieber Brüder, please East, come back to me. Come… Home.”
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Ishikawa
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Taiwan had been a young nation still when the Berlin Wall was erected. She'd still been more concerned with what to wear than what was happening halfway across the world. She'd barely, at that time, spared a thought for what was happening, and who it was happening to... But it had been a long time since then, and, though young still, she was no longer the self-centered teen she'd been before. Over the many, many years, she'd leapt on any chance she found to get news about what was happening in Germany (or, what had once been Germany, but was now controlled by four seperate nations). And when it had reached her ears that the wall was coming down...

Her heart had stuttered in her chest, much as it was doing now, as she watched the large machines tear into the wall. She was so very out of place, here, but that didn't bother her as much as it would in normal circumstances. Her eyes darted between the machines and Germany, who was tearing frantically at the wall, as if he could force it to come down faster. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she had to shake them away to keep her vision clear.

It was true that she could not feel the anxiety that Germany surely did- Prussia was her ally, not her brother- but still, her heart thundered and her breath hitched and she prayed, hands clasped in front of her, that he was okay. That he was alive, and whole, and unscarred, as unlikely as that was. It was the same prayer she'd been repeating since she had heard that the wall was coming down- the same prayer she'd murmured on the ship, on the trains, and every night as she'd seen the excitement and worry on the faces of the Germans around her.

And there- her knees nearly buckled as she saw a head of white hair, so uncommon here, saw the bandages and blood and oh god what happened to you the emaciated frailness that could not possibly have been Prussia... except that it was, and tears blurred her eyes yet again as she covered her mouth with her hands. She wouldn't be the only one letting out a despaired cry, but it was ingrained in her not to do such things in public, though the tears streamed down her cheeks unheeded as she watched from a distance as the brothers clung to each other, exchanging private words that she would never dream of eavesdropping on.

Her chest gave a harsh throb as Prussia wavered, collapsing, and she couldn't stay still any longer. Her shaky legs carried her forwards, towards the reunited brothers, but she stopped a few steps away as Germany began to lead his brother home. Her worry could wait to be assuaged, she told herself. They needed this time for themselves, without her bursting in and making everything awkward. So she turned, eyeing the crowd, and inhaled sharply.

She'd do the best she could to help others who were not so lucky as to find each other, she thought, and disappeared into the crowd.

~~

It was a week later that her patience snapped. Her tiny hotel room was stifling at night, and during the day she saw more despair and heartbreak than she thought she would ever have been able to handle. Children seperated from their parents, elderly couples unable to find their friends and family... she did what she could, finding places for the frail and infirm to stay, helping hunt down lost family members and lovers, but her mind was on the only one that she really knew.

Prussia.

And after a week she couldn't stay away anymore. Her eyes were bloodshot, face sallow from the lack of sleep, the ever-present flowers in her hair wilted and displaced by frantic fingers running through the strands. But she didn't care, couldn't take the time to make herself presentable as she rushed towards Germany's house, knowing that was where the brothers would be.

She wasn't the least bit hesitant to hit the door with her fist, once, twice, three times, and her palm stung but she didn't, couldn't, acknowledge it. "Germany... Prussia... Please, let me in!" She rested her head against the door, lips moving in a silent prayer as her eyes closed, seeking relief from the strain on her nerves. Please... Please be alright, please...
Ishikawa's Tip Of The Month: 'Hau', 'Hauau', or any altered version of such a sound, when made by Taiwan (AKA Meimei or Wanwan), can be indicative of nervousness, embarrassment, and, very rarely, anger.
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Hell must be something like this... Prussia had thought as the days melted together in a blur of colors and events. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been in so much pain. Even the day he'd been stripped of his title as a nation hadn't been nearly this painful--not even half as much.

The nights were the worst. Unlike with Russia, where dreams of being reunited with those few he cared about gave him hope, here, finally home, the memories of his years of torture haunted him. Images of Russia coming for him filled his mind, leaving him coated in a thin layer of sweat as the fever only fueled the nightmares. He was left exhausted and more tired than before, clinging desperately to the only comfort he had.

He must couldn't have eaten more than a single full meal the entire week, and that was only if all seven days were combined. He'd been able to down more water than anything, enjoying the cool feeling it gave him as the liquid traveled down his throat. Warm liquids were painful as well, but they were what he was able to swallow easiest, and warm chicken broth was more appetizing than nothing at all. He knew he had to eat. He'd taken care of Ludwig so many times when he was a young child... so he could only imagine how Germany felt now.

“Please, Lieber Brüder, please East, come back to me. Come… Home.”

Time continued to pass for him in a daze, stuck somewhere between consciousness and sleep, unable to say or do anything. Not until now, just over a week later. Somehow... something inside Prussia had begun to stir, and the uncovered, tired crimson iris opened for the first time since the albino was brought home.

"...Didn't... you tell me... West..." he murmured, coughing weakly as he turned his head. "That... 'German men don't cry. We're tougher... than nails'... or some... crap like that? You're... bawling like... a baby. So... not awesome..."

Gilbert would have laughed if he had the strength, his half-closed eye slowly moving around the room. It was daytime, perhaps mid-morning. It wasn't that bright, nor was it that warm. He couldn't tell, anyway. The thick blankets covering his frail form made it difficult to tell.

He blinked, his gaze slowly shifting downward toward himself, unable to get a proper view of what he looked like. He could feel the material of the blankets, so he knew his shirt, tie, and jacket had been removed. Probably so that Ludwig could change his bandages easily. That had to have been the case, as the bandages that were currently wrapped around his wounds were made of a much softer material than the ones Russia had given him. It felt like medicine had been applied to them as well. Now that he was waking up, the pain was starting to fade--if only just slightly.

"...Thirsty..." he muttered with another cough, frowning as he heard pounding at the door, followed by a soft, gentle feminine voice. "...and the door, I think..."

"Germany... Prussia... Please, let me in!"

Prussia's visible eye blinked slowly, his head tilting toward the faint voice blocked by various doors and walls.

"That's..." he blinked again, before the eye widened slightly in recognition. It had been days, months... years since he'd last heard the voice, but he hadn't forgotten it, not once. He'd only known it for the later half of the war, but there was no way he could forget it. The first person [who wasn't Germany] who'd actually listened to his rants and hopes about bringing Prussia to power again. A voice he was very grateful to hear again.

"...West... the door... then water... let... let her in...."
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Formidonis

Ludwig looked up, slowly, his eyes still wet with tears. He blinked, to clear them. His mind must be playing tricks on him, because he could have sworn that his brother had
just…

“Gilbert!” he roared, his throat raw, in delight, amazement, wonder and relief. His brother was awake, and… calling him a cry-baby. He broke into an amazed happy smile. It was him. It really was Gilbert. He was awake. He wanted to grab his brother, to hold him, and never let him go. But, Prussia really wasn’t up to that. So he contented himself, hand trembling with relief, with pushing his brothers hair away from his temple, taking his temperature, and saying. “You gave me quite a scare, East.”

“The… door?” He listened again, and then nodded his head. His brother was right. There was someone at the door. Still, it felt strange leaving his brothers side. “Ja. I will see to the door, and then get you something to drink. I… I will not be long, East.” he said, his eyes serious. “do-do not attempt to move while I am gone.” He added briskly, it was a silly thing to say, but as close as he could come to what he really wanted to say, which was… Don’t go back to sleep. Don’t leave me again. Be here. But if he had said any of those things, Gilbert would never have let him live them down.

He ran down the stairs, quickly, pausing by the door, just for a second, to wipe his eyes and collect himself. Trying to look as presentable as possible. Then he opened the door, quickly, making the person on the other side nearly fall on him. “Mausi…” Germany said, smiling, his voice happy but not at all surprised. If anyone would want to see his brother, it would be Taiwan. It was a pleasure to see her, she brought memories of better and brighter days. Even if she did not look so well herself today. “It has been too long, Liebchen. Too long. I hope I did not leave you waiting, but you see my brother… he has just woken up.” His smile widened. “And I know he would like to see you, very much.”

He led Taiwan up the stairs, deep in thought. Gilbert wanted water, which was a good sign. He would need to eat soon too. Nothing too heavy, but something. They reached the bedroom door. He stopped her, just before the went into the room. “Taiwan, I ask you, please do not let my brother try to do too much. He is still very weak, and I do not want him trying to run before he can walk. I know I can trust you.” Having said this, he opened the door. "East. Someone is hear to see you." He turned to Taiwan. "I will get him some water. Would you like something to drink?"
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Ishikawa
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Taiwan was very near to falling asleep on the door when it opened, and she barely caught herself before ramming into Germany's chest. Wide-eyed, she looked up and couldn't hide the small spark of disappointment that the one who had answered the door was not the albino. Worry twisted her features but she managed a smile at Germany's nickname for her. He was rather like a brother, even as little as she knew him.

"It is fine, I... Is he alright?" She couldn't keep herself from grabbing his sleeve as he led the way up the stairs, nerves draining the color from her face the closer they got to the door that led to Prussia's room. And when Germany stopped her with his request, she nodded seriously. Then the door was open and they were inside and she could barely manage to let out a weak refusal to his offer of something to drink.

Her eyes were locked on the frail man in the bed, covers pulled up to his shoulders, skin tight across his face. She couldn't even imagine what had happened to him, to put him in this state, and the heartache she felt at it just barely overshadowed the sudden, intense rage. Whoever had done this was in for it- this was something she could not let pass calmly. But not now- now her legs shook and she could barely stay upright.

She shuddered, holding back a sob, and took the few steps to the bed, kneeling beside it and taking Prussia's hand. Tears made her eyes shine as she curled her fingers around his. "Oh, Prussia..." She pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, before giving him a wobbly smile.

"It has been far too long..."
Ishikawa's Tip Of The Month: 'Hau', 'Hauau', or any altered version of such a sound, when made by Taiwan (AKA Meimei or Wanwan), can be indicative of nervousness, embarrassment, and, very rarely, anger.
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