Hetalia - Axis Powers These Bloody Days

My god, this behemoth is _finally finished_. This is my (very late) **PruAus Secret Santa** present for the wonderful and talented _**nyhne**_, who requested "Anything historical, concentrating on the 19th Century and up. Anything with angst, grit, or that focuses on the rawness of their relationship." I really hope I managed to get that in. So before we start, I have a couple little notes to be taken into consideration:

i) Before this prompt, I knew jack-all about the Austro-Prussian wars save for the name and the fact that it happened. My realm of comfort in the 19th century happened about fifty years before this war, so while I have done my best to fact-check there _will _be some errors, and I apologise for them, as well as for the fact that this may seem a bit choppy. There was just so much that I wanted to fit in here, because there's _so much information dear god why_, but I had to cut it down because it was getting way too long and it would've taken me 'til October to get this up for you.

ii) I'm _so very sorry _that this took so long! I was having a lot of trouble pulling everything together and even getting started was a bit difficult but, oh god, history major panic about finding a war that she knows nothing about. I'm not overly used to that. Plus you seem to know a hell of a lot about this particular time period yourself, and you're a wonderful writer for it, so there's always that added nervousness of writing about someone else's interests and worrying you'll get it horribly wrong, I suppose.

iii) This 'universe', of sorts, has exploded in my head. There is actually a second fic in the making as a result, one focusing more on Austria—shorter, but a kind of quick spin-off, if you would. So that is technically written for you as well, when I get it up, as a sort of thank you gift for your patience 3

**Things included**

\- The conclusion of the Congress of Vienna.  
\- I know too little to really bring a whole bunch of the true issues in with great detail, but Austria and Prussia's bickering over Germany and Prussia bringing up the issues of Austria being realistic, etc, is a nod to the _Realpolitik _system that Prussia was in favour of, and that Austria was against.  
\- The short blurb about Germany feeling torn refers to the "March Revolution" of 1848.  
\- The war Austria and Prussia are fighting against is the Danish War of 1864  
\- I swear this is the Battle of Königgrätz with muy tension really please believe me.

-x-

_"These bloody days have broken my heart,  
My lust, my youth did then depart,  
And blind desire of estate.  
Who hastes to climb seeks to revert,  
Of truth, circa Regna tonat."  
_\- Innocentia Veritas Viat Fides Circumdederunt me inimici mei, _Thomas Wyatt_

_**These Bloody Days**_

He was like a mirror of the Holy Roman Empire: a small boy with blonde hair and large blue eyes who was regarding both Prussia and Austria with an expression that spoke of nervousness, but a controlled nervousness; one that made his movements careful and a bit stiff as he shuffled slowly towards them. Beside him, Austria's face was closed off, the aristocratic mask fixed on his face in a way that made Prussia scowl, and briefly Prussia wondered if Austria was feeling the effects of Napoleon's decision, the one that had led them to share guardianship of this child, this _Germany_, when the dissolution and loss of the Holy Roman Empire had led to Austria becoming an empire in his own right.

He remembered sitting in that room with the others, remembered Austria coolly stepping in to prevent outright war when Britain had shown himself to be the weasel he was as Prussia and Russia had hissed and spat at each other from across the room; remembered working with Austria before that, and thinking about how odd it was to fight alongside the Austrian instead of against him, even as he'd been spitting and railing against the uselessness of the Austrian infantry.

Remembered kissing him, however briefly, that one intoxicated night after Leipzig, and then again, not too long ago.

He snuck a glance at Austria then, watching as Austria regarded the boy with an odd expression in his eyes, his body pulled taught and stiff like the prissy aristocrat he was. It was frustrating now to see Austria like this, especially when Prussia knew he was capable of being more than just the proper aristocratic pawn, but he ground his teeth and made an effort not to say anything, not when von Hardenberg stood only a few metres behind him, alongside Metternich, who was looking far too pleased with himself.

Then Austria knelt, so suddenly that Prussia's jaw dropped before he could stop himself, and he watched with a comical expression of disbelief on his face as Austria held out a white-gloved hand to the child in front of them. His disbelief only increased when the child carefully reached out to rest small, chubby fingers against Austria's proffered hand, tentative but filled with more confidence than Prussia would have expected in a boy of his size and tender age.

"_Grüß Gott_," Austria said, and in his voice was something Prussia could not place, so preoccupied was he by Austria's odd behaviour. The child—the new German states, Prussia thought wildly, ones that had been pulled from the ruins of the lost Holy Roman Empire and pieced back together—smiled then, and though it was as careful as his earlier motions had been, Prussia found his heart swelling.

_This boy's a soldier_, he thought rebelliously as Austria stood back up, his posture straight and proper, reeking of his Habsburg upbringing. He reached one of his own hands out to the boy, and felt a surge of satisfaction when the boy reached out to take his as well, a glint of triumph appearing in his eyes as he glanced at Austria.

"I'm Prussia," he announced proudly, "your new—"

"Guardian," Austria cut in swiftly, a warning in his eyes. "We're your new guardians."

-x-

Prussia groaned as he slunk into his chair, casting a baneful eye at Austria as the other man straightened the child's—Germany, as they had called him; _Germani_, as the Gauls had once uttered—collar, muttering something about the cost of a decent jacket these days and how Germany had better not put another hole in it playing one of Prussia's war games again. Prussia rolled his eyes at that, sneezing once before he pushed himself forward, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Don't listen to him," he told Germany, winking conspiratorially. "He's just a prissy aristocrat who wouldn't know the meaning of the word _fun _if it bit him in the—" he choked off his next words as Austria sent him a look that would have frozen the English channel, but he quickly scowled back at him. "You never let the boy have any _fun_, little master. It's just useless shit with you."

"Good manners are not useless, Prussia, not that I'd expect you to know what those are," Austria said with a little sniff, and he finished straightening Germany's clothes in the time it took Prussia to glare at him some more, righting himself.

"Next it's going to be even more useless stuff, like how to dance and act like a priss," Prussia muttered, and Germany gave him a curious look, even as Austria smoothed one hand down the back of the child's blonde head.

"Better that than leaving him with nothing, so that he looks like a fool in front of all the other nations," Austria said without even turning to look at him, and Prussia felt the old anger stir in his chest, the feelings of inadequacy that seemed to come out whenever he was around Austria—the old and ridiculous desires he harboured to be treated like he was more than an obnoxious pest on the material of Austria's stupid, fancy rugs. Even now, even after all this, Austria refused to look upon him as an equal, despite the many times Prussia had beaten him into the ground, and even despite their previous alliance, and the tentative, unspoken one they had now. _There's no wedding ring to adorn the little master's finger for it, though_, Prussia thought bitterly, _and everyone knows how much the Habsburgs love their fucking rings._

Of course, it wasn't just the Habsburgs anymore, Prussia thought shrewdly. There were no more Habsburgs. The Empress had been the last of that lot, or at least the last true one.

"I like dancing," Germany volunteered suddenly, and Prussia pulled himself out of his thoughts long enough to gape at him even as Austria's eyes glimmered with surprised triumph.

"Dancing's an important skill, _liebling_," Austria murmured, and Prussia snorted, scrambling to his feet.

"Fuck off, little master, you'll run him into the ground with all this old-fashioned shit!" he snapped, and was rewarded with a harsh _"Prussia!"_, though he felt a small trickling of remorse when Germany's eyes widened. He soldiered on anyway. "He needs to learn how to—how to _fight_, how to be fucking _realistic_ instead of relying on some stupid old traditions and morals and things that don't even make sense anymore!" He crossed his arms over his chest as he said that, raising his own chin, and he felt a savage sort of satisfaction when he saw how stiff Austria had grown. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Prussia continued, looking at Germany, whose eyes were still wide. "Learning how to fight? I could teach you, you know, to be awesome and strong just like me. Some real things that would actually be useful."

"I… I would like that," Germany admitted before sneaking a guilty look at Austria, who merely glared at Prussia. Prussia grinned, straightening up with a bit of a swagger, ignoring Austria completely, his eyes only focused on Germany, who seemed steal more and more of Prussia's attention with every passing day.

"Then we'll get started as soon as possible!"

-x-

The little master was good with a sword, Prussia admittedly grudgingly as he watched Austria demonstrate one of the fighting techniques to Germany, who watched him with attentive consideration, his eyes tracing every movement of the clean blade as Austria manoeuvred it with grace and skill. Of course, Prussia knew that Austria could be decent with a blade—he had been on the opposing side of it more than once, after all—but it was easy to forget, what with how wimpy Austria was with everything else.

"Good to see your sword-fighting skills are better than your reloading time, little master," Prussia crowed smugly, which earned him a withering look from Austria and a laugh from Germany, who knew just as well as Prussia how long it took the Austrian to reload even a simple bayoneted rifle.

It felt… nice, Prussia thought grudgingly, sitting here with his back against a tree as he watched Germany copy Austria's movements. Nice, and a little bit odd, though he forgot about that when Germany managed to execute Austria's demonstrated instructions. He was shaky and a bit unsure, yes, but Prussia still felt that all-consuming surge of _pride_, and when Austria looked up Prussia could see the same emotion reflected in the other nation's violet eyes. Then Austria smiled at him, however faintly, and Prussia felt his brain screech to a halt as his throat dried up, his shouted encouragement to Germany freezing in his mouth. He ended up stuttering something to Germany, who responded with a nod, but Prussia's eyes were glued to Austria, who held his gaze for a few moments before he awkwardly cleared his throat, hand coming up to pull at the collar of his jacket.

"Right, that was good. Now, if you try it like this…"

-x-

It was little more than a shouting match, when it all came down to it, but it left them both fairly rattled, both by the vehemence of Germany's voice and by the fact that he was even defying them at all, when they had never had too big a problem with him before. There were the occasional mutterings, but Prussia had just dismissed them and refocused Germany's attentions, as had Austria.

"I'm tired of feeling torn all the time," Germany snapped, looking between both Prussia and Austria as he crossed his arms over his chest, his chin tilted up in two body gestures that were intimately familiar to both the nations standing in front of him. Beside him, Austria looked weary, and Prussia scowled at him briefly, thinking that this wouldn't have happened if Austria had just _listened_ to him. But tantrums like this were being thrown all over Europe, and Prussia watched with a scowl as Austria seized upon an indecision of Germany's, momentarily smoothing over the situation.

"I will teach you how to play the piano," Austria said then, and Prussia's expression only became darker as Germany made an excited noise and ran towards the house, heedless of Austria's calls to _slow down_.

Later that night, as Prussia taught Germany how to properly clean and reload a rifle, he told Germany that he didn't think his ideas were so bad, and the hug he was given was enough to make him grin and forget about the little master… and the lie.

-x-

The sound was tentative, each key carefully pressed, and while Germany certainly hadn't yet managed to acquire Austria's certainty and musicality, it was a good effort for a beginner.

"There is a sharp there," Austria said, standing behind Germany, one hand on the boy's shoulder as he briefly indicated the key that Germany had just pressed down on. "When playing the scales, you must tuck your thumb under your third finger, so that you may continue the scale fluently, and then—yes, there, _wunderbar, _now just…"

Prussia listened no further, tossing his booted feet up on the ottoman he had flopped into, listening as Austria carefully guided Germany through his new scales and then slowly through the right hand of a simple melody that Prussia didn't quite know, but sounded nice anyway. He barely noticed when Germany changed melodies, and he let his attention slip until he realised that the music had stopped before he lazily opened one eye to see Germany reaching over the piano bench to embrace Austria, and Prussia would've laughed at how surprised the Austrian looked were he not suddenly flooded with jealousy, something that only increased when Austria awkwardly embraced the boy back. It was on the tip of his tongue to snap something at the other man, but the contentedness from earlier was still in his system, so instead he merely grunted, letting his eyes close again, not saying a word when he felt Germany climbing onto him, the both of them settling in to listen as Austria took to the piano, skilful fingers flooding the room with soft music, creating a peace that Prussia found himself wishing would last.

-x-

Austria looked exhausted, small cuts lining his face as he leaned back against the ottoman, his breathing controlled but unnatural, like he was forcing it to be that way. His eyes were closed, but Prussia knew he wasn't sleeping—please, he _knew_ what Austria looked like sleeping, because he knew every damn thing about the priss.

_Not everything_, his mind whispered traitorously, and Prussia pushed that aside firmly, turning to look at Germany, who was sneaking a covetous look at the glossy black pianoforte that stood as the centrepiece of the room: Austria's pride and joy. Germany opened his mouth to speak before closing it, but Prussia gave him a small, encouraging nudge, and Germany took a step forward, clearing his throat.

"Austria?" he asked in that careful voice of his. Austria's eyed flew open in surprise, but he couldn't hold them there for long, and they soon dropped so that his lashes almost brushed his cheek, his mouth opening softly so that he could breathe through it, and Prussia had to suppress a snort at that, even as he had to quell yet another traitorous thought that had entered his mind, one that reminded him, briefly, of what it had felt like to have those soft lips against his. His face heated and he swallowed, looking away.

"_Ja, liebling?_" Austria murmured, pushing himself up with some effort. "Is there something you need?"

"I was wondering if you could continue teaching me how to play your piano," Germany said, looking down, and Prussia's heart swelled briefly. Then he looked at Austria, and blinked at the sad look that seemed to flicker across the man's face, and even before he opened his mouth Prussia knew what he was going to say, which made his shoulders hunch with anger.

He missed what Austria said, missed the sorrowful way the other man explained that _Gott, liebling, I am so very tired, can I teach you later?, _for all he could focus on was the way Germany's shoulders dropped, the disappointed way he said "All right" before shuffling out of the room, and the door had barely closed behind him before Prussia was snarling and lifting Austria from his chair by the front of his expensive off-white shirt, eyes narrowed in anger as he backed the Austrian into a corner.

"What the hell, little master?" he snapped, even as Austria's hands flew up to grasp at Prussia's, diverting some of the pressure from the Austrian's throat. "Would it be so hard to get the hell up and do something every now and then? That's the second time this week!"

"Let go of me, Prussia," Austria hissed. Prussia merely tightened his grip, slamming Austria harder against the wall. He earned a gasp of pain for his efforts, Austria's eyes becoming unfocused for a moment before he tried to push Prussia off, his nails digging into Prussia's hands and wrists.

"I can't stand you," Prussia yelled then, and the volume of his voice seemed enough to shock Austria into silence. "You sit there whinging and complaining about things not working and then you do _nothing_ to help yourself! You steep yourself in traditions that have done nothing but fail you, and you rely far too much on others to pick up the slack for your own shortcomings. I don't _care_ what's happening in Crimea—you're an empire now! Spain's not there to haul you up anymore, France isn't there to cover for you, and Britain's only out for himself." He laughed bitterly, though it was cut off by a sneeze. "I hate you. I hate you for your weakness, and I hate you for, for—"

"For what?" Austria said, his voice oddly quiet, and Prussia laughed again, more broken this time. It was as if a chasm were gaping between them, wider than it had ever been, and he could feel the strains on the tentative truce they had called, just as he could feel the strings holding that truce together fraying more and more with every shouted word.

"Because you make me want to do this." Then he was leaning forward, and _gott_ kissing Austria was just as he had remembered it, back when he had stolen that kiss after Vienna, and he could almost see why so many had been willing to tie themselves to this man, to overlook his weaknesses for the strengths they could find and the beauty of his face, of his body, of his _eyes_, ones that had gazed over vast kingdoms and presided over numerous empires from atop a gold throne. And there was still a part of Prussia that wanted to ruin that image, to drag that Austria down into the dirt, but it seemed that no matter how many times he pulled Austria down the damned man just kept getting up again, kept manoeuvring himself back into power, something that inspired both vexation and grudging admiration in the militaristic, red-eyed nation, and sometimes he wasn't sure if he was more vexed about the way Austria never _stayed down_ or if he was vexed because Austria would never think the same of him, would never truly admire him, would never truly count Prussia among his equals.

So he kissed Austria harder, unskilled but pouring everything he could into the action, as if he could will Austria to respect him, to acknowledge him for the powerful nation that he _was_, even as he kissed Austria in the hope that somehow he could make Austria's respect and acknowledgement not matter to him anymore, as it had for so long.

And even though he'd known this would happen, he couldn't quite crush the bitter disappointment that rose in his chest when he woke up the next morning to find Austria already gone.

-x-

Later, when Prussia offered to teach Germany how to properly ride a horse, he was rewarded with a wide smile and an eager gait, and he thought, fiercely, that Germany would never turn out like Austria. Not if he had anything to say about it.

-x-

_Gott, but there was nothing like battle_, Prussia thought as he braced himself against the kick of his rifle, breathing in the smell of gunpowder and watching as his bullet found its mark, the Danish soldier crumpling to the ground even as Prussia hurried to reload, his sword a familiar and welcome weight at his side. He could feel a hot trail of blood making its way down the side of his face, and when he breathed in he could almost taste the imminent victory, nothing like the disbelief he had felt earlier when he had been left gaping at the holes in his army, glaring flaws that would have made Fritz come back to life only to die again of shock. The burning humiliation came rushing back when he thought about it, about how he had been reduced to being _less than Austria_ once more in the eyes of everyone, but he pushed it aside when a clang to his right alerted him to danger, making him look over only to see Austria there, forcing Denmark back with a fierce expression on his face.

It took Prussia a moment to realise that Austria had just deflected a blow meant for _him_.

He was up in a heartbeat, drawing his own sword, moving wordlessly to Austria's side, and feeling a small thrill race up his spine when he took in Austria's dishevelled appearance—his mussed hair, the dirt smudged across his face, his uniform, and even the blood splatters that dotted his face.

"How's it feel to face the awesome me?" Prussia shouted to Denmark, whose face twisted into an expression of rage, even as he reacted quickly to parry a blow from Austria.

It was like dancing, Prussia thought with a rush of adrenaline, even as he and Austria split to circle Denmark, playing off each other in a way he wouldn't have thought possible a century ago. Images of the Napoleonic Wars rushed into his mind, of fighting alongside Austria then as well, and as he pushed Denmark away away _away_ he thought that he could get used to this, seeing Austria actually fighting and _winning_ instead of crumpling underneath the weight of his own inability to defend himself.

When Denmark lay in the ground at their feat, panting as he faced the ends of their swords, Prussia shot a victorious grin at Austria, one that Austria returned with a faint, albeit tired, smile of his own.

"_Sieg!_" Prussia shouted into the air, snaking an arm around Austria's waist, almost forgetting the tension that had been plaguing them recently, allowing the answering cries of his men to drown him in a flood of triumph.

-x-

It was hard to comprehend how two people sharing the same name could be so different. To Prussia, the name Frederick—and the moniker of "Fritz", old or otherwise—had always been associated with strength, with decisiveness, with a military and political brilliance that had brought him out from the shadows to become one of Europe's central players. This Frederick, however, was nothing like that. This Frederick didn't bend over desks planning strategies, or rail against the Austrians and their complacent weakness; no, this Frederick sat across from him, his shoulders slightly hunched, and his expression weary as if he were trying to impart a life lesson to a particularly troublesome child. Prussia almost sneered as he saw that look, thinking darkly of where it came from, and the encouragement the English would have heaped on the Crown Prince if they could.

It had been less than a decade since Frederick had wedded the English Princess Victoria, a woman that Prussia had huffed around before he had reluctantly accepted her as his eventual queen—especially once he had seen, with a scowl on his face, the power she had over Frederick. It was easy to see who held the strings with his future rulers, and they played off each other so masterfully that even Prussia's awesome self sometimes found himself agreeing with them before he realised what he was thinking with a start and scrambled off to drill the soldiers some more.

"War isn't the right way to go about everything," Frederick said (and this man would always just be Frederick to him, never "Fritz" as many called him with fondness, because there was only one Fritz, and that Fritz was dead with no one even coming close to being his equal), making Prussia scowl.

"The Austrians are reneging on the Schleswig-Holstein agreement," Bismarck said calmly, leaning back against his chair. "The victory over Denmark has only further united the German people, and you know as well as I that Austria will not give up control easily."

Prussia's face turned thunderous as he thought about that, indignation welling up in his chest, and he spit out, with venom (and a betrayal he wouldn't allow himself to think upon), "The awesome me will not stand for it!"

The last two years had been nothing but tense as he and Austria all but shouted at each other for control of the states they had been given, and Prussia could remember the snap of Austria's jaw as the other man had declared Prussia a fool for the umpteenth time and declared that he would not simply fob off such an important territory to Prussia's incompetent hands. Pride stung, Prussia had boasted that his awesome and talented self could rule the territories better than Austria could.

Frederick interrupted his thoughts by sighing and shaking his head. "War is not the solution to all our problems," he insisted, and Prussia watched as Bismarck's eyes narrowed in a way that made him think, for a moment, of Russia. He shivered. He respected Bismarck, saw in the statesman a military leader who could drag them up into a position of even more power, but the man was often hard to read, and it made Prussia wary on occasion. Now, Bismarck leaned forward, his flinty grey eyes intent on the Crown Prince, and when he spoke his answer was simple, blunt, and with no room for argument.

"But it is the solution to this one."

-x-

Out of the entire Prussian Crown Council, only Crown Prince Frederick had ended up speaking against it.

"It's no better than fratricide," Frederick had passionately remarked, and Prussia thought, meanly, that if the man's wife had been there she would have been smiling faintly, pleased with how well the Crown Prince had learned his part. But no matter Frederick's opinions, he was out-voted, and when Prussia stood to leave his room, he did his best not to look at the betrayal that flashed across Austria's face, so soon after their victory, and his role in putting it there.

-x-

Without Frederick, Prussia scowled, the army had allowed itself to slack off, something he, with all his awesomeness, wasn't about to allow any further. He had barked out orders to the soldiers and the generals, snapping that Old Fritz would've been ashamed to see the state they were in, and that the problems exposed during the Danish war they had fought some years previous would have made the equally awesome Fritz roll about in his grave.

A solider had to be able to think for himself. That was one of the thoughts that occupied Prussia's mind and he pushed and marched and _pushed harder_ alongside his men, watching with a glint of proud satisfaction as they moved, as they obeyed, but not with the spineless, thoughtless obedience that so plagued the Austrian troops. He could remember the way the Austrians had been overwhelmed by Napoleon's forces all those decades ago; could remember the way Austria himself had looked, bleeding with the blood of his soldiers as they fought through the mud and rain, and Prussia could almost remember how the sight had made his chest seize with anger and some perverse kind of joy at seeing Austria less than pristine.

Now, as he primed for another war with the priss—a war that the Crown Prince could oppose all he wanted—that satisfaction bled back in, and he relished in the possibility of another Austrian defeat; another opportunity for him to push Austria back and show him that he, Prussia, was not to be trifled with. He wasn't a little duchy under Austria's thumb anymore, content to be led around like Saxony and Bavaria, he was one of the recognised powers of Europe, strong and fierce and someone that Austria should fear and respect.

But he remembered the way Austria's mouth had curved into an expression of distaste when Prussia had challenged him for leadership of the Confederation sixteen years before; remembered how he had been humiliated in Olmütz and been forced to capitulate to Austria's conditions; remembered how, as Austria had given him one of his cool, dismissive looks as the decision was ruled in his favour, Prussia had sworn that he would wipe the dismissal from his long-time rival's face.

Remembered how, for a brief moment, he had thought Austria beautiful with the shine of victory in his eyes fighting Denmark, remembered the easy nights spent teaching Germany the art of swordplay, of listening to Austria play while Germany rested with him, remembered the years that they had spent raising the child together, occasionally strained but sometimes… not.

Those, however, were thoughts Prussia pushed away, his face abruptly reddening as he turned to bark out an order to the troops. He couldn't afford to lose his edge now, to remember the gentle moments when he needed to prepare to once again pull Austria from his high pedestal, this time in a way that would prevent the other man was pulling himself back up again. He forced into his mind the way Austria had always treated him like a lesser nation, as someone inferior to him, and he ploughed forward with that memory, breathing in sharply.

If it took yet another war to make Austria look at him like an equal, then a war was what he would get.

And it would be a war Prussia intended to win.

-x-

The village of Sadowa was alight with bloodshed, the air filled with the screams of the dead and the dying and the crack of rifles that sent men and boys spiralling to the cold ground. Prussia's eyes had been alight with anticipation as his men had marched forward, armed with weapons that would have been impossible only a few decades ago, and he had watched as the bullets of his troops tore into the Austrian ranks without pause, grinning as the Austrians, their moral already severely deleted from battles past, had struggled to reload their own Lorenz rifles.

The low morale had reflected in Austria himself, Prussia had noticed with satisfaction, having noted the faint sheen over Austria's eyes, and the way his once-again rival had clenched his teeth as if to prevent a more vocal response when the first Prussian bullets had cut his men down.

Now he was meeting Austria face-to-face on the battlefield again, and he ignored how the anticipation was mixed with something close to _regret_, something Prussia ignored because _the awesome Prussia did not feel regret._ He reminded himself of what he was fighting for, of the brilliance of the boy, Germany, whom he had come to love so fiercely, and he held himself up with the strength of the soldier he was when he engaged Austria, relentlessly pushing at him, only staggering back when Austria had managed a lucky hit with his rifle, one that caught Prussia in the upper thigh. That only served to incense him, however, and as he locked blades with Austria for the first time in nearly a century, he promised himself once again that he would walk out of this war with nothing less than victory.

But Austria fought back, despite his own wounds, despite the gashes bleeding from various places on his body—despite his _weakness_, and when Prussia at last managed to push him to the ground, one hand fisted in the collar of Austria's uniform, he couldn't stop the torrent of words that tumbled from his mouth, echoing of a time long ago and not so long ago, and with promises for the future.

"I hate you," he whispered, his head lowering from Austria's strained face to rest at the other nation's covered collarbone. "I hate how you make me do this every single time because you just won't _fucking listen_.

"I want to see you broken. I want you powerless and humiliated, brought down to the mud at my feet, and then I want you to look around and see how far you have fallen, little master—and how much further I will drag you down before all this is over. But you don't. You get dragged down and then you pull yourself up again and you _haven't learned anything._" His mouth twisted into a snarl as he spoke those words, eyes flashing even as he dragged Austria up by his collar, the blood on his hands mixing in with the red at the collar of the Austrian's uniform. In that moment, seeing Austria so weak, seeing him crumbling despite the aristocratic mask he wore… he truly hated and loved Austria all at once, beyond anything his words could convey. Hated him for what he was, for the stagnant beast he represented, for the weakness in his limbs and the softness in his hands; loved him for his beauty, for the flashes of fire he got, for all that he had once been—all that Prussia had once swore he would become, before he realised what Austria truly was.

His grip on Austria's uniform tightened, his breathing becoming slightly ragged, and he noticed, belatedly, that Austria's was the same way. Prussia's eyes snapped down to where Austria's hands had risen to grasp at his own, to prevent Prussia from strangling him. He could see a patch of skin through a slash on one of Austria's black gloves, blood from the cut dripping sluggishly through the opening, and he almost laughed in that moment, laughed at the way pure, noble Austria had been brought so low.

"Where's your crown now?" he hissed, and Austria's eyes narrowed. "Where's your crown in all this, little master? Where are your servants, your orchestras? This isn't your world, but it is mine. And I will _ruin _you in it. I already have." The words were spoken breathlessly, with a feverous undertone, and Austria's mouth opened soundlessly as he tilted his head back, trying to lean back from where Prussia loomed in front of him, preventing any escape.

"Let me go, Prussia," he said, and though there was steel in his tone, there was also something else, something that Prussia could not define, but that thrilled him all the same. He shook his head and laughed again, his shoulders shaking with the force of it.

"Don't you get it?" he hissed, his voice rising. "You're not in charge anymore! You're nothing, you're nothing at all, you're _weak_, and this world has no use for you. The mighty _Prussia _has no use for you."

He was unprepared for the sudden force of Austria's shove, and he yelped as he stumbled backwards, his grip on Austria's coat loosening enough for the other man to slip out of his grasp. Prussia reached for Austria's discarded rifle in the nick of time, bringing the bayonet up to stop the smooth arch of Austria's blade as the violet-eyed nation brought it down towards him. The clang of metal against metal made Prussia's eyes shine.

"Even your own weapons are failing you!" he managed to say, even as Austria moved, his face a mask of concentration as he swung the sword in graceful motions that had no place on the battlefield. War wasn't about grace. It wasn't about drilling men into the dirt to give the appearance of efficiency, or the pristine condition of a soldier's uniform, or even how well one managed to follow orders to the letter. Following orders meant nothing without the ability to think for one's self, to know when the drills had failed. That had been Austria's problem all those years ago, when they had faced Napoleon together on the cold, wet earth, Britain's bright red uniform like a beacon in the fog.

_"You can't make your soldiers fight properly by drilling them into the ground! Like you, they're babies who have to be led around and told what to do." _

"The little Austrian master, descending from his high throne, still too pretty and too weak for the battlefield," Prussia taunted, using the bayonet to parry another attack from Austria, though he was surprised when he felt a jolt of pain travel up from his leg, where Austria had turned his blade when his first target had been denied. Prussia's breath caught, and for a moment he envisioned Austria as the other man should have been, holding his empire together through sheer might and skill rather than his pretty face and the marriage bed, but that vision faded all too rapidly, and all he could do was smile pitilessly as he dropped the rifle and drew his own sword.

"You're a fool, Prussia, if you think I will just roll over and let you continue on like this," Austria said, his breathing already starting to get heavy.

_Weak_.

"Why not? Isn't that what you're good at? Rolling over, lying back, and thinking of England? You did that for me, didn't you?" He laughed at his own joke, wondering just how many times it _had_ been England rolling Austria over, though the laughter turned awkward as the thought settled in, bringing with it images that Prussia had to force from his mind, ones that made his own breath catch as he staggered back against an attack he was too preoccupied to see. Austria's face was flushed an angry red, his cheeks marred with the dirt of the battlefield, small cuts criss-crossing his skin.

"Empires are held together through more than _warfare_, Prussia. I wouldn't expect a military nation like you to understand."

Prussia's response was simply to attack him again, the two of them falling into the dying screams of their men as the armies fought all around them in Sadowa's blood-soaked streets, and later, when Prussia stood panting over Austria, his sword pointed at the other nation's throat as Austria lay in the dirt, he leaned forward and hissed, with the intimacy of a lover, "I understand that times are changing, and that those who don't change with them are doomed to fall behind. Who's the fool now, little master?"

-x-

The child—and was that a fair word for this boy who grew older and stronger every day, so that his head was now on par with Prussia's chest?—was quiet as he looked at them, his blue eyes regarding them carefully, and for a moment Prussia thought he could see the flash of a dark cape behind him; the shadow of a gold-trimmed hat upon his head. Beside him, he could hear Austria suck in a sharp breath, and when he glanced over the little master's eyes had shut, leaving Prussia with an uncomfortable feeling in his gut. The child—his little Germany, Prussia thought with a rush of excitement, and his alone now, with no need to worry about Austria—only continued to look between the two of them, a little soldier in a uniform tailored to him exactly, and when Prussia straightened back up he had to wait a moment before he could speak, so dry was his mouth.

"I'm Prussia," he said then, reaching one hand out to the child, to _Germany_, and a smile blazed across his face as Germany reached out to grasp his hand in return with a grip strong enough to make Prussia feel almost giddy with anticipation, pushing thoughts of Austria—_and the pain you caused him, Prussia_—completely out of his mind for the first time in centuries. "I'm Prussia," he repeated, remembering that day many years ago when he and Austria had stood side-by-side and introduced themselves to him, "and I'm your _brüder._"

When Germany smiled, Prussia smiled back. Behind him he thought he could hear the approved murmurings of Bismarck, but Bismarck wasn't here in this empty field, and Prussia's eyes were only for Germany, his brother, and he swore in that moment that everything in his power would be done to make this little child strong, so that he would never have to claw himself out of the dirt of someone else's shadow, as Prussia had.

Everything he was, everything he had fought for, would go to this child, and Prussia thought with an alien fierceness that one day the world would resonate with the name _Germany_, that they would speak the name with respect and awe and wonder.

For now, he merely smiled and clutched Germany's hand in his, turning to look once at Austria, who was regarding them with an expression that instantly rattled Prussia to his very core, and for a moment Prussia's brain shuddered to a halt as he took in the emotions, the _pain hurt defeat loss anger sorrow _that resonated there before Austria realised he was looking, and then the mask was back, but it was a different mask this time, one that wasn't as strong, one that was cracked along the edges in a way it had never been before. He felt awkward then, unsure of what to do, and when he took a step forward he saw how Austria stiffened, how he straightened, how he tried to hold his chin high even in the face of this crushing defeat—in Prussia's victory, a victory that would allow him to exclude Austria from a new Confederation, from _his_ new Confederation.

He felt, for the first time in centuries, a brief flickering of both respect and sympathy, one that made him frown before he brutally crushed it, hunching his shoulders. They both knew what this meant: it spelled out the end of Austria's white-gloved control. The Holy Roman Empire was long gone, and stripped of the German Confederation Austria would only weaken further, yet he still stood almost defiantly before Prussia, refusing to show just how weak he was, even though Prussia could see the weariness bleeding from his frame, and a stiffness that could only come from great exhaustion. He wondered then how long that stiffness had been from fatigue, and not the arrogance he had always assumed. Or perhaps it had been a mixture of both for so long that they had become indistinguishable from one another.

"Austria," he stuttered then, and Austria's mask cracked a little more, though whether it from surprise at the use of his name or from the uncertainty—_weakness_, Prussia's mind hissed—in Prussia's tone Prussia did not know. He found he could not think of anything to say, however, so instead he merely straightened up himself, adapting the posture of a soldier, and grimaced before he managed to force out a brief, "I'll see you around."

The look in Austria's eyes became resigned then, but then he nodded, something so brief and small that Prussia almost didn't catch it, and even though Austria was taller than him, barely, he almost looked small in that moment. He was no longer the great power that Prussia had venerated as a child, the empire he had eventually come to despise; the empire that had held Europe gently by the throat for so long before various people had tried their hand at knocking him down.

He turned to go then, Germany's hand firmly in his as he walked away, but he was forced to stop when a sharp voice unexpectedly called his name, and when he turned back to face Austria he saw nothing in the other man's face except for a promise.

"You've always considered me weak, but don't think I am broken so easily," Austria said, with a voice like steel. It only made Prussia grin wickedly, however, his previous unease melting away as he looked at his centuries old rival, allowing himself to think, briefly (and somewhat awkwardly), of the brief time they had spent not fighting each other but instead fighting _together_, when Prussia had allowed himself to see some of Austria's strengths, and not just focus on his weaknesses. Austria regarded him with a firm expression, one that Prussia knew well, and the elation threatened to build up in his chest again as Austria, for the first time in his life, regarded him as he would an equal opponent.

"Oh, little master," Prussia said then, his words infused with a cockiness that was strictly his own even as he turned back around and began to lead Germany away, two soldiers and their soldier steps on the empty battlefield of Sadowa, "I'm counting on that."


End file.
