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He knew he had anger issues- every waking moment he had he was reminded of how stupidly short his temper was. He didn't mean to yell at people, didn't mean to bring up every little flaw or problem, didn't mean to just become a volatile bomb to anyone who talked to him when he was mad- no, of course he didn't mean to do any of that. ‘Of course, intention doesn't always mean outcome though, does it?’
This is what was going through Germany’s head as his mind unfogged, panicking over how to make up for yelling at Italy yet again. This time, Italy had broken a mug while trying to make him a surprise coffee after his long and exasperating day- he was already on edge, and when the cheerful man had dropped the ceramic from how hot it was, that just sent Germany into a screaming fit. Now Italy had left, which was probably good for the situation, but Germany was now staring blankly at the shattered cup, tears still pricking his eyes from how angry he had just been. God- he had to fix this. What made Italy happy? Maybe offering to take him for dinner? That could be a bad reminder of valentines day though. A game of football? The last time Italy suggested that, Germany had outburst with something unrelated and probably ruined that. He began to pick up the pieces, collecting each one in his hand one by one while he thought. He was still shaking though, and one of the shards sliced his hand.
“DAMMIT-” he cried out, instinctively applying pressure to the injury. He cradled his hand, wincing. Why did he have to fuck so much up? His duty was to maintain diplomatic relationships in an orderly fashion, not wreck the few genuine friendships he had. The guilt caught in his throat, but he didn't understand how to make it leave. All he could do was wait until he stopped bleeding, and maybe call his brother to help him out- both in cleaning up the physical mess and the emotional one as well.
So, that’s exactly what he did. His hand was throbbing, but at least he wouldn't drip all over the floor anymore. He dialed Prussia’s number, hoping the guy wasn’t busy gaming like usual. After a few seconds, the line picked up.
“West! Hallo!!” greeted the cheerful voice on the other end. “How come you’re calling me today? Is there a sale at the bar I wasn't aware of?” he laughed, and Germany felt pretty bad for ruining the mood.
‘At least I haven't yelled at him.. I really hope I don't yell at him.’ Germany cleared his throat, guilt still clinging his vocal cords. “Er- there's a bit of a mess i need help with, could you come over?” a moment of silence, then a much more serious tone came through his speakers.
“Yeah, I'll be right over. Are you alright? You don't sound very good!” Prussia sounded genuinely worried, which did not help Germany feel any better about disturbing him. It can't be that important, he just got upset and damaged his hand, he just wanted advice and a little assistance picking up the broken mug, he wasn't dying! ‘Sure feels like I'm rotting from the inside though..’ he thought dejectedly. He stared ahead blankly in his chair, thinking about how much he wanted to just drink away the thoughts until italy came back and pretended it was all water under the bridge. It was never water under the bridge, was it? He could swear every time he yelled, the other countries acted just a little more cautious, a little more careful with their words. If he had a dollar for every time he wished he could reprimand his past self, there would be a second weimar republic! He chuckled softly at the morbid joke about his past, and then his front door opened, like an announcement his ear drums were about to be barraged by his brother’s gravely voice.
“Hey, sorry I took so long, I brought over some drinks in case you wanted to stay inside tonig.h..t…” he trailed off, seeing Germany cradling his hand beginning to stand up, and the smashed dish in his kitchen. “Holy shit, what did I miss? Are you alright?” he set down the grocery bag he was holding by the door, and embraced Germany in a hug. Germany awkwardly hugged him back, arms pinned to his sides in the most endearing way to somewhat ruin a moment. He sat back down, motioning for Prussia to as well on the seat opposite himself. “Well, what happened?” The older nation’s expression betrayed excitement to know the ‘tea’ as he liked to call it, but his eyes showed genuine worry.
“I yelled at Italy again..” He exhaled. Had he been holding his breath?
“Ah..” Prussia pursed his lips, all excitement draining away. “What caused it this time?”
Something Germany appreciated was that after Prussia lost his nation status, he became a lot more neutral. Of course he didn't forget old grudges from pre-1947, but these days when there was a problem, he didn't just jump to “Who's fault was it” or “What did that Austrian fool do this time?” Quite an improvement in Germany's book.
“He dropped that mug there while trying to make some coffee, because it burned him. I got mad, yelled at him, and next thing I knew he was gone. I tried picking up the pieces while thinking of ways to make it up to him, but I basically ruined everything in one way or another.” he said the last few words through gritted teeth, regret hitting him even worse than before. “It doesn't help that I hurt myself by accident while trying to clean it up- so once I stopped bleeding on everything, I called you. You’re my big brother, you would know what to do.” by now he was just moping, painfully aware of how pitiful he looked.
Prussia placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Hey now, you haven't ruined anything with anyone. And it’s pretty hard to ruin a basic apology, I doubt you’ve managed to do that!” he grinned, sympathy in his eyes. “Now let’s get this cleaned up, and I’ll invite Italy back.”
“What if he thinks I'm only apologizing to make him less mad?” Germany fretted.
“Think about it, he’s Italy of all people. I doubt I've ever seen him mad. And think about when you two first met, you told me he said he had relatives in Germany just so you wouldn't kill him! That guy is the king of begging for pity points!" Germany smiled a little at the silliness of it all.
Prussia cleaned up the shards of mug, and fitted Germany's bandaged hand with the jankiest cloth-and-rubber-band contraption Germany had ever seen.
“So you don't have to hold it!” had been the explanation, not that it really meant much. It’s not like Germany didn't have his other hand. When that was done (and Germany had separated his hand from the cloth), they each cracked a not-so-cold-one, and Prussia called up Italy. A high pitched jibber came from the other end of the line that Germany recognized as the southern european nation he was so distraught about in the first place.
“Say, want to come over to West’s house? We could all watch football together!” another jibber through the phone, not quite loud enough to be decipherable, but just loud enough to sound distressed. “Hey hey, listen. If he's mad, I'll make sure it's not at you. He probably just had an annoying day, but it’s better now ok?” a pause, another jibber, and then Prussia nodded at him with a thumbs up. “See you soon then!” He hung up the call, leaning back in the definitely solid and probably-not-supposed-to-lean-like-that chair. “And just like that, problem fixed.” He looked all smug about it, and Germany honestly agreed that he deserved to wear that smirk like a badge of honour.
“I suppose you're in need of a thank you?” Prussia grinned. “Only thank you I need is you still asking me for help, Brüderchen!” he mussed his younger brother’s hair with his knuckles, earning a few light-hearted protests.