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The meeting had run late. As usual. Though it could've been worse, Germany will admit: EU meeting means no America, which already significantly reduces delays. Unfortunately, none of his fellow EU nations tend to stay focused long, from daydreaming Italy Veneziano to gossipy Poland and always-halfway-to-asleep Greece.

Either way, the meeting had run late, and by the time Germany gets in his car it's already dark. It even looks like it's starting to rain.

From Luxembourg it's a two hour drive back to his house outside of Bonn.

Not that there's anyone waiting up for him that he'd need to message. There's no one at all.

Italy will be on the plane back to Rome with his brother, and Austria to Vienna. Everyone’s traveling.

And Germany has been living alone for a few years now. He’s used to it. Even before, it was not as if he had dinner waiting for him or anything of the sort.

Prussia wasn’t that kind of family.

Germany starts the car and navigates out of the subterranean parking space, and it really is raining now. He’ll drive a bit more carefully, then.

He’s only a little distance back on his side of the border when he gets a call. Without taking his eyes off the road, he grabs for his phone to accept and put it on speaker. What follows could be an extract from a manual on what not to do when driving, which he also just has the time to think, chagrined, before he blacks out at the end.

He knocks the phone off the seat and into the passenger side’s footwell. Without thinking, he ducks to grab it, straightening up just to see the flash of another vehicle’s lights as they collide. His car flips, over and over, into darkness and surely off the road, and something slams into his head.

Darkness.

It hurts. His head…

He touches his head, pawing over his skull. His hair feels wet. Not matted down with anything, just – wet. The air feels wet.

Germany squints his eyes open, but it’s dark around him. Forest-dark, night when the pine canopies turn entirely black, not a glimpse of light. Crisp air wet with fog clings to his face and clothes. He thinks he’s sitting in a bush.

Did he fall out of his car somehow? But the car should still be here – there should still be light from it, or from the road. Or at least sounds from the road.

He can’t fit his current situation into what he last remembers. The forest is, not silent but quiet around him, no sounds of human infrastructure. Some bird calls from somewhere unseen. Maybe an owl.

His head throbs again when he tries to get to his feet, staggering and almost tripping over a root. He can hardly see a thing, even as his eyes get used to the dark the canopy above is thick and fog curls between the tree trunks.

His phone is gone, damned thing. His car is nowhere to be seen, nor the road – he truly seems to be deep inside a forest. It doesn’t make sense – it does not, but he can ponder over that later. For now… he should try to find a road. From there, he can surely find someone who can help him call a taxi. Or maybe his government.

The dress shoes and nice blue suit he wore to the EU meeting isn’t great clothing for hiking. He wishes even more that he had a flashlight, though, he thinks bitterly as he again catches himself after stumbling over vegetation in the dark.

He heads for where the darkness lets up the slightest bit, for bigger gaps between the trees. Eventually there will be a road.

Or a light.

For he sees something now, a glow in between the trees. He still can’t hear anything but ventures determinedly toward it, it almost looks like the glow of a campfire – well, campers are fine. Surely they’ll have…

Awareness rushes down his spine but gives him barely a second to turn before a blade slides beneath his chin.

Germany stills, half-turned.

“Well, well, what do we have here,” says a voice, drawling and cocky but – but it hooks on something inside of Germany. It sounds like… “You another Baltic kingdom?”

Germany can’t see anything but an arm from this angle, in this dark. He swallows.

He really did hit his head.

“I’m not,” he answers.

“Huh.” The man behind him seems to consider this. The sword doesn’t waver. “You sound German.”

So does he. Though, Germany realizes now that he thinks on it, he’s really speaking quite strangely. Archaically, even. Not at all like…

He says, “I am German.”

It’s either the right answer, or – or Germany will find out.

The sword drops away, but only because the man’s moving to look at him from the front. And it is him. Like a ghost solidified from the mist, dressed in white, entirely colorless down to his hair. But those red eyes peering up at him, scrutinizing him… without recognition.

It cannot be him.

Factually, Germany knows it can’t be and not be a dream or apparition, but that hook is still in him. Of course this is his brother. What else?

He points his sword at him. “I haven’t seen you around before. But you’re not new. So who are you?”

How could he not know him. How, when Germany would know him in an instant. This isn’t how ghosts work either, in the stories they always know you, come to moan at you about the past. How…

Nothing makes sense. But Prussia didn’t raise a liar, so Germany says, “I’m Germany.” Deutschland.

“Funny. You see, I’m Deutschordensstaat.” The State of the German Order, which eventually became Prussia. That explains the archaic dialect, but not – why. How.

The German Order demands, “So who exactly are you supposed to be?”

“I’m not – you,” Germany tries. “I’m… farther west.”

“Are you now.”

He squints up at him, sword still pointed at him. Fog swirls around him and Germany really-

“I’m sorry, but what year is it?”

This isn’t real. He’s having some dream, or hallucination, after hitting his head in the car crash. But if it is real…

Prussia tells him. In a tone which makes it clear he thinks you’re stupid, which is both like and unlike him, the attitude, yes, but Prussia was always the one saying stupid shit while Germany would sigh and roll his eyes and ignore Prussia’s leer.

It’s an answer as unreal as Prussia’s appearance. Six hundred years into the past…

Finally, Prussia sheathes his sword. He seems almost disappointed about it.

“Fine, whatever,” he says. “Come along, West. You can join me for now.” And you should be honored! With a dash of cackling, but no, he says none of that.

The German Order starts to pick his way back through the woods, and Germany follows him as if pulled.

In the harsh light of day, the situation truly sinks in. This is, in fact, real. If this is something which occasionally happens to nations – spontaneous time travel – then no one has told Germany. Or if they did, he’d probably dismissed them immediately, because it’s just… ridiculous.

He feels ridiculous, like an extra who’s wandered onto a film set, in between the knight brothers of the German Order in their white cloaks and him in his rumpled suit.

Prussia has him praying with them all that morning, though Germany spends the entire time staring at Prussia, diligently mumbling prayers with his head bowed.

In the daylight, Prussia looks different. He’s not a memory torn from Germany’s head, but looks… younger, perhaps. Like a teenager. Narrower in frame, stiffer somehow. Less confident.

Not to say he isn’t confident.

“Do exactly as I do,” he tells Germany imperiously, and Germany follows after him. They take down tents, pack them up and put them in the wagon. Easy, mechanical tasks. The kind of tasks Germany likes to lose himself in, and he could, but for how Prussia is right there. Though he’s not Prussia yet.

He’d always clung to the name ‘Prussia’ for as long as Germany had known him.

Which maybe wasn’t that long, for a nation. Only Germany’s whole life.

Intellectually, Germany knew his brother was once a religious knight order, the territory of an order. There are, however, different kinds of knowing, and… it was all simply before Germany’s time. Germany’s never fought with a sword.

Prussia taught him, yes. Still, no one uses swords anymore in his time.

“You’re real quiet,” Prussia says.

Germany looks around, but no, the knight brothers are still all silently packing up their things and preparing the horses, no one talking.

“I thought we were supposed to be quiet?”

Prussia scoffs. “You expect me to believe there’s nothing you want to talk about? Saving it for the boss, are you?”

“What are you expecting me to want to talk about?”

Prussia’s grin shows his teeth. “If you think I can’t take you on any day – whoever the fuck you’re supposed to be, west of me – you’re deluding yourself.” He rests his hand on his sword hilt, grinning. “And I’d be delighted to show you, right now!”

“That’s not… I said I don’t want a piece of you.”

“Then what? Here to get on my case about debts? More heathens I need to deal with?”

Germany would’ve loved to continue working in silence. He loves doing repetitive tasks in silence. Instead of having to think about the logistics of time travel. He doesn’t know how he got here, so how is he supposed to know how to get back? What if he-

No, no, that is too large of a problem, he cannot think like that. Begin with smaller steps – first off, he should stick with Prussia. So, now he needs to come up with something believable to tell him, and quickly.

“Do we really need to discuss this right now?”

Prussia’s glare narrows, and they stare each other down.

Germany tries, “I promised my boss I would talk to yours? It’s about… France.”

“Is it now? Bah.” He drops his hand from the sword, shoulders relaxing. “Suddenly I don’t care anymore. Fine, you can come see the Grand Master.”

That didn’t solve this problem, only delayed it. Still, at least he didn’t start a fight with Prussia.

He almost can’t believe Prussia let it go. He could be so annoying and stubborn – he’d just never let something go. It’s not funny, you’d say, and he’d keep doing it anyway for years. Somehow he always managed to pry information out of Germany, too, wheedling and prodding and just- oh, and the arguing. Nothing was more infuriating than arguing with him because he’d be grinning the whole time. He just loved arguing. He never took anything seriously. Germany can’t even remember what most of their arguments were about, just that Prussia never took it seriously.

Germany slowly exhales through his nose.

“Everyone!” Prussia calls out, now at the front of the group. “Let’s be off.”

He doesn’t think about Prussia. He doesn’t dream about him, and things around the house don’t really remind him of him (besides, he only really lived together with him in Berlin, not the house in Bonn. It’s just convenient to live in the house in Bonn for EU meetings). Prussia was fading for a long time. Everyone was expecting it, everyone knew it was inevitable.

There’s nothing Germany always wished he could tell him, if only… He knew it was coming. They both knew it was coming. Why would Germany have left anything hanging.

One day Prussia was there, and then he wasn’t. The day after that Germany continued on as usual, and the day after that, and after that, and onward.

This isn’t even his Prussia. He doesn’t even know who Germany is. His name isn’t Prussia.

The German Order plods along at the front of their procession, leading a horse. They’re all on foot, the horses just used to haul their gear, apparently. Germany follows along a bit behind Prussia and the horse he’s leading, keeping some distance between himself and the nearest knight brother. The knight brothers seem happy to avoid him as well.

No one speaks to him. Germany watches Prussia in front of him, silently marching onward.

One foot in front of the other.

Day after day. Head held high.

No matter what.

Eventually they stop to rest and let the horses drink, and for themselves to eat a bit. Prussia silently hands Germany his share, and everyone prays before they eat, even Prussia with his eyes closed. Germany only recognizes the gestures from Italy.

They eat, and then they set off again.

It’s not that the silence bothers Germany. If anything, he’s sure he’d become annoyed if the knight brothers were talking or singing or something. It’s also not as if Germany has anything to say, just… Not even Prussia has anything to say.

His Prussia would have something to say. If he ever met Prussia again, like that strange dream of Rome, then Prussia would have something to tell him. Why else would his brother appear before him from the dead, if not to tell him something.

But it’s not a ghost, it’s the past. What is Germany supposed to do here? He isn’t born for hundreds of years yet – Prussia doesn’t know him.

They’re strangers. There’s nothing between them.

Silence.

Like the silence of their apartment in Berlin.

No, Germany decides, glaring at the back of Prussia’s head. He’s here for a reason.

“What are your plans? You said you were heading to Marienburg ¹, but what then?”

Germany asks once they’ve set up their tent, because by silent yet mutual accord they agreed at some point to bunk together. They are two nations in a company of humans, of course they would.

“That depends on what you’ve got to tell my boss,” says Prussia, staring straight at him.

“I meant in general. What have you been doing?”

“Errands. Buying horses.”

“For what?”

“Because losing a battle’s goddamn expensive, you nosy idiot. Figure it out.”

Germany realizes the decline of the German Order’s power must have begun. The most Prussia ever had to say about it was that it was ‘fucking embarrassing’ to lose to Poland. Prussia never talked about his losses, only ever if he was trying to tell Germany something instructional like ‘don’t bring heavily armored cavalry to fight in a swamp, they’ll fucking sink’ ². Germany supposes the same applies to tanks.

“Sorry,” Germany says gruffly. Of course he’d apologize if he pissed off a stranger, it’s basic politeness, but this isn’t a stranger, it’s Prussia. When has Prussia ever apologized to him. “I’m… kind of new around here.”

“Yeah, I still don’t really believe you, west. You could cough up your real name at any time.”

Germany sighs.

“For what it’s worth, I also don’t want to be here.”

Prussia laughs, short and mean. “I can tell! You’re one stupid nation, wandering around unarmed around here.”

Germany says through grit teeth, “Yes, good thing you found me.”

“Indeed! I’m a real defender of pilgrims, haven’t you heard?” And he doesn’t cackle, but there’s that shit-eating grin Germany remembers.

It always annoyed him – but you can’t be annoyed with someone who’s dead, and why does Germany have to be here? It serves nothing, it’s like having a bruise punched to remember Prussia’s face overlaid on the German Order’s. Germany’s over it. He doesn’t need to see this.

Lying down to sleep, he hears Prussia still rustling around. He refuses to look at him or notice. He can already see it perfectly in his mind’s eye: Prussia folding his cloak up in a neat square, the same with his tunic, lining up his boots. Shining his armor maybe. Oiling his sword, checking the straps on his gear.

Like a hundred times before, Germany falls asleep to the sound.

Days of traveling, and Germany’s had worse – much worse, just remember the trenches – but it’s still not pleasant to be wearing his same clothes for the third day in a row, having slept in them too. They wash up in the same stream they water the horses at, Prussia watching Germany critically as he fails to slick back his hair and shrugs his rumpled blazer on again.

“What is wrong with you, honestly,” he says, finally moving and startling the bird that’d landed on him to fly away. He prowls closer to Germany, scowling. “You’re dressed like someone who’s never seen clothes before. What’s that ribbon around your neck even supposed to do, make it easier to strangle you?”

“One day,” says Germany, “This style will be inescapably popular. Mark my words.”

It turns out the German Order does have some spare garments with them, which Prussia has fetched and makes Germany dress in. Are they cleaner than his own? Debatably. Being made to dress in another nation’s emblems is an insult, which they both know, but among family such things matter little and they used to wear the same uniform anyhow, so Germany says nothing. At the very least, he no longer sticks out in the crowd, which was perhaps another reason for Prussia’s sudden magnanimity, as early that afternoon they start passing through farmland and small villages.

Before that, though, Germany sees the knight brothers giving him looks and one of them goes to say something to Prussia. Prussia’s response involves a sweep of his arm and another gesture at Germany, so he walks closer, but only catches the last bit: “-and take it up with the Grand Master if you don’t like it.”

So Germany joins the procession of white-cloaked knights in his own white cloak, following Prussia, and the knights avoid him again.

Prussia walks on, head held high.

That night they stay at a castle, the lord of which Prussia speaks to for about an hour. Germany, having nothing else to do, waits for Prussia to come back outside the door.

“There you are,” says Prussia when he sees him, in a jovial tone. The meeting either went well or so badly Prussia’s fired up from indignity. “West, we should have ourselves a spar, a little duel.”

Fired up from indignity it is.

There’s a yard outside the castle walls which seems like some sort of medieval training field, with a target for archery set up in the corner. Prussia hands Germany a sword – a one-hand sword, practical, definitely a live weapon – and draws his own nearly identical sword.

Germany asks, “To first blood?”

“Well then!”

Prussia, an older Prussia taught Germany how to use a sword. The only opponent he’s ever really faced with a sword was Prussia.

So he steps and he blocks like rehearsed. He knows Prussia’s tricks. He knows exactly which movement Prussia likes to follow with what kind of technique.

Germany’s not an idiot.

It’s not that Germany’s especially good at this kind of fighting, but he doesn’t need to be. He just follows what his teacher always did.

And the German Order throws himself at Germany over and over and still can’t get through his guard. He’s relentless and faster than Germany, but Germany is stronger and his reach longer.

Sweat runs down his temple. Their swords clash and clatter against each other, Prussia throws all his weight behind a swing and Germany knocks him back. Germany’s turn to lunge, but Prussia gets his sword up to block just in time, twisting his sword out of the deadlock with a screech of metal against metal.

Again and again. Germany can almost hear his voice: again, Lud, come on, come at me-

Prussia’s breathing hard. His grin has broken down into determination instead, eyes narrowed and hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.

Germany’s shoulders are tight with tension. They must’ve been at it for a good while.

Neither one of them are going to give up.

It seems like this could go on forever – their swords clashing, each of them trying with all their might to overpower the other, to just get past the other’s guard – until suddenly Germany presses down and Prussia’s sword slips.

Neither of them was expecting it. Germany takes the chance to slash at Prussia’s arm, and a breath later his sleeve starts to darken with blood.

Prussia stares at his arm, his dropped sword at his feet. “You…”

“I didn’t mean to cut you that deep.” Germany reaches for Prussia’s arm, he’ll need bandages, maybe stitches- but Prussia holds it out of reach.

Offhandedly, he says, “Don’t be a baby, it’ll stop in a minute. West. I can’t believe you actually…” he stares at Germany and grins. Eyes narrowed. “This isn’t over.”

Great. Now Prussia won’t stop trying to pummel him into the ground until he’s won.

One week. Germany keeps track, and while one week is not a long time, especially not for a nation, it’s still a limit of sorts. He doesn’t know by what method he fell into the past, and it doesn’t look like he’ll just wake back up in his time anytime soon. He should be trying to figure out a way to fix this, but where does he even begin? He still is reluctant to even call this the past: if it was, couldn’t he change history just by being here? Germany doesn’t want to think about it.

Not thinking about it causes problems without fail. He has to think about it. Conclusion: he shouldn’t do anything, because who knows what consequences any act will have for world history?

However, resolving to do nothing whatsoever is an unrealistic goal, and in the end he just keeps trailing after Prussia.

Rather, walking side by side with Prussia. It’s as if beating him in that spar actually made Prussia gain some respect for him, or maybe… no, Germany doesn’t know.

It’s not like Germany’s looking for his respect or admiration. This isn’t his Prussia. His Prussia trusted him and – God, Germany hasn’t thought of this in years. Prussia told him once, no, several times, ‘you’re a better man than I’ve ever been’. Right before he went to live with Russia, and what a thing to say at a time like that. Maybe it’s not worth anything if the words are coming out of a person like Prussia’s mouth, but Prussia was…

‘I’m sorry about my brother, don’t mind him’ that explanation, excuse feels so well-used in his mouth. It was hard to remember when Prussia wasted time cussing out people over shooter games and drinking all his beer and picking fights with Austria and Hungary and Lithuania that-

‘My brother taught me everything’, he used to say that too.

If his flaws are all Prussia’s doing, well then what of his virtues. Germany’s not a good man, he never could be, but he can’t be rotten all the way through either. He’d be speaking ill of his children, to say that all that all of them together amount to is some monster.

This is a well-trodden path in Germany’s mind.

Maybe all that immortality does for you is make you repeat the same patterns over and over. The same excuses, the same lines.

They leave the castle and its surrounding village behind that day, having left most of the horses there. War horse stock for breeding, apparently. They’re left with only a few horses to pull the wagon and carry some other necessities.

Germany wonders, again, what happened to his car, considering he ended up in the past. The car probably didn’t have anything to do with it, though – but then again, he can’t really exclude anything.

Italy would probably say he worries plenty enough. Well, Germany thinks he doesn’t worry anywhere near enough, for despite all that he resolved in regards to the time travel, he does barely anything.

Prussia has started needling him, his typical trying to get a rise out of someone behavior. Any reaction is seen as a win by him, so of course, Germany has perfected a dead-eyed stone-faced expression to deal with it. Unfortunately, this seems to delight teenage Prussia, who keeps trying.

Forget everything Germany may have just said in defense of Prussia. He was childish and infuriating even as a grown man, and took pride in it. Now imagine that man as a teenager…

“Hey west, west. West. West.”

“What?”

Prussia pours a handful of gravel down his shirt.

Germany doesn’t react. The closest few knight brothers, however, openly stare at the two nations like they’ve never seen this behavior from the German Order before, and may suspect Germany to have caused it.

Well, Prussia has always been like this. Will be.

There’s nothing Germany can do about that.

The second castle they visit has a larger surrounding town, somewhere Germany even thinks he has been to in his own time. The name is surely different in Polish, though. The town is very narrow and cramped, houses leaning on each other and out over the roads, people and animals tripping on each other as they go. The knights create a little more room as their procession shove their way up the main road to the castle, but Germany feels out of place again in the crowd, standing out not because of his dress but because he is so tall. People really were shorter back in the day.

At one point, Prussia was bigger than him. Germany used to hide behind him as a child. Prussia would stop him by holding him by the shoulders and planting him in front of him. Then at some point, Germany became the taller one. He just can’t remember ever noticing when.

The castle isn’t any less busy, but Prussia seems to know exactly where to go, and Germany follows him. When he goes to talk to the lord of the castle Germany waits for Prussia outside again.

“Damned expensive,” grumbles Prussia when he comes out of the meeting. “It’s not like I want to raise taxes either but them’s the fucking breaks. We’ve got to pay somehow.” ³

It’s just offhand complaining.

Germany doesn’t know what to say to that, but he understands now. That exact way of grumbling, he knows it. It must be about reparations. That battle with Poland is still costing the German Order even now.

Germany knows that feeling, alright. An almost literal gnawing, hollowing out – the economy’s felt so strongly in the body somehow, he doesn’t understand the logic of it, but that’s how it is. Paying with money you don’t have and can’t come back from feels like scraping out marrow. The wind blows right through you, whistling through empty holes.

Not that Prussia’s showing it in his face. Then again, he never did.

Nothing ever touched the untouchable, awesome Prussia.

If he suffered before death he never let Germany know.

He’d know when Germany was in pain, he couldn’t hide it even when he grew bigger and stronger. Prussia must’ve learned his tells from when he was a child, or there was something else that clued Prussia in, Germany would swear he could hide it on his face. People say his face is so stone-faced even in casual settings. But Prussia always, always had an unfair advantage.

When Germany was ill, often when he was a child, Prussia cared for him meticulously.

Did Germany somehow not make it clear enough that Prussia could depend on him in turn? Did he?

That, that was – on the long, long list of Prussia’s faults, his nonchalance takes first place without contest. By nonchalance, Germany means all of it, his belief in his own invincibility and how blase he was about any proof to the contrary, how he never took anything seriously, the more serious everyone else was about something the less serious he became. ‘Well if I’m dissolved I’m dissolved; chin up, West’.

After the fall of the wall, that became ‘You don’t need me anymore’.

And if Germany wanted to be needed? To try and repay some of what Prussia had given him?

What a useless brother Germany was, and that’s all he’d ever be, that’s what Prussia left him. He was dead and Germany couldn’t do a thing to help him.

They’re almost all the way back to the ground floor by now, and Prussia has left Germany to his thoughts. He’s not expecting it but perhaps he really should’ve been, when suddenly his leg’s swept out from under him- teenage Prussia taking the chance to trip Germany so he falls down the stairs.

He doesn’t manage to catch himself on the wall. He only just manages to at least catch himself on the floor before smashing his face into it.

“Should’ve paid more attention, west!” says Prussia jovially.

Germany slowly breathes in, and equally slowly breathes out.

He’s a grown nation. In the 21^st century they resolve things with words. That’s the idea, which Germany has long tried-

So then Germany snags the hem of Prussia’s cloak and yanks, because this is the 15^th century and the German Order’s an annoying brat.

Prussia stumbles over his feet, yelps and falls. Falling onto Germany, and of course, manages to knee him in the face on the way down. Blood rapidly starts to flow from his nose and out over the hand Germany brings up to stop it.

Meanwhile, Prussia starts laughing. “I didn’t even- you just had to-”

Germany’s definitely gotten blood on his cloak. God, why did their cloaks have to be white, what was wrong with them?

Prussia wheezes.

Germany, too late to save his cloak, grabs Prussia in a headlock. Prussia immediately bucks up, headbutting Germany, getting more blood everywhere.

“You-!” Germany begins.

Prussia can’t even answer, folded over with laughter.

Some human comes around, probably a castle servant. Prussia’s still being unhelpful but Germany hauls himself to his feet, then pulls Prussia up, and finally Prussia stops laughing to tell the servant to go away, they’re doing great.

They’re splattered with blood. Germany tries to rearrange Prussia’s cloak, which has gotten pulled around strangely, and Prussia tries halfheartedly to swat him away. “Stop fussing, fuck’s sake.”

“Our cloaks are ruined.”

Prussia scoffs. “You think we don’t know how to get stains out of these? Just you wait.”

In the meantime, they both have to go to supper in their bloodstained clothes – Germany properly contrite, and Prussia unashamed. They look like they’ve been brawling. Prussia sits next to Germany and immediately gloats to the closest knight brother that Germany fell down the stairs like an idiot.

Germany just drinks his beer in silence, resigned.

They’re not far from Marienburg now, and Germany has yet to decide what to do. The days of traveling, marching, should’ve given him plenty of time to figure something out. Germany hasn’t gotten anywhere. Prussia’s been needling him, still, or just talking at him about seemingly everything that goes through his head, and Germany has just – let himself get swept up.

He’s not going to figure out what to do about the time travel, fine. But he should at least have a better story for when has to talk to the German Order’s boss.

In an effort to get some quiet so he can focus, Germany wanders off when they stop for the night in a village. The knights set up in the largest house, and Germany goes to climb a hill just outside the village.

There’s forest surrounding the village out beyond the fields. Looking out over the woods from a higher vantage point, Germany’s struck by just how forested this place is. There’s so much less infrastructure and so much more forest everywhere. An old untouched wald compared to the modern, artificially planted forsten ⁴. Really, the initiatives for more old-growth forest and more responsible forestry practices in Germany these last few decades have come a long way, but it’s still nothing like this.

Then again, maybe he’s just thoughtlessly romanticizing the past. As he has infamously been known to do ⁵. If nothing else, this past month in the 15^th century should steer him away from that – God, the hygiene standards for food preparation here are truly beyond words…

Germany takes a slow breath in. He needs to figure out his cover story.

He mentioned France, yes, but he can only just remember what France was supposedly doing at this time. If Germany’s going to claim he’s some German principality, then which one – and what business reason would possibly compel a nation to just trail uselessly after the German Order for weeks…

Germany’s only been up on that hill alone for maybe ten minutes when he hears someone coming. Who else, obviously it’s Prussia, but Germany wasn’t expecting him to come find him – at least not this soon.

“You’re not even doing anything,” says Prussia, once he’s up on the hill with him and has taken a good look at Germany. “Why’d you run off?”

“Can’t I have some time alone?” grumbles Germany.

“Uh, no,” says Prussia instantly, the reflexive contrarian. “Why though?”

Germany shrugs.

“Weirdo. If you really wanted to check out this place more, you should’ve asked me. It’s my village, I can give you a tour.”

Prussia’s not really preening as he says it, though it feels like he should be, the peacock. He looks up at Germany like he’s hanging on his answer, which is… not a look Germany’s seen on Prussia before. Not before all of this, anyway.

“I suppose.”

“Yeah, that’s right!” Prussia crows, like he was sure of the answer the whole time. “Let’s go.”

There’s not much to see in the village, obviously. They walk to the well and back to where the knight brothers left the horses for the night, grazing in a fenced-in meadow with some cows. Prussia then finds a chicken coop, so that’s where they stop, with Prussia crouched and coaxing half a dozen chicks into his lap, making nonsense sounds at them.

Germany crosses his arms and leans against the wall of the nearby shed. Watching him now, Prussia doesn’t look like a man being childish but a teenager who still hasn’t quite grown out of it.

He’s young. The worst thing is, he’s still older than Germany.

Yes, even now. Germany did the math.

Not by human ages, at least. Germany looks older than Prussia.

Even as a teenager he’s the same as ever, almost.

Germany was a quiet child, a cautious teenager. If Prussia told him ‘This is how it is’, then Germany said ‘okay’, and if Prussia told him to do something, he did it. Germany’s never suspected a young Prussia was like him, but… well. Maybe he did.

Prussia isn’t, though. Which Germany damn well knew from Austria and Hungary’s stories, anyway.

“West. West!” Prussia can’t get up, swarmed by chicks as he is. Germany sighs and comes over to him, allowing Prussia to deposit a quite large chick into his hands. “Look how big this one is.”

Germany says dryly, “Indeed.”

“Freakishly huge, just like you.”

Germany reminds himself: never give a reaction. Prussia grins anyway, sensing blood like a shark.

Germany picks up the palest little cheeping chick of the bunch, shoving it into Prussia’s hands. “Then this is you.” Of course, this does nothing but delight Prussia, who immediately starts cooing to it.

Germany just watches Prussia, almost seeing his memories overlaid on the familiar scene.

Really, Prussia has been very laid-back, not demanding any answers or even prying. Why would he? In a matter of days they’ll be in Marienburg and Germany will have no choice but to explain things.

Germany has started to consider. Would he rather concoct a lie for some humans, or talk to Prussia?

Maybe the simplest thing to do would be to tell Prussia the truth. Some of the truth.

His other option, really, is to pretend to be some German kingdom. That would mean trying to speak for that kingdom. He’d have to get involved. That would definitely have consequences and cause problems.

Now, provided Prussia understands the gravity of the situation… how Germany does not at any cost want to cause changes to history… Prussia could ward all questions away from Germany. Seen that way, Prussia is a potential ally he must convince.

Or Germany could just head off on his own and hope for the best. His nation doesn’t exist as a political entity yet, but from what he’s sensed – and admittedly, he never had the best touch for this – there are people around these parts who consider themselves German in some sense just enough for him to count them as his. So, with some not-quite-citizens, probably he would be fine, at least for a while, and then…

The real problem is that Germany still doesn’t even know where to begin with the time travel.

It’s out of his hands. Whatever plans he makes, information he considers, in the end it’s still time travel and he doesn’t know what it is, how it works or how to control it.

There’s not really anything he can do.

Germany can’t stand it when there’s just nothing for him to do about it.

He resolves to tell Prussia. Whatever else happens, they’re two days away from Marienburg and Germany has to do something.

That night as the knight brothers start to set up tents and prepare camp, Germany asks Prussia if he has a minute. He leads him away from camp a bit, into the woods. The sun has almost entirely set, a chill in the air, or maybe it’s from the lingering mist he feels cold on the back of his neck. He stops in a forest clearing around a large boulder. There he turns around, and Prussia’s hand is resting on his sword hilt.

Germany sighs. “I’m not going to fight you.”

“Interesting way to start a conversation.”

Germany does have a sword now, stuck in a sheath on his belt like the others have. He unclips it, sheath and all, and throws it in the moss.

Prussia holds up both of his hands as if trying to say he wasn’t doing anything, no sir.

Does Germany really make him that wary? Or is he just always like this? Spoiling for a fight, yes, but paranoid?

Germany shakes off the thought, taking a deep breath. Here goes. “I… said I’m new here. The truth is, that I…”

Prussia watches him.

“I’m from another time. That is, the future. The nation I am hasn’t yet been… well.” Germany wrings his hands. “I didn’t plan to come here and I’m not trying to interfere with anything.”

Red eyes study him. Looking for something, and whatever test this is, Germany seems to pass, for Prussia says, “Well… shit. That makes some things make sense.”

Germany breathes out. “Yes. So, you see…”

“You take my place, don’t you?”

That breath catches in Germany’s throat after all.

Prussia’s looking at him again, looking him over. “What? It’s the only thing that makes sense, Deutschland. You’re from the future, you’re here following after me…”

“And you’re okay with that?” The words burst out. “What if I tell you that I – I kill you and take your lands, wipe your culture off the earth?”

“I don’t believe that.”

“But I do.” Germany grits his teeth. “I’m the reason you’re gone. We merge and I’m the only one left.”

His death was anticlimactic. Not the death Prussia always said he thought he’d have, dramatically on a battlefield. He died in his bed, as a human.

Germany was in the apartment and he didn’t even notice until morning.

Prussia had been fading for a long time. They knew it was coming. And then it happened.

Unified Germany. The remains of the Berlin wall are a tourist attraction and Prussia was dissolved long ago.

The German Order shifts his weight, considers. Maybe even hesitates. Yes, he is hesitating, young and invincible as he must think himself.

In the falling dark, even his eyes are leeched of color. Darkening to the color of days-old bloodstains.

“If we merge,” he finally says. “Then we were close. Were we- will we be?”

“You’re my brother.”

The German Order smiles. A full, real smile. “Oh yeah? You’re my baby brother? Tell me I left you an awesome legacy, c’mon-”

Germany can’t answer. He swears he sees red, the way Prussia never ever once takes the idea of his own mortality seriously. Never.

He really can’t see. He hears Prussia come closer, to stand just beside him. “West…”

Not his Prussia, but still Prussia. Childish, infuriating, arrant, cocky teenager. He’s young. And still older than Germany, in every way that matters.

The German Order puts a hand on his shoulder, and Germany hides his face in his hands.

His shoulders hitch.

Prussia says, low, his hand on Germany’s shoulder, “Guess my legacy’s actually incredible and awesome, if it’s making you this emotional, huh. C’mon West, I’m right here…”

‘C’mon Lud, I’m here for you’.

Why, why is Germany always the one in this role? Always the one to be comforted…

He wipes his face and looks up and Prussia’s face still has that smile.

“That’s better,” he says. “Chin up. Exactly.”

Germany shakes his head, stepping out of Prussia’s hold. But Prussia only keeps smiling, that smile from ‘You’re a better man than me’ and ‘How big you’ve become’ and ‘You don’t need me anymore’.

“You… You don’t even know me.”

“Uh, I know you at least a little. And even if I didn’t-” Prussia raises his voice to drown Germany out, “-you just told me I will. The future! I’ll have a legacy!” Prussia laughs.

“It’s like you haven’t heard anything I’ve said.”

“No, I’ve heard everything.” Still smiling blissfully.

They walk back towards the camp through the misty dark forest, and Germany has nothing more to say. There’s nothing left he could say, not to him.

He falls asleep in their tent to the sound of Prussia rustling about, checking their gear. Wiping down and oiling the sword Germany threw on the ground because ‘fuck’s sake West, don’t you know anything about taking care of your weapons, give it here’. The same sound as a hundred times before.

He wakes with his face mashed into the steering wheel of his car.

Hanging almost upside down, car stuck in the ditch. Drenched, with blood dried into his hair and all down his front from what he can feel.

Sunlight stabs down through the crumpled metal.

He wipes at his face. Tries to free himself, fighting free of the seat belt and useless airbag and wiping at his face.

His car is definitely trashed. He falls out onto the ground, finally, almost stumbling over… over the hem of his white cloak.

He wipes his face, again.

Germany looks up into the light of day, finally, up at the asphalted road under the blue sky. Alone again.

He resolves to find someone who can call his boss for him.

Because it was inevitable. It was always coming, and Germany had nothing more to say. This is how it ends.