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Prussia wakes with a start as something taps his face.
For a moment he’s frozen, the bedroom an awkward sea of colors and shapes before he sits up, heart pounding. His hand instinctively reaches for a musket that isn’t there, grappling amongst soft sheets in a moment of desperation before the rest of the world rights itself.
He’s in his bedroom, not a tent. He’s warm.
And there’s someone by his bed.
Slowly, Prussia creaks his head the other way, wincing at a crick in his neck.
There are two bright red eyes staring right at him.
“...”
“Hasi,” Prussia says, with the unique exhaustion endeared to parents, “what did I tell you about bothering me when I’m resting?”
The German Empire frowns, resting his chin on the side of the bed. He eases himself down into almost a crouch, making himself smaller before his father, but when Prussia’s stare doesn’t abate, he huffs. “Don’t do it.”
“Then why-”
“I wanted to read the book again.” His son interrupts, flopping his head down. “‘n Miss Anna was sleeping.” The child fiddles with a bump in the sheets, inadvertently yanking most of the fabric towards himself.
Prussia rubs his forehead. Why the German Empire thought it’d be a better idea to wake him up than the governess paid to care for the child was a perpetual mystery. Especially when Germany had been explicitly told not to bother his father.
“What if you asked someone else to read?” He suggests gently, resting his arm over brow. “I’m sure-“
“But I wanted to read with you,” the Empire whines, blinking up at him with a positively pitiful expression that hammers away at what little willpower Prussia has. He’s fairly certain that his son has perfected it now. “And it’s my birthday soon, Miss Anna told me, so.. please?”
Damn, that little devil was good at this.
Prussia sighs, acquiescing to his fate. He suspected he knew exactly which book the German Empire wanted to read, and - well, it wasn’t like anyone could teach their history better than he could.
Besides, his fifth birthday was coming up.
“Is Brandenburg awake?” Prussia yawns, stretching out a wing.
The German Empire straightens, eyes gleaming at the absence of a ‘no’ to reading, and glances back into the dark hall. He gives a small shrug, his own stunted wings pressed close to his body. “I didn’t check.”
“Go. I’ll be up soon.” Prussia says, turning the other way to slip out from under his sheets. He pauses momentarily to hear if his son protests, but only hears the soft pitter-patter of small feet on carpet, so he rises with another yawn.
A valet is sent in shortly, probably from an eagle-eyed maid who’d noticed the young empire wandering out of Prussia’s bedroom. A smoking jacket and a waistcoat is procured and donned.
After dressing, Prussia glances toward his nightstand. The eyepatch sits there, face-down from where he’d placed it last night. Instinctively, his hand reaches for it, but just as his fingers brushed against the shell of the fabric, he hesitates.
Habit dictated that he ought to pick it up. Everything felt oddly bare, the world far too vast without darkness obscuring half of his sight. People would gawk if he didn’t wear it. He could practically picture Poland’s voice hissing in his ear, demanding him to cover his eye.
On the other hand, his father was also long-dead and Brandenburg was always saying how much prettier his eyes were without him covering one of them up.
After a moment’s hesitation, Prussia exits his bedroom. He could always put it on later.
Prussia is barely settled in his office before the door squeaks open.
He turns, flicking his wings behind him out of instinct, but relaxes when he sees the German Empire, carrying a book almost half his size. Through the cage of his arms the title German Treasures of the Holy Roman Empire can be made out.
“Hi, Papa!” The child toddles closer on unsteady legs. “I-”
His foot snags against the carpet. The Empire stumbles, book slipping from his hands and landing with a heavy thump on the floor. Prussia startles, rising from his chair, but the German Empire seems unfazed. “Ah- oops.” He mutters, glancing up at his father. “Sorry.”
“Germany,” Prussia says sharply, “who let you carry the book?”
“I wanted to carry it,” the Empire chirps. He hops over the tome to Prussia and slings himself around his father’s neck. “Can we read now?” He pleads, staring up at him with puppy-dog eyes.
“In a moment.” Prussia reassures him, untangling tiny fingers from his skin and leaning back. Since when had the Empire gotten so heavy? He makes eye contact with his boy and lets his face lapse back into sternness. “You know how I feel about you holding it, right?”
A shadow crosses the German Empire’s face. “I wanted to carry it,” he repeats, tiny wings puffing by his body. “I can hold it! Just ‘cause my wing’s broken doesn't mean my arms are.”
“Your wings aren't-” Prussia starts, and stops when his mouth goes dry. Aren’t what? Deformed, weak, or fragile? The Empire blinks at him with owlish eyes and he swallows.
“Just.. ask a servant to help you next time. I don’t want you hurting yourself.” He finally settles. The Empire’s wings sag. He wriggles away from Prussia’s grasp, indignation radiating off of him. Without looking at his father, he returns to the book on the floor, pushing open the cover and starting to flip through the pages.
Prussia sighs, rubbing his brow. Although his son was plenty convinced of his own strength, Prussia couldn’t help worrying. It was true, Germany’s wings didn’t dictate how fit he was, yet every time Prussia looked at him, those wings - shrunken and shriveled - gave him a renewed wave of anxiety.
The door’s creak announces a visitor. Prussia looks up, hand falling from his face, and Brandenburg trails in, hair still bedraggled with his nightclothes on.
“Brandenburg!”
The German Empire hops over the tome on the floor, tantrum forgotten as he races over to throw himself at Brandenburg for a hug. The man happily returns it, ruby wings curling over the boy in greeting.
“Ach - good morning, hasi,” Brandenburg chuckles, ruffling Germany’s hair. “You got up early today, didn’t you?”
“I wanted to read,” The Empire chirps back, uncurling himself from Brandenburg’s waist but still staying under the shadow of his wings. “Papa said he would.”
“Did he, now?” Brandenburg teases, looking up from the Empire. His eyes scan the room before they land on Prussia. He balks, blinking at both of Prussia’s eyes; Prussia meets his gaze, raising his brows in silent challenge.
Brandenburg looks away first, but the small smile on his face makes Prussia’s stomach do strange flip-flops.
The German Empire takes absolutely zero note of their exchange, only nodding enthusiastically. “I woke him up!”
“Didn’t bother him as much as you did me, did you?” Brandenburg asks, steering the Empire back to the book. The child crouches down, nodding absently in response; the book recaptures his attention like a spell. Now free, Brandenburg crosses the room, carefully stepping over the Empire to meet Prussia. Prussia blinks back at him, unaccustomed to seeing Brandenburg in such a whole view.
“You look nice,” Brandenburg offers, smile still curling on his lips. “Also-”
Before Prussia can process the compliment, a gentle flick to Prussia’s forehead follows.
“Ow! What??” Prussia complains, rubbing his skin. Brandenburg settles his wings, an amused gleam in his eyes.
“That’s for siccing your goblin on me,” the older man says, tipping his head to the German Empire, who glances over momentarily before returning his attention back to the book.
Prussia rolls his eyes, quelling the jitters in his chest. “You have no proof,” he shoots back playfully as he slips out of his chair to join the Empire on the soft carpet. Brandenburg doesn’t respond, settling in his vacancy instead and relaxing against the back of the chair.
The German Empire pauses, flips through a few more pages, and then goes back. “This one.”
His father tilts his head, shuffling his wing to tap it against the page. “Again, hasi?”
It’s a drawing of the Reichslanze, coupled with a few brief blurbs of information to the left. Prussia has had to repeat the page to the German Empire so many times now that even though the boy is still learning to read he’s pretty sure he’d memorized the paragraphs by now; a part of him suspects the Empire simply likes to look at the spear.
Which is fine, he tells himself. It would just be nicer if his son had more interest in other German artifacts.
The German Empire hums with confirmation, dragging a finger over the page. His wings twitch.
Prussia presses his lips together, wetting them, and begins to read, crouched on the floor beside his son. The words are familiar, but the Empire remains as raptured as ever, remarkably silent for a four-year-old. His eyes trace the illustration, mouth slightly agape as he listens to the story of the spear, only dropping a few ‘ooh’s every now and then.
When the paragraphs end, Prussia stops and leans back. The Empire looks up at him, confused.
“That’s all, Germany.” Prussia says gently. “But, look, there’s more on the other side-“ he turns the page, catching a glimpse of the Reichskrone before Germany shakes his head, a frown weighing heavy on his little face.
“Can you read the page again?” The Empire wheedles, starting to pull the kicked-puppy expression when Prussia meets his gaze. “Just one more time? Pleease?“
Prussia inhales, about to force out a no, (because damn him to hell but he could not read the page another time) yet before he can, Brandenburg interrupts.
“Schatzi, why don’t you eat breakfast?” He suggests, leaning forward from the chair with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. “And, if you want, before you nap I’ll tell you a story…”
The German Empire tilts his head, narrowing his eyes. “What story?” He asks suspiciously.
“Anything.” Brandenburg says quickly, spreading his hands. “Anything about France, Belgium, the Holy Roman Empire-“
Germany’s eyes go wide. “Yes. Yes. Yes, yes, that one!” His wings puff in excitement, stars shining in his gaze. Prussia squashes his smile - no doubt he would throw a fit if he ever found out Brandenburg watered down most of his tales, but for now, the boy looks at the man as if he’d just proposed giving him unlimited access to candy.
“Alright, but remember, go eat breakfast first,” Brandenburg reminds. “And tell Miss Anna about storytime.”
The boy gives a single exaggerated nod before getting up, flinging the door wide open and racing down the hall as fast as his little legs could allow. Prussia snorts, closing the book.
“Thank you,” he says to Brandenburg, shoulders drooping. His friend grins back at him, leaving the chair to join Prussia on the ground.
“No problem. I was verging on insane if I heard that page again,” Brandenburg says, eyeing the book’s cover. “Obsessive little nut.” He nudges Prussia, chuckling to himself; yet Prussia only manages a terse half smile in return.
Brandenburg notices. “Is something wrong?”
He hesitates, then shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s foolish.”
“I already listen to every foolish thought you have,” Brandenburg teases, curling his wing over Prussia’s in a gentle brush of familiarity. “What is it?”
Prussia has half a mind to dismiss Brandenburg again, but the gnawing worry that’s been festering in his stomach grows under the weight of Brandenburg’s expectant gaze. He lets out a short exhale, dropping his hands into his lap.
“I wish he’d look at things that weren’t used for war.”
Brandenburg tilts his head. “Really.”
“What?” Prussia asks defensively. “You see what he likes to read or hear about. It’s always about violence.”
“I didn’t mean to say you were wrong,” Brandenburg says hastily, “But… Isn’t that a good thing? He has a drive to protect and fight. You were the same,” he adds after a moment, a smile curling on his lips.
“I…” Prussia hesitates, staring down at his hands. Isn’t it a good thing? It was their nature to war, after all. He presses his lips together, trying to find the words.
“I- I don’t want him to fight.” Prussia finally settles. Even as the words leave his mouth, he knows how absurd they are. He continues anyway, digging his thumb into his palm. “I fought so hard for him to be here. I don’t want him to live his life in perpetual war.” He looks up at Brandenburg, suddenly uncertain. “How long can this-“ he gestures to the room around them, to the book still open on the floor- “last? How do I know that this won’t just fall apart? I-“ He covers his eyes with his arm, taking in a deep breath. Brandenburg’s touch is warm and he leans into it, finding comfort in the familiar feel of his feathers.
“I don’t want him to have to struggle to survive,” Prussia sighs out, peeking from around his sleeve to the ceiling above. “But-“
“He’s an empire, spatzi,” Brandenburg cuts in gently, guessing his next words. He takes Prussia’s hand into his own, carefully uncurling the clenched fist. Prussia shrugs.
“I know.” Prussia mutters. “It’s just…”
“Scary?” Brandenburg offers and he nods. Brandenburg hums thoughtfully, absentmindedly tracing circles in Prussia’s palm. Slowly, Prussia relaxes, shoulders drooping.
“... I don’t think there’s anything you can do to protect him forever,” Brandenburg says eventually, voice even. “He’ll need to defend himself against someone, at some point. And wouldn’t it be better for him to learn how sooner rather than later?” The other man watches his face carefully as Prussia sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“...You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s silly, honestly.” He shakes his head, trying to dispel the mood with a stretch of his wing - “to this worked up over the boy.”
“You’re his father.” Brandenburg points out, a hint of irony in his voice, yet clearly still not assuaged by Prussia’s deprecation. “I’d be worried if you weren’t.”
Prussia opens his mouth, closes it, and frowns. “Well,” he says slowly, “it’s not - exactly normal for our kind to… be this concerned, is it? Children are merely means to an end.”
The words leave his mouth partially without him even realizing, but it was true, was it not? Prussia’d seen it in the way his fellows treated theirs, even in the way his father treated him. Children were legacies or curses that promised either doom or a prosperous future. However, now it’s Brandenburg looking troubled, squeezing Prussia’s wrist gently.
“I’ve known many who thought that way,” Brandenburg says, matter-of-factly as he glances over the book still laid before them. “But I’ve never quite understood their philosophy. Why not enjoy the little ones they had?”
Before Prussia can answer, Brandenburg continues, “I saw children grow resentful of their parent. Rightfully so, I suppose.” He sighs. “They never did see their progeny as anything other than a title.”
Prussia shrugs, pulling his hand away from Brandenburg’s. “Still, though. It’s better to not be attached. Isn’t it?”
Brandenburg’s brows raise. “I wouldn’t say so. Is it a silly thing to love your children? And, spatzi, I think you’re already attached.”
He swallows, suddenly wishing he had his eyepatch. Was he?
The image of tiny hands, a wide, eager smile, tiny wings fluttering in excitement, and a stubbornness unrivaled drifts to his mind. He tries to picture it all gone.
He can’t.
A lump settles in his throat.
His friend was right, as he usually was.
“Thank you,” Prussia says quietly. Brandenburg doesn’t ask for what, only nudging him with his shoulder.
“Come on. Let’s go eat. He’s probably terrorizing that poor governess with his food.” He stretches, standing, and offers a hand to Prussia, pulling him to his feet.
Prussia follows, picking up the book on his way out.