Demoralize

[historize]

Title: Demoralize
Author/Artist: historyblitz
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Germany, England and America, primarily; secondarily, China, France, Russia, Canada, Italy, Japan, and Australia
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Non-consensual Germany/England, blood and language. This addresses a dark and sensitive topic in a dark and insensitive way. Also, racial stereotypes are used by the characters--but not me. This does not reflect my personal beliefs about any other nationality.

Parts of this are ground in history (China and England in Burma, the second blitz of 1944) but the others (Canada taking control of America's Paris unit [that had helped liberate the city in August of 1944] and Italy, Japan and Germany all conveniently being in Berlin, ecetera--are obviously all fictional).

Eventually posted here





Germany’s boss was pacing. “We will break them!” He whirled around, mustache twitching. “We will break their moral!”

Germany swallowed hard. “With bombs?”

“Yes. We will raze London! They won’t—but you—Germany! You go and get theirs!”

Germany had a feeling he knew the answer but he asked anyway. “Their what, sir?”

“Their--you. Whoever it is that represents them, that is like you. They will not ally with us—we will take them by force and we will take their—their country. Break their moral.”

That meant Arthur. His boss wanted him to go get Arthur. This was going to be a mess. England wouldn’t come without a fight. But—

“You say that you feel pain when other countries attack us! We will bomb again with the V-1s. He will remember—“

He continued to rant as Germany turned his back on him, walking out of the room. I want a new boss. A less crazy one.

But he could not disobey. He thrived on his discipline, a leftover habit from Prussia. Germany was tired. No, exhausted. And haunted. He was young and had never imagined the kinds of things he had seen. This was death on a scale that was…

…..pointless murder was the worst kind of murder because it wasn’t like before—way before—when he’d been the Holy Roman Empire and you fought to expand borders, gain influence and power….this kind of genocide gained nothing. You couldn’t exterminate an idea. And by trying to, you only strengthened it. It made it all too easy for the Allies to demonize them.

Germany couldn’t blame them for doing it. He had started to feel a little crazy a long time ago.



England was near Burma, in Indochina. He and China were in the midst of kicking Japan out when it happened. Right above his breastbone, his skin ruptured and his body seized. In a flash, he knew what had happened. London, again. He sank to his knees out on the field, clenching his teeth. His hands scrambled at his uniform, tearing it open, clamping his hands over the blood.

Far across the field, on a rocky outcropping, China perked. “England…” He watched him fall, dark eyes narrowing and reached out, grabbing a nearby soldier. “Get on the wire and tell them England is down.”

The soldier scuttled off and China started to run. His hair and red sleeves streaking out behind him as he headed for the other nation. He whirled beautifully as he jumped high and came down, slamming his swords into an oncoming enemy. Flipping, spinning, blood streaking the ground. He whirled the double-blades again and hurried.

England knew he had to get up. He had to get up. He put a fist to the ground and swore, pushing himself. It was intense. He knew his Royal Air Force was out now, shooting down others but they kept coming. Some kind of missile. Not as bad as ’41 but—

His body seized again and something slammed into his back. Dirt ground against his teeth.

He heard a shout; frantic, panicked and sounding like China. “Germany! NO!”

But England felt himself leave the ground before he could find out why China would be screaming about Germany. They were fighting Japan, remember? This battle was about Japan. Not Germany. Not here, anyway.

There was an arm around him, lifting him up, supporting him. Who…

He tried to look but something hit him in the face.



“He took England.”

France smiled for a moment and then tilted his head just slightly to the right. “What do you mean he took him?”

“You mean he took his troops,” said America, narrowing an eye and fingers paused mid-tap against the table. “Took them prisoner.”

China shook his head. “No. Germany came and took England and only England. He didn’t even stop to help Japan. He took him and left.”

“Why would he only take England? That’s not really allowed is it?” France’s smile suddenly looked fixed and mask-like.

America stiffened next to him, eyes going wide and jaw locking.

“England fell in the battlefield. I heard later that London was attacked again.”

“Yes, yes, break the British moral and such,” France waved a hand irritably. “Germany and his crazy boss should know by now that breaking the English moral is like attempting not to vomit after one of Arthur’s scones.”

“We have to do something,” said Canada, who was carefully watching America. “We can’t leave him with Germany.”

“It is not a priority,” Russia said. He shrugged. “England knows the risks.”

“Oi, now—England is old. ‘E knows what’s what. He’ll be fine, yeah?” Australia wasn’t looking at the rest of them though. He was rolling a pencil between his fingers and his frown was tight.

“England hasn’t fallen to Germany. There’s no reason to leave him with Germany.”

That made everyone glance up at France.

“Does that mean you want to go to Berlin and get him?” China inquired.

France snorted. “If anyone is going to kill England—it will be me. Doesn’t seem right to leave him with Germany.”

“Germany could have killed him on the battle field. I don’t think that is the objective.”

“He’d probably escape on his own. He’s too stubborn to stay,” Canada said, but he was looking down again. Australia reached out and gave his shoulder a firm, approving pat but said nothing.

America stood up, adjusting his glasses. “Matthew…I want you to take command of my battalion.”

Canada’s eyes shot up. “What?!”

France was on his feet. “Absolutely not! You cannot be running around Europe just for him—“

“Do you think Matthew can’t handle it?”

France’s mouth froze mid-sentence and then closed. He scowled. “Of course he can. But you going to Berlin to get Arthur is out of the question.”

“I wasn’t asking for permission.” America’s eyes burned behind the lenses of his glasses. “Arthur went and got you out of Paris. You owe him but you won’t go into Berlin to get him. I’m going—I think I have an idea.”

“An idea?” France repeated.

“Germany, as he is, is young, like me. He—”

“Germany had Prussia!”

“And I had all of you. Does one crazy cancel out the other?”

Canada stood slowly and put a hand on America’s arm. “Al…”

Those blue eyes met and America nodded. “Matt. Can you do it?” He could see the concern, the censure, behind his brother’s glasses.

“Course ‘e can.” Australia stood up and got between the two of them, clapping America on the shoulder and putting an arm around Canada. “If ‘e gets weepy, I’ll sort ‘im out. Go bring that old dodger back, Alfie. Suppose if one of us ‘as too, might as well be you. It’ll drive him bonkers that it was you. You were ‘is most annoying colony.”

America allowed a grateful smile for Australia that vanished just as quickly as it appeared. “Thank you. My commands are everywhere but the one I lead personally is still in Paris.”

“Why are you leading an Infantry division in Paris? Shouldn’t you be flying?”

America’s eyebrows lifted at France. “Sometimes, even I need a change of pace.” He patted Australia on the back and stepped away, beckoning Canada and shaking his brother’s hand. “I’ll be back. I’ll radio ahead and tell them you’re taking over for me.”

“Alfred! How do you plan to enter Berlin?”

America smiled. “How about you let me worry about Berlin, Francis? You stay here and worry about your uniform.”

“Alfred!” And France sounded severe now. “I’m serious. This isn’t a joke!”

“I’m not laughing.” And he was gone.

France swore and shoved his chair away. “Just like him! That damn boy! He’s just like England! Stubborn and stupid! Arrogance and righteousness do not win battles!”

“Germany made it personal by only taking England. If he’d taken English troops, that’d be different,” Canada said quietly.

“He does not understa—“

“I would have done the same for you.” Canada’s tone was grim and he turned away. “I’m leaving. Radio if anything comes up.”

France blinked and stared, watching him leave.

Russia folded his fingers and smiled.

China looked down and frowned, thinking of Japan.



One of his spies got him a uniform. America mussed his hair and practiced his German in the mirror. He recognized that he had a slight accent but, otherwise, if he spoke fast, it wouldn’t be that noticeable. He tried to remember how he’d seen them salute.

His spy was a woman. She was a good one and she got him the ragged bomber uniform, running through the medals and bars and what they meant to German commanders.

With this knowledge, a faceful of dirt and his own natural charm, he entered Berlin. He informed the commander who gave him a ride to the checkpoint that he’d been shot down some time ago and had been trying to get back. The man told him to stay at the check-in and be confirmed. As soon as he left him, America ducked around the corner and vanished.

Touching the gun was reassuring. His eyes were everywhere, studying everything. In the moment.




England awoke with a short gasp, eyes shooting open. He swallowed hard. I’ve been captured.

This had not happened in awhile but the bite of ropes on his wrists and calves were not unknown to him. His eyes looked around, calm and calculating. The room was white, the floor and ceiling were dirty gray blocks of concrete. There was a steel door on one end of the room. The east wall had a large pane of glass in it. It didn’t view outside but, rather, another white room. Some kind of observation room.

He shifted on the steel chair, fingers touching it. He was not tied to the chair, simply sitting in it. He looked down at his uniform and saw that his wound had stopped bleeding. He had a headache. Tea sounded good. He tapped his boot against the floor.

Germany was standing outside, attempting to convince himself that he had to do what he was about to do because he had orders and this was for the good of his state. Yes. It was. And that England had always been a jackass. He. Yes.

He opened the heavy metal door, locking it when it closed. England was awake. He wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad. Those stubborn green eyes found his instantly though and followed him.

“Germany,” England said imperiously.

God, even when he was a prisoner, he still made you feel like you were beneath him. Germany gave him a short nod. “I took you from a field in—“

“How many of my men did you kill?” England’s tone was bored, almost sarcastic. “Send any of them to your death camps?”

“Actually, I only took you.”

England went quiet for a moment, studying him. “Why would you do that?”

“My boss bombed London again, as you are well-aware. He wants to demoralize your people. My boss wants me to demoralize you personally.”

“He wants to demoralize the Allies,” England surmised, showing no reaction whatsoever. “Haha, that was rather a bad move, you know. They all know how I play war.”

“I’m aware and I expect Russia, China and France won’t budge.”

“But you think America will.” He smirked. “Bit unsporting, you know. For your side. Purposely attempting to bait America would be like poking a bear in the eye with a bayonet.”

“My boss doesn’t expect any of them to move—because he wants only to demoralize you and your people. He knows how strong you are. I expect America to move because I have lived longer.”

“Apparently, that is the only thing you’ve learned. You’re not even a hundred.”

“I was the Holy Roman Empire.”

“You were a child, a nickname for a collection of territories, infatuated with Italy. Oh, but that never changed, did it?”

Germany’s broad shoulder tightened just a hair; England noticed it anyway. He went on. “You’ve only been a country for, what is the number, seventy-three years? You are an untried, overly confident baby with too many toys and a crazy boss.”

“I must follow his orders.”

England smirk turned into a grin. “So deluded, another sign of your youth.”

“Being disciplined is not delusion.”

“Your brother knew how to follow orders too. He also knew when to break them. I suppose that’s why your boss called for his abolishment. Is he going to order you to do the honors when it comes time for him to die?”

Germany’s fists clenched. He was suddenly finding his orders a bit easier to carry out. “He may give me the order.”

“And you may follow it. A pity, that. Prussia was, at least, worth the effort of a war.”

Germany couldn’t stop himself. His feet moved on their own, carrying him forward. He grabbed England by the hair and struck him.

That wheat-colored head rocked back and came forward again. England looked at him under his eyelids. He smiled. “Is that all?”

Germany’s nostrils flared and he raised his fist—

“Germany! Germany! Germany! Germany! Germanyyyy!”

Germany’s eye twitched. “What is it, Italy?”

“He came! He came! Just like you thought!” called Italy from behind the metal door.

Germany’s face changed fast. He let go of England and looked at the door. “Where was he spotted?”

“Behind the second line! He was really good! He tricked the officers into thinking he was a pilot! And then he disappeared!”

In the cell, in the chair, in his ropes, England blinked. No…he’s not that stupid….surely they would not have actually let him come….

“Who is tailing him? He’ll shake off any humans.”

“Japan!” sang Italy. “I wanted to go but Japan said I had to stay and tell you.”

Thank God for that, Germany thought. “Good. Send along a couple officers to help him if he needs it.”

“Okay~!”

Germany heard Italy scurry off. He looked back at England, who was looking bored but he could see the undercurrent in his eyes. It was the only bit that gave away anger.



Japan didn’t get to sneak up on America twice. He was aware he was being followed once he got into the deep parts of the city. He had no idea who, just that it was someone talented.

So when he rounded a corner and heard the whistle of metal kissing air, he ducked. The flat of Japan’s blade stopped an inch before it struck the wall.

“It seems that I may not be able to fool you. You knew I was following?”

America smiled and winked. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”

Japan nodded. “Of a fool, no truer statement could be said.” He readied his sword. “I will take you to England now.”

America removed his pistol. “I prefer to go by myself.”

“I am afraid that is impossible.”

“Oh, well, if you want to go that badly, I’ll drag you behind me through the dirt when I go? Is that okay?”

“Are Americans the type to do such things?” His tone said: Of course, they are.

“Are the Japanese the type to stab others when their backs are turned and then claim to be honorable?”

Japan’s eyes narrowed. Just a little. “Honor comes from having a culture and history. Both of which you lack, I think.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. You guys like to kill yourselves when you don’t want to take any more responsibility for your actions.”

Japan’s face went stony.

America shrugged. “Just sayin’. Though I’m sure China and Korea would agree that they’d like to see more of you die.”

“Westerners only meddle in our affairs when they want money. Greed is a universal equalizer to Europeans.”

“Apparently, so is the quest for global domination. Too bad you suck at it.”

“We will see.”

“Yeah, we will, won’t we?”

America moved first, jabbing in with a fist and attempting to grab his collar. Japan turned his blade and struck the side of his face with it. America jerked back to save his glasses and then pushed forward.

They wrestled for control. America, bigger and stronger but Japan, experienced and agile. He flipped right over America’s head, swinging the blade down. America snatched it with his hand, sheering the glove and a layer of flesh and grabbed Japan’s arm, flinging him into the wall. He never seemed to hit it. His feet touched the damp concrete and then shot off, bowling into him. America slammed back, hitting the opposite alley wall. Wet stone crumbled around them.

There was a flash of silver, his brain barely register--knife!--before his boot slammed into Japan’s slight torso. Japan fell, hit the ground but was spinning a half-second later, slashing America’s leg. The sharp dagger tore through uniform, boot and sock and the flesh of his upper calf about half an inch. America grunted and tackled him. He grabbed Japan by his hair and ground his face into the mud. Japan responded by edging his hand and slamming it into his throat. America choked for a second and his grip loosened. Japan curled around him like a snake, forcing his arms back and holding with his knees. His hand groped for the knife again, raised it—and then America bit him. He ripped a chunk of Japan’s flesh right from his throat. He seized beneath America and he was able to sit up and throw Japan off. He had dropped his gun somewhere in the scuffle and now he looked around fast and spotted it. He dove for it. At the same time, Japan recovered and whirled his katana and dagger, running at him.

And suddenly, pain exploded in America’s neck. He picked up the gun and pointed it at Japan….but, there seemed to be several of Japan. He staggered, hand flying up to his neck and tearing something out. He couldn’t focus on it. Some kind of…of…

He hit the wall, groaning faintly.

Japan had stopped as well, on edge in case another flew out. It was a poison dart, he could see.

“Japan! Japan! Japaaaaan~!” Italy dropped in beside them, carrying a curious-looking rifle. “I did it! Germany told me to send a few officers but I really wanted to go! I was able to help!”

Japan let a short sigh escape but he didn’t say anything. He was disappointed but he nodded anyway. “Thank you, Italy.” He flicked his sword and sheathed it. “Help me get him to the compound.”

America was still conscious while they carried him but he had lost his motor functions. His breath was hissing through his teeth. He was furious.



England still managed to look regal, even with his face covered in blood. Germany’s eyes had gotten colder after Italy had left. Colder, wider, more haunted.

Barking mad, England thought, just before a heavy hand grabbed his collar and jerked him to his feet. Germany was getting eager for him to react. To show some remorse, terror or anger and so England gave him nothing. Germany tried harder.

“Your uniform.” Germany said, gruffly. “Off.”

England raised an eyebrow. “Really? Oh, come now. That’s boring. And besides, my hands are bound. Bit hard to remove a uniform with bound wrists.”

Germany took out a knife and started to cut it off. He ripped the proud medals and bars and threw the tattered thing into the corner. England refused to shudder. He suppressed it while Germany’s rough hands ripped his belt away.

They both paused, tilting an ear when they heard sounds of a scuffle. A metal door close by grated open.

They both saw Japan first, being shoved. The smaller nation said something harsh in his own language and ended with, “Italy! The door!”

“Th-the poison’s wearing off!” Italy wailed. “France told me it would last for an hour!”

“Why would you buy from France?!”

“Fucking shitheads—you can’t win any sort of fair fight, can you? All just betrayal and backstabs to you, isn’t it!” America was trying to shake off Italy but Japan bounded forward and grabbed him. The three of them scuffled but Italy and Japan managed to half-throw the still-floundering America into the room. He had not gained full control of his limbs yet and he stumbled, tripping over the only chair and smashing into a small, steel table. Italy fled the room. Japan turned to look through the glass. He did not acknowledge England’s state at all. He looked right at Germany, nodded and left, slamming and locking the steel door.

Germany and England watched as America flailed for a moment and then came up. He was unsteady and cursing. His face and hands had blood on them. His disguised torn and dirty.

“Son of a bitch,” he grumbled—and Germany and England could hear him perfectly--, “Just fucking wait. I’ll—“

And that was when he looked up and saw the glass. Saw through the glass. All the anger drained from his face. His mouth fell open, eyes wide. He stared at the bloody, half-clothed England and the stern, hard eyes of Germany.

Germany looked back at England. “Shall we continue?”

England felt his heart skip, looking at America’s disbelieving eyes. So this is what Germany had planned for. He looked back at Germany. I’ll kill you.

No verbalization was needed. Germany seemed to interpret his murderous stare correctly.

There was a thud and England’s eyes darted over again. America was against the glass separating the two rooms. He pounded on it. “Goddamn you, Germany! Fuck you! I’ll fucking kill you! Don’t you fucking dare!”

Germany was dispassionate. He could have backed out of this at any moment but now that America was here and watching, he could not. Orders. I have orders. He grabbed England’s trousers and, for the first time, England reacted.

He tried to step back, eyes running between America and Germany. “You are mad, boy.”

Germany advanced on him, grabbing his hip and holding him still. “America should see that he can’t save everyone. You should see that you cannot win against me.”

“Germany—“ there was a low, guttural warning in his tone, but Germany cut him off by shoving him. Calves bound, England fell backwards, smacking his head against the floor. He was dazed for a second and Germany straddled him, taking the knife to his trousers. They fell away in green strips. Germany cut the laces on his boots and ripped them off. He could hear America cursing and yelling behind the glass but he ignored him. He slid the cold metal up England’s thigh. To his credit, the empire was looking right at him, almost daring him. Remaining silent to maintain his dignity rather than flail in humiliation in front of America. His simple black boxers were sliced off. England’s eyes stayed steady.

Germany was only able to match that gaze for a short time. Eventually, he had to look away, laying the knife down and drawing his Luger. The grip suddenly felt heavy. The long, thin barrel weighty as he touched the tip of England’s length with it, lifting the head on the end of the gun.

England looked away this time. He refused to look at the east wall, where America had stilled in horror. He looked at the blank west wall. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Germany remove the vial of oil. And the barrel left his length he heard a fresh barrage of curses come from America.

He’s going…to use the gun to…

He did.


“You cocksucker! Motherfucking—stop it! Stop it! ENGLAND!” America whirled around, picked up the single chair and raised it. He slammed it into the window. Beyond, he could see, though he desperately wished he couldn’t—England writhing in pain, bleeding everywhere but not making a sound as the gun tore into his body. America panted. He slammed the chair against the window again. It barely rippled, clearly reinforced, bullet-proof glass. “Goddammit!” He kept at it, desperately now. “England!”

Germany dipped his fingers in England’s blood and touched him, watching England’s jaw lock and eyes screw shut. Still, England didn’t make a sound. “Are you that proud, England?”

England opened his eyes and they burned out at him. He refused to answer.

Germany nodded and stroked him, glancing over at the glass. His hand skipped on England’s length and stilled.

America was up against the glass, looking as angry as a bull in a room full of red. His breathing steamed the clear wall between them. His eyes were wild, enraged—that blue shooting out at him like knives.

Germany glared at him. “What’s wrong, America? Tired of trying with the chair?”

“I hope Russia skull-fucks you! He wants you, you know. Because you betrayed him. You’d have to be fucking stupid to think you could do that to Russia and get away with it. He doesn’t join us because he gives a fuck about Europe. He joined us because he wants to deal with you personally.”

Germany stiffened. He’d known that, of course but confirmation was not what he was looking for. He could imagine what Russia might do to him if he lost the war.

“America…”

Germany looked down. So did America.

“Go sit down,” England said. There was a definite wheeze to his voice but it was raspy and harsh.

“Fucking shut up! You dumbass!” America pounded on the window again. “You—goddammit!”

Germany felt something deep inside snap. He ripped the gun out of England’s body, feeling him jerk against the floor. Dropping the Luger, he got up and grabbed England by the hair.

He slammed him, face first, against the glass. Blood smeared over the smooth surface. Germany pressed against his back, eye-to-eye with America.

“Germany,” America said, voice dangerous, face twisted in rage. “If you…fucking…I swear. I’ll….”

Germany gripped the back of England’s head and shoved it against the glass, with his free hand he opened his trousers. There was a twisted feeling he got when he saw how angry this made America. This former colony had hated England, even gone to war against him. Prussia had told him about it. They’d been on terrible terms for many, many years. Time and World War one had repaired some of their bad blood. This war brought them closer. And now this disobedient colony-now-nation was swearing death if Germany harmed England.

How things do change.

America froze when Germany shoved brutally into England. And England could not hide the way his eyes went wide in pain and the tiny sound that escaped him. It was barely a whimper, just a little sound but across the glass, America snapped.

He was beating against the glass with the chair again. It rippled and quaked and banged and didn’t break.

But it did chip.

America noticed it at almost the same time Germany did. They both went still, looking at it and then the eyes America gave Germany were along the lines of wolfish.

The door on America’s side opened. Germany and America both looked as Italy came in with his tranquilizer rifle.

Germany felt a bolt of panic. “Italy! What are you doing! Get out of there!” America will rip him apart.

America was already moving. He threw the chair at Italy and the nation staggered and fell. America reached him before Italy could train the rifle on him again. It snapped when America curled his fist around it and he grabbed Italy by the hair and flung him into the wall. He was quick to follow, grabbing Italy’s head and slamming it into the white concrete, leaving a smear of red behind. He searched him, grabbing his pistol and turned.

Japan came lunging through the door, America fired at him and he dropped like a stone.

Then he aimed at the glass.

Germany ducked down, pulling England with him. It took five shots before the glass fractured like a spider web.

Germany was up and to the door the second the shots stopped. America was busting out the glass and chasing him. Germany was no coward but he knew bloodlust when he saw it. How often had he seen it in Prussia? Germany made it and shut the door, locking it.

“GERMANY!” America roared, slamming up against the steel door. “I’ll fucking tear you limb from limb!” He received no answer and so he whirled around and….his breath choked in his throat. “Arthur!” He ran to him, kneeling and grabbed his shoulders. “Arthur! Arthur!” He tore off his German jacket and wrapped England in it. He could feel the elder shaking. “God, Arthur, you’re...” He lifted him up easily and climbed back through the broken window. Japan was lifting Italy, helping him stand.

“America--!” Japan choked out.

America ignored him, walking out of the room.




France rubbed his temples. “So he was caught?”

China sipped from his teacup. “Germany seemed to have expected him to come. Italy sent the message when they caught him.”

France pounded his fist on the table. “Stupid boy. Stupid.”

Russia just smiled. “It would be interesting if we all went to Berlin.”

“You just want to get to Germany,” France snapped. “You could care less whether we get those two back or not.”

“Should we tell Canada?”

France shook his head at China. “No. We’ll wait. Just like we should have done in the first place.”

“Loyalty is difficult to find,” Russia said. He shrugged.

France glared at him and didn’t look over when the door burst open.

“Sirs! Excuse me, Sirs! Commander Jones had returned! He’s brought Lord Kirkland!”

China got up, France was quick to follow and they hurried out. Russia stayed and hummed to himself.

France ran when he caught sight of them. “Alfred! Arthur!”

America was covered in dirt, sweat and blood, though it looked like only a small portion of it was his own. The rest was clearly England’s, who was naked save for America’s jacket and a blanket someone had given him.

It made France’s stomach turn. America was breathing hard, eyes wild. “Get me a doctor,” he ordered. “Now!”



England drifted between awake and asleep. He was no longer sure where he was but when he came to, he was wearing clothes. That was a good start, he thought. His entire body was sore. He blinked a few times to get his eyes to focus.

America was curled up with him, a possessive, protective arm wrapped around his waist. England frowned. Stupid boy… But his heart wasn’t in it. “Alfred…”

America tensed and his eyes popped open. “Arthur…? Arthur.” He sat up, holding him gently, almost cradling him. “Are you okay?”

England snorted and started to sit up but stiffened as his muscles objected. America put a hand on his back to help him. “I’m fine…” He winced.

“You should heal fast…you—“

“I know. Our bodies heal quickly, Alfred.”

“I…I know…” America seemed to flounder for words. “I…”

I was worried. I wanted to save you. I couldn’t go to my field and be focused, knowing you were in Berlin. Please, look at me.

England looked down, realizing he was in a pair of America’s pajamas. “Thank you, Alfred. But…next time—“

“Don’t. You know I won’t listen.”

England sighed, flicking his wrist so the cuffs wouldn’t hang so much over his fingers. “When did you ever, I suppose…”

“I gave Matthew command of my unit. Australia took on yours. They want you to take a few days off.”

“I don’t need a few days.”

“Yes, you do.”

“So did they want me to, or did you bully them into wanting me to?”

America looked down. His voice was quiet. “Arthur, just a couple days.”

“Is this about you or about me?”

America flinched, stung by the remark. “Don’t make this about something like that.” His voice shook. “I risked a lot going to Berlin. Everyone else told me not to do it. And--and I know you're used to--”

England looked away. “This is war—“

America’s arms slid away from him. He put his forehead in his hand. “I don’t care.”

“What—“

“Humans war all the time. But I don’t always know when I’ll see you next.”

England went quiet. He could see the pain on his face and the wounds. “I’m sorry, Alfred.” He smiled faintly. “Forgive me. It’s habit to—“

“I know. You English have ice water in your veins.” Thankfully, America’s smile returned a little. “Is there anything you’d like right now?”

England shook his head. “Just sleep,” he murmured. He was exhausted and he hurt and he could anticipate the nightmares.

America nodded and when he lay down, America laid down with him, curling that strong arm around him again. England curled up, tense as a spring and shivering.

They spoke little, exchanging a word here and there. America putting a comfortable hand in England's hair and, eventually, he started to relax. When he finally drifted off, England saw what he always did, war and death.

America stared at the wall, soothing England when he flinched in his sleep, and thought maybe Russia had the right idea.