Warnings: Holocaust/concentration camps will be a thing that we see at some point and they are referenced to quite a bit; you have been warned

Author Notes: I will try my best for historical accuracy. Nonetheless anachronisms will no doubt exist I'm sure, especially in their speech. Plus the dates are kinda smudged but ahhhhh I try. All I'm saying is don't use me as a historical accurate representation of WWII, k, thanks, bye.

~ How To Save A Life ~

~!~ 1 ~!~

It's a chilly late autumn evening in Berlin in the year 1942 when Prussia climbs out of the motorized vehicle, gives a halfhearted wave to the driver, and walks up to stand at the bottom of the steps leading to the large office building. Being called from the front lines and having to change into his blue Waffen-SS uniform already has him in a bad mood. Knowing that his brother is going to make him wait even longer for an explanation, even before he walks in and is told this much, has him scowling at the brick, stone, and mortar building in front of him.

"This is fucking stupid," he growls as he adjusts his black hat to where it's wrongly situated off to the side. "It better be a good reason this time."

With a huff, Prussia ignores the look from a passing fellow military officer, and walks up the large steps into the building. He knows exactly where to go already, and the silver cords on his own uniform give him clearance to walk pretty much wherever he wants at this point. If they have an issue with an albino wearing officer rankings, they can fight him. He'd welcome a good throw down after all he's had to deal with today.

"Damn propaganda bullshit," he mutters as his boots click on the polished floor with each step he takes. "Wish they'd stop that narrative already."

Soon enough he arrives at West's office area and after announcing his arrival to the secretary, he plops down on a nearby bench and crosses one leg across the other one. She's staring at him, too. It's someone new this time. Keh. How many does that make? Four? Five? He hopes they're getting promoted and not sent off somewhere for disobeying some bullshit rule. The camps are being used to keep the citizens in fear, to make examples of even the smallest mistakes, and Prussia isn't sure if his baby brother is in control enough to keep the propaganda from infecting him, too.

It's sad that's he's not sure. He should be sure. West is his brother . He practically raised him and helped him unite all the German states into one country; hell, Prussia itself as a nation is effectively abolished at this point. If he weren't so scared of disappearing, he'd have given over to mortality like some of the others. But no, he's here to keep an eye on West, to advise him, lead him in the right direction.

Right?

Even as he thinks the reassuring phrases, he rolls his eyes and huffs, glaring at the floor, tapping his finger against his leg. Things aren't exactly working out as he hoped. There's too much that makes him sick with this new way of doing things. He doesn't like it. He doesn't like coming back to it where he can feel the fear of average citizens. It's suffocating.

He should be back on the front lines anyway. Fighting is what he's good at it. It's his talent. This political bullshit drives him nuts and he's lost so much control over that aspect of Germany already. Besides, on the battlefield, he can forget about all the atrocities going on outside the cities. He can forget about the fear. He can get lost in a good fight, especially now that he's against Russia. He'd prefer to go back and spend the whole war there.

Damn it.

After what feels like a lifetime of waiting, the secretary lady calls him over and nods toward the door. "General Beilschmidt will see you now."

Without responding to her – who knows how long she'll be in this position; best not to get close at this rate – Prussia strides his way into Germany's office and lets the door crash behind him. "Yo, West, I'm not sure how I feel about being recalled from the front. It's a nightmare and all but I think we were faring better with my awesome self there."

West barely looks up at his entrance. He's busy at his varnished wood desk, organizing papers. He's wearing his full green uniform, the one that matches Prussia's current one, oh and there's the red armbands that they're all required to wear, too. Some loyalty bullshit oath to the current leader, someone Prussia doesn't particularly like anymore. But someone his baby brother adores far, far too much.

"Bruder," West says at last as he stands up and walks around to make sure there's nothing between them. "We have a more important job for you now."

"Hah?" Prussia's eyebrows go up. "What's more important than fighting with our soldiers?"

The question hangs in the air for a moment, and Prussia feels his thoughts drift. He immediately tenses. No, no way, he's going to refuse if it's to go back to one of those places. He can get away with refusing because of who he is, right?

"I swear," he murmurs in a low voice. "If you send me to one of those camps again..."

To his relief, West shakes his head. "I'm fine with handling that myself. No, there's been a turn of events. We've got one of them."

Seeing those blue eyes harden into such piercing ice makes Prussia wince as he tilts his head. "One of 'them'?"

"The allies," West explains. "We caught him with a group of spies."

Oh. That's a new one. It wouldn't surprise him if it were Arthur, honestly. That idiot always did like to act as if he were a perfect spy. Dumbass probably went somewhere obvious and West picked up on him in an instant.

Still, this late in the war it's a good thing to run across some luck. Things have been difficult since America joined the fray. Little bastard playing hero to his precious England, no doubt. Prussia rolls his eyes even as these thoughts play through his head.

"You mean you've got one of the other nations in captivity, huh?" He blinks, then narrows his eyes. "Wait. What are you expecting me to do?"

West leans back against the desk and crosses his arms. "Watch him. Try to get information out of him, hopefully, but mostly just make sure he doesn't escape to relay whatever he managed to pick up from us."

Prussia growls and leans in, shoving a finger at his brother. "I'm not here to be some fucking babysitter, West."

"Doesn't matter. It's your new assignment."

"Are you serious? You pull me from the war front to do, what, sit around and watch some..." Drifting off but keeping the scowl on his face, he waves his hand in the air and changes his words mid-thought. "Which one is it anyway?"

"Canada," West answers, though his eyes are too damn hard to be talking to an older brother; what happened to respecting one's elders? Damn. "He seems pretty quiet. You'll have an easy time with him."

Easy time torturing him for intel, you mean , Prussia thinks and glares down at the floor.

He feels a little more tense than usual talking to his baby brother. He shouldn't. West shouldn't make him feel so uncomfortable. The damn monster effect has him in its grip. Prussia has snapped before, so he understands, but that's usually on a battlefield when the blood is spraying and screams are all around and the thrill takes over and -

Well, West is different. His stance is far too relaxed for this whole situation and he, Prussia, is the one feeling tense. Fucking hell. He doesn't like what this new boss has done to his brother. What sometimes comes out in him now.

"Mmf. I don't know much about finding it easy," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck before giving in with a sigh. "Where is he being held?"

"Your house," West states matter-of-factly. "We have men surrounding the perimeter for now and they'll follow your orders once you get there."

In an instant, Prussia snaps up to his full height and clenches his fists by his side. "What? He's at my place? Are you fucking kidding me?"

The glare is harsher than expected, but Prussia stands his ground, even as West's voice drops in volume and tone. "I don't joke. You should be more proud of this."

"Don't tell me what I should be proud of!"

It shouldn't surprise him that West doesn't appreciate these words, this sentiment. His monster is too much in control. Prussia can see it clear as day now when his baby brother frowns, blue eyes piercing ice into his soul, and proceeds to stand up and practically tower over him.

Right. Prussia may be the older brother here, but West is taller. And bulkier. And more intimidating with this look than, well, than anyone else he knows at least. Getting that look sent toward him kind of hurts, but there's nothing he can do about it.

There's nothing he can do.

"You should be proud," West intones, in that dangerous voice of his; yep, the monster is in full effect; against him . Fuck. "Proud of the fact that you've been given a new, much more important , assignment."

More important my ass.

The words don't break from Prussia's gritted teeth. He can't make them come out. He's successfully intimidated by his younger brother. So much for being the adviser. He can't even stand up to him anymore.

Pathetic.

"Damn it, West," he growls, even as he steps back and feels his shoulders shrink under the pressure. "I'm better at fighting! Let me fight! Why do you keep recalling me for random small shit like this?"

It's a last ditch effort. It sounds like a whine. He doesn't care. Apparently, if he reads the look right in West's cold, blue eyes, West doesn't care either. A shudder runs up his spine and Prussia has to pull his gaze away.

' You know why' the look said. 'You know.'

Yeah, I know, all right. Fucking propaganda bullshit making even you not trust me because of how I look now, is that it?

He can't say the words. He can't challenge him. He wants to hang on to hope. Maybe that's not what he read. Maybe West doesn't actually believe the bullshit. Maybe it's all just in his head because of what the citizens are going through right now. That fear is suffocating, like smog filling his lungs and head as he tries to process and think through it all.

West's voice is harsh and cold enough to make him wince again. "Just do the job."

So he turns his back to avoid letting his baby brother see the tears forming in his eyes. Damn. He's pathetic these days, isn't he?

"Fine. I'll do my job," he says, daring to let it come out a little mockingly. "Even if it's a complete waste of my talent because of some stupid backwards ass ideology."

"It's not backwards!"

The shout from his brother makes him leave without looking back. Fuck. Maybe he really is falling into the bullshit.

The secretary lady tries to get him to sign something as he stomps out, but he ignores her and continues on. What are they going to do? Chase him down and threaten him with the camps? Fuck that. No matter how far West is gone, he'd never send him to one of those places as an inmate.

When he gets out of the office building, he stops and takes a deep breath to try to cool his anger, wiping the water from his eyes. Someone stares at him as the door opens and closes again, but he ignores it. Let them think what they want. Let them.

He's Prussia. He's too awesome for this shit. He'll go check in on this captured nation and take it out on him. Not like he has much of a choice anymore.

~!~

Having been stripped of the uniform jacket and hat he'd used as spy wear, Canada quickly finds that he's thankful that's the only articles of clothing they took from him. It makes sense, too, but this closet isn't really full of many options. So he'll be satisfied with the white button down and khaki slacks. It would feel a little weird going outside with only this to wear, but he doubts he'll be going anywhere anytime soon.

Unless he can work out a way to open the window and climb down and sneak away successfully. The room hasn't exactly been escape-proofed yet so he still has a chance. Best to try to take it now, right? No telling what these Germans will do with him now that they know he's a nation; his heart aches for the human members of his crew who he can't feel anymore, but that means someone recognized his nation "scent."

Sadly. Here he was thinking he was invisible to everyone. Guess that's not quite as true as he'd been led to believe.

"Mapleleaf," he murmurs, "America's never going to let me hear the end of this."

He presses his hand to the window, feeling the chill of the night air. Maybe finding a jacket to wear would be a good idea if he tried to get out. Why isn't this thing bolted shut? And why can't he open it anyway? Shoddy craftsmanship?

Terrible luck, if that's true. Maybe there's something in here he can use to bust the window. Oh, but that would grab attention from the guards, wouldn't it? Hm. He'd have to find something that would allow him to work fast, too. They seem to be pretty diligent about their rounds.

Considering what could await them if they fail their duty, he doesn't blame them…

The door opens behind him and he spins immediately, putting his back to the window and doing his best to appear innocent. Of course he adds a glare for good measure, even before he sees who it is. The blue uniform is a bit of a surprise; he doesn't think he's seen that color on the Germans yet. But it's most definitely one of their SS uniforms, and an officer by the looks of the insignia – he didn't spend all that time studying the details not to recognize something so important.

There's something else about him, too. He walks in calmly enough, but almost appears to be glaring with the same amount of vitriol as what Canada's trying to dish out. Those red eyes feel like they're swallowing him up in blood, but he meets the glare without flinching. He has to stand tall. He's pretty sure he knows what's in store for him, but he's not going to let them get to him. He won't give in. He'll prove to everyone that he's tough.

The other nation – because oh yeah, he can definitely feel the nation pull now that they're in the same room – closes the door and stands there, as if blocking the way out. Like Canada would make a run for it. No point with all the guards and another nation on his scent.

Oh, there's something else strange about this picture. Red eyes, white hair under that crooked hat, and his skin is deathly pale. Albino? An albino officer? That doesn't match up with everything he's gathered on their political propaganda; then again, he's a nation, so he must not have to deal with all that.

Of course now Canada is left to search the information in his brain to figure out which nation is albino. He's been warned about Germany and Prussia, and he's pretty sure Germany is blue eyes and blond hair so...is this Prussia? Maybe. There could be other German states still around living as immortal nations. So he's not going to jump to conclusions.

The voice that comes out of the other nation is grumbling and angry, but not as harsh as he's expected. "Good job getting fucking caught."

Canada blinks at first, then scoffs it away. "Shouldn't have happened."

"Well it did and now I'm stuck with watching over you," the man crosses his arms slowly, his red eyes narrowing into a deeper glare. "So good fucking job."

He almost sounds pissed about them catching me. That's a little backwards, so I'm sure I'm reading that wrong.

"So, what, are you just going to stay in here and babysit me?"

The albino scoffs and begins muttering under his breath. Canada raises his eyebrows, trying his best to catch what's said, but the German accent suddenly gets real thick and he finds it difficult. He supposes he should be grateful the man decided to speak in English. Guess they know who he is, then.

Interesting that the guy isn't doing anything yet. And he really does sound pissed about his current position. Not that Canada likes having a nation trusted to guard him. It makes escape more difficult thanks to that whole can't-hide-from-a-nation-within-a-certain-range thing. Too bad his invisibility isn't working; instead of being ignored in meetings, he'd sure like for it to come in use here.

But knowing his current luck, that's not going to happen.

So he groans. "I'll take that muttering as a yes, which means I really will never hear the end of this."

He half expects the other nation to snap at him again. Instead, all he gets is an answering groan, followed by those red eyes moving as the albino pulls away from the door. Canada feels himself tense as the man walks toward him, getting closer and closer, until he's literally right in front of him. He can almost smell the hint of alcohol on the guy's breath, or maybe that's his imagination and stereotyping of Germans loving their beer.

Still, he can't help but press back against the window as those red eyes study him. He tries to match it, but his heart pounds in his chest, the blood rushing to his ears. He can hear his own heartbeat he's so nervous. So many warnings come to mind.

England, America, France, everyone warning him about the dangers of the German brothers. If it really is Prussia, even more so. And that gaze is meeting his now. Glare for glare. Close enough to touch. What is he doing? What's the aim here?

Another gasp of breath later, and the other nation pulls back with a short laugh, standing straighter. "Relax. I'm no monster. No matter what the others probably say."

Canada blinks because that's too close to what he was actually thinking. Kind of creepy. He doesn't say anything in response, though. Just listens as the albino glances to the side and mutters some more.

"West, on the other hand, I can't speak for anymore."

"I -" He gulps, forces himself to calm down and face this head on. "I find that hard to believe."

Red eyes flash at him immediately. "Why?"

"I have intel. I know what you're doing to your people," he says, proud of himself for not stammering, even if he tenses again. "I don't know who you are exactly, maybe Prussia, but you're here so you must be part of the problem."

A fist slams against the wall right beside him and he flinches, eyes shaking as he tries his best to meet that terrifying red-eyed glare. "I am not responsible for any of that! And yes, I'm Prussia, but look at me. Take a good, long look. You have intel on the camps? Well, what do you think they want to do to someone who looks like me, huh?"

They wouldn't dare , Canada thinks. He's just trying to freak me out. Pity him, maybe. Sympathize with him. Well, forget it. I'm not falling for it. I'm not giving you anything.

"But you're one of us," he says out loud. "They couldn't...could they?"

"They wouldn't dare," Prussia says, echoing Canada's thoughts, and then offering a smirk. "Just like they wouldn't dare put you in one. Why do you think you're here and I'm on guard duty?"

He shivers a little just at the thought, but he controls his fear enough to return his glares. Even though there's something about that smirk…

"Why you specifically?"

"Got me," Prussia responds lazily, his face switching to a grin as he finally pulls away and turns around. "Have they fed you?"

Canada shakes his head, even though the other nation is facing away from him and can't see. "Why do you care?"

"Would you rather starve?"

With a grimace, he mutters under his breath. "Good point." Then with a sigh, he gives in. "No, they didn't feed me."

Red eyes flash in a lighthearted smile as the man turns around, putting Canada off his guard again. "Then I'll bring something up."

He shakes his head in disbelief, not sure what to think of Prussia. All the warnings have him tense and wary. Prussia's supposed to love torture. He's supposed to be good at it. Enjoy it. Get off to it. So why is he offering food?

Canada chews his bottom lip in thought as the albino nation walks to the door and opens it before saying a few last things over his shoulder. "Oh and don't think about sneaking out the window. It's a bit of a drop. I'll have bars placed on it soon anyway."

Ah, right. That's more like it.

Once the door is closed and Prussia is gone, Canada sits down on the nearby bed. Someone's bedroom. He's trapped in someone's bedroom, caught in the middle of Berlin in the midst of a world war, and this monster of a nation is in charge of watching over him. He has to be tough. He can get through this.

He shudders. There is no alternative. He'll get through this, and probably join the others in hating this Prussia character. He's the one to blame for what Germany is doing anyway. It should be easy to hate him.

Right?