A/N: Essentially, this is about the unification of Germany, and the building wariness to said unification. Takes place during/after the Franco-Prussian War, the third and final war in the trial to prove Prussian dominance over Europe and claim to unite the German states, which leads to African colonization which causes enough tension to lead into World War I. However, this fic also includes the looming concern of America, a young nation overseas who already has achieved much of what Europe has in hundreds of years in only a small portion of that. In summary, this fic is chalk full of foreshadowing.

BASICALLY HEADCANON, AND LOTS OF IT. This was also written over a year ago, and I think I'd like to rewrite/write more on this later, since this was primarily written to be used as a study tool than an actual fanfic.

Used for my 1000 Themes Challenge, #181: Demons.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, history, or any of that good stuff. I just like writing about them, and make no claims to copyrighted material.

"Don't unify him, mon ami. No good will come of it." France ground out, barely strong enough to look his former friend in the eye from his lowly position on the ground. "You've proven your strength, we've all seen what you can do. Denmark and Austria—"

Prussia flung a kick to France's head, smirking cruelly once he heard the loud crack of bone meeting marble. From there his boot was forced into his neck, the pressure altering depending on the tone of groan that was elicited. "Those pansies were nothing! You and your Napoleon weren't any different! He thought he could beat the awesome, awesome me!" he spat. "I am the Kingdom of Prussia, and I will unite Germany under the Second Reich!"

He removed his foot, squatting instead to snatch a handful of bloodied blond hair in his hand, lifting the Frenchman's head up violently. France was afraid that the cat-like grin and hateful red eyes would be the last things he would ever see. "And there's nothing you can do about it!" Prussia emphasized by shaking his arm, popping France's neck as it flopped at his will, the will of iron and blood.

"Don't." France coughed in Prussia's face, earning him another quick throw to the floor. He shuddered, pushed himself up despite the rage in the kingdom's eyes. "You'll destroy us all with that child." he quivered, unable to shield the despair twisting his face. "All of us."

Prussia perked, straightened up and looked down on him, crossing his arms. "And how the hell do you figure that, fuzzface?"

"He'll be another America, that…that demon child, Prussia, don't do it!" France groaned and gripped his side where a gun wound reopened. "Learn from that bastard's mistakes, bringing a child into the world right now, here…! It's stupid."

Again, a kick landed right against his temple, but this time he did no more than twitch as blood began to seep from his wound and, he suspected soon enough, from his head. "Don't tell me what to do! I'm going to revive that kid and turn him into something great! That filthy America—"

"England. England, mon ami, England is the one that brought that monster into existence." France scooted himself away, propping himself against a wall. He breathed heavily, putting manual pressure to his side. "If I had raised the boy…"

Prussia growled. Fucking…he didn't understand any of this shit, what was so great about America? Germany would but much greater, much more powerful, he would be unstoppable and awesome! It was the perfect plan!

"Brows is a loser and you goddamn know it." he accused somewhat shakily, taking hard steps closer to the beaten nation. In all honesty, there was something scary about the British Empire that struck deep down into Prussia's core, a foreboding that the island should not be messed with. Bismarck was smart…he could only pray that a navy would never come into German possession.

France shook his head. "You know how powerful that bastard has gotten. But America…" he coughed, slumping forward until he finished. "America…he's much, much worse. He'll be our undoing."

"He's overseas, what can he—"

"England is terrible at letting things go. He won't allow America to forget that a Europe exists beyond trading opportunities. He will do anything to get that brat involved in our problems."

Prussia shifted his gaze, nudged France's shoulder with his foot, and planted his fists on his hips. "So you're saying that England's bro is stronger than mine?"

"Oui. Infinitely."

Instead of the frown France was looking for, he grudgingly had to accept the wide, predatory smirk that he had seen far too many times.

"We'll see about that, fuzzface."