Danke

All around people rejoiced.

Families separated for years hugged each other crying and screaming in happiness.

Long lost friends greeted each other in delight.

Tears of joy. Screams of happiness.

For years they had been separated by the Berlin Wall.

Now the wall was gone.

They were free.

Freedom.

A word the people of East Germany haven't heard for years.

The word that everyone associated to the hope they clung to.

The hope that one day they would be free.

Now they were.

Finally, they were free.

Away from the crowd of rejoicing people, two nations stared at each other. Their brains still unable to comprehend the impossible fact.

That the wall was gone.

They were together again.

Brothers separated for so long.

Prussia didn't know who moved first, but suddenly they were running at each other.

They clung to each other, Prussia suddenly aware of the fact that Germany was crying. In that moment, Prussia didn't see Germany as the starter of World Wars, a once major world power, he saw him as his little brother.

He remembered how weak and fragile his little brother had looked as Russia left with him. Italy had left Germany and now Prussia was leaving him too. Germany had cried for Prussia and they had reached for each other, but America and Russia separated them. He would never forget how lost his little brother had looked as Russia dragged himself away. Innocent and lost in this cruel, evil world.

He saw him as the tiny little blond-haired, blue-eyed child. The child who, every time there was a thunderstorm, would run all the way to Prussia's room crying for him. The little child who would crawl into Prussia's bed and snuggle in under the warm blankets with him. The child he had chased and played with in the warm, golden sunshine. The child he had done his best to raise right. The little child he had left behind.

Prussia was aware of his own tears, sliding down his face onto his brother's long brown coat. And he clung to his younger brother as memories washed over him.

Prussia had just arrived at Russia's house and he already hated it. It was always cold and everyone there shivered whenever Russia was in a five-mile radius of him. Not only that, but everyone there hated him. Hungary, Poland, Lithuania. They all hated him for what his brother had done. What he had done.

Slowly, he realized that Russia wasn't such a monster after all. True, he sometimes beat them bloody, but that was when they did something wrong. Lithuania had once told him that Russia had a terrible childhood. That he thought that pain was the only way they would learn from their mistakes. Because that was the way he had learnt.

The others in the house became civil to him after a while. Life wasn't as bad as before, but still he hated it. Because his people hated it. They began to leave. They left East Germany and slowly, he felt himself begin to fade. Each time one of his people crossed the border, he felt it. His people's anger, sorrow, worry. He felt it all. His people was his blood, his body the land. Slowly each drop of his blood drained out of him, and he could do nothing. They tried to save him, but how could you save someone who didn't want to live?

He wanted to fade away. He wanted all his problems to leave him alone. He wanted to die. And he would have too, if not for two things. The first was his brother, his innocent little brother who he had told himself he had to live for. Italy, his brother's love, had left his brother. He couldn't leave him too. That would utterly crush his brother's fragile heart.

The second came in the form of a white-haired, violet-eyed, scarf-wearing, pipe-wielding stubborn nation who insisted that Prussia lived. Russia. Prussia had always thought himself to be the stubbornest person in the world. He was proved wrong. Russia built a wall separating Berlin. His people wasn't leaving anymore, but his people's negative emotions became worse.

Somedays, he would just lie on his back on his bed in Russia's house staring at the white, cracked ceiling. He had energy, but this time, it wasn't his body that was weak and crushed, but his spirit. Still, he was alive. Everyone had tried to cheer him up. Ukraine's handmade scarf didn't help. Neither did Belarus's very, very sharp knives. He pushed away even wurst and beer. His favorites. They bought back too many bittersweet memories.

Prussia inhaled his brother's comforting scent. Wurst and beer. He smelt exactly like before. He looked better too.

The wall. That god-damned freaking wall that separated himself from his brother. He beat and screamed at it. He punched and kicked at it until his knuckles were split and bleeding. Until his tears froze on his cheeks and his voice became hoarse. His throat dry and raspy. His cheeks red and raw.

When he finally crawled into a ball at the bottom of that terrible wall, silently sobbing into his arms, it was Russia who had silently wrapped a blanket around his and carried him back to the house. Who had bandaged his still-bleeding knuckles. Who had given him a mug of steaming, warm borsch.

It was Russia who let him call and write to his brother. Who offered to bring him to world meetings to see his brother. Only Prussia declined every offer. He didn't want to see or hear or even write to his brother. He didn't want to know if Germany had become a monster or turned into a hamburger-eating freak show. All he wanted to do was cling his memories of Germany before the world wars. Before Hitler. Innocent little Germany who would never hurt a fly.

Prussia reached up a hand and ran his hand through his brother's golden locks. Messing up his slicked-back hair. Germany was still…well…Germany. He was still his little brother who liked everything to be tidy and neat. Who was always punctual and had a short temper. He was still the same.

"Ich liebe dich, mein bruder." He mumbled into Germany's coat "Ich liebe dich."

"Ich liebe dich auch." Germany whispered back "I missed you so much."

Slowly they parted and grinned at each other.

Then Germany took his older brother's hand and started to lead him to his house.

But Prussia looked back one more time. And there he stood.

Among the ruins of the wall, the wind billowing around him.

His pale hair ruffled by the wind.

The ends of his pale pink scarf flying in the winds behind him.

His face was expressionless, no sadistic childish smile, no stubborn no-way-are-you-going-to-die-Prussia look, no concern or anger.

But his eyes. Those beautiful violet eyes.

Prussia could see in them, a mixture of different emotions. Sorrow. Joy. Regret. Relief. And some other emotion he couldn't figure out.

Then Russia turned and walked away.

Someday, he would go to Russia and thank him.

For not judging him by what his boss had done.

For all those little acts of kindness that let Prussia know, that in some way, Russia cared for him and everyone else in his house.

For not stopping him when he destroyed the wall.

For letting him see his brother.

And most of all, for keeping him alive, even when he hadn't wanted to be.

Someday he would say it.

Thank you Russia. For everything.

Danke.

Translations (German to English):

Ich liebe dich = I love you

Mein bruder = My brother

Auch = Too

Danke = Thank You