Prussia woke up feeling like he'd just been in a fight. A good one too, judging from the amount of pain running through his body, and the way his chest hurt every time he breathed. The tang of antiseptic air hit his nose, and he realized he was right.

"Ow," he said, eyes opening to see what his other senses had already confirmed.

He was sitting propped up in a bed that wasn't his own.

A hospital bed. Fuck, he hated hospitals. The smell of clean death that the modern world seemed to get off on; the parade of doctors and nurses always trying to tell him what to do as if he hadn't been fighting and getting injured for a millennia; the drugs that dulled his mind that they insisted on giving him no matter how much he cursed and protested. He hated it all and already didn't want to be here.

Then he noticed the heavy weight around his wrists.

He jerked in surprise, biting back a hiss as his ribs protested, and looked down. A set of heavy, padded restraints was locked around each of his wrists and secured to the bed railings on either side of him. The metal fastenings holding the cuffs closed were set too far inward for his fingers to reach.

Not that that stopped him from trying.

What the fuck was going on? The restraints looked hospital-issue, and could have been called comfortable in different circumstances, so whoever did this probably didn't have anything nasty planned for him. Probably.

Pulse pounding in his ears, Prussia searched for a way out, mind racing, meticulously scanning the room for anything he could use as a weapon once he was free.

A piercing alarm sounded to his right, startling him out of his thoughts.

It came from a large machine, connected by a thin length of wire to the tiny bit of plastic clamped to the tip of his right index finger. The display was filled with a jumble of numbers and graphs, but one line in particular stood out, large numbers in glaring red. A heart monitor, he realized.

Taking a series of deep breaths, Prussia struggled to calm his racing pulse and stop that infuriating noise before it brought anyone to check on him. He didn't want to deal with other people yet. It didn't work, and soon a nurse rushed into the room, a middle aged woman who clasped his shoulder and spoke words he couldn't hear over the wailing of the machine and the buzzing in his ears.

"Don't touch me!" Prussia jolted and pulled away as far as he was able, adding the rattle of the bedframe to the piercing noise ringing through the room. "Where am I? Get these fucking things off me!"

With the push of a button, the claxon was silenced. Prussia breathed easier, no longer feeling like his head was exploding from the inside.

"I'm sorry, sir," the nurse responded, the tones of a woman who was used to saying no and being listened to. "I can't do that."

Prussia snarled and leaned forward right into her face. To her credit, she didn't flinch. "I swear to fucking god, if you don't—"

The drab colored curtain to left was abruptly pulled back and Prussia whipped his head around.

"That's enough, Prussia."

It was West, his bed inclined into a seated position in a mirror of Prussia's. There was an enormous piece of gauze taped over his nose, and he was sporting two very impressive black eyes. A ridiculous hospital gown that probably left his ass hanging out in the back hung off his frame, and Prussia was drawing breath to taunt him about it when he looked down and realized he was wearing the exact same thing.

He also wasn't restrained, Prussia noticed, torn between relief at seeing his brother unharmed and fury at his own situation, which was quickly becoming clear.

West turned to the stoic-faced woman and smiled sheepishly in that way that reminded Prussia of a puppy who'd just pissed on the carpet and knew he'd done wrong. "Sorry for the trouble, ma'am. If you wouldn't mind leaving us alone for a moment…" West trailed off, the request obvious.

She tutted disapprovingly, but after double-checking on Prussia's condition, her gaze softened and she relented.

As soon as she was gone, Prussia exploded. "What the fuck is this about! This your idea of revenge?" He pulled on his wrists for emphasis.

"No," West answered, simply. "It wasn't even my idea. When the police came—" He cut himself off, head tilting to one side. "Speaking of which, you should consider adding an In case of emergency number to your contacts list. It's a good practice to follow."

Prussia rolled his eyes. "Get to the point."

West continued as if the interruption had never happened. "The police found us on the floor. They saw me tied and assumed you were a danger."

What a load of bullshit. "And you just went along with it!"

For the first time, his brother looked frustrated. "What else was I supposed to do? I was barely awake myself, and I wasn't sure how you'd react when you woke up. You attacked me! So yes, I thought you were a danger, too. The safety of my citizens is my responsibility, even from you."

A sharp bark of laughter filled the room. "That's rich, coming from you."

West jerked as if struck, all expression draining from his face. It made the dark bruises under his eyes stand out in stark relief. Without a word, he turned away, and the curtain between them drew shut with an angry rattle.

Prussia was left alone, an uncomfortable lump expanding in his throat. He viciously shoved it down and focused on slipping his hands free of the cuffs.

Nothing he tried worked, and after exhausting every trick he knew, Prussia's patience snapped. "If I'm such a danger, why are we even in the same room?" The biting, sarcastic words felt good, and he wrapped himself in the feeling.

After a moment's hesitation, an answer came from beyond the curtain. "I insisted."

West's hand appeared at the edge of the cloth, hovering in place before sweeping the curtain aside. He dropped the hand into his lap and raised an eyebrow in Prussia's direction. "I do have some pull in this country, you know," he added.

Prussia couldn't tell if West was serious or if he was being ridiculed. Not that it mattered. Either way, he wanted to hit that smug, annoying face. Again. "Then use your stupid pull and take these off!" He rattled the bedframe.

"Oh, are you ready to be civil?"

Prussia leaned over the side railing until his right hand was pulled tight against the cuff. "Is that how things are going to be — I kiss your ass or else? Fuck you."

West rolled his eyes. "You're always so dramatic."

Resisting the urge to throttle him (not that it was an option right now) Prussia ground his teeth together, glaring at West as if he was looking down at him from a throne instead of tied to a bed. "After everything I did for you, this is what I get?"

West curled his lip and scoffed. It made the bandage on his nose crinkle. "Don't pretend to be a martyr. You didn't give me anything. Even our unification was a sham to increase your own power; don't think I'm not aware of that."

The accusation brought Prussia up short. He struggled upright from the reclined seated position. "A sham? What the fuck, West, I wanted you to be strong."

"But you wanted you to be stronger," West shot back.

"Of course I did! Shit, that's how it worked back then, remember?" The question was rhetorical and he didn't wait for an answer. "You've really embraced the whole modern way of thinking, haven't you? Fucking compromise and holding hands." He shook his head, as if that could physically shake away the facts of modern life. "Yes, I wanted to be stronger than you, but that doesn't mean I didn't want you to be powerful, too! Why would I have wasted my time teaching you everything I knew if I didn't want you to be strong!"

He stabbed a finger in West's direction, as if that alone would stir the memory of days spent training together in the sun, and nights surrounded by books of every size and subject in the library. Of eating together and laughing together and fighting together.

At least, he tried to. The jerk of his hand coming up short followed by the rattle of the bedframe slammed him back to reality and he sneered in helpless frustration. With a deep breath of disgustingly antiseptic air, he shoved it aside and schooled his features in the way he would with any other occupying force. He'd spent enough time under the control of foreign powers to know when anger was a useful asset and when it wasn't.

Not waiting for West to catch up, he continued. "You fight, you grow, you get stronger. Lesson number one, sound familiar?" He paused before adding, "Just because I was selfish doesn't mean I didn't do it for you, too."

His words hung in the air, hovering in the oppressive silence.

When there was no response, Prussia huffed, slumping back against the bed. Either West would get it or he wouldn't; Prussia was through explaining himself.

"It always comes down to war with you, doesn't it," West said softly. "I suppose it's too much to ask that you did all that because you cared."

Prussia felt like he was in the room with a stranger. He turned away. "I'm done talking," he said, staring resolutely at the wall in front of him. "Either get these things off me or get out."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw West rummage under a stack of papers on the small table between their beds (and leave it to his brother to do work during a hospital stay). Apparently finding what he was looking for, he leaned across the open space, breath catching in what had to be serious pain as he strained to bridge the distance between them and press something small and cold into Prussia's palm.

Their hands barely touched when West retreated, sagging against the pillow and wheezing heavily.

Prussia studied the object in his hand.

It was a key. With a thick barrel and a slim yet wide grip. Simple enough that whatever lock it opened could be picked by a child.

What the fuck was he supposed to do with it? There was no lock on the restraints, only a buckle (Prussia had checked) and if this was some sort of joke, he wasn't amused. He started to tell West exactly where to shove his stupid key— and stopped— jaw clicking shut before he could embarrass himself. He was supposed to be the strategically minded one, here.

Once his brain kicked into gear, it didn't take long to figure it out.

He pulled his wrist inward as far as the restraints would let him. The strap fastening the cuff to the bed frame was held closed by a shiny silver lock. With a little twisting, he got the stupid thing open, and from there it was a simple matter to free his opposite wrist, then go back and take the left cuff off completely.

He ignored the urge to rub at his wrists and instead draped his arms over the bed railings to drum his fingers against the sides.

Only then did it hit him that his mind was clear, and he was in much more pain than usual for one of these places. And was thirstier than he'd been in decades. There was water on the table, and Prussia snatched at it gratefully, only getting a couple small sips down before his chest protested the movement.

The silent treatment was getting on his nerves, and Prussia broke it with the first thing that crossed his mind. "The docs must be losing their touch. I was expecting to be drugged up to my eyeballs."

"I didn't let them give you any more than the bare minimum." West looked in his direction, the hands in his lap fidgeting. "I know you don't like it."

With slow, deliberate movements—as much in concession to his injuries as to hide his puzzled reaction— Prussia set the mostly full glass back in its place on the table.

Having West look out for him like that was a kindness he hadn't expected , especially after that bullshit with the restraints, and he felt like he should say something in return. Like, Sorry for kicking the shit out of you, or whatever. Then again, West had got him pretty good too, so maybe an apology wasn't strictly necessary.

After considering and discarding several possibilities, he decided to say nothing about it at all, instead asking, "So, what's the damage?"

If West was startled by the change in topic, he hid it well. "Broken ribs and some internal bleeding. But nothing too serious."

"You talking about me or you?"

West gave an amused huff of laughter, the unexpected noise ringing loud in the otherwise empty room. It cut off with a pained hiss as he doubled over and clutched at his sides. "Both of us," he answered, face contorted into something between a grimace and a smile. "We're under observation, according to the doctors."

With the edge taken off his anger, it was easy to fall back into old habits. Prussia smiled, the same devil-may-care grin that he used whenever he had a great idea to share. "What kind of bullshit is that? It can't kill us. They patched us up, let's get out of here."

"I agree, but I told them we would stay."

"What?"

West sighed. "They're human, they don't understand how we work. It wasn't worth arguing over."

Prussia took another sip of the water and looked over at the darkened television mounted on the far wall, resigned to staying put for the time being. "Don't suppose this place has video games?"

The question was supposed to be rhetorical, the closest he was willing to come to giving in gracefully, and he almost jumped when West responded.

"I've arranged to have our files and two laptops brought over."

And that was so fucking typical. His little brother wouldn't know fun if it stripped naked, drank all his beer, and gave him a lap dance (the memory of a drunken West wearing one of Austria's old corsets as a hat begged to differ, but that was beside the point).

It was on the tip of Prussia's tongue to tell West exactly what he thought of that plan, when he stopped, his brother's words replaying in his head.

West had said our files. It was a dumb thing to get hung up on, but it was enough to stay the stinging remark he'd been prepared to let fly. "Um, yeah, that's good. I bet this place doesn't get the good channels anyway."

West aimed a fragile smile at him. "That's probably true."

An eternity later, West's secretary still hadn't arrived with their work, and Prussia wasn't sure how much more he could take. Usually, he loved being right. Loved it, reveled in it, delighted in throwing his rightness in the face of anyone who would listen.

Right now was not one of those times.

There were no video games.

First, he tried the news. Which was great – for the first fifteen minutes. Then all the reports starting repeating themselves and Prussia almost threw one of the padded cuffs at the television. Then he tried the daytime dramas, but they were all episodes he'd seen before, and making up new dialogue in exaggerated high and low voices got old before the first commercial break.

Next was infomercials. The less said about that, the better.

Prussia stabbed at the power button, relieved when the television turned off with a hiss of static, and dropped the remote control at his hip.

Looking back, he blamed the boredom for what he said next.

"The answer's both." It came out louder than he intended and Prussia cleared his throat, trying to play it off.

West was busy scribbling notes on the scraps of paper he'd gotten from the hospital staff, but his head snapped up at the words. Setting the papers and pen aside, he looked at Prussia in confusion. "I didn't ask a question."

It was too late to back down, and Prussia swallowed the apprehension rising like bile in his throat. "Before. You wanted to know which I loved more: war or you."

West frowned, a barely there tightening of his lips. "That's not what I sa—"

"It's what you meant," Prussia cut him off. He may not have been eloquent or diplomatic or any of that bullshit, but he wasn't stupid.

There was no protest, and Prussia nodded to himself. "The answer is both," he repeated, hands grasping and twisting at the thin hospital blanket between his fingers. "You were created out of war, and it was fucking amazing. I loved it and I loved you, and I can't choose. Never could." Prussia took a deep breath, memories of better times filling his mind. "I know you want me to say the answer is you but I can't. I can't be who you want me to be."

There was nothing else to say, and he slumped back against the bed and stared at the ceiling, feeling drained.

Beeps and whirs filled the room, but there was no answer. Dread pooled deep in Prussia's stomach, until he felt like he was going to be sick. Which was stupid, because West had always been an over-thinker, even as a little kid. Silence didn't necessarily mean rejection. Or disgust.

Prussia knew all that, but his mouth had other ideas. "If you're just going to tell me how much of a monster I am, save it. Nothing I haven't heard before."

It was the reason he was dissolved, after all. Too militant; too warlike; too arrogant. He'd heard it all.

"Don't play the self-pity card with me. It doesn't suit you." West sighed and shook his head. "In any case, I…"

Prussia clamped down on his anger and waited, but there was nothing. Fuck that. If his brother had something to say then he better damn well say it. "Well," he prompted.

West squared his shoulders as best he could from the seated position. "I had no intention of calling you that. I don't believe any of us have cause to be casting that particular stone." He paused. "And you're wrong. I didn't want to know which you liked more. I don't care about that. I just wanted to know about me."

A jumble of thoughts swirled through Prussia's mind, but they all got stuck in his throat. "Well, now you know," he said. And fuck, that was pathetic. But it was all he had.

It must have been enough, because the tension drained from West's face, and he looked at Prussia like he was seeing him for the first time.

"Now I know," he echoed.

Prussia felt something ease inside of him that he hadn't even realized was twisted in knots. Neither of them said anything else, but the silence was comfortable this time around.

Still, there was one question was nagging at the back of Prussia's mind. "Cracked ribs, huh? I didn't think I got you that hard."

"Yes, well, you have a very hard head, it appears," West replied, arms unconsciously wrapping around his middle. "Not a bad punch, either." He grimaced in remembrance, but there was no bite behind it.

Prussia let out a loud snort that felt like an explosion detonating in his chest. Trying not to breathe too deeply, he struggled to control the laughter that bubbled up on its heels, clutching high on his right side where it hurt the most. "Fuck that hurts! Don't make me laugh."

He'd expected disapproval, maybe an indulging little half-grin if West was feeling playful. What he wasn't expecting was the rumbling bellow of West's laughter to join in with his own. It was quickly followed by a muffled grunt as West clutched at his sides. "But I didn't say anything funny." The words were barely audible, heaved out between short breaths.

Their eyes locked and as if a dam had burst, they both dissolved into giggles like a pair of school kids. Giggles, and a load of pained hisses, grunts, and foul curses. At one point they'd almost calmed down, but then, at the exact same time, they winced in pain together and doubled over, which shouldn't have been funny. But it was, and the sheer absurdity set Prussia off again, West following not far behind.

Eventually, they got themselves under control, laughter tapering off into occasional snickers and wordless grins. They both slumped back in bed, exhausted. Prussia still felt like shit, but at the same time he felt better than he had in ages. It wasn't difficult to put the pieces together and figure out why.

He hadn't laughed like this with West in a very long time. And fuck, he missed it. His eyes followed his thoughts, leading him across the open space and to his brother. West was studying him right back, and Prussia knew without asking that they were thinking the same thing.

He breathed as deep as he dared until he was sure the laughter was locked away – his sore ribs couldn't take much more — and picked up the thread of their conversation. "You're not too bad in a brawl yourself. When did you learn to kick so damn hard!"

A spark lit up West's face. "Taught by the best, it seems."

Warmth flooded through Prussia, and he suddenly wished their beds weren't so far apart. His brother seemed much too far away for comfort.

There was nothing he could do about that, so he did the next best thing.

Hoping he was getting it right this time, Prussia extended his hand across the gap between them and gave a tentative smile.

Without a moment's hesitation, a warm smile broke over West's face and he reached out and clasped Prussia's hand in his own, winding their fingers together.

"Sorry I kicked the shit out of you," Prussia said. They didn't normally do apologies, but sometimes old habits were made to be broken.

West blinked several times. "Me too," he said. The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Apologies? Going soft in your old age?"

Prussia grinned widely and laughed until it hurt.

"Never."

They were still sitting like that, hands clasped tightly together, laughing and wincing and cursing their injuries, when the head doctor walked in, flanked by two police officers.

Prussia relaxed and closed his eyes, not letting go, and left it to West to do the explaining.