Title: The Storyteller
Author: Ad_Idem (Right)
Characters: Prussia, Germany
Summary: Young Germany decides to treat his older brother to a bedtime story. Kink Meme de-anon.
"And that is why I, the Awesome Prussia, was able to kick that guy Austria's ass. Turns out the dude protecting him all along had a pussy. The End."
To be honest, Prussia was rather proud of his abilities in storytelling. No one had ever told him stories before bed so it had been his own ingenious that created the format.
And Fritz thought he had to look to Voltaire for an intellectual equal. Pshaw.
Ludwig's cold blue eyes stared suspiciously at his brother.
"What? No thanks, you brat?" Prussia balked. Damn kid always gave him the creeps with that stare.
This caused the blond child to at least blink before laying his head back on the pillow, unfolding himself so stiffly that Gilbert could have sworn he heard hinges screeching.
"Are you disappointed in my tale of awesome?" the nation questioned before folding his arms over his chest.
"I had no expectations to disappoint, Bruder," young Germany responded flatly.
Oh. Oh, the kid was so dead.
Gilbert stood up and harshly yanked on Ludwig's covers. "You don't know a good story when it comes up and bites you in your bony ass. You can't even get your sheets even."
So he made them even. Ludwig silently marveled.
Looking testy still, Gilbert nearly stormed out of the room when he noticed those wide awake blue eyes. He only let his heart melt some at them. Honest. It was the manly awesome response and nothing more.
He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. "Want me to try again?"
Not that he needed tries. He was Prussia.
"Bruder Preußen, I did like your story," Ludwig said as his hinges squeaked and he sat up again. "So I was thinking I should tell you one to say thank you."
An unfamiliar warmth came to Gilbert's cheeks. But it was not blush. He, Prussia, did not blush.
"You don't have to," he responded in a voice that might have sounded embarrassed. But it wasn't.
"Okay, fine, Brat. But then I'm going to bed. And you can't get in bed with me, so don't try."
In what the younger passed as "excitement," Ludwig settled his tiny hands in his lap and nodded to Gilbert. "I won't, Bruder. But I'll tell you a great story."
Prussia's eyebrows were knitted together so tightly it was a wonder a blood vessel had not popped beneath the skin's surface.
"Little Achim's sword was growing too heavy for him!" continued Ludwig, who had somehow managed to get into Purssia's lap as the elder nation sat cross legged on Germany's bed.
Ludwig's arms remained stiffly at their sides, though Gilbert imagined that had he been a normal child Ludwig's arms would be flailing about madly.
"He was not as awesome as he thought!" Gilbert added with a bit of a surprised gasp caught in his throat.
"No, he was not, Bruder," little Germany said gravely, his face darkening at the thought. "He was tired and weak, and that's why the Lady was there. She was a tall, slender woman and all the beer she touched turned to blood."
"Little Achim was all that stood between the Lady and Dresden. But so many of his brothers had fallen to her and her spell. When she reached out to touch his face, he shot at her with his musket at very close range."
"Hehe, take that, Bitch."
"But it did nothing to the Lady."
"God damn her!"
Gilbert found his two hands in precarious places. The first was gripped tightly to Ludwig's shoulder, the second at his lip, anxiously awaiting for the fingers to be chewed.
He quickly lowered them and scoffed at the very notion that he, Prussia, needed comfort. From a child's story, no less!
Ludwig seemed to soak in every reaction his brother had. He had that strange look that was more calculator than human and it made Gilbert want to smack the fire out of him for being so unnervingly perfect.
"Well, what is it, Brat?" Gilbert demanded. "What happened to the Lady if guns don't work."
"The Lady's condition is unknown—"
"What? Is that a cop out, you—"
"But they found Achim laid out among his brothers in arms. He was not smiling the confident smile he had always known but was gripping his cursed sword against his chest while his eye sockets and tongueless mouth bled." Ludwig's expression hardened. "Then … his younger brother came along and took the family sword."
"Is he a fucking idiot?"
"He heard stories about the Lady, but knew he could do better than Achim. Just like Achim knew he could do better than their brother Hans."
Prussia stared at the younger child before shoving him off his lap. He glared down at Germany. "You're screwed up, kid. Jesus Christ. What the hell? I mean. Shit." He paused and started out the door. "Good night, Brat."
"Gute nacht, Bruder."
Red eyes shot open only to be met by the darkness and the phantom touches of a faceless lady.
Prussia sat up and was shivering, not because he was scared, by God, but because it was a particularly cold summer day in the fatherland. It would not have been awesome to shake like that for any other reason.
In the corner of his eye he caught the lady in a flowing motion. He leaped out of bed only for her to flee his vision again.
"Damn brat!" he growled. For good measure he yelled out, "I don't have your sword, Bitch!" Because if ghosts were real, which they weren't of course, then letting them know they were dealing with the mighty Prussia was only fair.
It was so obvious he had the advantage.
After a few moments, a cold shiver made its way down his back. If he hadn't been awesome, Gilbert could have sworn the chill had scratching finger nails.
"Damn it, Ludwig!" he yelled before stomping down the hall and opened the door, waking the young child. "Don't act like you weren't up!"
The younger blinked sleepily. "But, Bruder, I was not up!"
"Horse shit!" Prussia growled at young Germany before closing the door behind him and walking over to the bed that he forced himself into.
Ludwig stared at him in utter confusion.
"If I sleep with you tonight—and tonight only, Brat; don't get any ideas—will you be able to go to sleep?"
Ludwig stared at his brother before wiggling further beneath his covers and to the side to allow room for the albino nation. He seemed confused.
"It was only a story I made up, Bruder."
"No, it was a real ghost that possessed you and told you it wasn't real so she could take you by surprise," Gilbert snapped. "And now she's haunting our house! And it's your fault."
There was an awkward silence in which Ludwig squirmed, uncomfortable.
"I don't think ghosts are real, Bruder."
"Of course not, you brat," Gilbert huffed before turning his back to his brother. "Now go to sleep."
There was a quiet that followed and Gilbert felt proud of his expertise at bringing 'awesome' into being a big brother.
He felt a tiny arm wrap around his arm.
"I'll keep you safe from the Lady, Bruder," Ludwig whispered, as if not to wake someone up.
Gilbert thought about smacking the hands away and chewing little Germany out. But that wouldn't be necessary.
He smiled and closed his tired eyes.
For some reason, Prussia believed him.