#at this point they are almost dying due to a lack of energy (and hanahaki bc why would i not make that a thing for flower fae to be able to

[cosmirii]

an oldie i forgot to post. pls ignore the incorrect words in the final panel im too lazy to fix it

[juliussneezerfics]

Blood Red Lilies and Baby Blue Cornflowers: Chapter 8 - Confrontation

Angsty confrontation between my OTP? In my fic? It's more likely than you think.

Ao3

(Sorry I haven’t updated in so long! Another chapter’s coming today!)

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Germany opened his eyes, once again relishing the feeling of being able to take full breaths. Relishing the luxury of unimpeded oxygen. He turned his head, grunting as the cricks in his neck gave way. He froze as he spotted Prussia sitting in an armchair, his arms crossed and his brows furrowed.

“You sent me away.” There was no other way to describe Prussia’s tone and body language other than ‘royally pissed off’.

Germany sighed. “Is it too late to pretend I’m still dead?” Ah, his voice. Gruff and yet so much smoother than it’s been in months. 

“Ha ha.” Prussia deadpanned. “Why didn’t you let me stay with you when you died?”

 “Is it shocking that I didn’t want my brother to see that?”

Prussia rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a hero, West.” “I’m not-.”

“Stop.” Prussia snapped. “Listen, I get it. It’s hard to do this. You don’t like to be taken care of.”

 “It’s not other peoples’ fault that I have a disease. I should deal with it by myself. I got it myself.”

Prussia stood. “There you go again! God, I never thought I’d have to actually be your big brother again. Is this how you’re going to be when you face conflict? Are you going to push away people who care about you, people who love you, just because you’re the always-suffering Ludwig? The fallen hero who is doomed to be alone? Is that who you’re going to be?”

 “I’m not a fallen hero.”

“Then stop acting like it, for the love of God.” Prussia snapped. “I can’t believe you’re steeping this far in self-pity when the people who love you have to watch this happen to you. Sit up.”

Germany pierced Prussia with his gaze, but he sat up.

 “Back straight up.”

Germany straightened.

 “There’s my brother. Who are you, anyway? You’re no fallen hero, who are you?”

 “Ludwig Beilshmidt. Personification of Germany.”

Prussia nodded. “Then you better damn well act like it.”

Germany studied the man in front of him. “All this because I sent you away?”

“You’re missing the point.” Prussia shook his head. “Because I watched you turn into someone else. Ludwig from a decade ago would never lose himself to self-pity. I don’t want you to forget that.”

Germany stood. “… thank you.”

Prussia gave a single, proud nod. “You’re welcome. Now make me pancakes. I can’t cook for shit and I've lived off canned soup for the past twenty-four hours.”

This continued for a long time. A very long time. Forty-five long, difficult years. The length between each bout of hanahaki shrank until he was dying once every other week. He ignored invitations from his friends with excuses of being busy, only agreeing to lunches and events that took place right after he woke up from his last death. He spent the majority of his time in his house, staring out the window longingly. Thinking of the people he missed the most. He pondered on how Japan spent all those years so long ago in complete solitude. Germany would call himself an introvert, but this was pure torture. He missed out on the past three annual world meetings due to unfortunate scheduling. The fact of the matter was, he could only hide so many coughing fits from his peers before they realized what was wrong. Before the people outside the former axis and allies realized that there was something terribly wrong with Germany.

He spent his days trying to forget Italy. To not think about his smile, or his laugh… about his desire to try new things and dress however he felt like. Trying not to think of his unrestrained joy and his frank ignorance of social norms in the pursuit of happiness. To forget how his hair in the sunlight looked almost red. Trying not to think about his eyes… God, his eyes. How he grew to miss those eyes. It’s been almost three months since he had seen him. Germany and his friends scarcely went a month without seeing each other. He was running out of excuses.

Until the year 2000, the start of a new century. Germany and his brother had been invited to a New Year's party America was hosting. Germany opened the texted invite with a resigned reluctance, already knowing that he would be unable to make it. That night, he made the excuse of having a bout of hay fever. Did people still get hay fever? He barely had time to think about it before he choked out the excuse over the phone to Japan. He sent Prussia to go have fun with his friends. Prussia left with much reluctance, but nonetheless agreed after Germany promised he could take care of himself. He lay in his bed, reading a book. He was certain that today he would die. How fitting that he would die on New Year’s Eve and wake anew on the first day of the new century.

He reached over with a shaky hand and grabbed the handle of his mug. Lifting it, he realized it was empty. If he had been willing to spare the breath, he would have sighed. He debated internally, deciding whether it was worth the effort to get up and grab some more tea. Heaven knew it could take twenty minutes just to walk there, make the tea, and stumble his way back up the stairs. Curse those stairs. Twenty minutes to accomplish a five minute task. It was only Germany's pride that kept him from taking Prussia's offer for him to sleep on the couch, several yards from the kitchen. The rawness of his throat screamed at him to just throw off the bed covers and get to it already.

So he summoned his strength and he did. He threw off the covers, lying for a couple seconds to regain his breath. He sat up. Another ten seconds of staying still to catch his breath. He grabbed his mug, noticing that it was about twenty minutes past midnight. His brother would be home from the bar any minute now. Here to take care of him. Perhaps he could go without tea…?

No. No, definitely not. Germany was far too tired of being unable to do anything. He was tired of reading and re-reading the same books, remembering days that passed and memories that were dangling forever out of reach, never to be replicated from lack of energy. He took a deep breath and stood. Vertigo. The room spun in front of him, him stumbling over and clutching the edge of his bedside table until his vision stilled. He dimly registered the sound of a doorbell as he released the bedside table. Germany heard the dogs’ barking. Registered the scratching of their claws against the wood of the downstairs floor. Wasn’t it odd for Prussia to be ringing the doorbell to his own house?

His head spun as he took the first few steps. He tried to stumble toward the door out of his bedroom. He missed the frame, falling through the open door. He fell on the ground, the floor seeming to cut into his back. The coffee mug shattered against the wooden floor, but this didn’t register as another coughing fit began. He heard the door open and the dogs settle. He heard footsteps come up the stairs. “Gilbert.” He croaked. His voice was barely audible, even to him. He gave up his pride. He just needed to be hoisted back to his bed. He was going to die any minute now. God, why didn’t he just keep Prussia here?

“Germany?”

Germany’s heart stilled. No. No, no, no, no. This wasn’t happening. He summoned his strength and turned his head.

Italy was stood there, his brown eyes wide with fear. Both hands were held up to his mouth.

“Italy.” What was he supposed to say? Surely this was a bad dream. Surely he would wake up any minute now. Perhaps it was an illusion from a lack of oxygen. Surely that was it. “You need to leave.”

“Germany!” Italy kneeled next to him.

Germany winced away from Italy’s close proximity like it burned him. “Get out of here.” He didn’t want Italy to see him. Not like this. Not when his skin was so pale. Not when his hair was uncombed. Not when his face was this gaunt. Not when any minute, surely, he would die.

“No, no, I’m not going anywhere.” Italy breathed. He shed his coat and tossed it to the side. “This isn’t hay fever, is it? I’ll call someone. We’ll call someone. They can help us, okay?”

“Italy…”

“Why are you out of bed, Germany?” Italy asked as he dialed a number on his phone, his panic barely concealed.

“I wanted… I had to do one damn thing by myself.” He felt something deep within him. A warning of what was to come. Germany would have given anything to keep it from happening now. “Leave. Now.”

“What was Prussia’s number again?” Italy asked to himself, panicked. Either he hadn’t heard Germany, or he didn’t care to listen.

“Ita-” His sentence was cut off by a cough.

Italy looked up from his phone with a start. He looked unsure of what to do. “Germany, what do I do?”

The words didn’t register as he continued to cough, trying to loosen that dreaded blockage in his throat. He was desperate for oxygen now. Just as he thought he was about to black out, he coughed out a full lily. He heaved for breath as well as he could with his shallow breaths.

“Germany, what…?” His eyes widened. “A lily. Oh, Germany… no, no, no, no.”

“Italy…”

“I did this to you.” Italy realized, his eyes growing glassy with tears.

“You didn’t-” Germany was cut off as he felt the flowers inside his body writhe and grow. God, so this was it.

“Germany? Germany, what’s wrong?!” Italy cried. The tears spilled over his eyes and drew salty tracks down his cheeks. “You’re dying! It’s okay, I can fix this! I can fix it!”

Germany looked up at Italy as his vision grew hazy.

Italy leaned down and grabbed Germany by the shoulders, touching their lips together.

Germany’s first kiss. In the middle of a tragedy. In a war with a predetermined winner. He shut his eyes as he knew that the edges of his vision were blackening. In a last moment of consciousness, he reached and grabbed Italy’s forearm with his weak grip.

As Italy felt something like a stick press against his lips, he lurched away. Through his blurry vision, he could see Germany. He was facing up, his lips slightly parted as a long stem curled from his mouth. Blooming at the top was a large lily, the edges of the petals bordered in a deep maroon. Italy’s hands floated up to his open mouth. It was a beautiful kind of morbid. Under another circumstance, Italy may have been tempted to paint it. But now… oh, God, now. He turned around as he heard footsteps on the stairs.

Prussia stood behind Italy, his violet eyes glinting with something sharp. Something deadly. “Italy.”

“Prussia, I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t know… I’m so sorry about your brother.” The words came out in harried spurts. Heavy gasps littered the sentence, each gasp for air a stab in his own heart. What he wouldn’t do to give Germany the oxygen he so greedily stole from the air as he sobbed.

“What did you do?” Prussia asked in a toneless voice.

“I didn’t know, I- I just- I wanted to visit him- I didn’t want him to be- to be alone on New Year’s. And- and he was on the floor.”

Prussia shook his head. “Why didn’t he just stay in bed?”

Italy curled in on himself, his arms wrapping around his middle as he bowed his head. To an outsider, it would have looked like a sobbing mortal was begging a standing God for something that seemed impossible. Begging for something long past gone. Perhaps he was.

Prussia kneeled at eye level with Italy. “Italy, this is not your fault.”

“I never wished so much that I could love someone, Prussia. I’m so sorry I can’t.”

Prussia’s steely expression melted into something entirely different. Something softer. “I know, Italy.”

Italy lurched forward and captured Prussia’s middle in a desperate hug as he sobbed into his chest.

Prussia, never a toucher, relented just this once. He wrapped his arms around Italy, giving him a hug he knew Italy wished came from Germany instead.

Germany had no idea how much time had passed when he finally opened his eyes. He was able to stretch himself out and release the cricks in his neck before he remembered what happened the day before. Before he registered the person sitting where Prussia usually sat. “Italy?” His voice was gruff from sleep.

Italy looked from the window and to Germany, appearing surprised. “Hi, Germany.”

“Italy, I’m..” Hopelessly in love with you? Upset that you could never love me back? “Sorry.”

Italy shook his head insistently. His face was unusually sober. “Don’t be. Please.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Since last night.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Italy shuffled in his seat. “You already said that.”

Germany nodded. “Sorry.”

The two sat in an awkward silence for a long moment, each wondering what they should say. Each thinking of what they wish they could say.

“Is it okay if I ask-”

“No.” Germany interrupted.

Italy leaned forward slightly, his hands clasped in his lap. “Please, Germany. I have to know. I have a right to know.”

“Oh, do you?” Germany challenged, glowering at Italy. Perhaps this anger was undeserved. But it settled, coiled like a snake deep within his stomach. Whether he was actually angry at Italy, he didn’t know.

“Yes. I do.” Italy challenged right back. His gaze and tone never faltered. “I’m the one who did this to you. I want to know what damage I inflicted.”

“You didn’t do this.”

Italy frowned levelly at him but said nothing.

“Since the end of World War Two.” Germany answered, staring at the wall opposite of him. “When you came to visit my tent.”

Italy’s frown loosened into something sad. Something pitying.

Germany resented it.

“I’m so sorry, Germany, I never knew.”

“Don’t be.”

Italy continued to look at him, his gaze assessing.

It was a look Germany was not accustomed to. Not when it was directed at him. He had an overwhelming desire to make Italy direct that gaze upon something else. "It was very kind of you to stay overnight. I’ll see you at the meeting next week.”

“Germany, please don’t-”

“Make sure to bring your notes. We can combine them with Japan’s and-”

“Don’t pretend nothing happened, German-”

Germany raised his voice over Italy’s. He had no idea why he was doing this. He didn’t know why he was pushing Italy away when he wanted nothing more than for him to stay. “We can come up with a plan to increase tourism between our nations-”  Was he really so desperate to stop this conversation that he was spouting nonsense?

“Are you really going to kick me out?!” Italy shouted, his shrill voice on the verge of breaking.

Germany stopped his panicked rant out of shock.

“Is this it, then? Are we- we’re just pretending that this didn’t happen? Are we pretending that you’re not going to die again later? We’re just going to be Italy and Germany, good ol’ buddies going on adventures with Japan?” Italy stumbled over his words. He wasn’t sure why he was angry. He didn’t know what he was feeling. He didn’t know what he was saying. He knew he didn’t love Germany. That’s the start of this whole mess in the first place. So what did he even want?

Germany blinked. “Make sure to have a presentation prepared on the current financial status of your nation.”

Italy’s mouth gaped open before he recovered. He glowered at Germany, pulling his coat from the back of the chair. “Fine, then.” He jammed his arm into a sleeve, slamming the bedroom door behind him as he stormed out.

Germany gazed at the slammed door. He swallowed. He huffed out a sigh, resting his forehead on his palms. Why did he handle that like such a child? Why couldn’t he just… talk it out? He couldn’t imagine what would happen if he had, of course, but at least there would have been something. Italy would… well he never thought he could love him in the first place, but now his chances were even more diminished.

 “Sounds like you dug yourself into quite a hole there, West.”

 “Don’t.”

Prussia huffed out a breath as he leaned against the doorway. “Don’t push away people who care about you when you’re in pain. Especially people who care for you as much as Italy.”

 “He doesn’t care about me enough.”

Prussia glared. “Don’t you dare say that like he has a choice. You know that if he could, he would in a heartbeat.”

“If he…” Germany huffed out a breath as he looked up at his brother. “I don’t actually blame him. Really. I know this isn’t his fault.”

“Good.” Prussia looked down at the ground. “How he looked after you died... he was devastated.”

“He kissed me.” Germany said suddenly. He had no idea where that came from. He didn’t know why he let that escape him. He didn’t know why he needed someone to know.

Prussia hummed, redirecting his gaze over Germany's shoulder and out the window. “Was it some attempt to save you?”

 “I suppose. It just made it worse.”

Prussia hummed again but said nothing.

Germany sat up and walked out the room, avoiding Prussia’s gaze as he brushed past him. He walked into the bathroom. Opened the cabinet and pulled out a comb. He brushed his hair, not bothering to gel it. He then set off for his room, determined to change. Prussia was not there when he went back. He changed into his usual black tank top and a pair of old fatigues. They were not needed at that moment, but it felt good to slip into something he was used to. He didn’t want to eat. He didn’t want to sleep, and surprisingly he didn’t want a drink of water. He walked down to the basement and turned on the light. He paced over to a metronome on a small table and got it started. Taking a deep breath, he listened to the familiar rhythmic ticking. Like a heart beat. He turned his head upon his drum set down in the basement. It was a secret habit of his. One that no one outside of him, his brother, and a couple others knew of. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and plugged it into the speakers. He started the guitar intro to a rock song and sat himself at the drums. Picking up the drumsticks, he waited for his cue. He slammed the tip of the drumsticks on one of the drums, relishing the feel of the stick on the taut skin of the instrument. He picked up his pace with the speed of the drum, losing himself to the pounding and got totally invested in the music. He could spend hours doing this. He has before. The feel of the drumbeat in his hand. The way it worked through his arms and shoulders. It was an exercise of the total upper body. The steady alignment of his heart beat with the beat of the drum. The way the sound almost drowned out the rest of the music. The steady ticking of the metronome falling into time with the sticks in his hand. He scarcely noticed as his brother came down the stairs. He didn’t cease drumming as Prussia strode over to his phone and stopped the music. Germany continued anyway. He knew the beats of the song by heart and wasn’t one to let a single beat fall out of the measured timing. He watched as Prussia walked over to his electric guitar and plugged it in.

Prussia drew the strap over his head and waited for a point in the song where he could jump in with the proper chords. The sound of the guitar filled the basement and echoed off the walls and ceiling.

Germany lost himself further to the music, enjoying the unity between his instrument and his brother’s. His arms began to develop a burning, satisfying ache. But nonetheless, he didn't stop. He couldn’t. Him stopping would stop the music. Stop the beats and the flow he had going. It was the ultimate stress reliever. It helped him even more than his usual workouts did. He stopped drumming where he knew the drummer in the song did, allowing Prussia to finish the last notes on his guitar.

Prussia did a final strum, smirking as the last notes of the guitar faded into nothingness. His chest was heaving as he looked over at his brother. “Awesome guitar skills, right?”

“You didn’t even practice, did you?” Germany knew his brother was virtually unmatched in guitar skills. Even before the electric guitar was invented, he was proficient in acoustic guitars. He was always more musically gifted than Germany, but it was still apparent to him that Prussia hadn’t spent much time practicing.

“Are you kidding me right now? I did that song perfectly! How could you tell?!” Prussia gaped at him.

Germany shrugged, wishing for a drink of water.

“You boys are really drumming up a storm down here!” A feminine voice said.

Germany turned toward the voice.

Hungary was standing in the doorway, clad in a yellow sundress and heels. Her hair was pulled back in a braid, a yellow flower tucked behind her ear. “Hello, Ludwig.”

“Elizabeta?” Germany asked, slightly surprised.

Hungary raised an eyebrow. “You sound surprised to see me!”

Germany also raised an eyebrow before he, along with Hungary, looked at Prussia.

Prussia sheepishly shrugged his shoulders. “This seemed more like a problem for your older sister than your older brother! I’m not good with that… mushy-gushy… un-awesome feeling stuff.”

Hungary furrowed her brow. “Yes… Gilbert, why don’t you make Ludwig and I a cup of tea and then we can talk?”

Germany stood and sighed, steadying his metronome. “Here we go.”

Hungary nodded. “We have a lot to talk about.”