Black Feathers of the Eagle

So long ago, he was tiny. A boy all alone. The pain of being small and scared. He remembered it. And he couldn't cover it with a smile, because there was no one but the brave eagle to hide his pain from.

The eagle mocking him. He reached to the sky and tore the bird apart, feathers everywhere. In his place in the woods, the bird feathers were never cleaned up, and the beady eyes of the hunter stared at him, condemning him.

He was probably a masochist. To torture himself further the eagle, black, a warning of death, became his symbol. And he couldn't help but tear apart more eagles. Their bodies littered everything, all staring, all condemning.

Alone in the woods, a boy frightened and small, no one was there to see him go insane. No one was there to see him lay among the leaves and corpses and countless black feathers, glistening with blood.

With his insanity, he gained power, became bigger, so that he wasn't the same frightened little boy. He became a nation, fearsome, large, powerful, an empire of nothing but the victorious and glorious. And yet, when he closed his eyes, it still felt like bird feathers were clasped in his hands, blood smearing his face. Even now, the brave eagle laughs at him.

And war. When he saw battlefields, the corpses turned into flocks of birds and feathers. He could never escape that image from his youth. It was there, always, a bed of black feathers waiting for him when he got home.

And then he found Germany. Such a small body huddled among the death. Just as he would never forget the feel of feathers, he was sure the blonde would never forget the taste of dirt in his mouth and on his face and covering his hands. The boy, so small and alone, frightened with a large spot of dried blood on his head. His blue eyes, bright in the darkness, glistened with tears.

And he realized that he couldn't leave the boy there. There had been no one there to watch his descent into darkness, but he wouldn't let this boy go there. He remembered crying out, eyes filled with tears as he looked towards the free eagle.

Please don't leave me alone.

So he grinned, taking the boy in his arms. "You're coming with me. You'll be an empire. The German empire. Stronger than me, stronger than anyone." so that you'll never be alone. He looked into confused blue eyes, bowing before the small body, taking the dirt covered hand, and paused at the black feather grasped tightly in the tiny hand. He kissed it anyway.

He'd gladly bow before this boy. He was a legend, and he would make the boy a legend. He would make both of them forget the feeling of feathers and blood, the brave eagle laughing at their turmoil. He knew that the boy would not depend on him. It was he who needed the boy, Germany. He wasn't anything unless he was holding someone's hand. Without Germany, he'd be lost.

He wouldn't ever let Germany's hand let his go. Not ever.

And yet, it was still there, in his mind, laughing at him whenever he saw his own flag. The eagle, mocking, asking 'was it really worth it to kill me?' even when he took Germany home, the black feathers of the eagle were there, waiting for him to sleep, and sink back into that old childish fear.

He still saw it, the eagle just before he dragged it down. The way it was free, high and free among the leaves and clouds. He couldn't stand it's freedom. And he could stand being alone even less. Black feathers, a mark in the middle of no where is a tiny pale boy's hands.

Please. Please don't leave me alone.

Owari