A/N: What is this? Hmm. This is my first Hetalia multi chapter story! I have some others, but this will be fun, because I have yet to write with Prussia and Germany much, the others were only France and Britain.

So Prussia cared about his little brother, Holy Roman Empire, more than anything. And when he died, Prussia was devastated and heart broken. When Germany was born, Prussia vowed to never watch his little brother die the same way Holy Rome did. Prussia loves Ludwig the same as he did Holy Rome. Following, after this prologue, we will be thrown into a whirlwind adventure that tests this promise Prussia made to Germany and how the brothers can stay together in the midst of this new war.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

Branches and leaves whipped his face as he sprinted through the bramble. The branches were decorated in a multitude of small thorns up and down the narrow stalk. They caught his clothes, causing tiny nips and tears. They bit his face with their needle sharp tips, tiny pricks that he barely registered. They were only the least of his worries.

Gilbert Beilschmidt, face a red mess of lines and criss-crosses and pristine uniform decorated with snags and tears, flew through the woods with enough speed to rival a cheetah. His ruby red eyes were wide with fear and concern. He was scared, scared that he would not make it in time. The Prussian's legs were long past aching by now. They had begun to go numb, but he still did not slow his pace any.

A clearing was approaching, under the grey sky that threatened rain. Prussia could see the end of the trees, where they gave way to the large, circular shaped field with dying brown grass.

He planned to charge right through it, but by the time the small figure stumbled into the field from the right; Prussia had still not yet reached the opening. He would be too late.

Holy Roman Empire tried to stand, but his feet caught on his battle worn black cape and he fell right back to the dying grass, landing on his hands and knees. The panting and injured child nation had his head down, eyes momentarily shut as he fought to regain his strength. He was not quick enough.

Francis Bonnefoy strode through the grass from the opposite end, tall and lean, carrying himself in a demeaning way, his tall boots crunching the grass under delicate heels. Under Napoleon's orders, France headed right to the unknowing boy, sword in place at his hip. France came to a stop right in front of Holy Rome, waiting patiently for the boy to life his black hat-covered head. Holy Rome did. And he immediately regretted it.

Grabbing the front of the boy's cloak, France hauled him up to his feet, then lifting him right off the ground, drawing his sword with amazing speed. Holy Rome's blue eyes widened and he cried out for help, for his elder brother, Prussia. He was scared for once.

Unbeknownst to Holy Rome, Prussia was just behind the trees. He saw his little brother trapped in the hands of the murderer with long, golden hair tied in a low ponytail. The albino heard the cry of help from his little brother, but he had not yet reached the edge. His heart was racing, tears already flooding his eyes.

In the blink of an eye, the sword held in France's delicate hand stabbed straight through Holy Rome. The screams of the dying boy went straight to Prussia's heart, stabbing him mentally as hard as the physical torrent of pain that had overcome his brother. He watched the murderer simply drop his beloved brother and turn on their heel, striding away as if nothing had occurred. Prussia burst through the trees right as the French soldier, who he had not recognized from far away, disappeared into the trees.

Prussia dropped to his knees beside Holy Rome's limp body, leaning down and wrapping his arms around the small once-nation, hugging him to his chest, letting his sobs escape. Holy Rome managed to roll his eyes up to see his brother's face, lips moving, trying to speak. Prussia shook his head, resting their foreheads together, body racking with sobs.

"I'm s-sorry…I'm s-so sorry…" He whispered to Holy Rome. A small hand clutched at his jacket a moment before falling limp and hitting the grass noiselessly.

Prussia felt a surge of anger and despair, leaned back, tilted his head up, and screamed.

A/N: Review to continue? Maybe? :D