Trust is Dangerous- Russia x Germany

Prologue

The time was right. He could say something. He could finally say sorry, maybe beg for their broken friendship, maybe scream in anger and sorrow, maybe cry in despair, asking for one last chance. Broken. He broke it. The other man looked at him. Even though he was looking at the fallen man, his eyes were blurred by tears of both anger and sadness. He was tired, injured and hungry. He had no soul anymore _It was all gone, wasted from the constant warring and anger.
"Es tut mir leid....you understood me."

"You betrayed me,"

"I'm sorry."

"I trusted you,"

"I'm sorry."

"You hurt me,"

"I'm sorry."

"I loved you."

"I'm sorry....my..."

"I will never forgive you."-The huge man looked down at the pitiful sight. The man he stood over was on the ground, beaten and fatally injured. The USSR sighed and pulled his heavy overcoat off and laid it on the German beneath him. Third Reich smiled. A small glimmer of hope passed in his mind, maybe Soviet would actually save him, bring him back to health, and he could apologise...and they could finally fulfil their dreams. His blood soaked the Russians coat, and the pain multiplied, he too was not only freezing, but he hadn't slept or eaten in days. The campaign was the most important thing to him. Until it failed- and now he was at the mercy of the Soviet Union, whose mercy was beginning to ebb.

"Danke....danke schön...I haven't slept in days."

He looked up, giving USSR the most grateful look he could imagine. But his smile faltered, as he saw the sight above him. He tried to scream, or run or anything. But his every move was painful, and his throat dry. Those half-dead eyes looked at him, no mercy, warmth or love penetrated the dark green gaze, like an angry forest prepared to eat any brave hiker who dared venture in.

"I hope your dreams are sweet, then."

"Nein...Soviet...no need...please...."

Pain seared through his neck and head, as if his brain stopped cooperating, even though the man above did not move a muscle. Soviet did nothing, and no expression ever came on his face. He lifted his eyes to see his battle torn, weary, ever large territory. He had to see it suffer. He would change that. In the wind, the pines bowed in defeat, finally being able to do so after standing proudly on the borders for so long.

It was cold, a cold day for the month of May (That Rhymes) but to the Russian, it made no difference. He was already cold on the inside, and only certain people could thaw him deep enough. One of them, the one under him, just froze him over anew. The Third Reich realised his mistake too late, and rectifying it was almost impossible. His falter in confidence created a hole for the USSR to strike, and he did so, full of hate and anger. Third Reich's mind fell into a loop, and his thoughts circled like birds: Apology, hate of himself, Soviet, Apology, loathing, Germany, Germany, Germany. He did not dwell long on his son. For all he knew, Germany was dead. No remorse for that now. He couldn't even save his own skin, much rather anyone else's.

"I'm so sorry....I can change Soviet...I promise..."

"I will never forgive you,"

"I....I really can....I really do....please...."

"I will never forgive you,"

"Please...I'll do anything...torture me if you must....please,"

"I will never forgive you."

"Let....Let your anger out on me....make me your eternal servant....humiliate me....just..."

"No. I will not do that. No one deserves that. You. Don't. Deserve. My. Mercy."