(Hello! For new visitors, this is a nice little piece of work based off of the song 'Plant Life' by Owl City (neither of which are ours). For visitors who, say, are still waiting for an update to our Reincarnation AU, this is a bribe. Please take it. We'll update that as soon as we can, but enjoy this in the meantime! Oh, along with the band and song we don't own: we're also not in charge of Hetalia. Wish we were. That would be cool. Send us a review if you like...!)
It was Alfie and Mathias who decided that he needed to be knocked down a peg. They considered the usual pranks and dares, but since Gilbert always managed to come out on top for those, this time they'd planned something special.
A haunted house—perfect for a friend with a little too much confidence. They'd found one abandoned somewhere in Alfie's northwest. They'd set it up for him to spend the night, loaded him up with American snacks so he wouldn't starve to death, and pushed him in. Mathias had managed to pull up the Danish version of "This is Halloween" on his phone and played it while he and Alfie drove their friend to his doom. Mathias' evil cackle when the doors were closed had perfectly matched the ones in the song.
But Gilbert, for once, didn't need to be knocked down a peg. He wasn't feeling it. He still overinflated his ego and proclaimed that "Of course se awesome me isn't afraid of a stupid house!"; he let his loud voice carry, and that grin plastered across his face, but...
well, it was nearing the end of February.
Gilbert felt dead inside.
So when the door shut and his friends' laughter faded, he didn't feel like trying to make himself at home. He dumped the snacks he'd been given on the floor and sat down against the door, curling in on himself as his walls crashed down.
Because of course this house wasn't haunted. It was just an old house that was as abandoned as he was, because nobody cared about Prussia anymore. Prussia didn't exist, and neither did he, and he felt dead and didn't know how to handle it.
So you could say that he was surprised when he finally looked up and saw a ghost on the stairs.
He blinked through his tears, he hated tears—but the ghost was still there. He would have brushed it off as one of the hallucinations he sometimes saw when things got bad, except he was too familiar with those. Fritz. Hitler. His brother. Unnamed soldiers, dead or dying, occasionally accompanied by a broken spouse or child. This ghost was none of them, and since it was new it scared him.
The ghost was fair-skinned, pale all over, and looked... soft. He wasn't really paying attention to Gilbert; the hallucinations always did. Gilbert opened his mouth to speak to him when the ghost turned, descended the rest of the stairs and shuffled into a room on the left. With nothing better to distract him, Gilbert followed.
The kitchen he found himself in was small, and could have been homey once. Peeling yellow wallpaper, dirty curtains, dishes left out by the ancient faucet to dry. The ghost stood by the stove, gazing out a cracked window. The longer Gilbert looked, the less normal things seemed to be. Sheets from the bed lay on the tables and chairs. Mismatched silverware swam with the sharks in the sink? Was he mad? He didn't know what to think.
—
I've been longing for,
Daisies to push through the floor...
And I wish plant life would grow all around me, so I won't feel dead anymore...
So I won't feel dead anymore...
—
Gilbert left the kitchen after his head started spinning. He needed to lie down; surely this place has a couch that he could crash on somewhere? The floorboards squeaked underneath his feet but at least they were smooth. They showed him down a hallway, past a faded bathroom, to what seemed to be a den. Great. He could rest here.
Only, he quickly saw that he couldn't, because there was a bear in the den. The play-on-words wasn't lost on him, and it just made things even weirder. Even as he gawked at it, the bear didn't seem to notice him, because it was too busy... reading? Reading a textbook. Gilbert wondered if his 'friends' had slipped him some drugs before dropping him off here. How cruel of them. The bear turned a page, and Gilbert remembered that he didn't want to share a room, nevermind a couch, with a giant white bear. He backed away slowly, and ended up tripping over a leg of the coffee table. Down he went, greeting the floor hard; his curses filled the air. He got up, and immediately ducked again as screeching bats flowed like traffic, as they poured from the attic—had there always been an attic there? Gilbert didn't remember seeing it when he came in... The bats flew from the den down the hall, their screams fading into silence. Gods, how long had he even been here, so far? He didn't know. He could really use a friend...
—
I'd rather waltz than just walk through the forest
The trees keep the tempo and they sway in time
Quartet of crickets chime in for the chorus
If I were to pluck in your heartstrings, would you strum on mine?
—
Still recovering from the bats and the bear, Gilbert stood shakily in hopes of somewhere to lie down. The den had another doorway in the back, so he went through it and appeared in an old bedroom. Although the room itself was clean (or as clean as could be expected) the bed didn't look very inviting, and Gilbert smelled mildew in the air. He lay down on the hardwood instead. If only there was some life around here... Decent life, he corrected, grimacing at the reminder of the bats. Something like... pansies or daisies, to push through the floor. That could brighten things up a bit.
I've been longing for...
As he considered this, he heard a voice, or he thought he did. Again, it wasn't one of his hallucinations. Those only spoke to him or yelled at him or pleaded with him in German. No, these words were in English... in his compromised state of mind, he let himself believe that it was the ghost.
I've never really felt like this before...
He found himself agreeing with the ghost; this was all certainly new to him. Then again, if the ghost was really just a figment of his imagination then of course he would agree. Ghosts aren't real. Even so, he still wished those vines and flowers would hurry up and grow all around him, no matter how pansy that was, because he needed to not feel dead. He couldn't feel dead anymore.
—
The ghost was the one who'd initiated contact first. Apparently, Gilbert had finally blacked out, and when he woke he felt a cold, gentle hand against his face.
The ghost looked at him, and looked much more worried than his hallucinations ever did. He pulled Gilbert to his feet, and helped him back into the kitchen. He sat him down in one of the wooden chairs and started moving gracefully around the kitchen, making his 'guest' a hot drink. Gilbert wanted to protest but could only watch in fascination... The ghost was clearly comfortable with the layout, but stranger still was that he never said a word. When he was finished, he placed a steamy mug in front of Gilbert and sat down across from him. He smiled a little.
Gilbert wrapped his hands around his mug, accepting it. He didn't know how his drink was warm, because he doubted the stove had worked in years, but he decided to stop trying to figure it out. It had to be a dream, or drugs, or something of the sort. He saw the sharks from earlier out of the corner of his eye.
He sipped his drink, and was surprised at how nice it felt in his throat. There was no heat in this house; even the ghost had felt cold when he touched Gilbert. Then again, if he lived here—or rather, resided here—maybe that was to be expected.
Weren't ghosts supposed to be mean-spirited though? This one was sweet. Gilbert thought back to when he was young, when being a ghost had meant throwing a sheet or his Teutonic cape over his head... and taking it off meant he'd returned to life. He wished he could pull off the sheet of the ghost in front of him, but instead he just gave him a small smile and hoped it would be returned.
The ghost actually did smile back, just a sliver, but it became wider as he looked at something behind Gilbert. Bewildered, the ex-nation turned around, only to see the large bear from the den lumber into the kitchen. He got up in a flash and hurried to the other side of the room—he spilt some hot chocolate on himself, which made the ghost laugh quietly—and watched as ghost and bear interacted quite nicely. The bear never tried to kill him, just nuzzled the pale boy. They seemed to have actual trust rather than just a peace agreement... The bear did show its teeth once, but it seemed to just be smiling. Gilbert decided that maybe, beneath that horrifying exterior, it was just a teddy. This soothed him a little, but he couldn't get over how weird this experience was. He just had to grin and bear it a while... that's what he always did and he was awesome at it. Just grin und bear it a vhile.
—
I'd rather waltz than just walk through the forest
The trees keep the tempo and they sway in time
Quartet of crickets chime in for the chorus
If I were to pluck on your heartstrings, would you strum on mine?
—
When the ghost motioned for Gilbert to come pet the bear, he'd thought that was too much. Luckily, he'd kind of given up trying to fight this... dream thing... so he came over and did. The large bear was exceedingly soft, and Gilbert could imagine that sharing a couch with it might not be half bad, provided that it wouldn't bite his head off. He looked up at it, and it seemed to glare back, but the next thing he knew the ghost was singing strange, soft lullabies to calm both of them. Unprecedented,
The brook babbles on about nothing at all...
Unexpected,
A new leaf turns over, unwilling to fall...
Unexplained, but beautiful. The lines didn't make any sense, but Gilbert thought they didn't need to. He confirmed that it was indeed this voice he'd heard earlier. He hoped he wasn't making this up.
He took one more full look at the ghost—pale curled hair, pale wiry frame, pale soft lips—and decided something he hadn't known he'd been considering.
"Tonight, ve're busting out," he declared. Breaking out of this old haunted, no, abandoned house. Because frankly, he was sick of this and sick of waiting for all those flowers and spiderwebs to grow all around him, which he knew was near-impossible anyway. He didn't care if Alfie and Mathias would be mad or worried or whatever for him breaking loose. This ghost had been abandoned just like he had, and Gilbert was going to take care of him. The thing that pushed it over the edge for the ex-nation, though, was—
"I don't feel dead anymore." he said aloud, awed at the idea.
And I'm not afraid anymore.
—
I'd rather waltz than just walk through the forest
The trees keep the tempo and they sway in time
Quartet of crickets chime in for the chorus
If I were to pluck on your heartstrings, would you strum on mine?
—
The ghost sang quietly as Gilbert broke the lock on the back door. They walked back into the woods behind the house, and it was cold but not unpleasant. Gilbert found that if he tried, he could see the forest the same way the ghost—no, Matthew—did. Matthew called it pleasant; Gilbert preferred 'awesome'.
He wasn't a ghost. His name was Matthew, and this house was in Canada, not America. It seemed that Alfie had driven him a little too far north, either that or he couldn't remember where his borders were or who his neighbour was. Matthew didn't mind much, unless it involved his citizens. And even then he was apparently nice about it. Gilbert believed it.
And by the time Matthew got to the last line of his song, he expected the ex-nation to sing along. Gilbert didn't specifically want to, but with the trees swaying and Matthew stepping in more of a waltz than a stroll, he couldn't help it.
...If I vere to pluck on your heartstrings, vould you strum on mein?
(I love you too, Gil. We don't typically write a lot of songfics, but if you send us a suggestion and we like it enough, it might just work out. We'll have to see, eh?)
(notes: Is Matthew a ghost? It's up to your interpretation. I like to think he just keeps to himself in his little house and comes out when he needs to handle national business, ghost or not. Thanks to an anonymous review for the addition of this note.
Also, 'the end of February' refers to 25 February, the date of Prussia's dissolution.)