AN: Based on the "Salted Salmon" side-comic. A quick disclaimer in hindsight. This was written far too early into my introduction to Prussia, more specifically before I went through his drama CD which would have been necessary in order to properly characterize the relationship between Italy and Prussia. Because I was too hasty to begin writing, characterization suffered. I do apologize; but I leave this up not only because I enjoy the concept, but because it stands as testament to my growth in understanding my subject.
Prussia boarded the train with nothing but a book and his wallet. He was headed to Italy, and the sparseness of his belongings was an annoyance to say the least. He adored the country, and would have loved nothing more than to enjoy everything it had to offer (especially because it was deliciously warm at this point of the year). But he had business to attend to, and he would be there absolutely no longer than he needed to be. His current situation was too pressing for anything but immediate action.
It had originally been the single funniest thing Prussia had ever heard; and considering how long he'd been alive that was certainly saying something. He enjoyed beer, but nowhere near on the level that Germany did. That his little brother thought that he could ever stop drinking entirely was just adorable. He wouldn't have been doing his duty as an older sibling if he didn't have plenty of remarks to point that out.
And, of course, he had to remind Germany of all the deliciousness that he was denying himself. The smoky Rauchbier, the strong Weizenbock, the bitter-sweet Spezial… Prussia practically sang that they didn't have 1,300 breweries and over 5,000 brands between them for nothing; and it was all he could do not to die of laughter as his brother twitched.
That had been the initial reaction, though. Then the single night turned into a few days, and then over a week. Despite all of Prussia's best efforts, Germany hadn't swallowed a single drop. To go even further, he'd stopped coming into the bars and eating at the dining room table with his brother to avoid the ever-present temptation of alcohol.
Instead of relaxing in the way he always had, Germany had thrown himself into his job with more veracity than he ever had before. It left Prussia with no exposure to his brother outside of work, in which Germany refused to speak about anything but.
As much as Prussia had thought it would be impossible to do so, what had originally been a laugh-riot was now making the beer unpalatable; and the people he drank it with even more so.
He prided himself in not needing others for anything from alliance to companionship; or, if he turned to them, the ability to discard them as soon as their usefulness was exhausted. That statement, however, wasn't meant to be about his little brother. Germany's abandonment of him was causing pain he'd never experienced before, and his pride wasn't enough that he was willing to ignore that.
Unfortunately (and, Prussia acknowledged begrudgingly, mostly due to the way he had raised the young country), Germany was unimaginably stubborn when he'd agreed to do something. He'd been doing very well in sobriety thus far; and it was becoming a greater and greater possibility that he'd actually succeed. Prussia would not be denied his brother, drinking buddy, and, as reluctant as he was to say it, friend simply because Germany was eager to hold fast to stupidity.
It simply wasn't in Prussia to say something like that he missed someone out-loud, though. Most of all, he would not say it to Germany; who seemed to be going out of his way to hurt his brother. If his brother was going to be so sadistic, Prussia was going to return the favor.
There was that little, useless thing that his brother was evidently in love with; because there could be no other reason for someone who'd been raised to be a militaristic super-power to keep around something so pathetic and damaging. This Italy, who had grown bigger but not more competent, somehow was evidently capable of talking anyone into doing anything. And, best of all, he was gullible enough to be convinced to use that power with minimal effort.
Prussia would have salivated at this sort of capabilities if the situation weren't so sensitive and pressing. Instead, he forced himself to pay attention to his book over the few hours of the train and then taxi ride to the country's house.
The one Germany referred to as 'Italy' (which was silly, as that term described two individuals), was outside; and waved enthusiastically at the country he'd become vaguely acquainted with during his innumerable times of staying at Germany's home.
Prussia smiled in return. "Guten abend, Italian."
"Buona sera, Prussia~!" the younger country greeted joyously.
He ran over and gave Prussia a hug that should rightfully have been reserved for his real ally. While he normally would have pushed the whiny thing off, Prussia returned the gesture in the same manner he'd seen his brother do. 'Italy' nearly squealed.
"What brings you here, ve?" Italy asked. "I didn't know you were coming and I ate all the pasta I had made already," he added with a frown and a bowed head for apology. As if this shame had never happened, though, he immediately brightened up. "But I can make some more right…!"
"Danke," Prussia said forcefully to silence the babbling nation. He'd been there for a minute, and he was already annoyed enough to have to fight off the urge to smack the little idiot. Germany must have lost his mind if he had decided to be so loyal to this… "Really, I appreciate it, but I didn't come for food. I… needed your help." Even with all the planning he'd done, he stumbled over the unfamiliar and embarrassing words. The mighty Prussia asking for aid at all was… ugh. He shuddered at what this would do to his reputation if it ever got out.
Though he was sure his contempt was obvious, Italy didn't seem to notice. He looked up with eagerness and a great deal of fear.
"It's not for me," Prussia said quickly. "It's for Germania, and…" He tried to think of what the name for the less-incompetent ally his brother had managed to pick up. It was "Japan" in German; but what was it in Italian? Or, at least, what did that one call himself? Prussia on some levels wished that he paid more (or any) attention to this whole alliance thing, but on others he knew that he didn't care enough.
"Giappone?" Italy asked. The fear was still there, but it was suddenly covered by a layer of urgency.
"Yeah. They're doing something really stupid, and they're going to get sick and die if they don't stop," Prussia said. "You're the only one who can save them." He went to motion to the waiting taxi, but Italy had already bounded inside of it. Prussia had to run after him as fast as he was able to keep from being left behind.
Prussia had always prided himself in his manipulation skills, but he didn't get any satisfaction in this one; it was shocking how easy that had been. He shook it off with the assurance that it would be prime teasing material when he finally got a pint or two in his brother.
