Characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya, written by Dancing Feather, inspired from a request from Preussen. Any spelling/grammatical/OOC /historical errors wish to be corrected. I mean it, if something looks not quite right say something. I will not be offended by the fact someone wants to help me improve.

Wingless

He was not himself anymore. His skin couldn't be anymore paler, so instead it became transparent. Like his nails, his hair, his clothes. But the eyes stayed sharp. Lost, but as bright as ever. As bright as history could shine—

A pale pink, really.

In a sense that was a given, it was impossible to be that way anymore. Times have changed. The borders have moved, leaders brought down, governments collapsed. So perhaps it wasn't that he wasn't himself, his environment had changed and he hasn't had time to adjust to it yet.

Two hundred years wasn't enough time to adjust.

"West, hey-" He nudged his brother in the back of his shoulder with a knuckle. "Hey, we should-"

"Hush." Germany batted his hand away. "Do you not see ve are at a meeting?"

Oh, yeah. Forgot about that...

"I was wondering why it was so quiet." He gave back a playful grin. He did that on purpose, really. He did not forget where he was. After all, he never forgot who he was.

I am Prussia.

The only people who could see him were old partners/enemies of the past. Or at least, were more likely to see him on a given day. Younger countries passed him by as if he were nothing, like a human assistant.

"Oh hey, pour me more coffee will you?"

I am Prussia! Show me some respect!

"America, dat is my bruder."

Things might have changed...

"You have a brother?"

But do not treat me differently!

There was something odd about walking in his brother's shadow. Something similar to silent permission, giving him access to information he could not use. Walking in on conversations that no one else would have heard on walking in, as if he never opened the door. Bribes were passed up openly before him, without a blink of an eye.

"...and the blame gets lifted off of me? No more complaints?"

"As if they were dead. Now you understand how this works, aru?"

He had no idea what to do in those situations. Would anyone who could still hear him, believe him? These secrets were useless.

Every time he followed his brother to a meeting, he found himself constantly surprised with how wide this little planet was. Colours and cultures he never knew existed, talking in tongues far stranger than the ones to the north in a strange little fantasy. Hours late into the meeting, they begin to blend into each other in a big blur- except one. One country stood out from all the others. It didn't make any sense, considering the country seemed just as transparent as he, maybe even more so. Maybe even more so, but he still exists.

Just like me.

And yet no one noticed him. Prussia would witness as the young country's mouth would move to say something. But what, he had no idea. He couldn't hear it over the din everyone else caused. The country walked in and out of rooms without anyone batting an eye in his direction. When he was noticed, it was normally when America was out of the room. And then he was always mistaken for the loud, obnoxious blond... even when he acted nothing like him.

That was one thing he would admit to gaining, you have a different perspective when your 'dead'.

"Hey, hey Wessie, who-"

"Christ Gilbert, it's hard enough to ignore Italy-"

"Who is that?"

"What?"

"Who is that guy over there?" Prussia even pointed out the semi-invisible man leaning against the counter to make it more obvious to his brother. He watched as his brother Germany glanced over, only a glance before raising an eyebrow to Prussia.

"Vhere are you pointing?"

"To the transparent guy!" Prussia growled, aghast at his brother's obliviousness. "Carrying the beer can! Don't you see him?" But Ludwig did not look over again, instead his eyes locked harder on Gilbert.

"I need to take you home again." His voice had melted immediately from the annoyed to concern.

"What?" Gilbert felt his heart quicken. "No, I'm fine! I'm not relapsing!" Please no, I'm taking the pills. I'm fine please don't let me go home. Please. "I'm not- please..." A firm hand gripped his upper-right arm and pulled him up from the table.

"Please excuse us." Germany gave a light bow to the rest of the table as eyes darted in their direction. "I have a minor emergency to fix."

"Hey, when you got to go, you got to go." America shrugged. England preformed a face-palm.

"Don't worry Doistu, I'll take notes for you!" Italy smiled, patting Ludwig's leg. It was obvious to everyone else but the man who just spoke, the look on Germany's face was not one of assurance.

"Yes. Hopefully it von't take long."

Gilbert was finding out there wasn't much he could talk to his brother about. If he talked about the past too long, he started reminiscing. Reminiscing would lead to forgetting. He would lose the ability to speak English, and start asking where Fritz was, or someone else. It depended on the time he thought he was in. When it came to things like that, he could understand his brother's concern.

But then there were the simple mistakes, like forgetting where he placed his house keys. Something he was sure every country has done more than once in their lives, he was treated as if he didn't take his pills or he needed a stronger dosage. Not that he did take his pills everyday. He found once he took them, he started thinking strange things. Thoughts that didn't feel like his thoughts, even though he knew it came from his brain. He wouldn't remember deeper details like the name of his bird, and stranger ones like the silent country that hung out in the corners of the meeting room disappeared completely. Essence and image gone. It was only when the effects of the pills disappeared did he realize there was someone suppose to be there.

So he only took the pills when Germany locked him in the house for the day. There was nothing else to do. He loved talking, but his ears and responses back were not enough. He loved company but the mirrors in the house felt so empty.

He was starving.

This is why I'm going crazy.

So he took into the habit of escaping. Occasionally he would bump into Hungary or Austria, and he never regretted it. It didn't matter how sour a note the conversation would end. How dangerously close he was to being 'killed' again or threatened to have his brother pick him up. They recognized him and called him by his name. He was a ghost, an albino one at that. At moments like those, he couldn't ask for anything more.

Which brings into question the country no one else but he could see. Did that mean he was a ghost too? It seemed to be even worse for that country, because even if other countries did not recognize Gilbert, at least they outwardly showed that they knew he was there. Walking around him instead of passing through him. Gilbert would have to investigate all by himself. Fine, he preferred things that way. However, it took a good lot of convincing to get his brother to take him to the next meeting.

"You better be on your best behaviour."

"Yes, yes! How many times must I agree?"

"This is the last time." Ludwig said for the fifteenth time, jabbing a finger in Gilbert's face. "Don't make me regret it."

"Yes." Gilbert sighed a smile of relief as he felt the mental handcuffs removed. "I won't make a scene, I promise." He meant it this time too.

He lingered outside the meeting's doorway for the ghost. He knew it would take a while since his brother always insisted on being early to meetings to stop whoever was doodling on the backboards. Pacing back and forth, he stayed to one side of the hallway as other countries filed in.

Then, the ghost came into view.

"Hallo." Gilbert grinned his most friendly, despite what Spain and France had warned in the past about that particular grin. They were just jealous of his good looks anyways. "I was just wondering-" The ghost acted as if he didn't hear him at all, running past him into the room and slamming the door behind. "...you're kidding." He growled, grabbing the door handle-

...to see that it was looked.

"Oh shit. Oh no, please." He whimpered, jiggling the handle on the slight chance it would be jammed. "Please don't leave me alone."

Please...

Please...

PLEASE—

During lunch-hour, Ludwig discovered his brother in the facilities kitchens. Hidden in the back pantries, talking to a sack of rice about the Treaty of Wehlau. Knocking on the closest shelf, Ludwig managed to grab Gilbert's attention.

"Let's go home."

"Has the Markgraf requested me?"

"No. I requested for you. Get up, Gilbert." His voice was stern, his face angry, but it did not seem to faze Gilbert at all, rising from the back and striding over with a grin.

But the closer he walked to Ludwig, his environment altered and his steps grew more meek. Rock walls melted back into smooth cement. Candles snuffed, stretched and coiled with a hollow inside to bring out light from within. Wood changed it's element to metal and soon enough, Gilbert had no idea where he was. Smile gone, he pressed himself into Ludwig, who wrapped an arm around him, squeezing him even closer.

"I..." He gritted his teeth, he felt so ashamed. "I was locked out."

"I noticed."

Nothing else was said to each other as they walked from the building. Gilbert made himself sit in the automobile, despite not remembering it's name or it's exact function. Sitting on the other side, Ludwig strapped in his brother's seat belt.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

Markgraf (or Margrave) is a noble with power over lords. Gilbert was referring to was Frederick William (no, not THE Frederick. It was a common name before the awesome guy was born).