Gilbert eyed his reflection in the mirror, trying to notice a difference. His hair hung down in wet clumps, turned a shade darker by the water that dripped from it. After several minutes, he reached the conclusion that nothing was unusual, but continued a sort of staring contest with himself. The bathroom's harsh light dulled his eyes to a disturbing pink, which was decidedly not cool at all. In truth, he was simply trying to put something off, something he didn't necessarily want to think about.
A razor sat innocently on the edge of the sink, not looking particularly harmful. The stubble on Gilbert's face attested to the fact that it hadn't been touched in quite a while. He rubbed a pale hand over his jaw, which was unusually rough. Either avoid the razor and start looking like Krampus, or actually get rid of that stupid white beard and-
"Just a dumb razor." snapped the albino, squirting some shaving cream into his palm and rubbing it over the bottom half of his face. Slowly washing his hands free of the stuff, he paused whenever possible, seeking an excuse to just leave the bathroom and get out of the house. No escape presented itself, and retreat was never an option. Bravery in battle, surrender to no one! He would not be foiled by a piece of plastic with some blades stuck in it. Instead, he grabbed the razor by the handle and held it aloft. Prussia's hands shook, those same hands that had driven swords through soldiers, leveled guns at enemies, saluted to emperors.
He dragged it tentatively over his skin, praying all the while it wouldn't catch on anything. There hadn't actually been a beard on his face, it was too thin to be considered one, but Roderich had commented on it. After that, he honestly had to get rid it. It was strange, how everyday things had suddenly become so terrifying, after what had happened. The most important thing was to keep it hidden, to banish it from his mind, and everyone else's.
Halfway done, and he was still the only one awake in Austria's house, from what he could hear. At least the other nation had let him stay for a few weeks while Germany was too busy with the Euro Problem or whatever the hell they called it. So, after a very odd chain of events, here he was, shaving in a friend's home. For a little bit, it looked like everything would be okay. He hadn't slipped up, hadn't even broken the skin. Finished. "Nothing to be afraid of, hm?" Prussia washed his face, getting rid of any leftover shaving cream. Perfectly fine, no cuts at all. The entity who had conquered millions and built an empire was exceedingly proud of his barber skills.
So proud, in fact, that he moved too fast towards the bathroom door and slipped on the carpet. In a second, he was tumbling, the floor rushing up towards him. A loud thump echoed through the house, followed by a string of elaborate curses.
"You're limping." Roderich observed. He had a knack for noticing things like that.
Prussia shrugged, avoiding moving his left shoulder too much, where he had banged it on the rim of the bathtub. "I'm hundreds of years old, dork. I can be a bit gimpy when I want to be." He reached up with his good arm to pat Gilberd's head. The little bird's feathers were smooth underneath his fingertips, and it was a bit comforting just to pet them.
"I'm just as old as you." said Austria flatly, "And you look like you were hit with a truck."
They were walking outside St. Charles' Church, in Vienna. It was a blustery day; the sun was covered by a thick blanket of clouds which only added an extra chill to the air. The weather had driven many people inside their homes, so the two could enjoy the mostly empty streets. Here and there, tourists snapped pictures of the baroque church which loomed over a reflecting pool.
"No one asked you." Muttered Gilbert, trying to keep his gait somewhat regular. The wind seemed bent on pushing him over, and maintaining his balance with one messed up knee wasn't easy. Goddamned bathroom rug. It had been Austria's fault, keeping so many things on the floor. It hurt to walk, practically hurt to move at all. There was a terrible irony to it, how he had been so careful with the razor but couldn't keep his freaking footing when he reached for the door.
The church shrank in size behind them, until it was only a gray shadow against the sky. Dead leaves rattled down the streets, clinging to Prussia's coat before being brushed off. Eventually, Austria turned, waved, and walked up to an important-looking building.
"Have a freakin' awesome time." Roderich didn't respond, and vanished inside. Gilbert stood alone with his head in the clouds, unable to come up with a distraction for the rest of the day. He didn't even have motivation to move, and was only shaken when a security guard began to walk towards him.
On any other day, he would have merely waited until the guard was close, then darted off, cackling all the way. Normal Prussia. Except right now, he wasn't normal Prussia, even if he was as cool as ever. There was a difference, things had changed. So he stood there and let the guard advance.
"Excuse me, sir, are you waiting for someone? We don't allow loiterers." He pointed to a sign, which supported his statement. "If you're expecting an audience with an official, I can point you to the correct-"
"Do you know what I am?" Gilbert asked, folding his arms. Let the human try something, start a fight. He was already hurt, but getting in a brawl with a person, as opposed to the bathroom floor, seemed very appealing. Forget his earlier caution, forget all of that. Stupid guard, getting in his way. Everybody knew the great Prussia, or at least they should.
The guard clearly wasn't a young man, he was slightly doughy with a greying beard and a kind face. Looking perplexed, he reached out and patted Prussia on the shoulder. "You go home, son. It's still pretty early in the morning, just get a bit of rest." He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "It's a bad day to be out in the cold, you'll catch your death."
Gilbert's gathering rage dispersed, replaced by a deep feeling of uncertainty. "Catch my death, huh?" The words seemed to echo in his head, recalling memories of long, deep winters. Without another word, he spun on his heel, hands jammed into his pockets. That guard had been right, even if he was an ephemeral human. Unlike him, the immortal Prussia. Hanging onto that soothing thought, he began to wander the city.
More people were wandering outside, now that a few more hours had passed since dawn. Gilbert, however, had nowhere to go. His brother was hardly ever at home these days. Foreign business, mostly. It would be too lonely in that empty place, even if Prussia had the dogs for company. Austria's house was almost as cold as the streets of his capital, since he was a bit stingy with the heat. Being a guest in a home he'd once conquered didn't suit his tastes either. Any port in a storm, though.
His leg, or rather his entire body, was hurting something awful. He hadn't even looked at them since he got dressed this morning, but he knew it would be bad. Deep, purple bruises that would only fade given enough time. Over an hour passed this way; Prussia limping down narrow streets, through empty parks, barely looking at the grand architecture of Vienna. Roderich's house didn't really stand out; like all of their homes it changed over time. Huts were replaced by castles, which were then usurped by manors and finally apartments.
Prussia didn't need his own key, as he had stolen Austria's quite a while ago. That stuffy aristocrat was still using his spare. Once inside, he cranked up the thermostat and tossed his jacket on the faded sofa. No one to tell him what to do now. His scarf was promptly draped across one chair, followed by his gloves. Only sissies took their boots off in the hallway, so Prussia kicked his off and left them in the middle of the living room. These rituals having been performed, Gilbert began to raid the kitchen, steering clear of anything that looked pointy. A cake of some sort sat under a glass bowl; a fitting snack for one so grand as himself.
Wary of the sharp knives, the former Kingdom of Prussia cut his cake with a spoon.
Several minutes later he was once again in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub and staring at his feet. Once he had sat down, he had a bad feeling that it was going to be very hard to get up again. His knee hurt, and his hip, along with his left shoulder. For most of his existence, pain had been distant, as if felt through a thick buffer of some sort. He could feel this, though. Genuinely feel it. Was this human? It wasn't awesome. It actually hurt like hell. How did they deal with this?
Tentatively, Prussia pulled off his sweater, dislodging Gilbird. He almost wanted to stop there, and not look at his arm. "Chicken!" he muttered suddenly, feeling ashamed of his own cowardice. Keeping his eyes on the mirror, he removed his shirt with a wince. Usually, a round of flexing and preening would have commenced. Not today. Prussia felt an unfamiliar knot of fear form in his stomach as he stared, almost aghast, at his reflection.
His entire arm was a bluish black. He should have known. So much blood had flooded to the injury it looked even more gruesome than it felt. For however many battles Prussia had been through, he'd never seen anything like it. There wasn't just bruising where he'd hit the floor, either. The backness had spread down to nearly his elbow, and was hot to the touch.
"Well, buddy." He used his good arm to stroke Gilbird. "I think death's catching up with us."