Synopsis: Canada was almost positive that hearing voices was the first step on the path to madness but it was better than being alone.
Disclaimer: None of the countries mentioned are mine. Please get back to me after 'World Domination Phase Three' is complete.
Dedication: A special thank you to everyone who has sent me 'cookies' over my recent livejournal entry. It means a lot to me.
Whispers
Canada wrapped his arms around his knees and rocked back and forth beneath the scalding stream of water. His clothes were soaking. His hands were shaking.
He curled a little tighter around himself and cried.
It had only been a week since Prussia had first disappeared but it felt like a lifetime. It felt like several. He cried and cried but the tears kept coming and he could not stop them.
He did not want to stop them…
After everything that had happened, after everything they had been through together, he had still ended up alone. So very alone.
And Prussia was dead.
Canada hiccupped and buried his face into his folded arms, lost in the clinging knit of his sweater. The water at the bottom of the bathtub was past his ankles now and he wondered how long it would take to drown him.
… Not that he could drown… A nation, a true nation, could not die. Canada could slit his wrists or swallow a bullet but it would not assuage the pain. It could not. It turned out that a nation could not even die from a broken heart…
He could hear the telephone ringing in the bedroom but he ignored it. He knew that it was either America or England checking up on him, asking him if he had left the house, wondering if he needed a shoulder to lean on. He refused to answer. He just wanted to wallow in his misery… Was that too much to ask?
Was it?
He covered his ears and tried to shut out the ringing.
The two of them had known the end was coming but… That was the issue right there: 'the two of them'… It had been so much easier to deal with when it was the two of them. Prussia had been dissolved almost a century ago and, after that, it was just a waiting game. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
Still, a couple of decades had been more than enough time to fall in love.
And now he was alone.
Canada wailed.
Prussia stared at the shower curtain and felt as if his heart had been cut out of his chest. He wanted to crawl in after Canada and never let go. His ears echoed with that sound, that awful sound, and it was made worse with the realization that he was the cause of that terrible wailing.
He glanced down at his feet in shame and found them pale and translucent. His hands were the same.
He had been following Canada around their house for the past week but he was a little lost. He knew that he was ghost, that much was obvious, but what was he supposed to do now?
There had been no choirs when he died; no fire and brimstone. It seemed that neither heaven nor hell wanted him.
So what was he supposed to do now?
Canada watched the seconds twirl past on the timepiece, around and around. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. His curls were a mass of greased knots that left marks on the pillowcases and the bedsheets needed to be changed but he made no effort to get out of bed.
Instead, he watched as the seconds turned into minutes and the minutes turned into hours with a detached sort of fascination.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
It had been two weeks now since Prussia had died and nothing seemed to matter much. The telephone kept ringing and his voicemail was overflowing with concern and offers of assistance and even the occasional threat from England. France was concerned, his brother wanted to help, but England was threatening to come over and 'drag his ass out of bed'. It sounded harsh but it just meant that he was worried.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
Canada knew that he should get out of bed but he did not want to… It just did not seem worth it.
It was not that he had never dealt with death before. Hell, as a nation, he dealt with it each time he exhaled. Every time he inhaled, someone was born; each time he exhaled, someone died. In, out, in, out. He was breathing life and death.
But his own heart had stopped beating the moment Prussia disappeared.
Tick tock, tick tock.
And now the timepiece sounded like a heartbeat but that was only because he no longer had one.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
He had nothing left to give. Time had run out... For both of them.
Prussia 'sat' on the edge of the bed and tried to stroke his matted curls but he could not touch him. He cursed in frustration.
How could Canada do this to himself? He had understood what it meant to wed a dissolved nation; he had understood that any day could be his last, their last. He had known what it meant to say 'I do'.
And Prussia had loved him for it. He still did.
But this was difficult to watch.
Prussia told himself that it had only been two weeks, and that it was unfair to be so hard on him, but he had come to terms with his own death a long time ago. He thought that Canada had too.
He leaned forward to 'kiss' him on the forehead and Canada finally closed his tired eyes. He had been watching the clockface for hours.
"I love you," he whispered.
"I love you too," Canada mumbled. Prussia reared back with wide eyes before swooping forward again. Was it a coincidence?
"… And I miss you."
"Oh, Gilbert," Canada whimpered and rolled over, snuffling into his pillow with a sigh. "I miss you too. Come back to me. Please."
Prussia felt his mouth drop open. It was not a coincidence.
He had heard him.
Canada tossed mementos into the garbage can with an odd sort of glee. Three weeks had come and gone but it was not getting any better. It still hurt... Everything still hurt.
He threw a photograph into the garbage can and cackled when the frame shattered. He wanted to destroy all of the memories of their life together. It hurt too much to look at them. He threw out the albums and the letters and the gifts. He tossed the movies Prussia used to watch and the music he used to listen to; the clothes he wore and the novels he read and the sweets he ate. Everything! It all had to go!
If the past decades of his life were now meaningless, then so was everything else!
Tick, tock, tick, tock! It all had to go!
Canada reached for one of his journals, one of a thousand, and paused.
Oh, what was he doing?
He set the journal down and bit his lip, ashamed. His husband had cherished those journals… Canada could not just discard them because he was upset.
He could never erase their time together and he would not forget him. Prussia was… Prussia was… Prussia had been the centre of his world for decades and even longer if he thought back to his embarrassing infatuation.
Canada sighed and tilted the garbage can so that the mementos tumbled onto the carpet. He sat next to them and held his head in his hands.
"I must be going insane," he sighed.
"You're not insane."
"Yes, I am." Canada frowned and glanced up but, of course, no one was there. Fantastic, now he was hearing voices. "Fuck…"
"Tell me about it."
"No, no, no. You're not here."
No one answered him this time but he could have sworn he heard someone chuckling. Worse, it sounded like Prussia. He looked over the albums and letters and gifts with a grimace.
Perhaps he was going insane…
Prussia chuckled and twirled through the air. He was starting to get a handle on this whole 'ghost' business. If he concentrated hard enough, he could speak to Canada and, sometimes, he could even move trinkets an inch or two to the left.
Canada could not see him but Prussia figured that it was just a matter of time.
In the meantime, though, Canada thought he was going insane.
"You're not here!"
"Well, not there exactly, no, but I am standing behind you," he paused, "or is it 'floating'? I am floating right behind you."
"La la la! I can't hear you."
"Bullshit."
"You're not here. You're dead," Canada growled. "You left me all alone."
"Uh, 'no', 'yes', and 'no' in that order."
"Shut up!"
"Make me."
"I'll… Argh!"
"See, and you thought I was annoying when I was still alive... Turn's out, the joke's on you."
Canada walked laps around his kitchen and resisted the urge to fashion himself a nice tinfoil hat. That damned voice kept following him around the house and it sounded just like his deceased husband. He was almost positive that hearing voices was the first step on the path to madness but he refused to ask another nation for help.
He could only imagine what his brother would say… Or worse, that England might actually believe him. That would be awful.
"Go away."
"Nope."
"Leave me alone."
"Nope."
"Look," Canada sighed, feeling like an idiot for talking to thin air, "you can't possibly be my husband; Gilbert is dead. He's dead and gone."
"Uhm, not quite."
"This is ridiculous…"
"Ask me anything," the voice interrupted. "Ask me something that only he would know. I'll prove it to you."
Canada sighed. What else did he have to lose at this point? He had already lost his mind, evidently.
"So what's my favourite colour?"
"Purple."
Canada paused. That was actually correct. He had expected to hear the standard 'red' or 'white' answer.
"And my favourite food?"
"Perogies."
Again, he had expected to hear 'pancakes' or maybe even 'maple syrup'. Most of his friends just assumed he survived on a diet of flour and eggs and sugar.
"Favourite song?"
"Hmm… 'Ave Maria' by Franz Schubert or 'Baby Got Back' by Sir Mix-A-Lot."
Canada almost tripped but managed to catch himself and lean against the counter instead. He was shaking. Someone else might have known that first song but no one should have known that he sang the second one in the shower.
No one except Prussia.
"… Favourite movie?"
"'Life is Beautiful'."
"Favourite television show?"
"'I Love Lucy'."
"Uh, what is my favourite flower?"
"That's a trick question," the voice snorted. "The maple leaf is not a flower."
"Oh god…" Canada tightened his grasp on the countertop. It felt like the world was spinning underneath his feet. "No. No, this is impossible. You're just a figment of my imagination. You know the answers because I know them."
"I'll prove it to you then," the voice said again. It sounded desperate but confident. "Read my journal from 1995. August 3rd, 1995. Do it."
"I'm not… I'm not supposed to touch those…"
"I'm giving you permission. Do it now."
"Why?" Canada felt close to tears; he felt pressured and terrified. What if it was true? What then?
"… Because that was the day I realized I was in love with you."
Canada bit his lip and wandered out of the kitchen on wobbly legs. He reached the bookshelf and scanned the journals. There were so many of them…
The voice was able to point out 1995 without a problem. Oh god...
He plucked it off the bookshelf with trembling fingers. He opened it to August 1st, then 2nd, and finally to August 3rd.
Dear Diary,
Today, I fell in love for the first time. His name is Matthew.
I think I'm going to marry him…
Canada dropped the journal and collapsed, sobbing.
Oh no, oh no, oh no… What had he done? Prussia floated around Canada and waved his hands in a panic.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"
Canada continued to weep. The journal in his lap was splattered with tears.
"Oh, Matthew, I'm sorry! Please don't cry!"
He did anyway.
"Oh!"
He should have known better than to surprise Canada like that, especially so soon after his death. He should have built up to the revelation rather than push it on him without warning. Of course he would react like this.
Prussia floated down next to him and wished that Canada could see him. He wanted to comfort him.
"I'm so sorry, Matthew. I didn't mean to frighten you…"
The tears slowly trickled off and Canada looked up from the journal. He looked right at him and laughed. It was a small, broken sound but laughter nonetheless and it warmed his heart. It had been too long since he had last heard his husband laugh.
"I know, Gilbert," he hiccupped, "it's okay."
Prussia opened his mouth in surprise. He shifted right and then left but Canada followed each movement.
"Can you…? You can see me?!"
Canada nodded and laughed again. His eyes were swollen.
"Yes."
Prussia reached for the other nation before remembering that he could not touch him. He clenched his fist and let it drop back to his side.
Still, Canada could finally see him. He believed him.
And that was enough for now.
"I love you," he whispered.
Canada settled back into the armchair with one of the journals. Prussia 'sat' on the back of his seat and read over his shoulder.
The den was warm and quiet. He crossed his legs and smiled up at the ghost. Prussia smiled back.
Canada opened the journal to the first page. It was one of the oldest journals in the collection and the pages were worn and spotted with spilt ink. It was a thousand years worth of memories; a thousand years worth of life and love and loss. It was the greatest gift that his husband could give him.
He could not touch him but he could give him these journals...
Canada had the memories of a lifetime in his hands and the sweet whispers of the dead to keep him company. He ran his finger down the spine of the tome and felt his smile soften. It was far from perfect but it was enough.
He was no longer alone and that was enough. It had to be.
Author's Notes:
I am sad, so very sad. I was disowned by my stepmother this week (No, I do not know why…) and just found out that my great grandmother has cancer. So now I am sad and depressed… Sigh…
Anyway, that's my excuse for writing this. I think that this is perhaps in the same vein as chapter eighteen of 'Inspired'. Maybe earlier in the timeline? This particular idea has been hanging around for awhile.
I think that Canada might have developed a taste for perogies during one of the mass migrations from the Ukraine to Canada. The immigrants settled in the prairies and coloured the local cuisine. Also, Schubert's 'Ave Maria' is one of my favourite pieces and 'Baby Got Back'… Well, let's be honest. Everyone loves that song, especially those who are, uhm, well endowed. Oh, and the official flower of Canada is usually considered to be the maple leaf. I have no idea who decided that was a legitimate choice…
Please remember to review and let me know what you thought of the piece. Go ahead and leave an anonymous review, I do not mind. I cherish each and every one.