APH PruCan Timeless

by DarkmoonSigel

This was first published on Deviant Art so some of you may already recognize it. This is a series of events that have happened between Prussia and Canada throughout the centuries. Some good, some bad, some strange. Some of the stories are funny, some of them bittersweet, and some are horrific due to Russia's presence. Read at your own risk. Smut in later chapters.

1. Chapter 1

APH PruCan Timeless 1

If you're lost you can look - and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you - I'll be waiting
Time after time
-Cyndi Lauper 'Time After Time'

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Once upon a time a soiree held at the Palace of Versailles in the late 1500's
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Gilbert Beilschmidt, the personification of Prussia, decided that he hated parties. The uniformed nation sighed heavily, correcting himself as he looked out across the glittering ballroom filled to its gold leafed stucco brim with the crème de la crème of society. A big to do about nothing where the rich and powerful flaunted themselves to each other on a gilded field of battle dressed in velvet, lace, satin, and glittering stone instead of armor. They danced in carefully rehearsed steps on the killing floor armed with only sharp words and clever innuendos as their weapons.

Grimacing at his dismally full flute of champagne, Gilbert found himself preferring the brutal honesty of stained chain mail and the intimate edge of a sword. Give him a blood soaked battle field with the wind carrying the sounds of the defeated and dying to him over an overly decorated ballroom filled with tittering twits any day.

Drinking bitterly from his forced cup, Gilbert found that he could at least savor the adrenalin rush that surged through him at the very thought of unadulterated violence. This was neither the time or the place for it though. Open blood sport would only put these soft examples of humanity and the other immortals in the room on edge. If he ruined Francis's party(especially this early in the evening), his friend and fellow nation of France would not be pleased. As punishment, Francis would make it a point not to invite Gilbert to the parties he actually did enjoy, the ones where real booze was served(not this bubbly crap) and where there were duels, fights, and races with bulls and other things that fought back for entertainment. As England could personally(seriously, why was Lord Eyebrows here?) confirm though, the Frenchman could definitely hold a grudge and Gilbert wasn't about to risk it…at least not yet.

But for the love of Fritz, this party sucked. Gilbert didn't even know what it was for. He had arrived late(as per usual) when it was something that didn't interested him in the least. Francis had recently come back from the New World, bringing along his colony with him or something to that effect. Gilbert didn't see any nations or land masses he failed to recognize though. It was the same old crowd of beautiful immortal countries with eyes too ancient for their youthful faces. Maybe the runt had already up and died on the way here. From what Gilbert had heard, the journey across the sea took anywhere from three months to almost a year with all the variants of weather, route, and skill of the ship's crew. It wasn't good for young nations still in their child state to be separated from their lands of origin for long periods of time. Gilbert personally thought that was one of the contributing factors of why the Vargas twins of Italy were so weak. Romano and Feliciano had spent most of their existences cooped up in other nation's house instead of in the hearts of their own. Adversely, the brothers of the Teutonic Order had made damn sure the Gilbert had been trained and ready before he had been unleashed like an conquering angel upon all of Christendom.

If that was the case, then it was just a matter of Francis being overdramatic about the whole thing. Gilbert didn't see what all the fuss was about. Nations came and nations went. It was the way of the world but the slice of world currently in this room seemed quite intent on boring Gilbert to death with idle prattle, weak wine, and even worse, ballroom dancing.

Some overdressed tart of a countess or a duchess from wherever had been trying to hang off of his arm for the past hour despite his obvious inattention to her presence, prattling in his ear to the point Gilbert was seriously considering cutting out her tongue. As far as he was concerned, Gilbert would be doing her future victims of polite society a favor in the long run. Hell, the dumb bitch might actually even have a shot at getting married after that. From what he had been forced to glean, that appeared to be the woman's main issue in life. There was Francis's wrath to consider though. Gilbert tried his hand at diplomacy instead.

"Unless you have a cock hidden underneath those petticoats, Fräulein, I suggest you go entice some poor other bastard into suicide.", Gilbert interrupted his unwanted company. He watched with mild interest as the woman turned an interesting shade of red all the way down to her bare shoulders.

"I remember why I invite you to these things now. How I have miss your charming wit and your effortless way with the ladies.", Francis said lightly to his fellow nation as he gently intervened before the conflict turned violent. The Frenchman murmured some soothing words to the affronted noblewoman, using his influence as a nation upon her to pass her off to a more willing conversationalist.

"I told you not to bother me with this kind of shit. It's your fault.", Gilbert grunted. It was as close to an apology as Francis was going to get. He could like it or leave it.

"La, but there is someone I want you to meet.", Francis told him, not insulted as he took the Prussian's words for what they were.

"So where the hell is the new meat? I have better things to do than entertain idiots, unlike some other nations I know.", Gilbert arched a slim silver brow at his host. He tossed his half full glass of champagne over his shoulder just elaborate his point. Gilbert broke out in a wide grin as the glass shattered and splashed on the intended victim behind him. Roderich should really know better by now but all things considered, the poor Austrian bastard was probably lost looked for the bathroom or something. If he wasn't then he definitely needed to find one now. Champagne would stain those expensive clothes of his.

Unimpressed by his old friend's actions, Francis threw a handkerchief to the glaring Austrian nation as he grabbed Gilbert's arm, leading him to the other side of the room. Gilbert let him but only because he noticed Elizabeta weaving in and out of the crowd, the potentially hazardous to his health Hungarian bee lining toward them. Blowing her a kiss, Gilbert ducked after Francis as the two nations made their escape, taking cover behind unsuspecting mortals.

The pair ended up in a relatively private side hallway, the only other occupants there too involved with each other to pay the nations any notice. They returned the favor for the most part, though Francis would pause occasionally to leer or make suggestions as more clothing was pushed up and removed. "Really, Gilbo? Must you, every time?", Francis sighed in aggravation, "It is as much your fault as hers that it did not work out between you two. If you had just listened to me…."

"We are not talking about this.", Gilbert grunted, not one to take reminders of his shortcoming and past failures well, "We were discussing this new land you have planted your flag in."

"Hardly. I do not share our dear Antonio's tastes in such matters.", Francis said dryly, the double entendre not lost on the old pervert , "And I will remind you that you were late. Do not think I did not notice. Mon petite grew weary so I sent him off to bed. It is your own fault that you missed him."

"Wunderbar. Now that I have wasted my time for nothing, can I go? I have things to do and people to screw.", Gilbert grunted, seething a little inwardly. Not waiting for his host's say of leave, Gilbert turned toward the nearest exit. If he left now, he could still find something or someone interesting enough to help him work off some of this edge that had been building ever since he got here. Gilbert need to fuck or fight his way back to a good mood and soon before things got messy….for other people.

Gilbert found his escape cut short though, Francis's arm latched onto his own like a manacle. "Stay. Stay and meet him in the morning. I will make it worth your while.", Francis smirked, reading the Prussian well. He leaned in to lick the side of moon pale face, letting his tongue linger as he tasted the salt of Gilbert's skin. Francis realized belated that he may have remained near a little too long, the French nation jumping back with a yelp as he clutched at his own face. Francis cursed in long screams of French as he felt blood well up under his palm. He had forgotten that predators are territorial. They also bite.

Francis was relieved to see that though the smile on Gilbert's face was feral, his crimson eyes were still quite sane, just highly amused at his expense.
"Not even fucking you is worth putting up with all this scheisse.", Gilbert ran a bright pink tongue over his sharp teeth, "But I am curious about the new meat. It's not every day a new one of our kind comes along."

Francis was regretting handing off his handkerchief now, having to use the sleeve of his rather expensive silk shirt to wipe away the blood. The small wound had already healed to leave behind only a smear of crimson in its wake. Francis doubted that Gilbert would be courteous enough or willing to let him use his cloak, the heavy red fabric ideal for this sort of situation. Francis made sure to never break eye contact though with one of his oldest friends and advisories. "Very true, mon ami. He is special. Very special and very much mine. I will trust you to remember that if you want to leave my lands in one piece.", Francis said in light tones. To the casual observer, the French nation's remark would come off as casually said, joking even. The glint of steel in his cobalt eyes spoke of how real the threat was as they bore into scarlet orbs. The grin the Prussian gave back in answer could never be mistaken for anything other than a threat, the expression a bearing of teeth. The two nations stared each other down, their wills clashing against one another with almost visible sparks as the air between them wavered as if from heat. Gilbert was the one to break from it first, though Francis was sure it was not from a place of fear or weakness. Odds were the Prussian had just grown bored.

"Kesesese. Calm down, wino. I'm not Antonio either and I'm not England. Your new spit of land is too far away for me to give a damn about. I have already got bigger fish to fry closer to home. If you and Lord Eyebrows want to waste your money on boat rides, be my guest.", Gilbert snickered, "Just remember, when you both are too broke to fight back I will be there to pick of the pieces."

"How comforting.", Francis said flatly. The old nation was not one to take chances though, "I have your word on this?".

A flash of steel signaled Gilbert drawing his sword. To Francis's relief, he only used it on himself to slice his palm open so that blood welled up into the cup of it. "I swear by my blood which is the life of my people. I swear by my flesh that is the land of my people. I swear by my honor and being as Prussia that I mean no ill will or harm during my stay in your house and in your lands to that which is yours. I swear this witnessed by the Earth under our feet and the moon overhead.", Gilbert chanted the ancient oath, one that only nations could make and was considered binding among their kind. Prussians, and Prussia in particular, took such matters as honor very seriously. Francis knew this and shamelessly used it to his advantage. He personally blamed the zealot knights' influences for such things but the ends justified the means in his opinion.

"Now that that is settled, let us return to the party and enjoy ourselves." Francis smiled. Gilbert finished licking his palm clean to sneer at the French nation.

"I would rather chew glass.", Gilbert stated firmly, "Tell you what. You go back to the party and I'll come find you later to take you up on your offer."

"You will stay out of trouble then long enough to do so?", Francis said, blatant doubt tinting his tone. Gilbert's grin in response did nothing to alleviate the French nation's feelings of foreboding.

"Don't I always? Kesesese."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

True to his word, Gilbert did. He realized belated that he should have made Francis promise the same thing though. The Prussian glared down at the French nation who was currently cuddling with a pool of his own vomit, snoring into it to make putrid little bubbles.

Gilbert had worked off some steam by walking around the grounds and gardens of Versailles, though more for the exercise and the distraction of it than to actually look at anything. He had been here plenty of times before so the beauty of palace had long been lost to Gilbert. Only when he noticed the carriages leaving in mass, Gilbert had deemed it safe enough to return to the palace and hunt Francis down in his own private wing there. Upon arriving at the French nation's elaborate bedroom, Gilbert found his conquest passed out stinking drunk on the floor covered in his own stomach's contents. Champagne and foie gras smelled even less appealing the second time around.

"You useless bastard. This is why England is a better lay than you. He can at least keep his shit together until morning.", Gilbert swore at the uncaring drunk, kicking him in the side for good measure. Francis only snored louder in response and flopped back into his mess. Gilbert rolled his eyes, giving up. It was late, the day had been a total disappointment, and now on top of everything he wasn't even going to get laid. Apparently the sky had an opinion on the matter as well, a sharp crack of lightening and the rumbling call of thunder signaling the beginning of violent storm.

Gilbert found his room easily without guidance from the servants. He was a guest often enough to garner a permanent place for himself there. Gilbert decided to call it a night as he stripped down immediately upon entering the room. He always slept best when it was raining. The constant pitter patter of rain drowned out the other noises that would normally keep Gilbert awake while sleeping in a place that was not his own. His chances of being ambushed or attacked here were pretty slim but humans often made mistakes and mistook their kind for being mortal. It wouldn't be the first, second, or even the twentieth time that some idiot politician's plans for vengeance, domination, or promotion involved trying to eliminate him. Assassins, like the cowards Gilbert knew they were, worked best under the cover of night to pedal their wares of oiled steel, poison, or garrote. As a nation, Gilbert had little to no fear of dying by such methods. He tended to be more annoyed than anything else that his sleep was interrupted, but such is life.

Gilbert had finally settled down under a mountain of pillows and burrowed underneath the thick covers to find a comfortable position when he heard it. Over the rain that had just began to fall in thick opaque sheets. Over the lightings that was so bright it lit up the night as if it were day. Over the thunder that called like war drums across the swirling sky of ink and shadow.

It was a high pitched sound that cut through all of the blessed white noise that the weather provided like a knife to the ear. It was a child's cry for help holding a strained note of terror in it that lingered on the edge of the mind and in the air when it ended.

"Some royal brat is having a nightmare.", Gilbert thought warily to himself, doing his best to ignore it, "Someone will shut it up soon.".

No one did though.

The noise continued in regular intervals, the din of it only managing to grow more frequent and desperate in nature. "Is anyone going to shut that kid up?!", Gilbert yelled. From the sound it and lack of any evidence that anyone else was awake, Gilbert was stuck with a resounding 'nein'. "Holy fuck, I have to do everything around here. Fucking useless French.", Gilbert swore, unfurling himself from his soft warm den of goose down and silk. He normally didn't enjoy extravagant things, found them wasteful, but a comfortable bed was something Gilbert always appreciated having spent one too many nights sleeping on the bare cold ground.

Wrapping a sheet tightly around him like a toga and grabbing his sword, Gilbert marched down dark hallways toward the infuriating noise. He didn't think the weapon was necessary but it never hurt. He could also use it to persuade the child's keeper to move their ass faster out of bed the next time the brat decided to throw a tantrum.

Gilbert didn't have to go far, the wails coming from only a few doors down from his own room. Wasting no time, he kicked the door open, not caring who he woke up in his discontent as the wood gave and the metal tore. The yowling stopped abruptly at the door's demise, the noise reduced to sniffling. Gilbert followed it to its source which was surprising not in a very soft looking bed shaped like a large basinet. The rest of the room echoed this babyish theme. From what Gilbert could see in the dark, it was obviously a child's room, filled with soft looking toys and other pleasant things. The sole occupant of this lovely room was wedged into a corner, crying softly into the wall. Gilbert's night vision was excellent but even he couldn't get a lot of detail from the huddled mass that shivered before him.

"Was that you just now?!", Gilbert demanded. He thought the child looked over its shoulder at him but he couldn't be sure. If he hadn't been looking so intently, Gilbert would have missed the movement of the child's head, barely signaling a nod.

"What the fuck is your problem?! People are trying to sleep!", Gilbert yelled, the irony of the situation lost on him to his temper. The child gulped wetly in response, somehow shrinking down smaller. A bolt of lighting partnered with a near deafening clap of thunder made the little one jump up in fright though, a shrill scream tearing from a small throat. Tiny hands clamped themselves firmly against the sides of a soft looking head as the child started to rock back and forth in place obviously terrified.

Sighing, Gilbert put aside his sword as he looked around the room for a source of light. Lamps were quickly set ablaze, casting the room in a warm golden glow. Gilbert went back over to the cowering child to nudge its backside with his foot. He grimaced when his bare toes touched moisture. The stink of fear and misery had covered up the scent of urine that the child was currently sitting in. Gilbert looked upward, appealing to the ceiling for some sort of guidance. It seemed to be his day to deal with other people's body fluids for some reason. When the kid didn't react, Gilbert sat down on the floor a few feet away from him in quiet observation to let the little one figure out on his own that the room was illuminated now.

Gradually, the child sat up on its own and though still trembling, turned around to face Gilbert.

The Prussian blinked back in surprise, stunned into further silence by the child's eyes. They were a soft purplish blue, a color of which Gilbert had only chanced to see for a few moment in the dying of the day, its hue here and gone in the passing of mere minutes. The twilight orbs were framed by thick golden lashes, tears still clinging to their lengths like diamond dust. The stunning eyes were set in a pale round face with features as delicate as a doll, surrounded by soft wavy locks of pale golden hair. One defiant curl hung away from the rest on the forehead to float in front of the child's face. The toddler was dressed in a simple white gown, the collar of it bound shut with a bright red ribbon. Amethyst eyes studied the Prussian warily as a rosebud mouth parted.

"Are you a ghost?", the fair headed child whispered, his voice like wind through curled fingers.

"Don't be a dumbass. Of course I'm not. How many ghosts do you know light lamps?", Gilbert snorted, gesturing to the obvious.

"You look like one….", the child stated, staring openly at Gilbert's colorless skin, silver hair, and crimson eyes. It took a moment for the Prussian to remember he was only dressed in a sheet which was doing nothing generous for his coloration or presentation.

Quite used to the stares and comments of others for his unusual appearance, Gilbert shrugged, studying the child just as openly back. He was one of their kind that much was obvious. Gilbert wondered how old the child actually was. Nations could be held in an adolescent form for centuries if their lands and people did not expand, grow, and evolve.

The gem like eyes that met his own held real innocence within them though, something that nations did not keep for very long. It made Gilbert realize that this being was truly young in every sense of the word. Francis had actually found himself a very rare treasure in the wildernesses of the New World.

"Who are you?", Gilbert asked, lowering his voice. The young nation was badly scared either by the storm or his new surrounding, or even being away from his land. Possibly all three. Having a stranger dressed in a sheet and wielding a sword did little to calm already frayed nerves. Gilbert would have used his name but he honestly couldn't remember if Francis had ever mentioned the young one's title. Being still and speaking in soft tones would just have to do for now.

"I-I'm K-Kanata.", the child stammered out shyly, "P-papa calls me Mathieu.". As he spoke, Mathieu fiddled with the edges of his gown, twisting the sodden material between his fingers in nervous gestures.

"Papa? Kesesese.", Gilbert couldn't help but snicker. It was just too rich. Maybe Francis shared more perverted traits with Antonio than he realized or cared to admit. "And the name Mathieu? Really?", Gilbert chuckled until he saw the child was drawing back from him again, a hurt look on his face. "I'm not laughing at you. I am amused by the arrogance of your keeper.", Gilbert bit back the rest of his laughter in an effort to at least appear serious, "Did you know that your name means 'Gift of God'. No? Well, that is Frannie for you. You can never say he thinks too small or doubts divine benevolence.".

A few moments of relative silence passed. Gilbert closed his eyes, listening to the sharp staccato that the raindrops beat out against glass and wished he was in bed asleep. A soft whimper drew Gilbert's attention back to the problem at hand and the reason he was not enjoying a peaceful night's rest.

"My name is Gilbert Beilschmidt. I am more formally known as Prussia. You may refer to me as awesome though.", Gilbert said loftily, unable to resist the urge to say his full title in such a grand manner. It wasn't every day he got to introduce himself to a brand new nation. He wanted Kanata to remember it.

The overture of naming did not have the overall impressive effect Gilbert was going for upon the child though, Mathieu only looking mildly curious from it. "What does your name mean?", he asked after a moment.

"Bright pledge of the axe smith. Catchy, ain't it?". Gilbert grinned, answering with no hesitation. A century or so of having to be part of the clergy had given Gilbert a lot of time to read, but even more so to understand words, their origins, and their meanings. All names had a hidden message within them and Gilbert liked to surprise people and other nations with his knowledge of them. The little one knew nothing of histories and conflicts, or the Prussian's reputation though so he accepted Gilbert's words for what they were without any bias. Mathieu would have asked Gilbert more but the storm felt ignored by the two beings, reminding them of its presence with an ear shattering crack and explosion of blinding light and deep rumbling noise that pitched so low that it made the palace vibrate underfoot. Mathieu fell back to the ground with a shriek, curling up into a ball.

"Not this again….", Gilbert snorted. The ball of frightened child did not respond, choosing to shake in place. With a sigh, Gilbert moved closer to the huddled mass until he could put his hand on a shuddering back. The gown beneath his touch was moist from sweat and smelled sickly sour and sweet all at the same time, an odor that only young children seemed able to produce.

"You know it's just a storm and you are rolling around in your own filth.", Gilbert gently chided, "I assure you, you don't want to follow in your 'papa's' footsteps too closely.". Mathieu whimpered in reply, curling up tighter. Left with few options, Gilbert reached over to collect the pee soaked child into his arms, settling Mathieu in his lap. If he left now, the child would just start crying again. It was either get no sleep at all or calm Mathieu down and get a few hours at least.

Small children were not exactly Gilbert's forte though, especially ones that were covered in sticky clear snot, tears, and widdle. Gilbert did his best to keep sitting still and emote some sort of calm. To his relief, Mathieu seemed to respond to it, the child curling up into the crook of Gilbert's arms and body as if he were meant to be there. He was still trembling but was at least not making any more of those awful sounds. Gilbert ignored the various body fluids that warmly coated his skin and makeshift garb. He had dealt with and would continue to deal with worse. On the bright side, Gilbert thought, at least it wasn't shit mixed with rotting flesh. That particular bouquet was a common component found in war and not easily forgotten.

"C'mon. Let's go find Francis and go get you clean up.", Gilbert yawned, rising carefully up with his new burden. He shifted Mathieu to one arm so that he could grab his sword on the way out. He could certainly use it on Francis if nothing else.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

And it was tempting.

Francis was still where Gilbert had left him earlier. The only difference now was that the vomit had formed a smelly crust on everything. Gilbert sighed deeply, a headache threatening to make itself known from behind his eyes. He certainly did not feel like cleaning up two nations so Gilbert decided to focus solely on the smaller one. Mathieu turned out to be unexpectedly helpful by pointing to a large basin with pitcher waiting to be used on top of a nearby dressing table. A quick peek into it revealed that the cream colored pitcher was full of clean water. Relieved to have one less thing to look for, Gilbert set Mathieu down gently, pulling his gown off in one smooth motion to toss the filthy clothing onto Francis's bed. It seemed only fair to Gilbert for inconveniencing him. Gilbert dumped the pitcher over Mathieu's head, leaving the child nation sputtering in shock and cold.

"Why did you do that?!", Matthew chattered out through his teeth, looking reproachfully up at the Prussian, "You could have poured it into the basin. I know how to wash myself."

"I'm sorry. How was I to know you knew how to bathe when you can't seem to grasp that a storm is just noise?", Gilbert shot back annoyed. He rooted through Francis's armoires of which there were several, the French nation never lacking in apparel. Gilbert made a point of pulling out some of the more expensive items from them. Finding something he liked, Gilbert stripped down out of his sheet so that the ruined linen could join the dressing gown there. As he procured himself a fine set of clothing one he was sure Francis would miss, Gilbert tossed a pair of shirts to Mathieu. "Feel free to dry yourself off with one of those and get dressed in the other.", Gilbert instructed.

"I have clothing in my room. Ones that fit.", Mathieu made a face, not sure if he should really be using a pearl encrusted blouse heavy with embroidery to dry himself off with.

"We're not going back to your room.", Gilbert told him. Mathieu paused in his grooming to look up in surprise at the Prussian.

"Why not? Where are we going?", Mathieu asked hesitantly. He didn't think the pale man was going to hurt him and he obviously knew his papa. Gilbert's movements and speech were too sharp and quick to make him feel comfortable though, nothing at all like Francis's flowing words or eloquent mannerisms. His papa reminded Mathieu of a stag, a regal king of the forest. Gilbert though…..Mathieu saw the albino as a wolf, one that paced restlessly along the edges of a campfire just waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

"We are going outside.", Gilbert grinned, the expression full of sharp teeth. It only further confirmed Mathieu's lupine impression. The Prussian eye's though were so much more though than that of a beast's. They glittered madly even in the dim light of lamps in his room and the dying firelight of Francis's hearth. They were redder than a cardinal's crest and flush with the shimmering frost of his silver eyelashes.

"B-but it's raining….and it's nighttime.", Mathieu stammered out, his eyes going wide. A glance out the window reconfirmed both.

"Ja, it is. Very good.", Gilbert agreed sarcastically, "But that hardly seems to matter now since you won't let me sleep."

"Are you going to punish me?", Mathieu gulped. He had never been disciplined before by anyone, the small nation a quiet and well mannered child. Mathieu had seen other children penalized though, and it usually involved the use a switch, a belt, or a book on bare bottom. Mathieu winced at the thought. Gilbert struck him as the belt type.

"What? Nein.", Gilbert shook his head, "Being the awesome nation that I am, I am going to help you.".

"Help me do what?", Mathieu asked cautiously, his face and tone belying the severe doubt he had for the Prussian's abilities on the matter.

"You'll find out. Now get dressed. I'm not waiting forever. I'm generous, not patient.", Gilbert ordered. Mathieu wrapped himself up in Francis's shirt the best that he could, the scarlet material pooling all around him in shimmering folds.

"Kesesese. You look good in that color.", Gilbert cackled, scooping Mathieu up again. He walked down dark hallways in wide strides that made the few servants and guards about scuttle out of his way like mice before a cat. It made Gilbert wonder why no one had gone in to check on Mathieu. He made a mental note to bring it to Francis's attention in the morning.

Gilbert kept up his quick pace until the two were outdoors. The rain met greedily them in sheets, pelting the nations with harsh force, cutting winds, and sharp water. Matthew tried desperately to burrow into Gilbert's chest cavity in a vain attempt to hide from the elements. The little nation shrieked as the Prussian came to a sudden stop, lifting Mathieu up and away high over his head.

"Open your eyes. What do you see?", Gilbert asked, his gruff voice somehow heard over the wind, the rain, and the roar of the sky. The voice was solid and calm as if they were in a parlor discussing what to have for breakfast, and not standing outside in the middle of a storm. Mathieu struggled against the iron like hands that held him aloft and the rain that mercilessly kept pelting him.

"Answer me, child, and keep in mind, I am not a patient man. What do you see, Kanata?", Gilbert pressed. Mathieu made himself open his eyes.

"It's dark and it's cold and it's wet.", Mathieu's voice trembled. He wasn't even sure if Gilbert could hear him but fervently hoped that was the answer the Prussian wanted from him.

"Ja. It is all that. It is dark because it is nighttime. It is cold and miserable because it is raining. Very good.", Gilbert said almost tranquilly, "What else?"

"There is thunder. It hurts my ears.", Mathieu said, looking around and receiving some vivid reminders, "The lightening also hurts my eyes."

"It does that.", Gilbert answered simply. "Are these new things to you? Have you never seen rain and lightening before? Or felt thunder?"

"Of course. It rains all the time in my lands.", Mathieu yelled back, trying to struggle free again. It was a futile gesture though, the Prussian's grip on him was like death's own.

"Now that we have established that you know all this", Gilbert continued, " Tell me. Why are you so scared?".

Mathieu ceased to move, stunned into compliance by the question. "I-I don't know….I was just scared.", Mathieu admitted slowly, unsure if it was the right answer. It's didn't sound like it to him but Gilbert's rain streaked face broke out into a wide grin.

"You don't have to look so shocked. You can be afraid. It is all how you chose to use that fear, making it count for something. Do you want to curl up and surrender to it? Or do you want to make it your blade and strike back with it?', Gilbert said, "This is just a storm. There are far worse things in life to be afraid of in this world. You must learn to master your fear and not let it control you. Do you want to die with blood on your hands or with piss between your legs?".

Mathieu stared down at the Prussian. The older nation looked fierce and wild, despite being soaked down to the bone. His silver hair was made iron gray by the weight of the water in it, the spiky locks plastered to his skull. Gilbert's stolen clothing clung to him like a second skin, outlining a compact body rippling with power like a sword barely kept in its sheath. He stood fearlessly before the elements, tall and proud with a feral grin upon his sharp face as if daring the world to come and find him.

Mathieu could only nod in the face such confidence and power, having never seen its like before. He was brought back down into the safety of strong arms and held close.

"Are you going to ever cry at the sight or sound of rain again?", Gilbert asked, sounding almost casual about it. Mathieu wasn't fooled by the light tone, shaking his head emphatically in answer.

Gilbert nodded once, looking pleased with himself. "Good. Now let's go back inside. It really sucks being hit by lightening.".

"That happens?", Mathieu squeaked out. To his surprise though, instead of being horrified by this news, he found himself drawn in. "Does it happen a lot?".

"Nein. It's actually pretty rare and you have to be a complete dummkopf about it. Like 'waving around a spear in the middle of a storm' kind of dumb.", Gilbert shrugged, "It's not fun and you can't get rid of the smell for a week.".

As they walked back into the palace, Mathieu had time to think that his present company was very strange and very different from his papa. Gilbert was loud, contradictory, and just plain weird…but he was also gentle and well meaning even if he did have a strange way of showing it.

Gilbert returned Mathieu to his room, the small nation soon in a warm and blessedly dry dressing gown made for his size and wrapped up tight in a blanket that felt divine against his rain chilled skin. Mathieu could not help but notice that Gilbert was still in his own wet clothing.

"Aren't you cold?", Mathieu asked, feeling somewhat responsible for the Prussian's condition.

"Sure, but it's just gives me an excuse to drink all of Francis's good liqueur and raid his closets again. He'll have my head if you get sick or something.", Gilbert shrugged carelessly, "Now, go to sleep.".

Mathieu laid down obediently in his bed, tucking the blanket in all around him cozily. Gilbert walked around the room blowing out lamps, but left one burning.

"Gilbert?", Mathieu said in hesitant question as the Prussian turned to leave.

"Ja?", Gilbert sighed tiredly, so close to his own bed and a good night's sleep he could almost taste it.

Mathieu crawled out from under the blanket to stand up in his bed so that he could execute a bow to the other nation. He rose up to find the Prussian staring at him with an odd expression. "Merci beaucoup.", Mathieu smiled.

Gilbert Beilschmidt, human personification of Prussia, enjoyed a great many of things. He lived for battle, the sounds of razor metal singing as their edges crossed paths. Gilbert appreciated good food and alcohol, the burn of liqueur down his throat and in his stomach, and the metallic tang of roasted meat. Though he was shy to reveal it, Gilbert treasured books and the written word, old thick tomes he himself had helped copy and of course, his own diaries. He prized intangible things as well- the thrill of the hunt, the adrenalin rush of fighting hand to hand, and the euphoria and victory that came from fucking.

There were very few things that Gilbert actually loved though, truly adored. Gilbert Beilschmidt, hellion with a blade, feared by friend and foe alike, and awesome bad ass, loved cute things.

And right now, Mathieu was the cutest thing that he had ever seen. It was like someone had just dumped a bucket of baby chicks over his head, the little bowing nation before him was just that overwhelmingly adorable. Gilbert ducked his head, turning away from him. One of the reason he had become so shameless was due to the pallor of his skin. Being an albino, Gilbert could not hide even the slightest of blushes that graced his face.

"You're welcome.", Gilbert grunted, quickly shutting the door behind him. He needed to find his own bed, sleep for a couple of hours, and leave as soon as possible before he did something phenomenally stupid like kidnap Mathieu for his smile.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Francis never did find out why his friend left so early without saying good bye or how his bed ended up smelling like a toilet. Mathieu was strangely stoic as well, only smiling a soft expression whenever Francis asked him about it and changing the subject.

Francis never did get his clothes back either.