This is the product of a severe case of writer's block, and I can proudly say that it physically hurt to write every word. I am sorry for this trash I have created, I have taken a decent idea and pretty much ruined it. Positive, right? Anyway, please enjoy~
No one had been expecting Prussia's death, not really.
All the nations had known of it's imminency, yet the loud and obnoxious man had existed for centuries and it didn't seem right for him to simply disappear. Not so suddenly. Not without warning. Anyone who knew him had let themselves believe that the pure uniqueness of his character, the patriotism of his people and the solidity of his land would have been enough to sustain the immortal life forever – no one had told them that even nations die, eventually.
Why hadn't he given them a warning? Why did he refuse to show weakness; to smile to the end? On the day of his death, a world meeting he had insisted to attend, his face was paler than usual, eyes sunken and cheeks hollow. There was a darkness to his eyes that dimmed the normally blazing flames to a deep wine red and yet despite the obvious unrest of his appearance he had smiled and laughed and teased and been so normal.
The topic had been of some war in some poor absent country, one of which America had decided it was his duty to assist. As per usual, England and France threw barely disguised jabs at each other, China the unsuccessful peacemaker and Russia the amused observer. The order had diminished quickly – as was as expected of every world meeting by now – and the discussion on the room was gradually becoming a buzz of various accents and languages, mingling together as everyone alleviated the boredom of the lack of productivity, the Western countries loud insistence to take the forefront of world matters while the others were left unmentioned, the squabbles of foes… It was normal of a gathering of such conflicting cultures.
And no one had expected for, in the middle of it, Prussia to collapse, slumping down in his chair and falling to the floor, limp, lifeless.
They should have expected it. The way he looked had been less than healthy; he hadn't said a word but for the odd polite greeting here and there. Prussia didn't do polite.
Germany had been at his older brother's side immediately, dropping to his knees and taking the man's head in his lap, brushing back the flyaway white hairs from his face and keeping up a constant monologue, desperately trying to rouse the other nation. Despite his attempts to hide it, the others, who had silenced at the unexpected casualty and were staring in multiple levels of concern and curiosity, could tell that he was panicking. It was well know – if not discussed – how close Germany was to the brother who had raised him, and the comrade who had fought beside him.
Those who were closer to the collapsed nation stood and kneeled in a protective circle, Hungary right there beside her friend, her mind flying as she urged herself to remember any first aid training that may be of benefit. She held a finger beneath his nose, her eyes widening. He wasn't breathing.
England, China and several other nations had taken it upon themselves to clear the room as it was obvious that Prussia wouldn't be moving any time soon. As the people left, they cast cautious glances back and exchanged knowing looks, as it was common for nations to have witnessed the death of one of their own and they saw the situation as it truly was. Even if not everyone had been on good terms and wars were rife throughout history, a nation was a nation and it was a bond that was stronger than any other. There was always something to like about one another – always a trait they could appreciate. Personally, Prussia brought such energy to the world and positive words that in his passing would be heavily missed.
After having a second breath forced into his lungs, the albino had spluttered, his eyes cracking open and a long, rattling breath drawn in as his body fought to obtain the oxygen it craved. Germany had gripped his shoulders, collected demeanour abandoned as he leaned down and cried into his older brothers chest, "I though you were dead, I though you had left me." Any by-standing nation present had respectfully looked away from the exchange.
Hungary reached down, gripping her old friend's hard hand in her soft one, and with a knowing and pained look in her eyes had asked, "is it time?" Prussia's lips thinned and he looked away, croaking out finally an affirmation that broke the hearts of the few present in the room. The woman embraced her friend, holding back the tears that fought to escape. Prussia let out a weak laugh, muttering about how he hadn't expected her to miss him. She only hugged him tighter.
Carefully, Germany set his brother in a sitting position, remaining by his side to hold the man's weak frame upright. France and Spain had bade their friend farewell, Spain offering weak smiles and France barely containing his tears, his upset obviously hidden behind a trembling lip. The three had hugged and Prussia took it to himself to thank them for the centuries of support, trouble and companionship they had shared together. When the two had stepped away to allow other relatives to have their time with the man, France lost the battle against his emotions and hid in Spain's arms, his legs trembling as they struggled to support his agony. Spain's face was ashen and for once no smile was welcome on his lips. He hoped Prussia was too occupied for his last memory of his friends to be of their uncharacteristic heartbreak.
Several others of those who were close to the man crouched down, reminiscing, thanking, apologising, until everyone stood by, struggling to witness Prussia's laboured breaths and closing eyes. Germany leaned in close, whispering phrases that would die with his brother, would be lost in memory as the memory of his brother's death would both overshadow and project the details of what happened that day.
When Prussia asked for Canada, his request was overlooked the first time and the second time becoming clear and assertive, and it had taken a few moments of the nations to remember who he was speaking about. Before they could try to fulfil the dying man's wish, the quiet, American nation stepped forward from the background he had been occupying, wordless and introverted, purple eyes cold. He kneeled before Prussia like a servant before a king, and they stared at each other like they were seeing the other for the first time.
"You didn't forget," Canada stated, his voice cracking at the end and face falling apart, "you didn't forget, " through tears, and he leaned into Prussia's chest and Prussia held him gently, whispering everything and nothing all at once into the man's hair.
The stares of the other nations forgotten, the two remained like that for precious minuets until Canada pushed himself away, face newly composed. "I won't forget you, you know. I never will."
Prussia had smiled, a genuine, knowing smile, and nodded. "I know." His voice was so weak it came out a whisper.
After that, once Canada had reluctantly rose to his feet and backed away oblivious to the curious looks from the other nations, it hadn't taken long for Prussia's breaths to come shorter, further apart. Germany held his head to Prussia's chest both for comfort and to hear the declining, weak… barely existent heartbeats. Prussia's face contorted in pain.
When the air barely trickled from his mouth he whispered, his eye's closed in premature peace, "thank you for this life. I've… I've h-had fun." The last of his life released in his last words, chest falling as never to rise again, the Prussian sunk into to mystery of death, the body he left behind falling limp and lifeless, broken in his younger brother's arms. Germany's cries were muffled and his teeth clenched as he refused to pull away from the body of his loved brother in his arms.
He had never been able to thank him for the decades the other spent raising him, to tell his brother the emotions he felt behind the barrier. He muttered them then, only for them to fall on ears that were no longer capable of hearing. None of the other nations protested as Italy, who'd been watching shakily, walked forwards and enveloped his friend in his arms, gently parting the man from his fallen kin.
Hungary, as one of Prussia's closed friends, had taken it upon herself to assure him of the finest coffin, finest burial possible. In the days afterwards, she had her finest workers create the finest resting place for the man. His grave was to be in a forest – it was the place he had spent his childhood and she felt he would have chosen to remain there for eternity.
Unfittingly, the day of the funeral was bright and the sun beat down on the earth. Despite that, the German winter was cold and the snow reflected the rays of the watching orb. The attendees of the funeral were wrapped up in formal black coats, heads bowed under the strain of their emotions. Even those who hadn't know Prussia of who had had hard relations with him in the past had turned up in respect to the fallen life of one who had been so strong.
Canada was skinny beneath his clothes and only the layers hid the tremors of his frame. It wasn't a fight to keep the tears from his face; over the past week he had cried himself numb and then some more. For once, he was glad to be unnoticed, wishing to be kept alone in the solitude of his grief.
As Prussia's coffin was carried towards the hole in the ground, it had begun to snow, and while it was light the white flakes dusted the coffin. Prussia's final blanket. Canada could have died then, just jumped into the hole and fell into an eternal sleep with the one he had loved so much.
Solemnly, a few of Prussia's closed family and friends were invited to stand in front to the crowd to say some final words in honour of the nation, and their words of reminiscing brought fresh emotion behind Canada's eyes as he remembered the way Prussia had told the same stories late at night as they lay tangled in each other's arms, but Prussia had told them so much better, he thought.
The funeral had finished.
Canada remained. He had stood numbed by the cold, staring at his dear one's final resting place. His legs refused to move and his mind refused to work. He was strangely welcoming of the lack of feeling. It meant that he didn't have to bear the pain of loss – the pain of knowing that for the rest of his life he would have to live without Prussia, except for the memories that would haunt him for his endless life.
He had remained numb, that is, until something broke without warning, and he let his cry of agony echo through the trees and bushes and grass. As the anguish built up inside him, he fell to his knees, wondering how he was going to be able to bear this pain for one more minute, and he cried and sobbed and yelled into the ground. No longer was he quiet and respectful of others. For then, he allowed himself to abandon everything but the pressure in his chest and the grave before his face.
It was hours and he froze through. He lay on his side, ash blonde hair falling on a slumped arm that was the only barrier between his head and the dirt that he lay on. A light layer of snow built up on him and he welcomed it, wishing for the same blanket that protected Prussia to envelop him and take him to that wonderful man who had been stolen from him so prematurely.
He had only told Gilbert that he loved him once.
The next morning, England, France, Spain, Germany, Italy and Hungary – an unusual part but united in their grief for Prussia's passing – took the walk to the ex-nation's final resting place. There was but a dusting of snow on the ground, just enough for their boots to crack with each step, and the sound was somehow reflective of the feeling of breathing that early morning air.
England noticed the figure lay motionless in front of the grave, and cursed as he quickened his pace to reach the young nation he had rose, then so foolishly forgotten. Canada was barely breathing, but it was enough to sustain him; it took more than physical trauma to kill a nations, that stood for so much more. France was quickly by his side, eyes tired yet alight in worry for the man he considered his son.
Germany observed with a heavy feeling in his chest. Forgotten memories of Prussia: a casual comment about a mysterious loved one, his affection towards Canada, so many references to the America nation that Germany had failed to notice. So this was the pain of love. How could he have failed in noticing a person so important to his brother; how was it right? It was yet another failure on his part, but this time he had the power to make amends- to an extent.
When they had reached the hotel they were staying at and Canada was wrapped protectively in blankets, Germany had discussed with Hungary what needed to be done. She agreed, and they had shared a small moment of understanding as she too admitted her failure to validate Prussia's comments of the small nation.
The next time Canada visited Prussia's grave, he spared a glance at the headstone. It was white and pure, so fitting of Prussia he thought. It was the words eternalised in the stone that caught his attention:
Here lies Prussia,
Who fought bravely,
Rose his brother,
Was friends of many,
And loved to speak of his dearest,
Who won't forget, and won't be forgotten
Oh, so you know what really helps with writer's block? Reviews! Also, to those following my ongoing story To be free, I am continuint that, jus, as I say, writers block is making it very hard, and I wrote this to try and reset my brain. Please review, even (especially?) if you though it was terrible. Constructive criticism, please?