I felt really depressed while writing this, but I thought, hey, this can serve as some good angst Prussia story. So voila this shit of a story came out.
/is shot
What is it about the dark that scares children? The idea that all the monsters that haunt them will attack them easier, since they are weaker, or the idea that they're alone, and no one will be able to save them?
Prussia never understood fear.
He does feel it though. The fear that he will end up with Russia and the rape and torture will return. He understands that.
His fears of death, especially now, that he only lives day by day, as only a memory of what he used to be. He only exists in books, and history.
It was sad, but he enjoyed finally being a little closer to being human.
He had to keep up with his brother, though. The little boy he raised was now a man. Yes, he made mistakes, having a thick scar running down his chest as an example.
He rebounded, though, being the awesome little nation he himself raised. His economy was booming, and he finally could say "I am proud to be DEUTSCHE!" without racist remarks, and a flash of hurt passing across his baby blue eyes.
Hell, he even gave up on a toxic relationship Italy created. As of a couple a months ago, Germany had begun a very stable, and dare he say it, cute relationship with Mexico. She'd bake amazing sweet bread, and since Prussia was Vegetarian*, bring the most amazing mouthwatering tamales.
His stomach growled quietly as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Checking his watch, which read 7:35, he decided to stop his shadow boxing and he proceeded to finish with push-ups
As he counted off 75, he heard the door from the basement, and the voice of his younger brother boomed from atop the stairs.
"Get off your lazy ass, and Get up here!" Prussia groaned as his arms burned, and ached. His face turned scarlet, and anger boiled in his veins.
H pushed harder against the ground, and sweat poured down his naked back. Typical that his younger, and much more naïve, brother would say that. That he believed that he did nothing. That he didn't help the only family he has, and will ever have again in his life time. What does he think Prussia does down here?
"Eighty, Eighty-one, Ninety" he kept counting, whispering in the darkness.
Because that's all he ever saw now. That all he ever felt now.
He heard thumps on the stairs, feeling a cold glare on his back. The hairs on his nape stood up, in warning, a hard addiction to kick, since he was created for war.
He continues to do pushups, not caring as his brother huffs in annoyance. More thumps head up the stairs, and his audience is gone.
"100" he holds his body up, and for a few seconds, there was this bliss that he always gets when he exerts himself. When the last straw finally breaks, and everything is-
Go ne
When all he has ever done, all he has ever said that he regrets just leaves, and his body I just floating in whatever bliss this damn moment left him in.
It's amazing.
Then it's gone. Sadly, as to everything that helps him, just ends up leaving, and making him hurt more in the end than the small relief it gives him.
He falls onto the soft carpet, shaking and sweating like he had either hard the roughest round of sex, or ran twenty miles. Tears fall down his face, unused adrenaline making his body shake, and his skin flush a nice red.
What happened to him? He was now in his brother's damn basement that only held measly possessions.
A bean-bag chair, hammock, sofa, T.V., and a computer. Couple of games stations here and there, but not much else.
He would reminisce when he had so much more. When he could raise his arm, and men, woman, and children alike would fall to their knees and praise him. When he would walk down the streets and people knew his name. Knew he was something to be feared, trusted, and loyalty worthy.
He stared quietly at nothing, probably facing his bookshelf. His journals had gone to storage, and he had a smaller green thing on his table as a replacement. Books covered every part of his shelf, though. Overflowing with stories of the greatest writers around the world, great stories that he has read cover to cover, millions of times.
There was a catch, though. As there was always one.
None of the books held writing…
And they hadn't for the last sixty years.
He quickly showered, not bothering to do his usual take a millions years in boiling hot water thing. Sipping on skinny jeans, and a casual button shirt, he lightly stepped up the stairs.
"Nineteen, Twenty, Twenty-one!" He counted and stopped at the stoop. His feet felt the cold of the tiles versus the warmth of the rug between his toes.
"Brother, come and sit. I made wurst." Germany's deep voice broke through his thoughts, and he smiled.
"Vegan?"
"What else would it be?"
He grinned and crossed the room, counting off as he slumped into the hardwood.
"Seventeen. Hm… kind of slow today."
"What was that brother?" Germany looked over to his brother, who suddenly looked nervous.
"Oh, nothing! Just… thinking aloud." Prussia held his fork, and looked down at the empty plate. His hand reached over, touching condiments and feeling the table cloth.
"Napkin. Salt. Pepper. Potatoes!"
"Bruder?"
Prussia ignored him, and dumped the mashed food into his plate. He took some sausage and bit into the warm food.
Germany stared intently, and slowed his cutting on the salad he was making.
The albino slowly chewed his food, meeting his gaze easily. His vermillion eyes blinked, and he cocked his head.
"Was Bruder?" Prussia stared carefully and chewed on his potatoes. He blinked again and crossed his thin, flutist fingers underneath his sharp chin.
Germany stared but shivered when he saw his brother didn't, and wouldn't, look away.
"N…Nothing… It's nothing." He continued cooking, and crushed off his brother's silence as something else.
But he didn't notice, that as the sun rose above the red curtains of his windows, and the glint off the light made the room bright, that a certain albino's blood red eyes dilate…
And they hadn't for the last fifty years…
Both of the brothers walked through the halls, one whistling his anthem, while the other chatted on the phone merrily.
"Ja… Ja Mexiko… I understand… Mm-hm… Sure" Germany smiled as he hung up the phone. Prussia glanced at him from the side, and grinned mischievously.
His long fangs protruded from his thin lips, and his overall appearance was quite sly, as if knowing what was on the blushing German's thoughts.
"Oi Oi… getting a little close to Mexiko, Ja?"
Germany coughed in his hand, and ignored his brother's not so subtle talk about his sex life. As the blush on his face lowered to what Hungary would put as "Aw", he turned to the vermillion eyed man, and sighed.
"Preußen…"
"Ja?" He grinned quietly, rubbing his jaw.
"The meeting isn't in the regular spot. It's in the new corridor." Germany stopper at the look of horror pass his brother's eyes.
"Wh...Why?" Prussia swallowed, but a stern look was glued on his face. Years of battle and bloodshed taught him to hide his emotions from his face, but his eyes always gave him away.
Germany wondered why such distaste he had for such a small thing. But, he decided not to ask anything, as his brother had changed a lot due to the time he had spent with Russia. He wouldn't speak of the things the platinum blonde had done to him, but he wished not to know. It would probably throw him back to the Nazi days, and probably end up in a nuclear war.
"It's just some renovations in the old building. Speakers, cameras, new chairs. Such and such nonsense that U.S. considers important." Germany warily stared at his companion, who just smiled nonchalantly.
"Oh... but I don't know where it is-"
"It's… I'll show you where it is..." Germany walked forward, but paused when he didn't hear the heavy footsteps of his brother.
There was a high pitched clicking sound, and he swung around to see his brother cuddling Gilbird, realizing that his war senses just were going crazy.
The animal showed up in the most random places… And seriously scared the living shit out of the blonde. Its creepy little blue eyes would follow him around, and he's constantly hear the high pitched "Fweeep" of the small thing, especially when his brother was around.
"Are you coming?"
"Ja ja! Don't get your panties in a twist…" he walked cautiously, and his footfalls where much softer, almost silent, than they were before.
"What the matter Gilbert?" Germany never used his brother's name unless he was serious, or at home. He stared at him, and the man turned.
"… Just thinking..."
"You... Have been thinking a lot lately."
Germany felt a sudden wave of nostalgia as his brother gave him a sad look. His eyes where a deep shade of red, and shadows that Germany could not name, much less decipher, passed through those wine eyes. Whatever his brother was thinking, it was aching the albino. It pained him, and German, albeit thickheaded, didn't wish to see his brother like this.
Before his fears could get any worse, Prussia interrupted his inner turmoil-
"Yeah... well I have been doing a lot of things lately that would surprise you…"
He… didn't know how to respond to that answer…
_End Chapter 1_
So… Yes, I know my grammar is something I need to work one, but I would love to know your thoughts.
Do you know what exactly is going through Prussia's head? I thought it was a little too obvious, but tried my hardest not to make it rub in your face at the obviousness.
I would reeeallllly be flattered by your reviews, since I suck at writing, and need some ideas, critic, and a dictionary across the face.
I can't spell sometimes, and my grammar sucks because…
You know what. Those are excuses.
Just… don't be mean in your reviews please ;0;