Disclaimer: Sad thing is, I can't even remember the full American anthem. Sad.
...
When Prussia entered Austria's house (through a first-floor window), he was surprised—and annoyed—at the ellipsis that greeted him. The dots were unlimited. His irritation swung from two factors: One, that the familiar presence of that stupid piano was not scratching at the air; it meant something to wreak havoc upon, if only for the sake of destruction but mostly for Austria's torment. Two, that each ellipsis seemed to be punctuated by...sobs. It was annoying enough that the house was so boring—but it was unnerving, how the silence hung as if for a funeral. The sobs did little to paint the scene a louder color.
But Prussia was Prussia, so he snorted and walked on, picking window glass from his clothes. The shards on the floor were stamped over like snow.
He considered yelling for Austria, but the gloom was something he could hardly fight—its silence was a plague. It was the first the Prussia succumbed to.
As he advanced through the halls—(struggling not to get lost in the near-Labyrinth)—the sobs became more pronounced, and increased in speed; it was disturbing; Prussia had to frown.
The house was hollow and blue.
Hungary...?
And soon Prussia was at the door, watching her hold a fist to her eyes.
And Austria.
He loathed their faces at once.
First of all was that aristocrat—that stupid, Gott-damned aristocrat...
The sight's effect was instantaneous; and suddenly all he could think of was a boy, a girl—a boy and a girl. A violent knight who beat up an utterly hopeless nation who could always laugh afterwards, a cheerful boy. He was never a strong nation, Prussia thought bitterly, darkly.
The thoughts were but the recipe for a hurricane.
It was but a great sadness that overtook him, stroked with nostalgic honey. There was a boy and a girl. And another boy.
That was long ago—
"Prussia?"
Damn.
The memories fled like the hurricane it was, but the reel afterwards was a meteor, though banished easily. He blinked—he was back in reality; whatever that was.
Hungary hated him, after all. Not that he could care less.
She was staring up at him, and kneeling—Gott, kneeling—at Austria's bedside, eyes a pink-or-red shade; Austria himself was unconscious, or else asleep. Hungary was glaring at Prussia, the fist gone to her side, her other hand clenching Austria's with a cross between gentleness and tightness; though she looked dangerous, a quick check by Prussia's wary eyes reported a lack of frying pans in the perimeter. He deemed it safe enough to step forward, and so he did with a lagging loll.
Hungary didn't move, and it was neither negative nor positive—she could be a leopard or a cheetah. But she continued glaring, and Prussia managed a smirk. "What the hell happened to him?" A gesture at the bedded nation.
She got up.
Prussia managed a new grin, though it was almost sheepish; after she finished doing whatever she wanted with him she could ship the dregs of his existence back to East Germany if she pleased. Not coo—not awesome. He tried, as she neared him, looking more mournful than anything: "What's up with him?" A rude, flailing point at the unconscious Austrian.
Slowly, and very slowly, seeming to have been stripped of bone, she stepped toward him; knowing her, and her strength, as well as her over-protectiveness of Austria, alarm gave him a quick strike at his head. Should he beg for mercy this time, before she sent him off back in a coma? He grimaced for real this time.
He decided that he really didn't want to be shipped back home in pieces again—maybe next time. But not now. He wanted to stay, and witness Austria's silent misery. Choosing not to take a step back, he cocked his head. "Well?"
"Piss off," she replied quietly, her green gaze staring at him steadily—she always looked at him like this, when not in fierce hatred; one hand hovered protectively over Austria, just twitched in indication of what she would do if he was to be harmed. You couldn't even protect yourself from Turkey without the amazing me, Prussia reflected. For once, he decided to save that for later. But would she grace him with an answer?—he waited, itching to speak further; usually, he had no such patience.
Five seconds ticked by. Five more. Prussia twitched.
"He's sick," she said finally. Prussia snorted.
"Really," he said sarcastically. "I never would've guessed."
"Piss off."
He shook his head, grinning madly; it suddenly occurred to him that he could stay the whole time, if he wanted—Austria had hit hard times before but now...Prussia had never actually seen him sick enough to count.
"So?"
"...What?" He blinked at her, surprised that it was only a word, and not a blow; in fact, through the redness of her eyes—fuck, fuck, fuck, he was loathe to see that, and be reminded, though fear swamped it first—he saw that feral gleam that usually signaled danger; she never looked at him any other way...
"Leave." Something told him that this was the last time she would tell him so...
"Nah, I'd rather stay!" he replied, remembering to grin. "I mean—" He backed up as a ladle appeared in her hand, sweating profusely (and where did that come from!); with a sheepish chuckle, he tried a different route. "I—I'll help you get him better if I get to stay! I—" the ladle neared "—I swear I won't do anything, honest! O—on my honor as a Prussian!" He squealed as the ladle met the skin of his forehead, burning; his heart raced, squeezing and contorting itself at his ribs.
"And that's worth a lot!" she growled sarcastically. Green eyes were narrowed, scorching his.
The ladle was digging into his forehead at this point, and he was forcibly reminded that the thing was only inches away from his brilliant brain—"I won't do anything! Promise!" He cracked a grin at her, and she curled her lip at him. Hatred unfurled itself in her eyes, around the red rims; his heart doubled-timed, painfully, and surprisingly, for she had looked at him many times before in ways worse...this was no different...
To his utter surprise, she retracted her arm, and the ladle disappeared so quickly, like a bee and its sting. "You'd better behave, then."
Gilbert snickered suddenly; she sounded like a schoolteacher. Then frowned. "...Wait. ...What?"
Hungary looked away, teeth clearly grit. "I said. You'd better behave." Was that smoke coming out of her ears?—they were buried beneath her hair, but was that...
And he could stay? Of course, why would she tell him that when he wasn't...
How...
My awesome charm, then! he told himself. It was miraculous, near-impossible, but somehow...
A grin slowly worked its way up to his face, one of triumph; he was to stay and watch the suffering of the damned aristocrat! "You won't regret it!" he laughed, though she groaned, clearly proving him wrong. With a quick huff she turned about, and walked back to Roderich: There, she ran her fingers through his hair, lovingly, but with a new pace to it; regretful, probably, that she had loosed a menace into his home.
Roderich, of course, was the only one who did not react (being unconscious. And sick. And unhearing.) though Gilbert wouldn't have wanted him to, giving a mental sneer at the face without glasses; it was red and sweaty, and again he wondered what Hungary saw in him. When in hell did such weakness win over...what Hungary already had?
Prussia rolled that out of his mind, yet again; it was the past, and yet what did that matter now? He was to stay!
...
Suddenly, Hungary had a vague urge to smash Austria's piano to bits.
...
PT: ...I have no idea. And it's so short...urgh T_T I hope to bring more development in...the next two chapters. They'll be longer. (And I had Writer's Block, but next chapter...I must...do well...;-;) I've been pretty much into trying to jab out some inspiration since I got back from camp, and keep to a relatively lighter tone. And happily started on Kung Fu. And was coerced into summer school. ...OTL. And, um, I'll be writing another PrussiaHungary one-shot to make up for this rather abysmal work. ...Thanks for reading, aru~! –Wanders off to stare listlessly at Huo Yuanjia-