Phone calls from Italy were rare – nearly nonexistent. Austria couldn't recall a time where he'd received such a cryptic message from the normally bubbly Italian. There'd been the distant echo of sniffling, and Austria's demand for information was met with a request for his presence and Hungary's, before the line went dead. He'd hesitated at first, considering the possibility of a prank; but this was Italy, and he was about at enigmatic as an empty box.
Eventually, his curiosity got the best of him and Austria suited up, uniting with Hungary before heading out to Germany's home. Hungary bristled with excitement, coming up with all sorts of zany theories for the mystery visit up until they were standing at Germany's front door. Two crisp, yet soft knocks echoed on the aging wooden frame; a few seconds of silence passed, with no response from inside.
"I'm coming! Hold on a second!" Hand poised to knock again, Austria dropped his hand. Blissfully unaware of the situation that awaited them, Hungary forced herself to calm down and she tucked some hair behind her ear, bouncing slightly on the spot as the soft whump of socked feet approached the door. Italy opened the door in silence, standing slightly out of the way. His silence oddly out of character, both it and his expression sedated Hungary, and caused a knot of anxiety to ball up in Austria's stomach.
The minute the two of them moved into the entrance, Italy threw the door shut somewhat forcefully in his haste and retreated into the den without sparing a second glance in Austria or Hungary's direction. The two of them pulled their shoes off, placing them to the side; between Prussia's boots that he demanded were to be wall mounted, and Germany's, that were neatly placed to the side.
Both brothers had a knack for neatness; their shared home almost looked like no one lived there. It was a good thing that Italy was messy enough for the both of them.
When the two of them finally migrated to the living room, Austria remained at the doorway while Hungary strode in swiftly, taking a seat next to Germany. All enthusiasm for the visit had faded the moment they'd seen Italy and Germany's respective positions. Italy had his arms wrapped around a morose Germany, whose expression was a contortion between angry and helpless, with red-rimmed eyes and an uncharacteristic flush to his cheeks.
It was obvious he'd been crying – which was probably the greatest mystery of all.
Austria could only stare uncomprehendingly, motivation to visit withering at the sight of such a private interaction. Germany was strong, both emotionally and physically – crying was rare from him, and he had more reasons to be overjoyed than upset. He'd gained land and citizens; his brother had been returned to him. What could have been so devastating to his composure?
Eventually Germany returned from the land of soul-searching as he became more aware of those in his home. He quickly cleared his throat and straightened his posture slightly, desperately willing himself to look strong. His eyes and throat stung, and his nose was runny; Italy quietly handed him a tissue and Germany took the chance to dab at his own eyes and cheeks, looking away remorsefully.
"Sorry. I…" Unusually at a loss for words, Italy smiled resolutely and pinched Germany's lips together. Germany eyed him quietly but made no move to bat Italy's hand away.
"Don't be sorry. I think it's good that Germany is showing that he cares. I think if I was in your position…" His eyes dulled for a moment as his mind wandered, expression waning. Germany squeezed Italy's hand quietly in appreciation, and the Italian snapped back to life, giving him a thousand-watt smile that had faded at the edges.
"I'm going to go show Austria and Hungary. You stay here." Italy stood up and beckoned for the aforementioned nations to follow him, moving up the staircase at a slow, taciturn pace. Hungary's hands fumbled for the cloth of her dress, squeezing it much like a stress ball. Italy sent her an empathetic smile as they stopped at a closed door, having finally made it upstairs.
Italy had his hand on the doorknob, and he paused. His earlier composure wilted, and his shoulders drooped; his eyes shone with unshed tears and he stepped back, his smile having long since died. He addressed Austria directly.
"I… I'm sorry. I can't do this." He gestured vaguely to the offending door before crossing his arms, hugging himself.
It felt like a horror movie – the tension, the anxiety, the silent arc of the door as it swung open slowly and rather anticlimactically. But the scene before him shook Austria to the core.
Prussia laid down in his bed, rigid with one hand splayed across his stomach. But there was no telltale rise and fall of his chest, and his hair wasn't pillow-tossed and matted like it would have been if he was just sleeping.
No.
Austria knew instantly – though he desperately wished he didn't.
Hungary had taken her attention to Italy, and as such was oblivious to the tragedy before them. Italy had his arms wrapped around her torso, head on her shoulder, eyes deliberately turned away from Prussia's corpse. Italy's behaviour had left her restless and her hope was that in calming him, it would calm her, too.
Wishful thinking.
Austria approached the corpse slowly, drinking in the everything that Prussia had left behind. His eyes traced the contours of Prussia's lax face, the bony outline on his fingers, even the faded pallor of his hair; once a bright white, it had since turned ashy. Everything about the situation felt so wrong. Prussia had been an obstinate, stubborn, noisy bastard – and this merger, much smaller than previous ones, should not have snuffed out such a lively soul.
Yet here lay what remained of Prussia's legacy.
A body that would fade within a few days.
Guilt swarmed in Austria's chest at his next action, but he had to turn away. Face pale, he spun on his heel to face Hungary and Italy. Her soothing movements had done nothing to appease the Italian, and he'd finally given in to his grief; face blotchy and filled with tears, his grip was iron against her cloth. Hungary glanced at Austria helplessly, person of focus slowly shifting until her gaze rested on the prone body at the far end of the room.
The moment where her heart stopped was tangible, and her grip on Italy tightened instinctively. The two of them moved into the room slowly, Italy following Hungary's lead; her wide-eyed stare on Prussia's face never wavered.
With Italy's grip on her like a vice, Hungary had difficulty moving to what was left of her friend. Voice thick with regret, she called his name, pleading desperately for him to wake up in a voice that was much higher than her usual tone.
Her response was the echo of a choked sob from downstairs.
She peered at Austria pleadingly and he worked deftly to pry Italy's hands from Hungary; the sound of Germany's grief from the den, coupled with Italy finally reaching his breaking point had spurred the nation into action. Shifting slightly, Italy turned to wrap his arms around Austria, who finally felt the crush that was Italy's hug.
On a normal day, he would have flushed and shoved the Italian away. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and Austria reciprocated the hug, albeit with some hesitation.
Hungary, meanwhile, had steeled her resolved and brushed past Austria. Perching herself on the edge of the bed, she poked the prone Prussia's cheek, her own expression lighting up as his head lolled to the side.
He didn't move after that, and her smile – and the faint hope that still resided within her – were squashed. She took the hand that had been on his stomach and squeezed it gently. It was unresponsive and cold – she bit her cheek, hard enough to draw blood. The chill from his hand ran through her and down to her feet, and as knowledge of his death set in more, her self-control drifted.
Her other hand carded through Prussia's hair, its softness allowing her fingers to sweep through it gracefully. Austria made his way over to her, sitting down next to her while Italy remained at his feet. He'd made no effort to stifle his tears; one hand clamped Austria's tightly while the other gripped his pants with equal strength.
The next block of time had been spent in relative silence. Hungary had focused her ministrations on Prussia, while Austria did his best to spread his focus out evenly between Italy and Prussia. He'd ended up placing his free hand with Hungary's and Prussia's, eyes committing the contour of Prussia's body to memory. Italy's cascade of tears eventually slowed, and he rubbed at his eyed pathetically with the hand that had been gripping his pants.
In his visual adventure on Prussia's body – with the last stop being his face – Austria paused, brows creasing.
"He's smiling," He mentioned offhandedly, and Hungary verified his statement the same time as Italy craned his torso to sneak a peek too.
It wasn't a cocky, holier-than-thou grin to end all grins; the corners of Prussia's lips had curled up somewhat uncharacteristically. He'd looked like he died happy, and probably painlessly. While it brought a sense of satisfaction, it was also a stark reminder that his death was very, very fresh. Out of the newcomers, it was the hardest on Hungary by far. She had shared a lot of personal history with Prussia, even more than she shared with Austria.
And she'd been married to Austria for a time.
Hastily ripping her hand away from Austria's, she covered her sleeves with her palms and pressed them to her eyes, willing the tears away. It proved to be futile – as stubborn as Prussia had been, her tears continued to fall. She was a silent crier; only the trembling of her shoulders and her curled in posture gave her away. Austria pressed a hand to the small of her back, while Italy stood and trapped her in a hug from behind.
After a moment's deliberation, Austria joined them. He'd have been a liar if he said he didn't want to be part of the group huddle – though some serious coercion would have been required for him to admit it. His arms trembled as he squeezed the two of them gently.
It was Italy and Hungary. He'd spent a lot of time with the two of them, and they'd seen him at his worst; he could afford a little empathy.
No one outside of the four of them knew of Prussia's death – the news hadn't spread. Maybe it was for the best. Prussia was like a storm, always leaving evidence of his presence; but such a stringent absence surely wouldn't have gone unnoticed. Especially not by Spain or France, or the America lookalike.
The magnitude of Prussia's presence was unfathomable. The loneliness from the loss hadn't hit yet, but it was getting there along with a thousand and one realizations.
Austria would no longer house a drunk albino on one of his late-night visits, running his mouth about some previous conquest or another. He'd always acted annoyed, but Gilbert had been an old friend, and it felt wrong to not humour the other in some way. Austria would miss that. It had been so long since a nation had died, and everyone had grown comfortable with the thought of 'forever'.
Nations died. Every soul had a stop button.
Prussia was someone whose presence had been taken for granted. The words 'wrong' and 'Prussia' were inconceivable in the same sentence. He was always okay, always moving forward, never dwelling on the past unless it was an 'awesome' feat of his, in some way.
And when he'd gone missing for several days, he'd been alone in his own home. Sanity slipping away, health ebbing.
Prussia was gone. Gone. It was a fact that Hungary had difficulty coming to terms with; how would life go on? He'd been so integral to her life, a thousand years felt like time had slipped by like nothing. It was meaningless, and what made her days special was gone. No more drunk Germans, no more three a.m. phone calls about some conquest in the past.
No more laughter, no more competition.
No more Gilbert.
The final dam that had been barring Hungary's emotions from wrecking her snapped like a twig, and she wailed. She pressed her face into Prussia's shirt, hands fisting in the fabric; she said nothing and cried, becoming increasingly inconsolable by the second.
Her own crying had triggered a second bout in Italy, who hiccupped and launched himself at Austria. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Austria eventually focused on Italy. He held the Italian in his arms in a way similar to how he did when Italy was still a child; the Italian latched onto him like a baby.
The front door suddenly slammed open and the sound of plaster cracking echoed in the house; the three nations, who had fallen into a long, introspective silence, all jumped. Austria stood with Italy, while Hungary barely flinched from where she still rested against Prussia's chest.
"Go check on Germany," Austria urged gently, nudging the Italian. Italy nodded, wiped his face, and was off like a shot back to the living room. Austria spared Hungary only a glance before he made his way to the front door.
He couldn't quite fathom who had smashed Germany's door open like that. Burglars? It seemed unlikely, but possible.
It was a shame that Austria was sort of a sissy. He hated fighting; but Germany was certainly in no position to.
Catching sight of the intruders at the door, he almost sighed in relief.
It was France and Spain. When Spain and Austria locked eyes, a silent message passed between them and the Spaniard's brows, already knit in worry, further creased. Even if Austria's presence wasn't that questionable, Italy rocketing past the two of them without so much as a greeting was alarming. France, forever the drama queen, was deathly silent as he frowned at Austria questionably.
A rather alien sound came from the living room, and the three of them glanced to the source of the noise. The voice had been deep in tenor like Germany's, but it sounded so broken that Spain and France couldn't fathom it actually being the blonde nation. They glanced back at Austria imploringly.
"What is going on?" Spain's hands fiddled with the hem of his shirt anxiously as he glanced between France and Austria, the two of them staring one another down. France's eyes remained hardened and steeled, unmoving as he fought an invisible battle for answers from Austria. The Austrian eventually relented, averting his gaze, hands clenching at his sides.
"Follow me." He muttered uselessly and spun around, placing one foot on the stairway after a pause.
"Take your shoes off, and then follow me," He was quick to correct himself before he began up the stairs again. France and Spain quickly did as they were told and followed Austria.
Hungary's body covered most of Prussia, but Spain and France did not lollygag in the same way that Hungary and Austria had when it came to approaching their deceased friend. Spain led the charge in this case, gripping France's sleeve as he dragged him into the room; France was stupefied, staring at Prussia's feet. Spain was a fervent denier of the worst and paused when Prussia's face came into view. Surprise and horror followed one another in quick succession in Spain's expression, contorting from one to the other at lightning speeds. France remained carefully neutral, lips pressed in a thin line with brows furrowed.
He may have been a drama queen when it didn't matter, but when it did, France was a master at dealing with his emotions.
Spain, not so much.
Spain wrapped his arms around his friend and pressed his forehead to France's shoulder; it was only once he felt dampness on his shirt that France finally wound his arms around the Iberian nation, pressing his cheek to Spain's temple. From where he stood, France's line of sight was directly on Prussia. Similar to Austria, he took in the contours of his friend's body, the way he still had the ghost of a smile on his lips; his only reaction was to give Spain a squeeze.
Spain squeezed back, and then there was a pause.
The third squeeze never came. They were a trio, weren't they? There couldn't be two squeezes. That wasn't how a trio worked.
France squeezed Spain a second time, but the assurance felt hollow. It wasn't the same, and they both knew that.
Austria stood nearby awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do. On one hand, he could leave; but what was the next step after that? They couldn't leave Prussia's body there until it faded. It felt wrong – far too somber and quiet for someone like Prussia. France's considerations were similar to Austria's, and he gestured to Austria before nudging Spain.
"Come. Let's see how our host doing." Spain nodded against France's shoulder before he pulled away. Wiping at his eyes quietly, he slapped on his best rendition of a Prussia-esque smile. France's smile was quieter and much more tamed as he led the Spaniard out; Austria stepped up behind them, leading Hungary out by the wrist.
She stared at Prussia's face until he was out of sight.
In the living room, Italy and Germany sat on one couch while the others were on the one across from them. Hungary remained silent while staring at her lap, sniffling occasionally. Spain and Germany sported similar expressions, though the feeling of absolute catastrophe radiated from Germany in a way that could be physically felt. Spain had no such aura.
France and Austria both remained pensive, staring holes into specific spots in the far wall.
Italy watched everyone quietly, arms wrapped around Germany. Despite his earlier grief, the moment he was back with Germany he'd acted like he hadn't been crying at all. Sometimes, everyone forgot how well Italy could piece himself together when the time truly called for it. However, Italy was also a ticking time bomb; he would eventually reach his limit like he had earlier.
Out of everyone, Germany was certainly taking it the hardest. His normally pristine clothes were rumpled and wrinkled, and his bangs – normally gelled back – hung over his eyes like a curtain of melancholy. He was red to the ears, across his nose and cheeks. His eyes were blemished enough that he looked like he'd been sunburnt. His bottom lip had been chewed raw and his knuckles were white.
No wonder Italy was so kept together. Germany was enough of a mess for ten nations over.
It was Spain who offered their next step in a soft voice, a shaky smile tinting his features.
"I think Gilbert would kick our asses if we didn't give him a big funeral." France peered at Spain in surprise and smiled faintly, agreeing wholeheartedly. The others nodded as well, citing murmurs of agreement, and Italy beamed.
"I think that's a super duper idea! Don't you think so, Germany?" The nation in question was silent for a moment, slowly nodding. He offered Italy a weak smile.
"I think he'd like that." The decision had been unanimous; give Prussia a kickass funeral or suffer the consequences.
They slaved for hours over what to do. The problem with a nation dying was that their bodies simply faded after a few days – so any time wasted was time they'd never get back. First came the invitations, then the location. When the subject of burial came up – no matter how superficial the practice was to him – Germany quickly excused himself from the room. No one blamed him.
They'd agreed that only the most important people would be there; while not a large funeral, it would be a precious one. Their invitations did not spread much farther than those that were occupying room anyway, but it was still a topic of deliberation. They'd also decided on an authentic burial; hand-carved tombstone and custom-built coffin, like good old times.
And finally, location. Prussia never spoke of him, but they'd all known how important his grandfather had been to him. Even if he had long since faded, Prussia had created a tombstone special for Germania. He'd also made a tombstone for his favourite leader, Frederick the Great. They stood side by side, in a meadow far removed from even dirt roads. Hungary was the only one who had a general idea of where it was, and so her job had been to hunt down the graves.
Everyone else was eventually given their respective jobs, and they split up. Italy was to stay with Germany and keep him company, try to warm him up to the idea of the funeral or at least help him sort out his thoughts. France took to cooking and cleaning; extra mess stressed Germany out, and with the people and work that would be going on for the next few days, everything would be a disaster.
Austria was to prepare Prussia's body – arguably, he had the most painful job of all. He was the only one that was going to see the dead nation nearly constantly.
Spain had gone out for materials. He was the one in charge of making the coffin and the tombstone; the only other one who was good at woodworking was Germany, but it was almost cruel to get him to build the coffin that would house his brother.
Time passed swiftly for all of them.
And on the third day without Prussia, they held the funeral.