It didn't take long for Prussia to become familiar with the routines of Russia's house, and nobody seemed to think it odd that he only needed a month or so to "learn" enough Russian to be able to manage most of his interactions with the others in that language. Presumably being a Russian client-state made learning the master state's language much easier: he'd needed a lot more than that to learn Russian the first time around.
If not for the danger of someone realizing who he was – and with Hungary and Poland both living in Russia's house it was a very real danger – he could have really enjoyed it. He had to keep reminding himself he wasn't supposed to like Russia's habit of pulling him into hugs whenever he did something the bigger avatar thought was cute.
Prussia couldn't see where the cute was. He supposed it was a Russia thing.
He wasn't supposed to like Estonia ruffling his hair and sneaking him sweets, or Bulgaria and Romania teaching him their folk songs, or helping Lithuania and Latvia in the kitchen, or his lessons in Russian with Moldova – who looked even younger than Prussia did, despite being much older than East was. He certainly wasn't supposed to like Russia helping him and Moldova with their roles in their respective nations.
He was the awesome Prussia, not this weak little child who melted when Russia hugged him! That traitorous voice his head telling him he could be both could shut up.
Only he knew the next time Russia embraced him, he'd hug back and do the whole sappy chirpy thing because his child-self would take over again.
It was probably a good thing that he didn't have much free time. Russia made sure all his territories and client states had plenty of chores – Prussia's duties included setting the table and clearing it after meals, as well as some of the lighter cleaning – and he checked their administrative work before he let their bosses see it. Not that Prussia minded that, really. It meant his boss wasn't really his boss and he didn't have to care too much about what the man did, because when it came to it, Russia was his boss, and his sort-of big brother.
He knew Hungary and Poland resented that, since they'd been independent and powerful before the war, but even though he knew he should resent it too, he couldn't. Another child-self thing that probably went right along with the way his memories of being Prussia were fading too fast to be natural.
That scared him more than anything else, that he could forget his awesome self and get stuck permanently in this weak body that wouldn't survive past reunification with his brother. Which was why he tried to stay busy enough that he didn't have the time to think about that. And why when he wasn't busy with chores or his duties as a nation he sought out activities where he was in control, trying, with limited success, to recapture what it felt like to be Prussia, to be powerful and in charge.
The fact that riding the heavy sled – he'd found it in one of Russia's outbuildings – down the hill behind the house was awesome fun was just a coincidence. Or so Prussia told himself as he dragged the sled back up the hill for another turn.
"Can I ride too?" Moldova called from behind him.
"That would be great!" Prussia shouted back.
It was, too. Moldova added just enough extra weight that the sled skidded down the snow-covered hill much faster, and if he could turn the sled at just the right time at the bottom of the hill the skidding sled sent up a completely awesome wave of snow that broke into spatters of snow on the wall that run from the east wing to the west, enclosing a sheltered courtyard where he and Moldova weren't allowed to play because Latvia and Bulgaria grew herbs and vegetables there.
Not that there was anything but snow in the courtyard now.
By the third run, Prussia had it timed to where he could make the snow wave break over the top of the wall, to Moldova's delight. Hauling the sled back up the hill was easier with Moldova helping, too.
The fifth run was when it all went wrong: they were at top speed and Prussia was ready to haul the sled sideways to make the next wave when the iron gate opened and Poland stepped out right where the sled would go if he turned it.
Prussia didn't even think about what to do next: one moment he was gripping the sled, the next he'd thrown himself and Moldova off it. He heard a splintering crack and a shout, then he was on his back in snow that wasn't quite as deep as he'd thought and in a twist that was completely not awesome was stuffed with rocks. It hurt. He hoped Moldova had landed in a soft bit.
"East!" Poland's shout lanced through his head. "Moldova!"
Prussia couldn't manage more than a groan. He heard Moldova whimper. "I want big brother," although that could mean Romania or Russia.
He'd just lie here until he stopped seeing stars, he decided. It was a lot easier than trying to move.
The sound of the door, multiple times, then the oddly subdued stampede that was lots of boots on snow. Russia's voice, a low angry growl. "What happened?"
"I don't know!" Poland yelped. "I opened the gate to call them back inside, and, like, there was a blur and snow and stuff, like everywhere."
Romania murmured something in his language, then he said, "Moldova isn't hurt, Mr Russia. He's just a bit shocked."
That was nice, Prussia thought. He'd done that much right.
"Where is East?" That demand was – if that was even possible – more angry.
"'mhere," Prussia managed to croak. How hard had he hit those rocks hiding under the snow?
Russia groaned. "Why did I get you a white winter coat?"
He couldn't stifle a cry of pain when Russia lifted him.
Romania spoke again. "Mr Russia? East Germany pushed himself and Moldova off the sled before it could hit the wall. Moldova thinks it was so they didn't run into Poland."
"Sled?" Russia's deep voice rumbled through Prussia's body. "You mean the mess of firewood against the wall?"
Moldova spoke up. "It was a sled, big brother Russia. We were making snow waves."
Prussia let it all drift past him. He wasn't hurt too much, but he didn't want to move just yet. He'd rattled his head enough to be dizzy and a bit sickish, so staying still was the smart thing to do.
Russia carried him inside and set him down on something soft, grumbling about how of all the places where snow was piled a meter deep or more, East Germany had to land where the stones for repairs to the wall were piled.
That was probably easier to deal with than trying to make sense of his reactions. He was supposed to be Prussia, the army with a nation, the one who didn't have friends and who didn't trust anyone, ever – with the exception of his brother, and look where that got him.
He should have abandoned the sled and got himself to safety, not tried to spare Moldova or Poland.