1935 - Potsdam, Germany

The evening is beginning to get cold, but Prussia has more important things on his mind than temperature. Still wearing the light jacket that had been sufficient when he arrived here just past midday, he kneels in the grass and stares blankly ahead at the grey stone slab in front of him. It is engraved with a name and a date, the crispness of the letters starting to wear with age.

Brandenburg.

Prussia doesn't quite know how he ended up here. He remembers the letter. Something icy begins to writhe in his insides at the thought of it. The letter. It was short, formal and to-the-point, even more so than Germany usually was. A short note detailing the de facto dissolution of the Free State of Prussia, because 'I thought I should let you know'. Germany thought he should let him know that his own country had been dissolved. He generously took time out of his busy schedule to write him a letter informing him that he no longer existed.

Prussia wonders if he wrote a letter because he couldn't face telling him in person, or because it really meant that little to him. He has to believe it's the former.

After he'd read through the letter through three times, the rest of the day becomes a blur in his memory. He isn't sure he was even fully self-aware. He has a vague memory of a train, a search for a particular stone slab in a sea of identical headstones, and now he's here. He doesn't know why. He supposes it's as good a place to be as any.

"I'm sorry I didn't visit you," he says, not sure if he should speak to the stone or the ground in front of it. He might be immortal, but he hasn't yet made a habit of conversing with the dead. "I just... I don't know. I was too busy doing what you told me to. Looking after Ludwig." He snorts a laugh, callous and devoid of humour. "Fat lot of good I did there. The Great War constitutes getting into trouble, doesn't it?" He sighs and stares at his knees. Damp earth and moisture from the grass is seeping into the fabric of his trousers, but he doesn't care. "I'm sorry. If it's any consolation, I think we did the other side almost as much damage as they did to us. Not that you'd approve of that sort of logic, though. Perhaps you should've been the one looking after him. You were always much smarter than me." He looks back up at the headstone, then down at the grass, and compromises by staring at the mossy earth where the stone meets the ground instead. "Is it nice up there?" he asks. "I know it's a better place than down here, but... but I like it down here. I'm not like you. I'm not ready to leave." It's true. He's lived far longer than he has any right to, but he doesn't want to die. Not now. Not like this. "But you'd better put in a good recommendation for me, okay? Because I might be joining you soon whether I like it or not."

He doesn't hear the footsteps until they're right next to him and a voice is saying, "Gil?"

He looks up, blinks, and decides he must be hallucinating. Hungary is standing beside him, looking down at him with genuine concern written across her face. All he can manage is, "How did you..."

"I came to visit you," she explains. "I found Germany's letter. You weren't home and your coat was gone, so I went to the train station and asked after you. You do look quite distinctive, you know. The conductor directed me towards Potsdam, and it didn't take me long to figure out where you'd be." She drops to her knees next to him, ignoring the mud as it stains her skirt. "Are you okay?" she asks quietly.

He shrugs. "Been better. Why did you follow me all the way out here?"

Her voice is still a half-whisper as she says, "I didn't want you to have to face this alone."

But they both know she can't help him. There's nothing she can do. She doesn't even know what it feels like. She's Hungary, Magyarorszag, just like she's always been and always will be. But he's just... nothing. Not a country, not even a state. Pretty soon he'll be just like Brandenburg. Mortal, and then dead.

He tries to gather his thoughts, but they slip through his fingers and tumble around his mind in an uncontrolled mess. He gazes hopelessly at Hungary, silently begging her to say something, do something, knowing full well she's as powerless to change this as he is. Why me? Out of all the major empires in Europe, why am I the only one who has to disappear? Whenever he imagined dying, he'd imagined a valiant battle fought heroically defending his country and people against an overwhelmingly stronger foe. A proper, honourable death for a nation like himself. Something worthwhile. Worth remembering. Not because Germany's bureaucrats signed a couple of documents and decided he wasn't worth the trouble. It's not fair!

Hungary's eyes meet his and she does the only thing she can. She wraps her arms around him and pulls him sideways, hugging him tightly and with conviction. He doesn't struggle. She's warm and comforting and she smells like flowers, and enveloped in her embrace, some semblance of feeling begins to return to him.

"Life never promised to be fair," she whispers. "All you can do is look at what it gives you instead of what it takes away. You've only been dissolved de facto, not de jure. And even if that doesn't count, you're still a region. Having no official borders doesn't change that. And the Teutonic Knights are still around, aren't they? You were them before you were Prussia. There's still plenty of things keeping you here. You have lots of reasons to exist. You won't die," she finishes, as though she can persuade God if she herself is sure enough of it.

"But..."

"Ludwig needs you, Gil," she says. "I know you think you've failed him, but the Great War wasn't your fault no matter what they say. He's grown up fast but he's still so young, so inexperienced. Promise me you'll stay alive for him. And for me."

She's right. Now she's said it plain and clear, it makes sense. He still has plenty of ties to life. The Free State of Prussia might be gone, but he isn't. There's no pretending that he isn't a shadow of what he was, barely clinging to life, but he does have a right to exist. That has to count for something.

"Now," she says, still holding him close, "what are you going to do? And I expect a proper answer."

He breathes, long and deep, just to remind himself that he can. "I'm going back to Berlin," he says. "I may not have any authority over Germany any more, but I can still do my best to keep him on the right track. Help him rebuild himself. Staying close to him can't hurt either of us, can it?" If he embeds himself deeply enough in Germany's affairs, maybe he'll find it easier to maintain his status as a... what is he now? Not a country. Barely even a state.

"You're an advisor," says Hungary. "Remember?"

He swallows and nods. An advisor. That's what he is.

"That's the Prussia I know," she smiles.

He can't quite smile back, but he comes close.

She squeezes him one last time, then lets him go and stands up. "Come on," she says, holding her hand out. "Let's go back. It's getting cold out here."

He still doesn't quite trust himself to speak, but he takes her hand and lets her pull him to his feet. His legs are a little steadier than he expected; he barely needs to rely on her for support as they make their way back to the train station, arm-in-arm.

He can still feel the cold, feel the wind buffet his face, feel the first droplets of rain land in his hair. He's alive. He just needs to cling to that fact, remind himself of it every morning, never let it go. Fe doesn't have to die yet. He still has reasons to exist. He has East Prussia, region rather than country. He has the Teutonic Knights. He has his promise to Brandenburg, his advisory position to Germany. And, of course, he has the green-eyed, honey-haired reason right next to him.