A/N: Inspired by 100 Balloons by Anonymous, from the Hetailia LJ kink meme. Not sure how to link stuff here, so I'll put the link to that fic in my bio, and all the credit for the idea and some main ideas in this fic goes to them
Crossposed from Ao3
This fic is a redux/rewrite of an unfinished fic by an anon I found on LJ on the Hetalia Kink Meme by the title of 100 balloons, and I guess I had too many ideas of how it could be expanded because I wrote 12k out of the original 3.5k haha
Also not my best work because I kind of rushed it even though I went back and fixed a lot of stuff, but I still hope it's entertaining at the very least :D
I don't seek to degrade or humiliate the original author through this, and I'm sorry for not asking permission in advance- I wrote this purely for my own entertainment and wanted to share it with other people.
I don't own nor did I write the original fic, and this is not a deanon. It's also not meant to 'improve' or 'fix' the original fic, and I only wrote it for entertainment purposes- I'm not the original author of 100 Balloons from the Hetalia Kink Meme on LJ and this is just my version of it that I wrote, using the original as a guideline and expanding on it. I don't claim credit for the idea, because it wasn't mine in the first place, and all in all this is just fun practice and an outlet for my brainrot- I hope I've made that clear enough :D
This fic is prewritten, and chapters will be posted every Thursday until everything's on here. Special Thanks to Hina for being my unofficial beta(as always) and Narcoleptic for being my beta too!
I hope you enjoy :D
Please do comment(even if it's just a :D), they'd make me happy, and concrit is absolutely welcome!
—-
You know, he'd seen this view so many times he was starting to get sick of it.
Wait- no, scratch that- he was already sick of it.
Sitting on the edge of the roof of a building that he'd already forgotten the name of, Prussia glared as the sun rose sluggishly over the horizon, its bright yellow rays falling on the dull buildings of East Germany alongside the rhythmic tapping of his heels against the hard concrete wall on the side of his roof.
He pulled his jacket closer, shivering.
Even if the sun lit up his side brilliantly the light did nothing to warm him, the cool wind chasing away any trace of heat as soon as it'd come.
He'd been here awhile- since a few hours ago, in fact- and even though he knew the view would be quite majestic to any other person the only emotions the grey-blue-gold combination of colors incited out of him were resentment and resignation- more former than the latter.
Pulling his legs up from where they were dangling over the edge, Prussia let himself sprawl out on the roof, ignoring how the hard concrete dug into his back.
He hated this. Being cut off, not being able to see his not-so-baby brother, not being able to step out of line and go wild, follow this, do that, don't break the rules, East.
Prussia gave a slight sigh, craning his neck back to stare at the still-cloudless sky. If he didn't do something interesting soon he was going to go insane.
There had to be something feasible that wouldn't land himself in too much trouble.
—-
—-
…and that was why a few days later, Prussia found himself sitting in his dingy apartment a few miles away from the border, staring at a thick packet of red balloons on his rickety mahogany table.
The old thing was probably the most expensive object in the entire fucking place aside from the bed, but that was beside the point.
Prussia wasn't sure what'd possessed him to pick it up when he'd seen it lying in the corner of a nameless store downtown, but they were on his table now and he didn't think that the shopkeep would want to give him a refund.
Letting out a long breath, he leant forwards and put his head on the rough surface of the table, picking up the packet of balloons.
He looked over the '100!' and the monochrome picture printed on the cardboard holding the plastic package together, the silence of the room serving as calm nonexistent background noise.
Another moment passed, and as he continued staring an idea snuck its way inside his head.
Prussia couldn't help the smile that slowly spread across his face, shoving his chair backwards and making his way towards the door, leaving the balloons on the table.
That guy from the factory did owe him a small favour, didn't he?
—-
0
—-
Prussia's shadow stretched out far beside him in the rays of the waning sun as he ripped open the packet of balloons on the roof, huffing slightly when he realised that he'd accidentally ripped one as well.
He threw it aside, away from the small container of helium beside him.
It was easy to fill up a few balloons when he already knew how to work the container, and soon enough Prussia had five of them tied to a rock he'd picked up somewhere on the street, ready to fly.
He could release all the balloons at once and see the sky fill with red- which would be really awesome and a sight to behold- but no.
And it wasn't because Prussia was worried about the attention he might attract by letting the balloons go- really, no.
The Stasi wouldn't dare arrest him without evidence, anyways, not when he'd been a good little satellite for over a decade by now, and he was about eighty percent sure that even if Russia found out he'd only smile creepily at his antics.
Yeah.
Taking in a deep breath, Prussia knelt down so he was eye-level with the balloons- he didn't exactly have a lot of string to spare, so they were floating only a bit above the ground- pressing down and smiling slightly when they bounced up again.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out a marker.
Yanking the cap off with his teeth, Prussia grabbed one of the balloons, hesitating for a fraction of a second before scribbling down 1961- for the year construction on that stupid wall started- wincing at the sqeaking sound his marker made as it ran across the shiny red material of the balloon.
Even if the government told him that it was to keep the capitalists out and his citizens in and that he should be grateful that they're even doing this in an attempt to keep him alive, Prussia knew that the GDR wasn't what was sustaining him.
Poland had once referred to him as a real-life Frankenstein back when they'd both lived in Russia's big mansion for a while, and even if he'd despised the comparison it made a twisted sort of sense.
The hollow hole where Prussia used to be was still painful as ever(not that he'd told anyone) even if it had numbed over the years, his mind void of voices beside his own- just as it had been since his dissolution, no matter what the others thought- but he was still alive, for no reason other than just because.
The familiar sensation of disgust pooled in his gut at the thought of the whole charade.
He was supposed to be the awesome Prussia even if he didn't have a people anymore and pretending like he still had one felt wrong, even moreso when they were West's and not his.
And god, don't let him get started on his brother.
Prussia couldn't fathom what West'd gone through when this shitshow'd first started, much less what he would've felt when the wall was built and his people were East and West instead of one.
Maybe his little brother would prefer people living on his own side of the wall instead of his, but he wouldn't know, anyways, because he wasn't East.
They hadn't had the privacy nor time to talk about things like that since those last moments they'd had with each other back in 47', and from the looks of it his lil' brother hadn't told anyone about their very complicated status either because otherwise Prussia wouldn't be on this roof right here, right now.
The sky was near indigo by now, the red having faded a few minutes prior.
Prussia pulled himself out of his thoughts as he untied the balloon from the rock with nimble fingers, pulling it a few times and grinning as it tugged itself back upright again and again until he released it from his grasp.
His eyes tracked the balloon as it soared higher and higher, and Prussia couldn't help but imagine the Wall suddenly coming crashing down the next day as the red balloon was slowly reduced to a dark dot in the blue-purple sky.
Of course, he knew that was impossible- for now, at least, hopefully, but it was nice to dream once in a while.
Once the balloon had disappeared into the darkening sky, Prussia knelt back down as he grabbed a second balloon and the marker, scribbling another word onto it- Boredom.
That was what started this little endeavor, really.
It was untied and left to the wind, soon enough, joining the first as they flew off to who knew where.
Then came East Germany Prussia, because no matter what they called him now that was his name, had been his name for centuries and he wouldn't, couldn't forget it.
He would hold on to it even when everyone else forgot(he hoped they wouldn't) and he would remember now matter how hard they tried to wipe his history away.
Prussia played with its string a bit before letting it go, the familiar roughness rubbing against his thumb as the string slipped from his grip, the red balloon floating away from him, carrying his fake-real names up, up and away.
A fourth balloon had Sacrifice scrawled on its shiny surface, the words reflecting the dwindling evening light as it floated off, twirling lazily in the chilly air.
He knew that most of the nations didn't think he was capable of sacrificing anything for anyone, but even if West didn't realize it, even if he never realized the extent of what Prussia'd done for him he was content in the fact that he still had secrets and that his little brother was still healthy and whole, judging from the last time he'd caught a glimpse of the brat.
The balloon was mingling with the others, now, mixing with the others til' he could no longer point out which one was which.
It felt strangely… liberating.
A sudden gust of wind whipped past his neck, and Prussia tugged his collar upwards in an attempt to keep himself warm, a shiver running down his spine.
Staring upwards at the dark sky, Prussia felt his lips tug upwards at the view of the rapidly shrinking image of the balloons, contemplating and very aware of the last one still tied to the rock behind him.
The marker was on the concrete ground of the roof, this time, and it took Prussia a good dozen seconds to think of something to write on the balloon even as he held its kind-of-sticky surface in his hands.
East Germany, 107,771 km2, then, his not-prison. Yes, he could leave at any time he wanted- he wasn't tied down to the place, not anymore- and the kind of uproar he could cause with that would be glorious.
It would only take a call to one of his numerous connections all about the city that smuggled people over the border- what, who'd you think kept the Stasi off them when he got the chance? Some planning, a little bit of sneaking around and a whole lot of keeping on the down low and then bam - he'd be home, free to roam wherever he wanted as long as he kept his head down or ran fast enough, depending on how quickly he broke his cover.
Prussia knew he wouldn't be able to keep quiet for the life of him when the other option was so much more fucking fun.
But what would happen to West, then?
America and Russia might fight over him if Prussia suddenly disappeared without a trace, and even though he knew the ensuing chaos would be hilarious to watch he wasn't willing to put his little brother through the pain of thinking he was dead and gone again or the nations' version of a custody battle.
A heavy sigh escaped him as he held the balloon above his head, letting it slip past his grasp into the sky.
The plan wasn't guaranteed to work, anyways- he knew the government had tails following him most days and his phones tapped and bugs in his apartment- it was somewhat of a miracle that he hadn't been interrupted.
The sky was almost entirely dark by now, the lights of East Berlin blinking into existence and illuminating the otherwise bleak city.
Prussia picked up the remainder of his balloons, tucking the heavy helium tank under his arm with a grunt.
At least this gave him something to do. Something to look forward to.
He spared a glance towards the lone ripped balloon on the corner of the roof, only shrugging before kicking open the door to the stairwell.
99 balloons, huh.
Hadn't there been a song with that exact name that'd come out a few years ago?
—-
16
—-
A few months and a dozen more balloons later, Prussia found himself again on the roof.
The balloons were already blown up, this time- all he really had to do was write down the words before releasing them.
Dropping the balloon-anchoring stone from the last few times onto the ground, he pulled out his marker and grabbed the closest balloon, sticking out his tongue as he scrawled out 'Workers of the world unite'.
Their fucking stupid motto.
It certainly wasn't one he liked- suum cuique was way more awesome and catchy in comparison.
And as Prussia threw the balloon into the air, he thought perhaps, with any luck, that that balloon would get stuck on something and pop.
'Risen from ruins' was next to be written down and the balloon untied, and he really did have to admit that it was a nice anthem.
It certainly gave the people hope- something they really needed- but solely on principle he wouldn't learn to play it on the flute because… because it simply symbolised something he wasn't, and Prussia didn't want to play it on an instrument that meant so fucking much to him.
That wasn't to say Prussia hadn't tried to embrace being the not-nation of East Germany, though, if only to maybe experience the warmth and comfort of having a people again, even though he knew it'd be very much temporary, but for one- his heart just hadn't been in it, and for two- it wasn't really his anymore in the first place.
Part of him still wanted to be East, and that kind of scared him more than anything because it meant that he wanted to rip his little brother apart even more than he already was for his own gain- and yes, he knew that once upon a time he would've happily done that, more than happily, even- but he really wasn't sure he was capable of being that self-serving anymore.
Not without people of his own to protect and devote his life to.
The next three balloons were all related on some level and to him, held almost the same in meaning.
Looking at the two balloons floating in the cloudy sky, Prussia decided to release them all at the same time- for symbolism, of course.
Dissolution, ashes, limbo.
A bit cheesy, yeah, but they were all he could really think of and those three words pretty much summed up what his life'd become perfectly.
He untied the balloons from the anchoring rock, smiling at how strongly they tugged themselves upwards, grasping the three strings in his hand tightly.
Prussia let his gaze wander the numerous rooftops of the city as he swung his legs over the edge of the roof, his heart hammering in his chest at how small the cars whizzing past him down below were.
It was easy to ignore the voice in the back of his mind that ever so weakly pushed him to explore the consequences of leaning forwards a little bit too much or to sit just slightly too close to the edge, instead kicking his legs against the hard concrete as a distraction.
He tilted his head backwards even as he did, noting that the balloons he'd sent off earlier were now only specks in the distance, and that was what pushed him to raise the hand grasping the balloons up high and finally let go, the red balloons quickly twisting and turning their way up the dimming sky.
And as Prussia watched them rise, legs dangling over the tiny rushing lights below and both hands placed firmly on the concrete behind him, he couldn't help but huff out a self-deprecating laugh as the ridiculousness of the entire situation hit him.
If only Old Fritz could see him right now.
Maybe he'd be ashamed. No, not because Prussia was no longer a nation but because he was no longer the same person Fritz'd loved- and constantly berated- but who wouldn't change over the years, never mind centuries?
The constant bar and alley fights Prussia somehow kept getting himself into did help keep his skills up to par and his mind off things, but it just wasn't the same as sparring with his men or facing a worthy opponent on the battlefield, and that was what he missed most about his glory days- well, second to his people, at least- the fighting, the charging into battle, the wars-
…
But then, he really was just making himself out to be better than he really was by this point.
How many of their kind had been created as military orders?
So many.
How many of his brethren had been cast aside after they became obsolete?
Templar.
Lazarus.
How many had survived?
Johanniter.
Hospitaller.
What was the cost?
Prussia leaned forwards, burying his head in his hands as the honking of multiple cars resounded through the night air, bouncing off the windows of the buildings towering over everything.
He didn't remember how many he'd killed.
Lithuania and Poland still despised him, and he wasn't even sure if he hated them for it anymore.
They'd all been at each other's throats for so long he really didn't know how to handle being out of the loop- it both irked him and made him want just drop everything and run.
Would Fritz be sad if he saw what the once mighty Prussia was reduced to?
What advice would he give?
Prussia sighed, leaning back and trying to grab for that little voice in the back of his mind that'd always sounded somewhat like his old king for reasons he didn't understand.
He ended up with nothing, groaning quietly as he craned his neck upwards to stare at the sky again, the balloons little more than dark dots by now.
It wasn't a huge deal, really. It wasn't.
He'd just have to stick to what worked and try to not become what the others kept on fucking insisting he was, even with Prussia's protests and yelling and annoying them- he wasn't in denial, damn it all.
His frustrated growl came out quite strangled, but it was fine, he was fine, he was Prussia and He. Was. Fine.
Swinging his legs up and away from the ledge, Prussia laid himself out on the concrete roof as he tried to pull his mind away from his dangerous train of thought by staring blankly at the lazily floating clouds, the wind ruffling his hair.
Whose fault was this, even?
Fuck.
It would be so, so easy to blame the not-so-much-Allies-anymore for his current predicament- they'd been the ones who'd dissolved him in the first place, after all.
But on the other hand, Prussia understood why they did it no matter his personal grudges.
The last war had been… unlike any other, to say the least, and coming out of it everyone, everyone had been spooked to hell and needing someone to point their fingers and blame.
Prussia had just ended up being a guilty scapegoat, hadn't he?
He'd be the first to admit that he wasn't a good person by any means- which was very much an understatement, judging from how he'd handled himself during the second war- but they didn't have to outright try and pile all the blame onto him when what happened hadn't been his fault alone.
They were justified in their decision, yes- he knew that all too well- but it still fucking hurt.
Justice was a funny thing. On its own it was a perfectly valid concept- a great one, even, but so many different things had been done in its name over the centuries he didn't know what it really stood for anymore.
Sighing, Prussia pushed himself back up to hug his legs, starting to hum a long-forgotten tune as some sort of self-comfort.
Maybe he wouldn't be so hung up on this if France hadn't been one of the nations to rip away what made Prussia Prussia.
He didn't think of France much anymore. He tried not to, in fact. It made his life easier.
They hadn't gotten a chance to talk civilly since- since before the war, was it?
Their last interaction had only consisted of passing greetings, and even those'd been strained.
Had it been that long already?
The memory of him and the Frenchie and Spain getting shit-faced in a bar on the coast of Normandy felt like yesterday instead of- fuck, how many decades had it been- Five? Six?
Goddamnit.
…and Prussia was destroying the fragile set of rules he'd made to keep himself sane, wasn't he?
He took a deep, shaky breath, burying his face in his hands.
Fucking hell.
Pushing his knees further in, he felt the knot of frustration in his chest tighten, and ignored the urge to rip out his hair in favour of letting out a strangled, muffled scream.
Prussia didn't know what he'd say if they had a chance at private conversation again.
Was there even anything he could say?
How exactly did one go about talking to one of their (ex?)best friends after- after they'd basically killed him?
An involuntary hiccup suddenly burst its way out of him, his shoulders starting to shake.
How had everything come to this?
His breaths came out erratic, spiralling out of his control as he released the chokehold around his legs, blinking rapidly at the concrete roof in front of him and slamming a hand over his mouth in a futile attempt to keep himself calm, panic arising at how trying to take in deep breaths had no effect.
He missed the times when he'd been respected and had a semblance of a family and friends who he could hang out with and just forget about politics for a bit.
The fact that his chest was starting to heave as his breathing picked up was regulated to a corner of his mind as Prussia found himself only able to think about how much he missed hearing his people and feeling them and talking to them and being them and simply having them, something tight and painful in his chest starting to make itself known, water sliding down his cheek and his hand and a pathetic whimper that absolutely wasn't his echoing through his head.
He missed being able to argue with Austria and pester Germany and get hit with Hungary's frying pan and drink with France and Spain-
-and the next thing Prussia knew he was crying- no, fucking sobbing on his side, curled up into a ball again with both hands covering his mouth on a lonely East German rooftop in East Berlin.
The tears didn't stop coming no matter how many times he blinked, and it was infuriating and a reminder of how far he'd fallen all the same.
Prussia couldn't remember the last time he'd cried like this.
He shouldn't be crying just because he had some shitty thoughts about his fallen country or France or West or just how content he'd been before shit went down.
But right now reality told him he was, and the worst part about it all was how good it felt to let everything out after bottling it up for so long and Prussia couldn't really help the desperate, hysterical laughter bubbling out between his hiccups as the thought crossed his mind.
Before long, Prussia was pulling his knees close to his chest yet again and staring at the view over the roof with his tilted worldview, laughing and choking and tears running down his face all the same, not even bothering to stifle his sobbing anymore.
It wasn't like there was anyone to see him like this, yeah?
He didn't know how long he laid there, bawling his eyes out like a little kid who'd scraped his knee, figuring he'd stop after a while but every time he came close he'd think of the others again and the tears would come back tenfold-
His thoughts were cut off as something landed lightly on the side of his head.
Prussia stilled- or as much as he could while sniffing uncontrollably, anyways- frozen in his unawesomeness for a moment before reaching upwards and as soon as his hand reached his head, his palm pressed against something fuzzy, an angry chirp momentarily slicing through his hiccuping and the sound of the bustling city down below.
Wrapping his hand gently around the fuzzball Prussia pushed himself up on one shaking arm, breathing still as unsteady as before and tears continuing to make their way down his face, but this time with the softness squirming against his palm calming him down ever so slightly.
He crossed his legs, bringing his hand in front of him to find… an irate, chirping Gilbird struggling inside his grip.
Something in his chest tightened at the sight, and Prussia gave a smile that he felt came out closer to a grimace.
He wiped his eyes again, hiccupping and trying and failing to force a more awesome expression, all the while loosening his grip on Gilbird as he noted his chirping becoming more insistent.
His old companion immediately jumped up from his palm to fly circles around his head, pecking him lightly to show his displeasure before apparently sensing Prussia's distress, pushing himself against his cheek after a moment's pause.
A genuine chuckle made Prussia's shoulders shake as he scooped up Gilbird from where he was, cradling the ever-young bird in his hand as he met the other's gaze, again attempting to blink back his tears.
Sniffing and giving yet another hiccup, Prussia swallowed thickly, opening his mouth to croak, "Hey. How'd you know I was here?"
He hated that his voice was weak and scratchy and sounded like he was near tears again, but as Gilbird twittered in response Prussia was once again reminded that it didn't really matter anyways.
The fact remained that France and Spain and West and Austria and Hungary and the Allies and everyone else weren't here to see him break down, and that maybe made Prussia feel a little bit better.
Gilbird helped, too.
You just couldn't stay sad for long looking at something as cute and awesome as him.
The thought made Prussia's lips curl into a smile, and as Gilbird flew up to nest in his hair the sudden urge to just say something prompted him to open his mouth, a slight sense of contentedness mingling with the crockpot of emotion simmering in his gut at the familiar weight on his head.
He swallowed, trying to think of a way to put his jumbled thoughts into words.
"…I'm fine," Prussia started, straightening and rubbing his aching eyes as he faced the rooftops of East Berlin, "Maybe not entirely, but… I'm fine enough, for now. I'm still here, Gilbird's still here, West's doing alright on the other side of that wall… I think, and that's what counts."
He really wasn't doing a good job of convincing himself, was he?
It was a start, though. He definitely felt marginally better after getting that out there.
Gilbird peeped from above him, causing Prussia to let out a slight chuckle, flicking his eyes skyward.
"…and I'm talking to myself. Am I going insane, Gilbird?"
A pause.
Giving a loud laugh that felt strangely freeing, he swept Gilbird down from his nest on his head and held the tiny bird in his hands.
"Nah. I'm too awesome to be insane! You agree, yeah?"
Gilbird chirped in what was definite agreement, nuzzling himself against his chest. His bird was smart like that.
Prussia really couldn't help his crooked grin, now, stroking his thumb down Gilbird's back as he raised his head, not-quite-admiring the night view of East Berlin from his rooftop with wet eyes.
"…we'll get through this. The wall will fall, West'll be fine and I'll be alive and we'll go get beer together and," He sniffed, a bit surprised to find himself blinking back tears again, "-and get pummelled by the Crazy Bitch's frying pan because we tried to grab Priss' vital regions again, and- and maybe we'll be able to talk to Francypants without killing each other and we'll go partying with Spain-"
He hiccupped, cutting himself off. He really shouldn't get ahead of himself.
"Yeah, we'll get through this."
The balloons hadn't been visible anymore for a long time, the sky had long since faded to black, and it'd been who knew how many hours since Prussia'd first climbed onto the roof.
"I promise."
—-
33
—-