A/N: Shit, I forgot to post on Thursday- sorry about that. I'll try to not forget next week aha
Hey again, here I am back with another chapter :D Hope you enjoy!
When Prussia kicked open the stairway door another few red-balloon-flying sessions later, a new batch of said thing in hand, it was the dawn after a tedious string of meetings filled with boring statistics and complicated graphs.
It wasn't like he didn't know that those were important and vital to running a country, but it was more 'He didn't have any say so he didn't care' and less 'He's lazy and doesn't do shit'.
Prussia doubted they knew the difference.
He let out a grunt as he plopped down in the middle of the roof, the usual anchoring stone gently floating down next to him after he threw it aside carelessly, the balloons slowing its descent.
Gilbird gave a chirp from where he was nestled in his usual spot in his hair and Prussia grinned at his moral support, pulling his marker out again and grabbing a balloon, the words he wanted to write down already in mind.
The first one scribbled on the balloon he was holding was 'To forget', because as if it would be easy to forget everything that'd led him here in the first place.
It wasn't a topic he liked to dwell on much, but Prussia would admit- if only to himself- that he sometimes wished with all his heart that he could somehow let go of these memories, no matter how important he knew they were.
But before he could think himself into having a mental breakdown on the roof again he untied the balloon, pausing to track its ascent into the sky before grabbing another as he twirled the marker between his fingers.
'Alone'- well, that one wasn't much better.
Prussia licked his dry lips, setting down the marker to untie this balloon too.
He'd never been truly alone, no matter how much he liked to pretend he was.
Hungary, that certified crazy bitch, Austria, the frilly four-eyed freak, Italy- kinda? He was more West's friend than Prussia's- and Germany, West, Ludwig, his little brother with a stick perpetually stuck up his ass.
Prussia might've enjoyed stirring up arguments with them but in the end they'd always been there as- well, he wouldn't say support, maybe more like some sort of company- like Hungary, because even though there was always going to be mutual dislike between them she was nonetheless a source of solace in their familiar banter; or the Priss, who'd been a comforting constant in their rivalry and all their wars- not that he'd tell him that.
Yeah.
Tugging on the string of the balloon, he raised it high, taking in a deep breath before letting go, a small smile gracing his face as he watched it go up, up and away.
Prussia hoped that West was still waiting for him on the other side of that wall, and as for the Priss, well, he was most likely yammering on about how great it was that he wasn't there while missing his awesomeness a whole lot.
It must be boring over there without him.
Gilbird was nuzzling his neck, having migrated to his shoulder somewhere along his monologue and the familiarity of the action made Prussia's smile widen into a grin.
Petting the small yellow bird, he murmured, "No more feeling sorry for myself, yeah?"
It was almost eerie how quiet it was, right now, the sun having just broken through the edge of the city, lighting up the dark morning sky.
There had never been really much traffic nor stragglers before the morning rush- even if there hadn't been a curfew outside of the restricted area for years now not many people still dared to be out and about during these hours, lest the Stasi suspect them of anything unsightly.
For that, Prussia made a face and after a few moments of squeaky marker on plastic, the word 'silence' was plastered across the third balloon's surface.
It'd never really fit him, anyways.
Prussia had always been on the loud side- somewhat of an understatement, considering how much he liked to attract attention to his awesomeness- so it shouldn't have been much of a surprise that he despised the fact that survival as 'East' required silence for the most part.
It took quite a lot out of him to bite his snide comments and remarks back when they threatened to come out at inopportune times, and that was after he'd gotten the shit beaten out of him more than once for doing just that those first few years he'd been named East.
He still disliked the name- East had always been Austria, not him, it was literally in the Priss' fucking name- but he doubted anyone would call him otherwise now that it'd stuck.
Sighing, Prussia let go of this balloon as well, Gilbird now fluttering in the air next to him.
Only two left for today.
Awesome- to remind him to stay that way, because he'd kind of discarded that in the past few weeks to be quiet, somewhat-timid East as to avoid getting into trouble, which was the opposite of what Prussia liked to call awesome.
Sensitive as always, Gilbird chirped at him before returning to his nest in Prussia's hair and making himself comfortable, something that always made Prussia want to let out an 'awww' no matter how he was feeling.
But the urge faded as soon as it'd come, because a week of sitting in a dull conference room listening to government officials drone on and on and on about things that don't even concern you only reminded Prussia of better times, times where he'd been strong and able to do more than lounge around like a bird in a gilded cage.
The sun was nearly entirely up by now, the lights of East Berlin gradually blinking out.
He grunted as he pushed himself up, overlooking the gold-grey roofs of the city, exhaling once before letting go of the string attached to the balloon he was holding.
Shielding his eyes from the sun with a hand, Prussia watched it fly away, a sense of not-quite-calm washing over him as it slowly shrunk down into a small dot.
It was another few moments until he reached down for the last balloon.
He initially scribbled 'Gilbird' on it before holding it in front of him, rereading the word and feeling like something was missing.
It took another moment or two before the solution hit Prussia, and he made one small alteration to it- a little chick nesting just on top of the 'G'- before holding it up to the real deal on his head, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards.
"Looks just like you, eh, birdie?"
Gilbird tweeted happily as he landed lightly on top of the balloon, funnily reminiscent of Prussia's drawing.
He just couldn't not crack a smile at that, even if he had to swat his companion away to let the balloon join the others in the sky.
Squawking, his bird pecked him once on the forehead in mock anger, giving an annoyed squeak before settling back onto his perch on Prussia's head, inciting a giggle out of him.
His eyes widened in surprise as he caught a glimpse of his watch- it was getting pretty late, and he wouldn't be able to finish catching up on his paperwork if he didn't bolt.
The prospect of a day of work didn't dampen Prussia's spirits much, though, and he knelt down to pick up the balloon-anchoring stone, slipping it into his pocket before running towards the stairwell, a sense of satisfaction curled up comfortably in his gut.
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Bang.
The door to the roof burst open, accompanied by a frustrated yell.
Prussia hissed as blinding pain shot up his side, losing his balance and stumbling forwards, a stream of curses tumbling out of his mouth.
Light streamed inside the stairwell, metal giving way to grey concrete and a slight breeze that did nothing to curb the red-hot anger boiling in his gut.
He caught himself on the outside of the stairwell and pressed his back against the wall, his clenched fists causing the rough edges of the anchor stone to dig into the palm of his hand, but that barely registered in his haze of fury and pain as he cursed,
"Fucking beer, fucking bastard, fucking knife in the gut-"
His back suddenly slid down an inch or two against the concrete and his heart did a backflip, but it was easy to weigh his options in the split second he had and it just wasn't worth the effort to keep himself upright.
Prussia eased himself onto the ground with one firm hand on the wall, grunting as another flash of pain- albeit less intense- coursed through his side again at even the slight impact, and he leaned back, letting out a deep exhale as he brought the anchor rock in front of him, twirling it between his fingers as nimbly as he did dinner knives in an attempt to calm his racing heart.
Two days, and the hole in his stomach still hurt like hell.
Prussia closed his eyes and grit his teeth, that spark of anger flaring up again.
Two days.
In his experience, that was usually enough for stab wounds to close over, or at least stop needing stitches.
He let his head fall back against the wall, continuing to fiddle with the stone in his hand and paying no mind to the balloons getting dragged around above him.
Damnit.
He fucking knew he shouldn't have risen to the guy's bait in that bar.
But the bastard had insulted his country to his fucking face- he'd spouted shit along the lines of 'Prussia's better off dissolved' in front of the fucking personification of Prussia- and he just couldn't, couldn't let that go.
The others already gave him more than enough shit about his old kingdom, he didn't need more from humans that knew absolutely nothing about what he was, what Prussia meant to him.
Prussia let his arm fall to his side as he pulled a leg back, his shoe scraping against the roof and the balloons bouncing off the stairwell wall while he pulled up his shirt and looked past his bandages to check whether he'd pulled any of his stitches loose.
He hadn't. Good.
The pain in his side had faded to a dull throb by now, but it gave no relief because the more he thought about it the more his thoughts drifted to just how far he'd fallen, to the point that a mere stab wound reduced him to a mess on the floor.
He exhaled heavily again, dragging a hand down his face.
It'd really been pure luck that he hadn't let slip anything incriminating, what with how drunk he distantly remembered being- or used his nationhood- former nationhood to justify his country not being better off gone, but that was the only piece of silver lining in this whole debacle, as evidenced by the fucking knife wound in his stomach and yesterday's horrible hangover.
Anger started to crawl its way up his chest again, and Prussia narrowed his eyes, running a finger over the stone in his hand.
He must've downed more beer than he remembered.
Enough to absolutely destroy his motor skills and go past being absolutely smashed, because he had to be, to have lost a fight to a middle aged human of all things- and also because he hadn't lost one of his bar fights since… the first five years he'd been here, was it?
Just how pathetic was he, to go from taking on whole armies by himself to losing a one-on-one drunken bar fight against some random guy?
He let out a soft laugh at the thought, craning his head around the corner of the stairwell wall to look at his usual spot on the opposite side of the roof.
It looked so far away.
And as a breeze brushed past, causing Prussia to shiver and pull back, slipping his hands into his pockets he decided that doing his usual routine here would make no difference, ignoring the tiny voice in the back of his mind calling him weak, coward, sissy.
He pulled a hand out of his pocket along with his usual marker and yanked the cap off, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself before reaching blindly sideways to grab a balloon.
His hand closed around a piece of thin string and it was easy to yank a balloon down with it, holding it steady in front of him.
Prussia hesitated to write anything, though, the nib of the marker hovering an inch or so above its surface.
What was something that felt right right now? That fit the complicated crockpot of anger and frustration and bitterness and just everything that'd led up to this?
Wasn't there a saying…? Oh, yes.
How the mighty have fallen.
That'll do.
Prussia smiled, something self-deprecating, hollow and haunting, rarely seen but a smile nonetheless as he scribbled the phrase across the red surface of the balloon.
Very appropriate for the situation he was in, no?
A burst of weak laughter came tumbling out his mouth as he let the balloon go, ignoring the twinge of pain that the movement sent flashing up his lower body to watch the bright blob of color rise higher and higher into the sky.
Dark clouds painted the sky grey, and judging from the rumbling from afar it looked like it was going to rain soon.
Could balloons still fly in the rain?
Prussia didn't know and thinking about it hurt his brain, so instead he put the thought out of his mind, exhaling through his nose before reaching out and grabbing another balloon, leading back against the concrete wall behind him.
It was easier, this time, to grab hold of his spiraling thoughts and write them down, and as cool wind caressed his cheek Prussia blinked at the one word that came out, a bit confused at its simplicity considering just how jumbled his mind felt.
Secrets.
It was something universal, something every single person had and if anyone said otherwise Prussia would happily punch them as he called them a liar to their face because it was practically impossible to be a human and not have secrets- they only differed in scale and topic, really, and not much else.
When the GDR had first been roped into the whole Warsaw pact schtick- Prussia along with it- and Russia had very mistakenly and misguidedly forced them all into the same house, he'd often fantasised about digging up the the bastard's secrets and maybe one day spread them to the world, imagining the other's reactions in an attempt to keep the monotony of living in Russia's old mansion at bay.
No one really knew how Russia's mind worked, not after he'd cracked during his revolutions and for that he thought it could've been a bestseller- if he'd actually dug up anything substantial or bothered to be serious about the idea, that was.
But even if the prospect had ended up a flop, it'd given him something to do besides annoying the shit out of the others and paperwork and the whole thing had been entertaining, nonetheless.
Prussia felt some of his still-present frustration ebb away at the memory of himself sneaking into Russia's office in the middle of the night- half for the adrenaline and half for the files- but always finding nothing.
His mouth curved up into a semblance of a smile as he lamented the fact that Gilbird was too busy off being awesome to be here, but that didn't stop him from releasing his grip on the balloon and letting it float away.
And as he tilted his head back against the wall to look at the two red balloons twirling around each other in the sky among the quiet rumblings of city life down below, he let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding in, realising that the haze of anger he'd come storming up in had mostly faded.
When he again picked up his marker along with another balloon a moment later, Prussia already had something in mind.
He mouthed it out loud, barely audible as he scribbled the word 'grave' onto the balloon, comforted by the knowledge of his promise to himself once upon a time that he'll never die here.
He refused to give anyone that satisfaction.
If Prussia had to kick the bucket it was going to be on the other side of that wall, in his little brother's company and definitely not in this ass-backwards shithole of a country, his every action monitored by Russia.
Not to mention they would probably just dump his body somewhere in Siberia. At least West would give him a proper, awesome funeral- and the sheer contrast between the two made Prussia crack a grin as he practically threw the balloon into the sky, regretting it immediately after when a jolt of pain shot up his side in protest.
After a moment or two of angry hissing and cursing and watching the balloon fly away, he reached beside him to pull yet another one close, idea already in mind.
The fact that capitalist Western media was banned in East Germany hadn't prevented Prussia from getting his hands on any, considering the impressive black market that'd been present since basically the start of the ban.
The spy movies that both sides put out were, well, interesting to say the least.
It was hilarious how much everyone was biased towards themselves.
Prussia couldn't help his surge of amusement, his thoughts starting to drift away from the movies themselves and towards their content as he wrote down 'espionage' on his balloon.
Now, that was an idea.
Technically he could just treat this all as some spy thriller and try sneaking around for secrets, but Prussia wasn't big on the idea of working as a spy for either side of this so-called Cold War.
He wasn't loyal to America, and definitely wasn't to Russia- if he had to be it was only going to be to his non-existent nation and West, but they didn't really need anything from him so he would just be exerting himself for nothing.
Not to mention Prussia didn't actually have any real weapons- no, improvised swords and bats didn't count- everyone was too afraid to give him them or let him have any.
He huffed, rubbing the side of the balloon with a thumb.
Good to know that people still feared his awesome combat skills.
Something cool landed on the hand grasping the balloon, and Prussia looked down to see a tiny droplet of water resting on top of his skin.
He stared.
It wasn't until a moment later that he leaned forwards, tilting his head back to look at the thundering sky as he ran a hand through his hair, blinking at the thin mist of rain starting to come down upon him, more spots of cold appearing on his cheek.
The rain wasn't so heavy yet that Prussia had to seek cover, but realising that his thoughts had wandered off again he immediately let go of the balloon he was holding to grab the last, wanting to finish off before it started to pour.
This time, he wrote down the first thought that came to mind when he thought of everything happening right now- insanity.
Because, if anyone had told Prussia early this century that he'd lose his kingdom, be relegated to a mere state, go through two wars that changed everything, lose his nationhood, have his brother's split and lose a bar brawl to a middle-aged human he would've laughed at them and called them insane, but look at where he was now.
How he hadn't cracked yet Prussia had no idea, but as he released his balloon to join the others high in the sky, the fine, falling water droplets increasing both in size and number, he thought that maybe this was a testament to just how awesome he was.
Brushing off both water and dust, Prussia placed a hand on the stairwell wall as he pushed himself upright with a grunt, staring at the balloons up high, very much out of his reach by now- and he found that he didn't really care.
He held out a hand in front of himself as he pulled his gaze away from the sky, smiling faintly as fat, cold droplets of rain splattered onto his palm, his head, his shoulders.
It might be true that to dwell on the past was to get wrapped up in it, but it was also important to learn from it and move on, yeah?
Even if the moving-on part was a long time away from happening.
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