Chapter 1: Wie Jene Will Ich's Wagen
"Nie werd ich bang verzagen,
Wie jene will ich's wagen
Sei's trüber Tag, sei's heitrer Sonnenschein,
Ich bin ein Preuße, will ein Preuße sein."
-Lyric from Preußenlied (English: Song of Prussia)
China muffled his mouth, suppressing a cough. A wave of dizziness overtook him, his vision wavered. He leaned on the wall as his chest ached, a second wave of coughs escaping his dry mouth.
What were his people doing? Well, as of the late, many of his cities have been boosting his rank as the most polluted country, and it wasn't flattering one bit. Paging me for a migraine, thought Yao. The pollution was taking its toll on the old nation, dulling his senses and giving him an appearance that resembled the ghosts one would see in a stereotypical Japanese horror movie.
His once-sparkling eyes have dimmed into a monotone shade and his neatly styled hair may have retained its signature ponytail, but it was sloppily tied with stray strands flying in all directions as if he was struck by lightning.
Nothing can describe his envy for America. The superpower had this uncanny ability to remain cheerful despite the workload he received. For a short period of time, Alfred himself was the most polluted country, with China overtaking just recently. Suicide rates have skyrocketed and, as of the year 2015, he went from the 50th in the countries with the most suicides to the 30th. His country also led the march of highest obesity, eating disorder, and heart disorder rates.
Compare that to China, despite being one of— no, wait, the number one most polluted country, what he had was nothing compared to him.
Breathing deeply, Yao let out a strangled cry of frustration. Bringing up his fist, he punched the nearest object to him— which happened to be the concrete wall. A crack appeared where he hit it, a deep dent leaving its mark. A slight pang of guilt passed through him for the poor and unfortunate janitor. Then again, no one has bothered to fix the defective water sprinklers and the broken ventilation.
"Kesesesesesese..." The faint and distant laugh made him stiffen in surprise. Was he going insane already? Has his age finally caught up with him just as the idiotic Alfred suggested?
China's alertness faltered as he coughed once again, smoke filling his lungs and disappearing as soon as it appeared. The lingering scent of burning plastic was all Yao could smell, and it wasn't flattering one bit. His mouth felt dry as if multiple insects nested in it for weeks. The faint noise of his people's riots echoed in his ears.
Forcing himself to walk in a straight line was hard, but making a sharp turn was harder. Yao collided with the wooden doors to the meeting room, causing a slight shake on its surface. My eye and foot coordination is spot on, aru, he thought bitterly, note the sarcasm.
Voices leaked out from the gap on the door and Yao had second thoughts of entering when the sound of arguing reached his ears. Maybe he should just return home and enjoy a cup of tea and leave those idiots to alone...
I will regret this decision, China thought as his hand reached the doorknob. Turning the handle, he inhaled sharply as he was met with the typical bickering floating around. Irritation evident on his face, he made his way to his seat, an—American invented—swivel office chair.
The pounding in his head continued to burn as he propped his elbows on the table, leaning his chin against his fist.
"THE HERO HAS ARRIVED." The doors slammed open as explosion sound effects flooded the room. All nations ceased conversations as John Cena's Theme Song began playing as Alfred entered the room in all his glory. Groans and the sound of mock clapping occurred once the explosions and music stopped.
Yao sighed in exasperation, envy oozing out of him at the cheerful and flamboyant nation.
How on earth was the nation so cheerful? Come to think of it, China hasn't seen America drop his carefree demeanour. Perhaps he's suicidal for his people and does not care— a horrible nation indeed, then. What kind of a representative does he think he is, aru?
"Alright, I believe ve are komplete," Ludwig proclaimed, "please take your seats as ve shall diskuss our first topik." As he stood up, his powerful German accent-tinted voice echoed throughout the room as the noise, once again, died down as each nation began scampering towards their chosen seat. Some even took out their laptops or notebooks to take down notes.
China, himself, was supposed to host the meeting due to its location in his capital; but, as per usual, Germany took over due to the unbearable chaos that always took place in meetings.
"Our first topik shall be global varming," Ludwig spoke the foreword, "I vould like to start vith the fakt that there is an overuse of fossil fuels and oil." He paused as he gestured to the abundance of coal and containers of oil in front of him; prompting some nations to crane their necks to see. "If any of you have any proposals or presentations on this topik, please raise your hand."
Immediately, an arm rose up as those words left Germany's lips. An ecstatic America grinned proudly as he impatiently waved. England, who had been sitting opposite to America, sighed in exasperation. I'd feel sorry for him, China thought, if he weren't such a whiny brat. Ludwig glanced around the room, pleading for another person to present their 'proposal'.
Giving up, Ludwig sighed. "Alright, Amerika—"
The sound of broken glass cut him off and reverted everyone's attention to the window. A grey blur had broken through it and fixated itself on the opposite wall. A grappling hook, aru? China thought. Groans immediately began resonating around the room at the recognition of that signature entrance.
"I AM AVESOME." A familiar voice proclaimed. Germany face palmed as a growing silhouette began appearing on the window. Gilbert smashed through the building window, a smirk playing on his lips. The albino landed on the head of the table in front of his brother, quickly detaching his grappling hook and belt before striking a pose. Attached to the German's wrists were flashing neon bracelets which appeared to change colour at a fast pace. Yao, along with many others including Germany, sighed in monotone.
"Preußen, how many times have I told you not to gatekrash into meetings?" Ludwig deadpanned, to which Prussia merely let out his signature laugh. So that was the obnoxious noise I heard in the hallway, thought China drily, at least I am not going insane.
"Lighten up, mein bruder!" Gilbert jumped off the table and sat down on his said brother's seat, propping his feet on the wooden table, narrowly knocking off a piece of coal.
Seizing the opportunity to present, America flamboyantly stood up, waving his arms to attract all the nations' attentions. Many turned away and plugged their ears whilst others merely glared or stared at him in a nonchalant manner. Germany's expression held dramatic regret for his own decision as he brought an extra and empty seat next to his brother. "It's the Hero's turn to share his proposal!" The look on his face showed little to no reaction to the bluntly shown boredom and lack of enthusiasm of his fellow nations.
A contagious smile settled itself on Alfred's face. "With the help of my alien friend, Tony, we shall create a cyborg alien soldier army—led by me, of course—powered by hamburgers to stop global warming! The army shall be made with the ability to shift into flying hero drones to vacuum the smoke and pollution away and move it elsewhere! And the best part? I will be forcing—ahem, asking—Donald Trump to pay for all the expenses!" He let out a laugh.
The concluding sentence made a few nations smile meekly and a select few picked up on his contagious yet obnoxious laughter. Except, Yao wasn't part of any of those select few. The sheer volume of the American's voice was enough to send his mind spiralling into tralala. His migraine worsening, China felt annoyance prick through him as Alfred continued to expand his barbaric idea.
"Will you just shut up, aru?" Yao slammed his hand on the table, standing straight up. "That is not going to work, Meiguó!"
"It is, China! Believe me because I'm the hero!" America laughed once again.
"Then—" Cutting off Yao was the sound of Prussia, suddenly, letting out a groan.
His head lolled back before twisting and shifting its weight. Gilbert's white mess of hair collided with the table, his limbs giving way and dropping down. Many panicked screams came forth as blood leaked out of Prussia's lips and he appeared to have stopped breathing.
"That's what he deserves, aru," China wanted to say, but the words quickly died down in his throat and his eyes widened as his brain began processing the events. Was the Prussian really dying? Then, why now and not when Prussia was officially dissolved after the Second World War? Or when East Germany, which he represented after the nation of Prussia's dissolution, dissolved in 1990? Why give the nations time to grow attached on the albino? Why let him live as an immortal despite having no more purpose? Even if Yao despised him for his pranks, he was one of China's biggest trade partners... before he dissolved.
And here he was, finally fading away.
China suddenly felt something sting his eye. A hot liquid threatened to spill. No, he wasn't going to cry. Not now, not ever. This is normal, he tried to comfort himself, plenty of nations and empires have already died before me and I've watched them before with my own eyes.
He could only slump down into his seat and watch from afar as those seated around Gilbert began to scurry around to give the said ex-nation air. Prussia was laid on the table carefully in an eagle position, his face looking up towards the ceiling. His eyes were closed and his smug expression remained.
Hungary, who had been, conveniently, sitting right to Germany's old seat, was busy counting the albino's heartbeat and pulse. A panicked expression on her face, she was making thrusts onto Prussia's chest— as if first aid could help the fallen nation. She ceased her vain attempts and buried her face onto Roderich's shoulder.
"Mon ami, Prusse, you are not dying, oui? Ze you awesome iz not dying!" France was clutching a rabbit foot desperately, his fingers digging into its fur.
"Prussia, y-you're not-a dying, ve?" Italy Veneziano cried, latching onto Germany. Ludwig had his hand covering his mouth, silent tears streaming down his face. His eyes were shut close as his shoulders shook ever-so slightly, as if he was attempting to deny his mourning. What had applied the most salt to many's wounds was that Germany's posture and expression remained solemn. Here Prussia was, dying, and he was still attempting to maintain a strict façade for the sake of others.
Tweet! Tweet! The small sound of chirping did not help the forlorn nations as Gilbird, in all his glory, peaked out from the albino's white hair.
China inwardly cringed at how the small bird appeared to be oblivious to its owner's condition. Many had, apparently, thought this in unison with Yao as a wave of nations merely cried harder or—in Ludwig and a select few's case—turned away and blocked off their ears. Any minute now, the small bird and his kin too would die after their owner.
But why did the small bird look so alive and well, aru—?
Out of the grey, Gilbert's hand shot up and latched onto the first object it struck. His hand grappled onto Austria's forearm— to which the aristocrat let out a hoarse scream of German profanity. The albino's eyes snapped open, revealing his glistening ruby red eyes. As everyone expected him to utter his final partings, they weren't prepared for what did leave Prussia's lips.
"Kesesesese!" He let out his signature laugh. "Your reaktions are gold! I'm too avesome to die and all of you should know that! April Fools!"
Line Break
It was all meant to be a 'harmless' prank as Prussia planned. He'd scare the living daylights out of everybody and he'd 'resurrect' from the dead— awesomely, of course.
He didn't expect for himself to be tackled by the Austrian and hugged fiercely. The wind was knocked out of Prussia as he felt his shirt get soaked with hot liquid. Roderich buried his face on Gilbert's shoulder, as if afraid the said nation would and could disappear at any moment.
"Do not do such atrocious things ever again, Preußen!" the aristocrat sobbed, "I vas so afraid you vere gone!"
Prussia, admittedly, felt a tad bit of guilt for the land-locked nation and the other onlookers. Though their reactions were somewhat amusing, they might have really thought he died. Was his act that believable? I'm just too avesome, Gilbert thought to himself, and my prank vas also avesome! Those words sounded empty as Austria was shoved away and the Hungarian woman pulled his wrist and raised her right hand—
Smack!
"How kould you do such a zhing, you bastard?" Elizabeta seethed and many nations gasped in surprise. The albino held his left cheek in surprise, he was sure a red mark was already developing in midst of the pain. Speechless was all one could use to describe the onlookers as many stood with their mouths agape. Hungary, once again, opened her mouth to speak.
"Ungarn," Germany sharply cut off the Hungarian woman from ranting a sermon, "I know you are overprotektive of mein bruder lest dissol—dea—darkness klaim him," Ludwig's hesitation was noticed by many, "but you must be appreciative that he is still living flesh and bones and not ashes in a jar."
Elizabeta recoiled instantaneously as Ludwig's very own scolding session continued, she then bowed her head in shame.
"This is to prove how important Preußen really is to us," Germany stated before tuning to his brother, "but please do not do anything similar to this ever again." Prussia found himself slowly nodding and accepting the blame of the 'damages' caused by his joke. The avesome me might have vent a little too far, he thought.
Having gotten Feliciano off his arm and having wiped his eyes clean, the ever-so stoic Ludwig began to revert to his strict façade. "Ve shall now resume this meeting," he said.
Prussia returned to his—Germany's initial—seat, guilt beginning to fill his head and, figuratively, his heart. Now I feel unavesome, the albino thought, I should apologise to Vest later. If I vere him, I vould have gotten mad with vorry and panik. Gilbert knows exactly how his brother handles mourning and loss— but, right now, Prussia's the cause of it. Cupping the forgotten Gilbird into his hands, a goal imprinted itself onto his mind as he tucked the small chick into his hair.
He's going to make up to his bruder.
Obedience and orderliness are two things his brother loves— so Gilbert decides to shut his mouth and listen attentively to whatever occurs at the meeting.
The meeting retained most of its carefree atmosphere from before— most. A select few were not as loud as before and kept sending not-so discreet glances at the Prussian. Mild bickering, eventually, began to overtake the silence. Nations began to act as if the prank never occurred— either that or they didn't care, and the latter did not sound particularly flattering.
Twitching in his seat, Gilbert had a pounding urge to join in the noise and preach his awesomeness. Awesome habits die hard, it seemed.
I promised this for Vest, he kept telling himself. He repeated those words as he ducked underneath a flying projectile. A blur of red arched above his lowered head and imprinted itself on the wall. Prussia's eyes immediately tracked the offender. Denmark had laid down a large crate on the meeting table beside the lumps of coal. The albino immediately wondered how the former viking was able to smuggle a crate into the meeting room until Prussia's red eyes met with a certain Spanish country's own green eyes.
"APRIL FOOLS, YE BITCHES." Denmark proclaimed, holding up a tomato. Mathias immediately launched the tomato at France. Francis paused his argument with England to look at the Dane's direction.
Splat!
The tomato coated the lower half of the Frenchman's head and its innards made its way down past his beard and onto his suit. An over-exaggerated look of horror made its way to France's face. "Danemark, 'ow could you do zis?" He reached his hands into the crate and a tomato was launched back onto the offending Nordic.
"You bloody frog!" Arthur swore as Francis smacked his face with a tomato.
"FOOD FIGHT." America proclaimed whilst holding a slingshot—how did he smuggle that? Prussia thought—in hand. Immediately, a few nations ducked underneath the table and some used their chairs as defence. Alfred had launched numerous tomatoes in an instant, many hitting its respective mark.
"Pata, pata, pata!" Veneziano chanted, waving a white flag. A red stain had notably marred its colour as the Italian was hit by numerous tomatoes.
"Food fights were invented in me, da-ze!" South Korea proclaimed, holding up a largely-sized version of the projectile fruit. He threw the tomato— and its unfortunate victim was Japan, who was attempting to dodge all the fruits aimed at him or those that whizzed by him.
Prussia found himself laughing maniacally, only to be hit in the face by a certain American's launched matter. These tomatoes sukk, Gilbert thought as he wiped the remnants of his face, they don't smell nor taste anything good. He concluded the tomatoes were cheaply bought in order to save cash, since they were being used in food fight. I sound like Basch now, the albino realised in horror.
Glancing to his side, Gilbert found his brother doing what he would predictably do— he was attempting to cease the chaos and anarchy among the nations.
"Lighten up, bruder!" Slinging his arm around his brother, Prussia would've laughed loudly at Germany's reaction to his formal suit as it was stained by tomato residue, but it was reduced to chuckles. A weight rested itself on Gilbert's chest and he concluded it to be incredulousness. His brother really needed to loosen up—but not too loose meaning to follow what Prussia did, that was a horrible example that is to never be spoken off ever again.
Somehow—do not ask Prussia how—other nations got their hands on slingshots. Ludwig looked pointedly at America, who was oblivious to his glares, before shoving himself and the Prussian underneath the table protectively.
As Gilbert peaked above the table, he spotted the aforementioned American, South Korea, Denmark, and Australia all in a formation that resembled a protective circle around the tomato crate. They sat on the table and shot everyone at sight with their slingshots. Despite the happy atmosphere within the meeting room, Prussia suddenly slumped down under the meeting table. He knew the initiators of the tomato war meant good intentions but—
The weight in his chest was definitely not guilt nor incredulousness.
Something bad was about to happen, he just knew it. Peaking above once more, the albino did his best to not be spotted by the Quadruple Insane Sling-shooters, as he dubbed them. If Prussia didn't cross the line with his prank, he would've been joining the Quadruple Insane Sling-shooters the moment the tomato war was ignited. Something is off, he thought, the avesome me just feels it.
He could feel Ludwig shaking him in concern, to which Gilbert only reacted with a small whining noise.
The albino felt less energetic than usual. Prussia could practically feel his inner mood swings beginning to exhaust him, with worry for some damn thing that might just be worry if his favourite pizza shop closed down. Slov down, he told himself, just akt enthusiastik as usual but more serious like your bruder, vorry about vhatever-this-is this later.
He was able to witness the last tomato get flung by Denmark—Splat!—and it precisely hit Norway's face, who returned from his long journey to the loo.
An image flashed before Gilbert's eyes and he, for some reason, found himself reminiscing on fond memories of teaching his younger bruder how to hunt. Prussia found himself smiling fondly at the memory.
"Yeah, we rock, dudes!" America high-fived the other members of his 'squad'.
What surprised Gilbert the most was the lack of a distinct scent the tomatoes had for his nose. Do scentless tomatoes exist now? he mentally asked, I should try asking Spain that.
As the nations began coming out of their hiding spots, many were glaring at the initiator of the tomato war—Norway especially—for their ruined clothes and slash or faces, or just the havoc caused in general. "Stupid westerners, aru! You should all clean this up— and you too, South Korea!" China barked before glaring at his fellow East Asian nation.
"Uri nara mansae!" Yong Soo announced, "I shall claim your breasts eventually, donglyo!"
"Everyone, sit down." Germany sighed in exasperation as he stood up. "Ve kan't do anything about that prank anymore, but you four are to be divided and are to clean this up aftervards." The four nations groaned at the punishment. Assigning the Quadruple Insane Sling-shooters to a new seat far from each other, Ludwig rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Prussia sat down onto his claimed awesome 'throne'—which was actually Germany's previous seat—and waited for the meeting to resume. He glanced down the table as the other nations at found nothing too out of the ordinary. Okay, maybe it is something minor such as his favourite pizzeria closing—vait, that isn't minor! Gilbert inwardly gasped dramatically, that is a tragedy!
The albino covered his mouth with a hand lest a snicker escapes due to his absurd yet amusing thoughts.
"If none of you have anymore pranks, let us resume our meeting," Ludwig continued, "If you have a—Gott help us—idea, please raise your hand and you shall be given five minutes to speak and five minutes only."
A hand rose from the opposite end of the table. "I have a proposal, Germany," Belgium called out whilst flickering tomato off her suit.
"Very well, you may speak, Belgium." The German nation sat down on his seat and gave his full attention. Prussia felt the sudden urge to use the loo as Belgium began presenting her project. Glancing at the clock, Gilbert knew a break wasn't to be called for until a few more hours.
"—Fossil Fuels are to be exchanged—" Prussia could not help but tune her out. Gritting his teeth, the albino reached out to his brother. His hand stretched forward, ready to tap the his bruder—
And it went through.
Oh holy scheiße, Gilbert thought as he stared at his hand in horror, recoiling it immediately and staring at it. For a brief moment, his hands and clothes lacked transparency. He didn't make contact with his brother, and he appeared to not have felt anything. Noticing a few nations glancing at him, bemused at his behaviour, the Prussian immediately sat up straight and pretended to ignore them as if nothing happened.
Okay, relax, you're avesome. You're not dying, Prussia attempted to reassure himself.
Attempted.
No fucking way could his body relax.
The futile mantra did nothing to help as a bubbling feeling rose to the albino's chest. He gripped the edge of the meeting table as he felt a hard kick to his chest. "V-Vest... Deu... Deutschland... Germany!" His bruder's head whipped to his direction, concern evident in his face.
Gilbert never calls Ludwig by his country name unless it's a grave situation.
"Preußen? Bruder!" The militaristic nation had panic on his face as he slammed his palms on the meeting table and stood up abruptly.
Prussia was able to catch a glimpse of the face of his fellow nations. Some were at panic mode once again and others were glaring at him. I'm not playing anymore, he wanted to say, this is not a prank! Nothing but incoherence escaped his throat as he attempted to stand up. Pain shot through his legs and he tipped over onto the familiar texture of the wooden meeting table.
"We aren't falling for zhat again." Hungary snorted.
I'm not pretending anymore! Prussia thought desperately as he curled up into a foetal position, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm—so damn—sorry. His left hand gripped at his chest, at the area above his heart. A loud tympani beat rang through his ears, the beating of his heart. Gilbert gripped his hair as the pain in his chest began to fluctuate.
"You're being overdramatik," Austria commented.
Images of the Seven Years War flashed through the Prussian's eyes. This kan't be happening— not yet! I still have Vest to live for! Was he seeing his life pass his eyes already? Impossible, just—
A high pitched and bloodcurdling scream resonated through the meeting room. Tears streamed down Prussia's face as he attempted to sit up. His throat sore, Gilbert realised that it was his scream. A belching sensation bubbled in his throat and he attempted to swallow it but—
Out came his blood.
"...I declare Königreich Preußen as officially dissolved..." The painful memory passed his eyes.
Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it— A wave of nausea engulfed him. It was then did a new batch of fresh blood and stomach acid exit his mouth. The strain on his throat hurt. When he attempted to speak, only blood escapes his lips. The murky red liquid burnt his tongue, but try as he must, no flavour was detected.
He was losing his senses.
"...Berlin Wall construction... Berlin Wall construction..." the voice in his head chanted.
"I'm sorry," he wanted to say, he wanted to scream to everyone— but only the morbid melody of wheezing was produced. There was such a heavy pressure in and on his chest that it made a simple action such as breathing difficult. His breaths came in irregular patterns, all seemingly toxic to his body.
Please—
Then, as if something inside of him snapped, he pounded his fist on the meeting table. I feel as if I'm slipping, slipping from reality, Prussia thought. His body fell into spasms of twitching. The albino flailed his limbs, as if attempting to grasp something, anything. He involuntarily twisted and turned in all directions.
—tell me—
"Forgive us! Don't die now! Gilbert, hang on!" Elizabeta pinned down one of his frantic arms. "I did such a mistake! Don't... die..." She bowed her head, and droplets of tears fell on to Prussia's arm. Frying pan bitch, Gilbert thought, I'm sorry. He's never going to argue with her ever again, he's never going to tease her ever again, he's never going to fight with her ever again.
"No! We should not dissolve Prussia! The hero won't allow it!" The bittersweet image of his best friend defending him passed Prussia's mind.
—I am—
Two strong hands gripped one of his legs and stopped it from twitching wildly. "I 'ate you for your prank earlier and wis' to post all your blackmail on social media, but just say zis is anot'er prank! Please! S'il vous plaît!" Francis begged. No words were heard from Antonio, who was crying silently with a hand covering his mouth. My friends, we were the Bad Touch Trio... So are they now a duo? the dying nation reflected sadly. Gags are to no longer happen together, chaos is to no longer be ignited together, it's just the two of them left now.
—not—
"Drinking buddy, don't you dare die!" Denmark held down the other flying leg of Gilbert. "I, the b-benevolent King of Scandinavia, do not per-permit you to die, peasant...! Please..." His old vigour had been replaced with such a forlorn attitude that Prussia barely recognised him. No more pranks together, no more drinking games together— all gone.
—undone.
"Bruder!" No other words needed to be said as Ludwig held down Prussia's other arm. My bruder, Prussia felt more tears stream down his own face, my almost-as-avesome-as-me bruder who I raised. Burying his fingers into his brother's arm, he tapped with unsteady fingers. He's proud of how powerful his bruder had gotten, perhaps Gilbert does have a legacy. Even if he can't hang out with him anymore, have hangovers with him anymore, share the wurst sandwiches anymore— I'm sorry, mein bruder, he tapped.
"It's okay, bruder Preußen, ve are goi... solu... you..." No, Prussia thought in horror.
Of all senses for fate to rob from me, tears continuously dripped down his face. The noise and havoc around him were beginning to fade, sounds and vibrations refracted away from his ears. All were fading as if some almighty being clicked a mute button on the nations.
At least the last sound he heard was the voice of his brother.
This—
A hoarse cough escaped Gilbert's lips. He wants to see his family's face lest he dies at any moment. His friends, his family, and his goddamn brother. His hazy red eyes moved around the room, light temporarily blinding him. Prussia had covered his ears by instinct, drowning in sorrow at the loss of another one of his senses.
"I'm avesome," he lip synchronised, blood dripping down his lips.
—is not—
"Yes, you're awesome, mein bruder," Germany tapped on his arm. The albino tilted his head and met his brother's teary blue orbs with his own red ones, he smiled at the younger nation.
All around him, the Prussian did a slow observation of each nation's face. Some were crying and were hiding their faces, others were staring with blank and emotionless expressions, and the remaining bunch isolated themselves from those surrounding Prussia, choosing to give respect to those mourning and truly close to the dying ex-nation. I'm happy to know they kare, Gilbert smiled in wavering melancholy, even if they show it just for a little while.
—my kingdom—
He let out a silent gasp as he removed his hands from his ears and felt a small bird pecking against his the back of his hand. Gilbird. A wave of nostalgia hit him. He had not recalled of the small babe bird until it made itself noticed. Is his 'awesome' army of Gilbirds going to just... die? Following the notion of a nation's pet (or pets) dying when its owner does, the poor chicks was probably going to rot away once he himself does. Vithout any sign or varning, he thought sadly.
The small Gilbird had waddled its way to Prussia's face and, as if sensing its owners sorrow, it rubbed its yellow fur on the albino's cheek. My kompanion, Gilbert continued to cry, my friends, my family. I have so much that giving them all up just makes me lose vhat makes the avesome me, me. He cupped the small bird.
—come.
"If you ever dare to drag-a my idiota fratello into your pranks again, you Bad-a Touch Bastards, I ought-a unleash a shit storm of tomatoes on you all—" The vision of an angry Italy Romano passed.
The albino felt his brother squeeze his other hand, as if reassuring he was still alive. Just maybe, just maybe there is still hope for me, the futile thought taunted him, at least I von't die alone. I shall die avesomely.
Do not—
A sharp pain pulsed through his glabella. The patch of skin between his eyebrows was throbbing and—
Gasping for air, the Prussian yanked his arms and shielded his face. Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop! It was as if someone was attempting to gouge his eyes out with a spoon. His legs kicked and slammed themselves on the meeting table. I'm sorry, dear Gott, for the prank earlier! He resisted the concerned nations attempting to wrench his arms away, stay back, please! I don't vant anyone else hurt!
—bring me—
"I am a Prussian, know ye of my colours?" Gilbert had once sang proudly. He winced at the memory, enclosing his face from the public's eye with his hands even more.
What people are there for him to be proud of? What nation is there for him to represent? Why bother continue living if he is nothing more than a memory? The memory of something only to be remembered in history books? Is he just meant to represent all the empires, kingdoms, countries, and every other community that has fallen? Prussia squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to stop his tears.
—to the—
"Bruder, open your eyes, please..." Ludwig had tapped on Gilbert's side. The albino was painfully and unintentionally being oblivious to the pained tone he used. No! I can't shov them! Prussia internally screamed, i-if you see them...
"Please, just show a sign," the tapping paused momentarily and the Prussian's breath hitched, "do not try dying alone, bruder, please." He could feel the desperation in the hard and rhythmic pokes. But... but... he can't bear staring if everything has begun to look the same. He can't bear staring at something he can't appreciate.
—test—
After all, not all darkness house a light.
Prussia attempted to picture his brother and his friends' faces. But, alas, those images began to blur. As if he awoke from a dream, he felt the faces he had and created memories with disappear— just out of his grasp, but dangling provocatively at him. It was tantalising.
He pushed himself to focus, recall, remember the nations, even those he wasn't close with's, faces.
Does this nation have red hair? A face passed his mind. Who was that purple-eyed nation called? And another. Which one of them wore a scarf? And another. What colour did he dare Spain to dye his hair in to, again? One more. Why did what's-her-face cut her hair? And so many more that they caught the albino off guard.
So many faces, yet Prussia treasured them all.
Even if he can't see them anymore. Not now, not ever.
His sore lips wobbled as he felt his bruder tap him desperately. "Open your eyes, punish me with a hundred pushups, prank me with dump green slime, anything!" I'm sorry, I can't, I can't face you like this, you'll hate me—
—but deliver—
"I love you, mein bruder." The small vibrations broke off the Prussian's internal monologue. A fresh batch of tears swelled up in his covered eyes. Slowly, whilst shaking, he dropped his right hand and lifted his left in the direction of the soft jabs. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, he mentally repeated as he clasped onto the muscled arm of his brother and poked his reply.
"I l... love you too, West." How he missed the way he struggled to say his signature word, how he missed being mocked and teased for his accent, how he missed the strict and stoic accent forcing its way out of his tongue, how he missed calling his younger brother the American terminology equivalent of a waistcoat; how he hated how only in his thoughts shall the accent be heard ever again for him. He can't go back to those times anymore.
He can't even deny the thin, silky milk-coloured sheet that coated his eyes.
The arm he grasped was jerked away and Prussia felt himself sit up to face the person press charged. Rough, strong fingers gripped his chin, tilting his head up and proving another lost sense of his as factual. At least he got to see the face of his brother, the faces of his friends, and the face of Gilbird before his... curtain call.
—me—
"Hey, Vest— call me avesome!" He had repeatedly teased Germany; and granted was his request, always.
Bringing up his left hand, he felt around the buff outline of the bruder he loved so much. He found Germany's sleek, smooth blond hair and ruffled it one last time. Just like before. The Prussian's hand dropped to the German's left shoulder and squeezed it. I'm still here, I'm still here, I'm still here, he inwardly reassured.
The albino needed more time. Good Gott, even if it was just another day! He didn't just want to leave! He'll accept it if he has to sacrifice his voice and majority of his five senses! He felt another hand take his own right one, and his brother was tapping another Morse Code message, and Prussia couldn't help but release more tears. Germany, Hungary, Austria, France, Spain, Romano, Denmark, America, England, Switzerland, Cuba, Japan, and so many more. This is the family I have to leave behind.
But I don't vant to go, I don't vant to go. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Forgive me, forgive me. I failed you all. Breathing heavily, he attempted to pacify his mismatched breathing and rapid crying. I can't, I can't, I can't. It's my judgement time. The hour of my death.
"Bruder," Ludwig tapped his palm rapidly, "thank you for everything. My awesome brother, I love y—"
—from evil.
Then, Prussia—Gilbert Beilschmidt's—heartbeat stopped.
Amen.
Line Break
Italy Veneziano heard a loud cry resonate through the room as the Prussian's limbs dropped down, soulless and lifeless. For the first time in decades, Germany publicly broke down. He embraced the body and clutched it mercilessly as if it was his lifeline. "No, he isn't dead. This is just a sekond part to his prank! Right? Right! He's okay! He's sleeping! He's tired and vill vake up to laugh at our faces and reaktions!" He wailed.
It broke the Italian's heart to see his best friend like this. The hysteria in his voice was so... foreign. It had been very scarce for any nation to hear such a different tone in the stoic nation's voice. Through all the hardships and wars, this is what breaks Ludwig. It may even be too much to bear for him.
Gently, a few nations prised him off the corpse. Feliciano gasped in surprise when the weeping Germany latched onto him. As nations, they should've been used to the deaths of humans. But his brother was a nation.
Was.
"Ludwig..." Veneziano whispered as he hugged his best friend tightly. The artistic nation felt strong arms wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. Many nations bowed their heads in mourning whilst Feliciano pulled Ludwig away from his brother's corpse as far as he could. The militaristic nations required support now more than ever. "We'll give-a proper burial, for him-a, yes? Ve! And for-a Gilbird too—"
Suddenly, he was cut off by a familiar voice: China's. "Just shut up already, Meiguó!" He winced slightly at the harsh malice laced with those words. He knew who those words were for: Veneziano's fellow atmosphere-hunting partner, Alfred F. Jones.
"Can you not do anything right, aru? All you can really do is eat like a fat pig and laze around without a care for the world! Have you already forgotten about your debt?" America flinched at Yao's harsh reminder, "do us all a nice favour and stop bullshitting all of us with your 'hero this' and 'hero that'! Why don't you go take a stroll in your grease-infested dreamworld and fall in a deep hole and die in hell! Qù nǐde!"
China huffed at a loose strand of hair off his face. "You fèi wù, useless excuse for a nation, aru!"
"H-he was my best friend—" Alfred weakly attempted. That only served to provoke the Chinese man even more. He glared angrily at the American as the said nation stepped towards him. America attempted to raise his hands in surrender, trying his best to pacify the angered dark haired nation.
"You were probably just pretending to be his friend you freeloader!" The American tried to take a step forward. "Don't you dare come near me!" Alfred froze as he was told when China pointed an object at him.
Gasps rang around as the shocked nations all stared at the object he brandished. He had whipped out a 357 Revolver and was pointing it at America. "Leave!" Yao barked at him; before he turned to the bystanders and waved his gun. "Stay out of this!" Many recoiled at once as they caught the glint in his eyes.
Shivers ran down Feliciano's spine as those very orbs scanned his face, studying, calculating, dismantling him. Those brown eyes held cruelty, they held such stress that could only be caused by drastic suppression.
He was serious.
"Chugoku-san, prease r-rower your gun," Japan pleaded.
"No, I will not listen to you! I called you a brother and all you do is oppose me, aru! I'm sick and tired of you nations freeloading me as if it were nothing!" Bang! A gunshot rang throughout the meeting room. Silence followed it soon after; broken only by the sound of China's heavy breathing. His right arm was pointing the gun in an upward manner, arched in the direction of the ceiling. A warning shot.
"Do not get any closer—!"
"H-hit the dirt, cobbers!" Australia yelled whilst pointing up the ceiling. At his word, nations immediately scurried away to defend themselves and Veneziano protectively shielded Ludwig. He slowly lifted his head to where Jett was pointing at.
The chandelier cord was threatening to snap.
China's bullet had pierced through a few bulbs and nearly cut the cord keeping the chandelier dangling. It rocked back and forth, back and forth, back and forth...
"Vait, vhat about—!" Germany's voice faded within the havoc as the cord went snap! Ludwig had been looking behind him, horror etched onto his face. Nations all around screamed as the chandelier came down. No, Feliciano thought in utter dismay as the contraption had landed on the table—
Right onto Prussia's corpse.
"PREUßEN." The German nation thrashed in Veneziano's arms. He shoved Feliciano back and attempted to go to the soulless Gilbert's body.
"Germania, no!" I can't-a lose you either.
Sparks flew as the chandelier arched down and made contact with the fossil fuels and empty wooden crate. "Where's the damn fire extinguisher?" England screamed as the defective bulbs began sparking. Ludwig was met with a sudden wall of fire and he stumbled back in surprise.
The hot flames grew as it fuelled itself on the flammable objects surrounding it, including the meeting table. The raging flames devoured the fossil fuels and the corpse as if they were nothing more than small strips of paper. Some nations could only watch in shock with horror-filled looks as they attempted to process the events.
Veneziano's head hurt. His (rarely opened) eyes had dilated in shock and it felt as if all the blood left his face. He couldn't move, he couldn't think, he couldn't breathe. His heart was pounding so fast it felt as if it was going to just jump out—
"Friends! Please snap out of it! We have to evacuate, okay? For some reason, the sprinklers aren't working and there aren't any working fire extinguishers!"
Finland's voice had snapped most of the nations out of their trances. The doors to the meeting room were swung open by those sitting near it. Some weak-hearted nations had to be carried out as all of them began to leave the building. "Hurry and do not panic! Someone, call 119!" America ordered as he helped usher the nations out.
Feliciano did not miss the venomous look China gave him as he left.
I want-a to leave too! he initially thought. He wanted to curl up into a ball and wave his white flag. His instincts screamed at him to leave and escape with his fellow immortals. He wanted to follow but he had to make sure everyone was safe.
"Germania, Germany!" he wailed, pushing his way through the wave of escaping nations. He had ripped himself away from shock only to find his best friend rushing into the flames. Oh God, he can't lose anyone else! Even if they, the nations, are immortal, Veneziano wasn't taking any chances. What is-a Ludwig doing? he thought desperately, just don't die, please!
Scrambling to follow the disappearing silhouette, he blocked out the screams of the Nordics and a few others.
The fire had already consumed most of the back part of the room, slowly burning its path towards the doors. Feliciano coughed, dropping down lower to not inhale anymore smoke. Squatting down, he took out his wet, tomato-splattered, and not-so-white flag and covered his mouth and nose. He cringed slightly at the taste and smell. The flames combusted the presentation panel and the powerpoint projector too was consumed by the raging matter.
Red, black, and yellow was all Veneziano could see. Had he done a full circle? Had Germany left already whilst he was searching for him? Was he dead? The last one sent his skin into gooseflesh ('Goosebumps,' as America called them). He wanted to turn back and cower in a corner, he wanted to run away like he always does in danger.
But he won't have anyone to run to anymore.
"GERMANIA, GERMANY, DEUTSCHLAND," he called desperately. He squeaked when he nearly tripped on the wires on the floor. He can't be useless anymore! Feliciano mentally slapped himself, pull yourself-a together! With newfound determination, he smiled in relief as his brown eyes caught a familiar broad outline.
But the smile was quickly wiped from his covered lips at what he saw. The Italian realised he reached the opposite end of the room as Ludwig was sitting in the corner and— that is not-a tomato sauce, Veneziano began praying that his best friend was okay, that he isn't going to disappear like his look-a-like from—
His train of thought was cut off by the sudden roaring of fire. Behind him, incoherent screams were sounding as the fire spread. No turning back now. Shifting into a crawling position, the representative of North Italy began inching his way towards his friend, continuing to cover his mouth with the piece of cloth.
His friend was in a foetal position with his back towards the wall, he was clutching something; but Feliciano can't tell what it is. He was breathing, as shown by his rising and sinking shoulders. His head was bowed down and messy hair was sweaty and hanging loosely, overshadowing his eyes.
"Ludwig!" Veneziano softly tapped the nation. "We have-a to evacuate!"
No response.
Then, that was when he saw what Germany was cupping with his fingers.
A rosary and the dead corpse of Gilbird.
"He's not dead, he's not dead. I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming. Vhen I die in this dream, I vill vake up to him poking me or pouring a bukket of slime on my head," the militaristic nation rocked back and forth, muttering, "his korpse is not on fire and is turning into ashes nor is he dead. Mein bruder is not dead..."
The Italian's back burnt from the heat. Beads of sweat had began pilling up on his damp suit's backside.
"Ludwig, please. We have-a to evacuate."
"Mein bruder is not dead. I'm also dreaming of you, aren't I, Feli? You're part of my messed up dream."
"Ludwig!" Feliciano cried as he grasped the right shoulder of the German, "we have-a to go! I know you want-a to mourn, but he will-a not like it if you-a died or got maimed here!" Just please-a go with it! You have so much to live-a for!
He finally got a response. "I— you're right..." Ludwig lifted his head, revealing his tear-stained face, "I h-have to live for mein bruder! H-he vants me to live a good life!" He tucked the dead bird and the rosary in his breast pocket.
"Ve! But it would be-a great if we leave-a now, yes?" With all his might, he ripped the cloth in half. He handed one side to the Germanic nation, who smiled in appreciation. "The fire is-a spreading, so we have to-a crawl fast!" Ludwig must be-a proud! I'm learning how to take-a care of myself! But... is he not handling this-a little too well?
"A-alright..."
With all the luck and prayers, the duo had successfully crawled their way through the antagonising funnel within the burning room. The fire was just a hairsbreadth away from touching the (good grief) wooden doors, but they opened inwards and if they open them...
They'd have to run.
"On the kount of three, ready?" Veneziano slowly nodded. "Eins, zwei, drei!" Germany pulled the door with all his might, fanning the flames due to the wind pressure. Immediately, the two broke off into a sprint— relying purely on their adrenaline rushes. The Italian, now partially relieved, let his eyes close— relying once again on his echolocation.
Behind them, the fires continued to rage on. The corpse of the once-great personification named Gilbert Beilschmidt had been diminished into ashes. As the fire raged on, it left nothing but destruction as it began spreading beyond the meeting room. Its hot tendrils were threateningly close to the buildings beside it and—
The ceiling caved in.
FOOTNOTES
"Paging me for a migraine..." Wordplay time! It's a pun for Beijing, the capital of China. I'll leave the rest to your imagination, hah.
PRUSSIA'S DISSOLVING: It is stated in the KitaWiki that Prussia represented the Teutonic Knights, the Kingdom of Prussia, and East Germany. Majority of the authoresses agreed to not make him represent anything else besides the aforementioned (the Eastern regions of Deutschland). Meaning: He was just a personification of nothing who stubbornly refused to die. Ja, East Germany dissolved in 1990 (or 'unified' with West Germany).
"France was clutching a rabbit foot...": In France, it is a superstition that holding a rabbit foot or keeping one in your pocket is good luck. Ahhh, je suis désolé, Francis, it had to be done.
"...the small bird and his kin too would die after their owner..." It's a headcanon we authoresses have which state that a nation's pet (or pets in Prussia's case) are immortal unless the personification dies.
"Out of the grey..." Ah, the magic of wordplay. There is a German saying known as 'alles grau in grau malen' meaning 'to paint everything grey with grey'. It's a figure of speech meaning pessimism.
""Pata, pata, pata!" Veneziano chanted..." Pata is Japanese onomatopoeia for 'wave'. In the anime, Veni-chan chants that every time he waves his flag.
"Ducking back underneath..." And we are Bach to the puns! /dodges brick/
"Please—tell me—I am—not—undone. This—is not—my kingdom—come. Do not—bring me—to the—test—but deliver—me—from evil. Amen." The Teutonic Knights were, ahem, Roman Catholic... so I made our dear Preußen pray one last prayer.
"...share the wurst sandwiches anymore.." Homophone, wurst and worst. BA DUM TSS— /hit in face by brick/
"The hour of my death." A reference to the Hail Mary prayer.
"...relying once again on his echolocation." Ladies and gentlemen, Italy Veneziano cannonly says 'Ve~!' and other verbal ticks as echolocation since he has his eyes closed all the time.