I felt that this was too poorly-written to post on fanfiction. Like the extensive publishing process there would send me into a downward spiral of pain and depression. So I'm posting it here instead because I don't want it to be one of those things that just sits on my hard drive forever. Woo hoo...! The format got messed up because the format got messed up, so that's why it might look weird.
For once in his life, Prussia was not drunk, hung over, recovering from a hangover, or looking for a drink. No, Prussia was going to his… friend’s house. Yes, he was Prussia’s friend, he supposed. There wasn't another word to call him, so why not? When Prussia arrived in his friend’s capital, he was surprised to see what it was like.
It was clean. Pleasant. People said hello to him as he walked past. Everything and everyone here were so goddamn nice it made Prussia just a little sick. He immediately felt just a little guilty. These people, probably good ones, deserved all the kindness they got in life. He would bet anything half of them knew nothing about the true horrors of war, of politics, of everything needed to make a country a non-disgusting place to live in. Prussia spit into a nearby trashcan (just to, you know, keep the place clean). Work, every day of the best goddamn years of your life for nothing. Toil, to keep your children happy, safe, and healthy. Literal blood, sweat, and tears to be worthy of being called a country. Fight, kick and scream to keep those other bastards away from your land and your people. As Prussia’s bitter thoughts flowed through him, he realized he was on his friend’s doorstep. He slowly pulled his right hand out of his pocket before stopping himself and pulling out the other. He knocked on the door, an interesting thing for him to do.
Shifting from foot to foot, he started to regret coming here. It was for a stupid reason, and he probably wouldn't care. When his friend finally opened the door, hair messy and glasses askew, Prussia was already turning away to walk down the steps. He cleared his throat.
“Oh. You’re here."
“Yeah, sorry, I was taking a nap, and I’m not a very light sleeper,” Canada said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, what’s up? Care to come in?” Prussia opened his mouth to say Nah, just wanted to… but then he realized nothing he said could justify walking away after coming here by two planes and a bus.
“That’d be nice,” he said, a stressed, cracking smile on his face. As they walked through Canada’s house, Prussia couldn't help but notice everything in it. Old books by long-dead writers, antique hand-crafted wooden furniture, and worn out knick-knacks and what-nots on most of the flat surfaces.
“I uh, like you stuff.”
“Thank you. Most people these days don’t really like old stuff.”
Prussia scoffed. “Well, they should. Old stuff is the shit.” Canada gestured to one of the bar stools in his kitchen, then went to go get his coffee. “Uh, how do you like it? Black?”
“No creamer, seven spoons of sugar.” Canada didn't bat an eyelash as he whipped up the coffee. He returned to the other side of the granite counter top, and sat down next to Prussia. Wordlessly handing the albino his coffee, the blonde waited for him to speak. He eventually did.
“Bet you’re wondering why I came here.”
“It doesn't bother me. But it seems like you came here immediately, so it does intrigue me.”
“I… have something to show you. It’s kinda weird.”
Canada snorted. “There are lots of weird things in the world Prussia; you’re just another one of them. Oh sorry, that was a little mean.” Prussia rolled his eyes.
“Man, when you've been through what I've been though, nothing seems mean anymore.” He took a sip of coffee, a deep breath, and slowly
pulled his right hand out of his pocket. Only, it was more like only half of his right hand. From the knuckles in his fingers up, the flesh and bone was shimmering and translucent, like super-fine glitter in a windstorm. Canada didn't react much, blinking slowly and unconsciously pushing his glasses up on his nose.
“What’s happening?” he breathed, his own hands tightening around his ceramic mug. Prussia cackled grimly, an old, tired sound that made Canada shiver.
“You know what I think is happening? People are forgetting. No one knows anything about the Prussia anymore, just the name in front of “blue” and “tape.” Prussia looked down and noticed that Canada was poking hesitantly at his outstretched hand, and he hadn’t even felt it. Anger settled itself even more firmly into Prussia’s stone heart.
“Ha, kails poskails ains par antres indeed. “A healthy one after a healthy one, one after another,” my whole outlook on life, and it’s gotten me to fuckin’ nowhere.” He jumped when Canada’s finger went though the shimmering mass that was one of his. It was like a slight pressure, pushing outward from inside. Prussia hated it, but did not stop him. Canada looked up at Prussia shyly.
“I don’t know what to say to make you feel better, I’m sorry.” Prussia snorted.
"I didn't come to get coddled and cooed at; I just wanted to show someone.”
“So you came all the way here instead of telling your brother or Italy or your other two or three friends?” Prussia shrugged
“I figured you’d be the only one who understood.” Canada smiled, fully wrapping his hand around the former nation’s own half-gone one.
“I have to admit I don’t understand. You've been through so much more than I have, you’re older than me, and you fight tooth and nail for what you want and believe in. I don’t think I’ll ever reach the heights you've managed to reach.” Any other time, Prussia would have yelled faggot and shaken Canada’s hand off. Today, he was feeling pissy and upset and queasy and sad. So he wrapped his other hand around both of theirs and stared into Canada’s eyes.
“Fuck that. Fuck putting yourself down and fuck calling me so great. If I’d really been that amazing, some people would've thought more
than twice about cuttin’ me off the world map. But I do admit I've got experience. Experience is what weighs us all down, and we give that to others to lighten our burden. So now, I will wisely tell you all of my awesome experience-knowledge, so you can pass it down when you’re old and crotchety like me.”
In a very Prussian way, most of his knowledge was given through story telling. To another person, or even nation, it would seem like Prussia was just bragging about himself to Canada. But they understood it better. The intricately woven tales about Old Fritz and the elite Prussian Army and all the wars were how Prussia presented not just his culture, but himself, to the raptly listening ears of the North American nearby. He was giving a piece of his life to Canada, and Canada was gladly taking it.
When Prussia finally finished, three hours later at eleven thirty at night, he wasn't sure what to do. He felt like an overfilled balloon that
finally let out some air. It wasn't a bad feeling, but it left him feeling more than a little bit empty. As he sat, hunched over and depressed-looking, Canada stood up then held out his hand. When Prussia reached out with his left, Canada sharply drew away. With thin, insubstantial, almost non-existent right-handed fingers, Prussia grasped the blonde’s and pulled himself up. Before either of them could
even recover their eyesight from the move, their lips pressed together.
There was nothing romantic about it, but it still meant something. From Prussia’s side, it was a ‘thank you’ and a ‘you’re welcome,’ a question, and a plea. From Canada’s, it was a ‘thank you’ and a ‘you’re welcome,’ an answer and a promise. As they pulled away, not feeling the slightest bit awkward, the blonde lead Prussia up to his bedroom, where they both fell asleep warm, happy and at peace for the first time in a very long while.
And that's how New Prussia was born. Juuust kidding. I don't know anything about history. Prussia was saying a popular drinking toast in Old Prussian, a.k.a. Prūsiskan. It died about, let's say three hundred years ago. On another note, I cannot characterize for the life of me, and I hate it. So much. Like, you don’t even know. Also, PruCan is first-posted Hetalia fic. Woop.