All That Useless Jewelry [1/1]
Title: All That Useless Jewelry
Series: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Prussia/Hungary
Rating: PG13
Status: complete
And So...
For a long moment, Prussia stared at her before stubbing out his cigarette on one of the plates they'd just washed. “The one who got us-look at me, for fuck's sake.” He waited for Hungary to meet his eyes. “The one who got us into this god-forsaken 'mess' blew his own brains out in Berlin. Don't blame Ludwig for this bullshit. You know those men tricked him and he ain't ever gonna be the same, Lizzy.”
Notes: A gift for sapphire_hime. Title taken from an OkGO song, the title of which escapes me at the moment.
All That Useless Jewelry
1943
“He is a devil marching through Eastern Europe, that boss of his a tyrant on his heels.”
America clucked his tongue. “You're being dramatic-Russia's not that bad of a guy, so give it a rest.”
“Are you absolutely mad? Of course you are, what am I even saying.” Patiently, England pinched the bridge of his nose before taking a deep breath, bushy eyebrows furrowed together like one giant caterpillar. “America. I know you two had an amiable past back when he was still an empire-and God knows why-but he's not the same nation any longer. He's changed, and dramatically at that.”
A sigh. “Look, England. I've got this hunch that Russia isn't the kinda guy you're making him out to be. Did you ever hear of the saying that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar? If I give Russia what he wants and ask for nothing in return, I know he won't try to annex anything that isn't rightfully his.” America clapped England on the shoulder with a broad, firm hand and a grin just as strong. “And we'll all work together for a world of democracy and peace.”
England stared.
It was difficult, some days, to decide if Russia or America was the crazy one in all of this.
On the one hand, he could call America a bloody git and storm out of the office, returning later with a list a mile long of reasons why they shouldn't trust Russia. And, in doing so, England would possibly earn the ire of his closest ally who just happened to have had a hundred-year-old fling with their other so-called ally who was the size of a Scottish manor.
It was simply not worth it.
Gingerly, England removed America's hand from his shoulder. “Let's have a drink, shall we?” He smiled thinly, because frankly there was little else he could do.
1945
“The state of Prussia no longer exists.”
“Yeah, yeah. So get it over with already. These cuffs are killin' me.”
America stared down at him, eyes hard and unblinking behind his dirty glasses. “You know what this means, don't you?”
“I said do it, you piece-a-shit.”
He pulled the trigger of the Colt .45. And nothing happened.
“What?” Click. Click. Six clicks and still nothing.
From his spot against the wall, England snorted. “I bloody well told you, didn't I?”
“But I don't understand, I just--”
“Mon petit Américain; you cannot simply kill Prussia. Believe us, we have tried oh so many times.”
“Can you get these fuckin' cuffs offa me now?” Prussia wiggled in the chair. “They're chafin' my wrists.”
“So what are we going to do with him?”
“I'm more concerned with what we're going to do with his brother, frankly.” England's eyes glanced to the prone body chained to a chair, unconscious with blood matted through blond locks. “I can't take him; I've hardly the funds to rebuild London let alone Berlin.”
France smiled in the way a cat smiles at a mouse with three legs. “I could take care of him; it would be fun.”
“No,” America said sharply. “I don't think that's a good idea.”
“I think he would enjoy a stay at my house, yes?” A silver lighter rolled over each one of Russia's fingers, back and forth, back and forth. “I have many spare rooms--”
“Fuck you, you fuck. You're not getting shit.”
“America--”
“Now, now, Comrade. Don't forget Yalta.”
“I'm taking Germany. That's final.”
Sighing, England rolled his eyes to the heavens. “America. It pains me to say this, but Russia is entitled to something.”
“We could perhaps split custody, yes?”
America snorted. “Like hell we could.”
“I'll go.”
Four sets of eyes turned to Prussia. “What?”
“I said I'll go with Russia.” He flexed his hands under the cuffs, willing the blood back into his fingers. “I'll be a stand in. Don't have much going on for myself at the moment anyway.”
France frowned. “Prussia, are you certain?”
“It does not matter if he is certain or not.” Standing, Russia slid his chair back with a deafening screech. “It is a deal. That is, if Comrade America--”
“Don't call me that.”
“--agrees to it.”
Prussia watched as America flexed his jaw, staring Russia up and down. Like two dogs after a piece of meat from the garbage. “Fine. You take Prussia, I'll take his brother.”
“Wonderful. We shall go sign the papers now, yes?” Russia smiled like a wolf, leading America from the room in a static, icy wake between them.
A moment of silence passed before England spoke, arms crossed and shoulders stiff. “You, Prussia, are about to enter a world of pain.”
“Yeah, yeah; I've had worse. Just do me a favor will ya?” He nodded to his unconscious brother. “Don't tell him about me until you absolutely have to.”
England's eyebrow lifted at that. “I don't believe I owe you any sort of favor, no matter how small.”
From somewhere behind his left shoulder, Prussia heard France chuckle. “Angleterre, let's at least grant a dying nation his last wish.”
1947
“Russia took all of my good silverware. And the hair pin Roderich bought for me.”
“Bought for you with America's money, no doubt.”
Hungary couldn't argue with that.
“Guess you got off easy.” Prussia blew a thick line of smoke. “Russia relocated all my factories and shit to his house. I'm out of a job.”
Handing him another sudsy plate, Hungary snorted softly. “You've never done a day of work in your life.”
“Hey, I'm helping you with the dishes, what more could you possibly want?”
“And he took almost all of my jobs too. I guess I was just trying not to think of it.”
“Hmph.” Prussia rinsed the final saucer, setting it on the tiny wooden rack to dry. “I think we're all in the same situation.”
“You're closer-physically, anyway-to America and France and England than anyone else. Do you think if I mentioned, about the silverware or at least the hairpin--”
“Lizzy. Just stop.” Prussia glanced over at her, eyes hard yet pleading. “You know what they're gonna tell you.”
“As you make your bed, so you must lie in it. Like we even had much of a choice,” Hungary muttered. She blew a stray lock of hair from her face. “Have you seen your brother lately?”
“Couple months ago. Looked like shit; still had his arm in a sling and was walkin' with a limp.”
Some semblance of satisfaction bloomed in Hungary's chest at that. “Good,” she whispered, crossing her arms. “Good.”
“The fuck'd you just say?”
“He's the one that got us into this mess.”
For a long moment, Prussia stared at her before stubbing out his cigarette on one of the plates they'd just washed. “The one who got us-look at me, for fuck's sake.” He waited for Hungary to meet his eyes. “The one who got us into this god-forsaken 'mess' blew his own brains out in Berlin. Don't blame Ludwig for this bullshit. You know those men tricked him and he ain't ever gonna be the same, Lizzy.”
“And somehow he's fortunate enough to miss out on Russia's ensnarement.”
“Hey, that was my fukkin' choice, and don't forget that Ludwig was against it too. Never heard him scream so much in all the years I've known him.” With a slight shake in his hand-so slight that only someone who had watched his hands for centuries would notice-Prussia lit himself another cigarette. “If you think things are any better for Ludwig on his side, you're wrong, Lizzy,” he grumbled, “damned wrong.”
Beside them, the tea kettle rattled and whistled, Hungary jumping. She'd forgotten about it. It wasn't until she'd poured them each a cup of the weak brew, sitting at the cramped kitchen table, that Hungary spoke again. “What are they doing to him, exactly,” she asked softly. Curiosity had gotten the best of her, as usual.
“America ain't giving him as much food as he needs and won't talk to him at all-and I really liked that kid too, back in the day.” Prussia stared out of the small kitchen window, eyes distant. “And Francis... Francis has him digging up mines with his bare hands.”
Whatever satisfaction was left in Hungary's heart drained in an instant. “I had no idea.”
“Yeah, well.” Prussia gave half a shrug. “Ludwig doesn't talk about it much. I think that... I think that he believes he deserves it. He ain't gonna be right in the head for a long, long time.”
Something in Hungary's stomach flipped over. She grabbed her tea, forcing it down her throat, burning her tongue.
Purssia's eyes lingered on the window for a minute more before returning to Hungary, the barest glint in them. “Hey.”
“What?”
Prussia grinned. “Remember when we were warriors?”
“...every day.” It was true, down to her very bones.
That grin widened. “I still love you like I did back then.”
“I still think you're an idiot who talks too much.”
And that was true, too.
1956
There had been elections-not just for her; Poland, Lithuania and others had them too. But she could feel something wrong about them, something wrong when the results came in. Hungary could feel Russia's hand around her heart. His hands had always been so cold.
And then it was like he'd taken a magic needle and thread, sewing a single stitch in her heart that went all the way back to Moscow. Through this stitch he moved her arms and legs and eyes. Everyday the feeling grew and itched at her. Hungary found herself scratching at the tops of her hands and feet, places where a marionette's ropes would be tied. Itch, itch, itch; scratch, scratch, scratch.
She snapped.
Hungary snapped, and paid the price.
“Jesus, look at you.” Prussia nearly dropped the cigarette from his mouth, eyes roaming up and down Hungary's body. “How the hell are you even standing up?”
“You shouldn't be here,” Hungary's voice rasped out. It hurt just to speak. “I'm fine.”
“The hell you are.” With just a glance over his shoulder, Prussia pushed his way into the house, bolting the door behind him. “Get back to bed; I'm gonna make halászlé.”
There was simply no energy left in her broken bones to protest, so Hungary slipped back to her room, gingerly laying on the duvet. Her eyes must have slipped shut, for when she opened them again, Prussia was shaking her gently, bowl of soup in his hands.
“Hey. Eat just a bit now, the rest later.” He helped her sit up. “I went through alotta shit to get this, so don't waste it, you hear?”
Hungary mumbled her thanks and took the offered meal-fisherman's soup, her favorite. Quietly she ate, not offering protest when Prussia clambered behind her to rub circles on her back. “Thank you,” she said, finally sated. “I guess I needed that more than I knew.”
“No problem. So.” Prussia pulled at the neck of Hungary's shirt, peeking at her bruised skin. “What's the damage?”
“Some broken ribs, concussion is gone though.”
“Looks like you had a black eye.”
“I did.” Hungary let her head loll forward, enjoying Prussia's hands. “Not as bad as the one Turkey gave me in the 1600s though.”
“What the hell happened here? There's been whispers, about a revolution--”
“Failed revolution,” Hungary corrected. “It's over and done.”
A soft snort. “I love that out of all of us, you're the one with the balls to revolt.”
“I wouldn't recommend it to you.” Hungary smiled weakly over her shoulder. “Hurts like hell the next day.”
“Hmmn.” Prussia's hands wandered up and down her back, blissfully. “Is it awful that I'm incredibly attracted to you right now?”
“Probably. I need to lie down...”
“Sure.” Prussia helped Hungary to the bed, bringing the blanket up and lying beside her without even asking. “I can't stay much longer.”
“I know. You've done more than enough.”
Prussia's sigh tickled the hair at the back of Hungary's neck, and slowly his arm came to drape over her waist. “I want to kill that fucker.”
Hungary opened her mouth, then closed it, pausing. “No,” she said slowly, “you want to kill the one pulling his strings. We all do.”
“Fuck.” Prussia nosed into her hair. “You know the first thing Russia said to me, years ago after the four of them split shit up? Said that America'd leave Europe in two years, then we'd undermine England's authority. We, as if he and I are such good buddies. Can you believe that?”
The smile on Hungary's face couldn't be helped. “I suppose he's been wrong about a lot of things, hasn't he?”
“I bet you stormed into his office and tried to smash his face with a frying pan.”
“How do you know me so well?”
A slight chuckle, low and just a bit lunatic like always. “It's 'cuz we were warriors together-Teutonic and Magyar. Shields and swords,” Prussia whispered, hand tightening on Hungary’s hip. “We were badass warriors, Lizzy, and don't you ever forget it.”
Hungary took a shaky breath, eyes stinging and staring at the far wall. “I don't feel like much of a warrior these days.”
“You'll always be one in my eyes. Always.”
1961
“He made a wall.”
Hungary frowned, staring at the phone. “A what?”
“A fucking wall, goddamnit!” There was the sound of something shattering into a a thousand pieces.
“Gilbert,” Hungary said to the angry panting over the line. “Gilbert, what are you talking about?”
“There's a huge wall, right down the middle, east and west.” A long, slow exhale, and the sound of a lighter. “He's West, I'm East.”
“I don't understand.”
“Listen, just-just forget it. Can I come see you?”
“I thought you were busy with--”
“Elizaveta. This might be the last time I have a chance.”
Hungary's skin went cold.
“If he can take away my brother, he can take away anything.”
Hungary swallowed, winding the phone cord around her finger. “I'll be here all week.”
A sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
The line went dead.
“I thought the worst day of my life was when those assholes declared that I didn't even exist anymore. But this,” Prussia nodded, stubbing out his cigarette, “this trumps it.”
“I am so sorry.” Hungary set the dirty dishes in the sink; they could be cleaned later. “I can ask Roderich for updates about Ludwig, if you'd like.”
“Yeah. Yeah, if he's not too busy rolling around in America's cash.”
“You know that's not how it is,” Hungary sighed, feeling a headache coming on. “Most of it has to be paid to Russia for reparations anyway.”
“I know.” Prussia ran his fingers through his hair, always fidgeting. “Hey, c'mere.”
Hungary eyed his outstretched hand suspiciously. “What is it?”
“It's just that I love you. And I know you're supposed to hit me with a pan or punch me in the nuts for saying it, but tonight I just can't handle it.”
“Gilbert--”
“I've loved you since we both wore armor, since Turkey locked you in his palace, since your bosses gave you to Austria, since we marched into Paris-both times-and today and yesterday and tomorrow. And I know I ain't the best guy, I ain't charming or any of that bullshit and I don't give you all that useless jewelry. But I still remember you with blood and mud in your hair at Waterloo and thinking that there's never been a more awesome girl in the world. Just... so you know.”
All Hungary could hear in the kitchen was the sound of her heart beating like thunder in her ears.
“Gilbert,” she said cautiously. “That is probably the stupidest and nicest thing you've ever said to me.”
“I'm gonna interpret that as a compliment.”
Hungary took his hand, slowly, delicately, folding her dress to sit on Prussia's lap. “You're still the same idiot whose face I smashed in all those years ago, aren't you?”
“I thought that was just how you flirted,” Prussia smiled, eyes exhausted, wrapping an arm about her waist.
“I think it may be.”
Hungary kissed him slow and fierce, with as much power as her fist.
1989
“It's killing him. Not being able to see Ludwig.”
“I would suspect as much. He's always been emotional.” Austria pushed his glasses up with one finger, eyes going cross from staring through the chain fence. “And protective of Ludwig, ever since he found him.”
“Found him?”
“You never asked? I'm certain he'd tell you, of all people.”
Hungary shook her head. “I know. That's why I never brought it up.”
“Well, it's really not my story to tell. But Ludwig's doing better these days, if it's any consolation to inform Prussia of that. I believe Ludwig and America are on the track to being good friends. France will take some time, naturally, and I think England's coming around in small increments.” Austria leaned his back against Hungary's, the fence an uncomfortable barrier between them. “He even baked Ludwig a cake.”
“England may have been trying to kill him, in that case.”
“True enough.” Austria groaned bitterly. “I miss your cooking; I keep burning the roasts.”
“I'm sure your kitchen is nicer than mine. My stove and refrigerator are so horribly outdated.”
A wry smirk crossed Austria's face. “Well, you should just come over around four and we'll eat by six.”
Hungary was silent for a long moment. “Okay,” she said softly.
“What?” Austria started, turning. “What did you--”
“Okay. I will come over and cook, and,” she licked her lips, “if all goes well-with the cooking-we shall do it again and have a, a picnic.” Hungary turned, looking at Austria with a steely determination in her eyes. “And we shall invite Gilbert.”
“I...” There was no waver in Hungary's gaze, so Austria squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. “Yes, I think that is a splendid idea. To have dinner.”
“I should go get my wire cutters. For the dinner.”
“And I should purchase some pliers. For the dinner, naturally.”
“Maybe we could meet back here in an hour and... exchange recipes.”
“What a marvelous idea. But, I don't think my cooking book will fit through these holes,” Austria sighed dramatically.
“We'll just have to make some bigger holes then, won't we?”
“It is a very, very large book.”
A bright smiled blossomed across Hungary's face. “I know it was never our choice, but some days I am overjoyed that I married you.”
“You'll always be my number one girl.”
“Ugh,” Hungary laughed, “you need to stop watching America's movies!”
“I've an addiction, it can't be helped.” With a glance left and right, Austria reached his fingers through the fence, Hungary able to just touch the tips of them. “This will work. It will.”
“Please find your largest cook book, Mr. Edelstein.”
“But of course.”
A few months later, Hungary was stepping out of her house, a large basket stuffed with food on her arm when she stopped in her tracks and almost died on the spot.
Russia waved from the sidewalk, smiling. “Hello, Miss Hungary. Where are you going, if I may ask?”
Cold fear clutched at her heart; she touched the doorknob lightly to ground herself. “A picnic,” Hungary said, forcing any waver from her voice. “Just a lunch outside.”
“It is a lovely day for it, yes?” Russia shielded his eyes from the sun. “I am on my way to my sister's house and thought it would be a nice walk.” When he removed his hand, Hungary noticed how much more tired-exhausted-Russia's eyes seemed then when she had last seen him.
“I... tell Ukraine I send my regards, please.”
“Certainly. Enjoy your picnic.” Russia turned away.
Her heart leaped in her ribcage, but Hungary had to know: “Will you be joining us?” she asked softly, unsure if he could even hear.
Russia froze. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the air growing chilly despite the sun. Slowly, he turned, plastic smile still affixed to his face. “I am afraid I am rather tired. I will have to pass.”
“I see. Good day, then.”
“Good day, Miss Hungary.” Russia left.
Hungary fell against the door, sliding down to the ground as her knees gave out.
There was a spread of delectable food-most of it bought by Austria, but Hungary would repay him someday-and sunshine and crisp air and a flood of East Germans flocking across the border. All in all, it was a perfect picnic. And, as picnic baskets required even larger holes than cook books, even more of the fence had to be taken down.
Austria bit into an apple, thoughtfully gazing at the people traipsing through the open border as if it weren't even there at all. “So he's really not going to stop this, is he?”
“I asked him. He said he wouldn't be joining us, so take that as you will. I wonder what's keeping Gilbert, though.”
“He's always late, you know that.” Rising from the blanket, Austria stretched his arms high into the midday sun. “I'm going to the store to purchase some Coca-Cola in the name of Austria-Hungarian friendship.” He winked-winked! Honestly, too many of America's movies were infecting his brain-and Austria retreated from their hill.
Normally, Hungary loved to lie back and watch the clouds, but today she couldn't tear her eyes from the ground. People were filing through the border, Austrian and Hungarian guards looking on with bemused expressions as it became clearer and clearer that no Russian troops were running to stop this. East Germans who had been on vacation in Hungary flocked to the border in droves for a chance to be free like birds suddenly released from a cage.
“Elizaveta.”
Hungary started and turned. “Gilbert?”
He nodded, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Prussia seemed nervous, and ridiculously so.
“Oh, I'm so glad you made it!” Swiping at the grass stains on her knees, Hungary rose from the blanket with a brilliant smile. “Did you see? Did you see all the people rushing to meet relatives in the West? Gilbert, you can see Ludwig again, do you understand?”
The tension in his shoulders relaxed. “This is real, then. It's happening.”
“Just for today,” Hungary replied softly. She reached out and took his hand, bringing it to her cheek. “Go to him while you still can.”
Prussia took a step forward on the blanket, then another until their foreheads were touching. Hungary had only ever seen him do such a thing with his brother before they were split apart. “Thank you,” he whispered, voice hoarse. His rough thumb rubbed at the swell of Hungary's cheek. “I swear I'm gonna repay you someday.”
“Gilbert. There is nothing to repay.”
Prussia crushed her to his chest, embrace like a vice. “I will always love you for this.”
“Go to him,” Hungary said, lips against a pale neck. “Quickly.”
When Austria returned an hour later, Hungary was alone and on her back, staring up at the clouds.
1990
“What's going to happen to you now?”
Hungary's voice was so soft behind him that Prussia almost missed it. “Dunno. Have a seat.” He lit a cigarette and patted the bench beside him, Hungary accepting his offer. “Guess I'll live in Ludwig's basement or something. Start a rock band now that I've got all this free time.”
“Gilbert. I'm serious.”
Prussia kept his eyes forward on the gate, not wanting to see the look on Hungary's face. “I'm not too sure. Ludwig... he's not the same brother I remember having, though I guess I'm a little different too. Still awesome, of course, but just awesome in different ways.” A shrug. “But we're brothers, no matter what, and I still love him. Even though he can be a dick sometimes.”
“Are you... are you going to be here still?”
“Of course I am,” he lied. “But if I ain't around one day, there's a place you can find me.”
“And where is that?” Hungary's voice sounded stiff and she choked on the last words.
“A bar. A brauhaus with books and good beer and the best food and nice chairs. Rome and Gramps and Greece's mother are there; I've been once or twice, but I always get drunk and kicked back out on the street.” He put his hand atop Hungary's, rubbing over her knuckles. “You can find it in London and Berlin, Budapest and Madrid. Lots of places; you'll know it when you see it. Turkey's been there once, Spain when he's in a mood, and England loads of times when he wants. I'm sure one of those guys could help you out.”
“Okay.”
“Just don't go too much, yeah?”
“I don't want you to die.”
They watched the gate, watched the people trickling in and out freely. Like the picnic all over again.
“...You know, I always wanted a pretty girl to cry over me if I went. Now though, I'd rather if you didn't.”
Hungary took a shaky breath, but said nothing.
“Hey. Let's go for a walk.” Standing, Prussia, offered her his hand. “C'mon.”
Wiping at the corners of her eyes, Hungary took his hand, willing her eyes to stay dry for a few hours more.
Notes:
Ki mint veti ágyát, úgy alussza álmát. Hungarian saying for “You made your bed, now lie in it” and all permutations.
1943- At this time, Churchill was more than wary of Stalin, but FDR still thought he might be an okay guy. Swear to God, he actually said that stuff about Stalin helping to spread democracy: Miscamble, Wilson D. (2007), From Roosevelt to Truman: Potsdam, Hiroshima, and the Cold War, Cambridge University Press, ISBN 0521862442
1945- Perhaps I can interest you in some Yalta readings?
1956- Hungarian Revolution; a veritable powder keg after WWII
1961- Berlin Wall goes up
1989- Hungary and Austria open up their border, allowing thousands of East Germans on vacation to flee to the west. Russia is pretty much too... tired, for lack of a better word, to do anything about it. And yes, there was a picnic, you can't make this shit up.
1990- Brandenburg Gate opened
Series: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Prussia/Hungary
Rating: PG13
Status: complete
And So...
For a long moment, Prussia stared at her before stubbing out his cigarette on one of the plates they'd just washed. “The one who got us-look at me, for fuck's sake.” He waited for Hungary to meet his eyes. “The one who got us into this god-forsaken 'mess' blew his own brains out in Berlin. Don't blame Ludwig for this bullshit. You know those men tricked him and he ain't ever gonna be the same, Lizzy.”
Notes: A gift for sapphire_hime. Title taken from an OkGO song, the title of which escapes me at the moment.
All That Useless Jewelry
1943
“He is a devil marching through Eastern Europe, that boss of his a tyrant on his heels.”
America clucked his tongue. “You're being dramatic-Russia's not that bad of a guy, so give it a rest.”
“Are you absolutely mad? Of course you are, what am I even saying.” Patiently, England pinched the bridge of his nose before taking a deep breath, bushy eyebrows furrowed together like one giant caterpillar. “America. I know you two had an amiable past back when he was still an empire-and God knows why-but he's not the same nation any longer. He's changed, and dramatically at that.”
A sigh. “Look, England. I've got this hunch that Russia isn't the kinda guy you're making him out to be. Did you ever hear of the saying that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar? If I give Russia what he wants and ask for nothing in return, I know he won't try to annex anything that isn't rightfully his.” America clapped England on the shoulder with a broad, firm hand and a grin just as strong. “And we'll all work together for a world of democracy and peace.”
England stared.
It was difficult, some days, to decide if Russia or America was the crazy one in all of this.
On the one hand, he could call America a bloody git and storm out of the office, returning later with a list a mile long of reasons why they shouldn't trust Russia. And, in doing so, England would possibly earn the ire of his closest ally who just happened to have had a hundred-year-old fling with their other so-called ally who was the size of a Scottish manor.
It was simply not worth it.
Gingerly, England removed America's hand from his shoulder. “Let's have a drink, shall we?” He smiled thinly, because frankly there was little else he could do.
1945
“The state of Prussia no longer exists.”
“Yeah, yeah. So get it over with already. These cuffs are killin' me.”
America stared down at him, eyes hard and unblinking behind his dirty glasses. “You know what this means, don't you?”
“I said do it, you piece-a-shit.”
He pulled the trigger of the Colt .45. And nothing happened.
“What?” Click. Click. Six clicks and still nothing.
From his spot against the wall, England snorted. “I bloody well told you, didn't I?”
“But I don't understand, I just--”
“Mon petit Américain; you cannot simply kill Prussia. Believe us, we have tried oh so many times.”
“Can you get these fuckin' cuffs offa me now?” Prussia wiggled in the chair. “They're chafin' my wrists.”
“So what are we going to do with him?”
“I'm more concerned with what we're going to do with his brother, frankly.” England's eyes glanced to the prone body chained to a chair, unconscious with blood matted through blond locks. “I can't take him; I've hardly the funds to rebuild London let alone Berlin.”
France smiled in the way a cat smiles at a mouse with three legs. “I could take care of him; it would be fun.”
“No,” America said sharply. “I don't think that's a good idea.”
“I think he would enjoy a stay at my house, yes?” A silver lighter rolled over each one of Russia's fingers, back and forth, back and forth. “I have many spare rooms--”
“Fuck you, you fuck. You're not getting shit.”
“America--”
“Now, now, Comrade. Don't forget Yalta.”
“I'm taking Germany. That's final.”
Sighing, England rolled his eyes to the heavens. “America. It pains me to say this, but Russia is entitled to something.”
“We could perhaps split custody, yes?”
America snorted. “Like hell we could.”
“I'll go.”
Four sets of eyes turned to Prussia. “What?”
“I said I'll go with Russia.” He flexed his hands under the cuffs, willing the blood back into his fingers. “I'll be a stand in. Don't have much going on for myself at the moment anyway.”
France frowned. “Prussia, are you certain?”
“It does not matter if he is certain or not.” Standing, Russia slid his chair back with a deafening screech. “It is a deal. That is, if Comrade America--”
“Don't call me that.”
“--agrees to it.”
Prussia watched as America flexed his jaw, staring Russia up and down. Like two dogs after a piece of meat from the garbage. “Fine. You take Prussia, I'll take his brother.”
“Wonderful. We shall go sign the papers now, yes?” Russia smiled like a wolf, leading America from the room in a static, icy wake between them.
A moment of silence passed before England spoke, arms crossed and shoulders stiff. “You, Prussia, are about to enter a world of pain.”
“Yeah, yeah; I've had worse. Just do me a favor will ya?” He nodded to his unconscious brother. “Don't tell him about me until you absolutely have to.”
England's eyebrow lifted at that. “I don't believe I owe you any sort of favor, no matter how small.”
From somewhere behind his left shoulder, Prussia heard France chuckle. “Angleterre, let's at least grant a dying nation his last wish.”
1947
“Russia took all of my good silverware. And the hair pin Roderich bought for me.”
“Bought for you with America's money, no doubt.”
Hungary couldn't argue with that.
“Guess you got off easy.” Prussia blew a thick line of smoke. “Russia relocated all my factories and shit to his house. I'm out of a job.”
Handing him another sudsy plate, Hungary snorted softly. “You've never done a day of work in your life.”
“Hey, I'm helping you with the dishes, what more could you possibly want?”
“And he took almost all of my jobs too. I guess I was just trying not to think of it.”
“Hmph.” Prussia rinsed the final saucer, setting it on the tiny wooden rack to dry. “I think we're all in the same situation.”
“You're closer-physically, anyway-to America and France and England than anyone else. Do you think if I mentioned, about the silverware or at least the hairpin--”
“Lizzy. Just stop.” Prussia glanced over at her, eyes hard yet pleading. “You know what they're gonna tell you.”
“As you make your bed, so you must lie in it. Like we even had much of a choice,” Hungary muttered. She blew a stray lock of hair from her face. “Have you seen your brother lately?”
“Couple months ago. Looked like shit; still had his arm in a sling and was walkin' with a limp.”
Some semblance of satisfaction bloomed in Hungary's chest at that. “Good,” she whispered, crossing her arms. “Good.”
“The fuck'd you just say?”
“He's the one that got us into this mess.”
For a long moment, Prussia stared at her before stubbing out his cigarette on one of the plates they'd just washed. “The one who got us-look at me, for fuck's sake.” He waited for Hungary to meet his eyes. “The one who got us into this god-forsaken 'mess' blew his own brains out in Berlin. Don't blame Ludwig for this bullshit. You know those men tricked him and he ain't ever gonna be the same, Lizzy.”
“And somehow he's fortunate enough to miss out on Russia's ensnarement.”
“Hey, that was my fukkin' choice, and don't forget that Ludwig was against it too. Never heard him scream so much in all the years I've known him.” With a slight shake in his hand-so slight that only someone who had watched his hands for centuries would notice-Prussia lit himself another cigarette. “If you think things are any better for Ludwig on his side, you're wrong, Lizzy,” he grumbled, “damned wrong.”
Beside them, the tea kettle rattled and whistled, Hungary jumping. She'd forgotten about it. It wasn't until she'd poured them each a cup of the weak brew, sitting at the cramped kitchen table, that Hungary spoke again. “What are they doing to him, exactly,” she asked softly. Curiosity had gotten the best of her, as usual.
“America ain't giving him as much food as he needs and won't talk to him at all-and I really liked that kid too, back in the day.” Prussia stared out of the small kitchen window, eyes distant. “And Francis... Francis has him digging up mines with his bare hands.”
Whatever satisfaction was left in Hungary's heart drained in an instant. “I had no idea.”
“Yeah, well.” Prussia gave half a shrug. “Ludwig doesn't talk about it much. I think that... I think that he believes he deserves it. He ain't gonna be right in the head for a long, long time.”
Something in Hungary's stomach flipped over. She grabbed her tea, forcing it down her throat, burning her tongue.
Purssia's eyes lingered on the window for a minute more before returning to Hungary, the barest glint in them. “Hey.”
“What?”
Prussia grinned. “Remember when we were warriors?”
“...every day.” It was true, down to her very bones.
That grin widened. “I still love you like I did back then.”
“I still think you're an idiot who talks too much.”
And that was true, too.
1956
There had been elections-not just for her; Poland, Lithuania and others had them too. But she could feel something wrong about them, something wrong when the results came in. Hungary could feel Russia's hand around her heart. His hands had always been so cold.
And then it was like he'd taken a magic needle and thread, sewing a single stitch in her heart that went all the way back to Moscow. Through this stitch he moved her arms and legs and eyes. Everyday the feeling grew and itched at her. Hungary found herself scratching at the tops of her hands and feet, places where a marionette's ropes would be tied. Itch, itch, itch; scratch, scratch, scratch.
She snapped.
Hungary snapped, and paid the price.
“Jesus, look at you.” Prussia nearly dropped the cigarette from his mouth, eyes roaming up and down Hungary's body. “How the hell are you even standing up?”
“You shouldn't be here,” Hungary's voice rasped out. It hurt just to speak. “I'm fine.”
“The hell you are.” With just a glance over his shoulder, Prussia pushed his way into the house, bolting the door behind him. “Get back to bed; I'm gonna make halászlé.”
There was simply no energy left in her broken bones to protest, so Hungary slipped back to her room, gingerly laying on the duvet. Her eyes must have slipped shut, for when she opened them again, Prussia was shaking her gently, bowl of soup in his hands.
“Hey. Eat just a bit now, the rest later.” He helped her sit up. “I went through alotta shit to get this, so don't waste it, you hear?”
Hungary mumbled her thanks and took the offered meal-fisherman's soup, her favorite. Quietly she ate, not offering protest when Prussia clambered behind her to rub circles on her back. “Thank you,” she said, finally sated. “I guess I needed that more than I knew.”
“No problem. So.” Prussia pulled at the neck of Hungary's shirt, peeking at her bruised skin. “What's the damage?”
“Some broken ribs, concussion is gone though.”
“Looks like you had a black eye.”
“I did.” Hungary let her head loll forward, enjoying Prussia's hands. “Not as bad as the one Turkey gave me in the 1600s though.”
“What the hell happened here? There's been whispers, about a revolution--”
“Failed revolution,” Hungary corrected. “It's over and done.”
A soft snort. “I love that out of all of us, you're the one with the balls to revolt.”
“I wouldn't recommend it to you.” Hungary smiled weakly over her shoulder. “Hurts like hell the next day.”
“Hmmn.” Prussia's hands wandered up and down her back, blissfully. “Is it awful that I'm incredibly attracted to you right now?”
“Probably. I need to lie down...”
“Sure.” Prussia helped Hungary to the bed, bringing the blanket up and lying beside her without even asking. “I can't stay much longer.”
“I know. You've done more than enough.”
Prussia's sigh tickled the hair at the back of Hungary's neck, and slowly his arm came to drape over her waist. “I want to kill that fucker.”
Hungary opened her mouth, then closed it, pausing. “No,” she said slowly, “you want to kill the one pulling his strings. We all do.”
“Fuck.” Prussia nosed into her hair. “You know the first thing Russia said to me, years ago after the four of them split shit up? Said that America'd leave Europe in two years, then we'd undermine England's authority. We, as if he and I are such good buddies. Can you believe that?”
The smile on Hungary's face couldn't be helped. “I suppose he's been wrong about a lot of things, hasn't he?”
“I bet you stormed into his office and tried to smash his face with a frying pan.”
“How do you know me so well?”
A slight chuckle, low and just a bit lunatic like always. “It's 'cuz we were warriors together-Teutonic and Magyar. Shields and swords,” Prussia whispered, hand tightening on Hungary’s hip. “We were badass warriors, Lizzy, and don't you ever forget it.”
Hungary took a shaky breath, eyes stinging and staring at the far wall. “I don't feel like much of a warrior these days.”
“You'll always be one in my eyes. Always.”
1961
“He made a wall.”
Hungary frowned, staring at the phone. “A what?”
“A fucking wall, goddamnit!” There was the sound of something shattering into a a thousand pieces.
“Gilbert,” Hungary said to the angry panting over the line. “Gilbert, what are you talking about?”
“There's a huge wall, right down the middle, east and west.” A long, slow exhale, and the sound of a lighter. “He's West, I'm East.”
“I don't understand.”
“Listen, just-just forget it. Can I come see you?”
“I thought you were busy with--”
“Elizaveta. This might be the last time I have a chance.”
Hungary's skin went cold.
“If he can take away my brother, he can take away anything.”
Hungary swallowed, winding the phone cord around her finger. “I'll be here all week.”
A sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
The line went dead.
“I thought the worst day of my life was when those assholes declared that I didn't even exist anymore. But this,” Prussia nodded, stubbing out his cigarette, “this trumps it.”
“I am so sorry.” Hungary set the dirty dishes in the sink; they could be cleaned later. “I can ask Roderich for updates about Ludwig, if you'd like.”
“Yeah. Yeah, if he's not too busy rolling around in America's cash.”
“You know that's not how it is,” Hungary sighed, feeling a headache coming on. “Most of it has to be paid to Russia for reparations anyway.”
“I know.” Prussia ran his fingers through his hair, always fidgeting. “Hey, c'mere.”
Hungary eyed his outstretched hand suspiciously. “What is it?”
“It's just that I love you. And I know you're supposed to hit me with a pan or punch me in the nuts for saying it, but tonight I just can't handle it.”
“Gilbert--”
“I've loved you since we both wore armor, since Turkey locked you in his palace, since your bosses gave you to Austria, since we marched into Paris-both times-and today and yesterday and tomorrow. And I know I ain't the best guy, I ain't charming or any of that bullshit and I don't give you all that useless jewelry. But I still remember you with blood and mud in your hair at Waterloo and thinking that there's never been a more awesome girl in the world. Just... so you know.”
All Hungary could hear in the kitchen was the sound of her heart beating like thunder in her ears.
“Gilbert,” she said cautiously. “That is probably the stupidest and nicest thing you've ever said to me.”
“I'm gonna interpret that as a compliment.”
Hungary took his hand, slowly, delicately, folding her dress to sit on Prussia's lap. “You're still the same idiot whose face I smashed in all those years ago, aren't you?”
“I thought that was just how you flirted,” Prussia smiled, eyes exhausted, wrapping an arm about her waist.
“I think it may be.”
Hungary kissed him slow and fierce, with as much power as her fist.
1989
“It's killing him. Not being able to see Ludwig.”
“I would suspect as much. He's always been emotional.” Austria pushed his glasses up with one finger, eyes going cross from staring through the chain fence. “And protective of Ludwig, ever since he found him.”
“Found him?”
“You never asked? I'm certain he'd tell you, of all people.”
Hungary shook her head. “I know. That's why I never brought it up.”
“Well, it's really not my story to tell. But Ludwig's doing better these days, if it's any consolation to inform Prussia of that. I believe Ludwig and America are on the track to being good friends. France will take some time, naturally, and I think England's coming around in small increments.” Austria leaned his back against Hungary's, the fence an uncomfortable barrier between them. “He even baked Ludwig a cake.”
“England may have been trying to kill him, in that case.”
“True enough.” Austria groaned bitterly. “I miss your cooking; I keep burning the roasts.”
“I'm sure your kitchen is nicer than mine. My stove and refrigerator are so horribly outdated.”
A wry smirk crossed Austria's face. “Well, you should just come over around four and we'll eat by six.”
Hungary was silent for a long moment. “Okay,” she said softly.
“What?” Austria started, turning. “What did you--”
“Okay. I will come over and cook, and,” she licked her lips, “if all goes well-with the cooking-we shall do it again and have a, a picnic.” Hungary turned, looking at Austria with a steely determination in her eyes. “And we shall invite Gilbert.”
“I...” There was no waver in Hungary's gaze, so Austria squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. “Yes, I think that is a splendid idea. To have dinner.”
“I should go get my wire cutters. For the dinner.”
“And I should purchase some pliers. For the dinner, naturally.”
“Maybe we could meet back here in an hour and... exchange recipes.”
“What a marvelous idea. But, I don't think my cooking book will fit through these holes,” Austria sighed dramatically.
“We'll just have to make some bigger holes then, won't we?”
“It is a very, very large book.”
A bright smiled blossomed across Hungary's face. “I know it was never our choice, but some days I am overjoyed that I married you.”
“You'll always be my number one girl.”
“Ugh,” Hungary laughed, “you need to stop watching America's movies!”
“I've an addiction, it can't be helped.” With a glance left and right, Austria reached his fingers through the fence, Hungary able to just touch the tips of them. “This will work. It will.”
“Please find your largest cook book, Mr. Edelstein.”
“But of course.”
A few months later, Hungary was stepping out of her house, a large basket stuffed with food on her arm when she stopped in her tracks and almost died on the spot.
Russia waved from the sidewalk, smiling. “Hello, Miss Hungary. Where are you going, if I may ask?”
Cold fear clutched at her heart; she touched the doorknob lightly to ground herself. “A picnic,” Hungary said, forcing any waver from her voice. “Just a lunch outside.”
“It is a lovely day for it, yes?” Russia shielded his eyes from the sun. “I am on my way to my sister's house and thought it would be a nice walk.” When he removed his hand, Hungary noticed how much more tired-exhausted-Russia's eyes seemed then when she had last seen him.
“I... tell Ukraine I send my regards, please.”
“Certainly. Enjoy your picnic.” Russia turned away.
Her heart leaped in her ribcage, but Hungary had to know: “Will you be joining us?” she asked softly, unsure if he could even hear.
Russia froze. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the air growing chilly despite the sun. Slowly, he turned, plastic smile still affixed to his face. “I am afraid I am rather tired. I will have to pass.”
“I see. Good day, then.”
“Good day, Miss Hungary.” Russia left.
Hungary fell against the door, sliding down to the ground as her knees gave out.
There was a spread of delectable food-most of it bought by Austria, but Hungary would repay him someday-and sunshine and crisp air and a flood of East Germans flocking across the border. All in all, it was a perfect picnic. And, as picnic baskets required even larger holes than cook books, even more of the fence had to be taken down.
Austria bit into an apple, thoughtfully gazing at the people traipsing through the open border as if it weren't even there at all. “So he's really not going to stop this, is he?”
“I asked him. He said he wouldn't be joining us, so take that as you will. I wonder what's keeping Gilbert, though.”
“He's always late, you know that.” Rising from the blanket, Austria stretched his arms high into the midday sun. “I'm going to the store to purchase some Coca-Cola in the name of Austria-Hungarian friendship.” He winked-winked! Honestly, too many of America's movies were infecting his brain-and Austria retreated from their hill.
Normally, Hungary loved to lie back and watch the clouds, but today she couldn't tear her eyes from the ground. People were filing through the border, Austrian and Hungarian guards looking on with bemused expressions as it became clearer and clearer that no Russian troops were running to stop this. East Germans who had been on vacation in Hungary flocked to the border in droves for a chance to be free like birds suddenly released from a cage.
“Elizaveta.”
Hungary started and turned. “Gilbert?”
He nodded, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Prussia seemed nervous, and ridiculously so.
“Oh, I'm so glad you made it!” Swiping at the grass stains on her knees, Hungary rose from the blanket with a brilliant smile. “Did you see? Did you see all the people rushing to meet relatives in the West? Gilbert, you can see Ludwig again, do you understand?”
The tension in his shoulders relaxed. “This is real, then. It's happening.”
“Just for today,” Hungary replied softly. She reached out and took his hand, bringing it to her cheek. “Go to him while you still can.”
Prussia took a step forward on the blanket, then another until their foreheads were touching. Hungary had only ever seen him do such a thing with his brother before they were split apart. “Thank you,” he whispered, voice hoarse. His rough thumb rubbed at the swell of Hungary's cheek. “I swear I'm gonna repay you someday.”
“Gilbert. There is nothing to repay.”
Prussia crushed her to his chest, embrace like a vice. “I will always love you for this.”
“Go to him,” Hungary said, lips against a pale neck. “Quickly.”
When Austria returned an hour later, Hungary was alone and on her back, staring up at the clouds.
1990
“What's going to happen to you now?”
Hungary's voice was so soft behind him that Prussia almost missed it. “Dunno. Have a seat.” He lit a cigarette and patted the bench beside him, Hungary accepting his offer. “Guess I'll live in Ludwig's basement or something. Start a rock band now that I've got all this free time.”
“Gilbert. I'm serious.”
Prussia kept his eyes forward on the gate, not wanting to see the look on Hungary's face. “I'm not too sure. Ludwig... he's not the same brother I remember having, though I guess I'm a little different too. Still awesome, of course, but just awesome in different ways.” A shrug. “But we're brothers, no matter what, and I still love him. Even though he can be a dick sometimes.”
“Are you... are you going to be here still?”
“Of course I am,” he lied. “But if I ain't around one day, there's a place you can find me.”
“And where is that?” Hungary's voice sounded stiff and she choked on the last words.
“A bar. A brauhaus with books and good beer and the best food and nice chairs. Rome and Gramps and Greece's mother are there; I've been once or twice, but I always get drunk and kicked back out on the street.” He put his hand atop Hungary's, rubbing over her knuckles. “You can find it in London and Berlin, Budapest and Madrid. Lots of places; you'll know it when you see it. Turkey's been there once, Spain when he's in a mood, and England loads of times when he wants. I'm sure one of those guys could help you out.”
“Okay.”
“Just don't go too much, yeah?”
“I don't want you to die.”
They watched the gate, watched the people trickling in and out freely. Like the picnic all over again.
“...You know, I always wanted a pretty girl to cry over me if I went. Now though, I'd rather if you didn't.”
Hungary took a shaky breath, but said nothing.
“Hey. Let's go for a walk.” Standing, Prussia, offered her his hand. “C'mon.”
Wiping at the corners of her eyes, Hungary took his hand, willing her eyes to stay dry for a few hours more.
Notes:
Ki mint veti ágyát, úgy alussza álmát. Hungarian saying for “You made your bed, now lie in it” and all permutations.
1943- At this time, Churchill was more than wary of Stalin, but FDR still thought he might be an okay guy. Swear to God, he actually said that stuff about Stalin helping to spread democracy: Miscamble, Wilson D. (2007), From Roosevelt to Truman: Potsdam, Hiroshima, and the Cold War, Cambridge University Press, ISBN 0521862442
1945- Perhaps I can interest you in some Yalta readings?
1956- Hungarian Revolution; a veritable powder keg after WWII
1961- Berlin Wall goes up
1989- Hungary and Austria open up their border, allowing thousands of East Germans on vacation to flee to the west. Russia is pretty much too... tired, for lack of a better word, to do anything about it. And yes, there was a picnic, you can't make this shit up.
1990- Brandenburg Gate opened