[Fanfic] - The Long and Noble History of the Pickelhaube
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters: Germany, Prussia
Rating: Teen
Word count: 650
Contains: Allusions to pickelhaubes being used in ways pickelhaubes ought not to be used in
Summary: The drinking game is on and Prussia's determined not to lose. Even if it means telling one particular story.
Written for mmom
---
Prussia grimaced as he swallowed, a line of fire burning down his throat like napalm. The pain passed and he set his shot glass back on the table, wiping his mouth with his other hand.
“I can't believe you never told me that!”
The roar of the bar’s other patrons meant Prussia had to shout, but for once that didn't seem to bother his little brother, too busy grinning into his own shot glass as if the thing had just told him list-making was the secret to world peace. The effect was ruined when West started to tilt sideways, barely catching himself in an uncharacteristic flailing of limbs. After a moment, he collected himself and turned towards Prussia. The victorious glint in his eye was dulled by the sheer volume of alcohol they’d consumed during the evening.
“I told you I could still surprise you,” he finally replied, grabbing for his drink before seeming to remember that that wasn't part of the game. Quickly, he snatched his hand back, almost toppling the empty line of shot glasses at his elbow, fallen soldiers in their evening’s campaign. He ignored them and narrowed his eyes in challenge. “How does defeat taste?"
Prussia gave a sloppy salute to his own fallen empties before answering. “Be sure to let me know. Because it’s my turn now. And when I trounce you with my awesome story that you've never heard before, I’m gonna watch that shot make you its bitch.”
“Admit it, you’ve lost. There’s nothing you-” West trailed off and squinted into his drink before finding his train of thought. “Nothing you haven’t already told me. Because you share. You share everything.” He shook his head before cutting off the motion, probably rediscovering that sudden moves weren't the brightest idea at the moment.
The problem was that West was right. History had repeatedly shown that Prussia never knew when to shut his mouth, and though that tactic was a great way to distract his enemies, it also meant that he’d told most of his best stories already. Unless he could come up with something quick, he was about to prove his brother right.
Prussia slapped his palms against the bar as the idea hit him. The story that would grant him victory.
“A pickelhaube and a whole lot of kitchen oil,” he said, pausing for effect before adding, “Stop me if you've heard this one before.”
West wrinkled his nose in disgust, looking like Prussia had just unalphabetized their entire library.
Prussia took it as leave to continue. “Come on, don’t tell me you never thought-” he hiccuped and chased it with a sip of water, "-never thought about it. It’s the perfect shape. So tapered.” He outlined the shape with his hands.
Disgust softened to childlike wonder as West looked at him with wide eyes. Or maybe it was horror. Hard to tell, really. “Please don’t tell me you were…intimate.”
"You’re such a fucking romantic. But you see, when a man really loves his hat-”
"Pickelhaube.”
"Yeah,” Prussia agreed with a nod. “Anyway, when man and pickelhaube need to be close, there’s only one solution.”
"The kitchen oil?”
His brother was so fucking smart. Probably because he’d been trained by Prussia.
"There was a battle the next day," Prussia continued, a grin tugging at the edge of his lips. “Remember? The one where you lost your helmet so I let you borrow mine?”
West made a choking noise like a dying pig.“I don’t think I want to know any more.” And with that, he picked up his tiny glass, threw his head back, and drank.
Victory in hand, Prussia stumbled from the bar, West not far behind. As they made their way back home, he couldn’t help but wonder where that old pickelhaube had ended up. Then he decided he didn't care, and shrugged.
Probably some museum.
Characters: Germany, Prussia
Rating: Teen
Word count: 650
Contains: Allusions to pickelhaubes being used in ways pickelhaubes ought not to be used in
Summary: The drinking game is on and Prussia's determined not to lose. Even if it means telling one particular story.
Written for mmom
---
Prussia grimaced as he swallowed, a line of fire burning down his throat like napalm. The pain passed and he set his shot glass back on the table, wiping his mouth with his other hand.
“I can't believe you never told me that!”
The roar of the bar’s other patrons meant Prussia had to shout, but for once that didn't seem to bother his little brother, too busy grinning into his own shot glass as if the thing had just told him list-making was the secret to world peace. The effect was ruined when West started to tilt sideways, barely catching himself in an uncharacteristic flailing of limbs. After a moment, he collected himself and turned towards Prussia. The victorious glint in his eye was dulled by the sheer volume of alcohol they’d consumed during the evening.
“I told you I could still surprise you,” he finally replied, grabbing for his drink before seeming to remember that that wasn't part of the game. Quickly, he snatched his hand back, almost toppling the empty line of shot glasses at his elbow, fallen soldiers in their evening’s campaign. He ignored them and narrowed his eyes in challenge. “How does defeat taste?"
Prussia gave a sloppy salute to his own fallen empties before answering. “Be sure to let me know. Because it’s my turn now. And when I trounce you with my awesome story that you've never heard before, I’m gonna watch that shot make you its bitch.”
“Admit it, you’ve lost. There’s nothing you-” West trailed off and squinted into his drink before finding his train of thought. “Nothing you haven’t already told me. Because you share. You share everything.” He shook his head before cutting off the motion, probably rediscovering that sudden moves weren't the brightest idea at the moment.
The problem was that West was right. History had repeatedly shown that Prussia never knew when to shut his mouth, and though that tactic was a great way to distract his enemies, it also meant that he’d told most of his best stories already. Unless he could come up with something quick, he was about to prove his brother right.
Prussia slapped his palms against the bar as the idea hit him. The story that would grant him victory.
“A pickelhaube and a whole lot of kitchen oil,” he said, pausing for effect before adding, “Stop me if you've heard this one before.”
West wrinkled his nose in disgust, looking like Prussia had just unalphabetized their entire library.
Prussia took it as leave to continue. “Come on, don’t tell me you never thought-” he hiccuped and chased it with a sip of water, "-never thought about it. It’s the perfect shape. So tapered.” He outlined the shape with his hands.
Disgust softened to childlike wonder as West looked at him with wide eyes. Or maybe it was horror. Hard to tell, really. “Please don’t tell me you were…intimate.”
"You’re such a fucking romantic. But you see, when a man really loves his hat-”
"Pickelhaube.”
"Yeah,” Prussia agreed with a nod. “Anyway, when man and pickelhaube need to be close, there’s only one solution.”
"The kitchen oil?”
His brother was so fucking smart. Probably because he’d been trained by Prussia.
"There was a battle the next day," Prussia continued, a grin tugging at the edge of his lips. “Remember? The one where you lost your helmet so I let you borrow mine?”
West made a choking noise like a dying pig.“I don’t think I want to know any more.” And with that, he picked up his tiny glass, threw his head back, and drank.
Victory in hand, Prussia stumbled from the bar, West not far behind. As they made their way back home, he couldn’t help but wonder where that old pickelhaube had ended up. Then he decided he didn't care, and shrugged.
Probably some museum.