Hetalia ficlets or something
Two random scenes...
They sat at the dinner table.
It was the most silent, awkward supper that he could remember having in years--possibly centuries. Oh, Russia and Germany talked business and such--gas pipelines and relations with the eastern European nations. Prussia could hardly care about those sort of things. They didn't concern him anymore, anyway. Except then Russia would look to him and smile--a pleasant smile. The kind of smile that he never once gave him during those dark days in the Eastern Bloc. Actually, come to think of it, Russia looked much better off with clear violet eyes, not as drunken, the smell of vodka absent--
Prussia threw a napkin at Germany to distract himself, demanding more beer, more potatoes, some desert. Whatever he could think of to keep him from keeping wary eyes on the Russian. Except he could feel the weight of his stare and that was just unnerving.
A couple of the times during dinner, Russia asked him something and he'd answered with short, precise answers. Just as he'd always done. Prussian virtues and all that.
The only problem was that Germany, despite his best poker face, looked like he'd just been punched in the gut.
It was only after the third time that Russia addressed him that Prussia realized he'd been using that name. Kalinin. Short for Kaliningrad.
And he'd been responding to it without thought.
The next time he heard that K sound, the Russian found himself dripping wet.
Prussia simply stood there, frozen with terror as he realized he'd just thrown beer at the northern nation's face.
Germany was appalled and sputtered before turning to apologize profusely to Russia on behalf of his brother. After all, this was Germany's house, Russia was a guest, and oh shit--oh shit, he was so dead. So, so very dead. There was no way that this would go unpunished. Not only because it was the biggest insult in this setting, but he'd used beer--one of the best labels of that year of all things! He'd just started something terrible and--dear God, Russia was smiling as he used his own napkins to wipe away the worst of the liquid--
"It is all right, Germany," he said pleasantly. Prussia was still frozen in his tossing position or else he'd either be curled up under the table crying or running as far westward as he could to get away from the monstrosity. "It is good that your brother is feeling much more like his old self. I had been worried. He's been so quiet throughout dinner--"
"Bruder, sit down please," said Germany as he worked to mop up the worst of the spill from the table top, not even looking over to his older brother whole startled and made a small noise in the back of his throat. "I don't know what's come over him. There's really no excuse--"
"Ah, no excuse but it is understandable, is it not?" asked Russia pleasantly--why so damn conversational with his brother? Which only made Prussia realize that neither of them were looking to him at all. And he was trembling so badly. "After being asleep so long and after all that has happened, it is understandable if your brother is not entirely of his mind."
Germany froze himself at those words, shoulders tensing but refusing to look over to Prussia.
Prussia had half a mind to throw the mug at the northern nation's head.
Instead, he placed it on the table with a firm thunk and bit out, "Say all you want about me, but there is nothing wrong with my head! It's because you keep using that damned name--!"
"Bruder--" started Germany, still trying to defuse the situation.
"No, no," broke in Russia calmly, waving a hand as he sat forward, placing his elbows on the table and putting his hands underneath his chin. "I want to hear what he has to say. After all, this too is a reflection of other situations--"
"You and your 'situations' can fuck off for all I care!"
"Bruder--"
Prussia rose his voice to speak over his brother, ignoring the fact that this possibly maybe kind of was really going to effect some international relations between him and the Russian, "I'm not involved! I don't want to be involved in your damn politics and I don't want to be involved with you! Find some other goddamned person to be your damn outlet!"
Here Russia looked vaguely confused, tilting his head to one side. "But there is no one else," he said simply.
The smaller German slammed his hands flat on the table and leaned over his decimated meal--they never did get to dessert--to give a sharp grin, pressing hard on the table's top to keep his shaking from showing too much. "Bullshit."
Again, there was a mildly suprised look before the larger nation looked to Germany, who refused to look at anyone. Then Russia gestured to Prussia, insisting, "Germany, I have explained it to you, yes? Have you not explained it to your brother? Should I be the one to do so?"
Germany said nothing.
And there was a sinking sensation down in the pit of Prussia's stomach. "... West?"
He slammed the shutters closed.
"Ahhh," he could hear Russia say plaintively from the other side of it, "that's very rude, Kalinin. What has Germany been teaching you?"
"Fuck off!" he shouted back, forcing his voice to stay steady and not waver. But fuck if he could manage it. Russia had good ears. Russia was also very, very familiar with the straight-out denial in his voice. "Get lost before I call Germany and sic him on your ass!"
"Don't be so mean," was the childish response, followed by a knock on the shutters. "Heeey, Kalinin. Won't you open up? I haven't been able to visit you in some time..."
"Who would want to see you in the first place?!"
It was as though Russia completely missed what had been said, but then again, that was usually how Russia carried on conversations he didn't like having. "I have been worried, you know," he said instead. "I kept coming over to visit but Germany kept turning me away--"
"GOOD!"
"--and even after telling him I wouldn't take you from him... even though you're rightfully mine."
There was a long pause at that.
Prussia continued to lean against the shuttered windows, feeling cold and suddenly missing the sweatshirt with the dancing rabbit on it that Spain had given him a Christmas ago.
There was another knock.
"Hey, Kalinin. Won't you open up?"
His temper, admittedly, would always get the better of him.
Prussia threw open the shutters, shouted, "AND STOP CALLING ME THAT!" and quickly moved to shut them again--
Right on Russia's fingers.
Silence...
"... that hurts, Kalinin," was all Russia said, quite calmly.
They sat at the dinner table.
It was the most silent, awkward supper that he could remember having in years--possibly centuries. Oh, Russia and Germany talked business and such--gas pipelines and relations with the eastern European nations. Prussia could hardly care about those sort of things. They didn't concern him anymore, anyway. Except then Russia would look to him and smile--a pleasant smile. The kind of smile that he never once gave him during those dark days in the Eastern Bloc. Actually, come to think of it, Russia looked much better off with clear violet eyes, not as drunken, the smell of vodka absent--
Prussia threw a napkin at Germany to distract himself, demanding more beer, more potatoes, some desert. Whatever he could think of to keep him from keeping wary eyes on the Russian. Except he could feel the weight of his stare and that was just unnerving.
A couple of the times during dinner, Russia asked him something and he'd answered with short, precise answers. Just as he'd always done. Prussian virtues and all that.
The only problem was that Germany, despite his best poker face, looked like he'd just been punched in the gut.
It was only after the third time that Russia addressed him that Prussia realized he'd been using that name. Kalinin. Short for Kaliningrad.
And he'd been responding to it without thought.
The next time he heard that K sound, the Russian found himself dripping wet.
Prussia simply stood there, frozen with terror as he realized he'd just thrown beer at the northern nation's face.
Germany was appalled and sputtered before turning to apologize profusely to Russia on behalf of his brother. After all, this was Germany's house, Russia was a guest, and oh shit--oh shit, he was so dead. So, so very dead. There was no way that this would go unpunished. Not only because it was the biggest insult in this setting, but he'd used beer--one of the best labels of that year of all things! He'd just started something terrible and--dear God, Russia was smiling as he used his own napkins to wipe away the worst of the liquid--
"It is all right, Germany," he said pleasantly. Prussia was still frozen in his tossing position or else he'd either be curled up under the table crying or running as far westward as he could to get away from the monstrosity. "It is good that your brother is feeling much more like his old self. I had been worried. He's been so quiet throughout dinner--"
"Bruder, sit down please," said Germany as he worked to mop up the worst of the spill from the table top, not even looking over to his older brother whole startled and made a small noise in the back of his throat. "I don't know what's come over him. There's really no excuse--"
"Ah, no excuse but it is understandable, is it not?" asked Russia pleasantly--why so damn conversational with his brother? Which only made Prussia realize that neither of them were looking to him at all. And he was trembling so badly. "After being asleep so long and after all that has happened, it is understandable if your brother is not entirely of his mind."
Germany froze himself at those words, shoulders tensing but refusing to look over to Prussia.
Prussia had half a mind to throw the mug at the northern nation's head.
Instead, he placed it on the table with a firm thunk and bit out, "Say all you want about me, but there is nothing wrong with my head! It's because you keep using that damned name--!"
"Bruder--" started Germany, still trying to defuse the situation.
"No, no," broke in Russia calmly, waving a hand as he sat forward, placing his elbows on the table and putting his hands underneath his chin. "I want to hear what he has to say. After all, this too is a reflection of other situations--"
"You and your 'situations' can fuck off for all I care!"
"Bruder--"
Prussia rose his voice to speak over his brother, ignoring the fact that this possibly maybe kind of was really going to effect some international relations between him and the Russian, "I'm not involved! I don't want to be involved in your damn politics and I don't want to be involved with you! Find some other goddamned person to be your damn outlet!"
Here Russia looked vaguely confused, tilting his head to one side. "But there is no one else," he said simply.
The smaller German slammed his hands flat on the table and leaned over his decimated meal--they never did get to dessert--to give a sharp grin, pressing hard on the table's top to keep his shaking from showing too much. "Bullshit."
Again, there was a mildly suprised look before the larger nation looked to Germany, who refused to look at anyone. Then Russia gestured to Prussia, insisting, "Germany, I have explained it to you, yes? Have you not explained it to your brother? Should I be the one to do so?"
Germany said nothing.
And there was a sinking sensation down in the pit of Prussia's stomach. "... West?"
He slammed the shutters closed.
"Ahhh," he could hear Russia say plaintively from the other side of it, "that's very rude, Kalinin. What has Germany been teaching you?"
"Fuck off!" he shouted back, forcing his voice to stay steady and not waver. But fuck if he could manage it. Russia had good ears. Russia was also very, very familiar with the straight-out denial in his voice. "Get lost before I call Germany and sic him on your ass!"
"Don't be so mean," was the childish response, followed by a knock on the shutters. "Heeey, Kalinin. Won't you open up? I haven't been able to visit you in some time..."
"Who would want to see you in the first place?!"
It was as though Russia completely missed what had been said, but then again, that was usually how Russia carried on conversations he didn't like having. "I have been worried, you know," he said instead. "I kept coming over to visit but Germany kept turning me away--"
"GOOD!"
"--and even after telling him I wouldn't take you from him... even though you're rightfully mine."
There was a long pause at that.
Prussia continued to lean against the shuttered windows, feeling cold and suddenly missing the sweatshirt with the dancing rabbit on it that Spain had given him a Christmas ago.
There was another knock.
"Hey, Kalinin. Won't you open up?"
His temper, admittedly, would always get the better of him.
Prussia threw open the shutters, shouted, "AND STOP CALLING ME THAT!" and quickly moved to shut them again--
Right on Russia's fingers.
Silence...
"... that hurts, Kalinin," was all Russia said, quite calmly.