Chapter 4 omg!
I am so very tired right now.
Title: Second Chance: Chapter 4
Characters: Prussia, Sealand, Germany and England.
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Really silly premise.
Notes: elwon still cheers.
Summary: After a memorable and yet largely forgotten night Prussia and England wake up to find they've mysteriously swapped bodies. England's horrified, Prussia is less so... This chapter Some fallout from the meeting, plus England cooks!
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
The door slamming alerted Sealand to the new arrival in the house. He paused his game and quickly did a mental inventory of the things he'd done that could possibly have pissed England off. Then he remembered it wasn't England arriving and carried on playing.
A low and continuous growl of discontent announced Prussia's presence in the kitchen. Sealand waited until he was bombing along a straight road before glancing up from his DS at Prussia. He looked terrible.
“Didn't... go well?” said Sealand, pausing slightly in the middle to dodge a hole in the ground.
Prussia's groaning carried on as he kicked a chair out opposite Sealand's and slumped into it. Sealand realised that was probably the only answer he was going to get.
“England's a freak,” Prussia spontaneously declared. Sealand burst into giggles that he had to cut short when he nearly fell off a cliff. Prussia drooped forward, banged his head on the table, then left it there. The room fell into silence apart from Sealand's game until, from somewhere deep within Prussia's jacket, a phone rang. Prussia let out another frustrated groan. “What is it now?”
“Hey, you're getting better; that really sounded like him!” said Sealand helpfully. He smirked, catching sight of Prussia's glare over the top of his screen. Prussia fished out the phone and put it on the table.
“It's Portugal,” he said, “Should I answer it?”
“Yeah.” Sealand rammed another kart off the track. “He'll just keep calling otherwise.”
Prussia sighed. He picked up the phone, stared at it, sighed again, and then answered it.
“Hello,” he said tiredly.
Sealand punched the air as he won yet another race.
“I'm just fine.”
Sealand selected another character, another race and the difficulty (not too easy, but easy enough that he knew he was going to win).
“Well, I'm much better since I got home.”
The countdown to the start of the race began.
“Yes, really.”
Three, two, one, and they were off. Sealand shot straight from his placing at the back into third position.
“I've got a lot on right now. There were too many people there!”
Someone got him from behind with a turtle and he dropped into fourth.
“That's what I said.”
Sealand stared intently at the screen as he inched up behind the jerk in front of him. He overtook him and immediately dropped a banana skin so the overgrown monkey wouldn't catch up again. That's what happens when you mess with Sealand: you lose.
“Don't do that! No, I'm really busy right now and I have Sealand over already... My house is full!”
Sealand was pulling up behind the guy in second position when the smash of glass made him jump and drop his DS completely.
“Oh my god, Sealand, what did you do?!” said Prussia, looking at the floor. Sealand's eyes quickly took in Prussia's hand on the table where there had been a glass only moments before.
“I didn't do anything!” cried Sealand, for once being entirely truthful.
“Is that blood I see?” said Prussia meaningfully, meeting Sealand's eyes and waving a hand at him frantically. Sealand's eyes widened.
“O-oh, ow!” he said when he caught on. “Oooww!” he tried a little louder when Prussia nodded encouragingly. “Oh my god it really hurts! I'm going to die! Owww!” he wailed.
“Sorry, Portugal!” Prussia trilled hysterically down the phone, “Bit of an emergency. We'll talk about this some other time, ok?” He hung up.
Immediately, Prussia slumped back into his chair and turned his mobile off. He let out a long breath. “Thanks, Sealand. You did great.”
Sealand preened at the praise. “You're welcome.”
“So,” Prussia glanced around the kitchen, “What do you want for dinner?”
“Chocolate,” Sealand answered straight away, even as he picked up his DS again.
Prussia gave him a look. “How about a Chinese?”
Sealand shrugged. “That'll do, I suppose.”
“You want to see a film first?”
“Yeah!” Sealand discarded his DS once more.
“Ok.” Prussia got up and headed towards the door. “You see what's on and I'll go get changed into something more...” Prussia looked down at himself. “Wearable.”
~~~
The front door slammed in a way England instinctively knew did not bode well for him. Well, it could've been instinct, or it could've been that in his few days as Germany's brother, even with the number of times he'd managed to annoy Germany, he hadn't heard Germany slam the door before. He hoped it had just been a strong gust of wind.
That hope was dashed when Germany roared Prussia's name.
For a moment England found himself caught, trapped like a rabbit. He'd already been chewed out by Germany once, and that had been enough to last him a lifetime. On the other hand, he was under no illusion that he'd be able to escape Germany on his home turf. If he did try to run it would only provoke Germany further. It was either face up to whatever Prussia had done now, or do it later to an even more furious Germany.
Germany yelled Prussia's name once more. England took a deep breath and stood up from the sofa. “I'm in here,” he said, voice steady.
Germany stalked in and brought with him enough storm clouds to fill the entire room. Not literally, obviously, but the atmosphere certainly felt charged enough. Germany opened his mouth. He shut it again. He waved his finger in England's direction. He waved his finger and opened his mouth. He shut his mouth and returned his arm to his side, fist balled up tight.
“Did the meeting not go well?” England asked innocently.
“No!” Germany barked in German. England predicted it wouldn't be long before he was unable to understand anything. His German had been coming back to him over the past few days, but the moment Germany got loud and emotional, everything he said just sounded like noise. Very loud noise. “No, it did not go well! England left halfway through!”
“What?” England's demeanour shifted quickly from resigned to very interested. “He bothered to turn up in the first place?”
“Yes, he bothered!” Germany took a step closer and England swayed but ultimately refrained from backing off. “He looked terrible, but he bothered! Despite what you did!” From there, just as England had thought, Germany devolved into spewing noise. It was a pity because England suspected Germany was telling him what 'England' had done at the meeting, which he very much wanted to find out. The words he did manage to catch helped him form nothing of the bigger picture and Germany kept stalking closer and closer until they were practically nose to nose.
England snapped. He'd been trying not to let his anger out on Germany - lord knew it wasn't his fault - but this was more than he could put up with. Being yelled at right in his face in a foreign language about something he hadn't even done. He didn't deserve this.
“I can't understand a single fucking thing you're saying!” he yelled right back.
On the one hand, it shut Germany up. On the other hand, he now looked downright terrifying. His face was blotching all kinds of interesting colours, his eyes were bulging and that vein on his temple was mere moments away from exploding, possibly taking them all with it.
It had been a while since England had made anyone that angry. He readied himself to dodge the inevitable punch. It'd be hard at such close quarters, but he'd been in tighter scrapes; even if he didn't win the fight he'd be able to hold his own.
“You,” said Germany in a dangerously quiet voice, “Are grounded.”
Even though no physical blow had befallen him, England still found himself suitably stunned. “I'm what?”
“Grounded,” Germany repeated. He sighed and stepped back, the anger dissipating off somewhere, leaving him looking more weary than anything. “I can't overlook this anymore,” he said to himself, then he straightened up, hands behind his back as though he were addressing a platoon of soldiers rather than his brother. “I am taking away your computer and your games consoles. I will also be taking your phone - I need to be sure that you are not interfering with England behind my back.”
“Grounded?” said England, still rather stuck on that point.
“If you will insist on behaving this way, yes.” Germany started pacing up and down in front of England. “You are not your own nation anymore, Preußen. What you do reflects on me and I can't have you terrorising other nations!” Germany turned and faced England with military precision, his face still showing anger and frustration, but also a hint of pleading; looking to his brother's latent sense of decency.
England, however, still hadn't quite moved on. “But, grounding?” Germany set his face, obviously in it for the long haul, arguing his point. England's next words seemed to knock him for six: “Is that it?”
Germany digested this new information. “ What were you expecting?” he asked curiously.
“A punch?” England answered truthfully. “At the very least some threats of grievous bodily harm.”
Germany peered at England with a very curious expression on his face. “We are not barbarians,” he said at long length, “I think we are beyond that kind of punishment.
“Well, it's nice to know at least someone is,” England grumbled, thinking of his own brothers and how violence was more or less a natural state of being between them. Granted, it had become less frequent in recent decades, but the verbal abuse was as rampant as ever.
“Prussia,” said Germany disapprovingly, a frown once more gracing his features. “I will not have you casting aspersions on England's character. Especially after what you did.”
“But--”
“It doesn't matter if he isn't here, I will not have it! I am sure that - so long as alcohol and football are not involved - England is perfectly capable of dealing with his problems without violence.”
“Oh.” England was honestly touched by Germany's words. He wasn't so delusional that he took offence to Germany's caveat, but he was at a loss for words, entirely unused to the idea that anyone would defend him, especially if he weren't there. He almost felt bad for all the times he'd needled Germany about the past whenever they had a football match. Then again, Germany more often than not won those matches so it was a fair trade-off as far as England was concerned. “That's... yes. Of course,” he finished lamely.
“Good.” Germany nodded. Then he held out his hand. “Phone. Now.”
England dug into his pocket and pulled out Prussia's phone. He glanced at the screen, which revealed the phone's message-less status, then reluctantly handed it over. He knew why Germany wanted it, he could see the perfect logic behind the thought, but that didn't stop it being annoying. He had no doubt being without phone would, at some point, make his life harder.
Germany took the phone with little ceremony and immediately left for the rest of the house, gathering up all the extraneous technology of Prussia's and moving it to his bedroom, where he locked them in. Along with Prussia's earlier-confiscated travel documents.
England took good note of that. For a moment, as he gazed at the heavily locked door, he let the enormity of his task overwhelm him. Then he pulled himself together.
His first mission, should he choose to accept it, was to break into Germany's bedroom.
~~~
Germany was, once again, bemused by Prussia's antics.
It was out of character. Germany had grounded him; there should've been at least a few hours of sulking. Instead, Prussia had gone so far as to say he was sorry for putting him through all this, and had offered to cook dinner. The weirdest thing of all was that Prussia was actually cooking. The kind of 'cooking' he was usually up to was warming up a ready-made meal in the oven, or - if he really wanted to put effort into it - going out for a kebab. Right now, though, he was bustling around in the kitchen, he'd even gone so far as to turf Germany out, insisting that he watch something on TV and relax. Germany, though, was having a hard time relaxing knowing that Prussia was loose in the kitchen with no supervision. The intermittent swearing did nothing to assuage his worries.
Germany was eventually forced from his tentative position on the edge of his seat, eyes watching the television (in theory) and ears straining for any and all noises from the kitchen, when the smoke alarm went off. He decided enough was enough and went to see what Prussia was up to.
The air in the kitchen was hazy and smoke was curling from the cracked-open oven. The hot, cloying atmosphere became apparent the moment he stepped over the threshold. Prussia was over by the sink with a steaming pile of something in a colander, trying to open the window.
“What is going on in here?” Germany yelled over the shrill beeping.
“Nothing to worry about!” said Prussia with a laugh that quickly turned into a cough, “Just a small mishap!” He finally managed to wrench the window open. “I usually take the battery out when I'm at home.” He gestured towards the screaming alarm. “But I forgot.”
Germany, seeing that there were at least no flames apparent anywhere, reset the alarm, though he wouldn't be surprised if it went off again in a minute or two.
“I think it's ready, anyway.” Prussia set the colander down in the sink and waved away the steam rising off it. He peered at the contents. “Yes, it's more or less done. You go sit yourself down at the table, I'll bring it through.”
Germany was hesitant to follow instructions, Prussia being the kind of person who could cause twenty new and exciting problems if you turned your back on him for more than five minutes. When he saw that Prussia really was just dishing up food (or something that approximated food), he took a risk and went to sit down in the dining room where two places had already been prepared at the table.
Prussia followed a minute or two after, carrying two plates that didn't so much smoke or steam as fume. He set one down in front of Germany and sat down with the other one on the opposite side of the table. Germany hesitantly sniffed his food, then immediately regretted it when he reeled back, eyes watering and barely able to suppress his coughs.
“What is this?” he asked, fairly sure he'd been presented with the contents of a dirty bomb.
“Cottage pie,” Prussia replied immediately, pointing to the blackened mass on his plate, “Carrots, and broccoli,” he waved a fork over the surrounding sludge.
Germany prodded his own sludge with a fork. He wasn't sure how Prussia had managed to get any vegetable to that consistency in less than an hour. He had no idea whatsoever how Prussia had managed to get them that colour.
Prussia watched him with great interest, apparently actually expecting him to do more than prod what had been placed in front of him.
“I'm not eating this,” he said, just to clarify. Though really, it should have been obvious.
“Oh.” For a moment Prussia looked completely disheartened, but the look was gone in a flash. “If you weren't hungry, you should've said something.”
Germany's reply to that was a blank look. He was keeping any of his strong feelings firmly under wraps, though even just imagining Prussia's grin if he were to break character right now was more than enough to send his anger soaring. “Was this amount of authenticity really necessary?” he said, putting his fork down on his plate with just a touch more force than was strictly required.
“What do you mean?”
“It's fine if you want to pretend you have good manners for once, I don't care. But this?” He gestured to his plate. “Why waste good carrots and broccoli?”
“Waste?” hissed Prussia.
“Why waste,” he studied the supposed cottage pie, “Whatever that used to be?”
“Potatoes and beef,” Prussia supplied.
“That's potato?” Germany couldn't stop himself from crying in disbelief and with just a hint of horror.
“Yes. Mashed. But what do you mean 'waste'?” Prussia’s face was stormy.
“This isn’t edible,” Germany pointed out.
“It might be a touch overcooked,” Prussia conceded, “But that’s no need to shun it completely like some prissy Frenchman.”
Germany was forcibly reminded of meals when he was younger, being told by Prussia to eat up all his food so he’d grow strong enough to fight off Austria and France and anyone else who got in his way. He shook his head; while Prussia’s meals were never culinary delights, he’d never before tried to force Germany to poison himself.
“I’ll prove to you that it’s edible,” said Prussia, gathering some of his mess onto his fork.
“Don’t do that.” Germany could feel the headache building already. “You’ll only damage yourself.”
Prussia raised the fork to his lips, eyes locked with Germany’s.
“Prussia.”
Prussia’s mouth opened.
“Prussia, this isn’t worth it.”
The concoction went in.
Germany groaned - this was going nowhere good.
Prussia chewed with great determination, glaring at Germany as though putting the stuff in his mouth had proved some kind of point. The chewing slowed, though, as Prussia’s expression went from determined to confused, then on from confused to disgusted. The chewing stopped altogether and, in the moment’s calm, Prussia looked at Germany, wide-eyed and lost. Then he gagged and spat his mouthful right back out onto his plate.
“That was disgusting!” Prussia cried, pushing himself away from the table and doing a very good job of sounding surprised.
“Of course it was.” Germany massaged the side of his head with his hand.
“What do you mean 'of course'?” said Prussia between trying to spit the taste out of his mouth.
“I'm not in the mood for this.” Germany stood up. “I'll,” a sigh, it was too late to start cooking now and Prussia seemed to have destroyed all the good ingredients anyway. “Order a pizza.”
“No!” shouted Prussia, “Tell me what you mean by 'of course'!” and apparently it meant a lot to him because he'd stopped trying to get rid of the bad taste in his mouth.
“I mean look at it!” Somewhere in the back of his mind, Germany was wondering why he always let himself be dragged into these arguments.
“It always looks like that!”
“Yes, England's food always looks like that. That's why nobody ever eats it!” For goodness' sake, this was beyond the pale. Germany was now arguing with Prussia about a subject they both agreed on.
Germany braced himself for Prussia's counter, but none ever came.
Prussia was slumped back in his chair, staring at the dinner he'd laid out for himself. “It's never tasted that bad before.”
Germany shook his head. “I don't know what you're trying to achieve here,” he said truthfully. It had been an awful lot of effort to put into a frankly pathetic prank. Germany refused to believe that Prussia thought he was stupid enough to actually eat what had been put in front of him.
“I was trying to make you a nice meal.” Prussia looked up at him. “I know the past few days haven't been very good for you and it's not your fault. I just,” Prussia heaved a sigh full of regret, “I wanted to do something nice.”
Germany frowned in thought as he watched Prussia's morose face. He was trying to work out Prussia's angle; what he was hoping to get from this deception. It had to be something big if he was willing to show feelings like this, beyond his usual 'awesome' (Prussia insisted, against all evidence, that awesome counted as an emotion) even if they were fabricated.
Unless Prussia's mind had snapped completely and the only way he felt he could express his feelings was to pretend to be someone else entirely. Perhaps that was what happened to former countries. Perhaps the sudden loss of power and importance slowly drove them insane. Perhaps Prussia was embarking down a long, slow road to becoming a gibbering madman.
It was only a theory - and a tentative one, at that - but Germany couldn't help the wave of worry that suddenly overtook him. His demeanour immediately softened, even though he tried to tell himself that he was being completely irrational and Prussia was just up to his usual tricks. This trick was just more elaborate than usual, that was all.
“Do you know what sounds nice to me?” Germany asked.
“No,” said Prussia, pouting at his plate.
“I think we should see if there's match on. I think it'd be nice to watch it while we eat our pizza. Maybe with a couple of beers?” Food, drink and football. If that didn't lighten Prussia's mood, he didn't know what would.
“Oh,” Prussia sniffed. Germany told himself it was a side effect of the mixture he'd attempted to consume because anything else was more than he could handle. “Yeah.” The corner of Prussia's mouth twitched upwards. “Yes, that sounds really nice.”
Chapter Five
Well, you've caught up with me. Expect updates to be even fewer and further between!
Title: Second Chance: Chapter 4
Characters: Prussia, Sealand, Germany and England.
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Really silly premise.
Notes: elwon still cheers.
Summary: After a memorable and yet largely forgotten night Prussia and England wake up to find they've mysteriously swapped bodies. England's horrified, Prussia is less so... This chapter Some fallout from the meeting, plus England cooks!
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
The door slamming alerted Sealand to the new arrival in the house. He paused his game and quickly did a mental inventory of the things he'd done that could possibly have pissed England off. Then he remembered it wasn't England arriving and carried on playing.
A low and continuous growl of discontent announced Prussia's presence in the kitchen. Sealand waited until he was bombing along a straight road before glancing up from his DS at Prussia. He looked terrible.
“Didn't... go well?” said Sealand, pausing slightly in the middle to dodge a hole in the ground.
Prussia's groaning carried on as he kicked a chair out opposite Sealand's and slumped into it. Sealand realised that was probably the only answer he was going to get.
“England's a freak,” Prussia spontaneously declared. Sealand burst into giggles that he had to cut short when he nearly fell off a cliff. Prussia drooped forward, banged his head on the table, then left it there. The room fell into silence apart from Sealand's game until, from somewhere deep within Prussia's jacket, a phone rang. Prussia let out another frustrated groan. “What is it now?”
“Hey, you're getting better; that really sounded like him!” said Sealand helpfully. He smirked, catching sight of Prussia's glare over the top of his screen. Prussia fished out the phone and put it on the table.
“It's Portugal,” he said, “Should I answer it?”
“Yeah.” Sealand rammed another kart off the track. “He'll just keep calling otherwise.”
Prussia sighed. He picked up the phone, stared at it, sighed again, and then answered it.
“Hello,” he said tiredly.
Sealand punched the air as he won yet another race.
“I'm just fine.”
Sealand selected another character, another race and the difficulty (not too easy, but easy enough that he knew he was going to win).
“Well, I'm much better since I got home.”
The countdown to the start of the race began.
“Yes, really.”
Three, two, one, and they were off. Sealand shot straight from his placing at the back into third position.
“I've got a lot on right now. There were too many people there!”
Someone got him from behind with a turtle and he dropped into fourth.
“That's what I said.”
Sealand stared intently at the screen as he inched up behind the jerk in front of him. He overtook him and immediately dropped a banana skin so the overgrown monkey wouldn't catch up again. That's what happens when you mess with Sealand: you lose.
“Don't do that! No, I'm really busy right now and I have Sealand over already... My house is full!”
Sealand was pulling up behind the guy in second position when the smash of glass made him jump and drop his DS completely.
“Oh my god, Sealand, what did you do?!” said Prussia, looking at the floor. Sealand's eyes quickly took in Prussia's hand on the table where there had been a glass only moments before.
“I didn't do anything!” cried Sealand, for once being entirely truthful.
“Is that blood I see?” said Prussia meaningfully, meeting Sealand's eyes and waving a hand at him frantically. Sealand's eyes widened.
“O-oh, ow!” he said when he caught on. “Oooww!” he tried a little louder when Prussia nodded encouragingly. “Oh my god it really hurts! I'm going to die! Owww!” he wailed.
“Sorry, Portugal!” Prussia trilled hysterically down the phone, “Bit of an emergency. We'll talk about this some other time, ok?” He hung up.
Immediately, Prussia slumped back into his chair and turned his mobile off. He let out a long breath. “Thanks, Sealand. You did great.”
Sealand preened at the praise. “You're welcome.”
“So,” Prussia glanced around the kitchen, “What do you want for dinner?”
“Chocolate,” Sealand answered straight away, even as he picked up his DS again.
Prussia gave him a look. “How about a Chinese?”
Sealand shrugged. “That'll do, I suppose.”
“You want to see a film first?”
“Yeah!” Sealand discarded his DS once more.
“Ok.” Prussia got up and headed towards the door. “You see what's on and I'll go get changed into something more...” Prussia looked down at himself. “Wearable.”
~~~
The front door slammed in a way England instinctively knew did not bode well for him. Well, it could've been instinct, or it could've been that in his few days as Germany's brother, even with the number of times he'd managed to annoy Germany, he hadn't heard Germany slam the door before. He hoped it had just been a strong gust of wind.
That hope was dashed when Germany roared Prussia's name.
For a moment England found himself caught, trapped like a rabbit. He'd already been chewed out by Germany once, and that had been enough to last him a lifetime. On the other hand, he was under no illusion that he'd be able to escape Germany on his home turf. If he did try to run it would only provoke Germany further. It was either face up to whatever Prussia had done now, or do it later to an even more furious Germany.
Germany yelled Prussia's name once more. England took a deep breath and stood up from the sofa. “I'm in here,” he said, voice steady.
Germany stalked in and brought with him enough storm clouds to fill the entire room. Not literally, obviously, but the atmosphere certainly felt charged enough. Germany opened his mouth. He shut it again. He waved his finger in England's direction. He waved his finger and opened his mouth. He shut his mouth and returned his arm to his side, fist balled up tight.
“Did the meeting not go well?” England asked innocently.
“No!” Germany barked in German. England predicted it wouldn't be long before he was unable to understand anything. His German had been coming back to him over the past few days, but the moment Germany got loud and emotional, everything he said just sounded like noise. Very loud noise. “No, it did not go well! England left halfway through!”
“What?” England's demeanour shifted quickly from resigned to very interested. “He bothered to turn up in the first place?”
“Yes, he bothered!” Germany took a step closer and England swayed but ultimately refrained from backing off. “He looked terrible, but he bothered! Despite what you did!” From there, just as England had thought, Germany devolved into spewing noise. It was a pity because England suspected Germany was telling him what 'England' had done at the meeting, which he very much wanted to find out. The words he did manage to catch helped him form nothing of the bigger picture and Germany kept stalking closer and closer until they were practically nose to nose.
England snapped. He'd been trying not to let his anger out on Germany - lord knew it wasn't his fault - but this was more than he could put up with. Being yelled at right in his face in a foreign language about something he hadn't even done. He didn't deserve this.
“I can't understand a single fucking thing you're saying!” he yelled right back.
On the one hand, it shut Germany up. On the other hand, he now looked downright terrifying. His face was blotching all kinds of interesting colours, his eyes were bulging and that vein on his temple was mere moments away from exploding, possibly taking them all with it.
It had been a while since England had made anyone that angry. He readied himself to dodge the inevitable punch. It'd be hard at such close quarters, but he'd been in tighter scrapes; even if he didn't win the fight he'd be able to hold his own.
“You,” said Germany in a dangerously quiet voice, “Are grounded.”
Even though no physical blow had befallen him, England still found himself suitably stunned. “I'm what?”
“Grounded,” Germany repeated. He sighed and stepped back, the anger dissipating off somewhere, leaving him looking more weary than anything. “I can't overlook this anymore,” he said to himself, then he straightened up, hands behind his back as though he were addressing a platoon of soldiers rather than his brother. “I am taking away your computer and your games consoles. I will also be taking your phone - I need to be sure that you are not interfering with England behind my back.”
“Grounded?” said England, still rather stuck on that point.
“If you will insist on behaving this way, yes.” Germany started pacing up and down in front of England. “You are not your own nation anymore, Preußen. What you do reflects on me and I can't have you terrorising other nations!” Germany turned and faced England with military precision, his face still showing anger and frustration, but also a hint of pleading; looking to his brother's latent sense of decency.
England, however, still hadn't quite moved on. “But, grounding?” Germany set his face, obviously in it for the long haul, arguing his point. England's next words seemed to knock him for six: “Is that it?”
Germany digested this new information. “ What were you expecting?” he asked curiously.
“A punch?” England answered truthfully. “At the very least some threats of grievous bodily harm.”
Germany peered at England with a very curious expression on his face. “We are not barbarians,” he said at long length, “I think we are beyond that kind of punishment.
“Well, it's nice to know at least someone is,” England grumbled, thinking of his own brothers and how violence was more or less a natural state of being between them. Granted, it had become less frequent in recent decades, but the verbal abuse was as rampant as ever.
“Prussia,” said Germany disapprovingly, a frown once more gracing his features. “I will not have you casting aspersions on England's character. Especially after what you did.”
“But--”
“It doesn't matter if he isn't here, I will not have it! I am sure that - so long as alcohol and football are not involved - England is perfectly capable of dealing with his problems without violence.”
“Oh.” England was honestly touched by Germany's words. He wasn't so delusional that he took offence to Germany's caveat, but he was at a loss for words, entirely unused to the idea that anyone would defend him, especially if he weren't there. He almost felt bad for all the times he'd needled Germany about the past whenever they had a football match. Then again, Germany more often than not won those matches so it was a fair trade-off as far as England was concerned. “That's... yes. Of course,” he finished lamely.
“Good.” Germany nodded. Then he held out his hand. “Phone. Now.”
England dug into his pocket and pulled out Prussia's phone. He glanced at the screen, which revealed the phone's message-less status, then reluctantly handed it over. He knew why Germany wanted it, he could see the perfect logic behind the thought, but that didn't stop it being annoying. He had no doubt being without phone would, at some point, make his life harder.
Germany took the phone with little ceremony and immediately left for the rest of the house, gathering up all the extraneous technology of Prussia's and moving it to his bedroom, where he locked them in. Along with Prussia's earlier-confiscated travel documents.
England took good note of that. For a moment, as he gazed at the heavily locked door, he let the enormity of his task overwhelm him. Then he pulled himself together.
His first mission, should he choose to accept it, was to break into Germany's bedroom.
~~~
Germany was, once again, bemused by Prussia's antics.
It was out of character. Germany had grounded him; there should've been at least a few hours of sulking. Instead, Prussia had gone so far as to say he was sorry for putting him through all this, and had offered to cook dinner. The weirdest thing of all was that Prussia was actually cooking. The kind of 'cooking' he was usually up to was warming up a ready-made meal in the oven, or - if he really wanted to put effort into it - going out for a kebab. Right now, though, he was bustling around in the kitchen, he'd even gone so far as to turf Germany out, insisting that he watch something on TV and relax. Germany, though, was having a hard time relaxing knowing that Prussia was loose in the kitchen with no supervision. The intermittent swearing did nothing to assuage his worries.
Germany was eventually forced from his tentative position on the edge of his seat, eyes watching the television (in theory) and ears straining for any and all noises from the kitchen, when the smoke alarm went off. He decided enough was enough and went to see what Prussia was up to.
The air in the kitchen was hazy and smoke was curling from the cracked-open oven. The hot, cloying atmosphere became apparent the moment he stepped over the threshold. Prussia was over by the sink with a steaming pile of something in a colander, trying to open the window.
“What is going on in here?” Germany yelled over the shrill beeping.
“Nothing to worry about!” said Prussia with a laugh that quickly turned into a cough, “Just a small mishap!” He finally managed to wrench the window open. “I usually take the battery out when I'm at home.” He gestured towards the screaming alarm. “But I forgot.”
Germany, seeing that there were at least no flames apparent anywhere, reset the alarm, though he wouldn't be surprised if it went off again in a minute or two.
“I think it's ready, anyway.” Prussia set the colander down in the sink and waved away the steam rising off it. He peered at the contents. “Yes, it's more or less done. You go sit yourself down at the table, I'll bring it through.”
Germany was hesitant to follow instructions, Prussia being the kind of person who could cause twenty new and exciting problems if you turned your back on him for more than five minutes. When he saw that Prussia really was just dishing up food (or something that approximated food), he took a risk and went to sit down in the dining room where two places had already been prepared at the table.
Prussia followed a minute or two after, carrying two plates that didn't so much smoke or steam as fume. He set one down in front of Germany and sat down with the other one on the opposite side of the table. Germany hesitantly sniffed his food, then immediately regretted it when he reeled back, eyes watering and barely able to suppress his coughs.
“What is this?” he asked, fairly sure he'd been presented with the contents of a dirty bomb.
“Cottage pie,” Prussia replied immediately, pointing to the blackened mass on his plate, “Carrots, and broccoli,” he waved a fork over the surrounding sludge.
Germany prodded his own sludge with a fork. He wasn't sure how Prussia had managed to get any vegetable to that consistency in less than an hour. He had no idea whatsoever how Prussia had managed to get them that colour.
Prussia watched him with great interest, apparently actually expecting him to do more than prod what had been placed in front of him.
“I'm not eating this,” he said, just to clarify. Though really, it should have been obvious.
“Oh.” For a moment Prussia looked completely disheartened, but the look was gone in a flash. “If you weren't hungry, you should've said something.”
Germany's reply to that was a blank look. He was keeping any of his strong feelings firmly under wraps, though even just imagining Prussia's grin if he were to break character right now was more than enough to send his anger soaring. “Was this amount of authenticity really necessary?” he said, putting his fork down on his plate with just a touch more force than was strictly required.
“What do you mean?”
“It's fine if you want to pretend you have good manners for once, I don't care. But this?” He gestured to his plate. “Why waste good carrots and broccoli?”
“Waste?” hissed Prussia.
“Why waste,” he studied the supposed cottage pie, “Whatever that used to be?”
“Potatoes and beef,” Prussia supplied.
“That's potato?” Germany couldn't stop himself from crying in disbelief and with just a hint of horror.
“Yes. Mashed. But what do you mean 'waste'?” Prussia’s face was stormy.
“This isn’t edible,” Germany pointed out.
“It might be a touch overcooked,” Prussia conceded, “But that’s no need to shun it completely like some prissy Frenchman.”
Germany was forcibly reminded of meals when he was younger, being told by Prussia to eat up all his food so he’d grow strong enough to fight off Austria and France and anyone else who got in his way. He shook his head; while Prussia’s meals were never culinary delights, he’d never before tried to force Germany to poison himself.
“I’ll prove to you that it’s edible,” said Prussia, gathering some of his mess onto his fork.
“Don’t do that.” Germany could feel the headache building already. “You’ll only damage yourself.”
Prussia raised the fork to his lips, eyes locked with Germany’s.
“Prussia.”
Prussia’s mouth opened.
“Prussia, this isn’t worth it.”
The concoction went in.
Germany groaned - this was going nowhere good.
Prussia chewed with great determination, glaring at Germany as though putting the stuff in his mouth had proved some kind of point. The chewing slowed, though, as Prussia’s expression went from determined to confused, then on from confused to disgusted. The chewing stopped altogether and, in the moment’s calm, Prussia looked at Germany, wide-eyed and lost. Then he gagged and spat his mouthful right back out onto his plate.
“That was disgusting!” Prussia cried, pushing himself away from the table and doing a very good job of sounding surprised.
“Of course it was.” Germany massaged the side of his head with his hand.
“What do you mean 'of course'?” said Prussia between trying to spit the taste out of his mouth.
“I'm not in the mood for this.” Germany stood up. “I'll,” a sigh, it was too late to start cooking now and Prussia seemed to have destroyed all the good ingredients anyway. “Order a pizza.”
“No!” shouted Prussia, “Tell me what you mean by 'of course'!” and apparently it meant a lot to him because he'd stopped trying to get rid of the bad taste in his mouth.
“I mean look at it!” Somewhere in the back of his mind, Germany was wondering why he always let himself be dragged into these arguments.
“It always looks like that!”
“Yes, England's food always looks like that. That's why nobody ever eats it!” For goodness' sake, this was beyond the pale. Germany was now arguing with Prussia about a subject they both agreed on.
Germany braced himself for Prussia's counter, but none ever came.
Prussia was slumped back in his chair, staring at the dinner he'd laid out for himself. “It's never tasted that bad before.”
Germany shook his head. “I don't know what you're trying to achieve here,” he said truthfully. It had been an awful lot of effort to put into a frankly pathetic prank. Germany refused to believe that Prussia thought he was stupid enough to actually eat what had been put in front of him.
“I was trying to make you a nice meal.” Prussia looked up at him. “I know the past few days haven't been very good for you and it's not your fault. I just,” Prussia heaved a sigh full of regret, “I wanted to do something nice.”
Germany frowned in thought as he watched Prussia's morose face. He was trying to work out Prussia's angle; what he was hoping to get from this deception. It had to be something big if he was willing to show feelings like this, beyond his usual 'awesome' (Prussia insisted, against all evidence, that awesome counted as an emotion) even if they were fabricated.
Unless Prussia's mind had snapped completely and the only way he felt he could express his feelings was to pretend to be someone else entirely. Perhaps that was what happened to former countries. Perhaps the sudden loss of power and importance slowly drove them insane. Perhaps Prussia was embarking down a long, slow road to becoming a gibbering madman.
It was only a theory - and a tentative one, at that - but Germany couldn't help the wave of worry that suddenly overtook him. His demeanour immediately softened, even though he tried to tell himself that he was being completely irrational and Prussia was just up to his usual tricks. This trick was just more elaborate than usual, that was all.
“Do you know what sounds nice to me?” Germany asked.
“No,” said Prussia, pouting at his plate.
“I think we should see if there's match on. I think it'd be nice to watch it while we eat our pizza. Maybe with a couple of beers?” Food, drink and football. If that didn't lighten Prussia's mood, he didn't know what would.
“Oh,” Prussia sniffed. Germany told himself it was a side effect of the mixture he'd attempted to consume because anything else was more than he could handle. “Yeah.” The corner of Prussia's mouth twitched upwards. “Yes, that sounds really nice.”
Chapter Five
Well, you've caught up with me. Expect updates to be even fewer and further between!