Chapter 9? Is that all?
Christ alive, it's been what, twelve years since my last update?
Title: Second Chance: Chapter 9
Characters/Pairings: Prussia, Sealand, Germany and England. And France . Pairing-free.
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Perilous situations, fisticuffs and French. Forgive me.
Notes: elwon WOULD LIKE IT KNOWN THAT SHE IS NOT ANYTHING LIKE FRANCE. Thank you.
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 A new day has dawned! And everyone has to reap what they've sown. Germany has some serious tidying to do, England is hungover and Prussia continues to make people angry.
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight
Prussia's day started well. The weather was fine and seeing as Scotland hadn't stormed them in the night to take his revenge, Prussia decided he'd got away with his little phone stunt. Sealand, being an early riser, was already out playing at the local park. Prussia - usually an early riser, but less of one in England's body - had decided he'd follow after Sealand a little later.
In other words, once he'd had the requisite amount of tea. It was annoying being so damn hooked on the stuff. Prussia wondered how England had managed to convince everyone he was, if not an upstanding gentleman, then at least remotely respectable, when it was clear that he was actually a complete junkie.
Prussia was still grumbling about these things as he left the house. Then, as he locked the door behind him, he realised how much like a grumpy old man he sounded. He was becoming more and more like England each day, which was a scary thought. For the first time since the whole incident began, he wondered if perhaps stealing someone else's body was a bad idea, but he quickly quashed that thought. Anyone would be annoyed by being so attached to a drink (beer didn't count, beer didn't abide by the same rules as all the other, lesser beverages).
Feeling much better with himself after his brief blip of doubt, Prussia turned to carry on his way to the park. He wasn't even off the doorstep when found himself face to face with a gigantic white beast. Or to be more specific, he found himself face to horn with a gigantic white unicorn.
Prussia flattened himself against the door with a very harsh and Germanic string of expletives.
The unicorn snorted and tossed its head. Prussia shrunk back as the shining point of the horn went flying past his face.
Prussia didn't dare look away from the beast and reached blindly for the doorknob. He found it and turned and it was, of course, locked - seeing as he had only just locked it. He slowly crept a hand into he coat pocket, searching for the keys, but the unicorn stamped its cloven hoof threateningly.
Prussia put his hands up in surrender but the unicorn did not budge. It stood there, refusing to let him move. Its ears flattened against its head angrily if Prussia so much as cleared his throat. The whole animal was constantly shifting, as if it had too much rage-fuelled energy to be able to stay still. Its hooves, which were a world away from the dainty little things most artists would have you believe, scraped over the flagstones of England's front path as the thing pawed at the ground aggressively.
Everything about the body in front of Prussia screamed 'if you move an inch I will gore you'. A lesser nation would be terrified. A lesser nation nation would be on his knees crying for his mother. Prussia was not a lesser nation. As such, he was merely frozen in fright, which was an entirely different part of the fear spectrum. Honest, it was.
Anyone would think that standing on the front line, facing down an entire oncoming army would make facing such a piffling (and lets not forget nonexistent) thing as a unicorn a breeze. That was certainly what Prussia had thought before he was so cruelly disabused of the notion.
Prussia tried to think of his best horse-calming tactics, but he found any attempt at noise was met with either another stamp or a menacing swish of the lion-like tail and he had, rather shortsightedly, forgotten to stock up on sugar cubes before he left.
With no other options presenting themselves to him, Prussia remained plastered against the front door. The damn thing had to have been pushing two metres at the withers and, even though it's hard to tell just looking point-on, the horn had to add another half a metre at least. Whose god damn idea had it been to put a horn on a horse anyway? As if horses weren't dangerous enough when they wanted to be. Oh hey, this poor horse is getting bullied for its freakish hooves and stupid tail, let's give it a gigantic fucking horn so it can leave gaping holes in anyone it doesn't like, what a fucking riot!
Someone out there in the mists of time had given unicorns a serious makeover and Prussia wanted to rip them a new one personally. Perhaps he'd grow a horn for the occasion. He didn't care if unicorns did fart rainbows and fly through the air on a river of sparkling dreams; they were ravenous, bloodthirsty beasts with fucking great pointy horns on their heads and huge fuck-off hooves that were just the right size for crushing a man's head and had he mentioned the fucking horn?
“Jago!”
The unicorn's ears twitched, flicking towards the road.
“Jago, what are you doing?” Sealand hurried into sight and up the path.
Prussia wanted to yell at him to stop, to not come close, because he could see the creature's muscles. One kick would send Sealand flying across the road and then Prussia would have no choice but to run to see if Sealand was alright and get himself gored gruesomely.
On the contrary, the unicorn didn't seem to mind Sealand. Sealand patted the thing on its shoulder, even though he had to reach above his head to do so, and the unicorn stepped back from Prussia. Prussia breathed a wary sigh of relief and rubbed at his chest where he'd been poked a few times.
“You know you can't hurt him.” Sealand was still talking with the unicorn. The beast's entire demeanour had changed - it even looked less muscular, somehow. It snorted gently into Sealand's hand and nudged at his shoulder. “Come on, Jago.” Sealand stroked its fur. “You can't possibly think England won't find his way back.”
The unicorn snorted again and nosed Sealand's cheek. Sealand giggled.
Prussia carefully stepped away from the door and brushed himself off. The unicorn ignored him. Taking this as a good sign, Prussia stepped off the small porch. “So,”
Before he got any further, the unicorn bristled and turned back towards him, body wound tight and muscles bulging. Then it screamed in his face.
Prussia clamped his hands over his ears, but it didn't do much to keep out the shrill roar of noise.
Once it had emptied its lungs, the huge beast reared up and out of pure instinct, Prussia snatched Sealand away out of the reach of flailing hooves. The creature then twisted and turned away and clattered off down the street, completely unnoticed by the few passers-by.
Prussia watched it go, blinking in shock. His whole body felt like it was ringing from the beast's farewell message.
“You're welcome,” said Sealand haughtily, extricating himself from Prussia's tight grasp.
“I'm what?”
“Welcome.” Sealand raised an eyebrow. “I assumed you'd want to thank me for saving you.”
“Saving me?” Prussia headed down the path and towards the road, checking both ways just in case there were any great, white, furry lumps watching. He stretched his back out. “I had everything under control.”
“You would've been standing there for days if it weren't for me!” Sealand insisted as he hurried to catch up.
Prussia dropped that line of argument. “Where's my thanks, then?”
“For what?”
“I saved you from being trampled to death!”
“By Jago?” Sealand laughed. “He wouldn't trample me.”
“Did you see that thing? It was all angry and flailing and,” he flapped a hand in the hope it would paint the picture for him, “horned. It was ready to kill!” You didn't have to be a genius to see it was angry.
“Hey,” said Sealand with a small jab of his elbow, “Jago's one of the decent ones. He's nice if you don't steal his best friend's body.”
Prussia gave Sealand a bemused look and mouthed 'one of the decent ones?' to himself. Then he gave up the argument. Eccentricity ran in the family; it wasn't like Sealand could help it.
Prussia just hoped he never met the thing again.
~~~
Germany woke late that morning. Not hugely late, but late enough that he felt it set a precedent for how the rest of the day was going to go. His suspicions were confirmed when he tried to sit up and, with a whine of pain, was forced to lie back down again.
He ached. Everywhere. Even in the places he'd forgotten he had.
He looked over to the other side of the bed. Italy was still there, sleeping happily, smiling into his pillow and, as always, wearing disturbingly little clothing. It had been decades and still Germany found it deeply unnatural to go to bed without at least one layer on. Two if you counted underwear.
Germany had been, if not comfortable with, then at least prepared for Italy to shed his clothing. It was Prussia's idea to join in that had really knocked Germany for six. Prussia had joined in with great gusto. Germany had seen more of Prussia's bare skin than he was willing to admit existed. It had all added up to a rather overwhelming night.
But still, there was no time to be lying about contemplating, even if getting up did cause five very distinct and possibly debilitating kinds of pain. He had a long day of work ahead. He had to go over the subjects he wanted to bring up with Austria. He would have to work out some way of keeping Prussia occupied or at the very least out of the way. He had to get his house into perfect order before Austria arrive (and oh Christ, they'd destroyed the coffee table, hadn't they? And he'd only managed to tidy the kitchen before Italy had insisted he needed rest). Most importantly, he still had to bake a cake.
He'd definitely have to get the best china out, too
So many things to do and so little time.
Germany braced himself before moving but he still grimaced as he sat up. He caught his breath and then levered himself into a standing position. He swayed for a moment. Then decided it was time to get on with his day.
His first terrible shock upon arriving in the kitchen was that Prussia was already up.
“I'm not up yet,” said Prussia, frowning deeply at the countertop. He picked up a glass and reached to fill it from the sink. “I'm just get-- ow” Prussia held up his splinted hand in front of him and stared at it in confusion. “What happened?” he asked, facing Germany at last.
“You broke a finger.” It had been at some point during the fight. The top contending moments were either when they'd fallen over, or when Prussia had punched Germany in the forehead. A decisive answer would never be found though: just another of life's great mysteries.
“Oh.” Prussia filled the glass, drank the whole of it, then refilled it. He faced Germany again. “You look rough.”
“You look,” Germany floundered for a word to properly describe the state Prussia was in, “Rougher.”
“I feel it,” grunted Prussia before he decided he'd had enough of the waking world and went back to his room.
Germany regarded the kitchen. It looked tidy enough, but then again, Austria had standards.
Germany rolled his sleeves up. He had work to do.
~~~
Prussia was taking a break. Sealand was messing about on the climbing frame, having accrued a gang of younger children, and was happily setting up a small empire where everything was under his control. Prussia saw he wasn't needed and took the time to sit on a bench and bask in the sun while it was still there. He closed his eyes, tipped his head back and soaked up the heat.
Prussia slowly relaxed. He didn't relax much. He always liked to be doing something, but he'd had a busy few days. A few minutes of just breathing wouldn't hurt.
Someone sat down next to him. It was fair, it supposed; it was a public bench. But then again, he'd spread himself across the bench and was plainly not looking for conversation. Some people are apparently just that oblivious.
Prussia cracked an eye open to get a look at the intruder. Upon seeing and even recognising who it was, he jumped and yelled. “France! What are-- What the-- Why-- France!”
“It is I,” France agreed. He shuffled a little closer.
“What are you doin-- Get away from me!” Prussia squashed himself up the far end of the bench. It wasn't a reaction he was proud of, and not one in keeping with his usual cool demeanour, but he was shaken by France's sudden appearance and oh god he had to keep up his charade now, didn't he?
“Non, mon cher.” France took no notice of Prussia's body language and sidled closer still. “I had to see you myself.”
“But why?” Prussia whinged, wishing he didn't have to deal with this.
“Because it has been too long, my love.” France pressed Prussia into his corner and placed a hand on his thigh, slowly inching it up higher to places that, despite having had this body for four days, Prussia still wasn't entirely at home with.
Prussia froze up. France was moving to practically straddle him, but he couldn't think how to react. He knew how he would react and he thought knew how England would react but France seemed to expect something else entirely. It was all moving too fast. It was moving at France's usual pace, but it was all too fast.
Was this really France and England's relationship? Behind closed doors they were all lovey-dovey? There had been rumours floating about since the middle ages but Hungary had always been rather optimistic about that kind of thing and France was never a reliable source.
France leant in close, paying no mind to stiffness of Prussia's body, and breathed in his ear, “Tell me what's going on.”
“What?” asked Prussia, mind still buzzing and not at all up to the task of keeping up with anything.
France hushed him, one hand twirling with the hairs at the back of Prussia's head, which did nothing to help Prussia keep his thoughts straight. “I know that something is going on.” France met Prussia's eyes, but before Prussia could say anything, he continued, “And keep it quiet, they could have placed bugs anywhere.” France leant in again, pretending to place kisses on Prussia's neck, but actually saying, “Are they keeping you here against your will?”
“Who are 'they'?”
“The ones who have been causing you all this 'stress'.” France turned Prussia's head so that they could get uncomfortably close, noses just touching. “The ones who are intercepting your phone calls.” France glanced around and Prussia was fairly sure it was for show because his entire vision was taken up by France's face. “The ones who could be watching us as we speak.”
Prussia stared into France's eyes a few moments more as everything clicked into place. France thought England was in trouble and had come to the rescue. It was kind of sweet. Once this was over, he was going to mock France mercilessly.
But first, he had to set some things straight. The last thing he needed was to be at the centre of an international incident. There would be interrogations and investigations, neither of which Prussia would manage without being found out, despite his awesome skills.
Prussia sighed and pushed France away. “There is no 'they', France.”
“What do you mean?” The hand on Prussia's knee tightened. “Why else haven't you beaten me out of the country already?”
Prussia pushed France further away, so that they were no longer touching. “There isn't any 'they'. France.” Prussia rubbed the bridge of his nose. Time to come clean. He'd hoped to last longer than this. “The thing is...”
“Yes?” France prompted.
“What's going on is...” Prussia vainly sought for a good way to say it that didn't make him sound like a crazy person. “That...” But none came to him.
“Go on.” France gestured impatiently with his hand.
Prussia sighed again and slumped on the bench. “I'm not England.”
“What,” said France.
“I'm not England,” said Prussia again. “I'm Prussia.”
France's eyebrow rose elegantly, with the utmost haughty disbelief. “You're... Prussia,” he said for clarification.
“I don't know exactly how it happened,” Prussia attempted to explain, “But I read one of England's books he had in his hotel room in Belgium and the next day here I was.” He shrugged.
“You're... mon dieu.” France buried his face in his hands briefly. “My god, England.” He glared fiercely at Prussia. “I thought--” He snorted angrily. “I was really--” His nose scrunched up with distaste. “You are by far the most infuriating of all the nations!” he finally managed to get out.
“I'm not England,” repeated Prussia.
France was not listening. “Of all the nations in Europe,” he ranted, “It was you, I thought. Like I'd always known it would be.” He stabbed his finger painfully into Prussia's chest. “You were the weak link. You were the one who was acting strangely, was being spied on and infiltrated. You were the one who was going to bring us all down.”
“France, listen to me!” Prussia pushed France's hand away, rubbing at the sore spot on his chest. There was going to be a bruise there after today, he was certain.
“And all along you were here pretending to be Prussia.” France stood up with a sneer.
“I'm not pretending!” cried Prussia.
“Why should I believe that?” France threw his arms in the air. “So you can make a fool out of me? You want me to believe this ridiculous rubbish you spout so at some point down the line you can make me look like an idiot. I know your tricks!” He pointed at Prussia accusingly.
“Honest to god, France, I'm not tricking you!” Prussia could see that France was already incensed. There was no way he'd listen to reason and Prussia couldn't think of any other way to convince him.
France threw his head back with one great “Ha!” of disbelief. “And what reason is there to believe you?”
“I lie to you and you think I'm lying,” said Prussia desperately, “I tell you the truth and you think I'm lying.” He shrugged. “I don't know what I'm supposed to do now.”
France looked at Prussia down his nose. Tension gathered around him like static electricity, waiting for an outlet.
Prussia's eyes widened; he hadn't seen a look like that from France for a long while. It was a reminder as to why French had been the lingua franca for so many years. Or, in fact, why the phrase lingua franca existed at all.
France suddenly unleashed all his energy with a single, lightning-fast slap. “I suggest you go die in a hole.” He watched Prussia cling to the arm of the bench, recovering from the force of the blow. “The world would be much better off.” He stormed away, leaving Prussia to hold his cheek and spit blood, but he turned back just before he reached the low railing that circled the climbing frame. “You're a disgusting excuse for a nation,” he shouted with venom before finally leaving the park.
Prussia gazed after him in a daze. That... had not been how he'd envisioned that happening. Who knew that telling the truth would be the best way to get France to believe he was England?
“Gilbert!”
Prussia's attention was drawn to Sealand running towards him. He smiled with the side of his face that wasn't on fire. England had obviously impressed upon him the importance of hiding identities, even though if anything were to blow their cover, France's tantrum would definitely had done it.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I'm fine,” said Prussia, despite the swelling cheek.
“But you're bleeding.” Sealand pointed to the few drops of blood on Prussia's shirt.
“I bit my tongue, it's nothing.” Prussia swallowed the blood in his mouth.
Sealand stood back and appraised Prussia. Then he nodded and a small smile came to his face. “You were useless. England would've dodged that hit.”
“Hey!” said Prussia indignantly, “I was taken by surprise! I didn't know he was going to go completely mental when I told him the truth.”
Sealand snorted and opened his mouth to say something, but Prussia noticed the looks he was getting from the few parents out there. Their looks of disapproval would truly have made England himself proud.
“I think we should go home.” He nodded towards a particularly disgusted group of mothers. “I don't think they appreciated France's show.” Then, to show that he wasn't being chased off by a group of young-to-middle-aged women he added, “And I need some ice.”
Chapter Ten
I think what France was trying to say that he was worried. AWWWW. ;3;
Title: Second Chance: Chapter 9
Characters/Pairings: Prussia, Sealand, Germany and England. And France . Pairing-free.
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Perilous situations, fisticuffs and French. Forgive me.
Notes: elwon WOULD LIKE IT KNOWN THAT SHE IS NOT ANYTHING LIKE FRANCE. Thank you.
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 A new day has dawned! And everyone has to reap what they've sown. Germany has some serious tidying to do, England is hungover and Prussia continues to make people angry.
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight
Prussia's day started well. The weather was fine and seeing as Scotland hadn't stormed them in the night to take his revenge, Prussia decided he'd got away with his little phone stunt. Sealand, being an early riser, was already out playing at the local park. Prussia - usually an early riser, but less of one in England's body - had decided he'd follow after Sealand a little later.
In other words, once he'd had the requisite amount of tea. It was annoying being so damn hooked on the stuff. Prussia wondered how England had managed to convince everyone he was, if not an upstanding gentleman, then at least remotely respectable, when it was clear that he was actually a complete junkie.
Prussia was still grumbling about these things as he left the house. Then, as he locked the door behind him, he realised how much like a grumpy old man he sounded. He was becoming more and more like England each day, which was a scary thought. For the first time since the whole incident began, he wondered if perhaps stealing someone else's body was a bad idea, but he quickly quashed that thought. Anyone would be annoyed by being so attached to a drink (beer didn't count, beer didn't abide by the same rules as all the other, lesser beverages).
Feeling much better with himself after his brief blip of doubt, Prussia turned to carry on his way to the park. He wasn't even off the doorstep when found himself face to face with a gigantic white beast. Or to be more specific, he found himself face to horn with a gigantic white unicorn.
Prussia flattened himself against the door with a very harsh and Germanic string of expletives.
The unicorn snorted and tossed its head. Prussia shrunk back as the shining point of the horn went flying past his face.
Prussia didn't dare look away from the beast and reached blindly for the doorknob. He found it and turned and it was, of course, locked - seeing as he had only just locked it. He slowly crept a hand into he coat pocket, searching for the keys, but the unicorn stamped its cloven hoof threateningly.
Prussia put his hands up in surrender but the unicorn did not budge. It stood there, refusing to let him move. Its ears flattened against its head angrily if Prussia so much as cleared his throat. The whole animal was constantly shifting, as if it had too much rage-fuelled energy to be able to stay still. Its hooves, which were a world away from the dainty little things most artists would have you believe, scraped over the flagstones of England's front path as the thing pawed at the ground aggressively.
Everything about the body in front of Prussia screamed 'if you move an inch I will gore you'. A lesser nation would be terrified. A lesser nation nation would be on his knees crying for his mother. Prussia was not a lesser nation. As such, he was merely frozen in fright, which was an entirely different part of the fear spectrum. Honest, it was.
Anyone would think that standing on the front line, facing down an entire oncoming army would make facing such a piffling (and lets not forget nonexistent) thing as a unicorn a breeze. That was certainly what Prussia had thought before he was so cruelly disabused of the notion.
Prussia tried to think of his best horse-calming tactics, but he found any attempt at noise was met with either another stamp or a menacing swish of the lion-like tail and he had, rather shortsightedly, forgotten to stock up on sugar cubes before he left.
With no other options presenting themselves to him, Prussia remained plastered against the front door. The damn thing had to have been pushing two metres at the withers and, even though it's hard to tell just looking point-on, the horn had to add another half a metre at least. Whose god damn idea had it been to put a horn on a horse anyway? As if horses weren't dangerous enough when they wanted to be. Oh hey, this poor horse is getting bullied for its freakish hooves and stupid tail, let's give it a gigantic fucking horn so it can leave gaping holes in anyone it doesn't like, what a fucking riot!
Someone out there in the mists of time had given unicorns a serious makeover and Prussia wanted to rip them a new one personally. Perhaps he'd grow a horn for the occasion. He didn't care if unicorns did fart rainbows and fly through the air on a river of sparkling dreams; they were ravenous, bloodthirsty beasts with fucking great pointy horns on their heads and huge fuck-off hooves that were just the right size for crushing a man's head and had he mentioned the fucking horn?
“Jago!”
The unicorn's ears twitched, flicking towards the road.
“Jago, what are you doing?” Sealand hurried into sight and up the path.
Prussia wanted to yell at him to stop, to not come close, because he could see the creature's muscles. One kick would send Sealand flying across the road and then Prussia would have no choice but to run to see if Sealand was alright and get himself gored gruesomely.
On the contrary, the unicorn didn't seem to mind Sealand. Sealand patted the thing on its shoulder, even though he had to reach above his head to do so, and the unicorn stepped back from Prussia. Prussia breathed a wary sigh of relief and rubbed at his chest where he'd been poked a few times.
“You know you can't hurt him.” Sealand was still talking with the unicorn. The beast's entire demeanour had changed - it even looked less muscular, somehow. It snorted gently into Sealand's hand and nudged at his shoulder. “Come on, Jago.” Sealand stroked its fur. “You can't possibly think England won't find his way back.”
The unicorn snorted again and nosed Sealand's cheek. Sealand giggled.
Prussia carefully stepped away from the door and brushed himself off. The unicorn ignored him. Taking this as a good sign, Prussia stepped off the small porch. “So,”
Before he got any further, the unicorn bristled and turned back towards him, body wound tight and muscles bulging. Then it screamed in his face.
Prussia clamped his hands over his ears, but it didn't do much to keep out the shrill roar of noise.
Once it had emptied its lungs, the huge beast reared up and out of pure instinct, Prussia snatched Sealand away out of the reach of flailing hooves. The creature then twisted and turned away and clattered off down the street, completely unnoticed by the few passers-by.
Prussia watched it go, blinking in shock. His whole body felt like it was ringing from the beast's farewell message.
“You're welcome,” said Sealand haughtily, extricating himself from Prussia's tight grasp.
“I'm what?”
“Welcome.” Sealand raised an eyebrow. “I assumed you'd want to thank me for saving you.”
“Saving me?” Prussia headed down the path and towards the road, checking both ways just in case there were any great, white, furry lumps watching. He stretched his back out. “I had everything under control.”
“You would've been standing there for days if it weren't for me!” Sealand insisted as he hurried to catch up.
Prussia dropped that line of argument. “Where's my thanks, then?”
“For what?”
“I saved you from being trampled to death!”
“By Jago?” Sealand laughed. “He wouldn't trample me.”
“Did you see that thing? It was all angry and flailing and,” he flapped a hand in the hope it would paint the picture for him, “horned. It was ready to kill!” You didn't have to be a genius to see it was angry.
“Hey,” said Sealand with a small jab of his elbow, “Jago's one of the decent ones. He's nice if you don't steal his best friend's body.”
Prussia gave Sealand a bemused look and mouthed 'one of the decent ones?' to himself. Then he gave up the argument. Eccentricity ran in the family; it wasn't like Sealand could help it.
Prussia just hoped he never met the thing again.
~~~
Germany woke late that morning. Not hugely late, but late enough that he felt it set a precedent for how the rest of the day was going to go. His suspicions were confirmed when he tried to sit up and, with a whine of pain, was forced to lie back down again.
He ached. Everywhere. Even in the places he'd forgotten he had.
He looked over to the other side of the bed. Italy was still there, sleeping happily, smiling into his pillow and, as always, wearing disturbingly little clothing. It had been decades and still Germany found it deeply unnatural to go to bed without at least one layer on. Two if you counted underwear.
Germany had been, if not comfortable with, then at least prepared for Italy to shed his clothing. It was Prussia's idea to join in that had really knocked Germany for six. Prussia had joined in with great gusto. Germany had seen more of Prussia's bare skin than he was willing to admit existed. It had all added up to a rather overwhelming night.
But still, there was no time to be lying about contemplating, even if getting up did cause five very distinct and possibly debilitating kinds of pain. He had a long day of work ahead. He had to go over the subjects he wanted to bring up with Austria. He would have to work out some way of keeping Prussia occupied or at the very least out of the way. He had to get his house into perfect order before Austria arrive (and oh Christ, they'd destroyed the coffee table, hadn't they? And he'd only managed to tidy the kitchen before Italy had insisted he needed rest). Most importantly, he still had to bake a cake.
He'd definitely have to get the best china out, too
So many things to do and so little time.
Germany braced himself before moving but he still grimaced as he sat up. He caught his breath and then levered himself into a standing position. He swayed for a moment. Then decided it was time to get on with his day.
His first terrible shock upon arriving in the kitchen was that Prussia was already up.
“I'm not up yet,” said Prussia, frowning deeply at the countertop. He picked up a glass and reached to fill it from the sink. “I'm just get-- ow” Prussia held up his splinted hand in front of him and stared at it in confusion. “What happened?” he asked, facing Germany at last.
“You broke a finger.” It had been at some point during the fight. The top contending moments were either when they'd fallen over, or when Prussia had punched Germany in the forehead. A decisive answer would never be found though: just another of life's great mysteries.
“Oh.” Prussia filled the glass, drank the whole of it, then refilled it. He faced Germany again. “You look rough.”
“You look,” Germany floundered for a word to properly describe the state Prussia was in, “Rougher.”
“I feel it,” grunted Prussia before he decided he'd had enough of the waking world and went back to his room.
Germany regarded the kitchen. It looked tidy enough, but then again, Austria had standards.
Germany rolled his sleeves up. He had work to do.
~~~
Prussia was taking a break. Sealand was messing about on the climbing frame, having accrued a gang of younger children, and was happily setting up a small empire where everything was under his control. Prussia saw he wasn't needed and took the time to sit on a bench and bask in the sun while it was still there. He closed his eyes, tipped his head back and soaked up the heat.
Prussia slowly relaxed. He didn't relax much. He always liked to be doing something, but he'd had a busy few days. A few minutes of just breathing wouldn't hurt.
Someone sat down next to him. It was fair, it supposed; it was a public bench. But then again, he'd spread himself across the bench and was plainly not looking for conversation. Some people are apparently just that oblivious.
Prussia cracked an eye open to get a look at the intruder. Upon seeing and even recognising who it was, he jumped and yelled. “France! What are-- What the-- Why-- France!”
“It is I,” France agreed. He shuffled a little closer.
“What are you doin-- Get away from me!” Prussia squashed himself up the far end of the bench. It wasn't a reaction he was proud of, and not one in keeping with his usual cool demeanour, but he was shaken by France's sudden appearance and oh god he had to keep up his charade now, didn't he?
“Non, mon cher.” France took no notice of Prussia's body language and sidled closer still. “I had to see you myself.”
“But why?” Prussia whinged, wishing he didn't have to deal with this.
“Because it has been too long, my love.” France pressed Prussia into his corner and placed a hand on his thigh, slowly inching it up higher to places that, despite having had this body for four days, Prussia still wasn't entirely at home with.
Prussia froze up. France was moving to practically straddle him, but he couldn't think how to react. He knew how he would react and he thought knew how England would react but France seemed to expect something else entirely. It was all moving too fast. It was moving at France's usual pace, but it was all too fast.
Was this really France and England's relationship? Behind closed doors they were all lovey-dovey? There had been rumours floating about since the middle ages but Hungary had always been rather optimistic about that kind of thing and France was never a reliable source.
France leant in close, paying no mind to stiffness of Prussia's body, and breathed in his ear, “Tell me what's going on.”
“What?” asked Prussia, mind still buzzing and not at all up to the task of keeping up with anything.
France hushed him, one hand twirling with the hairs at the back of Prussia's head, which did nothing to help Prussia keep his thoughts straight. “I know that something is going on.” France met Prussia's eyes, but before Prussia could say anything, he continued, “And keep it quiet, they could have placed bugs anywhere.” France leant in again, pretending to place kisses on Prussia's neck, but actually saying, “Are they keeping you here against your will?”
“Who are 'they'?”
“The ones who have been causing you all this 'stress'.” France turned Prussia's head so that they could get uncomfortably close, noses just touching. “The ones who are intercepting your phone calls.” France glanced around and Prussia was fairly sure it was for show because his entire vision was taken up by France's face. “The ones who could be watching us as we speak.”
Prussia stared into France's eyes a few moments more as everything clicked into place. France thought England was in trouble and had come to the rescue. It was kind of sweet. Once this was over, he was going to mock France mercilessly.
But first, he had to set some things straight. The last thing he needed was to be at the centre of an international incident. There would be interrogations and investigations, neither of which Prussia would manage without being found out, despite his awesome skills.
Prussia sighed and pushed France away. “There is no 'they', France.”
“What do you mean?” The hand on Prussia's knee tightened. “Why else haven't you beaten me out of the country already?”
Prussia pushed France further away, so that they were no longer touching. “There isn't any 'they'. France.” Prussia rubbed the bridge of his nose. Time to come clean. He'd hoped to last longer than this. “The thing is...”
“Yes?” France prompted.
“What's going on is...” Prussia vainly sought for a good way to say it that didn't make him sound like a crazy person. “That...” But none came to him.
“Go on.” France gestured impatiently with his hand.
Prussia sighed again and slumped on the bench. “I'm not England.”
“What,” said France.
“I'm not England,” said Prussia again. “I'm Prussia.”
France's eyebrow rose elegantly, with the utmost haughty disbelief. “You're... Prussia,” he said for clarification.
“I don't know exactly how it happened,” Prussia attempted to explain, “But I read one of England's books he had in his hotel room in Belgium and the next day here I was.” He shrugged.
“You're... mon dieu.” France buried his face in his hands briefly. “My god, England.” He glared fiercely at Prussia. “I thought--” He snorted angrily. “I was really--” His nose scrunched up with distaste. “You are by far the most infuriating of all the nations!” he finally managed to get out.
“I'm not England,” repeated Prussia.
France was not listening. “Of all the nations in Europe,” he ranted, “It was you, I thought. Like I'd always known it would be.” He stabbed his finger painfully into Prussia's chest. “You were the weak link. You were the one who was acting strangely, was being spied on and infiltrated. You were the one who was going to bring us all down.”
“France, listen to me!” Prussia pushed France's hand away, rubbing at the sore spot on his chest. There was going to be a bruise there after today, he was certain.
“And all along you were here pretending to be Prussia.” France stood up with a sneer.
“I'm not pretending!” cried Prussia.
“Why should I believe that?” France threw his arms in the air. “So you can make a fool out of me? You want me to believe this ridiculous rubbish you spout so at some point down the line you can make me look like an idiot. I know your tricks!” He pointed at Prussia accusingly.
“Honest to god, France, I'm not tricking you!” Prussia could see that France was already incensed. There was no way he'd listen to reason and Prussia couldn't think of any other way to convince him.
France threw his head back with one great “Ha!” of disbelief. “And what reason is there to believe you?”
“I lie to you and you think I'm lying,” said Prussia desperately, “I tell you the truth and you think I'm lying.” He shrugged. “I don't know what I'm supposed to do now.”
France looked at Prussia down his nose. Tension gathered around him like static electricity, waiting for an outlet.
Prussia's eyes widened; he hadn't seen a look like that from France for a long while. It was a reminder as to why French had been the lingua franca for so many years. Or, in fact, why the phrase lingua franca existed at all.
France suddenly unleashed all his energy with a single, lightning-fast slap. “I suggest you go die in a hole.” He watched Prussia cling to the arm of the bench, recovering from the force of the blow. “The world would be much better off.” He stormed away, leaving Prussia to hold his cheek and spit blood, but he turned back just before he reached the low railing that circled the climbing frame. “You're a disgusting excuse for a nation,” he shouted with venom before finally leaving the park.
Prussia gazed after him in a daze. That... had not been how he'd envisioned that happening. Who knew that telling the truth would be the best way to get France to believe he was England?
“Gilbert!”
Prussia's attention was drawn to Sealand running towards him. He smiled with the side of his face that wasn't on fire. England had obviously impressed upon him the importance of hiding identities, even though if anything were to blow their cover, France's tantrum would definitely had done it.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I'm fine,” said Prussia, despite the swelling cheek.
“But you're bleeding.” Sealand pointed to the few drops of blood on Prussia's shirt.
“I bit my tongue, it's nothing.” Prussia swallowed the blood in his mouth.
Sealand stood back and appraised Prussia. Then he nodded and a small smile came to his face. “You were useless. England would've dodged that hit.”
“Hey!” said Prussia indignantly, “I was taken by surprise! I didn't know he was going to go completely mental when I told him the truth.”
Sealand snorted and opened his mouth to say something, but Prussia noticed the looks he was getting from the few parents out there. Their looks of disapproval would truly have made England himself proud.
“I think we should go home.” He nodded towards a particularly disgusted group of mothers. “I don't think they appreciated France's show.” Then, to show that he wasn't being chased off by a group of young-to-middle-aged women he added, “And I need some ice.”
Chapter Ten
I think what France was trying to say that he was worried. AWWWW. ;3;