#prucanweek2020

Prucan week Day 2 -  The Star:  Hope, Faith, Rejuvenation

Just a soft morning with the old mens.:)

Day Three: Unconscious, Illusions, Intuition

    Honestly, Today was a good day for Gilbert. He got to sleep in as it was his day off, his little brother didn't yell at him for God-knows-what, he got to take the dogs to the park and play with them for a good hour, and as he was picking up lunch from his favourite cafe, an adorable little blond approached him shyly and asked him if he’d be interested in going out that night. Really, his day couldn't get much better. As Gilbert sat in front of the Television, watching football (Germany vs Switzerland, no contest) his phone suddenly buzzed. He grabbed at the couch a few times, trying to locate the device without actually turning to look (because he was so awesome he didn't need things like sight to get his phone. Suck it, Ludwig). After a full minute of useless grabbing, his hand connects with his phone, and he smirks in victory (which Ludwig doesn't see, but Gilbert makes sure to anyway, just in case Ludwig can sense it). Turning it on, he sees a message from the cute blond.

Hey, I got off work a little early. If you want, we can meet for coffee before we go out?

    Gilberts smirk widens by a noticeable fraction. Oh, tonight is going to be good. He's off the couch in a heartbeat, shrugging on his deep blue coat and pulling on his black gloves.

“Yo, Luddy, I’m goin’ out. Dunno when I’ll be back. Hold down the fort for me, ‘kay?”

    And before Ludwig can actually respond, he's out the door.

--------------------

The cute blond, who is actually named Matthew, is somehow even cuter in prolonged dosages. He’s a nervous type, eager to please and horrified by even the slightest of inconveniences he may commit, making him the perfect type for friendly teasing. He likes sweets and animals and nature, and as he gets more and more nervous he slips into a light french accent, hiding behind his wavy flax-coloured hair, gazing through the tangles with enchanting violet eyes. Gilbert laughs at his partner's shyness, causing him to blush deep red and try to back further away.

In short, Matthew is condensed joy.

Gilbert takes satisfaction in every moment he spends with Matthew. Every smile is a prize, every laugh a treasure, and Gilbert realizes hes falling hard for someone he met only a few hours ago, but hey, love is blind, or something stupid and sappy like that. So Gilbert works to make Matthew just as happy as he is. He compliments his accent, which causes Matthew to balk slightly and blush, stuttering out some apology: apparently he didn't notice he’d changed accents. Gilbert tactfully covered Matthews unintentional slip up by using his limited knowledge of french to tell him how cute he was.

Matthews' small, surprised smile made having to swallow his pride worth it.

They spent an unknown amount of hours like that: sipping hot drinks and chatting with each other. It was bliss; Gilbert could talk, and Matthew would listen. Matthew laughed, and Gilbert felt warmth fill his heart. 

It was a good night.

-----------------------------

“So, um,” Matthew starts, hesitates immediately, then steels himself with a long breath and ventures bravely on, “Would you, maybe, um, like to go… out?”

Gilbert blinks thoughtfully at this. Sure, they'd been out for the better part of the day already, with the sun dipping low under the horizon and the moon shining far overhead, but Matthew had been eluding to some greater plan all night. Even now, Matthew fidgeted back and forth, eager and nervous for an answer.

Gilbert smiled. God, he was too cute for this world. “Alright, lead the way, schatzi.”

Matthew instantly brightens, standing and ushering Gilbert closer. Gilbert pays the tab (because he can be a gentleman, suck it, Ludwig) and they're off. Matthew grabs Gilbert by the wrist, excitedly tugging him forward, and Gilbert is enamoured by his sudden energy. Matthew laughs airily as they walk.

“I’ve been waiting for this all night. You’re really gonna love this.”

They walk for at least twenty minutes. When Matthew finally slows, they stand on the edge of town, only a set of old, decommissioned train tracks stopping them from truly being out of city bounds. Gilbert looks around, trying to identify what's so great about this. An old trainyard doesn't really scream First Date Material to him, but maybe he's just old fashioned. Matthew turns to smile brightly at him, his eyes gleaming in the muted moonlight. Another insistent tug pulls Gilbert into a train car, where Matthew pats the ground with about as much force as his small frame can offer. Gilbert makes himself comfortable as Matthew himself sits by the door, peering out every few minutes and scanning the area. The train car is dusty, dark, desolate, and overall unpleasant, but Matthew still seems excited so Gilbert humours him. They wait like this for only ten minutes, chatting idly, before Matthew suddenly shushes him, peering out into the darkness once more. Now that their voices have died, Gilbert hears the crunch, crunch, crunch of someone approaching. Now his interest has truly peaked. What is happening now? Did Matthew enlist someone's help for this date? His question is answered when Matthew suddenly leans out of the train car, hands latching around whoever is outside. A startled yelp rings out before Matthew reels back in with his catch; Gilbert cannot see much, but the figure appears to be a young woman, who looks thoroughly confused and frazzled.

“What is-”

Is all she manages before there's a loud crack. Gilbert stares in horrible, wide-eyed disbelief. Matthew cradles the woman's head in his arms, acting like everything is fine and he didn't just snap her neck right in front of Gilbert's face. Matthew leans down, completely blocking her head from view, and Gilbert hears another snap as more bones break.

Somehow, Gilbert doesn’t vomit.

“What the fuck.” is the best he can manage, and honestly, its a miracle hes speaking in sentences and not screaming, and/or running as far way as he can get. Matthew looks back up at him, except it's not Mathew at all. It's a bestial figure, with long antlers akin to an elk, and skin the colour of the moon. His eyes are still purple, but there's no visible sclera, only glinting irises. 

“Is something wrong?”, Matthew asks, somehow managing to sound genuinely worried about Gilbert but not the dead women in his arms, “Do you not eat women?” 

“I- What the fuck, no, I dont eat-- what the fuck?” forget that thought about sentences. Gilbert is still impressed his lunch is in his stomach.

“Oh… would you rather her mind? I thought you’d eat flesh, but… we can share?”

    “What the fuck are you on? You can’t… eat people, thats fucking… you’re, you’re fucking sick, kid. What the fuck?”  

Matthew frowns. “Are you not… a demon?”

        “What? No, I'm not… you can't, why would you, demons aren't even real.”

“..Oh. Oh. I thought… with your eyes, and your… uh…”

Matthew trails off, looking almost guilty. Gilbert continues to stare at the dead body between them. Several tense seconds pass.

“Well”, Matthew finally begins, and Gilbert's eyes snap up to him, widening as he sees the displeased look plastered across Matthews face, “If you’re not supernatural, then I can’t allow you to know about this anymore.”

Gilbert doesn't have time to scream before Matthew descends upon him.

-------------------------

“...ert, Gilbert, wake up, you useless moron!”

    Gilbert groans as he slowly opens his eyes. He’s draped across the couch with his brother looming over him, looking about as angry as usual.

“I have work today, so you're in charge of the dogs. Do not forget to feed them, Aster needs to be given medication at 11 a.m, and Feliciano-”

“Did something happen last night?” Gilbert mumbles out, much to his brothers chagrin. He never did like being cut off.

“Your friend Matthew brought you home. Apparently you got so drunk you passed out and made a complete fool of yourself in front of everyone.”

Ludwig glanced at the clock, sighed, and turned towards the door.

“I have to leave now. Do not forget to feed my dogs.”

    Gilbert grunts in affirmation as the door slams. He tries very hard to remember anything about last night, but he's drawing blanks. The only thing he remembers is bright violet eyes against the pale moonlit sky. His phone suddenly vibrates in his pocket. Gilbert quickly pulls it out, turning on the little device. There's a new message from Matthew. 

Last night was really fun. Maybe we can go out again sometime?

This year is a week long story in a D&D/RPG setting. Sorry for any ooc as I’m a little out of practice.

Day 1: The Fool

It all began when a masked stranger pulled up a stool across from Gilbert while his brother had gone to the bar for another round.

Day 4: Inner Strength, Bravery, Compassion

The air was tense, thick with blood and fear. Prussia couldn't exactly blame his troops; they barely escaped alive, and it was only noon. The battle was hardly over, but it was looking up. Crösten was secure, and the troops were regrouping. Supplies still had to be distributed, the wounded had to be tended to, but victory was still within grasp. Prussia heaved a sigh, running a hand through his hair in a half-hearted attempt to smooth it into place. France was really giving it his all this time. He was dead-set on conquering Europe, and had the army to do it, too. Prussia's own troops, regaled for their discipline and training, were crumbling away. All his allies were too far away to help, or still mobilizing, leaving him with only the support of Saxony. 

It wasn't going to be a very fun war.

“Scheiße.” Prussia resisted the urge to sigh again, stretching his arms above his head and cracking his neck. No time to be reminiscing on when he and France were friends. Prussia strode forwards with as much confidence as he could feign, smiling cockily at his soldiers to give them the impression that everything was fine. They might be cracking under pressure, but they didn't need to know that he knew. If the troops thought he was thriving, they would believe they were doing better, and fight with more will. That's what Prussia needed right now: not snivelling, frightened boys. Prussia stops outside the general's temporary base, drawing a deep breath, and enters.

He has a war to win.

---------------------------------

Prussia usually lived for war. The taste of blood and iron, the smell of gunpowder and sweat, the adrenaline fear that made him feel alive. It was all about the glory for him, taking from others to build infamy and power. This war was different, though, because not only was he on the defensive, but France's army was good. As in ‘Had a few decades to build up better technology than everyone else’ good. Unfortunately for Prussia, his own military was… in dire need of some improvements. It was actually a bit embarrassing, but no one else had to know that. Besides, no one expected Prussia to be failing. His very name struck fear into the other nations hearts, dredging up memories of painful battle and humiliating loss. He was the Awesome Prussia, and dammit, no cheese eating snob was going to best him, especially not after they suffered years of fiery riots and an entire upheaval of the government. France's new boss might be military smart, but Prussia had been playing the game of life for centuries. There was nothing that could blindside him, nothing that could catch him off-

“Kommandant Preußen! The French are approaching!”

Well, he hadn't been expecting that, actually.

“Was? How many men do they have?”

“Our scouts aren't quite sure, sir, but they have thousands.”

That was… really bad for Prussia, actually. He only had 8000 men with him, and fighting outnumbered was never fun. No matter, though: it still wasn't actually impossible. 

“Tell the regiments to be ready: we fight until we die.”

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Prussia ducked behind a small outcrop as a bullet tore through the air, barely missing him. Horses cried as they charged into the fray, the roar of battle and cannons piercing the air. Everywhere around him, his men were falling, wounded and dying, crying for the raging battle to end. They had taken to jumping in the river, preferring the cold grip of the depths to the blaze of the french army. Another gunshot howled by, and Prussia instinctively flinched back.

“Verdammt,” he mumbles, hastily trying to assess the damage, “Do they ever give up?”

Prussia freezes as cool metal suddenly touches his neck. A blade, perfectly balanced by its wielder, gently bites into his skin. One wrong move will leave his head severed.

“Non, we do not give up.” A soft voice answers, and Prussia can practically hear the self-satisfied smirk. The blade nudges his chin lightly, coming slightly closer to sealing Prussia's fate. “Look at me, s'il vous plait?” with little other option, Prussia turns his head, looking up at who had him pinned in a corner.

They were attractive, Prussia thought. Long blond hair that looked a bit like France’s, lighter at the top and fading to an orangish colour at the bottom. They were tall, but thin, like they had grown a lot over a short period of time. Their eyes were a peculiar purple, and seemed to dance in the light of the battle. Mixing their odd appearance with their soft voice, Prussia was truly uncertain whether this soldier was a man or a woman. Prussia's heart beat in overtime. Here he was, about to die at the hands of this gorgeous french soldier, and he couldn't even tell if they were a man. These truly were humiliating times. 

The french soldier smiles at Prussia, a small quirk of the lips, and Prussia gets the feeling that they know far more than they are letting him know.

“General Prussia,” The soldier starts, and Prussia has half a mind to correct him, however his self preservation is telling him that may be a poor move, “I am Colonel Canada of the Grande Armée. You seem like an honourable and intelligent man. Surrender now, and no further harm will come to you.”

Prussia's heart finds a way to beat faster. He is so fucked. ------------------------

Another one! This was probably my favourite to write so far. This is very loosely based on the Battle of Saalfeld, 1806, but it is nowhere near historically accurate.

Day 7: Incomplete, No Closure

“Shh, don't cry, Birdie. It’ll be okay.” Canada choked back a sob, staring fearfully into the eyes of his companion. How selfish of him, to need to be comforted as Prussia was led to his grave, but he couldn’t help it. He could be emotionally strong, but not now. not when his closest friend was being dragged away by the neck.

“Quiet down, Vögelchen. It’s going to be alright.” Canada laughed bitterly, tears still rolling down his cheeks. “You shouldn’t lie. It’s bad form.”

“Ja? Well, I’m not lying. I’ve fought Russia plenty of times. Honestly, can’t you have a bit of faith in me?”

“Of course I have faith in you. It’s Ivan I worry about. He thinks he deserves more than what he’s being given, and you know it.” Prussia is quiet, then. contemplative. Canada uses this time to observe Prussia. He truly doesn't look well. His already ple skin has found a way to loose more colour, making him near transparent. his hair is messy, nd appears to be in need of a good scrubbing. Where his frame used to be lean but muscular, it has lost all structure, leaving him gaunt and hollow. he looks like a corpse, dragged through the mud and back, and now the allies intend to drag him down once more. Prussia finally looks back to Canada, smiling in a way that is likely meant to be reassuring, but only makes him look more worried.

“Don’t worry so much. You’re too young to be worried about some old empire like me. I can handle myself, and Russia, because I am awesome and he is not.” Canada has to smother a giggle, and Prussia smile becomes a bit more genuine. HIs face falls after a moment, averting his eyes, and his demeanour becomes serious again.

“Birdie... since I’ll be... away, for a while... will you check up on Ludwig for me? Just make sure he doesn't drown himself in work, or go crazy, or something else unawesome, ja?” 

Canada hesitates for a moment. He and Germany really aren’t on the best of terms. They never really have been. However, the more he thinks about it, the more guilty he feels. Honestly, what is he to do? Tell Prussia ‘oh, sorry, I don’t really like your brother. Guess we can just hope he survives occupation, eh?’

Like Hell.

Apparently, he’s been deliberating too long, because Prussia's face falls farther.

“Birdie? You did hear me, right? I swear to God, I am not repeating myself.”

Canada tries to smile, but his eyes suddenly go wide in fear. He quickly recoils back as a hand lands on Prussia shoulder, the other resting against his neck in a threatening manner.

“We go now, da? There is much to do at home.” Russia seems awfully gleeful, considering he is tearing both a continent and a family in half. His grip around Prussia’s throat tightens as he drags him away, childish smile on his face all the while.

“Prussia!” Canada calls after them. “I promise!” Russia pauses for a second to cast a suspicious glance in Canada’s direction. Canada barely notices, as he is too focused on Prussia’s reaction. The man instantly relaxes, if only a bit, easy smile on his face and eyes shining with more vigour than Canada has seen in his eyes than the last five years combined.

“You better keep that promise, Birdie! I’m holding y-” That is all he can say as a scowling Russia drags him from the room, slamming the door behind them. As their footsteps grow further away, Canada feels a cold blade stabbing further and further into his heart.

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Short and bittersweet to end the week. Platonic!Prucan, anyone? I think Canada is upset to see anyone be punished, even if they deserved it. Canada also helps fulfill his promise by participating in the Berlin Airlift, and despite a rather rocky start, Canada and Germany have very good modern relations.

Day 6: Partnership, Duality, Union

Matthew didn't know why he was here. 

Really, he didn't belong. The gathering was for nobles, meant for the highest class and the most pure of blood. That was not Matthew. Sure, Matthew lived in a castle, but that was as good as it got for him. unfortunately, Alfred had decided that instead of leaving Matthew at home, he needed someone to accompany him to the “Grand Seasonal Banquet” or some equally pretentious name. Matthew had not wanted to, partly because he was painfully shy, mostly because of the aforementioned not royalty thing, but Alfred was the one housing him, and therefore the one in charge of him, so he couldn't really say no.

Matthew sometimes wondered how different his life would be if he was truly royalty. Sure, it would probably be easier to be a royal. He wouldn't be the first in line, so his only job would be to look presentable, maybe talk to visiting aristocrats every once in a while. That part seemed appealing. However, Matthew was also acutely aware of the fact that he would not be a highly respected noble. The world maintained a certain order, and Matthew happened to be born into a low standing. He wasn't upset by it, not at all. He lived with his papa Francis in a small community, where he knew everyone by heart and did not fear being criticized or gossiped about. He was never on display, never the central focus of anything. That held its own comfort.

In short, Matthew was fairly certain that if he were truly a nobleman, he would crumble under the pressure.

But the world had not been kind to him or his people, and so Francis had sent him away to the Honeyfield Kingdom. At that point, it had been pure luck that he had stumbled upon Crown Prince Alfred, who had exclaimed delightedly (read: loudly) that they had the same face and promptly insisted that he come to the castle for further investigation. It had then been proven that they were not blood siblings (shocking, Matthew had thought dryly, though Alfred had looked genuinely surprised), but that didn't deter Alfred. Instead of sending Matthew on his way, like any sane person, he had instead declared Matthew ‘Charge of the Castle of Honeyfeld’, which was fancy speak for ‘Adopted Brother’. This was all fine, in theory, but now it had led to this night, which meant Matthew really wished he had never met the hyper blond, no matter how much his life had improved.

Matthew didn't really like people.

Which was perfectly fine, he thought, because people didn't like him much either. Ever since he had moved to Honeyfeld, he was often subject to double-takes, side-glares, open gawking, and other forms of not-so-subtle scrutiny. Although, he couldn’t exactly blame the citizens either. 

He was a moth, in firmly bee territory. In all honesty, he’d probably gawk at himself too.

Yes, Matthew was a moth, not a butterfly, despite how colourful his wings were. It was an unfortunate truth that moths were low class citizens, Often seen as dirty and ugly, not good for anything but work or wilderness. Matthew thought this was awfully generalized, as outsiders to his hometown had often commented on how lovely the villagers wing colours were, only to flush and stammer when told they were in a moth township. Matthew was often saddened to see his people suffer when they had truly done nothing to deserve it. However, despite his protests and advice to Alfred, there was never anything that could be done. 

If Alfred was ignoring that Matthew was a moth, or if he didn’t care, Matthew was uncertain.

And yet, despite knowing that Matthew was not fit to be in a gala, full of lords and ladies that would look down on him and sniff haughtily and call him ‘Alfred little pet’, Alfred still brought him along.

“It will be fun!” He announced.

For one of us.

“I need to bring along my loyal advisor! Everyone would be delighted to meet you!”

They would be delighted to mock me.

“C’mon, I need my brother by my side!”

Well, Matthew couldn't really argue with that. So now he was here. At the biggest, most lavish, most expensive party in all the kingdoms. Joy.

Matthew shuffles his wings nervously (causing a few people to skitter back a few inches), trying to rearrange them to press closer to his back as if they would disappear. He quickly runs a hand through his hair, making sure his antennae are adequately covered, and sighs.

“Mattie! What’re you doing over there! C’mere!”

Mustering the best smile he can, Matthew rejoins his brother.

----------------------------

In all fairness, the party isn’t bad. The music is nice, the food is excellent, and no one has any desire to talk to Matthew, which is great for him. Nothing truly terrible has actually happened to him, and it likely won’t, considering he has the crown prince backing him. Still, Matthew cannot simply enjoy the party. Every person that passes leaves him on edge. Anyone that walks up to him to speak to his brother makes him nervous. He would really rather be at home, with a good book and a warm drink. At least in Honeyfeld Castle, he was well enough known that the attendants knew not to stare. Here he was exposed, left completely open to any snide look or shocked expression. He felt a bit like a spotlight had been placed above him. Even when he was alone, off to the side, the prickling feeling of eyes on him never left. He didn’t like it. 

A hand suddenly connects with his shoulder, and Matthew jumps, letting out a small gasp as his wings instinctively flare out. He whirls his head to face the attacker, only to come face to face with Alfred. Matthew relaxs, his wings resuming their neutral position as he smiles to his brother. Alfred offers him a comforting smile in return, pity shining through his eyes.

“Hey, Mattie. There's nothing to be scared of, alright? No one's going to hurt you. I’ll make sure of it.” If only that's what Matthew was worried about. Then he could have taken comfort in those words. As it stood, Matthew returned the gesture with a meek nod and a small ‘thank you’ as he continued to subconsciously scan the room. Alfred sighs, drawing Matthew close into a protective hug.

“Relax. Enjoy the party for a little bit. and watched out for the prince of eye-- ees-- ah... The ones with the funny accent. He’s been eyeing you up all night.” Eisenrinde, Matthew tries to correct, but Alfred chooses to take his leave at that moment. “Ridiculous,” Is Matthews next thought, “He doesn't even know which kingdom his own allies are from.”

...

Wait.

The Prince of Eisenrinde was watching him?!

Matthew whirls, frantically trying to confirm this fact. How could he have missed that? There was no way. He couldn't possibly have overlooked something as massive as the Prince of the most militaristic kingdom eyeing him up. And if it was true, Matthew might as well throw in the towel. The only feasible reason someone would be watching him would be because they were disgusted by him, and Matthew wasn't exactly fit to fight. He would be so absolutely and entirely dead. Truly, this had just become the worse night of his life.

Suddenly, Matthew saw him.

The Prince of Eisenrinde (His name was Gilbert, Matthew remembered) was not a very imposing man, at least physically. Matthew was actually fairly certain he was taller than Gilbert. Unfortunately, that was Matthew's only real advantage. Gilbert was much stronger than his height showed, with fortified chitin plating and an absolutely terrifying spiked ridge that ran from the back of his neck to the middle of his back. As if he wasn't already the most intimidating man on the face of the Earth, Gilbert also sported eyes the colour of blood, which was fine when he was a country away but not fine when he was in the same room as MAtthew and also staring him down.

Did Matthew mention that Gilbert was staring at him like he committed a felony? Because that was also happening.

Timidly, Matthew met the gaze of the Life-Ender (He was scared, he’ll come up with a better nickname later.)

There was a sudden warmth to his cheeks, and the room seemed to go silent. The only thing Matthew heard was his heart beating, every instinct in his body telling him that whatever problems he had were irrelevant as long as he was looking at Gilbert.

Oh no.

Gilbert also seemed to be aware of the feeling, as his eyes widened ever so slightly.

Oh shit.

Gilbert smirks at him, raising one hand slightly and gesturing for Matthew to come to him.

Prince Gilbert of Eisenrinde was his soulmate.

Matthew gulped nervously.

He was so fucked.

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What's this? Two posts in one day (at least in my timezone)? I’m surprised too. This is Royalty/Soulmate AU, With Canada as a peasant and Prussia as a royal. This little bug bit has been floating around in my head for a while, so it's nice to actually write it out. Maybe I’ll do more for this world?

(If anyone is curious, Canada is a Harlequin Moth, Prussia is a Wheel Bug, and Alfred is a Bumble Bee.)

Part One

Part Two

Day 3: The Moon

It had been nearly a week’s worth of travel before they neared a small village on the outskirts of a massive mountain. There was a sense of relief that was passing through them all that the first leg of the journey was nearly complete. It had been quiet enough, mostly sticking to well traveled roads. Only one incident with a curious bear searching for snacks among their provisions had disrupted the rigorous schedule that Ludwig had laid out for them.

 Day 5: No Control, Clinging to Control, Bad Luck

“Birdie, you have to stop this.”

Canada tips his head down to look at the speaker. It’s Prussia, of course. Lately he’s always found something to complain about. Canada sighs softly, adjusting in his chair so he can peer coldly down to the prussian guard. It isn't hard, with his vermillion throne seated high in The Citadel, letting him look down over everyone else. 

“Please, Birdie, just hear me out. Bitte.”

Canada’s nose wrinkles upon hearing the foreign word, but relents, motioning for Prussia to continue.

“You’re hurting us, Canada. I know you’re trying to help, I know you think you’re right, but this isn’t helping anyone. we’re suffering-”

Canada abruptly rises from his seat, instantly silencing the Prussian. He glares fiercely now, pushing his deep scarlet cape back to expose the ice-grey armour he wears. The metal gleams like the reflection of a glacier, cold and stoic. Canada snarls, pacing angrily, though his Byzantium-purple eyes stay locked on Prussia.

“Suffering? you claim to be suffering? I have rid the world of poverty, of hunger, of preventable disease and death, and you dare to show your face in my throne room to claim you suffer? You have not suffered in a century, not under my reign.”

Prussia flinches back, eyes widening as he watches the calm man lash out. Canada used to be quiet and withdrawn, often slouching and hiding to avoid trouble. Now that he was in power, he stood at his full height, which made him seem more formidable, more in control.

“I don't mean me, Birdie. My brother... he’s been unwell as of late. his people are hurting, but he wont swallow his pride and talk to you, so I’m here in his stead.”

Canada’s eyes soften, if only a touch, but Prussia knows that his message resonates. Canada has his own brother, after all.

“Prussia. Come up here and talk to me.”

Surprised but hopeful, Prussia ascends the staircase to Canada. From the elevated perch, the world seems incredibly small. Prussia can see the surrounding cities, each one assigned to a different nation to oversee. The Citadel is central to everything, with a sprawling community of its own. It reminds Prussia of the medieval days. the nations are lords, in their own rights, while Canada is their king. Canada smiles at Prussia, holding his arms open in invitation. Prussia accepts gratefully, burying his face against Canada's shoulder as the latter speaks again.

“Your brother is a smart man, Prussia. I know you are sympathetic to his cause, but he certainly would not send you to preach for him. He does not trust me.”

“Nein, he did not send me. I came on my own volition.”

“Why?”

“I told you already. My brother is unwell.”

Canada suddenly shoves Prussia back. Prussia stumbles, trying to regain his footing as he nearly topples from the platform they stand on.

“Wa-”

“Do not lie to me! I can sense your brothers well-being. I thought perhaps you were ready to be honest with me, but clearly you are not. Shall I send you to work in the Arctic Circle?”

Prussia hastily shakes his head.

“Then tell me! Why are you here, lying to my face?”

“...The people are unhappy, Birdie. I know that you try very hard to keep everything orderly and peaceful, but its costing us freedom. The people don't like this system anymore. They never have.”

Canada is quiet, observing Prussia. Prussia gets the distinct feeling that his very soul is being judged.

“There's talk of rebellion, Schatzi. But we can change that! We could-”

“Enough.” Canada raises his hand, palm flat out,signalling Prussia to stop. Prussia’s jaw practically snaps shut. Canada’s eyes narrow as he processes the new information.

“...They want to rebel? Well, they can certainly try. Crushing their little uprising will make an excellent example for everyone else. Disrupting the Peace of the world will not be tolerated.” 

His eyes flick back to Prussia, a warm smile coming over his face. Prussia feels dread in its purest form.

“Thank you for informing me of this, cher. I will make sure it's dealt with.”

As Canada walks away, Prussia wonders what doom he has brought. 

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