A/N: Just an India-Prussia friendship fic, because I was inspired by re-reading that strip where they do a Bollywood number together. I mean, come on. There's GOT to be a good story behind how they became friends. They seem so...different, I guess?

This one-shot is basically just a series of incidents that led to them becoming friends.

Anyway, I hope you like it.

Prussia generally hates world meetings, because there's never anything for him to do. Germany's always doing all the work, and anyway, Prussia's not a country anymore. But his younger brother insists he comes along, to listen to the speeches and 'understand a bit more about what's going on around the globe'. And naturally, Prussia gets bored and disrupts the meeting, causing Germany to throw him out.

Which is why he's sitting under a tree in the gardens surrounding the meeting's building. There's absolutely nothing to do, nobody to talk to. His only relief? That the lunch break would start in ten minutes. Good. At least he'd get to sit with France and Spain, or irritate his stupid little brother for not just dragging him here against his wishes, but then kicking him out. Really, it was such an unawesome thing to do.

Ten minutes pass, and as expected, Prussia can see the other countries flood out of the building, sitting on benches or walking around. It's lovely weather. Sunny, but cool. The scent of roses is heavy in the air, and Gilbird, perched on his shoulder, keeps singing.

Prussia sighs. It's actually too comfortable to get up. If he spots France or Spain, he'll wave at them. But he doesn't feel like moving.

From the corner of his eyes, he notices someone approach. Tall, brown-skinned, with amber eyes and dark hair. The man's wearing a white tunic over his trousers, and Prussia recognises it as a sherwani. Traditional Indian men's wear.

"Hello," India says as he approaches. "I hope I'm not intruding. But do you mind if I sit here?"

Prussia blinks. He knows it's India, of course. The Asian and Germany are trading partners, so Prussia has spoken to the man before. All the same, they've never really been friends. Despite that, the silver-haired man nods. "Of course you can sit."

So, India settles down under the tree with a sigh. "I wouldn't bother you," he begins, "But all the benches are taken, and I would just hate to eat inside on a day like this."

"What are you eating?" Prussia suddenly blurts, noticing for the first time that India's spooning what looks like some kind of rice and curry. The brown-skinned man's complexion darkens.

"Oh," India mumbles. "Well, it's Madras curry and rice. I'd offer some to you, but I'm not sure you'd like it."

"You know, I've never actually eaten Indian food," Prussia muses. "Is it really as spicy as they say it is?"

The nation laughs. It's open laughter, out of genuine amusement. It isn't mocking, but simply cheerful. Prussia is instantly reminded of Spain. India says, "Well, I don't find it so spicy. But Europeans would, I guess. But that's fine. Our palates are completely different. Nothing wrong with that."

"Oh, come on. How bad can it be? Let me try some."

India gives Prussia a dubious look. "I don't think that's a good idea."

The ex-nation crosses his arms. "What's the worst that can happen?"

India opens his mouth to reply, closes it, and shakes his head. "I don't…well, to be completely honest with you, I don't think you can handle it."

Well.

"Kesesese! Rubbish! The Awesome Prussia can handle anything. Here, let me have a bite."

"Prussia, I don't know if you should—" but the Indian breaks off at Prussia's gleeful smirk. "Well, okay. If you insist." And then he hands over the plate to the albino.

One small bite. That's all it takes. At first, Prussia can taste an explosion of flavour, tomatoes, onions, and all kinds of wonderful spices that he can't name. And then…and then the chilli hits. It's like a flame on his tongue, flaring into his nose and plunging down his throat, scorching his mouth as a cold shiver rounds down his back.

"Prussia…are you okay? Baap re, you're face is turning red!"

Prussia is able to swallow what's in his mouth, before coughing. His eyes are streaming and he's quite sure steam is billowing out of his ears.

"Water—" he rasps.

Instead, India thrusts a soft white lump into his hands. "Eat that," the older nation advises. "It's peda, it's a sweet."

And Prussia doesn't question it. He shoves it into his mouth and bites down. It's soft, like a marshmallow, and overwhelmingly sugary. Its milky taste coats over his tongue, calming the burn caused by the curry.

Then, India hands him a bottle of water. Prussia drinks deeply. Minutes pass, and the albino is panting, leaning back against the tree, happy to be alive.

India begins to laugh. "I told you it was a bad idea! Why didn't you listen?"

"Oh, shut up," Prussia groans.

The brown-skinned man just chortles. "In my country, it's tradition to share everything with guests and friends, but there's a reason I don't do that at a world meeting when it comes to meals. European palates are just different. They're not accustomed to spicy food. It's not a big deal."

"It is," Prussia protests. "I told you, I can handle anything."

India gives the ex-nation another dubious look. "Your face is all red, and your eyes are still watering."

"Oh, shut up," Prussia repeats. "This was just a one-time thing. I wasn't ready. Next time, I'll prove it to you. No spicy food is going to get the better of me."

India raises an eyebrow. "Are you honestly taking this as a challenge?"

Sitting up, Prussia cries, "You bet I am! Next world meeting, you get your spiciest chilli, and I'll eat it raw."

At this, the older nation's eyes widen. "Ghost chillies," India declares. "Prussia, even I can't eat those with ease."

"Pfft. All the more awesome. I'll show you up. It'll be a blast."

"You're going to kill yourself."

"A challenge is a challenge, India."

"…Nobody is challenging you to anything."

"It's a personal mission. Those are even more important."

India sighs. "Okay. Fine. I'll get you a ghost chilli during the next world meeting." He sounds extremely concerned, but doesn't push it. Good. Ha. Prussia would show him.

During the lunch break of the next world meeting, India gets a ghost chilli and a full box of white pedas. It's like he's preparing for disaster. The chilli he gives Prussia is small, bright red and wrinkled, like it's been left out in the sun. The ex-nation's eyes glitter as he takes a bite.

They're sitting in the cafeteria, because it's raining outside. So when Prussia SCREAMS, topples off his chair and bursts into tears, literally the whole world is watching.

The next time they talk, it's because of a phone-call at the dead of night. It's only midnight in Berlin, but it's three-thirty in the morning for India. When the Asian country answers his phone, it's with a garbled mumble in Hindi.

"India? It's me, Prussia. I'm using Germany's phone because I don't have your number."

"Prussia?" the Indian asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Do you know what time it is where I am?"

"Not a clue. Listen, I have a favour to ask you."

India yawns. "Couldn't it wait until tomorrow?"

"No. It's kind of an emergency. You're coming for the world meeting tomorrow, right?"

"Yes," India replies, rousing himself slightly at the word 'emergency'. "What's going on? Is everything alright?"

"Ja, everything's fine. Listen, I plan to ask Hungary out for a date tomorrow. And if all goes well…um, I was wondering if I could borrow your copy of the Kama Sutra."

India almost drops his phone. "What?"

"You heard me, you sly dog, you."

India's quite sure Prussia's snickering at the other end of the line. He suppresses another yawn. "You wake me up at half past three in the morning to borrow a book about sex?" the older country snaps.

"Kesesese, are you blushing? I think you are. You know, you have this image of being super conservative, but you're not. Just how OLD is the Kama Sutra, anyway? I read online that it was written around 400 BC."

"Yes, when the world was a lot less conservative—why am I even discussing this with you? I'm tired. I'm going to bed. Good night."

"Wait! No, really! Can I borrow it? I'll return it in perfect condition, I swear." When India doesn't respond, Prussia adds, "Please? India? Are you awake? Don't tell me you fell asleep on the phone. That would be so funny."

"Yes, I'm awake," India mutters, rubbing his eyes. "Fine. You can borrow it. But listen, Prussia, if anyone finds out about this, I'll kill you."

"Ja, ja, it can be our secret. Kesesese, you're the best."

"Yeah, whatever. Good night."

The next day, India's exhausted. But he's got so much to say at the meeting. He's raising some concerns about security in the South Asian region, and then he's got to add a couple of points about the economy. So, really, he should be going over his notes, not worrying about the (very well-used) copy of the Kama Sutra in his briefcase. If any of the other countries found out…well, it would be mortifying.

Prussia almost materialises in front of him in the hallway. There are other countries around. India spots his old master, England, grumbling as he walks with America. And there's Germany not too far away, and he spots China speaking with France.

"Do you have the goods?" Prussia asks, whispering in India's ear while throwing furtive glances all about.

"Why are you talking as though we're smuggling contraband?"

Prussia clamps a hand on India's mouth. "If Germany hears the word 'contraband', we're both fucked. Come on," and he drags the older nation down a more secluded corridor. Once alone, Prussia looks expectantly at the Indian.

The brown-skinned man sighs. "I have it," he mutters as he opens his briefcase and pulls out a thick volume, whose covers have been wrapped in newspaper to hide the title.

Prussia snatches it and flips through it, pausing with fascination at some of the illustrations. Glancing at India, and then back at the book, he says, "You're a wolf in sheep's clothing. I didn't even know it was possible to contort the body like that!"

India winces, his cheeks darkening. Looking everywhere but at the Prussian, he self-consciously tugs at his sleeves. "If anyone catches us now, all alone with you holding that book…"

Prussia snorts. "Oh, don't worry so much." Still flipping through the pages, he says, "Man, this is ancient wisdom at its finest."

India's face turns bright red. Turning on his heels, he snaps, "I'm going!"

"Wait, India—"

"I don't want to hear it!" the Indian cries, too embarrassed to even look at the Prussian. "Return it to me when you're done!"

During the lunch break, India makes it a point to sit as far away from Prussia as possible, but that's fine, because Germany decides to sit with his older brother instead.

"Are you reading?" Germany cries, watching the albino studying a newspaper-covered book with enormous interest.

Prussia turns a violent shade of red. "Uh…ja, bruder." He shuts the book and holds it away from Germany. "It's been known to happen sometimes."

The blonde gives his brother an extremely suspicious look. "What book is that?"

"Uh…" and Prussia glances towards India, who's having a heated debate with China. "It's…" Prussia mumbles. "It's about ancient Indian culture."

The answer does not convince Germany, but he wisely decides not to ask any more questions.

Two days later, India calls up on Germany's phone, asking for Prussia. When the older brother comes on the line, India says, "So, how did the date go?"

"It was a total fucking disaster." On the other end, Prussia can hear India gasp.

"Didn't the book I lend you help at all?"

"Oh, the book is fantastic, but it didn't even get that far! I asked her out, and she hit me with a frying pan."

"Oh dear…I'm sorry to hear that."

"Ja. I know, right? Not my most awesome moment. By the way, I think we should just exchange numbers. Germany won't like his phone bill going up because of us."

"Good idea. You can take mine from Germany, and then text me with yours."

"Sounds good." There's a lull in the conversation, and then Prussia speaks up again. "By the way, India?"

"Haan?"

"Do you mind if I keep that book for a little while longer?"

On the other end of the line, he's sure he can hear India sigh.

Prussia enters the house one day after an afternoon with France and Spain, when he notices India discussing stuff in hushed tones with Germany. They're sitting at the dining table, documents all over the place, taking about trade deals. Neither nations notice as the albino enters. They're too engrossed in their conversation.

"India! What are you doing here?" Prussia cheers.

The brown-skinned man jumps at the sound of his voice and turns, his eyes brightening at the sight of the Prussian.

"Oh, hi!" he chirps. India gets to his feet to shake Prussia's hand, only for the albino to pull him into a (very manly) hug.

"You didn't tell me you were coming," the Prussian complains, releasing the older country.

"It was a last minute decision," India replies, shrugging. "Work," he adds, waving his hand at the general direction of the documents on the table, not noticing Germany's watchful gaze at the interaction between his brother and his trade partner.

"Sounds like a pain. When will you be done?"

"Not too long now. We're just finalising things. Right, Germany?" India glances towards the blonde, who gives him a stiff nod.

"Great. I'm in my room. Let me know when you're done. Have you seen Berlin, by the way? It would be so awesome if you haven't, because I can show you around."

"I've only been here for business…" India answers.

"Great. So, when you're done, I'll show you the place. It'll be awesome."

India laughs. "Alright. I like that idea."

After India's finishes with his work, he and the ex-nation set out into the crisp air. India's wearing several layers, and is still shivering. It's November, and it is quite cold. But even then, India's not coping too well. This isn't his kind of climate. And halfway through showing him the Berlin Cathedral, Prussia's shoulders slump.

"You want to go inside somewhere and get something to eat? You look like an ice cube."

"D-don't b-be r-ridiculous, we've b-barely seen anything, and I haven't r-really visited B-Berlin properly, so this is m-my first time sight-seeing!"

Prussia raises an eyebrow. "Okay, mein Freund. But tell me if it gets too bad."

"Haan, haan, shut up and walk."

They slip into easy conversation, like they've been friends for years. India's got a wicked sense of humour, and Prussia likes that. It's part witty, part sarcastic, and can be almost cynical at times. This especially comes out when, teasingly, the albino asks about Britain.

"So, what's the story between you and him? You used to be—what is it? The jewel of the British crown." Prussia is smirking, and the Indian rolls his eyes.

"Yes, it's true, I was precious to him," India replies, a dark, cold edge to his tone. "Best performing servant ever. Made him rich, I did. And here's the irony: he used to call me his 'jewel', but England is yet to return my Kohinoor diamond, which he took from me."

England, Prussia realises after that, is a very sensitive topic with India. But it doesn't take much to bring the conversation back to lighter themes. India's especially curious about why Prussia and Germany are so obsessed with beer, and Prussia wants to know what the hell a murti is.

The laughter abruptly stops when they find themselves at the Berlin wall. India grabs Prussia's shoulder. "Come on. Let's go back, I'm tired." But Prussia knows he's lying; the older nation is just trying to keep the albino from nightmarish memories.

"No, it's okay," Prussia says, forcing himself to chuckle. "You can't come all the way to Berlin and not see our wall."

India's amber eyes flit from the graffiti on the wall to Prussia's face. The albino's fists are balled, and his whole body is trembling.

"Prussia, come on. Let's go."

"No! Really, it's fine. Let's…let's grab a beer or something."

They sit in a café overlooking the wall, and Prussia just keeps staring at it, his eyes wide and horrified. India doesn't know what to say or do, and the last thing he wants is to make matters worse.

Barely audible, Prussia whispers, "I used to be so powerful. Now…now, I'm not even on the map."

India swallows. "Prussia…"

"And that wall. Even after my country was dissolved, Russia still kept me, torturing me." Shaking his head in obvious pain, he adds, "West had it easy, you know? And I'm glad he did." The ex-nation's red eyes are filled with tears and he smiles weakly at India. "I can take the hit. Germany…I only want to protect him. That's all I've ever wanted."

India glances from the wall to the personification of the country that doesn't exist anymore "Germany ought to be proud of you," he declares.

"I've done horrible things in the war."

"Well…" India swallowed. "You're a wonderful older brother."

Prussia lets out a sparse, empty laugh. "Ha. I guess you're right."

"You guess?" India splutters, feigning insult. "Listen here, when a country as old as me tells you something insightful and emotional, there's no guessing that I'm right. I flat-out am. Don't question my ancient wisdom."

At that, both of them burst out laughing.

"Speaking of ancient wisdom," India added, raising an eyebrow despite the grin on his face. "You haven't yet returned my book."

"Mein Gott, India, open the door!" Prussia slams his fist against the wooden barrier. It's the 26th of November 2008. It's winter in India, but for the Prussian, it's still sweltering and uncomfortable. "India," he shouts, a little more desperate, "Can you hear me?"

Just as he's about to pull out his phone and call the other country, the door opens. Prussia gasps.

India looks terrible. His dark skin has an unhealthy tint of grey, his eyes are wide, brimming with tears, his hair is a complete mess, and Prussia notices scratch marks on his cheeks from where the Indian was probably clutching his face in fear.

"Prussia…" he murmurs.

"I came as soon as I heard. Let me in?"

India nods slowly, before opening the door wider. As he does this, he lets out a loud hiss of pain and almost falls, putting his full weight onto the doorknob as his body starts sinking to the floor. Prussia catches him from his armpits and hoists him up. India pushes the Prussian away, stumbling to the couch.

If this was a better time, Prussia would have noticed the large living room with embroidered cushion covers and big windows. He would have noticed the bookshelf with at least six or seven different kinds of religious texts—a reminder that India is an intensely polytheistic state. Instead, all he sees is his friend curled up in a ball on the couch, his head in his knees, while the TV blares on about horrific death tolls.

"They've bombed Taj, they've bombed Taj," India keeps repeating, his voice barely audible but his tone trembling like an earthquake.

"What?" Prussia repeats, sitting beside India and rubbing circles on his back. Glancing to the TV screen, the albino sees thick smoke coming out of a large building. India's famous Taj Palace Hotel in Mumbai.

"Terrorists. Bombs. Firing. Hostages. Oh god," India chokes, clutching his head as a jolt of pain wracks his body.

Slowly, as Prussia watches the news report, things become clearer. Ten armed gunmen targeting two five-star hotels, the CST train station, an iconic café, a women's and children's hospital, and a Jewish community center, among other places. It was the worst attack Independent India has ever faced, and the media was already dubbing it '26/11'.

India is now murmuring in Hindi as he looks at the TV screen, watching in abject horror as a hostage tries to climb out of a hotel room window, only to fall to almost certain death.

"Switch it off," Prussia declares. "Switch off the damn TV; you're not doing yourself any good."

"Don't be an idiot!" the country roars. It's weak, his voice wavering. "I should be out there, protecting them."

"You can barely stand."

India gasps as another stab of pain hits him, making his fingers run through his hair, clawing into his scalp. "My people," he moans. "They're so terrified. They're so—" and he yelps slamming the heels of his palms into his eyes as his head throbs. "Fuck, Prussia, why is this happening. Why? They're innocents, they didn't do anything wrong."

The albino sighs. He's known this kind of pain. It was just as bad—if not worse—when his country was dissolved. All nations have known agony like this, and there was honestly nothing anybody could do but wait it out, soldier it on.

"Have you eaten anything?" he asks finally.

India shakes his head. "I'll be sick."

"You need to eat something."

India gives Prussia an exhausted look. "I know." He sounds so weary, so tired, that it suddenly reminds Prussia of just how old a country India is. Just how much warfare and death he's seen. "C-can you do me a favour? There's some yogurt in the fridge. Could you give me that, and a plate full of rice? It's all in the kitchen."

Prussia gently pats the Indian's shoulder. "I'm on it."

As the Prussian is organising the Indian's dinner, he tries to drown out the gasps and groans of pain coming from the living room. The TV keeps talking about death, destruction, pain, terrorists, hostages. It's an absolute nightmare. But Prussia knows there's nothing he can do to stop the hurt. India would have to ride the storm, and survive.

In March the following year, India comes to the world meeting with a large grin on his face. For some reason, his clothes are covered in what looks like coloured powder, and though he's clearly made attempts to clean the mess, it hasn't worked.

"What the hell?" Prussia asks, looking at him with wide eyes.

"It's Holi today," India answers, as though this is obvious. "The festival of colours. You can't go anywhere without someone chucking coloured water at you. I tried avoiding it, but it clearly didn't work." Waving his hands distractedly, he adds, "I have something for you. Though, it's best if I give it to you later."

Prussia raises an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"An alcoholic drink like you wouldn't believe."

"I knew we were friends for a reason."

Later, after the meeting, India drags Prussia to his hotel room and takes something out of the mini-fridge. It looks like a bottle of milk.

"What is that?" Prussia asks, now slightly wary. (Not that he would ever admit it.)

"It's called bhang. It's the drink people have during Holi." At this, India lets out a short laugh, making Prussia wonder if he'd already helped himself to the alcohol.

India pours the milky drink in two glasses and hands one to Prussia. "Before you take a sip," the brown-skinned man advises, "Laugh."

"What?"

"Laugh! Think of something funny."

Prussia blinks at the Indian, and then says, "Well…There was that one time France, Spain and I set a flock of pigeons loose in an EU meeting." As India begins to giggle, Prussia snickers at the memory.

"Just laugh, and take a sip," India chortles, putting his glass to his lips.

Prussia has never felt so conscious of laughing before, but he forces chuckles to pass through his throat, before taking a large gulp of the drink.

Fifteen minutes later.

"Ahahaahahaha…mein Gott, what the fuck is in this drink? AHAHAHA!"

"Cannabis," India cried before collapsing into a fit of giggles. "Laugh before you drink it and you just keep laughing. Cry before you drink it, and you don't stop crying! Ahahahah!"

"That's fucking brilliant! Kesesese!"

Sitting on the floor with their backs against the bed, the two of them shriek in laughter as they drink.

"Ahaha! You know what would be awesome?"

"What? Hehehehe!"

"To dance to one of your Bollywood songs! Kesesese!"

"Oh! We should totally do that someday! Hahaha!"

"Ahahaha! Yes! We should!"

Stoned out of their brains, they just keep drinking.

Germany has known that India and Prussia have been friends for some time now, but the blonde had never expected to enter his brother's room and see a sight like this. Prussia, with Hindi music blasting through speakers, his back to the door as he shakes his butt in Germany's face.

Still backing Germany, Prussia is now flailing his arms about. The beat picks up, and suddenly, Prussia throws his head back and shouts something in Hindi—maybe this was the chorus? Wait, how does his brother even know Hindi?!

Now, Prussia is tapping his feet and snapping his fingers, still shaking his hips in Germany's face.

The blonde quietly closes the room door, deciding not to question it.

A/N: Finally! Phew, that was long. But I really wanted to understand their relationship, you know? Anyway, here are some notes:

*Baap Re: In Hindi, this term is similar to 'My god!'

*Madras Curry: It's an extremely spicy curry dish, developed in an area called Madras, in South India.

*Haan: In Hindi, this means 'Yes'.

*Germany and India have a lot of trade between them.

*26/11: Popularly considered to be India's '9/11' attack. Ten armed gunmen entered Mumbai through the sea, laying siege to the city. The terrorists were members of the Lashkar-e-Taiba. The attack was carried out with support from the Pakistani ISI. 164 people died, and at least 308 were wounded.

*Yoghurt and rice is popularly consumed in India as a comfort food. It's what you give to people who are sick, because it's easy to eat and very bland. It's also eaten a lot during the summer, because it has a cooling effect.

I wanted to keep a mix between humorous and serious, which is why I added those scenes with the Berlin Wall and the Mumbai attacks. These two are such unlikely friends, and I can't help but love them.

Anyway, thanks for reading. Please review!