Lessons Learned

(I had to write this fic after I finished the final chapter of Just Another Brick In The Wall. Which was like, the only Russia/Prussia fic I could stand, even though Bunny Pair is my OTP after America/Japan. Other fics of them don't seem to sit right with me. But it had an angst ending! D: so I bring a smile instead. A gift for the lovely author.)

Prussia hated Russia. At least that's what he kept telling himself. He hated the ever present darkness in his eyes, and the way the other towered over him by a good six inches. He hated the fact that somehow, Russia had managed to gain control of him after the war, and the cold way he had smiled as he'd erected the wall between him and his brother, purely out of spite. That smile was what irked him the most, however. The way that it was always there, carefully in place, a mask that hid the tears that Gilbert could clearly see inside the fake happiness.

He hated sitting in Russia's huge, lonely house. Day in and day out. The other nations who took up unwilling residence there never talked to him, and he suspected that they weren't allowed. But it gave him time to think. Think about his brother who he'd raised since he'd found him all those years ago, broken, bleeding, dying, clutching his tattered three-cornered black hat in one hand, and a girl's pair of panties in the other. Germany himself couldn't remember that day, or any day before that for that matter, but Prussia didn't care. He had a feeling that some memories were better left forgotten.

He thought about Italy too, and how oblivious the younger nation was to everything. There were many times that Prussia had been tempted to tell him, nights during the war when he caught the other crying alone. And he'd known what he was crying about. The memories that some nations were left to remember, when other's had forgotten. But even then, he'd kept his mouth shut. It wasn't his place to reveal such a secret. Besides, he had the suspicion that such a realization might break Italy, for good.

He thought about Hungary. He thought about how they'd played together as children, tangling wildflowers into each other's hair and laughing as though they had no other care in the world. He remembered how hard he'd laughed when she'd finally realized that she was a girl, something he'd figured out years before. Of course, he also remembered getting hit harder than usual with the frying pan she carried when he had laughed. His heart no longer throbbed with the feeling of loss when he recalled how he'd watched her marry Austria, even though he'd resented both of them for it then. It was like that saying he told Italy when he found the smaller nation crying late at night. It's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.

And even though he hated him, he thought about Russia. He thought about the tears he was sure he could see behind that false smile, and the way he just wanted to punch him for it, just to make him cry. Those hidden tears were what made him remember the most. The most things that he really didn't want to remember. Their history went back far longer than he wished to recall, and of course, being who he was, he hadn't forgotten a single moment of it. Everything was recorded painstakingly in the room full of diaries he kept back at home, and even now, he still scribbled down his thoughts and daily happenings in journals.

"You sure cry a lot, don't you," he murmured into the ash-blond hair of the small child he held against his chest, balanced in the crook of his left arm. The child shook his head, sniffing softly into the ivory folds of Prussia's shirt. The albino smiled, "Oh yes you do. Every time I come to visit you always cry about one thing or another. You have to man up, Ivan. You're a nation, nations don't cry. We have to be strong for our people, they believe in us."

Oh . . . He blinked from where he stood leaning against the wall in one of the endless hallways of Russia's house. Was that why he never cried anymore? Because of something he'd said hundreds of years before? Of all things to keep stuck in your head, that was definitely the dumbest.

They'd fought more times than he could count on both hands. Always over the silliest of matters. But they'd been aligned just as many times too. Most of them were when Russia was much younger, a child small enough for Prussia to hold in one arm, but still. He sighed and stared at the ceiling, lost in thought, there wasn't really much else to do around here really. Days when he'd been aligned with one nation or another, fighting with one nation or another, were long over. He had no right to even recall such days, yet alone continue to call himself Prussia at all. East Germany. That's who he was now. And for all it was worth, he was lucky he still had a physical body at all. But maybe it was some sort of inevitable repayment, something done unconsciously on Germany's part. Half of his power given in exchange for the power that Prussia had given that broken and war-torn child long ago.

He hadn't noticed the main object of his thoughts watching him from the doorway across the hall. "You look lost, Zaichik ," Russia commented lightly.

Prussia nearly jumped out of his skin, raising a hand to his heart as if it might suddenly escape from his chest from the surprise of the moment. "Where the hell did you come from," he mumbled under his breath, turning his gaze to the wall, furious to have been caught off guard.

Russia smiled, "My office. You've been lingering outside it for over an hour." He tilted his head to the side, in that considering, child-like manner that was always about him, "Would you like to go somewhere, Prussia?" A thin silvery eyebrow was raised in surprise, "You'll let me out of the house?" "I never said that you could not leave the house," Ivan replied smoothly.

The albino cursed under his breath. If he'd known that, he wouldn't have moped around for this long. "I could have come and gone as I pleased?" "As long as you told me where you were going and returned before ten, yes," Russia said, sounding amused. "And other than that, the only other rule would be to stay on this side of the wall, da?" He shrugged as Prussia cast him a seething glare, "Anyways, I was asking if you would wish to accompany me somewhere."

Prussia folded his arms over his chest, chewing at his lip as he gave the taller nation a suspicious once-over, "Depends on where it is," he muttered darkly. He had the feeling that Russia hung out in some weird places these days.

Ivan smiled innocently at the look, "Nyet, Nyet, don't glare like that, Prussia. Your face will stick." He laughed lightly as the seething eyes looked away, the albino touching his scowl as if he was worried of the truth in the claim. "I'm going ice-skating, if that is acceptable to you."

"I . . . Don't know how to ice-skate," Prussia mumbled. It irked him to admit to things he couldn't do. After all, he was just full of all around awesomeness. Not knowing how to do something took him down a few notches on the scale.

"Then I will teach you, Zaichik," Russia assured, making his way over to a coat rack at the end of the hall. He pulled on a long overcoat and tossed a similar one to the other, "Come, come, we can't waste daylight in winter," he chided teasingly.

Gilbert slipped the coat on with narrowed crimson eyes. Really, some days he just did not get this guy. His moods seemed to shift faster than the days of the week. He sighed softly, pushing the buttons through the holes on the coat with glazed eyes.

"Prussia! I can't get my coat to go on right!"

The older nation smiled, lifting the child up onto his lap and undoing each button carefully, "Ivan, you have to start from the bottom up, or you'll end up putting a button in the wrong hole. Like this, see?" He smirked as he got the article to fit snuggly, ruffling the boy's hair, "What am I going to do with you hmm?"

Another sigh as he jerked himself back to reality, clenching his fisted hands against his sides as he followed after the towering nation, staring up at his broad shoulders. "When did you get so big," he said unconsciously, hardly realizing that he'd uttered the words aloud.

To his utter surprise, Russia turned to look at him as the question left his mouth, a light smile in place, "When indeed," he said softly, "But it's a strange time to be dwelling on such thoughts, Prussia. We have to get to the ice rink. I want to see you fall down on your-"

"Hey now, I bet I'll be completely awesome at this ice-skating thing on the first try, hands down," Gilbert frowned, daring him to continue that statement.

"We'll see," Russia laughed. And for once, Prussia was startled to find that it wasn't that eerie, dark laugh that he usually did. But an honest, and sincere one. As if he actually found his reluctant companion to be quite amusing. He wasn't sure whether to be creeped out or flattered by such a laugh. And he wondered exactly how few had even heard it before.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

Prussia hated admitting to being wrong, almost as much as he hated admitting that there was something he couldn't do. Actually, maybe more so, especially as a combination of the two. And he had been quite wrong when he thought that he could learn to ice-skate on his first try. Currently, he was flat on his ass on the ice, for what must have been the billionth time in less than an hour. At least you couldn't blame him for being determined.

And he really didn't like how at ease Russia was on the ice, gliding across it as if he was Jesus on water. Prussia frowned at the metaphor, feeling very glad that that was not what he was. It would be ten times scarier than normal Russia, he expected. But he didn't know what to think of the other's carefree, almost innocent laugh every time that he slipped spectacularly on the ice and managed to do some crazy difficult move just before he ended up doing just as spectacular of a belly-flop on said, completely solid ice.

And he wasn't sure how to feel every time that Ivan would crouch down beside him, still laughing softly, and offer him a hand to help him up. "Would you like me to teach you now, Zaichik?"

Gilbert titled his head to the side, indecisive between a scowl and a smirk as a chosen expression. Which apparently resulted in quite a face, as Russia laughed softly. "I don't know," he said after a moment, "that might turn out to be deadlier than doing it on my own."

Russia smiled, and once again, Prussia couldn't help but wonder how many people had been graced with genuine smiles as such. They'd seemed so rare to him before today. "Nyet. It's like dancing," Ivan said, amused at the other's reluctance.

"Dancing?" he asked incredulously, allowing Ivan to take his gloved hands and haul him to his feet.

"Da. You learn to ice-skate in a way similar to how a small child learns to dance." He smiled again, beginning to skate backwards, pulling the other along with him, "Now, move one foot at a time without lifting them off the ice." He chuckled at the uncertain look he was given in reply, "Nyet, Prussia. I will not let you fall."

Small hands tugged on his formal fitted white robes, "Gilbert, Gilbert! Dance with me!"

Prussia pressed a soothing hand to the top of the child's head, "Hush, Ivan. I have to talk to France's boss for a bit."

"Gilbert . . ." It was a sniffly sort of whine, but one he chose to ignore. After all, in the world they lived in, whining and crying got you nowhere.

Francis suddenly appeared beside them, nodding to his boss briefly before turning a smile to Prussia, "Oui, Prussia. Dance with him. He will not be small forever."

"Well, maybe he'll stop being so clingy then," Prussia muttered, though his fingers unconsciously tangled in the younger boy's ash-blond hair. As if he couldn't imagine him growing out of such actions.

"Do not wish that," France said softly. "Nations grow stronger through war, Prussia. If I were you, I would fear the time when he would one day come to hate you."

"I don't think-"

"The day is not far off when mon Angleterre will fight against me," Francis continued as if Prussia had never spoken. "I've heard his nobles talking. And once his young mind has been tainted by them, he will scorn this hand," the blond held up on of his hands with glazed eyes, " . . . This hand that he has held for so long . . ." He cast a sideways glance across the decorated hall to where England was playing with Italy and Holy Roman Empire, "I fear what he will become."

Prussia bit his lip, one arm snaking around Russia's shoulders to hold him close, "All right. Let's dance for a bit then, Ivan." He bowed to France's boss in apology before leading the boy out onto the dance floor, not far from where the musicians began the first notes of a new song.

Russia smiled, taking the older nation's hands and standing on his feet in the way that small children do when first learning to dance. Prussia laughed at the action, closing his eyes as he twirled them around to the music. "Do you know the words to this song, Ivan? I think it's a tune from your house."

"Polyushko-polye, Polyushko shiroko polye," Ivan whispered under his breath, "Yedut da po polyu gyeroi, Proshlogo vryemyeni gyeroi."

The haunting tune still lingered on Gilbert's lips as he moved his feet slowly but surely over the ice, Russia patiently pulling him along. He didn't realizing he was faintly humming the song until Ivan's hands suddenly tightened slightly around his own.

"Vyetyer razvyeyet, Eh, da po zelyenu polyu," Russia's voice was low and far off as he murmured the words to the melody, "Ih udalyye pyesni, Proshlogo vryemeni pyesni." He smiled suddenly, although this time, Prussia didn't find it to be an honest one, "You left for a long time after that."

"I never meant to," the statement, however, was entirely honest.

"Francis was always too foresighted for his own good," Russia mused, and Prussia wondered for a moment if he'd said what he had out loud or not, because Ivan either ignored it, or hadn't heard it. "For we fought for the first time not too much later."

"My heart was never in it," Gilbert whispered, again, wondering if Russia had head him until lavender eyes met crimson.

"I know," Ivan smiled, twisting a bit as he glided along backwards. "I'm going to let go now, da?"

Prussia's eyes widened, "No! Not da, I'm gonna fall if you let go!"

"And falling is a part of learning to stand on your own," Russia smiled innocently, "You can't hang on to my hands forever."

Gilbert's breath caught in his throat at the words, "I-If that's some kind of metaphor referring to how I left you all alone back then, I never meant to! I thought you forgave me already for that! And anyways, this is so not the time to be bringing it up, Ivan!"

Russia blinked at the use of his human name. Prussia hadn't called him by it in hundreds of years. "I never blamed you in the first place," he whispered as he let go.

"What do you mean you have to leave?! Nyet! Nyet! You can't!"

Prussia looked away, not wanting to see the tear-stained face as he gently pried the child's fists from his Teutonic Knight's robes. "Nations shouldn't cry, Russia," he murmured softly for what he knew would be the last time.

"Nyet! I don't want to be all alone again!" But he knew it was too late, and he choked back a sob as Prussia called him by his nation title, something he had never done before.

Gilbert hated seeing those lavender eyes filled with tears, Russia's entire body trembling with a mixture of anger, and absolute anguish. "You knew it would happen eventually, your government's getting restless. The next time we meet will probably be in battle."

"Nyet!" He'd screamed, he'd wailed, and he'd clung to Prussia for all he was worth. But in the end, the albino was still stronger than him, still taller, still older. And Prussia hadn't looked back as he'd turned around and walked away.

The silver-haired nation wobbled dangerously on the ice, arms flailing at his sides as he struggled to keep his balance on his own. He really did not want to fall again, his tailbone was bruised enough, thank you. "Make an A with your skates!" Russia called to him, halfway through making a figure eight around the other. Prussia, for once in his life, did as he was told and came to a skidding halt, arms straight out in front of him.

He was quite annoyed to find that Russia, still skating around him, was clapping sarcastically at the display. "You really piss me off sometimes," he muttered.

"Da, I know."

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

The second lesson went a lot more smoothly. At least from Russia's point of view it did. Prussia however, was starting to wonder if he should arrange a wedding for the ice and his butt, since they were so well acquainted at that point. And he hated being cold, but he tried to ignore it, since there wasn't much of a chance the weather would change any time soon, considering who's land this was.

Currently, they were in the same position as a few days before, Russia skating backwards and pulling Prussia along hand in hand. As long as he had a firm grip on the other man, Russia noted that Prussia would move confidently, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he shuffled across the ice. "You're doing good," he smiled.

There was a threatening glare from the albino before he spoke, "You're not going to let go again, are you?"

"Nyet, Zaichik," he dropped one of Prussia's hands and swung around to his side, "At least, not both hands." He laughed at the look the other cast him, "How will you ever learn to skate properly if you are always holding my hands?" He held up his now free gloved hand as he skated slowly along beside Prussia now, wiggling his fingers mockingly.

"I'm not sure I want to learn anymore," Gilbert growled, though his movements hardly faltered as Russia fell into step beside him.

Ivan merely smiled at the retort, "I didn't take you as someone to give up so easily," he said quietly, teasingly.

He'd struck a nerve there, and Prussia turned his gaze away from the other. "I won't . . . Give up," he whispered, the last two words all but spat out in disgust. Giving up, after all, was what led him to the condition he was in in the first place. Because his bosses couldn't hold their own after they'd instigated wars he'd never wanted to be a part of. If it had been his choice, he'd have never surrendered of his own accord. Better to die fighting than to lose his status as a nation completely. With that thought, he turned crimson eyes to the taller man once more, "You're only prolonging my life by building that wall, you know," he mumbled,

Ivan's eyes widened in an uncharacteristic expression of surprise, eyebrows furrowing together, "Nyet, nyet . . . Not prolonging, Gilbert. Saving. I'm binding you to the land, for as long as there are people that in habit it." He smiled faintly, "That's how the newer nations are, like America, and your brother. At least, this present version of your brother. You will remain as you are until the last person leaves this half of Germany. Which I doubt will happen for a very, very long time. And I will keep the wall up until I can ensure that you will not vanish once I take it down."

It was Prussia's turn to be shocked, pressing the toe of one skate to the ice to stop himself and withdrawing his hand from the other's grip. "W-why? Why would you do that? It's not worth it."

"Polyushko-polye, Polyushko shiroko polye. Yedut da po polyu gyeroi, Proshlogo vryemyeni gyeroi," Russia whispered the words of the song so quietly Prussia barely caught them. The larger man held out his hand towards the albino again, although this time, his smile was somewhat strained, "Vsyo boodet harasho."

"I'm really bad at your language," Gilbert reminded him softly. But Ivan either didn't hear, or didn't care.

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

By the third lesson, Prussia could skate on his own without any support, though he still fell down from time to time. Russia would glide along absently beside him as he made slow but sure circles around the rink, moving as gracefully as any Olympic skater. It was after over an hour of silence between them that Prussia finally spoke, feeling those lavender eyes on him, "Is there something you wanted to say?" he prompted.

Russia tilted his head to the side, contemplating the other from a distance, "You learn quite fast. I was wondering if you would truly like to know how to dance on the ice."

An silver-white eyebrow was raised, "Figure skating? I saw that on TV yesterday. It looked . . . Complicated. I'm more of a hockey guy I think," he said, smiling slightly as he thought of Canada, and he wondered if anyone besides Italy and his brother worried about him, all this time was trapped behind that wall.

"No, you are definitely more built for dancing on the ice," Russia said, giving him a once-over that made him feel awkward.

"Well you're more built to be smashing an opposing hockey team into the ice with those huge arms of yours," Gilbert grinned, not about to be outdone.

Ivan paused a moment, before laughing to himself at the remark, "Maybe so. But I would still like to dance with you, Prussia." He held out a hand, towards the other in a confident manner.

But Prussia saw right through that look, down to the uncertainty, and fear of rejection at the offer. He smiled slightly, accepting the hand without a word of protest, "All right, teach me." A withering look was cast at the ice, "But I get the feeling that it's going to involve a lot more falling on my ass," he winced at the thought.

"Ne boysa," Russia murmured, turning to stand beside him, "I'll catch you if you fall."

"Gilbert, I don't like this story."

Prussia cocked his head, closing the book that Russia still had his palms splayed across, leaning back a bit with the child still in his lap. "Why not?"

Ivan's lavender eyes stared up at him, narrowed in confusion, "Why doesn't The White Bunny come back? He promised the Brown Bunny that he would come back, and he didn't."

"I don't know why," Prussia said softly after a moment's pause. "Maybe . . . Maybe he just didn't love him enough. After all, Brown Bunny couldn't change his summer coat like White Bunny could. He was trapped in summer because he liked it too much, and couldn't appreciate all the seasons like White Bunny."

The child looked away, "He should have come back . . ."

^-^ ^-^ ^-^

There was not fourth lesson. Or fifth. Or even a sixth. Prussia's people began to riot, and China's views had started to clash with Russia's own. The albino came down with a terrible fever from the turmoil of the land and people he was suddenly tied to, and in the end, Russia signed the contract to tear down the wall before he was entirely certain that Prussia would remain after it's demise. But he couldn't risk it, letting him die of a cold before the wall could be felled.

Months came and went, the brief summer sun melting the ice in the rink only to have Father Winter replace it again, good as new not long after. Years passed just as quickly. And more often than not, Russia found himself too busy with paperwork, negotiations with America, and world meetings to spare a moment for his favorite pastime. It was only after Belarus had begged him to have a day to himself, worried at how worn out he seemed because of the recent economic struggles of the world, that he consented to take some time off.

He took his time tying the laces on his skates, a new pair he had bought a few years back but had never had the chance to break in. Four years ago at the 2006 winter Olympics, in fact. Clicking the heals together against the metal railing, he made his way out onto the ice with glazed eyes. Truly, he had not been ice-skating since his attempts to teach Prussia the pastime. And it only brought back unwanted memories. Because, once again, Gilbert had not even bothered to look back when he'd left.

A few figure eights around the rink, a random triple axel or two, and he already felt as if the trip had not been worth it. He put his hands out in front of him and caught hold of the railing, leaning heavily on it and closing his eyes, wondering just how long he'd have to stay here to get Natalia off his case about needing time to relax. Ivan sucked in a shaky breath, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. Again. Again he'd let him leave. Leave, and in return, be left behind. Belarus was the only one who had stayed with him, and she couldn't offer him what he needed. She could give him advice maybe, a creepy amount of sibling love, and compassion when he felt so down it actually showed. But that was all.

She couldn't read him, not like Prussia could. Prussia was the only one who could see right through his mask of smiles. The only when who had bothered to hold him close, and teach him how to grow up strong. Unlike Ukraine, leaving him to fend for himself and hoping he would learn on his own. And Prussia had abandoned him. Though, he had never expected him not to. Prussia was fickle, with no continued loyalties except to his brother. But even so he'd allowed himself to hope, and that's where the mistake had been.

"Devushki plachut, devushkam sevodnya grustno, milyi nadolgo uehal, eh, da milyi v armiyu uehal," he whispered the lyric to himself, burying his face in his hands to hide his anguish from the world.

He didn't hear the first traces of the same tune being sung by a lone skater in the center of the rink, shifting from foot to foot and pausing to twirl absently every now and then. "Field, my field, My wide field. The heroes ride over the field, Heroes of the past."

"Vyetyer razvyeyet, Eh, da po zelyenu polyu."

"The wind scatters your brave songs, Across the green field."

Ivan looked up, finally taking notice of the lonely song, the tune matching his own whispered words, but the words themselves in two separate languages. It sounded so much more morbid in a different tongue. He watched the skater dancing almost gracefully on the ice, though a slight stumble to a few of his steps betrayed the uncertainty in his movements. A dark coat was wrapped tightly around him in the fading light, the hood pulled up over his head in a way that frustrated Russia to no end because he could not make out the singer's face.

"Ih udalyye pyesni, Proshlogo vryemeni pyesni," he continued, as if daring the stranger to reply.

"Songs of the past, Leaving them alone with your glory, And right at the end, on a dusty road…"

In truth, the lyrics perfectly matched his mood, and he slumped backwards against the railing with a sigh. The skater approached, but he paid him little head, not in the mood to have a chat with one of his citizens or some tourist at the moment. He was surprised as a hand rested on his shoulder, crimson eyes meeting his own.

"Ya znal, chto naydu tebya," Prussia whispered softly. He smiled, "I've been practicing my Russian, but it might still be a bit off."

Russia's eyes clouded with tears, "Nyet, it's fine. Why did you . . ."

"Come back?" Prussia finished when he stalled. "I figured it was about time I did. After all, studying this slurry language of yours, I realized what you'd been calling me all that time."

"Zaichik," Russia murmured.

"Bunny. Like in the story, correct?" A defiant smirk played in the corners of his mouth, "I figured it was about time I came back then." He reached out and ruffled the other nation's hair like he had when Russia had still been small enough to hold in the crook of his arm.

Ivan choked, reaching out his hands towards the older man, drawing him into a tight embrace that was so desperate, it was almost childlike, betraying for once his real personality. "Ya tak silno skuchal pa tibe," he whispered.

"I know," he laughed in the other's bone crushing grip. "Good grief, Francis was right. You've gotten too big for your own good."

The younger nation loosened his hold a bit, burying his face in the folds of Prussia's dark jacket, "You've been practicing skating too, haven't you."

"Yeah. I said I wasn't going to give up, remember?"

Lavender eyes closed with a sigh, "Gilbert, skazshi chto lyubish menya."

Prussia's heart skipped a beat, startled slightly by the request. He leaned back a bit, staggering slightly as he forgot they were still on the ice. His hands raised to take Ivan's face between his palms, pressing their forehead's together, which was quite a pain as he had to stand on his tiptoes to do so, even with the other nation bending down a bit. It made him laugh. "Ya tebya lyublyu, Ivan," he assured softly.

RANDOM AUTHOR RAMBLE

*sigh* this is for FroggyFan, who wrote the lovely fic Just Another Brick In The Wall, and Lucrecia, who made the pretty fanart for it. Both of which I loved. And because I couldn't STAND that huge amount of angst, I wrote this to make up for it. Lawl. So enjoy. Bunny Pair forever. Oh, and the song is Polyushka Polye, which is not as old as I made it out to be, but it is old. :3

Translations.

Russia's first verse of the song in flashback:

Field, my field,

My wide field.

Second verse in 'present' time:

The heroes ride over the field,

Heroes of the past.

Verse sung to Prussia in answer to the question of why he was saved:

Field, my field, has seen so much misfortune.

It was drenched in blood,

The blood of the past.

Vsyo boodet harasho

Everything will be all right.

Ne boysa

Don't be afraid

The next part of the song Russia sings in last scene:

The girls are crying,the girls are sorrowful today,their sweethearts went away for a long time,hey, their sweethearts went away to the army

Ya znal, chto naydu tebya

I knew I'd find you

Ya tak silno skuchal pa tibe

I missed you so much

Gilbert, skazshi chto lyubish menya

Gilbert, tell me you love me.

Ya tebya lyublyu, Ivan

I love you, Ivan.