Summary: Halloween means carving pumpkins and wearing costumes to some and gravedigging to others. Canada had forgotten his glasses at home, through no fault of his own, but there was no mistaking the shovel clutched in his grasp.

Hetalia does not belong to me. Neither do any of the countries mentioned. Get back to me after 'World Domination Phase 3' is complete.

Gravediggers

"Gilbert... It's midnight."

"Yes! Yes it is!"

Canada was standing with his arms crossed over his chest and tapping his slippered foot in agitated rhythm to the beat of his irritation. He was wearing loose, flannel bottoms that were two sizes too large and a worn cotton shirt the same washed out colour as his slippers. His blonde curls were wild and tousled from interrupted slumber and a turbulent ride to the outskirts of town.

His frown deepened.

"It's midnight and I am standing in the middle of a graveyard."

"Yes. Yes you are."

"... I hate you."

The graves and stone markers cluttered the grass in sporadic bursts of poor planning. New graves were arranged next to markers that had been standing forever with no seeming rhyme or reason. The grounds were unkempt and overgrown and the one glimmer of light came from a single lantern in the distance.

The wind rustled through the amber and gold leaves still clinging to the crooked, distorted trees.

"Lies! I am adorable."

"No one is adorable at midnight," Canada grumbled and narrowed his gaze. "Not even you."

Prussia opened the trunk of the automobile with a 'click' and gentle 'pop' and grabbed a handful of bound rope. He weighed it in his hand as if considering his options before he scoffed and tossed it to the ground. He instead found some torches beneath an old woollen blanket.

He tossed them to the ground as well and pulled out a shovel.

"No..." Canada moaned and massaged his temples.

"Yes!" Prussia was excited as he pitched the shovel to Canada and grabbed another one. Canada caught the shovel and squinted as if to be sure that it was what he thought it was.

He had forgotten his glasses at home, through no fault of his own, but there was no mistaking the shovel clutched in his grasp.

"Gilbert, you promised..."

"Hmmm?"

"You promised not to maim anyone this year... "

"What? Oh! No, we're not getting rid of evidence this time. We're gravedigging!"

Canada looked on with a blank stare.

"It's Halloween!"

"Let me see if I understand the situation... You shook me awake, blindfolded me and tossed me into the car, and drove 30 kilometres to an abandoned graveyard because it's Halloween?"

"Yes!"

"I hate you."

"I love you."

"I still hate you."

Prussia grinned and balanced the shovel on his shoulder. He was wearing jeans and a sweater and proper shoes while the other nation was shivering in his bedclothes. He grabbed a swinging lantern from the trunk and asked Canada to light an old fashioned candle. He began stepping amongst the gravestones when the lantern was throwing enough light to see the dangerous, uneven cracks and crevasses littering the ground.

Canada hesitated one lone moment before following him with a low groan of frustration. He was used to this now, more or less; the cemetery was certainly a new twist but the strange antics were as old as their relationship.

Prussia wandered without direction for ten minutes, weaving and swerving between the markers, before settling on a grave from the 1800's with an inscription too worn to read.

"This one!"

"... Why?"

"It just feels right."

"What part of wandering through a graveyard at midnight feels 'right' to you?"

"Look, you made me carve pumpkins this afternoon for Halloween. You forced me to decorate the front lawn and bob for apples and wear a costume. And as such, I am forcing you desecrate graves at midnight."

"How is that an equal trade?" Canada pressed the end of his shovel into the dirt and leaned on the handle with a soft grunt.

"How is it not? Besides, this is more fun!" Prussia stuck his shovel into the earth and tossed the first load of dirt over his shoulder in haphazard fashion. It scattered over the markers behind him. "Lend me a hand."

A single cricket chirped from the shadows.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Canada figured that the sooner Prussia had satisfied this odd curiousity; the sooner he could return to his warm bed and sweet dreams. He bit into the earth with his own shovel.

It was perhaps half an hour before Prussia hit the rotting pine box and cackled in triumph. The dirt was piled high around the edges of the grave and Prussia and Canada were several feet below that highest point. Canada was smeared with filth and grime and insects but he had to admit that he was nursing a curiousity of his own after all of their effort.

Not that he had had much choice in the matter.

Prussia pried the lid of the casket off and it splintered in the process. The ruins of a man were dressed in what might have been fine clothes when he was buried but were now as rotten as the casket. There was a crude brooch pinned to his chest and a copper tinderbox grasped in his gnarled fingers. He did not smell as a fresh corpse might and instead reeked of must and mold.

"Hello."

It took Canada a second to realize that Prussia was speaking to the dead man and not to him.

"I'm Gilbert and this is Matthew," he pointed to Canada. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Canada often wondered if Prussia was his punishment for some misdeed committed in a past incarnation. There was no other possible explanation for this situation. How was it that Prussia could be positively cordial to a corpse and an insufferable pest to most of the nations? It did not make any sense.

Then again, neither did this situation.

"Do you mind if we take a look around? No? Thank you."

Prussia began rummaging through the pockets of the ragged coat and found some beads, a coin for the ferryman, and a locket that would not open. Canada bent down for the copper tinderbox and some of the dried fingers snapped with the disturbance. He twisted the rusting latch and found a letter inside.

"Gilbert, look at this."

Prussia stepped closer to Canada and brought the light from the lantern with him. Canada unfolded the crinkled pages with care.

"What is it?"

"It's... It's a love letter!"

Prussia leaned on Canada and read over his shoulder. The graveyard was as silent as it should be while the two of them poured over the ink and thoughts written centuries ago in precise strokes and a couple of tears. It was romantic and heart wrenching and a little wistful.

There was no signature.

"That was beautiful," Canada whispered when he had finished reading and Prussia nodded in agreement. He nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

"Mmmm."

Canada folded the letter back up and tucked it into the tinderbox once more. He pressed it into Prussia's hands and stepped out of reach.

"You're not going to keep it?" Prussia cocked his head to the side.

"It's not mine to keep."

Canada grabbed the handle of his shovel and began crawling out of the grave with a bit of trouble. Prussia boosted him over the mound of dirt with a soft smile before turning back to the remains of a man who had been so treasured in his life. It was little surprises like this that were the reason he went gravedigging. He settled the tinderbox into its rightful place with a mumbled word of gratitude and positioned the lid of the splintered casket back over him.

Prussia glanced up to find Canada chuckling and offering his hand with a soft smile of his own.

He took it and Canada lifted him out.

The moon was a thin crescent hidden amongst the clouds as the two of them tossed the churned dirt onto the rotting pine box; covering the nameless man and his last love letter with a blanket of earth and bidding goodnight. Canada made sure Prussia carried both of the shovels back to the automobile after the dirt had been patted down and smoothed.

Prussia jammed the shovels into the trunk and plucked the woollen blanket off of the ground where he had left it. He wrapped it around Canada and over his tousled tresses. Canada was grinning despite the hour and the filth and the ridiculousness of their situation.

"That was wonderful... If not also strange and inappropriate and utterly illegal."

"You never know what you'll find when you go gravedigging."

"Will you write me a letter like that in a couple of decades?"

"Would you like me to?"

"Yes. I think that I would."

Prussia stepped closer to Canada and ran his finger along the curve of his cheek in tender gesture. It was streaked with sweat and dirt but Prussia thought that he had never been more stunning.

"It would be horrible; it would be disjointed and littered with grammatical errors. I would ramble."

"I like that about you. It's... Adorable," Canada laughed and Prussia touched their noses together with a sighing breath.

"I thought that you despised me tonight."

"I'm fickle."

"That's one word for it..."

Prussia wanted to kiss him but decided that it could wait until he had a chance to shower and wash two centuries worth of filth down the drain. He might be able to manage both at the same time if he could coax Canada into the shower with him for a bit of well deserved 'fun' after their adventure.

Canada brushed their noses together in the simple kiss that children relished and it was almost as nice.

"Happy Halloween."

Author's Notes:

Hmmm... Please, oh please, do not desecrate graves. It would be quite rude and illegal. Prussia is a bit odd; enough said. I do not think that I need to explain his actions to anyone. Prussia is a force of nature and far be it from me to restrain him. The beginnings of this conversation floated through my mind and I decided to go with it because I could see it happening. At least, I could see it happening to my versions of Prussia and Canada. This piece could definitely be seen as the same universe as Plastic Minions.

A tinderbox is a small container filled with flint and tinder that has fallen out of favour in recent times with the advent of sulphur matches and fuel lighters. In this case, it has been emptied and instead has a letter.

"A coin for the ferryman" is a very old tradition dating back to Ancient Greece and has been seen in many cultures since then (and probably before). You might be buried with a coin to pay the 'ferryman' who would usher you to the 'other side' or afterlife. If you did not have such a coin, or payment for this service, you could be denied access to the afterlife for a time. Coins are placed in the mouth, on the closed eyelids, and in the pockets of the deceased by their families for this purpose. The original Greek myth refers to Charon, who ferried souls across the River Styx on behalf of Hades.

The 'kiss' at the end is also known as an 'Eskimo Kiss' and the gesture is widely recognized in western culture.

I realize that I should post this nearer to Halloween but it is October the first. This month and Halloween are intrinsically linked in my mind. Besides, I want to post this while the coloured leaves are still fluttering; there will be snow on the ground in three weeks. No, I'm not kidding. The prairies are a strange, strange place and I see at least five or six months of winter weather.

Please leave a review and feel free to offer opinions, advice, or criticism. All are welcome. You are free to leave an anonymous review; I do not mind. Please let me know what you think of this piece.