A Perished Sun
By: The DayDreaming
Warnings: Language. OOC-ness. Many grammatical errors and inconsistencies. Pointlessness, but not really?
This chapter has not been beta'd or checked for mistakes. If you feel there are any glaring errors besides my poor vocabulary and grammar, feel free to point it out and I'll do my best to assuage the situation.
Chapter 4: Crop Circles in the Carpet
~o.O.o~
America is taking too long to get in the pool.
Prussia sighs and allows himself the simple pleasure of slipping through the hole in his inner tube, folding in half and curling inwards, a slow descent to the bottom. He can remember being like this, once upon a time. The sensation of submersion, but by something wholly more transcendental than chlorinated water and gravity.
It's not so much a memory as an imprint, stamped into his bones like a sear; but it doesn't matter what it is. Even as he lets his mind drift back to the beginning, the pinnacle of light that sparked his almost eternal life, there is a fog that overtakes his mind like a funeral shroud, making him shudder and gasp for breath.
He takes in water and gags, trying to let a garbled curse fall from his lips as he kicks his feet into the smooth tile of the pool-floor and pushes upwards. He breeches the surface a second later and spits out a gob of saliva-riddled water, a steady stream pouring out his nose. Even as he's wiping his eyes free he can see America off to the side, an unsurprising but no-less dorky pair of American-flag swim trunks slung about his waist, looking about to slide off.
America guffaws, a large beach ball held loosely in his arms slipping free and falling into the pool like a small behemoth. Prussia paddles over and quickly picks it up, lugging the projectile at the other's head and knocking him over as his feet slide on the wet cement of the patio. He lands with a smack, remaining down as Prussia pulls himself up with a slosh from the pool, cackling as Tony taps over on his spindly legs and lifts America's head, examining the patch of raw, bleeding skin.
"Fucking kraut," it mutters, placing America's head back down and glaring at the Prussian.
"Shouldn't have been laughing at the awesome me, fremd. Seriously, who gets knocked out by a ball?" Prussia cackles again as he goes to poke the alien's own American-flag-esque trunks, though instead of fifty tiny stars there's a flying saucer inhabiting the navy square on its right hip. Tony quickly lifts his hand, twitching the tiny digits a bit before the forgotten ball lifts off the ground and slams into Prussia's bent head, sending him sailing back into the pool.
As Prussia surfaces, spluttering and coughing up water, Tony patters over to the edge of the pool, his diminutive shadow falling over the albino, and hisses, "You, fucking loser." The ball is slammed into Prussia's head once more.
"Pffft, oh god, Tony! That was great!" America is apparently conscious again, sitting up and holding out his fist, which Tony walks up and touches his own tiny hand to. A dribble of blood beads into the corner of his eye, but he ignores it in favor of picking himself up and sidling over to where Prussia leans idly against the side of the pool, glaring holes into the back of the foreign creature's cranium. "I think Tony likes you."
"Gee, really?" Prussia drawls, spitting a bit of leftover water onto the other's toes and flipping the alien off, who has taken to looking through the scope of what might be a water gun (but could also totally be something else) pointed directly at his left eye. "I think I'm warming up to him, too. You better watch out, or the awesome me might cause your buddy to disappear."
"Oh, well, if you want Tony to visit I'm sure he wouldn't mind! He loves traveling," America smiles and pulls up his trunks which have been steadily sinking down his hips into dangerous regions. Prussia watches the act and traces the thin lines of bones as they protrude.
America has always been well-built, exuding a power from his frame as easily as breathing air, though never really brawny, not to the extent that those like West and Russia are. He still resembles a teenager, after all. It leaves Prussia to wonder how someone like America could grow up from a little settlement in Jamestown, tiny and insignificant, to a strapping adolescent. It was an obscene growth rate that few countries ever experienced, and perhaps for a good reason, since America's mind most definitely hadn't progressed as fast as his body, leaving him as but a small child stumbling around in a cruel, adult-filled world.
But, he's still brilliant, even now, isn't he, Prussia thinks, catching the gleaming of the sun across the other's skin, a fine gold dust that makes his hair shine and eyes glow. Even as the others are loath to admit it, even as he is, America is beautiful by Nation-standards, vast and filled with untapped resources, vibrant and full of life and people.
Or, he used to be. That vitality he was so famous for only comes in short bursts these days, though the others don't seem to notice, not as America sleeps through meetings in the back of the room and mumbles through the majority of his speeches. Even now, Prussia can see the shoulders slump and the eyes blink tiredly. Where once there was muscle and fat to fill him out, now there is but the leanest sinews of flesh and hard bone to support him. The skin is pale from a lack of exposure to the sun and his hair has dulled and thinned.
It's startling to realize, and Prussia can't keep himself from staring as America walks backwards a few steps, then runs forward for a quick cannonball into the pool. He's been clever about hiding it, wearing thick clothes and extra layers, concealer under his eyes and heavy doses of caffeine-riddled energy drinks.
"Yo, America," he calls out, paddling over as the other nation rises from the depths.
"Yeah," he replies, shaking his stringy hair from his eyes, longer than usual and due for a cut.
"You been eating anything? You look like a stick."
America instinctively covers his chest and looks down, the water magnifying and warping his figure. He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes, then tries to wipe the glasses for good measure, though that only uselessly smears water over the lenses. He huffs and tosses the glasses over to Tony, whom is diligently inflating another inner tube off to the side but deftly catches the spectacles with practiced ease.
"You don't like it?" America twists around and tries to catch a glimpse of his back. "You guys always were complaining about how fat I was getting. Thought it would at least make people happy."
Prussia snorts and tries to push aside the faint memories of poking at America's love handles and laughing in his face, "Not the point."
"Isn't it?" America smiles that ugly, thin-lipped smile and stares intently at his hands, blue and illuminated by reflections on the surface, winding like snakes. His eyes look far away, and as he moves to see into Prussia's eyes, he can't help but get the feeling that America is looking at someone else entirely. "…I'm not really hungry that much nowadays anyway. So it doesn't really matter."
"What kinda lame-ass answer is that?" Prussia grouses, slapping his hand across the surface of the pool, sending a wave of water to slap America in the face. "Fucking pussy."
America whines and slaps more water back, creating a mini-tidal wave that engulfs the smaller nation and sends him tumbling away to the end of the pool. Even if America is thin, his supernatural strength hadn't faded in the least.
"My country's just going through a bunch of policy changes right now. It'll pass in time, alright? Happy now?"
"Yeah, whatever," Prussia mutters, tipping his head over and draining water from his ears.
From there, Tony finishes prepping two other inner tubes, and tosses them into the pool. The little alien levitates into a kiddie-sized tire with a glass of sweet-tea in hand, and as it floats by, hands America two water guns, which the nation promptly puts to use against his fellow swimmer.
Prussia forgets about too-thin fingers and tired eyes that look to a place beyond comprehension, and focuses on the glorious light of afternoon and the golden gleam that radiates from America as he shoves his head underwater and declares personal war.
America floats in the middle of the pool, body bobbing along to the waves formed from Prussia's splashing around as he putters about the deep end, towing Gilbird along on her own personal float made of a plastic boat with balloons tied to its sides.
He's been quiet for a while, resting from his earlier exertions. Prussia paddles over, looks at his slightly reddened face, and then taps his nose, "Hey, you alive?"
America flutters his eyes but otherwise doesn't move, giving a non-committal grunt. Disgruntled, Prussia pushes down on the other's chest, but the low, dark muttering of the tiny alien that happens to be passing behind steadies him to just holding his hand over his heart.
The organ beats heavily under his fingers, a steady campaign. America grunts again, allowing his eyes to fall open, alight as they look at him, then flick upwards. He smiles, and Prussia finds himself thinking of days spent at home, Germany at his knee reading a book.
The boy's lips move, mouthing a question, but all he can see is Ludwig asking if Prussia will always be there for him, stay with him, be with him….
America's brow crinkles, "Prussia…?"
He blinks, looks down to see that the nails of his hand are digging into America's chest. He hastily removes the digits and barks out, "What?"
"Jeez, no need to get testy…," America mutters, tearing his attention away from the other. The look on the other's face had scared him; he can't tell what exactly he had been seeing, but it most certainly isn't him. He glances back to the sky, and asks, "You ever just, get in the water and feel like you never want to come out? Like, it's where you belong?"
Prussia stares at him, watches as the other lifts his arm and grabs for the sky, reaching reaching reaching. He wonders what the other is looking for, and if once upon a time he had found it in a place beyond the Earth.
He snorts, "Of course not," and shoves America's head down to the bottom. Tony whaps him on the head with a Styrofoam noodle.
The town's annual Fourth of July picnic is as he would expect from America: loud, colorful, full of food, and with piss-worthy beer.
He nurses his canteen of imported liquor, found at the back of America's refrigerator, probably from a party held long ago. It tastes awful, but he won't complain when he's left with no other choice, America saying that he doesn't keep a stash of moonshine, or have any Jägermeister, or keep beer in general. Who cares if America is physically three years too young to consume alcohol in his country, and had prohibited himself since 1984? The little wimp needs to man up.
America is off with a group of children and supervising parents, waving around sparklers and generally being dog-piled by toddlers wanting piggy-back rides and to be spun around. He snorts at the sight when America topples over, losing his burnt-out sparkler as he rolls down-hill. Tony mutters off to the side of him, a thick blue hoodie concealing his thin frame while a pair of sunglasses rests precariously on his smooth face, taped to the sides of his head. He looks like a doll, and Prussia can't help but shake his head at the stupidity of bring an extraterrestrial into a crowded area.
When America had explained it to him, tearing pieces of tape from a roll while Tony held the glasses in place, he had burst out laughing. The pair had apparently been pulling the stunt with various disguises since the sixties, after Tony had complained about being left behind in the festivities (and again Prussia wonders how it is that Tony communicated this to America).
America runs up to them, out of breath but holding two plates of barbecue and various starchy vegetables and bread. He sets the food down in front of them, grinning to his ears, before pulling out a thin box of sparklers and a lighter.
"Stop looking like such a grump and set some stuff on fire, 'kay?" he pants, before darting off to rejoin his group of young admirers.
Tony moves beside him and grabs a plate, shoveling food into his mouth while trying to hide behind Prussia's back. He can't bring himself to complain when he tastes America's food; even if he sucks in all other areas of life, America and his citizens of Southern influence certainly know how to do barbecue.
Sated and content to try and subtly set Tony's hoodie on fire while the alien waves around the proffered sparklers, Prussia finds himself enjoying just sitting still and watching others celebrate. The feeling of laziness wraps around his chest, and though something in him says it is distinctly un-awesome to sit out of the festivities, he finds he can't really care. The day hasn't been unpleasant; though he's used to America's birthday bashes being filled with loud, annoying nations fighting and nagging at each other, then promptly falling flat on their faces from spiked punch, or making out with the nearest available body (passed out or otherwise, and usually already violated by Francis), this type of quiet, domestic celebration isn't as bad or boring as he'd thought it would be in the morning.
Just as he's about to grab a sparkler from his alien companion, the old speakers rigged up on poles down on the main picnic area crackle to life, sputtering with static before steadying as the speaker of the evening, probably the town mayor, recites a speech recounting what Prussia thinks might be a history of the town, or, for all he was paying attention, the memoirs of his wife's left foot on the old, rickety wooden stage. He rivets his eyes to the group of teenagers on the left of the speaker, one in particular clad in a baggy jacket with American-flag graphics printed onto the fabric and a pair of true, worn-out Levi's. He's grinning and waving to the crowd as the speaker hands over his microphone to what looks like the leading girl of the group.
A hush falls over the picnic area, families turning and standing to face the flag waving elegantly atop the rusted flag pole off to the side of the stage. Tony stands up beside him, stare intent as he holds one of his small hands over the left side of his chest. The speakers crackle again, the slightly jittery voice of the girl with the microphone issuing out, followed by the rising tenors of the gathered crowd as they recite America's pledge.
He wonders if the small alien considers itself a U.S. citizen, following along with all of America's traditions. From what he was told by America, the creature has been on the earth for almost eighty years, keeping America company in all of his different homes (which raises the question of just how many abodes the nation has). Could Tony have really pushed aside his heritage among the stars to be with his only friend?
Prussia doesn't stand, instead observing the proceedings like an uninterested third party, until the resounding silence left behind by the pledge is suddenly broken by the abrupt introduction of the Star-Spangled Banner by the group of teenagers on stage.
Among the cacophony of voices issuing from the old speakers, one rises above the rest, clear and absolute in its intensity, though for the humans standing about it seems like nothing special, drowned out as it is by the lead girl's stuttering soprano. It hits him like a wave, the voice of a nation as it sings its heart's anthem.
It is an irrefutable truth that nations can sing their anthems, and no matter how awful their voices are otherwise, for those songs that truly speak the soul of the country, they can sing in tones that touch the inner-most corners of their citizens' and other nations' hearts.
Prussia closes his eyes and listens to the voice of America, skimming past words and burrowing in to unearth the true emotion behind each sentence. This is me this is me I'm right here.
And even beyond that, he can feel himself humming the strains of a song he was once able to freely sing before his people with the same vigor and strength as the nation in front of him. He can feel his mind ache, the sounds on his tongue fading and slipping out as a garbled mess of words and dialects. His memories bleed, growing blank and jumbled as his heart screams for release but the fabric of his being, that which ties him to the land that once held the seeds of the Teutonic Order, cry out to sing eight different songs.
I am a Prussian,
Know ye my colors?
No.
Do you know my colors?
No.
My colors, my colors
What are my colors?
What are my colors?
He can't breathe, throat locking up and swelling, but he'll try try try until he can't anymore, until the very last of him dies he'll hold the song of his knights and his kings and his people long dead and never utter the strains of foreign hymns.
"Fucking kraut."
Something smacks him in the head, wet but firm, and he finds he can swallow the sweet air of life once more. He opens his eyes (when had he closed them?) to see Tony glaring at him, holding a lighter and a sparkler stick. A sauce-slathered rib sits in his lap, staining his pants with sticky brown residue.
The little alien scowls and tosses the items aside, "If you didn't stop having a fucking seizure soon I was going to try and immolate your nose. Should have done it anyways on a stupid kraut like you…"
What the hell does 'immolate' even mean, Prussia wants to ask, but instead decides that it'd be good to punt the spiteful creature across the hill, and preferably over a cliff. Just as he gets up, America comes over the crest of the hill, panting again, but smiling as though he has the energy of a thousand suns.
"Did you see me?" he asks, straightening his flag-print jacket and hoisting up his sliding pants. "That fucking rocked!"
"Yeah, sure," Prussia snorts. "Still not as awesome as my anthem, but it's okay for a squirt like you."
America flips him off and flops to the ground, spreading his arms and legs out. Tony moves and lies down on America's side, resting his head against a splayed forearm and ripping the glasses from his red eyes.
"What are you doing?" Prussia asks, resisting the urge to kick his companions in the heads in a single shot.
"Fireworks," comes America's simple reply. Even as the words leave his lips, the lights lighting the park begin shutting off one by one, setting the world in waning twilight as the barest hints of sun leave the sky. Summer evenings in America last for hours, often not darkening until close to nine in the evening.
The first goes off with a startling bang, a large red spray filling the sky as jubilant shouts fill the air, picnickers spreading out to try and find the best view of the spectacle. Some migrate over to Prussia's and America's hill, and he idly wonders if they'll spot Tony, but realizes that the nuisance looks exactly like a doll cradled in America's arm.
Another firework goes off, shattering the sky in blue fire. Prussia decides that now is as good a time as any, and goes back to the tree where he's hidden America's present in a small hollow. He brushes the dirt off and flings the square package at America's head, managing to smack the blond in the forehead and upset Tony's place as the other nation yelps and sits up.
"What the hell was that for?" America sputters out, rubbing his forehead, fingers skimming past the patchy scab caused by his earlier fall at the pool.
"It's your present, runt. From the awesome me, West, and Italy. The cute one, not the really crabby one that's always bitching at Antonio. And it's mostly from the awesome me, 'cause I'm that amazing," Gilbert rambles, scratching the back of his neck and looking away. He can't explain why he always feels nervous handing out gifts. No one ever really appreciates the gifts he gives them, though some might say that getting a 'totally awesome look at his five meters' isn't necessarily a gift, but a curse that steadily eats away at one's eyes and mind.
America grunts and lifts the box, beginning to peel the messy wrapping paper away to see heavily taped cardboard flaps. Tony sits up next to him, looking at America before glancing at the box, then back to America. America laughs and shakes his head, "No, we can't set it on fire! What if it's like a hamburger or something?"
Tony snorts and begins to help remove the tape, until at last the box is bared. By the rapidly increasing lights of the fireworks overhead, America lifts out new bomber jacket, custom-made to mimic the style of his old G-1 flight jacket.
He's quiet as he holds the article of clothing out, staring at it in the white glare of the smoky sky, mouthing words that Prussia can't decipher and allowing his thumbs to run over the thick wool of the collar. He looks lost, staring at a map with unintelligible words and a lost key.
Prussia wonders if he's maybe done something wrong and tries to feel out the situation, "You, uh…I noticed you haven't worn your old jacket in years, so I told Italy and he said that he'd ask one of his designers to recreate it. There are a couple things missing, I guess, but it's fucking close enough, right?"
"Y…yeah, close enough," America chokes out. Before Prussia can realize what's happening, America has swept him up in his arms, lifting him off the ground in a tight embrace that pushes the breath from his lungs.
"H-hey, get the hell off the awesome me!" he protests, but allows himself to dangle in the other's arms. Even if it's uncomfortable and degrading, it feels…nice, to be held by another. Once upon a time, he could do this with Ludwig, too.
A few seconds later finds him released and on his feet, America quickly swiping his arm across his eyes and smiling, "How'd you know I needed a new one? My old one fell apart on me a while ago."
"Well, duh, nothing goes unnoticed by the awesome me!" he smirks and thumps his chest, feeling the wham of explosions as they burst in blooms above their heads. America grins wider, his Hollywood-worthy smile shining in the night.
Tony still wishes he could shove a sparkler up the albino's nose.
Aaaaaand, cut! Whoo, are we done? Goodness that was awful. I could not bring myself to write this chapter. But, as filler as it might seem, a couple of important points have been brought up, though what these points are you'll have to find out later.
TIME FOR SOME COMPLETELY USELESS INFORMATION ABOUT THE CHAPTER!
National Minimum Drinking Age Act of 1984: passed on July 17th, 1984. This act made it a requirement for all states in the United States of America to legislate and enforce the minimum drinking and purchasing age for alcohol-imbibers to be 21 years old, or face a ten percent decrease in its annual federal highway apportionment under the Federal Highway Act. So, yeah. All the authors writing APH fanfiction where America is consuming alcohol on his own soil, uh, it's illegal. XD I don't think America would break his own laws. Just, y'know, saying. As fun as drunken funtiems are, there will be none here. :O
Barbecue: One of the prides and joys of the Southern United States. Yes, Virginia is considered 'southern'. Texas-style barbecue is what most people think of when they hear American barbecue outside of the U.S., though this is a misnomer, since they label it that despite whatever style they're using. There are an incredible amount of regional variations for barbecue, different for each state. I won't go into specifics, but I just wanted to acknowledge the Southern US readers out there. ;) Being from Florida, I'm in the sphere of influence, and though I actually don't like barbecue sauce, I do enjoy me some grilled meat, with a light coating of garlic (I bet all of you just cringed). :D
Pledge of Allegiance: If you really need me to explain this, then I have to wonder what rock you've been under.
The Star-Spangled Banner: the national anthem of the United States of America. Made from a popular poem based on the Battle of Fort McHenry, in the War of 1812 (I bet some of you thought it was about the Revolution!), and set to the tune of a popular British drinking song, this ditty was adopted as our official anthem in 1931. The Star-Spangled Banner is notoriously hard to sing due to its wide range, which sits at an octave and a half (ahaha whatever that means). If you don't have a rangy voice, uh, please don't try.
I am a Prussian, know ye my colors?: The "Preußenlied," or "Song of Prussia," was the Kingdom of Prussia's national anthem from 1830-1840. It was succeeded by "Heil dir im Siegerkranz," though this anthem never really caught on, and was eventually left behind after the fall of the German Empire. Taken from Wikipedia: Because almost all Germans east of the Oder were expelled after World War II, the "Preußenlied" is sometimes sung by refugee organizations, such as the Territorial Association of East Prussia. It is also sometimes sung by far right extremists. I chose this as Prussia's anthem since it's still somewhat popular today, and I like the lyrics. :)
First strophe:
1. I am a Prussian , do you know my colours? (as an aside, I do prefer 'Know ye my colors,' so that's the line I used.)
the flag floats black and white before me;
that for freedom's sake my fathers died ,
to that , know it , hint my colours.
Never will I trembling quail,
as them will I dare.
Be it a rainy day, be it cheerful sunshine ,
I am a Prussian , want nothing to be but a Prussian.:|
Eight different songs: After being annexed, Prussia was divided into zones of occupation along with the rest of Germany. Today, its land has been divided into parts of 8 different countries: Germany, Poland, Russia, Lithuania, Denmark, Belgium, Czech Republic, and the Netherlands. Hence, 'eight different songs' means the anthems of those countries.
G-1 flight jacket: one of the most iconic flight jackets of the U.S., alongside the A-2. G-1 was extremely popular, and had to be discontinued because of its high demand (weird, right?). From my very limited research, it appears that Himaruya drew America with the G-1 jacket, since it's the one with the wool collar that we all know and love, while the A-2 only has a leather collar. :) I of course am only guessing. Feel free whine at someone else, because I could honestly care less.
So, uh. I'M REALLY SORRY FOR SUCH A CRAPPY CHAPTER! I can feel the quality of my writing deteriorate, so I know it must be painful for you readers. :( Also, sorry for taking so long. My birthday was on July 21st (I'm 18 now, yay being able to vote!), and I was going to update all of my fics on that day, but it turns out my Katekyo Hitman Reborn! chapter took a buttload more time than I expected (it clocks out at a whopping 11,500 words), and then from there I was busy getting ready for college. I'll try to get the next chapter out in a timelier manner, with hopefully better quality.
ALSO: I now have a LiveJournal account! :D Over there, my username is "eram_quod_es". I'm not really part of anything yet, but I'll eventually migrate my work over there, and post my one-shots over there first before putting them on here. Feel free to pop by, 'kay?
Thank you to everyone who reviewed, alerted, and favorited this story! You've all left me such beautiful reviews, I really can't express how much I'm grateful for it! Thanks also to all anonymous reviewers. Please know that I reply to all reviews (or at least try to!), so don't hesitate to sign in. :) Well that's all. Sorry for the crappy update, I'll try and make it better next time.