This is something like a de-anon of a really old kink meme prompt I stumbled upon a while ago.

I thought I would never write Hetalia fanfiction again, but here I am…

Prussia always enjoyed a chaotic world meeting, but this was getting ridiculous.

Angry shouts shot out from the mouths of every nation like a powerful geyser, spraying the entire room with indignation. Prussia found himself staring blankly and quietly at the unpredictable wood pattern on the table as the others shouted themselves hoarse. Normally he would be joining in with the frenzy just for the heck of it if he hadn't been the one to instigate the problem in the first place, but his punctual and diligent side of him reminded him that they needed to be productive for at least one day.

"If it weren't for your oil spill, things would be so much easier," England grumbled at America, rubbing his forehead.

"Hey! I'm doing my best here, you know!" America argued. For once, he had put aside the burgers to concentrate all his attention onto the meeting. "I'm not just ignoring the problem and working around it. I'm putting in some sort of effort!"

"You're a good source of all the problems we have right now, Amerique," France scolded. Even he had given up trying to seduce his fellow nations in order to argue effectively. "Your sanctions with Iran…the horrific riot relating to the G-20 Summit…"

"That was in Canada," Prussia corrected.

France raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"The G-20 problem. It was in Canada, not the United States," Prussia said, shrugging.

"Of course I knew that. I'm not an idiot," France snapped, vexed. "Why are you even here, anyway? Can't Germany just deal with all the meetings?"

"You don't make a fuss when both of the Italy brothers make an appearance," Prussia shot back. Veneziano recoiled shamefacedly, sinking low in his chair. Romano retaliated by giving Prussia a rude hand gesture.

"Prussia, please," Germany sighed, rubbing his sore temples. Prussia glowered at his younger brother but reluctantly bit his tongue.

"As I was saying," France continued bitterly, "Your little ex-colony is piling mountains of problems on us, Angleterre. If only you raised him a little better, perhaps he wouldn't be such a nuisance."

Immediately, America and England roared with ire, making the entire room explode as if an atom bomb of fury was dropped on everyone's heads.

"I'm not a nuisance, I'm a hero!" America protested.

"If it weren't for America and me, Germany would have killed you, you frog!" England snapped, bristling with resentment.

"I wouldn't have killed him," Germany said carefully, his cheeks slightly tinged with mortification.

"A likely story," Romano grumbled, crossing his arms across his chest. "And you wouldn't have killed Poland either, right? No, just leaving him in a bloody coma is good enough."

"Leave West alone!" Prussia retorted. Romano's cheeks grew ruddy with annoyance and chagrin. "That's over with now, so drop it."

"It's over with?" Poland said testily. "Like, are you saying that it's no big deal now? You are totally not just going to push that whole fiasco aside and like, pretend it never happened."

"That isn't what I meant," Prussia argued. Anyone who tried to degrade West in any way was going to have to answer to Prussia. "I'm just saying you shouldn't hate West now because of it. We all know that time period was pretty crappy—"

"'Crappy' doesn't even scrape it," Hungary said indignantly. "Thousands of my own people were killed because of that."

Other nations chorused their losses as well. Prussia could feel Germany wither with degradation at the painful memories. It made his blood race with anger.

"Stop treating West like the only monster in this room!" Prussia shouted. "We've all done horrible things in our time. I mean, look at all of us! France, you had your Reign of Terror. Russia—I don't even have to say anything about you; it's a common fact what kind of crap you do. Spain obliterated entire tribes of natives. Hell, even I had my moments of cruelty. None of us are innocent, so don't attack West like he's the only one guilty!"

"At least my actions didn't cause the abolishment of another nation!" France defended hotly, giving in to delirious abandonment and forsaken all means of tact or sensitivity. "Wasn't it because of that debacle that you were dissolved, Prusse?"

Prussia hesitated, but kept his determined composure. He felt the familiar sting on his chest and panicked slightly, thinking that perhaps his wounds were reopened.

"Put a sock in it, France," Prussia said hastily. "What does this have anything to do with—with the oil spill, or the G-20 Summit problem in Canada, or—or—?"

"I agree," Germany stepped in fluidly, his voice rising over any starts of heated rage. "We've been sitting in this room for nearly two hours and we've only been able to get through one issue."

"Which means that some people need to keep their comments to themselves," Prussia couldn't help but mutter. Unfortunately, England's sharp ears caught his words and he scowled.

"This is a World Meeting for countries," England said in a biting tone, "in which they can share their thoughts and opinions. This is for nations only, not only fractions of one."

Prussia bristled with surprised antagonism at the unexpected blow. He gritted his teeth, fighting to bar all the curses from escaping.

"I'm working just as much as you bastards are. Don't pull all that half-of-a-nation crap on me," Prussia growled. Sometimes he had forgotten that he was now only East Germany and lived with the far-fetched fantasy that he was still the kingdom of Prussia, his own nation again, except all that was shattered and thrown right back into his face now. "I'm trying to make an effort for once, so why don't you take it?"

"Because what good would it do for the rest of us?" Austria said tiredly, polishing his glasses. "Even if you do work, East Germany by itself cannot make changes or decisions on its own. You can't do anything for the rest of us nations anymore. Only Germany is actually useful to us."

"Useful," Prussia spat. "So I'm useless to you all now? I have no point anymore?"

"Yes," America said bluntly. "I mean, come on, Prussia. You can't do anything anymore. You don't even have your own Olympics team. We don't need you around anymore."

Prussia acted like he ignored America's comment, but his words were still a punch to the stomach.

"What, so you're just going to throw us away?" Romano suddenly spoke up. He too was inadvertently affected by everyone's comments. He sat up straight, no longer cowering behind his little brother. "If there was really meant to be only one Italy or one Germany or yada yada yada, some greater force would have obliterated one of us, wouldn't it? To get rid of the excess? But we're still around, and we can do shit still, so why not let us do it?"

"At least Italy as a whole is still a goddamn country. It's on the bloody map," England said loudly. "Prussia can't even keep his own name anymore."

If insults were blows, Prussia was being pummeled into a pulp. He sat stiffly in his seat, gripping the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles hurt. His mind was screaming at him to stand up, fight, and shout to defend his name, but he could barely even breathe at the spot. What had happened to the ruthless warrior he once was?

"I haven't forgotten how to be a nation, you know," Prussia said dangerously. "I still know the ropes; probably even better than many of you! Maybe I can't actually force my boss to do anything, but I can give pretty good advice about being a successful country and all."

"How can you do that? You're the country that couldn't even survive," England said calmly. "Your advice would lead others to ruin, no doubt."

"If only you didn't come to the G8 meetings also," Russia said in an unaffected voice. "It would be good riddance, and perhaps China could finally be part of it."

Prussia's emotions immediately flared like a flamethrower at Russia's smooth words. The unexpected burning on his chest strengthened.

"If I had it my way, I wouldn't have ever been abolished," Prussia growled. "But it's because of you, America! And England, and you, Russia! And even you, France! You guys were the one who decided to abolish me in the first place! So don't put the blame on me and think that it's my fault that I'm no longer a nation and that you have to suffer when you all brought it upon all of us in the first place!"

"If they did it in a more effective way, you should have died and wouldn't even be here," Hungary retorted, her annoyance finally getting the better of her. "What went wrong?"

The words stumbled out of her mouth before her mind even had the chance to run through them in advance. Her eyes widened with shock and ignominy at herself. Prussia froze, his tongue suddenly feeling too heavy to speak. The room immediately grew too hot and stifling, almost suffocating him. The thick silence was even more oppressing.

"If the Roman Empire was still around, you'd all be flocking around him to get advice," Prussia finally spoke up, his voice quivering so slightly that it was barely noticeable, but Germany and Hungary could detect it immediately. "You'd all eagerly invite Ancient Egypt or Ancient Greece to your damned world meetings if they were alive. They all aren't nations anymore, but you don't talk trash about them. Is it because they're dead, and for some reason it's a sin to talk trash about the dead? If I died, would you all be lamenting about all that loss knowledge and crap or would you still hate me? Tell me; I'm curious. I'm wondering if I should just do myself in now to make things easier for everyone."

The more he spoke, the more his voice quavered. Prussia swallowed, feeling the lump in his throat ache, struggling to keep his voice steady. But how could he when even his body was trembling like a wounded and frightened bird?

Don't talk anymore, his conscience begged. Just shut up. Don't talk. It'll make things worse.

But Prussia couldn't just keep quiet and sit down and pretend everything was all right. Even his conscience was siding with the rest of them. Sit down, Prussia. Be a good boy and let the wise adults deal with the problems, Prussia.

They just didn't know.

"Do you think I'm just a waste of space?" Prussia said hoarsely, daring anyone to interrupt him, almost mentally pleading anyone to stop him just so he could be quiet and hide the emotion coating his voice. He was supposed to be strong, not weak and broken down. "I've seen more things than many of you even know. Maybe it would be a good idea to learn things from me and avoid having certain problems or mistakes! One being that you should beat the hell out of any American, Brit, or Russian before they tear your own name out of the fucking planet."

And not just the name. The people. The culture. The lives. The homes. All of it sucked out and utterly destroyed. How was he supposed to explain that to them when there weren't even words created yet to describe them? When none of them even knew what dissolution even meant to them?

Christ, what was the point?

"I might not be on the map anymore," Prussia said quietly, his heart racing in his chest and pelting his ribs so hard it was like every beat was a bullet trying to kill him, "but I'm still here. I'm still alive and I still want to help out in this world by being East Germany. Why the hell won't you let me? I know how to deal with things. I was a nation like all of you. No; I was one hell of a nation."

He was afraid to breathe, afraid to even open his mouth. He could feel everything pressing against him like water pushing against a dam, threatening to break it open and burst out. Everything in him was burning; his eyes, his throat, his cheeks, even his heart. He clenched his teeth and fists, staring defiantly into everyone's eyes.

Go on.

Break me down even more.

What have I got to lose now?

"I think," Switzerland finally broke the silence, his voice calm and grave, "it's about time we had a water break."

Other nations quietly murmured in agreement. In groups, the countries quickly rose from their seats and filed out of the meeting room, whispering amongst themselves. Prussia stayed rooted to the spot, his eyes staring down at the table. He could feel people pass behind him, making their way to the door. Hungary tentatively opened her mouth to speak, but she drew back and silently left the room. It wasn't until the entire room was empty save two did Prussia finally even blink.

Germany put a hand on Prussia's thin shoulder. Prussia took in a deep breath and abruptly stood up, plastering a grin on his face.

"I showed them all, didn't I?" Prussia said loudly, forcing the grin to remain on his lips like a clown would paint one on his frowning, tear-stained face.

Germany only sighed and gripped Prussia tighter. Prussia did not waver. He only shrugged Germany's hand off his shoulder and strode out of the room, his chin lifted high and his back ramrod straight like a soldier's. The other nations would see his determined posture and composure, not even noticing how much his eyes stung and how much the lump in his throat hurt.

He will always be strong. No matter what.

The thing that Prussia loved most about night was that it was such a good secret keeper.

You can hide anything in the deep folds of the darkness and it would never be revealed again.

It was almost as good of a secret keeper as death.


Prussia lied on top of his bed, bathed in pale moonlight from the window. It was past midnight now; everyone should have been asleep by then. Everyone but Prussia.

Ever since the Cold War, he had been afraid to sleep. Sleep was like a prison that he couldn't escape, making him helpless and vulnerable to any surprise attack. Sleep was a handcuff that prohibited him from protecting himself from Russia. He needed to be awake and alert at all times so he would not be caught by surprise. It wouldn't stop any of the attacks, but it would at least not shock him.

Even after the tiring world meeting today, sleep was out of the question.

"We don't need you around."

He winced as if the ghosts of the words pierced him with their syllables like needles. He took in a deep breath, trying to convince himself that it was all past him; the words have already vanished from existence and it was all over with. But they still existed in his mind, fresh and raw like a festering wound.

"You're the country that couldn't even survive."

It was then that Prussia realized that he was trembling.

"You should have died and wouldn't even be here. What went wrong?"

The stinging on his chest strengthened so much that Prussia's hand automatically flew to it, blindly thinking that maybe if he clutched it the pain would lessen somehow. He dug his fingers into his chest, trying to mask the unfamiliar pain. It didn't make sense. The pain should have stopped ages ago. Why was it flaring again now?

Prussia groaned and sat up on his bed. He hesitated before taking off his shirt and standing before the mirror.

He winced at the sight of his reflection.

It repulsed him.

The great strength that he had once possessed and boasted of was now withered down to frail bone. He was a skeleton of what he once was (a fraction of what he once was), now merely the meager bones and existence that kept him alive. The person he saw in the mirror was not Prussia, but only a sick, frail nation that could barely survive on its own without a second half to support it.

But what was worse was the scar.

It was an angry, deep X right across his heart, right where the Allies had torn his name out of his own heart. Crossing him off the map. Blocking him out of existence.


He almost laughed at the macabre pun.

He unconsciously traced a slim finger across the scar, immediately remembering everything that came with it.

A horrible tearing sensation ripping him apart, sucking out the life from him until nothing was left. Excruciating agony wracking his entire body as he was broken down and crushed into nonexistence. He could barely see straight as everything he was, everything he fought for and earned and aimed for, came ripping out from the places he was torn. Germany pounding on the padlocked door, begging Prussia to let him in, afraid that his brother would die and that he would not even be there for his last moments. Prussia pressing his back against the door, one hand trying to stem the flow of blood from his chest and the other covering his mouth to swallow down the sobs because it hurt it hurt it hurt. He was fading, he was losing, he was falling from grace—

And then he was nothing.

Prussia covered the scar with his hand, trying to fool himself. But even then, he could still feel it ache and pain. He shook his head, mildly confused. It didn't make sense. It wasn't supposed to hurt anymore after all these years. Why did it rear its ugly head again?


Prussia closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the smooth, cold mirror. No one else knew about the scar. Not even Germany knew what exactly happened behind that locked door that he had tried to break down in vain. No one was going to know, if Prussia could help it.

He didn't need anyone to pity or scorn him anymore.

Why did they scorn what they did not understand?

If they didn't want to know, if they didn't try to know, if they were just going to think of him as a waste of space on the map, then so be it. Let them live with that fantasy that it was nothing painful. That being abolished was merely a boot from the meetings or an erasing from the map. Let it be just that simple.

Who are you?

Prussia opened his eyes to see familiar red eyes staring right back at him.

"I am Prussia," he repeated so quietly he could barely hear himself.

For a moment, the name suddenly sounded unfamiliar to him. As if it was the first time he had ever heard it. A tremor ran down his back.

That's what your name is, but who are you?

Prussia did not answer himself.

He was named Prussia. He will be called Prussia.

But he will never be Prussia anymore.