((Cover art belongs to me. My Own AU. Feel free to use it in stories but credit me.))
When Germany is sent off to boarding school and his roommate happens to be Russia, someone that he has been told to despise all his life, will they get along?
Using an airport is possibly one of the worst things that would ever happen. I personally put it on the same level as my father staring at me.
First, the security. Despite my flag being shown in public (something that was done for security reasons), and Britain phoning them ahead of time to explain my prosthetic, I was still strip searched. It happened every time without fail, and thankfully I had a nice officer who did it as respectfully as possible. Secondly, the questioning, which I found stupid. At some point, I had gotten so nervous that I had forgotten how to speak English so they had to bring in a translator. And then there was the waiting for the plane to be ready, and I don't think I've drank more coffee than I had in those three hours. People kept staring at me and trying to talk to me, and I hated the attention. I just wanted to sink into the floor, and just wait in the floor until the plane was ready.
I sat at the café table, drinking my eleventh coffee and scribbling whilst one of the barristers watched in horror from behind her desk. The café was nearly empty, I deduced that the plane that I was on was not popular. I mean, not many people wanted to go to Germany for Christmas after most of the tourists getting alcohol poisoning in October. That and despite being 15 years off of a century of my country being free from my father's control, people were still unsure to go there. I didn't blame them. Countryhumans were supposed to be patriotic for their countries, but I was both not and scared to be patriotic, for obvious reasons. I finished off my coffee and my sketch just as a woman's voice came over the speakers.
"Flight 5477 for Berlin, Germany, is available to board in fifteen minutes. The gates will close in one hour. Please, let any disabled passengers on before you, so that the line can move quickly. Can Mr Berlin come up to the front gates just now, I repeat, Mr Berlin to flight 5477 boarding gate. Thank you." I sighed and stood up, placing down a couple of notes as a tip for the waitress before grabbing my stuff and walking towards the gate. It was weird hearing my name in such a formal manner, I wasn't used to it. Walking towards the gate, I could feel those eyes piercing through me again. It was nerve-wracking, but fortunately the gate person was a little softer as I walked up to them and handed them my passport.
"Mr Berlin?"
"Ja, that's my name." They checked through my passport before handing it back to me.
"Follow me, sir." I did so, putting my passport back into my pocket. "As you can probably tell, not many people are on this plane, so we have the liberty of putting you up into first class l. I understand Mr London called ahead and explained about your prosthetic. Also, the pilot would like to meet you. I will warn you, he has a thing about meeting countries. He's gotten signatures from some of the more regular travelling countries, especially Mr London's children. Our boss would fire him, but he's our best pilot." I chuckled a little under my breath and readjusted my glasses.
"That's quite alright, it's better than being barricaded with some questionable language." The person agreed and the rest of the walk was silent apart from the occasional question. I got onto the plane and met possibly one of the most excited person to meet me ever. He wasn't bouncing like Canada, but he did bombard me with questions. Eventually I was guided to my seat, just as the other passengers started to board. I was thankful that I wasn't in second class even though I probably shouldn't have been upgraded. I never liked showing off wealth, but at the same time I appreciated the space to stretch and take off my prosthetic.
About two hours later, I thanked the staff as I walked through the landing gate, relaxing a little as I heard more German than English. My house wasn't too far from the airport, and once I had grabbed my suitcase (and a cup of coffee for the walk) I started walking. I looked around, seeing the city start to get prepared for Christmas. It was nice, and it was also nice to just get smiled and waved at like a stranger and not either get ogled at or get bombarded by hate. I somehow got to the house faster than I realised, and I drank the rest of my coffee before unlocking the front door after fumbling with the keys.
I immediately coughed after opening the door. The house was extremely dusty and smelt absolutely awful, and I used my elbow as a makeshift mask as I walked in. There was a pile up of 20 year's worth of junk mail, and as I shut the door and walked through, I tried not to remember what happened when I saw the trail of old blood and vomit trailing through the house, but unfortunately at that moment in time it was all I could think about. I gently touched the wall before starting to clean up, almost immediately throwing all the windows open and grabbing cloths out of my bag. Three hours into my clean, I grumbled as I took out my phone which had been buzzing for the past five minutes. At least the house smelt better now, and I answered the call from a number I didn't know, setting it up on the side that I had cleaned whilst I cleaned the rest and putting it on speakerphone.
"Hey, bitch!"
I immediately knew who it was.
"Amerika!! How and why are you calling my phone?!" I heard a round of laughters.
"Canada gave me your phone number, you were worrying the shit out of him! You weren't answering your damn phone!"
"Tell Kanada I said sorry! But I was busy with the house!" More laughter, and I didn't know whether to feel offended or not.
"What the fuck are you doing in that house?" And in response to that, I sprayed near the phone. I was assuming I was on speaker too since the whole house erupted in chaos, and the phone was grabbed during the chaos.
"Germany, I told ya to not overwork yourself, eh?" Canada tried to tell me over the noise before yelling at everyone to quieten. "Sorry, Germany, we have people over early. Most of them haven't ever seen you in person but I've told them enough that they know your basic personality."
"It's okay, Canada. And trust me. I sent the pictures to Russia since he was badgering me about how the house looked. I could not breathe when I came in, it has not been cleaned in 20 years and I cannot live in filth."
"I know Germany, but-"
"There's blood! Everywhere! And the house still smells of verdammt vomit!"
"Germany! Did your fucking innocent mouth just swear-ow, Maple! Stop pinching me, I'm talking to the workaholic!" I heard them getting into a fight, and I sighed before finishing off my bedroom. I had finished all the rooms apart from East's and my fathers, including ripping out all of the carpets and binning them, and I was hesitant to go any further.
"Hey, I'm going to put you guys off of speaker, I'm walking to the shops to get food." It wasn't like they could hear me anyway, but I put my earphones in and grabbed my wallet and keys before walking out of the door. After a good five minutes of them arguing, they stopped and Canada picked up the phone again.
"Eh, sorry about that Bomber. America was just a little mad that you were still working. But we're currently getting your room ready here."
"Ah, okay..." I sighed and started to grab the bear minimum off the shelves, only enough to last me two weeks.
"Make sure you eat enough, Germany, I don't want you coming back here and seeing you underweight again, okay?" I promised him, and hung up.
Whelp, Germany is back in Berlin. Here's your every day art:
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Also don't be afraid to request art, because my brain is starting to run out of ideas.
