The Crap Hetalia Book

Remembering Prussia

Germany unlocked the door to his house, slipped in and closed it behind him. He felt bad, leaving Italy behind, but he just wanted to be alone right now. Taking a deep breath, he took off his black jacket and loosened his black tie. They were starting to feel like a trap, encasing him in the black colour. Why did people wear black at funerals? It was such a depressing colour. Maybe that was why it was worn... but surely the dead would want you to remember them well... right?

That was what Prussia would have wanted. He'd have wanted them to go in bright colours... if he'd have known he was going. He could have saved him. Germany could have saved him... but he didn't. He was a terrible brother. Angrily, he kicked the bookshelf to his side. It shuddered and gave way, books tumbling off it and piling onto the floor.

"Scheiß drauf" he cursed and carefully started to pick up the books. There were some of his own, how to get on with Italians and other stuff like that, and then there were a few trashy novels Prussia owned.

Had owned. Germany had never read them, he'd never felt the need to waste his time reading such rubbish. Sighing, he picked up the books, smiling sadly at them.

Flashback

"Prussia" Germany stormed into the living room and glared at his older brother, sprawled over the couch, reading. "Vhat are you doing? Jou should be busy vorking. Jou know jour nation is dvindling. Hell, it might not even make zhe rest of ze year."

Prussia glared at him. "I'm reading, and I'll have jou know, my awesome nation is fine. It's not going to die anytime soon, and neizer am I. Ve'll probably be around longer than jou."

Germany huffed. "Vell... you need to do some vork. Zere's a mountain of papervork on jour desk zat needs sorting out."

Prussia leapt up and pointed a finger at him. "Jou're just jealous because jou know zat jou can never be as awesome as me, or Ze Fellowship."

End of Flashback

Germany shook his head and moved the pile of books to the other side of the room, balancing them precariously on the edge of the coffee table. Done. The last remaining book that hadn't fallen off the top shelf suddenly hit the floor with a dull thud that made him jump.

"Dumm buch" he growled, picking it up and preparing to throw it across the room.

"Vest. Control jour anger. Seriously."

He froze and whipped round. No. It couldn't be Prussia. He was dead. He'd just been to his funeral. There was a small tin of ashes in his coat pocket, ready to be thrown across the garden.

It was just his imagination. Germany glanced down at the book. It was a photo album. He sat down on the couch, carefully opening it to the first page.

The first picture was of Prussia, France and Spain, all pulling faces into the camera, himself sitting, glaring at them in the background. He remembered that. He'd just come back from work and they'd been there, trashing the house, drunk. He'd shouted at them a lot. They'd calmed down... a little, and then found his camera. He could've sworn he deleted all the pictures they took. Clearly not.

Germany sighed and flicked through another few pages. They were mostly of the Bad Touch Trio, pulling stupid faces, doing stupid stuff on balancing on each other's shoulder. Britain was in a few of them, which shocked him a little, thinking he'd never really wanted anything to do with any of the three of them... apart from the Entente Cordial, but he never spoke of that.

Then, about half way through the book, all remnants of Spain and France vanished, as though they'd never existed. There was a page dedicated to Canada, a couple of the two of them. They looked so happy, grinning into the camera. Even when Prussia was kissing Canada's cheek, they were both still grinning.

There were a couple more pages dedicated to certain people, groups of people, but everyone was there.

About ten pages to the end of the book, Germany stopped. The page he was staring at was of the four of them. Himself, Prussia, Austria and Switzerland. All of them, clearly not taken by Prussia, or himself, but by someone else. All of them, seeming happy. He couldn't remember the last time they'd all gotten together... and it not ended in a fight of some kind. It must have been decades ago when the picture was taken.

Although it gad been a while ago... centuries it seemed... He could remember the day. They'd accidentally met up in the same bar. Some coincidence they found out later was all Veneziano's fault, but then, after Switerland and Austria had exchanged glares and a couple of threatened blows, they'd been fine. Maybe it was due to the amount of alcohol they all consumed, even Austria, which was shocking. They'd never got on better... so it was a shame really when they were all sober again the next morning, passed out in the bar with Veneziano standing over them.

That's it. Veneziano must have taken the picture. So he was there the whole time.

A tear threatened to slip out of his eye and he blinked it back.

No

Prussia had always known him as a strong person... so a strong person he would stay. No way was he weakening now just because... because... his older brother... was... dead.

Slowly it sunk in. He'd been dead for three days and it was only know starting to sink in. His brother was dead. He was dead and never coming back. He'd never get to see him again. Ever again.

A tear hit the page, splattering in a spiky circular shape followed by another, and another, and another until most of the bottom right hand corner was damp.

Germany covered his face with his hands and took a deep breath.

'It's okay to cry for the awesome me little brother'

There it was again... that voice.

'Hey little brother? Did you ever notice that awesome ends in me?'

"Yes. Yes I did" Germany smiled slightly and picked up the book, rifling through the last few pages, not really concentrating. Then, at the back, was a picture of them, Germany and Prussia with scruffy handwriting in black biro underneath:

'See you soon.'

Last picture is the media