Work Text:
30 auôt 2034
(30 August 2034)
France, Austria and Spain walked down the streets of Vienna. Hungary yelled at Austria during their meeting—something about the Budapest Symphony Orchestra. The two of them had never been quite the same as before, but they still had their good moments. Right now just wasn’t one of them.
France didn’t know the details of why they were fighting, so he and Spain had decided to take Austria out for a round of drinks. Mostly it was to help Austria forget about it. But Spain was always one for gossip, and who was France to deny him?
He still hung out a lot with Spain. In the first few years, their loss seemed to be a physical space between them that made it excruciating to be in the same room together. But, over time, the loss had dulled to a low throb in the back of France’s head. It didn’t seem right, to stop being friends after Prussia had gone through so much for them.
“I know how hard it is to be married to you.” Spain was saying, “So, maybe you should give her a break every once in a while?”
Austria pulled a face at that.
“Why don’t you just tell us, mon ami, how all of this started?”
Austria opened his mouth like he was going to start into a long explanation, but then he said, “Hey, do you guys feel anything?”
France glanced at Spain, “I know you’re awfully sad—”
“Not like that,” Austria said. “Like a … Nation.”
Spain glanced at France. France focused on expanding his presence over the six-story marble buildings. Most of the world was still kicking around somewhere, though they were heading back to the hotels instead of on to the bars.
Just when he was about to give up looking, France sensed two other, unfamiliar Nations maybe six blocks ahead.
They felt dry, like a desert. But not a sand desert like Arabia’s. A shrubby desert, one with little twisted trees growing out of the red soil, with patches of land covered in short, green mosses. Mixed in with them was history, crumbling ruins and faded parchment. Hundreds of millions of people walking across the same stones, kicking up the same dirt, on the same roads or new ones.
France, Austria and Spain had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, each feeling the presences for himself.
Palestine and Israel, the countries that were always attached to each other's sides, fingers intertwined.
All of the nations that were with Prussia were supposed to be dead. All of the nations that had appeared after the Cold War—dead. They’d never been fully integrated into the Nation system, never attended a world meeting or gone out for drinks with old enemies.
They’d seen the worst of it, though. And that was enough.
“Come on,” France said. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”