For all you good little followers who still believe I'm alive~

Here's some fluffy, sweet PruCan. 'Cause I ship 'em.

Fair warning, this whole fic is sort of drabble-esque, and this chapter and the next will certainly be fixed up at some point. They were just written well before everything else was, and my style shifted again...

Anyways, I don't own Hetalia. If I did, by virtue of the existence of New Prussia, PruCan would be cannon, and the fanservice would NEVER END!

Moony

Chapter 1- I See You

CLACK!

Canada rolled over in bed, his face twisting into a grimace at the sudden, sharp sound of something solid hitting his window. He burrowed under his pillow, grunting in annoyance.

Clack! CLACK!

"Oh, for Maple's sake..." Canada growled, reaching for his glasses in irritation, nearly knocking them off his nightstand. He managed to snag them, slamming them onto his nose as he rolled into a sitting position, glaring at his alarm clock. It was just after 2.30 AM. Not that he'd been sleeping very well, but he did like to try at night. Whoever was assaulting his house was going to get it right upside the head.

He stumbled to his 'window', aka the full sized glass door to his balcony, and drew back the drapes, unlocking it. He stepped out into the frigid air of an early February night, eyes scanning the ground for the perpetrator.

"Kesesesese~!" The slightly unnerving laugh sounded directly beneath his perch, and he groaned. Good Lord, not tonight. Or this morning, as it stood. He leaned over his balcony, finally catching sight of his 'visitor'. Red eyes glinted up at him from a pale face, framed in silver-white hair. As usual, a small yellow bird was perched on the top of his head.

"Guten morgen, Matt!" He shouted up, his loud and enthusiastic voice doing nothing for Canada's mood.

"Do you know what time it is, Prussia?" He ground out, putting all of his willpower behind maintaining a polite tone of voice. The former kingdom shrugged.

"Well, it's morning, right?" He grinned up at the blonde, who frowned.

"It is, to put it politely, stupid o'clock in the morning. People tend to sleep during this lovely part of the morning, Prussia. Can you imagine what I was trying to do before rocks started pelting my window?" He crossed his arms, trying his best not to glare at the older Nation.

"Oh. I guess that may not have been my awesomest moment." He pushed his hair back, blushing a little. Canada couldn't remember ever hearing Prussia admit to being in the wrong, but it was a very pleasant surprise nonetheless.

"I'm sorry, Mattie. I didn't mean to wake you. I-" The Prussian hugged his arms around himself, and Matthew Williams registered two things at once;

One, the self proclaimed King of Awesome had just apologized to him.

Two, he was standing in knee-deep snow, in a pair of ripped jeans and a thin, torn hoodie.

"I just didn't know where else to go. My kid brother just kicked me out." Prussia said, his voice low. Not angry, Matthew realised, but instead an emotion he was very familiar with.

Loneliness.

He sighed, and decided that the current situation needed fixing. Immediately.

"Go to the front door, Prussia. You'll catch your death out there in those clothes." The Prussian scoffed, grinning.

"I'm too awesome to catch my death! You know that!" He shouted up, as he began trudging through the snow towards the front of the house. Matthew watched him for a few moments, before heading back into his house and closing the door. Kumajirou looked up from his side of the bed, clearly unamused.

"Loud."

"Yes, I know, Kuma." The golden haired Nation rolled his eyes, walking for the bedroom door.

"Hungry."

"Okay. C'mon, I'll make some pancakes." He waited for the bear to trundle to his side, and they headed downstairs together. Matthew ran one hand through his hair, in a failed attempt to straighten it, before opening the front door.

Gilbert Beilschmidt stood on his front porch, smiling as a small cloud of mist left his nose. Other than his clothing and Gilbird, he only had a small, black backpack, slung over one shoulder.

"Come in, Prussia." Matthew mumbled, waving the man inside. The albino smiled a little wider, and stepped into the entry of Canada's home. It was a tasteful house, the walls a conservative off-white, and the floor hardwood. He breathed in the smell of maple that often followed the Canadian to and from meetings, and sighed.

"I'm sorry to barge in on you, Mattie. Like I said, I really don't know where else I could've gone..." The Canadian smiled a little, chuckling.

"I don't mind, Prussia. I'm just not used to having guests arrive before a godly hour. Y'know, like noon."

Prussia blinked. Then burst out laughing.

"Mein Gott, Matt, you have no idea-" He cut himself off with another round of laughter.

"Glad I amuse you." Matthew muttered, rolling his eyes.

"You do, though! It's one of the awesome things about you!" He snickered a few more times, then his tone became a little more serious, "And call me Gilbert. Even better, just call me Gil!" He slid out of his snow-logged combat boots, tucking them neatly next to Matthew's army issue winter boots.

Matthew had to hold back a gasp of shock.

Gilbert was shorter than him. By at least an inch.

He'd always thought that the loud, charismatic man was taller. He had always seemed much taller. Maybe it was his enthusiasm.

"You're staring, Birdie." Gilbert observed, smirking a little.

"...Birdie...?" Matthew frowned, then felt something move in his hair. He squeaked, reaching up in shock. A sharp little peck on his fingers greeted him and he pulled back in surprise.

"Gilbird, you behave! We are guests!" Gilbert hissed, and grabbed Matthew's shoulder, "Hold still for a sec, Mattie." He grumbled, and tried to grab the tiny yellow bird from his new perch in the blonde's hair, "Gilbird, aus! Seriously, cut it out!" He snapped at the bird, who was now pecking at his fingers. Gilbird chirped indignantly, trying to hide in Matthew's bangs.

"Oww! Gilbert, let go! That's not your bird!" Matthew squeaked, trying to pull free of the Prussian's hands, which had tangled in his hair in their quest to catch Gilbird, "Ouch, damnit, Gil! Let go of my hair!"

"Okay, okay, calm down!" Gilbert soothed, freeing Matthew's hair from his death grip. The bird continued to chirp incessantly from in the Canadian's hair. "Gilbird, you are an arschloch." He growled at the bird.

"No. No swearing at the bird. Not this damn early." Matthew groaned. He rubbed his temples, careful to keep his fingers away from the feathered invader. "I think I'll make pancakes. Yep, I'm making pancakes." He turned for the kitchen, fingers still massaging his temples. Gilbert frowned, and looked at Kuma as Matthew vanished into the kitchen.

"Is he okay?" He asked the bear, who cocked his head to one side.

"Who?"

"So help me, Kuma. Canada. Your owner." He glared at the bear, who blinked.

"Oh. He was crying in his sleep. He woke up very upset." Kumajirou snuffled at the air, smelling the familiar scent of his favourite snack.

"Did he get any sleep?" Gilbert asked, as the bear trundled off to the kitchen.

"Not really. He kept talking in his sleep before he woke up. He fell asleep again before you made noise." Kuma gave him a look. Gilbert, in turn, looked at Canada.

The younger Nation was slumped forward over the stove, his entire person radiating exhaustion. Gilbert could see that his obnoxious little bird had climbed back to the top of Matthew's head, as if to observe the making of the pancakes. The albino frowned. As far as he knew, cooking while in a state of exhaustion was not safe. Not at all.

"Matthew? Are you okay?" He asked, letting his backpack slide off his shoulder and to the floor, "You look a little tired."

"We've been over this, Gil. It's stupid o'clock-" Here he yawned, "In the morning. Just-" Another yawn, "Let it go." He plated the first batch of pancakes, placing half in Kumajirou's bowl, and handing Gilbert the rest. "I'll grab you some syrup-"

"I'll grab it. Birdie, you're dead on your feet." He put the pancakes down on Matthew's kitchen table, and turned for the fridge.

"What's with 'Birdie'...?" Matthew asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Well, Gilbird likes you. And your hair is the same colour as his feathers. And you act a lot like a bird." He blushed, glad that the Canadian had turned back to the stove.

"...I act like a bird...?" Matthew sounded bemused, "Is that an insult, or a compliment?"

"A compliment! Birds are awesome!" Prussia confirmed hurriedly, coaxing a laugh out of the younger Nation.

"Good. I'm not sure I wouldn't beat you to death with a hockey stick, if you'd been trying to insult me." The Canadian flashed him an innocent smile, before plating his own food and sitting across the table from Gil's plate, "...I said 'if', Gilbert." He smirked.

"I know that!" Gilbert laughed, returning to the table with his syrup. He blinked. "How do you cook these things so fast?" Canada chuckled, grabbing the syrup and dousing his pancakes, before scooping up a forkful.

"The magic of Maple." Canada mumbled through a mouthful of pancakes, completely serious. Gilbert nodded, knowing better than to argue. They both looked to the table, as Gilbird finally left Matthew's hair, in favour of the pancakes on his plate.

"Gilbird. You are an ass." Gilbert sighed, picking up the tiny bird. He pecked his master's finger again, but lighter, and more affectionately. Matthew laughed softly, reaching out and stroking the little bird's feathers. Gilbert watched in surprise as the bird hopped onto his friend's finger, and chirped, cocking his head to one side. Matthew mirrored the expression with a tired smile.

"For the record, Gilbird? I agree with your human." He chuckled, as the bird twittered, fluttering back to the table. Matthew ate another mouthful of pancake, as Gilbert proceeded to stuff himself. "Gil?"

"Mmmm?"

"Look, I don't mean to pry, but why did Germany kick you out?"

"Well, I kind of managed to cover every surface of the kitchen in maple syrup. And both he and Feli were in there at the time." He chuckled, "Damn, I've known Luddy since forever, and I've never seen him that pissed." He ate more of his pancakes, and sighed, "He'll let me come home when he cools down. I hope."

"He will. He's-" He yawned again, rubbing at his eyes, "Your brother. He loves you." He set his chin on the table, sighing, "Sometimes, I wonder about my brother. He's usually ignoring me, if he's not making jokes about me."

Gilbert blinked. Matthew had never said anything about himself, not any of the times that Gilbert had come to mooch company and food off the young Canadian. He figured exhaustion may be loosening his younger friend's tongue.

"Oh, come on, Birdie. Alfred loves you, you know that."

"Well, he could stand to s-show it once and a while..." Matthew dropped his voice to a pitiful whisper, and Gilbert was shocked to see moisture in the Nation's eyes.

"Birdie..." He whispered, as the young man's hands clenched into fists.

"I get these n-nightmares, y'know? Where no one can hear me, and they're all convinced that I don't exist. That America is the only one out of the two of us who ever existed. I scream, and scream, and no one hears me." He wiped a hand across his face, sniffling a little, "But that's my life, Gilbert. I'm just America's invisible brother. I'm invisible at meetings, no one hears me. I might as well not exist-" Gil cut him off with a gentle hand against his cheek, leaning across the table to reach him.

"I see you, Matt. I hear you, and you are AWESOME. Not quite as awesome as me, but no one can be that awesome. Too damn awesome for everyone else, if they can't see you."

"Gil-" Matthew sniffled, leaning into his hand. Gilbert wasn't expecting that. The sweet little Canadian raised his violet eyes to meet Gilbert's own brilliant red. Gilbert had never really looked closely at his friend's eyes, and he could not believe the stunning beauty in front of him. While his own eyes had been described as looking like rubies, Matthew's looked like a pair of perfectly matched amethyst stones, deep and filled with a world of emotions.

"I don't care what they say. You're amazing, Birdie. And if they don't see that, it's their own loss."

"But I want them to." Matthew whimpered softly, "I-I'm lonely, Gil. I'm so tired of being alone. If no one recognizes me, how can I even exist?"

"Birdie-"

"My own family forgets me, Gilbert. My brother, my father, my Papa. They hardly ever remember me. At least your brother remembers you enough to get mad at you. It scares me, Gil. I-I don't want to disappear..." He trailed off, as Gilbert stood, and skirted the table, pulled him to his feet, and hugged him. He breathed in Gilbert's scent, of old paper, beer, and a spicy smell he had no name for. "I-I'm sorry. You have your own problems, Gil. I shouldn't be throwing mine at you, too-"

"Who else stops to listen? Besides, I went and woke you up at stupid o'clock in the morning." He smirked, patting Matthew's shoulder, "I think it's the least I could do. Now, go to bed before you fall over, vogelchen." He steered the Canadian towards the stairs, and guided him up and to his bedroom. Matthew was asleep the moment he hit the pillow, a soft smile on his face. Gil smiled in return, and slipped back down the stairs, to crash on the couch (which he was seriously considering naming New Prussia). He saw Kuma, just leaving the kitchen. The bear waddled over, and looked up at him.

"You made him smile. Thank you."

Then, the bear was headed upstairs, to watch over his human, as Matthew might put it.

Gil just chuckled, and curled up to sleep.

A shrill scream woke him several hours later. His body working faster than his mind, he was up the stairs, and in Matthew's room, before his brain registered that he had moved. He saw Matthew sitting up, gasping desperately between the fractured sobs that left him.

"Matt?" He scrambled to sit next to the panicking man, pulling him close. It took him a moment to realise that Matthew wasn't just frightened by whatever dream had plagued his sleep. He was in a full out panic attack.

Gilbert had dealt with Ludwig's night terrors after the Wars. He had struggled through his own PTSD, after the Cold War. But he had never seen someone with such raw terror in his eyes, as his violet-eyed Canadian friend.

"Breathe, Mattie. You need to breathe." He gently coached, rubbing the blonde's back. He continued to do so, for the minutes it took for Matthew to reach a point where he could talk.

"In-inhaler. Top d-drawer." He gasped, trying to even out his breathing. Gilbert nodded, standing to open the drawer. The inhaler was wedged between a copy of Hamlet, and another bottle of pure maple syrup. He had to chuckle at that.

"Where don't you hide maple syrup, Matt?" He murmured, handing the inhaler to his friend. Matthew depressed the button, breathing in as deeply as he could. It took another minute before he could talk again.

"T-thank you, Gil." He rasped, leaning against his headboard.

"No problem." He sat down beside him, "Y'know, you never mentioned you have asthma."

"I don't. It's actually damage from gas attacks. During the Wars." He shrugged, "It's not a problem, when I don't get a panic attack at the same time." He looked at his feet, "I'm just a bundle of problems, I am." He managed a weak laugh.

"I still wish you would tell me these things, Birdie. I'm here to listen." He patted the Canadian's shoulder, and gained a smile. Just then, Gilbird flew into the room, chirping loudly.

"Was?" Gilbert asked the bird, who continued to chirp loudly.

"You understand him?" Canada asked, watching in interest.

"Ja, sometimes. He says my phone's going off, with Ludwig's ringtone." He relaxed next to Matthew, who looked at him in confusion. Gilbert smirked. "Herr stick-up-his-ass can wait. I'm staying with you for a while. He kicked me out, so he'll have to live without my awesome presence. You, meanwhile, will be graced with it." He poked Matthew's cheek, grinning at the way the younger man blushed, giggling just a little.

"I'm looking forward to it, Gil." He whispered, leaning against the albino, who grinned.

"Kesesesese. Me too, Birdie."He smirked, then a thought came to him, "You do have beer, right?"

"Ever had Canadian beer before?" He smiled at the slight shake of the head Gilbert gave him in response, "Well, then, we'll have plenty of beer."

"Ver Gut, Birdie."