AN: This fanfiction will be a sister fic to this gem: s/8714041/1/Silly-Little-Hetalia-Headcanons , which is written by QuicksilverFox3. After you read all of my depressing stuff, head over to the other one to get your daily dose of fluff and comedy. Things you should know before you begin: I use human names whenever possible (even in the canon!verse); I am a bit obsessed with foreign languages and will totally flaunt my Russian, German, Italian, Japanese, Spanish, and French skills (don't worry, I'll have a handy-dandy glossary at the bottom); I am horrible with continuity, so only some of these will be related; and finally, I am a horrible procrastinator and can be anywhere from two days to two weeks late for updates (except during the summer). Well, that about covers it. See you at the bottom, mein lieblings!
Headcanon: Each nation receives a scar every time a symbolic landmark is attacked. For example, Alfred has a small scar behind his left ear from the burning of the White House during the War of 1812.
Ludwig hated parties, especially those held by Alfred. They were loud, rambunctious, disorderly, and, by Arthur's request, rarely involved any good beer. Usually, he just sat in a quiet corner while watching his older brother Gilbert socialize (read: flirt) with every nation, province, and territory in attendance. He sighed, downing yet another bottle of stale English beer while trying to make himself comfortable in the plastic chair beside the pool he had claimed earlier when he suddenly realized that Gilbert was nowhere to be seen. He quickly scanned the pool and found what he was looking for.
Antonio and Francis were leaning against the side of the pool and chatting up some of America's older states, but Gilbert wasn't with them. Ludwig got up from his seat and made sure to cover his romance novel with his towel. He ignored the giggles of Alfred's younger siblings as he passed by, wondering why so many of them had to be girls. He opened the back door and glanced back at the guests, wondering how they could stand getting drunk from such low-quality beer.
When he entered the small, messy kitchen (Alfred rarely used it; he preferred grill outs and fast food), he found Gilbert and Arthur leaning against the cluttered counter and staring at each other awkwardly. They were the only males in shirts at the whole party, and neither of them seemed very comfortable in each other's presence. He could tell they'd been talking about him because Arthur wouldn't look him in the eye and Gilbert's usually pale ears were burning red.
"Um… hallo, East…" he muttered, trying to look as though he'd wandered in by coincidence. "I see you're not going to swim today?" Gilbert opened his mouth, but snapped it shut as Ivan squeezed into the small kitchen door.
"Привет, дризей!" he called cheerily, brushing his bangs away from his violet eyes. "Why are you two-" He swung his lead pipe dangerously close to Gilbert and Arthur's faces "-not in pool? Is fun, да?" Gilbert shuddered and moved just a little bit farther from Ivan, and Arthur moved in the opposite direction, away from Ludwig. Ludwig groaned.
"Ugh, what is with you two today? You're acting like scared little children!" At this, Arthur drew himself up to his full height (all five feet, nine inches of it).
"That," he growled , "is none of your concern." He turned on his heel and started to walk towards the exit but his shirt got snagged in the corner of a cabinet. Four buttons popped off his light green dress shirt and the fabric fell away to reveal a large red mark over his heart.
It looked as though a rose had been imprinted on his skin, like a flower pressed into a young child's book. Arthur hastily grabbed the plastic buttons from the floor and ran from the room, cursing under his breath. As he passed Ludwig, he heard something about "bloody Gerry" before he slammed the door and the room was silent.
"What was that all about?" asked Ludwig impatiently. Was it just his imagination, or had the nations actually been getting weirder? Gilbert looked torn. After a few moments, he spoke.
"It's a scar, bruder. A burn. It's from…" he stopped, unsure if Arthur would approve. "It's there because…"
"Mein gott, bruder! Just say it!" Ivan turned to leave, and Gilbert shook himself.
He quickly stammered (unawesomely), "the B-Blitz. Arthur's scar is from the attacks on London." He shuddered again. "Your attacks on London." Apparently, this wasn't what Ivan wanted to hear. He left silently, leaving Ludwig to stare in shock at his brother and Gilbert to look anywhere but Ludwig's eyes. The seconds felt like hours to the ex-nation who just wished Ludwig would leave. Eventually, he spoke.
"Why aren't you swimming?" Gilbert raised a snow white eye brow at Ludwig's question.
"Why do you care?" he asked suspiciously. Ludwig gave him The Stare until Gilbert huffed angrily and removed his black shirt to reveal a long, jagged scar that ran from his collar bone to his navel. The wound looked fresh and painful against his pale chest. Ludwig looked first shocked, then concerned, then furious. He pinned Gilbert with another Stare.
"Wer?" he breathed. Gilbert remained silent. "Wer?" Gilbert started to turn away, but stopped when he saw the single tear rolling down Ludwig's cheek that paved the way for the many that followed.
Gilbert's face was void of emotion when he spoke, but his voice betrayed his pain. "During the war, when Konigsberg was taken… and my old territory was left to you, I went with Konigsberg. Well, that's not fully accurate. For a short time, I was Konigsberg, and Konigsberg was part of the USSR. It tore me apart-" Gilbert laughed softly "-literally and emotionally. I couldn't come back home… not without Konigsberg. So I stayed. Later, when the Berliner Mauer was constructed, it was reopened. The scar, I mean. And Ivan just watched as I fell apart all over again. But I don't blame him. No one wants to help a dead man."
"Don't say that!" yelled Ludwig. "You're not dead, and you're certainly not dying while I'm alive!" He looked crushed, defeated, and sickened. Gilbert slid his shirt on and wrapped his long arms around his brother shaking shoulders. Gilbert laughed his strange little laugh.
"Oh, come on, bruder," he sighed, releasing him from the hug. You talk like we're in a war. It's over now. I'm safe. You're safe." Ludwig wiped his eyes and, for the first time since he was a small child, held his brother's hand.
"Promise?" A few seconds of silence passed as Gilbert looked out the window at Alfred and Ivan bickering like siblings over some space station designs and smirked.
"Promise."
AN: I am ashamed. This didn't turn out half as well as I thought it would, especially since I suck at writing Serious!Prussia and Russia and Germany in general. Ugh. Anyway, I've got a Tumblr! It's here: alfredlovesscones tumblr com (replace spaces with periods). That's where I'll post fanart, ramblings, cosplay, etc. Please go give QuicksilverFox3 some love in the form of reviews and favorites! She should get all the credit for this. (I wrote it, but she had the whole series idea.) That's all for now. Bye, birdies!