Edit: I have been debating editing this for awhile, but after a recent trip to Germany I decided to change a few lines to make it more historically accurate. Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed/favorited this story – I never expected such an amazing response!

Potsdam, Germany
August 3, 1945

England's expression grew grim as his eyes scanned over the piece of paper in front of him.

"Right," he said, clearing his throat as the moment of regret vanished, replaced with his usual cold, no-nonsense stature. "We have carefully divided up borders as such: All territories currently occupied by the Red Army are to be henceforth facilitated by the Soviet Union."

There was a collective gasp and unrest among the nations, and it did not go unnoticed by many that a smug smile had snaked across Russia's face. Gilbert glanced sideways to see his brother shift uncomfortably in his seat. "What about Berlin?" he whispered. Ludwig only stared coldly at the table, arms folded tight across his chest.

"The nation of Poland will regain its sovereignty within the borders allocated by the Allies. This territory includes that of the former East Prussia."

Gilbert froze, snapping his gaze up to England. Former?

"The remaining territory will be dissolved into greater Germany. East Prussia is hereby and henceforth dissolved."

Gilbert stared at his hands with empty eyes. I was no longer East Prussia anyways. He sank further into his chair, feeling dozens of pairs of eyes on him. He felt Ludwig's hand rest on his leg beneath the table. Gilbert was beyond tears – he had gone into a stinging world of pain that left no room for crying. This was it. This was to be his end.

"The German capital of Berlin is not to be facilitated entirely by the Soviet Union." England continued. "The west half of the city will be divided into American, British, and French sectors."

Ludwig's hand tensed on Gilbert's leg and he let out a slow breath through his nose. They cut out his heart, Gilbert thought bitterly, gritting his teeth. What more do they want?

"The nation of Germany is to repay the allies in…" England squinted, seeming to be doing a quick mental calculation, as there was no number written on the paper. There was another grim flash across his face before he said, "Roughly six trillion euros to the allied forces."

Ludwig's shoulders sagged, and his once steely eyes had dissolved into numb hopelessness. Gilbert could feel the glares from the other nations, the stiff nods of approval, the flittering whispers of, "He deserved it," or "He owes much more than that," around the meeting room. Gilbert clenched his fists. He wanted to strangle each and every one of them.

The long list of reparations continued – returning territories, dividing borders and dismantling the German military industry. When at last England finished reading the long list, he looked up from his paper to regard the weary nations assembled before him. "Now for the final issue we must address: The division of Germany." The nations stirred, suddenly interested. England continued, "The nation of Germany is occupied only halfway by the Red Army, therefore only half of it will be facilitated by the Soviet Union."

Gilbert glanced sideways at Ludwig. His eyes were narrowed and bloodshot from sleep deprivation. Bandages wrapped around his head and his arm was in a sling, cuts and bruises bulged around his neck and lacerated his cheeks. Gilbert felt hate boil within him. He knew Russia had injured his brother to make a statement – to humiliate him in front of all the other nations. It was sick.

"Since there are now two representations of the nation of Germany," England nodded at the two brothers. "It has been decided that one shall represent the Soviet sector and the other shall represent the British, French, and American sectors."

Gilbert sat up straight in his seat. Now hold on just a minute…

"The nation's capital, Berlin, is deep within the territories of the Soviet sector," England continued. "Since this capital is indeed Ludwig's heart… and by request from the nation of Russia…" All eyes shifted to Russia, whose lips stretched into an eerie smile. England cleared his throat and went on, "With requests and some other factors, is has been decided that the former Third Reich representative Ludwig Beilschmidt is to represent the Soviet sector of Germany and is to hereby be placed within the charge of Soviet Union representative Ivan Braginsky."

"BULLSHIT!"

Gasps and mutters of disapproval flitted around the room. Gilbert hadn't even been aware of standing up; he had risen so quickly his chair had clattered to the floor.

"Gilbert, don't," Ludwig warned, but Gilbert wasn't listening.

England looked surprised, then his expression grew fiery as he sent Gilbert a dangerous look. "If there are any objections to this decree, they are to be discussed in an orderly manner, is that clear Beilschmidt?"

Gilbert grimaced at the absence of his nation name. "Fine!" he spat. "I object!"

"On what grounds?" England asked, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Bruder…" Ludwig warned. "We are in no position for compromise; sit down."

"East Prussia is closer to the Soviet Union," Gilbert went on, meeting England with his own determined glare.

Ludwig looked up in horror. "Gilbert…"

"By order of geography, it is madness to assign Ludwig to the Soviet sector," Gilbert declared.

"Russia has made his demands." England countered. "You are at the mercy of his terms. Russia, do you agree with this proposal?"

The huge nation shook his head with a cheerful, "Nyet. I want Ludwig."

Gilbert clenched his teeth, picturing the burns and scars marring his brother's body from what Russia had already done to him. He would not allow that sick bastard to control his little brother, not in a million years. I made a promise to Germania and I am going to keep it, dammit.

"The choice has been made," England said firmly.

"NO!" Gilbert shouted, slamming a fist on the table.

The nations murmured in disapproval, someone shouted, "Make the Nazi sit down and shut up, doesn't he know he lost the war?" More exclamations went up around the room. "Yeah! Sit down!" "They lost, they can't compromise!" "Throw Ludwig to the Soviets, he deserves it!" "Throw them BOTH to the Soviets! They don't even deserve to be nations anymore!" "We're tired of war!"

The din was split with a coarse yell as Gilbert shouted, "AS APPEASEMENT I OFFER VIOLATION OF THE NATION TREATMENT CODE CONCERNING GILBERT BEILSCHMIDT AND IVAN BRAGINSKY!"

Silence. Everyone held their breath – to violate the Nation Treatment Code meant that Russia was no longer responsible for giving Gilbert food or shelter, and he could legally subject Gilbert to any kind of torture he wished. Not that Russia didn't violate the code already, but if it was official then there was nothing anyone could do about it. To declare violation of the code to Ivan Braginsky was suicide.

Russia looked at Gilbert curiously, eyeing him as though he were fresh prey. He seemed to be unable to decide which idea he liked better: having control over Ludwig, or being allowed to do whatever he wanted to Gilbert.

England seemed shocked; this time he struggled to regain his composure. "Violation of the Nation Treatment code is illegal," he finally managed to say, gaping at Gilbert.

"No it's not," Gilbert shot back. "Not if the subordinate nation gives consent."

Now England seemed stumped. He glanced at Russia, America, and France, all who seemed equally unsure of what to do. England shuffled his papers and cleared his throat. "Meeting postponed until a further decision is made," he announced, and stepped off of the podium to gather in a huddle with his fellow Allies at the back of the room.

As Russia stood and passed Gilbert, his skin prickled with fury. "You will never get you filthy hands on my little brother again," he hissed.

Russia only smirked. "We will see about that, Little One."

"Fucking Communist," Gilbert spat, and Russia returned the insult with a friendly smile.

"Gilbert!" Ludwig hissed, yanking his brother down. "What are you doing? Don't you know we just lost the war, you can't go around making compromises like that!"

"I promised Germania I would protect you," Gilbert growled, causing Ludwig's eyes to widen in surprise. "I already failed at that too many times; if it weren't for me we would have never gotten into this mess."

"Bruder – " Ludwig began, but Gilbert cut him off.

"I'm NOT letting you get hurt again, verstanden?" Gilbert's voice was so passionate that Ludwig only stared in shocked awe. "If Russia thinks he can get his sadistic hands on you again he will have to do it over my dead body."

"Gilbert, I deserve this." Ludwig's eyes were empty of hope. "You were smart and got out of the war – I'm the one who kept going. I'm the one who kept killing, you were saving lives!"

Gilbert snorted. "Only a few. Besides, I started this whole thing."

"Stop lying to yourself. You disliked Hitler from the very start."

"Doesn't matter," Gilbert retorted. "I was so obsessed with World Domination that I turned a blind eye to what was really going on."

"Ja, but once you realized, you gave up the war! Even after I knew what was going on I kept fighting."

"That's because you're dedicated."

"Nein, it's because I'm a murderer." Gilbert opened his mouth to protest but Ludwig clasped him on the shoulder, those icy eyes boring into him as he said in a hoarse voice, "I deserve this, Gilbert. I started hell in Europe and it's about time I paid for what I did. Don't take that away from me. Don't make me live with that kind of guilt."

"Hey, shut up over there!" Ludwig and Gilbert looked up to see Romano standing and pointing an accusing finger at them from across the table. "What are you two doing, planning World War Three?"

"Shut up!" Gilbert roared. "It's none of your damn business!"

"It is now, you Nazi kraut! What's your next great scheme: take over Russia from the inside out?" There was a roar of laughter among the nations. Gilbert and Ludwig looked gloomily at each other.

A hush fell over the meeting room as Russia stepped up to the podium. His cool violet eyes rested on Gilbert, a small smile of mischief lighting up his face.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt," Russia began. "Formerly known as the nation of East Prussia, and before that the Kingdom of Prussia, and before that the Teutonic Order." Russia let that sink in. A few sniggers flitted across the meeting room. "How long," Russia continued, "do you really think you have left to live? You have been reduced and retitled until you are nothing but a providence of the greater Germany. Do you really think, that I am going to agree to take custody of a dead nation? An empty shell with too many names and no political value whatsoever?" Russia's smile grew warm and sickeningly sweet. "You are worth nothing. I want Ludwig."

Gilbert's chest burned at those words, but he forced himself to keep calm. "Fine!" he shouted. "You say I won't live? Well that's just FINE." He shot his best glare across the table at Russia. "So how would you like to be the one to finally get rid of me? To watch the light go out of my eyes once and for all. To be able to say that you, Ivan Braginsky, killed the Great Prussia."

"NO!"

All heads turned to see that Hungary had stood from her chair. "Spoils of war, is this all you disgusting people can think of? This is a life we're talking about here!" She turned to England, eyes burning with passion. "You mean to tell me that you would sell Gilbert to Russia knowing that he's going to get killed?"

"He deserves it!" someone shouted. "He's lived too long already!" another interjected. "Shut up, girl, you were with the Nazis from the very start!" Soon the room was once again filled with the roar of shouting and arguing nations, angry fingers and accusations being pointed.

"STOP!"

The noise dissipated, everyone shocked to see that France was on the podium. He wore a pained expression, tears shimmering in sapphire eyes. "Just STOP it! Look at all of you! You are all acting like children!" His eyes moved from the faces of one weary nation to another. "Aren't you all tired of war? 'Aven't we fought each other enough? It is our duty as nations to protect our people, and in the past few decades we 'ave failed at this 'orribly, all because we are worried about past grudges, or because we are too proud to admit we are wrong. I ask you this, nations of Europe: At what cost? Is it worth your pride, for millions of innocent to die?" Eyes all around the room fell to the floor in shame. "Times are changing, " France went on. "Bombs will only get bigger, guns will only shoot faster. This war 'as torn out continent apart, destroyed ancient churches and entire villages that we 'old dear. We cannot afford another war like this!" His voice was low as he said, "Unless we grow up and learn 'ow to get along, we will all surely perish with our people in the suffocating smoke and suffering of warfare."

Silence hung in the meeting room, heavy and thick. It was Gilbert who spoke next.

"Look. I know I'm dying. But that's why Ludwig has to stay in the West. He's young, barely 200 years old. I know you all hate him, but he's got a whole life ahead of him. This is how it works." Gilbert turned to face the Mediterranean nations. "Greece. When Ancient Greece knew her time was up, did she desperately try to keep her position, or did she hand it on to you?"

Greece didn't answer, staring mournfully at the table.

"Romano, Italy. When Grandpa Rome grew old, what did he do? Did he tell you to get lost or did he make you promise to stay strong and make him proud?"

Italy let out a sob and leaned onto Romano's shoulder, who for once remained silent.

Gilbert turned to England, his expression stern and determined. "And so, my time has come as well. I must pass the baton to Ludwig; I must give him the West. Germania did it for me, and the day he died I promised I would do the same for Ludwig when the time came."

More silence, except for the quiet sobs coming from Italy. Germany looked as if he had seen a ghost, his stoic expression for once broken in an expression of near tears. At last, England grimly walked to the podium and France stepped down. England regarded the nations before him with a melancholy gaze.

"Very well," he said, his voice as grim as the atmosphere in the room. "We'll do this the diplomatic way, then. All those in favor of Ludwig Beilschmidt representing the Soviet sector of Germany, raise your hand."

Russia, Belarus, Romano, Hungary, and to everyone's shock, Germany, were the only ones raising their hands.

"All those in favor of Gilbert Beilschmidt representing the Soviet sector of Germany, raise your hand."

Hands went up all over the room, some reluctant to do so, but slowly the vote became almost unanimous. Hungary shot a desperate look at Austria, whose hand was up, then at Gilbert, who had voted for his own death.

Ludwig's expression was of more devastation and heartbreak than Gilbert had never seen.

"It is decided then," England announced. "By order of majority vote by the nations of Europe, the Soviet sector of the nation of Germany is to henceforth be represented by the former representative of East Prussia, Gilbert Beilschmidt. Upon request of the subordinate nation, Soviet Union representative Ivan Braginsky has authorization to violate the Nation Treatment Code regarding Gilbert Beilschmidt. No legal action may be taken by any other nation to prevent the violation of the Code, as it may be done at Russia's discretion. For those of you who are now under facilitation by the Soviet Union, you will return to your home country and be given twenty-four hours to pack your things and meet with Russia for a separate meeting in Moscow. Russia, is Beilschmidt to be given these same time limits?"

Russia looked disgruntled at having lost the vote, but his eyes only burned with violet vengeance. He smiled sweetly and looked straight at Gilbert as he said, "Nyet, he will leave with me immediately."

England's eyes flickered with sorrow. "Very well. Gilbert, you have fifteen minutes to say your farewells. Meeting dismissed."

There was the shuffling and scraping of chairs as the nations all stood and took their leave, the usual chattering lowered to only occasional whispers and gloomy expressions. As Russia passed Ludwig, he brushed him on the left hip. Ludwig nearly jumped out of his seat, eyes flashing with terror.

Gilbert spun around, furious. "Get your dirty hands off of him," he snarled. Russia only chuckled darkly and leaned down to whisper into Ludwig's ear, "It is a shame we will have to be parted, предатель. Nevertheless, I will be having much more fun with your brother later…" He glanced up to smile at Gilbert. "Ten minutes." His voice was suddenly deep and commanding, reminding Gilbert that he had to take orders now.

Gilbert made a rude hand gesture and Russia's smile only grew wider before leaving the meeting room and closing the door behind him with a THUNK.

Silence hung thick in the air. Gilbert stood and stared at the table, Ludwig sat with his elbows propped on his knees and grimaced at the floor. Suddenly there was a clatter as Ludwig stood and threw the nearest chair across the room.

"VERDAMMT!" he roared. Ludwig's shoulders heaved, his breathing deep and labored. "Damn you!" he yelled, reaching up to press a hand to his forehead. "D-Damn you, Gilbert…" his voice cracked and Gilbert knew that he was crying.

"I had to do it," Gilbert said softly.

Ludwig let out a shuddery gasp, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Y-you… you have no idea how long I've waited to see you again… how I spent every single minute of that hell in Russia wishing I hadn't left you, wondering if you had gotten caught and thrown into a camp…" Tears fell onto the carpet at Ludwig's feet. "I didn't know if you were d-dead, I didn't know if I would ever see you again. It was all my fault, Gilbert, all of it!"

"No it's not, Luddy – "

"Yes it IS!" Ludwig spun around, and Gilbert's heart broke at the sight of his brother's eyes rimmed pink with tears, his face pulled tight into and expression of anguish. Ludwig shook Gilbert by the shoulders, "I deserve to die, Gilbert! YOU are the one who should live, not me! I…" His voice hitched and he whispered, "I failed you again. I failed everyone, I killed so many people. And now you are going to make me live with this guilt? How do you expect me to live my life, knowing with each second that you are suffering and it's my fault? Again! I can't do it, Bruder, you – you c-can't do this to me, please!"

Gilbert pulled his brother into a tight embrace, feeling the tears welling up in his own eyes. Ludwig's body shuddered against him as he sobbed quietly, a hand curling around the back of his uniform and pulling him close.

"Luddy…"

"Don't go, please don't. I need you, I c-can't do this alone…"

"Yes you can."

"Nein, what if it happens again? The inflation, the political parties, all of it… what if we're just walking into another war? What if I fuck up again and end up killing more people? Gilbert, I can't, I – " Ludwig pulled away to give Gilbert a desperate look. He didn't need to say it, because Gilbert understood what he meant:

I'm scared.

"Luddy." Gilbert looked at him sternly, just like he did when Ludwig had been a little boy terrified by nightmares. How times had changed since then. "Luddy, you listen to me. No matter what happens, I want you to walk out of this meeting room with your head held high, verstanden? Sure, we lost a war, but everyone loses wars. We killed people but everyone killed people."

"Not as many – "

"Shut up and listen! I don't care how guilty you feel – your people fought for the Fatherland, and why did they do that? Because they're German and they are proud of it. So don't you DARE go sulking around and get all depressed and shit, not after everything I've taught you and everything we've been through. You're stronger than that. You are Deutschland and you are damn PROUD to be Deutschland, verstanden?"

He could still see the doubt in Ludwig's eyes, the fear of this kind of pride seemed to be eating at his soul. It was the very same pride of being German that had led to so many deaths, and now to Ludwig it seemed poisonous. It was sick, Gilbert realized, for a nation to be terrified of himself.

Hitler, what have you done?

"Promise me."

Ludwig looked up, his eyes full of fear.

"Promise me!" Gilbert hissed, shaking his brother by the shoulder. "Promise me that you'll stay strong."

Something calmed in the violent torrents of Ludwig's eyes. His grip tightened on Prussia as he said in a low voice, "I promise."

Gilbert looked over his brother, realizing this could very well be the last time he ever saw him. He tried to ignore the sheer panic that rose up in his chest at that thought, instead fighting it off with a smile. "I'm proud of you, Luddy. I really am. You're the best brother I could have asked for."

Suddenly Ludwig's eyes hardened and he gripped Gilbert by the arm. "You're not going to die," he whispered.

Gilbert couldn't help but smile. With violation of the code? Fat chance.

"You are not going to die," Ludwig repeated, voice trembling. "We are going to see each other again."

Gilbert could sense that Ludwig's entire being depended on him agreeing with that statement. That if he could look his brother in the eye and say, "Russia can't kill me, what is he talking about?" that everything would have been okay. But… but it wasn't…

"Stay alive, you hear me?" Ludwig whispered hoarsely. "Don't give up. No matter what happens, Gilbert. No matter how much you want to close your eyes forever, remember that I'm still here waiting for you."

Gilbert was surprised when his brother's face blurred through his own tears.

"Promise," Ludwig demanded.

"I promise."

They then embraced, the two brothers, both of them fighting the fear that this would be the last time they would ever see each other again. Denying it, hoping, and praying that this was not the end. When they pulled apart, Gilbert gave his little brother a strong pat on the arm.

"Auf Wiedersehen, Luddy," he said, smiling through his tears.

"Auf Wiedersehen, Bruder."

And with that, Gilbert turned and strode out of the meeting room, pulling the door shut behind him without looking back.

History Notes

This meeting is modeled after the Potsdam Conference of 1945. This is the conference between delegates and leaders from England, America, and the Soviet Union to decide the border splits and war reparations that Germany would have to pay after being defeated in WWII. In my headcanon, the nations would have their own separate meeting a bit later in which the Allies would announce the decisions made by their bosses. I had England lead the meeting, not America, simply because the nations are more likely to listen to him. (I'm sure there was a spectacular argument about this beforehand)

Germany's injuries are a result of the Battle of Berlin – the final Soviet attack on Nazi Germany that ultimately resulted in Germany's surrender. The capital was all but turned to rubble after the fighting, many of the civilians treated horridly by the Red Army.

Germany is terrified of the beginning of another war because it was a similar situation that led Hitler to his position of power. After losing in WWI (27 years earlier), Germany suffered heavily from the crushing debts and war reparations allocated by the Allies. As a result the nation was in desperate need of a strong leader like Hitler to pull them out, and he was voted into power almost unanimously.

AN: Although it can stand alone, Auf Wiedersehen is part of my historical series about WWII and the early Soviet Era. It serves as a prequel to Diamond in the Rough, which will cover Prussia's role in the war. Thanks so much for reading!