WARNING! This fanfiction will contain character death and triggers of suicide. Feel free if you believe you won't have an issue with this. It is okay to cry though.
Please forgive me
The Prussian kept his hands in his jacket pockets as he walked down the barren street of his childhood. The town was in ruins from many wars and he kept his eyes down, trying not to breath in the ashes. Again, he was alone in this world. Many of the nations had already forgotten about him so he came here to look for comfort. Although he knew there was going to be no comfort to be found, it at least gave him some peace and quiet.
The only sounds were the crunches of his boots on the ground and the slight whistling of the wind which would stir up some ashes here and there.
The bakery that used to stand next to the butchers was one of the first buildings to have collapsed. His house that he had spent his early life in was the very last. Ludwig never stayed with him there; he wasn't even a nation back then.
The albino could still remember where each building was and what had lied there or sold there. Even the people's faces would come to mind if he thought about it. His back was hunching over, not in the usual cocky posture he usually had. He wasn't sure he could even produce a true smile anymore. He didn't care anyways; who did he have to make happy? There was no one for him now, and knew that no one loved him since he was just a forgotten person; even his nation was almost completely forgotten after the Berlin Wall came down.
He shook his head, not wanting to go back to those times, those memories, where anguish and grief was all that followed him while he remained under Russia's control. His people - back then, the Russian's - only wanted to be German and to reunite with family and friends on the West side. They didn't care that they were Prussian from birth, they believed that they were German and that's all that took for some of the other nations to cast their eyes away from Gilbert.
He had sat on the front steps of one of the manors he was staying at, sent there by Russia. He had a good angle to see the Berlin Wall, then one day, it just fell. He didn't really notice since he was looking down at his hands, wringing themselves together from the anxiety and loneliness. He broke from his stupor when he felt a presence and a shadow that surrounded him. He looked up, and it was hard to make out the tall, built, blonde figure in front of him.
As soon as the name fell from his lips, he was lifted into a firm yet comforting hug and felt his tears beginning to fall, the waterfall never-ceasing as he felt the tears of his brother fall onto his face as well. He was too weak to hug back, and knew that the day was coming when East and West Germany would reunite again. The truth must have not been noticed by Ludwig until he could feel the frailty of his older brother in his arms.
He had looked down at the Prussian, and recognized the pain and despair in his eyes from ones of a dying person. He knew that his brother couldn't die. No nation could; only forgotten. A nation didn't quite disappear, but would just be erased from memories; it was almost as if they never existed in the first place.
Yes, there were a few people who would happen to regain a memory or two of a certain nation that they used to know: maybe a name or a laugh, a smile or a glimpse of the past. But it would never be the same. Even if they passed by an old nation, no one would realize it.
Germany carried his brother back to the other side of the wall, passing by many hugging families and friends. Russia was standing from afar to watch the events unfold and spotted the two brothers moving through the crowd. He eventually caught Germany's eyes briefly, seeing not fury nor hatred, but defeat and sorrow. It was only a fleeting moment of exchange between the two nations, however, much was conversed with expressions. He turned around and did not want to watch Germany bring his brother home, and he had already known the fate of Gilbert ever since he inherited him from the deal with the other Allies.
Years rolled by of reconstruction of buildings and towns, but Gilbert was never there to watch. He hadn't even wanted to leave the house that his younger brother resided in. Walking around almost mindlessly, he ran on schedules through each week. He never went outside or found comfort from people he never wanted to see. Especially from one of his old friends, Francis. He couldn't bring himself to blame him; he had contemplated that for so long and had never came to a decision that it was the nation's fault. It wasn't really. Nor was it the Allies.
Gilbert came to blame himself for everything: following orders with his brother, being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and offering to be given to Russia instead of letting his brother getting taken by the large nation. He didn't regret that decision, but wished that the day never came when he had to be separated from Ludwig.
He had walked past the town and into a dark forest. It actually used to be dark but filled with what felt like magic when he was so young and pure, isolated from the issues of the world. But now the isolation just made him feel empty inside, getting the notion of being alone forever.
Gilbert then stood at the edge of a clearing and finally lifted his eyes to see a tattered, old house. It was made from stone and bricks, some crumbling on walls and parts of the roof had fallen in. Memories of running around the house as he was watched by Germania filled his mind as he walked up to the front door. He could feel like it would fracture by his touch as he cautiously pushed it open, entering the home.
The entryway was just a small little room where he used to carefully hang up his jacket and set his shoes as to not provoke Germania in order to being kept from getting yelled at for his disorderliness. Without an indication of a change in expression, he headed into the next room: the living room.
It was nicer than one would think, and here lied a small couch and a table across from it; two chairs placed across from that. On the left wall was where a portrait of scenery used to be. On the opposite wall bearing shattered glass from windows. The far wall from the ex-nation was a fireplace that had went to pieces, an old frame of a tattered painting of Germania, far past the point of mending.
He walked into the broken kitchen, then the dining room where one wall had fallen in and grass and weeds had infiltrated the abandoned building. Both happy and sad memories were scurrying around his head as his hand traced an indecipherable pattern along the wall as he passed it to the stairs on the far side of the house.
He carefully walked up the almost disintegrating stairway into a small hallway that had two countering doors. He entered into the left room; the door had already fallen off its hinges. A small bed resided on one side of the room, and there was an adjacent desk with a small bird-cage next to it. Gilbert didn't take a step inside his old room, and just stayed by the entry of it. His hand lightly grazed the frame as he reluctantly pulled his eyes away from the things he couldn't bear returning to.
The man crossed the hallway to what faintly resembles where Germania has stayed in. The large bed had split down the center and cracks would have never been unnoticed as they were spread throughout the room-whether it had been a wall, a table, or the floor. Wood has already been splintered in places and the floor below could be seen.
Gilbert got down onto his knees next to the bed after carefully making his way over to it, gingerly trying not to cause the floor underneath him to collapse. Bringing his hands and arms onto the bed, he rested his head on the sheets, finally allowing the tears of decades that had passed to fall, soaking the sheets. He knew that there would be no comfort for him; everyone had already abandoned him. His brother was the only one who was there for him now, but it all seemed like it was useless to get anyone else's attention. He had given up on that years ago, and now it was pointless to even bother with living.
Although he knew that it was impossible for a nation to die, it was indeed possible if it had gotten to a point where recovery was ineffective and one could just bleed out. He slowly brought one hand down into his left pocket of his jacket and pulled out a MODEL 4510PD-3B revolver and checked to see how many bullets were left in it.
Only three shots. But he believed that it would be enough to cause him to bleed out for good. Gilbert aimed the barrel of the revolver at his stomach.
A slam of a door echoed through the house, Gilbert stumbling into the house as he was carried by Francis and Antonio. It was quite clear that he drank way too much than he should and the two friends dumped him onto the couch.
"Heyyy~ Vhy vould you pull me outta there~?" he complained as he sprawled on the couch.
"You were out of control and would have started an unwanted fight," came the reply of a slightly-tipsy Spaniard.
"He vas asking for it..." the Prussian whined and looked up at them, a deep flush on his cheeks.
"Oui, but zhat could have been accomplished in a different way. Indeed, it was a girl on zhe line..." France responded, then felt a small smack to the back of his head from Spain.
"Und she vas beautiful~" Gilbert added, smirking as he tried and failed to cross his legs and sit up. The three of them laughed; then the memory started to fade...
BANG!
He didn't even flinch as he aimed the pistol at his chest this time. Blood seeped out from the bottom of his shirt and trailed down his thighs to the ground.
The Prussian was running down the long stretch of the hallway of the mansion, the Austrian chasing behind him.
"Get back here, you idiot!" called the voice of Roderich.
"Kesesese~! Never! Man, that look on your face vas priceless!" laughed Gilbert, a camera slung around his neck and Gilbird perched on his shoulder. He had successfully taken a picture of Austria frustrated for the sudden disappearance of keys from his brand new piano. The Prussian had simply placed them in the bench and hid himself behind a large plant, anticipating the moment when Roderich would come in for his afternoon practice.
He quickly turned a corner and found that a door was left ajar. He ran in and quickly yet quietly closed the door behind him, hearing the nation's footsteps hurriedly passing by the room.
As soon as it got quiet, he left the room in chuckles and turned the corner only to find Elizaveta waiting for him with her frying pan. Prussia's proud face fell as he felt the thwack of the pan hitting the side of his head. He held it in pain but noticed the slight smirk on her face and a slight giggle bubbling from her lips. Both he and Hungary leaned against the wall, laughing until they saw Roderich approach them furiously.
BANG!
He bit his lip as he felt the bullet pierce through his heart. It wouldn't be long now. He finally rested the barrel of the pistol against his temple and took a deep breath, then released it as his finger squeezed the trigger.
"Gilbert? Who's that, Ludwig?" the innocent voice of the Italian asked as he looked up at Germany. He was sitting across from him in the German's house. Gilbert was leaning against the doorway of the living room as he watched the exchange between the two.
"You don't remember Feli?" Ludwig responded, a slight tinge of hurt almost resonated through his voice. He noticed that everyone was slowly forgetting the hard-to-miss albino.
"No, sorry. Am I supposed to?" Italy now wondered if it was a big deal if he didn't know anyone by the name of 'Gilbert'.
Germany looked up past Italy and over to Gilbert, then sighed as he shook his head. "I guess not..."
BANG!
The man slumped over, falling to the floor as pools of blood began to form underneath him, slipping in between the wooden boards to the ground below them. He could feel his sight grow hazy as he closed his eyes, unable to find the peace he was looking for.
Oh my gosh please forgive me! In all honesty I had no idea why I was writing this and I cried myself to sleep when I finished it~! Prussia is beyond one of my favorite characters in Hetalia and never thought I was going to write a story like this.