Happy birthday, Prussia! This almost didn't happen because I'm a lazy piece of garbage who loves writing but has no will or motivation to do so.
This has no real plot.
I do not own Hetalia
There was a lot in Gilbert's life that he was grateful for. He had had a wonderful life, so long and full of love. He had a wonderful brother that he loved more than the world, and wonderful friends that he loved just the same.
He had a lot to smile for, so he wouldn't shed tears at this. Instead of weeping, instead of mourning the end of good things, he would smile and remember the good things, the reasons that he had lived and loved life for so many centuries. It had been a long time coming, after all. A dead man has no business walking.
He lay back and his head sank into the pillow. The hospital gown settled around him with a quiet whisper, a rustle of papery fabric. White was the roof of his world, and he breathed a wistful sigh, longing for the blue sky of the outdoors. He had spent so many days under that sky, whiling away the hours with Elizaveta or Roderich, or anyone really. He had never been fussy about who he spent time with back then.
It had been days since he had seen anyone, but, he reasoned, they had duties to attend to. Unlike himself, they were still functioning.
Gilbert smiled to himself, gazing listlessly up at the ceiling. Plain white plaster, so boring, so unbefitting for someone like him. Or perhaps it was the most fitting. For all his valor, all his pride and arrogance, and overall his good nature, he was left to fade away like just another nobody. He wouldn't pretend that he wasn't bitter, because he was. He could, however, accept the fact that perhaps this was what he deserved. As of late, he was nothing but a burden on his brother and his friends.
The curve of his lips was slight and melancholic, but it reflected his inner turmoil. He really didn't want to die, though ultimately it was for the best. He didn't want to leave his brother behind, but Ludwig would be better off in the hands of someone capable. It's not like he had ever been much of a help to him anyways. Ludwig could finally stop worrying about his pathetic older brother. His smile grew more genuine, hopeful even.
A nurse popped her head in the door, looking harried. "Would you like anything, Mr. Beilschmidt? It's almost lunchtime."
"No, thank you," he replied softly, tilting his head to view her. She furrowed her brow but left without a word. She would probably bring him something anyways. He sighed. It was pointless to do so; he didn't have much time.
He should have died seventy years ago, but he had clung on to life so desperately. It was senseless to drag it on any longer. Letting go was easy, so easy compared to holding on. Like finally catching your breath after years of floundering in the deep. He could breathe now; it came so naturally it made his struggle seem meaningless. He didn't regret it though. All it did was give him more reasons to have no regrets. He gained several more decades of time spent with those he loved, several more decades of blue sky and rain and clouds and the fiery sun rising and falling over the horizon. It was time well spent, but his time was almost up.
The smile was still on his face as he glanced at the clock, tick tick ticking away the seconds. It was time.