So... this is an idea I've had for quite some time. Ultimately, I would like to span approximately 200 years of German history (Lud and Gil-centric); this just happened to be the first chapter that I was inspired to write. Eventually I hope that the full work, entitled "Deutschlandlied" ("Song of Germany," the German national anthem), will have about six parts, with this being the first chapter of part 4. So, I am starting in the middle, but other parts will follow, meaning it will not all be angsty Nazi Germany. But there will be plenty of that. That is, if I decide to keep up with the series. Chapter two will be up soon, and I am starting work on chapter 3, but reviews are what motivate me! So please please please, review!

Also, just to get this out of the way: YES, this story includes Nazi characters. NO I do not in ANY way support Nazi ideals. My goal is to present an interpretation of past events that may shed a bit of light on what the nations involved were going through and what motivated them, both the good and the bad. I will try my best to be as historically accurate and honest as possible (with "artistic liberties" of course), and to account as much as possible for the multi-faceted complexities of historical analysis. You do not have to agree with these interpretations, and if you'd like to have a civil discussion about history, I'm open to that, but please don't flame. This is not meant to be offensive to anybody.

Warnings: sexual references, namely YAOI-GAY-GUY ON GUY, also incest. A bit of strong language, and history!

Disclaimer: Hetalia characters belong to Himaruya.

The Night Before

July 19, 1944, 11:55 pm

The Wolf's Lair, East Prussia

God. West would kill him if he knew what he was planning to do tomorrow.

The Prussian swallowed hard and forced his feet to continue moving forward. The heels of his black, knee-high boots clicked against the cold concrete floor and echoed through the deserted hallways, ominous in Prussia's ears. What would he say if he ran into someone? What excuse did he have for lurking about, this late at night? What excuse did he have for even coming to this bunker in the first place?

The albino stuck a black-gloved finger into his collar and tugged a bit, trying to loosen the tie constricting his windpipe. The finger moved down to the cross of iron around his neck and lingered there a moment.

Hot doubt clouded his mind. What was he doing? This was madness! His cross was his duty to his country—was he violating that? But no, he had been over this before, it had to be done before that maniac drove his country over the edge… but that was tomorrow. Tonight… what about this? Was this right? It certainly wasn't smart, Prussia knew. One wrong step, one wrong word, and it was over. He was over. But he needed this. What did it matter if it was right or wrong—he might be dead tomorrow! He wouldn't get another chance. If he succeeded tomorrow, his brother would be devastated. If he failed… well, he preferred not to think about that.

Prussia stopped. His feet had carried him to Germany's quarters as if of their own volition. Warm light seeped from under the heavy wooden door, illuminating the shiny toes of Prussia's boots in a thin strip. At least West was still awake. Prussia inhaled deeply through his nostrils, held his breath, and raised a fist to rap on the door.

Tap, tap, tap.

Prussia lowered his fist, still holding his breath. He heard the faint shuffle of cloth and paper somewhere on the other side of the door, then padded footsteps approaching. The strip of light beneath the door was suddenly partially obscured; a latch clicked open; a lock turned; the door inched open until there was a wide enough gap for a face to peer out. Germany.

The younger man's stern features quickly morphed to surprise when he saw his older brother standing before his door, which he opened a little wider.

Prussia wanted to say something, but he still couldn't breathe. All he could do was stare at the German, who was wearing his reading glasses and a long bathrobe—without a shirt underneath, Prussia noted before the blonde instinctively pulled the robe front together, tightening the belt hastily.

"Prussia?" Germany questioned in his rich baritone, feathery blond eyebrows hitching together in a bemused stare.

"West!" Prussia forced out, finally remembering how to exhale. It sounded strained to his ears, and apparently to his brother's as well, for his bewilderment only turned to concern.

Germany opened the door a bit wider still, resting one hand on the doorframe.

"Uh…" He glanced over his shoulder, then back at the Prussian, who, if possible, looked even paler than usual, a light film of sweat glistening on his forehead in the lamplight from the room. "Would you like to come in?" Germany asked apprehensively, but politely.

"Of course!" exclaimed Prussia, regaining some of his usual swagger as he pushed the door aside and brushed past his brother. Germany was slightly peeved at this lack of propriety but he closed the door calmly, locked it out of habit, and turned to the man who now stood uncertainly in the center of the parlor-like room.

Prussia's eyes swept warily over the papers scattered on the coffee table by the sofa. If he could just sneak a look…

His thoughts were cut off when Germany, as if sensing Prussia's thoughts, quickly shuffled the papers together and stuffed them away in a drawer of the desk that occupied a corner of the small room.

Prussia sighed inwardly. That wasn't why he was here anyways. Taking a deep breath, he tried to focus on the task at hand.

The albino flopped down on the sofa and the blonde turned to him, a slight scowl on his face.

"Please, do make yourself at home, bruder," he drawled, exasperated with his elder brother's manners. Couldn't he find it in himself to show some respect when it was so rare that they spoke face to face, especially alone? Not to mention that it was the middle of the night, and the German had been looking forward to finally finishing his paperwork and then getting some sleep before an early morning. Yet he had been polite enough to invite his brother in, despite the irregular nature of the visit, and now he was sprawled lazily across the couch as if he were back in the home they used to share in the days of Weimar or the Empire. A lot had changed since then.

"Why thanks, bruderlein! Why don't you join me?" the elder man smirked, ignoring the younger's tone and patting the cushion beside him.

Germany sighed and sat on the sofa as far from the Prussian as he could. Where he had been concerned for his brother before, the elder's behavior was quickly ensuring that frustration got the better of him. The blonde eyed the other man carefully. Something had seemed very off about him when he first opened the door, and though Prussia seemed his usual obnoxious self now, Germany couldn't help but feel slightly uneasy at the whole situation and his brother's unexpected appearance.

Prussia grew hotter under his brother's cold, appraising glare and searched for the best way to begin. God, was he out of practice.

"Say, don't you keep any beer in this place?" he stalled, glancing around.

Germany's hand went to the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses slightly to pinch between his eyes.

"Bruder, why are you here?" he sighed.

There was no mistaking that tone. Prussia knew immediately that this round-about method was not going to work, and switched tactics immediately. Why not tell the truth? Well, not the whole truth, but there wasn't any point in stalling or lying, was there? It was all or nothing.

Prussia slid a little closer to his brother and said, more gently, "it's been a while since we…" Images of a seedy night club from twenty years ago swirled through the albino's mind. He could almost smell the stale beer and tangy, bitter tobacco on hot breath, feel the immense warmth of his brother's arms around him as calloused hands fumbled with buttons and sought sweaty flesh under the haze of dim light filtered through clouds of cigarette smoke.

"…talked," Prussia finished feebly, swallowing hard, only to find his mouth dry.

Germany's hand dropped from his face and cerulean eyes flashed to meet crimson from behind shining spectacles.

"…It has," the German admitted finally, his face betraying no emotion.

"Well…" Prussia shifted uncomfortably. "I just thought, since it's not often you're over this far East, and I happened to be called to the Wolf's Lair at the same time, it'd be… nice to see you. On a non-professional level."

Germany was taken aback. It seemed like a sincere confession, no pretensions. That was rare from his brother…but it was true. They hadn't seen much of each other over the past few years, but that was only to be expected, considering the rather divergent paths they had chosen. Germany had spent time with both the Wehrmacht Heer and the Waffen-SS, where he was now, and was rather contemptuous of the fact that his brother had left the Luftwaffe for the Abwehr, at least until the dissolution of the ineffective intelligence organization a few months earlier. Now Prussia was back in the blue Luftwaffe uniform, but Germany still didn't like the group his brother associated with. Many, including the Prussian himself, were close with the former leader of the Abwehr, Canaris, whom Germany's boss had fired personally. And there were plenty in that circle who seemed to express a certain disdain for some of his boss's policies. Germany couldn't deny that he himself had his doubts sometimes, but he hid them and did his duty unquestioningly. He had faith that his Fuhrer would lead him through these dark times to the bright future he promised as long as his subjects remained loyal and carried out his will.

Prussia looked up, noting his brother's silence and searching his face for some betrayal of emotion.

"Bruder, I miss you."

The German dropped his gaze, hoping to quell the surprised blush flowering across his cheeks. "Well, if you miss me there's not much I can do about it. If you insist on hanging around with the likes of Canaris, or Oster and Olbricht for that matter—"

"Please, Ludwig, no politics tonight!"

The German stiffened at the use of his familiar name. It had been so long since he had heard anyone call him that…

He started carefully. "Prussia, maybe you should have considered—"

"Oh, for God's sake, Ludwig, call me by my right name! Since when have we become such strangers to each other?" Crimson eyes searched azure, pleading.

Since when had they become such strangers? For undoubtedly, that's what they practically were. They had been near inseparable during the Weimar years, and yet, since the rise of the National Socialists, Ludwig had been so occupied with the duties of organizing a great nation, always thinking of the future, no time for the older brother who always seemed stuck in the past.

Ludwig drew a deep breath. "Gilbert," he said finally.

"Ja, bruder?" Gilbert's voice was low, intense.

"Why, if you don't mind my asking, did it have to be like this, in the middle of the night? If you wanted to talk—"

"But West," Gilbert complained, cutting off his brother yet again, much to the perturbed blonde's chagrin, "I can't really talk to you with all those bureaucrats hanging off of you. This is the only time I knew I could get you alone, when we could really have a chance to talk and unwind, like the good old days."

As he spoke, he cautiously moved a hand over to rest on the German's tense shoulder. Unwinding seemed to be the farthest thing from Ludwig's mind as he eyed the hand, but allowed it to remain in its place.

"Good old days," he snorted derisively. "Is that what you call the times when I was practically France's slave, the shame of all of Europe?"

"Bruder," Gilbert sighed and slid closer on the sofa, causing Ludwig to tense more. "No. You know I'm just as glad as you that those days are over. But just because you're busy being the Third Reich now doesn't mean we can't still be there for each other, right? As brothers."

Prussia burned with shame at the manipulation, praying he wasn't too transparent, but luckily Ludwig relaxed slightly, not minding so much when his brother's gloved hand slid from one shoulder to the other so that his arm was draped across the blonde's broad, muscular back. Had his older brother finally come to see things his way? Even through the most turbulent moments of their relationship in the past decade, Germany had only ever wanted nothing more than to live up to Prussia's great legacy, to make his brother proud of the strong nation he had become rather than ashamed of the weak, pathetic state he had been.

"So… what did you want to talk about?"

Gilbert sighed. His little brother could be so… literal? Uninspired? But he pushed that aside as a new idea stirred in his brain, bringing a mischievous glint to his eyes.

"Well, first of all, what do you say about those beers? After all, what would the German brothers be without their drink of choice?"

"Bruder, it's midnight, this is no time for—"

"Then when?" Gilbert whined. Ludwig glared.

"Have you made it your goal to interrupt every one of my sentences this evening?" the German growled.

Gilbert cocked an eyebrow and considered for a moment. "That could be fun."

Germany rolled his eyes but otherwise chose to ignore the comment. "Fine." He started to stand but Prussia pulled him back down.

"It's ok, West, I'll get them. Where's the ice chest?"

Ludwig pointed to a corner and Gilbert jumped up eagerly. After a minute of poking around in the chest with his back turned and much clinking of glass, Gilbert returned to the sofa with his arms full of bottles, all of which he managed to deposit successfully onto the table as he sat next to his brother just an inch closer than he had been before. He grinned in satisfaction as he threw his arm back around his brother's shoulders. The blonde regarded the spread of brown glass before him dubiously.

"Gilbert, we're not drinking my entire beer stash in one night."

"Aw, c'mon West!" The albino drew a flustered Ludwig closer. "We've always bonded over drinking. What better way for two brothers to spend some rare, quality together time than with a little contest?"

Ludwig disentangled himself from the albino's grasp. Eyes cold as ice glared into crimson. It was just too much. First the brother with whom he'd hardly exchanged more than pleasantries in a year appears on his doorstep looking as if he'd seen a ghost, then he acts as if he owns the place and claims he wants to talk, and now he wants to have—

"A drinking contest? That's your idea of quality together time?"

Gilbert immediately realized his mistake and inwardly cringed at the blonde's words.

"Prussia, why are you really here?" Those cold azure eyes bore into him with the accusatory question.

Prussia racked his brain frantically. Perhaps… perhaps he hadn't been honest enough? It was all he could think to try.

"Ludwig." Gilbert's tone was suddenly lower, more subdued, drawing the younger nation in out of curiosity despite himself.

"I…" Gilbert fumbled for the right words. Well, perhaps a little twisting of the truth to get started wouldn't hurt. "I don't know when my next mission will be, Ludwig, but the truth is… I just wanted… just in case…" He drew a deep breath. "Just in case I don't return, I didn't want my last memory of you to be a polite nod as we pass in an office hallway."

Ludwig didn't fail to notice how his brother's voice got heavy and gravelly with the last few words. He stared at the white-haired man in amazement, not completely sure how he should feel. Surprise, sadness, defensiveness, fear, and tenderness all competed within his chest, tinged with just a hint of bitter guilt. He had never really considered the thought of losing Prussia altogether.

It was true that no one knew exactly whether nations were mortal or not, but there was no denying the fact that certain nations had disappeared in the past. Prussia had no intention of following suit, despite having been technically dissolved de facto by the Nazi's bureaucratic overhaul of the German states. Besides, there were still regions with his name intact within them, such as their current location, East Prussia, not to mention that many within Eastern Germany still identified as Prussians. Germany had assured him that these ties ensured Prussia's continued existence when the new geography had been adopted despite the lack of an official Prussian state, but now that Gilbert was ensconced in such an elaborate and perilous political game, he wasn't sure it was quite enough to assuage his fears anymore. True, nations could survive in physical conditions no human could endure, but more than once Prussia had wondered just what the fireball of a crashed airplane might do to him, or half a round of machine-gun fire lodged in his cerebellum, or poisonous gas in a locked chamber… for of course, he had heard sinister rumors along those lines, though he found them hard to believe.

The fact was, Gilbert was more terrified of "disappearing" than he ever had been in his life, and what he had told Ludwig was true (except that he did know when his next mission would be, and the thought of the sun rising in a few hours petrified him). Now this was beginning to sink in with his brother as well, and the German, oblivious to what was really at stake for Prussia, still felt a twinge of panic when he pictured his brother's bomber hugging the mountainsides as it swerved out of the line of enemy fire. They may not have been acting very brotherly lately—no, Ludwig corrected himself, he had not been acting very brotherly—but he would never forgive himself if Prussia flew off one day and never returned, and he hadn't even cared so much as to wish him good luck.

To his surprise, Ludwig could feel the heat of tears behind his eyes as he spoke; "Bruder, es tut mir leid."

Embarrassed at the near-escape of the treacherous liquid in his eyes, Germany quickly looked down to compose his face into its usual stern mask. A small voice in his head was warning him that he shouldn't be saying this, that he needed to distance himself from his brother like his boss was always encouraging; after all, loyalty belonged to the Fuhrer above all else, even family. But surely… a few beers with a fellow officer was entirely permissible, right?

Before he could allow his emotions to get the better of him, Ludwig snatched up a brown bottle and grumbled, "but really Gilbert, you're just asking for it. You know I could always hold my alcohol better than you." He snapped off the bottle cap with his teeth like the beer expert he was and took a long swig.

Gilbert's insides soared with delight at the slight playfulness in his brother's gruff voice and the informal use of his teeth as a tool. He was getting to him. It was as if a layer—just one thin layer, but still—had peeled away from the practically unrecognizable façade behind which Ludwig had sought refuge for approximately a decade. Here, at last, was the tiniest glimpse of the brother he knew and loved, the stern soldier who would never admit he enjoyed his brother's games but did so all the same, the uptight bureaucrat whose flushed, flustered face Prussia loved more than anything because he knew, he just knew that deep down Germany would miss his antics if he left him alone too long. For a single instant the former kingdom felt a surge of elder-brotherly tenderness towards his former charge and felt the overwhelming urge to reach out and ruffle that perfectly slicked-back corn silk hair as he had when Ludwig was half his height. But he fought the impulse, and realizing that his brother's words had been a jab at his reputation, responded appropriately: "are you kidding me, bruderlein? I'm too awesome to lose a drinking contest! Kesese~" and with that he grabbed a beer for himself, snapped the cap off on the edge of the table, and downed half the bottle with one long gulp.

Something other than tenderness governed Prussia's actions now. A deep-seated desire, and unquenchable thirst, an insurmountable need to fill the emptiness he had felt within him since he and Germany had grown apart drove him on as he pressed bottle after bottle into his little brother's unsuspecting hand. He was careful never to match Ludwig's consumption levels, not only because what his brother had said was true (though Gilbert would never concede this), but because he knew he needed his wits about him, both tonight and tomorrow. Still, Gilbert wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the anticipation that tingled his nerves as he watched his brother, his beautiful, perfect Aryan of a brother bring the frosted brown glass to his lips, close his eyes, and indulge in the cold golden liquid, Adam's apple bobbing up and down the length of a white neck in time with his gulps.

Gilbert couldn't help but think that Botticelli had truly missed out for never having painted his brother as he drank beer. Talk about angelic faces. It was so clear that Ludwig was in his element, in his own universe, brow slightly furrowed in concentration, feathery blond lashes gracing cheeks tinted pink with drink and pleasure to match the moist lips that closed seamlessly around smooth glass.

Ludwig, for his part, failed to notice how his brother seemed less concerned with drinking his beer than with drinking in the sight of the other nation. Prussia's flaming red eyes seemed ready to devour him, but Germany was oblivious to all but the quenching substance he so wanted to throw himself into with abandon. Gilbert's visit had stirred up unwelcome emotions that Germany had thought to be well-buried, and this was the quickest, easiest way to dull the pain. At the same time Ludwig hoped that agreeing to drink with Gilbert would do something to repair their fractured relationship. In reality, he knew it was too little, too late, a mere band-aid for a wound that ran far too deep, but at this point he would do anything to evade the guilt, to maintain below the surface the selfishly comfortable distance he had established between them, to avoid offering his heart in a true apology for fear of what he himself would see with his feelings laid bare. The gusto with which he consumed the beverage was a mere bravado for the sake of his act. Once he started however, it was hard to stop, and soon Germany found that focusing on the beer was the most efficient way of blocking out the complicating emotions and thoughts. A few more bottles in and focusing on the beer was all he had the mental capacity for.

Gilbert zeroed in on the trickle of beer that escaped the corner of his brother's mouth like a predatory cat on his prey. Ludwig was getting sloppy… time to make a move? Perhaps not quite yet, just to be sure… if Prussia could contain himself any longer.

"West, slow down!" the albino whined out, flinging his arm back around the blonde's broad shoulders and hanging off of him just a little to create the impression of a higher level of intoxication than he had actually attained. If he could just get his brother to let his guard down a little…

Ludwig grunted in surprise and lowered what must have been his sixth bottle, turning hazy eyes on the head of tousled white hair beside him.

"Cheap drunk," he muttered. He shoved his beer haphazardly among the cluster of empty bottles accumulating on the table and slurred, "Guess that means I won."

"I am not a cheap drunk! I'm too awesome!" Gilbert flopped his free hand down on Ludwig's far shoulder so that his arms practically encased his brother's body, but the German was too drunk to care. Rather, he seemed to welcome the extra support, physical needs eclipsing judgment entirely as he let one muscular shoulder sink into Gilbert's warm, inviting chest.

"Dummkopf bruder." His spectacles were slowly working their way down the bridge of his nose, so Prussia reached up to remove them and set them by the bottles. He replaced his hand in its former position on his brother's shoulder, but this time he allowed his long, leather-clad digits to slip casually under the collar of Germany's cotton bathrobe. Prussia suddenly felt the strong desire to remove his gloves and caress the hot, supple flesh with his bare fingers, but settled for trying to create a pleasurable sensation for his brother by running the cool, smooth leather over his shoulder. In the process Gilbert managed to push the hem of the garment down a little further, exposing a pale expanse of muscular chest and arm.

"Mm, I've missed you West." Prussia let his cheek drop down onto Ludwig's shoulder, trying to gauge a reaction. Germany's senses, however, were slightly too dulled to fully realize what was happening. All he could make sense of at the moment was that a pleasant smoothness was rubbing his shoulder, and though for some reason part of his chest seemed cold, his brother was warm, very warm, leaning against him, and his nose tickled him as it brushed along his neck, and those lips were so soft as they pressed scalding kisses to his throat… wait. Lips? Kisses?

"Bruder!" Ludwig exclaimed angrily as he tried to scramble out of the albino's grasp, but long arms and fingers, surprisingly strong for all their delicacy, thwarted his drunken attempt. "Was machst du?" The German summoned up all the imposing and threatening authority he could in his voice, but it had little effect on the Prussian given the spectacular flush rising in his younger brother's face and the disgraceful state of the bathrobe slipping off his torso.

"Was?" Gilbert whined. "I'm just giving my bruderlein a little kiss, nothing wrong with that, right?" Prussia gave Germany the most innocent stare he could muster.

Ludwig stared at his brother as he searched for a coherent argument, but it was worse than trying to walk underwater. He just couldn't form a thought quickly enough…

"Nein, you were… you were… that's, not how brothers kiss…" The blonde furrowed his eyebrows in concentration and defense.

The older man knew he was treading in dangerous territory now, but it seemed a waste not to go on now that he'd come this far. He adopted an air of concern as he glanced sideways at his little brother.

"West, what are you talking about? I think you're really making too much of this, those beers must have really gone to your head." He sighed heartily. "I knew I shouldn't have suggested drinking tonight, I'm sorry. I just thought it would be nice to relive the old days together, but I should've realized your tolerance might not be what it used to—"

"I'm fine! I'm fine!" Ludwig grabbed Gilbert's arm as if to prevent him from leaving though Gilbert hadn't even moved to get up yet. The albino gloated inwardly but pouted his lip out.

"I thought you said I wasn't kissing you how brothers are supposed to."

Ludwig looked down, confusion and disorientation written all over his face. "Well I, I'm not sure… maybe I misinterpreted…"

Prussia allowed a smirk to twitch at his lips. "Or maybe, you just don't remember how brothers kiss… shall I remind you?" And with that he leaned in to catch his brother's perfect lips, smooth as marble, soft as downy.

Gilbert realized this was a huge gamble, but it was all he could hope for that in this impaired state Germany would give in to instinct, old habit, and his older brother's own prowess. For a glorious moment Prussia believed he was winning; as he moved to straddle the other man's lap, Ludwig's lips began their sensual dance against the Prussian's, an automatic reaction to the thrill of contact. But suddenly, they stopped.

Germany's eyes, which had closed with the kiss, shot open. He glared icy daggers at his brother's face, still lost in ecstasy, and growled against his still-seeking mouth, "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

The words ripped through Prussia like jagged shrapnel. He froze. Apparently copious amounts of alcohol were not enough to rid his brother of all the rigidity he had built up over the past decade.

With a feral snarl, the larger nation shoved the smaller from his lap and onto the floor against the table. Germany stood quickly to tower over his brother, though he needed a solid few seconds to steady himself on his traitorously wobbly legs.

"You make me sick," he spat, furiously trying to focus his clouded eyes on the albino below him.

"Huh, funny, you'd think that if you had something against incest you would have said so before 1871. Please tell me I haven't been raping my little brother for the past century; I was under the impression you enjoyed it. Quite a bit." Prussia's eyes flamed with his words.

Germany stooped down to grab a fistful of the Luftwaffe uniform front, though to keep his balance that meant dropping to his knees and grasping the table with his free hand. "Then what the fuck do you call forcing beers on me and pulling that scheisse!"

Gilbert knew he was in deep now. His brother hardly ever swore… He could smell the bitterness of beer on Ludwig's heaving breaths, and for the first time in his long memory Gilbert truly felt he was in danger in the presence of a drunk, angry Germany. But then, Prussia had always loved danger.

...

Translations:
Bruderlein: little brother
Es tut mir leid: I'm sorry
Dummkopf bruder: nitwit/stupid-head brother ^^
Was machst du: what are you doing
Scheisse: shit

Sorry if I missed anything you need translated-just let me know! Also, please correct any German mistakes you see. I may have forgotten the capitalization rule too... I'll try to do better on that in the future!

Please leave a review if you're so inclined, I'll appreciate it greatly! Let me know if you want to see more of this story!