Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters in this story.
So this is another one-shot, possibly chapter story if the public likes it (*wink*). I love Germany's character, and there is so much more to him than just a strict disciplinary.
"Vati," a voice called. It was squeaky but firm, somewhere between that of a boy that has not yet reached puberty and a man that had a chillingly soft voice. This voice was neither a comfort nor a torment to Ludwig Beilschmidt, but it issued a compressing cold upon him.
"Ludwig," another voice, this one sweet like honey and soothing, called to him. He blinked twice, turning his head this way and that in search of the person the voice belonged to.
To his delight, a smiling pair of crystal blue eyes appeared to his right, framed by long ash blonde locks that were swaying curiously, almost as if it were windy. But Ludwig did not feel any wind. Why then, was the beautiful woman's – no, his beautiful wife's – hair fluttering around her little round face?
He made to move towards her, but that chilling voice stopped him, "Mutti!" He watched as a blonde-haired, blue-eyed child – such a perfect child – ran towards the woman. He saw the woman – his wife – embrace the child. And that child was his son – their son. The very thought squeezed without restriction at his heart.
How he wanted to run to the two of them. To embrace them, tell them how much he loved the two of them. How wonderful they made him feel and how happy they were going to be. They would be together – together forever – he'd tell them this. But – no, that would be a horrendous lie. He could not offer them forever.
He could not offer them even an hour.
Not any longer.
The two stared at him, both smiling widely, the woman gesturing for him to come to them. And the perfect child – oh, how perfect he was – started to frown as Ludwig continued to stare. "Vati," he called again, this time less enthusiastically than the last. The frown was something Ludwig had never wanted to see upon this perfect child's face. Against the voice telling him to stand firmly where he was, he took a step forward towards the woman and child.
And then the woman – his wife – screamed. The perfect child was in her arms. She was crying unashamedly, her hair wild and uncombed, eyes bloodshot from all the crying and several late nights. And Ludwig realized then what he had been trying to forget.
The perfect child was dead. His wife was crying because their perfect child was dead.
And it was his fault. He had told himself so many times – so very many times.
If only he'd been stronger.
The blame lied with him.
He desperately reached for the two, hoping that if he could hold them, then maybe the perfect child would be alive again and they could be happy together. And he would never wish to wake up again. But it was not to be. The woman with their dead child – that perfect child – suddenly disappeared along with the child. Ludwig realized, with regret, that he was no longer asleep when he opened his eyes to see the grinning face of his older brother smiling down at him. His instinct was to shout at the older man, but with what had just occurred in his sleep, he decided that he did not have the energy to do so.
"The awesome me managed to wake up before you today, bruder!" The proud Prussian declared loudly. Ludwig thought to himself that he would not be surprised if Switzerland was currently dialing his phone number to complain.
With a bedroom voice, sleepy and not yet fully intelligible, he replied, "You did not even go to sleep, bruder."
The Prussian's grin fell, "How do you know that, West?"
"I need to dress myself," Ludwig calmly stated, ignoring the question. It was obvious the man had not slept, seeing as he was currently wearing an un-buttoned shirt that was not his and had numerous lipstick marks on his face. He decided that he would "forget" to mention this to his headache-inducing brother. "I'll be done in a moment."
Gilbert stared at Ludwig, wondering why the younger man had yet to burst into one of his endless rants about Gilbert needing to act his age. Did he not see he was wearing someone else's shirt and had lipstick from several girls – girls whose names he didn't know – all over his face? He had purposely not corrected these flaws in his appearance to see the reaction of his dear little brother. His reactions were comedy gold.
Raising an eyebrow, Ludwig calmly pointed towards the door, addressing Gilbert once again, "I would prefer you leave while I dress, bruder."
Snapping out of the momentary puzzlement, Gilbert grinned again, chuckling at Ludwig, "You are embarrassed for the awesome me to see you naked? Don't worry, West, the awesome me will not judge you for your parts that are not as awesome as mine!" It was at this point that the Prussian was shoved out of the room by a now disgruntled Germany.
"This is so not awesome, West," were the last words from Gilbert before the door was abruptly slammed in his face.
With a sigh of relief that his brother was now out of the room, Germany headed to his closet to pick out a suitable outfit for the day, which for him usually meant a plain-colored button-up paired with nice brown or black slacks, a belt, a black blazer, and black dress shoes. Or his military outfit, if he was feeling particularly patriotic.
Today, however, he picked out a gray-striped t-shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans. Taking the clothing, he laid it out on the bed to put on after he had finished his morning bathroom routine.
It never took him longer than three minutes. He would enter the bathroom, close the door quietly behind himself out of habit, wash his face, rinse, dry, then brush his teeth, rinse, and lastly comb his hair, which required the use of quite a bit of gel, although he would never admit this. Turning off the light of the bathroom as he was walking out, he checked his watch. 8:33. He'd gone in at 8:30, meaning it took him exactly three minutes, per usual.
He quickly dressed himself, and then proceeded to check that he did not have the look of someone who had just seen a ghost, which is what his dream had made him feel like. There were indeed some noticeable bags underneath his eyes, but he could chalk that up to working late into the nights. When he looked at his eyes, however, he saw the look of a haunted man staring back at him. A haunted man; he mulled this phrase over. Perhaps that was what he was, a man haunted by his past.
And so is she, he thought. The wife in his dreams was definitely haunted as well. He was not alone with that feeling. She, who had laughed the loudest, loved the fiercest, and fallen the quickest, was, as far as Ludwig was concerned, the one and only love of his life. He doubted she felt the same way, maybe at one point in time, but not anymore. Not after their perfect life together was shattered.
He often thought of her; blue eyes that were constantly searching his, blonde hair swirling in all directions as a strong wind came through, the musical laugh that he could still hear reverberating through the walls of his home, and that smile that sent heat rising up his body. These thoughts – memories – were Ludwig's, not Germany's. As Germany, he was not supposed to think of her, he told himself this constantly. But Ludwig loved her so, and Germany was Ludwig, really, so why could Germany not love her too?
It was a constant internal war he had with himself. And he'd been dealing with it since the day she stormed into his life, just as abruptly as she'd left. She always said that she'd been the one to fall in love first and Ludwig was content to let her believe this, but secretly, he knew, it was he who was the first to fall head over heels for the most irritating woman in the world.
He wanted to see her, desperately. But Germany would not let him, for Germany had a duty to his people and Ludwig, compared to those people, was not important. The things Ludwig wanted were secondary to the things he needed to do for his people.
So he pushed her to the back of his mind – but this never works in the end – and opened the door of the bedroom to find his delinquent of a brother berating him for kicking his 'awesome' self out of the room. It was another day for Ludwig Beilschmidt. Another day in which Germany won and Ludwig lost, forever the loser in his internal game of tug of war.
So I see it as all countries have this whole I'm me, but I'm also the personification of a nation, meaning what is best for the people comes before anything for myself. Of course this includes love. It is actually rather sad if you think about it in that context. They already have to watch millions of humans die while they live on, and added to that, they aren't even allowed to truly experience life as we know it.
Kudos to whoever guesses who the girl (wife) that Ludwig loves is (And the perfect child).
Hope you enjoyed the story!