AN: Edited slightly on 17.12.12 - basically, I just changed 'Opa' to 'Großvater' (pronounced grossvater) - they both mean Grandfather, but Ludwig wouldn't use Opa, I've been told.

Translation notes:

Schnauze = shut up

Es tut mir leid = I'm sorry

Ein Wahrer Held. = A True Hero

Auf Wiedersehen = goodbye / until we meet again

Mein Bruder = My Brother

PS - Sorry for making England an asshole :(

Ludwig was sick of it. Everyday, they taunted him, ridiculed him. And for what? Ludwig's guess was just for existing - maybe it was because he didn't live up to his appearance, or beat anyone with his strength. Maybe it was purely because he didn't fight back, though he easily could do, and it made them feel strong. Cowards.

This time, it was after the last bell had gone. Ludwig had left later than usual, so most of the other students had already left. The German's bag was slung over his shoulder, bulging a little more than usual, his expression determined.
He was almost at the rusting gates, when his bag was snatched away from behind, making him stumble backwards. He glared at the other blonde boy, who smirked at him evilly. The others didn't seem to be with him today, but that didn't make it any better.
"What? You're just gonna let me go through your bag? I tell you what, Kraut, you really are a bloody push-over."
Ludwig gritted his teeth, and made to snatch the bag away. "Schnauze, Kirkland!"
But the infuriating Briton just jerked the bag out of Ludwig's grasp, and turned it upside down, letting its contents fall onto the concrete. Well, thought Ludwig, at least nothing breakable was in there.
However, Ludwig still felt his cheeks heating up as a small bunch of cornflowers fell from his bag. Arthur stared at them for a moment, before laughing loudly.
"Seriously?! You carry flowers around with you? Ha! How utterly gay can you be?" He kicked them towards the distraught German, who bent to pick them up before the white petals got soiled any further, his face flushed. "Well?" Snapped Kirkland. "They for your boyfriend or something."
Ludwig didn't reply. He just finished picking up as many flowers as he could, before snatching his bag back roughly. He didn't care about his books or pens, they weren't important.
"They're for my bruder," he muttered, turning away. He heard the Brit snickering behind him.
"That's disgusting, you know? I didn't think you'd actually get that desperate, Kraut!"
Ludwig ignored him as best as he could, though his hands were balled into fists, and he was shaking with fury.
He wasn't much calmer after the five minutes it took him to get to his destination, but he took a deep breath. He didn't want to be angry today, that damn Brit wasn't worth it.
He took the cornflowers out of his bag and looked down at them as he walked through the yard. He'd chosen cornflowers, as they were usually associated with Prussia - not that his brother would probably even appreciate that, but it didn't matter. Ludwig had only chosen white ones, as they had reminded him of his brother, with his pure white, ruffled hair and almost bloodless skin.
He reached where his brother always waited for him, the grief hanging over him like a storm cloud, before dropping his bag and setting the flowers down carefully.
"Again, Bruder?" His voice was quiet, and he looked over the medium-sized grey stone. This was the third time someone had graffitied a swastika on it and scrawled something along the lines of 'NAZI FAG' over the name in red paint. He wouldn't be able to afford to get it removed for a while now.
Ludwig sat on the grass in front of the grave stone, and laid out the flowers. "I know you never cared for things like this, Bruder, but I thought I'd bring them anyway. Seeing as it's your birthday and all." He bit his lip, his sky-blue eyes stinging - not a day went by that he didn't miss Gilbert so much he wished he could also be dead. He wished that bullet had gone through his head instead.
He hugged his knees to his chest, and just stared at the grave.
GILBERT WEILLSCHMIDT
1985-2003
Ein Wahrer Held.
"I miss you, Gil," he whispered to the stone, as though his brother could hear him. His voice was husky as he tried not to let the sorrow in the pit of his stomach show "Remember how you wanted a huge party for your 18th? With a cake bigger than you, and everyone you knew there?" He chuckled quietly as he remembered Gilbert telling him his plans, when he was fourteen and Gil was sixteen. "Großvater was even going to get you that car you wanted." He paused, closing his eyes to the tears that threatened to roll down his cheeks. The breeze ruffled his neatly combed blonde hair. "It's not the same without you around, Bruder," he continued, so quiet that he was unsure if Gil would even hear him. "Großvater doesn't smile anymore - not properly, anyway. And he doesn't talk about you. He never cried, you know - not even at the-" Ludwig broke off for a moment, and swallowed, trying to dispel the lump in his throat. "The funeral. I think he's just scared. He doesn't want anyone to see him fall apart."
He ran a hand through his hair then, brushing it out of his eyes, and stared at the ground. He didn't know how many minutes passed, but he didn't care.

He had been coming to the graveyard everyday for about six months now. In the week, he would go straight after school, and on weekends, he would usually spend the whole day there - after all, he had nothing else to do. Sometimes he would sit and talk, tell Gilbert about his day, how everyone was doing, if anything weird had happened on the news or any interesting things he'd heard. Sometimes he would simply sit in front of the grave silently, thinking things over until it got dark, when he would say "auf wiedersehen, Bruder" and walk home, dragging his feet.
Ever since Gilbert had died, the Weillschmidt household had become grey and silent. It was only Ludwig and his grandpa now, and neither of them were the sort to start a conversation. Whenever his grandpa tried, Ludwig would just shrug and look away.
His grandpa was not the only person Ludwig hardly spoke to, though. Ever since the funeral, which had been kept as low-key as possible, Ludwig hadn't spoken to, or even seen Roderich Edelstein, Gilbert's snobby Austrian boyfriend of two years before he'd died, or Elizavita Hedervary, one of Gilbert's 'friends' - they swore they hated each other, but Ludwig was sure that was never the case.

He could see Gilbert clearly in his mind's eye - the pale German would lean, carefree, against the stone, grinning at his little brother. He'd tell him to stop being so soft, and something about how this was why he didn't have a girlfriend. Then he'd clap Ludwig on the back, and ruffle his hair like he was a little kid again, just to wind him up.
Ludwig's gut clenched painfully as the tears finally overflowed. He wanted to scream, to punch a tree, to shake his damn brother and yell at him for leaving him, but all he did was bury his head in his hands.
"Es tut mir leid, bruder," he mumbled, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."