Breathe
A/N: Hey, I got an idea…
two years prior
It was over.
The Third Reich had surrendered.
The two nations still in the underground bunker could hear the muffled sounds of bombs falling, destroying their beautiful city. The older of the two sighed, getting up again and beginning to pace around the small room. The younger one stayed where he was—kneeling on the floor, as he had been for a while (how long has it been? his brother wondered idly), his blue eyes downcast.
Gilbert sighed again, looking towards the east. He saw the Brandenburg Gate in his mind, remembering what it was like to have been the greatest empire in Europe. No doubt that damned Russia has torn the gate down already, he thought angrily. They think they can break us so easily...
The Allied Powers suddenly burst into the room, their guns held ready. However, seeing no thought of resistance from the two brothers, they tucked the weapons carefully away. Arthur yanked Ludwig roughly to his feet—he complied without resistance. Ivan, on the other hand, was having much less luck with Gilbert, who was still fighting back with all his strength.
A sickening crack echoed through the small room as Ivan twisted Gilbert's arms behind his back in an effort to get a stronger hold on him. The silver-haired nation stumbled and nearly fell, the color draining from his face as his breathing turned ragged for a minute and then evened out.
A spark of anger flared in Ludwig's eyes, and he struggled against Arthur's grip. Weakened by the war and the bombings, Arthur couldn't hold Ludwig back. Alfred was quicker and stronger though. He leapt quickly, knocking Ludwig sideways, and slapped him, hard, across the face. Ludwig staggered back, allowing Arthur to take hold of him again.
Gilbert stopped struggling when he saw the red mark darkening on his brother's cheek. His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Ivan prodded him towards the door, the others following.
The sunlight seemed excessively bright to the German brothers after at least a day underground. Francis produced a couple pieces of black cloth that could be used as blindfolds, using the excuse that Ludwig and Gilbert weren't supposed to know where they were going. The rest of the Allies agreed, with varying levels of reluctance.
At the end of their short walk, Alfred removed the blindfolds, revealing an unfamiliar, empty room. After sending the other Allies away, he took out the bandages and antiseptic he had hidden under his jacket and began treating their injuries.
"You don't have to do this, you know," Ludwig whispered hoarsely. He coughed before continuing. "Will you get in trouble for this?"
Alfred shrugged nonchalantly. "I can probably get away with it," he said, half-smiling. Gilbert winced as the American tied the bandage tightly around his broken arm, making a makeshift sling. "Sorry," he apologized softly. "I'm just doing what I can for you and your brother," he murmured to Ludwig. "Russia's pretty much out to get you two. What the heck did you do to make him so eternally angry?"
Germany forces the memories out of his mind. The Allies begin to discuss a treaty outlining the usual: war reparations and such. Outwardly, Germany shows no response when Russia proposes that the country of Prussia be abolished, nor when the rest of the Allies agree. Inside his mind, though, Ludwig screams.
Gilbert is at home alone he doesn't know oh Gott bitte helfen mir bitte helfen uns runs through his mind over and over. Oh God please help me please help us… Ludwig doesn't really expect help. He's lost faith in God over the years—no one he knows still truly believes. Not even Gilbert, whose first country was founded to protect the Roman Catholic Church.*
Amazingly, the Allies manage to draft a treaty that everyone agrees on. America—Alfred, the youngest, the liveliest, but still most powerful—signs first, followed by Russia, the second-oldest and second-most powerful, smirking triumphantly. Then come England and France, for once not bickering as Francis graciously allows Arthur to sign before him.
China, wearied by war and age, slowly makes his way to the top of the table. As he picks up the pen, he seems to hesitate and glances towards Germany. He is the first one who asks permission—Germany can see it in those pure golden eyes. It's a nice sentiment, but it won't matter in the long run. Ludwig closes his eyes and turns away.
Silence settles in the room after China takes his seat again. Then America speaks, low and soft.
"Germany."
The name drops like a lead weight even in the heavy silence. Ludwig suddenly feels like he can't breathe; the atmosphere in the meeting room is suffocating him. Mechanically, he rises from his chair and walks to the top of the table. Before he signs, he glances around the room one more time. Time seems to spin to a stop.
China, wise, raven-haired Yao, is looking everywhere but at Ludwig. Germany remembers their brief affair in 1897,* the feel of silky-black hair brushing against his skin, of soft lips meeting his own. It had been the first time for both of them.
France, light, flirty Francis, is surprisingly solemn. His eyes, blue as the sea, meet Germany's and Ludwig can read the guilt and sadness in them. Ludwig remembers that Francis had been one of Gilbert's earliest friends.
England, cynical, temperamental Arthur, is still bitter as ever. A trace of anger remains, underlying his expression like stone, but then his eyes flick up to meet Germany's for an instant. Ludwig recognizes regret in those emerald eyes.
Russia, childish, cruel Ivan, is still smiling in triumph, amethyst eyes bright. Gilbert had always been one of his worst enemies, and he relishes the revenge he is now getting. Ludwig feels his jaw clenching in response, hiding the anger he shouldn't show.
America, young, lively Alfred, is quiet for once, sapphire eyes anxious. He doesn't realize yet the full impact the terms of the treaty will make. He can sense that something isn't quite right, though, and fidgets uncomfortably.
Time rushes back to its normal pace as Germany directs his attention back to the papers in front of him. His hand shakes violently as it grasps the pen. With effort, Germany stills the nervous movement, and begins to sign his name.
Ge—
The instant the pen touches the paper, a jolt of burning pain rips through his chest, near his heart. Gilbert cries out in Ludwig's mind—he feels the pain as well. Germany grits his teeth and tries not to collapse as he forms the next two letters.
rm—
Gilbert is gasping for breath now, trying not to cry out in pain as his ribs snap, one by one. Ludwig blinks back the tears forming in his eyes—Do not ever show weakness in front of your enemies, whispers the Gilbert of his past—and keeps writing.
an—
Westen, please, begs Gilbert breathlessly, desperately. Stop— His words are cut off by his scream as his hipbones shatter, left then right. Ludwig draws in a shaky breath, and finishes signing his name.
y
The pen clatters loudly to the table as Germany collapses, from both Gilbert's agony flooding his mind and the pain burning his own chest. America, the closest one, leaps to catch him as he falls to the ground, unconscious.
Ludwig recovers within a few moments. Though he still feels a little lightheaded as he stands, no one moves to stop him as he hurries out of the room.
.:.
Gilbert is sprawled on the floor, motionless, his ruby eyes closed. The carpet under him is stained dark crimson with his life-blood. Ludwig falls to his knees by the still figure. "Osten," he whispers, his voice strained. "East..."
Prussia stirs slightly, his shallow gasps for breath wrenching Ludwig's heart. His head falls limply to the side, his eyelids fluttering as he struggles to open his eyes. "Westen...ich liebe dich," he finally forces out. West...I love you.
Ludwig shakes his head in desperate denial. "No...hold on, please, bruder," he begs of his older brother. Gilbert's words hold too strong a sense of farewell, of finality. "You cannot die," he presses on when Gilbert gives no response. "You are nation-kind...unsterblich, bruder."
Gilbert chuckles weakly, his eyes sad, but filled with affection for his brother. "Unsterblich?" he rasps out. "Nein, bruder. Ich bin unsterblich nicht."
Immortal? No, brother. I am not immortal.
Ludwig feels tears begin to pool in his eyes—eyes like the sea, China had once told him. "China said once...nations are immortal," he whispers. China had said more than that, but Ludwig had thought Gilbert did not know.
Gilbert shakily raises a hand to touch his beloved brother's cheek. "Ja...unless their capital, their heart, is destroyed...or they lose the will to stay on this earth until the ends of time." His hand falls back to his side. "My time is long since past, kleiner bruder, little brother. I know you have given up much for me, and I thank you. But I am no longer the Prussia I was when I found you. All these years...my power, my will to stay immortal, has been leaving me. I would rather pass in peace, knowing you are safe, than fall in bloodied battle, knowing that I was too late to save you."
Tears slip down Ludwig's face. "As...as you wish, mein lieber bruder." My beloved brother. Gilbert coughs weakly, a rivulet of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He raises his hand slightly to touch his heart, then lays his hand over Ludwig's heart. Germany can feel himself, his country, growing stronger as Prussia gives up the last of his strength.
But when Gilbert's eyes slide shut for the last time, Ludwig feels more alone than he has ever felt. "Für dich, bruder," he whispers shakily. For you.
Breathe...
A/N: I fail so epicly...I actually wrote this about a year ago. -.-
Notes:
1) My headcanon says that Gilbert's first country was the Monastic State of the Teutonic Knights (aka Teutonic Order). It was founded by the church and for the church.
2) In 1897, China ceded the peninsula of Shandong to Germany. That began a period of cooperation/friendship that lasted until the 1940s.
Anyway, review please if you have time!