WARNING: Dark themes, slight Germancest, do NOT read if you'll get offended or whatever...
He ran a finger over the scars trailing down his skin, creating uncertain patterns within his arm.
Raising the razor-thin blade, he comtemplated for a few seconds, before letting the metal crash down onto the soft, pale flesh, before pushing and sliding the knife.
Crimson blood formed through the newly formed gash, and he gasped in painful relief. He could feel something, and it felt fucking amazing.
The alcohol in his system flowed around his body, heating up his thoughts, swirling up his actions.
He was always so ignored, the Kingdom of Prussia was no more, and what? Everyone left him? It really wasn't his fault he had a drink every now and then, right?
More like 30 a day. He thought bitterly.
Heh, it wasn't HIS fault that acting out got him nowhere. Harrassing other nations until they were forced to tell his bruder. Of course, what would West do? Nothing. A little scolding, and he'd leave it.
He was pretty sure even his best friend, Hungary had given up on him, since she barely called, or even dropped by anymore.
Even his best friends, Spain and France had stopped calling him to go out drinking, they were either too busy drinking with others or cared too little to bother.
And then, to make it even worse, his bruder, the one he cared for the most in the world, the one he raised and took in as if his own child, barely spoke a word to him. He was lucky if he even got a 'guten morgen' from him anymore. Instead, West was always too busy with Italy or paperwork.
He just longed to be loved again. That'd make him feel useful to someone out there, but alas, he was not. Everyone saw him as a burden, instead of being the strong nation of Prussia, he was just the rebellious, ignored swine that everyone shook off.
He'd even heard conversations from America, and the other superpowers, claiming he shouldn't even be alive anymore, because he wasn't a nation.
Well, He thought, I may as well grant their wish.
He reached for the beer bottle and took a swig, before throwing it across the room, creating a loud smash.
Glass shattered a flew in all directions across the tiny bathroom, some hitting his skin. His eyes burned with tears threatening to flow, but he held them back. Tears were weak.
Closing his eyes, he allowed the blood to trickle down his arm some more, before holding it out again, turning his arm over, slashing, tearing, mutilating his skin, letting the blood fly, crawl and slither down his skin.
He dropped his blade, it let out a clang as it hit the tiled floor.
He opened his eyes, staring at his arm. He had done what? About 10 gashes? He wasn't sure anymore, as his vision started to blur.
"BRUDER! BRUDER!"
And he realized, he realized that there was always someone there for him all again.
The door forced itself open, and Gilbert turned his head, glossy-eyed and light-headed.
Ludwig quickly caught Gilbert before he fell, with tears in his eyes, "Y-You... Bruder... How could you do this?"
Gilbert smiled faintly. By now, the tears were dripping off his face, "I wanted to feel something... L-Lud, I'm so cold, empty, and ignored... Nobody knows who I am. Prussia doesn't exist anymore."
Ludwig pulled his older brother close to him, feeling immediate guilt. Surely this was my fault, I should of been there for him instead of working 24/7 and helping out Italy...
"I-It's okay Gil, I'm here. Your bruder is here." He kissed the top of his forehead, like a parent would do to their child, and he carried Gilbert downstairs, reaching for the phone, and calling an ambulance.
The wait was long, and horrible, and before Ludwig knew it, Gilbert was unconscious in his arms. This was the first time Ludwig had cried in a long time, of course, he was too embarrassed to even show himself, so he hid his face in Gilbert's shirt.
How had it gotten to this? Had he really ignored his own bruder so much that it drove him to suicide?
Sure, he understood that none of the other nations really acknowledged his existance anymore, but... was he doing that himself?
Was he to blame if his bruder died right now? Was it his fault?
It was so overwhelming, here he sat, with the hero of his life dying in his arms. Everyone acted like Prussia was so invincible because he survived his nation going out of existance, but, was he?
The Cold War fucked with his mentality enough as it was, considering Gilbert had been abused by the Soviet rule so much, when the wall came down, it was one of Ludwig's happiest days, but... what happened after that?
It was only a couple of years before he started drinking heavily, and after that, Gilbert was never the same. Ludwig tried his best to help, but they'd just constantly argue.
He supposed he gave up too easily, he was weak. He should of been there to be Gilbert's hero for once in his life, but he never was. This was no excuse. Sure, he was here trying to save his life, but how does it make him a hero when he knows he's the cause of his own bruder's loneliness?
He wasn't sure anymore. He just wanted him to be safe, to live, to survive, Gilbert didn't deserve to die such a cruel death that was self-inflicted, he deserves to live, and be happy!
There was a loud knocking at the door, and Ludwig picked Gilbert up, going to the door, to find a stretcher. He lay him down on the stretcher and looked the paramedic in the eyes, "Please do your best to make sure he doesn't die on me."
The paramedic nodded, slightly scared by the stern look in Ludwig's eyes, and they carried Gilbert into the ambulance. Ludwig got on with him, and the ambulance drove off.
Ludwig waited patiently, not taking his eyes off his brother's peaceful face.
"Please, just be okay." He said aloud to no one in particular, "I'm sorry for ignoring you, and taking advantage of the fact you were still alive. I should of cherished that fact, not ignored it and left you on your own. I'm so sorry bruder. I hope you can forgive me one day..."
He leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips, "Ich liebe dich, bruder. Forever."
Okay, this fanfic is pretty dark from my usual stuff, idk, I just wanted to write something Germancesty but also angsty. I love the dark themes of Hetalia, and I really do feel sorry for Gilbert sometimes, so I HAD to write this.
R&R, no flames, blah blah, you get the picture.