{{ So I've had this story floating around in my head for a while and finally pulled enough of it together to start a historical drama series. This is just the prequel chapter, so it's short, giving a sense of what's to come. The actual storyline is based on the Cold War, but from Prussia(later East Germany)'s perspective. This is a series of plot-monkeys and headcanons that have been sifting and boiling in my head ever since I got back from taking a history class in Berlin. So I hope you can enjoy and appreciate it. Reviews would be wonderful and much loved, since this is my first fanfiction. And I hope to be putting up the first chapter soon. }}
"We did it!"
Gilbert nearly broke through the door of Ludwig's Reichstag office, slamming his hands onto the black wood desk and panting with both tense excitement and exhaustion. His eyes had a clear fire in their almost vibrant red, yet he looked as if he was almost in tears.
The look he received from his brother was less than ecstatic, it was a mix of a cold glare and an annoyed snarl. He pushed aside the papers in front of him and hung up the phone he had been holding to his ear.
"And what exactly would it be?"
"You haven't gotten the call yet? You should be getting it soon..." The Prussian braced himself, regaining proper composure and looking his brother dead in the eye, but still breathing heavily, shaking with so many emotions that he couldn't describe them.
"You mean this?" The younger German placed a black leather folder with a swastika indented into the front on his desk, along with a strip of paper, containing the soon to be famous, or infamous announcement. His expression didn't change, and this caused the Prussian's fire to waver.
"D-don't you get it?" he shivered slightly, "We're free!" His fists slammed back onto the desk, "He's dead and we're free! Any moment now, our group will have the Benderblock! You won't die now!" His voice shook with a fierce pride, a pride he hadn't felt in a long time, but also with the urgency with which he wanted, no needed, his brother to understand it.
"My life and my country were, and are, in no danger," Ludwig said, blankly, his expression still flawlessly straight and unchanged. The abruptness in his tone angered Gilbert, and he shook, trying to hold back the tears which threatened to spill from his still firm eyes.
"Lud..." he pleaded, "You...we...don't have to be this way anymore!" He pushed himself from the desk, tearing the medals from his uniform and ripping off his cuff title, throwing them with all his force into a nearby glass cabinet, shattering it.
At hearing the shards crack and fall Ludwig flinched, holding back his irritation. He looked back at his older brother with the exact same composed, and indifferent expression, speaking before the Prussian could get another word in, "I've already received a call. He's not dead."
"What?" Gilbert's breath ceased momentarily, his chest tight, not wanting to believe those last words.
"You do realise this is high treason, yes?"
The Prussian stood, trembling, tears finally falling, and tightly clench the chest of his now torn SS uniform.
"Fromm is already after your man, Stauffenberg," he continued, "The Fuhrer will be announcing his safety to the public soon. I don't know why you've been so stubborn, even after serving in the Panzer. After I stripped you of power I thought you'd learn your loyalties."
"L-loyalties?" he pulled his head up, forcing the strength back into his voice, "WHAT LOYALTIES? Not loyalties to your people, not loyalties to your army, don't you see, WE HAD HUNDREDS OF CONSPIRATORS! You're loyalties weren't towards any of them! Only to your 'beloved Fuhrer'," he sputtered with disgust, "To your fucking psychotic Furher! You want to tell me tha-!"
Before he could finish his sentence he felt his younger brother's hand slam into the side of his head and against his face, forcing the metallic taste of blood on the tip of his tongue, causing his ears to ring, and tossing him into the last remaining shards of glass in the wood case beside him.
"SHUT YOUR GODDAMNED MOUTH, TRAITOR!" Ludwig belted, his eyes piercing into the wet red ones on the floor below him, "You've lost! And you've insulted my country, MY Reich for the last time!"
The guards were quickly through the door at the sounds, jerking Gilbert up from the now bloody pile of glass and wood and forcing him to stand. There was a ring from the desk, which Ludwig answered, giving only a verbal confirmation before hanging up.
"Fromm says to bring him to the Benderblock," he told the men before turning back to the Prussian, "After your trial, I don't expect to see your face here again. One more step over your boundaries and I'll dissolve you officially. You hear me?"
Whatever happened afterwards was a blur in Gilbert's mind. He stared at the floor, his mind racing with everything that had happened today, from the plane, to his eastern lands, to the wolf's lair, the blast...yes...there was a blast. He saw it. Stauffenberg saw it. The bomb went off that time, so why didn't it work?
I saw it. I saw it. I saw it. I saw it. I saw it. I saw it.I saw it. I saw it. I saw it. I saw it. I saw it.
Somewhere outside of his thoughts he had been brought to the courtyard of the Benderblock, and was pulled to consciousness by the sound of gunfire, jerking his head up from the floor.
"I SAW IT!" he looked, not realizing it at first, straight to Stauffenberg, a noble of his blood, his hero in this new hell called a "Third Reich", the last hero he would ever know. His voice wavered, never breaking his eyes from those of his last hope, "W-why didn't we save my people?"
He heard a voice, a cry, but no words, the last thing he saw was the bullets hitting the wall, and Stauffenberg falling to the floor, completely lifeless. At that moment, the last of the Prussian's hope fell with him.