Request for angel-of-awesome (WHO IS EXTREMELY AWESOME)
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia *pouts*
Gilbert and Ludwig Beillschmidt were sitting by the lake at the local park when it started. It was sunset and they were skipping stones together, Gilbert trying to teach his kid brother how to do it. After their father was killed in an accident at work, Gilbert had become sort of a father figure to Ludwig, who was twelve years old in comparison to Gilbert's twenty-one.
"You have to pick a flat one, and you have to level your wrist and flick it fast on the surface of the water." He handed an appropriate rock to Ludwig, whose eyes were shining with excitement. The blonde boy threw the stone like a Frisbee, and it skipped twice before sinking below the surface. He cheered.
"Ja! Ich tat es! I did it!" Gilbert chuckled.
"Ja, you did. Gute, gute." Gilbert picked up another rock and held it out to Ludwig. "Want to try for more?" Ludwig had just taken the rock from his hand when the first scream rang out.
"Stoppen! Why are you doing this?" Gilbert leapt to his feet and Ludwig followed after, but Gilbert held out a hand to stop him.
"Wait here. I'm going to go find out what's happening." He ran off without waiting for a response. Ludwig huffed and rolled his eyes.
'Like hell.' He picked up a handful of rocks and chased after his brother; they were heading towards the center of town, where there was a pillar of smoke rising from one of the buildings there. On closer inspection, it was the Jewish synagogue burning, the windows broken by bricks and the walls crumbling as men worked at it with sledge hammers.
"Scheiβe," Gilbert breathed. People were crowding the streets, some cheering, some running in panic. Men held bricks and torches and bats, and Jewish-owned buildings and businesses were being destroyed more quickly than he ever thought to be possible. Shards of glass littered the streets, making them glitter with morbid beauty. His first instinct was to go find Ludwig, but as he turned to run back to the lake, he saw his little brother had followed him here to see what was going on. He was currently throwing rocks at one man holding a brick, trying to get him to stop smashing the windows of a clothing store.
"Why are you doing this to them? They never hurt you!" He was screaming, tears of frustration streaming down his face. The man turned around and growled at him, not caring that he was merely a boy.
"Don't you know anything, Gör? Ernst vom Rath was murdered by a Jew! It's a conspiracy!"
"Just because one of them is bad doesn't mean they all are!" Ludwig continued to protest, but the man was having none of it.
"Get out of my way!" He raised the brick in his hand as if to bash Ludwig's head with it- anything to make him stop talking- but Gilbert gripped his wrist before he could lower it again.
"You really shouldn't threaten mein bruder like that." Gilbert gave the guy a good right hook with his free hand, sending him sprawling to the ground and ending the fight in one hit as the fall knocked him unconscious. Gilbert turned to Ludwig. "Are you all right?" Ludwig's eyes widened.
"Gil!" he squeaked. Gilbert straightened and turned to face whatever had scared his little brother like that, only to come face to face with a group of four mean probably a bit younger than him. They were all significantly bulkier in build than he was and carrying bats or hammers. Each of them had a matching scowl on his face.
"What do you want?"
"You didn't have to beat on Moritz like that. Now it's our turn." Gilbert's countenance hardened into a frown.
"Ludwig, I want you to run home now." He didn't turn around to give the order.
"No!"
"Ludwig, go home." Ludwig took a few steps back, but then hesitated. Gilbert, satisfied that he was leaving, continued talking. "He was being unnecessarily violent towards my brother. I won't tolerate that from anyone; the kid's only twelve, so he doesn't know any better."
"I don't care why you did it; the point is, Moritz is lying on the ground unconscious and you're the one who did it." Gilbert sighed, his frown deepening into a scowl.
"So it's just a fight you're looking for- typical teenagers' bullshit. Four on one doesn't sound very fair." All four of them laughed.
"Do you think we care about whether or not it's fair?" One of them stepped forward and threw a punch before Gilbert could react, leaving blood dripping down his temple from a ring on the kid's hand. Gilbert growled and lunged at him, but two of the others dropped their weapons and grabbed his arms, effectively restraining him despite his struggles to break free. Another of them swung a bat at his stomach, a loud crack and Gilbert's cry of pain mingling with the screams of Jewish people and the shattering of glass on the streets. The four laughed in chorus again, but they were cut off by Ludwig running back to his brother's rescue.
"Stop! Leave my brother alone!" One of them grabbed Ludwig by the back of his collar and sneered. Before he could do anything further, however, an SS officer walked up and took Ludwig from him. Gilbert's struggles didn't abate, his concern for his brother's safety winning out over concern for the outcome of the fight.
"Hey, he's just a kid-"
"You're right," the officer interrupted. "He is just a kid. He should not be involved in such violence." After a pointed look from the officer, the group dispersed, letting Gilbert fall to the ground. He staggered to his feet, cradling his left side carefully to try to avoid jarring the wound he'd received. He was certain something was broken, as even breathing seemed to aggravate it. "What're you doing over here? You should run along home now." The officer rested a hand on Ludwig's shoulder. "Or are you doing something for your Hitler Youth lessons?" Gilbert growled and took an aggressive step towards the man.
"Don't go getting him mixed up in your-" Gilbert never got to finish his sentence as a shot rang out and pain tore through the right side of his chest, stemming from a point in his back a spreading quickly. He stumbled but did not fall.
"Bruder!" Another shot rang out, and this time the pain came from the left side, and this time Gilbert did fall. On his knees, he was just a bit shorter than Ludwig, who broke away from the SS officer to run to his side. "Nein, Bruder, this can't be happening… Stand up! You have to stand up!" Everything felt fuzzy around the edges to Gilbert. It was hard to breathe around the pain in his chest and back. He looked down at himself and saw streaks of red decorating the front of his shirt, dripping down his torso from two exit wounds- he'd been shot.
"Es tut mir leid, Bruder. I'm sorry, but I don't think I can get up again. You should go home to Mutti. She'll be missing you." Ludwig began to cry. How Gilbert longed to reach up and wipe away those tears- but it seemed his arms weren't working any longer.
"She'll be missing you! You have to come home with me! All you have to do is get up; come on!" Gilbert sighed, managing to keep a few tears from spilling out of his own eyes. He scoffed internally; crying in front of his little brother would definitely not be awesome. He hadn't cried since their father's death and he wasn't about to start now. He'd cry over his own dead body. "I'm not going to leave you!" Gilbert let out a sigh and fell forwards, leaning against a crumbling wall in order to remain in a sitting position.
"You should," Gilbert insisted. Ludwig didn't budge; he just sat there and cried. If he didn't move soon, someone was going to come around and start bothering him for being weak. "Hey, hey, don't cry."
"Reverse our positions and I'd like to see you try!" Gilbert closed his eyes and sucked in a rattling breath.
"Ja, I get what you're saying. But you shouldn't cry out in the open like this. If you're going to stay, you need something else to focus on." He paused, feeling the blood dripping down his back. He wondered whether or not he should voice the un-awesome thought he'd just had; it might make Ludwig feel better for now. "Sing me a lullaby?" Ludwig perked up; he enjoyed singing, but his brother had never specifically asked him to before. He tried not to focus on the fact that it would be the only time his brother could ever ask him.
"Which one?" Gilbert's eyes were started to slide closed. His brain felt fuzzy, and he couldn't think of the name of the song he had in mind. Instead, he just started singing it.
"Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf. Der Vater hüt't die Schaf." [Sleep, baby, sleep. Your father tends the sheep.] Gilbert ran out of breath, but Ludwig took hold of his hand and picked up the song from there.
"Die Mutter schüttelt's Bäumelein, Da fällt herab ein Träumelein. Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf! Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf. Am Himmel ziehn die Schaf. Die Sternlein sind die Lämmerlein, Der Mond, der ist das Schäferlein. Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf!" [Your mother shakes the branches small, Lovely dreams in showers fall. Sleep, baby, sleep. Sleep, baby, sleep. Across the heavens move the sheep. The little stars are lambs, I guess, And the moon is the shepherdess. Sleep, baby, sleep.] Tears continued to drip down Ludwig's cheeks, but he held them back before they could become sobs as he sang. He wanted to finish the song for his brother, even as his brother's breaths began to slow. He pretended not to notice the hand in his grow slack as Gilbert's breathing finally came to a stop, determined to finish the song and knowing he wouldn't be able to once he acknowledged this loss.
Gilbert, though, was standing right in front of him, blood still coursing down his back, but now running black instead of red. He knew somehow that no one could see him, that he was dead. He'd left his brother behind.
"Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf. So schenk' ich dir ein Schaf. Mit einer goldnen Schelle fein, Das soll dein Spielgeselle sein." [Sleep, baby, sleep. I'll give to you a sheep. And it shall have a bell of gold For you to play with and to hold.] As Ludwig sang the final verse of the song, Gilbert felt the blood on his back tingling, then stinging as if a limb of his had fallen asleep. Finally, it burned, and he found it hard to focus on his brother's voice through the sharp pains- but when they stopped, he knew that something had changed. There was an awareness of something behind him that he hadn't felt before, and when he reached a hand back, it was met with what felt like a wall of feathers. He stared at his reflection in what was left of the shop window across the street and gaped. Stretching out from the gunshot wounds behind him were two great feathered wings; they were the kind one might expect for an angel to have, but they were jet black, the color of night.
"Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf." [Sleep, baby, sleep.] Ludwig finally broke down into sobs over Gilbert's body as he reached the end of the song, and Gilbert made himself stay even though it pained him to watch his brother cry. Even if his brother didn't know he was there, Gilbert would make sure to watch over him; he wanted to be with Ludwig through all of the important milestones in his life, just as if he was alive.
Except he wasn't. Gilbert Beillschmidt would never be alive again. The proof was in the spectacle his brother made by screaming in agony over his corpse until he was hauled away by the authorities. The proof was in the way Ludwig passed right through him as he was dragged down the sidewalk by a pair of police officers demanding to know where his mother was. The proof was in the pair of blackened wings on his back.
The proof was in the tears falling from Gilbert's eyes.