This is for my Poland (are you on FF?) in exchange for a Vampire!undercovercop!mafia!AU SuFin. I can't explain how excited I am for this. Oh, and excuse the utter fail/lack of history. Can you tell that I really suck at the actual research aspects of pretty much everything? Poland wanted Cold War Prussa x Russia angst, so here ya go!

The gray light of not-quite-morning promised more snow by the afternoon. Gilbert noted this, slipping an extra pair of leather gloves on top of those he was already wearing, telling himself that it was only due to the biting cold outside that he wanted them so badly. Not because of any sentimental value.

- cold, smooth, scented of oil, running across his chest, dancing across his lips, touch me touch me with your bare skin, unbind my wrists -

He wasn't sneaking out, per se. He was free to leave, now.

Not that he was afraid. Well, he was afraid, but that fear was not caused this flight. Fear had become a constant companion, a sweet poison flush against his blood. Fear was life. It let him know he was still breathing, even when he felt he rightfully should not be.

He pulled on his coat, sweeping crimson eyes across the cold kitchen one more time, and slipping fingertips across the iron doorknob. Warm steel trapped his wrist and he looked up into a face half-obscured by feathery white-blonde hair.

"You would not be sneaking away without saying good-bye?" The words were harsh and heavy with sleep, but the man's eyes… were empty. Sad.

Gilbert jerked his wrist away, realizing the other stood in only his boxers in the middle of the frozen kitchen.

"I'm free to go now, aren't I, Ivan?"

Ivan stared at his now-empty hand. He nodded, not speaking, so Gilbert's words surged forward to fill the gap, piling and tripping.

"They're tearing down the wall as we speak. Its over; my people are fucking free and I'm going to find them and celebrate with them and dance in the fucking streets!"

Ivan reached out again, grabbing his hand this time, much more gently. He stared at the leather gloves. Gilbert saw the spark of recognition, the burst of confusion and sadness as Ivan brought the hand to his lips and kissed its palm.

"And with me, you are not free, I know this. So go."

So Gilbert went, leaving him alone and naked in the cold, empty kitchen.

Not-so-long afterwards, he was at the top of a concrete wall, staring out over a city with sutures across its chest.

Free…

He reached down, helping a teenaged girl ascend the barrier, then an older man. They smiled with a fierce pride that matched his own, turning around and looking out over the city as if it were their first time seeing it.

His people…

Weren't they?

A sudden jolt coursed through him as he realized something great and terrible.

They no longer belong to me.

The knowledge was quick, was absolute, as permanent as his nation, as fleeting as his ownership of it. He had known it all along, of course, like he knew most else. Ever since he had been taken away from his brother on the night when the skies were read and black, he knew. When they were reunited, it would be time to let go.

"Bruder!"

Gilbert looked down, and there, on the other side of that cursed wall, was West, beaming up at him with a smile that he hadn't seen since the boy had been a child. Gilbert scrambled down from his perch and threw Ludwig into a bone-crushing hug.

"Damn, West, took you long enough to get your ass over here. Demolition has been goin on all day… you can finally see my… people. Aren't they pretty?"

Pain throbbed in the back of his head. The words were all wrong.

"Gilbert…" Ludwig murmured into his brother's shoulder. "I missed you."

"What, are you fucking crying, you pussy?" asked Gilbert, hearing the catch in Ludwig's voice. Gilbert was crying, too. Its wrong its wrong pounded against his chest.

"You're free…" was all Ludwig could say. But then his shoulders tensed, and he broke away from Gilbert's hug, icy eyes fixed somewhere else. "Scheisse…"

Gilbert turned, too, but he already knew what he would see.

Ivan stood on the Western side of the wall, leaning against it, eyes closed. Cold, grey wind whirled around him, through his hair and scarf, across his trench coat where, hands oddly bare, were shoved into his pockets. He looked as if he were praying, earnest need on his face, his lips moving rapidly.

Gilbert knew that he was already undone.

"Come, bruder, we should leave," Ludwig said, eyes shining with a strange kind of hate. Gilbert had never seen such a depth of blackness on his face. Oh how these hears have changed us all.

"Nein," was Gilbert's reply.

He didn't stop to gauge West's reaction, just turned smartly on his heel and marched towards Ivan. he felt Ludwig follow, some distance behind, but he did not stop, he walked faster, finally breaking into a run through these joyful strangers, strangers.

He came to a halt in front of Ivan. The larger man heard him; his lips moved faster, but his eyes did not open.

"Keep him safe, keep him safe…"

Gilbert slipped off his gloves, both pairs, dropping them on the cold ground and placing his hands on either side of Ivan's face. His eyes fluttered open. Too much hung there, too much.

"You keep me safe," Gilbert ordered.

Ivan lifted him in his arms and kissed him viciously. And Gilbert kissed him back. As always, he gave as good as he fucking got.

"Bruder…"

Gilbert broke the kiss, put his palms on Ivan's shoulders, feeling Ivan's lips drift to rest at his forehead instead. Gilbert leaned into them, not turning to look at Ludwig.

"Take my people, West. They don't belong to me anymore, anyway. Take care of them."

"Gilbert!"

But Gilbert was no longer listening, caught up in pain and anger and possession as the kiss resumed and his own walls crumbled.