Companion fic to Last Entry. Enjoy, Please Review.
Date: November 10th 1989
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Ludwig didn't know.
No one knew.
They had celebrated, cheered, and let loose when they heard that the Berlin Wall was coming down. They had fought so hard, so relentlessly, to get that damned wall down. The wall covered in graffiti, and reverberated the pain of restriction and separation. The wall was the obstacle in his way and he wanted to burn it do the ground. He wanted to kill it, give it life, and kill it again in the most inhumane way possible. He despised that wall.
Almost as much as he despised the one that had erected the wall.
Russia.
Sure, he had done horrible things in his past, the German knew he was no saint. He was tainted and ruined, but no one else warranted for the treatment and way Russia took his occupied regions after World War II. He had taken a lot, and Ludwig was surprised the other Allied Powers: America, France, and England let him get away with it. He could see how China wouldn't care, because his spoils were more in Japan's conquered lands, but it was wrong in any perspective.
He deserved all the punishment he received when he lost the war. His leader was insane, demonic in approach, and militaristic beyond reason. He was out of his mind, but Ludwig hadn't realized how warped he had become until it was too late.
Perhaps in his own ways, Adolf truly believed he was doing good in the world. He would unite all people and they would all be happy. It would just take some hard battles to do so, but the Good would outweigh the Bad, Right? Ludwig had believed that too once. Until he realized the other intents of which he and his friends were being used.
He can't stand to look at ovens anymore.
Not even a fireplace.
He sold his old house because it had one.
Though he believed -and still does to this day- that he deserved his punishments(mostly) for all the damage and tragedy he had caused, it was him alone that deserved them.
Japan didn't deserve to get decimated by bombs.
Italy didn't deserve the guilt and pressure when he had turned against him(all though that had been a horrible blow to the heart for Ludwig personally).
Hungary and Austria didn't deserve to get hurt so badly.
but most of all..
Gilbert didn't deserve to be taken away.
The day the Allies had come to him telling him of what one of them would occupy where they had all looked grim, except for Russia. Russia was teeming with happiness. Sick, twisted, bliss. It had tied Their stomachs in knots just being in the same room as him.
He remembers it clearly, when his brother was taken.
England had just finished explaining where he would be working within, the only one left to speak was Russia. He had stepped up and shaken Germany's hand gleefully. He got right down to business. All through the talk Gilbert had been horribly quiet and though war had worn him down, it was bothering Ludwig. Ivan had noticed too, he simply smiled at the fact.
"I will be occupying mostly in your Eastern half. I will be pretty precise, and I have my own claim in Berlin as well."
East.
He almost felt his heart stop beating.
He barley heard the part about Berlin, he didn't need to hear anymore. He was occupying the East.
He turned behind him. Gilbert was staring at him with the most out of place emotion in his red eyes. Fear. His pompous, asshole, drunk of a war maniac, brother.
Afraid.
"I would like to start doing my work as soon as possible, so I will have to take him now. I have a plane to catch soon too." Ivan admitted, all the while grinning. He walked over to Gilbert and latched onto his wrist. Ludwig had seen his brother visibly seize up.
"Come Gilbert. You and I need to return home." Russia began to drag him out the door, that's when he broke.
"Get off me! I'm staying here! N-No, I HAVE TO BE WITH MY BRUDER! NO! IM TOO AWESOME FOR THIS!" He started shouting and squirming in Ivan's grasp. From being so reduced he was in no condition to fight off Ivan, and Ludwig was in to place to rip the bastard's grip from his brother. He watched him go with an empty expression. America looked like he was seething and upset at the same time. France simply refused to look. England looked guilty, and China tried to feign indifference. He could hear his hoarse cries all the way outside the building.
"WEEESTT!"
He wished he could have stopped it. He wished he could have kept his brother with him. It wasn't fair, the war was his responsibility, he had simply supported him because they were brothers. Gilbert always supported Ludwig. The same couldn't always be said for Ludwig, but he helped his brother too. They were close,
and Russia ripped them apart.
He severed them completely when he built the Berlin Wall.
It was painful in all ways possible.
He let no contact to Gilbert, and Ludwig never knew exactly how his brother was, only some things here and there in drifting words. It bothered him, not knowing. He had began to thrive as best he could in his alliances with France, England, and America, but he never heard of any good news for the East. He heard of right conditions, taxing, and poverty. Even those on his side were anxious about the wall, some worked over in the Eastern half of Berlin, some had family over there. They didn't like the wall at all. No one did.
After people had begun to find loop-holes in the system, they had fled from East Germany left and right through Hungary, Austria, and plenty of other Germanic surrounding countries. He knew that couldn't bode well for Prussia's strength, and he hoped not to many people would flee.
All the while not knowing about his brother, he and his friends constantly hassled Russia about it. At first Russia paid it no mind and continued to grow and prosper in his entirety in the USSR, but after a long time he had begun to waver. More advances were brought to him about the Wall and about giving East Germany back to Ludwig and reuniting the land into one whole country of Germany.
In his efforts Ludwig had been hell bent on getting his brother back. He wanted to hear his harsh yet ever proud voice wrack around in his eardrums again. When word had finally come that Russia would return claim of East Germany he had been elated. He wanted to throw a fucking party and shout at the top of his lungs.
But he didn't. That wasn't his style, but he could damn well chock that urge up to blood relation. He bet Prussia was doing just that back over at Russia's land. Giving the bastard hell and shouting "I win you unawesome Russian bastard! I'M OUT OF HERE."
How wrong he had been.
He watched along with his friends on the West side of Berlin as the citizens tore through it like it was paper. They were animals, hungry and thirsty for the reuniting of the land and to be reunited with family.
Ludwig was among the mass off people searching for their family when the wall had been breached. He was expecting to see a flash of white and Prussian blue come at him any second, but it never came. He hadn't left even after all the others had gone home.
Where was his brother?
"Russia is probably just keeping him from going without seeing him off to you personally. Bastard has too much pride to just let him loose." Hungary said brushing it off. Ludwig nodded, trying to convince himself that was why. He would see his brother's smug grin soon enough. He would be running at him at top speed and shouting vulgar things.
He didn't expect to be presented to a body bag.
He stood there with his friends: Elizaveta, Roderich, Kiku, and of course Feliciano. Antonio, Francis, and surprisingly Alfred had come as well. They were all gathered around the table that was bolted to the middle of the cold cellar-like morgue. He didn't take in his surroundings too much, his attention was all on the black lumpy body bag laying on the table in the middle of them all. He was hoping it was all a joke, that Gilbert was just laying in there in wait for him to freak him out.
When the man working in the morgue unzipped the bag he knew this was no joke.
Gilbert wouldn't ruin his favorite shirt with fake blood just to trick him.
Blood was dried onto his clothes and still faintly apparent on the sides of his mouth. His pale complexion was not a ghostly shade of white and his Hair was tousled and disheveled. It suited him really. He was wild and odd, just like how his hair was at the moment. His body was battered and scarred and even under the loose(he looked very emaciated too, thinking back on it)blood-stained shirt he was wearing Ludwig could see the beginnings of a large deep purple scar that probably stretched across his torso.
Ludwig had one too, it was from the wall.
What shook him the most what the expression on his face: he was slightly grinning. His light smirk didn't reach his cold lifeless eyes. They were no longer a vibrant red, but a frayed and dull shade of it. He hated the way they looked. Completely void of everything. Of warmth and feeling. Inactive and unmoving.
He felt tears gently roll down his cheeks. He would normally worry about his strong appearance and reputation with the others, but he had realized Hungary was being held by Roderich for comfort. Francis and Antonio were shocked, but despair was soon setting in. Alfred was shaking and gritting his teeth. Ludwig couldn't tell if he was angry at Ivan, or ready to break down into tears at the sight of Gilbert, it looked like both. Feliciano was clinging to his left arm and crying, but it was much different that his normal tears. They were tears of loss and sorrow.
He wondered if Gilbert had been crying like that. His pale cheeks were abundant with tear stains.
The man who had unzipped the bag presented him with a few items he found of Prussia's person. The first was a very chewed down pen. The next was his Brother's Iron Cross. He quickly snatched it up and held it close, much like how Gilbert had. The last of the items was a slightly crinkles and folded piece of parchment. He unfolded it and soon saw it was stained with blood and what seemed to be drops of water Or tears. He read it through, in its entirety, down to the very last sentence.
I don't want to die.
He had dropped it as soon as he had finished. Feliciano had picked it up and he and everyone else had begun reading, but Ludwig paid no mind. He just clutched Gilbert's Iron Cross closer to his heart. He felt if he held it any looser it would slip right through his calloused fingers.
His brother was gone.
and it was all his fault.
He couldn't bear to hear Elizaveta's sobs muffled by Roderich's embrace. He didn't have the heart to see Italy lose it again and cling to his arm crying. He couldn't stand Antonio and Francis try and fail miserably at keeping themselves together. He couldn't give Alfred's trembling and sniffling any recognition. He could only cry and think of what he had done.
"Es tut mir leid ich habe nicht zu verabschieden." He couldn't take it.
"Ich liebe dich, Bruder."