I must tell you before you start this fic, if you're looking for a happy PruAus fic, look elsewhere. There's going to be a lot of heavy moments in this fic – sadness and potentially angst. Oh, and there will probably also be some OOC moments, but that's due to the nature of the plot.

Pairings: PruAus with GerIta, Spamano, FrUK, RusAme, and a little RusPrus

Rated M for language, smut, and sad things.

I don't own Hetalia. If I did, PruAus would become canon so fast your heads would all spin XD Without further ado, here, have a fic!

Another day, another visit.

He raised his head from its bent position in order to glance at his watch. It was almost time to leave. Just a few more minutes. Lowering his head again, he whispered so quietly that his voice was barely audible, even in the empty building: "Please, God, if you give me my love back, I'll do anything. I want him. I need him. Please, Heavenly Father, if you can find the grace to help someone as worthless as me – if you can bring back the man I love – I would be eternally grateful." With those parting words, he rose, his knees stiff from having knelt in the pew for just over half an hour.

Gilbert Beilschmidt had never been a religious man. But ever since it happened, he felt compelled to come to church to pray that his purple-eyed lover would come back to him. He hadn't gotten to see those entrancing violet eyes in two months. With a heavy sigh that seemed to reach all the way through to his heart, Gilbert pushed open the doors and stepped from the dim candlelight of the church into the afternoon sun. His feet led him down the familiar path down the street. Another day, another visit, another prayer, another chance to get his hopes up, another fruitless wish for a miracle. It felt as though no time at all had slipped away when Gilbert arrived at the little market on the corner. Today was Wednesday, which was flower day. "Hello, Gilbert," the woman behind the stand greeted with a warm smile. "How are you doing today?"

"Oh, surviving," Gilbert said, trying his best to smile back at her. "And you, Sarah?"

"Very well, thank you. Here you are." She held out a bouquet of red roses spangled with tiny edelweiss. It was sad, so sad, that Sarah no longer had to ask what Gilbert wanted. He'd been coming here long enough that she knew his name and his order, and had it ready for him when he arrived on the dot each week. It was the same every Wednesday: red roses with edelweiss tucked into the spaces in between. Edelweiss had always been his favorite flower. And Gilbert chose red roses to show he was still in love, even after all this time. He paid for the flowers and waved over his shoulder to Sarah before turning back down the street in the direction he had come.

Returning to the church parking lot, he reluctantly slid into the driver's seat of his car. Ever since that day two months ago, he had never again been comfortable behind the wheel. He'd once been a careless, crazy driver who liked to exceed the speed limit and pass illegally. But now, Gilbert drove so carefully that when he was in a lighthearted mood, Antonio and Francis would tease him by saying he drove like an old lady. Most of the time, however, either the Frenchman or the Spaniard would climb wordlessly into the car behind the wheel while Gilbert got into the backseat. The three generally avoided any discussion about driving.

He drove to the hospital, another familiar and well-traveled route for Gilbert. Sometimes it seemed as if his car almost drove itself there. He parked and made the walk to the hospital's sliding doors. Even though it was only a hundred feet or so from where he'd parked to the entrance, it seemed like a long trek. Every day, Gilbert waited for that walk to seem shorter, but the heaviness in his heart made it stretch on for what felt like forever. He walked past the front desk. Without lifting her eyes from her computer screen, the woman seated there said, "Hello, Gilbert." Then she glanced at Gilbert, gave him a little smile, and added, "Go right on ahead."

"Thank you, Lili," Gilbert replied as he gave a nod to the petite blonde woman.

He took the elevator up to the third floor. As his footfalls echoed down the hallway, he counted the room numbers in his head, though he probably could have found the room if he had walked with his eyes shut. The door was already open, and Gilbert stepped inside wordlessly. "Is that you, Gilbert?" said a nurse, whose back was currently facing Gilbert.

"Of course it's me, Elizaveta!" Gilbert replied with a chuckle. "I'm on the dot as always. That's just how awesome I am. Kesesese!"

Elizaveta giggled a little as she turned to face him. "Yes, you are very awesome indeed, being here every day. That is pretty awesome." Everything about Gilbert's daily routine was perpetually unchanging, right down to Elizaveta. As she gazed back at him, she wore the same sweet, comforting smile with which she always greeted him. Her long brown hair that reached all the way down to her waist was tied back into the same high ponytail. She wore the same emerald green scrubs, which brought out and matched the color of her bright green eyes. Every one of Gilbert's days seemed to blend together, almost as though his whole life was frozen in time.

Another thing that never changed was the man lying in the bed behind Elizaveta. Gilbert walked over to the side of the bed. He removed the wilted bouquet in the vase, tossed it into the nearby trashcan, and replaced it with the fresh one. Then, Gilbert turned at last toward the man he loved. He lay with eyes closed and arms at his sides. Not a single motion stirred that still body, except for the shallow and rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in and out. Gilbert took the hand that lay limply atop the pristine white sheets in his own hand. Those fingers felt so bony, the palms so cold. They were not the hands Gilbert had once known – the strong hands that had once made beautiful music, the skillful and entitled hands that had once roamed Gilbert's body. "Hey, Roderich," Gilbert said in a small voice as his free hand brushed brown hair away from the other man's face. "Hey, baby. It's me. It's Gilbert. I'm back."

Of course, Roderich did not respond. Of course, Roderich did not open his eyes. If he had, Gilbert would have broken down and cried instantly. Roderich had been in a coma for nearly two months to the day. Gilbert could still remember the accident as though it had been yesterday. More accurately, he could still remember what came afterward. He squeezed his eyes shut as the memories came flooding in.

He hadn't been in the car with Roderich when another vehicle had swerved into his lane. He hadn't seen the man he loved jerk the wheel to the side in a panic. He hadn't seen the car roll over onto its roof in the middle of the highway. And finally, he hadn't watched a third car plow into Roderich's smashed vehicle. What Gilbert did remember was the sound of the phone ringing, cutting through the silence of the still home, the apathetic voice on the other end of the line, and his shaking fingers as he'd jammed the key to his own car into the ignition. He'd driven as fast as he could to the hospital, only to be told that Roderich was in the emergency room in critical condition, and that Gilbert couldn't see him yet. He remembered pacing endlessly in the lobby, waiting, agonizing, terrified like never before, his mind filling in the details from what he'd been told. And then when Gilbert was finally let into the room, he bent over Roderich, waiting for the other man to smile up sleepily at him, heavy with anesthesia and morphine. But instead…nothing. Just nothing. That was when he'd been told that the man he loved wouldn't wake up…

"Roderich, sweetie," Gilbert whispered. His lips grazed Roderich's pale, hollow cheek. "I need you to wake up for me. Please. P-please…" His voice cracked as he remembered that day, remembered that it was possible he'd never have Roderich back. His vision grew blurry, and hot tears slipped down his cheeks. As he brushed those tears away with the back of his hand, Gilbert tried desperately to sniffle back the sobs that caught in his throat, but he failed. Soon, sobs shook his shoulders, as he stood bent over Roderich, tears dripping from his eyes onto the Austrian's motionless face. He still gripped the weak, lifeless hand relentlessly, as thought that grasp could somehow bring the other man back.

A soothing pair of hands fell onto Gilbert's shoulders. "Gilbert, honey," Elizaveta said gently. She tugged him softly but insistently away from Roderich. He could have resisted her if he wanted, but he let himself be dragged to the edge of the bed, where he covered his face with his hand as he sobbed. His body went rigid as Elizaveta wrapped her arms around him in an attempt to comfort him. His cheeks felt hot. Gilbert lowered his slick eyes, ashamed. He wasn't supposed to cry like this. He was supposed to be strong. He was supposed to be awesome. In the weeks that had followed the accident, Gilbert had surrounded himself in a façade of strength, assuring his friends of his indomitable hope that Roderich would wake soon and that everything would go back to normal. But his willpower and emotional resoluteness had been cracking from the inside every day since then. He had refused to admit it and refused to let anyone help him, but today, as he again laid eyes on his unresponsive lover, the cracks had fissured beyond repair, and everything crumbled and fell apart. Gilbert sobbed so hard he could barely breathe. Finally, he gave up and cried onto Elizaveta's shoulder, silently glad that Antonio, Francis, and Ludwig weren't around to see him like this.

"Elizaveta, we need you in-" A doctor poked his head in the door. His gaze fell on Gilbert, who was crying in Elizaveta's arms, and his eyes widened. Gilbert was too ashamed to look up and meet the doctor's gaze. "Never mind," the man said. "Just…never mind." Gilbert heard his footsteps echo on the tiled floor before the sound faded and vanished.

The Hungarian nurse continued to hold him. "Gilbert, I'm so sorry," she said. "I know this must be hard for you. But you've got to have faith. The doctors have told me there's still brain activity. He can still wake up. You-"

"I'm supposed to have faith?" Gilbert snapped. "It's been two months, you know that? I'm supposed to have faith after two fucking months?" He tilted slick crimson eyes up toward Elizaveta, who chewed her lip with a slightly pained and hurt expression. "I'm sorry I snapped at you," he added quickly.

"It's okay, honey," she said as she patted Gilbert's back. "I-I understand."

"I-I just…I feel…how would you feel if you were powerless to help the one you loved?" Gilbert said. "Isn't there anything else I can do?" With his face still pressed into Elizaveta's shoulder, he'd created a little patch of dampness on her scrubs where his tears had fallen.

"Well…there is…maybe…something else you can try," Elizaveta said, a little hesitantly. "But it's not proven. It's only a theory. There's no guarantee…"

"Tell me what it is!" Gilbert interrupted sharply. "I'll do it! I'll try anything!"

"Some studies have suggested that patients…like Roderich…" Elizaveta stepped carefully over her words, obviously trying not to upset Gilbert, "…may respond to music. Roderich played the piano, didn't he?" Gilbert nodded and wiped at his eyes again. "Why don't you bring in some recordings of his favorite piano pieces, ones he'd recognize? Or even recordings of him playing, if you have them?"

Gilbert drew in a quivering breath and tried to collect himself. "Yes, I'll try that. Thank you, Elizaveta. I'd better get going." He stood and wiped his eyes one more time.

"Bye, Gilbert," Elizaveta said. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yes, tomorrow," Gilbert replied without hesitation.

Just as Gilbert turned to leave, he returned to Roderich's side and once again took the other man's hand in his. He studied the simple gold wedding band on Roderich's slender ring finger before his eyes moved to the matching band on his own finger. He touched his ring lightly to Roderich's, as if, just like in the superhero movies, that symbolic gesture alone could make two people magically unite. He bent to kiss predictably cold lips. "Bye, Roderich, I'll see you tomorrow," he mumbled against those lips. With that, Gilbert made his way to the door and turned to wave to Elizaveta as he left.

Before leaving the hospital, Gilbert wandered into the restroom, bent over a sink, turned on the faucet to cold, and splashed water on his face. His breaths still quivered as he tried to make the redness vanish from under his eyes. He let himself exhale shakily just once before he forced himself to breathe calmly and normally again. "Okay, I'm fine," he told himself as he straightened, face dripping with water from the sink. He yanked a few paper towels out of the dispenser and dried his face. "I'm fine. Everything…everything is all right." Glancing in the mirror, Gilbert addressed himself: "You can do this, Gil. After all, you are awesome." At those reassuring words, a smile returned to his face. It was weaker than the crazy grins he usually wore, but it would do for now. Maybe Francis and Antonio wouldn't notice.

Gilbert went directly from the hospital to meet Francis and Antonio for dinner at the trio's favorite café. "Salut, mon ami!" Francis called, waving, as Gilbert approached the two, who were already seated at a table outside. It was a beautiful spring day, but the clear sky, balmy temperature, bright sun, and slight breeze did little to lift Gilbert's mood. Maybe Antonio and Francis would make him feel better.

"Hey, Francis! Antonio!" Gilbert called back, grinning in spite of the heavy emotions that had fought their way to the surface of his life just half an hour ago. His rule was: leave all the feelings at the hospital. Those sorts of emotions had no place in his everyday life. He settled into his chair at the table. A glass filled with red wine was waiting for him, no doubt one that Francis had picked out for the three of him. Antonio and Gilbert usually left the wine selection up to Francis, who'd grown up in France around fine wines. Gilbert lifted the glass to his lips and sipped, hoping the alcohol would dissolve some of the stress away from his day.

"How are you, amigo?" Antonio asked with a smile.

Gilbert almost wanted to laugh at that question. His two friends knew all about the accident, so clearly they should know how he was feeling! But then again…he suddenly realized he had given the other two no reason to worry about him. He always acted like his usual cheerful, teasing self around them. And that was what he would continue to do. It worked for him. "I'm fine, just fine," Gilbert replied. "How about you guys?"

"I'm doing well!" Antonio said.

"I'm also doing we-" Francis started to answer. But then the Frenchman glanced up from his glass of wine, and his blue eyes came to rest on Gilbert. "Mon Dieu! Gilbert, are you all right?" he said suddenly.

Gilbert froze. "What? Of course I am! Didn't I just say that? What – why?" he replied, tripping over his own words a little. He had no idea what Francis was talking about. Of course he was lying – he wasn't really all right. But he couldn't tell Francis and Antonio that, could he? That would be admitting weakness, which was absolutely out of the realm of possibility for Gilbert.

"Your eyes look a little red," Francis said, wearing a concerned expression.

"That's what color they always are, silly! Kesesese! That's just my eyes!" Gilbert shot back with his signature laugh. "Oh, shoot, did my eyes turn blue or something? Or green? Help, guys! My eyes are changing color!" he teased.

For a moment, Francis laughed with Gilbert. "Oh, Gilbert, you are such a smartass sometimes!" he said, smacking his friend's arm lightly. But then he stopped laughing as his expression turned somber again. "No, I mean, it…ah…it looks as though you've been crying."

"I have not!" Gilbert snapped indignantly, without even thinking. "You just must be imagining things."

Antonio sighed, eyes full of sadness, and put a hand on Gilbert's shoulder. "It's all right, Gilbert. You don't have to keep things from us. We're your best friends." He glanced at Francis, who smiled warmly to confirm the Spaniard's statement.

"Okay, so maybe I was!" Gilbert nearly yelled as he slapped Antonio's hand away. He couldn't quite describe why he was reacting this way, why he was being so abrupt with his closest friends. "So what? I'm fine now!" Antonio and Francis gave him looks that clearly said: I don't believe you. You're not fine. Gilbert slammed his fist on the table. "Can't you guys just fucking leave me alone?" His wine glass shook at the impact of his fist against the table, and started to tip over. He reached out to grab it before it spilled, but as he did, wine sloshed out over the top and ran down the glass's sides, staining Gilbert's pale fingers deep red.

The two men seated next to Gilbert were stunned into silence. For a moment, neither spoke or moved – it almost seemed like they were both holding their breath. They exchanged glances before a pair of green eyes and a pair of blue eyes turned back toward Gilbert. Francis chewed his lip almost nervously. Antonio exhaled slowly before he said, "Gil, it's all right. You're just a little stressed, and you have every right to be. We should do something. All three of us."

"Oui, d'accord," Francis said slowly, offering his agreement.

Francis glanced at Antonio, who gave a little nod. Sometimes, it was as though the three of them could read each other's minds. "You know what?" Francis said.

"What?" Gilbert said.

"We're drinking tonight."

So…yeah.

As always, thanks for reading, and reviews are love!