Hey readers!
So...
Since today is the day Prussia was officially disbanded, here's a story :D
Although it's my first in a long time...
Please don't be too harsh!
The day was cloudy and boded rain. A single car stood in front of the black iron gates of the cemetery. A man wearing a black suit stood in front of a white gravestone, with a bunch of flowers in his hand.
Germany sighed. It had been nearly forty years since the end of the war. The second world war. Thinking of it brought back so many memories, both good and bad…
"So you pull the pin out like this, and you throw the grenade at your enemy. Can you do that?"
"Yes sir!"
Twenty minutes later, a rather bedraggled Germany sat next to a clueless Italian, trying to teach him how to correctly use a grenade without killing anyone.
He chuckled. His memories of Italy and Japan were some of the best he had in that period of time…
"For secretly aiding those of a lower class and for breaking Clause 4 of the military code, General Gilbert Beilschmidt will be temporarily stripped of rank and sent to a prison camp to guard those of the aforementioned lower class."
Prussia laughed.
At the time, he had thought that his brother had gone insane. But as he looked closely, he noticed that his brother did not have the look of a madman. Which meant… his brother did it purposely?
He was shocked by how hurt he was to have a family member betray him. And not just any family member; his brother. His own brother, who had cared for him for as long as he could remember.
"Now I can see how twisted this new world you are trying to create is," his brother sneered. Hitler stiffened and stood up. Prussia easily towered over him, but Hitler was not intimidated.
"Ludwig," Hitler called. Prussia looked toward his brother standing in the doorway, stiff and motionless. He smiled, not one of his silly grins, but a sad and remorseful smile.
"Bruder…" the words tumbled out of his mouth. Prussia's eyes widened marginally at the affectionate term, but narrowed again as he continued speaking. "Why did you do this?"
"Why? Try asking the guy who's sitting in the seat behind you why he decided to kill six million people."
"He's done nothing wrong! We're a superior race!"
Prussia looked at him sadly.
"You won't understand, Luddy…"
His eyes widened with outrage at the use of the endearing nickname.
"My name is General Ludwig Beilschmidt. You will do well to address me as such."
He nodded sharply to the man at the desk before turning on his heel and walking out of the room. His brother stared after him, his expression unreadable.
Germany sighed. He wasn't in his right mind when Hitler was in power. But still, his brother needed to understand that everything the superior said was law and should be treated as such. There was no questioning of the law. Everything was controlled by the commands of the superior. Even if the superior was wrong…
His brother was back from the concentration camps. Germany massaged his temples. He could feel a headache coming on.
There was a knock at the door.
"Um… sir? General?"
He looked up at the new recruit. "Yes?" he asked, in an annoyed tone.
"It's General Beilschmidt, sir… I mean, the other General Beilschmidt, sir. He's asking for you, sir."
Did the man really have to stick sir onto the end of every single sentence?
He sighed, rather annoyed that the man was being overly formal with him.
"Tell him I'm busy and cannot cater to every single one of his whimsical demands. While you're at it, tell General Vargas and Lieutenant Honda to see me in my office."
"Yes sir!" the man snapped him a military salute and left.
He sighed again. He really did not want to deal with his headache-causing brother, especially at a crucial time like this. The German troops were preparing the second step in the Russian Campaign. This time, they would be more prepared. This time, they would not fail. No matter what.
Germany knelt in front of the grave. It was simplistic, an unadorned gravestone marking the place where he slept. Germany took out the bouquet of flowers he had. Blue cornflowers, the color of his brother's eyes before they changed. He missed seeing his brother. His paperwork was too much to handle alone, but he didn't have a brother to share it with anymore. Though his brother, more often than not, was the one generating most of it. Still, his brother had helped, especially during the planning stages of the war.
"Bruder...?" He called softly to the man sitting in front of a table set up in the middle of the tent. When Prussia gave no reply, he scooted forward and gasped.
On the table in front of Prussia were maps. Maps of every single campaign they had launched, maps of possible campaigns, even maps of successful campaigns from wars centuries ago.
"Bruder…" his voice was soft as he gazed down at the sleeping figure. His brother had fallen asleep at the desk, yet again. There was a small puddle of drool forming on one of the more precious maps. He wiped it clean with a tissue. Just then, he noticed something odd.
His brother's hand was slightly paler than normal. He shrugged it off. It was probably no big deal, and he probably didn't get enough sleep. Just some trick of the light.
He knew better now. Those were the warning signs. He would never let it happen ever again.
"Bruder, are you sure you're fine? You have a nasty cough."
"Hehe, I'm fine! I'm too awesome to be sick!"
If his brother was talking like that, then he was fine.
Or so he thought. He regretted it now, but it was too late.
"What's this?"
He stared at the red liquid in the pail, then turned around to stare at his unconscious brother, who was currently passed out on the floor of the tent. There was a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.
Without another word, he picked up his brother and carried him over to the bed. Prussia was light; too light. It was as if he was wasting away. His forehead was burning to the touch. It was clear that whatever disease Prussia had caught, it was serious.
His brother would have to recover as soon as possible. Their campaign was on the brink of success, and it was crucial that both his brother and he be there at the last battle.
He had made a huge mistake. He shouldn't have been in such a hurry. He should have let his brother fully recover.
It was the end.
Hitler – no, Germany – had failed.
Their plans for a glorious future went up in smoke.
"Hello Germany. Fancy meeting you here."
Germany stiffened and turned.
"Hey, Nazi! How d'you feel now? Huh?"
"You must be disappointed, da?"
It was the Allies. He knew why they were here. They needed him to die for the good of the future.
He was determined to go down fighting.
He shifted into a defensive crouch. They readied their weapons.
"Wait! Stop!"
The cry was like a gunshot in the deafening silence.
Prussia ran up.
"Gilbert…" Ludwig breathed.
"Luddy… You're not hurt, are you?"
He looked into his brother's red eyes. He saw concern, and… was that fear?
He shook his head. His brother sighed in relief. Then he turned to the trio in front of Ludwig.
"I know why you want him."
Prussia…
"But you can't have him."
… This was hardly the time to play the hero.
"If you guys really need someone…"
Wait…
"…then take me instead. Just don't hurt him."
What?
Germany stood dumbfounded as the Allies exchanged looks.
"Fine."
"One or the other, it's all the same! And the HERO will save the day!"
"It'll be interesting to watch, right?" Russia smiled.
"Wait! Bruder!"
But the words never left his mouth.
He watched in horror as Russia, America, and England aimed.
Prussia stepped in front of Germany.
"Luddy…"
There was a click as Russia loaded his handgun.
"Remember…"
All three pulled the trigger.
"Even if I disappear…"
The bullets seemed to be speeding towards him in slow motion.
"I will always be by your side."
All three bullets hit their mark.
"Goodbye, Luddy…"
Ludwig stared in horror.
"I'm off to join Old Fritz."
His brother fell slowly, and a scream erupted from his throat.
"BRUDER!"
That day, the human named Gilbert Beilschmidt, his dear older brother, fell.
Less than three years later, the nation named Prussia was no more.
A single tear tricked down Germany's cheek and landed on the gravestone.
As if sensing his mood, raindrops began to fall.
He sighed and stood up, heading back toward the entrance.
At the gate, he stopped.
"Goodbye, Bruder… I'll be sure to visit again soon."
The car drove away.
All that was left was a white gravestone. The inscription on it read:
In memory of
Gilbert Beilschmidt
A true fighter and brother until the very end.
His awesomeness will forever be remembered.
Haha, sorry, I just had to add that last line.
Well, how did I do? Plz rate and review! So I can make a better story~