Awful

"Hello, Ludwig. I believe I have something of yours." The Russian urged a weak, corpse-like figure out in front of him as he smiled far too widely, looking quite dangerous. He explained, "I would keep him, but he's grown useless and I no longer want him." The albino opened his mouth in an effort to rebut his captor's bitter insults, but found himself slipping from consciousness at even that simple act. With eyes fluttering closed, he fell like a broken puppet to the earth.

No one, not even his brother, bothered to catch him.

In the ex-country's fevered mind, nightmarish scenes played on loop just as they had for the past year he had spent as Ivan's toy:

First, as always was Ivan. He stood, dark and fearsome against the window of Gilbert's room, a cruel look on his face. He smiled, "Hello, Gilbert. You know what I'm here for, correct?"

"Is it ever different?" The Prussian replied desolately.

Ivan tugged the long scarf from his neck and continued to undress as he chided, "Now Gil…"

"I thought I fucking told you not to call me that you sick bastard! Get me out of here now before I kick your sorry ass into the ground!" Gilbert turned around quickly, bristling with rage, but he was quickly subdued by a wave of nausea that sent him collapsing back onto the white down bed below him that was so disgustingly stained with Gilbert's blood, spit, urine, and their seed.

The country laughed, "You're not in any position to be making such threats, Gil~. Still glad you refused my food when you had the chance?" He grabbed his favorite sex instrument—a long, tightly braided whip that left huge, gaping welts in Gilbert each time he struck the other's porcelain skin—and crawled into the bed on top of the perpetually-nude Prussian who was, at best, only half-conscious when the first blow struck. He didn't even have the strength to scream as the weapon sliced his back to ribbons.

"I'm going to make you bleed, Gilbert, my doll. Be sure of that."

Another scene, this one seemingly happier. Roderich was right there, holding Gilbert tightly in his arms, looking somewhat shocked but otherwise fine with the situation. They were dancing, but no music played. The only sound for the longest time was the clack-clack-clack of their feet on the white tile of the Austrian's music room. Gilbert broke the quiet by breathing, "I am broken, my love."

"What do you mean, Gil?" He asked, surprise quickly replaced by concern, "It hasn't been so long since you were taken from me."

Gilbert shook his head slightly; tears rolling down his face, "Long enough. More than long enough." He broke away from the monotonous steps, broke away from Roderich's arms and wrapped his own around his shoulders, "He raped me, abused me, starved me, and all but killed me. He fucking broke me, Roderich!" He cried into his arms, wetting the sleeves of the long, crimson ball gown he wore. "Why didn't you get me Roddy? Why didn't you try? I thought you loved me!"

Suddenly, the beautiful, kind Roderich disappeared and was replaced with what Gilbert liked to believe was a demon, "Stupid child." Roderich snarled, kicking Gilbert hard in the ribs, causing the other to gasp out in pain, "You actually thought I'd love you once you were used? I knew all about what he was doing to you and I knew I would never be able to love such a tainted toy." He leered at Gilbert and knelt down closer to the ex-country, "Ivan couldn't break you, idiot. That's my job." With that, he plunged his hand deep into Gilbert's chest, his fingers constricting painfully around the albino's heart, before ripping it out of his chest, dark blood staining the dress a duller red, tainting the rich fabric as the shattered man cried out desperately against the agonizing pain.

The next was almost as bad. Ludwig stood beside Veneziano, hugging and kissing a loving the little Italian, paying no heed to the corpse-like form of Gilbert who was slowly staggering into their home. "L-Ludwig! V-V-Veneziano! I'm b-back! Can't y-you s-see m-me?" Neither answered.

Gilbert managed closer, falling weakly beside the sofa they were curled up on, blood streaming out of his mouth and seeping into the faded carpet as he screamed, "Look at me! Look at me, I'm dying! Can't I ask for a moment of your time? Please, bruder, just look at me…" But the pair continued as if he wasn't even there and Gilbert died on the familiar floor, unheeded and alone.

Last was a black casket, completely isolated. Not a single soul seemed to notice the large, ornate item on the graveyard's sole hill. Time slowly eroded the varnish and the wood away so that the corpse inside was visible.

It proved to be a half-decayed Gilbert.

Gilbert was back. Finally back. Sure, he looked unhappy and in ill health, but at least the Prussian was back from Ivan's place. Ludwig had been surprised when his older brother had dropped so suddenly in the field, but marked it off to exhaustion and hunger. The small country was obviously bone-thin and apparently had been for a while, according to Ivan. The larger country had quickly dismissed Gilbert's fainting to be over-dramatic and ridiculous.

Without even thinking about it, Ludwig accepted his brother's captor's words and crossly scooped his brother into his arms. "Honestly, Gilbert. Don't be such an attention hog. We're all plenty eager to see you without fainting." He sighed just as he pushed open the door to their mansion.

Pale red eyes shot open at that, a mix of wrathful anger and horror filling the ex-country's heart as he woke from the nightmares to such terrible words from his dear brother. He looked up at Ludwig's face, trying to see what would make him say something like that.

He was interrupted by a loud cry, "Gil!" The Prussian turned his head slowly toward the sound and smiled softly, reaching out a bony arm in response, hoping the man took it despite his brother's presence. To his great pleasure, Roderich's warm hands enclosed his own as the Austrian breathed, "You're back. You're back. Thank God, you're back."

"I'm…Back…" Gilbert replied in a hoarse whisper, trying to calm his heart before the excitement became too much and he passed out again. Ludwig set him down on the plush white sofa he had been on with Veneziano in Gilbert's nightmares and stepped a little away, joining the rest of the crowd that consisted of the Axis countries, Antonio, and Francis, all of whom were there to see him return.

Gilbert smiled at all of them, but it didn't fix how terrible he looked. It was obvious Gilbert had been through tough times. Roderich was the first to ask, though, "Er… Gilbert? Are you alright?"

Anyone else asking that question would've received a far less gracious answer than the one Roderich got, "Do…I look… alright, Roddy?... I… haven't eaten… in days… I was beaten and…" Gilbert trailed off, embarrassed and unwilling to tell Roderich he had been raped.

Luckily for him, Roderich and the others needed no other reason to rush him to the hospital.

"…I'm done, West."

That was the end of everything. Ludwig had immediately looked up, his blue eyes searching his brother's tired, corpse-like face for an explanation, even a hint of what he was done with. Gilbert had always been unreadable, though. Whenever Ludwig tried to search his dear brother, he always felt like he was looking for something that wasn't there—as if there was nothing more to be found below the surface of cockiness and superiority that Gilbert wore like a cloak around his pale, narrow shoulders.

It was nine days after he got out of the hospital. The doctors had been pretty alarmed when they saw how much damage had been done to Gilbert, but he recovered nonetheless and had been relatively normal since then. He had gained weight and looked more like an actual human being, he could move around without fainting, his body didn't start bleeding from his cracked skin. However, there was something different about Gilbert that Ludwig noticed only every so often when Gilbert believed him not to be looking, or like right now.

Sometimes, that empty shell seemed full.

When the Prussian said nothing, Ludwig prompted, "Done with what, bruder? I don't understand."

"Done with the war, done with being a country," He snarled, "And done with you." Hate-laced red met sorrowful blue as Gilbert's words cut Ludwig, just like his own body had been cut only a few months earlier.

"…Bruder?"

"Shut up!" Gilbert screeched, eyes blazing, "I hate you! You all but killed me with your stupid war, and now I'll make sure I really am dead to you." He flung the door open with a solemn dignity that Ludwig had never seen from the wild Prussian and stated, "You will never see me again, West. This I swear."

Never again would Ludwig think of his brother as empty. When he would sit in Gilbert's old room, he would see not the cocky bastard he'd known for all his life, but the terrifying corpse that he had departed as. He saw a man who was so clever and composed that he could create a perfect cover, never revealing the complex layers that made him up. He had described this to Roderich about a year after Gilbert had left. The Austrian had simply glared at him and asked if he knew Gilbert at all.

Ludwig knew that Roderich knew exactly where Gilbert was. In fact, his brother was probably at that grand mansion, which would explain his recently rocky relationship with Roderich. However, no matter how hard Ludwig pressed his old friend for information, he never got so much as a hint of where Gilbert was hiding. Only once when he asked Elizaveta did he get any kind of an answer—one that consisted of: 'Never get near him again! He's finally back to normal!'.

So, Ludwig decided to spy on Roderich's mansion, hoping for a glance at his dear brother.