Gilbert heard a monotonous beeping in the distance. He focused on the rhythm to pull himself back into cold reality. When he returned, he found his whole body to be stiff and aching. Fighting against heavy lids, he opened his eyes with a groan.

An off-white curtain circled his bed. The scent of antiseptics flooded his senses and burned the inside of his nose. Sitting up, he noticed a white hospital gown as the sheets slid down. Lifting his head up with the sound of the curtains parting, he saw the shocked azure eyes of his younger brother. Ludwig opened his mouth, but before he could call for a nurse as Gilbert predicted he would, the albino cut him off. "Y'know, I never thought heaven would get cable," he mused, pointing out the television someone had turned on.

"Don't joke like that," Ludwig growled. Taking a second look at him, Gilbert noticed rings around his brother's eyes. He had withered and aged since last he saw him. Something had even distracted him from slicking back his hair.

Scratching the back of his head, Gilbert frowned. "How long have I been here?"

"Only two days, but no one expected you to wake up," Ludwig explained.

The albino shook his head, crimson eyes staring as though something had caught his attention in the distance. "I shouldn't have…" He had been dead if only for a short while. There were two days that he had lost to account for. He had been at Roderich's house before waking up in the hospital – Roderich.

"You come alone?" Gilbert asked as casually as he could manage.

"Elizabeta left a bit ago. She had a few more calls to make before the funeral," Ludwig muttered off hand. He stiffened upon realizing his last few words. No one had even told Gilbert yet.

He stared at Ludwig dumbfounded. Gilbert had not died so whose funeral were they preparing for? As a thought hit him, his stomach dropped. "Where is he?"

"What do you-?"

Gilbert cut him off with a growl, "You know who I mean. Where is he?"

Hanging his head, Ludwig sighed. "He called me two days ago. All he said was your name before he stopped speaking. I had no idea what to think so I drove to Austria. You were unconscious on the floor…"

"And Roderich?"

As always, Ludwig could keep his usual stern expression, but Gilbert watched as he forced himself to close his eyes. The stress of the situation had taken its toll. "Dead. The paramedics said it was cardiac arrest."

His breath halted in his throat as his brain attempted to process the information that he had just been given. He shook his head, slowly at first, before vehemently denying the possibility. "Nations don't just die, Ludwig!" As long as there were people to represent, a nation very rarely died without reason and the last time they had been together, Roderich had been in perfect health.

"I know that!" Ludwig shouted back. He inhaled to regain his composure. "None of us know what to think… All we know is that we've lost a friend. I'm sorry, Gilbert. I can't tell you more than that."

"Sorry? You're sorry?" Gilbert was practically screaming now. "Ludwig, sorry doesn't cut it. I don't know what he did… But I'm the one who should be dead, not him. That idiot didn't even think about what would happen and he left me here."

The younger brother had never been skilled in social matters, especially not those of the heart, however, he tried to comfort his brother and he reached a hand out meaning to set it on his shoulder. "Gilbert, I…"

"When can I leave here?" Gilbert asked, voice having the same edge from before without the volume. He crossed his arms.

Pulling his hand back, Ludwig stared at his brother, stern expression having returned. If he wanted to be hostile toward him while he accepted the truth, the least he could do was be understanding of his brother's pain. It had gone unannounced that Gilbert was likely to take it the hardest. "Tomorrow, I believe."

"…When is it?"

Ludwig knit his brows together. "When is what?"

Gilbert's eyes fell on his lap. His fingers curled into the sheets, knuckles turning white. He did not lift his head as he uttered one accusing word, "Ludwig."

"The funeral? …it's in two days."

After a nod, Gilbert shifted under his covers then, rolling over on his side to hide his face. Ludwig granted him his wish for privacy. He slipped out of the room for the time being. There was work for him yet as well.

When he returned after a phone call with Elizabeta, one that extended as she began to sob – having finally been defeated by the emotional stress – and a short nap to lessen his exhaustion, he found the hospital bed empty. He could have easily been exploring the hospital, but he knew his brother better than to naively think as much. Ludwig cursed. "Nurse!" he called. A woman came running and after he explained the situation to her, he left as quickly as she had come.

Jogging down the front stairs of the building, Ludwig bolted toward the parking lot only to find that his car was missing. Damn him, Gilbert must have signed himself out. No wonder the nurse had seemed confused earlier. His brother would not venture far though and Ludwig already knew the one place that he would go.

After speeding down the road in his brother's car, the only real calm action Gilbert took was venturing through the yard of the house he had parked in front of to go searching for the key that the owner had hidden in a lawn ornament outside despite the rain. Lifting the flower up, he retrieved the key before using it to open the door.

Storming inside, he knocked a lamp to the floor, successfully shattering the light bulb and the glass shade, both of which scattered across the floor. He continued through the house wreaking havoc as an emotional whirlwind as though the tantrum might summon Roderich. Gilbert traveled through every room as though expecting to find him hiding somewhere. Books were pulled and brushed off shelves. Drawers were pulled out and then overturned, their contents spilling onto the floor. He checked the kitchen, living room, and even the garden. Gilbert raked through the bathroom, bypassing the bedroom.

Finally, his wrath descended upon the music room. He tore sheets of music out of drawers, throwing them up into the air before they descended to the floor. Gilbert swept instrument cases to the ground with a chorus of thuds and clatters. Grabbing the curtains, he tugged them hard, pulling them from the rung and tearing one down the middle. Lightening relieved the darkness that had filled the room as the lights had never been turned on and a loud clap of thunder soon followed the flash. The nation was crying for its lost avatar.

Roaring in his frustration, Gilbert turned toward the piano. Ruthless fingers slammed down on the keys and the instrument screamed once more. The smashing was needless though, hurting him more than it. He crumpled to his knees before turning to see that the piano stool had been flipped over, but not of his own doing. If that had remained the same, what else had gone untouched? Perhaps he could use what he found to piece together what had happened.

Rushing out of the room, he pushed open the door to Roderich's bedroom. Breath caught in his throat as he looked at the unmade bed. Slowly, deliberately, he approached it before flopping on it. He curled up, burying his face against his lover's pillow. Inhaling, he could smell hints of lavender and the coffee Roderich always drank. Lavender had always been his favorite scent even if the Edelweiss was his favorite flower.

Playing absently with a string on a bed sheet, he listened to another crack of thunder. Gilbert curled in on himself, almost whimpering. He hated storms, feared them. Usually Roderich comforted him, but he was gone. The thought dawned on Gilbert and he shrunk into a tighter ball and went back to playing with the string. He numbed his mind using the simple task before falling asleep. However, before he slipped out of consciousness, he swore he heard a few stray notes from the piano drift into the room, but the pianist was dead. The instrument would never sing again.

A rough shake of his shoulder roused Gilbert a few hours later. Peeking through a half-open crimson, he spotted Ludwig once again. "Stop shaking," he grumbled. Shifting, Gilbert sat up. "How'd you get here?" he asked. He had taken the car and it was too long a walk.

"Feliciano, he drove me here," Ludwig explained courtly. Had he asked anyone else, it may have taken him longer. He risked life and limb for speed.

"Oh…" The Prussian never asked how Ludwig knew where he had fled. Thunder cracked and Gilbert winced in discomfort, setting a hand to his head.

Knitting his brows together, Ludwig stared as though waiting for an explanation. Gilbert had never told his brother about his fear of storms, and while he would have preferred Ludwig not know, he could not stop himself from ducking after the next bolt sounded. The pillow he had been laying on was pressed tightly against his ears. His brother sat next to him before setting an awkward hand on his back. He smoothed it there, turning his head to stare at the raindrops as they trailed down the window.

"I'll leave you alone. Feliciano and I are going out to dinner. I can bring you something if you want," he explained. Gilbert shook his head. "Alright, once we come back, I'm taking you home. We'll come back for the funeral and then Elizabeta and I are going to go through some of his things. You're welcome to help. Whatever no one wants will be donated somewhere depending on the age and condition." Aside from a trembling, Gilbert had stilled, giving no sign that he had heard a word. Ludwig could only hope that he had listened as he headed out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Fumbling fingers worked with his black tie as he put on the accent of his suit. He sighed, letting it hang around his neck. Venturing upstairs, Gilbert removed the tie all together and set it on the railing. "Are you ready?" Ludwig asked a he tucked a slip of paper into his pocket.

With a nod, he replied, "As ready as I'll ever be for a funeral, Lud."

The car ride proceeded in utter silence, broken only by the rain on the windshield as they entered Austria. No thunder today or maybe Gilbert found a way to ignore it; he honestly did not know or care either way.

As they approached the destined church, they spotted the long sleek vehicle carrying the casket. Ludwig tailed it the rest of the way. As they parked and climbed out, other nations left their cars, all of them dressed in black. No one questioned as they all followed the casket in as it was taken into the church. Ludwig and Gilbert lead the line, but they had all been Roderich's family.

Before the mass started, a few condolences were offered to Ludwig and Gilbert, the last two to have contact with him. Elizabeta presented the two men with a bouquet of red carnations, a flower meant to express her condolences. She looked prepared to weep before the preacher even began and as such, Gilbert took one flower from the bouquet and tucked it behind her ear. She did her best to smile at him, tears beading in her eyes before she embraced him. He took comfort in the gesture before they both seated themselves.

Despite his efforts to stay attentive, Gilbert could not retain a single detail. He stared past the preacher at the casket that sat behind him. The funeral mass continued even when he remained stationary. He might have heard the 23 Psalm, but perhaps he had thought that up on his own. In his life time, the Prussian had been forced to attend so many funerals that they all seemed to blend together. It struck him as oddly ironic though seeing as Roderich had lost his taste for religion long ago.

Sitting still was making him antsy. It did cross Gilbert's mind once to pray for guidance or the will to make it through the service. All of it seemed unreal though. He half expected Roderich to be sitting among the crying viewers and for the truth to be that he, himself was the one lying in the casket. His knuckles curled around the flowers and he glanced at them before standing up.

"Can I say something?" Gilbert asked. Flabbergasted, the preacher stared at him before nodding and stepping aside. Taking the few strides that it took him from his pew to the front, Gilbert approached the casket before turning around to face his friends and family.

"Roderich Edelstein was an ass. He was a haughty, prissy, controlling, and beautiful individual. Yeah, he was a bit of a nag and hell, if he saw me up here, he'd be screaming at me to sit down. But…"

Then, for the first time since he had woken up, he faltered, a wave of sadness washing over him, one that was quickly replaced with the same rage from days earlier.

"No, there is no but. He was an ass and that's really all there was to it. He shouldn't have died when he had. I should have and for the life of me, I don't know what he did to save me." It was then that he seemed to stop addressing the crowd and start addressing Roderich instead.

"I bet you're happy, aren't you, priss? I'm here just like you wanted. Well, guess what? You forgot to think of the consequences, moron. You always called me that… You were too damn selfless to realize that you were leaving all of these people behind. Then again, you always thought they berated you behind your back, that none of them cared about you. You thought they had reason to as though everything had been your fault. You're so stupid. I hope you're happy because in trying to save me, you've given me an eternity to grieve for you, you damn aristocrat. I honestly hope you go to hell." His hands tightened on the flowers and he stared down at them. "Remember how you always told me that you never wanted flowers. Well, I always planned on giving you some. I just never thought it would be at your funeral," he tossed the flowers down on the ground before storming out. He single handedly opened the heavy church doors, muttering furious profanities as he passed. Elizabeta stood as though to comfort him, but Ludwig set a hand to her shoulder before shaking his head, that wasn't what Gilbert needed right now. Others could only lower their heads as silence descended into the church.

The house was as Gilbert had left it days before, for the most part anyway. Gilbert saw that the glass shards from the lamp hand been cleaned up and discarded, most likely Ludwig's doing. While he had forced the door open, he bothered himself to go back and gently close it.

Soaked to the bone, he ventured upstairs to find a dry set of clothes that he had left behind. "Roderich," he called voice meek even to him. There came no answer, not that he should have expected one. He grew mute as he changed. With nothing more to say than he had at the funeral and nothing to destroy, his rage ebbed away, replaced with despair. His walk from the church to the deceased Austrian's house had drained him.

"Roderich?" Gilbert tried again. He strolled down the hall out of Roderich's bedroom where he had found some of his clothes tucked under the musician's own. "Roderich." His voice strained, nearly breaking off into a sob.

Entering the music room again, he paused in the doorway, closing his eyes as tears threatened to take form once again. Gilbert lovingly picked up each sheet of music, setting them in the proper order. He paused though, upon seeing Roderich's scribble at the top of an uncompleted piece. There were multiple ones like that. Pushing any thoughts aside, he made to set them back into the cabinet. The ones that Roderich had written were not filled under the name "Edelstein" like the rest of the music that had been filed under their composer's last name though. No, on one of the manila folders in his beautiful cursive, there was a file entitled two words, "For Gilbert".

Forgetting about the other sheets all together, he read over the ones that Roderich had written for him. He doubted that Roderich had ever meant for him to find them. A few did not actually belong and they were noted with an E in the top corner, but at the time it did not occur to him. Wet streaks cut down his cheeks as he sobbed. His shoulders shook uncontrollably and he quickly found it hard to breathe. His vision had blurred and he shut his eyes, forcing more tears down his face. He cried until he found himself hoarse, something that had only ever happened one other time, when Friedrich the Great had died.

A few notes sounded from the piano and Gilbert spun around, dropping the sheets of music. He wiped his face with a sleeve, a trail of snot following. After a sniff, he stared, watching as the piano seemed to play itself. He shook his head before fleeing the room, dismissing it as a hallucination. The piano could not play without a pianist.

Author's Notes:

Again, I would like to think my editor for allowing me to publish this next installment rather quickly. My hopes had been to publish it yesterday, the 18th, for Gilbert's birthday, but no such luck. Revising took its toll on me so it was my personal fault that it was not up sooner. (And I'm sure all of that information was unneeded, but you really don't have to read this if you don't want to.)

Unfortunately, I must inform you that the next installment may be a little late. It seems I lost my flash drive at school again and it had the last chapter on it. I am hoping that it will find its way home as it did previously, but I cannot bank on that. If all else fails, I will rewrite the last chapter with the use of the handwritten rough draft that I have.

As always, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed.