Gilbert Beilschmidt breathes.

His eyes open. There is a blue sky above him.

He breathes again. And again. And again.

The wind blows. He feels it.

He sits up, gradually becoming conscious of the noise in his chest, the wonderful, miraculous thump-thump of a live, beating heart, pumping away as if nothing had ever happened.

Gilbert Beilschmidt is alive.

He reaches up and touches his chest through the hole in his shirt left by the sword. The weapon is laying by his side, covered in blood that can only be his, since he never actually hit "Roderich" during the fight. He looks down to find that his shirt isn't quite as lucky as what's around him, ruined by rich red blood and the conspicuous hole. The coat has probably been wrecked, too, but he doesn't care about that right now. He's too busy feeling his heart thump in his chest.

He asked for convincing proof that he was still a nation, and he got it. He had died and come back, his body healed up good as new, with not even a scar to show for it. "I have a country. I have something to stay alive for," he says to himself aloud, relishing the sound of those words. He concentrates, and he can actually feel his land and sense his people (mostly just the muddled voices of crowds for now, but that's good enough for him).

It occurs to him that he looks absolutely ridiculous in this ancient uniform of his. It's not that he wants to throw it out, even though it's not likely to meet any other fate thanks to the blood, but it's just so out of place, unlike him. He is in place in this modern world, or at least he will be. He simply has to go take the place left open and waiting for him.

He picks the sword up and sheaths it. It's still a good friend of his, especially since it guided him to his new realizations. He's going to clean it off and display it prominently, as it should be. That's the kind of reward it'll get.

Gilbert Beilschmidt is going home.

The door is unlocked, which is a pleasant surprise. Ludwig has chosen to come home from work early, which is another pleasant surprise. He looks at Gilbert, doing an incredulous double take. "You." It's the only word he can speak.

He goes over to Gilbert, and the two brothers stare at each other for a while. Gilbert is the one who breaks the silence. "I'm a nation, West," he says, pointing to where his chest can be seen through the gap in his shirt. "Look. Not even a scar." He smiles faintly, even as those tears refuse to be held back anymore.

Ludwig stands there awkwardly, then gives in again. He throws his arms around his brother (not even caring about the blood on his shirt), holding him tight, tight. "You actually did it."

Gilbert is distracted by a young child's voice echoing Ludwig's words, but answers anyway after a delay. "I did. And I lived, because I have a country and a little brother to watch over."

"You finally got your proof," Ludwig says, burying his head in his brother's shoulder, trying to hide steady streams of tears. The little boy's voice still echoes his.

Gilbert tries to look over Ludwig's shoulders again for the child, but gives up quickly. "Yep. I'm just too… awesome to die, right? I think I'm getting my awesome back, slowly but surely. No, wait, I know I'm getting my awesome back. I can feel it."

The voice echoing Ludwig's isn't quite as high-pitched anymore, maybe because the child has grown a bit. Gilbert guesses that the boy is now twelve or so years old. That's how old his brother was when the wars being fought in his land started to make him even sicker than before, so Gilbert expects to hear a cough or a feeble whine. The real Ludwig says, "I can tell, and I'm glad you are. It's so much better than... well..." He pauses, unwilling to speak of Gilbert's previous condition.

"I know. I'm determined to only go up from here. I'm gonna be my old self again, and everyone else is gonna have to love it." Gilbert can't stifle some triumphant laughter. He feels he deserves a laugh; he'd stared death in the face and lived without a scratch on him. "I can't believe I wanted to leave all this behind."

The child's voice is deeper still now, probably coming from someone about fifteen years old. "That's one difference right away. You realize that you actually have things that you were going to leave behind." Gilbert chuckles at something Ludwig doesn't know about. "What's so funny?"

Gilbert was waiting for the boy's voice to crack. That had been a near-constant source of entertainment back in Ludwig's childhood days. "Oh, nothing. But yeah, I was leaving a lot of things behind! How could I leave a house, a warm bed, food, the wind, the sun... how could I leave all that stuff behind? And most importantly... How could I leave you behind? It's not like I could make sure my little brother was okay if I was dead."

"That part in your note about trying to 'lift my burdens' was the worst," Ludwig quickly responds, his voice getting hoarse from his tears. "Why in the world would you think that leaving me would make me worry less?"

The echo speaks with an eighteen-year-old's voice now, just the slightest bit higher than the voice it follows. Almost there, Gilbert thinks to himself. His answer is simple. "I was desperate for a reason to die."

Ludwig's grip around his brother strengthens. "Gilbert, I don't want you here just because you can see the parts of the country that I can't or only because you're my brother. I want you here because you're an essential part of my life. When you were gone with Ivan, do you have any idea how empty this house was?" There is no echo this time, no matter how hard Gilbert listens. "You keep this place alive. You're something to look forward to in the morning."

A deep breath, then another squeeze to keep himself stable, and Ludwig continues. "Even when we get into stupid little fights about your inability to clean up after yourself or some other trivial matter, it's still so much better than nothing. Without you in this house, I don't have much to feel. It's the most boring, torturous thing in existence." He notices that his brother seems to be looking for something. "You're not having another vision, are you?"

Gilbert shakes his head. "Nope. Not anymore. I... I think I'm ready to move on, West." He repeats the words of the voice in his head: "I want to live."

"Good. You can start by getting out of that uniform. Which, I might add, is ruined." Already, Ludwig's neat-freak instincts are kicking in, and he's relieved to find that no blood got on his body from the hug. Both of them see the abrupt transition as merely a sign that life is returning to normal. "That thing needs to be thrown out."

"Roddy would complain about that, wouldn't he?" Gilbert replies with a laugh, a real one. "Yeah, I didn't think this thing would make it. Besides, it's tight on me. I guess I've, uh, outgrown it," he admits somewhat sheepishly.

"Or at least outlived it," Ludwig suggests, just trying to help.

Gilbert pulls out of the embrace. "You know, you were right when you said that there were things left for me in this world. I just refused to look at them because I was sooooo busy focusing on how I'd lost Prussia and all those things that I thought made me great. So untrue! I've got a lot of things to make me great, even now!" His voice lowers, but still buzzes with excitement, as if he's telling the world's most fascinating secret. "I can sense my people, West! I haven't been able to do that in decades. Well, I might have been able to, but I never bothered trying."

Ludwig makes eye contact with his brother, his gaze serious. "Now do you believe me when I say that the eastern regions are still yours?" Gilbert nods. "Good. We've both got a lot of work to do."

Gilbert's winning grin is back in full force, just as strong as it was in days long gone. "Not a problem! I'm not going to lose sight of what I am like that again. I'm Gilbert Beilschmidt. I live in the present. I have a country, a brother, and a future. And I'm too awesome to let weepy bullshit bog me down. I'm ready to live. I'm getting back on my feet, and I'll be my old self again before you know it!" He says "awesome," and he truly feels it.

His brother's body held against him is warm and real, comforting in a way only the living can truly know. This is what I was going to leave behind? Gilbert wonders. The feeling of contact is no different now than it was then. He no longer understands how he could possibly leave behind something like this, a brother who truly loved and cared for him.

There were just too many good things that Gilbert would end up forsaking forever along with the bad. He knows that, if he had died in his foolhardy attempt to escape from his pain, he would also "escape" from feelings of love, of warmth, of being able to feel at all. Even feeling bad was better than feeling nothing ever again.

He was making a grave error, wanting to leave because he felt unneeded. Even if he wasn't needed, he was wanted, and that was even better. Something tells him that death must be quite lonely, especially without those loved in the living world.

* * *
A few days later, Gilbert spins around in his chair in the basement, taking a break from updating his blog to death to enjoy some of his favorite ice cream. He's alive, and he's not going to let anyone forget it.

"Is everything alright down here?" Ludwig asks, checking in on his brother. "Be careful with that ice cream. I'm not getting you a new computer."

Gilbert takes a spoonful, then spins around in another orbit. "Oh, come on, you worry too much, West! Everything's fine down here!"

"Alright, fine, but if I hear you yelling, I'm coming down there. And if you've wrecked another computer, I'm breaking its remains over that thick skull of yours, understand?" This kind of banter is quite common nowadays. Ludwig always finds it amusing when he's the one teasing Gilbert for a change.

"Hey, you've got a thick skull too, you know!" Gilbert calls up as Ludwig heads back upstairs. He sighs contentedly. There's a lot of noise between them recently, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't love it. Even Ludwig loosens up under the right conditions.

Suddenly, he stops his revolutions when he sees something odd out of the corner of his eye. He turns to the back of his room to see Old Fritz and young Ludwig staring at him, as if beckoning him to step over some invisible threshold into their world. "Hey, you two," he says, as if there's nothing unusual going on at all. "You want some of my ice cream? It's strawberry. I bet you guys would like it."

No response from either of them, only more staring. "That's a shame. This stuff is good." He stares back at them for a little while, then says, "Well, it was nice seeing you guys again. Stop by more often, why don't ya?" before spinning around to his computer. Old Fritz is dead and the little boy has long since grown up to be a healthy, responsible adult. Both of them are wonderful, and there was nothing wrong with their visit, but they are a part of history. Times have changed.

One lonely tear rolls down Gilbert's cheek. Times have changed, indeed. There is no way for him but forward.