Disclaimer: I do not claim nor own any bit of Hetalia. This is purely a fan work.

Note: Wow it has been LONG. I have been in Germany for a while so I haven't really been very 'writy'. In addition I've had so much school work to deal with, its been hard to catch a break. So here it is! FINALLY.

ooooooooooooooo

Ludwig hadn't slept yet. His eyes were dark, puffing, his checks lost the luster they had the day before. Feliciano had tried to place some stew in front of him, but he simply pushed the food around in the bowl before offering it to his brother. Gilbert excepted it but not in the usual vigor he accepted food. A silence. The Doctor didn't want to discuss anything over the phone, insisting Ludwig come and speak in person. Since that call, there had been quiet. Inside the blondes head nothing but white noise and dull stare to greet the world. The postman would drop off his car and stay a while for a meal, payment for his automobile and the rare diesel fuel it contained. Feliciano already preparing some meat for his arrival.

When the squeal of over worn brakes stopped on the dirt road out front Ludwig stood up and set his utensils down. He was not dressed as he would normally be. A white shirt that use to be an undershirt for his brown suit, when he was in any control, was hanging on his frame. Brown plain pants and his dress shoes that were scuffed and withered at the soles. He opened the door for the postman, greeted him with few words, thanked him, and left.

"Welcome, make yourself at home." Feliciano chirped once Ludwig had closed the door. Setting a plate of food at the empty seat. Though the postman himself wasn't what one would consider starving, he had lost weight since the end of the war. He was kept in work because of the need for post offices and deliveries, which kept food on the table for himself. He was a thick built man of a short and stocky stature. Black hair and pale dark green eyes vivid from under thick brows. He reached over and shook Feliciano's hand then reached for Gilbert who was a little slower to respond.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt,"

"Gunthar Liebstrung," He sat and smiled at the stew, "looks excellent," he compliments before beginning. There is a pause for a moment before Gunthar attempts a conversation.

"So, you are Ludwig's older brother?" He asks. Gilbert nodded but remained quiet. His flesh a little pallid as if he were on the verge of falling ill.

"Worried about that boy of Ludwig's?" He asked in a solemn tone.

"Yes," Gilbert admitted. But it wasn't the only reason. Gilbert had known Leos was susceptible to fatality. It is the nature of all nations, but he was not convinced the German people were dead. If Leos was sick, it may have been from real illness which can be cured, not his burden.

"Children can bounce back from illness quicker than adults." He tries to say encouragingly. Gilbert holds the spoon to his mouth a moment then places it back down. His staring into his bowl.

"He has been sick like this before."

The room went quiet. Feliciano stopped, bent over the table offering their guest some more food, turning to stare at Gilbert. The pale mans hands came up and his fingers interlaced, thumbs cradling his chin and he stared off into the far wall.

"This has happened before?" Feliciano asked to clarify he understood correctly. Gilbert again, nods and closes his eyes. As if it were something he didn't want to admit.

"It was after the first war. The masses of dying starving children and mothers. The husbands who had abandoned them in search of food or work or had simply given up. It was a hard time, and that is when Leos was sick like this. I watched him in that bed I had for him. I sat up night after night. The amount of medicines I went though, none of the worked. And he just slept. He never woke up until…" Gilbert paused, "Well, once he woke up he was in agonizing pain all over. Rolling and writhing when 'revolution' came. Then just as the sickness came, it had passed." Gilbert unfolded his arms and went back to eating. While everything registered with Feliciano, Gunthar looked at Gilbert as if he had been speaking to a mad man.

"But the war ended in 1918… That child can be no older than seven, eight at the most and even then he's a petite thing." Gunthar spoke with a hint of confusion and accusation.

"Don't mind Gilbert, he's been having a hard time and sometimes gets his facts mistaken… I think he means this war, yes?" Gilbert remained unmoving for a second then sighed.

"Yes, my apologizes, this war…" He lifted himself up and hobbled on his makeshift cast. Hanging unto the wall for support. Leaving the two alone in the kitchen while his eyes aimed for the sofa. The stiff wood boarding making it uncomfortable to sit in a chair for long, he had been dying to get out of it. He wasn't of much use in the presence of their company anyway.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

The grand windows of the children's ward had been opened and fresh air allowed in. The sweet scents of blooming flowers and tender grass was a welcome perfume over the sterile sense killing odor of chemicals. Children sat in their beds, eating and drinking their lunch. Some nurses sitting with the more weak or disabled ones. A boy with both hands bandaged being fed, his head shaved with stitches crisscrossing his skull. Smiling for the food the young nurse was giving him. Some were infants, being paced the length of the ward by the more experienced nurses, bottle to their lips. An elderly nurse wobbling by him, much hunched from age and labor, a smile missing most teeth and eyes pale with aliment. In her hands a tiny baby which looks burned, suckling peacefully as a red blistered arm kneaded into the blanket it was wrapped in.

Then came the last little section of curtain. All was quiet, unlike before when screams came shrilling down the halls. Was this silence good? Ludwig halted a moment and brought his hand to the buttons of his shirt and held them. Clasping in thought. But his processing was disturbed,

"Mr. Beilschmidt?" Ludwig winced a little, not expecting a voice behind him. He whip himself around and put his hand back by his side, his shoulders up, back into his suit of confidence.

"Doctor…" Ludwig hadn't seen the doctor in person since he showed up with Leos in his arms begging for a bed. The man wasn't much different from that black clouded day. He was shorter than Ludwig, plump with a thick wide build. He looked like a farm laborer with a white coat placed on him. Glasses tilted slightly, the rims worn from years of use. Large ears held them in place on his wide bridged nose that bore a series of small scars. His black hair was thinning out on the top, his beard flecked with grey, and flesh beginning to age.

"I thought we may take a walk and discuss your son's condition," He went to Ludwig's side and ushered him away from the curtains that concealed his boy. The two men exited the hall and began to stroll down a more placid area of the hospital. Ludwig stayed silent, staring down on the marble floors.

"Mr. Beilschmidt, your son has a rather peculiar condition," He began, Ludwig just nodded. Surely with all the work this man has done to his son he would notice Leos was not exactly a normal child.

"We feed him high calorie formulas rich in fat and vitamins, yet he gains barely any weight. His body is severely emaciated, but his blood tests all come back for that of an almost normal level of health besides a few expected abnormalities with his infections. In addition to that, it would seem that the age of your son doesn't match him physically, if this were a child brought to me with no information, I would guess him a four to five year old boy. It is these things which concern me the most." He pauses for Ludwig to speak should he have words but the blond merely nods in acknowledgement. "That aside, he has several infections on his legs and back from the previous hospitals bed sores. He gives us quite a fight about cleaning them." The doctor chuckles, "His coma has subsided and he has been staying awake a good twelve to sixteen hours a day, his appetite is good, he is starting therapy to walk again and can already take a good amount of steps with assistance." A smiles perked at Ludwig's cheek,

"I am happy to hear,"

"However… There is a matter of his burn." Ludwig's chest clenched and twisted until it felt as if his skin was going to wrinkle and churn to drain into his chest. The burn. Horrible enough someone should take a severe burn, even worse given what shape the burn was in. He waited for the doctor to continue.

"It burned him to the bone, to his rib cage and there is severe scaring and infection. He wouldn't let any nurse near him without a problem."

"He hates women," Ludwig says,

"He has expressed his hatred many times," the doctor laughs and shakes his head. "Back to the burn though. Although it is severe and infected my biggest fear is his exposure to other children. I actually believe that this hospital would hold back his recovery based on the amount of infectious diseases that come through." He says. Ludwig stops,

"What are you saying?" his face deadpans, is this doctor kicking his son from the hospital? Was Leos too much of a problem patient? Is it that he can't pay?

"I think Leos is well enough to return home so long as he sticks to a strict regime of medicines and cleaning. If you can provide the food and cleaning, my staff can compound medicines for him and you can take him home."

Home. He could return home? The world around Ludwig was no longer sensed and his brain devoted its energy to the debate of his son's life. He wanted nothing more than to take his boy. Away from the sterile pain of hospitals, nurses, and agony of others suffering. However, was this a wise idea? Could he provide food for the child? Soap to clean his wounds? Bandages to keep fresh? Would Leos be bed bound? If so, where would he put him with his brother bedridden in the boy's room? While most parents would be leaping for joy, Ludwig stood paralyzed in place.

"We should visit your son and decide if taking him home is plausible, yes?" The Doctor tried to snap him from his still state. Ludwig merely followed in silence. His eyes to the floor. Thinking, calculating, trying to decide the best action based on need and not selfishness. The children's ward had gotten noisy fast after the food was eaten. More healthy children playing while sicker ones seemed to be getting attention from nurses. Leos seemed so cut off. In the back corner, a white veil of curtain around his bed to block him from view that always seemed closed. Even children that were bandaged head to toe seemed to have been socializing somewhat.

Ludwig slid his fingers and parted the thin partition, slipping in as if he were sneaking into the room. Leos' section had a large window and a deep sill which the child was sitting on, curled up in a thin sheet and gazing out over the fields. It was hard to believe that soon the pastel shades of flowers would bloom in the fields again, the grass would be richer, and the fields bright with crops. Almost a year now since Leos had been in the care of this place.

Bones shifted from beneath the blanket, his head lolled to the side. At first, an expression of discontent and bitterness. Then his pale brows lifted, jaw fell open, and the boy wobbled to his feet. Stumbling like a newborn fawn towards it mother, he stepped from the sill to the bed, and jumped. Ludwig's arms went out, snatching him up before Leos' failed attempting at leaping had a chance to slam him into the floor. The boy's face instantly turning red, eyes squinting as they became wet and a loud cry pierces the hospital again. Sharp bones warping around the thick neck of his father's, head buried in his chest, latching to the warm. Ludwig's arms became a fortress, locking Leos into his grasp that no one had any hope of taking him from. The scent of old musk, plain soap and salt heavy on his father's chest, inhaling the odors in his sharp pants between wails. Ludwig's thick hands supporting him by the thigh and back. The child didn't feel like a human, he felt far more like an animal, like an emaciated rat. The flesh so quick to shift over bones. Squirming and crying, cold to the touch, it wasn't the way anyone wanted their child to feel like.

Ludwig turned and sat on the bed. His broad forehead resting on the meager shoulder of the child's. Eyes closed, he let a few tears slip between his pallid lashes.

"Sshhhh," he cooed, Leos' cry softening to hear his father's voice. "Ssssshhhhhhhhh," The hand on Leos' back began to shift and rubs circles. The cries fading to sniffles, then to nothing at all.

"Papa," It's all that was said for a few minutes as father and son sit together. Finally, Ludwig pulled Leos back so he could see his face. Pulling his sleeve up to clean the boy's teary eyes.

"How are you, Leos?" The soft deep tone soothed the boy's ears and mind. He merely pulled back closer to his parent as a response, then inhaled,

"It hurts,"

"I know," Ludwig's hand rubbed on his back a little. Sitting him up in his lap again. The boy did look smaller. Much smaller than when he first admitted him. He was too small, as if he had reversed in age. A thick padding of bandages held over his chest where the burn was. His arms dotted with little wounds or bruises that came with being in a hospital and confined almost always to a bed.

"Little Leos, we should change your bandages and show your father how to do them, yes?" The doctor had finally said. Leos tensed up, coiling in his father's hold and shook his head furiously. The doctor got up with a strained breath, his joints cracking a little and opened the curtains just a bit. Ludwig sat his son beside him but the boy was already beginning to get upset again and cry.

"Shhhh Leos, how am I to clean you if I can't bandage you?" He stroked the boy's hair but it didn't do too much to curb his impending fit. When the mere sight of the glass iodine bottle and roll of cotton came into the room the child cling against the strong bones of his father.

"No! No, no, no, no, no!" Leos' voice, known to be a piercing cry unlike the others, rang high again. The doctor however did or stop or slow, to do so would only prolong the child's agony and fear. Old fingers, calloused and scarred like an old farmers hands, gently parted the buttoned down hospital uniform. Ludwig holding his son firmly, one hand to turn the weak boy's head into his neck for a gesture of comfort, but his eyes focused.

"No, they will see!" Leos cries into Ludwig's throat. The doctor clips off the bandages in lieu of unrolling them. The wound showing again.

Like an imprint in the sand, the mark sank deeply into his pale flesh. Muscle burned away leaving a red glow of raw scabbing. The brand was clear as stone engraving, there was no mistaking it. As bright as the banners it once hung on it. The disfigurement was un-healable even if his son recovered.

"Come now Leos, be brave," The doctor encouraged,

"They'll see! They'll see! It's a bad!" Weak legs rose to push which Ludwig quickly eased back down to the bed.

"No, shhhhhh, calm down," His voice firm but not scolding.

"I know how you feel Leos," The doctor said as he began to wet some cloth.

"No, no, no one knows!" Leos' voice was broken with pants. His tone wasn't that of a whining child. It was desperate one, as if he comprehended the gravity of what was on his chest. Leos turned away and hid his wound. Ludwig trying to pry him off enough so the doctor could clean him.

"I am marked," The doctor says simply. Leos sniffed a little, looking the man over. "Mine is different, but if you want, I will show you mine." His thick hands patted the thin thighs of the boy. Leos turned quiet, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

"O-ok." He said, "Where is y-yours?" The doctor rolled up one sleeve of his jacket and began to unbutton his cuff. Leos leaned forward to inspect the muscle laid over his forearm.

Tiny scars littered his skin, some large and gnarled from severe injuries, even slim slits from the slip of a knife or glass. Ludwig looked away. His son leaning and pulling gently at the skin until a greenish black mark straightened into a line of readable digits.

"It's healed," Leos said,

"Not yet, but…" He didn't finished that thought but went unto to another, "Just like you it's something I have to live with. It is a bad mark, but I will not let it shame me. I will not let it get in way of my opportunity." He smiled, "Now, you won't let it ruin your opportunity, hm?" He offered, parting Leos' arms.

"How'd you get it?" He asked, letting his mark be exposed again. Ludwig's head ducked low. Avoiding even looking at the doctor or his son now, keeping his gaze down at the wound.

"Not unlike yours," He answered, dabbing the cotton into the wound lightly. Old scab and blood sticking to it, a pile of dirtied cotton stacking up as it was changed. Then a heavy coat of iodine. Leos squirmed and gave a whimper, but his teeth bit against his lip and bore the sting. Quick hands rolled around the tiny torso of the boy to hold in a sheet of soft cotton. A tiny safety pin to lock it all together.

"Good boy Leos," Ludwig whispers and gave a ruffle to his hair. Leos leaned against his father, fingers trembling as he attempted to button himself up. Ludwig's larger hands going down to help. His blue eyes case down, unable to look the doctor in the face.

"Thank you for saving my boy." There were plenty of doctors killing off German children. Allow them to succumb to primitive illness and filth. They were mostly the doctors of the victors. People who hadn't been through the brunt of what this one had.

"I'm.. sor-" Ludwig began,

"Don't apologize. Please." The Doctor said, "I cannot have hate in me, to have it would condemn me to a life of further suffering." He paused and snapped the gloves off his hands. "That's not to say everyone is quiet as flexible as me." He said, and gave the boy a smile. He had gazed at the doctor for the duration of the conversation. Something of an understanding gaze, even though Ludwig had done well to mask him from the subject.

"So, my good sir, do you believe you can take him home?"

ooooooooooooooooo

Special Note: I've begun taking class on Nazi Eugentics and policies as well as holocaust studies. I may do a play on this fic in the future since I am armed with more acurate information.

ALSO- are you into rping? Do you like to dabble in a bit of taboo subjects such as Communism, National Socialism, etc? If you aren't afraid of some heavy things, there is a part in -desperate- need of being taken over in an RP I am part of. It's a great little story but its quite out there and based off in part on 'Petalia', another work of mine. If you like the concept of Petalia and are very open minded, Send me a pm and if you feel you want to take over the leading role, let me know. You can also create additional, well formed, accurate characters of your own. However, without the Lead Role, the rp will die and thus, no point in inviting others, eh? SO if you feel you are cut out I will send you a brief summary. You don't have to be epic at rping but at least 1+paragraph posts. It done in real time on MSN.