A/N: I've tried really hard for historical accuracy (because this sort of thing is important to me), but if I've made any glaring mistakes, pleasecorrect me, and do so without being obnoxious. Thank you.

In the meantime, some sad stuff, some confused Ludwig, and a lot of hinted modern day GerIta.

Chapter 4

Knowing that his brother had gone to Italy for dinner, Gilbert was surprised when he appeared at the door looking both furiously angry and exhausted.

"D'you take the train, West?" he asked, holding the door open as the taller nation strode stiffly inside. "Hell, if you woulda called me, I would've picked you up."

"I didn't want to ask to use Italy's phone."

"We have cell phones- never mind. How was dinner?"

Immediately Ludwig's gaze hardened, blocking behind it whatever emotion he might have been feeling. "Fine."

Gilbert flinched back, a frown playing on his lips. "He told you about the armistice then?"

"Why didn't you tell me he was a sniveling coward?" The blond's voice broke, and he swiftly snapped his mouth shut as though to hide the injury audible in his question. "Why did I ally myself with him because I already knew that he was a sniveling coward?"

"Whoa, hold it." Holding up a pale hand, his older brother cut him off sharply. "Feli was your ally because, well, politically it was 'cuz you both had assholes for leaders, but also because he trusted you as a friend. He might be the most useless damn soldier the world's ever seen – okay, second behind Francis – but he's a good kid and he cares about you."

"Friends?" Ludwig snorted.

"You made the Pact of Steel with him."

"It was a tactical error."

"You know," a scowl etched into his features, the albino spat. "People say I'm an asshole, but right now you're being an absolute bastard. Really. If you think Feli was a coward, you should've seen his house after the war. Fuck, you should've seen our house after the war. It was a mess!"

"You're awfully preachy today, Bruder."

"Yeah, well, you're awfully dick-ish today." With a sigh of resignation, he grumbled, "You wanna beer?"

"No, thank you." Ludwig shuffled past him to the stairs leading to the upper level. "I'm going to bed."

His bedroom had changed slightly over the course of seventy-two years, which was understandable. The desk that had once housed a typewriter now held only a small, plastic rectangle that seemed as though it could be opened like a book. The old desk lamp had, similarly, been phased out in exchange for a smooth-looking silver item that may have been more at home in an alien spacecraft. Even his yellow, wooden pencils had found themselves replaced by sleek, black instruments that revealed a small stick of graphite at the push of a button.

Ludwig sighed heavily, seating himself on the bed (that was a lot more comfortable that it had been when last he'd set upon it). Flopping back against his pillow, he found that there was a small book tucked inside the pillowcase, not that he was surprised. He had kept his journal in the exact location.

The front cover of the book bore only the word "Journal" on a simple, black background that suited the German quite well, and when he opened it, he found it full of simple lined pages.

"Today Italy and I went to Venice where he took advantage of the canals to show off his skills as a gondolier. I must admit that it was strange to see him so efficiently maneuvering the boat through the water, but then again, I suppose his strengths lie mainly in this sort of romantic nonsense. In all honesty, it was actually rather-" There were several words scribbled out here. "nice of him to have taken me around his favorite city like this. I-" More crossed out phrases. "learned a lot about Italy that I didn't know before. Italy being the land rather than the nation himself. I already know quite a bit about him."

Teeth working steadily at his fingernails, Ludwig pondered the entry. He loved to visit his friend's homeland, but never had he been taken out on the canals in such a way. He'd always assumed that mode of transportation was reserved for couples and lovers, not allies. A sick feeling blossomed in his stomach. He read on.

"Today I took Blackie, Aster, and Berlitz out for a walk around town. I hadn't expected to find Italy playing in one of my parks with a group of children. When I asked him what he was doing, he said he was practicing his German and that he was glad that the children could understand him, even if they were apparently laughing at his 'funny accent'. Somehow he roped me into playing as well, and the next thing I knew, I was involved in a game of freeze tag. It was-" Was his future self a poor speller, or was he afraid of fully confiding himself in even this most private of personal writings? "amusing to see Italy's expressions as he froze for the children. I am convinced he made those faces specifically for their entertainment. And maybe mine as well. When the children left for home, he helped me walk the dogs back to my house. He stayed for dinner."

These writings and those that he read later all appeared to be a brief summary of a memory that was somehow much more complex than it initially seemed. A few pages from the front, Ludwig had mentioned a kiss, but had neglected to describe the location and nature of the gesture. Tucked somewhere in the middle, there was an encounter that could have been considered as cuddling between the two nations, but the manner in which it was described, it could have also just been the Italian's cowardice as they watched a horror film together. The most recent entry had spoken of a plan to spend the day together which could have just as easily been a date.

Replacing the book in his pillowcase, he encountered a wave of uncertainty. What were his relations with the cheerful, brunet nation? Even in his time, an era of mounting tension and militant preparation, Feliciano had been a welcoming, pleasant person. He had understood Ludwig's strange outlook and had agreed to join him in an alliance. He had become Ludwig's first friend.

But was there more?

Unsettled, the German stood and made for the door.

Gilbert was still in the kitchen when Ludwig entered, eyeing the albino warily. Barely looking up from his beer, the older of the two nodded to acknowledge his brother.

"Couldn't sleep?"

"No."

"Tough." He took a long pull of the amber liquid in his bottle before continuing. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No."

The icebox had been replaced with a stainless steel monster with twin doors that sat side by side. Curiously opening one of them, Ludwig was met with a blast of frigid air. He slammed it shut immediately, eyes wide, but said nothing.

"That's the freezer, West. Other side."

Finally procuring the beer he desired, the blond collapsed heavily into a kitchen chair. The siblings lapsed into a relatively comfortable silence, each leisurely nursing his own drink.

Sensing the other's unrest, Gilbert sighed and asked, "You okay?"

"No, not really." Ludwig set the half empty bottle on the table with a low clink and ran a hand through his hair, negating what little hold his hair product still offered. "I just…"

"What?"

"Was I wrong? Going to war, I mean." He focused his attention on a hangnail, digging his sturdy thumb into the painful split to distract himself from the conversation.

His brother said nothing for a long time, lips pressed together into a pale, narrow line. Then, taking in a deep breath, he shrugged. "Look, West, I know we kinda jumped down your throat today, but you've gotta realize something… Your boss, (here he hesitated, mouth puckered as though he wanted to say something but managed to restrain himself) Hitler, seemed really great early on. He dug us out of a shit economy, helped get the kids back on their feet, and told you that you could be proud of yourself again. Problem is, he turned out to be a total nutcase."

Blue eyes found scarred knuckles once more, absently tracing the painful reminders of past mistakes. "So I've heard."

"West, look at me." Gilbert wore the same solemn expression he did when he lectured his men or was alerted of a great military loss. Leaning forward to place a hand over Ludwig's, he forced the younger nation to meet his unwavering, crimson gaze. "You had a metric shitload of problems before he came to power. I know, I remember."

"My children… they were playing with the marks in the streets, Bruder." Voice hoarse, he struggled to break away from the albino's grip. "And everyone was hungry, but the inflation…"

"Thing is, we've moved on. All of us." Flopping back in his seat, the former kingdom kicked his heels up onto the table. "I mean, some people are still sore about what went down then, but we figured out that if you hold in a buncha hate and stuff, it just starts new wars. You've gotta let it go a bit, 'kay?"

Ludwig gnawed at his lower lip, mulling over his sibling's words.

"What happened after the war?"

It was Gilbert's turn to flinch away, eyes becoming shadowed and weary. "Lots of stuff, West. You're gonna have to be a lot more specific."

"To my children?"

"America came through and helped you get back on your feet." he almost smirked. "Made him feel like a hero, and got around the whole issue that basically started the war in the first place."

"And the land?"

"Roddy moved back out, and…"

The blond waited, hands clenched stiffly around his beer bottle.

"You land got split."

"How?"

His brother's tongue darted out to wet his lips slowly, almost painfully, before he seemed to gather the will to speak. "Through Berlin. We became West and East Germany."

"We?" Ludwig stared hard at his brother. "But you…"

"The Allies put me outta my misery in '47, but they didn't bury me deep enough or something 'cuz I ended up being East Germany."

"What was the purpose of the separation?"

"The commie bastard wanted to expand out west, and so after the war, he didn't wanna leave."

The younger Germanic swallowed only to have his breath lodge in his dry throat. "And which of us…?"

"You really asking?" His brother's tone was sharp, bitter, with an edge that hadn't been present before.

They fell silent again, the less-than-pleasant memories soiling the space between them.

"And Italy?" Ludwig asked, half whispering.

Tilting his head irritably, as though hurt that his own flesh and blood would be more concerned with the status of his relationship with the Mediterranian country than with their own, Gilbert shrugged. "You guys didn't talk for ages. Really. Then, some time pretty recently, you started hanging out again. Being friends and shit."

A moment of hesitation from the blond made the ex-nation reach over and smack him on the back.

"Lemme tell you, West, you've been happier in the last few decades than I've seen you in ages."

"B-because of Italy?"

"Get to bed, West." The albino waved him off, dismissing him like a child. "We'll talk more tomorrow."