I pulled up a flashback just to torment Germany. I'm just despicable.

Warning: Angst, memories, grief. Just overall sad feels.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

Midnight

As soon as Ivan untied Alfred's wrists he bolted up the stairs in a fury. He could vaguely hear Alfred calling after him, but he didn't bother to acknowledge him. The only thing he cared about was finding Jeanne and ripping her limb from limb when he did.

Ivan knew she couldn't have gone far and his hearing was rendered acute from all the adrenaline rushing through his system. He heard feet moving across the floor down the hall, and then glass shattered. He picked up his pace, practically flying down the hall until he reached the end room and rushed toward the broken window. He peered out, putting his hands on the windowsill and feeling shards of glass pierce his palms. But that barely mattered. He surveyed the yard, the road, the other houses, and he could find no sign of her. He reached out with his mind, aggressively searching, but only came up with the scattered, monotonous thoughts of stray dogs and the raccoon they had encountered earlier. How could she have escaped that quickly? There was something not right about Jeanne. He balled his hands into fists, feeling blood ooze out between the fingers, knuckles white.

"You bitch!" he yelled, before turning on his heel and marching back downstairs, fuming. But all of his anger was forgotten when he heard Lovino's pained cries.

Everyone was gathered around Gilbert and Lovino was crouched closest of all, pant legs soaked in his lover's blood. His hands were grabbing at Gilbert, pulling, shaking.

"Why did you do it, you stupid fucking bastard?" Lovino growled at him, but he couldn't keep his voice and sobbed. "What the fuck am I supposed to do now, dammit?" He lowered his forehead to Gilbert's bloodied chest. "Don't fucking leave me, please."

Ludwig, meanwhile, was standing over his brother and wiping furiously at his eyes. He was pale and visibly shocked, staring at nothing. "The fool died for me… Mein Gott, he's gone."

"I could have killed that sonofabitch," Lovino said, torturing himself further. "I could have, but I fucking missed. Even when I don't run away, I'm still a fuck up, dammit!"

This couldn't be happening.

Not again, not here, not now. How could history repeat itself so quickly and so violently familiar? Lovino withdrew into himself, groping for any reason as to why all his lovers ended up this way. They had been so happy. It wasn't until after Gilbert was dead that Lovino knew just how much he loved the man. He could feel his heart breaking, and it wasn't right, it was too nostalgic… too much like how it felt when Toni was taken from him.

And it was too much, oh God, it was just too much. Lovino wanted to punch through a wall, but at the same time he wanted to crumble into himself and just lay there, not talking, not seeing, not hearing, not acknowledging all the grief that was inside him. Maybe everyone would give up on him, just leave him there to die beside Gilbert?

Once again, I escaped death. But death feels like a much better option than this.

"Gil," Lovino whimpered and looked up at the pale, dead face, with its sallow tint and empty eyes and blood-soaked hair and that shit-eating grin it was lacking. "Please, don't leave. You bastard, don't leave me here." Lovino's fingers dug into the filthy clothes as hot tears rolled down his face, soaking the material. "You promised." You fucking promised you'd be there, dammit.

There was a shuffling behind him, and Lovino looked up, just then realizing that everyone was watching him. Their eyes were glazed over and they were just staring, in shock. Lovino's eyes fell to Arthur, and he got an idea.

"Bring him back," Lovino snapped, though his tone lost its bite when he gave a sob-choked cough. It turned into a desperate plea. "Fucking bring him back."

Arthur at first didn't know what Lovino was talking about. But when he did, he could feel his heart sink to his toes. "I'm sorry, Lovino."

Lovino felt tears pushing at his eyes again, fingers clutching Gilbert's clothing like it was all that could keep him sane. "Don't say that, bastard…"

"Magic only goes so far. There are three things it cannot affect: fate, true love, and death. Once a soul has passed on, it has been claimed by a higher power and cannot be taken back. I'm sorry, Lovino. There's nothing I can do."

Lovino couldn't believe it. His eyes snapped to Ivan, but the man only confirmed the fact by shaking his head. "Is true."

Lovino's eyes fell to Gilbert and his broken body, and he began to sob again. "No, no, he can't be gone. Goddammit, he can't be fucking gone." He buried his face into Gilbert's stomach, feeling how cold he was, his blood smeared all over him. He didn't want to leave Gilbert. It would be so very wrong to leave someone that you loved so dearly behind willingly.

No one knew what to do. Lovino was a hard shell to crack, and barely anyone had comforted him over their time as nations. They didn't know how he'd react to sympathy, but sympathy wasn't what he needed right then.

Then Feliciano, who had been crying too, knelt next to Lovino. "Lovi," he said shakily before pulling the Italian up and hugging him tightly. Lovino was resistant, hating every second of being away from Gilbert, but he eventually calmed and hugged back, burying his face in Feliciano's shoulder.

"Don't cry, fratello." Tears were streaming perpetually from Feliciano's own eyes, but he hated to see his brother cry.

"How can I not fucking cry, dammit?" Lovino hiccuped. "He's fucking gone."

Despite the stinging words, Feliciano held him tighter. "Shh, Lovino." Feliciano's eyes peered up to meet Ludwig's to gauge his reaction. The German just stared, pale, stricken, and not knowing what just happened. Gilbert had always been there, even when he was not a nation—loud, obnoxious, attention-seeking. Now that he was gone… things seemed too quiet. Finally, his mind slowed down and the reality of the situation hit him—hard. Ludwig recalled their grim conversation on the plane they'd escaped in from the Bundestag so very long ago.

Gilbert had been only scarred then, with glass from the cupola, but he had gone worryingly quiet. Ludwig had asked him what was wrong. He hadn't seen Gilbert think so much in years.

"If something happens," he'd said, and the usual comic spark had left his eyes. "If we're cornered and we're in danger, I want you to do what I say."

Ludwig had been alarmed and offended at once. He was the one who had to constantly babysit his older brother, why was he suddenly the one to be ordered around? "And what would you say?"

"Run." Gilbert had fixed him with a stern stare, and the expression had stricken Ludwig. He opened his mouth to protest, but Gilbert continued, "Don't say you won't. West, you have a responsibility to survive. You're a country. I'm not. My life is not as important as yours."

Ludwig was shocked. "You're not worthless, East—"

"That's not what I'm saying. West, I don't care what you say. If someone goes after you, I'm going to put my life on the line to make sure you stay alive."

Ludwig shook his head. "You idiot. I can take care of myself. You don't need to protect me."

"I won't. But don't make me promise not to try when the situation presents itself. I'm not a country anymore, but I am a brother. At least let me have that."

Well you fucking got it, you damn idiot, Ludwig thought, but he could not bring himself to be angry with Gilbert. Not when he was lying dead and bloody at his feet because he gave his everything to save him.

I should have known, Ludwig thought. The cupola at the Bundestag… he saved me, and I should have known he would do it again.

Ludwig didn't want to cry. He never partook much in emotions, because they just got in the way of logic. But he couldn't deny that he felt rather hollow and it felt like a rock had been jammed down his throat, blocking his airway, making his throat sore with suppressed, choked cries. To distract himself, he took control again. He turned to Ivan. "Did you find her?"

Ivan's eyes snapped up to meet his, surprised that he was speaking. He shook his head and the defeat and frustration was evident in his gaze. Ludwig felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Ludwig, rest," Arthur said, blinking back tears.

Everyone saw right through him in the end. Ludwig was expressionless, gaunt, eyes vacant and voice hoarse. And Ludwig wasn't sorry for it. It took everything he had to even speak, and Feliciano looked up at him, extending a hand. "Luddy."

Ludwig took his hand and crouched down over Gilbert's body, only now getting a true look at him. Before, he had been standing so far above him he could block out how horrible the scene was. But closer…

"Scheiße." Ludwig felt his face grow unbearably hot and his eyes stung, cheeks moistening. He hid his face in his hands, fingers pulling at his own hair to distract from the pain of grief. "For G-Gott's sake, someone close his eyes." He couldn't do it himself. He couldn't bear the thought of peering into those dead eyes and being faced with the fact that the idiot who had always been there, the one who he had constantly thought of as more of an annoyance than a brother, had died because he, Ludwig, had been in danger.

So Francis bent down to do it, but when Gilbert's dead face filled his vision, all he could do was stay there, bent over, his vision swimming with tears. "I am sorry, mon ami." Gilbert's skin was so cold to the touch. All the vivacious life in him had been leeched out. It was hard for Francis to accept that both his best friends in the world had died, but it gave him just one more reason to make it so no one else he cared about became a victim as well. "I will fix this," he promised before brushing his lips over the chilled forehead, hands passing over his dead friend's eyelids to close them. He could still taste the salty sweat of the Prussian. He could smell the metallic stench of his blood pooling around him. The memory of Gilbert's life was suffocating.

Matthew had been the one who had shot down Marvin, but it could just as easily have been Francis. He could have been the one to snatch up the discarded weapon from off the floor, aim it at the Goliath's back, and pounded three holes into it. But he hadn't, and it was the fact that he had been so frozen by the scene unfolding before him that he could not save the life of his close friend, that made him feel guiltier than anything else. He felt a certain degree of responsibility for what happened to Gilbert, and the grief that came with that was a weight greater than letting his country down as a whole. It seemed that even after he learned to react when things looked to be heading down a bad path, he still couldn't do what needed to be done. Once again, he had failed.

"That woman couldn't have just disappeared," Alfred said under his breath, and he caught Arthur's eye. Alfred's gaze was clouded and wet, but he was more frustrated than distraught. Frustrated that such horrible, unforgiving human beings could be the product of his ideals, and as a result the killers of his companion. What Jeanne had said had struck a nerve in him. He knew what he did was not always right, but then again what wasn't right wasn't always one option among many. He'd done some shitty things in his life, most of which he didn't care to think about or account for, but now, he figured, was the time that he might as well accept that he was tainted. Everyone was. That was what living did to you, but then again, not everyone could be born as the embodiment of a nation and its decisions. So, really, did their lives matter more than the rest or were they simply a scourge on the face of the earth, in the way of what everyone really wanted? Judging by what Alfred had experienced so far since the Uprising occurred, he suspected the latter was the best assumption.

So, since Alfred couldn't do anything more than stand there and stare at what one of his people—the monsters of his creation, as it seemed—did to them, not as countries, but as other human beings, he looked to Arthur for guidance. And Arthur knew that expression very well, for he had seen it many a time on the young, determined face, but the words never seemed to reach Alfred's lips. His gaze was all Arthur needed.

"She's nowhere near here," Arthur replied. "I can't sense her." It was certainly odd for a mortal to have the ability to vanish so fast without leaving a trace of her presence behind. Arthur's subconscious told him that it was probably from his senses being muddled by recent events or that his magic was just no good anymore since the little event with the fire, but a snake of foreboding coiled in his stomach nonetheless. He swallowed dryly and decided to speak his mind. For once, he was not ashamed to be bewildered. "I don't know how she did it, but something is certainly wrong with her. Something I cannot place."

"Da," Ivan said, his rage boiling down to a simmer. He stood with her arms crossed over his chest, his blood-stained scarf wrapped around his neck and shoulders, littered with tears and bullet holes. He looked every bit a savage as they all were. This was their mantra now: the more human we become, the greater the beasts inside us grow. And when they are unleashed, well, then this shit happens. "I could not penetrate her mind like before." Ivan sounded guilty about his actions earlier, about believing every word a stranger said just because he had invaded her mind and went through her memories. And Arthur couldn't blame him. "Something dark is inside her, darker than Agramon,"—the very name made Arthur stiffen—"but foreign. I have never felt such energy before in my life, not even from a demon." And that was saying something, because Ivan had lived much longer than any normal magic wielder and knew more than perhaps all the mortal magical population combined (and maybe could even compete with Arthur).

Lovino snapped his head up from his brother's shoulder and barked, "Who gives a shit about the fucking bitch? Gilbert is dead, and all you can think about is that snake of a woman? Fuck you!" He couldn't maintain his furious tone and was once again dissolved into sobs. Feliciano's arms tightened around him and he shushed him, rocking him back and forth.

The outburst had nonetheless brought everyone to their senses. Jeanne was outgunned and far away enough not to be an immediate threat. They were all just ignoring the elephant in the room because it was a big, bloody, ugly elephant, and if they brought it up it would bring about the fact that they weren't even competent enough to keep each other alive. So how then could they ever put the pieces of their shattered world back together?

"He's right," Yao said. He still had his arms wrapped around Kiku, the younger man's gaze distant, staring myopically at the dark pool of blood that surrounded Gilbert's body. Yao's eyes fell on Arthur, who was now once again their guide since Ludwig was compromised with grief. Yao, for his own part, had Kiku to deal with. "What should we do?"

Arthur knew exactly what he was talking about and swallowed forcefully. He looked once again at the three quivering forms crouched around the empty shell of a man whose presence was wanted more than anything and said, "First we bury our dead. Then we turn this house upside down for supplies. This wretched, damnable house."

There was no funeral. There was no time. There was only a twilit sky littered with stars that were not muddled by city lights and Gilbert's body laying untouched in the house as they scouted for a good spot in the backyard to bury him. It was as if they were afraid to touch him, for when they would feel his cold skin they would know he wasn't just sleeping.

Yet, for all of the searching, for all of the careful scouting of makeshift burial plots, by the time Ivan's spade point was thrust into the earth, Lovino shouted, "Stop!" Ivan did so and Lovino tried to keep from crying with all those eyes on him. "I can't… we can't bury him here. Not where he…" He choked and the rest was left unspoken, though everyone knew what he was trying to say.

Not where he had been shot. Not where everything had gone so wrong. Not where they all realized they could barely help themselves nonetheless the mess of a world they helped create. Not where all the hope of them making it to the capital alive was so violently dashed.

And instead of arguing with Lovino over how much time they had been wasting doing something that would not be followed through with at the moment, they all understood and Arthur said, "Very well."

And so they filed back into the house, Feliciano guiding Lovino to the couch where the Italian sat hunched over with his head in his hands for the longest time, trying to come to terms with what had just happened. The others explored the house, practically ransacking it, not caring in the least for the nonsensical things they had once considered valuable. They split up to search for supplies, leaving the grieving Lovino to the couch and Ludwig standing over his brother. Eventually the German swallowed the knot in his throat and crouched, running his hands up and down Gilbert's sides, patting him down. As much as he hated to do it, he knew someone needed to. They couldn't just put Gilbert in the ground with valuable weapons and supplies on him.

The smell of blood was sickening, and Ludwig hated how every time he looked at his brother's face he winced. The wound on the side of his head was horrific, even by Ludwig's standards. He'd seen many a man with half their skull blown off, but none had affected him half as much as seeing his own brother in such a state.

Thankfully, Ludwig didn't have to search long. Most of Gilbert's pockets were empty, and his weapon was still laying on the floor across the room. He didn't have the heart to retrieve it… not yet. He was afraid that he might lose his senses if he touched something that had once been in Gilbert's hand, something that could have saved his life if not dropped.

Ludwig's hand checked one last pocket—the innermost of Gilbert's coat—and his fingers brushed something peculiar. Paper. Folded, crinkled, yellowed with age. Ludwig opened it up and regarded the fading ink, written in the characteristic sloppy scrawl of his brother.

Kleiner Bruder,

France and Spain are getting restless. You don't know how much they want to wring England's neck! We have made camp for the night and I have just been informed that England has deserted Austria! He had his fight with France and then he just bails like that's all he really wanted to do. And Russia has dropped out because he's having some issues with his royalty or whatever. Glad to see that creep go, kesese! Austria makes such unawesome friends. What an idiot! Anyway, I am going to wake up bright and early to kick his ass once and for all. He should have known not to mess with the awesome, almighty Prussia! Then again… I hear he has sent out pleas to Hungary to help him but… she's a chick, so what have I got to lose? Kesesesese!

But don't mind all this war stuff. I'm going to be fine, since, you know, I'm more awesome at it than anyone else. I'm so going to win, so don't worry! I know you want to be here to witness my awesomeness, but you are so tiny still and since you weren't born as awesome as I was, I have to teach you military tactics and stuff. You just mind your nanny and go to sleep on time and… no drinking any of my beer! I need it for when I get home so I can awesomely celebrate and… it's not good for kids or something… so just don't touch them, got it?

I know you're missing my awesomeness!

The Awesome Me

There was another letter behind it, this one obviously written in adult hand (possibly the nanny's) but with a child's voice.

Bruder,

Don't worry about England. I saw him walk past here the other day and he isn't looking too well. Maybe it's that other little boy across the ocean that has him so tired? At least I'm close to you so you don't have to travel so far to see me!

But I miss you, bruder. I don't like it when you go away to fight. Then I can't see you and I don't know how you are. I hope you aren't hurt. If you are, come back home immediately so I can fix you.

Please come home soon so we can play soldiers again… even though you always win.

Luddy

P.S. The nanny locked the beer away, so I can't drink any.

Ludwig couldn't help but smile at the letters. He remembered when he'd received the one from Gilbert and sent the other. He had been so young… what a couple hundred years old? It was during the War of the Austrian Succession. Holy Rome hadn't even been gone yet, and he was kind of ticked that there was someone who was combining parts of his territory to make a future nation… All that he could remember was that he was barely out of his toddler phase (Gilbert hadn't been much of a role model parent as evidenced by his letter) and that he was so eager to go out in the world and meet others like him and be strong and be able to fight whoever he wanted just like Gilbert. Of course when he grew older, he realized how foolish that mindset was (thank Gilbert again for that). But he also recalled how he had been so frightened (secretly frightened, because Gilbert said it was unawesome to be a crybaby) whenever Gilbert went to war. In the early years of his life, he only knew Gilbert; Holy Rome was still around, but his jealousy kept him away. Gilbert had been the closest thing to a parent that Ludwig had ever known, and he hadn't wanted to lose him, didn't know how he could handle all the other big, scary nations who would surely come after him if he lost Gilbert's protection…

His vision blurred and he blinked, wetness trailing down his face. Where had that fear gone after he had grown? He had always wondered this. He used to expect it was just because Gilbert, while cocky, was a pretty good fighter and he would always be there no matter what happened because he was, well… Gilbert. But now Ludwig knew that his fear for Gilbert had always been there, smothered by a mountain of self-convinced certainty. And now those childhood fears were hitting him like a freight train with a million and one cars. It was too much.

Ludwig took a deep breath and bit his lip, willing his eyes to run dry. But no amount of will could ever compose him with what he pulled out of Gilbert's pocket next.

It was a watch. A small pocket watch, dusty and tarnished and rusted with age. Ludwig had chosen it especially when he was younger because it could fit in his small hand. The sight of it took his breath away and he was afraid to open it, afraid to relive the memories. But he clicked it open anyway.

"… And then the awesome knight defeated the unawesome dragon and saved the broa—I mean, damsel, kesese. The end."

Ludwig frowned. "Um, bruder… why did you make the dragon sound like England?"

"What? What are you talking about, Luddy?" Gilbert said with a shit-eating grin. "All dragons sound like that. That's why they're so annoying to slay, kesesese!"

"Oh." Ludwig's eyes wandered to his pillow and then back to Gilbert and he could already feel the tears pushing at the backs of his eyes. "Bruder, can't you stay a little longer?"

Gilbert snorted. "Of course not! You think that drag—I mean England is going to wait for me to fight him? No way! Besides, the awesome always get there first." Then in a quieter voice he muttered, "And King Frederick would skin me alive if I was late…"

"Please stay," Ludwig begged, tiny fingers digging into Gilbert's ruffled sleeve and looking up at him with wide, wet blue eyes. "Please. Until I go to sleep?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "You're such a crybaby. Honestly, I wonder if any of my awesome lessons are getting to you."

"Please, bruder?"

Gilbert stared at him for just a few moments more before something in him stirred and he looked away. "Fine. Just… don't tell anyone."

Ludwig smiled. "I won't!" And he set about turning down his bed and making room for Gilbert to lay beside him. As he was adjusting his pillow, something heavy slipped out and rolled across the floor. Gilbert immediately stood to examine it.

"What is this?" He stooped to pick it up off the floor.

Ludwig lunged forward, hands reaching out to grab it. "No!"

Gilbert curled his fingers around it and held it away. "What? Why do you have a watch?"

"No, give it back!"

"Kids don't keep track of time."

"It wasn't for me," Ludwig pouted, crossing his arms. His face was red and he was staring at his pillow as if angry at it for spilling his secret. "It was a gift for you. I was going to give it to you before you left."

Gilbert looked down at the watch in his hand and frowned. "What would you give me a watch for? Beer would have been the best gift, kesesese!" He clicked it open and his frown deepened. "The time is not even set right. Is it broken? How unawesome!"

Ludwig squirmed uncomfortably on the bed. "It's not broken. The nanny showed me how to wind it, and I set it to midnight."

"Midnight? What for?"

"I…" Ludwig's face was glowing by now. "I want to get more involved with your campaigns and… since I can't be there, I… I-I thought that by winding it to midnight, you could click it on whenever a battle starts, you know, to time it. Then I will know how long you'll be fighting for… how long you will be in danger." The last few words came out as an embarrassed whisper.

Gilbert stared at the watch and chewed his lip. Ludwig hadn't known what the expression was that Gilbert had worn then, but now that he returned to the memory he knew it had been guilt. Gilbert felt bad for teasing Ludwig when the younger had only wanted to know more about Gilbert. The man's lips twitched, as if wanting to crack a warm smile, but that was simply too out of character for him. So he pocketed the watch and sat on the bed.

"Luddy, you don't have to be scared. Do you know why?"

Ludwig lowered his eyes and shook his head.

Gilbert continued, "Well, for one thing, it's unawesome." Then the cockiness disappeared from his voice. "And because I'll always come back to you. I mean, honestly, how could I not? When you have this much awesome it's kind of impossible to be defeated right?"

Ludwig peered up at him. "Holy Rome is dying."

Gilbert blinked at him. "What? How did you know that?"

"Austria says it sometimes. He says that when he dies, he'll take everything Holy Rome had for himself."

Gilbert sighed. "Lud, Holy Rome is… a little sick right now. But he will get better…" Gilbert chewed his lip and patted Ludwig's pillow. "Lay down, now. I have a long day of traveling tomorrow and if you don't get to sleep, I won't."

Ludwig slid beneath the covers while Gilbert took off his hat and lay back on the bed beside him. He smelled of dirt and horse and blood (all the awesome smells, Gilbert claimed), but Ludwig couldn't care as long as his brother was beside him.

Ludwig couldn't sleep that night. He just lay on his back with his eyes closed and chest rising and falling shallowly. But he kept his eyelids cracked open just a bit. Just enough to see Gilbert turning the pocket watch over in his fingers, staring at it for a good hour. When he finally began to doze, Ludwig felt an arm wrap around him.

"I don't like leaving you," Gilbert murmured as he drifted off. "But I don't want you to end up like Holy Rome." There was guilt in his voice. "I can't help him, not anymore. But I can help you. As long as I live, I won't let what's happening to Holy Rome happen to you. I failed once… but this time, I'll be an awesome big bruder. I promise."

"I can't believe you kept this," Ludwig muttered, pressing the watch to his chest. You said you'd always come back. Where are you when I need you most, East? He snuffled and wiped his eyes with his palm. "Verdammt."

I may be grown, but I still need you.

Nothing could be accomplished with tears. He told Feliciano this time and again, but he realized now how hard it was to stop them. He stood before he could break down any further and snatched up a blanket hanging over the top of the couch, throwing it over Gilbert. He couldn't look at him in such a state anymore.

He took out the pocket watch and stared at it, clicking it open. Inside was an old picture of Ludwig, so young still. The time was set to midnight.

Translations:

Scheiße-Shit

Verdammt-Dammit

(Um... is it okay if I just don't include these in the translations anymore? I feel like they're sorta common knowledge and it's getting monotonous...)

A Word From the Writer: Sadness and then more sadness. And we get to see Germany cry. What does that look like? I just try to imagine Arnold Schwarzenegger tearing up, but then that makes me giggle. So... don't imagine him, 'kay?

... You are, aren't you? Verdammt, mein sides!