What are the last moments of death like? Does one cry to their family that they'll never see again? How does the weight of regret carry their corpse? When their eyes roll back in their head, do they see everything they've lost? Can they feel their hand being held in a casket? Are they forever lost in a mass of souls never bound to return home?
Ludwig has seen it all. That is the life of a country. Time and time again, he's cradled corpses in his arms, bagged bodies in helicopters, held the hands of dying diplomats, and listened to the final words of aging friends. Death was not new for him. It was a process older than himself and a regular part of Ludwig's life. Funerals were a constant occurrence for any acting nation. Many figures in history have died, and it was just expected that Ludwig attended these services. Despite this, nothing could prepare him for his own brother's funeral.
The funny thing was, he couldn't even cry. He couldn't even believe it was real. Gilbert had defied all the odds. He had lived when there was nothing to live for. He survived when there was nothing to survive for. He had lost everything, and yet he still managed to scrape by. Ludwig was sure the annexation of Prussia would kill his brother. He mourned his brother before. But then the Berlin wall fell and what would you know? That son-of-a-bitch was there, grinning from ear to ear, with a brick from the wall clenched in his bruised hands. It was amazing. Granted, he wasn't the same since. Thin, often ill, tired. But he was still there, laughing and going out drinking. Dancing with his friends, singing terribly in the shower, and playing his violin at odd hours in the night. Gilbert told his brother, "I'm just so glad to be alive, you know?" and that's what kept him going. So how? How could some oversight, some stupid dizzy spell? Kill his brother in the blink of an eye?
The worst part? Ludwig hadn't believed his brother when he asked for help. Two weeks prior to his passing, Gilbert called at 4 am, slurring, "West…I think I'm dying." But Ludwig didn't believe him. No one believed him. He sounded drunk and everyone knows the man isn't worth two pennies for his thoughts when he's drunk. Granted, he was sick again, but everyone wrote it off as "Oh it's just this pandemic. You'll recover soon enough." That's what Ludwig told him. He just couldn't die. Gilbert was a fighter. He was invincible. All these things had come to kill him. So a cough? It was absurd. On top of that, Gilbert was a trickster. Constantly playing pranks and jokes. Who calls someone at 4 in the morning to say they are dying? So, no one took it seriously. Everyone went about trying to figure out how to supply resources to their own people, while Gilbert was isolated, unable to breathe, and suffering.
The body was found Tuesday midmorning. Gilbert had missed an appointment of some sort on Monday, and no one could get in contact with him. As his emergency contact, Ludwig got the call at 8 am that same day, stating that his brother had missed an appointment and they couldn't get ahold of him. No indication of canceling, no follow up, nothing. He nodded during the call and thanked them for letting him know, worry settling into his stomach. It wasn't like his brother to miss meetings and appointments. Ludwig tried to write off the feeling of dread during the car ride to Gilbert's apartment. Maybe he got really drunk the night before and had slept in. It had happened before. Or maybe he got arrested for doing something dumb. That's happened before as well. Those ideas sat better with Ludwig than the alternative of his brother lying in his deathbed, but the stone in his stomach kept convincing him that he was wrong.
The smell of a dead body is easy to pick up on if you've ever smelt it before. It soaks into everything, oozes down the walls and drips from the ceilings. You can never truly get the smell of death out of something. Maybe the stench, but it's memory has a lingering impact that truly destroys any beauty a home might have. And even though Gilbert had only been rotting for a day and a half, death's faint aroma caused alarm the moment his brother unlocked the front door and stepped inside.
"Gilbert?" His voice bounced in the living room, his spare keys making a loud clunk when they hit the side table by the entrance. He noticed Gilbert's own keys where hanging on the rack by the door, yet there was no reply from his brother
"Gilbert?" he called again, this time louder. He tried to ignore the pit in his stomach that was growing by the second. "You left your lights on and it's the middle of the day." He flicked the switch off. "What are you doing?"
Ludwig moved over to the kitchen area, only to immediately notice a half finished dinner plate on the table collecting flies."Seriously Gilbert?'' he muttered, trying not to let the panic inside him bubble out. He scraped the food in the trash with a shake of his head. Looking around the kitchen, he noticed that everything was stuck in an eerie frozen time capsule. The cutting board was out, pots still on the stove, a jug of milk still out. It was as if Gilbert was making dinner but never finished it. Ludwig sucked in a deep breath and moved from the kitchen back to the living room.
"Gilbert! Come on. This isn't funny. Your keys are on your wall. I know you're in here!" His voice echoed off the walls and the smell of death was getting stronger with every step he took further in the apartment. Ludwig almost jumped when he heard a squeak, and saw a yellow bird fly out of Gilbert's only bathroom. The fear almost immediately resolved when he saw the familiar face of Gilbird, but was instantly replaced with dread when he noticed the bird's panicked and unusual behavior. Ludwig took a shaky breath while his heart pumped in his chest. He couldn't avoid the answer any longer. The stench in the apartment was overwhelming.
"Where is my brother little one?" He choked, barely in a whisper. But he didn't need the bird to tell him. He knew. His brother was in the bathroom. His brother was in the bathroom, on the tile floor, in a mess of vomit, bood, and excrement. There he has been since Sunday night, after he had choked to death from vomiting and a combined coughing fit. He had been rotting there, for a day and a half, with no one to help him. No one to clean up. No one to tell him they loved him or to hold him in his dying moments. On the sink counter lay Gilbert's phone, a chat opened up addressed to Ludwig. There was a singular message with a notification next to it. "Hey, can you come over? I don't feel well." The message failed to send.
Ludwig didn't know this though. He didn't know his brother's corpse was huddled up on the floor. Didn't know he was soaking in a pile of vomit and blood. Didn't know that his brother's last words were for him. Ludwig didn't know because he couldn't bring himself to turn the corner of the door and look inside the bathroom. Centuries of war and loss and brotherhood were not enough for him to face the truth that lay behind the bathroom door: Gilbert Beilschmidt was dead. The former nation of Prussia was dead.
Ludwig called Feliciano and a coroner. Feli arrived first, having been in the area, and was the one who saw the body, comforted Ludwig, and talked to the coroner. Ludwig had to look away when the back body bag left the bathroom. Paramedics tried to talk to him. He couldn't say a word. Police as well. The world was frozen in place yet spinning so fast around Germany that he couldn't handle anything. Not driving, not sleeping, not eating. Nothing. Feliciano ended up planning the body dressing, funeral, and burial of Gilbert Beilschidt, and later organized a food system between the nations to support Ludwig. The German was too much in shock and grief to handle his brother's corpse. It wasn't until three days later, at 10 in the morning at the viewing, that Ludwig finally saw his brother, in stagnant flesh, lying dead in a padded casket like some doll.
The dead never look like the living. A large part is because they are not breathing, but if one has ever truly seen a loved one dead, they know that the person in front of them is more like a wax figure than anything else. Gilbert was no different. They had cleaned him up and made him look presentable. His unkempt white hair was carefully slicked back and cleaned up. A crisp military cap donned his head. His arms were crossed over his chest, with black gloves, a clean blue uniform, and crisp white button up shirt with black tie. Badges of military honor flanked his unbreathing chest. His iron cross was carefully placed over his hands. Arguably, Gilbert looked good. But his skin was rough and dry, like cracked grey leather sagging over sinking cheekbones. No color was in his lips. The mortician had used makeup to hide the bruising in Gilbert's left side from blood settling, but the purple splotches were still visible underneath the foundation that was just a few shades too dark. His eyelashes were stuck together and one could barely make out the small cap underneath his lids that kept the eyes from being sunken. Gravity had stretched out his features so he looked distorted and uncomfortable. His chest was too stuffed and he was stiff. So stiff, that Ludwig felt like he'd break off his brother's fingers if he held the hands too hard. A lively picture of Gilbert in a frame was displayed next to the casket, decorated with flowers of honor, but if Ludwig was being honest, the corpse and the picture were two completely different people. How can such a vibrant and energetic person rest so unsettling in a box? The smell was wrong too. Gilbert was supposed to smell like beer and sweat. Musky like an old book on the shelf. It wasn't the greatest smell in the world. To be honest, it got pretty bad at times, but this Gilbert? He smelt like formaldehyde - a sticky sweetness that chokes you when you breathe it in and finds a way to linger in your nose for weeks on end. It just wasn't Gilbert. This stuffed doll in a box was not his brother.
Ludwig's eyes glazed over while he stood next to his brother's open casket. He was terrified to touch his brother. Not because he was scared of the dead, but because he was scared of a world without him. Touching Gilbert's body and feeling nothing soft, nothing warm? It solidified that fear. Touching his brother meant accepting the reality that he wasn't going to be there tomorrow. Or the next day, or the day after that.
"Ludwig, are you doing alright?" Francis' low voice made the German jump. He was frozen over his brother's body for so long he didn't realize that the room had cleared out.
He cleared his throat "yeah…yeah I'm fine. Just…taking it all in, you know."
Francis gave a small nod and rested his hand on the Germans shoulder. "I understand. This is hard. For all of us." He paused to take a deep breath "You've been here for a while. The procession is about to start. Why don't you take your seat, so we can get started, yeah?"
Ludwig blinked, and looked around the room, his eyes landing on the clock above the door. An hour. He had been frozen over his brother for an hour. The German gave a small nod and squeezed Francis' hand on his shoulder. "You are right. Thank you"
Slow organ music suffocated the walls of the funeral home. Everyone stood up when Ludwig entered the room, who was shortly followed by the pallbearers, Francis, Antonio, Lovino, and Feliciano. It was a slow and hurtful process to watch the sleek black casket with the Prussian flag draped across the top make its way to the center of the room. Ludwig felt like he was going to choke on the air. It was hard to imagine that Ludwig's brother was inside the sleek box, never to see the light of day again. As he took his seat in the front pew, shortly being joined by the Vargas brothers, Ludwig realized he had missed his last chance to hold his brother's hand one more time. To ruffle his hair. To cradle his head. Just one last time. But he missed it because he was too terrified of him being gone. Too terrified to touch him. It didn't matter anymore. The casket was not going to be opened again. The regret built inside the German as the procession went on. People spoke, Italy leading the ceremony and reading a written piece by Ludwig that he had no memory of writing. A few of Prussia's journal entries were read out loud as well. Once the speakers were done, the floor was opened up to memory sharing among nations and guests, and god was there a lot of dumb shit Gilbert had done. Like eating the salt off his first margarita because he thought it was supposed to be a part of the drink. Or the one time he accidentally shot himself in the foot because a month had landed on his pants. Or the time he found moldy cheese under a table during a world meeting, and ate it for two dollars (that he couldn't even use). Or that one tattoo he got on a dare that was so bad he had it lasered off 4 months after he got it, which Ludwig had no idea about. Small pockets of precious moments that would never happen again. He listened, face unbroken and unable to speak. The funeral ended with an acapella choir, lead by Austria, singing Preußenlied. The cheery music of Prussia's national anthem felt out of place while the pallbearers transported his casket to the hearse.
Almost every nation showed up to Gilbert's funeral. It's a big deal these days when one of them dies. In contrast, only a few showed up to the burial. It's an intimate process - the blessing of the grave and the burial process itself are for the few that were close. The burial party included the Italian brothers, some of the Nordics, Alfred, Antonio, Francis, Elizaveta, and Roderich. They had all arrived before the hearse, and silently stood, choking their sobs, as the casket was moved from the hearse to the grave opening. A priest came to bless the grave, and give some speech about God. It felt like forever, but no one broke the silence. No one uttered a word. Grief cast shadows over the cold air as Gilbert''s casket was lowered into the ground The black and white flag was their last reminder of the brother, friend, and lover that Gilbert had been. A few more words were said, before the grave was opened up for people to say their last goodbyes. It was customary that everyone took a turn dropping dirt on the grave.
Germany was the first. He clutched the fistful of dirt in his hand, brows furrowing in guilt, denial, and grief.
You were supposed to be okay Gilbert. You were supposed to survive. This isn't funny anymore… please….come home.
The soft thud of dirt hitting the flag rang in Ludwig's ears. He stepped aside to let the next person go.
Mathias was next in line. The Dane was crying hard while he dropped a fistful of crushed flowers in the grave alongside the dirt. It was obvious he was clutching on to them in a fit of comfort. Large tears rolled off his face, and his body curled into Luca's smaller fame, shuddering violently.
The Italian brothers were holding each other while they put down their clumps of dirt, Romano hugging his brother tight and trying not to let his tears squeeze through. Feliciano was sniffing up tears, wiping them as soon as they came.
Alfred hiccuped as he cried, softly telling the casket "save a drink for me bro" before tossing dirt and moving forward.
Antonio dropped a bouquet of flowers while sucking air, and Francis followed shortly after, only able to whisper "rest easy my friend," before tossing a single flower and handful of dirt.
Roderich and Elizabeta were last. The Austrian approached Ludwig, took the man's hand in his own, and choked "I'm so sorry." The couple moved forward in solemn silence to toss a chain with 2 rings in the ground. The metal made a soft clink, and was slowly followed by the shuffling of the couple feet towards their car. The two stayed in their car for a while, mourning their loss separate from each other, before driving off. Their departure was the indication needed to let others know it was time to wrap this up.
People slowly left after saying their condolences to the grieving brother. Soon it was only Ludwig, Feliciano, and a few workers finishing the grave
"I think you need this," Feliciano said softly, hugging the larger german. Ludwig was so stiff and rigid, Feliciano worried that the man had died alongside his brother. He released the man and looked up "I can stay the night if you need me too. I'm coming over to drop off the food that was supposed to be for the wake anyway. Just let me know."
Ludwig thickly swallowed before giving a small nod. "Thanks but… you don't need to stay. I need some space."
The Italian nodded and squeezed Germany's gloved hand. "Let me know if anything changes, okay?"
Another thick nod. The Italian gave one more squeeze before leaving the burial sight, looking over his shoulder before entering his car and driving off.
The german stayed and watched the plot slowly fill with dirt. It wasn't until everyone was gone, and truly everyone, that he finally sunk to the ground, realized his reality, and cried.
