A/N: Okay new story people. This is a berlin wall/ cold war era tale about Gilbert after he goes to live with Russia. He is East Germany AKA the German Democratic Republic in this. This will eventually be RusPrus or Russia x Prussia.

Warnings and disclaimers are as follows:

Title: Sound The Bugle

Chapter: One

Warnings for the chapter: Abuse, Language, and mentions of genocide and WW2. Plus it is only semi-Beta'd. Sorry.

Disclaimer: I do not own. I wish I did.

The Iron Cross. The last link to my past, my people, my nation, and…my brother. Three years in this hell hole and I had yet to break. That bastard Russia had even put up a blockade to keep me and West apart but that still didn't seem to satisfy him. He had to take the one last thing I had in this world, my last connection to the life I once led. I watched as one massive paw took a hold of my cross and tugged, easily snapping the thin chain and my will. The last tie to everything that was familiar to me, that I had been or known disappeared into that monsters pocket as he dared smile innocently at me and I hung my head in defeat. I felt myself start to give up. To realize I was fighting a loosing war. To officially sound the bugle.

I gave a half-assed effort to struggle against the chains binding me to the wall, screaming profanities at him. The psycho just kept smiling at me, violet eyes shining with sadistic amusement.

"The little one does not need this anymore, da?" he asked in that damned childlike voice Id grown to hate. "Because your not Пруссия anymore are you? You're not Prussia. You're my German Democratic Republic. My GDR now."

"Fuck you! I'm Preussen! Prussia!" I snarled, ever defiant despite having nothing to live for any longer. I barely had time to register his hand raising before he slapped me. I tasted the sharp metallic tang of blood on my tongue and felt it trickle from the corner of my mouth as I grinned triumphantly up at him. He had lost his temper, I had won this round. But the retribution for this small victory would cost me. I just wasn't sure what else could lose.

"Your not feeling well, little GDR, so I'll come back when you feel better, da?" he said walking back up the stairs with my cross and leaving me to shiver in the icy air of the basement. I made sure he was completely out of sight before I showed any weakness by shivering from the arctic temperature of the room and letting the tears slip silently down my face. I thought back to the last tie I had seen mien bruder. The last day of that hopeless war I didn't even want to be a part of. The day those three self righteous bastards and one traitorous son of a bitch decided to let Russland have me. The very day my life became a living hell.

(Flash back time, sorry people but its necessary)

Sun shined down in an empty clearing, oddly cheerful for such a dark day, as four men stood in a small semi circle in front of their two prisoners. The prisoners in question were kneeling, hands bound behind their backs. The two huddled close to each other for support and comfort. The burlier of the two hostages appeared to be a few years younger than his companion. His ocean blue eyes glinted with fear and apprehension, for himself and for his companion but no other emotion was exposed in his stoic face. The light blonde's hair was streaked with dried blood and was mussed from battle and out of its normally slicked back style giving indication to the hardships he had been through lately. His associate was painted in even more blood, snowy hair encrusted with it and pale, nearly colorless skin streaked dark mauve with the life liquor of those he called enemies. His crimson eyes flashed dangerously with suppressed anger and defiance and his entire body was taunt like a bow, prepared for a fight. Fear was completely absent from his gaze and expression as he starred down his captors.

After a few moments of the tense, pregnant silence the apparent leader of the men standing stepped forward to address his prisoners. His face was unusually grave as he began to announce their fates.

"Gilbert and Ludwig Beilschmidt, you are here by charged with war crimes of the highest degree. Among those included is the torture and genocide of an entire race and various other peoples." His clear voice rang through out the field with a sense of definiteness that left no room for argument. "Your punishment has been unanimously decided by we, The Allied Powers. Germany shall be split into two halves, East and West. Ludwig, you shall come with Arthur, Francis and me, and West Germany shall be divided into three separate sectors with each one being controlled by America, Britain and France. Gilbert, as East Germany, you shall with Ivan to be put under Russian supervision. East Prussia has, as of this moment, been officially dissolved. It is now to be known as either East Germany or the German Democratic Republic. In addition Berlin is to be divided into four sectors, one for each ally. This punishment is ultimate and no altercations can be made to it." Once he was finished delivering the sentence he stepped back into their make-shift ranks. He watched as the information sunk in, his eyes thoughtful as he starred at them. He was thinking back to some of his own actions of late and their consequences, comparing them to the actions of the two men in front of him. Were they really so different? Was his bombing of Nagasaki and Hiroshima justified because it was done in the name of peace or was he just as bad as the two brothers he was now condemning? The paler of the two prisoners, Gilbert immediately started shouting protests, refusing to just accept the consequences of the war he had fought in.

"Nein! You can't do that! You can't separate me and West!" he hollered fighting to get to his feet. His brother, the stockier blond kneeling next to him just hung his head and accepted the hand he had been dealt. He realized that they were the losers and as such they had to agree to what ever the victors decided upon. Unfortunately, Gilbert had never been very good at lying down and agreeing to defeat.

"Bruder stop. There's nothing we can do." Ludwig said quietly, heavy German accent making it hard to understand him. Which his brother used to his advantage and pretended he never heard anything, continuing to shout.

"Fuck no! I'm not leaving my brother to go live with that nut case! You can't dissolve my country! Preu en is too awesome to be dissolved! Who the hell do you think you are, passing righteous judgment on us you hypocritical bastards? I've done nothing worse then any of you have done before in previous wars! War is ugly and shit happens!" He screamed. The man known as Arthur, the embodiment of Britain, stepped forth this time to put him in his place. The Brit had been waiting for a moment like this, a moment in which he could get a small amount of retaliation for the destruction of his heart, his capitol, at the hands of the Prussian pilot and his fleet of Luftwaffe bombers. He wanted to crush the albino's spirit like his had almost been, rub in the fact that the egotistical warrior had lost.

"Victors right." He sneered tauntingly, relishing in the heady feeling of triumph and supremacy he felt at the utterance of those words, "you are bound as a fallen nation and defeated solider to our will. You specifically, Gilbert, should be grateful for your luck and more humble. The original plan was to dissolve your country and execute you but Russia has, for some reason unfathomable to me, taken a liking to your obnoxious arrogant arse. Therefore you shall not complain or fight your sentence or the execution will happen." His mocking tone had Gilbert wishing his hands were free so he could rip out that haughty throat that dared talk down to him.

The proposal that his dearest older brother might have been execute for a war he didn't even want to fight in had Ludwig reacting this time. "No! Please don't execute him. He's mien bruder, my only family I've ever known." He said looking up at the faces in front of him in a search for sympathy. Only one face showed him the compassion he desired. France looked down at him in understanding, remembering the time of Napoleon and how hard Gilbert had fought against him to get Ludwig back.

"Mon chere, Gilbert won't be executed if he does not fight the punishment." The wavy haired Frenchman said comfortingly, looking over at the man he once called a friend and begging him with his eyes to just accept defeat this once. Gilbert met those familiar eyes in a rage.

"You want to execute me? Go ahead I dare you too." The albino snarled, challenging them to try and see what happens. He wasn't dead and he would fight until the ending breath left his body. Russia smiled and walked over to the conquered nation, childish joy radiating off of him.

"Nyet, your mine now, little bird. They won't kill you unless I decide that you are destined to die. At the present we must be getting home, da? It is late after all and we both have had a hard day." The Russian grabbed a hold of Gilbert's arm to lead him away, but Gilbert resisted.

"Wait. Let me say good-bye to him." Ludwig cried struggling to his feet. He managed it with the help of Francis, who then proceeded to help him reach his brother for one final goodbye.

"Ludwig I'll be fine. We'll see each other soon enough. These assholes can't keep us apart for long." Gilbert promised, putting on a brave façade for his brother.

"I'll get you free. Just please don't do anything stupid. Do what Russland asks okay Gilbert? Please don't get yourself hurt because you are too stubborn and defiant for your own good. "He begged his reckless older brother, truly terrified for the other's fate. Gilbert just gave him a smile that did nothing to quash his fears and leaned closer to him, giving him what could pass as a hug for the moment.

"Ich liebe dich, Bruder. See you soon," Gilbert whispered into his ear before Ivan jerked him away from the blond German and into his chest, arms wrapped around him possessively.

"I said we are going, da? You've had time to say farewell so we leave now. Home is a long ways away." The Slavic man growled pulling the shorter Prussian along. Gilbert looked back at his brother, watching him disappear into the horizon the further away they got. He could tell Ludwig was being held back by Britain and America with France standing off to the side to watch the one occasion where the proud third member of The Bad Touch Trio walk into his new life.

"Goodbye, brother." The beaten warrior whispered one last time, the words snatched from between his lips by a sudden harsh wind that sent chills through his already weakening body.

A/N: Authoress would like to just add I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of a story I promise to finish. I would love it if you would R&R but I refuse to hold my baby hostage till I get a certain number of R&Rs so dont worry about that. If you would like the story to maybe go a certain way or see something specific in it dont be afraid to ask. I'll do my best to please you people because your the ones that matter. And reveiwers get responses from me. Goodbye until next time loves.