Hetaverse. Oneshot. Prussia-centric.

Warning for swearing and the mention of an OC. Friedrich Burgher represents the Federal State of Brandenburg.

Gilbert's morning began with the familiar agony of a hangover as he disentangled himself from his ratty bed sheets. With an exhausted groan, he ventured wearily to the upper level where his brother was waiting with water, aspirin, and a lecture. Gilbert could already feel it flying from the blond's thin lips.

"When are you going to learn?" Ludwig had begun, slamming his solid hand onto the counter for emphasis. "If you continue with this careless, irresponsible behavior, sooner or later you're going to face serious consequences! At the rate you're going, you're probably headed for liver failure of some sort."

Gritting his teeth against the maddening bass thrum of his brother's voice, Gilbert cut him off. He wasn't in the mood to hear this. Silently, he wished he hadn't left the couch. "Hey, hold it, West. What makes you think I'm gonna die of some damn human… thing? I'm a nation, rem-"

"Were." The word was fired form the younger German's lips like a musket ball, burying itself into his brother's gut with a dull thud. "You were a nation, Gilbert. Now you're a… a… hell, we don't even know what you are!"

"Shut up!"

"All I'm saying is that we aren't sure how you'll be affected by things like-"

"I said, shut up!"

Gilbert raised his furious glare to meet his brother's, savage red flames licking wildly at the blond's face. His thin chest was heaving, and his slightly crooked teeth were bared almost ferally. He looked ready to pounce, ready to tear at Ludwig's jugular with chipped fingernails.

The young nation recovered quickly. "It's the truth, Bruder. Whether you like it or not, you're a-"

"Don't look at me like that, West." The albino's voice was nearly a growl at this point, rasping past his clenched jaw. "Don't you dare give me your pity."

"Gilbert, don't be ridiculous-"

"Stop it!"

"Bruder, be reason-"

With a sudden burst of fury, he overturned the kitchen table and stormed from the room. Moments later, Ludwig heard the door slam and knew that his brother had left. He sighed, surveyed the mess of what had been their breakfast.

"What on Earth did I do?"

The ex-nation stalked from the house, secretly grateful that he'd fallen asleep in his street clothes. Spitting bitterly onto the concrete, he swore, running an impatient hand through his already-mussed hair.

He knew he was in a pissy mood, but he couldn't help it. Even then, rage still bubbled in the pit of his stomach as he staggered unevenly down the street. He'd seen it in his brother's eyes… that look.

If there was one thing that he hated more than anything, it was the expression of pity in the eyes of his fellow nations when they looked at him. It was the way they seemed to sigh, "Poor little Prussia, no longer a kingdom, free state, or order. Poor thing, he could drop dead any second. He hasn't got a capital or a house of his own… how terribly sad."

And the only thing worse than getting the hated "look," was getting it form his brother. Ludwig was younger than him. It was Gilbert's job to worry about his little brother, but not the other way around. He may have been an ex-nation, but he wasn't an invalid.

It was humiliating to keep living like this, when everyone was half expecting him to just vanish at any given moment. Of course, death didn't scare him, not really. He was the goddamn Kingdom of Prussia, and he would kick it when he was good and ready. Until then, disappearing was out of the question. He was not afraid of death.

The hostel room smelt of mold and sex as Gilbert sat sourly up on the scratchy blanket of the bed. He refused to return home, to accept defeat. Somewhere in his desperate mind, a plan was forming. He would show West; he wasn't stupid or needy or co-dependant, he was a full grown nation (that being so much more impressive than a mere "full grown" human) capable of surviving on his own. The only drawback was the sad number of Euros that remained in his coat pocket. Of course, that wasn't a terrible problem – if all else failed, he could just steal whatever he needed.

His eyes wandered to the cheap bottles of Korn on which he'd splurged the vast majority of his money, considering them even as his mouth watered.

Tonight he would be satisfied with the cold companionship of his drink, the only constant comfort that he'd ever known.

Once again, Gilbert found himself on the street, squinting against the rising sun and the jagged throb of his own head.

The hostel owner, a kindly old lady of seventy-three, had turned him out that morning, pressing upon him constant apologies. Too loud. He'd been too loud, according to the couple in the room next door. His sobbing had disturbed them.

Ruined the mood, more like.He found himself thinking bitterly. And I wasn't crying.

It had been laughter, naturally. The kind that brought tears to one's eyes. He'd been laughing at the world, laughing at those simpering, pitying faces. It had only ever been laughter.

It the past, Gilbert might not have recommended sleeping beneath a cannon. It wasn't terribly comfortable, and if an enemy chose to attack, there would be a large, metal gun firing mere centimeters from your face. Of course, this didn't mean he'd never done so before. This didn't mean he didn't hope to do so again.

Without the resources to spend the night in another hostel, he had bunkered down on an old fort wall. Lying there, he could close his eyes and imagine that nothing had changed.

The men were joking, laughing softly to chase back the night. Boots shuffled over stone, clicking smartly as an officer passed, whispered insults cropping up in his wake. Someone was humming the anthem under his breath, the words falling across Gilbert's pale, dry lips.

Auch wir sind Preußen wollen Preußen sein.

The words tasted familiar, tasted bitter. It was a song of pride for something that had been. That would never be again.

With the biting flavor of lingering gunpowder on his tongue, Gilbert realized that he was not all so different from the cannon looming above him. Both were outdated, obsolete, and represented something left largely forgotten by the modern world. War. Prussia. Cannon. Kingdom. Rusted. Unkempt. Crumbling into dust and ash to be scattered by the next great gust of wind.

He closed his eyes, forcing the thought back. For a long time he feigned the sleep that so cruelly eluded him.

He awoke to a computerized shutter snap, a gentle exhale of amusement. Sitting upright, Gilbert dashed his head against the rusted metal of the cannon above. Vision whiting out, he could almost hear Elizabeta's voice screeching at him through the pain. Lights blinked stubbornly at the edges of his blurred vision as the albino crawled out from beneath the antiquated defense measure.

"Prussia-san." The short, Japanese nation eased into view. He bowed, bobbing his straight-cut head in his usual, shy manner. "Good morning. How are you?"

"I'm just awesome." He turned away, prodding busily at the goose-egg bubbling up on his forehead. He could already see the beginnings of unwanted sympathy in the other's dark eyes. "You?"

"Fine, thank you. Ah… it is a beautiful day, is it not?"

"Yeah, it's great."

Silence.

"Would you join me for lunch, Prussia-san?"

Gilbert consulted a watch that he wasn't wearing, shrugging as though dismissing whatever he had never had planned. "I guess I'm not busy."

With any luck, the Asian would treat him.

Japan (Gilbert always forgot his human name) sat quietly on the other side of the table and watched emotionlessly as the other stuffed his face with potatoes.

"How is your brother?" He asked finally, politely.

"Good." Still a a stubborn as ever.

Wise, ageless eyes studied his pale face – the dark circles and tired creases. "Excuse me for asking, but why were you sleeping beneath a cannon, Prussia-san? Are you alright?"

Gilbert snorted into his sausage. "I'm camping. Never better."

His colleague hummed gently, but said nothing.

"Never better."

The Asian left for a meeting, and Gilbert was alone again. He was always alone, no matter how many people stood beside him. Solitude was his only constant companion, and he didn't mind. He had been alone for a long time. A very long time.

That night he slept on a park bench, his shoulder jammed uncomfortably against the wooden slats of the seat. The night was cool and rang with half-buried memories. Ludwig's childish laughter echoed in the still air.

Gilbert closed his eyes, drew breath sharply through his nose. He saw a happy, blond boy running out to play with the dogs. He saw his aristocratic rival's face, dirtied and humiliated. He saw battlefields littered with the crumpled forms of his children. He saw the Great Elector, Old Fritz, von Bismarck. He saw Kaisers and a single mad dictator. He saw his little brother's bitter, self-loathing expression, the broken pride of a former empire.

Eyes streaming, he opened them and looked instead to the sky, dotted with stars.

"I don't wanna let go. I don't wanna disappear."

When his consciousness returned to him that morning, Gilbert made two important discoveries. First of all, he was cuffed securely to the bench. Second, his brother was sitting beside his head, glaring forcefully across the deserted park.

"The fuck is this, West?" He mumbled, brain weighted with sleep."Some new kink?"

"Gilbert." The name was a sigh of relief as the blond turned to face his brother. "I was worried about you."

The albino's face darkened immediately, coloring with shame and rage. "You were 'worried' about me?"

"Well, of course. You're my-"

"Your what? Your responsibility?" Gilbert strained against the handcuffs, noting that the German nation was conveniently out of reach. "Look, West, the day I need you to worry about me is the day I throw myself in front of a train. I can take care of myself."

There was a surprised look etched into Ludwig's face as he said this. "I…"

"I've been a nation for a long fucking time, and I'll be damned if I let some brat-"

His brother engulfed him in his thick, muscular arms, awkwardly patting the back of his white-blond head. "I didn't realize that you felt that way. Tut mir leid, Bruder."

A pale hand slipped into the young nation's pocket even as Gilbert shouldered him back. "West, you faggot, get offa me!"

"Right, sorry."

There was a moment of silence, and Ludwig let it sit. He'd done what the guidebook had said – be understanding and show your sibling that you support him/her. All he had to do now was wait for said sibling's response.

The intensity of the albino's concentration rippled across his face as he studied the blond. He thought, brow furrowed and tongue held steady between his teeth.

"One more thing."

"Ja?"

A fist flew up and buried itself in Ludwig's nose. As though in slow motion, Gilbert watched blue eyes widen until white showed all around, the gaze of a spooked horse. The blood came quickly, spurting from the injured nose in glorious twin spouts. The albino could feel the nose clicking behind his knuckles. Blue eyes screwed shut against the sudden impact. The ex-nation's name was clenched in bloodied teeth as Ludwig jerked his head down and away from his brother's blow. Countless emotions dampened the air until neither could speak, neither could think. The blood was as thick as humidity, trapping their clammy breath within their chests and their waterlogged thoughts within their heads. Blue eyes reopened. There was no anger, only pain.

A deafening clank shook the Earth as the handcuffs and key clattered to the ground between them, sliding from Gilbert's slackening grip. He ran. He ran with curses on his lips. He ran with remorse and guilt dragging behind him. He ran and his name echoed in the air behind him.

"Gilbert!" There was no anger, only pain.

He strode quickly down the street, one foot before the other as he propelled himself forward. People, buildings, noises swept all around him like river rapids, jostling him and roaring in his ears. There too much. Too much of everything. He prayed for solitude and silence. Breath was shallow, air was thin, the sky was spiraling down on top of he wanted was to escape.

"Wake up!" A hand was smacking firmly at his cheeks, dragging his conscious from the black tar pit of oblivion. "C'mon, Prussia…"

Blinking awake, Gilbert found himself lying flat on his back, staring up into a familiar pair of blue eyes tinged silver.

"Burgher."

"Beilschmidt." The brunet offered the ex-nation a hand as they exchanged their traditional greeting. "How goes it?"

He pulled himself up with a low grunt, almost toppling his shorter friend. "Not bad. It's been better."

"These days, huh?" Friedrich shook his head, thumped Gilbert on the back and offering an apologetic grin. "The world's really changed."

"You haven't got a goddamn clue." The bitterness lingered, making the air stale. Both stood for a long time, simply remembering an era that they had understood with ease. They were older now. The new world had no need for antiques. Finally, Friedrich sighed.

"Your brother's told me that you won'tgo home." Pale eyes narrowed slightly, but remained free of accusation. "I told him that you're just a madman. No one can pin down the infamous Gilbert Beilschmidt for too long."

Shared laughter clanked from their throats, forced and uneasy, the ghost of a great friendship. Now, Brandenburg-Prussia was simply another name for the history books. Prussia was simply another name for the history books. At least Brandenburg was still a state.

"Y'know, he's a good kid." The brunet was saying, tugging his companion along with the flow of citizens, falling easily into stride with the weary, returning-home laborers. "Works too hard, but for all that he's been through, he's a real decent guy."

"Yeah." The reply was out of his mouth in a second, concealed within an exhale.

"He's young, Gilbert. He'll never know the sort of world that we did."The state's expression was solemn as he looked stiffly ahead. A hint of laughter colored his voice. "He'll never have half the fun we did, either."

"Good seeing you, Burgher." Gilbert sighed finally, lips cramping into an almost painful sneer. "I expect to see you at the bar next Friday."

A tired smile slipped across Friedrich's face even as his eyes sagged exhaustedly. "I'll be there, Beilschmidt."

The front door squeaked as usual, falling inwards and away from his hooked fingers. He could hear his brother in the kitchen, all clanging pans and heavy footfalls, accompanied by a happily chatting Feliciano. The Italian said something, dragging the last syllable out to dance lightly on the warm, kitchen air. Ludwig stammered something unintelligible and made the smaller nation giggle with delight.

The knot between Gilbert's brows loosened. Taking a deep breath, he slipped past the lovebirds and into the door to the basement.

"Welcome home, Gilbert." He was down the stairs in an instant, fading into the darkness of the lower level. Guilt buried itself in his stomach.

He's a good kid.

When Gilbert reemerged, bathed and wearing clean clothes (the modern lifestyle had turned him soft), the Italian had left. Ludwig sat alone at the kitchen table, hands folded awkwardly before him as he glanced quickly from the wall clock to the steaming dishes of food. The albino coughed, his chair scraping lightly against the floor as he seated himself.

"Hey, West."Thin fingers toyed restlessly with the silverware.

His younger brother nodded stiffly. Piercing, sky blue studied him from shadowed sockets, the telltale signs of bruising circling the blond's eyes. His nose still looked sore. And crooked. Maybe Gilbert was just imagining things.

"How was your day today, Bruder?" Ludwig passed him a dish of potatoes, acting as though nothing had happened. "It's been so quiet lately that I'm beginning to think you're planning something."

"Me? Never." He cackled to fill the void.

The room was full of awkward silence, carefully circling the brothers as it waited for its chance to spring.

"I saw Brandenburg yesterday. He said to say 'hallo'."

Gilbert's heart was slowing in his chest, becoming relieved. Ludwig wasn't going to lecture him, to pity him, to tell him how worried he had been. Suddenly he laughed. "You saw Burgher?"

"Ja." The blond filled his plate slowly, thoughtfully.

"And you were with Feli today, hm?" He grinned, spearing a sausage onto his fork. "Didja do anything naughty while I was out?"

"W-what? Of course not!" Pale cheeks flushed a painful red as Ludwig looked anywhere but at his elder brother. "Italy just came over to… talk."

"Right."Scarlet eyes rolled in their sockets, fixing themselves upon the ceiling.

The young German coughed. "A-anyway, it's none of your business."

There was a heartbeat of silence, then…

"If you like him, West, go for it."

Ludwig's brow furrowed sharply as he glared across the table as his brother. "I am not discussing this with you, Bruder."

"And I'm just saying that life is short. You never know when someone'll come and pull the rug out from under you, y'know?" He chewed pensively, as thought impressed with his own wisdom. "Even as a nation, you've gotta make every last decade count."

Something like realization flickered across his brother's face, but it was gone before Gilbert could properly identify it.

Thin lips quirked in amusement."I understand."

"Good." The ex-nation smirked. "Now be a good boy and grab me a beer."