Hello! This has been in my head for awhile, and I finally wrote it down. This is a deathfic, and it's depressing and sad. Because that's what deathfics are. In my opinion, Gilbert is still alive, living as East Germany, kind of like North and South Italy. But, I wanted to write this anyways.

Also, I would like to clarify that this was meant to be brotherly, not romance. If you support Ludwig and Gilbert as lovers, go ahead and see it that way, but I wrote this with a fraternal relationship in mind.

Also, some translations:

Auf Wiedersehen-Goodbye

Ich Liebe Dic-I love you

Bruder-Brother

Please enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Somehow, from the day he had been reunited with Ludwig as the Berlin wall fell, Gilbert knew he was going to die. His existence only lived on in the memories of some, and in others, a memory that had been forced away. Forgotten.

Years passed by, and Gilbert had nearly disregarded that feeling. But there was always something that reminded him. Something there to make him wonder why he was even still alive in the first place. He supposed he never would know the reason.

In all honesty, he was perfectly fine living on. He had no problem with it. The knowledge of his impending death was like having cancer. Knowing your days were numbered, but attempting to live on like everything was normal.

Which was partially why he never told Ludwig. Gilbert was the elder brother, wasn't he? He was supposed to worry about his younger brother, not the other way around.

So West had lived blissfully ignorant for the past years. Everyone had. He had lived knowing that, eventually, he would die.

Isn't that no different than how a normal human being lived?

But, he wasn't normal, was he? He was Gilbert Bielschmidt, he was Prussia.

And Prussia had ceased to exist. It only made sense that he would die.

That was the only reason he was okay with it when he woke up this morning, somehow just knowing that this was his last day.

He had barely woken up; it had just hit him like a steamroller. I'm going to die.

But, there was no denial, no horror. Just a simple question,

How was he going to tell them?

How was he going to tell Francis and Antonio? How was he going to tell Elizaveta and Roderich?

How was he going to tell Ludwig?

It was fear, Gilbert realized, that kept him from telling anyone. Fear of making it real. Of causing his friends, is brother pain. Of losing the normalcy in their lives.

Couldn't he hold onto that for just one more day?

It was cruel, selfish. But he needed to. He wouldn't—couldn't tell his brother. At least, not in person.

I'm such a bastard.

Somehow, he would have to make their goodbyes today enough to last them forever. Because it was going to be forever. Today was the last time he'd ever see his brother.

Gilbert trembled slightly. Maybe he wasn't so accepting after all? He couldn't deny it, death scared him. He didn't want to die. Saying goodbye seemed to be the most horrific thing in the world. And now he had to. Forever.

What was the point of spending years accepting it if when the day finally came, he's too scared to say goodbye to his little brother? It was the only thing he needed to do, and yet he was terrified to do so.

Sitting up straight, Gilbert clenched his fists angrily. Self pity was for the pitiful. He was going to get up, get dressed, and act like it was just another normal day. Before West could go off to his meeting, Gilbert would find some way to say goodbye.

And so he stood, determined. But, it was false. Just for show. He wasn't determined; he wasn't ready to face this. His vision blurred with this realization.

He was crying?

Hastily, Gilbert brushed the tears away. He didn't deserve to cry. Not once in his entire life had he deserved to let tears freely fall. Because he was a selfish, cruel, pitiful bastard. He was causing the people he loved pain.

With a heavy sigh, he shuffled out of the room. Though he wore only and oversized, white shirt and a pair of sweatpants, he figured there was no reason to get fully dressed. It wasn't as if he was going to go out in public.

"East? Are you awake?"

Ludwig… Walking as straight and proud as he could into the kitchen, he was greeted with a glass of beer, "Beer for breakfast, West? Oh, what a wonderful brother I have. Probably my influence, ja?"

Gilbert was surprised at how normal he sounded. Like this was just another morning. But, that was what he wanted, right? He wanted everything to stay the same.

Grinning sheepishly, Ludwig laughed, "World meeting today, I'm going to need it."

On the other hand, the last thing Gilbert wanted to do was to get drunk. Nor did he want his brother's last memories of him hazed by alcohol, "Damn. I just took on a bet with Francis, to see who can stay sober the longest. I didn't want to do it alone."

After staring at him, awestruck, for a moment, Ludwig shrugged, "I suppose a couple of meetings without it would do me some good. But, you have to pay for the wasted beer."

Without wasting a second, Gilbert shook his head, "No, I'd say we're even. Since I was the one who paid for your little drinking contest with Denmark. And you lost, too. I should make you pay double."

Gathering the drinks, he poured the beer down the drain, sighing heavily as he watched it go. A last drink would've been nice.

His crimson eyes traveled up to meet his brother's blue, but stopped when he saw that their cross was missing on Ludwig's neck, "Your cross?"

Ludwig frowned slightly, "I can't find it, and I was in too much of a rush this morning to look. It's probably in my room somewhere."

Gilbert unclipped his own, "Wear mine. I'll find yours." Before a response was able to be made, he fastened it around Ludwig's neck, "I'm not going out today, anyways."

Smiling also, Ludwig nodded, "Thank you. And I should go; I'm the one always yelling at others for being late. Auf wiedersehen, bruder."

As his brother turned to leave, Gilbert could only stare. This was it, this was the last time he was going to see his little brother. "Hey, West…" he whispered hoarsely, his breath shallow by the truth of that realization. His call went unheard, no surprise there.

Taking a few steps forward, he tried again, "Ludwig, wait."

Right as Ludwig turned to look at him, Gilbert wrapped his arms around him in a hug, holding tightly, as if to never let go.

Oh god, how he wanted to never let go.

After standing still for few seconds, surprised, Ludwig returned the gesture, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Gilbert lied, "I just wanted to say that I'm proud of you, and that you're an awesome little brother. And that I'm sorry for being such a pain in the ass. You need to stay strong. Ich liebe dich, West, okay? Auf wiedersehen, bruder."

Ludwig leaned back, his head tilted slightly, "Why does this sound so…final?"

The elder smiled, the twitch of his lips varying between sad and warm, and he laughed. Just one final laugh, "Probably because sobriety will be the death of me. And there are just some things and older brother needs to say, ja? Now, get to work. Be productive, spike Roderich's drink or something."

Being released from the embrace, Ludwig walked towards the door. With one last concerned glance at his brother, he left.

Gilbert collapsed onto the couch, exhausted beyond belief.

He had assumed that when he said goodbye, some great weight would be lifted off his soul. But, instead, he just worse, knowing that that was the last time he'd ever see West. He felt like that goodbye hadn't been enough. That he needed longer.

That he needed forever.

Because he'd never be ready.

He never wanted to say goodbye.

Somehow, he had to explain to Ludwig how sorry he was. He had to say goodbye to Roderich and Elizaveta and Francis and Antonio.

His eyes laid upon the pen on the end table. There was still time, could he write something to Ludwig?

Using his quivering hands to push himself up, Gilbert stumbled towards his brother's room. Inside there had to be paper somewhere.

Then again, Ludwig's room was so organized that it seemed nearly impossible for him to find anything. Smiling softly to himself, Gilbert sighed, only he would complain about someone's room being organized.

Instead of finding paper inside his brother's desk, he found the iron cross that had been lost. Closing his hand around it, it's cold metal causing him to shiver involuntarily. He turned it over so the back faced him, brushing his finger against the words inscribed on the surface. Zu meine kleine soldat.

To my little soldier.

That little boy had turned him into quite the softie, hadn't he?

Gilbert always believed West was one of the reasons he cared about something other than just war. He had always been lonely, but Ludwig had always been there for him.

Their relationship was based on guilt, but it became more. When he saw his little brother, nearly dead on the bloodstained battlefield, he just… he couldn't explain it.

Gilbert had hidden the boy, let him heal. Eventually he woke up, without a single memory. Then, somehow, he had managed to raise him. It could've been horrible, like England and America. But, maybe, it was because they were brothers by blood that they had managed to remain so close?

Whatever it was, he was glad of it. With a nostalgic smile, he held the cross close to him. Tears rolled down his cheeks. And he wasn't ashamed.

His entire life he had told himself tears were for the weak. Since he was a child, he had told himself never to cry. Despite that, how many times had he betrayed that promise?

Maybe he really was weak.

And the world didn't need a useless, weak representation of a dissolved nation, did it?

It was sad, it was his last day to live, and all he had done was convinced himself that he was cruel, selfish, weak, and useless. Somehow, it had taken him centuries to realize so.

It was pitiful. He was pitiful.

What a wonderful feeling to die with.

Pushing his miserable thoughts away, Gilbert began once more to search for paper. He could bear to think anymore. It hurt like someone had stabbed him in the heart.

It hurt like Ivan's torture. The pain he had felt on the east side of the Berlin wall.

There was nothing to be afraid of anymore.

Gasping sharply, Gilbert pulled his hand from the drawer. His finger had been sliced open, it was bleeding and stung like hell. But, he had found the paper. Disregarding the paper cut, he sat at his brother's desk, not wanting the letter to be lost if it happened earlier than he expected.

The pen shook along with his hand; he searched for the right words to say.

West,

Oh wow, great start.

And then he wrote. Whatever came to mind, it didn't matter.

Why is it the words 'I'm sorry', that his pride had always prevented him from saying, came so easily now?

As was said before, it didn't matter. He just wrote. He wrote something to Roderich, to Elizaveta, anyone he could think of. The pen flew across the page with such speed that Gilbert was worried that no one would be able to understand what was written. His wrist screamed in protest, but he couldn't stop.

It was only when the ink smudged because the paper was wet with tears that he had to put the pen down. It was only when he sunk into his chair with a heartbreaking sob that he finally stopped. He curled up into a ball, eyes squeezed shut, crying.

He didn't want to die.

Oh god, he didn't want to die.

He sat like that for god knows how long, just crying. He felt weak; his pride had been shattered to pieces. His only salvation was that nobody would see him like this.

Of course, that salvation seemed to shatter also as the echo of a slammed door shook the house, causing him to look up in surprise. Who was…?

"Gilbert!"

Gilbert stood immediately, eyes wide in shock. Why is West here?

Footsteps, loud, resonation footsteps steadily got closer. In an attempt to regain his composure and hide the obvious truth that he was bawling his eyes out seconds ago, Gilbert brushed his sleeve against his eyes.

It didn't help.

And then the door flew open, Ludwig just standing in the doorway, staring. Only a few times in his life had Gilbert seen his brother look so hurt…

…so sad.

"West…?"

Ludwig's mouth was left agape, as if he was searching for the right words to say, but they all seemed to die on his lips, "Gilbert…Bruder…"

He stopped suddenly, took a few steps forward. Gilbert stared for a moment, and then looked towards the ground.

He had nothing to say.

There was nothing that he could say.

In a single, fluid motion, Ludwig grabbed his brother by the wrist and pulled him close, wrapping his arms around his frail, shaking form, "You're dying. You weren't going to tell me. Oh god, you're going to die…"

Gilbert stood for a moment, too surprised by the sudden action to react, then returned the hug. It was just like this morning in a way, only in reverse.

And this was worse.

Because this time they both knew it was forever. This one moment would be one of the last they shared. They both knew it.

The elder's strength was slowly waning, and he leaned closer to Ludwig, "Do you hate me for not telling you?" It was such a childlike question that Gilbert was ashamed to even have thought it. But he needed to know. He couldn't die thinking his brother could hate him. Impending death made him want to set things right.

"I could never hate you. But why didn't you tell me? How have you known for all these years, and not told me? You've changed since the wall fell. Not enough for others to notice, but I did. I thought it was because of Ivan. But, was it because of this?"

For a moment, Gilbert's breath hitched in his throat. The last thing he wanted to think about was Ivan.

"No. He was the reason I might've acted differently. But, I tried to forget. It didn't matter what he did to me back then, they're just memories now, right? I tried to stay the same, but I guess it didn't work."

"Do you think that I want you to become just a part of my past? Just memories?"

He didn't have an answer to that. How could he answer? "No…"

"Then why? Why didn't you tell me?"

They both had stepped back, both staring at each other, not a word passing their lips. Ludwig searching for an answer, Gilbert searching for the words his brother wanted to hear.

"I…I didn't know how. I didn't know how to tell you."

Sitting onto his bed with a defeated sigh, Ludwig buried his head in his hands. "I'm sorry. We can't… Our last memory can't be me yelling at you, can it? How…How long do you have?"

Gilbert didn't respond, instead his attention was on his hands. They were faded. Faded. He stared at them in disbelief. He was just going to fade away…Like dust in the wind, "This…this is how Opa died… You don't remember it, but he just disappeared. Nations don't leave corpses…"

Ludwig's eyes widened with fear, he shook his head, standing abruptly, "No…No…Right now…? You're going to die right now?"

With a forlorn nod, Gilbert smiled at his brother, that trademark grin of his, like everything was going to be okay, "Hey, remember what I told you this morning, West? It's all true, and you need to stay strong. The world doesn't need me anymore, and neither do you."

"It's not a matter of whether I need you or not. I want you here! I want you to stay alive; I don't want you to die. It's selfish, I know. But…But…How can I just sit here and allow you to die?"

"There's nothing you can do about it. There was never anything you could do." Gilbert sighed, knowing he was being cruel, but having no other way to respond.

He looked at his hands again. It was so strange, so hard to describe. It was as if they were transparent. Then, suddenly, they faded completely. He had no hands.

The rest of his body was exactly like his hands had been. Like a ghost…

And it didn't hurt. It…It felt so…peaceful? Like dying of old age maybe. Had he been afraid of this?

"Bruder…You hands…Your body," Ludwig stepped forward, blue eyes wide with horror. With desperate denial. This was like a nightmare. His brother was fading away before his very eyes. But, it was real. So, horribly real. In a matter of seconds, his brother would be gone. Forever.

He knew all of this, yet it was so hard to comprehend. And he didn't want to understand. He didn't want it to be true.

How childish of him…

As he blinked, Ludwig was surprised to find tears in his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks. And when he looked up, Gilbert was crying too. Crying with that genuinely happy smile on his face. Smiling through his tears.

After stepping forward once more, Ludwig hugged the fainted form of his brother one last time. Gilbert couldn't move, instead he whispered quietly, his voice cracked and weak,

"So…I guess this is goodbye. I left you something… On your desk. Ich…Ich liebe dich, bruder. Auf Wiedersehen."

And then he was gone. Ludwig was hugging nothing but air. He sunk to his knees, trembling.

His hand closed around the iron cross given to him earlier, and sobbed. Gilbert had always considered crying for the weak, which Ludwig agreed with wholeheartedly. But he supposed he'd be forgiven, just this once.

Only this once.

And he sat there for a long time, dead to the world, his mind blank. He just cried. Simply that.

He didn't bawl, he didn't make a big show out of it. Silent tears were all he would allow himself. The fact he was crying was enough to prove how truly heartbroken he was.

Then, suddenly, he stood. Walked towards his desk in the corner of his room.

Gilbert had said something was there. Something he had left for Ludwig.

On top lied his cross. His own iron cross. Gilbert had found it for him. His hand shaking, he grabbed it, replaced it on it's chain. His brother's was still in his hand, his last piece of his brother.

After tonight, he would wear that one. Gilbert would like that.

Under were his cross had been, there was a letter. Ludwig picked it up, staring at the messy, splotched sentences. Slowly, treasuring each word, he read it.

West,

I guess by the time you read this, I'll be gone. I don't know if you'll understand, but I've been dying. For awhile now. I couldn't—I didn't know how to tell you. There was no way to know what to say. And I was scared, like the coward I am, because I didn't want it to be real. I wanted to believe that I was somehow imagining it.

Obviously, I wasn't.

I don't know what to say even now. The only words that come to mind are that I'm sorry. And I am. I am so sorry. Those three damn words don't even begin to fathom how horribly sorry I am for doing this to you. It sounds cheesy, I know, but if I could take anything back, and I've done a lot of stupid things, it would be lying about this to you. Not even lying, I hid it like a coward.

I don't know if I can expect you to forgive me. But, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive your big brother. I really do.

And even if you don't can you do this for me?

Can you tell Roddy that I'm sorry for being such a jealous bastard, and that he has to treasure Elizaveta? And tell Francis and Antonio that they're awesome and that…I forgive them for all the stupid things they did and that I hope they forgive me for the same? And tell Elizaveta that being hit in the head with a pan hurt, and…and I don't know. What do tell the girl I've loved since I knew she was actually a girl? I don't know... Tell he to treasure Roderich, I guess.

And I wish I could tell you this in person, but everything I said this morning… I meant it…And…Auf—wie—sen Ich li— dic—, West.

The end was cut off by wet splotches of ink and tears. But, Ludwig understood. With tears clouding his eyes, he ran his finger across the distorted words,

"Ich liebe dich, auch. Auf...Auf Wiedersehen, East..."

Fin.

Constructive criticism and reviews in general are appreciated. Thank you for reading.

And sorry for my horrible explanation of Gilbert's fading away thing. I've seen it in drawings and videos, and I always assumed the nations didn't leave corpses, but it was hard to put into words.