He'd always been untouchable, an image of power and grace, so why was it now that he was beginning to feel his body beginning to give?

Gilbert stared down at the bright red marks on his hand, turning it over. Something about this just seemed to escape his grasp, he didn't think he'd ever remembered seeing a wound that was so glaringly present. He was sitting in the silence of his room, staring at his hand in the sunlight that filtered through the high windows of his brother's basement. He stared for a moment more, and then the pit in his stomach returned, along with a painful tightening in his chest.

He could hear his brother entering the door to the house, no doubt tired after a long day of work, like he had been.

Gilbert could feel that he needed to move, perhaps the air outside would make him feel a little better. He glanced over at his nightstand as he shrugged on a jacket and paused, noticing a smooth wooden box. He paused a long moment before it.

It'd taken him a while to find his brother, but it wasn't really a surprise to him sitting outside in the back yard, reading. It was a nice day, and he almost regretted spending the whole day hauled up inside wallowing. He felt as though a weight had lifted from his shoulders as he rushed towards his brother.

Things went as they usually did on these pleasant warm days. They bantered for a while, and then he began to play his flute for West, something light and pleasant to match the mood of the day while his sibling read. The corners of Gilbert's lips turned up as he played, the flute could always put him at ease, especially when he had an audience. It was a sort of reassuring to have someone listen and appreciate it along with him. He glanced at his brother, noticing that he was smiling, which was a rare sight. Gilbert felt a comforting happiness flow into him, it was nice to be appreciated once in a while. He knew that he could be a burden, especially now that he didn't do much of anything to help with their government or public.

"It's beautiful, like it always is. It's hard to believe that you're the one who's playing."

Gilbert paused, a forgotten memory flooding into him. A twinge of sadness soured his good mood as he remembered that Holy Rome had once sat before him and said the same thing from his bed. He'd been so sickly, but had somehow still managed to tease Gilbert about being war obsessed. He smiled sadly for a brief moment before he seemed to come to his senses.

He would toss a retort at West, and his brother would tell him that he should try to make a job out of it while making some halfhearted chide about him being a mooch. This, too, was normal. It was almost routine.

"Maybe you should perform with me!" The words came out of his mouth before he quite realized what he was saying. Ludwig gave him a confused look, and Gilbert turned the flute in his hand, poking his brother with the crown of the instrument. "And learn the art of the flute!"

"I haven't played the flute since you tried to teach me when I was little! I can't play it."

"Nonsense West! You can play just fine!" Gilbert insisted.

"I just told you, I can't play the fl—"

"You can play just fine because you're my little brother." Gilbert smiled a genuine smile down at his little brother.

Ludwig picked up on this, and hesitated for only a moment longer before reaching up to take the flute from him.

"I guess so… are you sure this is alright?"

"Of course! I want you to have it—I'm passing it on to the best little brother in the world!" Gilbert put on his usual winning smile, trying to reassure him. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted for his little brother to take the flute. He needed it to happen.

"You're being so persistent today."

"Yeah, yeah, let's play music!" After another moment's hesitation, West finally took the flute into his hands, looking curiously at Gilbert's hand.

"Did you hurt yourself?" Gilbert felt his gut sink, and he subconsciously reached over, trying to tug his sleeve down to cover the injured flesh.

"Ah, yeah. Your dog just doesn't seem to understand my charm." Gilbert said, his voice faltered slightly.

"You've been teasing him again." Ludwig sighed. Gilbert zoned out as Ludwig walked over to scold his dog, absentmindedly rubbing his fingers across the scabbing skin on the back of his hand. It had been a week since he'd been bitten, but he didn't have the heart to say that to his brother. He knew West would only worry, and that's not what he wanted. His heart sunk lower, and his fingers tightened into a fist.

"So did you want to play or not?"

Gilbert was startled out of his thoughts by his younger brother, and he turned around to give him an unsure smile.

"Yeah."

His mind had been taken off of his injury while he'd been teaching his younger brother to play. It seemed like it was coming naturally to him, and Gilbert had almost wanted to say that he hadn't expected anything less from his younger brother, but he was too busy swelling with pride. He'd gotten his little brother to play the flute! He'd been trying for ages, but West had finally agreed, and that made him incredibly happy for reasons that he wasn't quite sure that he could find the words to explain.

The sun was beginning to droop lazily in the sky, turning the evening spring sky a light tint of purple. Ludwig looked over towards the skyline as Gilbert gave instructions on cleaning the flute after use.

"Italy will be joining us for dinner." He said, almost absentmindedly. Gilbert looked up and smirked. He liked Feliciano a lot, it was really nice to see that his brother had found a friends to confide in. Plus he was cute and smiled a lot. It was a nice contrast to Ludwig. Still, he was a little jealous, things seemed to have gotten really lonely for Gilbert in recent years. Or maybe things had always been lonely. He might have just been noticing it more so now that he wasn't occupied with obligations to help run a country.

"That's good." Gilbert said as he slid the sections of the flute apart carefully and cleaned the inside and around the delicate valves.

"Perhaps…" Ludwig paused, drawing Gilbert's attention to him. He realized that he was being studied, almost suspiciously, and it was obvious that West was still finding his sudden insistence on lessons suspect. Gil could have laughed at how much his little brother hated to break routine. "… Perhaps we should continue these lessons on another day?"

Gilbert paused, but only for effect. He'd be more than happy to keep teaching his brother.

"I think I might be able to free up some time in my schedule." He said with a smirk. Ludwig chuckled at his response, and Gilbert passed the smooth wooden case onto him once he shut it. He received a confused look, when West seemed to realize what he was holding. He tried to hand it back, but Gilbert refused to take it, shaking his head sternly. "It's yours now."

"I can't take this…" His brother said sheepishly. "It's your favorite flute, you should keep it."

"And now it's yours." Gilbert persisted. "You need one to practice with. Besides, it's not like it's the only one I've got." He crossed his arms over his chest, as if to say that it was his responsibility now. Ludwig looked like he was going to protest again, but whatever it was that he was going to say seemed to die in his throat, and he instead rubbed at the back of his head. Truth be told, he didn't look like he knew what he wanted to say.

"I'm going to go make dinner then." He said, standing up and holding the flute case in his hands. Gilbert followed behind him with a pleased smirk on his face, and when they reached the door, Germany whispered a "Danke schoen".

Gilbert had returned to his room for a little while before dinner, and had decided that perhaps now would be a good time to vent to his diary. He had been feeling… stressed, he supposed.

West noticed the dog bite today, but I didn't tell him that it's been almost a whole week since I tried to dress his dog up in as a dragon.

In hindsight, I might have deserved that. It's taking a really long time to heal, maybe I should go to a doctor. It might be infected or something, and there's no way that my awesomely powerful self is going to go out to a silly little dog bite.

He paused, reading that sentence over again, feeling his stomach sinking. He crossed it out until the letters were unrecognizable.

I don't want to get sick over a silly little dog bite. How am I supposed to teach West how to play the Flute if I'm stuck in bed, recovering from illness? It was kind of surprising, how easy it was to get my stick in the mud brother to agree to me teaching him how to play.

Gilbert could hear the doorbell chime. A few moments later, there was resounding thump, which he could only assume was West answering it and being greeted by a hug from his friend. Feliciano was easily excited, and would often hug his little brother so excitedly that they'd run into something or fall to the floor. Gilbert smirked at the thought as he started down at the page in his diary. More specifically, the blacked out space where the sentence had been before. He sighed loudly, pressing his pen down to the page.

I'm worried.

He looked at the words for a long while, frowning.

It might be nothing, but I'm worried. I don't want to talk to West about this, he's a huge worry wart, and I don't want to stress him out more. He's been working more lately, trying to figure out things in the wake of the economic crash a few years ago, I think.

I wouldn't know. I'm not allowed at the meetings anymore, so I'm not all that in the loop about the politics in Germany anymore. West does almost everything himself, so I've been spending time at home, playing video games, watching TV, and playing with the dogs and the birds. Alone.

That doesn't really bother me so much, at least not as much as it did for a while. I think I'm starting to get used to taking care of things around the house (even if it is in the loosest sense of the phrase), but I can't shake the feeling that this dog bite means bad things for me.

Gilbert stopped again, trying to swallow the lump in his throat as he tried to ignore the stinging in his eyes and the sinking feeling in his stomach.

I think that the country doesn't need me around anymore, and I don't think that I'm doing very well. I'm not sick, not like Holy Rome was, but I can't help but to wonder if that'll last.

I don't know what's going to happen to me, but I don't feel ready. I don't think I could ever feel ready for something like this.

He felt himself shiver, and there was a cold, sick feeling in his stomach. When exactly had he started acknowledging his mortality?

I don't want to leave my little brother. I'm worried about him. I fought to raise him, and I don't even know that I raised him right. He's still a stiff and he just doesn't seem to know how to loosen up. He's always so stressed, if he keeps it up he's going to wind up sick, and I don't want to see him get sick either. I don't want to see him get to be like Holy Rome, he couldn't even leave his bed. I know he's strong, and more responsible than I ever was, but I don't know if he's grown up enough yet to not have his big brother looking after him all the time, to make sure that he can wind down at the end of the day while he reads, or to make sure that he takes a break from work to go and get a proper night's rest. I'm worried he's going to run himself into the ground without someone there to balance him out with his freakishly type A personality.

There was a knock at the door, which startled Gilbert. He breathed deeply, trying to calm himself down. When had he started shaking?

"Yes?" He called over his shoulder, closing his journal and tucking it away in one of his desk drawers. The door opened and someone descended the stairs a ways to see him. It was Feliciano.

"Germany wanted me to come and tell you that dinner's ready." He said in his usual lilt, a warm smile gracing his features. Gilbert couldn't help but to return the smile.

"I'll be up in just a minute."

Dinner was Klopse with potatoes, which was sort of surprising for West. He must have noticed me acting differently, Gilbert mused as he sat down in his chair. It was rare for him to make a Prussian dish without some prompting, unless Prussia was having a rough day. Still, it was sort of a comfort, knowing that his brother was concerned about him. He was a big muscle-headed softy, whether he'd admit it or not, and Gil appreciated the gesture.

He did make a note, however, to be more careful about how he acted, it was pretty clear that West had noticed something and he truly didn't want to get his brother all worried about him.

Their guest was staring down at the food on the plate before him, probably trying to figure out why they were having such a strange meal. Gilbert was almost positive that Feliciano hadn't Klopse before, and he looked almost afraid to try it. If he remembered correctly, the Italian had struggled with a lot of German cuisine in the past, and he almost wanted to apologize.

His brother joined them at the table and Feliciano insisted that they say grace before they eat, and he and his brother obliged, despite not practicing his religion. It was hard to refuse him.

Then they began to eat, Gilbert being reminded of meals long past and West's childhood. For a moment he forgot completely about the others at the table, allowing himself to indulge in his happy memories until a pathetic sound came from Feliciano.

Gilbert and Luwig both looked at him expectantly as he prodded one of the meatballs with his fork hesitantly, before finally deciding that it was safe to eat. He hummed to himself, as if debating whether it was safe to eat, and Gilbert had to hold back a laugh. He was so fragile. Feliciano deliberated a moment more before deciding that the Klopse wasn't terrible and letting out and excited sound of appreciation.

Gilbert heard a soft sigh from the seat on the other side of him, and he turned to look at West, realizing that he must have been worried that the food wouldn't live up to his friend's expectations. Gilbert smirked, and dug in, and before long Feliciano was happily chattering at the both of them about politics and how it was getting warmer and how his brother had said something sort of nice to him today.

Gilbert was suddenly aware how hungry he must have been, as he'd finished his meal long before the other two. He had missed lunch, hadn't he?

He didn't speak much, keeping his hands folded in his lap, more than happy to listen to his brother and Feliciano, one's prattling on only interrupted by the occasional brusque comment from the other. Gilbert glanced over at his brother, expecting him to have his usual annoyed sort of look on his face, but was surprised to see him relaxed. His shoulders weren't tense and his movements were surprisingly easy. In fact, he was even smiling, that same sort of smile that he had been earlier when he'd been listening to Gilbert's performance.

And then he realized something.

And he smiled to himself.

After Feliciano and Gilbert had said their goodnights, he descended the stairs, back to his bedroom. He sat back down at his desk, pulling the journal back out.

It was unusual for him to make two entries in his journal on the same day, but he felt like this warranted one. He reached for his pen, turning to a new page and dating it.

I think I may have panicked myself over nothing.

Well, not nothing, per se, but I made it out to be a lot worse than it actually is. I can't say that I'm too happy to think about—

Gilbert hesitated again, shifting in his chair. The thought was still uncomfortable.

I'm not too happy to think about dying, but I think that I was wrong to say that my little brother needed me. I think, perhaps, I underestimated his ability to take care of himself because I was thinking about him being alone. Unlike me, West is rarely alone for weeks at a time, in fact, he's got friends over almost every other day, people who care about him. He doesn't have to rely on his big brother to take care of him all the time.

Sure, he still needs reminders to sleep and all of that, but I don't think I'm the only one looking out for him.

Gilbert thought about that for a second, wondering if West was locked in his study doing paperwork again. He decided that perhaps he should check.

He ascended the stairs, pushing open the door and turning to round the corner for the second set of stairs when he paused. He heard Feliciano, and remembered that he'd decided to stay the night. Gilbert smiled, deciding that his brother and friend were probably just fine without him checking in to make sure they weren't focusing on paperwork. He turned back towards the basement to go back to his room, when he heard faint music. It was simple, but he recognized the tune as the one that he'd been trying to teach Ludwig earlier. He smiled to himself, feeling the tightness in his throat return as he closed the door and descended the stairs. He decided that he'd best finish off his journal entry so that he could get some sleep. He leaned down over the desk to write:

Yeah, I think he'll be just fine. And I think, maybe, that I will be too.

He swallowed, feeling his hand shaking again. A fat tear splattered against the page before he realized that he was crying, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand, skipping down a few lines to avoid the splotch that would make the ink run.

I've got the best little brother in the world, and I'm so proud of him.

And then he closed the journal, placing it back in the drawer.

As he laid down in his bed and began to drift off sleep, he felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off of his shoulders.