*DEDICATION! This songfic is dedicated to my Nani-Chan, who unknowingly gave me the inspiration to write it.*

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, Prussia, Canada, or anything else associated with it. I also do not own "Viva La Vida" or Coldplay. If I did own Hetalia, though... well... just be glad I don't. xD

Warnings: Violence, language, and a bit of yaoi (Prussia x Canada).

"Talking."

Thinking.

Song lyrics.

I used to rule the world; Seas would rise when I gave the word. Now in the morning I sleep alone; Sweep the streets I used to own.

He was nothing - an insignificant speck on history, someone who should not be able to continue to exist, an ex-Nation who would eventually be completely forgotten. His country had been dissolved, and now all that remained was a shadow of who he used to be. Was he even allowed to call himself Prussia anymore?

No, he told himself. He wasn't. He was East Germany now, and Gilbert spat the title like a curse. It wasn't as though he hated his brother or anything – far from it, actually. He adored his little brother more than he'd ever willingly admit.

It was just... well, being labeled East Germany felt too much like he was being made into a charity case – as though he had been given part of someone else's country to run as a substitute, to take the place of the country he had once ruled all on his own. It made the reality that he was no longer his own Nation that much more apparent.

Mostly, though, it felt like he was losing his freedom, just the same as he'd lost his land.

And losing his freedom for a second time was something Gilbert simply could not bear to take.

I used to roll the dice; Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes. Listen as the crowd would sing; "Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!"

What had become of him? He's The Kingdom of Prussia!

...Well, he had been The Kingdom of Prussia, and he'd been feared the world over! He'd been an empire! He'd been powerful, killing all who dared to stand in his path and doing whatever the Hell he'd pleased! So why...

Why was he not those things anymore? Was it all just because of the dissolution of his Nation? No, the fact that his land was gone didn't necessarily mean he had to change as a person, right?

...Right?

But no matter how many times the albino told himself that he was the same person that he'd always been, that never changed the reality. In reality...

...Without his original land to sustain him, he had been slowly withering away, all illusions of living long gone. It was only a matter of time before he disappeared completely, and that was an all too sobering thought that kept him from acting his usual boisterous self.

Everyone – including Gilbert – could see that the albino had changed, but he was the only one who wouldn't admit it.

One minute I held the key; Next the walls were closed on me. And I discovered that my castles stand; Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand.

The way the other Nations stared at him with pity... it was sickening. They treated him like he was dying, like he was glass, and it was starting to piss him off.

He wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, for as long as he could help it. No disappearing act today, thank you very much.

But even after reassuring the other Nations dozens upon dozens of times, they still gave him those pity-filled looks.

It was suffocating. He couldn't breathe when they stared at him that way. The longer they sent him those retched glances, the more the albino could feel the ties of his sanity fraying.

But what was, perhaps, the most disheartening of all... was that he knew that everyone else knew this, too.

And yet, they still gave him those looks.

I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing; Roman Cavalry choirs are singing. Be my mirror, my sword and shield; My missionaries in a foreign field.

Nothing could save him, now. Not even his brother, who tried to help him the most out of anyone. At this point, he was the only one who could save himself.

Gilbert knew that death would soon come upon him, if he didn't find a reason to stay among the living.

But alas, no such reason existed in his dimming mind, and he prepared himself mentally for his impending demise.

That was... until he met him.

For some reason I can't explain; Once you go, there was never; Never an honest word. And that was when I ruled the world.

Canada was unlike anyone he'd ever encountered before – quiet, shy, honest, but still so strong. And so very, very innocent.

But, perhaps more than anything else, the blond was very much alive. And when the albino was with him, he felt... he felt like himself, again.

He knew then that he should have stayed away, but he just... couldn't resist. He'd had one taste of what it felt like to be him again, and he wanted more.

Like a leech, he latched onto that unsuspecting Nation, attempting to drain poor Canada of all that he had.

It was the wicked and wild wind; Blew down the doors to let me in. Shattered windows and the sound of drums; People couldn't believe what I'd become.

Gilbert's intentions with the young blond were anything but chivalrous, and everyone knew that.

Everyone but Canada himself, of course.

He'd been lectured by far too many Nations – from England to America, even France had said a word or two – but the albino heeded nothing that was said to him.

He wanted Canada, and not one single person was going to stop him.

But really... could you blame Gilbert? The younger blond made it all too easy for him – offering the albino shelter, companionship, even his own body – and Gilbert took it all greedily, savoring the life Canada brought out in him.

The other Nations all looked at him with disgust now, but still Gilbert payed them no mind.

That was his last mistake.

Revolutionaries wait; For my head on a silver plate. Just a puppet on a lonely string; Oh, who would ever want to be king?

Gilbert knew the day had come, had known this day was coming from the very first time he'd set his depraved sights on sweet Canada. His twisted relationship with the blond was to end today, either by his own free will, or by death brought on him by the other Nations.

He didn't know which was worse – to die, or to live without feeling alive.

With an air of finality, he silently decided that death would, indeed, be better.

I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing; Roman Cavalry choirs are singing. Be my mirror, my sword and shield; My missionaries in a foreign field.

They were prepared to kill him, and the albino willingly accepted this without a fuss.

It's better this way, he decided. And I accept this as my fate.

For some reason I can't explain; I know Saint Peter won't call my name. Never an honest word; But that was when I ruled the world.

"Gilbert!"

The albino glanced up at the sound of his name, coming from lips as sweet as honey.

It was Canada, come to see him die.

This, he could not allow.

I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing; Roman Cavalry choirs are singing. Be my mirror, my sword and shield; My missionaries in a foreign field.

No, he told himself. Canada shouldn't be here to see this. The boy is far too good for that.

And that was the whole problem, wasn't it? The blond had had everything that Gilbert lacked in the "goodness" department, and as such, the albino sought to make those things his own.

He'd been a fool to think he could actually accomplish this. His admittance to his wrongs mattered not, however, for today was still the day that he was going to die.

He'd had his wicked fun, and now... now, it was time to pay the price.

For some reason I can't explain; I know Saint Peter won't call my name. Never an honest word; But that was when I ruled the world.

"Ton't let him vatch, America. I ton't vant him to see zis."

To Gilbert's surprise, the self-proclaimed "hero" did as he was told, holding his younger brother against him in such a way that the shorter blond couldn't see what was about to befall Gilbert.

This way, the albino assured himself, Canada's innocence won't be tainted any further than it already has been by me.

England – his would-be executioner – held a pistol to Gilbert's forehead. "Any last words, you vile filth?"

The albino stared up at him for just a moment with ruby eyes clouded over with regret, before his gaze settled on Canada's turned back. "Ja. Ich liebe dich, Canada, und I nefer meant to hurt you." Lies. All lies.

But, Gilbert mused. It was the very least he could say to Canada. Even if he hadn't meant it, he hoped that what he had said could somewhat make up for how he'd used the blond, though it may have helped very little in all actuality.

However, his words phased no one gathered around him, not even Germany. Canada was the only one who even acknowledged that the albino had said anything as the small blond trembled gently in America's arms, beginning to sob quietly as well.

And as Gilbert's eyes slipped closed at the sound of the gunshot, his face was overcome with a contented smile that had not been seen om him since the time when he still ruled the world.

A/N: Ha! My very first Hetalia fic, and my very first songfic, too! I know I should be working on Chapter II of Distortion – hey, it'll happen! - but I really wanted to write this, first. I hope it was okay – yes, short songfic is short, and I'm sorry for that.

Explanation time. Before any Prussia or PruCan fans attack me for this, you should know that Prussia is my favorite character and that PruCan is my favorite pairing. I don't see him as the type to use Canada the way that I've portrayed, and I'll likely never be able to kill him off again after this (I'm sorry for killing him off, by the way, but I'm willing to bet that no one thought I could do it, so... heh). I really do love him, but when I chose this particular song, I knew he wouldn't have a happy ending. Either way, I hope it turned out well.

Translation: Ich liebe dich. (German) - I love you.

Oh, and sorry if I messed up on the German accent. If I'm wrong, feel free to correct me.