Author's note: This was done in a Role Play with me as Prussia and Austria, and my good friend Linnéa as Germany.
Disclaimer: Hetalia and it's characters are © Hidekazu Himaruya. I just wrote a story about the characters.
Rating: This story is rated M for a reason. This multi-chapter story does contain Yaoi (gay sexy times) language, alcohol use, war, and mention of the Nazi party.
The next day, Ludwig found himself in a shipment of other officers on the way to the Warsaw Ghetto to contain the supposed uprising there. He had more power in the palm of his hands now. He felt in control because in reality, he couldn't control himself; controlling others filled that void in the pit of his stomach and his heart.
Gilbert had tried his damnedest to let his austrian go do what he wanted, but he just couldn't. He ended up falling back into his OLD habit of stalking the man throughout the entire city of Berlin. Making sure his Roddy wasn't getting hurt, and getting a closer look at this new regime in the meantime.
Roderich however, was enjoying himself. Never in his life had he had this kind of confidence and power. He's had political power before, but it wasn't really the same. He was good at this, and he had respect. The uniform earned him instant respect, and it made him more confident in himself.
A few months had gone by, when a letter arrived in the mail. Someone had to have been home, for it read URGENT on the envelope.
Gilbert had been sitting behind, waiting for his Austrian to be far enough gone for him to not suspect Gil of following him. It had become routine, and so far, he hadn't been caught, this time, he managed to catch the post as it arrived before he left after his lover.
The letter was addressed to the next-of-kin, that being Gilbert. It came from the war department, usually letters addressed like that weren't good.
Gilbert's heart was in his throat over what the letter could possible say, and he ripped it open eagerly.
The letter read,
"Dear Sir or next of kin,
We regret to inform you that in regards of Ludwig Beilschmidt, said faimly member, has been found under correct medical circumstances, in his duties, fatally wounded. He has passed away, serving the Fatherland. His sacrifice shall not be forgotten."
Gilbert's hand went to his mouth, and he had to reach for the nearest piece of furniture to stabilize himself. A moment later, he was out the door with his coat, and chasing after Roderich, finding him all too quickly, having learned his routine.
In the meantime, Ludwig's body was being taken care of to be shipped back to the city where funeral arrangements could be carried out thereafter.
Roderich was surprised to hear Gilbert calling out to him on the street. Things had been going poorly between them of late since the entire debacle with the uniforms. He stopped and turned, a quizzical look on his face as he was handed the letter. A moment later he lost his composure and found himself in Gilbert's arms on the street. For all his difficulties with the german, he still cared about him like a son, or a brother, so it ripped his heart out to learn of his death.
A couple of days had gone by. An attendent came up to the door with forms for Gilbert to fill out. He knocked on the door.
Gilbert got up to answer the door. He'd been sitting in the living room with his precious austrian, who'd gotten some days off for mourning. "Hallo?"
"Herr Beilschmidt?" He asked, "I'm here on behalf of..the department. I'm sorry for your loss..May I have you sign a few things so I can help with the arrangements..?"
Gilbert nodded, and complied with the paperwork, trying not to glance back at Roderich, who was sitting pathetically on the sofa, legs curled up to his body.
"Now, just sign here and here and..." he trailed on with the dotted lines that were to be graced with a signature. "Thank you, Herr Beilschmidt..I'll have this processed immediately." He walked out the door and left the two in the house alone. Without Ludwig...without their Ludwig...
"Oh mein Gott... He's really gone..." Gilbert said weakly as he closed the door and returned to Roderich's side. The austrian's already fragile state shattered, and he collapsed into Gilbert's arms, sobbing.
The phone rang a few times before it could catch anyone's notice.
Gilbert had to drag himself out of Roderich's arms, the frailer of the two clinging, his arms outstretched, holding Gil's hand to the last moment they could reach before falling pathetically into his lap as the prussian picked up the phone. "Hallo?"
"Hallo Herr Beilschmidt. I'm calling from the military's mortician office. I need the next-of-kin to assure identification of the body of Ludwig Beilschmidt," the stoic man on the other end explained.
"Jawhol... Tzat's me. I'll be down tzere soon." Gilbert hung up, and went to get his coat, returning to Roderich to give him a gentle kiss before heading out the door to go down to the morgue.
"Ah, are you Herr Beilschmidt?" the mortician asked. "Right this way..." He led Gilbert down to the back where the special bodies of 'military honor' were kept until burial. "I'm sorry for your loss, Herr Beilschmidt..." He pointed over to the table in the middle of the room. It was fully covered in a white sheet. "I'll...let you two be..."
Gilbert slowly walked over to the table. He wasn't sure if he could handle what he was about to see. He fancied himself a strong prussian man, but Roderich's emotional state recently had him worked up. Slowly and cautiously, he pulled the sheet back, gasping and covering his mouth, shaking his head, tears forming in his eyes. "Oi! OI!" He called out to the mortician who had hung back, or left, Gil hadn't been paying attention.
A bullet wound was in Ludwig's chest, right over his heart. His skin was pallied and dark rings were under his eyes. Lifeless as lifeless could appear in human form. And saddened more or less by how the life ended.
"Is there something wrong?" The mortician steadily entered the room.
"Das ist nicht mein Bruder." Gilbert was shaking his head. That wasn't West... that couldn't possibly be West. His brother was still alive.
"How can that be, though..?" The mortician maniacally flipped through all sorts of paperwork, OFFICIAL military paperwork, and they NEVER made a mistake with such things.
"I'm telling you, dat es nicht mein Bruder!" Gilbert insisted. "Mein bruder doesn't look like tzis. I don't know who tzis man is! Mein bruder vould have had a scar on his chest!" Gilbert proclaimed, pointing to a bare spot. "He got burned vhen he vas about eight, und tzis man has no scar! Not to mention tzat face doesn't even look like him!"
"B-but this can't be! I mean, take a look for yourself!" He handed the papers over to Gilbert.
Gilbert looked over them thoroughly and shook his head before pulling his wallet out and producing a photo of his brother from the earlier summer, the three of them, Gil, Ludwig, and Roderich, posing at the beach. He showed it to the man, pointing to his brother. "Tzis is Ludwig Beilschmidt. Mein Bruder. Das! Das is nicht mein Bruder!" He was frantic, and nearly screaming as he pointed to the man on the table.