If I Die Young {Hetalia Fanfiction}

If I Die Young

All you could hear was gun shots. Bullets were firing everywhere, and soldier's corpses laying in an open field. The once green grass was now marked with a dark crimson color. It was about dusk and the sun was setting slowly over the city of Königsberg, Prussia.

The day was February 25, 1947-a war was raging on and it was slowly dying out as a man stumbled along a field of lifeless bodies, clenching his stomach. His white hair was dirtied by some dust in the air, and was wearing a blue and red revolutionary uniform. The grip he had on his musket loosened as it fell from his weakening hand and it hit the ground with a thud! Letting the hand that was on his stomach droop limply to his side, the man fell to the ground. He lifted the hand that was on his stomach and saw blood covering the palm of his hand. Tears formed in his red eyes as he let the hand fall back to the ground, he wasn't ready to die.

How can I be dying?... I'm a nation... the man thought, internally fighting to stay alive.

The man began sobbing, knowing his fate now. His body was shivering as he grew colder, and his body gradually became frail. The sobs became quieter and soon turned into sniffles as the man's pulse slowed in pace. He then felt tired, tired enough that he could sleep for days. Fighting to keep his eyes open, the man began to whisper in German, "Tut mir leid, Österreich und Ungarn..."

"Tut mir leid, Russland..." he breathed. "Schließlich, tut mir leid, kleiner Bruder... Ich liebe euch alle..." The man's eyelids slowly closed and settled into a peaceful state.

A few moments later, another man appeared. His blonde hair was slicked back out of his face-which had some dirt on it-and his piercing light blue eyes darted around the field of bodies. He had his left hand on a handgun that was attached to his hip as he walked around the grassy area. Soon enough, he spotted the albino man laying among the other lifeless figures. He quickly ran towards the albino's side and knelt down beside him, taking one of his hands and gripped it tightly. Slowly, he raised his hand that was on his gun to the other's wrist only to feel a light pulse. The man cursed under his breath as a surprising tear began forming in his eye.

He's not dead yet, he thought. There's still time.

The man lifted the other off the cold ground and carried him to a local infirmary. There, the albino was taken care of and began recovering.

A couple years later, the Prussian was fully recovered and was currently living with his brother, Ludwig Beilschmidt-the one that took the man to the infirmary. The albino lay in his bed, staring at his ceiling, thinking. Was he still a nation after two years of being inactive? Surely he still was, it wasn't like he died, right?

He sighed, rolling over onto his side as the door to his bedroom opened. "Es ist Zeit zum Aufstehen, Gilbert. It's time to get up." Ludwig said, opening the closed blinds in his older brother's room.

"Warum?" Gilbert asked, irritated that his younger brother had to be the one to tell him that.

Ludwig sighed, "Möchten Sie erfahren, ob Sie eine Nation oder nicht sind, ja? You want to know whether you are a nation or not, yes?"

"Ja?"

"Then get up."

Gilbert stayed quiet for a few seconds before whispering, "Wirklich?"

"Ja, wirklich. Now get up."

Jumping-literally-out of bed, he hugged his brother tightly, thanking him.

About an hour later, the two Beilschmidt brothers went to the meeting center where they met up with the rest of the Axis' and the Allies. Gilbert walked with his head down to a chair in the meeting room, and sat in it not looking up. He was already suspecting the worst when he wasn't even sure if it was his fate. His forehead came in contact with the cold surface of the hardwood table as he lay head down. As excited as he was, he was not ready to find out the answer to the question that had been bugging him for the last two years. He closed his eyes trying to drown out the other eight nations talking amongst themselves. Some of them aren't even talking, they were arguing, not that it wasn't common for two nations to be arguing, especially Francis Bonnefoy and Arthur Kirkland.

The room began settling down as everyone took their seats and the meeting had started. A Russian, Ivan Braginski, turned to look at Gilbert. All color drained from his face, he hadn't seen Ivan since he last went to a World Meeting, and he hadn't been to one of those in a couple years. Ivan turned to look at Ludwig and said, "What is he doing here?" his accent clear as day-everyone at these meetings spoke in English since it was the most common language in the world.

Ludwig sighed, "Does everyone remember the reason we're holding this meeting?" he asked looking around the table.

"I remember!" An Italian, Feliciano Vargas, said, ecstatic as always as he raised his hand with a big smile on his face, "We're here to tell Gilbert if he is still his own nation!"

Gilbert turned his attention to his hands that were sitting in his lap. He didn't want fingers the cheerful Italian's voice when he was so depressed, it made him jealous about how happy Feliciano was all the time.

"Ja, that is correct. Now, who did we decide to be the one to tell him?"

"That would be, Francis." The Englishman, Arthur Kirkland, said turning to his enemy that was next to him and gave him a scowl.

Francis glared at Arthur giving him a dramatic sigh before speaking to himself, "Oui, since he is mon ami should tell him."

The Prussian looked up, no longer interested in his hands, and turned to look at the Frenchman who was sitting across from him. Anxiety rose in his body quickly, his heart was beating rapidly as he waited as patiently as he could for his friend to tell him. "Well?"

Clearing his throat, Francis finally spoke, "You are no longer a nation, mon ami. I am terribly sorry."