Hetalia Angst

Page by Page

⚠️Trigger Warnings: degradation, triggered PTSD, self blame, self hate, suicide, mentions of abuse, mentions of human experimentation, mentions of WWII gassings⚠️
Characters: Gilbert Beilschmidt (Prussia), Ludwig Beilschmidt (Germany), Elizabeta Héderváry (Hungary), general countries at a world meeting
Word Count: 1,254

Serious question, sarcastic comment. Serious question, sarcastic comment. Serious question, sarcastic comment. That's how the meeting had been going so far and Gilbert could tell it was making everyone irritated. They'd constantly tell him to shut up, and be more serious, but he didn't care. All he'd do was grin and make another snide comment. He didn't care. All he did was bask in the attention. It's not like anyone ever truly did anything about it. Except this time, someone did.

"Does this make you feel better about yourself?" Gilbert stopped and turned to look at who had spoken. And of course, it was Elizabeta. Of course, the one person who could read him like a book. A book with frayed pages and smudged words that were somehow readable by her. She could read him, and that hurt.

"What?" He asked. "What are you talking about? I'm sorry you just can't handle the awesome me-"

"That's what I mean. You claim to be awesome, but you're lying. You want attention. Anything you can do to get someone to look your way is enough for you, right?" She asked. He didn't trust the innocence in her voice. She was planning something. "And it's not even about the attention, is it? You just use that to hide." There it was.

"Shut up." He growled, glaring at her with sharp crimson eyes. He could already feel her ripping out his pages, holding them up for the world to see and almost screaming "Look at this". She was going to tear off his cover, the mask of confidence that had been beaten into him for centuries, and expose the naked truth. So he tried a few measly words as though those would silence her.

It didn't. "You really are just a coward, aren't you? You're soft. You try to distract the people who don't care with lies they don't listen to. But you try anyway. As long as they don't see you hurt, you're fine, right? As long as you don't seem weak, or lonely, or needy." One by one, she tore out his pages and read them out loud. The words meant only for her were shared to the world and it killed him. In ripping out his pages she ripped out his heart.

"Stop..." His voice cracked and he cleared his throat, trying to hide how much it hurt. "Just stop." His voice was a bit stronger now, but his mask was breaking, starting to show the scars and the tears he'd worked to hide for centuries.

But she didn't stop. She tore and she read and she burned. "What was it you once said?" No. No, don't use my words against me. " 'It doesn't matter how many people die as long as we end up on top?' Yeah, that sounds about right. You don't care about anyone. As long as people remember you for something, right? Even if that 'something' is mass genocide. Isn't that right?" She wasn't even trying to make a point anymore. Those words were just intended to hurt, and they burned.

He was practically shrinking in on himself, shame and betrayal making his chest tighten until it was hard to breathe. "Stop. . ." His voice was barely above a whisper and cracked with emotion. The room was completely silent now apart from Liz's accusing words and Gilbert's quiet oppositions. They all looked between the two, knowing they should say something to stop this, but unable to bring themselves to. Gil had hurt them all, so why should they help him? Didn't he deserve this?

"What, did I hit the mark? You're gonna start crying aren't you? See? I told you. You're all talk. I know what happened in '40. You deserved it. Everything that happened, happened because you deserved it. All of it. All you do is hurt people. That's why we don't like you. The only reason someone would side with you is because you hurt them into doing so. No one wants you." Her words were sharp, tearing into his pages and crumpling them, destroying everything he had written down until it was just a blur.

But she was right. That's what he decided. She was right. He deserved it. Every time he screamed in pain as he was cut open, every time he curled up in his cell coughing blood because of the tuberculosis shots, every time he gasped for air as he was pressed in with hundreds of others and gassed, every single thing he deserved. He didn't register the eyes on him, or the hot tears welling in his eyes, or the way his hands trembled in balled up fists on his lap. All he knew was that he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe and it hurt.

"Gil..?" He could barely recognize the voice as his brother's. The moment he felt that hand on his shoulder, he got up from his chair, standing so fast the chair fell over and he all he needed was to breathe. Finally, he took a small, shaky breath. His head spin and all he could do was rush out the door, trying to gather his scattered pages as he sprinted down the hall, unsure where he was going, but he slipped into an empty room and slid down the wall. Page by page she'd ripped him apart. She took his meticulously designed cover and torn it, turning the carefully kept hardback into paper with her words and then destroying it. He could feel it all burning, and it hurt. It all hurt so much.

The only thing he could do was curl in on himself and sob. There was no collecting the ashes to start again. There was no point. She was right, no one wanted him. Of course. Why would they? She was right, she was right about everything. He deserved all the pain that crushed him, and he deserved all the hateful sneers people threw his way. He didn't deserve his brother, or his friends, or his country.

Through gasping sobs, he lifted his head and stared at the window, the clear blue sky visible over the tops of buildings. There was another thing he didn't deserve. Something he should take away like all the other things that had been snatched from his power-hungry, selfish hands. Something he'd stolen from so many others, time and time again, without remorse. Life.

Shaking legs barely held him up as he stumbled to the window and steadied himself against the glass. It took him a moment to open it, his hands shaking too much to get a firm hold on anything. As he threw open the window, placing his hands on the sil, he heard the door open behind him. "GILBERT NO!" He turned to see his brother in the doorway, eyes wide with fear as he stared at his brother, clearly unsure what to do and terrified. His little brother, the one he'd hurt the worst… The one it would benefit the most if he just jumped. All he could do was force a small, pained smile and settle himself in the open space, a 30 story drop behind him.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, voice choked with tears. He leaned back a bit, barely holding himself up be holding onto the sides of the window. His brother tried to rush across the room to help him, to grab him, to hold him, anything but let him fall. But fate is cruel, and death is selfish. His fingers slipped.

He fell.