Hetalia Angst

What Have You Done? (Collab)

AN//This is a Collab I did with the amazing Tricerium. He's a good friend of mine and a great writer. I wrote the first part of this a while ago but didn't have a way to finish it so he finished it for me. Thanks Hun!

⚠️Trigger Warnings: neglect, illness, starvation, mentions of labor camps, choking⚠️
Characters: Gilbert Beilschmidt (Prussia), Ludwig Beilschmidt (Germany), Ivan Braginski (Russia), Alfred F Jones (America), Matthew Williams (Canada), Francis Bonnefoy (France, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo (Spain)
Word Count: 2,159

It had been weeks. The sickness had taken hold of him nearly a month ago and he had spent most of his time down in the basement, skin paling even more than usual and crimson eyes barely able to focus on anything. The albino shivered, pulling the blanket closer to his thin body. A deep breath rattled in his chest before he broke off into harsh, rasping coughs. The fit lasted for several minutes before he could bring himself to breathe again, gasping for air. Tears gathered in his eyes as his lungs finally filled with air, body trembling from the effort of what used to be a seemingly insignificant task.

After taking a moment to fill his lungs, Gilbert shakily pushed himself into a sitting position, coughing hard again and shivering. Why did he need to live downstairs? Why couldn't his brother have noticed his condition and offered him a better room or at least better blankets than the thin sheets he currently had. After taking a moment to calm down again, he slowly stood up, willing his legs not to give out beneath him. The prussian took slow, unsteady steps to the stairs, supporting himself with the wall as he moved. Once Gilbert reached the stairs, he had to pause to catch his breath, disappointment flowing through him. He was supposed to be the kingdom of Prussia! Now he was nothing but a weak being who wasn't even considered a nation anymore. Once he caught his breath from the short trek across the room, he began to slowly ascend the stairs in hopes of getting at least a little something to eat. He had barely eaten all week, only eating what snacks he had in his room. He already felt exhausted and had tears in his eyes.

Finally, step by step, he made it up the stairs and opened the door, nearly falling over as he opened it. Barely, he caught himself on the doorframe and took another moment to steady himself. Once more, he took one step after the other, trying to make it to the kitchen. He knew his brother would be in his office working so he would be alone yet again as he tried to stay upright, tears finally slipping down his cheeks. Why did he need to be so useless? He could barely even get food by himself anymore. He was dying and no one even noticed. Not a word of comfort was spoken to him. No one stopped by to check on him, no calls, no texts, nothing. Maybe he deserved this? He'd hurt so many people, he'd killed so many people. Was this their way of punishing him? He didn't like to think about himself as a bad person, but he knew he was. He had fought and killed people, and he enjoyed it. He liked the feeling of a blade in his hand and the adrenaline of an enemy facing against him.

One more step had his legs giving out beneath him and suddenly he was on the floor, coughing again. All he could bring himself to do was curl in on himself and shiver, trying to get any ounce of warmth he could while pressed against the cold floor. Finally, he heard footsteps coming down the hall and a gasp as he was seen. His little brother came rushing over, pressing his warm hands to the Prussian's frozen skin. Words tried to meet with Gilbert's ears but all he could hear was muffled panic. He was so cold. Why did it have to be so cold?

. . .

Birds chirped, slowly pulling Gilbert's eyes open a sliver. The first thing he noticed was that he was warm. He shifted slowly, holding the thick, warm covers closer to his thin body. It was then he heard the whispering.