Chapter Text
Gilbert sat silently in the hallway, like he did every afternoon.
He was chewing weakly on some bread, caked with onion and liver spread. It was getting increasingly hard to eat, just as it was to stay patient.
Germania's old house creaked, the wood growing weary with memories of war, family, and now an unconscious child hidden away from the world. Stuffed animals hung from the green wallpaper walls, anointed with beads and gold that even some humans couldn't obtain.
Gilbert scoffed through his nose at the sight. His own arms were not even decorated in gold, just some scabbed and raw small scars that started from his elbows to his wrists.
But they all ended at his Brötchen. That's what he had to focus on right now.
Feeding himself.
But it came hard. His stomach growled both with the need for sustenance and the fear of throwing up from too much.
It was almost ironic in a way. With Holy Rome on the verge of death constantly, it was like a part of Gilbert was dying with him, too.
"Still trying to listen?"
Gilbert jolted at the gentle voice approaching him.
Christ.
Erzsébet dulled brown locks flew over her eyes, cascading down onto her pale neck and then down her green dress. It was adorned with beautiful artistry, the lace made delicately by the hands of master human artisans, slightly more pale and lighter than the green of the dress to make for an elegant contrast.
Still not more fancy than the damn stuffed duck on the wall.
"Yes." Gilbert managed to croak out. He looked down at the half-eaten sandwich, cringing as he remembered how he might've managed to swallow it whole a few years ago from hunger. Now, he'd rather just starve.
"Anything?" Erzsébet asked simply again.
"No," Gilbert responded.
Surely a panicked boy would make some kind of screaming noise when he came to, right? He'd hear when Holy Rome was awake. That's why he always sat at the same oak bench, right next to his brother's room, right where he could hear him.
"You should try to do something for yourself for once, Prussia." Gilbert cringed at Erzsébet's words, his official title much too formal in a situation like this. Erzsébet quickly realized Gilbert's hostility, though, and corrected herself. "You're a good brother, Gilbert. You're not at fault for whatever Holy Rome got himself into. Just... You should find some time for yourself as well."
Erzsébet finally left again, her heels clinking against the wooden floor of the hallway. The sharp clicks itched Gilbert's brain uncomfortably, like a small needle continuously jabbing into his nerves. The bothersome noise wiped out the little remaining appetite that Gilbert had left. He looked at the bread in his hands. It looked more like a raw corpse instead of a nice meal. Gilbert had to discard it before he threw up, although the lingering disgust stayed glued to his stomach.
God, why did you do this to my boy?
Gilbert clasped his hands together and prayed, though he thought with accusing words. His fingers rattled against the back of his palms, only sitting steady because of his elbows pressed to his knees. His shiny, white hair fell in front of his eyes, which were reddened from his skin condition.
A taunting thought snuck into Gilbert's mind. He knew disturbing Holy Rome wouldn't help his healing, but people in comas could hear what was going on around them, right? Gilbert straightened his back as he gazed longingly at the closed door. He swallowed the knot in his throat and trembled as he stood up.
He'd just say a few words and then leave Holy Rome to rest again.
Surely.
The old door pathetically creaked as Gilbert entered the room. The windows of the room were blocked by green curtains, which cast a leafy tint over the pale face of the young boy still wrapped up in the bed, much too big for him. The bed canopy was lacking in the decor that the rest of the house had, just as Holy Rome had always liked it. He was a rather simple soul, always right to the point.
Gilbert wanted to simply sigh, but it came out as an unexpected sob. His eyes widened at his own sound, his hand shooting up to cover his mouth. He bit his lips as an extra measure before stepping closer to Holy Rome's bed.
Holy Rome's eyes were gently shut. His eyeballs faintly jittered under his eyelids, reminding Gilbert that he was still alive. His skin was cold and pale, the pink of his cheeks long gone. He was fairly dressed in a white gown, the one he always used to wear when building blanket forts with Gilbert.
"Hey, Schnucki." Gilbert choked out the nickname, one he always called Holy Rome. "Are you still sleeping?"
No response.
Gilbert almost punched himself, of course Holy Rome wouldn't respond. Christ. Is he fucking stupid?
"You know," Gilbert continued, "Erzsébet is really worried about you. She says that the little girl you had back at Roderich's home keeps asking where you are." He reached out, tucking a lengthened blonde lock of hair behind Holy Rome's ear. He paused for a moment, taking in the silent response before speaking again. "Are you really going to leave her there, hm? All alone without her powerful boyfriend?"
Gilbert finally fell silent. His fingers rubbed at his clothed knees, feeling the bumps of the bones under his skin.
The only sound audible in the room was both Gilbert's and Holy Rome's breaths. Both were slow and deep.
But one rather sharp inhale made Gilbert jump.
The boy in the bed began to shift, letting out a whine and grunt. His small hands stretched out, trying to reach for nothing in particular.
Gilbert let out a scream and jumped closer to the bedside. He hooked his hands under Holy Rome's armpits, pulling him up into his arms. Gilbert's right hand pulled back out to support Holy Rome's weak head, and his left moved to support his lower back as Gilbert held him close. Gilbert urgently rubbed Holy Rome's forehead with his thumb, unsure what else to do.
Holy Rome shifted in Gilbert's arms, gasping. Finally, his eyes opened, and the pale blue gaze made Gilbert's blood cool. But there was no recognition. He seemed to see Gilbert as a safe person, yes, but... There was no excitement. No joy at seeing his older brother. No teethy smile that usually appeared when seeing Gilbert. Just...
Dead.
"Christ--Hey, buddy.." Gilbert trembled. He backed towards the bed, sitting down once the back of his knees hit the frame. His nervous smile slowly faded at the lack of any proper reaction from Holy Rome. "Hey... Hey." Gilbert urged again to no avail.
Erzsébet burst into the room, her eyes wide. "WHO'S SCREAMIN--" She froze, seeing Holy Rome's open eyes staring up at Gilbert. "Oh.." She slowly walked over, her panic fading out as she finally realized nobody was dying.
But Erzsébet saw the same thing that Gilbert did. That strong personality that overpowered any reason was just gone. The fight in Holy Rome's eyes was eradicated, killed sometime in between when he went into a coma and woke up. He was eerily still, just looking at Gilbert with empty thoughts.
"Is he.. Is he okay..?" Erzsébet asked. Her hands twitched at her sides.
"C'mon, kid. Say something to me." Gilbert rattled Holy Rome a bit. His silver brows furrowed, almost angrily, but the desperation in his eyes was clear as day. "Damn it, Holy Rome. Talk to your brother." He demanded.
Holy Rome's face finally shifted, but now it contorted into an expression with borderline tears. Holy Rome's nose wrinkled, and his eyes narrowed with distress. His breathing quickened, and his teeth bared like a feral animal's.
Gilbert could barely move anymore. What happened to his brother? He wasn't talking, he wasn't reacting right, he was crying.
Gilbert looked frightened as he glanced back at Erzsébet. Erzsébet had never seen him look at her like that. Usually, he was playfully scowling or oogling, but he looked like a terrified child now. He had true fear in his eyes for his little brother.
Gilbert began to quietly sob, realization setting in as he looked at the stranger inhabiting his brother's body that was sitting in his arms. He crumpled in on himself, still holding Holy Rome as Erzsébet sat next to him and rubbed his back.
He had no idea what to do.