[Fan Fiction] In Remembrance I Relive [3/?]
Title: In Remembrance I Relive
Author/Artist: Sami-Fire (Me!)
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Prussia, Germany, Russia (In later chapters)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Clusters of foul language and allusions to rape (that doesn't enter the picture yet, though). Also, AAAAAAAAAAANNNNNGGGGSSSSTTT, mental breakdowns, and some odd concepts.
Summary: Prussia's past comes back to haunt him in an almost literal sense, causing him to take stock of his current life. He doesn't like what he sees.
"I think I have every reason to be worried, Italy! It's as if he'd rather be anywhere but the present! ...Yes, this is a problem. What do you mean why?! It's because we live in the present, not the past! Are you deliberately..."
Ludwig's blowing off steam can be heard even from the basement. Feliciano is always willing to allow Ludwig to vent and lend a sympathetic ear (Lovino is a troublesome "basement brother," just like Gilbert, even though Feliciano's house doesn't have a basement), even though he's as dense as he ever was. Talking to Feliciano seems to wind Ludwig up just as much as it cools him down.
Gilbert creeps up the stairs to listen in on his brother's conversation, and to make it look like he was going to go get a snack anyway if he was caught. Ludwig continues to try and pound into Feliciano's head what exactly his problem is. "This kind of behavior just isn't normal! ...Very funny. No, it's not even normal for him. He's always somewhere else... how many times have I had to repeat this to you? Now you're just messing around with me. Cut that out."
The curious Prussian peeks out a little further from the stairs, intrigued by the one side of the banter that he can hear. He still can’t see his brother, but Ludwig’s deep voice is loud and clear. "Do you really think that he'd be willing to do any of that? You know how, ah, awkward it gets when I try that with my brother..." He leans out further. He's the topic of their conversation, so he feels that he should be allowed to hear what's making him a subject of choice other than his awesomeness.
The thought of those two discussing his greatness makes him laugh, but the overall effect is somewhat bittersweet. For some reason, telling himself that he's the best of the best feels odd nowadays, like a shoe that doesn't fit. A rush of sadness passes over him in that awkward moment he has with himself every time his self-praise suddenly fails to work. He's used the tactic countless times to try to lift his recent depressive spells, only to have it fail at random.
Ludwig’s continued conversation snaps him back to attention. "Yes, it's direct, but... since when are you telling me to just go do something?"
Gilbert leans even further forward, this time overbalancing and falling flat on his face with an ungraceful-sounding squawk, and with that, he is caught. "Gilbert!" Ludwig shouts, jarred by the sudden intrusion. "I guess the decision on whether to do that or not has been made for me. I have to go now, Italy." He hangs up and looks at his brother like he fell out of the sky. "You overheard all of that, didn't you?" Gilbert nods and pulls himself off the floor. "Don't go anywhere. I want to talk to you about something." It’s almost a command, not a request.
The older brother pulls out his winner's grin, trying his best to look confident despite a feeling that he might be in trouble for something (again). "Yeah? What's up?" He pulls out a chair at the table and sits down, trying to look casual, but unable to disguise the slightest hint of a glare.
"You don't seem to be yourself lately," Ludwig says, sitting across from his brother. "I never really thought you were much of a daydreamer, but these days, it seems you're on another planet every time I look at you. You never used to be like this."
The grin fades despite some twitchy attempts to keep it up as Ludwig begins to list the ways Gilbert has fallen. "Why are we talking about what I used to be?" The topic is a singularly uncomfortable one for him. He thinks he feels something cold and metal on his wrists, and his hands move behind his back, as if he were being handcuffed.
Ludwig’s hand goes to his forehead for a moment, his anxiety creeping up on him. "Because this just doesn't seem right, Gilbert. You're not acting like you're 'all there,' so to speak-"
"So you've got a problem with me just because you don't think my behavior is 'right,' huh?" Gilbert snarls, not able to stand that sentence for another moment. He might be getting on the offensive just a little bit early, but he's almost always primed for a messy argument whenever Ludwig tries these kinds of 'talks.' They tend to turn into litanies of Gilbert's faults, an endless stream of urgings to be more responsible, to take care of this and that, to give a damn about someone other than himself for a change.
Likewise, Ludwig expects Gilbert's defenses to go up right away. "That's part of it, I guess. Your behavior just worries me."
"More than it normally does?" Gilbert says, not disguising the snark in his voice at all.
Ludwig's response is an emphatic "Yes!" punctuated by his hand slamming down on the table with more force than he intended. "Ever since you've moved in, you've always been a bit lazy, and you've been selfish since the beginning of time," though he can remember a time where he actually wasn't, and a surprisingly lengthy amount of time at that, "but you've never been listless like this, and you've never been much of an escapist."
Gilbert quirks an eyebrow, not quite sure what his brother means. Ludwig continues his little speech. "You've been retreating into these fantasies more and more often, and when you do, it's like there's nothing outside the world in your head. It's like you don't know where dreams end and reality begins. When I walked in on you the other day, you talked to me as if I wasn't...” He nearly chokes on the words. It’s not as if he likes having to rattle off the Prussian’s problems. “As if I wasn’t, well, me."
"I have a perfect grip on reality," Gilbert grunts. "And I never even saw you enter the room. I was talking to... well, you, but a younger you, then a retainer confused you for my son for the five hundredth time, and I was correcting him and suddenly you were shaking me." His words shoot out at a rapid-fire pace. This explanation isn’t one he wants to spend much time on.
It's Ludwig's turn to quirk an eyebrow now. "You what?"
Gilbert runs into the wall of not being able to explain what's been happening to him without coming off as a complete lunatic. "Uh... it was kind of like remembering, but I was actually there. In the moment. Like it was that time all over again. The whole world around me becomes like the memory, so I didn't see you, and I didn't even see the living room. I was in my old bedroom… you know, the big bed over here, the mirror over there." The explanation is just as awkward and disjointed as he feels giving it, his hands gesturing vaguely in the direction of invisible objects.
"Pardon me for saying so, but... Gilbert, that sounds completely ridiculous." Ludwig's hand is just about glued to his forehead by now, desperate to massage away a headache. "Do you have any idea how that sounds to someone like me?"
"So what? Think what you want. It's real to me, alright. I'm not going crazy. I bet these happen to everyone with a long and convoluted history, like... I don't know, maybe you should ask Arthur or Francis if they get these awesome, vivid... things while they're awake,” Gilbert says with confidence. The smug smirk comes back now that he's treating these consuming flashbacks like they're a special privilege. "I doubt there's anything really wrong with me, West. You've been so anxious lately that I wouldn't be surprised if you were going crazy."
"Why do you think I've been so anxious lately?!" Ludwig snaps, all too aware that Gilbert might be right. This tension can't possibly be healthy, especially not as it erupts from within him. The result is an adamant, "Gilbert, you were talking to a pillow! How am I not supposed to think that something's not right?!”
"It's always a matter of what is and isn't right to you, isn't it?" Gilbert is starting to mumble and drift away, feeling tired. It doesn't help that the room is suddenly much colder, and there is definitely something on his wrists. "It's always about your rules, your order, your this and that..."
Ludwig can never come up with an answer when his brother pulls that card, or at least not one that he'd like to give. Fortunately, this time he has a way to dodge the question, since Gilbert has been doing something weird with his hands during almost the whole conversation. "What are you doing with your hands back there?"
Gilbert, however, doesn't hear the question at all. All of Ludwig's words sound like accusations to him. He has his odd feeling of being persecuted for stupid crimes that are not crimes at all, and it's not long before he sees who else is against him. The Allies, minus Yao, are all seated at a huge table in front of him, all slightly different in demeanor.
Alfred reads out Law 46, the proclamation of Prussia's abolition and of pulling Gilbert's power out from underneath him. He rattles the words off rapidly, getting faster as he goes on, as if he must get to the end and dissolve that nation right now. Arthur keeps his eyes fixed on Alfred, as if trying to spur him on by burning a hole into him with his gaze. Francis, good old friend that he was, looks at Gilbert solemnly, as if he's not too happy to see his old battle buddy undone in this fashion (perhaps he would prefer to watch him die in a glorious burst of violence instead?), yet he raises no objection.
Ivan, on the other hand, is smiling away, because he made a deal with Gilbert that would still leave him with a country of his own, but goodness was he ever hasty to make the agreement! He was so desperate to preserve himself and any measly scraps of power he could get that he didn't even look for any fine print. Oh, what fun Gilbert was going to have when he lived with Ivan as East Germany!
Gilbert's mad cackle rolls out loud as thunder. "Go ahead, read that law! You wanna see militarism? Oh, I'll show you militarism, you little shit! Go ahead, try and take away everything I've got! I'll get back on my feet and conquer you all in no time, and you know it!" He thrashes around like he can just rip his handcuffs apart, spitting vitriol at the nations before him as he does. They’re so desperate for an excuse to punish him that they have to make up their own list of flaws!
"I can't believe it," Ludwig mutters, dumbfounded by the sight of his brother struggling against invisible binds and snarling at people he can't see. "You’re going into one of these episodes right in front of me. All you’re doing is convincing me to get you help." As stolid as he normally is, Ludwig can't conceal the concern in his voice. His brother may finally have gone over the edge at last.
"Help?" Gilbert snarls, hands still wrenched behind his back in phantom binds. "What the hell do you mean, 'help?'" He pauses, and his face relaxes a little. He looks around for those people that Ludwig can't see, listens for Alfred reading that accursed law, but finds nothing. Feeling a kind of vague sense of disconnection from something, he blinks and finds himself back in the kitchen, sitting across from his brother. He slowly pulls his arms out of the position they were forced into, as if they'd gotten stiff from being bound for hours. He finally makes eye contact with Ludwig again. "West... what the hell is going on? What are you talking about?"
"Could you hear me at all?" Gilbert's blank look is the only answer Ludwig needs. "That's it, Gilbert. I'm taking you to a doctor. There must be something wrong with your head. How many times do I have to stress that you were talking to a pillow?" He shudders a little. There is something undeniably creepy about a man treating an inanimate object like a human child. "This isn't normal. You keep zoning out-"
Gilbert makes a strange noise, like he's being strangled. "What... what do you mean, 'taking me to a doctor?' I'm fine! There’s absolutely nothing wrong with me!” He freezes up. He can think of no logical way to get out of this bind, to convince Ludwig that everything is alright. Ludwig just won’t accept that his younger self was there, in his big brother’s arms arms, sick and seeking comfort. Ludwig really thinks that he was holding a pillow.
The Prussian’s voice grows increasingly frantic as he struggles to defend himself. “You were there, West! Well, it wasn’t really you, but you know what I mean! It happened!” None of this is adding up in Gilbert's mind. He saw a coach the other day, he spoke to Old Fritz, he held his brother, and he was just dissolved by the Allies all over again. All of it was just as real as the chair he sits on. "Are you calling me insane?" It's such an insult to his dignity that he won't even process it. Surely, Ludwig must be mistaken.
Ludwig, however, is completely serious. "I don't want to say you're insane, but this behavior is hardly normal. It worries me-"
Without warning, Gilbert springs up from his seat, slamming his hands on the table, tensed up like he's ready for a fight. "You want to put me away, is that it?!" He keeps going, not even giving Ludwig a chance to deny the accusation. His realizations are all crashing into each other now, a fifty notion pile-up.
Maybe he didn't see those people and the coach. Maybe he was just sitting there, talking to air the whole time. It can't be true; his brother was in his arms, plain as day, yet Ludwig had seen none of it. He refused to believe that such things couldn’t be real. "You don't want me around anymore, do you? What, the novelty of having a powerful former nation in your basement wore off? Do I make too much of a mess and take too many of your precious 'resources' for you?!"
He lunges closer to Ludwig, getting in his face, crashing against the table again. "You ungrateful little shit! I made you strong! Without me, you'd still be a sick little boy, completely unable to fend for yourself! I raised you, and this is how you repay me?!" His hysteria hits a peak; he may as well be foaming at the mouth as he roars and slams the table, spitting at Ludwig.
Gilbert’s rampage continues, trampling right over whatever his brother intended to say. "I used to be powerful! I used to have a huge mansion! It was twice the size of this shitty little house, not to mention that basement you've shoved me away in! I used to be your awesome older brother, and I still am, SO YOU SHOULD BE KISSING MY ASS!" Tears are streaming down his face now. He collapses into a puddle of sweat, tears, and spit, sobbing onto the table.
Ludwig stares incredulously at his brother, who just completely broke down in front of him. He processes the madman's rant, trying to figure out what provoked it and how to manage it. He hates seeing his brother like this, a broken mess on the kitchen table, especially because he knows that he can be so much stronger, so much more stable, even in a place like their house and a time like the 21st century.
In the end, he comes to a conclusion and speaks it, choosing to ignore the risk of setting Gilbert off again. "You’re getting these visions because you miss your past, is that it?" Ludwig gets no coherent response from Gilbert, but the increase in the volume of the sobbing indicates that he's hit a mark. "I'm sorry, Gilbert. I wish I could do something for you, but those days are gone."
"N-no shit," Gilbert chokes out. "Since I've apparently got nothing. Nothing but a room in the basement, an ungrateful little shit of a brother who wants to take even that little bit of territory from me, and a bunch of meaningless tricks my head plays on me. No country, no power, no nothing!" He sniffles deeply, keeping his face hidden.
"That's not true, Gilbert. That's not true at all." Ludwig reaches out to touch his brother's head, to try and soothe him like the beloved Prussian used to do for him centuries ago, when he was young and sickly.
He is not expecting Gilbert to violently pull away when his hands come close. "G-get away from me," Gilbert rasps, his voice hoarse from his tantrum. He dashes off into his basement and slams the door hard enough to shake the whole house.
Ludwig stares at the basement door, stunned. The echo of the slam devours everything else in his mind, except for the bubbles of worry that crawl their way to the surface. He wants to help his brother. Really, he does. It's just that the only obvious cure for Gilbert's woes is an impossible request.
Author/Artist: Sami-Fire (Me!)
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Prussia, Germany, Russia (In later chapters)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Clusters of foul language and allusions to rape (that doesn't enter the picture yet, though). Also, AAAAAAAAAAANNNNNGGGGSSSSTTT, mental breakdowns, and some odd concepts.
Summary: Prussia's past comes back to haunt him in an almost literal sense, causing him to take stock of his current life. He doesn't like what he sees.
"I think I have every reason to be worried, Italy! It's as if he'd rather be anywhere but the present! ...Yes, this is a problem. What do you mean why?! It's because we live in the present, not the past! Are you deliberately..."
Ludwig's blowing off steam can be heard even from the basement. Feliciano is always willing to allow Ludwig to vent and lend a sympathetic ear (Lovino is a troublesome "basement brother," just like Gilbert, even though Feliciano's house doesn't have a basement), even though he's as dense as he ever was. Talking to Feliciano seems to wind Ludwig up just as much as it cools him down.
Gilbert creeps up the stairs to listen in on his brother's conversation, and to make it look like he was going to go get a snack anyway if he was caught. Ludwig continues to try and pound into Feliciano's head what exactly his problem is. "This kind of behavior just isn't normal! ...Very funny. No, it's not even normal for him. He's always somewhere else... how many times have I had to repeat this to you? Now you're just messing around with me. Cut that out."
The curious Prussian peeks out a little further from the stairs, intrigued by the one side of the banter that he can hear. He still can’t see his brother, but Ludwig’s deep voice is loud and clear. "Do you really think that he'd be willing to do any of that? You know how, ah, awkward it gets when I try that with my brother..." He leans out further. He's the topic of their conversation, so he feels that he should be allowed to hear what's making him a subject of choice other than his awesomeness.
The thought of those two discussing his greatness makes him laugh, but the overall effect is somewhat bittersweet. For some reason, telling himself that he's the best of the best feels odd nowadays, like a shoe that doesn't fit. A rush of sadness passes over him in that awkward moment he has with himself every time his self-praise suddenly fails to work. He's used the tactic countless times to try to lift his recent depressive spells, only to have it fail at random.
Ludwig’s continued conversation snaps him back to attention. "Yes, it's direct, but... since when are you telling me to just go do something?"
Gilbert leans even further forward, this time overbalancing and falling flat on his face with an ungraceful-sounding squawk, and with that, he is caught. "Gilbert!" Ludwig shouts, jarred by the sudden intrusion. "I guess the decision on whether to do that or not has been made for me. I have to go now, Italy." He hangs up and looks at his brother like he fell out of the sky. "You overheard all of that, didn't you?" Gilbert nods and pulls himself off the floor. "Don't go anywhere. I want to talk to you about something." It’s almost a command, not a request.
The older brother pulls out his winner's grin, trying his best to look confident despite a feeling that he might be in trouble for something (again). "Yeah? What's up?" He pulls out a chair at the table and sits down, trying to look casual, but unable to disguise the slightest hint of a glare.
"You don't seem to be yourself lately," Ludwig says, sitting across from his brother. "I never really thought you were much of a daydreamer, but these days, it seems you're on another planet every time I look at you. You never used to be like this."
The grin fades despite some twitchy attempts to keep it up as Ludwig begins to list the ways Gilbert has fallen. "Why are we talking about what I used to be?" The topic is a singularly uncomfortable one for him. He thinks he feels something cold and metal on his wrists, and his hands move behind his back, as if he were being handcuffed.
Ludwig’s hand goes to his forehead for a moment, his anxiety creeping up on him. "Because this just doesn't seem right, Gilbert. You're not acting like you're 'all there,' so to speak-"
"So you've got a problem with me just because you don't think my behavior is 'right,' huh?" Gilbert snarls, not able to stand that sentence for another moment. He might be getting on the offensive just a little bit early, but he's almost always primed for a messy argument whenever Ludwig tries these kinds of 'talks.' They tend to turn into litanies of Gilbert's faults, an endless stream of urgings to be more responsible, to take care of this and that, to give a damn about someone other than himself for a change.
Likewise, Ludwig expects Gilbert's defenses to go up right away. "That's part of it, I guess. Your behavior just worries me."
"More than it normally does?" Gilbert says, not disguising the snark in his voice at all.
Ludwig's response is an emphatic "Yes!" punctuated by his hand slamming down on the table with more force than he intended. "Ever since you've moved in, you've always been a bit lazy, and you've been selfish since the beginning of time," though he can remember a time where he actually wasn't, and a surprisingly lengthy amount of time at that, "but you've never been listless like this, and you've never been much of an escapist."
Gilbert quirks an eyebrow, not quite sure what his brother means. Ludwig continues his little speech. "You've been retreating into these fantasies more and more often, and when you do, it's like there's nothing outside the world in your head. It's like you don't know where dreams end and reality begins. When I walked in on you the other day, you talked to me as if I wasn't...” He nearly chokes on the words. It’s not as if he likes having to rattle off the Prussian’s problems. “As if I wasn’t, well, me."
"I have a perfect grip on reality," Gilbert grunts. "And I never even saw you enter the room. I was talking to... well, you, but a younger you, then a retainer confused you for my son for the five hundredth time, and I was correcting him and suddenly you were shaking me." His words shoot out at a rapid-fire pace. This explanation isn’t one he wants to spend much time on.
It's Ludwig's turn to quirk an eyebrow now. "You what?"
Gilbert runs into the wall of not being able to explain what's been happening to him without coming off as a complete lunatic. "Uh... it was kind of like remembering, but I was actually there. In the moment. Like it was that time all over again. The whole world around me becomes like the memory, so I didn't see you, and I didn't even see the living room. I was in my old bedroom… you know, the big bed over here, the mirror over there." The explanation is just as awkward and disjointed as he feels giving it, his hands gesturing vaguely in the direction of invisible objects.
"Pardon me for saying so, but... Gilbert, that sounds completely ridiculous." Ludwig's hand is just about glued to his forehead by now, desperate to massage away a headache. "Do you have any idea how that sounds to someone like me?"
"So what? Think what you want. It's real to me, alright. I'm not going crazy. I bet these happen to everyone with a long and convoluted history, like... I don't know, maybe you should ask Arthur or Francis if they get these awesome, vivid... things while they're awake,” Gilbert says with confidence. The smug smirk comes back now that he's treating these consuming flashbacks like they're a special privilege. "I doubt there's anything really wrong with me, West. You've been so anxious lately that I wouldn't be surprised if you were going crazy."
"Why do you think I've been so anxious lately?!" Ludwig snaps, all too aware that Gilbert might be right. This tension can't possibly be healthy, especially not as it erupts from within him. The result is an adamant, "Gilbert, you were talking to a pillow! How am I not supposed to think that something's not right?!”
"It's always a matter of what is and isn't right to you, isn't it?" Gilbert is starting to mumble and drift away, feeling tired. It doesn't help that the room is suddenly much colder, and there is definitely something on his wrists. "It's always about your rules, your order, your this and that..."
Ludwig can never come up with an answer when his brother pulls that card, or at least not one that he'd like to give. Fortunately, this time he has a way to dodge the question, since Gilbert has been doing something weird with his hands during almost the whole conversation. "What are you doing with your hands back there?"
Gilbert, however, doesn't hear the question at all. All of Ludwig's words sound like accusations to him. He has his odd feeling of being persecuted for stupid crimes that are not crimes at all, and it's not long before he sees who else is against him. The Allies, minus Yao, are all seated at a huge table in front of him, all slightly different in demeanor.
Alfred reads out Law 46, the proclamation of Prussia's abolition and of pulling Gilbert's power out from underneath him. He rattles the words off rapidly, getting faster as he goes on, as if he must get to the end and dissolve that nation right now. Arthur keeps his eyes fixed on Alfred, as if trying to spur him on by burning a hole into him with his gaze. Francis, good old friend that he was, looks at Gilbert solemnly, as if he's not too happy to see his old battle buddy undone in this fashion (perhaps he would prefer to watch him die in a glorious burst of violence instead?), yet he raises no objection.
Ivan, on the other hand, is smiling away, because he made a deal with Gilbert that would still leave him with a country of his own, but goodness was he ever hasty to make the agreement! He was so desperate to preserve himself and any measly scraps of power he could get that he didn't even look for any fine print. Oh, what fun Gilbert was going to have when he lived with Ivan as East Germany!
Gilbert's mad cackle rolls out loud as thunder. "Go ahead, read that law! You wanna see militarism? Oh, I'll show you militarism, you little shit! Go ahead, try and take away everything I've got! I'll get back on my feet and conquer you all in no time, and you know it!" He thrashes around like he can just rip his handcuffs apart, spitting vitriol at the nations before him as he does. They’re so desperate for an excuse to punish him that they have to make up their own list of flaws!
"I can't believe it," Ludwig mutters, dumbfounded by the sight of his brother struggling against invisible binds and snarling at people he can't see. "You’re going into one of these episodes right in front of me. All you’re doing is convincing me to get you help." As stolid as he normally is, Ludwig can't conceal the concern in his voice. His brother may finally have gone over the edge at last.
"Help?" Gilbert snarls, hands still wrenched behind his back in phantom binds. "What the hell do you mean, 'help?'" He pauses, and his face relaxes a little. He looks around for those people that Ludwig can't see, listens for Alfred reading that accursed law, but finds nothing. Feeling a kind of vague sense of disconnection from something, he blinks and finds himself back in the kitchen, sitting across from his brother. He slowly pulls his arms out of the position they were forced into, as if they'd gotten stiff from being bound for hours. He finally makes eye contact with Ludwig again. "West... what the hell is going on? What are you talking about?"
"Could you hear me at all?" Gilbert's blank look is the only answer Ludwig needs. "That's it, Gilbert. I'm taking you to a doctor. There must be something wrong with your head. How many times do I have to stress that you were talking to a pillow?" He shudders a little. There is something undeniably creepy about a man treating an inanimate object like a human child. "This isn't normal. You keep zoning out-"
Gilbert makes a strange noise, like he's being strangled. "What... what do you mean, 'taking me to a doctor?' I'm fine! There’s absolutely nothing wrong with me!” He freezes up. He can think of no logical way to get out of this bind, to convince Ludwig that everything is alright. Ludwig just won’t accept that his younger self was there, in his big brother’s arms arms, sick and seeking comfort. Ludwig really thinks that he was holding a pillow.
The Prussian’s voice grows increasingly frantic as he struggles to defend himself. “You were there, West! Well, it wasn’t really you, but you know what I mean! It happened!” None of this is adding up in Gilbert's mind. He saw a coach the other day, he spoke to Old Fritz, he held his brother, and he was just dissolved by the Allies all over again. All of it was just as real as the chair he sits on. "Are you calling me insane?" It's such an insult to his dignity that he won't even process it. Surely, Ludwig must be mistaken.
Ludwig, however, is completely serious. "I don't want to say you're insane, but this behavior is hardly normal. It worries me-"
Without warning, Gilbert springs up from his seat, slamming his hands on the table, tensed up like he's ready for a fight. "You want to put me away, is that it?!" He keeps going, not even giving Ludwig a chance to deny the accusation. His realizations are all crashing into each other now, a fifty notion pile-up.
Maybe he didn't see those people and the coach. Maybe he was just sitting there, talking to air the whole time. It can't be true; his brother was in his arms, plain as day, yet Ludwig had seen none of it. He refused to believe that such things couldn’t be real. "You don't want me around anymore, do you? What, the novelty of having a powerful former nation in your basement wore off? Do I make too much of a mess and take too many of your precious 'resources' for you?!"
He lunges closer to Ludwig, getting in his face, crashing against the table again. "You ungrateful little shit! I made you strong! Without me, you'd still be a sick little boy, completely unable to fend for yourself! I raised you, and this is how you repay me?!" His hysteria hits a peak; he may as well be foaming at the mouth as he roars and slams the table, spitting at Ludwig.
Gilbert’s rampage continues, trampling right over whatever his brother intended to say. "I used to be powerful! I used to have a huge mansion! It was twice the size of this shitty little house, not to mention that basement you've shoved me away in! I used to be your awesome older brother, and I still am, SO YOU SHOULD BE KISSING MY ASS!" Tears are streaming down his face now. He collapses into a puddle of sweat, tears, and spit, sobbing onto the table.
Ludwig stares incredulously at his brother, who just completely broke down in front of him. He processes the madman's rant, trying to figure out what provoked it and how to manage it. He hates seeing his brother like this, a broken mess on the kitchen table, especially because he knows that he can be so much stronger, so much more stable, even in a place like their house and a time like the 21st century.
In the end, he comes to a conclusion and speaks it, choosing to ignore the risk of setting Gilbert off again. "You’re getting these visions because you miss your past, is that it?" Ludwig gets no coherent response from Gilbert, but the increase in the volume of the sobbing indicates that he's hit a mark. "I'm sorry, Gilbert. I wish I could do something for you, but those days are gone."
"N-no shit," Gilbert chokes out. "Since I've apparently got nothing. Nothing but a room in the basement, an ungrateful little shit of a brother who wants to take even that little bit of territory from me, and a bunch of meaningless tricks my head plays on me. No country, no power, no nothing!" He sniffles deeply, keeping his face hidden.
"That's not true, Gilbert. That's not true at all." Ludwig reaches out to touch his brother's head, to try and soothe him like the beloved Prussian used to do for him centuries ago, when he was young and sickly.
He is not expecting Gilbert to violently pull away when his hands come close. "G-get away from me," Gilbert rasps, his voice hoarse from his tantrum. He dashes off into his basement and slams the door hard enough to shake the whole house.
Ludwig stares at the basement door, stunned. The echo of the slam devours everything else in his mind, except for the bubbles of worry that crawl their way to the surface. He wants to help his brother. Really, he does. It's just that the only obvious cure for Gilbert's woes is an impossible request.