1942 [Hetalia: Germany x Reader]

You couldn't help but stop him from leaving. He was leaving for a no-good reason, just to do his job. His job raked in money, and supposedly helped everyone. The final solution was just to get rid of all the wounds in the country, and this was it.

"Warum sind Sie mich anhalten—why are you stopping me?"

"This isn't a job," you hissed, your anger deep-pitted in your eyes. "You're killing people." Every time you looked at his uniform and his serious expression, you realized that he was part of it now. Every single time you would look at him, your eyes would accidentally stray to the holster latched to his belt, and the thoughts in your mind would halt, the world swaying.

And yet he looked so much like the same person he used to be. Pale blue eyes, which you usually saw as a beautiful sky blue; everything was reflected in them. Blond hair, slicked back into perfection, and serious face. Only thing missing was his spirit.

"People," you repeated as he refused to meet your eyes. Your defiance was shown on a regular basis, but this was a new-found defiance, the one found in people who blatantly stated their opinions. The ones who he needed to strike down. But when he touched you, it wasn't with force. A set of gentle, gloved hands moved you out of the way as you stumbled.

"Nein," he replied. How could he be so cool and collected when people were dying in the hands of his boss? The bloods of those very people were staining the terrain, when they marched past and the citizens watched without feeling. A cynical edge to his tone, "What do you want me to do about it, [Name]?"

"I want you to stop," you snapped. Your eyes darkened. "Please—I need you to stop. Those people…"

"What inspired you to do this," he whispered. His words were more of a statement rather a question, and his eyes were cold as a sheet of ice, freshly frozen overnight; even by the warmest gestures, there was not a chance of them defrosting. You looked down as he moved you aside again, reminding you of the day you saw his brother on the other side of the wall.

Face as pallid as stone, and his wrath swiped right from the palette of bloodlike colors into his eyes. Fists clenched, ready for bloodshed. You just watched from a distance, afraid to approach and yearning to be by his side, tell him it was going to be alright. Even when the rain started, he simply stood there as you scrambled for shelter.

Even farther from him then, you could see the new scars on his pale knuckles, hands. His almost-white hair was plastered to his face, and it wasn't until he was dragged away by his own people as his shrieks and howls were swallowed by the night. Shrieks dwindled to howls. Howls dwindled to cries. Cries decomposed until he was completely silent, and you didn't see him for days since. You shivered, and darted away on your own like a lonely fox without a forest to wander in.

"I'm not part of the Aryan race! So kill me here and now!" you screamed angrily as he continued to simply walk away from you.

How could he?

How could he leave you hanging?

For the first time, Ludwig looked back at you. He wasn't who he was before. Instead, a shadow of who he was flickers across his face; that unsure expression. You could almost feel it, but you turned away before he could say anything. You collapsed, knees weak, just as you heard the door slam behind you.

You never knew he wanted to shout at you until he was hoarse.

He wanted to shout, "I love you."

He wanted to say it over and over, but just as he stared into his boss' eyes, his feelings were absolutely obliterated. Trampled to the dirt floor—simply vanished. He swallowed the urge, closed his eyes, and looked at what was in front of him, even though he was blind to the world. Another few thousand eyes stared back at his, and he lifted his rifle carefully, taking aim.

And yet, you were the only one he couldn't bring the strength to strike down.