PrussiaxReader-Whiskey Lullaby

She put him out, like the burnin' end of a midnight cigarette,
She broke his heart, and he spent his whole life tryin' to forget.
We watched him drink his pain away a little at a time,
But he never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind.
Until the night...
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"I FUCKING HATE YOU." You screamed as you ran down the stairs.
"_______, wait! Don't leave!" Gilbert said, desperately trying to grab your wrist. You pulled away before he could get ahold of you.
"No, I can't stay here anymore! I'm fucking through with you!" And with that, you went out the door and slammed it behind you. Gilbert stood there, dumbfounded. His hands balled into fists and fresh tears started flowing from his crimson eyes. He couldn't believe you had just up and left him alone. With a scream, he fell to his knees and heavy sobs heaved out of his body. He slowly dragged himself over to the cupboard where he kept the alcohol in his house and opened it.
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He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger,
And finally drank away her memory.
Life is short, but this time it was bigger,
Than the strength he had to get up off his knees...
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Gilbert replayed the scene in his mind, over and over again. Tears continued leaking from his eyes, and his body shook all over. He clutched the whiskey bottle closer to his chest, haunching over and rocking himself back and forth. The shifting of his weight made the springs on the bed creak. His drunken mind was unable to fathom the fact that you had just simply walked out of his life. Why couldn't he do anything right? If you didn't want him, then nobody else probably would, either. With the tears falling faster, he took another swig from the bottle and took out a small piece of paper. He grabbed a pen and quickly scribbled something on it. He folded the paper as neatly as he could and placed it on his pillow. The Prussain then grabbed the handgun that was laying in front of him, his right hand shaking violently as he pressed it against his head. Thoughts of you were swimming through his mind, he couldn't take it anymore. Gilbert breathed one last shaky breath and pulled his trembling finger.
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We found him with his face down in the pillow,
With a note that said "I'll love her 'till I die."
And when we buried him beneath the willow,
The angels sang a whiskey lullaby...
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"Hey, Gilbert! Francis and me are going to town! Want to come?" Antonio called as he opened the door to Gilbert's house the next morning. His brow furrowed when there was no response.
"He couldn't have left. He wouldn't be up this early in the morning..." Francis said to his Spanish friend.
"Well, he did have a rough time with _______ a couple of nights ago. You go check his room. I'll stay down here and look to see that he didn't fall asleep on the couch or anything." The green eyed Spaniard ordered. Francis nodded and went upstairs. Antonio went around to the couch and saw that Gilbert's sleeping form wasn't there. He was about to check elsewhere when a scream resonated throughout the house. Antonio bounded up the stairs as fast as he could and entered Gilbert's room.
"Francis, what's wrong...oh God..." His words got cut off at the scene before him. There was blood, lots of blood everywhere. On the bed lay an empty whiskey bottle and Gilbert's unmoving body.
"Oh God, no." Antonio repeated in horror, his hands covering his gaping mouth and his emerald eyes filling with tears.
"Was this because of...?" Francis was at a loss for words as well, his sapphire orbs shining with tears. Antonio noticed a small folded piece of paper on the pillow next to Gilbert. He slowly walked over to the bed and picked it up. With shaking hands, he unfolded it and tried with difficulty to pick out Gilbert's messy handwriting.
"What does it say...?" Francis asked, his voice low. Antonio looked the blond right in the eye, his tears spilled over onto his tanned cheeks. His response was barely above a whisper.
"I'll love her 'till I die."
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The rumors flew, but nobody knew how much she blamed herself,
For years and years, she tried to hide the whiskey on her breath.
She finally drank her pain away a little at a time,
But she never could get drunk enough to get him off her mind.
Until the night...
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'It's all my fault...' You thought to yourself as you stared down. It had been two years since Gilbert passed away, and you were always weighed down with the guilt. If it hadn't been for you being a big bitch, Gilbert would have still been alive. A tear ran down your face as you looked at his name carved in stone. The pain it caused you was almost unbearable. The wind blew through the drooping leaves of the big willow tree, making you feel so alone. Suddenly, you got an idea and you turned around to go home. You knew how you were going to end this once and for all.
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She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger,
And finally drank away his memory.
Life is short, but this time it was bigger,
Than the strength she had to get up off her knees...
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You decided to change up your nightly drinking routine. You grabbed a full bottle of whiskey and a big knife you had on the table. You went to your room and shut the door, letting your emotions consume you as the tears fell down your face. You sat on your bed and opened the bottle with the knife, taking your first big swig. Your face wrinkled at the strong taste; you weren't a big fan of whiskey, but you knew it was perfect for the occasion. With every swig, you became more and more intoxicated. Halfway through your bottle, you looked at the picture on the night table next to your bed. It was one of you and Gilbert about a week before he died. His head was turned, kissing your cheek, while you were facing the camera, a smile on your cutely scrunched-up face. You took the picture and held it in your hands. Five tears hit the plastic frame and you wiped them away. Reaching for a bottle, you tipped it straight up, swallowing as much alcohol as you could before having to stop. You brought the picture to your lips and kissed the half with Gilbert. Another swig from the bottle. Another kiss. You continued the cycle until the bottle was empty. Crying uncontrollably, you took the knife in your hand and held your bare forearm in front of you. With a little shakiness, you began carving the skin of your arm with the blade. When you were finished, the words "I love you" were written in blood. A small smile appeared on your face at your handiwork. Finally, it was time. You held the picture in one hand and the knife facing you in the other. You sucked in a big breath.
"This is for you, Gil." You whispered and plunged the knife into your body. You screamed in pain and fell back, ripping the bloody knife back out. You cried as your blood drained, clutching the picture to your chest.
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We found her with her face down in the pillow,
Clinging to his picture for dear life.
We laid her next to him beneath the willow,
While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby.
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Ludwig stood still, looking at the two names before him. Gilbert Beilschmidt and _______ _______.
"Why, why did it have to come to this?" He said softly, his icy blue eyes closing. He remembered when he found you dead. Your bed was soaked with blood and the smell of whiskey was lingering in the air. Even though you were dead, you were holding a picture tightly to your chest. He remembered you looked so peaceful. The memory triggered the usually strong German's emotions, and two or three tears tumbled down his cheeks. He had lost his brother and his best friend to alcohol. It was such a terrible thing that it had to end the way it did. With more tears falling down, he looked to the bright blue sky. Ludwig knew that you and Gilbert would now be in a happier place, together for eternity. Just as he thought this, a pair of white doves flew into his vision and the wind began to blow through the old willow tree. You and Gilbert were singing him a lullaby.