WIP [The Wall]
May. 20th, 2009 09:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
historizeTitle: The Wall
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
historyblitz
Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, England, France, China, Russia, Prussia, Germany, Poland, Hungary, Czechoslovakia, Ukraine, Lithuania and Italy
Rating: Thematic R
Warnings: violence, symbolism
Summary: The end of World War II, Russia's revenge on Germany and the building and falling of the Berlin Wall.
As a note. I am an American. I was all of three years old when the Berlin Wall fell. So what I am going on is some stuff from my history classes and bits I looked up on youtube. This is a work in progress---so if there is some historical detail here that I have missed, please tell me.
Just in case you need visuals, I nabbed a couple maps offline. Map showing the territory of old Prussia and a map of the four sectors made by the Allied powers. (Trying to find a newer map of Prussia. That one is too old.)
Eventually posted here
Germany stared at the wall.
England, France and America all watched him stare at the wall. France and England looked almost pitying; America wasn’t sure what was happening. Gently, he touched England’s hand. When England looked at him, America mouthed, What’s wrong with him?
England looked down and shook his head a little. I’ll explain later.
“Germany, it’s been decided that you’ll be divided into four sectors,” France began.
“Why?” That was Prussia, sitting protectively close to his brother.
England raised his jaw. “We will be helping Germany rebuild. Each of us will have control of a certain sector.”
Prussia’s eyes were burning. England could see how much he wanted to tell them what they could do with that idea but. But. Prussia had been around long enough to know the consequences of a lost war. His frown was tight. He looked at Germany.
Germany stared at the wall.
I won’t be able to bring him out of this. Prussia closed his eyes, sighed and then looked back up at the other three nations. “Are you going to abolish me as well?”
England was quiet for a moment. So was France.
“Hey, our leaders decided that,” said American, bluntly. “Not us. But you’ll still be around. You're going to represent one of the sectors.”
Prussia’s eyes flicked over to America and then back to England and France. And then they widened. “Who…which one of your will have control of my sector.”
“That would be me, yes?”
They all looked up. Except Germany, who stared at the wall. Russia was standing by the door.
“You’re late—,” England began to cover the terse silence.
“How’d you get in? The doors were locked.” America was turned around in his chair, peering.
England stood up but did not look at Prussia. “We were just discussing your involvement, Russia. Come here.”
France was looking slightly away. He found himself staring at the same spot on the wall that Germany was. I wonder what he’s seeing, France thought. Death, probably.
Russia approached and Prussia was already on his feet, standing slightly in front of Germany. He smirked a little. “So this is my punishment for being involved? I’ll have to go live at your house?”
Russia advanced on him. Prussia did not back down, those fierce red eyes hard and unmoving. “You will become East Germany.” He reached out, touching Prussia’s chin, caressing with his fingers. “And you will be mine.”
Prussia stiffened. “I need to be able to see Germany. He needs help.”
“He will have it. They will take care of him. You will be my buffer against them.”
“What the hell is that suppose to mean?” America was frowning, standing. “That’s not fair.”
Russia didn’t look at him. He kept his eyes on Prussia, big and soft and dominating. “Young puppy, how many people died in this war?”
“Those numbers haven’t been brought together yet.”
“Guess, upstart.”
America clenched his fists. “At least fifty million—China lost huge numbers, plus the Holocaust and—“
“How many of them were yours?”
“About half a million.”
“Do you know how many I lost?” His smile widened. “Twenty-six million of my people are gone. My heart hurts.” He tilted his head as Prussia tried to lean back. His hand clamped on Prussia’s jaw. “That is why he will be mine.”
Prussia whipped around, jerking out of Russia’s grasp, looking at England. “How long have you known me, Empire?”
England sighed. “Since your birth.”
“You know what Russia will do.”
“I have a very certain idea.”
“Then you—“
“You should not be afraid, Gilbert. We will become very close.” Russia smiled, putting a hand on Prussia’s shoulder, rubbing it.
Prussia practically snarled, turning a deadly glare on him. “I’m not afraid of you.” His voice was steely. “My concern is for Germany. You will force him to stand alone.” His eyes narrowed, accusatory at England. “You will be with him but because of what his boss made him do—you’re going to separate us.”
“Did you have some other idea?” England said, tone low, eyes hardening.
“Would you do this to America and Canada? Are you doing it to Italy and Romano?”
“We’re already isolated from Europe,” America snapped.
“Not the point, you dipshit. Fuck, I thought you were going to grow up and be smarter than this. If I’d known you’d still be this stupid, I would have let England take you back.”
England and America both jerked but France finally got up before a swing could be thrown. “Stop, Gilbert,” France said, quietly. He got between England, America and Prussia. “We can only disobey orders to a certain point. You know this. We wanted to tell you in person so that you would not find out when Russia kidnapped you or something. We worked the best we could. We intervened and gave our opinions but, in the end, the decision lies with our bosses. We are not making the mistake we made last time—“
“You made last time,” Prussia snapped.
France ignored that. “We are going to help Germany rebuild. He is a young country. He needs help and we acknowledge that this time round.”
“And you believe that to get him to stop—to stop fucking staring at the goddamn walls and murmuring to himself—that I mustn’t be allowed to see him?”
France’s mouth opened and then closed.
“Yeah,” said America. “Sorry—look—that’s just the way it’s worked out. You’re better at war than at diplomatic negotiations.”
France waved a hand at America and grabbed Prussia by the collar. He leaned into his ear, whispering into it. “We chose you, lest we give Germany to Russia. We intervened on his behalf at your cost.”
Prussia blinked at France and looked past him, at England, who gave him the smallest of nods. Now, he understood. It was either going to be me or him--because Russia is entitled to a sector as well. But Germany is broken. He wouldn't last under Russia. But I will. They chose me so that they could save Germany. His eyes hardened, he kept them on England. “How long?”
“Likely only as long as it takes to rebuild each sector. Right?” England looked to France and America, who nodded. Then at Russia.
He just smiled.
“When do I have to go?”
“I would like to take him now,” said Russia, creeping up behind Prussia again, laying his hands on his shoulders.
Prussia didn’t flinch. “Then get out. I will say goodbye to my brother first.”
Russia slid a finger up, touching Prussia’s ear; still he didn’t flinch.
England nodded. “Of course, Prussia. America, France, Russia—let’s step out.”
Russia smiled, slid a hand along Prussia’s shoulders and walked out, followed by England and France. America went last, looking back at the brothers. They were nothing like him and Canada but among the nations there were only a few sets of brothers. He couldn’t help but feel for them.
The four of them watched through the observation glass. Prussia, at first, paced around the room, cursing quietly. Or, assuming he was cursing; his expression seemed to say it. Then he grabbed a chair and set it in the way of Germany’s lock on the wall.
Prussia grabbed his brother’s face.
England sat up a little, watching Prussia’s expression change to something he’d never seen. It was earnest and…almost pleading.
“He looks upset,” said Russia, smiling.
“You look a little too fuckin’ happy,” America shot back.
England’s eyes whipped over. He glared at America and mouthed: Calm yourself.
America started and blinked: What?
Prussia combed his fingers through Germany’s blond hair. Whatever he was telling him looked so urgent and honest, America could hardly stand it. “I can’t watch this.” It was making him think of Canada. He got up, turning away.
“Little upstart. You should finish what you begin.”
America froze at the door and looked back.
Russia’s voice smiled. “Unpleasant consequences are a part of war. Watch them and learn from them. Or at least prepare yourself for when you may find yourself in a similar situation.”
America sneered at Russia but he did look into the glass again.
Prussia had a strange look on his face. As if he were desperate to get through to a deaf man. His words were very pronounced but America had never been good at lip-reading in other languages.
Prussia’s earnest expression changed to a resigned seriousness. He said something, rather calm and then gently hugged Germany. Germany managed to find himself enough to lift a hand and place it on Prussia’s side.
Prussia leaned back, kissed each of Germany’s cheeks and then stood. He meshed his fingers one last time through Germany’s silver-blond hair and then took something out of his uniform pocket and reached forward. Gently, as if pining a broach on a child, Prussia placed the object into Germany’s vest pocket. Then he stood up and turned away, facing the mirrored glass.
Germany’s gaze drifted back to the wall.
“He is ready.” England’s voice was heavy as he stood, going to the door. “Let’s do this now, before he changes his mind.”
Russia stood, crossing the floor, almost gliding. It looked unnatural. America followed. France came last.
Prussia was tall and proud and strong as they entered. He looked each of them in the eye as they unconsciously seemed to separate. England, America and France stood on the right side of the room. Russia stood on the left.
Prussia looked at the three of them. “If you wrong my brother, I will kill you.”
Out of the corner of his eyes, America could see England and France, looking back with equal seriousness. They both nodded. America looked at Prussia and nodded too.
Russia received his red eyes then. “I don’t suppose I can get my fucking coat before we go?”
“No. I will give you things in Russia.”
Prussia laughed. “Yeah right. Let’s hurry it up then.”
He jerked away when Russia grabbed for his arm. “I can fucking walk on my own. I don’t need your vice grip to know who rules me for now.”
For now.
They left.
America frowned at the door. “I feel like that was wrong.”
“War is always wrong,” said England and he crossed to Germany.
“But—what we did—“
“Fighting against Germany’s boss wasn’t wrong,” France clarified. “But war is always wrong for someone. There is no black and white good and bad in war. There are always shades of gray.”
America nodded a little.
“Germany? Germany, look at me. Do you understand what’s happening?”
America and France watched Germany’s eyes drift over to England’s. He finally spoke in a voice that was low, soft and harsh, “Russia has my brother because…I didn’t question…enough....”
“Yes,” said England, eyes hard as stone. “And now, America, France and myself are going to help you rebuild. All the quicker to be united with him. Do you understand?”
Germany nodded a little, his red-rimmed eyes glassy, shuddering.
“You will cooperate then?”
Germany nodded again.
“Right,” England straightened. “We will take you to our headquarters. Since the three of us are taking care of you, you won’t have to go to our houses. You can stay in your land but you’ll live where we put you.”
Again, the silent nod.
“France, get the door and walk with him to the car.”
America went to the observation room and picked up a briefcase with the paperwork in it. He brought it back, following France, who had a gentle hand on Germany’s back. England fell in step beside him. Both of them were quiet for a very long moment. Then England said, “America, times like these make me very, very glad that you and Canada did not grow up in Europe.”
America looked over but England’s eyes were trained ahead, never once deviating from the back of Germany’s tattered uniform. America nodded a little anyway and looked ahead too.
Germany healed slowly.
In the meantime, he looked at the walls.
His surrender in Berlin had been desperate, exhausting and bloody. Poland and Russia took the city by storm, while America and England circled from the outside.
He was running on his last legs, leaning against the walls when he heard a faint sound. Metal against stone.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Somehow, he knew what it was in an instant. His blood went cold.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Russia…”
“I am thinking you do not want to see your old ally?”
Germany whirled around but the air was empty. The alley was empty. Why did it suddenly seem so quiet? The sounds of street fighting and screaming and dying had been thick a moment ago. Now, he felt blood whooshing through his ears. His breathing seemed loud. Pick a way. You have a half and half chance of meeting him.
He chose right.
And how wrong he was. As soon as he went around the corner, cold metal struck his face. He was slammed into the wall and slid before he could stop himself. His eyes went up.
Russia could see the hollows in Germany’s face. How his eyes were glazed. The red-rims from lack of sleep—from the nightmares probably. How often did he dream about the dead? Italy had fallen first. Did Germany dream about what they had done to Italy? Well, it hadn’t been that bad—not once the Italians had signed an armistice. Although, the Italians had split—some stayed fighting with Germans and some joined the Allies. Feliciano just went along for the ride. He stayed with Germany, until America and England had taken him. And how Russia had enjoyed sitting outside Italy’s cell, listening to him weep. Russia told Italy exactly what he was going to do to Germany when he got his hands on him, which had only made Italy weep more. Cry to have mercy on Germany. Only following orders. Germany was good at following orders. He thrived on his discipline. Don’t hurt Ludwig! Please, he had sobbed!
Music to his ears.
Romano had avoided this fate by being the first of Italy brothers to expel the Germans and openly join the Allies. He was terrified of all of them but treated them all like dirt anyway, which had its own sort of pride. Russia thought he was amusing, if nothing else.
War was when a Nation began to see just how human he was. Just how susceptible to the darkness that plagued their humans—was also a disease for them. Russia knew much about it. He had been through wars like this—grisly deaths—over and over again. What you began to see…made you never want to sleep.
Did they really need sleep?
Sometimes, it was easy to forget—they didn’t need to eat all the time, like their humans did—though it was enjoyable. They tended not to get sick easily. Their wounds healed fast but. But. When it came to war. When it came to the darkest parts of carnal humanity.
Lust. Murder. Insanity. Rage.
They were just as guilty of those. And that made sense; they were a reflection of the ideals of their people. Some of them moreso than others.
Ah. He realized he was simply staring down at Germany now. He shifted and blinked and said, “Hello, Germany. Did you surprise attack me? Whom you signed a treaty with?”
Germany was a brute of a man. Tall and strong and rough and normally, Russia would have almost liked him. They both liked to drink, after all. But now, Germany was looking at him with barely concealed desperation. “My boss—“
There was a cold thunk, like a mallet on a slab of raw meat. Germany reeled back, face covered in blood. Russia kicked him in the gut and did not stop smiling. “I have heard many Germans say that they were following orders. I am tired of the excuse.” He knelt down to him, touching Germany’s blood with his fingers, sliding it up and down his smooth jaw. “Your boss didn’t quite think this through, did he, comrade?” He struck him again. “Did you expect me to collapse so easily?” He put the faucet of the pipe under Germany’s chin and lifted so he could look in his eyes. “I see,” said Russia. “You did.” He hit him again “Do you now? Now that your city is mine and Poland will be quite pleased to see you.”
Germany’s slicked back hair was sticking to his blood-and-sweat splattered forehead. If nothing else, he was not soft.
“You are looking tired, little upstart.” Russia picked him up by his collar. “I will take you some place quieter.”
He did.
And it was. For a little while.
Poland found them later in a ransacked office in the middle of the city. He had been a little wary about joining up with the one who had let Germany beat him senseless but—Russia had offered to get out of Germany’s house and he couldn’t pass that up. He had been looking for Russia since he’d vanished just after lunch. Poland had been painting his rifle with a bottle of purple nail polish when he’d noticed his absence. When Russia didn’t return he assumed he’d found something to amuse himself, which probably meant Germany. Or some other poor bastard.
Then he’d found that funny cross Germany wore at his collar out in the street. So he’d searched each building, one at a time. He knew he had the right place when the stench of blood and vomit hit him. He wavered by the door but made himself enter. Blood and death were nothing new to Poland. But it was so heavy. Especially in the summer.
He could hear wheezing. Poland entered the back workroom. Russia was sitting at a small table. He was reading a little book and looked entirely normal. Except for all the red on his clothes and face and the blood-drenched pipe lying nonchalantly next to him.
Russia’s eyes came up. He smiled sweetly. “Good afternoon, Felix. I apologize for not returning after lunch. I found something very fun!”
Poland was already looking past him.
Germany was lying in a wet heap in the corner. He was still clothed (thank god) but they were in tatters. His hair was matted with blood and dirt. His face was a massive bruise, eyes swollen and hands sopping and mangled and distinctly lacking fingernails.
It gave a Poland a sickly sense of déjà vu that he quickly cast aside. “Um, to the max, Russia. Look, America and England are heading into the city. Maybe you should, like, I dunno—get him to a cell or something. He’s totally gross right now.”
“Ah,” said Russia. He dog-eared the little book and pocketed it. “You are right. Western European sensitivities do not bode well if they see him like this. Would you like to help clean him up?”
Poland’s mouth fell open and he flicked his wrist. “You’re joking, right? I just had this uniform pressed.”
Russia smiled, amused and picked up Germany, throwing him over his shoulder. He picked up his pipe and followed Poland away.
England was broke. France could barely function and yet they both stood by to help. America had lost no cities and his economy was revitalized so he took steps to prop up Europe. He seemed to so much to want to take command. He wanted to be needed. He wanted to save Europe. Give them a reason to like him.
And yet, he was still just like an energetic puppy, tagging along at the heels of older dogs. He wanted to look and see and smell and taste everything. China tilted his head a little, watching America lean over England’s shoulder, voicing his opinion, loud and sure.
It was like a puppy hopping on the head of an older dog and chewing on his ear.
England shoved him.
The elder dog nips him.
China smiled a little.
America and England agreed to let Italy visit Germany. It was a pre-arranged, short affair. Italy had not seen Germany in a very long time. Germany was still murmuring in his sleep and staring at walls. America was often at the compound, as he felt like he was accomplishing something while he was there. He would often gently remind Germany to eat and once even trimmed his hair for him. It had been his idea to let Italy see Germany.
Italy was wibbling before he even entered the building. England escorted him inside. The little nation didn’t wait for Germany to approach him. He saw him down the hallway and broke away from England, sprinting to him and catapulting into him.
America was with him, had been planning to bring Germany and let them be reacquainted slowly. But, no chance of that as Italy tackled Germany. For a moment, America froze; half-afraid Germany might react as he sometimes did in his sleep when they woke him from bad dreams. He would lash out, trying to hurt them, yelling—sometimes for Prussia. But Germany did not.
He looked at Italy for a long moment and his eyes abruptly seemed a little bit clearer. “Feliciano…,” he said, voice soft, as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.
“Ludwig!” wailed Italy and he began to sob.
They let them be alone.
“I want to see my brother,” said Germany, a week later. He had stopped staring at walls. He was wearing a cross around his neck, dark silver and inlaid with a glossy, black stone.
“That is something you have to talk to Russia about,” said England. His eyes flicked down, recognizing that cross. "That's Gilbert's, isn't it?"
He nodded. "Yes," he murmured, reaching up to touch it. A hint of steel had returned to his eyes.
But Russia did not allow it. And in 1961, Russia gave orders to start construction of a great wall on his side of Germany and hia sector of Berlin. And there was nothing anyone could do about it. Well, there was but England, America and France were not prepared to start a war with Russia over a wall.
Prussia, locked in a compound in Moscow, seethed and paced and swore. And when Russia came to him, gloating and soft and dominating and cold, he fought. He always fought him. Never submitted. Never gave in. He always railed and bit and clawed at him. Russia always laughed. Always.
Germany stared at a wall. A very real wall; covered in graffiti and topped with barbed wire. Someone had written Mother, should I trust the government? on a section of it. There was a death strip in the middle. His brother’s people had tried to reach his own. They had been shot. Another wall on the Eastern side.
There was no graffiti on that side.
If he listened hard in the dead of night, he could almost hear Prussia’s chuckle.
Prussia was breathing hard. His hands were twitching. He could feel hot blood in his mouth and in his eyes. It made the moon look red. The only good part was that he was blessedly alone. Russia had gone from him.
His stomach was starting to feel queasy, too much blood. He groaned faintly and forced himself to sit up but it was as if a wave had crested over him. Hot and dizzy, he slumped back down. He tried to hold himself up but his hands were useless, thin and weak.
The next thing he felt was a very light, cool touch. "I think he is coming around."
"Russia was hard on him," said another voice, resigned.
Prussia's eyes fluttered open. His tongue crept out, wetting his lips. "Ukraine?" He tried to clear his fuzzy gaze.
She looked down, cool hand still on his cheek. "Yes, and Lithuania. We came to check on you. We cleaned your wounds for you." Her hand left his face. "We also brought you breakfast."
"And this," said Lithuania, laying a newspaper on his blanket.
Prussia blinked and jerked up, grabbing it. He hadn't seen a newspaper in--! And then he froze, looking up warily at the two of them.
Lithuania raised his empty hands. "I also have brothers. Younger brothers. I came here so they wouldn't have to." Lithuania's smile was sad. "Read it now. We will wait. It took me a lot of trouble to get this paper. Russia gets them every week but he is very careful with them."
He nodded and then his eyes went to Ukraine. "What's your story? You should hate me. My brother took you first when his boss turned on Russia."
"I am older than Russia. Every day, I watch him slip a little further away from us. Old day, he will be completely gone. As to your own brother. He is very young and has much to learn. It's not as though I've never been invaded before. And by people who supposedly held more love for me than him." Her eyes were kind but her jaw was elegant and strong. She showed not an ounce of weakness. She gathered up the blood-covered rags. "I will go and get rid of these. Do as Lithuania says. Read your paper." She left.
"She's a bit hard to get to know," said Lithuania, apologetic. "The USSR has done pretty horrible things to her. And Poland and I did some horrible things to her back when we were partners...so she's...really nice and big sisterly but..."
"You never know if it's genuine or not," Prussia finished. "I understand." He looked at the paper. Oh, blessed German. "Hey, Lithuania." He glanced up. "Is this going to cost me?"
He shook his head. "Just hurry and read before Russia wonders where I am."
Prussia nodded and bent his head to read, reaching for the plate of blini Ukraine had left him.
“We welcome change and openness; for we believe that freedom and security go together, that the advance of human liberty can only strengthen the cause of world peace. There is one sign the Soviets can make that would be unmistakable, that would advance dramatically the cause of freedom and peace. General Secretary Gorbachev, if you seek peace, if you seek prosperity for the Soviet Union and eastern Europe, if you seek liberalization, come here to this gate. Mister Gorbachev, open this gate. Mister Gorbachev, tear down this wall!“
America stood beside Germany. The two young, blue-eyed, blond-haired nations, standing together in plainclothes at the back of the crowd; America with his hands in his pockets and Germany straight-backed. They caught each other’s eye at the same moment. America said, “He’s not a bad speaker, right?”
Germany nodded. “Your boss is a good speaker.”
“He was an actor before this, y’know?”
“I heard. It probably helps in the political world.”
America touched his hand. “Hey. It’ll happen some day.”
Germany nodded and looked away, back towards the podium. “Someday that wall will fall. I will see my brother again.”
America nodded. “Yeah.” He turned back too.
There was debate on whether or not Hungary knew what would happen when she removed her physical border defenses with Austria in 1989. When Russia asked her, she gave him a mysterious smile and then shrugged. “I had no idea!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t know the East Germans could travel!”
“I am thinking they cannot any longer.”
Prussia had been drug along for this trip but was not permitted inside Hungary’s house. He sat, hand-cuffed (because Russia had learned quickly just how stubborn and bold Prussia could be) in the car, watching the windows for any sight of her. If what the German papers Lithuania had passed him were true, he had not loved her more than he did in this moment.
He had to smile, just a little, when she and Russia appeared outside her door. You still think of me, Elizabetha.
There were mass demonstrations in East Germany. They began in Leipzig and quickly spread to every major city.
And despite the cold and possible repercussions, Prussia escaped Moscow. Lithuania helped him. He was ragged and thin but his eyes still radiated that fierce and stubborn pride. Russia did not chase him. Why? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. All he knew was that the papers were telling him that his people were ready to rebel.
Czechoslovakia was letting his people through. He would have to buy him a drink. Or something. As for Hungary, she had set this in motion. He would have to think of something clever.
But those were secondary thoughts. It had been almost forty years. He wanted to see his brother. The ache in his chest was constant and it had become normal to him but it never brought him down. Never cowed him. It burned in him. He had not lived clinging by his fingernails for as long as he had to be put down by paper and pen and a damn wall. He would see his brother again.
In November, his people took matters into their own hands.
The whole world watched as they took the wall down. Prussia arrived just in time to see it start.
Germany was on the West side with thousands of others. When the East Berliners went at the wall with hammers and chisels, the people surged. There was yelling, screaming and crying and cheering. The checkpoints were flooded with a human wave. Germany’s eyes searched the wall, looked at the people standing on it, climbing over, ripping away the wire. Surely, Prussia would be there. Weren’t nations automatically present when magnificent, world-changing events happened in them? They ought to be!
“Ludwig!”
His eyes shot up. Searching. That voice—! He stumbled, tripping past an elderly woman. He corrected himself, apologized to her (though she didn’t noticed, clinging as she was to her weeping son).
“Ludwig!”
He could hear him. Christ, he could hear him. “Gilbert?!” His eyes darted everywhere. “Where are you?! Gilbert!”
His heart felt ready to explode. Desperation. The ache suddenly too much. “Gilbert!”
“Ludwig! Ludwig! Up here! You fucking blind idiot!”
Slightly to his right—on top of the—there! There! Prussia was running along the top of the wall, he sprang off, throwing himself in space. Germany ran towards the wall and Prussia barreled into him. They hit the pavement together.
Germany could feel how thin and cold he was, ravaged by Russia. He wrapped his arms around him, as if to warm him all by himself. A voice was saying, “Gilbert! Gilbert!” It was his own, of course, hardly recognizable in grief and joy and shaky, explosive, unstable everything—
“Yes, yes, you—Ludwig--! You idiot! It’s me! Who else!” But Prussia was hugging him so hard that it was hard to breath.
They broke apart, getting up on their knees and Prussia’s thin, cold hands touched Germany’s face. “Brother, you look better. Much better!” He laughed. “Except. Except for these.” He ran his thumbs under Germany’s eyes. “Haha! What’s this, brother? Do I look bad?”
Germany was shaking. He was coming apart at the seams. “You look wonderful.” He hugged him again, shuddering. “You look terrible,” he rasped into his shoulder.
“Russian winters will do that to a man.” Prussia murmured. He reached up, stroking Germany’s hair.
“I’m sorry,” his voice was muffled and cracked. "I'm so sorry. I didn't get to--I didn't--!"
“Don’t," said Prussia, running a soothing hand up his back, "It was worth it. You’d better make me some proper fucking sausages though. I’m so goddamn sick of Russian leftovers. And their beers suck.”
Germany nodded, pulling back. He reached up, touching his brother’s face, as if to memorize it by feel alone. Prussia was blinking far, far too much. Germany said nothing of it. He finally could laugh. “I have missed you, you crazy bastard.”
Prussia burst out laughing and jumped up, tugging Germany with him and throwing an arm around him. “Let’s go have a drink!”
They did.
A month later, all moved into Germany’s house, Prussia left to visit Hungary. She refused to accept the gift he’d brought, a delicate silver hairpin that France had helped him with. But, he grinned anyway. He had expected her to refuse.
“It’s ugly,” she said, with a smug smile. “It’s not as though I knew exactly what would happen. I just had no reason to keep up my border defense with Austria.”
He knew better. He hid it in her sugar jar.
His next stop was Czechoslovakia. They went out for a drink, got into a bar fight together and had a damn good time.
When he went home, he hung up his coat and wandered into the house. “Oi! Ludwig! Where are you?”
He found his brother in the living room, listening to some strange music.
“What the hell is this?” Prussia asked, cocking an ear.
Germany smiled. “Something England gave me.” He handed the case to Prussia. “Apparently, it came out some time ago. I knew I’d seen it somewhere before.”
Prussia blinked.
Germany looked away. “Fitting, isn’t it?”
Prussia flipped the album over. “Yeah. I suppose so.”
Germany looked back. “It’s called The Wall, by Pink Floyd.”
Prussia glanced up, watching Germany’s eyes lock on the cover.
All alone, or in twos,
The ones who really love you
Walk up and down outside the wall.
Some hand in hand
And some gathered together in bands.
The bleeding hearts and artists
Make their stand.
And when they've given you their all
Some stagger and fall, after all it's not easy
Banging your heart against some mad bugger's wall.
"Isn't this where...."
"Still staring at walls."
"What?"
"Nothing, brother." Prussia stepped forward, setting the case down, and hugged him.
1. Not really worth a footnote but Eddie Izzard made a comment about why Russia set up the Eastern Block about 38 seconds in. I like Eddie Izzard. He does comedy about history.
2. If I’d known you’d still be this stupid, I would have let England take you back. A Prussian military officer, Baron von Steuben helped train America's army during the American Revolution.
3. Italian armistice actually makes all this sort of complicated. And southern Italy was taken over by the Allies first--and Italian soldiers defected and fought alongside the Allies for the rest of the war. Other sections, though, continued fighting alongside the Axis. In this, Italy visiting Germany--is for the characters themselves--not anything political.
4. The Berlin Wall. The public began to tear it down on November 9th, 1989. Germany was officially reunited the following year. As a note, the USSR did not stop them from tearing down the wall. They just let it happen. (Which is why Prussia escapes and isn't chased.)
5. Poland-Lithuanian Commonwealth. They once ruled Ukraine. After fighting a bitter war with Poland, Ukraine made a treaty of protection with Russia, which he broke later--and Russia and Litho-Poland divided her land between them.
6. Blini is a type of Russian pancake, if I understand it correctly.
7. "Mister Gorbachev, tear down this wall!" That whole bit was part of a speech made by Ronald Reagan in 1987. One of his most famous, after the fact. Because at the time, it didn't get a lot of publicity.
8. Pink Floyd, one of the best rock bands to come out of England. The last chunk of lyrics there is from the final track of "The Wall" album called "Outside the Wall". The quote Mother, should I trust the government is a line from a track called "Mother", also off "The Wall" album.
Edit: Here we go. And you'll actually see that Prussia is not technically within German borders at the end of World War II. He was actually east of Germany and he lost all his territory to Poland and the USSR.
I'll admit...I messed that up and am just discovering it now that I spent quite a bit of time doing this. That's what I get for not researching thoroughly enough first.
Now I'm not sure what I should do with this. I still enjoyed writing this a lot. I don't often see these two on a brotherly level. I suppose maybe so long as I put up a disclaimer that I am well-aware of the historical inaccuracy--that Prussia is not technically East Germany--I could post it anyway?
Though, though, in the Old Prussia map--Prussia used to have that whole expanse of territory. (I really don't want these 15 pages to go to waste. I like this. Haha, so yes, I am looking for connections now.) So, technically--since Prussia united Germany and is Germany's brother--the Allies sort of 'pin' him as "east Germany' anyway. Russia did say he would "become East Germany"....so. So. Technically, this could work.
Edit: Haha, I came back to edit and, by chance, I turned on the song Pieces and suddenly this was a billion times sadder.
Author/Artist:
historyblitzCharacter(s) or Pairing(s): America, England, France, China, Russia, Prussia, Germany, Poland, Hungary, Czechoslovakia, Ukraine, Lithuania and Italy
Rating: Thematic R
Warnings: violence, symbolism
Summary: The end of World War II, Russia's revenge on Germany and the building and falling of the Berlin Wall.
As a note. I am an American. I was all of three years old when the Berlin Wall fell. So what I am going on is some stuff from my history classes and bits I looked up on youtube. This is a work in progress---so if there is some historical detail here that I have missed, please tell me.
Eventually posted here
Germany stared at the wall.
England, France and America all watched him stare at the wall. France and England looked almost pitying; America wasn’t sure what was happening. Gently, he touched England’s hand. When England looked at him, America mouthed, What’s wrong with him?
England looked down and shook his head a little. I’ll explain later.
“Germany, it’s been decided that you’ll be divided into four sectors,” France began.
“Why?” That was Prussia, sitting protectively close to his brother.
England raised his jaw. “We will be helping Germany rebuild. Each of us will have control of a certain sector.”
Prussia’s eyes were burning. England could see how much he wanted to tell them what they could do with that idea but. But. Prussia had been around long enough to know the consequences of a lost war. His frown was tight. He looked at Germany.
Germany stared at the wall.
I won’t be able to bring him out of this. Prussia closed his eyes, sighed and then looked back up at the other three nations. “Are you going to abolish me as well?”
England was quiet for a moment. So was France.
“Hey, our leaders decided that,” said American, bluntly. “Not us. But you’ll still be around. You're going to represent one of the sectors.”
Prussia’s eyes flicked over to America and then back to England and France. And then they widened. “Who…which one of your will have control of my sector.”
“That would be me, yes?”
They all looked up. Except Germany, who stared at the wall. Russia was standing by the door.
“You’re late—,” England began to cover the terse silence.
“How’d you get in? The doors were locked.” America was turned around in his chair, peering.
England stood up but did not look at Prussia. “We were just discussing your involvement, Russia. Come here.”
France was looking slightly away. He found himself staring at the same spot on the wall that Germany was. I wonder what he’s seeing, France thought. Death, probably.
Russia approached and Prussia was already on his feet, standing slightly in front of Germany. He smirked a little. “So this is my punishment for being involved? I’ll have to go live at your house?”
Russia advanced on him. Prussia did not back down, those fierce red eyes hard and unmoving. “You will become East Germany.” He reached out, touching Prussia’s chin, caressing with his fingers. “And you will be mine.”
Prussia stiffened. “I need to be able to see Germany. He needs help.”
“He will have it. They will take care of him. You will be my buffer against them.”
“What the hell is that suppose to mean?” America was frowning, standing. “That’s not fair.”
Russia didn’t look at him. He kept his eyes on Prussia, big and soft and dominating. “Young puppy, how many people died in this war?”
“Those numbers haven’t been brought together yet.”
“Guess, upstart.”
America clenched his fists. “At least fifty million—China lost huge numbers, plus the Holocaust and—“
“How many of them were yours?”
“About half a million.”
“Do you know how many I lost?” His smile widened. “Twenty-six million of my people are gone. My heart hurts.” He tilted his head as Prussia tried to lean back. His hand clamped on Prussia’s jaw. “That is why he will be mine.”
Prussia whipped around, jerking out of Russia’s grasp, looking at England. “How long have you known me, Empire?”
England sighed. “Since your birth.”
“You know what Russia will do.”
“I have a very certain idea.”
“Then you—“
“You should not be afraid, Gilbert. We will become very close.” Russia smiled, putting a hand on Prussia’s shoulder, rubbing it.
Prussia practically snarled, turning a deadly glare on him. “I’m not afraid of you.” His voice was steely. “My concern is for Germany. You will force him to stand alone.” His eyes narrowed, accusatory at England. “You will be with him but because of what his boss made him do—you’re going to separate us.”
“Did you have some other idea?” England said, tone low, eyes hardening.
“Would you do this to America and Canada? Are you doing it to Italy and Romano?”
“We’re already isolated from Europe,” America snapped.
“Not the point, you dipshit. Fuck, I thought you were going to grow up and be smarter than this. If I’d known you’d still be this stupid, I would have let England take you back.”
England and America both jerked but France finally got up before a swing could be thrown. “Stop, Gilbert,” France said, quietly. He got between England, America and Prussia. “We can only disobey orders to a certain point. You know this. We wanted to tell you in person so that you would not find out when Russia kidnapped you or something. We worked the best we could. We intervened and gave our opinions but, in the end, the decision lies with our bosses. We are not making the mistake we made last time—“
“You made last time,” Prussia snapped.
France ignored that. “We are going to help Germany rebuild. He is a young country. He needs help and we acknowledge that this time round.”
“And you believe that to get him to stop—to stop fucking staring at the goddamn walls and murmuring to himself—that I mustn’t be allowed to see him?”
France’s mouth opened and then closed.
“Yeah,” said America. “Sorry—look—that’s just the way it’s worked out. You’re better at war than at diplomatic negotiations.”
France waved a hand at America and grabbed Prussia by the collar. He leaned into his ear, whispering into it. “We chose you, lest we give Germany to Russia. We intervened on his behalf at your cost.”
Prussia blinked at France and looked past him, at England, who gave him the smallest of nods. Now, he understood. It was either going to be me or him--because Russia is entitled to a sector as well. But Germany is broken. He wouldn't last under Russia. But I will. They chose me so that they could save Germany. His eyes hardened, he kept them on England. “How long?”
“Likely only as long as it takes to rebuild each sector. Right?” England looked to France and America, who nodded. Then at Russia.
He just smiled.
“When do I have to go?”
“I would like to take him now,” said Russia, creeping up behind Prussia again, laying his hands on his shoulders.
Prussia didn’t flinch. “Then get out. I will say goodbye to my brother first.”
Russia slid a finger up, touching Prussia’s ear; still he didn’t flinch.
England nodded. “Of course, Prussia. America, France, Russia—let’s step out.”
Russia smiled, slid a hand along Prussia’s shoulders and walked out, followed by England and France. America went last, looking back at the brothers. They were nothing like him and Canada but among the nations there were only a few sets of brothers. He couldn’t help but feel for them.
The four of them watched through the observation glass. Prussia, at first, paced around the room, cursing quietly. Or, assuming he was cursing; his expression seemed to say it. Then he grabbed a chair and set it in the way of Germany’s lock on the wall.
Prussia grabbed his brother’s face.
England sat up a little, watching Prussia’s expression change to something he’d never seen. It was earnest and…almost pleading.
“He looks upset,” said Russia, smiling.
“You look a little too fuckin’ happy,” America shot back.
England’s eyes whipped over. He glared at America and mouthed: Calm yourself.
America started and blinked: What?
Prussia combed his fingers through Germany’s blond hair. Whatever he was telling him looked so urgent and honest, America could hardly stand it. “I can’t watch this.” It was making him think of Canada. He got up, turning away.
“Little upstart. You should finish what you begin.”
America froze at the door and looked back.
Russia’s voice smiled. “Unpleasant consequences are a part of war. Watch them and learn from them. Or at least prepare yourself for when you may find yourself in a similar situation.”
America sneered at Russia but he did look into the glass again.
Prussia had a strange look on his face. As if he were desperate to get through to a deaf man. His words were very pronounced but America had never been good at lip-reading in other languages.
Prussia’s earnest expression changed to a resigned seriousness. He said something, rather calm and then gently hugged Germany. Germany managed to find himself enough to lift a hand and place it on Prussia’s side.
Prussia leaned back, kissed each of Germany’s cheeks and then stood. He meshed his fingers one last time through Germany’s silver-blond hair and then took something out of his uniform pocket and reached forward. Gently, as if pining a broach on a child, Prussia placed the object into Germany’s vest pocket. Then he stood up and turned away, facing the mirrored glass.
Germany’s gaze drifted back to the wall.
“He is ready.” England’s voice was heavy as he stood, going to the door. “Let’s do this now, before he changes his mind.”
Russia stood, crossing the floor, almost gliding. It looked unnatural. America followed. France came last.
Prussia was tall and proud and strong as they entered. He looked each of them in the eye as they unconsciously seemed to separate. England, America and France stood on the right side of the room. Russia stood on the left.
Prussia looked at the three of them. “If you wrong my brother, I will kill you.”
Out of the corner of his eyes, America could see England and France, looking back with equal seriousness. They both nodded. America looked at Prussia and nodded too.
Russia received his red eyes then. “I don’t suppose I can get my fucking coat before we go?”
“No. I will give you things in Russia.”
Prussia laughed. “Yeah right. Let’s hurry it up then.”
He jerked away when Russia grabbed for his arm. “I can fucking walk on my own. I don’t need your vice grip to know who rules me for now.”
For now.
They left.
America frowned at the door. “I feel like that was wrong.”
“War is always wrong,” said England and he crossed to Germany.
“But—what we did—“
“Fighting against Germany’s boss wasn’t wrong,” France clarified. “But war is always wrong for someone. There is no black and white good and bad in war. There are always shades of gray.”
America nodded a little.
“Germany? Germany, look at me. Do you understand what’s happening?”
America and France watched Germany’s eyes drift over to England’s. He finally spoke in a voice that was low, soft and harsh, “Russia has my brother because…I didn’t question…enough....”
“Yes,” said England, eyes hard as stone. “And now, America, France and myself are going to help you rebuild. All the quicker to be united with him. Do you understand?”
Germany nodded a little, his red-rimmed eyes glassy, shuddering.
“You will cooperate then?”
Germany nodded again.
“Right,” England straightened. “We will take you to our headquarters. Since the three of us are taking care of you, you won’t have to go to our houses. You can stay in your land but you’ll live where we put you.”
Again, the silent nod.
“France, get the door and walk with him to the car.”
America went to the observation room and picked up a briefcase with the paperwork in it. He brought it back, following France, who had a gentle hand on Germany’s back. England fell in step beside him. Both of them were quiet for a very long moment. Then England said, “America, times like these make me very, very glad that you and Canada did not grow up in Europe.”
America looked over but England’s eyes were trained ahead, never once deviating from the back of Germany’s tattered uniform. America nodded a little anyway and looked ahead too.
Germany healed slowly.
In the meantime, he looked at the walls.
His surrender in Berlin had been desperate, exhausting and bloody. Poland and Russia took the city by storm, while America and England circled from the outside.
He was running on his last legs, leaning against the walls when he heard a faint sound. Metal against stone.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Somehow, he knew what it was in an instant. His blood went cold.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Russia…”
“I am thinking you do not want to see your old ally?”
Germany whirled around but the air was empty. The alley was empty. Why did it suddenly seem so quiet? The sounds of street fighting and screaming and dying had been thick a moment ago. Now, he felt blood whooshing through his ears. His breathing seemed loud. Pick a way. You have a half and half chance of meeting him.
He chose right.
And how wrong he was. As soon as he went around the corner, cold metal struck his face. He was slammed into the wall and slid before he could stop himself. His eyes went up.
Russia could see the hollows in Germany’s face. How his eyes were glazed. The red-rims from lack of sleep—from the nightmares probably. How often did he dream about the dead? Italy had fallen first. Did Germany dream about what they had done to Italy? Well, it hadn’t been that bad—not once the Italians had signed an armistice. Although, the Italians had split—some stayed fighting with Germans and some joined the Allies. Feliciano just went along for the ride. He stayed with Germany, until America and England had taken him. And how Russia had enjoyed sitting outside Italy’s cell, listening to him weep. Russia told Italy exactly what he was going to do to Germany when he got his hands on him, which had only made Italy weep more. Cry to have mercy on Germany. Only following orders. Germany was good at following orders. He thrived on his discipline. Don’t hurt Ludwig! Please, he had sobbed!
Music to his ears.
Romano had avoided this fate by being the first of Italy brothers to expel the Germans and openly join the Allies. He was terrified of all of them but treated them all like dirt anyway, which had its own sort of pride. Russia thought he was amusing, if nothing else.
War was when a Nation began to see just how human he was. Just how susceptible to the darkness that plagued their humans—was also a disease for them. Russia knew much about it. He had been through wars like this—grisly deaths—over and over again. What you began to see…made you never want to sleep.
Did they really need sleep?
Sometimes, it was easy to forget—they didn’t need to eat all the time, like their humans did—though it was enjoyable. They tended not to get sick easily. Their wounds healed fast but. But. When it came to war. When it came to the darkest parts of carnal humanity.
Lust. Murder. Insanity. Rage.
They were just as guilty of those. And that made sense; they were a reflection of the ideals of their people. Some of them moreso than others.
Ah. He realized he was simply staring down at Germany now. He shifted and blinked and said, “Hello, Germany. Did you surprise attack me? Whom you signed a treaty with?”
Germany was a brute of a man. Tall and strong and rough and normally, Russia would have almost liked him. They both liked to drink, after all. But now, Germany was looking at him with barely concealed desperation. “My boss—“
There was a cold thunk, like a mallet on a slab of raw meat. Germany reeled back, face covered in blood. Russia kicked him in the gut and did not stop smiling. “I have heard many Germans say that they were following orders. I am tired of the excuse.” He knelt down to him, touching Germany’s blood with his fingers, sliding it up and down his smooth jaw. “Your boss didn’t quite think this through, did he, comrade?” He struck him again. “Did you expect me to collapse so easily?” He put the faucet of the pipe under Germany’s chin and lifted so he could look in his eyes. “I see,” said Russia. “You did.” He hit him again “Do you now? Now that your city is mine and Poland will be quite pleased to see you.”
Germany’s slicked back hair was sticking to his blood-and-sweat splattered forehead. If nothing else, he was not soft.
“You are looking tired, little upstart.” Russia picked him up by his collar. “I will take you some place quieter.”
He did.
And it was. For a little while.
Poland found them later in a ransacked office in the middle of the city. He had been a little wary about joining up with the one who had let Germany beat him senseless but—Russia had offered to get out of Germany’s house and he couldn’t pass that up. He had been looking for Russia since he’d vanished just after lunch. Poland had been painting his rifle with a bottle of purple nail polish when he’d noticed his absence. When Russia didn’t return he assumed he’d found something to amuse himself, which probably meant Germany. Or some other poor bastard.
Then he’d found that funny cross Germany wore at his collar out in the street. So he’d searched each building, one at a time. He knew he had the right place when the stench of blood and vomit hit him. He wavered by the door but made himself enter. Blood and death were nothing new to Poland. But it was so heavy. Especially in the summer.
He could hear wheezing. Poland entered the back workroom. Russia was sitting at a small table. He was reading a little book and looked entirely normal. Except for all the red on his clothes and face and the blood-drenched pipe lying nonchalantly next to him.
Russia’s eyes came up. He smiled sweetly. “Good afternoon, Felix. I apologize for not returning after lunch. I found something very fun!”
Poland was already looking past him.
Germany was lying in a wet heap in the corner. He was still clothed (thank god) but they were in tatters. His hair was matted with blood and dirt. His face was a massive bruise, eyes swollen and hands sopping and mangled and distinctly lacking fingernails.
It gave a Poland a sickly sense of déjà vu that he quickly cast aside. “Um, to the max, Russia. Look, America and England are heading into the city. Maybe you should, like, I dunno—get him to a cell or something. He’s totally gross right now.”
“Ah,” said Russia. He dog-eared the little book and pocketed it. “You are right. Western European sensitivities do not bode well if they see him like this. Would you like to help clean him up?”
Poland’s mouth fell open and he flicked his wrist. “You’re joking, right? I just had this uniform pressed.”
Russia smiled, amused and picked up Germany, throwing him over his shoulder. He picked up his pipe and followed Poland away.
England was broke. France could barely function and yet they both stood by to help. America had lost no cities and his economy was revitalized so he took steps to prop up Europe. He seemed to so much to want to take command. He wanted to be needed. He wanted to save Europe. Give them a reason to like him.
And yet, he was still just like an energetic puppy, tagging along at the heels of older dogs. He wanted to look and see and smell and taste everything. China tilted his head a little, watching America lean over England’s shoulder, voicing his opinion, loud and sure.
It was like a puppy hopping on the head of an older dog and chewing on his ear.
England shoved him.
The elder dog nips him.
China smiled a little.
America and England agreed to let Italy visit Germany. It was a pre-arranged, short affair. Italy had not seen Germany in a very long time. Germany was still murmuring in his sleep and staring at walls. America was often at the compound, as he felt like he was accomplishing something while he was there. He would often gently remind Germany to eat and once even trimmed his hair for him. It had been his idea to let Italy see Germany.
Italy was wibbling before he even entered the building. England escorted him inside. The little nation didn’t wait for Germany to approach him. He saw him down the hallway and broke away from England, sprinting to him and catapulting into him.
America was with him, had been planning to bring Germany and let them be reacquainted slowly. But, no chance of that as Italy tackled Germany. For a moment, America froze; half-afraid Germany might react as he sometimes did in his sleep when they woke him from bad dreams. He would lash out, trying to hurt them, yelling—sometimes for Prussia. But Germany did not.
He looked at Italy for a long moment and his eyes abruptly seemed a little bit clearer. “Feliciano…,” he said, voice soft, as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.
“Ludwig!” wailed Italy and he began to sob.
They let them be alone.
“I want to see my brother,” said Germany, a week later. He had stopped staring at walls. He was wearing a cross around his neck, dark silver and inlaid with a glossy, black stone.
“That is something you have to talk to Russia about,” said England. His eyes flicked down, recognizing that cross. "That's Gilbert's, isn't it?"
He nodded. "Yes," he murmured, reaching up to touch it. A hint of steel had returned to his eyes.
But Russia did not allow it. And in 1961, Russia gave orders to start construction of a great wall on his side of Germany and hia sector of Berlin. And there was nothing anyone could do about it. Well, there was but England, America and France were not prepared to start a war with Russia over a wall.
Prussia, locked in a compound in Moscow, seethed and paced and swore. And when Russia came to him, gloating and soft and dominating and cold, he fought. He always fought him. Never submitted. Never gave in. He always railed and bit and clawed at him. Russia always laughed. Always.
Germany stared at a wall. A very real wall; covered in graffiti and topped with barbed wire. Someone had written Mother, should I trust the government? on a section of it. There was a death strip in the middle. His brother’s people had tried to reach his own. They had been shot. Another wall on the Eastern side.
There was no graffiti on that side.
If he listened hard in the dead of night, he could almost hear Prussia’s chuckle.
Prussia was breathing hard. His hands were twitching. He could feel hot blood in his mouth and in his eyes. It made the moon look red. The only good part was that he was blessedly alone. Russia had gone from him.
His stomach was starting to feel queasy, too much blood. He groaned faintly and forced himself to sit up but it was as if a wave had crested over him. Hot and dizzy, he slumped back down. He tried to hold himself up but his hands were useless, thin and weak.
The next thing he felt was a very light, cool touch. "I think he is coming around."
"Russia was hard on him," said another voice, resigned.
Prussia's eyes fluttered open. His tongue crept out, wetting his lips. "Ukraine?" He tried to clear his fuzzy gaze.
She looked down, cool hand still on his cheek. "Yes, and Lithuania. We came to check on you. We cleaned your wounds for you." Her hand left his face. "We also brought you breakfast."
"And this," said Lithuania, laying a newspaper on his blanket.
Prussia blinked and jerked up, grabbing it. He hadn't seen a newspaper in--! And then he froze, looking up warily at the two of them.
Lithuania raised his empty hands. "I also have brothers. Younger brothers. I came here so they wouldn't have to." Lithuania's smile was sad. "Read it now. We will wait. It took me a lot of trouble to get this paper. Russia gets them every week but he is very careful with them."
He nodded and then his eyes went to Ukraine. "What's your story? You should hate me. My brother took you first when his boss turned on Russia."
"I am older than Russia. Every day, I watch him slip a little further away from us. Old day, he will be completely gone. As to your own brother. He is very young and has much to learn. It's not as though I've never been invaded before. And by people who supposedly held more love for me than him." Her eyes were kind but her jaw was elegant and strong. She showed not an ounce of weakness. She gathered up the blood-covered rags. "I will go and get rid of these. Do as Lithuania says. Read your paper." She left.
"She's a bit hard to get to know," said Lithuania, apologetic. "The USSR has done pretty horrible things to her. And Poland and I did some horrible things to her back when we were partners...so she's...really nice and big sisterly but..."
"You never know if it's genuine or not," Prussia finished. "I understand." He looked at the paper. Oh, blessed German. "Hey, Lithuania." He glanced up. "Is this going to cost me?"
He shook his head. "Just hurry and read before Russia wonders where I am."
Prussia nodded and bent his head to read, reaching for the plate of blini Ukraine had left him.
“We welcome change and openness; for we believe that freedom and security go together, that the advance of human liberty can only strengthen the cause of world peace. There is one sign the Soviets can make that would be unmistakable, that would advance dramatically the cause of freedom and peace. General Secretary Gorbachev, if you seek peace, if you seek prosperity for the Soviet Union and eastern Europe, if you seek liberalization, come here to this gate. Mister Gorbachev, open this gate. Mister Gorbachev, tear down this wall!“
America stood beside Germany. The two young, blue-eyed, blond-haired nations, standing together in plainclothes at the back of the crowd; America with his hands in his pockets and Germany straight-backed. They caught each other’s eye at the same moment. America said, “He’s not a bad speaker, right?”
Germany nodded. “Your boss is a good speaker.”
“He was an actor before this, y’know?”
“I heard. It probably helps in the political world.”
America touched his hand. “Hey. It’ll happen some day.”
Germany nodded and looked away, back towards the podium. “Someday that wall will fall. I will see my brother again.”
America nodded. “Yeah.” He turned back too.
There was debate on whether or not Hungary knew what would happen when she removed her physical border defenses with Austria in 1989. When Russia asked her, she gave him a mysterious smile and then shrugged. “I had no idea!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t know the East Germans could travel!”
“I am thinking they cannot any longer.”
Prussia had been drug along for this trip but was not permitted inside Hungary’s house. He sat, hand-cuffed (because Russia had learned quickly just how stubborn and bold Prussia could be) in the car, watching the windows for any sight of her. If what the German papers Lithuania had passed him were true, he had not loved her more than he did in this moment.
He had to smile, just a little, when she and Russia appeared outside her door. You still think of me, Elizabetha.
There were mass demonstrations in East Germany. They began in Leipzig and quickly spread to every major city.
And despite the cold and possible repercussions, Prussia escaped Moscow. Lithuania helped him. He was ragged and thin but his eyes still radiated that fierce and stubborn pride. Russia did not chase him. Why? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. All he knew was that the papers were telling him that his people were ready to rebel.
Czechoslovakia was letting his people through. He would have to buy him a drink. Or something. As for Hungary, she had set this in motion. He would have to think of something clever.
But those were secondary thoughts. It had been almost forty years. He wanted to see his brother. The ache in his chest was constant and it had become normal to him but it never brought him down. Never cowed him. It burned in him. He had not lived clinging by his fingernails for as long as he had to be put down by paper and pen and a damn wall. He would see his brother again.
In November, his people took matters into their own hands.
The whole world watched as they took the wall down. Prussia arrived just in time to see it start.
Germany was on the West side with thousands of others. When the East Berliners went at the wall with hammers and chisels, the people surged. There was yelling, screaming and crying and cheering. The checkpoints were flooded with a human wave. Germany’s eyes searched the wall, looked at the people standing on it, climbing over, ripping away the wire. Surely, Prussia would be there. Weren’t nations automatically present when magnificent, world-changing events happened in them? They ought to be!
“Ludwig!”
His eyes shot up. Searching. That voice—! He stumbled, tripping past an elderly woman. He corrected himself, apologized to her (though she didn’t noticed, clinging as she was to her weeping son).
“Ludwig!”
He could hear him. Christ, he could hear him. “Gilbert?!” His eyes darted everywhere. “Where are you?! Gilbert!”
His heart felt ready to explode. Desperation. The ache suddenly too much. “Gilbert!”
“Ludwig! Ludwig! Up here! You fucking blind idiot!”
Slightly to his right—on top of the—there! There! Prussia was running along the top of the wall, he sprang off, throwing himself in space. Germany ran towards the wall and Prussia barreled into him. They hit the pavement together.
Germany could feel how thin and cold he was, ravaged by Russia. He wrapped his arms around him, as if to warm him all by himself. A voice was saying, “Gilbert! Gilbert!” It was his own, of course, hardly recognizable in grief and joy and shaky, explosive, unstable everything—
“Yes, yes, you—Ludwig--! You idiot! It’s me! Who else!” But Prussia was hugging him so hard that it was hard to breath.
They broke apart, getting up on their knees and Prussia’s thin, cold hands touched Germany’s face. “Brother, you look better. Much better!” He laughed. “Except. Except for these.” He ran his thumbs under Germany’s eyes. “Haha! What’s this, brother? Do I look bad?”
Germany was shaking. He was coming apart at the seams. “You look wonderful.” He hugged him again, shuddering. “You look terrible,” he rasped into his shoulder.
“Russian winters will do that to a man.” Prussia murmured. He reached up, stroking Germany’s hair.
“I’m sorry,” his voice was muffled and cracked. "I'm so sorry. I didn't get to--I didn't--!"
“Don’t," said Prussia, running a soothing hand up his back, "It was worth it. You’d better make me some proper fucking sausages though. I’m so goddamn sick of Russian leftovers. And their beers suck.”
Germany nodded, pulling back. He reached up, touching his brother’s face, as if to memorize it by feel alone. Prussia was blinking far, far too much. Germany said nothing of it. He finally could laugh. “I have missed you, you crazy bastard.”
Prussia burst out laughing and jumped up, tugging Germany with him and throwing an arm around him. “Let’s go have a drink!”
They did.
A month later, all moved into Germany’s house, Prussia left to visit Hungary. She refused to accept the gift he’d brought, a delicate silver hairpin that France had helped him with. But, he grinned anyway. He had expected her to refuse.
“It’s ugly,” she said, with a smug smile. “It’s not as though I knew exactly what would happen. I just had no reason to keep up my border defense with Austria.”
He knew better. He hid it in her sugar jar.
His next stop was Czechoslovakia. They went out for a drink, got into a bar fight together and had a damn good time.
When he went home, he hung up his coat and wandered into the house. “Oi! Ludwig! Where are you?”
He found his brother in the living room, listening to some strange music.
“What the hell is this?” Prussia asked, cocking an ear.
Germany smiled. “Something England gave me.” He handed the case to Prussia. “Apparently, it came out some time ago. I knew I’d seen it somewhere before.”
Prussia blinked.
Germany looked away. “Fitting, isn’t it?”
Prussia flipped the album over. “Yeah. I suppose so.”
Germany looked back. “It’s called The Wall, by Pink Floyd.”
Prussia glanced up, watching Germany’s eyes lock on the cover.
All alone, or in twos,
The ones who really love you
Walk up and down outside the wall.
Some hand in hand
And some gathered together in bands.
The bleeding hearts and artists
Make their stand.
And when they've given you their all
Some stagger and fall, after all it's not easy
Banging your heart against some mad bugger's wall.
"Isn't this where...."
"Still staring at walls."
"What?"
"Nothing, brother." Prussia stepped forward, setting the case down, and hugged him.
1. Not really worth a footnote but Eddie Izzard made a comment about why Russia set up the Eastern Block about 38 seconds in. I like Eddie Izzard. He does comedy about history.
2. If I’d known you’d still be this stupid, I would have let England take you back. A Prussian military officer, Baron von Steuben helped train America's army during the American Revolution.
3. Italian armistice actually makes all this sort of complicated. And southern Italy was taken over by the Allies first--and Italian soldiers defected and fought alongside the Allies for the rest of the war. Other sections, though, continued fighting alongside the Axis. In this, Italy visiting Germany--is for the characters themselves--not anything political.
4. The Berlin Wall. The public began to tear it down on November 9th, 1989. Germany was officially reunited the following year. As a note, the USSR did not stop them from tearing down the wall. They just let it happen. (Which is why Prussia escapes and isn't chased.)
5. Poland-Lithuanian Commonwealth. They once ruled Ukraine. After fighting a bitter war with Poland, Ukraine made a treaty of protection with Russia, which he broke later--and Russia and Litho-Poland divided her land between them.
6. Blini is a type of Russian pancake, if I understand it correctly.
7. "Mister Gorbachev, tear down this wall!" That whole bit was part of a speech made by Ronald Reagan in 1987. One of his most famous, after the fact. Because at the time, it didn't get a lot of publicity.
8. Pink Floyd, one of the best rock bands to come out of England. The last chunk of lyrics there is from the final track of "The Wall" album called "Outside the Wall". The quote Mother, should I trust the government is a line from a track called "Mother", also off "The Wall" album.
Edit: Here we go. And you'll actually see that Prussia is not technically within German borders at the end of World War II. He was actually east of Germany and he lost all his territory to Poland and the USSR.
I'll admit...I messed that up and am just discovering it now that I spent quite a bit of time doing this. That's what I get for not researching thoroughly enough first.
Now I'm not sure what I should do with this. I still enjoyed writing this a lot. I don't often see these two on a brotherly level. I suppose maybe so long as I put up a disclaimer that I am well-aware of the historical inaccuracy--that Prussia is not technically East Germany--I could post it anyway?
Though, though, in the Old Prussia map--Prussia used to have that whole expanse of territory. (I really don't want these 15 pages to go to waste. I like this. Haha, so yes, I am looking for connections now.) So, technically--since Prussia united Germany and is Germany's brother--the Allies sort of 'pin' him as "east Germany' anyway. Russia did say he would "become East Germany"....so. So. Technically, this could work.
Edit: Haha, I came back to edit and, by chance, I turned on the song Pieces and suddenly this was a billion times sadder.
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no subject
Date: 2009-05-21 02:58 am (UTC)The second was OH HOLY GOD, I LOVE YOU SO HARD. I have been WANTING this fic about the German brothers and the wall for so damn long it hurts. I'm crying now. And I'm working in MY OFFICE in full view of my boss.
(Oh, it shall be a glorious way to get fired).
There are so many things I love about this, but first and foremost will be the family love: Of Germany and Prussia, of England and America.
I love how concerned Prussia was for his brother, and oh, my heart broke and soared at the same time when France said they chose Prussia in exchange for Germany. I teared up so hard, because at first I was totally hating the allies for doing that but then when France revealed that, oh God.
I love the England and America parts, the way England declares he's glad America and Canada didn't live in Europe. And the puppy bit. Oh, how so apt.
And as always, France is the smooth, clever diplomat in all this. Oh France. It's so good to see him other than as a lecherous ass. ♥ I love him so much here.
...And Russia can go die in a fire.
♥
no subject
Date: 2009-05-21 03:55 am (UTC)I feel like an ass. I had a lot of fun writing this but now I'm not sure if I should keep it---because I was careless and didn't look up the maps. I mean, I suppose I could keep it...if I added in that I was aware of Prussia's actual location and such...but I'm not really sure. That's what I get for not doing my research properly. *fails at life*
I really like the brother dynamic and I feel like I don't see it often and I wanted to do it so much.
Annnd I have a soft spot for France. I like making him smart too--just in different way than England. Give them foil points! Waaah!
Oh man, I've made such a villain of Russia lately. XDDD
no subject
Date: 2009-05-21 03:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-21 04:44 am (UTC)Also, don't stress so much on being 'historically accurate'! It's OK to tweak history a bit. XD
Brother dynamic for the win. I'm the oldest of three siblinsg
no subject
Date: 2009-05-21 04:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-21 04:48 am (UTC)Oh really? Ah--I see, you are just a couple years older than me! :D I have an older sister and a twin brother (and a much, much younger half-sister). I don't actually get along with any of them though. Haha, so I'm all, "Oh, Hetalia! Give me your siblings! I want them to be made of win!"
no subject
Date: 2009-05-21 04:54 am (UTC)Ahaha. Quite honestly, I love non-history heavy stuff and fics that focus on Hetalia!canon aspects than History!canon ones as much as the history-heavy ones.
It is the nature of siblings to not get along often. I know I don't. But man, pick on my siblings, and I will END you. :D Nobody messes with my siblings but ME. (I'm actually the bullied one in the siblings. *sobs*)
no subject
Date: 2009-05-21 05:20 am (UTC)Hahaha! Awesome! :D