[FanFic] Durch Blut und Eisen
Title: Durch Blut und Eisen: Mein Bruder
Author: jeva_chan
Character(s): Germany, Prussia, America, England, France, Russia; GermanyPrussia pairing; hints to RussiaPrussia
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Cursing, kissing, possible OOCness, some historical inaccuracy (it's entirely possible)
Previous Parts: 1
Summary: October 7, 1949, the German Democratic Republic is founded.
"What does that commie bastard want this time?"
"You should know better than to call him that. Even if he's been more than disagreeable in some points--"
"And that's putting it lightly! After what happened this year, he shouldn't have any right to enter discussions--"
"Oh, and it would be your bright plan to keep him isolated? That was such a brilliant idea during the onset of the War, you know."
"This isn't the War! This is--a totally different war!"
"... there really is no talking sense into you, is there?"
Germany gave a sigh, trying to tune out the two English-speaking nations, preferring to sit on one of the two couches set in the center of the large room, staring at the empty seats across from him. It was not as though the American did not have a fair point. More than just fair, it was accurate. After the escapades of blockading Berlin, forcing the western countries to use airborne aid to get supplies into the small regions, the Soviet had been suspiciously quiet. More than just that, but since Germany was recognized as the Federal Republic...
That could just as likely be the paranoia that had been running rampant since the War, though. The idea of red being splashed on every surface, collectivization, nationalization... threats to the ideal of democracy, is how America would scoffingly put it.
It was also as America said--an entirely different war. And again, it was a war that Germany was hopelessly caught in the middle of, a result of the cost of failure, the cost of having his lands separated between the Allies, the cost of losing his--no. No, it would not do any good thinking about that now. There were more important things to consider. That was, despite how he wished otherwise, over and done with. There was nothing he could do to change the Allies' final decision.
Even though he had not been able to fight against it when the time was at hand.
And even now, when the Anglo-French part of the Allies continued to insist it was for the best, Germany found himself miserably remembering all of the lessons he'd learned in his youth. He had been warned about his position on the map, had been told that he would perpetually be caught between empires, had been instructed how to fight back if such a time were to come again and he was threatened. The best defense was a strong offense, that is how it went, right?
Germany shut his eyes, trying to push the wound of the news of the death of his brother from his mind for what could have been the millionth time in the past two years.
"Mes amis, you should both try some of these hors d'œuvres~" spoke up the French counterpart to the trio that was left of the original Allies, completely ignoring the bickering going on between the brothers.
"Who's got time to think about food when there's a meeting about to take place?" demanded England, shooting his perpetual enemy a disgusted look. "Honestly, you wino, shouldn't you be more concerned? You're actually part of the damned continent."
"Mais oui. However, this does not mean I should not maintain my... sophisticated air, non?"
The smaller man shot to his feet, having been on Germany's left the whole while, angrily shouting back, "Are you calling me unsophisticated?!"
Laughter came from America, who sat to Germany's right, as he lightly responded, "Well, yeah, England. You haven't really been all that graceful--"
"I don't want to hear that from a hick like you!"
"What?! Hick?! And after all the good things I've said about you--!" cried out America in dismay.
England shouted back, just as Germany decided it was a better idea to put his hands to his ears, "What good things?! Also, I've been rebuilding, you ass! Of course there hasn't been time for any decadent things! Unlike this beardo, I have my priorities straight!"
"Your words, mon Angleterre, they still wound me so!" came the mock-injured cry from behind the couch.
"Then die. Die like the dog you are, you goddamn pervert--"
"Ah~ So lively!" broke in a new voice, sounding muffled to Germany's ears until he removed his hands and looked up. The others went silent also, tensing as the large nation made his way into the room, what looked to be a soldier trailing in behind him. The Soviet's smile was cheerful and calm as he looked over the western nations passively. "I have missed this kind of atmosphere. Many of my countries are so quiet!"
The silence stretched for a bit before America stood, waving England to sit back down, a pseudo-order that was obeyed with little thought as England pressed close to Germany.
"You know we all had to get out of our comfy beds for this kind of meeting?" was the first thing out of the American's mouth.
Tolerant sighs came from the English and French.
Germany just looked between the two superpowers of the world until his eye caught sight of that soldier once more. Puzzlement settled on his brow as he tried to get a better look, but with England pressing against him and America blocking his view, all he could see was the brown of the uniform and the black of the boots.
"Eh? You have time to take those kinds of luxuries? It's no wonder you can afford the time to bicker amongst yourselves," said Russia, tone polite but the insult obviously heard by his three former allies.
America put a hand to his hip while the other held itself out, waving about in a bored manner. Or was it nervous? "Look, let's just get on with this. You called us here. And it's starting to get cold outside--"
"Mmm... we were just talking about how nice it feels here," said Russia cheerfully before turning to glance over his shoulder at the soldier behind him. "Isn't that right, East?"
Again, the western nations seemed to freeze, only this time Germany was among them, eyes widening and back straightening as a painfully familiar voice answered smartly, "I've said it could stand to be a bit less miserable with all the goddamn rain."
The soldier then stepped up beside Russia, removing the hat that should have been out of practice to wear indoors--shouldn't he, above anyone else, know that?
England and France both shouted in outrage while America spoke out against the Soviet, "What the hell is this, Russia? We all agreed--!"
Germany could only stare in shock as a gloved hand ran itself through pale, ash blond hair, avoiding the wrappings that wound around pale forehead, and red eyes narrowed sharply at the western countries. His brother. Who he thought was dead, had been told was dead. He had been abolished just two years ago, hadn't he?
He did not spare Germany a look, simply standing there with his hands folding behind his back in a tense manner as he glared at his enemies.
"Agreed?" asked Russia after a beat, having allowed America the chance to finish saying just what they had agreed upon. He then glanced to the smaller man beside him, a hand clapping down on thin--so painfully thin compared to the large nation, Germany thought desperately to himself--shoulder. "Ah, but this is East. He is the one who belongs to the land I have. Introduce yourself, East."
And as if it were any simply any other order, the one Russia insisted on calling East responded, stating firmly, "Deutsche Demokratische Republik. The eastern counterpart to your capitalist west."
Something gripped at Germany's chest, or was that simply England putting a heavy hand on his shoulder to keep him still? He had not even thought to move. Air seemed a precious element that he was desperately trying to remember how to take in. He could only watch, frozen, as this horrible scene continued to play itself out.
America seemed determined to ignore the smaller blond in favor of furiously saying to the other super-power, "That territory is still part of Germany's. You can't just keep doing as you want with it!"
Silence came upon them again, and the only one who seemed minimally effected by it was the one called East. Even as the Soviet's hand seemed to clench tightly on his shoulder, he remained virtually expressionless. "Is that so? I have told you, America. I do not agree with this way of thinking. Your Germany is capitalist. Mine is not."
"Because you rigged the elections, isn't that right?" accused America severely, appalling his allies with his bold behavior.
Russia merely smiled back, though his hand remained tight on his companion's shoulders. "Would you prefer to take this discussion outside, America?" he asked pleasantly.
The English-speaking nation balked. Perhaps not visibly, but with the coldness of the words, the meaning was not to be misunderstood. To have a fight with Russia, especially after having avoided one for this long, after the blockade and the events before and after...
"Let's not be rash about this," said England, gripping Germany's shoulder himself before standing up, taking position behind America, providing that level-headedness the Brit could sometimes have. "We didn't come here to pick a fight. You said you wanted to discuss, so we're here to discuss. If... he's want you want to bring to our attention, then you've done so, Russia. But I will not acknowledge it."
"Nor I," said France from his position safely behind the couch, an unpleasant tone to his voice.
Russia's East Germany made no movement, keeping impossibly still in a way that reminded Germany himself of the military achievements of his brother--this very brother who now stood before him as if a perfect stranger.
The large, northern country tilted his head to look past America and straight at Germany, making him straighten in his seat. "What about you, West? Do you ignore your brother also?" he asked, almost kindly except for how the question settled sickeningly in the other country's stomach.
Germany looked from Russia to his brother, studying him for a long moment before rising to his feet. Neither of the English-speakers said anything as he walked past them and found himself standing in front of the two eastern countries. The smaller German then turned his eyes to him, watching him sharply, almost suspiciously as well as... something else. He seemed to fall back against Russia's hand though Germany had not even done or say anything.
So small, was the one thing running through Germany's mind as he took in the sight of his brother for the first time in years. Now that he was able to have a closer look, he could see just how the uniform seemed to hang on him a bit, proving that he was not as filled out as he had been. Indeed, the wrappings about his head just went to prove to Germany that there was something terribly wrong with his brother, despite surviving the fate chosen by others.
Without thought, the larger German lifted a hand to reach out to his brother, shaking slightly as disbelief and relief and worry warred for dominance. "Bruder, you--"
A dull slap of pain across his wrist jolted him back to reality, where instead of acknowledging Germany's concern, his brother had raised his own hand to knock his western counterpart's away.
"Don't get sentimental, mein Bruder," said East with a bit of a smirk as Germany processed this shock. "We are, after all, standing on opposite sides. Acknowledge me as I am or don't. Either way, I'm here now and I don't plan to leave any time soon."
At a loss, Germany continued to stare at his brother for a moment longer before lowering his hand, clenching it at his side. Azure eyes turned toward the Soviet who continued to stand near, a fury in them that was ultimately the result of the War, the tensions at his borders, the blockade... everything up until this point. "What have you done to him?"
Silence greeted his demanded.
Then Russia laughed, an almost chiming sound that rang hollowly in Germany's ears. "Done? I have given him an identity," he said lightly, cheerful as he ever was.
Germany shook, keeping himself firmly planted where he was. He wanted to knock that look off the other's face but knew that now, more than ever, Russia was at his most dangerous. An act from Germany could be considered an act from the west and thus war. The one thing they were all sick to death of. Instead, he helplessly shouted up at the taller blond, "What did you do to my brother?"
Those violet eyes watched him, seeming amused, before they turned to look behind him--to America--and then over to his companion. "Ah. It seems as though West won't acknowledge you, either, East. A pity, yes?"
Germany froze at that and looked back over to his brother who said nothing, looked at no one. His jaw was tightened from what Germany could see, but he answered surprisingly lightly, "As if I care what capitalists think."
The western countries said nothing, could not say anything.
Just what does one say to a person they had determined to leave for dead?
Russia took his hand off of the smaller German's shoulder and clapped it together with its opposite. "Since that is settled, I believe it's time to go!" he said with youthful exuberance before turning to the one he called East, effectively ignoring the others. "Say, East, it's so nice out. We could even go for a walk, yes?"
Germany watched as his brother turned his attention to the Soviet and answered simply, "It might rain. Are you sure?"
"Mm," said Russia in affirmation, smiling as he shut his eyes for a brief moment. "I do enjoy the rain. It is so much better than snow, wouldn't you agree, East?"
The smaller would-be nation gave a sigh, sounding weary to Germany's ear. "If you say so," he agreed. Reluctantly. That's what that tone was, wasn't it? Certainly not entirely submissively.
"Then let us go!" Russia glanced over to the western countries and gave a bit of a wave. "We will see ourselves out the door. You have been... how do you say it in English? --ah! Most entertaining!"
Germany did not even have to look to know how many feathers were ruffled by this statement. His own hackles were rising with every word the Soviet spoke, despite knowing that it would do no good to react right there and then. Still, the thought of his brother leaving, and so soon, had him immediately reacting, moving to follow the two out the door. None of the others stopped him, possibly knowing the outcome before Germany himself did.
"Bruder, wait!"
They had not gotten far down the hall when he called for his brother's attention. The smaller would-be nation paused for a moment, glancing over to Russia, obviously asking permission to speak with his brother for a moment. This was a sight that left a horribly sour taste in Germany's mouth. Even worse was to see those violet eyes look sharply his way before turning away, giving a tolerant smile to his companion. Words formed on those lips, murmuring something to the smaller man as a hand raised to a cheek in a endearing manner.
Germany found himself clenching his fists, a cold grip in his chest tightening as he watched his brother then give a small nod and a quiet response. Promptly. Without argument. Submissively.
Surely his brother was merely following his role to keep good relations and no other reason, wasn't he?
The Soviet then turned and continued on his way down the hall, leaving the one he'd claimed to be East Germany behind. The smaller German stood still for a long moment before he straightened his shoulders and made his way to his supposed western counterpart, familiar grin on his face.
Germany realized just then as he approached, that his scarlet eyes in no way reflected the grin as they would have done in years past.
"What is it, West?" asked his brother in a fashion that was painfully familiar and relaxed. "You keep crying after me like a child."
Not sure what to say to that, Germany struggled to speak, "Bruder..."
"You keep calling and I keep responding." The eastern territory came to a stop before Germany, standing stiffly despite his more relaxed tone. "Still think you're seeing a ghost? I told you. I'm here, Bruder. And I don't plan on leaving any time soon, either."
Germany swallowed thickly, a hand raising to reach out only to hesitate, remembering how it had been struck the last time he had attempted to do so. He said, rather pathetically, instead, "I thought you were dead, Prussia."
There was an almost heart-stopping moment of tense silence.
"... Prussia is dead."
Taken aback by the answer, Germany took a step forward, hands gesturing to keep themselves from grasping the other man's uniform. "Don't say that when you're standing right in front of me--"
"The name 'Prussia' is dead and has been so for well over two years," said the one who had borne that name in short, clipped tones. "You should know that, West, considering your allies."
"My allies?" asked Germany incredulously. "Russia also took part in the talks if I'm remembering correctly--"
"I'm aware," interrupted the one now called East blandly.
"Then why ally with the Soviet?" demanded Germany, almost desperate to understand. "Bruder, that one has hurt you more than any other, for God's sake--"
"He's also the only one that'll have me!"
"To what end?" Without warning, the larger German reached out to put his hand against the bandages on his brother's head. The other man froze. "Bruder, you aren't well. You should be healed if he's taking care of you."
"Better off than dead," stated East flatly, flinching only for a split second before schooling his features into a firm and heavy frown.
Germany looked into those red orbs, trying to find some semblance of familiarity, but it was all lost under mire of emotions shifting through the other man. "You know I will always be willing to accept you, Bruder. But not like this. Not while you're being influenced by that--"
He stopped himself, noticing the narrowing of those eyes he was looking into.
Again, he found his hand being knocked away. Rejected as much as he had essentially rejected his brother.
"Don't you forget, West," gritted out East tightly, "you were the one who took my statehood from me first."
That statement hit like a blow to the gut. Germany barely managed to get out a small, "You know that wasn't me..." and knew it could never be enough.
East laughed. "No, you're right," he said, voice coming out more strained than it had been before, worrying Germany more. "It was that thriced godforsaken boss of yours and his ideas and everything else during that goddamned time! And then it was your allies, determining I was too militaristic, too authoritative. Well, they can all put this in their pipe and smoke it, the fucking assholes!"
"Bruder..." said Germany, becoming increasingly worried as the smaller man began to shake, and in no part did it seem to be from his righteous fury.
The other German ignored him, jabbing a finger at him but without actually touching him. "And they all have one singular thing in common, right? And that's you. Mein Bruder. Who sent me to the Eastern Front--!"
Alarm crept up Germany's spine as he watched his brother sway a bit, hands reaching out to support him. "Bruder, enough! You're not well--"
"I'm perfectly fine, damn you!" shouted East in a final show of bravado before Germany was forced to grab hold of him and press him to a wall to keep him from falling.
The cry of pain that came from the act very nearly had Germany release him to continue his fall, except his hands felt what his eyes had only begun to guess at. His brother was thin, painfully thin, odd angles poking into his grip even as the other man simply leaned into his hold, panting harshly. The cold hand in Germany's chest squeezed again as he quickly pulled his brother from the wall, a hand settling on his impossibly narrow back.
Another pained noise came from the smaller man, making Germany afraid to touch him anymore than he was.
"Mein Gott," he said hoarsely instead, not moving, frozen and staring down at East in near horror. "Bruder, mein Bruder, what's been done to you?"
A fist clenched into his suit, moving as if to shove him away but lacking the power behind the act to really achieve anything more. "W-what are you doing?" spat out East, though with less force than he may have wanted. "Let me go. Let me go, West!"
"No," said Germany, firm and controlled, attempting to shove down his fear so he could actually do something in this situation. "You need rest. Food. Let me take care of you, Bruder, please."
That hand shoved at him again, but this only had East jerk back into Germany's other hand, making him hissed sharply in an exhale. "I don't have time for this. He's waiting outside."
There was an edge of desperation there, and it made Germany sick to hear it. There was also, however, shaken resolve which could easily break if he could just find the other man somewhere to sit. Perhaps go back to the other western countries and have them bring him something. Would they, though? He was a territory under Soviet control. They would not want to stick their necks out that far if it meant something could be misconstrued and-or seen as a threat to Soviet power...
Knowing there was something more than wrong with the other's back, Germany quickly put his hand to East's head, leaning forward to press his face into his pale hair. "Bruder, please," he said, voice softening. He could feel East trembling in his arms. "Please, just leave him there. Come back with me. You're not well, and he is not helping matters--"
A choking laugh interrupted him. So unlike the laughter of old, this was simply pained. Caught in a throat that was more than likely constricted to the host of emotions swirling through his brother. "That's... not how it works, West. You should know better."
He tightened his hold on his brother, feeling a sense of relief in hearing a more familiar tone, pained and saddened though it was.
"Bruder, you don't have to pretend around me," said Germany in a final bid for the other man's trust.
The fist in his suit tightened its grip. "He's watching," was the faint whisper that came then, barely a voice and understandably so. Germany resisted the urge to look around the supposedly deserted hall. Louder, East continued, "There's nothing--pretend about this. Let me go, West. You're hurting me more than he has yet!"
Unsure if this was a ploy to further give the impression that his brother truly wanted to be away from him or if he was truly hurting him, Germany loosened his hold on the smaller would-be nation. He did not allow him to get too far, leaning forward to give East a loving, desperate, pleading kiss on the forehead.
"Please."
When the other German said nothing, did nothing, he kissed each eye which closed for him, something of a sigh escaping that too thin body which shook even more.
"Bruder..."
It was as though the facade cracked. Suddenly, his supposed eastern counterpart was pushing forward, lips crashing against his own, heated, desperate, hungry, pleading, pained, lonely, and yet still fearful and hesitant. Germany was nearly too shocked to respond but after a heartbeat, accepted the kiss and leaned into it, taking in all the tastes and flavors that seemed to come from it. And from this small act he was able to tell that, more than anything, his brother wanted to return to him.
Until, that was, a sound escaped the smaller man's throat and he gave one final shove, pushing Germany off of him, away from him. Caught off-guard, the western nation stumbled back, bewildered and eyes widening more as his brother braced his hands on his legs, breathing hard as though he'd run a marathon, thick coughs coming from deep in his chest. He reached out again, wanting to help.
"Don't--touch me!" shouted East as well as he could, winded and strained, choking out between the coughs. He then straightened himself, uniform mussed and tussled, giving a glimpse at thickly bandaged shoulders which likely covered the whole of his back, chest, and torso.
Germany could not find a single word to say, knowing that the distance between them was growing every moment.
A flush was on East's pale cheeks as he lifted the hat that had been clenched in one hand to his head, a hollow, breathy laugh coming from him as he hid his face. "How pathetic are we," he said, irony coming to his voice, quieted by his exertions. "Still fighting a war on this kind of front... Do me a favor, West. Keep to your side. I'll try to keep to mine."
And with that, he turned to leave, a stagger in his step that had not been there before.
Germany clenched his fists to keep himself from going after him again, only called out, "Bruder, why? Why him?"
East turned himself around, walking backwards and giving a hard laugh--closer to his old laugh but off-key, lilting and strangely foreign. "I said before, didn't I? He's the only one who didn't leave me for dead! Hate me if you want, West. But I'm not leaving this stage just yet. Let's see if your allies really care about this particular front or if they just leave it because they're that afraid of the big, bad wolf!"
The western side could only grit his teeth to keep from calling out again, knowing it was useless and that his brother would only continue on toward his sovereign nation.
And so he did, giving a bit of a mocking salute as he went.
Russia was crouched down beside a flower bed, staring with interest at the different colors that were still around even in early October. Though there wasn't much left to them, dying as the seasons changed. Maybe he would've found the leaves more interesting. The warm colors were definitely to his taste.
These were all the idle thoughts of East Germany as he stalked out of the building, back aflame and feverish, but still continuing walking step by step right up to his position beside the other nation. Russia didn't seem to notice him at all, instead contenting himself with plucking the dying flowers from their places, something England would loudly disagree with if he knew. And though his legs were shaking with the exertion it took to keep himself still, East remained planted where he was.
So they remained until a drizzle came down upon them.
Russia looked up at the darkened sky, a smile softer than his normal ones coming onto his face. "Say, East. Do you miss your brother?" he asked quietly.
Knowing hesitation could cost him more than an honest answer, he quickly and flatly lied in a hoarse voice, "Of course not."
The Soviet was quiet for a moment longer. "Say, East, do you miss your old name?"
"There's no use missing what can't be recovered," said East dully.
"Mmm..." hummed Russia before he pushed himself to his feet, turning to look at his satellite state, watching him closely. "Say, East, does it hurt? You look unwell."
Blinking rapidly as his vision suddenly clouded, the German answered thickly, "I'm more than fine, Russia, you should know that."
That heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder, purposefully sending jolting pressure down against him and his back, forcing him to stifle any sound of discomfort that threatened to come up. But the large country merely said in a soft, comforting tone, "Our walk will be short, yes? To the car. You look to need rest, товарищ."
East tried so damn hard to keep from sagging in relief, but his shoulders slumped without warning. He leaned into the hand that went to his face, tired and hurting. "Thank you," he said, despite knowing that the walk to the car was already significantly long. It was a distance he knew he could travel before his legs would collapse from under him and find himself helplessly caught in those arms once more.
Germany returned to room, closing the door behind him with a heavy heart. He did not expect any of the western allies to do or say anything. After all, they probably could tell by his solitary figure that whatever talk he'd attempted with his brother had not gone well and, in fact, resulted in further separation between the two territories.
Even more, he did not expect for the three to crowd near each other, a telegram in hand, murmuring to one another and completely ignoring his presence altogether.
An uneasy feeling in his stomach, Germany made his way to the couches where the American and Brit sat with the Frenchman leaning over behind the couch. "What news?" he asked, not knowing what to expect.
All three looked up at him for a moment. Then, the two English-speaking nations exchanged looks just before America heaved himself out of his seat, taking hold of the telegram. He held it out to Germany, informing him with an uncertain look on his face, "There's a large number of refugees from the Soviet territory coming into your side. We think that's why he... looked pretty bad off."
Lead dropped into Germany's stomach as he came to understand just what his brother had meant when he had claimed Germany had been hurting him. He refused to take the telegram. "We can provide for them, can't we?"
"Of course," answered America, posture relaxing and a reassuring smile coming onto his face. "That's what heroes do, right?"
England spoke up from the couch, catching the two's attention, "Don't make light of this, you idiot."
"Wha--hey, why are you calling me an idiot now?" demanded America with a pitiful edge nearing a whine to his tone. Germany, however, kept his eyes on the Brit as he pushed himself to his feet, hand going to his hip as he frowned heavier, thick eyebrows furrowing.
"The emigration may very likely begin to increase," he stated simply. "Russia's been showing signs of going back to his old, pre-War days. No one would want to stay on that side of the Curtain if it follows that pattern."
Germany stood there, stunned for a moment. "Then... preparations?"
"We'll help you out there, don't worry," said America reassuringly.
"But what of my brother? Too much of a significant loss like that..."
A moment of silence came upon them, only to be broken by a small laugh coming from the nation who remained standing behind the couch. England visibly twitched at the sound, turning and asking pointedly, "What are you laughing about, frog-eating bastard?"
France waved his hand airily, a hard smile on his face, though his voice was light. "Ironic, non? I have also heard that the Soviet's satellite territory is where he gains money for war reparations. How much do you think that will cut into the budget? 20 percent, peut-être?" He didn't wait for someone to attempt answer a plainly rhetoric question, though America opened his mouth to make an attempt. "The economy is not stable in the east, the people are leaving. His attempt to survive will end up starving him of what keeps him alive. Quel futile!"
The Frenchman looked straight at Germany when he finished, eyes darkened with grim justification, "It would have been better if the Soviet had done away with him. No need to suffer then, non?"
Before Germany could determine if he could manage to throw a punch in time or not, America gripped him by the shoulder while England answered heatedly, "Yes, yes. We're all aware of that fact, but those two have always been stubborn. They'll find a way to keep him stable. Don't underestimate them. That territory will be a thorn in our side the same way he always was, just you watch."
"Quelle bête," muttered France, running a hand through his hair as he thought it over.
"Anyway," broke in America, voice always comparatively lighter to the others' and yet now possessed a harder edge, "we'll have to screen the refugees to see if there's any Soviet spies among them."
"Spies?" asked Germany, less surprised by the notion and more surprised that America would be the one to bring up the matter.
A sharp grin came onto the American's face. "Communism's objective is to spread, right? That's its nature. Plant one communist in a sea of millions and you've got a million communists."
"That--" The look the superpower threw his way made Germany quickly shut his mouth, distinctly uncomfortable with the ideas suddenly being expressed. Though the ideology did, indeed, promote such things, the way in which it was stated rang horribly familiar in Germany's mind.
Then, without warning, America was smiling brightly again, clapping the large German on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it so much. We got your back. We're not letting Russia get any further than he already has with this."
Hesitant, Germany nodded. "All right," he said, mind already turning to the refugees that would need taking care of. "Thank you."
- England mentions a time where the Soviet Union was isolated from discussions, by which he means important agreements such as the Munich Agreement where-in the West gave concessions to Hitler and allowed the Germans to take the Sudetenland which ran along the borders of Czechoslovakia, which Hitler soon after invaded and subdued with little interference from the West. This resulted in growing distrust toward the West by the Soviets, who had been attempting to make relations with them. It also ultimately led to the German-Soviet Nonagression Pact.
- The Federal Republic of Germany (Bundesrepublik Deutschland), or more commonly known today as West Germany, was founded in May 1949. It is noted that while the German Democratic Republic (Deutsche Demokratische Republik), or East Germany, (founded October 1949) "recognized the existence of two German nations and states de jure, and the West as both de facto and de jure foreign nation", the FR saw the GDR "as a de facto government still within a single German nation that in turn is represented de jure by the West German state only."
- The Berlin Blockade was the first major internation crisis of the Cold War, beginning with the Soviet lockdown of Western Berlin in June 1948 and ending after the successful Berlin Airlift effort proved to make the point moot in May 1949.
- Beginning in the late 1940s and continuing through the erection of the Inner-German Border in 1952 until the erection of the Berlin Wall in 1961, East Germany will lose 20% of its population as people fled to the west. This mostly included the members of the youth and of the intelligentsia, creating an economic vaccuum in the service industry as well as a "brain drain" that also heavily effected the economy.
- As France states, a large part of the economic strain were the war reparations the Soviet Union took from the GDR's national budget. While France is exaggerating the percentage, the fact that the Soviet Union also took about a third of industrial equipment East German territory in the beginning days of occupation, causing addition strain on the economy. (This information is mentioned here.) This, along with increasing labor demands and inflation without the benefit of salary raises, will eventually lead to the Uprising of 1953.
- McCarthyism, or the Second Red Scare, made its start in the late 1940s in the United States. It will continue on through the late 1950s with thousands of Americans being accused (without sufficient evidence) of being involved with the communists and working as spies for the Soviets.
- The Iron Curtain was the term Churchill used in context of the Soviet-dominated Eastern Europe. Similarly, the American policy of Containment came as a result of the fear of the spread of Soviet-influence communism.
- "Russia's been showing signs of going back to his old, pre-War days." -> This line is more of a result of the lectures I had in my Russian History course. During WWII, Stalin had relaxed a large amount of the restrictions put in place in order to further promote and sustain the war effort. After the War, however, he began to reinstall the restrictions and tight control over nationalization, anti-religious campaigns, censorship in intellectual and artistic life, and ideology governing science. He also became increasingly paranoid of "contamination" of western influence in addition to growing anti-semitism which results in the Doctors' Plot. This led most people to fear the coming of another period of Purges, but Stalin died in 1953 before that fear could be confirmed or proven false.
If any of this information is wrong or maybe just slightly off-target, feel free to correct me!
Aaaand another long thing of notes. Um. I'm very much someone who loves learning about history and seeing how things interconnect and well... I figure there's other people out there who like the same thing. So I try to include historical details that were alluded or mentioned in my fics.
... this is also in order to make sure I'm doing history somewhat closer to right. Hurhur. Like I said, please do correct me of any information I may be wrong about! I will be entirely grateful of it!
Also, Russia didn't play much of a role in this one but I'm sure you all can see what kind of influence he's had on Prussia in the past two years. Hahaha. Also, for those of you concerned, I will say that Prussia--er, East does stabilize after this period mentioned in the notes. So. Yeah. Probably gonna end up writing more. So. I hope you all enjoyed the read (long as it was)!
Author: jeva_chan
Character(s): Germany, Prussia, America, England, France, Russia; GermanyPrussia pairing; hints to RussiaPrussia
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Cursing, kissing, possible OOCness, some historical inaccuracy (it's entirely possible)
Previous Parts: 1
Summary: October 7, 1949, the German Democratic Republic is founded.
"What does that commie bastard want this time?"
"You should know better than to call him that. Even if he's been more than disagreeable in some points--"
"And that's putting it lightly! After what happened this year, he shouldn't have any right to enter discussions--"
"Oh, and it would be your bright plan to keep him isolated? That was such a brilliant idea during the onset of the War, you know."
"This isn't the War! This is--a totally different war!"
"... there really is no talking sense into you, is there?"
Germany gave a sigh, trying to tune out the two English-speaking nations, preferring to sit on one of the two couches set in the center of the large room, staring at the empty seats across from him. It was not as though the American did not have a fair point. More than just fair, it was accurate. After the escapades of blockading Berlin, forcing the western countries to use airborne aid to get supplies into the small regions, the Soviet had been suspiciously quiet. More than just that, but since Germany was recognized as the Federal Republic...
That could just as likely be the paranoia that had been running rampant since the War, though. The idea of red being splashed on every surface, collectivization, nationalization... threats to the ideal of democracy, is how America would scoffingly put it.
It was also as America said--an entirely different war. And again, it was a war that Germany was hopelessly caught in the middle of, a result of the cost of failure, the cost of having his lands separated between the Allies, the cost of losing his--no. No, it would not do any good thinking about that now. There were more important things to consider. That was, despite how he wished otherwise, over and done with. There was nothing he could do to change the Allies' final decision.
Even though he had not been able to fight against it when the time was at hand.
And even now, when the Anglo-French part of the Allies continued to insist it was for the best, Germany found himself miserably remembering all of the lessons he'd learned in his youth. He had been warned about his position on the map, had been told that he would perpetually be caught between empires, had been instructed how to fight back if such a time were to come again and he was threatened. The best defense was a strong offense, that is how it went, right?
Germany shut his eyes, trying to push the wound of the news of the death of his brother from his mind for what could have been the millionth time in the past two years.
"Mes amis, you should both try some of these hors d'œuvres~" spoke up the French counterpart to the trio that was left of the original Allies, completely ignoring the bickering going on between the brothers.
"Who's got time to think about food when there's a meeting about to take place?" demanded England, shooting his perpetual enemy a disgusted look. "Honestly, you wino, shouldn't you be more concerned? You're actually part of the damned continent."
"Mais oui. However, this does not mean I should not maintain my... sophisticated air, non?"
The smaller man shot to his feet, having been on Germany's left the whole while, angrily shouting back, "Are you calling me unsophisticated?!"
Laughter came from America, who sat to Germany's right, as he lightly responded, "Well, yeah, England. You haven't really been all that graceful--"
"I don't want to hear that from a hick like you!"
"What?! Hick?! And after all the good things I've said about you--!" cried out America in dismay.
England shouted back, just as Germany decided it was a better idea to put his hands to his ears, "What good things?! Also, I've been rebuilding, you ass! Of course there hasn't been time for any decadent things! Unlike this beardo, I have my priorities straight!"
"Your words, mon Angleterre, they still wound me so!" came the mock-injured cry from behind the couch.
"Then die. Die like the dog you are, you goddamn pervert--"
"Ah~ So lively!" broke in a new voice, sounding muffled to Germany's ears until he removed his hands and looked up. The others went silent also, tensing as the large nation made his way into the room, what looked to be a soldier trailing in behind him. The Soviet's smile was cheerful and calm as he looked over the western nations passively. "I have missed this kind of atmosphere. Many of my countries are so quiet!"
The silence stretched for a bit before America stood, waving England to sit back down, a pseudo-order that was obeyed with little thought as England pressed close to Germany.
"You know we all had to get out of our comfy beds for this kind of meeting?" was the first thing out of the American's mouth.
Tolerant sighs came from the English and French.
Germany just looked between the two superpowers of the world until his eye caught sight of that soldier once more. Puzzlement settled on his brow as he tried to get a better look, but with England pressing against him and America blocking his view, all he could see was the brown of the uniform and the black of the boots.
"Eh? You have time to take those kinds of luxuries? It's no wonder you can afford the time to bicker amongst yourselves," said Russia, tone polite but the insult obviously heard by his three former allies.
America put a hand to his hip while the other held itself out, waving about in a bored manner. Or was it nervous? "Look, let's just get on with this. You called us here. And it's starting to get cold outside--"
"Mmm... we were just talking about how nice it feels here," said Russia cheerfully before turning to glance over his shoulder at the soldier behind him. "Isn't that right, East?"
Again, the western nations seemed to freeze, only this time Germany was among them, eyes widening and back straightening as a painfully familiar voice answered smartly, "I've said it could stand to be a bit less miserable with all the goddamn rain."
The soldier then stepped up beside Russia, removing the hat that should have been out of practice to wear indoors--shouldn't he, above anyone else, know that?
England and France both shouted in outrage while America spoke out against the Soviet, "What the hell is this, Russia? We all agreed--!"
Germany could only stare in shock as a gloved hand ran itself through pale, ash blond hair, avoiding the wrappings that wound around pale forehead, and red eyes narrowed sharply at the western countries. His brother. Who he thought was dead, had been told was dead. He had been abolished just two years ago, hadn't he?
He did not spare Germany a look, simply standing there with his hands folding behind his back in a tense manner as he glared at his enemies.
"Agreed?" asked Russia after a beat, having allowed America the chance to finish saying just what they had agreed upon. He then glanced to the smaller man beside him, a hand clapping down on thin--so painfully thin compared to the large nation, Germany thought desperately to himself--shoulder. "Ah, but this is East. He is the one who belongs to the land I have. Introduce yourself, East."
And as if it were any simply any other order, the one Russia insisted on calling East responded, stating firmly, "Deutsche Demokratische Republik. The eastern counterpart to your capitalist west."
Something gripped at Germany's chest, or was that simply England putting a heavy hand on his shoulder to keep him still? He had not even thought to move. Air seemed a precious element that he was desperately trying to remember how to take in. He could only watch, frozen, as this horrible scene continued to play itself out.
America seemed determined to ignore the smaller blond in favor of furiously saying to the other super-power, "That territory is still part of Germany's. You can't just keep doing as you want with it!"
Silence came upon them again, and the only one who seemed minimally effected by it was the one called East. Even as the Soviet's hand seemed to clench tightly on his shoulder, he remained virtually expressionless. "Is that so? I have told you, America. I do not agree with this way of thinking. Your Germany is capitalist. Mine is not."
"Because you rigged the elections, isn't that right?" accused America severely, appalling his allies with his bold behavior.
Russia merely smiled back, though his hand remained tight on his companion's shoulders. "Would you prefer to take this discussion outside, America?" he asked pleasantly.
The English-speaking nation balked. Perhaps not visibly, but with the coldness of the words, the meaning was not to be misunderstood. To have a fight with Russia, especially after having avoided one for this long, after the blockade and the events before and after...
"Let's not be rash about this," said England, gripping Germany's shoulder himself before standing up, taking position behind America, providing that level-headedness the Brit could sometimes have. "We didn't come here to pick a fight. You said you wanted to discuss, so we're here to discuss. If... he's want you want to bring to our attention, then you've done so, Russia. But I will not acknowledge it."
"Nor I," said France from his position safely behind the couch, an unpleasant tone to his voice.
Russia's East Germany made no movement, keeping impossibly still in a way that reminded Germany himself of the military achievements of his brother--this very brother who now stood before him as if a perfect stranger.
The large, northern country tilted his head to look past America and straight at Germany, making him straighten in his seat. "What about you, West? Do you ignore your brother also?" he asked, almost kindly except for how the question settled sickeningly in the other country's stomach.
Germany looked from Russia to his brother, studying him for a long moment before rising to his feet. Neither of the English-speakers said anything as he walked past them and found himself standing in front of the two eastern countries. The smaller German then turned his eyes to him, watching him sharply, almost suspiciously as well as... something else. He seemed to fall back against Russia's hand though Germany had not even done or say anything.
So small, was the one thing running through Germany's mind as he took in the sight of his brother for the first time in years. Now that he was able to have a closer look, he could see just how the uniform seemed to hang on him a bit, proving that he was not as filled out as he had been. Indeed, the wrappings about his head just went to prove to Germany that there was something terribly wrong with his brother, despite surviving the fate chosen by others.
Without thought, the larger German lifted a hand to reach out to his brother, shaking slightly as disbelief and relief and worry warred for dominance. "Bruder, you--"
A dull slap of pain across his wrist jolted him back to reality, where instead of acknowledging Germany's concern, his brother had raised his own hand to knock his western counterpart's away.
"Don't get sentimental, mein Bruder," said East with a bit of a smirk as Germany processed this shock. "We are, after all, standing on opposite sides. Acknowledge me as I am or don't. Either way, I'm here now and I don't plan to leave any time soon."
At a loss, Germany continued to stare at his brother for a moment longer before lowering his hand, clenching it at his side. Azure eyes turned toward the Soviet who continued to stand near, a fury in them that was ultimately the result of the War, the tensions at his borders, the blockade... everything up until this point. "What have you done to him?"
Silence greeted his demanded.
Then Russia laughed, an almost chiming sound that rang hollowly in Germany's ears. "Done? I have given him an identity," he said lightly, cheerful as he ever was.
Germany shook, keeping himself firmly planted where he was. He wanted to knock that look off the other's face but knew that now, more than ever, Russia was at his most dangerous. An act from Germany could be considered an act from the west and thus war. The one thing they were all sick to death of. Instead, he helplessly shouted up at the taller blond, "What did you do to my brother?"
Those violet eyes watched him, seeming amused, before they turned to look behind him--to America--and then over to his companion. "Ah. It seems as though West won't acknowledge you, either, East. A pity, yes?"
Germany froze at that and looked back over to his brother who said nothing, looked at no one. His jaw was tightened from what Germany could see, but he answered surprisingly lightly, "As if I care what capitalists think."
The western countries said nothing, could not say anything.
Just what does one say to a person they had determined to leave for dead?
Russia took his hand off of the smaller German's shoulder and clapped it together with its opposite. "Since that is settled, I believe it's time to go!" he said with youthful exuberance before turning to the one he called East, effectively ignoring the others. "Say, East, it's so nice out. We could even go for a walk, yes?"
Germany watched as his brother turned his attention to the Soviet and answered simply, "It might rain. Are you sure?"
"Mm," said Russia in affirmation, smiling as he shut his eyes for a brief moment. "I do enjoy the rain. It is so much better than snow, wouldn't you agree, East?"
The smaller would-be nation gave a sigh, sounding weary to Germany's ear. "If you say so," he agreed. Reluctantly. That's what that tone was, wasn't it? Certainly not entirely submissively.
"Then let us go!" Russia glanced over to the western countries and gave a bit of a wave. "We will see ourselves out the door. You have been... how do you say it in English? --ah! Most entertaining!"
Germany did not even have to look to know how many feathers were ruffled by this statement. His own hackles were rising with every word the Soviet spoke, despite knowing that it would do no good to react right there and then. Still, the thought of his brother leaving, and so soon, had him immediately reacting, moving to follow the two out the door. None of the others stopped him, possibly knowing the outcome before Germany himself did.
"Bruder, wait!"
They had not gotten far down the hall when he called for his brother's attention. The smaller would-be nation paused for a moment, glancing over to Russia, obviously asking permission to speak with his brother for a moment. This was a sight that left a horribly sour taste in Germany's mouth. Even worse was to see those violet eyes look sharply his way before turning away, giving a tolerant smile to his companion. Words formed on those lips, murmuring something to the smaller man as a hand raised to a cheek in a endearing manner.
Germany found himself clenching his fists, a cold grip in his chest tightening as he watched his brother then give a small nod and a quiet response. Promptly. Without argument. Submissively.
Surely his brother was merely following his role to keep good relations and no other reason, wasn't he?
The Soviet then turned and continued on his way down the hall, leaving the one he'd claimed to be East Germany behind. The smaller German stood still for a long moment before he straightened his shoulders and made his way to his supposed western counterpart, familiar grin on his face.
Germany realized just then as he approached, that his scarlet eyes in no way reflected the grin as they would have done in years past.
"What is it, West?" asked his brother in a fashion that was painfully familiar and relaxed. "You keep crying after me like a child."
Not sure what to say to that, Germany struggled to speak, "Bruder..."
"You keep calling and I keep responding." The eastern territory came to a stop before Germany, standing stiffly despite his more relaxed tone. "Still think you're seeing a ghost? I told you. I'm here, Bruder. And I don't plan on leaving any time soon, either."
Germany swallowed thickly, a hand raising to reach out only to hesitate, remembering how it had been struck the last time he had attempted to do so. He said, rather pathetically, instead, "I thought you were dead, Prussia."
There was an almost heart-stopping moment of tense silence.
"... Prussia is dead."
Taken aback by the answer, Germany took a step forward, hands gesturing to keep themselves from grasping the other man's uniform. "Don't say that when you're standing right in front of me--"
"The name 'Prussia' is dead and has been so for well over two years," said the one who had borne that name in short, clipped tones. "You should know that, West, considering your allies."
"My allies?" asked Germany incredulously. "Russia also took part in the talks if I'm remembering correctly--"
"I'm aware," interrupted the one now called East blandly.
"Then why ally with the Soviet?" demanded Germany, almost desperate to understand. "Bruder, that one has hurt you more than any other, for God's sake--"
"He's also the only one that'll have me!"
"To what end?" Without warning, the larger German reached out to put his hand against the bandages on his brother's head. The other man froze. "Bruder, you aren't well. You should be healed if he's taking care of you."
"Better off than dead," stated East flatly, flinching only for a split second before schooling his features into a firm and heavy frown.
Germany looked into those red orbs, trying to find some semblance of familiarity, but it was all lost under mire of emotions shifting through the other man. "You know I will always be willing to accept you, Bruder. But not like this. Not while you're being influenced by that--"
He stopped himself, noticing the narrowing of those eyes he was looking into.
Again, he found his hand being knocked away. Rejected as much as he had essentially rejected his brother.
"Don't you forget, West," gritted out East tightly, "you were the one who took my statehood from me first."
That statement hit like a blow to the gut. Germany barely managed to get out a small, "You know that wasn't me..." and knew it could never be enough.
East laughed. "No, you're right," he said, voice coming out more strained than it had been before, worrying Germany more. "It was that thriced godforsaken boss of yours and his ideas and everything else during that goddamned time! And then it was your allies, determining I was too militaristic, too authoritative. Well, they can all put this in their pipe and smoke it, the fucking assholes!"
"Bruder..." said Germany, becoming increasingly worried as the smaller man began to shake, and in no part did it seem to be from his righteous fury.
The other German ignored him, jabbing a finger at him but without actually touching him. "And they all have one singular thing in common, right? And that's you. Mein Bruder. Who sent me to the Eastern Front--!"
Alarm crept up Germany's spine as he watched his brother sway a bit, hands reaching out to support him. "Bruder, enough! You're not well--"
"I'm perfectly fine, damn you!" shouted East in a final show of bravado before Germany was forced to grab hold of him and press him to a wall to keep him from falling.
The cry of pain that came from the act very nearly had Germany release him to continue his fall, except his hands felt what his eyes had only begun to guess at. His brother was thin, painfully thin, odd angles poking into his grip even as the other man simply leaned into his hold, panting harshly. The cold hand in Germany's chest squeezed again as he quickly pulled his brother from the wall, a hand settling on his impossibly narrow back.
Another pained noise came from the smaller man, making Germany afraid to touch him anymore than he was.
"Mein Gott," he said hoarsely instead, not moving, frozen and staring down at East in near horror. "Bruder, mein Bruder, what's been done to you?"
A fist clenched into his suit, moving as if to shove him away but lacking the power behind the act to really achieve anything more. "W-what are you doing?" spat out East, though with less force than he may have wanted. "Let me go. Let me go, West!"
"No," said Germany, firm and controlled, attempting to shove down his fear so he could actually do something in this situation. "You need rest. Food. Let me take care of you, Bruder, please."
That hand shoved at him again, but this only had East jerk back into Germany's other hand, making him hissed sharply in an exhale. "I don't have time for this. He's waiting outside."
There was an edge of desperation there, and it made Germany sick to hear it. There was also, however, shaken resolve which could easily break if he could just find the other man somewhere to sit. Perhaps go back to the other western countries and have them bring him something. Would they, though? He was a territory under Soviet control. They would not want to stick their necks out that far if it meant something could be misconstrued and-or seen as a threat to Soviet power...
Knowing there was something more than wrong with the other's back, Germany quickly put his hand to East's head, leaning forward to press his face into his pale hair. "Bruder, please," he said, voice softening. He could feel East trembling in his arms. "Please, just leave him there. Come back with me. You're not well, and he is not helping matters--"
A choking laugh interrupted him. So unlike the laughter of old, this was simply pained. Caught in a throat that was more than likely constricted to the host of emotions swirling through his brother. "That's... not how it works, West. You should know better."
He tightened his hold on his brother, feeling a sense of relief in hearing a more familiar tone, pained and saddened though it was.
"Bruder, you don't have to pretend around me," said Germany in a final bid for the other man's trust.
The fist in his suit tightened its grip. "He's watching," was the faint whisper that came then, barely a voice and understandably so. Germany resisted the urge to look around the supposedly deserted hall. Louder, East continued, "There's nothing--pretend about this. Let me go, West. You're hurting me more than he has yet!"
Unsure if this was a ploy to further give the impression that his brother truly wanted to be away from him or if he was truly hurting him, Germany loosened his hold on the smaller would-be nation. He did not allow him to get too far, leaning forward to give East a loving, desperate, pleading kiss on the forehead.
"Please."
When the other German said nothing, did nothing, he kissed each eye which closed for him, something of a sigh escaping that too thin body which shook even more.
"Bruder..."
It was as though the facade cracked. Suddenly, his supposed eastern counterpart was pushing forward, lips crashing against his own, heated, desperate, hungry, pleading, pained, lonely, and yet still fearful and hesitant. Germany was nearly too shocked to respond but after a heartbeat, accepted the kiss and leaned into it, taking in all the tastes and flavors that seemed to come from it. And from this small act he was able to tell that, more than anything, his brother wanted to return to him.
Until, that was, a sound escaped the smaller man's throat and he gave one final shove, pushing Germany off of him, away from him. Caught off-guard, the western nation stumbled back, bewildered and eyes widening more as his brother braced his hands on his legs, breathing hard as though he'd run a marathon, thick coughs coming from deep in his chest. He reached out again, wanting to help.
"Don't--touch me!" shouted East as well as he could, winded and strained, choking out between the coughs. He then straightened himself, uniform mussed and tussled, giving a glimpse at thickly bandaged shoulders which likely covered the whole of his back, chest, and torso.
Germany could not find a single word to say, knowing that the distance between them was growing every moment.
A flush was on East's pale cheeks as he lifted the hat that had been clenched in one hand to his head, a hollow, breathy laugh coming from him as he hid his face. "How pathetic are we," he said, irony coming to his voice, quieted by his exertions. "Still fighting a war on this kind of front... Do me a favor, West. Keep to your side. I'll try to keep to mine."
And with that, he turned to leave, a stagger in his step that had not been there before.
Germany clenched his fists to keep himself from going after him again, only called out, "Bruder, why? Why him?"
East turned himself around, walking backwards and giving a hard laugh--closer to his old laugh but off-key, lilting and strangely foreign. "I said before, didn't I? He's the only one who didn't leave me for dead! Hate me if you want, West. But I'm not leaving this stage just yet. Let's see if your allies really care about this particular front or if they just leave it because they're that afraid of the big, bad wolf!"
The western side could only grit his teeth to keep from calling out again, knowing it was useless and that his brother would only continue on toward his sovereign nation.
And so he did, giving a bit of a mocking salute as he went.
Russia was crouched down beside a flower bed, staring with interest at the different colors that were still around even in early October. Though there wasn't much left to them, dying as the seasons changed. Maybe he would've found the leaves more interesting. The warm colors were definitely to his taste.
These were all the idle thoughts of East Germany as he stalked out of the building, back aflame and feverish, but still continuing walking step by step right up to his position beside the other nation. Russia didn't seem to notice him at all, instead contenting himself with plucking the dying flowers from their places, something England would loudly disagree with if he knew. And though his legs were shaking with the exertion it took to keep himself still, East remained planted where he was.
So they remained until a drizzle came down upon them.
Russia looked up at the darkened sky, a smile softer than his normal ones coming onto his face. "Say, East. Do you miss your brother?" he asked quietly.
Knowing hesitation could cost him more than an honest answer, he quickly and flatly lied in a hoarse voice, "Of course not."
The Soviet was quiet for a moment longer. "Say, East, do you miss your old name?"
"There's no use missing what can't be recovered," said East dully.
"Mmm..." hummed Russia before he pushed himself to his feet, turning to look at his satellite state, watching him closely. "Say, East, does it hurt? You look unwell."
Blinking rapidly as his vision suddenly clouded, the German answered thickly, "I'm more than fine, Russia, you should know that."
That heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder, purposefully sending jolting pressure down against him and his back, forcing him to stifle any sound of discomfort that threatened to come up. But the large country merely said in a soft, comforting tone, "Our walk will be short, yes? To the car. You look to need rest, товарищ."
East tried so damn hard to keep from sagging in relief, but his shoulders slumped without warning. He leaned into the hand that went to his face, tired and hurting. "Thank you," he said, despite knowing that the walk to the car was already significantly long. It was a distance he knew he could travel before his legs would collapse from under him and find himself helplessly caught in those arms once more.
Germany returned to room, closing the door behind him with a heavy heart. He did not expect any of the western allies to do or say anything. After all, they probably could tell by his solitary figure that whatever talk he'd attempted with his brother had not gone well and, in fact, resulted in further separation between the two territories.
Even more, he did not expect for the three to crowd near each other, a telegram in hand, murmuring to one another and completely ignoring his presence altogether.
An uneasy feeling in his stomach, Germany made his way to the couches where the American and Brit sat with the Frenchman leaning over behind the couch. "What news?" he asked, not knowing what to expect.
All three looked up at him for a moment. Then, the two English-speaking nations exchanged looks just before America heaved himself out of his seat, taking hold of the telegram. He held it out to Germany, informing him with an uncertain look on his face, "There's a large number of refugees from the Soviet territory coming into your side. We think that's why he... looked pretty bad off."
Lead dropped into Germany's stomach as he came to understand just what his brother had meant when he had claimed Germany had been hurting him. He refused to take the telegram. "We can provide for them, can't we?"
"Of course," answered America, posture relaxing and a reassuring smile coming onto his face. "That's what heroes do, right?"
England spoke up from the couch, catching the two's attention, "Don't make light of this, you idiot."
"Wha--hey, why are you calling me an idiot now?" demanded America with a pitiful edge nearing a whine to his tone. Germany, however, kept his eyes on the Brit as he pushed himself to his feet, hand going to his hip as he frowned heavier, thick eyebrows furrowing.
"The emigration may very likely begin to increase," he stated simply. "Russia's been showing signs of going back to his old, pre-War days. No one would want to stay on that side of the Curtain if it follows that pattern."
Germany stood there, stunned for a moment. "Then... preparations?"
"We'll help you out there, don't worry," said America reassuringly.
"But what of my brother? Too much of a significant loss like that..."
A moment of silence came upon them, only to be broken by a small laugh coming from the nation who remained standing behind the couch. England visibly twitched at the sound, turning and asking pointedly, "What are you laughing about, frog-eating bastard?"
France waved his hand airily, a hard smile on his face, though his voice was light. "Ironic, non? I have also heard that the Soviet's satellite territory is where he gains money for war reparations. How much do you think that will cut into the budget? 20 percent, peut-être?" He didn't wait for someone to attempt answer a plainly rhetoric question, though America opened his mouth to make an attempt. "The economy is not stable in the east, the people are leaving. His attempt to survive will end up starving him of what keeps him alive. Quel futile!"
The Frenchman looked straight at Germany when he finished, eyes darkened with grim justification, "It would have been better if the Soviet had done away with him. No need to suffer then, non?"
Before Germany could determine if he could manage to throw a punch in time or not, America gripped him by the shoulder while England answered heatedly, "Yes, yes. We're all aware of that fact, but those two have always been stubborn. They'll find a way to keep him stable. Don't underestimate them. That territory will be a thorn in our side the same way he always was, just you watch."
"Quelle bête," muttered France, running a hand through his hair as he thought it over.
"Anyway," broke in America, voice always comparatively lighter to the others' and yet now possessed a harder edge, "we'll have to screen the refugees to see if there's any Soviet spies among them."
"Spies?" asked Germany, less surprised by the notion and more surprised that America would be the one to bring up the matter.
A sharp grin came onto the American's face. "Communism's objective is to spread, right? That's its nature. Plant one communist in a sea of millions and you've got a million communists."
"That--" The look the superpower threw his way made Germany quickly shut his mouth, distinctly uncomfortable with the ideas suddenly being expressed. Though the ideology did, indeed, promote such things, the way in which it was stated rang horribly familiar in Germany's mind.
Then, without warning, America was smiling brightly again, clapping the large German on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it so much. We got your back. We're not letting Russia get any further than he already has with this."
Hesitant, Germany nodded. "All right," he said, mind already turning to the refugees that would need taking care of. "Thank you."
- England mentions a time where the Soviet Union was isolated from discussions, by which he means important agreements such as the Munich Agreement where-in the West gave concessions to Hitler and allowed the Germans to take the Sudetenland which ran along the borders of Czechoslovakia, which Hitler soon after invaded and subdued with little interference from the West. This resulted in growing distrust toward the West by the Soviets, who had been attempting to make relations with them. It also ultimately led to the German-Soviet Nonagression Pact.
- The Federal Republic of Germany (Bundesrepublik Deutschland), or more commonly known today as West Germany, was founded in May 1949. It is noted that while the German Democratic Republic (Deutsche Demokratische Republik), or East Germany, (founded October 1949) "recognized the existence of two German nations and states de jure, and the West as both de facto and de jure foreign nation", the FR saw the GDR "as a de facto government still within a single German nation that in turn is represented de jure by the West German state only."
- The Berlin Blockade was the first major internation crisis of the Cold War, beginning with the Soviet lockdown of Western Berlin in June 1948 and ending after the successful Berlin Airlift effort proved to make the point moot in May 1949.
- Beginning in the late 1940s and continuing through the erection of the Inner-German Border in 1952 until the erection of the Berlin Wall in 1961, East Germany will lose 20% of its population as people fled to the west. This mostly included the members of the youth and of the intelligentsia, creating an economic vaccuum in the service industry as well as a "brain drain" that also heavily effected the economy.
- As France states, a large part of the economic strain were the war reparations the Soviet Union took from the GDR's national budget. While France is exaggerating the percentage, the fact that the Soviet Union also took about a third of industrial equipment East German territory in the beginning days of occupation, causing addition strain on the economy. (This information is mentioned here.) This, along with increasing labor demands and inflation without the benefit of salary raises, will eventually lead to the Uprising of 1953.
- McCarthyism, or the Second Red Scare, made its start in the late 1940s in the United States. It will continue on through the late 1950s with thousands of Americans being accused (without sufficient evidence) of being involved with the communists and working as spies for the Soviets.
- The Iron Curtain was the term Churchill used in context of the Soviet-dominated Eastern Europe. Similarly, the American policy of Containment came as a result of the fear of the spread of Soviet-influence communism.
- "Russia's been showing signs of going back to his old, pre-War days." -> This line is more of a result of the lectures I had in my Russian History course. During WWII, Stalin had relaxed a large amount of the restrictions put in place in order to further promote and sustain the war effort. After the War, however, he began to reinstall the restrictions and tight control over nationalization, anti-religious campaigns, censorship in intellectual and artistic life, and ideology governing science. He also became increasingly paranoid of "contamination" of western influence in addition to growing anti-semitism which results in the Doctors' Plot. This led most people to fear the coming of another period of Purges, but Stalin died in 1953 before that fear could be confirmed or proven false.
If any of this information is wrong or maybe just slightly off-target, feel free to correct me!
Aaaand another long thing of notes. Um. I'm very much someone who loves learning about history and seeing how things interconnect and well... I figure there's other people out there who like the same thing. So I try to include historical details that were alluded or mentioned in my fics.
... this is also in order to make sure I'm doing history somewhat closer to right. Hurhur. Like I said, please do correct me of any information I may be wrong about! I will be entirely grateful of it!
Also, Russia didn't play much of a role in this one but I'm sure you all can see what kind of influence he's had on Prussia in the past two years. Hahaha. Also, for those of you concerned, I will say that Prussia--er, East does stabilize after this period mentioned in the notes. So. Yeah. Probably gonna end up writing more. So. I hope you all enjoyed the read (long as it was)!