[fic fill] Tear Down This Wall
TITLE: Tear Down This Wall
AUTHOR/ARTIST: absynthess
RECIPIENT: digging_4_more
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Hungary ; Austria ; Prussia ; Germany (& pretty much every pairing possible therein)
RATING: PG
NOTES (optional): At the bottom!
SUMMARY: [1989] As the Berlin Wall and all it represents come falling down, those who were separated by it must find a way to knit themselves back together.
{ august, 1989; }
The wall is coming down.
Not the wall, actually; this one is a bit larger in scale but less important, metaphorically. Still, it is the sight of these jagged bars and metal fencing that have haunted her dreams for the past few decades, so it might as well be that wall, for her.
Hungary is ready to go home. She is still in the country she represents, of course, but these years since the war she’s been cut off from everyone-her family, her neighbors, everyone she once held dear. Some of them were on the other side with her, of course, but even they were like shells of themselves, not the nations she’d once known. Everything about it settled a deep unrest in her bones, a driving need to get out.
And now she’s finally done it. As the crew dismantles the wall, Hungary walks over to them and holds out on hand. After a shrug and an eye roll, one of them hands over a large sledgehammer. Hungary hoists it higher than should be possible over her head, brings it down against the fence with a resounding boom. And under the force of the impact, the fence seems to shatter and fall away into bits of rubble and stray metal.
For a moment she simply stands there, leaning against the hammer and breathing hard. And then, as she glances up, she hears a voice calling out to her, almost hesitantly.
“So,” Austria says, somewhat ruefully, “You made it, after all.”
At first, it is enough to simply drink in the sight of him. The familiar line of his profile, the cravat at his neck. The thin, wire-frame glasses perched on his long nose. The one rebellious strand of hair that flips up over his wide forehead.
It’s not as if she hasn’t seen him for all this time. There have been secret meetings, and their not-so-secret picnic. But for some reason, right now, it is as though she is seeing his face for the first time in an eternity.
Then, she is unable to resist any longer. The hammer clatters against the ground as she releases it, running for the line of the border. She launches herself into the air, jumping straight over the line where the fence stood moments earlier. He takes a step back, but she still reaches him, crashing into him with such force that he’s forced to wrap his arms around her to keep them both from falling. Or maybe he simply would have done that, anyway.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispers with great intensity into her neck. “So much.”
“I’m sorry it took so long,” she says, and there is a little glimmer in her green eyes, where happiness threatens to leak over into tears. She pulls away from him for just a moment, drinking in the look of him once more. Then she pulls him into a passionate kiss, her lips melting against his as his arms wind ever more tightly around her.
She’d been able to see him, in fleeting glimpses and encounters, this entire time. But she’d been deprived the joy of touching him until now.
- - -
{ september, 1989; }
Hungary’s green eyes are reproachful as she looks at him across the table. Her face is perfectly impassive, but his trained eye can make out the gauntness in her cheeks and the frailty in her arms and hands. Still, she looks better than she did even a few months ago; if anything, she’s put on much-needed weight. Despite her hollow cheeks and slightly-vacant eyes, she’s on the road to recovery.
After a moment, she sighs and looks at him pityingly. “You can’t keep doing this,” she says. Her voice is even but as she finishes speaking, she bites down nervously on her lower lip. “I can’t keep covering up for you.”
“Hey, it’s ok,” he assures her brashly, flashing her that typical, fanged smile of his. “Soon you won’t have to.”
“Not if you keep jeopardizing yourself!” She cries out before she can think better of it, standing up, her hands slamming down on the table. “Damn it, Prussia! After everything we’ve worked so hard for, you’re willing to let it all slip through our fingers because you couldn’t wait?”
“You worry too much,” Prussia says lackadaisically, leaning back on the legs of his straight-backed chair. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe I know what I’m doing? Maybe this is all part of my plan?”
“Forgive me,” she says with devastating effect, “for not having faith in your plans.”
He rolls his eyes, laughs it off. But her eyes are still downcast, so he comes around the table and places one hand gently over her shoulders.
“C’mon, Hungary…I’m the almighty Prussia! What’s the worst that could happen?”
“But you’re not,” she whispers. “You’re East Germany.”
“Not for much longer,” Prussia insists, though even he wouldn’t deny that he paled at the use of that, his newest name. He takes a deep breath, and there is an almost fanatic fire in his voice as he continues, “I can feel him, Hungary. Just across that stupid wall. He’s there, he’s waiting for me. And no Russian bastard’s gonna keep us apart, not anymore.”
Hungary looks up at him and smiles, weakly. It’s impossible not to be bolstered by his spirit, especially knowing everything he’s gone through since the last war. When she was there, he was always beside her, holding her up. And now, who is she not to do the same for him?
“But you weren’t even sneaking to Germany,” she reminds him slyly.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he protests, “your borders have been open for, what, a month now? Don’t be greedy.”
“Greedy?” She asks the question disbelievingly. “How am I being greedy?”
“Keeping the priss all to yourself,” Prussia says, with the full measure of his old, obnoxious spirit. Hungary looks up at him, surprised, and Prussia merely shrugs.
“What?” he asks blandly. “You think you were the only one who missed him, after all these years?”
“Prussia…”
He holds up one hand to stop her, rolls his eyes. “Just don’t tell him I said that, ok? I only caught a little glimpse of our damn aristocrat before your lovely policy dragged me back over here.”
“They have their orders,” Hungary replies primly. “To arrest and deport any erstwhile East Germans. Especially those trying to get to Austria.”
“Well then, lucky for me I won’t be an East German much longer.”
- - -
{ november, 1989; }
Austria looks down at his former-protégé with consternation in his violet eyes. It has been months, now, since their Eastern neighbor began screaming for peaceful revolution. That boisterous nation has been yelling so loud that the entire continent can hear him, and now they all seem to have taken his side. All except the nation sitting before Austria now.
Germany is nervous, and Austria can tell. The younger nation’s blue eyes glance every so often from side to side, as if he’s scared of some unseen terror bursting into the room. His hands are clenched in his laps, his knuckles pulled to whiteness with the intensity of his grip.
“Why?” Austria finally asks, pacing the room with his hands clasped behind his back. “Why, Germany?”
The other nation looks up at Austria, and at once his hopelessness turns to defensiveness. “This isn’t as easy as you all seem to think.”
Austria rolls his eyes. Germany isn’t getting off that easily. “Nothing is ever easy, you little fool. But you must make an initial strike, attack the problem, if you are ever to make any progress.”
“I…can’t.” Germany says after a long silence.
The lines of frustration running between Austria’s brows deepen. “Why not?” he asks hotly. “I know this will be difficult for you; believe me, it is difficult for all of us. But everywhere-on this side of the wall and that one, all around the world!-people are calling for this to end. What are we, if not subject to our people?”
“We may be subject to our people, but we are also subject to our emotions.”
This takes Austria aback. He gapes at Germany, and finally breaths, “You don’t…want him back?” It is almost laughable, because shouldn’t Austria, of all people, understand why someone wouldn’t want Prussia back? But he had thought they’d moved beyond all that, somehow; he thought that Germany, of all people, would be longing for reunification. But perhaps he’d thought wrong.
“Of course I want him back!” Germany snaps roughly, before that train of thought can continue. When he continues, it is in a slow, grave voice. “But despite what our people think, what if he…what if he blames me?”
“Explain.”
“At the end of the war, he took the fall, for me! It was my fault, and yet he was the one who went with Russia, because he knew the others would be more lenient. He is always looking out for me, and yet it has taken us this long to decide to tear down a wall! How can he not blame me?”
“Because,” Austria states simply, “he is your brother, and he loves you.” The words are stated so simply and with such conviction that Germany can only stare. Austria comes up next to him and places one hand on his shoulder. “He will not blame you.”
Germany swallows dryly, but then he nods. Before he can speak again, the phone on his desk rings shrilly. He picks it up, listens to the message, nods, and puts it down.
“What?” Austria demands. “What did they say?”
“From now on…East German borders…are open. To everyone.”
In response, all Austria can do is throw back his head and bark out a laugh. “That moron! He never did have any patience.” But he looks back down at Germany and smiles, and is reassured when the other nation returns the expression, albeit weakly.
- - -
{ a few hours later; }
Germany’s palms are sweaty as he stands a few feet back from the wall. For hours, now, refugees have been streaming through, greeted ecstatically by their western counterparts. Germany has been scanning the line of heads the entire time, looking around in vein for a glint of silver in the crowd. There’s no way he could have missed him, he knows-not when his brother’s hair is that distinctive.
The celebrations are going on, now, and will probably last well into the night. But still there is no sign of his brother. As the next day starts to dawn, Germany looks around helplessly. But still, there is no sign of him.
Just as he is about to turn and leave, strong hands grab his shoulders from behind, and a brash voice crows in his ear, “Have a little faith, West!”
And before he has a chance to say anything, or over-think anything, or apologize for anything, his elder brother has spun him around and crushed him in a hug.
“Bruder,” Germany breaths, either out of wistfulness or because he cannot draw breath in Prussia’s grip. The other nation laughs jovially, finally releasing him.
“You’re looking good, West,” he says approvingly. One of his arms remains around Germany’s shoulders, as though he cannot bring himself to sever their contact.
“Thank you.”
“That’s it?” Prussia demands. “No offense, West, but I was expecting a better welcome. Where’s the fireworks, and the hot chicks? Where’s my welcoming reception?”
Germany almost smiles. “Why don’t we start with a drink?”
“Now you’re talking! Seriously, you’d think you didn’t want me back, or something!”
“No,” Germany says, and he reaches down to firmly clasp Prussia’s hand in his own. “Never think that.”
“I wasn’t, actually,” Prussia assures him with a laugh. “Now where’s this drink I was promised?”
Prussia may be a bit too effusive, and Germany a bit too stiff, but as the night carries on and the revelry continues, they slowly begin to put themselves back together again.
- - -
{ june, 1990 }
“Do we have to help?” Austria asks, in a voice too dignified to exactly be called a whine. “We’re going to get dirty.”
“Oh, come on, Austria,” Hungary says brightly. “I’ve wanted to get my hands on this thing for months!” She says the words lightly, but there is an intense gleam in her eyes that speaks of revenge.
“Alright, alright,” Austria sighs, and allows himself to be lead towards the graffiti-ed, half-broken Berlin Wall. There, Germany and Prussia are waiting for them, with hammers and drills and entire deconstruction crew.
The four nations come up to one another, and look towards the wall. It is Prussia who breaks the silence, however, saying, “Well, don’t just stand there-let’s tear this son of a bitch to the ground!”
And that is exactly what they do.
- - -
a timeline of events;
→ august 1989 ; the hungaria-austrian border reopens.
→ september 1989 ; east german refugees flee into austria through hungary.
→ november 1989 ; the berlin wall offically opens.
→ june 1990 ; deconstruction of the wall begins.
→ read all about it here!
I really hope you enjoyed in, digging_4_more! &hearts And sorry it's so late!
AUTHOR/ARTIST: absynthess
RECIPIENT: digging_4_more
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Hungary ; Austria ; Prussia ; Germany (& pretty much every pairing possible therein)
RATING: PG
NOTES (optional): At the bottom!
SUMMARY: [1989] As the Berlin Wall and all it represents come falling down, those who were separated by it must find a way to knit themselves back together.
{ august, 1989; }
The wall is coming down.
Not the wall, actually; this one is a bit larger in scale but less important, metaphorically. Still, it is the sight of these jagged bars and metal fencing that have haunted her dreams for the past few decades, so it might as well be that wall, for her.
Hungary is ready to go home. She is still in the country she represents, of course, but these years since the war she’s been cut off from everyone-her family, her neighbors, everyone she once held dear. Some of them were on the other side with her, of course, but even they were like shells of themselves, not the nations she’d once known. Everything about it settled a deep unrest in her bones, a driving need to get out.
And now she’s finally done it. As the crew dismantles the wall, Hungary walks over to them and holds out on hand. After a shrug and an eye roll, one of them hands over a large sledgehammer. Hungary hoists it higher than should be possible over her head, brings it down against the fence with a resounding boom. And under the force of the impact, the fence seems to shatter and fall away into bits of rubble and stray metal.
For a moment she simply stands there, leaning against the hammer and breathing hard. And then, as she glances up, she hears a voice calling out to her, almost hesitantly.
“So,” Austria says, somewhat ruefully, “You made it, after all.”
At first, it is enough to simply drink in the sight of him. The familiar line of his profile, the cravat at his neck. The thin, wire-frame glasses perched on his long nose. The one rebellious strand of hair that flips up over his wide forehead.
It’s not as if she hasn’t seen him for all this time. There have been secret meetings, and their not-so-secret picnic. But for some reason, right now, it is as though she is seeing his face for the first time in an eternity.
Then, she is unable to resist any longer. The hammer clatters against the ground as she releases it, running for the line of the border. She launches herself into the air, jumping straight over the line where the fence stood moments earlier. He takes a step back, but she still reaches him, crashing into him with such force that he’s forced to wrap his arms around her to keep them both from falling. Or maybe he simply would have done that, anyway.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispers with great intensity into her neck. “So much.”
“I’m sorry it took so long,” she says, and there is a little glimmer in her green eyes, where happiness threatens to leak over into tears. She pulls away from him for just a moment, drinking in the look of him once more. Then she pulls him into a passionate kiss, her lips melting against his as his arms wind ever more tightly around her.
She’d been able to see him, in fleeting glimpses and encounters, this entire time. But she’d been deprived the joy of touching him until now.
- - -
{ september, 1989; }
Hungary’s green eyes are reproachful as she looks at him across the table. Her face is perfectly impassive, but his trained eye can make out the gauntness in her cheeks and the frailty in her arms and hands. Still, she looks better than she did even a few months ago; if anything, she’s put on much-needed weight. Despite her hollow cheeks and slightly-vacant eyes, she’s on the road to recovery.
After a moment, she sighs and looks at him pityingly. “You can’t keep doing this,” she says. Her voice is even but as she finishes speaking, she bites down nervously on her lower lip. “I can’t keep covering up for you.”
“Hey, it’s ok,” he assures her brashly, flashing her that typical, fanged smile of his. “Soon you won’t have to.”
“Not if you keep jeopardizing yourself!” She cries out before she can think better of it, standing up, her hands slamming down on the table. “Damn it, Prussia! After everything we’ve worked so hard for, you’re willing to let it all slip through our fingers because you couldn’t wait?”
“You worry too much,” Prussia says lackadaisically, leaning back on the legs of his straight-backed chair. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe I know what I’m doing? Maybe this is all part of my plan?”
“Forgive me,” she says with devastating effect, “for not having faith in your plans.”
He rolls his eyes, laughs it off. But her eyes are still downcast, so he comes around the table and places one hand gently over her shoulders.
“C’mon, Hungary…I’m the almighty Prussia! What’s the worst that could happen?”
“But you’re not,” she whispers. “You’re East Germany.”
“Not for much longer,” Prussia insists, though even he wouldn’t deny that he paled at the use of that, his newest name. He takes a deep breath, and there is an almost fanatic fire in his voice as he continues, “I can feel him, Hungary. Just across that stupid wall. He’s there, he’s waiting for me. And no Russian bastard’s gonna keep us apart, not anymore.”
Hungary looks up at him and smiles, weakly. It’s impossible not to be bolstered by his spirit, especially knowing everything he’s gone through since the last war. When she was there, he was always beside her, holding her up. And now, who is she not to do the same for him?
“But you weren’t even sneaking to Germany,” she reminds him slyly.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he protests, “your borders have been open for, what, a month now? Don’t be greedy.”
“Greedy?” She asks the question disbelievingly. “How am I being greedy?”
“Keeping the priss all to yourself,” Prussia says, with the full measure of his old, obnoxious spirit. Hungary looks up at him, surprised, and Prussia merely shrugs.
“What?” he asks blandly. “You think you were the only one who missed him, after all these years?”
“Prussia…”
He holds up one hand to stop her, rolls his eyes. “Just don’t tell him I said that, ok? I only caught a little glimpse of our damn aristocrat before your lovely policy dragged me back over here.”
“They have their orders,” Hungary replies primly. “To arrest and deport any erstwhile East Germans. Especially those trying to get to Austria.”
“Well then, lucky for me I won’t be an East German much longer.”
- - -
{ november, 1989; }
Austria looks down at his former-protégé with consternation in his violet eyes. It has been months, now, since their Eastern neighbor began screaming for peaceful revolution. That boisterous nation has been yelling so loud that the entire continent can hear him, and now they all seem to have taken his side. All except the nation sitting before Austria now.
Germany is nervous, and Austria can tell. The younger nation’s blue eyes glance every so often from side to side, as if he’s scared of some unseen terror bursting into the room. His hands are clenched in his laps, his knuckles pulled to whiteness with the intensity of his grip.
“Why?” Austria finally asks, pacing the room with his hands clasped behind his back. “Why, Germany?”
The other nation looks up at Austria, and at once his hopelessness turns to defensiveness. “This isn’t as easy as you all seem to think.”
Austria rolls his eyes. Germany isn’t getting off that easily. “Nothing is ever easy, you little fool. But you must make an initial strike, attack the problem, if you are ever to make any progress.”
“I…can’t.” Germany says after a long silence.
The lines of frustration running between Austria’s brows deepen. “Why not?” he asks hotly. “I know this will be difficult for you; believe me, it is difficult for all of us. But everywhere-on this side of the wall and that one, all around the world!-people are calling for this to end. What are we, if not subject to our people?”
“We may be subject to our people, but we are also subject to our emotions.”
This takes Austria aback. He gapes at Germany, and finally breaths, “You don’t…want him back?” It is almost laughable, because shouldn’t Austria, of all people, understand why someone wouldn’t want Prussia back? But he had thought they’d moved beyond all that, somehow; he thought that Germany, of all people, would be longing for reunification. But perhaps he’d thought wrong.
“Of course I want him back!” Germany snaps roughly, before that train of thought can continue. When he continues, it is in a slow, grave voice. “But despite what our people think, what if he…what if he blames me?”
“Explain.”
“At the end of the war, he took the fall, for me! It was my fault, and yet he was the one who went with Russia, because he knew the others would be more lenient. He is always looking out for me, and yet it has taken us this long to decide to tear down a wall! How can he not blame me?”
“Because,” Austria states simply, “he is your brother, and he loves you.” The words are stated so simply and with such conviction that Germany can only stare. Austria comes up next to him and places one hand on his shoulder. “He will not blame you.”
Germany swallows dryly, but then he nods. Before he can speak again, the phone on his desk rings shrilly. He picks it up, listens to the message, nods, and puts it down.
“What?” Austria demands. “What did they say?”
“From now on…East German borders…are open. To everyone.”
In response, all Austria can do is throw back his head and bark out a laugh. “That moron! He never did have any patience.” But he looks back down at Germany and smiles, and is reassured when the other nation returns the expression, albeit weakly.
- - -
{ a few hours later; }
Germany’s palms are sweaty as he stands a few feet back from the wall. For hours, now, refugees have been streaming through, greeted ecstatically by their western counterparts. Germany has been scanning the line of heads the entire time, looking around in vein for a glint of silver in the crowd. There’s no way he could have missed him, he knows-not when his brother’s hair is that distinctive.
The celebrations are going on, now, and will probably last well into the night. But still there is no sign of his brother. As the next day starts to dawn, Germany looks around helplessly. But still, there is no sign of him.
Just as he is about to turn and leave, strong hands grab his shoulders from behind, and a brash voice crows in his ear, “Have a little faith, West!”
And before he has a chance to say anything, or over-think anything, or apologize for anything, his elder brother has spun him around and crushed him in a hug.
“Bruder,” Germany breaths, either out of wistfulness or because he cannot draw breath in Prussia’s grip. The other nation laughs jovially, finally releasing him.
“You’re looking good, West,” he says approvingly. One of his arms remains around Germany’s shoulders, as though he cannot bring himself to sever their contact.
“Thank you.”
“That’s it?” Prussia demands. “No offense, West, but I was expecting a better welcome. Where’s the fireworks, and the hot chicks? Where’s my welcoming reception?”
Germany almost smiles. “Why don’t we start with a drink?”
“Now you’re talking! Seriously, you’d think you didn’t want me back, or something!”
“No,” Germany says, and he reaches down to firmly clasp Prussia’s hand in his own. “Never think that.”
“I wasn’t, actually,” Prussia assures him with a laugh. “Now where’s this drink I was promised?”
Prussia may be a bit too effusive, and Germany a bit too stiff, but as the night carries on and the revelry continues, they slowly begin to put themselves back together again.
- - -
{ june, 1990 }
“Do we have to help?” Austria asks, in a voice too dignified to exactly be called a whine. “We’re going to get dirty.”
“Oh, come on, Austria,” Hungary says brightly. “I’ve wanted to get my hands on this thing for months!” She says the words lightly, but there is an intense gleam in her eyes that speaks of revenge.
“Alright, alright,” Austria sighs, and allows himself to be lead towards the graffiti-ed, half-broken Berlin Wall. There, Germany and Prussia are waiting for them, with hammers and drills and entire deconstruction crew.
The four nations come up to one another, and look towards the wall. It is Prussia who breaks the silence, however, saying, “Well, don’t just stand there-let’s tear this son of a bitch to the ground!”
And that is exactly what they do.
- - -
a timeline of events;
→ august 1989 ; the hungaria-austrian border reopens.
→ september 1989 ; east german refugees flee into austria through hungary.
→ november 1989 ; the berlin wall offically opens.
→ june 1990 ; deconstruction of the wall begins.
→ read all about it here!
I really hope you enjoyed in, digging_4_more! &hearts And sorry it's so late!