Hetalia fic: [WIP]
Fandom: Axis Powers: Hetalia
Characters: East Germany (Prussia), West Germany (Germany), America, Russia.
Progress: WIP
It was as if they were perfect strangers. It had not even been a decade since he had seen his brother alive after being told that he was dead. Only six years since the attempted uprising, and ever since, things had been silent. The border kept everything and everyone separated from each other, Germany heard nothing of his brother or anyone from the Eastern Bloc. No news was good news, America always assured him, though his smile was tight whenever he looked to the far east. They were not reassuring words when Germany could easily remember the white bandages against pale, ashen skin.
He was only fortunate that he had his own work to bury himself. Rebuilding, restructuring--it was a long and difficult process he was more than familiar with. The differences being America's smile and claps on the back of approval, different celebrations which Germany often scolded the American for since such things were expensive...
"Oh, c'mon, West" --Germany was sadly becoming used to this name just as he was, reluctantly, becoming used to calling his brother East-- "Morale's important, to, y'know? Your people can't just keep up all that work without a break. That's practically slavery!"
"Duty to one's country, isn't it?" he'd asked, looking woefully at the bill before him.
America just grinned and clapped a hand on his shoulder--strong, reassuring. Was Russia's hand the same way? Was that hy East hd leaned into it those times?
"You'll get it. You're still too stiff!"
As though he did not have a reason to be. Germany found going to world meetings immensely stressful as it always meant he would keep his head down as accusatory eyes followed him as he sat next to America, who would begin the meeting, ignoring the empty seats that had once belonged to Eastern Bloc countries. Even China had his seat empty before long. and when the Koreas began to fight, America would force his way between them until the day they came to a stand still and the North left with the rest.
Germany could not help but feel sympathy for South Korea, knowing too well how it felt to be separated from the brother he'd grown up knowing to always be there.
Which was why his heart clenched as events throughout the 1950s played themselves out, conflicts out-breaking in the east every year, it seemed.
War everywhere. The world split in two.
And despite being right next to him, West heard and saw nothing of his brother.
A visit to Berlin also had his heart, already torn in two, to leap into his throat, choking him upon seeing the flag and the statues. Where was the Iron Cross? And what was this blemish on the colors of black, red, and gold? Demanding answers from an East Berliner only made more westerners start to take notice. Outrage was the very initial reaction.
Cold realization came later when, having heard of a commotion, America, who was visiting, pulled him back to his hotel room. Germany sat on the suite's couch, cup of coffee on the table before him going cold as he put his head to his hands. It was as if he was two people--but his brother was not him and he certainly was not his brother.
And yet East had his own standard and denied the heritage that Germany should have--the heritage that rightfully belonged to that man--but Prussia... Prussia was gone. Who was this person who was a ghost of that brother history was determined to erase?
"Danke so much!" said America cheerfully into the phone before he hung up and looked to the still and silent figure who was becoming known as West Germany. There was a sympathetic look in the foreigner's blue eyes but he only went and sat across from Germany, making a loud noise to signal the start of his dialogue. "That was England. He said he'll look into things."
The German was silent for a moment longer before he put his hands to his eyes. "Why are we here?" he asked in an exasperated manner, tone dulled by frayed tolerance.
"Things were getting a bit uneasy out there, right?" answered America, his cheerful tone sounding more forced now. He leaned forward, reaching for sugar and cream for his coffee. "I figured you needed to cool off a bit. I mean, Berlin's pretty close quarters--"
"You're worried about the Soviet," stated West flatly, tired of the delicacy America was poorly attempting to use.
The superpower said nothing, though his eyes shifted to a hardened look as he stirred his drink.
Germany raised his head, stating sharply, "It's not the Soviet I want to confront--"
"East has the Soviets at his back at all times," broke in America in an equally sharp manner that Germany could swear he had once never believed the country to be capable of. "You start a fight with East, the entire Soviet Bloc will be standing behind him, especially Russia. You know better."
Germany suddenly felt his age, younger by several centuries compared to America who watched him from behind glasses that seemed to lend a sharpened edge to his stare. The German looked away, lowered his hands, feeling more lost than ever. "He's my brother..." he said aloud what he so often thought to himself, continuously reminded himself.
America seemed to soften at that, truly looking sympathetic. Putting his mug down, he leaned forward again, ready to offer words of comfort--
The door swung open without warning, a booted foot lowering with a harsh curse before another man entered the room, a smile on his face that froze Germany in place while America surged to his feet, shouting, "This is a breech of security, Russia! You're on thin ice!"
"Eh?" asked the Soviet in an innocent manner. "But East had said this was his room. east, was there a mistake? You know I am not as familiar with this city."
The pale features of East showed themselves as he made his way into the room, his feet clad in the very boots that had kicked the door open. "A mistake? I don't know, Russia. I asked directions myself."
America fumed silently, biting back words that were likely at the tip of his tongue. Russia merely smiled back and gestured to the seats before him. "Since we are all here, we should talk, yes? It would be... civil."
The younger superpower shut his mouth, having begun to object. He smiled tightly, and Germany could swear he saw every white tooth in his mouth. "Of course," was all that he said before moving to sit next to his Germany, tense but still smiling sharply.
Russia and his Germany took their seats across from them, the larger nation ignoring his rival's shout of protest as he took the mug of coffee and added liquid from a flask. Vodka, more than likely.
Germany's attention, however, was largely concentrated on that almost-stranger who sat across from him. Though pale and quite thin, East looked considerably better than he had. There was a bit more of color to his cheeks and he seemed neither stiff nor pained. There were no bandages in sight and either he chose to wear clothes of a smaller size, or he was gaining his weight back; he did not seem as haggard as he had. Beyond this, West could not tell. East's eyes were more on the cup of sugar which sat neglected on the table than on the people around him.
Suddenly wondering if East as able to afford such luxuries, West pushed his cooling mug of coffee over to his brother.
Red eyes narrowed at the movement, and West worried he had overstepped his boundaries.
He felt that sickening sensation in his stomach when East then looked to Russia, obviously asking permission.
The norther nation said nothing in response to the look, obviously more amused by his conversation with the on-edge American. Since the other nation said nothing, East did nothing, and the coffee remained on the table, untouched.
Sitting back, a smirk on his face--but what about his eyes, West asked himself--East idly commented, "You sure raised a fuss over nothing earlier, didn't you, West?"
And like that, a switch being flipped, Germany sat up straighter, tense and incredulous. "Excuse me?" he asked only for courtesy's sake.
"You heard me," was the smug reply.
Courtesy was a forgotten concept to this upstart territory.
"'Over nothing' would not be how I would describe it," said Germany, tones short and clipped.
It only seemed to make the other man smirk more. "Something wrong with my flag?"
"It's a disgrace."
Silence reigned for a long moment and Germany felt guilty satisfaction in seeing the look on East's face darken, smirk completely gone. It was another tense moment before he realized that Russia and America had both gone quiet. His eyes never left East's figure, especially when, after another heartbeat, those scarlet eyes met his.
West could feel the child in himself quell at the look of cold anger coming from the brother who had raised him.
Then, East laughed and West felt a shiver run own his spine. Almost the laughter of old, almost foreign and strange, he kept laughing for a moment before asking with an odd grin on his face. "Do you, Deutschland--formerly of the Third Reich, do you have any right in calling my modifications a disgrace?"
It was a slap to the face, and Germany clenched his fists, shaken by the blow. "I have never denied it--" he began, working hard to keep his voice steady and level.
"You even continue to wear that cross you desecrated," added East Germany with the cold, calculated efficiency Germany could remember of Prussia.
His heart clenched, the cold hand that had been there since the war's end gripping tight. "... is that why you don't use it in the statuary to show your heritage?" he asked quietly, feeling as though this was not a discussion meant for an audience. But what else could be done?
"What heritage?" asked East, almost savagely, ironic.
"Prussia--"
"Is dead," was the flat reminder.
Germany put his head against fists hands, struggling to keep calm. "Are you going to deny who you are, who you were?" he asked, strained voice cutting off as his hands went to the cross around his neck. "This cross is yours! You gave it to me--!"
"Who did?" shot back East. "Tell me again, West, just who gave you that cross yo stamped with the symbol of that demon you called a boss."
"Bruder--"
"A name, West."
Germany found himself unable to answer and stared up at East, at a loss.
He was almost terrified to believe that he actually saw a flash of pain cross through those spiteful features.
The eastern territory was quick to throw doubt onto the thought. "That symbol is that country's and yours. Dead countries have no need for symbols or the shame their successor brings on those symbols. You inherited from that country, and now I'm inheriting from you." a smirk came onto his face again, cold and empty. "What a world we live in."
With that, the pale German stood, hand going to his chest and clutching around and pulling a pendant from his neck with a sharp crack of chains breaking. "I'm not looking for approval, West. And I don't need you to acknowledge who I am."
Before Germany could even think of a response, the pendant was tossed down to the table with a sharp clang of metal. The Iron Cross, first and original, worn and discolored as the varnish had been rubbed off almost completely, lay before him, abandoned by its master.
Russia stood a moment later, smiling as he excused himself and his satellite state. Words seemed to have lost meaning as America stood and gave Russia a few choice words as they departed.
The door eventually shut, and it as only then that West Germany moved to pick up that piece of history.
The large hand clapped onto his shoulder, making him stumble down a couple of steps before he was able to grab hold of the handrail. Russia seemed not to notice this and merely commented, "You are a very convincing actor, East!"
The German state clutched the railing, biting back the initial retort, giving a bit of a laugh instead. "What acting? You thought I'd take that from him--?"
"You do not have to continue to act for me, East."
East foze for a moment, knowing the words to be a test and yet wanting to lower his guard just for once. The perpetual pressure of bandages across his back and the heavy weight of the Soviet's hand on his shoulder served as reminders that here was no giving into that want. Still, he found his shoulders slumping down, found himself relaxing the grip on the handrail, found himself missing that familiar weight around his neck. He found himself muttering, "I don't want to see that face again..."
The pleading look that changed to unfamiliar, condemning spite, just as those emotions rose up in East himself. It was leaving him in a daze. He almost didn't feel like himself, feel real and alive when he saw that face. But Russia--Russia was very real and that hand on his shoulder was real, too, and if those came into contact with him, then that made it clear that he, too, was real. Didn't it?
But Germany still refused to see hima as that, kept seeing a dead country--one that had belonged to him at one point...
East cursed, putting a hand to his head, now shaken as some of his resolve left him. That part of him the world said was dead raged at him for letting himself part from this Cross, his brother, letting that monstrous northern nation even touch him. But these were thoughts and feelings that could get him killed, so he repeated those words, hollow and yet defiant enough to make him almost believe it, "I don't want to see it."
Another cold hand reached around to grab his chin, gently, as though instinctively knowing that part of East was still awake, aware, and just as willing to bite his master as he had been nearly twelve years prior. East kept his eyes from meeting those violet, knowing that he'd give himself away if he did, but could still feel the hot--cold, cold days of winter child him, he should get some warmer clothes this winter--breath against his cheek as his sovereign nation spoke.
"We will block every view to that face then, yes?"
East closed his eyes, wishing he could actually feel his heart break as he realized just what those words, his own words, would take from him.
He didn't struggle as Russia leaned down to claim what was his, willing that part of him to lie in wait. Someday, someday...
An aggravated sigh came from America shortly after the door was shut. A hand raked itself through his blond hair, purposefully knocking it into disarray as he held back whatever anger was still bristling at the run-in with the Russian and his Germany.
His Germany.
West's mind was frozen. All the details around him seemed sharper, more distinct, but at the same time, it was surreal, unreal. As though something very vital had shifted in the perception of reality. That it took several minutes of listening to the clock tick until he could unclench his hand from around the cross he held shook him more than he was willing to say. He could only look up to America then, mouth opening to say something, anything, but nothing would come to mind.
Everything had happened dizzingly fast. One moment, his brother had been there before him. The next...
And now suddenly, America was sitting on the coffe table, trying to catch West's eyes with his own. Oddly quiet and watching.
Something shaky, a breath of air escaped West then. And only then did West realize that he was trembling.
"What--" he began but stopped himself, looking up at the superpower, the question on the tip of his tongue but lost again as his mind struggled to come to terms with what had just happened.
Just as before, America's eyes softened a bit. Unexpectedly, America shifted his eyes away for a moment, chewing on his lower lip. Uncertainty? But then those blue orbs were back on West and the fatigue and strain in them was surprising. Though, if West thought about it--if he could think, that is--it shouldn't have been.
"It was like that for me, too," said America, his hand lifting up to rub at his neck, "back when Mattie and I were fighting--well, it was England's fault but--"
"Mattie...?"
America blinked. In a surprised instant, the tension left his eyes for a moment, though it still sat on his shoulders. "Oh, yeah," he said, "Canada and I like using our human names, so... I call him Mattie all the time. I try to call England Artie, but he bites my head off if I do." He waved a hand, something between exasperation and annoyance on his face. "And he's the one who says I should be more friendly with him. What else are nicknames for? I could just call him Iggy since Japan has that weird way of saying his name. Ingulisu or something--"
"Right," said West, breaking in through the odd tangent as what the superpower had said processed. "The War of 1812, wasn't it? When British Canada invaded enough to burn down the White House, among other things."
"... huh? Is that what happened?" asked America, blinking.
West could only stare incredulously at him. "... shouldn't you be the one who knows that?"
The other man waved a hand at him dismisively. "A lot of stuff was going on. I remember the White House burning down, anyway. James's wife managed to get some portraits of the Founding Fathers and the Constitution out in time, though. So it wasn't a big deal or anything."
"Ah..." said West, wondering if he should point out just what a significant gesture that sort of thing was in war. He wisely kept silent on the matter, however, as America frowned thoughtfully. After all, he somehow doubted that was the point of bringing up that particular war. "But at the time, you were independent."
"Yeah, but Canada wasn't," pointed out America. "And Canada fought for king and empire then--or I think it was a king at the time, anyway. Don't get me wrong. I love Mattie and all, but during that time..."
There was that sharp look that was quickly becoming unnerving behind those glasses the superpower wore. "During that time, I would have put an end to Canada if I could."
There was a long moment of silence.
Then America let out a breath of air, looking over at the clock. "It was like that during the Revolutionary War, too. But somehow, fighting Mattie just seemed even more wrong, even harder. It was like we were completely different people. Like he wasn't my brother. Just some British colony trying to impress his lord and master." There was a bitter edge to his words. He kept his eyes turned away as he continued, "People forget a lot, but Mattie's the older one, you know. He always been the quiet type. Liked to stay at home and tend to his land and his people. Liked to get along with everyone if he could. Except he was always a bit weird. I think it's that weird French-British thing of his.
"Anyway... fighting against him... like I said, a lot was going on. Kind of like now. Back then, it was Napoleon getting overthrown in Europe."
West didn't say anything for a long moment, understanding with sharp clarity what exactly America was meaning by telling him these things. Of course, there had been plenty of incidents of this nature. Brothers fighting brothers, nations driving against each other despite being friends previously--it was the sort of lesson his own brother had related to him in his youth. While England, France, and America kept trying to tell him otherwise, he could clearly see the ways those lessons were accurate to a fault.
Still, even with those lessons in history, personal experiences and the like that occurred centuries before Germany himself was aware as a nation, he could only bitterly throw back the condemning, "Yes, but your brother didn't have his name, his identity stripped from him, forcing him to do God knows what in order to just survive."
The silence that came afterward was one filled with known guilt.
West kept his eyes turned away from the superpower, especially when he shifted and then stood up.
America's voice was suspiciously cheerful again when he spoke next, "I think England's going to be staying in Berlin for a while. Things are getting pretty heated up back home, you know. So I'll be away for a while." There was the sound of a coat being pulled on. West considered how it wasn't even that cool outside and yet, the American always seemed to say it was much too cold.
Completely opposite, he thought to himself.
"Germany," said America in a manner that made West lift his head to look to him. Again, there was a moment where West nearly cringed at the tension the other man held in his shoulders--surely, that sort of burden would have the nation fall apart if it continued to build up--but America's eyes were straightforward and blazing with determination. "If you keep thinking of East as Prussia, you're going to tear yoruself apart. But one thing I know for sure is that the Soviet Bloc can't stand forever."
"And you'll make certain of that?" asked West incredulously.
A laugh escaped the other blond, but it seemed more like a baring of teeth more than anything jovial. "No way, I won't be the one to pull that trigger," he said lightly. "Russia can try to push for that all he wants, but I have my ways of getting around it. If anyone's going to start something, it'll be him.
"And I'll be the one to finish it."
The simplicity of the statement was what made the icy chill creep up West's spine.
Apparently, America had deemed this enough of an explanation and bid his farewells, giving tips and advice all the way out the door. He left with a smile on his face and an encouraging word or five.
Characters: East Germany (Prussia), West Germany (Germany), America, Russia.
Progress: WIP
It was as if they were perfect strangers. It had not even been a decade since he had seen his brother alive after being told that he was dead. Only six years since the attempted uprising, and ever since, things had been silent. The border kept everything and everyone separated from each other, Germany heard nothing of his brother or anyone from the Eastern Bloc. No news was good news, America always assured him, though his smile was tight whenever he looked to the far east. They were not reassuring words when Germany could easily remember the white bandages against pale, ashen skin.
He was only fortunate that he had his own work to bury himself. Rebuilding, restructuring--it was a long and difficult process he was more than familiar with. The differences being America's smile and claps on the back of approval, different celebrations which Germany often scolded the American for since such things were expensive...
"Oh, c'mon, West" --Germany was sadly becoming used to this name just as he was, reluctantly, becoming used to calling his brother East-- "Morale's important, to, y'know? Your people can't just keep up all that work without a break. That's practically slavery!"
"Duty to one's country, isn't it?" he'd asked, looking woefully at the bill before him.
America just grinned and clapped a hand on his shoulder--strong, reassuring. Was Russia's hand the same way? Was that hy East hd leaned into it those times?
"You'll get it. You're still too stiff!"
As though he did not have a reason to be. Germany found going to world meetings immensely stressful as it always meant he would keep his head down as accusatory eyes followed him as he sat next to America, who would begin the meeting, ignoring the empty seats that had once belonged to Eastern Bloc countries. Even China had his seat empty before long. and when the Koreas began to fight, America would force his way between them until the day they came to a stand still and the North left with the rest.
Germany could not help but feel sympathy for South Korea, knowing too well how it felt to be separated from the brother he'd grown up knowing to always be there.
Which was why his heart clenched as events throughout the 1950s played themselves out, conflicts out-breaking in the east every year, it seemed.
War everywhere. The world split in two.
And despite being right next to him, West heard and saw nothing of his brother.
A visit to Berlin also had his heart, already torn in two, to leap into his throat, choking him upon seeing the flag and the statues. Where was the Iron Cross? And what was this blemish on the colors of black, red, and gold? Demanding answers from an East Berliner only made more westerners start to take notice. Outrage was the very initial reaction.
Cold realization came later when, having heard of a commotion, America, who was visiting, pulled him back to his hotel room. Germany sat on the suite's couch, cup of coffee on the table before him going cold as he put his head to his hands. It was as if he was two people--but his brother was not him and he certainly was not his brother.
And yet East had his own standard and denied the heritage that Germany should have--the heritage that rightfully belonged to that man--but Prussia... Prussia was gone. Who was this person who was a ghost of that brother history was determined to erase?
"Danke so much!" said America cheerfully into the phone before he hung up and looked to the still and silent figure who was becoming known as West Germany. There was a sympathetic look in the foreigner's blue eyes but he only went and sat across from Germany, making a loud noise to signal the start of his dialogue. "That was England. He said he'll look into things."
The German was silent for a moment longer before he put his hands to his eyes. "Why are we here?" he asked in an exasperated manner, tone dulled by frayed tolerance.
"Things were getting a bit uneasy out there, right?" answered America, his cheerful tone sounding more forced now. He leaned forward, reaching for sugar and cream for his coffee. "I figured you needed to cool off a bit. I mean, Berlin's pretty close quarters--"
"You're worried about the Soviet," stated West flatly, tired of the delicacy America was poorly attempting to use.
The superpower said nothing, though his eyes shifted to a hardened look as he stirred his drink.
Germany raised his head, stating sharply, "It's not the Soviet I want to confront--"
"East has the Soviets at his back at all times," broke in America in an equally sharp manner that Germany could swear he had once never believed the country to be capable of. "You start a fight with East, the entire Soviet Bloc will be standing behind him, especially Russia. You know better."
Germany suddenly felt his age, younger by several centuries compared to America who watched him from behind glasses that seemed to lend a sharpened edge to his stare. The German looked away, lowered his hands, feeling more lost than ever. "He's my brother..." he said aloud what he so often thought to himself, continuously reminded himself.
America seemed to soften at that, truly looking sympathetic. Putting his mug down, he leaned forward again, ready to offer words of comfort--
The door swung open without warning, a booted foot lowering with a harsh curse before another man entered the room, a smile on his face that froze Germany in place while America surged to his feet, shouting, "This is a breech of security, Russia! You're on thin ice!"
"Eh?" asked the Soviet in an innocent manner. "But East had said this was his room. east, was there a mistake? You know I am not as familiar with this city."
The pale features of East showed themselves as he made his way into the room, his feet clad in the very boots that had kicked the door open. "A mistake? I don't know, Russia. I asked directions myself."
America fumed silently, biting back words that were likely at the tip of his tongue. Russia merely smiled back and gestured to the seats before him. "Since we are all here, we should talk, yes? It would be... civil."
The younger superpower shut his mouth, having begun to object. He smiled tightly, and Germany could swear he saw every white tooth in his mouth. "Of course," was all that he said before moving to sit next to his Germany, tense but still smiling sharply.
Russia and his Germany took their seats across from them, the larger nation ignoring his rival's shout of protest as he took the mug of coffee and added liquid from a flask. Vodka, more than likely.
Germany's attention, however, was largely concentrated on that almost-stranger who sat across from him. Though pale and quite thin, East looked considerably better than he had. There was a bit more of color to his cheeks and he seemed neither stiff nor pained. There were no bandages in sight and either he chose to wear clothes of a smaller size, or he was gaining his weight back; he did not seem as haggard as he had. Beyond this, West could not tell. East's eyes were more on the cup of sugar which sat neglected on the table than on the people around him.
Suddenly wondering if East as able to afford such luxuries, West pushed his cooling mug of coffee over to his brother.
Red eyes narrowed at the movement, and West worried he had overstepped his boundaries.
He felt that sickening sensation in his stomach when East then looked to Russia, obviously asking permission.
The norther nation said nothing in response to the look, obviously more amused by his conversation with the on-edge American. Since the other nation said nothing, East did nothing, and the coffee remained on the table, untouched.
Sitting back, a smirk on his face--but what about his eyes, West asked himself--East idly commented, "You sure raised a fuss over nothing earlier, didn't you, West?"
And like that, a switch being flipped, Germany sat up straighter, tense and incredulous. "Excuse me?" he asked only for courtesy's sake.
"You heard me," was the smug reply.
Courtesy was a forgotten concept to this upstart territory.
"'Over nothing' would not be how I would describe it," said Germany, tones short and clipped.
It only seemed to make the other man smirk more. "Something wrong with my flag?"
"It's a disgrace."
Silence reigned for a long moment and Germany felt guilty satisfaction in seeing the look on East's face darken, smirk completely gone. It was another tense moment before he realized that Russia and America had both gone quiet. His eyes never left East's figure, especially when, after another heartbeat, those scarlet eyes met his.
West could feel the child in himself quell at the look of cold anger coming from the brother who had raised him.
Then, East laughed and West felt a shiver run own his spine. Almost the laughter of old, almost foreign and strange, he kept laughing for a moment before asking with an odd grin on his face. "Do you, Deutschland--formerly of the Third Reich, do you have any right in calling my modifications a disgrace?"
It was a slap to the face, and Germany clenched his fists, shaken by the blow. "I have never denied it--" he began, working hard to keep his voice steady and level.
"You even continue to wear that cross you desecrated," added East Germany with the cold, calculated efficiency Germany could remember of Prussia.
His heart clenched, the cold hand that had been there since the war's end gripping tight. "... is that why you don't use it in the statuary to show your heritage?" he asked quietly, feeling as though this was not a discussion meant for an audience. But what else could be done?
"What heritage?" asked East, almost savagely, ironic.
"Prussia--"
"Is dead," was the flat reminder.
Germany put his head against fists hands, struggling to keep calm. "Are you going to deny who you are, who you were?" he asked, strained voice cutting off as his hands went to the cross around his neck. "This cross is yours! You gave it to me--!"
"Who did?" shot back East. "Tell me again, West, just who gave you that cross yo stamped with the symbol of that demon you called a boss."
"Bruder--"
"A name, West."
Germany found himself unable to answer and stared up at East, at a loss.
He was almost terrified to believe that he actually saw a flash of pain cross through those spiteful features.
The eastern territory was quick to throw doubt onto the thought. "That symbol is that country's and yours. Dead countries have no need for symbols or the shame their successor brings on those symbols. You inherited from that country, and now I'm inheriting from you." a smirk came onto his face again, cold and empty. "What a world we live in."
With that, the pale German stood, hand going to his chest and clutching around and pulling a pendant from his neck with a sharp crack of chains breaking. "I'm not looking for approval, West. And I don't need you to acknowledge who I am."
Before Germany could even think of a response, the pendant was tossed down to the table with a sharp clang of metal. The Iron Cross, first and original, worn and discolored as the varnish had been rubbed off almost completely, lay before him, abandoned by its master.
Russia stood a moment later, smiling as he excused himself and his satellite state. Words seemed to have lost meaning as America stood and gave Russia a few choice words as they departed.
The door eventually shut, and it as only then that West Germany moved to pick up that piece of history.
The large hand clapped onto his shoulder, making him stumble down a couple of steps before he was able to grab hold of the handrail. Russia seemed not to notice this and merely commented, "You are a very convincing actor, East!"
The German state clutched the railing, biting back the initial retort, giving a bit of a laugh instead. "What acting? You thought I'd take that from him--?"
"You do not have to continue to act for me, East."
East foze for a moment, knowing the words to be a test and yet wanting to lower his guard just for once. The perpetual pressure of bandages across his back and the heavy weight of the Soviet's hand on his shoulder served as reminders that here was no giving into that want. Still, he found his shoulders slumping down, found himself relaxing the grip on the handrail, found himself missing that familiar weight around his neck. He found himself muttering, "I don't want to see that face again..."
The pleading look that changed to unfamiliar, condemning spite, just as those emotions rose up in East himself. It was leaving him in a daze. He almost didn't feel like himself, feel real and alive when he saw that face. But Russia--Russia was very real and that hand on his shoulder was real, too, and if those came into contact with him, then that made it clear that he, too, was real. Didn't it?
But Germany still refused to see hima as that, kept seeing a dead country--one that had belonged to him at one point...
East cursed, putting a hand to his head, now shaken as some of his resolve left him. That part of him the world said was dead raged at him for letting himself part from this Cross, his brother, letting that monstrous northern nation even touch him. But these were thoughts and feelings that could get him killed, so he repeated those words, hollow and yet defiant enough to make him almost believe it, "I don't want to see it."
Another cold hand reached around to grab his chin, gently, as though instinctively knowing that part of East was still awake, aware, and just as willing to bite his master as he had been nearly twelve years prior. East kept his eyes from meeting those violet, knowing that he'd give himself away if he did, but could still feel the hot--cold, cold days of winter child him, he should get some warmer clothes this winter--breath against his cheek as his sovereign nation spoke.
"We will block every view to that face then, yes?"
East closed his eyes, wishing he could actually feel his heart break as he realized just what those words, his own words, would take from him.
He didn't struggle as Russia leaned down to claim what was his, willing that part of him to lie in wait. Someday, someday...
An aggravated sigh came from America shortly after the door was shut. A hand raked itself through his blond hair, purposefully knocking it into disarray as he held back whatever anger was still bristling at the run-in with the Russian and his Germany.
His Germany.
West's mind was frozen. All the details around him seemed sharper, more distinct, but at the same time, it was surreal, unreal. As though something very vital had shifted in the perception of reality. That it took several minutes of listening to the clock tick until he could unclench his hand from around the cross he held shook him more than he was willing to say. He could only look up to America then, mouth opening to say something, anything, but nothing would come to mind.
Everything had happened dizzingly fast. One moment, his brother had been there before him. The next...
And now suddenly, America was sitting on the coffe table, trying to catch West's eyes with his own. Oddly quiet and watching.
Something shaky, a breath of air escaped West then. And only then did West realize that he was trembling.
"What--" he began but stopped himself, looking up at the superpower, the question on the tip of his tongue but lost again as his mind struggled to come to terms with what had just happened.
Just as before, America's eyes softened a bit. Unexpectedly, America shifted his eyes away for a moment, chewing on his lower lip. Uncertainty? But then those blue orbs were back on West and the fatigue and strain in them was surprising. Though, if West thought about it--if he could think, that is--it shouldn't have been.
"It was like that for me, too," said America, his hand lifting up to rub at his neck, "back when Mattie and I were fighting--well, it was England's fault but--"
"Mattie...?"
America blinked. In a surprised instant, the tension left his eyes for a moment, though it still sat on his shoulders. "Oh, yeah," he said, "Canada and I like using our human names, so... I call him Mattie all the time. I try to call England Artie, but he bites my head off if I do." He waved a hand, something between exasperation and annoyance on his face. "And he's the one who says I should be more friendly with him. What else are nicknames for? I could just call him Iggy since Japan has that weird way of saying his name. Ingulisu or something--"
"Right," said West, breaking in through the odd tangent as what the superpower had said processed. "The War of 1812, wasn't it? When British Canada invaded enough to burn down the White House, among other things."
"... huh? Is that what happened?" asked America, blinking.
West could only stare incredulously at him. "... shouldn't you be the one who knows that?"
The other man waved a hand at him dismisively. "A lot of stuff was going on. I remember the White House burning down, anyway. James's wife managed to get some portraits of the Founding Fathers and the Constitution out in time, though. So it wasn't a big deal or anything."
"Ah..." said West, wondering if he should point out just what a significant gesture that sort of thing was in war. He wisely kept silent on the matter, however, as America frowned thoughtfully. After all, he somehow doubted that was the point of bringing up that particular war. "But at the time, you were independent."
"Yeah, but Canada wasn't," pointed out America. "And Canada fought for king and empire then--or I think it was a king at the time, anyway. Don't get me wrong. I love Mattie and all, but during that time..."
There was that sharp look that was quickly becoming unnerving behind those glasses the superpower wore. "During that time, I would have put an end to Canada if I could."
There was a long moment of silence.
Then America let out a breath of air, looking over at the clock. "It was like that during the Revolutionary War, too. But somehow, fighting Mattie just seemed even more wrong, even harder. It was like we were completely different people. Like he wasn't my brother. Just some British colony trying to impress his lord and master." There was a bitter edge to his words. He kept his eyes turned away as he continued, "People forget a lot, but Mattie's the older one, you know. He always been the quiet type. Liked to stay at home and tend to his land and his people. Liked to get along with everyone if he could. Except he was always a bit weird. I think it's that weird French-British thing of his.
"Anyway... fighting against him... like I said, a lot was going on. Kind of like now. Back then, it was Napoleon getting overthrown in Europe."
West didn't say anything for a long moment, understanding with sharp clarity what exactly America was meaning by telling him these things. Of course, there had been plenty of incidents of this nature. Brothers fighting brothers, nations driving against each other despite being friends previously--it was the sort of lesson his own brother had related to him in his youth. While England, France, and America kept trying to tell him otherwise, he could clearly see the ways those lessons were accurate to a fault.
Still, even with those lessons in history, personal experiences and the like that occurred centuries before Germany himself was aware as a nation, he could only bitterly throw back the condemning, "Yes, but your brother didn't have his name, his identity stripped from him, forcing him to do God knows what in order to just survive."
The silence that came afterward was one filled with known guilt.
West kept his eyes turned away from the superpower, especially when he shifted and then stood up.
America's voice was suspiciously cheerful again when he spoke next, "I think England's going to be staying in Berlin for a while. Things are getting pretty heated up back home, you know. So I'll be away for a while." There was the sound of a coat being pulled on. West considered how it wasn't even that cool outside and yet, the American always seemed to say it was much too cold.
Completely opposite, he thought to himself.
"Germany," said America in a manner that made West lift his head to look to him. Again, there was a moment where West nearly cringed at the tension the other man held in his shoulders--surely, that sort of burden would have the nation fall apart if it continued to build up--but America's eyes were straightforward and blazing with determination. "If you keep thinking of East as Prussia, you're going to tear yoruself apart. But one thing I know for sure is that the Soviet Bloc can't stand forever."
"And you'll make certain of that?" asked West incredulously.
A laugh escaped the other blond, but it seemed more like a baring of teeth more than anything jovial. "No way, I won't be the one to pull that trigger," he said lightly. "Russia can try to push for that all he wants, but I have my ways of getting around it. If anyone's going to start something, it'll be him.
"And I'll be the one to finish it."
The simplicity of the statement was what made the icy chill creep up West's spine.
Apparently, America had deemed this enough of an explanation and bid his farewells, giving tips and advice all the way out the door. He left with a smile on his face and an encouraging word or five.