A/N: This is a follow up to my story "Warning Shots" If there are details that do not make sense, please go read that one.

Germany was awake, but he had not yet summoned the will to get out of bed. A decade ago, he would have already have been out of bed, dressed, and ready to go to drills, where Prussia would run him through his paces. But, those happy days were gone. There was no Kaiser anymore, no royal glory, no processions with gorgeous array and the black eagle flying proudly. Beyond the door of his bedroom lay all the troubles he had brought upon himself. There were Frenchmen in the Ruhr Valley and an incompetent cabal of cowards in the Reichstag, and neither could be helped.

Germany groaned and turned himself onto his side. He wished that he could pull the blankets up and disappear under them. It was hard now to go out and work to pay back piles of reparations that he had agreed to. The same scene played every time he closed his eyes: Prussia raging against the treaty and Germany extending his coward's hand to stop his brother. He remembered that he had pleaded with his brother to accept the terms. His hand curled into a fist against the sheets. Why hadn't he stopped and thought about the consequences? All the diplomats had told him that he should do just that, betray himself and end the bloodshed. They said the country would continue to starve and bleed unless he did it. And yet, the people had starved all the same for another year after the treaty. One of the many promises that had been broken before the treaty was even a year old. Shame clung to his skin and nothing he had done could wash it off.

There was one look that was burned into his mind: his brother's eyes when they had both signed the treaty, cold and resigned like he had never seen them. It was the first time he had seen his brother accept humiliation, and it was a humiliation he had inflicted on Prussia. If he left the bed he would have to face his brother again. That he could not stand. He pulled his arm across his chest, trying to cover the pit he felt there; the arm still felt weak from the mortar shard that had torn through it. The physical pain had healed, but it felt like it would never be the same.

There was a sharp knock on the door; it had the precision and candor of one of his brother's men. Probably this man was here to castigate him for his tardiness. With another groan, he said, "What is it?"
The voice came from the other side of the door, "Your brother is spending the day in Vienna. He urges you to go out into the city again. He said it is unhealthy for a young man to shut himself away."

Germany turned over onto his back again. Prussia had probably wanted to tell him that in person, but his absence had meant a messenger was necessary. He chewed on his lower lip and thought about the contents of the message. His brother had such a way of making him descend into despair without meaning it. What could he have meant that it was not healthy? Could he not just yell at Germany and tell him to stop moping. That could at least engender some dislike that could remedy some of the burden of guilt. Prussia had that way about him, always concerned and always so damned perfect. Everything he touched and said came out right and Germany could not help but feel his own shame spreading. He was not his rightful heir, not in demeanor or prowess on the battlefield. Prussia had done brilliantly on the Eastern Front; Germany knew he had failed in invading France. There was no use in going out into the city to feel better. He had already tried it; drowning himself in the colorful frantic nightlife of Berlin had not assuaged his feeling of guilt. No matter what he did, the feeling roared back and put him back here, laying in his own misery.

To distract his mind from the idea, he turned it back to the other part of the message. Prussia was going to Vienna for a day, and yet it seemed like he had spent several days there already. In the years since the end of the war, Prussia's visits to the Austrian capital had gotten much more frequent. What did he find there that was so comforting? Germany had begun to doubt that it was just the coffee and the cakes. It seemed that Prussia wanted to comfort Austria after the loss of his empire. It made him contemplate the strange feelings that arose when he looked at Italy. The blushing and the happy unease were a symptom of something that he had only read about in poetry.

Germany turned his thoughts again, trying to find something peaceful, or at least comforting enough to stir from his present state. At least with Prussia gone he could mope where he chose without fear of judgmental eyes. He did not need to pretend to be stoic or, worse, happy while the thought of France crouched on his border like a vulture plagued his mind.

A thought occurred to him. There was a room in this house that could provide him some answers to his present state and Germany sat up with a mind to go find it. He pulled on civilian clothing, not daring to put on a uniform. He felt like he had besmirched the military too much to wear a uniform. There was no reason to dirty it either since he had no intention of leaving the house. Prussia had urged him to get out, but that did not seem necessary. He had heard enough cabaret and drank enough absinthe to know that it provided no solace. How was he supposed to face the people in the streets knowing that they suffered for his mistake? No, it was better to stay here and plan to pay back France as soon as possible.

His footsteps sounded hollow and hopeless as he walked through the halls of the house, joined by no other sound. There was a garrison, he knew, but they had been greatly reduced by the treaty and were no longer visible everywhere. It had been so different in the years before the war when Prussia's army had been conspicuous and inspiring. Now the halls felt like they were occupied by ghosts. Germany knew where he was going. He had thought about doing it so many times as a young boy, but he hadn't once had the courage.

He turned sharply right towards the chambers that had once been the Kaiser's, and then turned right again, down the hallway towards his brother's room. As he laid his hand on the doorknob, he felt a childish surge of apprehension. He was not supposed to go in this room; he had never been allowed to go in here. His brother's private memories were kept behind this door, but perhaps they held something of a hope. If Germany could find what separated himself from his brother, then he could excise that quality from himself.

He turned the handle and felt it click. He had always imagined that this door was locked, but his entrance was surprisingly easy. The room was painted blue with dark curtains hanging at the windows. There were paintings on the wall too, but fewer than he had expected. There was a painting right above his bed of Friedrich the Great playing his flute surrounded by golden light. It seemed an odd place for such a portrait, but Germany could not place why. Germany was tempted to linger and look at everything on the wall to dissect their meaning and their significance. But, he had a better plan and one that he could only undertake today. He walked swiftly to a chest of drawers against the wall and pulled out the top drawer. It was full of papers that Germany gently pushed aside. Exactly where he had always expected them to be there was a set of keys.

Suppressing another wave of guilt, Germany took the keys. He took a deep breath to suppress the fear that Prussia would be livid when he discovered this betrayal. Even if he did find out, Prussia would understand the reason. Or at least Germany hoped he would. With the keys in hand, He charted a new course that took him to the only staircase that led down to the cellar. This door he knew to be locked. He had tried to open it more than once as a boy. There had always been a certain intrigue to the heavy door that he had only ever seen opened for his brother to take one of the many dark unlabeled books he owned down there. His heart pounding with the first genuine excitement he had felt since the war ended, Germany slipped one of the keys into the lock. It turned easily and Germany was able to push open the door.

The room he entered was dark, but he found a switch on the wall. But, when he flipped it, very few old electric lights flickered to life on the ceiling. But, they illuminated a trophy room like Germany had not imagined. The walls were lined with paintings, Prussia's old uniforms in perfect condition, trophies of war, and weapons. Germany walked down the length of the cavernous room, looking at each set. He knew each war; he could name them and recount the glorious victories Prussia had won at each. He had heard the stories from his brother, and they had always been his favorite to fall to sleep to. He had preferred them to any fiction. Gilbert's war stories always had heroism and feats of bravery that no false epic could depict.

As he walked, Germany felt like he was going backwards in his brother's history. The shoulders of the uniforms less broad, and as he continued they got shorter as well. He could see the one on the end nearest the door, strikingly white except for the large black cross. It was a young man's chain male, covered by a white surcoat. Germany stopped in front of it and found himself surprised how small it was. It was hard to imagine that his strong older brother had ever been that small, to have so little land. He reached out and touched the fabric of the surcoat and it felt surreal to know that it was rough.

He felt a smile that had long been absent from his face creep up his lips. It made it all the more fantastic to feel this part of his brother's life so concretely, to know that it was not all a fairytale that Gilbert made up for his amusement. It had happened just as Prussia had said; he had built himself up from practically nothing. Still delighted, Germany walked from one to another, taking them in.. He reached one that was accompanied by a beautiful langes Schwert with an eagle sculpted in the guard. Without thinking, Germany reached out and took the sword. He pulled the blade from the sheath and looked at the silver of it. It looked like it had been polished and sharpened recently, but it was not surprising that Prussia would maintain all of his weapons.

Germany was struck by a sudden urge to pull the sword from the sheath. He took it in his right hand, trying to hold it as he imagined it should be held. Maybe, he mused, if he could hold this blade like his brother did he could learn something. He raised the blade, and it felt awkward in his hand. The experimental swing felt unbalanced, and there was a strange ghostly familiarity in the feeling. He glanced at the blade and saw that the wear marks on the pommel were exactly opposite his own hand. He felt like a fool for not realizing sooner. Gilbert was left handed, so the blade had been made with that in mind. Of course it would not fit Germany. Frustrated yet again, he put the sword back in the scabbard. It was ridiculous to assume that this would help.

The feelings of inadequacy came back like a vacuum threatening to pull him back into despair. Standing in this room made it achingly clear how much he was lacking. When he was here next to the glory that his brother had won and he couldn't help but feel dwarfed by it. This was the tradition he was meant to carry on; it was glorious and uniquely German. And yet, all he felt looking at it now was how far out of reach it was. He cursed himself. What had made him so weak? Prussia had raised him, trained him, and tutored him in all sorts of philosophy and military strategy. There was nothing that should have rendered him less capable than his brother; at least nothing he could locate and quantify in himself.

Germany felt the spike of anger in the midst of the apathy that had become usual. There had to be something here that would make everything clear, some secret to Gilbert's success that he had never shared. Germany turned on his heel, seeking something more than just there mementos. His eyes lighted upon another door he had never noticed before. It was at the other end of the room, and seemed to hold some fantastic secret. He walked towards it with a rising excitement. By the time his hand was on the handle, his heart was practically pounding. He pushed against the door and it swung open, spilling light into the confined space behind it.

The light illuminated bookshelves reaching to the ceiling, full of identical dark blue books. Germany drew in a breath and tried to understand what he had just found. There had to be thousands of volumes, and yet it could not be a library. In a library the books were not all exactly alike. Out of curiosity, Germany walked closer to the shelf so he could read the silver print on the spine. Each one had a year and a range of months on it, but no other descriptor. As far as he could tell, they were arranged chronologically with such a precise organization that left Germany with no doubt that his brother had done it himself.

He reached out and took one from the shelf, noting as he did so that there was no dust on the book. Intent on understanding this enigma, he opened to the first page. There were six words neatly scrawled across the title page, "Property of the Duchy of Prussia." Germany drew in a sharp breath and he looked up at the shelves again. This could not be what he thought it was, but as he looked again he noticed that there was enough to stretch back until his brother had learned to write. Now that he thought about it, he had seen Gilbert carrying books that looked exactly like this out of his room. Germany had never thought to ask what they were. But, now he thought he knew.

To confirm his suspicion, he flipped to the next page. The handwriting was not as familiar as he expected. It was more ornate and careful than Prussia's current handwriting. The first letter of the entry was far larger than the rest. It almost resembled a manuscript. But, Germany could make out the words, "Dear diary." Germany closed the book and pressed his hand against the cover. This was exactly what he had wanted, but did he dare proceed? These were his brother's innermost thoughts, and they would provide unparalleled insight. But, reading them without his brother's knowledge would be a violation of something intimate.

Still wrestling with the moral question, Germany pushed the book back into its place on the shelf. This one would not be that interesting, Germany reasoned with himself. It he was going to read his brother's diaries, he was going to pick a moment that was crucial for his formation. He walked past the dates that did not interest him, going to further into the archive and closer to the present.

He stopped when he reached a certain year and month, this one familiar to him. He ran his finger down the spine of the book, feeling the words embossed in it. It said, "August, 1786" and he knew that date well. It was when Friedrich the Great had died. Taking a single deep breath, Germany pulled the volume from the shelf. He flipped through the pages until he found the entry from the day after the monarch's death. The words were less legible than in other entries, like they had been written in distress. Germany began to read, telling himself that he was not excited by the prospect. The words were laden with feeling, "I am left alone in the world like a widow. I know that Fritz's body is cold, but I can't stop myself from expecting him to walk through my door. In his last hours, he bequeathed me a goal, and I cannot disappoint him. He said that I should pursue my ambitions. I will do so unyieldingly, with no reservations or regret. When I see the opportunity, I will take it, regardless of what stands in my way. I have been given a holy task to bring together the German states, and I will."

Germany stopped reading, though the entry continued. He had a feeling that he was reading the moment of his own conception. He took a deep breath, trying to sort through the feelings. This diary was a glance at the inner thoughts that his brother had never told him. The key to his success was here in the words his brother had scribbled centuries ago. Prussia had resolved to be unyielding and to sweep away every obstacle in his path. Perhaps this was what Germany was lacking: the resolve to do what was necessary. He was the one who had shrunk in front of France when they had signed the treaty. He never had the gaul to stand up to the older countries, and that had been his undoing at the end of the last war. Germany resolved to himself to follow this example and never again take a course out of cowardice.

Certain that there was more to be found in the words, Germany turned his attention back to the diary. But, as he began to read again, he heard a voice from the ground level, "Ludwig, where are you?" His heart jumped into his throat at the thought that his brother was home and may discover him in his diaries. He slammed the book in his hands closed and put it back on the shelf carefully before making haste towards the door. Only once he had reached the other side of the basement did he realize that the voice calling his name was not his brother's.

The accent was different, though it was familiar. Germany felt less urgency as he closed and locked the door to his brother's trophy room. He put the keys in his pocket with the intention of returning them to Gilbert's drawers as soon as possible. He reached the top of the stairs and could hear the voice of the visitor clearly, "You better be here. I came all the way here to see you."

He felt himself smile as he followed the sound of the voice. He knew who it belonged to and was glad for the company. He emerged from a hallway and came face to face with the source. Bavaria smiled as soon as he saw Germany, and he said, "There you are, you rascal."
Germany responded with a grin, "Hello, cousin." He hadn't smiled like this in days and it felt strange in the muscles of his face.

Bavaria, as was his usual custom, seized Germany and pulled him into a crushing hug. He was incredibly muscular and was the only one who had ever been capable of making Germany feel small. Bavaria spoke as he released his cousin, "I haven't seen you in so long!"

Germany was warmed by the usual enthusiasm that the man had. He was surprised by Bavaria's presence. He had not expected any visitors today, but it was not unpleasant to have the company. He said, voicing his thoughts, "I didn't know you were going to be here. I would have prepared."
There was a slight tinge of guilt in not having any hospitality prepared, but the other waved his hand dismissively, "I made the decision today. Your brother is spending time with my brother, so I thought I would come spend time with you."

His smile and the sparkle in his blue eyes was infectious and broke through the feeling of malaise that Germany had been feeling. He didn't get a chance to invite Bavaria into the house, because as soon as he started to say, "I will make some coffee-" the other blonde cut him off.
Bavaria said, "Nonsense! All you need to do is go get a jacket. I'm going to buy you a beer." Germany had no reason to turn down the offer. Prussia was not likely to be back soon; he was always gone the full day when he went to Vienna. But, he did not want to be among other people. He felt his smile fall.

Bavaria saw the expression and doubled down on his offer, "I'll let you drive my car." He leaned in closer and said, as though it was something conspiratorial, "And I'll let you drive as fast as you want." This comment, so obviously an offer for the indulgence of avoiding Prussia's discipline, brought some comfort. Germany was, at the very least, won over for now. He responded, "Alright, Leo."

The inside of the Beer Hall was crowded, but warm and welcoming. Ludwig didn't mind the mass of humanity around him in the way he thought that they would. This was better than going out with him brother. With Gilbert, he always felt a compulsion to be on his best behavior. The formality that existed when he was in public with Prussia evaporated around Bavaria. Germany felt free to speak his mind and voice some of the thoughts he had been internalizing for fear of disappointing his brother.

After his first beer, his tongue was looser, and his cousin seemed perfectly willing to listen to his thoughts. He said, asking something that had been on his mind since that morning, "Is your brother doing alright? Gilbert has been in Vienna so often lately."
The other let out a short snort of laughter. Germany recoiled, completely surprised by the reaction. But, Bavaria spoke, "If you want my opinion, Roderich is being dramatic. Losing the empire hurt him, but he is better by now. But if acting like he's still recovering brings Gilbert sympathetically to his bedside, then he's willing to spend another day on his fainting couch."

This explanation made little sense to Germany. From what he had seen, the two had been enemies for a very long time. Why would Austria want Prussia with him now? Surely that just reminded him of how he had failed to become the dominant Germanic state. He said, "I don't understand."
Bavaria said, a laugh still on his voice, "You mean you've never noticed? You must have noticed!" Germany shook his head. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to have noticed, but he had not noticed whatever it was. He felt like a child again for a moment; his states had so much knowledge that he did not. The way Bavaria was smiling was all the more alienating.

The man's expression shifted as he realized that his young cousin was in earnest. Then he said, "Oh, I thought that Gilbert would have had this talk with you. Well, how do I put this?" He paused for a moment before saying, "When two men like each other very much, they fight like a married couple and force the rest of us to deal with their unresolved tension. They force politics into loggerheads and fight wars against each other, but always become allies again eventually. Then, they spend time reminiscing about past glory over coffee and schnapps."

Germany understood exactly who the other was describing, and it brought an incredulous smile to his face. Prussia had never shown any inclination towards anyone that he had noticed. Prussia's attention to Austria was only the loyalty due to a fellow German state who had suffered a terrible loss. He responded, "I don't believe that. My brother is just being honorable."

The other took a long drink from his beer while Germany spoke. A crease appeared on his forehead as he placed the glass on the table. He seemed to choose every word carefully, "I know you care about him, but I do not share your faith in Gilbert. I doubt his intentions towards Roderich have ever been honorable."
Before Germany could object to this characterization of his brother, Bavaria put up a single finger to indicate that he was not yet done speaking. He continued, "And I am certain that Roderich has always been willing to play Gilbert to get what he wants too."

Germany decided to drink the rest of his beer before he spoke again. It was common knowledge that Bavaria had opposed Prussia at every turn before the unification. But, Germany was fond of the man. He usually brushed off what Bavaria said as untrue, but in this case the subject hardly interested him. In truth, it didn't matter to him if Gilbert actually felt more for Austria than he thought. It seemed to have little gravity in the moment. There were more pressing matters on his mind, and it was those he turned to.

He ran his index finger in anxious circles across the wet spot that the glass had left on the table. Finally, the words found the way to his tongue, "Leopold, do you think I'm a disappointment?" He didn't dare meet the man's eyes, so he kept his gaze on the table as he asked.
Bavaria's response was immediate, "What? No!" The younger man's eyes snapped back up to meet the other's. The Bavarian looked genuinely shocked by the idea, "Who put that in your head? Has Gilbert been telling you that?"

Germany cut in quickly, worried that his companion was about to launch into a tirade about Prussia, "No, it's not that. He told me that he's proud of me, but I don't believe him. I lost the war." The feelings of doubt and hopelessness returned. Articulating the sentence felt like it made the situation real again.
Bavaria countered, "I was on that front too. If you lost the war, then we both did. But no one could have done better in your position."

Germany let out a sigh, trying to believe the words. It had been his personal failing, there was no other option to explain the end of the war. Prussia had dealt with the other front so easily; just like he always did. War was easy for him. Germany said, "Gilbert would have won. He always wins." His mind slipped back to hours and hours of waiting for his brother to come back from war. He remembered waiting at the window, knowing exactly when his brother would arrive in glory, always bearing gifts and war stories. Germany distinctly remembered Prussia telling him how easy it had been to capture the French emperor before he went to bed. He had slept well thinking about how he too would soon be able to fight France and win. That felt like it had been so long ago now, even though it had barely been half a century. Germany had been a different person then, just a child hoping for his chance to be an empire.

Bavaria sighed, "Don't judge yourself against Gilbert. Yes, he's won a lot recently. But, remember that you have a little bit of each of us in you. I've lost my fair share, mostly to your dear brother. This is my advice: accept the peace and make the most of it."
Germany scoffed, "How am I supposed to do that?"
Bavaria leaned forward, putting both of his forearms heavily on the table. He met Germany's eyes and said, with the utmost sincerity, "Ludwig, it was your first war. You'll have other chances. It was a bad treaty, we all know it. But, there will be a better day."

Germany nodded, but he still found it impossible to internalize the words. He resigned himself to spending the rest of the night avoiding Prussia's gaze, mired in his own self-pity. He could feel his cousin's gaze on him, concerned. But, he could not say anything to reassure him. There was a certain modicum of resentment in his chest. Why did his states take defeat so easily when he couldn't escape the thought of failure in his waking hours? Bavaria had been his compatriot on the Western Front, and yet he was taking this so much more easily than Germany was.

Germany was about to breach a new topic to divert from the subject of his own failure, but the moment he decided to speak, the door to the Bierhall opened and admitted a few men in brown uniforms. Germany was intrigued; this was something he had not seen in Berlin. But, Bavaria swore under his breath, "Damn it, I forgot about them."
Germany turned back to him, "Who are they?"
The other ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. He said, sounding angry for the first time, "They call themselves National Socialists. They're just a group of zealots." He stood up, and said, "Come on, Ludwig. We'll find somewhere more reputable to go."

Germany considered it for a moment. If they were nationalists then why should he fear or ignore them? The resentment he felt towards his states, the old men who were willing to accept humiliating defeat, boiled into resistance. He said, sharply, "No, I want to stay." He wasn't certain what he was making this stand for, but it felt good to affirm his own will. This was what Prussia had done; it said so in his diary. He had been self-interested and unyielding, and now Germany would do the same. Bavaria looked incredulous and he said, "Why?"
Germany replied with a shrug and said, "What harm could it do?" The other gave him a look of immense annoyance, but settled back down into his seat. Germany felt a sense of triumph that he was finally going to take control of his life again.