Author's Notes:
...Whew. Writing this fic was EXHAUSTING. This thing took me... hm, I'd say two weeks to write, maybe a little longer? Yikes. The research and factchecking (if there's still something wrong after all this I'll throw a tank at something) was a lot of work... Either way, I think my work paid off. This fic is probably one of the best pieces I've written. It's also the LONGEST piece I've ever written, measuring roughly 24/25 pages in Word, smashing my previous record of 17 pages to bits. I'm not sure... I'm actually having difficulty finding things wrong with this fic for a change, other than Prussia being just a touch too soft. Ah, well. Read it (AAAALLLL OF IT) and make your own judgment. AND DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW! Thanks in advance!
* * *
It was 1945. World War II had ended, the Allies had set about partitioning Germany…
And two brothers sat on a porch, drinking beer and watching the sun set.
These brothers were none other than Ludwig and Gilbert Beilschmidt, the faces of Germany and Prussia respectively. They had been silent for some time now, but Gilbert was the one to break the silence.
"Man, I can't believe we lost after all that."
Ludwig set his beer down and glared at his brother, more out of frustration than anger. "Don't even talk to me about that."
"Don't worry about it. I don't plan to." There was another lengthy silence, followed by another interruption from Gilbert. He took a drink and said, "Hey, with the way things are changing around here… I've been thinking about some things, West."
Ludwig, still feeling a little sore (both figuratively and literally) over the division of his country, growled a quick "About what?" before turning his attention to his own beer.
"You know… back when you were just a kid…" Back when I kicked ass and some young upstarts who weren't even on our continent couldn't say anything about it, Gilbert added in his head, also noting that he sounded very much like a bitter old fart. Well, compared to most of the nations he was walking around with today, he was a bitter old fart, but what did that matter?
Ludwig put his head in his hands. "Not this again…" Gilbert had a tendency to tell this story every single time he got drunk with him. It made for an interesting conversation the first few times, but by now it was redundant.
Naturally, his brother wasn't going to let him just push him aside like that. "Yes, this again! And this time, you're actually going to sit back and listen to it, dammit!"
"It's not like I haven't paid attention the five hundred other times you've told me the story of my own life. I think I can remember most of the details by myself." Ludwig punctuated his remark with an irritable sigh.
It was at this moment that Ludwig noticed that Gilbert was acting a little weird tonight. It might have just been the beer talking, but there was definitely something different in the tone of his voice. There seemed to be almost a hint of panic in his words. What could possibly be bothering Gilbert, of all people? "No, West. You will listen this time. C'mon, West! Do it for your big brother!"
Truth be told, Ludwig was always somewhat weak to the "do it for your brother" card. And yes, something was very, very odd about Gilbert. Maybe he'd find out if he let him talk. "Fine… but this is the last time I'll let you go on and on about it like you always do."
The familiar red in Gilbert's eyes seemed to grow brighter for a moment. "You will?! Thanks a ton, West! You know the story's always awesome when I tell it." He seemed to have his usual ego back, but something was a little off in a the way he said "awesome." Gilbert, losing confidence? That was impossible. "So, I'll start at the very beginning…"
* * *
The year was 1813. In 1806, France had struck the fatal blow to the Holy Roman Empire, resulting in its dissolution. The Confederation of the Rhine was created with the German states left in the Empire's wake. However, the Confederation was more or less yoked to France due to its obligation to supply the country with soldiers. Of course, certain other countries did not approve of this military buildup. Thus began the War of the Sixth Coalition, which included Prussia, Austria (yes, on the same side as Prussia!), Russia, Sweden, and the United Kingdom…
But enough background story. Long story short, those countries were working to get France out of the German states. And naturally, Gilbert was involved on Prussia's side. Today was October 19th, the final day of the war. Gilbert ought to have been fighting with the other soldiers as he had been for the past few days (and kicking a great deal of ass with them, he thought), but now he had... something else to attend to.
The fighting was drawing to a close, with the French forces retreating. However, Gilbert wasn't going to let a certain Frenchman get away. With a little… uh, "information gathering," he'd managed to locate and break into the mansion of one Francis Bonnefoy.
"Yo, France! Come on out and play, you wimpy French bastard!" So shouted Gilbert as he charged through the halls, looking under anything that could be turned over, as if he expected to find his French rival cowering under a table somewhere. But he hadn't found anyone anywhere in the building. The place had been completely deserted, unless someone was hiding in the few rooms he hadn't barged into just yet.
Gilbert had been scanning the area for something he could snatch as a trophy, but all he had seen was art and vases and other things that would be wrecked the minute he set foot outside the mansion. It's just like that wuss France to have all these fragile, useless things just sitting around and waiting to be smashed, he mused as he walked down one last corridor. This one was a little different from the others, yet somehow a bit easier to miss. Maybe it was because it wasn't the only place in the mansion that wasn't outrageously gaudy in some way. In fact, it seemed to be largely empty, except for one plain-looking door at the end of the hall. This must have been the only door in the whole place that he hadn't checked behind. So, by process of elimination, France must be here! His smirk widened as he imagined the things he was gonna do to that guy…
"Hey, France! I knooooow you're in here! Here comes the Great Prussia, so brace yourself for humiliation!" He turned the knob. The knob was working, so the door wasn't locked… but it wasn't opening! Why would the knob turn if it wasn't locked?! In a fit of utter frustration, he stepped back and THREW himself into the door with all his might…
…No, the door was not locked. Just very, very stuck. The force sent Prussia hurtling gracelessly to the floor as he burst through the door, face-first. He hit the floor with an embarrassingly loud thud. Oh, yeah, smooooooth move! Now France'll be really scared… Oh, what the hell! Even my falls are awesome! He started to get up, scrambling for his blade… and then stopped.
The room was rather dimly lit, with only a little sunlight coming in from a very small window. From the room's silence, it was clear that France wasn't here. Or was he? There was a small bed in the room, and it seemed to be occupied. Wouldn't it be funny if Gilbert caught France napping? Oh, yeah, it would! He crept closer to the bed, but the figure in the bed was…
…
A child.
The child in question was a little boy, probably not more than nine years old. The bangs of his blonde hair just about reached his eyes but didn't cover them just yet. He was fast asleep… and that seemed rather off. Who could have slept through the gunshots and panic of the retreating French? Who could have slept through Gilbert's well-projected shouting?
Gilbert gingerly nudged the boy's shoulder, as if afraid that just touching him would break him. "Hey," Gilbert said. "Wake up, kid. The house is empty, and the French are gone." There was no response, so he tried again, this time a little louder. "Wake up! The war's over!" …No response. One last try. "WAKE UP! THE GREAT AND MIGHTY PRUSSIA HAS SENT THE FRENCH RUNNING HOME! THEY'RE RUNNING AROUND LIKE CHICKENS WITH THEIR HEADS CUT OFF AS I SPEAK!" …Nothing. Why wasn't he responding to anything? Was he… oh no. Oh GOD no. Please, please don't let there be a dead kid in France's house. WHAT THE HELL WOULD HE BE DOING WITH A DEAD KID IN HIS HOUSE?!
He inspected the boy a little closer and was incredibly relieved to find that he was breathing. However, the closer inspection also revealed that the boy had some scars. A long one down his left cheek, a smaller one on the other cheek… Gilbert carefully moved the boy's bangs and discovered a scar on his forehead, too. What in the world happened to this kid? Were there any other, nastier scars on him? The white-haired nation took a closer still look, and-
…Recognition.
It made sense that Gilbert would be able to detect one of his own. This boy was almost definitely a nation, just like him, but which one was he? And why would he be trapped in such a profound sleep? Could he be…? No. That country had been dead for years. And undoubtedly, even with all the trouble that it went through, that nation would have been larger than a child simply just for having been around so long. But there was no mistaking it: this boy was definitely some sort of nation.
There was no way he was going leave this boy in France's hands. These lands were Prussia's territory, now! …Or maybe they were the boy's? Pssht! The Confederation of the Rhine was on the ropes now that Prussia had invaded its vital regions! But enough about that…
"Come on, little guy… You're Prussia's property now." Very, very carefully, he lifted the child out of bed. Nothing seemed to be broken, thankfully. "I'm not gonna let that freak feel up little boys… and sure as hell not one like you." Slowly, he made his way out of the mansion…
* * *
Now it was November 4th, 1813. The Confederation of the Rhine was literally just dissolved earlier that day. And with that, something else would happen…
Gilbert walked into the room in his own mansion where that strange boy had been sleeping ever since he was rescued from France. Yes, he was still fast asleep several weeks later. The man in Prussian blue put his hand on the boy's forehead, brushing a few bangs out of the way. He sighed. Poor thing was still asleep. It bothered him, having a comatose kid in his house like this… sure, he looked peaceful like this, but the way he just kept sleeping… It wasn't like he wanted the kid to die or anything, but just about anything would be better than this. He was, in fact, quite worried about the boy. Would he live? Would he die? Seriously, he'd started biting his nails because of the kid! But no, today was the same as all the others. He simply would not wake up…
But then, as soon as Gilbert turned to leave, he heard a voice. It was almost like a whisper, but quite a bit louder than the average whisper- a "stage whisper," if you will.
"…West…"
He spun around and looked at the child. Did that come from him?
Yes! He was moving! Gilbert felt his pulse pick up. …Yeah, it seemed silly, but he was kind of excited that the kid was alive and awake! And then… and then…
Two blue eyes stared into Gilbert's red ones.
Yes, that was indeed the boy's voice. Still in a whisper, he said, "…Who are you?"
Gilbert felt a big goofy grin spread across his face. Hey, don't act like an idiot! First impressions are important! You know that more than anyone! "Me? I'm the great and mighty nation of Prussia! But you… you can just call me Gilbert. Gilbert Beilschmidt." Hmm, that came out odd. Normally, to other nations, he introduced himself as Gilbert Beilschmidt then insisted that they call him Prussia. Oh, well. What was said was said, and he couldn't quite be bothered to take it back. "Now, who are you?"
…No response. Just blinking. And then… "I… I don't… I don't know…"
Wait, what? "You don't know who you are?!" The boy slowly shook his head. Well, this was a problem. Did he at least know that he was a nation, even if he didn't know which one specifically? "Well… do you know what you are?" Oh, that sure sounded retarded.
Surprisingly, the boy didn't see anything wrong with the question. "…I… I'm only telling you because you just said you were one, too… but… I think I'm a nation, too."
"Do you know which one? Do you remember your other name? Do you remember anything?!" Another slow head shake. So, he was alive, but with no memories other than that he was a nation. This… would be difficult.
"Do you know who I am? I… I don't remember anything… Mister… ah… Beilschmidt?"
"Well… I don't know what nation you are, or what your name is. Sorry." Great. He had no information, the kid had no information… what was he going to do, make things up? "Hey, until you remember your name and stuff… I'm going to call you West."
"Why?"
"Because that's what you said right when you woke up. Maybe that's a clue as to who you really are."
"…Okay."
"Now, I've got some things to take care of, so… uh…" At least the kid had the sense to wake up after the negotiations had been made and the Confederation was officially dissolved… hey, maybe that was why he woke up? And… wait a minute, the scars on his face were gone… maybe the dissolution made that happen as well? At any rate, he couldn't just leave him here alone.
And apparently, West wasn't going to let him leave, even if he wanted to. "Wait… please, don't go…"
"What's up?"
"I… I'm…" He held out one hand… one trembling hand.
"What, are you scared?" West nodded. Gilbert took the boy's hand. Who could blame him for being afraid? He'd just woken up in a weird place with no memory whatsoever. When everything seems unfamiliar, being scared makes sense. "Don't be. Besides, you've got me. And…" An idea entered his mind… but could he really go through with it?
…He could. He saw a little resemblance to his younger self in the boy. It must have been the eyes… the shape of their eyes was similar- narrow and serious-looking- but West's eyes lacked the manic light that Gilbert's possessed (aside from being a different color). Well, maybe the eyes would be enough to satisfy anyone looking for evidence. So he continued, "And you're my little brother. Of course I'm going to protect you! Together, we'll find out what nation you are!"
It did seem wrong, lying to an amnesiac who could just as soon regain his memory and remember that he was your enemy, but Gilbert felt like taking a chance. West would probably feel a lot better if he felt that he wasn't going through this alone. And Gilbert would make dead sure that the young nation wasn't all by himself in his quest for his memory. He'd take care of this little country till he was strong enough to fend for himself (although Gilbert felt that that wouldn't be for quite a while). Why not? Better him than France. Besides, the boy was here now, and it didn't seem like he had anywhere else to go.
"You're… my brother?" West's grip on Gilbert's hand tightened. And then…
He smiled!
"Thanks, Brother."
