This is a story I originally wrote on the Hetalia kink meme. The prompt was that Germany fakes his own death to protect his people and/or Prussia.
Please note that the story deals with mentions of suicide and Nazi atrocities, especially the Holocaust. It takes place right after WWII.
THE GREATER GOOD
Chapter 1
Germany drew in a long-suffering breath as he pushed open the front door of his small apartment in Munich and stepped out to the street. There hadn't been a guard on his doorstep for a good while now – a favour from America who was friendlier to him than the other Allies – but that hadn't yet made it any easier to show his face in public.
Leaving his apartment made him feel like a criminal. While the rubble from the bombings in Munich had been cleared in many places, the city still reminded him of a mouth with rotting teeth. So many houses were missing entirely or only a wall or two remained. His people didn't have enough of anything and had to scrape by however they could.
And all of it was his fault. He wasn't to blame just for what had happened to everyone he had considered an enemy but to his own people as well. His cities were in ruins, his agriculture couldn't feed his people, his factories had mostly been destroyed, and somehow he had to find food and shelter not only for those already living on his land but for those who had been expelled from the eastern territories as well. He would have rather called what they had existence than living, but he knew it would have been a mockery of the true atrocities of the war.
Merely acknowledging everything that had happened because of his war and how much blood there was on his hands – either directly or indirectly because he felt that every crime his people had committed was a burden he had to bear – was nearly enough to make him crumble. It was only thanks to his willpower that he managed to get out of bed every morning. Every glance out the window was a painful reminder of what had happened that he would have rather ignored.
Which was why he went out every morning and spent as much time as he could in the streets. He didn't deserve the comfort of hiding from the consequences of his actions. He had to look at them every day so that he'd never forget and let something like that happen again, even if thinking of a future of any kind was very tiring right now.
At the moment, there was no country for him to call his own. What remained of his lands was divided into occupation zones, and he had very little control over anything. The Allies were running things, each in their own way, which was making Germany feel a little disoriented with the whole thing. But he still had his people. Country or no, the people still identified as one and breathed life into their representation.
Germany supposed that was why Prussia was still alive even more than a year after his dissolution. His name was no longer on any map, but there were people who had grown up as Prussian and wouldn't stop thinking of themselves as such even if the borders had moved. The question was, for how long would that keep his brother alive? This generation and maybe the next? Sooner or later the people would adapt and start to think of themselves as citizens of whatever country was founded here.
America had been pushing for the formation of a country in place of the occupation zones, but Germany knew it was mostly because he believed it a necessary step to prevent communism from spreading west. England had been quick to see things his way, but France had taken longer to convince. Russia, well... He had his own plans, and Germany wasn't holding his breath for the chance that he'd cooperate with his allies any longer than was necessary.
He arrived at the spot where he was supposed to meet America. The other nation insisted on always meeting outside when they had to talk. At first Germany had suspected it was a subtle insult not to face him in a meeting room but surrounded by the destruction of a once beautiful city, but he had realised that America wasn't one for such sneakiness. He claimed he liked watching how everything was getting better – albeit very slowly – and that they had the chance to bond better in an informal setting.
America was already waiting for him and lifted a hand in greeting when he saw him. A swarm of children surrounded him, and he handed everyone a piece of something from his pockets before making his way through the crowd and approaching Germany.
"Sorry kiddos, I've got to talk business," he said, and even though most of the children probably didn't understand him, they hurried off anyway, already familiar with this routine.
"Any news about my brother?" Germany asked. It was what he always said first. Prussia had been staying in the Soviet occupation zone ever since his dissolution. Russia said he was alive and well – or as well as he could be, considering the circumstances – but Germany didn't know if he wanted to believe him. Russia could be lying just to mess with him, so it was better to be wary.
"You got a letter," America said. He shoved his hand inside his jacket and dug out an envelope. It had clearly been opened and read at least once before, but Germany didn't care. He reached for the envelope and tore the letter from inside it.
The neat, precise handwriting sent a wave of relief through him. At first, he didn't even read the words and just focused on the familiar curves of the letters and the date on top that said it had been written a week ago.
Hey, West!
How's it going? I sure hope they're treating you better than what that ass is putting me through here. The food's disgusting, and his soups always leave me hungry. But that's okay! I can take whatever he makes me eat!
It took a while before I could convince him to let me write to you, but even he couldn't resist my powers of persuasion forever.
Germany paused, certain that Russia had simply grown tired of Prussia's pestering and had given in to get some peace.
Things are pretty shitty over here. Can you imagine, Russia took all the best stuff and just transported it away! I told him we need it here, but he wouldn't listen. He can be real stubborn when he wants to. At first he kept sending my letters back to me because he wasn't happy with the way I talked about him in them, but I guess I've worn him out by now. But if I find out he lied to me and didn't send this to you, something really bad is going to happen!
Anyway, I bet you're all worried about me, so I just wanted to let you know that you can stop wasting your time and get working on rebuilding the country. I'm fine, and I'm going to join up with you as soon as I manage to make that Soviet nutcase stop breathing down my neck. See you later!
- Your awesome brother
Germany read the letter several times, the words reminding him just how much he missed Prussia. All those occasions when he had wished for some peace from him felt ridiculous now.
"Can I keep this?" he asked.
"Sure, my boys already made a pretty good copy in case he's got some secret codes hidden there."
Germany nodded a thank-you, folded the letter and put it back into the envelope. Though it was light, he could feel its shape in his breast pocket.
"Anyway, I've got news for you, too!" America announced. "France has been playing as much time as he can, but he's got to let his zone merge with mine and England's. I don't think we can count Russia in, but three out of four isn't that bad, right? You're going to have a new country in no time!"'
Germany wished he could have shared America's enthusiasm, but there were too many doubts plaguing his mind. Was he even worthy to represent his people anymore? He had led them to a horrible war that had taken millions of innocent lives and left Europe in shambles. How could he help his people rebuild the country and create a better future when he had so much on his conscience and when he wasn't sure that any other nation would ever want to see him as an ally? The only reason America and the others were working with him was that he was beaten, and they had another strong enemy to deal with. Wouldn't it be better if someone else gave a face to the German people?
And then there was his brother. Everyone wanted to create a Germany that would be a barrier against Russia's influence. But the stronger this new Germany was, the faster Prussia's people would forget their roots, particularly since so many Prussian traditions were now associated with the national socialists and were therefore something to condemn.
"That's good," he said as neutrally as he could.
"Yeah! I'm glad you're happy!" America took out some of the chocolate he had given to the children earlier and offered it to Germany, but he declined, as always. America popped a piece into his mouth and began chewing eagerly. "Yum, in any case, you're... munch... going to stick with us, right? It's a lot better for you to have friends in the west than in the east."
"It's up to my people. If they elect a socialist government, I'll have to go along with it." It was the truth, but it sounded like an excuse in Germany's ears. The same could be said of his actions in the past decade or so, and while he knew there wasn't anything he alone could have done to stop it, he felt the responsibility was nevertheless his. He was the people, and the people had wanted revenge and an easy target to blame for their suffering.
America looked at him like he was about to throw up the chocolate he had just eaten. "You're kidding! Do you think that's possible? You think your people will do that? I know, I'll send more stuff this way, and not just food. You can have my music and movies and Coca-Cola! If your people still want Russia after that, they're all crazy. Not that we'll let them have their way anyway if that happens."
"Right now I'm sure they're more interested in who's going to give them food, shelter and normalcy than what politics anyone supports," Germany said.
"I can do that! And you can be my sidekick!"
Germany let America blabber about how the American, British and French occupation zones would merge and form a new country and how it was a pity Russia probably wasn't going to see things their way. He knew he should have paid more attention to what the other was saying, but he was soon tuning out most of his words, partly because he knew that it would be talked all over again in a more official setting, and partly because he couldn't shake off the feeling of dread that America's plans aroused in him.
His people deserved a new start, that much he agreed with. But the more he thought about it, the less comfortable he felt with himself as their representation. He had already led them to two devastating wars. After the first one, he had been among those who had sworn something of its kind would never happen again, and yet he had been the one to start an even worse war. As remorseful as he felt now, could he trust himself not to start a third one?
He gritted his teeth. He couldn't tell if he moved according to the will of the people and the government, or if his opinions and actions influenced them. Maybe Prussia could have told him, but he had no idea when he might be able to talk to him again. In either case, wouldn't it be better to play safe and have someone else represent the new Germany?
Of course, that was a silly idea. A nation couldn't be replaced that easily. Germany had never heard of one retiring voluntarily. They didn't die easily; it took generations filled with politics to have them fade away. He didn't wish to die, but right now everything would have been simpler if he could have jumped off a building, walked into a lake or lifted a gun to his head. But it was useless to even try. During the war, he'd suffered injuries that would have killed a normal man, and they had all healed.
Still, as hopeless as it was, the idea was appealing and he clung to it. Many thinkers had said people needed dreams to be happy, and he supposed it was true for their representations as well. Even it was morbid, he couldn't help but think that it would be the best for everyone if someone replaced him as Germany.
He spent the next week trying to get such ideas out of his head, but no rational argument could persuade him to give them up. Every time he looked at his people, the women doing men's work, the children with no parents, the homeless, the hungry, the crippled, the humiliated, he couldn't help thinking that they'd be better off with someone other than him.
He read Prussia's letter over and over again and imagined what the future would be like if it was him to represent Germany instead. At first the idea nearly made him laugh – Prussia was aggressive and loved war, so wouldn't he just make things worse in the long run? – but there was no denying that his brother had also accomplished many great things. His school system had once been one of a kind, and he had had many great thinkers and artists.
Furthermore, if Prussia became Germany, he would live.
Right after his dissolution had been announced, Prussia had told him that it wasn't his fault. His words hadn't stopped Germany from feeling guilty anyway. First his brother had lost his status as a free state, then what had remained had been abolished in the aftermath of the war. Once again, Germany knew he wasn't personally responsible and couldn't have changed anything, but these were times when he didn't know how to make reason win over his emotions.
Giving his people to Prussia would be a compensation for what he had lost and also a thank-you for everything he had done for him over the years. He wanted to say he was grateful and that he was sorry he hadn't lived up to the expectations and become the great nation Prussia had wanted to raise him into.
But this remained a ridiculous fantasy. It couldn't be, so all that was left to do was to accept the reality and try to make the best of it.
A few days later, Germany's melancholy stroll in the city was interrupted by a sudden scream. He should have been used to screams by now, but he nevertheless whirled around on his heels and began running towards the voice. Others did the same, and they all stopped when they turned a corner and found themselves staring at a body on the ground.
"He jumped!" a woman said, her words muffled by the hands covering her mouth.
Germany moved closer with several of the others following. What he saw made him draw in a sharp breath and take a staggering step back.
It was like he was looking into a mirror. The man on the ground had almost the exact features as him – the blond hair, the strong shape of his face, even the blue eyes that were now devoid of life. It was all getting hidden under the blood that was trickling down his temples and getting into his hair, but Germany nevertheless pressed his hat deeper onto his head to hide the resemblance.
A crazy idea was forming at the back of his mind. If only...
"Who is he? Does anyone know him?" he asked. He searched the man's pocket in a frenzy. No papers or other identification.
At first nobody could give him an answer, but then an elderly man raised his voice. "He showed up a few days ago, tried to find a place to stay. He never told me his name, but he spoke a strange dialect, so I know he wasn't from here. He said he was looking for someone called Helena."
Germany would have liked to spend more time questioning the people, but the commotion was attracting the attention of a few American soldiers who had been near-by, so he slipped away before they'd see him. He nearly ran all the way back to his apartment and slammed the door shut, leaning his back against it and trying to calm his erratic breathing.
This was his chance. It was insane and probably wouldn't even work, but this was his only opportunity to correct at least some of his mistakes. He wouldn't know before he tried, right? And what did he have to lose?
He staggered to his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen. The tip rested against the white surface as he tried to decide just how to put everything into words so that it was convincing and made sense. He didn't quite trust himself in this state of mind.
Finally, he began to write.
Effective as of January 20, 1949, I tender my resignation as the personification of the German people. I have thought about this for a long time and believe this to be the only sensible course of action considering the atrocities my past government has committed. I cannot in good conscience expect any other nations, particularly ones such as Poland or France, to maintain civil politics with my people and country if they are represented by the same person who gave a face to so much bloodshed and misery. As such, I believe it is the best for both my people and every other nation if the German people are represented by someone else in the future.
While nations presumably cannot die without considerable political and social changes, I believe the current conditions should make that possible for me. My people and lands are under foreign rule – not just one, but four – and the people are terrified and uncertain of both their recent past and their future. There could not be a better time for someone else to accept the responsibility of representing them.
As soon as I am done with this letter, I will attempt to take my life by jumping off a building on Ludwigstraße. Should this be successful, you can request information on my body's location from the authorities.
The resemblance between the nameless man and himself was so great that Germany was almost sure the others would be fooled. Only Prussia would be able to tell them apart, but he wasn't there to identify him. Even if America sent word to Russia right away, Russia would probably suspect it was all a trick to steal Prussia from him. If he agreed to let him go, enough time would have passed to make identification of the body difficult.
He felt a little sorry for the man whose death he was using in such a way, but he reasoned that he wasn't robbing him of anything. His identity was a mystery, so even if he let him be, he was going to end up in a nameless grave, lost forever, like so many others in the past few years. This way he was at least letting him play an important part in building a better future for his country.
I cede all of my responsibilities as a nation to my brother, who
Germany's pen stopped. He hated to think of Prussia's reaction. Would he be angry, would he think this was a sign of weakness? Prussia had hammered into his head that a soldier never gave up, but wasn't that exactly what he was doing right now?
No. Germany blinked and frowned to clear his thoughts. This wasn't failure. This was a necessary sacrifice. His feelings didn't matter, and neither did Prussia's. All that was important was the future of the people and the country. Prussia could think whatever he wanted – hate him, mourn him, agree with his decision – but he would have to understand why this was needed.
has more experience as a nation and at rebuilding a country after a catastrophe. He has a reputation as being aggressive, but he can be sensible when necessary. If I had listened to him more, the need for my decision might not have even surfaced.
I apologize for any distress that my actions might cause, but I'm sure all of you will realise that I did the right thing.
Germany paused at the end, staring at the empty space at the bottom of the letter. After some hesitation, he decided not to sign the letter and left it there. America would find it when he came to look for him after he missed their next meeting.