A/N: Hi! Welcome to the first installment of the Dictators series. Through this series of one-shots, I want to explore the complex relationship nations have had with their dictators. This one-shot focuses on Germany (and Prussia). The series will also include Italy, Spain, China, and Russia. I might in fact include more if I feel like it.
DISCLAIMER: This is a very politically sensitive series. I have tried my absolute best to avoid any sort of bias. I've done a lot of research, and I've tried to focus on the facts, and only the facts. However, we are also dealing with Hetalia characters. They're human, in a way. So there is a tangible emotional element to this series. Please understand that before you start reading. It's political, it's sensitive, and it touches a lot of controversial topics. I don't mean to offend anyone.
Please don't take this fic seriously. Obviously, I'm writing about Hitler, and that ignites a lot of passion and hatred. Hitler was a complete racist—we know that—but the German Empire was becoming more and more anti-Semitic itself, and that had nothing to do with Hitler. And while I've done my best to tone down those aspects in this story, I can't completely eliminate them. Reader discretion is advised. This is Historical!Hetalia, so bear that in mind before you begin reading.
Also: I don't own the cover image.
Historical Notes:
In 1923, Hitler and his followers attempted a failed coup called The Beer Hall Putsch. He was influenced by the March on Rome by Mussolini and other Italian fascists. However, unlike Mussolini, Hitler failed in his attempt to sieze power, and was imprisoned in Landsberg jail. Over there, he was given friendly treatment by the guards, and was able to dictate Mein Kampf to his deputy, Rudolf Hess, who typed it out for him.
I've also read that Hitler was very fond of Prussia. At the time, Prussia was losing its popularity in the German empire. Its dissolution in the coming years seemed more and more probable. Anti-Semitism was on the rise, too. But Hitler had this very romantic notion of Prussia and Prussian militarism (incidentally the reason why Prussia was officially dissolved in 1947).
Prussian militarism, by the way, refers to the military culture of Prussia. Unlike England, France, and other powers in Europe, Prussia still had an extremely strict society, where the Prussian military was looked upon with almost too much pride. The Allies believed that it was Prussia's military culture that influenced Germany and made it a dictatorship of the kind it was. They believed that the only way to cure Germany from its madness was to eliminate Prussia. Not only was the nation dissolved, but every trace of it was wiped out, including entire statues and buildings.
Germany was also going through complete hell in the twenties. The population was on the verge of starvation, because they had to repay about 132 million marks in reparations, and the economy of the country was in complete disarray. The democratic Weimar Republic was struggling to bring things under control, and German soldiers who'd served in World War 1, found themselves out of jobs.
Note: I've used Prussia and East Germany interchangeably, although in the German Empire, Prussia was actually the large northern section of the country. "Germany" was a geographical expression, it wasn't really a landmass, but a collection of German States. The German Empire united these German states under Prussian leadership. But, since in the show, Prussia calls Germany "West", I've used "East Germany" to refer to Prussia. Consider it a headcanon, if you will.
When I use the human names of the countries, I'm referring to their human aspect. When I use country names, I'm talking about them as nations.
EDIT: I did some more research, and apparently, Hitler's jail cell looked vaguely like a hotel room. The image portrayed in this fic makes it seem like an ordinary jail cell. My bad. I'm sorry. But changing that around now would be a pain, so I'm going to ignore it.
I still hope you enjoy it.
1924, Landsberg Jail
"His Greatness the personification of East Germany is here to visit you. Stand up."
Adolf had heard of these personifications. The rumours said they were like gods, the very embodiment of countries. Timeless, their souls born and connected to the land. They felt everything and knew everything that went on within their borders. Adolf had also heard they rarely appeared before human beings.
He swallowed and stood. The prison guards stepped away, and a strange man took their place. A man with pale skin and red irises, his hair as silver as the white metal found in German mines. He was in a standard Prussian uniform. And although he stood straight-backed, his gaze hard and his jaw set, Adolf noticed the lines beneath his eyes, the way his breaths were punctuated with soft coughs. The man stepped forward, his face a mere inches from the cell bars.
"So you're the infamous Hitler I've been hearing about," the man said simply, and his hand reached through the bars. Adolf stared at him, and at his offered palm, for only a handful of seconds. And then he quickly shook it, bowing and placing a gentle kiss on the white knuckles, a gesture of sycophancy he thought was expected of him.
The personification of East Germany did not make any move to stop him, but he took his hand back, leaned against the opposing wall, and said, "My name is Gilbert Beilschmidt. You will call me Prussia."
"Yes, sir."
Prussia's lips twitched upwards in satisfaction. Adolf had heard he liked being obeyed. Prussia, they said, was a soldier, a military man. But Adolf could not help but notice the unhealthy flush to the personification's pale skin. He tried to look stoic and deadpan, but Prussia was seriously ill. A blind man could have seen it.
Inwardly, Adolf wondered what would happen to him, now that he was in jail. Of course he'd killed his own people, but it was collateral damage. All Adolf wanted was a new Germany, a strong Germany. Surely Prussia could empathise with that.
"I don't understand you," East Germany stated simply, looking at him with an expression of simple confusion. "Perhaps that's because you were born Austrian. Or maybe it's because I'm simply too weak to know what's going on anymore." He paused. "But I don't get it. What do you want, Hitler?"
"I truly admire you, sir," Adolf confessed.
"That doesn't answer my question, Adolf."
"I want to avenge Germany."
"I want to avenge Germany," Prussia mimicked, his tone high and mocking. He smirked, cynical and cool. "You staged a coup against the government. Is that how you planned on avenging my brother?"
Adolf looked him right in the eye. "All due respect, sir, but I staged a coup against an unstable government. A government of cowards and traitors, who have already given up on Germany." As Prussia stared at him, Adolf continued, "Sir, you look ill. Is it the economy?"
"You've got a lot of nerve," East Germany muttered, uncrossing his arms and crossing them again. "No. The economy is taking its toll on West. He has a terrible fever. Me? Hitler, I'm dying."
Adolf gaped at him. "…Sir?"
"You're the first one to know this," Prussia went on. "Not even West knows. But I've been ill for a while. My dissolution is…inevitable, I'm afraid."
"But Prussia is—"
"A relic of a bygone age." His red eyes held absolutely no emotion. "I don't want to be dissolved, but I'm losing all my importance. People are not Prussian any longer. They're German. My brother…will have a future." It was such a broken, open-ended sentence. His words vaguely resembled a collapsed bridge. They gave off a feeling of going somewhere but not going anywhere at all.
"I will make your brother strong." Adolf felt a fire in him. An old passion, ignited by the insult of Versailles, by Allied gas attacks and gunshots. This was what he was born to do. Just as Mussolini had taken control of Italy, Adolf would rule Germany. Adolf would nurture it back to glory.
East Germany just blinked. "How can I trust you with my brother? You seem unstable. You're an anti-Semitic. Do you know how many German Jews there are? They are still our people." But Prussia paused for a moment. "Anti-Semitism has become rather popular here recently. It's concerning, but as a personification, West and I…we do what our people want. I find myself slowly becoming convinced…" He shrugged. "It's complicated, being a nation. It really is."
"The people want to see Germany returned to its splendour, isn't it, sir? Isn't it?" His tone was challenging. "I have plans. I have great designs for Germany."
"The guards say you're working on a book. You have a friend come and type it for you, apparently?"
"Yes." And Adolf tore out some papers from under his pillow. They were typed, folded carefully. Prussia took them without a word, opening them and reading the title.
"Mein Kampf."
Adolf watched Prussia as he read through the notes, waiting for any signs of a change in expression, any reaction at all. But Prussia's face remained perfectly blank as his eyes scanned over the papers.
When he finally lowered the sheets, the personification had an extremely thoughtful look on his face. "My Struggles," he repeated the title of the book. "That's a pretty narcissistic name, isn't it? Why should your struggles be any more important than those of the starving children littering the streets of the city? Hmm?"
"I have a plan," Adolf simply replied. "One that will feed and clothe the people of Germany. One that will make Germany strong."
"Yes. You've mentioned."
"Sir, what did you think of the book? It's not finished yet, of course."
At this, Prussia let out a short, callous laugh. "I think you're a madman. And this book—" Prussia waved the papers in Adolf's face, "—this book is the work of a complete psychopath." He thrust them through the bars, shoving them into Adolf's chest.
The two men stared at each other. Adolf had narrowed his eyes. Prussia had a pensive look on his face. It was impossible to guess what the personification was thinking. His red eyes were filled with an emotion Adolf did not recognise. A sort of well-aged thoughtfulness that Adolf assumed would be difficult for any human being to understand.
"Well, talking with you has been fun," East Germany finally muttered, his shoulders relaxing. He spun on his heels, making his way out of the room.
"Wait!" Adolf cried out as Prussia approached the door. "What was the meaning of all of this? Why come here? Why talk to me?"
Gilbert Beilschmidt paused for a moment, laughed softly to himself, and walked out.
"His Greatness the personification of West Germany wishes to see you. Stand up."
Adolf leapt to his feet, taken completely by surprise. West Germany—Germany—looked just as sick as Prussia had, but his eyes steely and demanding. Unlike his brother, West Germany looked fed up, determined. Prussia had seemed fatalistic, but Germany was exactly as Adolf had imagined. Germany looked ready to fight.
"Sir, it's such a pleasure to meet you at last," Adolf said in barely a whisper.
Germany looked at him. Really looked at him. A cold, studying gaze that dissected Adolf for everything he was. His eyes, crystal blue moved carefully across Adolf's face, down to his chest, knees, feet. And then Germany looked up again, his frigid expression traversing the length of the jail cell Adolf was in.
The personification then looked Adolf right in the eye, almost challengingly. The human did not look away. Adolf didn't even blink.
And then, quietly, Germany said, "Tell me more about this Nazism."
A/N: There you go. I hope you enjoyed it. Once more, don't take this seriously. This is just a Hetalia-version of historical facts.
To find out more about my Dictators series, please check out my profile. The next one-shot will be about Mussolini and the Italy brothers.
Thanks for reading. Please review!
