And with this chapter, World War II comes to an end in Trouble. Yesterday I went to this amazing musical, Soldier of Orange, which was also about WWII... and it was just so beautiful. I actually became quite good at remembering dates and years when it comes to history, so when I went there with my family I had all these dates in my head like 'this battle was from then to then and resulted in this and that' and so on. But I sat down, the musical started, and I just forgot everything. History became so much more than just dates of events for a few hours. It was truly amazing.
If it was in any other language than Dutch, I would definitely recommend it, but... it's only in Dutch and only in one theater in the Netherlands, which was specially built for that musical, so that's not an option...
Well, that was my rambling for now. Crossfire, you just never cease to be amazing. Thank you for the review!
*Warning: a lot of things happen in this chapter, so don't get confused. It might be a little bit messy. I'm sorry for that.*
And now, without further ado...
It wasn't until nearly a year later that Scotland and England returned home after a succesful invasion in Germany. And they didn't return alone. America was fighting Japan on the other side of the world, Canada was busy with his attempt to liberate the Netherlands. The one that the two British brothers took back with them was none other than Germany himself, battered and bruised from battle. He was even hardly conscious most of the time, but even so, he was kept in a cell by the government, who only rarely allowed any of the British nations to talk to him, even after they had explained the situation to them in full detail. "A nation is his people," England had said, clearly angry at the harsh treatment of the younger nation, even if he was a prisoner. "Not his leader. And I know he may not look like it, but by our standards, he's still a kid. Hell, if such a thing existed back in the 1st century, I'd have still been in diapers at his age! At least treat him humanely, especially with what's yet to come." Then, after about a week, Scotland was allowed to stay with him for about an hour to tell him some bad news -Prussia had been defeated in battle, his capital, Königsberg, captured by the Soviet Union. Germany had only asked him if his brother was still alright or not, and Scotland hadn't been sure how to answer that. "I haven't heard anything about his death," he eventually told the prisoner. "So Russia didn't get to him. He's alive, Ludwig, though I'm not sure in what condition. But seein' as his capital was destroyed... probably not too good." After that, the German hadn't said a word anymore, though his eyes spoke more than words ever could. A silent wish for the war to be over, a desperate plea to be reunited with the brother that had raised him, the only family he knew.
Northern Ireland had tried to talk to him, but Germany hadn't even looked at him yet. But even despite this cold attitude, which was probably meant to be somewhat intimidating, North wasn't scared of him one bit. If anything, he felt sorry for the young nation. Germany was only fifty years older than himself, and though he could've been his grandfather if they had been human, being what they were they were practically of the same age. And looking at Germany now, Northern Ireland finally understood why his brothers hadn't wanted him to have anything to do with the war -for this is what it did to a nation his age. Germany had grown up way too quickly, and though he looked to be no more than nineteen at the utmost, that was still almost a decade too old for his actual age. He was wounded and weary, but most of all he was broken, inside and outside. And it was after he'd seen this that Northern Ireland decided to for once follow Ireland's example and pray, thanking the Lord and everything he could imagine that he had been spared from fighting in this war.
At the end of April, late at night, Scotland, Wales and England were on their way to Germany's cell again, and North had insisted on coming with them. Ireland was in Dublin, and North felt nothing for staying home alone all night. Because after hearing what his big brothers were about to tell Germany now, he just felt he needed to be there, too. Germany lay on his side, back turned to the bars of his cell, but the four brothers could easily tell he was wide-awake. "Ludwig," Scotland said softly, the only one in the family to adress the nation by his human name. "Ludwig, please get o'er here fer a minute, we have some important news fer ye." But the nation only sat up and looked up at the four others. "Is it about Gilbert?" he asked immediately, the first time North heard him speak, but Scotland shook his head. Germany narrowed his eyes at this, clearly frustrated and afraid, as he hadn't heard a word from his older brother since the fall of Königsberg, silently listening to what the Brits had to say. North noticed he was probably aware of it already: he had his left hand pressed to his heart as if to put pressure on a sore spot. "We've just gotten word from the front... the Soviets have reached Berlin and are ready to attack. Yer capital will get bombed, yer people will be slaughtered, an' the war will be lost. I just want ye to prepare fer it: the first time is always the hardest, but ye'll make it."
"I've lost a Vorld Var before," Germany huffed, though North noticed immediately that he was only acting cocky to mask his fear. England nodded. "I know, kid, but this is different. I felt what it is like to have your capital destroyed like your brother's was and like yours will be within days from now. It feels as if your heart get ripped from your chest, put back in and ripped away all over again. We just want you to know it is going to happen, so you'll be prepared for it." At that point, Germany jumped to his feet and stared at the older- and younger nations. "You mean it vill get vorse?" he asked, sounding terrified for once. "I-it's like I've been having a heart attack all night already! It... it vill get vorse?" England only gave a sad nod and sighed, telling him softly that it would get much worse yet. Germany flinched and took a step back, his eyes wide. "T-then Bruder... Bruder... he..." Suddenly, Scotland tore away from the group and wordlessly marched off into the dark hallway, being stared after by the four other nations for a moment before Wales turned back to Germany and wished him good luck with what was soon to come.
"I've always wanted to meet you, you know," North blurted out out of nowhere, for reasons he didn't even know himself. Probably he was trying to change the subject, get the imprisoned nation's mind off the current situation for as long as he could. "Allistair always told really cool stories about you and your, er... your Bruder. He told me the two of you were strong and proud nations, and also really wonderful people once you get to know the both of you a little. I've really always wanted to meet you."
"Vell, I'm sorry for not being like your mental image of me," Germany answered, a hint of dry laughter in his voice, but also a hint of pain. But North shook his head an told him that he was exactly like the child had thought he was, and that he wasn't disappointed, and was very glad to have met Germany. Though the circumstances would have been different the way he'd envisioned their first meeting. Germany was silent for a moment, but then something like a smile appeared on his lips, and he nodded.
Soon after that, Scotland returned, holding a key in one hand. Wales stared at him wide-eyed as he put the key in the lock of Germany's celldoor, asking him what the hell he was doing, but Scotland didn't pay any attention. He just opened the door, went inside and closed it again. Germany looked just as shocked as the others when Scotland suddenly stood in front of him and put one hand on the young nation's shoulder. "I will... Ich werde dich nun nicht allein lassen. Not with the bombings starting soon." The Scot's brothers and their prisoner all stared at him in utter confusion, the Brits because they didn't speak a word German and hadn't known Scotland had started learning it, Germany because this was about the last thing he'd expected to hear. "D-danke... Schot-Allistair..." Scotland then turned to his younger brothers, his pale blue eyes filled with a kind of warmth Northern Ireland had never seen before. "You four go home now. I'm staying with him, but you should really go home again: it's late and... and you don't want to see this."
England and Wales both nodded, but North only kept staring at his older brother, not really understanding any of this anymore. He jumped in shock when England grabbed his hand and pulled him along, quickly called 'good luck' to Germany and a short goodbye to Scotland, allowing his older brother to take him home again after that. Perhaps he was just tired, but near the end of their visit, he just couldn't comprehend what was going on exactly anymore. He just wished the two nations in that cell would be alright the next time he saw them.
But one of them wasn't. The next morning, an exhausted Scotland came home, telling them Germany had passed out sometime that night and hadn't woken up since. He had actually wanted to stay there, but he hadn't slept all night and just had to get some rest -there were always two humans watching Germany now, and they would let the British brothers know if his condition changed, be it for the better or the worse. They would, under no circumstances, allow a fellow nation to die right under their noses. But the last days of April passed and May came, and the young nation had only been awake for a total of two days at most, his wounds only increasing in number and severity. On 2 May, the attacks on Berlin stopped, the city was captured, and Germany had to be transferred to a hospital by that time, his wounds so severe they could kill him if left untreated. Many humans working at the hospital were against they idea of treating who they had thought of as the UK's number one enemy for years, but after the four nations kept insisting they look after him, they obliged. The surgent tasked with fixing him up was the same one usually asigned to looking after any of the four members of the United Kingdom if any of them ever needed medical attention: he had studied the biology of nations from the start of his career and was without a doubt the most experienced person on that particular field in all of Great Britain. Especially working with Wales the past few years had given him experience none of his predecessors through the ages had ever had, and so the brothers trusted him blindly. They knew for sure they wouldn't have to worry about Germany for one second.
And they didn't worry anymore at all for the first time in years: Hitler was dead, the German capital captured and the Allied Forces were winning more and more battles. It was only a matter of days now before the war would finally be over. The only one to not be in the mood for celebration already was Scotland, who was checking the mailbox several times a day: they had gotten word about the fall of Berlin practically the moment it happened, they had heard about Königsberg weeks before -so why not about Prussia? Because despite the years of war, to Scotland, the Prussian was still a good friend, and he wanted to know how he was doing. This, England and Wales guessed, was probably also the reason he had wanted to look after Germany so badly -if he couldn't help his friend, then he would at least make sure his friend's brother would be okay.
On 6 May, Canada came to London as well before he would return to his homeland soon after, only a day after he liberated the Netherlands. "I've never seen people more grateful for soldiers' presence than the Dutch yesterday," he told the Brits, tired but beyond happy. "They gave us tons and tons of tulips -which is practically all they have. I take it you heard about the famine last winter? They were forced to eat tulip bulbs because there just wasn't anything else, so to me at least, it really felt like, well... it was such beautiful symbolism!" He kept on talking for a long while, telling his 'uncles' about pretty much everything he'd experienced the day he saved a fellow nation's life. Northern Ireland listened in sheer wonder, not even asking any questions, just trying his best to imagine everything as Canada spoke. "Netherlands doesn't really show much emotion," the Canadian went on. "But yesterday, when he walked up to me, he just - tears in his eyes, smiling and- I can't even describe it. He said he owes me his life... no one has ever said anything like that to me before. And his people, when we left yesterday... they have painted a thank-you message on their rooftops. It was amazing." He kept on talking for so long, he ended up repeating the same story a few times. But none of the others stopped him. It was good news, and that was something they hadn't had in much too long, and they loved every word of it.
It wasn't until 8 May that they official, unconditional surrender of the Germans was signed, and by then, the Second World War finally came to an end -though only in Europe. America still continued in his battle against Japan, the last of the Axis to still stand. But he, too, was losing, so it was a matter of time before the war would be over entirely.
A week after the German surrender, the United Kingdom had the pleasure of reuniting Germany and Prussia, who were both still weak from the great loss, but at that moment didn't seem to care about that for even a second. The moment he saw his little brother, Prussia ran towards him, limping a little but fast nonetheless, and practically jumped on him. He hugged him so tightly, the Brits almost worried all their hard work in keeping the young nation alive the past weeks had been for nothing, but his grip slackened within seconds. "Zwei Jahre, Ludwig!" he said, and judging by his voice he was having a hard time keeping his emotions under control. "Fast zwei verdammte Jahre habe ich dich nicht gesehen! Dammit, little brother, don't you ever-!"
In a shocked whisper, Scotland translated to his brothers that the two Germans hadn't seen each other in nearly two years, which was longer than any of them had ever imagined -Wales had the closest estimation of nearly ten months or longer. They themselves had been seperated for nearly as long, of course, but at least they'd never been truly alone. North watched in silence as Prussia inspected his little brother thoroughly, apparently having to see for himself whether or not he was really okay. "V-vell, damn!" he said eventually, his voice somewhere between laughing and crying. "Y-you're actually taller than me now! Vho vould have thought... my little brother isn't my little brother anymore! I... vell, dammit... I-ich liebe dich, Ludwig..." Germany didn't say anything. He just hugged his older brother again, refusing to let go anymore. They may have lost the war, but at least they had each other again after months of seperation and uncertainty. And quietly, the Brits went on their way back to their plane, returning home without so much as a goodbye or anything. Neither of them had been willing to interrupt this reunion. Germany and Prussia, despite all they had done, deserved it more than anyone.
After that came celebration. After a terrible six years, the war that had terrorised everyone in Europe was now finally over. And at the start of August that year, the USA dealt two decisive blows to Japan -bombing Hiroshima and Nagasaki, completely destroying both cities. On 15 August, Japan surrendered, ending the war definitively. That afternoon, England got a call from a very nervous sounding America. "But Alfred, you just ended the most terrible war in the history of mankind!" the Englishman had exclaimed when he heard how on edge the younger nation sounded. "Believe it or not, kid, I'm actually proud of you right now! Very proud, even." But with what America told him next, he turned as pale as a piece of paper, his emerald eyes filled with pure horror as he listened. His three brothers watched him in silence, waiting for the moment he'd put the phone down and tell them what was going on, which came after a few minutes of silence and a quiet 'o-okay' and 'you... you foolish-'. Pale as a corpse and his eyes wide, he turned to his brothers and opened his mouth to speak. It took a little while longer for his voice to join in the effort as well, but when it did, he shocked his brothers almost as much as he himself was. "T-the bombs he used on those cities... n-nucleair bombs? Such a weapon must never be used again. Each one killed thousands of people, destroyed an entire city -one bomb!- a-and Japan is... J-Japan has been in a coma for nine days, ever since the first bomb, and his condition is still critical... He could die any moment. Those weapons may never be used again, it could destroy the world and kill any nation on this planet... Never again..." He then walked away, still muttering things to himself, and locked himself in his room for the rest of the day, not answering when any of his brothers tried to talk to him. And they understood: Japan and England had been good friends for a long time. Back when the whole world was against England, Japan had been the only one outside the family to even be willing to talk to him, and the other way around. And though their friendship had faded over the years, their bond remained a special one. He probably couldn't stand the thought of losing him any more than he would his brothers.
The mood darkened after this news, and the brothers didn't celebrate their victory anymore. Without complaining and without much enthusiasm either, England got to his paperwork that came with the ending of a war. All points that would one day be discussed in a treaty, punishments for the ones to have caused it and all such things. Wales, now having the time to actually do so properly, had gone back to Cardiff for professional revalidation so he would walk again soon. Scotland, finally feeling the effects of the many people he lost, had gone back home to get some rest, and Northern Ireland had gone with him. The Scot had lost a greater percentage of his people than his little brothers had, and it had gotten him quite sick. North didn't really understand that part, though. "I thought our health was linked to our economy," he asked one afternoon. "Not our people. So how can you get sick from loss of people?"
"Do ye know what different parts of our body represents, laddie?" Scotland asked him, not answering the question at all. Though confused, the child just answered with everything he knew about it -which was pretty much everything. "Our body is the land," he said, staring at Scotland as though to ask if he was right or not. "Our heart is our capital. The brain is pretty much the government and the opinions of people -and with political troubles we can get terrible headaches, as seen in Ireland a little while ago. Several organs represent... major cities?" Scotland nodded, though he added that wasn't always the case. "And our people are represented by... uh..."
"By our blood, Coineach," Scotland answered for him, patting his little brother on the shoulder. "Our people are our blood. Unimportant at first glance, but it is what keeps everything else running. Just as humans cannot live with too little blood in their veins, we cannot live without our people. Losing so many over such a short period of time gives the same effects as bloodloss -tiredness, weakness in limbs, dizziness, ye name it. It'll be over in the blink of an eye, trust me, but for now... For now, I just need to rest. Aye? No need to worry." And, reassured, Northern Ireland didn't worry anymore. There wasn't any reason to celebrate and be happy like his people, but he wouldn't be sad or angry or scared anymore, either. For the first time in years, he was happy again.
After that came a period in which it seemed Northern Ireland just didn't get any older anymore, he just remained the same age he had been when the war ended -roughly nine, perhaps a small ten-year-old. Whenever he was in Belfast, a plan his brothers had had from even before the war started, was put into practice: North was sent to a school. For four days a week he would be there, learning more English and Irish, maths, geography and history. All the other subjects, the government had decided, weren't important for him to learn now, so he wasn't allowed to 'waste time' on those, but he didn't even mind that. After his first week there, it became clear that he excelled in English and history, though his Irish (much to Ireland's silent dismay) was a little behind that of his 'peers'. He didn't particularly like maths, either, as he had to learn things he'd never even seen before, and when he asked his older brothers for help, they just read through some of the exercises he had to do, laughed nervously and put it down again, never to speak of it again. So, North decided, maths wasn't something a nation had to know per se. It wasn't important, so he wouldn't 'waste time' on it, as his government put it. They weren't so keen on that idea, however, claiming that maths was also the basics of economics, which he would learn later on and was crucial for a nation.
He didn't dislike school, but he didn't love it either. What he hated, however, was that his government always knew how to find him, even if he silently went off with Scotland or Wales or Ireland or England and stayed with them. They would always find him and, though no one ever complained about him being in another country, they never failed to send him his homework with some extra notes as he'd missed the explanation for some lessons. It was easier and thus more fun to work on than the paperwork he'd helped his brothers with sometimes, but it wasn't something he liked doing.
One day, when the whole family got together for a few days to spend some time away from work and stress (they weren't allowed to call it a holiday, as they had simply gone into the Scottish highlands without telling the governments a thing), Northern Ireland had started complaining to his brothers that they had never gone to school, either, and it wasn't fair that he had to go. "But when we were yer age," Scotland said, roasting a rabbit he had caught that morning above the campfire he'd made. "This was all we had to learn. Catch yer meat, skin it, remove the bones an' roast it. Plant some seeds and watch it grow, learn to determine when ye can harvest yer food an' learn to clean it so't won't kill ye. Somethin' called survival." Wales nodded, adding: "Allistair taught me how to talk and walk and all those things, but his language lessons didn't exactly stick: I just went and created Welsh instead of speaking Scottish." Then England put in something, too. "I was lucky to have been taken in by some farmers down in a village after I was born, and that's where I learned those basics. Of course, then they realised I wasn't human and they started shunning me. Around the time they threw me out, the Romans came and killed them all... and when they couldn't kill me, they brought me to my father, the only other immortal they had ever seen. It wasn't exactly a nice time, but I learned to speak, count, write and fight with things other than a bow and arrow then. Though I ended up speaking more Latin than my own language, which wasn't exactly... ah, well."
"And I spent some years in a monastery," Ireland said, looking up at the dark sky above. "Also learned to write and read there. And of course, I still know some of the daily preaches given there by heart... things like that tend to happen when you've heard the same thing for years and years on end."
"An' they ruined ye, Old Man!" Scotland interrupted him. "Yer still wearing that bloody rosary, still pray a lot an'-"
"Oh, bugger off!" Ireland laughed, though averting his gaze as he got a little red, hardly visible through the light of the flames. "There's nothin' wrong with religion. Well, anyway, that's where I learned my basics. They tried to teach me Latin, but I couldn't care less, and eventually was the only one not to speak even a single word of it. Then they tried to convince me that God would punish me once I would die for not doing my work there properly, but... well, I'm still alive, so there's no telling if they were ever right." At this point, Northern Ireland gave up. He wouldn't be able to convince them he didn't need school, that they had been perfect teachers for over two decades and he could do it all without some human teachers bossing him around. And so he just continued going to school without complaining anymore.
Eventually, when the fire was nearly out and the brothers were ready to just curl up in their tents and be done for the day, Ireland looked at Wales with a nervous grin. "So, er, Dylan," he began slowly. "I'm just curious. How were ye plannin' to get down the hill again tomorrow?" It was silent for a moment, but then Wales just shrugged. "I don't know... I think I'll just roll down the hill and we'll meet each other again at the bottom."
"Roll?" England echoed, staring at his older brother with a doubtful glance. "In your wheelchair, I hope?" But Wales shook his head, immediately protesting. "Oh, hell, no! I already said, the moment I could walk again, I'm never getting in it again! Why did you even bring it?" Scotland laughed, and Northern Ireland couldn't really figure out what kind of laugh it was, except that it wasn't one of joy or amusement. "Well, laddie... limping for a few meters at a time with not one, but two canes isn't exactly, er, 'walking' in my book."
"Well then," Wales declared, huffing in mock-anger. "I'll go down the same way I came up here: little bits at a time, annoying the crap out of you all, and at that steep bit... piggyback ride from my dear big brother. And with that, I mean you, Allistair. You're the one who insisted we go hiking instead of going somewhere a little more accesible for me."
"Oh joy, I'm lookin' forward to it already," Scotland said dryly, getting to his feet then, telling his brothers that he was off to bed now, but before he could leave, England stopped him. There was no trace of the joy and laughter of that day left in his emerald eyes as he, too, got up and went to stand in front of Scotland. "A-Allistair, I... I actually didn't want to show you this today... I don't want to ruin this day for you, but I... I just thought you..." He trailed off, sighing and fumbling in one of his pockets, taking out a small, folded piece of paper. He hesitated for a moment, then handed it to his brother. "I-it's one of the laws of the Allied Control Council, which will come into effect early next year... L-law 46..." Scotland read it silently, his eyes growing wide as he did. After mere seconds, pure rage burned in his pale blue irisses, and the red glow from the flames only seemed to amplify the look of anger. His lips moved, speaking the words on paper with a soundless voice, and North could only just make out the words 'ceased to exist'. Then, wordlessly, he crumpled the note and threw it in the fire, walking away without even looking at any of his brothers.
Northern Ireland didn't know what was on the paper, and since it upset Scotland like this, he didn't want to know. He silently watched as his big brother walked away, not even going into one of the three tents but just out into the forest, depsite the cold winter air of January. He then looked at his other brothers, and saw the same emotion he felt in their eyes. He knew they didn't need one, but to North, this was the first reminder that true peace and happiness just never lasted.
Well, except for the Allied Control Council laws in 1947, which will be the next chapter, this concludes the war in this fic. Next up is the build-up to the Troubles.
Thanks you so so much for reading and (*puppy-dog eyes*) please leave a review?