The basement's sparse light casted shadows of shock and deceit across Germany and Prussia as they stared at one another. Prussia stood in front of his brother, his entire frame trembling to its core, and Germany sat in the pile of his old clothing, the small cloak nestled against his leg like it was elated to be reunited with its owner. Prussia remained quiet as Germany spoke again, his whispering still hoarse.
"What happened to me?"
Prussia sank to the floor and sat criss-cross on the cold concrete. His head fell into his hands and his hair fell with it, sweeping forward to further mask his expression. Prussia's body continued to shake as Germany watched in disbelief. He knew. However long Germany was locked out of his own memory, Prussia knew. Prussia looked him in the eye every day, fully aware of his true identity, yet never said a single word. As the fog lifted in his mind, Germany recalled pieces of his early childhood, an era of memories previously stowed in deep recesses he couldn't access. He ate dinner with Austria. He painted in the meadows with Italy. He swam in the stream with Prussia. He said goodbye. He stood on a battlefield, ready to charge against the enemy, and it was then that his memories faded into nothing, a new wall creeping into place as it blocked out the details, and then he was a teenager once more, where his life as Germany began. The whole story still slipped through his fingers with a gap between the battlefield and adolescence, but if Prussia knew he was Holy Rome all along, he surely knew what transpired during that pocket of time. The veil of deceit began to unravel, and with a taste of the truth, Germany wanted the entire thing.
"What happened to me," he repeated, this time phrasing it as a direct statement. His voice regained its strength. He wasn't asking any longer: he was demanding.
The stairs above them creaked as a set of footsteps grew louder. Austria called out for Prussia and Germany as he made it to the bottom step and rounded the corner. "Is everything all right?"
Both brothers sat in silence as Austria reached them. Like Prussia, his eyes widened as his pupils darted from the photo album to Germany's teary face, then to Prussia, then back to Germany. Slowly, Austria sat beside Prussia and placed a hand on his back. Austria's still hand against Prussia made his tremors more visible. Austria sighed and pursed his lips together, yet said nothing. Frustrated, Germany continued his attempt at prodding for a response.
"I know I'm Holy Rome," he declared, "and pieces of my childhood are coming back to me, and the last memory I have of that time is standing in a battlefield, and in the next moment, I'm–" he paused. Me, he wanted to say, but he was not Germany, and yet he was not Holy Rome, either. Though his brain and body were reconnected, he felt like every action he took were happening in a mirror, his physical body Germany and his reflection Holy Rome. Me could mean anything.
Austria tilted his head and leaned into Prussia, attempting to catch a glimpse of his face. "Did you tell him?" Austria asked him.
Prussia, refusing to lift his head, shook it vigorously.
"Tell me what?" Germany cut in.
"Germany–"
"I want Prussia to tell me," he snapped back. Hearing his name in Austria's mouth made him seethe. It wasn't even his real name.
"Look at him," Austria retorted, tilting his head towards Prussia, "give him a break. He needs a minute to process this."
Germany opened his mouth to speak, but Austria cut him off.
"This has been on my mind since I retreated to the drawing room, so hear me out: legally, we aren't supposed to discuss your connection to Holy Rome, but the way you discovered it acts as a loophole. It was unprecedented for you to discover it on your own, so much so that there is no clause stipulating what would happen if that were the case," Austria leaned into Prussia again and directed the last sentence towards him, "so hypothetically, if we were to provide more information without being involved in the discovery, would we really be violating the treaty?"
Still hunched over with his head down, Prussia shrugged. His shaking slowed, but didn't subside. As Germany watched him curl into himself, he secretly hoped Prussia was overwhelmed with grief. He hoped that every day of looking him in the eye and knowing the truth had caught up to him and would tear his heart into pieces. Germany wanted his brother to experience the grief to the highest degree, and as he let himself linger in vengeance, he realized how out of character his despise for Prussia was, but at this point, his previous character was irrelevant in the face of discovery. He could be anything. Everything he thought himself to be was a lie.
"What happened to me?" Germany repeated.
Austria took a deep breath. "After your loss in the Napoleonic Wars," he began, "the Imperium Declaration came to fruition. It stated that in order for you to not be completely dissolved, you could not continue being the Holy Roman Empire. You sustained an injury during the war that wiped your memory, so when we brought you home, we were instructed to raise you as Germany and never tell you who you used to be. The treaty forbids anyone from telling you the truth."
England's voice echoed in his ears: Germany, I'm bound by law. I cannot say another word on it. He was telling the truth, and yet–
"Who knows about the treaty?"
Austria hesitated, but as his eyes quickly darted to Prussia and back, Germany already suspected his answer. He rubbed the back of his neck.
"...Most of Europe."
"Name them," Germany's voice cracked, "all of them." The roller coaster of emotions began with mounting anger, and when he reached the peak and plummeted down, the anguish took over. He needed to know how many people heard his name being uttered and knew who he really was.
Austria spoke slowly, each name another blow to his ability to trust anyone. "England, France, Spain, Switzerland, Belgium, Netherlands, Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Hungary, Greece, Ukraine, Belarus, Poland, Lithuania, Estonia, and Russia."
17 countries, and when he included Austria and Prussia, 19. 19 countries. 19 people signed a treaty to let a child lose their memory. 19 people let Italy live with the grief of losing him, and though England expressed his disdain for the treaty, he still did nothing to stop it.
"How could you let that happen to me?" Germany whimpered, trying to stifle the tears welling from his pent-up frustration, "How can you live with yourselves knowing that?"
"The politics of it are so–"
"Fuck the politics," Germany exclaimed, his coaster rising to anger once more, "you let it happen. You helped enforce it."
"We begged for your life," Prussia finally said, his voice muffled. He lifted his head. With his eyes swollen and skin blotched, it was evident he'd cried, a seldom-seen sight. He repeated it again, this time with more confidence. "The only reason you're alive right now is because we begged for your life."
Austria nodded in agreement.
"You know me, West," Prussia continued, "you know I'd do anything to make sure I don't look weak, but in that moment, I got on my knees and begged for whatever it would take to keep you alive. I let myself look weak for you."
Germany wanted to tell his brother that he, in fact, didn't know him. He didn't know how someone could constantly declare themselves as being "awesome" and then return home and let his only family member live without knowing his real name. He didn't know how Prussia could turn himself into the victim, silently crying on the floor while Austria answered his questions, something his own flesh and blood should have been leading. Germany was the one whose life had been stripped from him, not Prussia. His mind was too scrambled and overwhelmed to articulate any of those feelings.
"Why was I going to be dissolved?"
"You were gaining power so quickly," Austria responded, "and you were determined to expand your borders no matter what the cost. The other European countries felt threatened, so when you were injured in battle, it was safer for them to…to let you succumb and split up your territory."
"But I asked them to let you live–" Prussia cut in.
"–and the conditions of that decision included raising you as a new country," Austria finished, "because the fear was that if you remembered who you were, you would pick back up with your plans of conquering Europe."
"So for me to live," Germany began, but as he remembered the photo album in his hands and he flipped to the next page, he paused. Two pictures in particular caught his eye: the first one featured him and Italy painting in the yard, each one painting a rabbit. On Italy's canvas, the scenery perfectly matched their surroundings, the fluffy clouds billowing in the sky and the grass speckled with patches of sunlight around the rabbit. On Germany's, the squiggly line art and blotchy background indicated his lack of expertise, but when he recalled the way Italy guided his hand across the picture, he felt like he were in the moment once more, the sun kissing his rosy cheeks. In the second photo, Austria sat at his piano bench, his fingers spread across the keyboard as he played. Germany sat on his lap with eyes as wide as saucers, his excitement evident in the way his eyes sparkled, the way he grinned, the way he leaned back into Austria's chest. He was only a child, a child whose heart still swelled with unconditional love and beamed in every photo, a child blissfully unaware of the fate that would fall upon him in a few short years. This was the child that Europe agreed to dissolve and split the territory of, and only with the begging of his brother did they agree to let him live, attaching the condition that everything about him be stripped from his memory. He could only live if he was no longer himself. Why let him live if he needed to become a completely different person?
"I could only live by not being me," Germany finished. "Why let me live at all?"
"You are still you," Austria placed a hand on the photo album, "you don't have the same desire to conquer, but the way you carry yourself, the way you solve problems, the way you look, it's all the same. The only other thing that changed is your name."
"You move the same way," Prussia smiled faintly, "your eyes look the same. I can tell it's still you by the way you look at me. You've always been you, West."
Knowing anything he'd say would only create more conflict, Germany shifted the subject. "And Italy?"
"He doesn't know, and he never can." Austria replied.
Germany pressed a finger on Italy's picture, remembering the way their hands felt when they were intertwined. He pictured the look on Italy's face when he was told that Holy Rome would never come home. He shuddered at the thought of Italy's heart being overshadowed by his silhouette, his fragile frame carrying the soul-shattering grief for eternity, never to experience love in the same capacity without a twinge of sorrow as he pictured the next person disappearing and never returning. Germany's coaster of emotions now took on Italy as a passenger and the anger for himself transferred to anger on Italy's behalf. Now repeating the cycle, he would have to look Italy in the face every day and know the truth was on the tip of his tongue, but realizing he was sworn to secrecy, have to swallow the lump in his throat and turn off the emotional impulse to spill the fire burning in his soul. How could he live like that?
"So the best option is to let him suffer, then?" Germany spat.
"You aren't supposed to know any of this to begin with," Austria reminded him, "and if Italy finds out the truth, everyone will know that you know. The treaty will be null, the world will be reeling, war will break out; the bloodshed isn't worth it."
Germany's mind was already made up. He stood, gathering the broom, cloak, and photo album in his arms. "It is to me."
Austria and Prussia, still sitting on the floor, quickly raised their heads to watch as Germany began walking back towards the stairs. Both stammered as they pleaded with Germany to keep the situation secret, their frantic tones overlapping one another.
"West, please–"
"You need to keep this a secret–"
"You don't get it–"
"If anyone finds out–"
"They might dissolve you–"
"It would start a war–"
"We could get in trouble–"
"The situation is dire–"
"You have to stay home–"
"Until we allow you to leave–"
"You can't tell anyone–"
"West–"
"You can't tell anyone."
Germany stopped in his tracks. He let his back face Austria and Prussia so they couldn't pick apart the look in his eyes they claimed to know so well. He clutched his belongings in his arms, the last remnants of who he used to be. In his mirrored soul, the adult Holy Rome clad in a bloodied cape lunged towards the two, the visceral anguish and animosity mounting into the desire to make them pay for burying him, but the adult Germany kept his composure. Germany, always one to strategize, lied through his teeth.
"I'm not going anywhere."
