Chapter Text
It is 1945 and the war hasn't ended. Not officially. But the borders are decided on, and people in the West are receiving passports that are German-English, and Gilbert keeps talking about the East, a numbness in his left arm, a cold-hot-cold-hot sensation. He says he will go East. Ludwig tells him to calm down, that he won't go with him, that they can't help and as his tone grows more stressed, Gilbert realises what he really means.
They stay in Berlin, waiting, because that's what this is. Waiting. Not fighting. Gilbert says goodbye every day (forehead kiss, a squeezing hug; Ludwig is a child aged 5 again, tugging at Gilbert's sleeve for a goodnight story) until it's May and the city is won.
When the meeting is held at Sanssouci, it's not metely ceremonial. Gilbert is partly surprised the building still stands, windows aside, and partly worried about something else.
"If you even laid a finger on the grave--"
"Then what? Then fucking what? I'm tired. I am so damn tired of this nation, Prussia, stop making a fuss and let's get this over with." England sits down on a couch, back straight and eyes dark.
So they sit in an uneven circle, America claiming the bed, Soviet Union a chair, Ludwig a wall. Gilbert leans against the window and notices a few strange glances. At him and then between the Allies, a question and an answer. He moves away from the window. "So what now."
"4 Ds. New border." America shrugs, flipping through his papers. "Russia--"
"I told you not to call me that."
"yea yea- Ivan, well, Stalin wrote there was an agreement, and that he won't hand back Poland's territory."
Prussia takes a moment to grasp it. "So the new border is..."
"To the West," Russia cuts in.
"You're taking Poland and. Relocating it?"
"You owe him."
Red eyes meet blue eyes at the wall opposite of the room. A question, an answer. Gilbert feels his arm going cold hot cold hot, his eyes back on Russia, "As do you."
"We're not the ones defeated. I think I'm in the place to make demands."
"But there's," he looks at America, "there's people. Sovereignty. That was your shit back in the days, wasn't it?"
"This isn't 1918." Papers, papers; America looks at one of them pointedly and Gilbert notices, to his shock, that it's not for a distraction. He is reading them, following protocol. "It's all settled, anyway," he mutters, as if it was that simple. Gilbert wants to add something but the tired atmosphere of the others overcomes him. It's finished, done. These aren't kings. These are soldiers without an expiration date. Not one in the near future. "Democratisation, decentralisation, demilitarisation, denazification." America reads the words with a revised kind of cheerfulness. This is his speech. "We'll get you all patched up and good and stable."
Gil notices that he's looking at Germany.
"We'll devide the country into four zones. Me, England, France - who couldn't make it, unfortunately, but maybe some other time - and," he gestures at Russia, "him." Now he does look at Prussia; and what followed made his insides twist even more. "I think you should take on an other name."
"What?"
"Well, it's just, official stuff. It's all a mess. We're trying to sort it out, so we'll settle for - officially - addressing you with temporary names."
Gilbert laughs in a way that's ghostly; hopeless. Alone. The others don't join in. This isn't about a new title. This is about territory and handing over control and Gilbert by no means is new to the concept, from both ends. "Then what's my name? What's my damn name?"
"Soviet Occupation Zone. SBZ." He's not sure who says it but it doesn't matter. He tastes the words in his mouth, bitter and new but not poisonous. Not as bad as it could've been and not as bad as he'd expected. It wouldn't be the first time he would need to change his name, and it's not a death sentence, but the last time the name implicated that he was part of something in that way, belonging to something, lay centuries behind him and he frowns at the thought. Gilbert nods. If anything, this isn't permanent; nothing is. The Teutons weren't, the Duchy wasn't, the kingdom and empire, the republic.
Until, "And we can't keep you around Germany."
His heart sinks at that. Eyes widening. "He's my brother."
"It's nothing personal."
"He's my brother- he's my fucking brother, you can't do that, you can't--" His eyes fix on Ivan finally. Sinking his claws into him for support. "You have sisters! You know what I'm talking about-"
"My sisters and I," Ivan responds, distant but not icy, "Are still nations, Gilbert. As are you."
"You would let someone separate you?!" Gilbert's voice rises like a shot bird, flailing, jerky. He hates the looks he receives for it. He hates the concealed pity in Alfred's eyes, the distance Ivan creates between them (we are not alike, he seems to say, don't you dare compare me to you) but most of all he hates Ludwig's dizzy shock and Arthur's gaze flickering to the window. (They're not scared Gilbert will flee, he realizes. They don't see him as a danger to anything bit himself and, even worse, Germany.)
Ivan, or Russia, or the Soviet Union, whoever he is talking for, leans forward in his chair. "I would do anything, anything, if I would be protecting them and their people that way."
"Did you know?" Ivan lights a cigarette. The thing that connects beings like them, or people, is that they both look like shit now.
"Yes."
"Why didn't you do anything?"
They're driving back, in Ivan's car. Right now he is Ivan. "It's not that simple."
"Because you're a coward. You think you have so much to lose, you can't think into the future. You can't create one. So you just wait and wait and pray nothing will change for you."
Gilbert stares at his hands. Weightless in the worst way. "You think I should've joined a resistance group? Let me guess, a socialist resistance group?"
"Yes. And when you are asked by people in suits what you should've done differently," he stresses it, and Gilbert senses the same old aura Ivan has had for so long now. It reminds him of himself, from all those years ago. A strict brotherly concern. Follow my instructions and we'll be strong together. "you will answer that you should've joined one. Okay? You will say you were scared or clouded but that if you could relive the past decade - the past decades, say the past decades - you would join them. You would be the first to set the fascists on fire. You, Gilbert, will be that now. Arisen from the ashes of this fucking disaster but all new and young and determined to build everything anew and better." Ivan exhales, leans back again and loosens the grip on the steering wheel. Gilbert realises Ivan's question hadn't been a question at all, not even a test, but practice.
There's a pause. Silence. Like a blanket of snow. "You won't make the zone democratic."
"Not in the way America wants, no. But he knows that."
"So what about the other Ds."
"Decentralisation is easy. We'll wipe away militarist ideologies. We can be brothers in arms, fighting for peace, and..."
"And."
Ivan shrugs. His shoulders look heavy, making Gilbert wonder in a quite untypical way how much he has seen and felt. "We'll get rid of nazis. Faster and more effective than their idea of making them pay a fine."
"Ah." He waits for Ivan to go on and grows annoyed when he doesn't, because he knows what Gilbert wants to ask. It's obvious by the way he looks at him every two seconds, expectantly. "So what about me?"
"We'll get rid of that part of you. If we can do that, we can be secure in the belief that every nation can and will--"
Gilbert didn't hear the rest because he didn't want to. He grabbed a cigarette from Ivan's packet and lit it, inhaling it like pure oxygen. Or monoxide. The car drove on, through the giant skeleton of his nation.
The issue shows itself when a year passes (new parties, a new currency that's really just coupons glued on old money) and Gilbert's arm doesnt recover. He feels like his entire body doesn't recover. Sometimes there's random patches on his skin, anywhere from red to blue to black, sometimes he starts bleeding while walking on the streets. And always he feels like he has a concussion. He forgets dates, faces, random things. Like his insides and outsides are pushing at each other. He understands vaguely how Ludwig must have felt.
Ludwig. His brother. It's strange, this new name, because now he's not the fascist; the others are the fascists. Gilbert rolls his eyes every time it's mentioned. He wonders if Ludwig does the same for Gilbert. He doubts it.
The dissolution of his nation doesn't hit as hard as he thought it would have. Should have. He tells himself it's because the only new thing is the name; that he expected he would remain the East, for a simple partition of Germany; that everyone had been alluding to it for months now. Prussia, the embodiment of militarism, nazism, reckless obedience, strict aggression. But there's a sting. A crack. Gilbert knows that the name isn't the only thing caught in this net of meanings and conclusions. Militarism was represented the most in Prussia thus Prussia was militaristic thus Prussian history, his identity, is stained with red. Remove a tumor by removing all of it, every single cell, and a few more of the tissue just to be safe.
Then again, Gilbert realises one night after a bottle of wine, that isn't new to him either. Ah. The irony. Release ash into the wind and it might just hit you back in the face.
His dreams are haunted by a language that has become foreign to him centuries ago. Gilbert, Teutonic Knights, is clothed in naive violent vigor, fire illuminating him as he looks down at a boy, who in turn refuses to look up. He takes his sword holding it in his hot-cold-hot-cold hand, he strikes, a clean cut through the chest, and his blood freezes when the boy falls over and smiles at him. The face is his own. The fire is in the streets of Berlin.
On the evening the Federal Republic of Germany becomes a nation one and for all, Gilbert writes a letter to his brother. It has one word. Please. Signed with Your brother.
The reply comes after a month. Gilbert checks three times before realising it's an empty envelope. He checks two more times and notices that Ludwig's unchanged surname is written in black bold letters.
"Stalin sent an offer to reunite you." It's a sentence that's carefully inserted into the conversations. Ivan looks at the mess in Gilbert's room with scepticism. There's empty bottles of - of anything, really.
Gilbert, his posture straight despite his lungs aching, kicks one under the bed. Then thinks better of it and gets it out, shoving it into a cupboard. "Sent an offer?"
"Yes. A democratic united Germany."
"Democratic."
"Democratic," Ivan repeats.
"Stalin wants. A democratic state. Aha."
It turns out that Stalin doesn't want the West to check if the votings will be democratic. And it turns out the Trizone isn't all too interested in that, and by extension neither is Ludwig. Gilbert wants to be glad, he wants to ne relieved. And in a way, he is. But he receives no letter, no explanation, and maybe it's not needed. Maybe it's just that obvious. But. God.
Stalin dies in March. Hope dies in June.
Gilbert is on the streets of Berlin, amidst people, strikers, workers. They hold flags. They call for food, a better standard of living; they call for freedom and democracy and change. And they are greeted by soldiers with guns.
Ten days later, a document is read to Gilbert in a cell. They are called fascist enemies who had attempted a coup d'etat. The Party stays right because it has won. His body aches from new wounds but a smile forms on his lips, cracking open the skin. He licks the blood; it tastes like the memory of almost-freedom. One last revolt before silence.
"I can't protect you if you keep running into danger. I can't protect you from yourself."
"Then don't." Irritated, clipped. Gilbert keeps on changing the bandage. "This isn't your country." He stops his movements, abruptly, and laughs.
The wounds heal and Gilbert notices the pain in his organs and blood lessens ever so slightly. He tells Erszebet over a letter; they meet up to celebrate it with a fight. Bare fists and breathless smiles. It feels nostalgic, it's the good kind of bruising. They walk the streets of Dresden (because Gilbert can't go to Berlin again) in pants and shirts and without shoes, pointing at construction work, joining children in soccer matches. The children first fight over who can have Gilbert in their team; after the first round his team wants to switch and Erszebet's team refuses.
Back at Gilbert's apartment, they drink.
"How's Ludwig?" Erszebet elbows his side.
"No idea."
"Oh. I thought you would..."
Gil rubs his arm although thats not the part of him that hurts. "Nah."
"Do you want me to contact him?"
"Nah."
There is a quiet beauty in reconstruction. The walls of ruins are filled in with hopes and determination and persistence. "Did you know," Erszebet starts again, and they both know they are looking at the same building. "His government introduced a new national holiday last week."
"Oh?"
"Day of German Unity. June 17th."
Gilbert wants to say that a piece of some fucking document isn't the same as letters and clear cut support. The words are swallowed instead. Heavy. His eyes start to sting.
"I don't like your brother."
"Yea, well, fuck off."
Another denied partnership. Adenauer is everything Gilbert dislikes right now; it's everything people want him to dislike. (They. Who are they? Anyone, anywhere. The same people that dislike him, behind their smiles and handshakes.) Facing the west, distancing his brother even more from the East. Isolating the East, even. If Germany splits up into East and West and both refuse to lay down the title of Germany, who's the real one? Who can be Germany, accepted as the true one, the one and only?
The real question is which Germany you would rather have relations with, and it's the one that didn't receive a half threatening letter from Stalin upon the creation of his nation. It's the one with steel and innovation and competition and industry.
The irony bites Gilbert. Frosty. Cold. Not even a century ago this would have been an abstract joke in fucking Simplicissimus. He can figure out three possible caricatures before Ivan nudges his shoulder. "There's still us." Gilbert rolls his eyes.
"God, yes, I've always dreamt of being stuck with you, Poland, and," he makes a dismissive gesture with his hand, shoulders slumping again as he puts his head in his hands. "We're not family. We're not friends. We're not the same side."
"Are we not?"
"Do you ever feel like we are? Even for a second?" He hears his own ragged breathing in the ensuing silence, and manages a grin. "See."
"I know what you're thinking."
"Enlighten me."
"You think this is a fad. A phase. But have you ever considered it might be a beginning? The beginning of something great? Something world-changing? And everyone could be alright and well off, safe and sound, with the people in power?"
It strikes Gilbert that Ivan's voice is trembling in a way he's familiar with. Because Gilbert has done the same over and over, century and century again, in a notion so very human and naive. He's not trying to convince Gilbert. The realisation stops laughter from bubbling up.
The next year in November, East is the one to visit Hungary. It's a quiet day in her apartment, a hollowed corpse of what their meetings usually were like. She's bruised, broken bones, tired face and hands that look like they want to throw a bottle against the wall any second. Gilbert doesn't say anything, waiting. What is there to say? You were so close? We both were?
So Gilbert doesn't mention the revolution, her short lived freedom. He doesn't mention that he was so happy when he heard that her country had a new government, first thing he did was go to his neighbour downstairs and celebrate with dancing to the radio's music, laughing as if he was the one who succeeded. He doesn't mention it because he's sure she knows.
And when she speaks, her voice is aged with experience. "It's not that I don't learn, Gil. I do. And I learn each damn time that the worst thing is wanting to enjoy some beer or shit like that, and you really want to, you want to be happy, like before, and you can't. That's worse than injuries. That's defeat."
"But it's the smaller defeat, isn't it." Gilbert moves his hand to put it on hers. "Real thing would be if you did nothing at all." He doesn't need to say that he's thinking of so many more things, of the wild hardy woman he always sees, even now. Especially now, when there's a flicker in her eyes like a candle about to put fire to a room. She knows, and he knows she knows, and they both know the other wants to lean in.
They both taste beer and blood on the other's lips. Beer and blood and souls from the same material, woven by the same fingers, forged with the same rusty hammer, dear and doomed.
Historical notes because they wouldn't fit into the actual notes:
the East, a numbness in his left arm:
Before the end of the war, Soviet soldiers reached the East of Germany. Fearing acts of revenge, violence and death, millions fled to the West. It's worth mentioning that there were soldiers that avoided violence and helped the people, relocating them, but bombings, large scale killings and abuse were the other side of this.
As such a big part of the Eastern population fled, I think Gilbert would feel it in some way like having too little blood or muscle or sensation in his arm, since he represents the people.
Sanssouci and Potsdam:
There wasn't a meeting in Sanssouci; the last meeting of the Allies was in Potsdam. By that time it was obvious how the war would end, especially considering it was held in, well, Potsdam.
Sanssouci (that low budget Versailles that was Frederick the Great's place) would, just like the mansion the Potsdam conference was held in (the history of it is interesting but, basically, it once was intended as a gift to the last crown prince of Germany and his wife) would kind of symbolise the whole change of power - there's no monarchy, for one, and this war actually reached inside Germany and the decisions made in Potsdam would change Germany the following decades. It's completely new territory. And introduces a completely new view on German and Prussian history.
When Gilbert mentions the grave it's honestly a bit... inaccurate... because he's referring to Frederick the Great. Napoleon in the previous century had been at the grave. Which along with taking that goddess of war on top of the Brandenburg gate was such a weird flex. Anyway, the grave wasn't at Sanssouci. This wish Frederick had would only be fulfilled in 1991.
the new border:
Basically Stalin and Hitler split up Poland in a secret addition to an agreement. It was secret for a reason! Anyway, with Hitler attacking Russia and the Allies' victory and the Allies that weren't Russia not wanting to cause any more conflict, Stalin could put through his plan of keeping the territory he was "promised." So they literally just moved the Polish border to the West. It was a really popular promise amongst parties to get it back (it wasn't set in stone yet), but years passed and new people started living there. And you can't go up to those and demand they move /again/. Germans lost interest after a while.
"This isn't 1918.":
The end of the first Workd War was vastly different, with one of the goals of the USA being that nations (or not-yet-nations) gain sovereignty and independence. The degree to which that's actually been achieved or tried to be achieved is debatable.
"all patched up":
The Marshall Plan is one example. One goal was that Germany (along with other European nations) could build up their economy. The USA gave financial support for this. And wanted a new market in return so their own evonomy would benefit even more.
"And we can't keep you around Germany.":
Prussia was (and is) symbolic of militarism and nazism. Interestingly, almost 20 years ago a social democrat politician suggested meging Berlin and Brandenburg and calling it Prussia because that sounded sexier, apparently. The reception was not so great. Considering that the Prussian flag (along with the flag of the German Empire) is widely used by neo nazis, I think it's actually really understandable.
"You think I should've joined a resistance group?":
When the Allies tried to persecute nazis it was a bit hard to distinguish between how much exactly a person contributed. If someone could prove they had had a conflict with nazi authorities or even were part of a resistance group, they were fine. A big part of the cases were dropped anyway though, at least in the West.
"Arisen from the ashes of this fucking disaster but all new and young and determined to build everything anew and better.":
Pretty much what the government wanted East Germany to be - a new socialist beginning. And since the West wasn't socialist, part of the propaganda was that the West was fascist and the GDR was the better Germany.
"You won't make the zone democratic.":
The definition of freedom and democracy was very different in the Soviet Union. The others knew this, but needed some base for their plans so they let it pass.
"new parties, a new currency that's really just coupons glued on old money":
The East was the first zone to have parties. It wasn't democratic, but it wanted to seem like it. The West was the first to introduce a new currency though. Without previously telling the East. So it made this improvised "new" currency. Tensions arose during that time, eventually resulting in a blockade in Berlin by the Soviet Union. It lasted a year and was bypassed by planes ("raisin bombers") that dropped food, coal, and other necessities.
"He understands vaguely how Ludwig must have felt.":
The identity of the East in that time seems manufactured by the government to me, just like the beginning of Germany.
"Then again, Gilbert realises one night after a bottle of wine, that isn't new to him either." and his dream: The Teutonic Knights and their treatment of the original Prussians. This by no means is supposed to compare the two events in a "they were both equally violent/bad/etc" way, considering the scale was so much more extreme with the Teutonic Knights. But to Gilbert it's a bit like payback or a reminder, in some ironic sense. This, and the whole Gilbert-stabbing-Gilbert is supposed to show how his origin ended up affecting him up to this century - Prussia began as knights, as a military, and this very aspect that seeped into the culture and every day life ended up being used in nazi propaganda and being seen as the reason why Prussia needed, to put it into soon to be regrettable terms, a vibe check.
Stalin's offer of reunification: It's generally believed this offer was a trick to make all of Germany like the East zone, because of the aspect mentioned.
June 17th: After the GDR government realised that making 5-year-plans for the production of goods wasn't such a great idea, they raised prices and the quota workers needed to fulfill. This was met with strikes and protests all across the nation. According to my school book it could have meant the overturn of the government and the installment of a democratic one - if other countries had helped or Russia hadn't sent soldiers. Also: There were people from West Berlin protesting with people from East Berlin.
West Germany a month later introduced that holiday, which remained until the new day of German Unity in 1990.
Hallstein-Doktrin: West Germany's way of dealing with the two-Germanys-problem was that you could only have relations to one of them. If you think that this only caused more distance and resentment from the people in the East, you're absolutely right. It made reunification a whole bunch harder, as many of Adenauer's policies regarding the East did. His goal was integrating West Gernany into the West and have an economy that was so good that the East's government, on their own, would want a reunification because ooh economy sexy. The constitution (or fundamental laws) were set to allow reunification.
"after the first round his team wants to switch and Erszebet's team refuses": Hungary was considered to have a GREAT soccer team. So great that when West Germany won against them they called it a miracle and Adenauer said that day was the real foundation date of Germany. Sounds weird, but it actually did cause this burst of patriotism and feeling of unity - without excluding others, as it had been the case before.
The Hungarian Uprising/Revolution 1956: Hungary indeed had a new government and promptly told Soviet soldiers to leave the country. But this resistance was beat down, and less than one month after the new government came into power, it was replaced.