Work Text:
September 19, 2017
New York City, United States
Ludwig just about drops his phone, turning it off as fast as possible as he senses an ominous figure appear over him. He prepares himself for a confrontation of any sort, for United Nations assemblies invite characters of all sorts. Once his eyes adjust and settle on the newcomer, he is pleasantly surprised to find the rather scrawny figure of Loino Vargas. He releases some of his tension, fighting the anticipatory dread that now illuminates his bright eyes.
Lovino catches his unease but ignores it. “Beilschmidt, I need your help,” he states in sharp English, bracing his weight on the desk behind Ludwig. He hunches over, his expression grim, his entire demeanor suggesting he wishes to keep his request fairly private.
Without saying a word, Ludwig’s expression of dread shifts into intrigue as he stares up at the Italian. He gradually picks up on Lovino’s anxious and vaguely frantic energy, instinctively scanning the large United Nations General Assembly Hall. His bright blue eyes latch onto the form of Feliciano Vargas who sits a good distance across the room. The bubbly Italian converses energetically with the Indonesian who stands at his side and the Irishman who sits just a few seats over. The trio, though exceedingly mismatched, take great enjoyment in each other's company. It is rather remarkable that Feliciano has as much energy as he does. They have been in meetings for days on end now, and they have just finished another long day at the United Nations Headquarters.
“For once, I’m not talking about him,” Lovino mumbles, following his gaze, hardly blaming him for the conclusions he so quickly drew. On any normal day, it would be Feliciano who has gotten himself into trouble at a meeting.
Ludwig turns back to Lovino, his brow furrowed as he suddenly has no clue who the Italian could be talking about.
Lovino settles into the empty chair at Ludwig’s side, his gaze remaining low as he grips the back of the chair with one hand and plants the other on his knee. “I’ve been trying to keep a handle on this issue for decades, but I’ve just about run out of things to say, and I… I think you are probably better suited to talk to him. If anything, you are the best.”
Ludwig shakes his head with continuing broken understanding. “Who?”
Lovino looks up, his hazel eyes dim, exhausted, and just a little bit empty. “Im Yong Soo,” he reports dryly.
The German’s expression twists. “Korea?” he asks softly, turning to watch Feliciano, making sure the Italian doesn’t—for whatever reason—need him. A fourth figure, the lanky form of Adolfo Fernández Carranza, has appeared in the trio across the room. He drapes himself on the shoulder of the sturdy Indonesian, hardly paying attention to whatever it is Feliciano has to say.
“South Korea,” Lovino specifies, sitting up straighter, his hair tossing back out of his face as his dark tie shifts awkwardly between his blazer and dress shirt. “I know it doesn’t track for me to care about many people beyond the immediate family Antonio and I built, but I—”
“You don’t need to explain it to me if that requires you to lay too much out on the table,” Ludwig cuts him off, knowing him a little too well. The last thing Vargas would ever do is tell me why he does the things he does. Therefore it’s safe to conclude that whatever is going on here is of the utmost urgency. He sits up, tucking his phone into his pocket. “What do you need me to do?”
Lovino freezes, mouth still open. He exhales, his shoulders falling with his increasing defeat. He peels his attention away from the German he speaks to, watching his brother across the room indifferently. “Two weeks ago or so, I got the world’s… weirdest phone call from Miss Nguyen.”
“Miss Vietnam?” Ludwig clarifies, trying to ensure he is thinking of the right woman.
Lovino nods. “She, Adolfo, Wang, and…” He trails off, blanking on who else was involved in the story he is trying to recount. “And someone else. At least those three.” He takes a deep breath, turning back to Ludwig. “They had to hunt down Yong Soo after he failed to show up at a meeting he was supposed to be hosting.”
Ludwig’s gaze narrows as he starts to figure out how Lovino Vargas is wrapped up in the affairs of Im Yong Soo. He heard about this through Adolfo, didn’t he? Antonio didn’t raise his kids. Lovino did.
“Apparently they found him gunned down on the Korean border,” Lovino continues, his breath catching in his throat as he struggles back emotion.
Ludwig frowns. And Adolfo is friends with Yong Soo by regional and historical convenience. If this was important to Adolfo, of course Lovino was going to care about it too.
“I don’t mean to march over here and tell you that you need to unbox all of the issues that came of your and Gilbert’s situation after the war, but—”
“He’s hurting,” Ludwig finishes the thought.
Lovino tilts his head back ever so slightly, nodding solemnly. “I’ve been giving Yong Soo the same speeches for decades,” he confesses weakly. “Adolfo has been talking Yong Soo off the same ledges for decades… And for most of the twentieth century, we were able to convince him that he was going to be okay because you were just like him and you were okay. But then…” The Italian doesn’t finish the thought.
He doesn’t need to. Ludwig nods as the pieces together the rest of the story.
“He’s a mess right now, Beilschmidt,” Lovino emphasizes, his tone soft.
The German pushes himself to his feet, keeping his icy gaze latched on the Italian. “Is there anything else I need to keep in mind?”
“He’s older than the two of us put together, but all the same he’s new to being an international power.”
Ludwig nods.
“But above all, he’s still ruined by old battle scars.”
The German drops his gaze, immediately growing nauseous as he wonders how many of his sins became the catalysts for what became the undoing of the Korean peninsula. “Where did you see him last?” he asks grimly.
“He was heading out for the foyer last I saw him. I don’t know where he was going but—”
“I’ll find him,” Ludwig states firmly, buttoning the lower buttons of his suit coat.
“Thank you, Beilschmidt.”
Ludwig nods, darting down the clearer side of the row of desks, the loose ends of his dark blue suit coat bouncing against his broad waist. I cannot fathom that Yong Soo is stupid enough to be talking to any sort of head of state or foreign representative, so now this is just a matter of finding him before he does something stupid for his own well-being. He turns into the main aisle, darting up the stairs, his beady gaze set on the top.
His brow furrows as his phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls the slim device free, glancing at it with narrowed eyes, finding one more request from the Italian man he had just left behind. “Tell me when you’ve calmed him down,” the message reads. “And maybe you can convince him to take the rest of the week off while you’re at it.”
Ludwig sends a dry reaction to the texts, at least letting the Italian know he received and acknowledges the requests before turning his phone off once again. I’m willing to bet that Yong Soo is being specifically set off by the fact that he’s at yet another meeting where Dae Seon is not present. That has to be the common thread behind Yong Soo disappearing from a meeting he was supposed to host and then snapping in the middle of a UN meeting. He’s not doing well right now, and all of North Korea’s international antics right now surely aren’t helping.
He drops his arms to his side as he approaches the glass double doors that lead out into the foyer. I frankly cannot blame him for it though. I’ve lost track of the number of events when I wanted Gilbert to be there and he wasn’t. That was every moment between ‘45 and ‘91. He considers this for a few moments more. But just because I understand, doesn’t mean that it’s suddenly rational to freak out over it. Especially if the Im brothers got split in 1949; they’ve been this way for nearly seventy years.
He presses his hand and phone to his abdomen, holding his tie in place as he emerges into the foyer, scanning the dissolving crowds with well-concealed anxiety. He struggles to spot the Korean man, fairly sure he has a good memory of what he looks like.
He steps through the foyer, dodging around various conversation groups as he approaches the balcony that overlooks the lobby below. With critical eyes, he searches every corner of the foyer and lobby he can possibly see from his vantage point. Is he missing again? Where could he have gone in the middle of New York City? He grips the banister with unease. What kind of idiot goes missing during a UN meeting? Does he want to get banned from attending? He tries to restrain his spinning head as he scans the staircase to his left, his eyes frantically darting from one set of figures to the next. Might Alfred know where—
“Hello,” a soft voice mumbles from behind, catching the man off guard.
Ludwig jumps, whirling around with surprise as a lanky figure falls against the banister to his right. “Yong Soo,” he gasps, his eyes wide.
The Korean meets his gaze, smiling weakly. His usually bubbly demeanor is completely washed out by exhaustion.
“Are you doing alright?” Ludwig asks cautiously, breaking his gaze from the Korean to scan the floor below once more. How did I miss him? Was he still in the hall? Was he in the bathroom? He shoots the man a brief glance as he doesn’t respond to his question, silently noting his tear-stained face. He was definitely in the bathroom.
Im Yong Soo clasps his hands, crossing his legs as he too stares aimlessly into the lobby below. “I’m just a little tired,” he laughs at last, his shining, defeated gaze shifting to his shaky hands.
He’s not talking about being tired from the meeting, Ludwig notes to himself. He exhales, running his hand through his hair, combing the product out of it, letting it tumble forward into his eyes. He absently fidgets with it, trying to keep his gaze low. When Gilbert and I were split up, it was evident that we were in complete and utter shambles for every minute of it. I think Dae Seon and Yong Soo are the same.
“You?” Yong Soo asks courteously, ignoring the silent distress he immediately catches radiating off the man.
Ludwig, sensing he has already been read like an open book, no longer plays the game of pleasantries. “Have you ever met my brother?” he asks softly.
The man shakes his head, mildly caught off guard by his leap of subject. “Not really. No. But your brother is Gilbert Beilschmidt, right? He’s Prussia.”
“He’s a lot like Dae Seon,” Ludwig whispers.
Yong Soo freezes, his golden eyes distant and out of focus. He slowly turns to the German at his side, staring up at him with a slight degree of alarm.
“I'm certain you’ve thought about it before,” Ludwig continues, not meeting his gaze. “I’ve been thinking about it for decades. After World War II, Braginsky took Gilbert away from me, just like he took Dae Seon from you after you managed to fall out of Honda’s collapsing empire. Dae Seon and Gilbert were both Braginsky’s spoils of war.”
Yong Soo doesn’t comment on this, but he does lose a bit of his hostility, understanding that the German doesn’t want to delve into the year that was 1945 any more than he really has to.
“Gilbert isn’t around right now to tell you about it himself, but I can tell you in brief about how the Soviets bulldozed East Germany at the end of the war. His people were stripped of everything that could possibly rebuild the economy; everything was sent eastward.” He clears his throat as he tries to choke back guilt and grief. “For the first time in a long while he had his own nation again, but he wasn’t Prussia anymore. He was East Germany. He became this satellite state—this unclassified other.” He glances at the Korean at his side. “Does that sound familiar?”
“Other,” Yong Soo echoes the concept. “As Gilbert was the other Germany, Dae Seon has always been regarded as the other Korea.”
Ludwig turns around, shaking his head. “Gilbert and our people got a lot of bad treatment because Braginsky had lost so much in the war. The Soviets didn’t know where they were going to get the means to rebuild, so they took it from the German people. They punished the German people. In the end, the little that was available for them to steal wasn’t nearly enough for them.”
“Dae Seon wasn’t treated quite like that.”
“You know what loss is though, right? There were obviously some chain of events that landed you in Honda’s empire.”
Yong Soo lowers his gaze, his face twisting with discomfort.
“North Korea—like East Germany—was born of a lost war, though a bit more indirectly. Braginsky couldn't siphon anything out of North Korea because there was nothing there worth stealing. Instead, your peninsula became a stage for shows of power by both Alfred and Braginsky. Your brother was born to be Braginsky’s tool, and now that Braginsky doesn’t need him anymore, he was left just as empty as Gilbert and East Germany were.”
Yong Soo maintains his silence, but his grim expression signals that he agrees with the German’s point.
“Hell. Both Dae Seon and Gilbert were at some point convinced they were going to do socialism better than Braginsky.” He leans back against the banister, crossing his arms, letting his gaze rest on the floor. “But if Gilbert and Dae Seon are the same, what does that make us?” He glances at the man.
“The West’s spoils of war,” the Korean responds dryly. “We are the useless brothers who never had a chance to save those who were closest to us. We are the…” He trails off.
“What’s up?” Ludwig asks softly.
“We…” He meets the man’s gaze once more as he stands upright. “We used to be the same.” His light gray suit coat beats against his thin form as he shifts a step back. “You and I.”
“Yeah?”
“You got Gilbert back in the nineties. I sat by and watched. You got to put your nation back together. I still sit by and suffer.”
“You’re right,” Ludwig agrees softly. “Do you think that means I understand what you are feeling any less?”
“We are different now—”
“Right,” the German cuts him off, not willing to let him spiral too far down this train of thought. “Neither Germany nor Korea are the same nations they were sixty years ago. Good. There used to be two flailing German states and two flailing Korean ones. Now there is one stable German nation, a strong South Korean nation, and an absolute hellscape of a North Korean nation. Gilbert and I are stronger now and so are you!” He pauses, tilting his head. “So… consequently, I’m intrigued by the fact that—in the face of all of these developments—you insist on acting like nothing has changed.”
Yong Soo freezes, offering no protest, as he silently accepts the fact. He slides his suit coat off his shoulders, fighting it off of his arms. “Vargas was talking to you,” he realizes at last, his voice tight with grief and annoyance.
“He told me about the little trip you took to visit your northern neighbor earlier this month,” Ludwig explains, his tone dry and rather unimpressed. “And then we watched you kind of come apart today—”
“I was perfectly fine—”
“You came up to me with a tear-stained face,” Ludwig points out softly. You can’t fool me. You kinda behave like Feliciano.
The Korean curses under his breath, keeping his gaze low, willing to look anywhere but at the German.
“He’d send Fernández out here for you, but I fear he’s a little busy—”
“I’m not Adolfo’s responsibility,” Yong Soo cuts him off. “Nor am I yours—”
Ludwig sighs defeatedly, sinking to the floor, leaning against the glass barrier, glancing up at the Korean man. “There’s something so nauseating to me when I try to put myself in your shoes. I can’t quite… get my head around it. That’s probably because all I really see in you and your situation is me and the situation I was once in.”
Yong Soo joins the German on the floor, letting a stuttered exhale as he drapes his coat across his lap. “I spent decades hearing I was just like you,” he croaks, “to some extent or another. I spent decades hearing about how this shattered country across the continent was—more or less—like me.” He falls quiet as he thinks about it a little harder. “Although one of us had committed war crimes and the other one of us was on the receiving end of war crimes,” he adds in case Ludwig thought he was going to gracefully leave it unspoken. He ignores the German’s defeated exhale. “But… What am I supposed to do?”
“Nothing,” Ludwig replies softly, his chest tightening with uneasiness as he does his best to forgive Yong Soo’s accusatory jab.
“You can’t tell me that!” Yong Soo cries, his shoulders falling with defeat. “I’ve tried so hard to get him back! I’ve tried so hard for so long! You can’t tell me that, all along, there was nothing I could’ve ever done!”
“There is a fairly central reason behind why Gilbert and I got to put our nation together, and why everyone else in our position didn’t.” Ludwig takes a deep breath, his gaze falling out of focus. “We never took up arms against each other. We knew that if we did, it was game over. It was game over for us; it was game over for the people at our backs.”
“But Dae Seon and I did fight,” Yong Soo exhales, closing his eyes. He falls silent as he cautiously recalls particular events, barely daring to remember too many details. “Is that what broke us? Is that why we have no hope but to always be this way?”
“You’ll never find answers in the endless interrogation of what could have been had you all made different decisions.”
Yong Soo considers this in silence for a moment. “What do I do to get my brother back?” he asks once more, this time a bit more pointed.
Ludwig scans the empty foyer, finding it mostly void of people at this point, and those who remain, leave the two plenty of space. Their emotionally charged conversation has sufficiently warded off anyone who thought they might like to stick around. What did I need to hear? For all of those decades, what should they have told me? He drops his gaze. “You can’t do anything,” he whispers. “And I know it sucks, and I know it hurts, but—”
“You can’t say—”
“But,” Ludwig cuts him off, this time sharper, “no one is going to look down on you for it. We all have seen what you’ve tried to do to put your nation back together. You’ve worked so hard, and your government has worked so hard. Your people are resilient, Yong Soo. We see you,” He pulls his knees closer to his chest, resting his elbows on them as he tilts his head back. “But we also see what you need to let go of as well.”
“You never let go. That’s how you got your brother back.”
“I let go of plenty of things,” Ludwig whispers. “I let go of the things that were going to weigh me down.”
Yong Soo considers this.
“And I think in many ways, you have as well. You know what I’m talking about; you’ve grown because you’ve been able to make sacrifices… But there is just one heavy weight that you need to let go of.”
Yong Soo glances up at him with dread.
Ludwig meets his gaze, opening his mouth to give his suggestion—his demented solution—but he cannot bring himself to form the words for a second. “You need to let go of that hope,” he explains at last.
Yong Soo closes his eyes, taking a stuttered breath as he tries to choke back tears. “I’m never going to get him back,” he confesses at last. “But how can I just… say that?!”
“The core of his existence is to be your foil, Im,” Ludwig points out gently. “You… aren’t family… and that’s not news to you. You just keep ignoring it.”
Yong Soo pulls his knees to his chest, burying his face as he breaks down into poorly suppressed sobs.
“That’s another fundamental reason behind why you—as an individual; as Im Yong Soo—can’t compare yourself to me and Gilbert or the Vargas brothers at that.” He watches the man with reverence. “I love my brother and I know he loves me. Feliciano cares for Lovino, and… well, Lovino knows when he needs to pull it together and come through for Feli.” He tries to remain as patient with the man as possible. “You and Dae Seon never had that kind of relationship.”
“I keep trying to build that relationship!” Yong Soo sits up, his hair whipping back out of his face as he stares up at the German with rage.
“And we see that,” Ludwig insists.
“And surely everyone sees that I’m still failing!”
“No one is succeeding at getting on Dae Seon’s good side!”
“China and Russia—”
“Not even them. Im, listen to me—”
“No! Why is it that those two are still allowed to be a part of his life after the way they completely ruined him?! Why is it that—”
“He doesn’t like us,” a new voice inserts rather loudly from across the foyer.
Ah shit, Ludwig remarks to himself as he recognizes the voice. He looks up, spotting Wang Yao across the space, slowly stepping forward, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark brown slacks.
“Get off the floor, Yong Soo. You’re making a fool of yourself,” the Chinese man barks.
The Korean shakes his head, wiping his tears. “Screw off,” he mumbles weakly.
Ludwig looks up at the Chinese man with intrigue as something churns in his gut. He and Wang are not on bad terms by any real means, but every time he considers how much power Wang’s hand has over these sorts of things, he grows uneasy.
“Let Beilschmidt talk to you. He’s being stark and honest,” Yao states dryly, his golden eyes fixed on the weeping man on the floor. “Dae Seon’s opinions on Braginsky and I change like the weather. He is a petulant child whose favor can never be won. At least not for long. Every time you think you’ve gotten somewhere with that brat, he turns around and goes back on every single word he’s just uttered. Until he changes—until he undergoes this overhaul of his every fundamental value—you aren’t doing anything to build a relationship with him.”
“And that’s what you’re doing at the end of the day. You’re building,” Ludwig points out. “You’re not repairing. There was nothing there to begin with. There is nothing to repair.”
“Dae Seon figured that out nearly immediately,” Yao chastises.
“It’s not your fault that there was nothing there for you to work with,” Ludwig continues, hoping to soften the blow of Yao’s words. “It’s not your fault that that's just how things were from the beginning.”
Yong Soo takes a deep breath, trying to choke back his tears. “It’s not fair,” he mutters at last.
“Nope,” Yao agrees sharply.
“I know,” Ludwig sighs with a bit more empathy.
“Very rarely are the things that befall us ever fair.”
“Yong Soo, take it from me. There is something exceedingly important about getting off the ground and moving forward,” Ludwig mumbles, pushing himself to his feet. He straightens the sleeves of his suit coat, tossing his hair out of his face as he approaches Wang who stands a few short feet away. “That’s how we got through the fifties—the decades following the war—”
“—and every painful decade after it,” Yao adds, locking eyes with the man.
Ludwig nods, turning back to the Korean on the floor. “Let go of that heavy weight—”
“The weight of my hope?!” Yong Soo cries, staring up at him in disbelief.
“It’s killing you, Yong Soo. It’s a dagger in an open wound,” Yao spits. “Dae Seon picked what kind of man he wants to be, and now it’s your turn to figure out who you want to be.” He shakes his head, shrugging indifferently. “And… I mean… You already have everything you need to get off the ground and start running. You are a strong nation. You have a very strong identity. If you come to terms with this one thing more, I have no doubt in the man you can become.”
“Your dreams rely on the cooperation of those who despise you,” Ludwig mutters, his bright gaze studying the floor. “You don’t need to suspend yourself with grief—”
“—always looking backward,” the Chinese man inserts.
“You are allowed to pick yourself up, and you are allowed to start moving on. You don’t need to feel guilty for leaving him behind. I think your people are beyond ready to do so.” Ludwig shifts a step forward, holding a hand out for him. “We may not be all that similar anymore, but that’s a good thing, right? That means we aren’t the same men we used to be. There is a deep horror one should feel to imagine going through their entire life without changing. If you aren't changing, you aren’t growing; you’re dying. Do you know who hasn’t changed all that much?”
Yong Soo stares blankly up at him in silence.
“Dae Seon,” Yao answers, confessing what the Korean is too afraid to.
“I’m really young,” Ludwig laughs uneasily, hand still extended. “I’m not going to pretend to be some sort of sage, but I know what it’s like to be in your shoes. Please let me help you. I promise you things will get better if you just step out of the shadow of your grief, sorrow, and regret. I promise you things will get better if you just take a step forward. ”
Yong Soo holds his gaze, blinking a few times, his golden eyes shining with emotion. He reaches for the German’s hand, clinging tightly to it. Ludwig’s fingers wrap around his thin shaking hand as he pulls him to his feet.
Yao crosses his arms, solemnly watching the Korean as he struggles to find his balance, gripping his suit coat loosely with his free hand. Despite his instability, he stands. He stands and takes one shaking, stumbling step forward.