Germany watched, bewildered, as the weirdest chaos he’d even seen at one of these meetings expanded to include everyone present. Turkey punched Rome in the face before being wrapped in the ancient’s arms, Russia was actually talking to the old barbarian – the Horde? - who’d terrified him earlier, Poland and Lithuania approached Prussia and for once it seemed that the conversation was civil, if awkward, leaving Germany to wonder just what had happened while his brother had been a Polish duchy.
Spain and Portugal embraced a woman who looked so much like them she had to be their mother, before the three of them spoke to a rather battered Rome.
If he hadn’t made his own much-needed apologies to everyone he’d conquered as soon as he was able, Germany would have found the whole situation agonizingly embarrassing. Bad enough to have one’s sexual preferences become the topic of global gossip, without everyone knowing who you’d had sex with when, and whether or not it was forced. He really should have listened to Prussia and not his other brothers.
Especially not Bavaria. ‘Hunt them down and conquer them: they love it’. Ugh.
It had taken him years to be able to meet England’s cold green gaze after, and longer for the crawling anger and shame to fade. And France, well… Germany doubted he would ever be able to forgive the nation for demanding Prussia’s death and trying to make Germany into a kind of fake France. He still had to force himself not to show anything but neutrality towards the so-called nation of love.
Both France and England sat with their arms folded, stubbornly refusing to accept that they might perhaps be other than purely innocent or righteous.
Germania approached them both, rested a hand on each nation’s shoulder.
Germany carefully didn’t smile at the near-identical reactions.
“You are brothers,” Germania said. “And my sons.”
Germany wished he hadn’t heard that. It meant he was related to France. Behind him, Prussia snickered.
“You knew?”
Prussia spoke so softly Germany doubted anyone else would hear him. “Ja, I knew. Vati had Fuzz-face with Rome, and Eyebrows with Brittania.”
Germany looked from Germania to Rome, and back. The discussion with France and England didn’t appear to be going well, despite the addition of the redheaded bow woman – presumably Brittania. More to the point, both Germania and Rome were very much male. Emphatically so. “Er…”
Prussia made a sound Germany was sure he didn’t want to interpret. “Something ‘proper’ nations can do,” he said. “When we’ve lost, or we choose to submit to someone or some shit.”
Germany was quite certain his face was on fire – although it did explain why the aftermath of that war had felt so… odd. To distract himself from that – it wasn’t pleasant to remember, and he’d rather focus on sensible things – Germany looked to see what was happening with England and France.
England had his arms wrapped around Brittania, crying softly. Germany recognized the posture: someone letting out centuries of pain in the arms of one of the few he trusted. He’d done with same with North Italy, a few years before the Wall had come down.
He averted his eyes, not wanting to intrude on something so personal.
France had an odd look in his eyes when he approached Germany and Prussia. “I… It seems we are full brothers, you and I.”
Germany blinked. “We are?” Oh, wait… Prussia had told him once he’d been the Holy Roman Empire, the youngest of Germania’s many children, and with a name like that, Rome had to be his other parent.
“Yes, you are.” Germania’s voice was quiet, calm. “And it is past time you reconciled.”
That meant more than the last hundred years, Germany was sure.
France glowered at the ancient nation. “That’s easy for you to say. You didn’t have this barbarian traipsing through your heart like he owned it.”
Germania raised an eyebrow. “No, I had that barbarian -” he pointed to Rome, who appeared to have managed to turn the whole of southern Europe into a family gathering - “- traipsing through mine.”
“And you killed him in revenge.” The flatness of France’s voice told Germany far more than he’d wanted to know.
“No.” Germania’s calm didn’t waver. “I gave him mercy when he asked it, when Constantinople fell to the Ottomans.”
France was left with his mouth open, not that Germany blamed him. Everyone ‘knew’ Germania had killed Rome, but he doubted any of the nations realized it had been an act of mercy.
Prussia squeezed his shoulder.
Germany reached back to wrap an arm around his brother’s body. Every now and then, when Prussia was tired, Germany would catch a little of the pain his older brother concealed from the world, and he fully understood why a nation suffering that would ask someone he trusted for mercy. If Prussia ever asked that of him, Germany could only hope he would be able to give it.
Prussia broke their little bubble of silence. “Look, if you don’t regret anything, don’t bother apologizing. That’s just insulting.”
France flushed. “I am not the one who slaughtered millions!”
“Ja? Your Napoleon might disagree.” Prussia’s voice could have cut steel. “And don’t try claiming anything from before that, either,” he added before France could object. “Fact is, we’ve all been beating on each other for the smallest pretext since forever.”
Germany felt his brother’s movement, heard the sneer in his voice. “I couldn’t stop my kings playing at war, but I tried to do what I could to make up for the shit they pulled. Same as I did with my knights. I’ve made my peace with what I am and what I’ve done, Fuzz-face. Have you?”
Germania sighed. “Little elf, you may be at peace with deeds, but you are not at peace with your soul.”
Prussia made a sound of derision. “And you’re surprised?” he demanded. “I’m working on it. That will do for now.”
Another sigh, but before Germania could speak, France’s disgusted, “You mean I’m related to that monster?” shattered any chance of an amicable ending to the tension.
“Calm your tits, Fuzz-face.” Prussia’s voice was colder than anything Germany had heard in years. Not since he’d been stuck with his mad boss’s orders had Germany heard anything like this. “I’m adopted. You don’t need to fear any tainted blood from me.”
France glared. “Good. After everything you did we should have killed you when we dissolved you.”
Which was why Germany doubted he could ever forgive France completely. The conquest and occupation, unpleasant as they had been, those he could live with. But the desire to destroy Prussia who’d been completely innocent and lied to spare Germany the worst? That he couldn’t forgive, and worse, Prussia wouldn’t allow him to reveal the truth.
Germania’s sharp, “Enough,” was almost as forceful as Prussia’s battlefield command voice. “You were once friendly with Prussia. Do you truly believe he would change so much from the man you once knew?”
“Vati, don’t.” Prussia wasn’t pleading. To his eternal shame, Germany knew what Prussia pleading sounded like, and this wasn’t it.
“He’s a monster,” France snarled. “A demon. He slaughters on the battlefield and laughs. He’s -”
“I’m a fucking berserker, arse-wipe,” Prussia retorted. “Same as Canada.”
Who, Germany noted, was having an emotional moment with the four attending Nordics – Iceland having declined due to one of his volcanoes erupting a few days ago – and who looked awfully like Norway when you saw the two of them side by side.
France rocked back on his feet, apparently shocked. “Berserker? But...”
“I’m not Nordic, ja, I know.” Now Prussia just sounded tired. “Fuck if I know why I’ve got it, but I do. Anything else you’d like to condemn me for? Might as well get it all out in the open.”
France blinked. Stared.
Germany knew without looking that Prussia was rubbing his left arm again.
“Please,” Germania said softly. “Little elf, tell him. You’ve carried this on your own long enough.”
France’s frown was one of confusion now, not anger. “Tell me what?”
Prussia sighed. “Oh, just that I lied at the trial. No way I was letting you arses rip into my brother after everything I gave up for him.”
Germany bowed his head, knowing Prussia meant far more than simply creating the empire. He’d failed Prussia so much the shame was unbearable, and made worse by the way Prussia forgave him every time he’d thrown his brother’s generosity in his face.
God, Prussia even forgave Germany for conquering him and treating him like a slave for years. Forgave him for sending him to the camps and an existence of torture.
He didn’t want to see France’s face, see that hatred fall to him.
“You… what?”
“I lied.” Prussia didn’t mince words. “God in Heaven, France, West wasn’t even a hundred years old for that war. Do you really think he had any way of defying his boss at that age? It’s hard enough when you’re over a thousand. Even China has trouble.”
France was breathing hard. “You… you lied to protect… Dear god, do you know what he did to me?”
Germany wished he could disappear into the floor. Worse, the room had gone silent, everyone’s attention caught by France’s anguished shout.
Prussia just… Germany didn’t need to look to know his brother had that odd little smile of his, the sad one that meant he was going to say or do something that revealed his true self to whoever was there. The true self that was nothing like the loudmouthed buffoon he pretended to be to protect himself.
“He’d already done the same to me, France.” Prussia’s soft, emotionless voice carried to every nation in the room. “When he did it to you, I was wearing a black triangle. Because I’d blown my cover getting Canada out before the kid could be shipped off to Mengele as an experimental subject. I took Canada’s place.”
Silence.
Now France’s voice shook. “And you… you forgave that?”
“He had no choice,” Prussia said simply. “Of course I did.”
“Then… why does…”
“Oh, France,” Prussia sighed. “France. You can be so blind sometimes, not that I’m any better. They’re not here because we need to forgive the people who fucked us over, or apologize to the ones we fucked over.”
Oh. The realization hit Germany with the force of a bunker-buster a moment before Prussia spoke. His eyes burned and he started to shake.
Re: Multiple Nations: Their first time - Forgive Us Our Sins 5 of 5
Spain and Portugal embraced a woman who looked so much like them she had to be their mother, before the three of them spoke to a rather battered Rome.
If he hadn’t made his own much-needed apologies to everyone he’d conquered as soon as he was able, Germany would have found the whole situation agonizingly embarrassing. Bad enough to have one’s sexual preferences become the topic of global gossip, without everyone knowing who you’d had sex with when, and whether or not it was forced. He really should have listened to Prussia and not his other brothers.
Especially not Bavaria. ‘Hunt them down and conquer them: they love it’. Ugh.
It had taken him years to be able to meet England’s cold green gaze after, and longer for the crawling anger and shame to fade. And France, well… Germany doubted he would ever be able to forgive the nation for demanding Prussia’s death and trying to make Germany into a kind of fake France. He still had to force himself not to show anything but neutrality towards the so-called nation of love.
Both France and England sat with their arms folded, stubbornly refusing to accept that they might perhaps be other than purely innocent or righteous.
Germania approached them both, rested a hand on each nation’s shoulder.
Germany carefully didn’t smile at the near-identical reactions.
“You are brothers,” Germania said. “And my sons.”
Germany wished he hadn’t heard that. It meant he was related to France. Behind him, Prussia snickered.
“You knew?”
Prussia spoke so softly Germany doubted anyone else would hear him. “Ja, I knew. Vati had Fuzz-face with Rome, and Eyebrows with Brittania.”
Germany looked from Germania to Rome, and back. The discussion with France and England didn’t appear to be going well, despite the addition of the redheaded bow woman – presumably Brittania. More to the point, both Germania and Rome were very much male. Emphatically so. “Er…”
Prussia made a sound Germany was sure he didn’t want to interpret. “Something ‘proper’ nations can do,” he said. “When we’ve lost, or we choose to submit to someone or some shit.”
Germany was quite certain his face was on fire – although it did explain why the aftermath of that war had felt so… odd. To distract himself from that – it wasn’t pleasant to remember, and he’d rather focus on sensible things – Germany looked to see what was happening with England and France.
England had his arms wrapped around Brittania, crying softly. Germany recognized the posture: someone letting out centuries of pain in the arms of one of the few he trusted. He’d done with same with North Italy, a few years before the Wall had come down.
He averted his eyes, not wanting to intrude on something so personal.
France had an odd look in his eyes when he approached Germany and Prussia. “I… It seems we are full brothers, you and I.”
Germany blinked. “We are?” Oh, wait… Prussia had told him once he’d been the Holy Roman Empire, the youngest of Germania’s many children, and with a name like that, Rome had to be his other parent.
“Yes, you are.” Germania’s voice was quiet, calm. “And it is past time you reconciled.”
That meant more than the last hundred years, Germany was sure.
France glowered at the ancient nation. “That’s easy for you to say. You didn’t have this barbarian traipsing through your heart like he owned it.”
Germania raised an eyebrow. “No, I had that barbarian -” he pointed to Rome, who appeared to have managed to turn the whole of southern Europe into a family gathering - “- traipsing through mine.”
“And you killed him in revenge.” The flatness of France’s voice told Germany far more than he’d wanted to know.
“No.” Germania’s calm didn’t waver. “I gave him mercy when he asked it, when Constantinople fell to the Ottomans.”
France was left with his mouth open, not that Germany blamed him. Everyone ‘knew’ Germania had killed Rome, but he doubted any of the nations realized it had been an act of mercy.
Prussia squeezed his shoulder.
Germany reached back to wrap an arm around his brother’s body. Every now and then, when Prussia was tired, Germany would catch a little of the pain his older brother concealed from the world, and he fully understood why a nation suffering that would ask someone he trusted for mercy. If Prussia ever asked that of him, Germany could only hope he would be able to give it.
Prussia broke their little bubble of silence. “Look, if you don’t regret anything, don’t bother apologizing. That’s just insulting.”
France flushed. “I am not the one who slaughtered millions!”
“Ja? Your Napoleon might disagree.” Prussia’s voice could have cut steel. “And don’t try claiming anything from before that, either,” he added before France could object. “Fact is, we’ve all been beating on each other for the smallest pretext since forever.”
Germany felt his brother’s movement, heard the sneer in his voice. “I couldn’t stop my kings playing at war, but I tried to do what I could to make up for the shit they pulled. Same as I did with my knights. I’ve made my peace with what I am and what I’ve done, Fuzz-face. Have you?”
Germania sighed. “Little elf, you may be at peace with deeds, but you are not at peace with your soul.”
Prussia made a sound of derision. “And you’re surprised?” he demanded. “I’m working on it. That will do for now.”
Another sigh, but before Germania could speak, France’s disgusted, “You mean I’m related to that monster?” shattered any chance of an amicable ending to the tension.
“Calm your tits, Fuzz-face.” Prussia’s voice was colder than anything Germany had heard in years. Not since he’d been stuck with his mad boss’s orders had Germany heard anything like this. “I’m adopted. You don’t need to fear any tainted blood from me.”
France glared. “Good. After everything you did we should have killed you when we dissolved you.”
Which was why Germany doubted he could ever forgive France completely. The conquest and occupation, unpleasant as they had been, those he could live with. But the desire to destroy Prussia who’d been completely innocent and lied to spare Germany the worst? That he couldn’t forgive, and worse, Prussia wouldn’t allow him to reveal the truth.
Germania’s sharp, “Enough,” was almost as forceful as Prussia’s battlefield command voice. “You were once friendly with Prussia. Do you truly believe he would change so much from the man you once knew?”
“Vati, don’t.” Prussia wasn’t pleading. To his eternal shame, Germany knew what Prussia pleading sounded like, and this wasn’t it.
“He’s a monster,” France snarled. “A demon. He slaughters on the battlefield and laughs. He’s -”
“I’m a fucking berserker, arse-wipe,” Prussia retorted. “Same as Canada.”
Who, Germany noted, was having an emotional moment with the four attending Nordics – Iceland having declined due to one of his volcanoes erupting a few days ago – and who looked awfully like Norway when you saw the two of them side by side.
France rocked back on his feet, apparently shocked. “Berserker? But...”
“I’m not Nordic, ja, I know.” Now Prussia just sounded tired. “Fuck if I know why I’ve got it, but I do. Anything else you’d like to condemn me for? Might as well get it all out in the open.”
France blinked. Stared.
Germany knew without looking that Prussia was rubbing his left arm again.
“Please,” Germania said softly. “Little elf, tell him. You’ve carried this on your own long enough.”
France’s frown was one of confusion now, not anger. “Tell me what?”
Prussia sighed. “Oh, just that I lied at the trial. No way I was letting you arses rip into my brother after everything I gave up for him.”
Germany bowed his head, knowing Prussia meant far more than simply creating the empire. He’d failed Prussia so much the shame was unbearable, and made worse by the way Prussia forgave him every time he’d thrown his brother’s generosity in his face.
God, Prussia even forgave Germany for conquering him and treating him like a slave for years. Forgave him for sending him to the camps and an existence of torture.
He didn’t want to see France’s face, see that hatred fall to him.
“You… what?”
“I lied.” Prussia didn’t mince words. “God in Heaven, France, West wasn’t even a hundred years old for that war. Do you really think he had any way of defying his boss at that age? It’s hard enough when you’re over a thousand. Even China has trouble.”
France was breathing hard. “You… you lied to protect… Dear god, do you know what he did to me?”
Germany wished he could disappear into the floor. Worse, the room had gone silent, everyone’s attention caught by France’s anguished shout.
Prussia just… Germany didn’t need to look to know his brother had that odd little smile of his, the sad one that meant he was going to say or do something that revealed his true self to whoever was there. The true self that was nothing like the loudmouthed buffoon he pretended to be to protect himself.
“He’d already done the same to me, France.” Prussia’s soft, emotionless voice carried to every nation in the room. “When he did it to you, I was wearing a black triangle. Because I’d blown my cover getting Canada out before the kid could be shipped off to Mengele as an experimental subject. I took Canada’s place.”
Silence.
Now France’s voice shook. “And you… you forgave that?”
“He had no choice,” Prussia said simply. “Of course I did.”
“Then… why does…”
“Oh, France,” Prussia sighed. “France. You can be so blind sometimes, not that I’m any better. They’re not here because we need to forgive the people who fucked us over, or apologize to the ones we fucked over.”
Oh. The realization hit Germany with the force of a bunker-buster a moment before Prussia spoke. His eyes burned and he started to shake.
“We need to forgive ourselves.”
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