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'Post-War Miracles (The Rising Sun Remix)'. Hetalia. Japan, Germany, America. PG13.
Parts of this remix were written months ago in the comment section of the original fic because sometimes I get carried away when I write comments. Also, what is it about fic deadlines that makes you more productive on fics with no deadlines?
Post-War Miracles (The Rising Sun Remix)
Hetalia. Japan/Germany, Japan/America-ish. 1341 words. PG13.
Japan and Germany after the war. A remix of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
zempasuchil's 高度経済成長 / Wirtschaftswunder from Japan's POV.
The conversation is subdued and polite, but this suits Japan. During dinner Germany asks about Korea, and Japan asks about France, but neither would ever shame the other nor their own powers of observation by asking, "How are you?"
Germany predictably bristles when the phone rings. There was once a time when Japan would've reached across the table to gentle him with a touch, but Japan knows better now.
“What does he want with you?” Germany demands, and subsequently falls into the despondent nostalgia that Japan has learned to expect from him. Germany is a nation of great ambition, which so easily slips into passion, and there is a dark history between Germany and America that Japan has only begun to understand. Japan is only a small part of it. The end of the war has reiterated what he has always fought so hard to defy and still can’t quite believe: that he is only handfuls of dirt thrown at the sea, and just as easily dissipated.
A new start is being forced upon him. He is drifting from Germany's embrace and into America's out of necessity, and Japan thinks that when it comes down to it, surely Germany must understand.
+
America calls it baseball and Japan calls it a waste of time, but of course he would never say that to his face. Still, the game seems to mean something to America, so Japan does his best.
“Japan steps up to the plate,” America narrates exuberantly from the pitcher’s mound. (He is curiously fond of doing this.) “America winds up for the pitch! He pulls back! You can feel the tension in the air, folks!”
America throws.
America announces, “America thr-!“
Japan hits the ball with a ringing THWACK and it sails into the sky. They watch it disappear, America with an expression of astonishment and Japan with one of determination, gritting his teeth as the wounds on his hands throb.
“Run to first base, man!” America yells at a motionless Japan, and starts running after the ball. “Run to first base! No no, that’s third base!”
By the time America comes back with the ball, Japan has been standing patiently on first base for a long time. America concedes an admiring shake of his head.
“You’re full of surprises, you know,” says America.
“Did I score?” asks Japan.
“No,” America replies, and grins, “but keep up what you’re doing and who knows what the future may bring, huh?”
+
Japan stands before the mirror and forces himself to account for every scar, every inch of skin that has been reddened and blackened by radiation.
He must know himself. He must know who he is again, rediscover what he is in this new world order. Perhaps the best place to start is from the bottom. It is only when you lose everything when you are free to be anything.
He hisses, sucking air through his teeth as he changes his bandages. Japan peels off layer after layer, revealing the disfigurement beneath like he really is the monster that everyone says he is. He takes a minute to assess his reflection, turning this way and that. Japan wonders about Germany’s wounds, whether they hurt as badly, whether they hold him back as much. Whether he and Germany can still call themselves whole.
Japan wraps new bandages around his wrists until all you see is white cotton where scars should be.
Tonight he dons the clothes of his enemies, piece by piece: trousers, shirt, blazer. Each article of clothing covers up a little more of himself. It would have felt like betrayal if Japan didn't know that it’s just survival. It’s just adaptation. The world belongs to his enemies now, so he must become the enemy and learn their game. (Is enemy even the right word anymore? Japan thinks of the energetic idealism with which America said, “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you everything I know and we’ll be good friends, I’m sure of it.” America’s smile was as vibrant as the burns on Japan’s skin, but they don’t talk about that, not yet. Scars can wait. History can wait. It has always waited, and much of it is waiting still.)
The starched linen is rough against Japan’s skin, and the wool of his trousers is scratchy, but he puts them on and supposes that this will do for now.
He adjusts his tie. Japan smiles warily at the mirror, and his reflection smiles back.
It is almost seven, and Japan is never late.
+
Germany answers the door, and Japan takes note of Germany's glance at his suit. There is no surprise, no acknowledgment, and really, Japan wasn't sure what he had expected anyway. Perhaps Japan was only assuming discomfort because it’s what he feels himself.
"Come in," Germany says, and Japan does.
Germany is more irritable this time for one reason or another. There is something of resentment to his manner, but Japan isn't sure at whom it is directed. At Japan? America? Germany himself? Still, Japan will not apologize for his own success, so he falls to complimenting Germany instead. Soothing bruised egos - a familiar and necessary business in these times. Japan wonders if this is what America thinks he is doing, soothing egos, and at the same time emphasizing the surety of defeat. There is no more need to fight, says the undertone. There is nothing left to fight with.
America and Japan are inscrutable to each other, and the first steps in their post-war relationship have been clumsy and unsure, full of optimism on America's part and reticence on Japan's. They are both determined to find common ground. Sometimes it’s all you can do to grit your teeth and grin and bear it.
"America is punitive," Germany is saying.
America is necessary, and the sooner they accept this, the better.
When they are two beers and a sake in, Japan finally points out, “Our hands are not exactly clean of blood either, Doitsu-san.”
“No,” Germany agrees, and Japan doesn’t reply. Nothing more is said on the matter, at least not tonight, and history waits some more.
It is waiting still.
+
America asked, “You’re thinking of them, aren’t you? Of Germany and Italy?”
Japan asked, cautious, “Why do you say that?”
“Lucky guess. But you can’t be living in the past, you know. There’s no time for that, not when there’s so much of the future to deal with.”
It’s not that Japan lives in the past, but that his past is living in his present, alongside him and around him. He knows Germany feels similarly. History returns to the present in the form of myth, internalized as self. Japan and Germany carry each other within themselves half a world away.
“You’re thinking of him, aren’t you?” Germany demands of him now. “You’re thinking of America?”
“No,” Japan lies, and pours them both another drink.
+
There is a difference between ambition and passion, but it's easy to confuse the two. It's easy to reach out thinking they are only acting in self-interest, but the convenient lie of "We are one" can become a dangerous thing. Japan and Germany are separated by oceans and continents, but once upon a time, they thought their lands would bleed across the world until their borders touched, so that they could lie next to each other, as promised.
Japan’s words to Germany now aren’t a promise but they sound like one. As Germany shifts closer and closer, Japan tenses, anticipates, remembers. He is reminded of those wordless nights and days on the island - Germany beside him, the future ahead of him, power in his hand like so much sand.
The kiss is not unexpected; it is disarmingly familiar. They haven’t done this in a while and their weakened condition makes them clumsy, but Japan closes his eyes and imagines the sunlight on the island, the memory of which is now so far away from this room and this night.
“Doitsu,” Japan breathes against Germany’s lips, and pulls him close.
Post-War Miracles (The Rising Sun Remix)
Hetalia. Japan/Germany, Japan/America-ish. 1341 words. PG13.
Japan and Germany after the war. A remix of
zempasuchil's 高度経済成長 / Wirtschaftswunder from Japan's POV.The conversation is subdued and polite, but this suits Japan. During dinner Germany asks about Korea, and Japan asks about France, but neither would ever shame the other nor their own powers of observation by asking, "How are you?"
Germany predictably bristles when the phone rings. There was once a time when Japan would've reached across the table to gentle him with a touch, but Japan knows better now.
“What does he want with you?” Germany demands, and subsequently falls into the despondent nostalgia that Japan has learned to expect from him. Germany is a nation of great ambition, which so easily slips into passion, and there is a dark history between Germany and America that Japan has only begun to understand. Japan is only a small part of it. The end of the war has reiterated what he has always fought so hard to defy and still can’t quite believe: that he is only handfuls of dirt thrown at the sea, and just as easily dissipated.
A new start is being forced upon him. He is drifting from Germany's embrace and into America's out of necessity, and Japan thinks that when it comes down to it, surely Germany must understand.
+
America calls it baseball and Japan calls it a waste of time, but of course he would never say that to his face. Still, the game seems to mean something to America, so Japan does his best.
“Japan steps up to the plate,” America narrates exuberantly from the pitcher’s mound. (He is curiously fond of doing this.) “America winds up for the pitch! He pulls back! You can feel the tension in the air, folks!”
America throws.
America announces, “America thr-!“
Japan hits the ball with a ringing THWACK and it sails into the sky. They watch it disappear, America with an expression of astonishment and Japan with one of determination, gritting his teeth as the wounds on his hands throb.
“Run to first base, man!” America yells at a motionless Japan, and starts running after the ball. “Run to first base! No no, that’s third base!”
By the time America comes back with the ball, Japan has been standing patiently on first base for a long time. America concedes an admiring shake of his head.
“You’re full of surprises, you know,” says America.
“Did I score?” asks Japan.
“No,” America replies, and grins, “but keep up what you’re doing and who knows what the future may bring, huh?”
+
Japan stands before the mirror and forces himself to account for every scar, every inch of skin that has been reddened and blackened by radiation.
He must know himself. He must know who he is again, rediscover what he is in this new world order. Perhaps the best place to start is from the bottom. It is only when you lose everything when you are free to be anything.
He hisses, sucking air through his teeth as he changes his bandages. Japan peels off layer after layer, revealing the disfigurement beneath like he really is the monster that everyone says he is. He takes a minute to assess his reflection, turning this way and that. Japan wonders about Germany’s wounds, whether they hurt as badly, whether they hold him back as much. Whether he and Germany can still call themselves whole.
Japan wraps new bandages around his wrists until all you see is white cotton where scars should be.
Tonight he dons the clothes of his enemies, piece by piece: trousers, shirt, blazer. Each article of clothing covers up a little more of himself. It would have felt like betrayal if Japan didn't know that it’s just survival. It’s just adaptation. The world belongs to his enemies now, so he must become the enemy and learn their game. (Is enemy even the right word anymore? Japan thinks of the energetic idealism with which America said, “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you everything I know and we’ll be good friends, I’m sure of it.” America’s smile was as vibrant as the burns on Japan’s skin, but they don’t talk about that, not yet. Scars can wait. History can wait. It has always waited, and much of it is waiting still.)
The starched linen is rough against Japan’s skin, and the wool of his trousers is scratchy, but he puts them on and supposes that this will do for now.
He adjusts his tie. Japan smiles warily at the mirror, and his reflection smiles back.
It is almost seven, and Japan is never late.
+
Germany answers the door, and Japan takes note of Germany's glance at his suit. There is no surprise, no acknowledgment, and really, Japan wasn't sure what he had expected anyway. Perhaps Japan was only assuming discomfort because it’s what he feels himself.
"Come in," Germany says, and Japan does.
Germany is more irritable this time for one reason or another. There is something of resentment to his manner, but Japan isn't sure at whom it is directed. At Japan? America? Germany himself? Still, Japan will not apologize for his own success, so he falls to complimenting Germany instead. Soothing bruised egos - a familiar and necessary business in these times. Japan wonders if this is what America thinks he is doing, soothing egos, and at the same time emphasizing the surety of defeat. There is no more need to fight, says the undertone. There is nothing left to fight with.
America and Japan are inscrutable to each other, and the first steps in their post-war relationship have been clumsy and unsure, full of optimism on America's part and reticence on Japan's. They are both determined to find common ground. Sometimes it’s all you can do to grit your teeth and grin and bear it.
"America is punitive," Germany is saying.
America is necessary, and the sooner they accept this, the better.
When they are two beers and a sake in, Japan finally points out, “Our hands are not exactly clean of blood either, Doitsu-san.”
“No,” Germany agrees, and Japan doesn’t reply. Nothing more is said on the matter, at least not tonight, and history waits some more.
It is waiting still.
+
America asked, “You’re thinking of them, aren’t you? Of Germany and Italy?”
Japan asked, cautious, “Why do you say that?”
“Lucky guess. But you can’t be living in the past, you know. There’s no time for that, not when there’s so much of the future to deal with.”
It’s not that Japan lives in the past, but that his past is living in his present, alongside him and around him. He knows Germany feels similarly. History returns to the present in the form of myth, internalized as self. Japan and Germany carry each other within themselves half a world away.
“You’re thinking of him, aren’t you?” Germany demands of him now. “You’re thinking of America?”
“No,” Japan lies, and pours them both another drink.
+
There is a difference between ambition and passion, but it's easy to confuse the two. It's easy to reach out thinking they are only acting in self-interest, but the convenient lie of "We are one" can become a dangerous thing. Japan and Germany are separated by oceans and continents, but once upon a time, they thought their lands would bleed across the world until their borders touched, so that they could lie next to each other, as promised.
Japan’s words to Germany now aren’t a promise but they sound like one. As Germany shifts closer and closer, Japan tenses, anticipates, remembers. He is reminded of those wordless nights and days on the island - Germany beside him, the future ahead of him, power in his hand like so much sand.
The kiss is not unexpected; it is disarmingly familiar. They haven’t done this in a while and their weakened condition makes them clumsy, but Japan closes his eyes and imagines the sunlight on the island, the memory of which is now so far away from this room and this night.
“Doitsu,” Japan breathes against Germany’s lips, and pulls him close.