Part 1

Chap 1

People say I smile a lot. I guess it’s my job, since no one else seems to smile much these days.

PAST

German Empire was drunk.

        Only Saal-Schutz, Weimar, and a few house servants knew about it. The boys’ father had locked himself in his room upstairs again for the third time this week, along with a few bottles to keep him company.

        Downstairs, the youngest of the three sons, Reichswehr, tested a new piece he had composed on the piano. Saal-Schutz lounged on the sofa, humming to the music and scribbling what looked like lyrics onto a sheet of paper.

        “What do you think about this?” Saal cleared his throat and sang, albeit very crookedly, “Heads held high, our futures looked so bright. But after the war, the battle scars never faded -”

        The music stopped and Saal knew instantly he had written the wrong things again.

        “I thought this was supposed to cheer me up,” Reichswehr said, pulling his fingers away from the keys. “It sounds depressing already.”

        “It’s reality,” Saal protested. “Reality is depressing. The strategy is to accept it and set your standards lower.” He scratched some more words down. “Then everything becomes much more cheerful, trust me.”        

        Reichswehr didn’t answer and stared at the piano keys with a blank face. It was so frequent - that emotionless expression - that Saal sometimes mistook him for a statue. Stoney, cold, and drained of life after the end of the Great War.

        He found the next words that he’d written to unconsciously reflect those thoughts and hummed quietly, “We drift apart...the next years were so hard…”

        The piano lid shut. Reichswehr rose and turned his back, which carried his neatly folded obsidian wings, to Saal as he headed for the kitchen, likely to snack on a brownie that Weimar had made in the morning. Saal was somewhat relieved; at least sweets made his little brother feel better when he clearly couldn’t with his songwriting.

Moments later, soft footsteps padded down the carpeted stairs. Weimar carried a tray of untouched food to the living room and set it gently down on the table. Saal scooted forward. The dishes were cold by now.

“Any luck?” he asked his older brother.

Weimar shook his head. “I waited by the door but Vater made no sound.” He sighed sadly at the filled plates. “I made all his favorite foods. I tried talking to him. It was like he wasn’t even there.”

“Passed out probably,” Saal said. “Have you eaten?”

Weimar shook his head again. He frowned at the piano. “Where is Reichswehr?”

Since their father’s drinking had become a persistent problem, everyone in the house tried their best to shield Reichswehr from it. Saal had a feeling their little brother already knew; he was quiet but an observant kid.

“You should eat first, Weimar,” said Saal. “You always worry about everyone and never take care of yourself. Have the chef cook you something fresh.”

“Nein, I might as well eat this if Vater isn’t -”

“It’s cold,” Saal interrupted. “I’ll eat it. The chef will cook you a warm lunch for once. Otherwise, it’s a waste of money to hire him if you keep doing his job.”

Weimar rolled his eyes at Saal but smiled gratefully nonetheless.

“Is that your latest song?” He tilted his head to the paper under Saal’s hand.

“Ja. It’s about depression.”

“Ah,” said Weimar, furrowing his brows in both amusement and slight concern. “Will I get to sing it?”

“When we’re in depression, perhaps.”

“Then let’s hope I never have to sing it,” Weimar murmured softly. He started massaging his throat and jittering his leg on the floor.

Saal knew both his brothers’ mannerisms well enough to categorize them into levels of anxiety. Weimar bobbed his leg when he had something to say. He rubbed his neck when he was scared. He was doing both now, with a wide-eyed stare at the living room table. Saal picked up a stiff toast from the tray and waited for his brother to speak his mind as he ate.

“UK, England, and France are visiting tomorrow,” said Weimar.

“Mhm, though they honestly have no business here. Nosey fuckers.”

“Saal-Schutz, you need to be on your best behavior when they arrive,” Weimar said sternly. “We have enough trouble on our hands as is with Vater.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, the war is over -”

“If Vater keeps acting like this…” Weimar inhaled sharply. “They’ll take us away from him and strip him of the rest of his power.”

Saal stopped chewing. An eerie silence fell between them as they remembered the terms the Allied Powers had set the last time they visited.

“It’s an empty threat,” Saal grumbled. “They need Vater to run Germany and make sure it doesn’t crumble down into chaos. Otherwise they’re never going to get paid those reparations. Besides, I doubt they want to go through the work of finding the three of us a new babysitter.”

“That’s exactly why we can’t fuck this up. What’s stopping them from putting us all in a basement again?”

Weimar shut his eyes and Saal knew they were remembering the same horrible memories.

“What’s stopping them from using us as collateral to make Vater sober up and pay the dues? They could cut our tongues too. They could take Reichswehr’s wings…”

“That won’t happen,” Saal immediately said. “Vater will be fine tomorrow. The Allies will come and go like they always do, with their snobby reminders to empty our pockets. Then we’ll be safe.”

“Safe until the next time they come,” Weimar sighed. “I just don’t want to lose anybody else, Saal. Reichswehr lost his smile because of them. What if the next thing they do makes him lose his mind?”

“We’ll be there for him.” Saal leaned forward to place his hand on Weimar’s knee. “The three of us can take on anything as long as we’re together. Have faith in your brothers, Weimar.”

The older boy took his hand away from massaging his throat, placed it over Saal’s, and squeezed it as tightly as he could.  

Chap 2

PRESENT

Schutzstaffel propped his elbows on his knees and leaned forward in his chair as the foreign ship cruised into the French port. His men lined up along the shore, guns ready to obliterate the vessel before it could even sink from the holes. All it would take was a couple words and the beach would run red.

The captain of the ship was met with the barrels of guns when he stepped onto the dock. Something about his stiff posture made SS chuckle; putting up a brave front, scared shitless inside.

“I come in peace!” he announced, a quiver in his voice. “I bear a message from Ireland.”

Schutzstaffel’s smile twitched and his soldiers prepared to fire.

“We have Wehrmacht’s body.”

A strange sensation jolted the chief of Nazi Germany’s infamous special forces. It drained his face of heat and his mind of conscious thought. People called it horror. But, as horror was an emotion SS refused to dwell on, it quickly changed to suspicion.

“Show me.”

To his surprise, the crew produced a coffin of sleek mahogany wood and brass hinges. It was nothing fancy, and the first thing Schutzstaffel thought was that it fit his brother in size and style. That idea was swiftly and guiltily dismissed. As the coffin was placed before him, however, his hand didn’t reach for the lid.

He rubbed his throat instead.

“Open it,” he ordered his soldiers. “Slightly.”

The lid slid slowly down the coffin. Schutzstaffel peered in as soon as there was a wide enough gap. For the split second he hesitated, the lid continued to move, revealing a flash of red skin and black feathers. Then it vanished with a flick of Schutzstaffel’s hand, and the lid was back on again.

That glimpse of a concept as absolute as death made Schutzstaffel squeeze his throat to the point of choking. He turned to cough and in the process, tore his eyes away from that dark wooden coffin.

 It’s reality.

But there was never any cheer in that.

“We have these as well.” The captain displayed two books, one more worn than the other. “And a note from Ireland.”

Schutzstaffel waved and the items were retrieved. He read the note. Maybe it was the fact that the words pained him so much that the twitch inside him sparked a smile.

“Send the ship back with my regards,” he finally said.

The captain breathed a sigh of relief.

He never registered the bullet that shot straight through his head.

To Schutzstaffel, the gunfire that followed and the crimson trails up the ship’s deck, and the silence of the beach after his small act of massacre were a muted blur around him and the coffin. He brushed his thumb over one of the leather book covers. Plain and worn. The other one was green.

Schutzstaffel snapped his fingers; the car door to one of the transport trucks parked up the shore opened and a young man was ushered out by two soldiers. His coat was as black as Schutzstaffel’s uniform, and he used to wear a silver cross on his collar - Wehrmacht’s distinction.

Schutzstaffel dismissed the guards. He and the young man stood to the side of the bloodied beach while the rest of the men cleaned up the bodies. Their stares were very different; SS gazed nonchalantly at the red sand while Kennwort looked on with grief.

SS showed him the books.

“He got this one from a bookstore in Vichy,” Kennwort murmured, pointing at the green one. “The other I am not sure.”

“Ireland, of course.” Schutzstaffel handed Kennwort the note. “He had the decency to return the diaries.”

Kennwort read the note and prepared to give it back, but SS sneered at him.

“When the bodies are loaded on the ship,” said Schutzstaffel, “take this note and sail it back to Ireland. Don’t come back.”

Kennwort folded the note neatly and tucked it in his coat pocket. His eyes fell on the coffin.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

If it had been anyone else, SS would have shot them. He didn’t need pity. Kennwort was still alive for only one reason.

“My brother saw something in you worth saving,” he said quietly. “I no longer do. Consider your exile the reward you get for earning his trust.”

Kennwort flinched. The two soldiers returned to escort him onto the ship.

It would be a short exile. As Schutzstaffel watched Kennwort climb onto the deck, he mapped in his head the agents he had stationed in Ireland. One would eventually assassinate Kennwort. After all, Schutzstaffel never got to kill him with the firing squad.

The following day began with a massive fortification of the entire Atlantic Wall that stretched from the southern shore of France to the northern tip of Norway. No one could get in and, Schutzstaffel suspected, no information could get out either from the French Resistance.

Standing on his balcony from his office by the port, SS looked out into the horizon, questioning himself. The coffin was scheduled to be transported to Berlin tomorrow. Third Reich would be there. He wasn’t sure about German Empire.

“Heads held high, our futures looked so bright…”

His voice was hoarse from yelling orders all day. Usually, he was good at pacing himself, but today he couldn’t stop screaming because every soldier was looking at him wrong and every officer was incompetent. But hey, it was probably normal behavior to everyone by now; just the crazy chief screeching over petty little things to entertain himself.

“But after the war, the battle scars never faded...We drift apart, the next year’s were so hard…”

Third Reich sang it much better. He had an amazing voice; Schutzstaffel was actually quite pleased that his older brother had shared that voice with everyone at WATCH on New Years’ Eve. Those were the special moments, so long ago. And Wehrmacht hadn’t even been there to hear it.

“Write songs and sad pieces,” he hummed the next lyrics to himself. “But what’s the use if no one’s here to sing...or play the tune?”

        Schutzstaffel arrived in Paris in the evening. As per usual, he took the liberty to instruct his driver to drive under the Arc de Triomphe; it gave him the boost of satisfaction and feeling of control that he needed for this visit.

        Then he spotted the statue.

        Nothing about it had changed since he’d met Wehrmacht there. The “Departure of the Volunteers of 1792” still featured a gang of half-naked men charging gallantly forward. It was difficult to look at the winged warrior above them, until Schutzstaffel realized that the figure was actually female. It became easier to look after that realization.

        It was never meant to represent him, he told himself.

        Should he burn it down? He’d been considering it because of the wings but now that it wasn’t his brother, was there a point? He could do it out of spite…

        Schutzstaffel looked away from the statue. That stoney blankness on its face still felt too familiar.

        They left the Arc de Triomphe alone and headed for the center of Paris. Usually, an outdoor symphony would be playing in the courtyard in front of the white medieval building that was Schutzstaffel’s destination. But on account of his scheduled arrival, the courtyard was cleared of everyone who wasn’t a Nazi soldier.

        An officer greeted him at the double doors and held out a coiled black whip. He flinched when Schutzstaffel took it from him, as if he was going to get hit any second. SS enjoyed that and grinned all the way to the basement.

        The keys were hung on a hook right beside the basement door, as if daring anyone who walked past to free the prisoner inside - which Schutzstaffel hoped someone would, to provide him with a short entertaining chase. He was all about entertainment. More so now than ever.

        But no one did, and it was once again just him and the frail figure pressed tightly against the wall. The singular piece of clothing she wore was a tattered oversized shirt striped with dry crimson along the back from the last session. Her skin was colored blue, white, and red.

        “Darling,” Schutzstaffel murmured with a fanged smile. “Are you cold?”

Chap 3

They say I go to enough parties and have enough fun for both my brothers. I wish it were true.

        PAST

“Darling, could we please chat inside? It’s cold out here.”

        France rubbed her hands noisily together to prove the point and tried looping her arm around her husband United Kingdom’s elbow to remind him they were still standing at the doorway.

But UK seemed perfectly content with stiffly occupying the front entrance as he squared off with German Empire, who didn’t exactly look like he wanted to let them in anyway. Out on the porch, England wrapped his sleek fur coat closer to himself as another gust of early winter wind hit the three visitors; he tended to choose his country’s latest styles over basic seasonal comfort.

GE had instructed the children to stay upstairs for the entirety of the meeting. Obviously, Saal-Schutz, camping at the bottom of the staircase, didn’t follow that order and strained to listen to the conversation between his father and the three people he hated most in the world. He was currently grinning; he hoped their “guests” would freeze to death.  

“My wife is right,” UK said, his eyes narrowed on GE. “Would you be so kind as to act like a decent host and invite us inside your lovely abode?”

Decent host, lovely abode, my ass.

GE’s back was facing Saal but the fist his father hid behind his leg betrayed the glare that Saal imagined was in GE’s eyes. It was only last year that these same three countryhumans had broken into their home, captured GE, his children, and AH, and took them to a dark isolated basement. Everyone lost something when they came out of that prison: GE’s voice, Weimar’s hope, Reichswehr’s smile, and AH’s life.

England finally had enough waiting and shouldered UK aside. He leaned forward to murmur something that Saal couldn’t hear to GE. Whatever it was tensed his father’s shoulders and tightened his fists until the knuckles looked like they’d pop.

German Empire stepped back and let a smug England, who took off his heavy coat and tossed it to a servant without a word, stroll into the warm house. An annoyed-looking UK and relieved France followed. Saal ducked behind the staircase wall as the adults filed into the living room, bringing with them an atmosphere of coiled electricity.

He hated them. He hated their faces, the way they walked, the way they talked, everything. It all exuded the confidence they’d robbed his family of; how they smiled when Reichswehr couldn’t, how they sauntered while Weimar slouched, and how they spoke to GE knowing he couldn’t talk back.

A hand pulled Saal by the shoulder before he could sneak towards the living room.

“What are you doing?” Weimar hissed, crouched on the steps. “Get back upstairs.”

“I want to know what they’re here for this time,” Saal retorted. He pulled his shoulder out of Weimar’s grasp. “Those fuckers are never up to any good and if they bully Vater -”

“Saal, what did I say about swearing?”

“Fuck them!”

“This is exactly why I’m not letting you into the living room,” Weimar said. “You’ll spring on UK’s face the moment he opens his mouth and curse his whole family to hell.”

“Isn’t that what you want?” said Saal. “After what they did to us, all of them deserve to rot in hell. And I want to be there as they burn so I can make it ten times worse.”

“Saal, you idiot, that means you’d have to die too,” Weimar sighed. “I don’t like them any more than you do but violence is not the answer, especially not after a lost war. You always act before you think and it gets you into shit.”

“Fuck that shit.”

“Adding the ‘F word’ to every sentence doesn’t make you sound cooler. Now go upstairs. Reichswehr’s already wondering where you’ve been and if he comes down to see this -”

Weimar broke off as a blue, white, and red face peered around the staircase wall. Judging from his brother’s shocked expression, Saal’s immediate reflex was to whirl around and leap to his feet so he stood as a shield between Weimar and France.

“Children!” she gasped in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

What a fucking dumb question. “We live here, idio-”

“Tut mir leid, Madam France,” Weimar butted in before Saal could finish. “We were playing hide and seek and my brother forgot downstairs is off-limits.” He tugged Saal’s sleeve. “C’mon, you little cheater, let’s get back up now.”

“I want to join Vater,” Saal announced, which made Weimar pinch him very hard.

As if on cue, GE appeared behind France, along with one of the house servants. Saal beamed until his father’s glare, originally directed to France, slowly shifted to Weimar.

“Your boys have very...distinct personalities,” France said to GE. “How lovely.”

GE’s hands started to move, and Saal was momentarily lost in the fluid motions of his father’s gestures, silent but meaningful. It was like watching a play in anticipation of the finale when the translator revealed the message.

Except the servant beside GE interpreted, “Both of you, return upstairs. France, the restroom is down this hall.”

“But Vater!” Saal protested as Weimar started dragging his brother up the steps. “Why can’t I join you? It’s not fair!”

It’s not fair that it’s three on one in our own house.

Memories of his father after signing the peace treaty - how small he looked surrounded by the victors - flashed in Saal’s mind.

It’s not fair that we should feel so weak on our own land.

But GE simply gave Weimar a hard look and spared no glance to Saal before turning his back to them both.

“I do hope you are raising your boys well,” France spoke up, which made GE pause. “I don’t see many caretakers in the house.”

GE’s response was quick, and the translator replied, “I take care of my own sons. No one else can do it for me.”

Yes, Vater! Saal grinned despite the circumstances. We’re your sons. No one else’s!

“If you insist,” France said. “As long as you remember the conditions.”

“You don’t need to remind me,” GE signed.

“It seems I do.” France drifted towards the German until she was inches from his face. “I know what I smell. And if I can smell it, it means you’ve had far too much.”

“Don’t tell Vater what to do!” Saal snapped, nearly jerking Weimar off-balance. “You and your family are always so fucking bossy. Just leave us alone!”

“The consequences,” France continued, frowning at Saal but directing her words to GE, “are not giving your children enough attention or teaching them proper manners. That doesn’t bode well for the future leadership of Germany.”

“Please excuse my brother,” said Weimar. “He’s just not in a good mood today. I sincerely apologize for intruding on your meeting.”

France arched her eyebrows as Weimar lowered his head. His fingers, however, dug deeper into Saal’s arm, begging him to stand down.

How can you be so submissive? Saal wanted to scream at his brother. This is what they want to turn us into: puppets and push-overs. Why won’t you fight them with me?

“We don’t want to make this any harder than it already is for everyone,” Weimar added.

Saal pursed his lips. France was looking very content with Weimar’s answer - no, Weimar’s submission - and it made Saal want to slap her so bad. When she turned her eyes to Saal, he bared his sharp little teeth, ready to literally bite her face off.

        Then, in his peripheral vision, Saal saw England poke his white, red-crossed head out of the living room to check on the commotion. GE spotted him too, and that’s when his eyes finally flicked to Saal.

Panic. Desperation. Fear.

Saal closed his mouth, dipped his head, and beelined for the stairs, practically shoving a puzzled Weimar up the steps. They were out of there in seconds, as if chased up by a monster in the dark. Saal did feel like he was being chased.

Chased by that haunted look in his father’s eyes.

“You finally got to your senses!” Weimar growled at him when they reached the second story. “You could have gotten all of us in deep trouble just now! What were you thinking?”

“I was and still think we should be down there,” Saal said, though he sounded less confident than before. “They don’t get to boss Vater around. This is our home and we get a say at the table -”

“We don’t belong at the table, Saal-Schutz. Vater speaks for us. Not you, not me, not anyone else.” Weimar jabbed his finger in Saal’s chest. “You write all about the depressing reality but when will you really face it yourself?”

“I am facing it, I’m not accepting it. I’m trying to bring our nation’s reputation back -”

“This is about more than national pride,” Weimar hissed. “We lost the war and we lost our rights to a lot of things. I know it shouldn’t be that way, but at least we’re still alive. So unless you want to lose more than that, think before you act and focus on protecting the things we still have.”

Weimar pulled Saal down the hallway, turning the corner that led to their bedrooms. Saal felt the frustration emanating from his brother die down as he heaved a deep sigh. The two argued often, so Saal knew to wait for Weimar’s anger to pass before speaking again.

“They’ll just keep taking,” Saal mumbled. “The more we hide, the more they push, and the more steps we take back. We have to move forward sometime.”

“I know. But now is not the time. We’re just kids, Saal. And what about Reichswehr?” Weimar lowered his voice. “If we act recklessly, he’ll be the first they take away because of his wings.”

“Saal?”

The two brothers jerked their heads up to find their youngest sibling down the hall, peering out of his bedroom. He was in his pajamas and holding a special soft brush he used to comb his feathers.

“Where did you go, Saal?” Reichswehr asked. “Are they finally gone?”

“Nein, unfortunately. But they’ll be gone soon!” Saal said cheerily, his previous mood dissipated. “And then we can go downstairs to play again.”

“Can I have another try at the piano when we go down?” said Reichswehr. “I…still want to play your song.”

Saal was taken aback that his brother was willing to give his depressing work a second chance, but hopeful warmth overtook his bewilderment. He’d do anything for his brothers’ happiness. He could be patient a little while longer for their safety.

“Great idea,” Weimar said. “Come on, Saal. You still have to finish the lyrics.”

Saal smiled absentmindedly; his eyes, though, drifted back to the stairs. He could be patient. But one day, he’d be down there, by his father’s side, keeping his family safe.

“Forget about it,” Weimar murmured to him, tugging his arm.

They’d all lost something precious when they came out of that prison.

For Saal-Schutz, it was how to forgive and forget.

Chap 4

PRESENT

[WARNING: R*PE]

Every step SS took towards France intensified her shivering. It was like she could already feel the fresh lashes raining down on her skin and she couldn’t bear to think of the other vulgar humiliation. The best decision, as she had learned, was to stay silent.

“Scared, aren’t you?”

The whip uncoiled, slithering along the floor.

“You can stay as quiet as you like,” Schutzstaffel continued. “But you should really appreciate the luxury of screaming.” He crouched down in front of her. “My father couldn’t. He was choking on his blood and gagging on the severed flesh of his tongue.”

He traced one slender finger along France’s cheek, the nail creating a faint line in her skin. She flinched but the rest of her body remained petrified.

“Go on,” Schutzstaffel said. “Talk back like you did before. The ounce of freedom my brother gave you turned you into such a bitch when he returned you to me.”

Still, France made no response.

“How boring,” he sighed. “My my, I’ve turned you into such a puppet and push-over. Great job, Schutzstaffel! You have my permission to speak now.”

Silence.

Schutzstaffel set the whip aside. Why couldn’t the day just be perfect for once?

His hand shot to France’s throat and slammed her against the wall. A broken shriek gurgled from her lips at the sudden attack as she floundered in his grasp and kicked him weakly. It did nothing to prevent his other hand from being between her legs soon after.

“No, please no,” France whimpered. Her feet were planted on Schutzstaffel’s stomach, trying to push him away. He simply leaned forward, put more pressure on her throat, and shoved his fingers deeper.

France started to cry. Eventually, she stopped struggling - her reward was oxygen - and let Schutzstaffel have free reign. His hands were rough over her body, his teeth adding a new mark on her neck. When he was finished, he picked up the whip, wiped his hand on her ashamed face, and pushed her headfirst to the ground.

“They’ve healed nicely,” he said after yanking her shirt off to touch the lash scars on her back. “Such art….”

Art that I can’t share with anybody.

        Schutzstaffel paused. Who was here to share his satisfaction? Prussia, who was never fond of him anyway, gone. Third Reich, who didn’t want anything to do with prisoners, always away. GE, always too busy for him.

        Wehrmacht, dead.

        He didn’t like it. Schutzstaffel smiled at the thought of annoying his brother. He made that much clear when he bought France from me.

        Even so, Wehrmacht was the only one who cared enough about Schutzstaffel’s actions to respond. Everyone else simply criticized and moved on, forgave and forgot. It irked him and the first lash came down.

France gasped in pain as a second blow quickly followed. It reopened several wounds and she was bleeding by the third hit.

Forgive and forget? I will never forgive and forget. No one can stop me.

So what’s the point?

He stopped mid-swing. France was on her hands and knees, trembling and bleeding like every session. It was always the same picture, the same body he was so bored of abusing. No one to stop him or to tell him that what he was doing was wrong. No one who cared like Wehrmacht.

He doesn’t like it. He made that much clear.

Schutzstaffel coiled up the whip.

“Fuck this,” he murmured. “Guess I turned off early today.”

After every session, Schutzstaffel would decide whether France needed a doctor for her new wounds. Some days, he decided the damage was shallow enough for her to heal on her own. Today was one of those days as he left France bleeding on the basement floor.

He left the keys outside the door again - wishing that someone would just take them, rescue France, and run for it so he could give chase, catch them, and show France how hopeless escape was. How hopeless he had felt.

Unsatisfied, the obvious turn-on for Schutzstaffel was attending a large house party that night, hosted by a distinguished Nazi officer living in his newly acquired mansion in Paris.

He had no invitation. He walked in like he could walk in anywhere else and the reception would be the same: open, shaky arms and open, shaky smiles. The women, from the wide-eyed girls to the powdered older ladies, were both fearful and allured by his elegant figure drifting from crowd to crowd, striking conversation with his dashing fangs and slender gestures. The men, unable to deter Schutzstaffel from his woman either way, welcomed his special attention and bantered in the hopes of gaining his favor, all the while turning their fingers clammy and sweating in their suits.

“Chief Schutzstaffel!” The portly host of the party sauntered up to him with his young date in arm. He had at least twenty more years on her - and twenty more wrinkles - yet she clung to him like a golddigger.

“A pleasure to see you here!” he chortled. “I hope you are enjoying yourself, sir?”

“Very much so...” Schutzstaffel said, although his eyes trained on his lady. “And I hope you’re enjoying the house that I rewarded you for your astounding contribution in this war.”

Who was he kidding? All this man did was send the nation’s youth to hell. While they slept in the disease-ridden dugouts, he strutted about within the safety of his mansion. Wehrmacht would never have given the estate to this man. But Schutzstaffel would much rather his half-assed officers have it than the previous French owner.

The host’s mistress was clearly admiring him from head to toe. What really tipped Schutzstaffel off was the way she bit her strawberry lips.

“May I have this dance?” Schutzstaffel said. The question was in part directed to the host but Schutzstaffel’s eyes remained on her.

The officer wasn’t one to deny SS anything, even if it was his lady. He let her go without hesitation and she went with Schutzstaffel without hesitation. They slipped off into the crowd, danced for about two minutes, and were soon naked in an upstairs bedroom. She was far from Schutzstaffel’s best hookup but he made sure she’d never forget him.

That was his routine, his method of relieving himself of all the anxiety inside of him. He couldn’t care less about who was moaning - or screaming - underneath him. He had to take care of himself first.

So why didn’t you do that, Wehrmacht?

His thoughts seemed to pop out between the motions of their two bodies and the sounds she made.

Why couldn’t you take care of yourself, baby brother? After all these years, I still had to look out for you, the naive one even as a Supreme General. And then I stopped paying attention - I trusted your judgement for just a little while - and you fucked up everything. Everything that I sacrificed my whole life for, you fucked it up for Ireland and you took Prussia with you.

The bed squeaked and rocked.

Why did you get in Prussia’s way? Why were you so bent on saving Ireland? In the name of love?

He thrust his hips faster. There is no such thing as love.

Frantic cries snapped him back to reality. Suddenly, he heard the sobbing under his sweaty body and found his hands crushing the wrists of the girl whose arms he had aggressively pinned behind her. Wet tears and smeared mascara stained the white pillows an ugly black color.

Another broken woman to tally on his extensive list.

He let her go and she flopped like a ragdoll. He listened in amusement as she scrambled to untangle herself from the sheets and then fell out of bed because she couldn’t stand. She snatched up her clothes. Her frenzy to get away from him made Schutzstaffel want to play with his prey even more.

“Stop.”

She froze like a deer in headlights.

“Pour me a glass of that water over there before you dress,” Schutzstaffel said, tilting his head at the jar by the nightstand.

The new discomfort of walking around naked for Schutzstaffel was written all over her face, a very different expression from when she initially stumbled into the room with him in the midst of a heated kiss. She regretted coming here. She wanted to leave. She also wanted to live.

        And Schutzstaffel basked in the internal conflict he was causing.

        To complicate things for her, there was a knock on the door.

        “Come on in,” Schutzstaffel invited, smiling at the shock on the lady’s face as she quickly covered the front of herself with her clothes.

 To complicate things for him, however, the person who walked in caught Schutzstaffel completely off guard.

“Scheisse. Hallo, Swissy.”

Chap 5

“Why do you laugh when you kill?” they ask. Because my life is just that deprived of laughter.

PAST

GE came home to his three sons standing obediently by the doorway. His usual frown of contempt deepened the lines of his aging face. In Saal-Schutz’s opinion, his father wasn’t that old - but war, depression, and sorrow were enough to age anyone by a decade.

GE barely walked into the house before curling his finger at Weimar to follow him back out.

“Another meeting, Vater?” Weimar asked.

“Can I come this time?” said Reichswehr.

GE shot his youngest son a glare and pointed at the stairs. The way Reichswehr’s wings sank made Saal angry; sure, his father wasn’t happy today but he didn’t have the right to make Reichswehr unhappy too. There was enough unhappiness in their household.

When GE turned his attention to his middle child, Saal crossed his arms and stared defiantly back. He wasn’t leaving without giving his father a headache.

GE curled his lips in annoyance and left to direct the chauffeur.

“You really shouldn’t piss Vater off so much.”

Saal grunted at Weimar and scuffed the floor with his foot. “Easy for you to say. He gives you all the attention you need.”

“But being disobedient isn’t the right way to get that attention,” said Weimar. “Earn it properly.”

“Ja? By being the firstborn son like you?”

Weimar sighed wearily. “I didn’t ask for this responsibility. It doesn’t make me prouder or better than you or Reichswehr. It doesn’t make me special. But I’ll take this burden if it means you two can be free of it for a little longer.”

“You always do this,” Saal hissed. “You always put all the pressure on yourself to protect us.” He grabbed his brother’s shoulders. “Stop sacrificing your sanity for us, Weimar!”

“Then do you want to include Reichswehr in all this? To lose what’s left of his childhood by putting both of you in the political shithole out there?”

Saal grit his teeth. He wanted to argue.

Yet just like Weimar, he’d put his own needs aside to save his little brother.

“Who’s going to be at the meeting?” he muttered.

“UK and America. There’s going to be a third person coming later but America never told us their name.”

Another three on one. The Allies never play fair.

It had been a year since UK, England, and France’s last joint visit. Since then, they had appeared several more times, always in pairs and occasionally with America. Now there was yet another player entering his field of concern and Saal-Schutz couldn’t help feeling anxious and angry at the number of countries meddling in Germany.

Weimar seemed to read his mind and patted Saal’s arm. “We’ll be fine. Vater didn’t drink today or last night. Things should go by smoothly. Take care of the house and Reichswehr while we’re gone, please. I better not find the fridge empty or the kitchen blown up.”

“Haha. I promise.”

Weimar smiled. As he turned to leave, Saal grabbed his wrist.

“Promise me this in return,” he said. “That one day, I’ll get to join you and share the responsibilities.”

“Saal -”

“Promise me. For my sanity.”

Weimar took Saal’s hand in his and squeezed it. “I promise.”

“Why does Vater hate me so much?”

“Nein!” Saal immediately exclaimed. “Vater does not hate you, Reichswehr.”

They were sitting in his bedroom, each reading a book: Reichswehr with his German fairytales and Saal with his poetry. Reichswehr plucked a loose feather from his wing and threw it up in the air.

“Everytime he comes home, he gives me a dirty look,” Reichswehr said. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Nothing. You did nothing wrong. Vater has his bad days and tends to take it out on other people. He’s the one who’s wrong here.”

“Bad days every day though?” Reichswehr watched his feather drift in pendulum motion down to the floor. “All I want is for him to smile at me. Like he used to.” He sniffled. “I miss Austria-Hungary.”

Saal put his book down and pulled Reichswehr into a tight hug. He hated seeing his little brother cry, a hate that was second only to the person responsible for making Reichswehr shed those tears. The emotion was always hard to juggle since GE was usually responsible.

Because the Allies made Vater like this. I hate them the most.

It frustrated him that he couldn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t chase them away, not from inside this house. He needed to be out there, with Weimar, showing the world that Germany wasn’t to be toyed with.

The room suddenly felt like a cage, with him helpless inside. Helpless, like he had been as GE screamed and AH’s head rolled.

“Let’s go ice skating.”

Reichswehr tilted his head in surprise at the sudden offer. “You mean…”

“Let’s go outside,” Saal said. “We’ll be back before them. GE won’t know.”

“A-Are you sure?”

“It takes the first step to get where you want to be. You want to be out there, right?”

Reichswehr nodded and Saal pulled him to his feet.

Winter in Germany during the afternoons tended to be gloomy. Going out at night, when the lights turned the city into a magical scene from Santa Claus’s world of wonders, was the most ideal. But Saal and Reichswehr didn’t have the luxury to pick and choose.

They each wore heavy coats with hoods covering their faces as they ran for the ice rink. Everything was a bright gray color, quiet as the specks of snow fell and the sun had no chance of competing with the clouds.

        Surprisingly and to Saal’s relief, the ice rink was empty today. Saal told Reichswehr to wait by the benches while he rented shoes.

        “Oh - !” the man at the rental stall stuttered when he recognized Saal-Schutz. His eyes darted around in confusion.

        “German Empire isn’t with us,” Saal told him, handing him money for shoes. “Don’t tell him we came here, okay?”

        “I don’t know…” The man eyed the money in concern. “You shouldn’t be here. If your father finds out -”

        “He won’t. He’s at a meeting and we just want to have fun.”

        “I really shouldn’t let you two be out here without his say-so.” He raised an eyebrow at where Reichswehr was sitting. “Who is that with you -”

“Don’t refuse me.” Saal gave him his best glare. “And don’t question it.”

        The man reluctantly handed him two pairs of ice skating shoes.

Weimar always scolded Saal for abusing his status to get what he wanted. But Saal only saw the lack of efficiency from not using what he was given.

“This feels weird,” Reichswehr said as they slid onto the ice.

“Oh, come on, you’ve been on the ice before.” Saal pushed ahead, skating to the opposite end of the rink and then going backwards to return to Reichswehr’s side. Back in the golden days, GE let his sons take ice skating lessons and Saal was proud to be the best of the three. He showed it off by doing a few fancy twirls.

“I meant being here,” Reichswehr said. “The man at the stall looked uncomfortable.”

Saal groaned. “Brother, you can’t have fun without breaking a few rules. If you let Vater’s word control your entire life, then what’s the point in living?”

Saal took Reichswehr by the arm and dragged him along. Reichwehr instantly clung onto Saal as they gained speed.

“Too fast, too fast!”

“We’re moving at a snail’s pace right now!”

“We’re going to crash!”

“Nein, we’re not, scaredy-cat.” He put on another burst of speed and gave his little brother a sly look.

Reichswehr gulped. “Wait, wait, wait -”

“Ready?” Saal grinned.

“NEIN! Don’t let go, Saal! Don’t you DARE let go -”

Saal essentially flung his brother across the rink. Reichswehr, not knowing how to stop himself at the pace he was going, pinwheeled his arms and shrieked the whole time. As he neared the edge of the rink, he instinctively leaned back to get away.

The sound of him falling splat on the ice was drowned out by Saal’s hysterical laughter.

“Get good, little brother! If I didn’t know better, you sounded like a squawking bird hitting a window!”

“Shut up!” Reichswehr yelled when Saal flapped his wings to mimic his embarrassing performance. “Birds colliding with window panes is a real issue!”

He was surprised when Saal actually stopped laughing. Reichswehr turned to find his brother wide-eyed and frozen.

Staring at a figure by the rink.

It was the first time Reichswehr saw wings as big and as white as those.

Chap 6

PRESENT

Switzerland: king of neutrality, internationally and personally. He wore neutral tones only, a casual sweater over a collared shirt and a coat to cover it all. His glasses were plain square frames, nothing fancy. His eyes were the color of his chocolates, and they slowly settled upon the naked woman in the room.

Schutzstaffel wished she’d just disappear right then. He’d made plenty of people disappear before, but there was nothing he could do at the moment. The Swiss had caught him frozen - like a deer in headlights.

Switzerland turned wordlessly to the nightstand and started pouring two glasses of water. Schutzstaffel took the chance to hiss at the girl, who put her clothes on faster than she’d taken them off and dashed out of the room.

He too swung his legs out of bed and quickly put on some pants.

“Your swift motions tell me you’re feeling self-conscious,” Switzerland said without turning around. His voice nearly made SS jump out of his skin.

“Hah, me?” Schutzstaffel lay back in bed and flexed the lean muscles on his chest. “What would I be self-conscious about? I’m gorgeous.”

“It’s not my place to question your size,” Switzerland said nonchalantly. He gave SS a glass of water. “I was simply making an observation.”

Damn this man…

“Ouch,” Schutzstaffel snickered. “You’re the only one who can make a dick joke with zero emotion in your voice, it’s almost like you're serious all the time. You must’ve stuck out like a sore thumb wearing that to this party.”

“Why would I wear a suit only to have it be stained by the alcohol in the air? It’s impractical.”

“As long as you’re having fun. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Swissy? You never come to see me without some business to discuss.”

Switzerland sat down in the chair by the nightstand. It was wooden and creaky and SS thought about how much more comfortable it would be if he’d sat next to him on the bed instead.

“I talked to Third Reich before coming here,” Switzerland said. “Just to renew the terms of my neutrality. I wanted to confirm something with you before I leave.”

Schutzstaffel propped himself on his elbows and tilted his head. “Please. Confide in me.”

Usually, those words and that posture would have people swooning. Switzerland drank his water like it was more interesting than him.

“I told Third Reich when he began his invasions that I wanted no part in the war,” Switzerland continued. “You could travel through the edges of my country however you liked but no shots were to be fired within my borders. We’ve kept that deal for years and in that time, Germany has made impressive progress through Europe.”

“Glad you’re dazzled by our accomplishments.”

“I’m interested to know what your next goal is.” Switzerland finished his water and turned the glass in his hand. “If the British Isles and Soviet Union are too difficult, who will you invade next for more resources? Spain? Turkey? Me?”

Never.

The chief sat up so fast that Switzerland arched his eyebrows. “We’d never invade you. You’re neutral and cooperative and nice to work with, why would we invade you? I’d rather have another go at the British Isles.”

Switzerland tilted his head thoughtfully at Schutzstaffel. “I’m neutral...and nice to work with?”

“I -” Schutzstaffel clicked his tongue. Why was that so familiar? “What did Third say?”

“Nothing in particular. Rather, it was his tone of voice and the way he looked at me with new...opportunity in his eyes. He is desperate.”

“He’s grieving.” Schutzstaffel chuckled bitterly. “The urge to gain something to make up for the losses - I’ve felt it.”

“Mm,” Switzerland sipped his water. “I heard about the things you did after you found out about your brother.”

“It was just an Irish ship.”

“Yes. And before that, on the day you found out, it was the concentration camps.”

“News sure travels,” the Nazi scoffed.

“It’s massacre and genocide.”

“For my brother and my grandfather.” Schutzstaffel laid back in bed and stretched his fingers towards the ceiling. “And there’s going to be much more. I won’t stop until I kill them all.” He made a fist. “The Allies will pay. Those who get in the way will just have to suffer.”

“Then I suppose I should reconsider my thoughts of intervening.”

Schutzstaffel’s eyes flicked to the Swiss as fast as a snake. He stared at him like one too, unwavering, as he stood up and stepped in front of Switzerland. Switzerland didn’t blink even when Schutzstaffel planted his hands on the wall on either side of his head.

“You absolutely should,” he said. “I’d hate to kill you before we got a chance to kiss.”

“Your mouth has been places I do not want to be a part of,” Switzerland replied plainly.

To Schutzstaffel’s surprise, Switzerland placed his hand on the German’s bare chest, and his heartbeat escalated so much that he was sure Switzerland could feel it.

“We are merely business partners,” Switzerland whispered in his face. “I am here to make a profit. You have questionable and disgusting business tactics. I support our professional transaction, Schutzstaffel, but I do not support you.” His other hand felt so tantalizing as it brushed down Schutzstaffel’s face. God, why was he so distracting?

He doesn’t support you.

He nearly fell when Switzerland’s hand turned into a shove as the Swiss abruptly rose from the chair and whisked towards the door. “I shall take my leave now. Though I understand Third Reich’s emotional state, I hope you’ll make it clear to him that I value our deal. He’s had trouble keeping these things in the past.”

“What - wait Swissy!” Schutzstaffel opened his arms. “Let’s talk more about this!”

“Any further time spent together would be…” Switzerland turned the doorknob. “...unhealthy.”

He thinks you’re questionable and disgusting.

“Look, Swissy, I’m sorry.”

Switzerland gave one look back before he closed the door and said, “Save your apology for the families you’ve robbed.”

Then SS was alone in the bedroom, with two glasses on the nightstand, one empty, one half-full. He slowly eased down on the bed and rubbed his face up and around to the back of his neck. Beer would’ve been nice right now, but he didn’t want to go back down to the party.

What am I doing wrong?

He twisted his hands together. He wanted to strangle someone.

Is it so bad to kill when others do? No, they did it first! So why does Swissy think I’m the bad guy? I’m killing for revenge!

They’d had to coerce Ireland to deliver Prussia’s body too after the incident with the first ship. Why Ireland didn’t deliver both coffins at the same time confused Schutzstaffel but he suspected the British always tried to use anything as a bargaining chip. The elaborate justifications in his head sickened SS - it had been the fuel for his hate for many years.

Revenge is good.

His leg bopped on the floor. The funeral was tomorrow. The coffins. The permanency of the grave.

That’s what we’re all here for. What Wehrmacht died for.

Revenge is good. Wehrmacht fought for revenge. Wehrmacht and Prussia. I wanted revenge on Prussia and now he’s dead and all is good.

But Wehrmacht’s dead. I couldn’t save him.

He’s dead and I couldn’t save him.

Schutzstaffel grabbed Switzerland’s half-empty glass of water from the nightstand and threw it across the room. It splashed into a million glistening wet shards.

I promised I’d save him.

“He’s in a better place,” Schutzstaffel murmured. “A quiet, peaceful place.”  He massaged his temples like he was trying to rub off the thoughts and images from his head.

Reichswehr...

Chap 7

The war gave them reason to tear my family apart. You could say we started another to do the same.

PAST

Saal didn’t know what to do.

        They were outside. They were spotted. By a countryhuman no less, except both of his sclera were black and framed a pair of glowing blue pupils. Who was he? And why was this stranger staring at Reichswehr so much? Reichswehr’s wings were hidden under his coat, there was no way… His brother looked mesmerized. Saal needed to do something.

        “Hey you!” He skated forward, hoping to draw attention away from Reichswehr. “What are you doing here? You’re not from Germany.”

        “I-I am not,” the stranger said, surprised at the bold voice coming from a child. His wings fluffed up both from nerves and the cold; it made him look way bigger. “I am here for a meeting with German Empire, United Kingdom, and America. Do you know where I may find them?”

        The third person. Saal-Schutz paused to juggle his options. His father and Weimar were currently dealing with UK and America already. Did he really want to send yet another douchebag Ally their way? At the same time, he needed to get this man away from Reichswehr and head home fast before anyone else stumbled upon them.

        Before he could give a direction, Reichswehr piped up, “I like your wings.”

        The entity blinked and sheepishly raised his feathers. “Do you? I think they’re a little too big on me…”

        “Nein. They’re perfect.” Reichswehr scooted a little closer, and Saal nearly reached out to pull him back. To the older brother’s dismay, Reichswehr continued, “May I touch them?”

        “Of course.” The entity stretched out one wing - damn, it was pretty big - so Reichswehr could brush his hand along it in the ice rink.

        “It’s very soft. How do you keep it this soft?”

        “A lot of cleaning,” the entity chuckled. “The bigger, the more work. I am sure yours are less troublesome.”

        Time seemed to freeze. All Saal-Schutz could hear was the thumping of his heart traveling up to his head. Yours is less troublesome. Yours is less troublesome. Soldiers jumped out of nowhere, tore off Reichswehr’s coat, dragged him away by the wings, all while the entity cackled. It played out in Saal’s mind but he was prepared to push Reichswehr behind him and lunge for the entity’s throat.

        Reichswehr closed his gaping mouth.

        “H-How did you know?” he asked, tucking his coat closer around himself.

        “I felt something different when I neared this place,” the entity explained. “When I came here, I traced the feeling to you. If you focus, you can feel the tingle in your wings too.”

        What nonsense is this? Saal-Schutz glanced between the two in bewilderment, taking the chance to glide closer to his brother.

        Then Reichswehr gave a vigorous nod of his head. “I do feel it!”

        “Yes! I knew I was right!” the entity beamed. “May I see your wings?”

        “NEIN!” Saal darted in front of Reichswehr and held out his arms to shield him. No one can see his wings. Not out here.

        “Saal, it’s fine,” Reichswehr protested. “Just for a second -”

        “Nein,” Saal hissed with enough ferocity to make his brother shrink. He felt bad but it was for Reichswehr’s own good. “No wings.”

“I apologize!” the entity said hastily. “I did not mean to offend. I simply thought -”

“That way.” Saal pointed west. “Government buildings are that way. You have a meeting to get to, don’t you?”

“I - yes…” The entity’s wings drooped. “May I at least know your names?”

“Reichswehr!” chirped Reichswehr right as Saal-Schutz said, “Just leave!”

Saal groaned. They were going to get in so much trouble.

“My name is League of Nations, or LoN for short,” the entity said proudly. “It is nice to meet you both.”

What kind of long-ass name for a country is that? Saal scoffed and vaguely heard Reichswehr say, “Nice to meet you too!”

Then LoN opened his wings and Saal reflexively went into a protective stance in front of Reichswehr. It didn’t help that Reichswehr pressed up against his back and craned his neck over his shoulder to watch in fascination as LoN beat his wings and took off into the sky. Saal had to admit, it was pretty cool to watch. Like an angel rising in glory. But this man was far from an angel - his black void-like eyes alone scared the shit out of Saal.

Then he remembered how screwed they were - GE was for sure going to hear about this at the meeting - and dragged Reichswehr home.

That night was the angriest they’d seen GE. Weimar was pissed off too. Plenty of beer bottles were broken, and GE’s furious fingers worked so fast in sign language that the interpreter had trouble translating. They learned that LoN was the first full-time global entity to exist, created by America to “bring world peace.” Reichswehr didn’t understand what the big deal over revealing his wings to a “peacekeeper” was; he went to bed with tears in his eyes, still not knowing that it was more about the fact that he’d be showing them outside. Saal was scolded later, mostly by Weimar, in low tones in the living room so Reichswehr wouldn’t hear.

Because they knew what was out there in the world - who was out there in the world.

        A name they whispered, and a whisper that made GE shiver.        

“Where were you?”

        Saal-Schutz jumped a foot into the air at the sound of Weimar’s voice so close. He had just walked through the door and did not expect Weimar to be waiting with his arms crossed on the couch.

        “There was an event in the city square,” Saal said nonchalantly. “I stopped by to see what was going on.”

        “What did I tell you about listening to that yapper,” Weimar sighed. “All Adolf Hitler does is make noise and provoke the masses.”

        “He encourages the people,” Saal retorted. “For the record, he’s pushing all of us in the right direction, and I know you don’t deny it.”

        Saal plopped down on the couch across from Weimar and poured himself a glass of water. For a year now, Saal had been shadowing under the human officers who led what remained of the German army. GE had finally allowed him to have a greater role in government, even though Saal mostly just followed people around and observed. Still, Saal was excited about the future; once he took formal control of the army, he’d be able to make some real progress.

         It was after one of these ventures that he stumbled upon a crowd, one of many attracted to this rising speaker.

        “He’s persuasive,” Weimar admitted. “But we’re not ready to take on the radical ideas he’s proposing. I wouldn’t get attached, he’s bound to get himself arrested soon.”

        “He did nothing wrong!” Saal said. “He’s got the courage to speak the minds of millions of Germans. Who doesn’t appreciate that?”

        “Vater thinks he’s rather annoying.”

        “Vater isn’t the future of Germany. We are.”

        “You sound like you want to start a revolution. We’re still kids, Saal.”

        “Kids can do a lot of shit. You saw how that Russian boy sacked his father a couple years back.”

        “It was impressive,” Weimar mused. “He calls himself Soviet Union now, Soviet for short. I’d like to meet him someday.”

        “I hear he’s very tall. Easy on the eyes too.” Saal smirked at Weimar, who made a face back.

        “Vater and Russian Empire hate each other, what makes you think our first encounter with his son won’t end in a fist-fight?”

        “Well, one, you’re too courteous to get in a fight. I’m the one who does that. And two, if it’s just you and him, there’d be no fight at all. You’d be down in one punch.”

        Weimar threw a couch pillow at Saal. “You have so much faith in the future of Germany, eh?”

        “Start putting on some muscle and maybe you’ll have a chance.” Saal threw the pillow back. “Even Reichswehr has better abs than you.”

        “The kid doesn’t have anything to do besides work out at home. And he has better abs than you too, you lazy fuck.”

        “Swearing doesn’t make you cooler.”

        “Wasn’t trying. I’m cool enough.” Weimar straightened his back in a regal posture and drawled, “Bow, servant. For I am your country and you must obey me.”

        “You don’t actually believe that,” Saal scoffed.

        “To be honest, I don’t know how it’s going to work,” said Weimar, slouching back on the cushions. “Vater didn’t have any siblings to help him divide up the responsibilities. I’ve been researching how other countries do it. They have all these entities, but they’re not autonomous like LoN. There’s special entities, militant entities, and then something called an insurgent if there’s a rebellion. It’s so complicated.”

        “We’re kind of easing into it already,” Saal pointed out. “I assume militant entities oversee military operations, which is what I’m learning how to do right now. As the country, you’d still have power over the military, of course, but I’m just an extra set of eyes and hands on deck for you.”

        “What about Reichswehr? What will he be?”

        Saal gnawed his bottom lip in thought. Reichswehr didn’t have much experience in any field right now because he wasn’t allowed to go outside. Granted, he was still young and there was still a lot of time to learn any skills. The only feasible option to Saal right now was for Reichswehr to do paperwork or special intelligence that didn’t involve leaving the house.

        “Special entity?” Saal suggested. “Like special intelligence? I’m using context clues.”

        “I guess.” Weimar sighed. “Sometimes, I feel like we’re wasting the potential of his wings.”

        “Are you sure we can’t take him outside just once in a while?”

        “GE is strict about that one. We could lose him, Saal, if he goes out there. One wrong sighting, word travels, and he’ll be at our doorstep.”

        “But we haven’t seen the old man in so long. He’s like an imaginary monster from a fairytale. Maybe he’s dead?”

        “We still can’t risk it. This is serious enough to be one of the only three things GE ever requested from the Allies: don’t harm his children, allow him to keep his custody of us as long as he is stable -”

        “And don’t tell anyone about Reichswehr’s wings,” Saal finished.

Chap 8

PRESENT

Don’t tell anyone about Reichswehr’s wings.

        But people found out. Winged countryhumans became so revered and he became so famous along with Großvater. All those years of trying so hard to keep a secret were useless.

        Reichswehr could’ve had a childhood like the rest of us.

        A snap in his face broke Schutzstaffel out of his trance.

        He stood at the edge of the cemetery. Officers in black uniforms with iron cross badges filed silently past him. It was eerily quiet, just the sound of boots scuffing dirt as everyone slowly left the funeral. He had barely heard the words spoken, Third Reich’s speech, the tears or sniffles.

        Who was he kidding? Soldiers didn’t cry.

        Third Reich waved his hand again in front of Schutzstaffel’s face.

        “Is it over?” Schutzstaffel asked.

        His brother shouldered past him. “You weren’t paying attention?”

They walked slowly, side-by-side, towards their private car. Still too quiet, like something wasn’t right about this funeral. Perhaps it was the lack of rain or clouds graying the sky to set the mood. It was sunny today. Happy weather.

Austria-Hungary’s funeral had been bleak. And it was difficult to picture that depressing memory without also seeing Wehrmacht, standing alone by the grave, his wings drooped in the mud from the rain, staring at the tombstone with a blank expression.

“I paid too much attention,” Schutzstaffel said. “Again. The little details…they pop and crawl over my skin like fucking bugs. I had to tune it out.”

“Vater left half-way.”

“Ja,” SS snorted. “I saw him crying.” Soldiers don’t cry.

They slipped into the car. When Third Reich ordered the driver to leave them alone, Schutzstaffel took a deep breath to prepare himself for the private conversation.

“How are you holding up?” his older brother asked.

Usually Schutzstaffel would joke around the entire time he and Third Reich talked. Today, the only thing brightening his mood was the fact that Prussia was dead too. But as far as Third Reich was concerned, Schutzstaffel was closer to Prussia than his own brother.

He didn’t want to pretend anymore.

“I’m glad he’s gone,” SS said.

Third Reich froze in shock. Then his eyes blazed with such pent-up fury that Schutzstaffel quickly clarified, “Prussia, I mean.”

The fury turned to confusion. “He’s your Großvater.”

“You say that like he isn’t yours.”

“He stopped being my relative the day he took Reichswehr away,” Third growled.

“Then I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

“I don’t understand.” He sat up to look SS in the face. “You’ve always sucked up to Prussia like a leech. You bullied and shit-talked Wehrmacht with him. Wehrmacht is dead because of the stupid plan Prussia came up with to invade Ireland, and now I’m hearing you knew about and supported it.”

“Ja, all that is true, but it wasn’t supposed to end this way!” SS shouted back.

“Then what were you expecting? That they’d actually take Ireland? Were you such a mindlessly blind follower of Prussia that you couldn’t see reason? If you really hated him, why didn’t you stop the attack on Ireland?”

“Because Wehrmacht clearly wanted to see Ireland! I wanted him to be happy!”

“Oh, now you’re going off about love and happiness! As if you believe in that! Where were you all those years when I needed you to show Wehrmacht those things, instead of belittling him at every corner? Where’s the Saal-Schutz I knew who took care of Reichswehr when I wasn’t there, instead of praying for his downfall in the shadows?”

“It’s Schutzstaffel now,” SS hissed. They were both sitting up tensely in the back seat, glaring at each other. “I was trying to pull Prussia away from Wehrmacht. I was the ONLY one who tried. As soon as you got your title as Third Reich, you sat back and let Prussia turn Wehrmacht into a cold puppet.”

“Enlighten me, then. How the FUCK did ANY of your stunts help Wehrmacht? He’s DEAD!”

“I KNOW!”

It was boiling in the car. Too hot from their fuming faces and burning clenched knuckles. Schutzstaffel’s anger — towards not just Third but his own mistakes, his own failure — made him kick the door open and slam it shut behind him. He breathed in the cool breeze as he marched away from that stuffy car.

He could’ve told Third Reich his side of the story. Now he’d missed that opportunity and his brother was more pissed off at him than ever.

And I forgot about Switzerland’s case. Schutzstaffel stopped in his tracks and smacked his forehead. Idiot, idiot. Stupid, fucking idiot. You always screw shit up. This is why you were never cut out to be anything.

To be militant.

How angry and entitled he’d been when Wehrmacht took his militant position away. Like a child, Schutzstaffel had thrown a tantrum and blabbered about how much he deserved — was destined for — that role. But he was never cut out for that. Too immature, too brash, too fucked up inside. Now, it looked like he would have to shoulder those responsibilities soon. Bittersweet.

There’s nothing sweet about this, selfish brat. This isn’t about you and your self-pity. Think about how other people feel for once.

Schutzstaffel turned around to apologize to Third Reich.

He found Third Reich standing right behind him, with a hand reaching out as if to pat his shoulder.

“Ahem,” Third said, retracting his hand awkwardly. “I shouldn’t have gone off on you back there. I didn’t listen or give you a chance to explain. Es —”

“Es tut mir leid.” Schutzstaffel didn’t — couldn’t — give Third a chance to say sorry. What did he have to be sorry for? Having me for a brother. Losing Wehrmacht instead of me.

Third raised his eyebrows in surprise. He seemed to want to say something but a look on Schutzstaffel’s face made him change the subject with a sigh.

“You and I, we’ll split the militant responsibilities,” he said. “You’ll be in the west, I’ll be in the east.”

“Are you sure you want to —” Schutzstaffel didn’t finish that sentence. Having Third Reich take over the military seemed like added stress. But then it would sound like SS was trying to take all the militant power, even though he would’ve suggested GE have it instead. Misunderstandings happened to him a lot.

Better not to argue.

“Okay,” he said.

Maybe if I had been militant all along, Wehrmacht would still be alive. I should’ve fought harder to keep that job.

He shook his head to stop thinking as they walked back to the car. Too many “what ifs.” Too many false “what could have beens.”

GE wasn’t in the Berlin estate when they arrived. Probably drinking. He didn’t like to show himself if he got too drunk; it wasn’t good for anyone’s memories.

Third Reich went to bed early to prepare for the next busy morning. Only after Third yawned did Schutzstaffel realize how tired and older his brother looked. He wondered if he looked the same. No. He smiled too much. It helped hide his aging heart.

His room was the same as the last time he’d stayed over — which was how long ago? He’d practically been living in Paris for as long as France had surrendered. Running his hand along the bed sheets gave him heart-wrenching nostalgia of two kids sitting on the bed, reading their fairy tales and poetry.

He sifted the drawers of his old desk. Musty, but the papers were still here, untouched and unfinished. Schutzstaffel pulled up a chair and pencil from his stash of stationary that gave him away as a writer.

Heads held high, our futures looked so bright, he read the familiar lyrics on the page. But after the war, the battle scars never faded. He started humming. We drift apart, the next years were so hard. Write songs and sad pieces, but what’s the use when no one’s here to sing…or play the tune?

        He tapped his chin in thought. Then he put pencil to paper. His handwriting had changed quite a bit. So had he, as the next verse took shape.

Chap 9

The remains of my family aren’t close for strategic reasons. If one of us goes, the others won’t feel as much pain. In theory, at least.

PAST

“Aaand done! The final draft of the lyrics is finished!”

        Saal-Schutz handed the papers to Reichswehr, who turned around on the piano bench to gloss over them.

        “This gives me major patriotism vibes,” Reichswehr commented. “Way different from the other song you wrote.”

        “I’m putting that on hold,” Saal said with a wave of his hand. “I figured we’re facing enough depression these days, we need something to liven things up. You know, feel hope.”

        “Well, lively music isn’t exactly my specialty but…”

        Reichswehr put the papers on the piano’s sheet stand, flexed his fingers, tested some chords, and was playing a tune within minutes. Saal nodded enthusiastically along — every note was so perfectly aligned with the mood he was going for with each word — and his hands were already poised for applause by the end.

        “I can’t wait to show Weimar!”

        Reichswehr shook out his hands. “That’s the most key-banging I’ve ever done.”

        “You were amazing, little brother.” Saal-Schutz clapped him on the shoulder. “You should totally be a professional pianist. We could record you in a studio — recording and record-playing technology is getting better these days.”

        “Ja, and then I’d be cooped up inside even more,” Reichswehr scoffed, getting up to stretch. “Nein, piano is a hobby. I want to be an aerial dancer.”

        “Aerial what?” Saal raised an eyebrow. Where did that idea come from?

        “You know how we snuck out to the ice rink a couple more times after that one encounter with League of Nations?”

        “Shhh.” Saal glanced around for any signs of nearby servants. “Go on. Quietly.”

        “The feeling of spinning, gliding, every movement flowing into the next. Like all of my limbs were free but synced.” Reichswehr opened his arms and his wings as if enacting his words. “I want that but in the sky.”

        Wow, Saal thought. He’s been kept indoors too long.

        The trapped birds always dreamt big.

        “How about we pay the ice rink another visit?” Saal suggested. Give him some release so his mind doesn’t explode with these ideas.

        Reichswehr’s eyes lit up instantly. “JA! Let’s do it—”

        “Do what? God, my feet hurt so much.”

        Weimar came into the living room, limped over to the couch,  and threw himself on it like a sack of potatoes.

        He’s back. GE’s probably here too. Saal looked apologetically at Reichswehr. Guess it’ll have to wait.

        “Run the song again,” Saal said smoothly. “Reichswehr and I just came up with a masterpiece.” He handed the papers to Weimar. “Do you think you’re too tired to give these lyrics a shot?”

        Weimar, still lying sideways on the couch, read the papers. His eyes narrowed and flicked up at Saal.

        “Why do some of these words sound like a certain street talker who just got out of jail?” Weimar asked.

        “What do you mean ‘just got out of jail’? That was two years ago, and Hitler only served nine months before release. Besides…” Saal crossed his arms and smirked at his older brother. “You’d only recognize it if you were listening to him often.”

        “Shut up. I’m not singing this.”

        “Oh, come on! You have the best voice!”

        “I’ve been standing and ordering people around all day. I can’t sing for shit right now. Besides, who says I have the best voice?”

        “Seriously, you brag about it all the time.”

        “Well, I don’t. There’s plenty of people with better singing voices than me.”

        Saal tilted his head in perplexed doubt. “Like who?”

        “Him —” Weimar broke off with a grunt. “Whatever. Just people in general.”

        Saal and Reichswehr were both instantly intrigued.

        “Who?” Reichswehr asked innocently.

        “Spill it,” Saal demanded.

        “Remember how Russian Empire’s son overthrew him?”

        “Ja, that kid named Soviet Union? Tall and easy on the eyes?” Saal said with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

        “He came on a diplomatic visit today,” Weimar said, ignoring the tease. “We talked, not for long but…”

        “But?” Saal prompted.

        “Does Weimar have a boyfriend?” Reichswehr asked, still very innocently.

        However, it was the innocent commentary that made Weimar turn his face away from his siblings with a groan. “Forget it, you guys are making this a way bigger deal than it needs to be.”

        “Okay but what does this have to do with singing?” Saal asked.

        “I found him by following his voice down the corridors.” Weimar sighed. “He has a beautiful voice.”

        “To answer your question Reichswehr, ja, big brother Weimar does, in fact, have a boyfriend.”

        “Knew it,” Reichswehr hummed.

        “To answer your initial question, Saal-Schutz, nein, I will not sing your cringe song,” Weimar shot back.

        “Just one go,” Saal whined. “Reichswehr even has the piano down.”

        “Nein means nein.”

        “Fine. I’ll send a letter to the Soviet Union then. Ask him if he’ll sing for us.”

        “You’re an asshole.” Weimar got off the couch and glowered at the lyrics.

        They ended up practicing it twice. Round one was off beat; it was Reichswehr’s first time having the accompaniment of a singer and Weimar kept losing himself in the music. The second time was much better, outstandingly so. Saal-Schutz immediately proclaimed themselves a band and mentioned the recording studio idea again, which Weimar agreed would be good for Reichswehr. Reichswehr protested, but he didn’t bring up his wish to be an aerial dancer. Not in front of Weimar.

        German Empire joined them later and Saal volunteered his brothers to perform for their father.

        “I’m sure Vater has important things to get to, Saal,” Weimar said. “Don’t bother him.”

        GE made some signs; Saal, having practiced sign language like he’d promised, interpreted, “I’m taking the day off. You should too, Weimar. You did a lot, I’m proud of you.” Saal was mostly translating for Reichswehr; Weimar was fluent in sign language since he worked with GE so much.

        “D-Danke,” Weimar flushed from the praise. “Shouldn’t you rest, then?”

        GE finally looked at Reichswehr. His youngest son shrank a bit at GE’s stare, and Saal wanted to step a little closer to him. Out of the three, GE interacted with Reichswehr the least. There were simply few occasions and little time to do so.

        “It’s been a while since I’ve heard music,” GE signed. “Let alone from my own sons. I will listen.”

        Saal whooped, while Reichswehr and Weimar exchanged surprised looks. Reichswehr quickly turned back to the piano, and Saal noticed his wings quivering.

        GE beat him to it.

        “It’s alright, boys,” GE reassured them. “It’s not a big stage or anything, so no pressure. I’m just your father, I won’t judge.”

        I was thinking the opposite, Saal wondered. You’d be the one to judge the most.

        Weimar cleared his throat, Reichswehr lifted his fingers delicately onto the piano keys, and Saal-Schutz sat beside GE on the couch with bated breath. Reichswehr struck the first note and Weimar started singing.

        Right off the bat, Saal sensed GE liked it. The middle brother sat through the song, feeling more proud and accomplished than he’d ever been. Weimar put as much emotion in the words as Reichswehr did in the keys as Saal did in the making of the lyrics, and here was a masterpiece they had created, with the approval of their Vater in their group effort. It had been a long time since Saal had felt like this, like they were a real family.

        Little did he know that it would be the last.

Chap 10

PRESENT

WARNING: abuse

“Italy declares war on Germany,” Schutzstaffel read the big bold headlines smack on the front page of the morning newspaper. “These journalists sure are fast at cranking out articles.” He narrowed his eyes at the tiny font. “Hmm, not a single grammar mistake either, I’m impressed.”

        At the breakfast table, German Empire threw a sausage at one of their German Shepherds, Dresden, before gesturing, “Third Reich should’ve given me his half of the military power. I can deal with those traitor Italians and I’ve defeated the Russians before. Instead I’m here, babysitting inferior countries.”

        By that, he meant overseeing all the captive countryhumans that they kept in Berlin. Everyone from Netherlands to the Nordic brothers minus Sweden. They needed those countryhumans here to facilitate resource extraction from their respective countries whose land fell under German control.

        “Aw, prison duty’s not so bad,” Schutzstaffel said.

He whistled and another German Shepherd padded into the room. This one was bigger than Dresden, with more black fur and a scarred ear. SS held out a sausage. If it were Dresden, he would’ve pounced on Schutzstaffel and swiped the sausage with a fair share of slob on his hand; that’s why GE was tossing the treats to Dresden instead of handing them over.

But Berlin sat obediently by Schutzstaffel’s chair and carefully took the meat without a single drop of spittle on Schutzstaffel’s fingers.

“You just need to find one that’s to your liking and time will fly by,” Schutzstaffel continued.

GE grunted. “Don’t tell me you’d fuck any one of those loons more than once.” He had to specify the more than once part considering SS had already made the rounds before.

“I did Poland twice,” SS said quietly.

“...But?”

Schutzstaffel put the newspaper away. He rubbed Berlin’s head absentmindedly.

“He has wings…It shouldn’t fucking change anything but I can’t deny that it fucking does.” SS narrowed his eyes. There was now a part of him that subconsciously avoided feathers and birds — a weak part of him. “Thinking about wings makes me sick. Thinking about people who still have them makes me sicker.”

“Then we pull them out.” GE waved his hand dismissively and scanned through the newspaper.

An image of a body with a missing wing flashed in Schutzstaffel’s mind and he managed to scoff to hide the building bile in his throat. “Eh, too much work for a puny body. France is good enough for me. Speaking of which, I should head back to my beloved Paris.”

Schutzstaffel was getting up from the table when GE put his hand up to stop him. His father pointed at a page in the newspaper, a continuation of the cover article. SS skimmed the words lazily until his eyes fell on a name.

“What,” he hissed, snatching the newspaper to get a better look. But he had seen the name clearly the first time. “Fascist Italy was actually spotted. On the Allied side.”

“Third Reich should’ve given me the military,” GE signed in exasperation. “FI is an idiot. Could’ve easily ripped him to shreds with my own hands if I were out there.”

“Nah, Third will do it,” Schutzstaffel said, his lips pulled back in a snarl. “I’ll mail his head to you afterwards. You just stay here, alright. This isn’t your fight anyway, we’ve had this talk before.”

Despite German Empire being an experienced fighter and sure asset on the battlefield, Third Reich had refused to give him an active role. He had had his war. This second one was for the brothers to carry out. That was why GE was designated to remain at the estate this whole time, and he took on his overseer role when Nazi territory grew and he wanted to be useful.

GE flicked his hand in a way that said, “Ja, ja, whatever.”

He still ripped the newspaper to shreds as Schutzstaffel was leaving.

“Stay,” SS said to Berlin. Dresden was too busy figuring out if newspaper bits were edible.

Berlin lay down on the floor and stared at his master with such trust and undying loyalty that coaxed out a genuine smile from Schutzstaffel. No sinister grin. Just the small upward tilt of the lips and softened red eyes that really looked like a tranquil dark pink color when calm.

“I’ll be back. Don’t kill Dresden.”

Schutzstaffel really thought that humming “Deutschland Uber Alles” would make him feel a little less lonely in the world. He was like a broken record on repeat, just humming over and over again that same tune — on the car ride to France, on the walk to his headquarters, down the stairs to the basement.

The song brought memories to when Third Reich — Weimar, back then — first sung it, with Reichswehr playing the piano. And then their performance for GE. And then its adoption as the national anthem of Germany. How far it had gone, far past the family song it had once been.

But it only made him more lonely, reminding him of what wasn’t there. He should’ve stayed at the Berlin estate. GE wasn’t much company but he was family — the few he had left. They could’ve…what could they have done together? Tortured some prisoners maybe?

Some father-son bonding experience that would be.

Fascist Italy had left them for good. Turned to the other side completely. Japanese Empire had always been too far away to be considered a real ally. Finland — nah, who cared about Finland, he could go die to the Russians and SS wouldn’t even blink. It was just the Germans in Europe now, surrounded on all sides and numbers dwindling.

When Schutzstaffel stepped into the basement, he realized two things: one, he’d forgotten his whip, and two, he’d come to see France of all people because he frankly had no one else to see.

France huddled in her usual corner. Her eyes were distant and permanently fixed to the ground. She looked like she’d been sleeping before waking up in reflex to the sound of the door.

No whip. Schutzstaffel clenched his fists. Should I just punch her instead, today? What did I even come down here for?

His thoughts fluttered to Poland. Oh right.

Was he feeling any sexual desires? Not really.

France waited for him to make a move. Silently, as usual.

When Schutzstaffel slid down a wall and plopped to the floor on the other side of the room, France was so surprised that she actually looked at him.

SS raised one leg, put his elbow on his knee, and propped his cheek on his palm. What am I doing here…

Get yourself together. Why are you sitting on the floor like France? Lowering yourself to her level, shutting yourself in a basement because admit it: Prussia and Wehrmacht are gone for good and you have no friends. Sulking brat. Fuck the living daylights out of France, that’s always made you happy.

Momentarily.

He leaned forward with the longest and loudest sigh he’d ever emitted. It startled both of them as it echoed in the basement. Schutzstaffel glanced at France. Her gaze flicked away faster than a whip lash.

Don’t look at me in this state.

Fury propelled him out of his sitting position and onto her like a wild animal. His hand gripped the front of her shirt like claws and his other hand was around her throat with the force of a boa constrictor. She gasped and wheezed for air but her limbs remained lifeless. No struggle.

“Why aren’t you fighting back,” Schutzstaffel demanded lowly. “Fight me!” Fight! Insult me! Anything to give me an excuse to blame you for Wehrmacht’s death.

France had had a hand in killing AH. The blame was easy to pin there. But his brother’s death…who was responsible? Prussia? But Schutzstaffel didn’t get to kill Prussia. So there must be someone, anyone, he could kill to make this guilt go away.

“I SAID FIGHT!” Schutzstaffel screamed, throwing France against the wall and slamming her face against the hard surface.

She only whimpered as her head began to bleed.

“YOU’RE PATHETIC!” Schutzstaffel threw her on the ground. He ripped off her clothes and saw the scars.

Right. No whip. He couldn’t make any new art without his whip.

What’s the point anyway? I can’t show it to him anyway.

Schutzstaffel’s appetite suddenly disappeared. No matter what he did to France, it wouldn’t fill the hole in his heart. Coming here made no progress at all. It had only deteriorated him further all this time.

He threw the tattered clothes on the ground in a heap and marched out of the basement. He didn’t bother to lock it this time — France knew better than to go anywhere alone.

When he got upstairs, he nearly collided with a soldier who practically jumped like an animal to get out of his way. Schutzstaffel paid him no mind and flung open the building’s main doors. There were several officers chatting at the front steps. They all quickly shut up when they saw the look in their chief’s eyes: the murderous, unpredictable look that could lead to any one of them being killed right at the stairs they stood on.

Schutzstaffel stomped past them without a second glance. Humans were social creatures. He envied them, how they could gather and talk about absolutely nothing and bond with a snap of their fingers. Why couldn’t he? A countryhuman, the superior form of human, the leader of them all?

Why was he alone?

Schutzstaffel went back to humming as he walked through the streets of Paris.

Maybe he should do what Wehrmacht did and have a solid relationship with one human. What was that boy’s name? Abwehr?

Kennwort Abwehr. Dead in Ireland somewhere.

Wait. Schutzstaffel paused in his humming. Come to think of it, I never received a report back from any of my assassins…

His lips quivered up into a grin. He chuckled. Then he started laughing and a couple people on the street turned their heads; they hastily looked away when they saw who he was.

No way he’s alive. That little bastard.

I guess it’s only fitting. I only sent the best to look after Wehrmacht and even Wehrmacht took a liking to him. Oh Kennwort, my boy…

He went back to humming.

His humming gradually synced with the sound of real singing coming from a bar. A couple drunk soldiers with their arms slung across each other’s shoulders were hollering “Deutschland Uber Alles” at the top of their lungs. Their faces beamed red with smiles that only surfaced when your entire guard was down and you were having a genuinely great time.

A genuinely great time. Humans were such social, happy creatures.

Without warning, Schutzstaffel took out his gun and fired into the sky.

Instant panic in the street ensued as every person who was beside him either ducked to the ground or ran screaming with their hands thrown over their heads. The drunk soldiers tripped over each other, tangled in each other’s grasps, and fell to the ground. One of them shattered his mug of beer and the glass shards cut his friend’s face. Within seconds, the space around Schutzstaffel was cleared, revealing to everyone the chief with his gun held high.

Glaring at the drunk soldiers.

Happiness. I never got to have it.

None of you can have it.

Upon realizing they were in the presence of their leader, the soldiers scrambled to their feet and saluted the best they could while drunk.

When Schutzstaffel pointed his gun at the soldier with the cut face, the human clearly soiled himself.

He was going to pull the trigger. Then he finally heard something he’d been waiting to hear for so long:

“CHIEF! CHIEF, FRANCE HAS ESCAPED!”

Chap 11

I thought things couldn’t get worse after those days in that fucking basement. I was wrong. Now I wish “worst” existed in life so I’d be done with it.

PAST

Happiness. It was taken away from Saal-Schutz faster than he could comprehend.

        But on the day it all went down, none of the brothers were home. Weimar was on a diplomatic visit to the Soviet Union, this time without German Empire. In fact, Weimar had been running a lot of the government without GE’s help now. The incoming Great Depression needed Weimar’s level head more than GE’s brash tendencies, although neither seemed to be improving Germany’s downward spiraling economy.

        Saal and Reichswehr were having an adventure of their own, starting at the usual ice rink and making their way through the town. They wore hoods to disguise themselves. GE was supposed to be working in the government office to cover for Weimar’s absence, so the two younger brothers had some time to sneak out and explore.

        “Whoa, let’s not go this way,” Saal said at one point before they could turn a corner. He started pushing Reichswehr in the other direction.

        “Why not?” Reichswehr tried to peer over his shoulder. “What’s over there? Is there a street fight? I want to see!”

        “I’d like to see that too. But it’s not a street fight.” They resumed a normal stroll once Saal deemed them far enough, and he whispered, “Do you know what sex is?”

        “The physical procedure required to produce offspring,” Reichswehr recited. “Or, according to you, something Weimar and Soviet Union need to hurry up and do.” He scratched his chin. “But the biology books I’ve read state that only females can become pregnant and have children. So what is the point of Weimar and Soviet Union doing it?”

        Saal gave Reichswehr an amused and mischievous look.

        “Let me tell you what isn’t in the books. We’re countryhumans. You know the British family. How do you think England and Scotland got United Kingdom? We’re clearly built different. Plus, sex isn’t done just for reproduction. It also brings an insane amount of pleasure to both parties when performed correctly. I hear that all your worries melt away in that moment and you feel like you’re in heaven.”

        “Is that why you want Weimar to ‘fuck’ Soviet?”

        “Don’t use that word. Saying ‘fuck’ doesn’t make you cooler.”

        “But you say it all the time!”

        “As your older brother, I appreciate you thinking I’m cool like that. But also, as your older brother, don’t swear or Vater will have my head.”

        “What does fucking,” Reichswehr purposefully emphasized the word with a twinkle in his eyes, “have to do with not going in that direction earlier?”

        “Ahem, well,” Saal stammered, his face growing a little hot. He debated briefly whether he should be the one to explain and decided that Reichswehr needed to be educated at some point about the real world. “There’s a particular shop around that corner that, uh, sells sex. The officers I was shadowing under showed it to me once.”

        Reichswehr’s eyes went wide with awe. Then his face fell in a pout.

        “That’s not fair! You’ve seen sex, I wanna see it too! We should go back.”

        “Nein, absolutely not. Listen, Reichswehr, innocence is a very important thing to every living being on this planet. It’s like time; once it’s lost, you can’t get it back. One way to lose innocence is through sex.”

        “Then why do people do it?”

        “I’m not saying you shouldn’t, eventually. But the person who you do it with, the one who will take your innocence away, should be special, you know. They should mean something to you. That shop that sells sex doesn’t care, and I don’t want you to be exposed to that stuff.”

        Reichswehr blinked in thought. Then he asked, “Is Soviet special to Weimar?”

        “Ah well, they’re good friends. They have a lot in common. I’m honestly joking and teasing him most of the time.”

        “You shouldn’t joke about innocence if it’s that important,” Reichswehr said with a frown.

        “Wait until you find someone special. Then you’ll understand where the teasing comes from, and you won’t be able to stop it no matter what you do. You might even want to lose your innocence then.”

        “Psh, as if I’ll make any friends when I’m pent up at home,” Reichswehr muttered. “What about you? When will you meet your special someone?”

        “I’m not a fortune teller. These things come naturally. Be patient.”

        “Hmph. Well I hope it isn’t in a long while.”

        Saal raised an eyebrow in surprise.

        “It sounds like you’ll spend a lot of time with that special someone,” Reichswehr continued. “And then you won’t spend time with me.”

        Saal slung his arm around Reichswehr’s shoulders and pulled him into a playful headlock. “Shush. No one’s going to take me away from my little brother.” He squeezed Reichswehr a little. I won’t let anyone take my family away again.

        Reichswehr beamed at the reassurance, which made Saal proud of himself for bringing a smile out of his usually emotionless sibling. The streets were starting to get crowded, so Saal steered them back in the direction of the estate, chattering with Reichswehr about all the other sights he’d seen with the human officers.

        Occasionally, they would pass a soldier that Saal recognized. The two boys ducked their heads to blend in with the passersby, and Saal would tell Reichswehr that officer’s title and whether he was pleasant or a pain in the ass.

They were nearing the estate when a soldier ran past them, nearly knocking Reichswehr over.

Saal bit his lip from reflexively yelling “Watch it!” — that would attract unnecessary attention. But he was also glad he didn’t make any noise because this soldier’s uniform was different from the rest.

French.

In the blink of an eye, several more men clad in French uniforms sprinted down the street. Civilians jumped or were shoved out of their way. Saal grabbed Reichswehr and tugged him towards the wall of a building so they wouldn’t be crushed.

What the fuck are French soldiers doing here? Saal wondered, a question that Reichswehr asked out loud — without the swearing.

“Aren’t they going…” Reichswehr whispered, “...towards our house?”

Scheisse.

With his grip still firmly around Reichswehr’s wrist, Saal chased after the soldiers. Reichswehr yelped as he was dragged along.

“What’s going on?” Reichswehr called. “Slow down! Why are we running? Saal, stop, we shouldn’t go after them!”

But Saal-Schutz didn’t stop. Those soldiers were heading for the estate. France must be here. Why is she here? He wasn’t sure. There’s no one home…

Vater.

He really, really hoped that his life wasn’t about to collapse before his eyes.

He veered off down a side street, one that would take them behind the estate so they could enter from the back door. As he neared the fence that enclosed their house, his heart skipped a beat when he glimpsed flashes of French soldiers at the front of the estate. He shoved Reichswehr towards the back door and they stumbled into the storage room.

Saal let go of Reichswehr and cracked the storage room door open to reveal a quiet and empty hallway. He tried his best to steady his panting breath. Then he tip-toed into the hall and made his way towards the living room.

Voices, calling in French. Saal paused, trying to pinpoint any sound from someone he knew.

Surprisingly, he heard United Kingdom say, “You’ve crossed the line.”

Chills crept down Saal’s spine. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Reichswehr brushed his arm, a confused and worried frown on his face. Reichswehr didn’t look scared, just nervous.

Saal was terrified. UK must’ve been talking to Vater. Where is Vater?

Saal desperately wanted to find GE, especially if UK and France were here. They needed to stick together against those two. But what if their interference made things worse? He thought about France’s confrontation with GE when she found him and Weimar eavesdropping by the staircase.

It seemed like a confrontation had happened with or without their presence. The urge to jump in, however, was beaten back by the fact that Reichswehr was with him. And protecting Reichswehr was his top priority.

So Saal stayed hidden in the hall until the commotion faded. Even when all the voices were gone, the boys still stood like statues for a few minutes. It felt like UK or France was hiding silently in the living room, just waiting for them to come out. They were prey.

Then Reichswehr slipped past Saal and stepped out into the living room.

“...V-Vater?”

Saal half-expected his father to be brutally beaten or mutilated or bleeding out on the floor when he peaked out.

But GE was fine. Sitting on the couch. All limbs intact. No severe wounds. His knuckles looked redder than usual, like they were bloodied.

His head was in his hands. When he heard Reichswehr’s voice, GE looked up.

For the first time since Austria-Hungary’s death, tears welled in GE’s eyes and streamed down his face. Reichswehr and Saal were frozen in place at the sight of their father crying. GE stood and walked slowly towards his sons as if he was trying to balance himself so he wouldn’t fall.

When he dropped to his knees in front of Reichswehr and embraced him in a crushing hug, Saal smelled the beer.

Chap 12

[WARNING: gore]

PRESENT

The young German soldier ran for his life.

        His comrades, people he’d trained with and gone to war with and been through horrors with, were chasing him with guns blazing. He wasn’t one of them anymore. He was a traitor who had acted as a mole for the French Resistance and rescued the countryhuman France from that wretched basement.

        But the plan was already falling apart before they even made it out of the city. He had a feeling it would when he’d nearly collided with Schutzstaffel himself. But he didn’t expect his own friends in the army to expose him without hesitation. Didn’t their time together give them any sentiment? Did the memories they shared mean nothing? He tried to make himself understand. Perhaps they were saving their own skin, since they still remained in the army now under the command of that merciless chief of special forces. He was already in the act of deserting so he was already facing the risk of death.

        Just not now. Not so soon. They hadn’t accomplished anything.

        He had separated from the main group to act as a decoy for the soldiers chasing them. All he could think of was to run. It didn’t matter which direction, to where, or how long. Run. Run.

        A bullet tore a hole through his shoulder and he collided with a car on the side of the street. He skidded on the concrete, tearing the German uniform he’d once been so proud to wear. Boots thundered closer and he knew it was over.

He really wished he had a gun. He could end his life with his own hands. Quickly. A swift death. Not the torture cells. Not the chief.

A gun clicked above him and he looked up to the barrel between his eyes. The man who held it was about his age, with floppy sandy hair.

He really liked his hair, the traitor thought. He’d comb it every day but it would always look unkempt. 

A flicker of pain crossed both of their faces as every memory they’d shared since day one hit them all at once.

“Kill me,” he said. “Please.”

The other soldier pursed his lips and gripped the gun tightly in his whitening hands.

“Please,” he begged quietly. Then he smiled.

The sincerity of his expression hurt his friend so much. He couldn’t bear to see it any longer.

So he shot him.

“Well that’s unfortunate,” Schutzstaffel hummed.

        The group of soldiers in front of him had their heads held submissively low. The young man at the front of the group ducked his head so much that his floppy blond locks covered his eyes.

        “All the other idiots of that hopeless posse were brought back to me alive, in some shape or form,” Schutzstaffel continued. He was perched on the hood of a patrol car, picking crusted blood out of his sharp nails. “You know how much I like to play with prisoners, especially special ones like this ragtag group who tried to rescue dear France. I started this hunt imagining all the wonderful art I could do, all the screams it would give me.”

        Every human shivered. Their fingers vibrated at their sides.

        “I was looking forward to the German one the most, since I missed my chance with dear Kennwort. Oh, what fun he would have been.”

        Schutzstaffel held his hand out to inspect his cleaned nails. Through the gaps of his fingers, his eyes settled on the boy with floppy hair.

        “All of you went after that one soldier and you still couldn’t bring him back alive. He was a traitor. Yet you gave him mercy and ended his life with one bullet. How disappointing. Didn’t you want to hear him scream? Hear him beg? Watch him bleed for betraying you?”

        He walked towards the group and the floppy-haired boy flinched with every step.

        “Was it because you knew him?” Schutzstaffel leaned close to the boy’s face. The soldier didn’t dare look up through his blond locks. “You let friendship get in the way of revenge? How disappointing. Perhaps you should take his place.”

        The young man jolted. His whole body stiffened like an icicle and he felt as cold as one too as blood seemed to drain from him.

        Schutzstaffel scoffed. “I never get to play with German soldiers. Wehrmacht wouldn’t let me.” He paused after saying his brother’s name. He still won’t let me.

        He gave the group a long look. Who cared if they all wore the black iron cross? Wehrmacht trained them to be soft and he was dead. Schutzstaffel was in charge now.

        That’s when he realized that, even if he really wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to draw out that traitor soldier’s torture for more than a few minutes. Not when he wore the iron cross. He’d missed his chance with Kennwort because he’d spared him the same way. Schutzstaffel might have been in control physically but Wehrmacht’s spirit was still there. Haunting him.

        “France is being held in another basement,” Schutzstaffel said. “An officer will show you there. As your reward for killing a traitor, you each get to fuck a countryhuman.” He clapped his hands together with a signature grin. “I expect every single one of you to take thirty minutes. If you finish early, you die. So draw it out please. Bonus points if you make her cry.”

Screams. They pierced his ears.

        It used to sound like a melody. Now it sounded like what it really was: noise. Schutzstaffel found it so annoying that he started gagging all the prisoners before he tortured them.

        As another member of the French Resistance hung from chains and bled to death in front of him, Schutzstaffel turned the broken beer bottle around in his hand. He’d been using the sharp edge to carve the prisoner’s skin into some form of art. It looked repulsive. He didn’t like it.

        This was too mundane. Doing this over and over again made no difference in his life. Before, when Wehrmacht was here, it served as a way to annoy his brother. Schutzstaffel liked watching Wehrmacht squirm. It brought out a vulnerable side of him that, as an older brother, Schutzstaffel missed.

        Wehrmacht was always so stoic and emotionless. None of the childish curiosity or weakness like Reichswehr; that disappeared after Wehrmacht returned from his time with Prussia, all “grown up.”

        His victim took his last breath and became another hanging corpse. Why did Schutzstaffel spend so much time scarring him anyway? There was no productivity here.

        He needed something that would make a difference. Something to show the world that he was out for revenge. Against whom?

        “Sir!”

        Schutzstaffel glanced at the messenger who saluted stiffly at the door.

        “A phone call from the Third Reich, sir!”

        The chief stepped out of the cell and took the phone.

        “That was a close call, Schutz,” Third Reich said. “We almost lost France.”

        “Not even close. But I assure you she’s being duly punished.”

        “Take it as a sign, brother, that the French Resistance is getting too confident. You need to crush them before they coordinate too much with the Allies. USSR has already taken Kiev but the west has been too quiet.”

        “Calm before the storm. An invasion would get me out of my boredom.” So I can do something to make a difference.”

        Third Reich clicked his tongue. “I’m serious. Keep an eye out for it. Destroy the French Resistance. Also, expect a visit from League of Nations soon.”

        “What?”

        “LoN’s in France. Should be in Paris by now. Where are you?”

        “Close. He’s probably at my doorstep. Why is he here?”

        “He pokes his face in everyone’s business. Keep his visit brief, kick him out as soon as you can. I don’t want to deal with his nonsense.”

        “Neither do I,” Schutzstaffel grumbled as he hung up. He turned to the messenger. “If League of Nations shows up, tell him to —”

        A second messenger scrambled up to them. “Sir! The League of Nations has just arrived and is asking to see you!”

        Annoying little brat, Schutzstaffel thought even though there was nothing “little” about the King Wing at all.

        He pointed to the torture cell. “Let him in. I’ll be waiting in here.”

        The messengers looked horrified and uneasy at the fact that Schutzstaffel was about to conduct a meeting with a global entity in a torture cell with a dead body. To Schutzstaffel, however, this was just a tactic to gain upper ground. Prison cells were his habitat after all. And he wanted every advantage against that winged son of a bitch.

        League of Nations poked his head timidly into the room. When his eyes settled on the hanging body, his white face turned whiter.

        “Ah, Schutzstaffel,” LoN greeted unevenly. “How have you been?”

        “I’ve been embroiled in excitement thinking about how to tear out your wings,” Schutzstaffel offered casually.

        “Ahah. Ahah.” LoN sounded like he was going to choke mid-chuckle. “I am, er, glad to hear you are, um, happy.”

        Happiness. He was far, far, far from that.

        “I thought you would say I am demented,” Schutzstaffel said. “Aren’t you going to yell at me? Or give me some wise advice on how to fix my head?”

        Anything that will give me an excuse to beat you up, like Vater did those years ago.

        “Oh no no. You wouldn’t take my advice.”

        “That’s right. So leave.”

        “I actually wanted to inquire about the state of Nazi Germany. Third Reich wouldn’t speak to me, so I thought —”

        “Neither of us are Wehrmacht, bitch.” We could never be like him. “We don’t have the patience or sympathy to spill any beans to you. Don’t think that your relationship with Wehrmacht means anything to us. In fact, I hate anything with wings right now.”

        LoN backed away. “I-I see. I apologize for disturbing you. It seems everything is fine here anyhow, so I’ll just take my leave…”

        Schutzstaffel whipped out his gun and pointed it at LoN. The entity froze. Not a single feather moved.

        “Why should I let you go? I should kill you.” Schutzstaffel tilted his head. “You’re the so-called King Wing, aren’t you? You watch over everyone with wings. But my brother and grandfather are both dead. Why do you still get to live?”

        “Schutzstaffel, please think about what you’re saying —”

        “I’m perfectly capable of thinking, dear League of Nothing. I want you dead. I want to riddle you with holes.”

LoN swallowed slowly and Schutzstaffel could see his Adam’s apple bob.

“That would make the Allies so mad,” Schutzstaffel said. “Then they’d invade. I’d have so much fun killing them all. Lucky for you, Third Reich doesn’t want any trouble right now. But the next time I see you…”

Schutzstaffel pointed his gun at the corpse and opened fire. Multiple shots littered the dead body, spraying blood on the ground behind in miniature explosions of gore. LoN jumped with every shot, like it had hit him instead.

When Schutzstaffel was finally done, he blew on his gun and put it away.

LoN took that as his cue to run as far away as possible.

Chap 13

I’m actually open to learning, from powerful people of course. If my only skill is fucking my enemies, I’m no different from a French prostitute.

PAST

Saal-Schutz desperately wanted to run away.

        This room, this feeling as they waited for the arrival of United Kingdom and France, was too familiar. Their lives had been permanently shattered last time a meeting like this had been held, and it seemed history was about to repeat itself before they’d even fully recovered.

        His fear was only rivaled by his anger at the man sitting at the head of the meeting table. German Empire looked miserable.

        “Why did you drink?” Saal muttered, glaring at his tightly clasped hands.

        German Empire’s sign language was half-hearted: “I felt useless.”

        “So you thought getting drunk and beating the shit out of League of Nations would make you USEFUL?”

The fury in Saal’s voice made GE flinch, which gave Saal both satisfaction and guilt.

“I wouldn’t have gotten so angry if you two were home,” German Empire gestured accusingly. His eyes narrowed on Saal. “Why weren’t you home?”

“I was taking a walk in the city.”

GE whipped his head to Reichswehr. “And you?”

The youngest son sat across from Saal, his wings folded around himself and his eyes darting around the room. Like Saal, Reichswehr also felt the familiar dreadful atmosphere this room gave off and, for a second, was too paralyzed to answer.

BAM! GE slammed his palm on the table and jabbed his finger at Reichswehr as if to scream, “WHERE WERE YOU?”

“HE WAS WITH ME!” Both of Saal’s hands were flat on the table as well as he glared at GE. “Don’t you dare fucking pin this on Reichswehr.” He was aware that he sounded oddly loud, since GE couldn’t actually shout back.

“I knew it. You took him out of the house,” GE accused. “When I didn’t find either of you in the estate, I knew you were going to get us all in trouble. That’s why I got mad. Then, lo and behold, League of Nations happened to show up on my doorstep and I thought he had kidnapped you! What the fuck were you two thinking?”

“Reichswehr doesn’t deserve to be pent up in the house all day like a caged bird!” Saal shouted. “He should get to see the country that he was born into, to feel pride for our people even though YOU lost the war. This is YOUR fault! If you could’ve been a stronger father, we would still have our whole family!”

GE’s bared his teeth in rage. Without warning, he had a fistful of Saal’s shirt and had his other hand pulled back for a slap. Saal prepared himself for the blow, never once breaking his defiant eye contact with his father.

        Reichswehr screamed, “STOP!” at the same time as the newcomer at the door.

        German Empire let go of Saal. He slowly sat down.

With a black trenchcoat pulled tightly around himself, like he’d just come back from a trek in the cold, Weimar stepped into the room and murmured, “I leave Germany for a few days and this is what my family has become.”

He must have rushed here from Russia, Saal thought, also sitting down.  I wonder if he had a good time there.

Better than with us.

“What happened?” Weimar asked evenly.

After GE explained everything — he had been drinking because he had nothing better to do now that Weimar was taking over the government, he had come home drunk and paranoid and hadn’t found Reichswehr or Saal-Schutz in the house, then LoN visited and GE gave in to his paranoia and beat the global entity until France showed up and alerted her husband — Weimar closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“So they’re going to bring him,” he whispered.

GE grimaced.

“W-Who?” Reichswehr asked. When no one answered, Reichswehr sat up and demanded more firmly, “Who? Who’s coming? Are they…” His eyes went wide. “Are they going to kill Vater?”

“Nein, nein,” Saal, sensing the incoming trauma,  immediately reassured his brother. “No one is going to die. Not ever again. It’s going to be okay, Reichswehr.” He opened his arms. “We’re sticking together through this.”

Reichswehr gratefully leaned into the hug. The way he squeezed Saal’s ribs made the older brother feel even guiltier about what he’d just said. Truth be told, he had no idea what was going to happen to them. He glanced at Weimar for some explanation but Weimar was staring off into space with unreadable eyes.

Reichswehr suddenly perked up as his wings started shaking.

“Whoa, what’s the matter?” Saal asked.

“Someone’s coming.” His little brother looked to the doorway. “I can feel them.”

“League of Nations?”

“I can barely feel his wings actually,” Reichswehr said, feathers still vibrating. “There’s someone else. They’re much stronger.”

They didn’t have to wait long. France entered first, followed by United Kingdom. Then League of Nations, whose giant wings barely fit through the entrance. LoN’s eyes fell on Reichswehr and he offered a sympathetic smile.

Seconds later, he was pushed aside. The fourth and final figure stepped into the room. Like LoN, his silver gaze immediately fell on Reichswehr, who let out a startled gasp.

This countryhuman had a flag of horizontal black-white-black and an eyepatch with a black eagle engraving on his right eye. A silver cape with fur collar was draped over his shoulders but it did nothing to hide the massive black appendages on his back. The long sleek feathers nearly dragged on the floor. Everything about him emitted majestic confidence.

“I’m sure this man needs no introduction to you, German Empire,” UK said. “Though I believe this is the first time your sons are meeting their grandfather, so allow me to introduce…the Kingdom of Prussia.”

 Prussia.

Our grandfather.

Saal had grown up hearing all about Prussia from GE and Weimar, especially after Reichswehr was born. They said if Prussia knew about Reichswehr’s wings, he’d kill him. But none of those stories and warnings mentioned that Prussia himself had wings that big. In fact, they looked close to the size of LoN’s and LoN was supposed to have the largest wings in the world.

What’s more, there was an uneasy air among UK, France, and LoN. Despite introducing Prussia, UK didn’t look too happy with him being here. France kept UK in between her and Prussia. And LoN kept the furthest distance, his wings tucked close like he was trying to make himself smaller.

Incredible. That was Saal’s first impression of Prussia. Someone who can rival these three? And he’s part of our family?

GE had said Prussia was a dangerous man. The reactions in the room confirmed that, yet Saal didn’t feel fear. He felt proud. Prussia’s one of us. He’s making them cower.

He forgot about all the warnings. Right now, Prussia could be their savior.

“Grandchildren…” Prussia’s voice was like wind, trailing off in a whisper at the end. His eyes flicked to Weimar and Saal but quickly trained back to Reichswehr. He smiled kindly. “How wonderful to see you all grown up.”

Would he really kill Reichswehr? But it seems like he likes Reichswehr.

“The one with black, red, and yellow stripes is Weimar,” UK said. “He is the eldest and the heir to the new era of Germany.”

Prussia’s eye twitched. Saal thought it must’ve been some dust in the air.

“The one beside him is Saal-Schutz, the middle child. I’m going to make it very clear that he is the most problematic.”

Fuck you too.

“And the little one with wings is Reichswehr.”

“Reichswehr…” Prussia murmured. “So you are the youngest child?”

“He is,” UK answered for him.

“I see…”

Weird, Saal frowned. The amount of attention Prussia paid to Reichswehr made Saal as uneasy as when they’d first met LoN, who also poured abnormal attention on his younger brother. His heart beat faster. Would Prussia really kill him? Saal tightened his grip on Reichswehr’s shoulder.

        “After the incident with GE,” France explained, “we contacted Prussia and decided he will be the children’s new caretaker. We believe he is a safer and more responsible option, especially with the likely dark days of Depression ahead.”

        Caretaker? So he’s not here to kill anyone?

        Reichswehr snapped out of his mesmerization with Prussia’s wings and said, “V-Vater can still stay with us right?”

        “It’s best if we restrict him to —”

        “GE may stay,” Prussia murmured. Quiet, yet it silenced everyone in a heartbeat.

        United Kingdom opened his mouth to object. But instead of looking at UK, Prussia glanced lazily at France. The result was similar to something Saal had witnessed before — that day when UK, France, and England visited their home, and GE was confronting France when she found Saal and Weimar eavesdropping at the staircase. England had poked his head 0ut from the living room to check the commotion and the mere sight of him had made GE change his demeanor completely.

        That’s what France looked like.

        “Darling, I’m sure Prussia is capable of watching GE,” she said. “In fact, I think Prussia is perfect for the job. Maybe he can teach his son to be less hot-headed.”

        “GE is a danger to everyone —”

        “I will take responsibility,” said Prussia, “for any further damage he causes. Though after I finish teaching him some lessons, I assure you that you will have nothing to worry about. As you both know, I am a very thorough teacher…”

        Goosebumps popped over Saal’s skin at the threat behind those words. Still, perhaps because it was directed at his enemies, it sounded so cool to Saal. He was also relieved GE would be staying; his anger at his father was nothing compared to the fear of losing him.

        UK clicked his tongue. He gestured to LoN. “What do you think?”

        “Oh, me?” LoN yelped. He sounded so pathetic, like a mouse caught in a trap. “W-What do I think?”

        UK rolled his eyes in exasperation and nodded impatiently.

        “I, um…”

His wings vibrated so much Saal could see the feathers quivering. Based on the way Reichswehr was glancing between Prussia and LoN in awe, Saal imagined Prussia was emitting a scary aura that only winged countryhumans could sense. The old kingdom’s wings barely moved though.

Incredible, Saal thought. Where has someone as strong as him been all this time?

“I think it’s fine!” LoN announced unnecessarily loudly. “No harm in letting the family stick together. They’ve lost so much…I, um, don’t think it’s healthy for the kids to lose their father too, you know?”

“Very well,” UK grumbled. “You can keep GE, Prussia. But if he gets out of line again, I’m holding you accountable.”

“Wunderbar,” Prussia said. “Thank you for all your help and understanding in this process. I think we can all go home now.”

“Great!” LoN exclaimed. “I’m glad we sorted that out so smoothly. I wish you all the best.”

Just like that, he was gone. With his tail between his legs, Saal thought in satisfaction.

Satisfaction turned to worry and caution as soon as UK and France were gone, leaving them with Prussia. Saal’s body tensed up, ready to spring in front of Reichswehr if Prussia made any attack.

For a moment, all Prussia did was smile at each of them.

Finally he spoke, “Three grandchildren… I only saw the eldest, when he was an infant. Then, somewhere down the line, a second one popped up.”

That’s me. I’m the second one.

But the way he said it…why does it sound like I’m insignificant?

“I understand why you didn’t tell me about the second son,” Prussia continued, clearly addressing GE. “He is like your first…nothing special.”

The bits of hope Saal had been building throughout the meeting started to peel away.

“But the third…”

Prussia spread his wings and they engulfed a whole wall of the room like a giant storm cloud. They were the most beautiful and menacing things Saal had ever seen, and they froze his limbs in wonder and horror. GE and Weimar were both on their feet, Weimar with one arm stretched protectively in front of Reichswehr.         

“How dare you not tell me about your third son. The one with wings.”

Chap 14

PRESENT

Was it a curse that those with wings in their family were never meant to die peaceful deaths? That they were never meant to be happy, never meant to forge bonds with their loved ones?

Yes. And it was a curse set by those fucking Western powers.

        “You’re actually going to WATCH?” Schutzstaffel hissed at Third Reich. The brothers sat in the living room of the Berlin estate, chilling from supper until Third Reich brought up the annual meeting.

        “If we aren’t there, it will be an opportunity for the Allies to gather and plot freely,” Third Reich replied. “I suspect something of value will be said and I am curious if Fascist Italy will actually show his face.”

        “How can you still look at them,” Schutzstaffel growled. “After what happened in Britain, how can you still see them face to face and not want to rip their organs out?”

        “I do,” Third said with a frown at the graphic description. “But I am also aware of the appropriate time to unleash my anger. You should learn to control yours as well. It’s been years —”

        “I don’t have to simmer down to please anybody. I hate them. If I go, I’ll kill them all.”

        “Then don’t go,” Third sighed. “I’ll bring Vater and you can stay at the estate.”

        Schutzstaffel’s lip twitched in annoyance. “So you’re replacing me with GE now? You don’t trust me?”

        “I don’t trust you to control yourself and not butcher a peace summit.”

        “FUCK peace. We’re at WAR. Fuck LoN and his stupid meetings. We should attack on the day of WATCH and kill all the Allies when they least expect it!”

        Third Reich opened his mouth but clearly hesitated as thoughts of the feasibility of that plan flashed across his face. It was so drastic, it hadn’t even occurred to him until now. Something like that could end the root of their problems, their thirst for revenge and war.

        “But that would destroy all faith in peace talks in the future,” Third finally said. “In fact, countries would probably never engage in peace talks or negotiations ever again. Fighting would become the first option for every disagreement. We’d drown the world in endless war.”

        “So what?” Schutzstaffel gripped the handrest of his sofa, imprinting his fingers on the leather. “Things would get done quicker. Countries will figure out who they can mess with and who to serve and make choices from there. Some of them might even get taken over and that means less foreign relations to worry about, less politics.” He scowled. “I fucking hate politics.”

        “It’ll bite us back in the end,” Third said. “It isn’t a good idea. Not at WATCH.”

        “You’re trying to save your image.” Schutzstaffel scoffed in disbelief. “If you really cared about us, you’d jump at any chance to kill those motherfuckers. But you seem to care more about how you look in front of the Soviet bastard.”

        Third narrowed his eyes, and SS felt a twinge of satisfaction. For some reason, he wanted to rile up his brother. He didn’t want to be the only one angry.

        “This has nothing to do with Soviet.”

        “Face it. You’ll never make a good impression and you’ll never get back with him. You’ve fucked up too much to go back.”

        “I said,” Third growled firmly, “that this has nothing to do with Soviet.”

        “Really, because it seems like saying that Russian’s name gets a reaction out of you more than mentioning Wehrmacht’s murderers.” Schutzstaffel bared his fangs in a sneer. “I knew you loved Soviet more than you did us. I thought about it the day we met Prussia for the first time. You’d rather have stayed in Russia than come back to clean up your messed-up family. Maybe getting rid of Reichswehr gave you more freedom.”

        In a flash, Third Reich was on his feet, fists clenched at his sides, eyes blazing fiery red. He glared at Schutzstaffel with so much ferocity that the younger brother’s sneer quivered a little in fear. His crimson skin seemed to glow like hot coals.

        “Get out of my sight.” Third’s voice was low with barely contained fury.

        Schutzstaffel stared him down for a few seconds longer. He had successfully angered his brother. Did that make him feel better?

No. He stood and sauntered out of the room.

A few hours later, Schutzstaffel knocked politely on a door.

        Stress politely, because usually the chief was knocking down houses to round up the fugitives or Jews hiding inside. Today, he had the collar of his black coat flipped up to cover his neck and a brown cap on his head that replaced the military hat. He had walked to this estate with his shoulders low instead of his typical confident posture.

        Switzerland opened the door.

        The Swiss studied Schutzstaffel silently. Then he nodded at the cap, “Never seen you wear that.”

        “I didn’t want to attract any attention,” said SS, taking it off. “Humans wear these, right?”

        Switzerland padded back into the house but left the door open, and Schutzstaffel came in without explicit invitation. This happened often; SS would visit, whether the Swiss liked it or not.

        It was only when he plopped down on the living room couch that Schutzstaffel noticed the covered piano in a corner. The ghost of a little boy with wings dancing his fingers across the keys materialized on the piano stool in his mind.

        “Is that the same piano…?” he asked Switzerland, who refilled the basket on the living room table with chocolate squares in fancy wrapping.

        “It’s been there this whole time,” Switzerland said plainly. “After all those visits, you only noticed now.”

        Right…It’s like I’m seeing it for the first time, even though I was the one who gave it to Switzerland after Reichswehr left.

         “Well, you never played it, so I forgot it was a piano under there,” Schutzstaffel teased. “Why don’t you put on a show for me —”

        “No.”

        Schutzstaffel blinked at the abrupt rejection. It was delivered with such lack of care that it disoriented him. Perhaps it was the way he asked — more like a command that he expected to be fulfilled without hesitation. He started to feel a little annoyed but Switzerland was already in the kitchen brewing coffee, as if saying “no” to Nazi Germany’s most ruthless man was a daily occurrence. It kind of was.

        “Um, alright,” was all SS could say. “...Can I have some coffee?”

        He didn’t have to ask back home. Of course whoever’s house he went to would serve him a beverage before he should ask. Switzerland wasn’t the type to go above and beyond for his guests though. Everything was asked for and he would consider it. No demands, no guarantees.

        He came back with two steaming cups and placed one in front of Schutzstaffel. Grabbing a chocolate from the basket, Switzerland sat down on his sofa by the empty fireplace, picked up the book that he’d been reading, and sipped his coffee without a word.

        Schutzstaffel keeled over on the couch so he laid on his back, his legs dangling over one side. Why did this suddenly feel like a therapy session?

        I don’t need therapy. Just someone to talk to.

        “Who do you think is going to win?” he finally broke the silence.

        Switzerland flipped a page in his book. Other people would think they were being ignored. Sometimes, Schutzstaffel had that feeling too — you could never tell with the Swiss’s straight face.

        “The Allies.”

        “What?”

SS had heard him perfectly fine, and Switzerland knew it so he didn’t say anything more.

The German forced himself to calm down. “Why?”

“You’d never win against America and Soviet Union combined.”

“How can you be so sure? We lost some ground in the east but we still have most of Europe.”

“A two-front war is a lost cause. Unless you find some way to completely eradicate one of the two, you’re done for.” Switzerland started unwrapping his chocolate. “You didn’t come here to ask about who would win.”

“I value your opinion as an outside party.” I really do, and you thinking we’ll lose worries me. “But I also came here because I’m not having the best relationship with my brother.”

“I can’t help you with that. I have no siblings.”

“I don’t care. I just need you to listen.”

He started ranting about all of the things that happened after the last time he’d met Switzerland. Not a whole lot happened in real life but a whole lot happened in his head. He’d felt lonely, wrong, unsatisfied, and angry. His hate for the Allies only grew, along with his frustrations with his brother and himself. Maybe they were losing because he sure felt happier when they’d been winning.

Switzerland sat through the whole thing without interruption. When Schutzstaffel finished, the Swiss’s coffee cup was empty and only a quarter of the chocolate was left in the basket after the German’s stress-eating — it was like Switzerland had restocked in preparation for this talk. He closed his book.        

“You’re driven by hate,” he said.

SS scoffed. “How could you tell?”

“Hate is powerful, and far more motivational than love. But your brothers seem to have switched to the opposite.”

“Brothers?”

“Wehrmacht loved Ireland, I’m sure. Third is attending WATCH because he loves Wehrmacht.”

“He loves Soviet,” Schutzstaffel grumbled.

“Did it occur to you that Third might be going to WATCH to see Ireland?”

“Tch, what good would that do?” Wehrmacht’s dead. Chatting with that Irish douchebag won’t bring him back.

“There is magic in comfort.” Switzerland said simply. “Those bound by the death of a loved one gravitate towards each other. It’s easier to accept than to resist sharing.”

“I’m not resisting shit. I don’t want to talk to any of those British bastards. Why can’t Third come to me instead of Ireland?” Why is it always that Irishman?

Switzerland hummed. “I’m sure he wants to. But you’ve never exactly shown how much you love Wehrmacht.”

He’s always mattered the most to me in the world. I did everything for him, spent my life protecting him.

“You think Ireland loves my brother more than I do?” Schutzstaffel said in a dangerously low voice.

“No. He simply shows it more. Even League of Nations shows his affection for Wehrmacht more than you do, from what I gathered at the last WATCH.”

“It’s all because he has wings.” Schutzstaffel clenched his fists. “It isn’t fair.”

It isn’t fair that Reichswehr was taken from me. When he returned, he was too deep in Prussia’s politics already. And on our first operation in London together, he got taken away from me again by those Allied fuckers.

It isn’t fair that Ireland saved him before I could. He got to spend all that time with my brother; I should have been the one helping him recover. I should have been the one showing him how much I care about him, how much I sacrificed to keep Prussia busy.

If only I had wings.

How can everyone else be close to him while I’m outside of my own bubble?

If only I had wings…

…or no one had them at all.

Chap 15

I wish I could spill out a fraction of my blood and still have enough left to kill the one who gave me that bloodline.

PAST

Cursed. In that moment, Saal-Schutz decided that was what wings were: nothing but bad luck.

German Empire wouldn’t look Prussia in the eye. He cowered as much as Saal had seen him with England over the years. Even though Prussia was technically a family member, it didn’t make the sight look any less pathetic.

“Well?” Prussia hissed in his breezy voice that was slowly sounding more and more like a snake in Saal’s mind.

Say something, Vater! Saal urged, stepping closer to Reichswehr. What is going on?

GE remained silent.

Hearing nothing from his father, Weimar stepped forward, shielding Reichswehr with his whole body, and said, “We won’t let you hurt our brother.”

Prussia blinked. Then his expression changed into a grin that revealed flashes of sharp white teeth and he tilted his head in amusement.

“Hurt him?” Prussia chuckled. “Nonsense. I adore your brother already…you should be more worried about yourself.”

Suddenly Weimar’s head was slammed against the wall and he was pinned there by murderous fingers wrapped around his throat. His legs flailed above the floor and his mouth hung open in a silent scream of shock.

Saal hadn’t even registered Prussia’s attack. In fact, all three of them were momentarily paralyzed, like Prussia’s speed had frozen time.

GE recovered first and rushed at Prussia. The empire flung Weimar’s body at GE like it was a sandbag, forcing him to stop to safely catch his son. Weimar sputtered, clutching his bruised neck, eyes bulging. He held on to GE like a baby. It was the most scared Saal had seen his older brother in a while.

Saal grabbed Reichswehr’s wrist and tugged him behind the table — not that it would do much, but he preferred to have something rather than nothing between him and his crazy grandfather. All initial thoughts of how majestic and admirable Prussia was were quickly erased from his mind. His only thought now was making sure Prussia didn’t reach Reichswehr.

Prussia’s silver gaze slowly slid towards the younger brothers. He glossed over Saal, unimpressed, and returned to Weimar.

“I’ll take care of the oldest first,” he said. “Then the second one. And then that winged treasure will be mine.”

GE hugged Weimar close and glared threateningly at Prussia. Saal had a feeling that, if need be, GE wouldn’t hesitate to kill this man — if Prussia didn’t kill him first.

Think, Saal, think, or we’ll all be dead. Germany’s — our — future is at stake!

“If you kill us all, there will be no one left to inherit the country!” Saal blurted.

Prussia paused and cast a lazy glance in Saal’s direction. Saal hated how insignificant he made him feel with the subtlest actions.

“Who said I would kill you all?” Prussia drawled. “You and your weak elder brother are the ones standing in Reichwehr’s way to power.”

…way to power?

“Perhaps if Reichswehr had been the firstborn, I wouldn’t have to dispose of you two,” Prussia continued.

Firstborn…could he mean…?

“But I thought…you were here to kill Reichswehr,” Saal murmured in confusion.

Prussia whipped his head towards GE. “My, my is that what you’ve been telling my dear grandchild? That I wanted to kill him all this time, so you kept him hidden?”

Grandchild. Singular, like Weimar and I are illegitimate. Reichswehr is the only one Prussia wants alive, not dead. Weimar and I were the ones GE was protecting by keeping Reichswehr a secret. He knew Prussia would kill us.

The look on Weimar’s face said that he was realizing the same thing.

“Vater?” Reichswehr’s small voice penetrated the silence. “You said…you said I couldn’t go outside because the Allies would take me away. You wouldn’t let me fly because you said if they knew I had wings, they would kill me.”

German Empire was about to gesture something but Prussia interrupted.

“You wouldn’t let him fly?”

His tone seemed to kill all breath in the room. GE kept staring at Reichswehr, but the winged boy had his eyes on Prussia.

“Dear German Empire, you have been a terrible father to Reichswehr,” Prussia said. “How could you trap him in the house when he is meant to be soaring the skies? Look at his wings, how underdeveloped and weak they are. They could have been powerful, beautiful, crucial to the country. Yet you let the limited potential of your eldest two sons run free.” Prussia narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps it is because Reichswehr is your youngest and you favor your older ones more? Or perhaps you despise your poor son because he was born with wings when you were — to my utter disappointment — not?”

Saal watched Reichswehr’s expression change with every calculated word spewing out of Prussia’s mouth. The sadness of missed opportunity, the horror of the notion that GE might hate him, and the subtle anger fueled by resentment.

GE was shaking his head frantically. His red eyes bloomed with years upon years of desperation and affection, all showered upon Reichswehr. But Reichswehr wasn’t looking. Prussia and his giant black wings promising strength and potential had captivated him.

And so Reichswehr missed GE’s love.

“My blessed child,” Prussia murmured to Reichswehr. “Come with me. We can rule the skies together.”

…What? Saal froze. He’s going to take my brother. Prussia, not the Allies, but Prussia.

GE pushed Weimar behind him and bared his teeth at Prussia. His fury turned into surprise when Reichswehr said, “Where are we going?”

“I can take you away from that Berlin prison you’ve been staying in.” Prussia spread his wings. “I can show you the world from a view above. We can fly as far as you want, as long as you want, wherever you want. You’ll be free, Reichswehr.”

“You’re not taking him away from us!” Saal blurted.

“Don’t let your selfish brothers hold you down.” Prussia’s voice was calm and reassuring. “They know that winged countryhumans like you and I can achieve power beyond their capabilities. They see you as a threat to their rule, Reichswehr. That is why they have kept you trapped, letting your wings wither away.”

“That’s not true!” Weimar said hoarsely. “We love you, Reichswehr. You’re our brother! Everything we did was to keep you safe.”

“Actions speak louder than words, Reichswehr. If they loved you, they would have given you freedom. Instead, they sacrificed you to save their own skins from me.”

“We didn’t know!” Saal argued. I have to drown him out before he gets to Reichswehr’s head. “We thought you’d kill Reichswehr because another pair of wings is a threat to your rule. Reichswehr, we’ll always protect you, no matter what.”

“He doesn’t need your protection any longer, now that I’m here,” said Prussia. “Which makes you and your brother useless to me…”

“Y-You’re really going to kill them?” Reichswehr stammered. His feathers, which had been bristling with suppressed emotion, momentarily froze when he asked that question.

Prussia sensed the hesitation and replied smoothly, “Of course not. If you come with me, I will be merciful. Your brothers can live with your father. The three of them seem happy together, don’t you think? You and I, on the other hand, will have an adventure of a lifetime.”

You little snake. You choked Weimar and said you’d kill us both just a few minutes ago. Now you’re blackmailing Reichswehr and promising him all this shit.

“Reichswehr, don’t fall for it,” Saal pleaded. “You can’t trust him. What if he really does want to kill you and is using this as a way to get you alone?”

That could be a possibility. At this point, I don’t know what is fact and what is fiction. I just can’t let Prussia take him away from us.

“I would never harm you,” Prussia said gently. “I want to see you one day become ruler of this country.”

Reichswehr frowned skeptically. “But Weimar is going to be —”

“Serving you,” Prussia finished. “I will give you an unmatched education and prepare you to become the new and rightful leader of Germany. Reichswehr…it is my will for you to inherit the country.”

What the fuck? He can’t…can he do that?

Saal turned to Weimar, who stood staring at Reichswehr, waiting for his answer. After all those years of experience, how can Weimar not be given that title? He’s the best out of all of us.

GE glared at Prussia, subtly shaking his head so as not to catch Reichswehr’s attention with his objection.

For a second, Reichswehr blinked in bewilderment at the declaration. That part of him that had always envied his brothers, always wanted to contribute something meaningful to the nation, took over. He looked at the rest of his family, hope shining in his eyes. Everyone stared back blankly.

This looks bad, Saal thought nervously. None of us support the decision, not because we don’t like Reichswehr but because Weimar is the better option. It just can’t be helped!

Reichswehr’s face fell.

Then it hardened with determination.

Everything Prussia had said aligned almost perfectly with what Reichswehr had experienced. The warped truth even made Saal feel like the villain. Plus, Prussia’s promises painted such a bright future, one that none of them could offer because they didn’t have wings. Still, Saal thought their brotherly bond would pull them through.

Instead, Reichswehr said to Prussia, “I want to go with you.”

Chap 16

PRESENT

Why? Reichswehr, why would you leave us?

Nein. Don’t go…

Reichswehr….BROTHER.

Schutzstaffel shot up in bed, grabbed his gun underneath the blankets, and stared wide-eyed at the empty room. The darkness didn’t help his anxiety; Prussia and his black wings could easily blend in, lying in wait like the vulture he was.

SS looked at the gun gripped in his hand. If he’d had access to a weapon then, would he have dared to shoot Prussia before he could take his brother away?

No. He didn’t have the guts. And now, when he had all the nerve in the world, it was too late.

Switzerland’s guest room was decorated differently from his; everything was a shade of brown and white, from the hardwood floors to the carpets and curtains and bedsheets. This wasn’t the first time Schutzstaffel spent the night in this room, away from his own dark-walled and red-colored one. Still, the morning air felt different as he breathed in and stretched.

Was I so scared to go back to Berlin that I slept here?

His argument with Third yesterday filled his mind and he flopped back down on the pillows with a snicker.

You poor child. Running away from home because your big brother doesn’t like you right now. What is he — your father?

Schutzstaffel furrowed his brow. Maybe so. Third was not only their eldest but also served more of the father role than GE did in Schutzstaffel’s mind.

Nein, nein, backtrack Schutz. You fear GE in a different way than you fear Weimar. He is definitely the real Vater.

Schutzstaffel slid out of bed and shambled out of the guest bedroom in just his pants; he left his black coat, shirt, and cap hanging on the chair. When he entered the kitchen, breakfast waited at the table. He put his hand over it: still warm.

Schutzstaffel peered into the living room, but there was no sign of the house’s owner. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed and happy at the same time. After all, he had failed to woo Switzerland to bed last night. But hey, at least the Swiss cared enough to calculate exactly when he’d wake up and make breakfast for him. How sweet.

As he ate, SS thought again about Third’s decision to go to WATCH.

When we realized Wehrmacht had spent all that time with Ireland, I was shocked. He’s not the type to lounge about for longer than he needs. He always busied himself with responsibility. Why did he choose to stay in Ireland instead of reunite with us? What is it about Ireland that captivated my brother?

During that WATCH meeting when Prussia revealed where Wehrmacht had been this whole time, Schutzstaffel had witnessed a new side of his brother: a fiercely protective and gentle side. The way he looked at Ireland, the way his wings wrapped around the Irishman, and how they’d sat together like a married couple watching the children build snowmen, it wasn’t the steely Wehrmacht that Schutzstaffel was familiar with.

It was the soft and kind Wehrmacht that Schutzstaffel had always seen in Reichswehr.

Soft and kind. That’s not me. I’ve been vengeful since Austria-Hungary died and nothing but the gruesome death of those British bastards is going to change that. I refuse to go to WATCH if it means we’ll all be breathing under the same roof.

I’m sick of putting on a smile for the world to see anyway.

Everyone knew Schutzstaffel for his sadistic grin. It exuded a dangerous confidence and an attitude of control. Yet SS had nothing under control. Everything always spiraled out of his hands and the only way to deal with it without giving into his anger was to laugh it away.

The other reason he smiled was because Wehrmacht rarely did. Perhaps he was making up for that lack of happiness somehow.

Hm. That’s a good verse.

He hummed some tunes and tried out some lines as he made coffee for himself in Switzerland’s kitchen.

“When I go out, I put on a smile and pretend I’m okay,” he murmured, then paused as he sat on the words. That was his strategy: start with ordinary conversational lines and turn them into rhyme and rhythm. “Kind of long… Should I make this part more fast-paced? Take out the filler words.”

His foot began tapping a beat on the floor.

I like the way this sounds in my head but I’m a horrible singer and I need to hear it sung. Third never has any time…I don’t think I’d let him have this song anyway. It’s too personal….

When he originally started the song, back in his childhood years, it had been written to be sung by Weimar. He had meant for it to reflect family sentiment, yet now it seemed to be his alone.

Schutzstaffel cleared his throat and gave a quiet attempt. “When I go out…put on a smile…pretend I’m —”

The door opened and SS snapped his mouth shut. He listened to Switzerland rummage around the living room before coming into the kitchen.

“You’re still here,” the Swiss stated the obvious. It didn’t sound like he wanted Schutzstaffel gone but it also didn’t sound like he particularly enjoyed his presence either.

He suddenly remembered Switzerland’s words from their previous encounter. The Swiss saw him as questionable. Disgusting. Yet here he was, having spent the night at Switzerland’s place, eating food that Switzerland had cooked for him, seeking emotional safety.

“I wanted to steal some of your coffee before I left,” said SS. “And a chocolate or two if you still have those.”

Out of nowhere, Switzerland tossed him a chocolate square in gold wrapping. SS caught it in one hand and wondered if the Swiss just kept random chocolates in his pockets in case he ever bumped into a needy Nazi.

“Even your chocolates are covered in gold,” Schutzstaffel commented as he bit a corner of the treat. “I could cover everything in this house in gold for you, if only you’d join us.”

“Why would you waste the wealth,” Switzerland said, “when you could invest it in your military?”

SS winked. “It’s not a waste if I spend it on someone I love.”

“If your love was true, you’d spend the money without conditions.”

Schutzstaffel pursed his lips at that point. Not one to rub his victory, Switzerland cleared the dishes of Schutzstaffel’s breakfast and they waited in silence for the coffee to finish brewing. Schutzstaffel fiddled with the mugs he’d prepared.

“Can you sing?” he finally asked.

“Moderately.”

What a neutral answer. “I’m writing a song. I have the first few verses down. I need you to —” Schutzstaffel caught himself. “Ahem — I was wondering if you could sing the lyrics for me? I just want to hear it sung by someone who actually has a singing voice.” He added quickly, “You can say no.”

Switzerland gave Schutzstaffel a long thoughtful look. The German held his breath and was already thinking about what he would do if Switzerland rejected him. His first reaction would be anger, so he braced himself to pat down the flames of his fury.

“Sure.” The Swiss held out his hand.

Schutzstaffel blinked at his red palm. “Oh. Give me a second.”

On a random piece of paper, he scribbled down the words he knew while suppressing the glee swelling in his chest. Switzerland had accepted something of his! Something personal that he wasn’t even showing Third! He finished the last verse on the spot at the dining table.

“Here. This is how the rhythm goes.”

After singing it once in his shitty voice, he handed the lyrics to Switzerland, who sat down at the table and cleared his throat.

“Heads held high

Our futures all looked so bright

But after the war

The battlescars never faded.

We drift apart

The next years were so so hard

Write songs and sad pieces

But what’s the use if no one’s here to sing

Or play the tune?

When I go out

Put on a smile

Pretend I’m okay

Laugh out loud

And stay a while

I’m good at faking

But I know inside

I do it for them each time.”

        The Swiss tilted his head. “Who is them?”

        “My brothers,” answered SS, sheepishly sipping his coffee. “Everything is for them. I thought I’d make it the chorus.”

        Switzerland gave no remarks and simply read over the lines again. Was it good? Was it bad? Where did he need improvement? Schutzstaffel badly wanted to know Switzerland’s judgment and critique but also wasn’t sure if he’d be ready to accept changing his personal work. Such was the dilemma of an artist.

        “Will you be going to WATCH?” Switzerland asked.

        SS curled his lip. “Of course not.”

        “Hm. You won’t support your brother?”

        “I’m helping him overcome his past grief and move on. We have a war to carry out and there’s no time to share hugs with Ireland. Besides, I massacred an Irish crew. You think Ireland wants to see me after that?”

        “And Soviet?”

        “Say I take my brother’s word and believe he isn’t going there to see the Russian. Enemy morale is bound to be high after the hits we took. If Third is just there to grieve, then he’ll be more stricken when everyone around him is celebrating. Soviet will likely use that weakness to manipulate my brother somehow. There are only two options: either I cripple Allied morale or Third doesn’t go.”

        “Why do you think Soviet would do such a thing?”

        “Because my brother did the same to him. Soviet believes he used love and affection to disguise manipulation and betrayal.” Schutzstaffel sighed. “My brother really did love Soviet. But he loved his nation more.”

        “You wouldn’t let him rekindle the relationship?”

        “Nein. I thought he and Soviet looked cute together at first, but I’m convinced now that it was a good thing Third acted when he did. Prolonging it would’ve made the eventual breakup worse. Russian land was always too vast to ignore.”

        “You dislike long-term relationships.”

        Schutzstaffel glanced at Switzerland and licked his dry lips as he formulated a response.

        “Ja. The nation comes first.” Why else would I only have one-night stands to relieve a stressful day? Maybe if we weren’t in war, if the shit back then didn’t happen, I’d be more open to the idea.

        He looked again at Switzerland and met his eyes this time — red like his, though more pinkish. He realized how much he’d opened up to Switzerland just now and clenched his fists. It felt nice while it lasted but that was enough vulnerability for the day and, in the end, the Swiss was here for profit, not emotional support.  He’d said so himself.

        “Well,” SS said, standing up with a stretch, “I thank you for your hospitality. My offer for formal alliance is still on the table.” He winked. “As is my invitation to bed.”

        Switzerland crossed one leg over the other and gazed distantly out the window. For a split second, he looked downhearted.

“You have a nation to run,” he said. “Go.”

Chap 17

PAST

“Fetch!”

        The German Shepherd bounded across the field, snatched up the stick that was thrown, gave it a couple chews, and pranced off with it.

        “Wait!” Saal called. “Dresden, you’re supposed to bring it back to me!”

        Close to the edge of the field, GE watched in amusement as Saal chased after the dog. Another German Shepherd, bigger than Dresden, sat beside GE with a stoic expression on its muzzle.

        Weimar was missing from this little family outing. Saal couldn’t keep track of where his brother was most days, but if he had to guess, it would be with Soviet.

        “Nein, Dresden — HEY!” Saal scrambled to tackle the dog’s tail. “Come here! Give it to me!”

        Dresden grunted and wagged his tail to show he enjoyed the game of tag, which made it harder for Saal to grab on.

        “Fine.” Saal picked up a random stick on the ground and waved it in front of Dresden’s face. “See this? Fetch!”

        Immediately, Dresden dropped his stick and chased after the new toy. Saal was going to pick up the old one, but reconsidered when he saw the drool on it. He looked up to find Dresden running away, stick in mouth.

        “You’re hopeless!” he yelled at the dog.

        Saal trudged back to where GE was standing and patted the other German Shepherd on the head. Like yin and yang, Berlin was the more serious, mature, and quick-learning counterpart. Both pups had come from the same litter that was left to freeze two winters ago beside the body of their dead stray mother.

They’d all grown since then. Berlin was bigger, more muscular, and his back and sides were all black. Dresden was leaner, never still, and was almost entirely tannish brown.

German Empire didn’t look like he’d aged much but there were large developments in his lifestyle: he’d stopped drinking and, after rescuing Berlin and Dresden, became passionate about animal rights and abuse. Weimar, despite Prussia’s disapproval, was now the recognized countryhuman of Germany and buried himself deeper in his work and the Great Depression.

Saal-Schutz was proud to call himself a young adult with friends in the military and the more-than-a-decade-old Nazi Party. He was Adolf Hitler’s countryhuman backing as the human gradually rose in power. Together, they began the gradual rearmament of Germany, blatantly defying the Treaty of Versailles.

None of them had heard from Reichswehr in years. Rest assured, he is alive and well, was what Prussia said when a worried GE called him. Prussia refused to let them speak to Reichswehr on the phone though.

I hope Reichswehr likes dogs, Saal thought. It’s like I can’t remember life without these two furballs.

What scared him the most was that he sometimes forgot what life was like with Reichswehr. He used to be so conscious of the silence in the estate when he came home, no longer greeted by his younger brother. The dogs helped replace the missing piano music.

Yet it only took a glance at the covered piano to remind him of his mission: get stronger, get influence, and get Reichswehr back.

GE signed to Saal, “We should get going now if we want to make it to WATCH on time.”

WATCH: World Association To CountryHumans. It was League of Nations’ latest creation, a peace summit and global gathering, which he wanted to continue as an annual event. Weimar decided they would attend, despite both GE and Saal’s reluctance.

        “What will you do if you bump into LoN?” Saal asked his father.

        “Not beat him up,” GE signed with a roll of his eyes.

        “I’ll try to do the same.”

Even after these years, Saal still couldn’t think about LoN and not blame him for Reichswehr. What business did he have that day to show up when GE was at his low? Who told him to be so weak, get his ass kicked, and allow a monster like Prussia take Reichwehr away?

LoN was the most useless person Saal had ever met. That, and his fearful condemnation of Germany’s rearmament, was why the humans of Germany had already pulled out of the League.

        They started heading back to the estate. Berlin barked at Dresden, who immediately came bounding after them.

        “I don’t understand why Weimar wants to go,” GE gestured as they walked. “Doesn’t he do enough socializing already?”

        “It’s Soviet’s membership day,” Saal replied. “Weimar wants to be there for him since the Soviet Union is joining the League. He’ll probably want to go every year after that.”

        “They’re getting rather close.” A frown formed on GE’s face. Saal guessed he was thinking about his shaky relationship with Russian Empire and how they’d deal with each other if Weimar and Soviet got any closer.

        “You don’t have to talk to Soviet or his father,” said Saal. “Think of it as an opportunity to see Bulgaria again. Or Ottoman’s son, Turkey.”

        “I’m sure Turkey wants nothing to do with me.”

        “Then who needs him anyway. I’ll be there with you, Vater.”

        GE smiled at Saal. He smiled more often after he quit drinking, and Saal was the primary receiver. Whereas GE barely paid Saal any attention when he was a child, they were together the most now. Saal felt like he was slowly making up for all the past ignorance.

        “You should also meet new people,” GE signed. “You are involved in enough internal affairs. You should have international experience as well.”

        “Hah! Leave the foreign politics to Weimar.”

        “But if he becomes too distracted, you should be there as backup. You never know what you might hear.”

        WATCH was held in Geneva, Switzerland. GE had only been to the country once, as Switzerland had miraculously maintained its neutrality during the World War. So far, in his government career, Weimar had only been to Switzerland three times.

        As the three Germans climbed the steps of the government palace that was hosting WATCH, Saal became more and more conscious of the fact that he had never met Switzerland, let alone most of the countries who would be attending. The line of flag poles they had passed on the way to the entrance had so many flags on them that the color and pattern combinations were blending together. He didn’t know what to expect or how to speak to them all.

        Just be polite, was what Weimar had advised him.

        That should be easy for you, right Saal? He snorted at the thought.

        They hadn’t even reached the palace doors before they burst open and a person stormed out.

        Her skin was white, with a red filled circle around her right eye. From that circle sprouted red lines across her face, forming the shape of a sun. Saal was surprised to find her wearing dark green military clothing rather than a dress.

        “Japanese Empire,” Weimar greeted.

He was completely ignored as she stomped past them. Saal didn’t want to move out of her way at first; other people usually got out of his way. But the look in her red eyes made him step hastily aside.

“I wonder who pissed her off,” he said to Weimar. “They might get a katana down their throat.”

“If their throat hasn’t been slit already,” Weimar replied with a smile. “Japanese Empire is a resilient woman. We should be on good terms with her.”

Another figure appeared at the palace doors. This one had red skin and a white cross in the center of his face. A pair of square glasses was perched on his forehead. For some reason, Saal thought his brown vest looked good on him.

“Switzerland!” Weimar reached out to shake his hand. “How have you been? I appreciate your hosting.”

“I’ve been good,” the Swiss said in an even voice. He remained expressionless, which irked Saal because he couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “Welcome to Geneva. If you’ll excuse me, I need to console Japanese Empire.”

“Might I ask what happened?”

“The Japanese Empire invaded Manchuria.”

“Ah. I heard about that.”

“The League condemned them last year, so the Japanese government quit the group. League of Nations tried to convince Japanese Empire to withdraw her troops and rejoin just now. She did not take it well.”

Saal arched his eyebrows. She’s like us. Germany had quit last year too; the LoN and its members, weak from depression, were only hindering progress.

“She’s leaving the meeting already?” Weimar glanced back at where Japanese Empire had stopped at the bottom of the steps, impatiently tapping her combat boots.

“Yes. I will persuade her to return.”

“Allow me to do it,” Weimar offered. “It might be better to hear from a country with the same sentiment as she.”

Switzerland looked at Japanese Empire’s distant angry figure. He nodded at Weimar.

“Very well. I will escort the rest of your party to the conference room. German Empire.” The Swiss tilted his head at GE, who also dipped his head, as he said his name. When Switzerland turned to Saal, Saal stuck out his hand.

“I’m Saal-Schutz,” Saal said with a big smile.

Switzerland shook his hand without a word; he just nodded and led them into the building.

What a blunt guy, Saal thought. Weimar doesn’t call him stubbornly neutral for nothing.

Be nice.

“So, Switzerland,” Saal started as they entered the main lobby. “I hear you’re known for never taking sides. May I ask why that is?”

The Swiss stopped, turned, and stared at Saal with his calm crimson eyes. They looked more pink, actually, softer than the German family’s burning hot irises. Though Saal guessed Switzerland was probably formulating an answer in his head, his stony expression made Saal impatient while stealing his breath away at the same time.

“The Napoleonic Wars took my parents,” Switzerland finally murmured with not a single ounce of emotion in his voice, like he was just spewing facts. “I hate war. So I remain neutral.”

He kept walking without waiting for a response. Saal sighed in relief; they’d barely exchanged a round of conversation and the Swiss was already the most difficult person Saal had ever talked to.

Behind Switzerland’s back, Saal signed to GE: Advice? I want to talk to Switzerland some more.

You will have to initiate, GE signed back. Careful not to provoke him. He is our host, after all.

Saal gave a thumbs up and quickened his pace until he walked side-by-side with Switzerland. The Swiss didn’t seem to notice him, keeping his eyes focused on the hallway ahead.

The palace interior was simply decorated; everything followed a square theme with sharp edges, from the pillars to the windows to the conference rooms they passed. Saal thought it reflected Switzerland’s personality quite well. Factual, concise, straightforward.

“I admire your steadfast neutrality. Do you rule the country alone?” Saal prompted. “Do you have any entities to assist you? Like a militant perhaps?”

“I rule alone.”

“That’s quite impressive!”

“You give praise too freely. Soon, it might not be worth anything.”

Saal was so surprised by the comment that he momentarily stopped in his tracks. Switzerland, unphased, kept walking, and Saal jogged to catch up.

“Ja, that’s just something I have to deal with, I suppose,” he said. “But I do think it’s impressive to rule alone. It’s a lot of work, running a country, and I only have a portion of the responsibility! I think my praise for you is justified. Besides, we don’t nearly give enough uplifting commentary to each other these days.” Even with all that reassurance I gave to Reichswehr, he was still unhappy. Saal’s face darkened.

Switzerland glanced at him. He chose not to answer.

The three of them finally entered the main meeting room. More than a hundred seats formed a semicircle — the only round shape he’d seen so far — around a huge rectangular stage at the front. League of Nations stood behind the podium, shifting through a couple papers and twitching his humongous white wings nervously.

Other countries were already present. Saal immediately spotted the British family — England at the center, Scotland right beside him, France tagging along with UK, and the small unimportant ones whose names Saal didn’t bother remembering — and instinctively headed for the opposite side of the room. It happened to be the side where Soviet Union and Russian Empire were.

“Ah the German family,” the younger Russian said. The deepness of his voice was intimidating. “Or at least, a member of it.”

Saal looked over his shoulder to find his father missing. He clearly slipped off to avoid talking to RE. So much for staying with Vater.

“Weimar is outside with Japanese Empire,” Saal told him. “If that’s who you’re looking for, nowadays.”

A shift in Russian Empire’s stance caught Saal’s attention. The old empire was glaring suspiciously at Soviet.

“An entity holds as much value as its country,” Soviet continued, eyes narrowing. “I wouldn’t mind speaking with you; you are a representative of Germany, are you not?”

“Ja,” said Saal, but he was paying way more mind to Switzerland, who had slid up to RE and started a conversation. He didn’t get to watch for long before Soviet patted his shoulder and steered him away.

“Forgive me,” Soviet murmured. “Russian Empire isn’t supposed to know. How is Weimar? Has he shown signs of —”

Saal shrugged Soviet’s hand off. “Excuse me? RE isn’t supposed to know about…?”

“Weimar and I,” said Soviet. “I’m married to Afghanistan, after all.”

“Halt, halt.” Saal stared at Soviet in shock. “Are you — you —” ACTUALLY hooking up with my BROTHER? “You’re MARRIED? And cheating on your wife?”

Soviet sighed and adjusted his ushanka. “Пожалуйста (Please), not so loud.”

Saal glanced at Switzerland and RE. The Swiss was holding a pretty long conversation for having such a brusque attitude. Saal wondered if Switzerland just didn’t like talking to him specifically.

“What did you say before?” Saal asked Soviet. “Is my brother showing signs of what?”

Soviet opened his mouth, then closed it and sucked on his bottom lip.

Saal positioned himself in front of Soviet so he wasn’t in RE’s line of sight. Then he reached up, grabbed one side of Soviet’s ushanka, and forced him to bend down a little so they were on the same eye level.

He hissed, “Tell. Me. Or deal with your Vater’s wrath.”

Soviet shut his eyes.

“Has he shown signs of…of swelling?”
        Blood drained from Saal’s face.

For a big guy like Soviet, it sure was unnerving to hear his voice shake as he whispered, “Weimar is w-with child.”

Chap 18

PRESENT

WARNING: mentions sexual abuse

Schutzstaffel opened the door of the Berlin estate to find Berlin the German Shepherd sitting obediently at the doorway while Germany and Dresden, who looked like they had been play-wrestling, both stared at him in surprise.

“U-Uncle!” Germany scrambled to his feet and tried to wipe the drool stains off his shirt. “I wasn’t expecting you to visit.”

“Visit?” Schutzstaffel scoffed, strolling into the grand foyer accentuated by its spiral staircase. “You mean, return home. You speak as if I’m a guest in my own house.”

“I-I didn’t mean it that way!” Germany yelped. “I-It’s just y-you’re never around so —”

SS arched his eyebrows at the fear in Germany’s voice. He’d meant it as a joke but his nephew seemed permanently scared of him. It was unfortunate that the German family was blessed with shark teeth because even a reassuring smile could look like a killer grin.

For some reason, Germany’s smile was different. It was sharp and toothy, yes, but it felt sweet and harmless. Third Reich had raised Germany not to be a killer — although a little too soft for Schutzstaffel’s liking. The war would be over by the time Germany inherited the country and Third didn’t want his son to go start another. After all, everything they were doing right now was to set up a more prosperous nation for Germany to rule over. If they needed a war to do it, Third had said, then he’d much rather it be in their generation than Germany’s.

You mean the world to Third, SS thought, staring at Germany’s skinny little figure. If you hadn’t been born, we wouldn’t be here. But here we are. So I’d better treat you well. 

“I was messing with you,” Schutzstaffel snorted. “How have you been?”

He thought that question would ease Germany’s tension. Instead, it seemed to fluster the boy as a confused expression settled on his face.

What, do I not ask how people are, as common courtesy? He tried to come up with something in his head. Hm, I guess not.

“I’m fine,” Germany finally said. “H-How are you?”

“You’re fine?” Schutzstaffel walked past Germany, Berlin following at his feet. “Not mourning for your other uncle?”

Germany winced. “I am. I’ll always be sad about Uncle Wehrmacht.”

“Good. Then you can see how wrong it is that your Vater still wants to meet Wehrmacht’s murderers. You wouldn’t mind if we didn’t go to WATCH this year, would you?”

“But WATCH is a global peace summit,” piped a voice from the staircase. Austria vaulted over the staircase railing near the bottom and walked briskly to Germany’s side. “We put the war behind us and get to know the real people on both sides.”

        “Are you saying Wehrmacht should be put behind us?” SS said, eyes flashing. Ah, this little imposter. SS only tolerated Austria because he spoke German too; he would never consider him a real part of the family. “Should he be forgotten?”

        “No, that’s not what I said,” Austria retorted. Schutzstaffel was struck by how confident he sounded and how much older he’d become since he’d last seen him. “Being angry and avoiding the problem isn’t going to solve it. The Allies know what happened. They’ll be sympathetic at WATCH and maybe in the war —”

        “Wehrmacht’s death,” Schutzstaffel hissed, “is NOT a tool for easy pickings and tactical advantage. I can’t believe you suggested that.” How dare you think your words mean anything in our decisions. “Your conniving brain makes me believe the rumors about Austria-Hungary’s cruelty are true. He thinks of nothing but tactics and his son is the same.”

        “And you think of nothing but sex,” Austria grumbled back. “But that seems to be just you. So congratulations for getting that trait through your own hard work.”

        In the blink of an eye, Schutzstaffel’s hand cracked across Austria’s face, jerking the boy’s body to the right. Surprisingly, Austria stayed on his feet, but one side of the white part of his flag had turned bright red from the blow.

        Little piece of shit. If you hadn’t meant so much to Vater, I would’ve torn you apart limb by limb like your —

        Germany’s eyes went wide. Austria’s head was bowed, staring at the ground with shaking fists clenched at his sides. Silence descended in the house.

Schutzstaffel pursed his lips. He’d said his thoughts out loud, hadn’t he? And he’d slapped Austria.

He peered up at the top of the stairs.

GE, with a shivering Poland gripped roughly in his hand by the arm, stood watching them from above. His eyes reflected not fury, but sadness. SS saw his father’s shoulders heave in a sigh before he looked away. When his father was upset, it made him look older. Meeker. SS hated that weakness and that he couldn’t do anything to fix it. Not right now, at least.

GE snapped his fingers at Germany and Austria and signed for them to go walk Dresden. Germany stared at Poland, who looked horrified that he’d be left alone, in concern.

“Vater,” Germany started. “Why is Poland —”

“Take Dresden outside, Germany,” Schutzstaffel said. “Vater and I need to talk.”

“But can Poland come with —”

“Nein.” SS narrowed his eyes at his nephew. “Just go.”

“Bitte,” Germany begged. “Don’t hurt him, Uncle, please, I —”

“GO!” Schutzstaffel roared, making Dresden whimper and scurry closer to the door.

Austria took a tearful Germany by the hand and led him outside.

Not even ten seconds after they were gone, GE threw Poland off the stairs. The little Pole flailed in shock and threw open his wings — healed, no longer broken, thanks to Wehrmacht. Schutzstaffel shook the thought away as Poland righted himself in midair to save his wings from impact but still landed poorly on the floor.

GE came down and stood in front of his second son.

“How was your trip to Switzerland,” he signed.

“Like any other. Chocolate, ranting, lonely bed.”

GE waved his hand at Poland, presenting a solution. Poland stayed on the ground, curling up in a tight feathery ball.

You think of nothing but sex. Schutzstaffel grit his teeth in annoyance. Screw Austria, why should he change for anyone else?

“Get up,” he hissed at Poland. “I might just break your wings again if you cower a second longer.”

GE accompanied them on their walk to Schutzstaffel’s bedroom. SS was heading there because he really was tired from traveling. But he sensed GE and Poland were expecting something else of him, just like Austria had described.

Am I just a sex machine to you all? 

“Third wants to go to WATCH,” SS said, changing the subject in his head. “Do you think it’s a good idea?”

GE shrugged and signed, “Third does what he wants to do. We follow.”

“Hah, he gives into his emotions too easily. The Allies will take advantage of that. I don’t think he should go.”

GE arched an eyebrow. “How will you stop him?”

“I have some extreme ideas.” SS paused. “But I’m going to talk to Third first.”

“Just don’t do anything stupid. We’re not in the best position right now.”

I know that. I’m the only one who’s doing something about it.

When they reached his room, Schutzstaffel went straight for his crimson bed. He didn’t ask GE to push Poland inside and shut the door after him, leaving the two alone. SS paid little attention to the trembling countryhuman and started to unbutton his uniform and take off his shirt. That probably gave the wrong idea because when he laid down on the mattress, he spotted Poland pressed against the doorframe. Weak.

“Have you forgotten what I said?” SS scoffed, sitting up. “Cower like that and I’ll break your wings. I’ll even pull them out —”

Schutzstaffel covered his mouth and blinked at the bedsheets. Scheisse, why did I say that? Why did I say that, why did I say that?

Poland slowly unfolded himself and made his way towards SS, as per the usual drill. When he got into Schutzstaffel’s peripheral vision, however, the German threw up his palm to stop him. Poland froze in anxious confusion. He never did anything wrong; SS just changed his mind so spontaneously that Poland would get the shit end of the stick for not keeping up.

Dumbass, Schutzstaffel scolded himself. Get yourself together. Don’t be scared of his puny-ass wings.

“Turn around,” SS ordered.

Poland turned, and SS plunged his fingers into his white feathers.

See, nothing cursed here.

He tried to pull Poland’s wings open but was met with tense resistance.

“Spread your wings,” he hissed, squeezing some of the feathers.

Poland obediently did so. Though his wings weren’t as impressively regal as Wehrmacht’s or Prussia’s or LoN’s, Schutzstaffel’s first thought was that they looked more like the cute wings of angels than anyone else’s. He loved burying his face in them when Poland’s sweaty little body was under him.

As he caressed those soft wings, though, white became more black in his mind. Poland kept flickering with the image of Reichswehr, and Schutzstaffel had a brush in his hand used to smoothen feathers.

Reichswehr looked over his shoulder and smiled.

In a flash, SS retracted his hands from Poland’s wings and turned away. He couldn’t banish his imagination. Remembering the things he’d done to Poland — an innocent child like his brother — repulsed him. Why did he need to be so vulgar to satisfy himself? Why was he so evil?

They took Reichswehr’s childhood so I exacted the same treatment. Now Wehrmacht is dead. What’s the point?

“Leave,” he murmured, lying on his side on the bed so his back faced Poland.

Poland looked over his shoulder in bewilderment. When Schutzstaffel made no further moves, the boy shuffled to the door and slipped out as quickly as a hummingbird.

“You wanted to see me?” said Third Reich tiredly in his office.

It was two days after SS had returned to Berlin. Third Reich had arrived last night from the Southern front to rest in Berlin; he planned to leave for the Eastern front in the afternoon. Schutzstaffel caught him cleaning up his desk to get ready for his next trip.

“You barely talked to Germany,” said SS, plopping down in one of the office chairs. “Why can’t you stay longer?”

“We’re losing badly in the East,” Third sighed. “There’s not much opportunity left to turn the tides of that theater.”

But Germany needs your comfort. He’s been sulking these few days that I’ve been here and I’ll definitely make it worse if I approach him.

“Then there must not be any time for us to attend WATCH,” Schutzstaffel pointed out.

“Nein, WATCH is a must. You said Germany needs comfort, ja? Meeting the other kids will do him good.”

“Will meeting Soviet do you good as well?”

“Schutzstaffel, we had this conversation already.” Third rubbed his hand in frustration over his face. “I am not going for Soviet.”

SS remembered what Switzerland had said. “What about Ireland?”

“Huh?” Third’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why Ireland?”

“Well…I don’t understand this myself, but since Ireland had a…relationship with Wehrmacht, you might be seeking empathy from him to help you heal.” This sounds ridiculous. Swissy, where do you get these odd ideas?

Third Reich stared at his younger brother in bewilderment.

“..What?” SS grunted.

“That’s…that’s very accurate,” Third said, fumbling to put his hat on. “I do, as a matter of fact, want to see Ireland. He had the most contact with the new person Wehrmacht had become when he died. I don’t know what I’m expecting out of our conversation, but maybe it’ll give me a clearer reminder of him.”

What could be a clearer reminder than Wehrmacht’s grave right here? Switzerland, that smartass. How do you see these things?

After over twenty years, why did other people know his siblings better than he did?

“Then why won’t you talk to me?” SS murmured to Third. “Why won’t you seek the help of your own brother and instead lay out your weaknesses to a low-life Irishman?”

“That low-life Irishman saved Wehrmacht’s life when we weren’t there for him. Wehrmacht saw enough of a future in Ireland to purposefully stay longer the first time and leave us a second time. He’s the closest person we have to Wehrmacht’s story. We could form an alliance with Ireland.”

“You’re spewing things about tactical advantage too?” Schutzstaffel spat. “You’re going to use our brother’s death as a way to plant a mole and win the war?”

“I am trying to justify myself to you in ways that don’t involve emotions,” said Third. “Because you never seem to relate to them. This is why I can’t talk to you and I need someone else to fill that role.”

“If it’s sympathy you want, I’ll give it to you!” Don’t throw me away. Don’t replace me, especially not with that Irishman. “Wehrmacht spent most of his life here, with me. I know him. I remember Reichswehr. I can provide all the memories of Wehrmacht, so there’s no need to look for it elsewhere.”

“It’s not the same,” said Third and Schutzstaffel’s face suddenly felt cold. “The Wehrmacht with Ireland was different from the one we knew. Ireland was the only one who could unlock him and I want to know how he did it. What was he like? You can’t answer those questions for me because that was the Wehrmacht neither of us knew.”

Schutzstaffel’s lip twitched as he let out a small uneven laugh. An Irishman? Who knows our own brother better than me?

“Bullshit,” SS hissed. Ireland, you manipulative little fucker. First Wehrmacht. Now you’re luring Third Reich without even speaking to him. “I’ll kill that green freak.”

Third glared at SS. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I’ll get rid of LoN too, so WATCH can’t happen.”

Third rolled his eyes at his little brother; the people on Schutzstaffel’s kill list, some emphasized more than once, were accumulations of when the boy cried wolf. Third Reich often, as he did now, snorted quietly and said again, “Don’t be stupid.”

Schutzstaffel wasn’t stupid.

He was just unhinged and brilliantly insane.

Part 2

Chap 19

PAST

[WARNING: mentions Hitler and homophobic thoughts]

“With child?” 

        Saal-Schutz had to stop himself from shrieking in Soviet’s ear so he dimmed down to a whisper-shout instead.

        “I thought he told you,” Soviet said in surprise.

        “He most definitely did not,” hissed Saal. “How long has it been?”

        “Er, three weeks, I believe?” Soviet stammered. “That was the last time we had—”

        “Ja, ja, don’t need the details,” Saal snapped. He looked around for Weimar and remembered his brother was still outside with Japanese Empire. His next instinct was to look for German Empire.

        Is that wise? Saal paused. I don’t know how German Empire will react. A grandchild with the Russians? What is Weimar thinking? Besides, this is homosexual behavior, Hitler hates this shit.

        Saal massaged his throat nervously — he picked up the habit from Weimar — while Soviet observed him with some concern.

But does it matter what Hitler thinks? Countryhumans don’t necessarily have to follow human rules. I’ve only ever been with women but…

        His eyes flickered to where Switzerland was still chatting with Russian Empire. Or rather, RE was droning on about some old historical accomplishment of his while Switzerland listened with an especially bored face.

        Soviet cleared his throat. “Saal-Schutz, I was hoping this could be kept a secret, just between me, you, and Weimar. I don’t want to cause a fuss—”

        “Deal,” Saal said quickly, tearing his eyes away from the Swiss. “Let’s keep it low. I need time to think anyway.” And I have too much to worry about already.

        Soviet smiled in thanks. He brightened even more when Weimar entered the conference room with Japanese Empire. After their conversation, Saal-Schutz’s eyes immediately went to Weimar’s stomach but he saw no signs of…well…swelling, in Soviet’s words.

        He needed to get his mind off the topic. While Soviet went ahead to greet Weimar, Saal headed for the food table to look for GE. With no one by his side, he suddenly felt small in the crowd of countryhumans who all seemed to know someone else. He wished they would spare him a glance, wave hello, or invite him into their conversation. But none did.

Because I’m insignificant. Just a member of the country who lost the Great War.

He hated that feeling.

Forget it. Think about something else.

Saal busied himself filling a glass with wine from the table. As soon as he set the bottle down, a small red hand reached for it.

“No, no, that is NOT juice.” A larger green hand gently nudged the smaller one away from the wine.

The green hand belonged to a country with three vertical green-white-red stripes on his face, and a shield and crown symbol at the center. The countryhuman’s red eyes gazed fondly at two children who were peering curiously over the table at all the food and drinks. The little red hand belonged to a boy with horizontal red-white-red stripes on his face.

“But it says grape!” the boy pointed out.

“Grape makes a beverage called wine, which kids like you can’t drink yet.” The older countryhuman had a light accent that reminded Saal of a particular dictator in Italy, just in a softer tone of voice.

“But he’s drinking it,” the other boy, whose flag had three horizontal red-white-green stripes, said, pointing at Saal. Saal immediately stopped drinking.

“Si, well this good sir is old enough to drink it. Right, sir?” The Italian turned his smiling eyes to Saal. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-one,” Saal replied. He grinned at the kids, trying not to flash his sharp teeth too much. “You’ll have to wait a few more years.”

The boys both groaned, earning a chuckle from their chaperone.

“You know,” Saal said to the Italian, “I wouldn’t exactly place WATCH as my first daycare option.”

The countryhuman laughed even more. “Oh, they aren’t my kids. My name is Fascist Italy. This is Austria and Hungary.”

Austria and Hungary?

For the second time today, Saal was shocked, once again over children. These were the sons of Austria-Hungary. He took a good look at their flags again and remembered vaguely seeing them once before as babies. After AH’s death, he never saw them again since the Allies took them away.

There’s no way they recognize me. I barely recognized them. They probably don’t even know who their father is.

“And what’s your name?” Fascist Italy prompted.

Saal snapped out of his thoughts. “Saal-Schutz. I’m Weimar Republic’s brother.”

“Oh, you’re with the German family!”

Saal expected those words to be stated with spite but FI’s smile only widened with genuine interest.

“I’m a great fan of Weimar. I admire his determination to rebuild his country despite the Allies giving him a tough time. Does this mean you are an entity?”

“Not yet,” said Saal. “But I’ve been considering my options.”

“Mm, I understand. It’s a big decision to make and a great commitment to the country you serve. Though I’m sure things will be easy since you’re already family.”

“I don’t know about that one,” Saal chuckled nervously. “Enough about me. What are Austria and Hungary doing here?”

“League of Nations finally let us come out to meet new people!” Austria piped up.

The way he said it made Saal think of Reichswehr. The German shoved the thought out of his head and arched an eyebrow. “Why do you need LoN’s permission?” I thought the Allies fostered them.

“LoN’s basically our dad,” said Austria.

“No he’s not,” Hungary argued. “He has wings and we don’t. He doesn’t even look like us.”

“What about…” Saal said slowly. “United Kingdom? France? Or America. What do you think of them?”

“Well, they’re LoN’s friends,” Austria said with a curious tilt of his head, as if unsure why Saal asked for those specific people. “That’s about it.”

I see. So the Allies handed these two boys off to LoN as soon as they could. They didn’t even bother raising the kids themselves and gave them to the featherbrain instead. It sounds like they don’t go out much either. Is today really such a special occasion?

“Ah, there you are.”

Switzerland materialized beside Saal-Schutz as quietly as a butterfly. Saal tried not to look too stunned.

“How was your chat with Russian Empire?” he asked.

“I believe you observed my expression through the…ordeal.”

Saal blinked. Then he snorted and had to cover his mouth from making any more noise. The Swiss stared blankly at him.

“Tut mir leid,” Saal stammered. “I didn’t expect you to make such an opinionated statement.”

“Then the world must be extremely sensitive nowadays,” said Switzerland, “if you thought that was opinionated.”

“Only when it comes from the right speaker, king of neutrality.” Then Saal cleared his throat. “Could I have a word with you in private? Fascist Italy, Austria, Hungary, it was a pleasure to meet you all.”

“Likewise, Saal-Schutz. I hope to keep in touch in the future.”

Saal gaped. “You want to keep in touch with me?”

“Your whole family,” the Italian smiled. “Like I said, I admire you all. But we can talk business later.”

“Right. See you later, kids.”

“Bye, Saaly!”

“It’s Saal-Schutz,” Hungary corrected.

“But Saaly is more fun!”

The boys’ banter faded away as Saal and Switzerland headed towards the edge of the conference room, away from the crowd. Saal snatched an extra glass of wine from the table on the way there.

“Is there any particular reason those two boys are here?” Saal asked Switzerland, handing him a wine glass.

“I heard one of the agenda items today was adoption,” Switzerland answered, as if it were common knowledge.

“What do you mean? Austria and Hungary are fostered by LoN.”

“They are getting older. They will need real mentors on the field to teach them how to run their countries.”

“LoN can’t teach them?”

“LoN only has so many skills and time.”

“Then why did the Allies bother giving the boys to him in the first place? Why didn’t they keep them?”

“That would have been like an annexation. The Allies don’t want to appear too powerful, else other countries will begin to complain. That pressure drove them to temporarily give the boys to LoN, a global entity, so the power would be shared.”

“How do you know all this?”

“The benefits of being neutral and yet the center of Europe means I hear and see everything.”

        The first thing that came to Saal’s mind was that Switzerland would make an awesome ally. Then he realized that would defeat the purpose of being neutral and he let out an involuntary sigh of frustration. Switzerland glanced at him.

        “Anyway,” said Saal. “I’m assuming the Allies will reclaim Austria and Hungary today.”

        “They may,” said Switzerland. “Anyone may.”

        “Anyone?”

        “Whomever is best suited and would be the fairest decision has a chance.”

        Saal sipped his wine.

        “Tell me more about Austria and Hungary.”

        Saal didn’t expect Weimar to agree so easily.

        All he mentioned was that the boys were the sons of Austria-Hungary — which was where he lost German Empire, who rushed out to find them — and that the country of Austria was predominantly German.

        “We’ll make a bid for them,” Weimar announced. “Their lands are both much closer to Deutschland than to the Brits. And they were always meant to be family, if the Allies hadn’t taken them away.”

        Family, huh? Saal peered at Weimar’s stomach. Are you looking for companions for your unborn child?

        “I agree,” said Saal. “But what are we going to do against the Allies?”

        “Unless we rip out their tongues,” Weimar said bitterly, “there’s nothing we can do to stop them from talking. So we’ll just have to butt heads with them.”

        “I don’t mind ripping out a tongue or two,” Saal muttered. “But I’ll settle for screaming.”

        A thin piercing sound resonated through all the speakers around the conference room. Everyone turned their attention to where LoN stood at the podium, wincing apologetically as he tapped his mic.

        “Ahem, this meeting will be starting soon. Please have a seat.”

        The tables were assigned geographically. Saal and Weimar sat relatively close to the Brits, towards the center of the room. Saal spotted German Empire and waved him over.

        GE had a wide-eyed look on his face.

        “Did you find them?” Saal asked.

        GE simply nodded, too dazed to even gesture a response. Saal couldn’t imagine what his father was feeling. Hope? Heartbreak? Loss?

        “Ready?” Weimar murmured to Saal. His eyes were on his father’s face as well, and he looked more determined than ever to win this.

        “Ready.”

        LoN tried to frame the current worldwide depression as the most important agenda item. It ended up being the most boring, listening to America — the guest speaker — drawl on and on about how everything was okay when it was all his fault.

        Austria and Hungary’s adoption came next. It surprised a lot of countries, Austria and Hungary included. Austria was so shocked, he squeaked, “What?” so loudly it echoed through the silent room.

As expected, United Kingdom and France both proposed to adopt one each. To their annoyance, Weimar interjected and asked to care for both, arguing that separating children was barbaric and that the Western powers were clearly seeking more influence. UK and France refused to let a single country, especially Germany of all countries, have custody over both Austria and Hungary.

Seeing as even LoN was skeptical, Weimar changed tactics and asked to take only Austria under his mentorship, considering Austria was predominantly German. Saal silently thanked Switzerland for that tip.

Here, UK called Weimar hypocritical for splitting the boys. Weimar pointed out that that was UK’s intention anyway, so it didn’t make their decisions any different. France jumped in and said some bullshit about the friendship between the French and British being so strong that Austria and Hungary would get to see each other frequently. Saal made obvious “blech” noises that earned glares from France.

Weimar didn’t back down. Since the main purpose was to train Austria and Hungary to run their own countries, the mentors didn’t matter as much as the geography. Austria and Hungary were close to each other to begin with, so they’d be able to see each other regardless. He also emphasized again the German population he shared with Austria and appealed once more to LoN directly rather than attempt to convince UK and France; after all, the final word belonged to the featherbrain.

In the end, Weimar won over LoN. Austria and Hungary were split. German Empire was brimming with joy.

Saal was watching the boys. As the two were pulled apart, he wondered if they’d really ever see each other again…and if he’d ever see Reichswehr again.

Chap 20

PRESENT

WARNING: contains Hitler and mentions Holocaust

“When will we see you again, Vater?” Germany asked as Third Reich put on his trademark black coat.

“Hopefully soon, little one,” Third said, patting his son’s head with a small smile. “You and Austria better not give German Empire a hard time.”

“You always say that, but it’s not like we’re having any fun here,” said Germany. “Berlin is boring. Can I please take Poland out with me this time?”

“Nein,” Third said firmly, putting on his hat.

“But Vaterrrr.”

“Don’t whine, Germany. Future leaders don’t whine.”

Germany folded his arms and pouted, muttering how he didn’t want to be the leader of the Nazis. Third Reich just smiled fondly at him.

Schutzstaffel and GE watched from a distance with Berlin and Dresden sitting by their feet. Schutzstaffel wondered if Third Reich was thinking, In due time, son, you will have this country at your fingertips and make us proud.

Although — not to be Prussia or anything — SS really didn’t think Germany was suited to be the heir that Deutschland needed.

Austria slung his arm over Germany’s shoulders. “Cheer up, you’ve got me. I heard it’s gonna snow tomorrow, so if you want to make snow forts…”

“I’m not a child, Austria,” Germany grumbled. He pursed his lips. “But snow forts sound fun.”

Third Reich gave Austria a grateful look, planted a kiss on Germany’s forehead, and left with a wave at SS and GE.

GE clapped his hands and the dogs followed him to begin the day’s work in the office. Austria guided Germany to the kitchen to make breakfast. He paused when he spotted SS still standing there.

We’re lucky to have Austria here for Germany, was a thought that surprised SS. So at least Germany has a companion to help him through the family neglect during this war. Why did I say those things to Austria the other day? We took him from his brother and dropped him into a dysfunctional family.

I should apologize…

He did so.

In his head.

Then he stalked back into his own office to make some calls.

“Find me spies from Spain and Italy and get them close to LoN and UN as soon as possible,” SS said to one of his secret intelligence advisors.

        He and a group of officers were gathered in a different building, away from the Berlin estate. SS didn’t want German Empire questioning what he was about to do, or any of the captive countries overhearing his plans.

“Spain and Italy specifically?”

“Ja. I don’t have time to explain myself to you right now, just do as you’re told.” SS pointed at another advisor. “You, start drafting a letter. I want it to go like this—”

A knock on the door made SS close his fist in both surprise and annoyance. He hissed, “Get in here.”

A soldier darted into the room like a startled mouse and nearly collided with Schutzstaffel. He sneered down at the man, who was clearly a messenger. Every messenger knew how much the chief hated being interrupted and this one was trembling like every other one.

“I-I came to inform you that the Fuhrer has arrived at the Berlin estate and asked to see you,” he said.

“The Fuhrer?” Confusion wafted over Schutzstaffel’s irritation. “What does the mustache man want?”

All the officers in the room winced at the nickname SS had given Hitler; frankly, they made the grimace to keep from snorting out loud.

“I don’t know, sir, but he said it was urgent —”

“Every damn thing is urgent to him,” SS scoffed. “A fucking tea party was urgent business once and I lost track of two Jewish leads because of that. If this involves tea…” SS leaned into the messenger’s face. “I’ll skin his face and yours and glue them onto your swapped bodies. How would you like a fancy mustache for eternity?”

The messenger didn’t make a peep. Any sound could get him killed. Everyone else held their breath as well. The only people who could possibly insult the Fuhrer in such a gruesome way and get off scot-free was the countryhuman who backed him and Third Reich himself — though the latter was too well-mannered to throw such an insult to begin with.

Schutzstaffel clicked his tongue and flicked his hand at his officers. “Get to work. I’ll be back shortly.”

Adolf Hitler was a beast when Schutzstaffel first met him. Ecstatic, patriotic, a banging orator and just what his Nazi party needed. But as the war progressed, SS began to view him as he viewed any other human; annoying, controlling, and unreliable.

It didn’t help that when SS stepped into the Berlin estate’s living room, he found his father pouring the Fuhrer tea like a servant.

Someone’s mustache is getting ripped off today, SS thought as he stepped up to the table with barely suppressed fury.

“What is this?” he said with a dangerous smile.

“Schutzstaffel, you got my message!” the human said joyously.  “Come, sit, sit.” He gestured at GE. “Pour him some tea, will you?”

“That is my Vater you are addressing,” SS said lowly as he sat. “I can pour my own tea.”

“Of course.” The Fuhrer cleared his throat, seeming to realize he’d crossed a line. SS knew what Hitler really thought of GE: the remains of the weak imperial government responsible for losing the “winnable” Great War.

Hitler could look down on the ethnicities and officials he deemed as failures of society all he wanted, but German Empire would not be on that list under Schutzstaffel’s watch. He nodded slightly at his father to tell him he’d handle the rest, and GE gratefully slipped away.

“Anyway, I wanted to check in with my favorite countryhuman…”

About an hour later, GE poked his head back into the living room at the sound of delicate porcelain shattering on the floor. As soon as the Fuhrer had left, Schutzstaffel had taken his own tea cup and thrown it at Hitler’s, smashing both to pieces.

All the servants in the estate stared at the chief in shock. He had been smiling during the entire conversation but now his grin had turned down into a scary scowl. GE sighed and bent down to pick up the broken porcelain.

“Don’t,” SS snapped.

GE kept picking up the pieces without a word.

“I SAID —” Suddenly Schutzstaffel had a fistful of GE’s shirt and was pulling his father up. “ — DON’T. You’re not…” SS grit his teeth. “You’re not a servant. This is your house. Why did you let him bully you?”

GE looked away and made meek gestures with his hands, “It’s not like I could talk back. The Fuhrer didn’t want to wait for the translator.”

“Make him wait,” SS growled. He let go of his father. “Since when do we listen to humans? Like hell I care about his motherfucking, power-hungry face!”

He reached for something else to throw — the teapot this time — and had already grabbed it with both hands when GE pinned his wrists down and gave him a stern look. The other servants tried to make themselves as invisible as possible, in case he decided to throw the pot at them in his bout of anger. SS hissed and struggled to get out of GE’s grip, but the empire simply stared him down until he cooled off.

“Tut mir leid,” SS grumbled, setting the teapot down.

The humans around them lowered their tense shoulders in relief. GE dismissed them all with a wave of his hand.

“What did he say?” GE signed.

“Mustache thinks we’re acting too much on our own.”

“...We?”

“The countryhumans. He wants us to consult him first before we make any other ‘horrendous’ moves in the future. Like the Ireland invasion.”

GE winced.

“Ja,” SS clicked his tongue. “I was so, so ready to skin his face. He’s also worried about a possible invasion of France.”

“It has been awfully quiet across the sea,” GE affirmed.

“That much we agreed on,” SS snorted. “I think I’ll bring France to Berlin. It’ll be easier to watch her here.”

“It has been a long time since you…visited her.”

“It’s tiring to maintain a high sex drive, if that’s what you mean. And it doesn’t have the same…love-making feeling.”

GE made a dramatically surprised face. “Wow, are you my real son?”

I am trying to justify myself to you in ways that don’t involve emotions. Because you never seem to relate to them, was what Third Reich had said. The disappointment in his voice reminded SS of the fleeting disappointment he’d seen on Switzerland’s usually neutral face. You dislike long-term relationships…

Real relationships.

“Have to start somewhere,” SS murmured. “I’m going back to work. If I hear word that you cleaned up that mess over there, I’m going to throw a tantrum that will rival my infant-self.”

“Nein, not baby Saal!” GE teased as SS walked out of the estate with a genuine smile on his face.

That smile faded a little when the previous thoughts came back. Long-term relationships… Meaningful relationships. If I don’t want to be just a sex machine, I need to work on being more approachable. I have to be nice. He gagged. Fuck, that’s so boring. Insults are so much easier to give than compliments.

You give praise too freely. Soon it might not be worth anything. That’s what Switzerland had told him at WATCH, the first time they’d met.

Well, I took his advice, SS shrugged. I should visit Swissy again sometime. He’s the only other ‘meaningful relationship’ I’ve got besides family… And Kennwort. Huh, come to think of it, Ken’s probably the only human I ever bothered to have real conversations with.

The only one I trusted to watch over Wehrmacht when I couldn’t.

Why’d you have to fucking fall in love with a resistance fighter? Why did I send you to Ireland?

“Right,” SS muttered. “Ireland.” He straightened himself and plastered on a smirk. “Back to work.”

Chap 21

PAST

WARNING: mentions Nazism and Hitler

Saal woke up from a dream of red skin with white crosses and square glasses. A thin layer of sweat coated his tangled limbs under his bedsheets, even though it was winter. He sat up, staring blankly ahead at his dark wooden desk across the room. A disorganized spread of papers scribbled with lyric ideas covered the top.

“What…” He shook his head, as if to shake off the dream. It made him feel uncertain…queasy.

Saal got out of bed and his sweat was instantly chilled by the night air. He put on his furry robe and headed out of his room for a walk.

        He’d have that same dream every once in a while, always with him. It’s not like these types of dreams were strange to Saal, but in the past, it had been with women. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about having a man underneath him, much less someone he’d literally met for the first time just last year. Saal felt a little embarrassed at the thought.

         With flushed cheeks, the founder of the ruling Nazi Party and right-hand countryhuman of the new Fuhrer went downstairs for a glass of water. Yes, Hitler had essentially taken over the government and the Nazi Party was finally dominating politics. Saal was especially proud of how much progress the human he had backed from the start had achieved.

It was just unfortunate that Hitler was pushing along new laws to persecute homosexual men in the country right after the birth of Germany and Saal’s curious dreams.

Before he reached the last few steps, Saal stopped at a figure sitting at the bottom of the stairs. Austria turned his face to look up at Saal.

“Hallo, Saaly,” he said quietly, his big red eyes somehow glittering in the dark. “Did you wake up because of Germany too?”

“Nein,” Saal said. He sat down beside Austria. “Was Germany crying again?”

“Ja. Mr. Weimar is trying to get him back to bed.”

“Emphasis on trying,” Saal guessed. “Sorry you had to wake up to that. We should probably move them to a room further down the hall.”

“Nein, I don’t want to make things harder for you guys. You’re already letting me stay in the estate. I could move to the room further down.”

“Hm,” Saal hummed. “Only if you want to. You’ve been here for almost a year. No need to act like a guest when you’re part of the family.” You’ve always been.

“I can’t believe my father was best friends with yours.” Austria pulled his knees up to his chest. “Weimar says Austria-Hungary was like an Uncle to you guys. I wish I got to meet him. He seemed like he’d be a good dad. I wonder if Hungary knows. LoN never told us anything about our past. I miss Hungary.”

Saal let Austria keep talking. He knew how refreshing it was to have release. He also took notice of Austria’s eyes. They were like Switzerland’s: soft and tinted with warm pink rather than blazing red. Saal wondered if his, his brothers’, and his father’s eyes were their shade of crimson because of their internal anger. He found himself hoping Austria would keep his eyes.

“LoN is a braindead,” Saal finally said. “He probably forgot or simply couldn’t be bothered to tell you anything important because he’s always caught up in his own self-important tasks.”

“He’s not that bad,” Austria murmured. “He was always nice to Hungary and I.” Austria’s expression turned wistful again at the mention of Hungary.

“I’m sure your brother is fine,” Saal reassured. “Trust in him, even though you can’t see him yourself. Believe that you’ll see him again soon. That’s what I do for Reichswehr.”

“He’s your youngest brother right? What exactly happened to him? You guys rarely talk about him.”

“Ah, story time, is it?” Saal smiled, though he felt sad.

He described Reichswehr’s personality first. It was hard to bring up a picture of his brother in his head, which bitterly reminded Saal once more of how long he’d been gone. Quiet and rarely ever smiling after the AH incident. Saal went through the entire background: how Reichswehr was the only one with wings, how he was kept hidden, how they’d sneak out to the ice rink to skate whenever they could, how they met LoN there, and how another incident with LoN would eventually lead to the Allies asking Prussia to take guardianship of the siblings in GE’s stead.

“But Prussia didn’t give two shits about doing any parenting,” Saal growled. “He saw Reichswehr, took him, and left. I haven’t seen my brother since.”

“Because Reichswehr has wings?”

“Ja. Because of those blasted wings.” Saal sighed. “I thought it was so cool that he had them. I was even a bit jealous. I could already tell he was going to do great things and be revered in the countryhuman community. But then it became a curse.”

“Maybe Reichswehr will come back,” said Austria. “I feel like, after being trapped here for most of his life, he’d want to see the world. At least that means Prussia can’t keep him stowed away forever.”

“We did stow him away, didn’t we?” Saal mumbled. That’s why he chose Prussia over us, wasn’t it?

“You had good intentions,” Austria said, patting Saal on the shoulder. “You know, Hungary is like Reichswehr too. Quiet and never smiling. Life at LoN’s place was nice but Hungary always said he wanted to meet his real parents.” Austria’s gaze became downcast. “I guess that won’t be happening.”

Fucking Allies ruining another childhood, Saal thought bitterly.

“Hey,” he said. “Do you want to go ice skating tomorrow?”

Austria blinked at the random invitation.

“Do you know how to ice skate?” Saal asked.

“No…but I’d love to learn! Are you serious? Can we go?”

“Ja. We haven’t placed you on house arrest,” Saal chuckled. “But you should go back to sleep if you want to wake up tomorrow.”

“Okay!” Austria practically jogged up the steps. “You promise! No take-backs!”

Saal got up as well and went to the kitchen to retrieve his glass of water. While Austria was still with them, Saal would try his best to give the kid a childhood with real family. That was a promise.

The pancake wobbled and flipped in midair before smacking perfectly back into the pan. At the kitchen table, Austria gawked and demanded GE do it again. Germany clapped from his spot on the ground, at the same time shoving Dresden’s muzzle away and giggling as the German Shepherd kept sniffing him. Germany was nearly a year old, but Dresden seemed more and more curious every passing day of this little creature that had appeared and roamed the ground of their household.

GE tossed the pancakes again, earning a delightful squeal from Germany. Any sound from the boy made GE beam like the sun; he regarded Germany with eyes that had seen something magical. A grandson.

Saal watched the scene before him as he silently descended the stairs, soaking in the serenity. It seemed Austria had had a good sleep for the rest of the night as he bounced on his chair. Germany waddled over to tug on GE’s leg, reaching up with his tiny hands for the pan as if asking to try — or perhaps he was just hungry. And GE looked like the happiest man on Earth.

Pure bliss.

Saal swooped in behind Germany and lifted him into the air. His nephew’s laugh was music to Saal as he placed Germany on his shoulders. Dresden barked, stood on his hindlegs, and pawed at Saal.

“Nein, nein, you’re much too heavy,” Saal said to Dresden. “Ready, Germany? We’re riding on an airplane, taking off in drei, zwei, eins!”

Saal mimicked the sound of a plane engine, which was somewhere between a car and a cat’s meow, and swooshed in circles around the kitchen. He put his arms out briefly to imitate wings but quickly placed his hands back on Germany’s ankles as security when he spotted Weimar coming down the stairs, followed by Berlin. He wasn’t about to risk Weimar going off at him about safety.

“Dada!” babbled Germany.

“Looks like Daddy just woke up,” Saal chuckled.

He was about to take Germany off his shoulders to give to his brother, but Weimar held out his hand.

“Bitte,” Weimar said groggily. He looked like he was trying very hard to keep his eyes open. “You take him. I need a break.”

“You need sleep,” Saal laughed, setting Germany on the floor.

The boy immediately went for Weimar’s leg, earning a small whimper from his father. Berlin attempted to nudge Germany away, so the kid grabbed onto Berlin’s snout. The usually stoic dog froze in slight panic.

He was saved by GE clinking some utensils to catch Germany’s attention. Lured by food, Germany waddled away to join Austria at the table for pancakes. GE smiled sympathetically at Weimar.

“You look like shit,” Saal whispered to Weimar with a smirk.

“He was a menace all night,” Weimar groaned. “Germany is rarely going to cry when he grows up. There are hardly any tears left! Honestly, he’s just like Dresden and Berlin when they were pups.” Weimar patted Berlin’s head. “Cute and all but damn I wish they’d grow up and listen like good soldiers.”

“I am witnessing the making of a father,” Saal snickered. “I can safely say that I’d like to stick to being just an uncle. Parenting is nothing like politics and the military, brother.”

“Oh please, I’m sure you have bastard sons and daughters out there with the number of people you’ve fucked.”

“Even if I did, I’m clearly not raising them. I wouldn’t want to either. Germany’s enough for the both of us.”

Weimar sighed. “You know, you wouldn’t say that if you actually met a child you created.” His gaze lingered on Germany and for a second, Saal thought Weimar’s eyes looked pinkish. “It’s like…he’s like a miracle. I can’t explain it. You could say he’s the center of the world and I’d believe you whole-heartedly.”

“Look at you, all dreamy-eyed,” Saal teased. “It’s like when you were courting Sowjet all over again.”

Weimar glowered at Saal for making fun of the accented way he’d say Soviet’s name. He couldn’t help it. Soviet liked it, and it just rolled off the tongue.

“How is it going between you two anyway?” Saal asked. “I notice you haven’t visited him as much this past year.”

“He’s figuring things out with Afghanistan. You know he can’t publicly claim Germany as his son because that would mean legitimizing our relationship.”

Saal clicked his tongue. “I don’t get your man. He’s probably having more kids with that woman as we speak! He’s insane for raising that many children already.” Saal lowered his voice. “Germany’s just another child to him. He might mean a lot to us, being your only son, but children have diminished in value to Soviet. Germany’s just a bastard.”

“Don’t you ever —” Any pink tint in Weimar’s eyes flashed red instantly, and Saal felt a chill down his spine that caused him to back away. “ — call my son that ever again. He is the heir to this country. I don’t give a damn about Soviet’s other kids. I’m going to give Germany a brighter future than they’ll ever have.”

He turned his gaze back to Germany, and Saal noticed Weimar’s hands balling to fists at his sides.

“I’m going to give him a great nation to rule over,” Weimar murmured. “I’ll do whatever it takes to restore our glory for Germany.”

His words were laced with such determination that Saal had no doubts about that statement. Whatever decision his brother made, Saal would be by his side and carry out every order to its extreme.

Chap 22

PRESENT

“Germany?”

        Schutzstaffel knocked once more on Germany’s door. After hearing no sound, he peered inside, only to find it dark and empty of the young heir to the nation.

        “Where has he gone?” SS muttered in frustration. And a little anger. He had spent the past hour pacing in his room, mustering the courage to apologize to Germany. He had definitely scared the boy, made him cry even — which, thankfully, no one mentioned to Third because that would’ve been the end for Schutzstaffel.

Unfortunately, he’d been busy with his secret plans the past few weeks and had only remembered to make amends now.

        He stepped into the room and tried to picture little Germany living in such a spacious place. It had been a playroom once, for him and Reichswehr. Books would be left here and there, half-read and their spines creased from being left open facedown. Pillows would be scattered across the floor, ready ammunition for a random pillow fight. There would be a reserved space where toy figurines stood in a frozen battle scene until someone revisited them.

        The room was much cleaner now. Germany liked to keep his belongings neat and tidy. The bed was made, the books were pristinely lined on their shelves with the remaining figurines poised on top, and there were far fewer pillows.

        The things that remained, however, as Schutzstaffel moved deeper into the room, were the wooden board and two small boxes sitting in the closet. He carefully slid the board from its hiding spot, revealing its checkerboard pattern. The two boxes were filled with white and black chess pieces.

        He kept these, SS thought. Since when did Germany play chess?

        Staring at the board brought back memories of him teaching Reichswehr how to play. His brother eventually got good enough to beat him and, gradually, the humans they invited to play against Reichswehr when he was bored. Chess seemed to bring Reichswehr closer to whomever he played against. It made him more confident.

        I hope you had more bonding moments over chess, brother.

        “U-Uncle?”

        Schutzstaffel dropped the board like it was a venomous snake. He whipped his eyes to Germany standing at the door. His nephew took a step back.

        “T-Tut mir leid, I didn’t mean to startle you,” stammered Germany. “You’re welcome to take that chess board. Austria and I weren’t going to play it anytime soon.”

        Now that Germany was here, Schutzstaffel couldn’t figure out what to say. His usual talkative and dominating self dwindled to silence and uncertainty. He stared at Germany, unaware that his skin color and red eyes made him look like a demon glaring out from the darkness of the room. Germany took yet another step back.

        “Don’t move,” SS instinctively ordered as he thought of something to make Germany stay.

        Germany froze, his shoulders tense and his clammy hands grabbing fistfuls of his pants.

        Was that too demanding? I only said two words, how bad can it be?

        “I mean…” Schutzstaffel slid the chess board back to its place in the closet and stood up. “I meant to say ‘wait’. I was just having a look around.” He waved his hands at the room. “I love what you’ve done with the place, it’s quite…different from when Rei-Wehrmacht and I used to fuck around in it as kids.”

        “Um…Danke?”

        “Say, remember the other day when I yelled at you? Over…” Schutzstaffel snapped his fingers, why the fuck had they been arguing? “Over Poland! Ja, the little winged brat.”

        Germany blinked. “...That was nearly a month ago.”

        “Ja, ja.” Crap, it’s been that long? What the fuck, Schutz. “Anyway, I wanted to apologize for, well, yelling at you over something as dumb as that. Honestly, a little Pole shouldn’t rile me up against my own sweetest nephew, wouldn’t you agree?

        It was at this point that Schutzstaffel waited for Germany to look surprised at the apology — the chief rarely admitted to his faults, and this whole conversation was feeling very awkward — and then forgive him and be on his merry way.

        Germany did look shocked.

        But then he said, “Okay.”

        That was all.

        “Well, am I forgiven?” SS prompted.

        The boy’s gaze made the corners of Schutzstaffel’s mouth twitch uncomfortably.

        “Nein,” mumbled Germany.

        “Great! I’ll just…wait, what?”

        “Nein,” Germany said, louder. He squared his shoulders. “I don’t forgive you. I’ll never forgive you for what you did to Poland or for hitting Austria. I hate you.”

        “You hate me?” SS scoffed. Why did I think this would work? He laughed at his stupidity, and Germany frowned. He probably looked like an asshole right now. Whatever.

“Ja, I figured as much. Fine. I don’t need your forgiveness. I’m not going to touch Poland anymore anyway. Where is Austria?”

        “In the kitchen.”

        “Right. I’m going to talk to Austria then. You just…do what heirs to the country do, I guess.” SS didn’t mean to lace so much bitterness in his tone but seeing Germany’s head lower satisfied the vengeful part of him. “Prance around and never grow up.”

Grow up…

        He stalked past Germany. When he reached the end of the hall, SS peered behind his shoulder to see his nephew standing at the same spot. The boy’s fists were clenched.

Schutzstaffel headed downstairs to find the second person he needed to apologize to. He didn’t expect this apology to be any more welcomed than the last. Yet more so than before, he hoped something would come of it.

“Austria,” SS greeted when he saw the teenager at the kitchen counter, snacking on a cookie and reading a newspaper.

Austria simply glanced up and waited for Schutzstaffel to continue. Ever since the slap in the face, Austria spoke less when he was around SS out of both fear and spite. SS ignored the lack of greeting.

“Remember the other day when I slapped you?” And said all those shitty things about AH? And threatened to kill you? I tried to apologize earlier, I did it in my head, I swear it. But you didn’t hear it…

He couldn’t get the words out of his mouth. They were too shallow, emotionless, robotic.

Schutzstaffel sighed. “        Nevermind. Let’s walk the dogs.”

Austria arched his eyebrows at the quick change in subject. SS was already untangling the leashes and, with a whistle, the dogs came bounding to the door. Berlin sat right at Schutzstaffel’s feet, one paw raised and ready to wear the harness. Dresden ran circles around SS and barked at Austria.

“Alright,” said Austria, although SS was sure it was because Dresden was acting super cute, not because he particularly wanted to go on a walk with SS.

They headed out onto the giant front courtyard and past the estate’s gate without a word to each other. Dresden insisted on sniffing every bush despite walking this same path nearly every day, and Austria busied himself pulling on Dresden’s leash, purposefully avoiding walking beside SS.

At some point though, Dresden behaved and pranced alongside Berlin, forcing their respective walkers to share the sidewalk. Their estate’s immediate neighborhood was filled with mansions, expensive yards, and gated properties. It was the scenery that Austria distracted himself with, while Schutzstaffel smiled at the neighbors and officers who passed by. They gave timid tips of their hats and walked away much faster than before.

The feeling of being feared never got old.

Sometimes there were no pedestrians for SS to greet — there was infinite scenery for Austria so one of them felt the awkwardness more than the other. Schutzstaffel glanced at Austria. He noted how much the boy had grown. He was a teenager now. Had they not annexed Austria, the boy would’ve been running his own country.

Dresden found a bush he liked and squatted in it. He took his sweet damn time while the two walkers stood in thin silence and stuck his tongue out at them as he pooped, as if waiting for someone to say something.

Hurry the fuck up is about the only thing I’m going to say to you, Dres, thought SS.

Berlin nipped at Dresden’s ear and the tan German Shepherd finished his number two very quickly. Austria gathered everything in a bag — a practice that German Empire required all of them to do to keep the neighborhood tidy.

At some point, they reached the ice rink.

“Do you still skate?”

Both of them stopped walking and gazed out at the empty ice. The only person here today was the man running the skate renting stall. Schutzstaffel checked his watch. He’d usually take Reichswehr during this time of day, when there were fewer people to see them.

        “The last time I skated was with Wehrmacht,” Austria replied. There was a catch in his voice, like he didn’t expect to talk.

        “Oh?” That’s surprising. Wehrmacht made time for that?

        “It was before going to WATCH early. He took me, Germany, Poland, and Ukraine here.”

        He set himself up to babysit four children on a field trip?

        “Impossible,” SS chuckled. “He hates children. You must be joking.”

        “Even Dresden came and went on the ice with us. Isn’t that right boy?” Austria scratched the dog’s head.

        Wehrmacht? My serious, deadpan brother? Out on the ice having FUN? 

No matter how Schutzstaffel looked at the ice rink, he couldn’t picture his grown up brother with his giant wings skidding about playing tag. The only image he saw was him and little Reichswehr in their hooded coats. And then an older Reichswehr looking down at him on the ice, telling him to grow up.

        What changed in you? Why? Why not before?

        “Why?” he murmured aloud.

        Austria met Schutzstaffel’s confused gaze. The chief’s eyes widened a little. Austria’s irises were red, like his own. Gone was the innocent pink hue. How had he not noticed it before, when it used to be so important to him to have Austria keep his eyes?

        “I was surprised too when Wehrmacht offered,” said Austria. “I found out later it was probably to distract us from what German Empire was doing to England in the basement. But we had a good time, and I’d never seen Uncle laugh that much.” Austria smiled. “He was kind. He relieved Poland of his workload and had a cast made to help his wings before we left. You know, the wings you broke?”

He had done much more than break Poland’s wings that time.

“Did you do it?” Austria practically whispered. He made those words sound vile. “When you yelled at us to leave and GE had Poland…”

“Nein,” SS snapped. “I already told Germany this but I’m not touching Poland again. I’ve had enough of it.”

“Had enough of it?” Austria let out a bitter laugh. “Congratulations. The great Schutzstaffel finally lost his fucking taste in pedophilia.”

“Wow little man, how bold of you to say it aloud.  Will I be seeing you in court when I get charged for my war crimes? I’d love to see your awkward face every time you have to say intercourse.”

“I’d gladly sentence you to a lifetime in prison for the shit you’ve done,” Austria growled, not backing down. “Poland is scarred for life and Germany will probably spend his entire future trying to heal him. To no avail. So much for promising Germany a happy life, huh?”

“Who said anything about Poland and Germany being together? None of us will allow it. Once we officially win this war, Poland will be dead anyway.”

“I’d rather you died.” Austria fixed his eyes on his boots as he kicked the snow by the ice. “You should’ve been the one with wings. Cursed, as you like to think of it. Then I could break every bone so you could feel the pain. I could tear out your wings myself and watch you bleed to death. It should’ve been you. Instead of Wehrmacht.”

“Shut the fuck up,” SS hissed, his lips drawn back to reveal all his dagger-like teeth. “Don’t you fucking bring that up —”

“Why not?” Austria snapped. “Why are you so protective of Uncle now, huh? He’s dead! Your righteous sheltering of his name isn’t doing shit! You pretending to be an angel and leaving Poland alone doesn’t make up for the FUCKED UP things you did to him. Life is better when you’re not at home. It could’ve been better if you were never even alive!”

“Imbecile!” SS jabbed his thumb at his own chest. “I’m the reason Wehrmacht is the way he is. Everything from the good to the bad is because of me!” I’m trying to change, and you’re making me want to give up already.

“Like hell it is!”

Who lured Prussia away from Wehrmacht so he could discover himself again? Who had to turn into an absolute asshole to satisfy that old prick so Wehrmacht could drop everything and flaunt with Ireland as he pleased? Who gave him Kennwort and helped him celebrate Wehrmacht’s birthday?

I did all of that. Not for myself, not to show for anyone else. For him. And he still went and died on me.

No one will understand what I had to go through. No one but Switzerland would believe me.

Everyone in my family is being corrupted by the views of outsiders. I’m going to change that. Starting with WATCH.

“We’re going home,” SS said abruptly, clicking his tongue at Berlin to start moving.

“That’s it? You’re just going to leave the conversation?”

“You know, all of this started with me wanting to apologize to you,” Schutzstaffel said without looking back. “Germany didn’t give a damn and clearly you don’t either. So there’s no point in me trying further. You wanted me gone from here right? Ja, I’ll be out of your ass in a few days. I’m going to do something to make life better for us all. You’ll probably think I’m evil for it regardless of the outcome but I don’t care. You’ll all come swimming back to me like urchins later to thank me.”

“I’ll never thank you for anything,” hissed Austria. “I hate your damn guts.”

Chap 23

PAST

The German Shepherds burst through the door, following the scent of someone new in the house. Saal-Schutz and Austria laughed as they were dragged inside by the leashes. Austria was sucking on a lollipop that Saal had bought for him at a candy store they’d passed while walking the dogs.

“Puppies!” a little voice squealed in delight. It belonged to a small boy about the size of Germany, with green-white-red vertical stripes on his face.

“Those are definitely not puppies,” Weimar called from the living room.

“Italy, come here!” A larger version of the boy suddenly appeared behind him and lifted him out of the dogs’ reach.

“Berlin, Dresden, sit!” Saal commanded. “Sorry about that, Fascist. Wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

“No worries,” Fascist Italy chuckled. “Weimar and I only just got started.” He glanced uncertainly at the two German Shepherds obediently sitting by his feet. The tan one stuck out his tongue and regarded FI’s son with especially happy eyes. Play!

        “They’re very safe,” Saal reassured.

As if to prove his point, Germany came bounding down the stairs to give both dogs a big hug. He looked up at FI and waved at the boy in FI’s arms.

“ Hallo! My name is Germany!” he chirped. “What’s your name?”

“Aw, you’re so polite!” FI smiled and carefully set his son down. The boy scooted between FI’s legs and hid his face, which Saal thought was very cute. “Come now, what do you say?”

“H-Hi… I’m Italy.”

“Italy!” Germany chirped again. “Let’s play together! Come on, doggies.”

Italy perked at the mention of play and dogs. He followed timidly behind Germany as he skipped up the stairs. Austria clicked his tongue at the dogs and they all headed up as well.

“Glad to see you are all so happy,” FI commented as he and Saal joined Weimar at the living room table. “Things feel a lot more positive now.”

“There is still much to be done,” said Weimar.

Saal noticed a paper already on the table and leaned over to read it. “A treaty of cooperation?”

“I admire your family and country’s ambitions,” said FI. “I believe they align with my own, so I’m proposing that we work together. I also want to eventually include Japanese Empire.”

“Oh? For what reason?” asked Weimar.

“Her values align with ours as well, Weimar. I admire her as much as I do you. Knowing her personality, though, I think if we approach her together, she will be more likely to join us.”

“Admire her, eh?” Saal wiggled his brows. “So you need us to be your wingmen when you propose to her. Nice, nice.”

“I —” FI fumbled with the collar of his uniform as his face heated up. “I have a son.”

“And?”

“Saal-Schutz, only you would think of something as indecent as that,” Weimar reprimanded. “Jokes aside, FI, if you believe JE will be a good ally, then I am more than willing to engage in talks with her. My only concern is what if she requests us to be anti-Russian?”

        FI blinked, confused for a moment. Then he put the pieces together and offered a small smile.

        “Right. Japanese Empire and the Soviet Union don’t have the best of relations and, with their proximity, that may be a risk we’ll have to take.” He patted Weimar’s hand. “I understand that sharing a child with Soviet must be difficult right now, especially with the ruckus it stirred between him and Afghanistan — and, well, the entire west. You don’t want to take your son’s other father away.”

        Weimar nodded along and Saal had a feeling he didn’t quite belong at the table at the moment, being the only non-father.

        “I’d do everything for little Italy,” FI continued. “He’s the only one I have. You have to see that Soviet has many, many children, Weimar. Germany is but one. Whereas you and I would do anything to give the best lives to our only sons, Soviet may not think the same way. I hate to make you choose like this, but eventually you’ll have to decide. Don’t you think it’s better to do so now, when you still have time to plan Germany’s future?”

        That’s what I was telling him, Saal thought, staring at Weimar. It seemed FI’s words had struck more sense into Weimar than his. Maybe hearing it from another father gave him more clarity.

        Still, when Weimar nodded his agreement, Saal felt a little hurt that he would take the same advice from an outsider of the family than his own brother.

        “Since we’re on the topic of future alliances,” Weimar said, “I want to share with you my intentions to annex Austria.”

        “Huh?” Saal blurted. This was the first time he’d heard of this. Why hadn’t Weimar shared his plans beforehand?

        “Sorry, brother, but I wanted FI’s opinion on it, so I thought I’d reveal it to you both at once.”

        “Okay…” Another pang of jealousy.

        “Seeing as Austria’s already living in your home, I think it’s a great idea,” FI said. “Although it might earn protest from the Brits —”

        “I think you need to ask Austria first,” Saal interjected. “We were supposed to train him to run his country, not run his country for him.”

        “It’ll be temporary, until he learns to do so,” Weimar said dismissively. “But if it satisfies you, you can go ask Austria. I’ve also recently chatted with our dear Fuhrer and we share a similar interest in the Sudetenland of the Czechoslovakia Republic.”

        Another new development. Saal wondered how many more surprises Weimar would spring on him to make him look like a confused fool.

        “That’s a lot of land,” he muttered. “The West won’t like it.”

        Weimar frowned. “Are you ill, Saal? It’s not like you to think about what the West likes or dislikes.”

        “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t give two shits about them. I’m just saying that it’s a lot of land very fast. We risk them shutting us down or making LoN do it for them.”

        “The West is weak from the depression. We’re the most powerful nation in Europe right now, thanks to the rallying efforts of Hitler. And that LoN is only as strong as his countries. With all of them weakened, nothing stands in our way but a few shallow protests.” Weimar met FI’s gaze with a determined grin. “I want Germany to be proud of my nation alone. Like you said, I’d do anything for my son.”

        “Glad to hear that we are on the same page,” FI smiled back.

        Seeing those two beaming like the proud fathers they were made Saal want to gag. He excused himself from the table and went upstairs. He didn’t care that they continued the conversation without him, as if his presence wasn’t necessary to begin with.

        Rephrase. He didn’t want to care. But deep down, he did.

        “Let’s be useful then,” he muttered, coming up to the nursery room where Germany slept and played. Loud voices and barks could be heard from all the way down the hall as the boys played marbles.  

“Hi Uncle!” said Germany as he flicked his marble at a smaller one and successfully hit it out of the makeshift circle they’d created. “Yay!”

Dresden immediately tried to eat the stray marble but Berlin had his paw on his littermate’s tail to prevent him from pouncing.

Italy went next. He was new to the game and hadn’t mastered the art of marble-flicking, so he failed to hit any marbles. He had the least marbles out of the three of them.

Saal analyzed the layout of the remaining marbles and held his hand out to Italy. “Can I try?”

“Okay.”

Saal knelt down outside the circle, tapped his knuckle on the ground, and made an angle shot that hit out two marbles.

“How?!” Germany and Austria exclaimed, as Saal gave his marbles to a wide-eyed Italy.

“It’s a secret technique,” Saal teased. Then he beckoned to Italy and whispered something to him that made the boy giggle.

“What did he say?” Germany asked eagerly.

“Shhh,” Saal hushed. “It’s a secret. None of these two bozos can know about it, okay?”

“Okay!”

“That’s not fair!”

“Austria, can I talk to you for a minute?” Saal tilted his head at the door.

“Sure. I get two turns next round, okay guys?”

When they were out the room and out of earshot, Saal asked Austria how he felt about them annexing his territory.

“Um, what does annexing mean?” asked Austria.

“Like, take over,” Saal explained. “Think of it as being part of Deutschland.”

“But I thought I was already part of the family?”

“Of course you are, no doubt about that! Weimar just wants to include the rest of your land.”

“Well, I guess that’s fine. Will everything be the same?”

“For the most part. You’re all of German descent, so I don’t think any major changes are necessary.”

“Great! Is there anything else I need to do?”

Saal shrugged. “Maybe sign a piece of paper later.”

“I get to sign stuff!” Austria exclaimed in excitement. “My first signature! I’m gonna tell Germany!”

As Austria bounded back into the nursery, Saal wondered why he expected Austria to push back against the annexation. He underestimated how easy it was to manipulate a child. That made him think about Reichswehr, who hadn’t appeared in his thoughts in a very long time.

        Did Prussia manipulate him? Or were our fears and rules the reason he willingly left?

        BAM!

        Weimar’s voice downstairs. “Holy — Vater? Vater what are you —”

        Moments later, GE was on the second floor, where Saal saw the panic in his eyes as he sprinted past him and into the nursery. Germany’s squeal kicked Saal into motion as he darted after his father.

        GE was clutching onto Germany to the point where the kid looked like he might suffocate. Germany was complaining for GE to let him go so they could finish their marble game. Austria and Italy stared at GE in confusion.

        “Vater,” Saal began, “what is the meaning of this?”

        While still holding onto the Germany, GE signed a sentence that would forever haunt Saal-Schutz.

        “Prussia is here.”

Chap 24 (unreleased)

PRESENT

“He’s here.”

        League of Nations, United Nations, and Ireland all looked towards the front door of Spain’s Madrid palace, still the location of this year’s WATCH.

        They did not expect Schutzstaffel to walk through those doors, a tight-lipped smile on his face. The Nazi’s eyes fell on the trio and he stalked towards them like a confident panther.

        “Why are you here?” Ireland asked, trying to keep the growl from his voice. A large bandage covered his right eye and the right side of his face.

        “Why do you look mummified?” SS retorted.

        “I had a bit of an accident on the way,” Ireland explained. “But I genuinely did want to talk to Third Reich about some things so I came regardless. Where is he? Why are you here?”

        “He sent me, obviously.” Schutzstaffel walked in a circle around the three of them; if he had wings, he’d have felt the nervous vibrations that LoN and UN were emitting. “Do you really think my brother is stupid enough to come to a WATCH meeting early by himself? There could be so many traps. Nein, I’m here to listen to what you have to say, Ireland, and I will relay it back to him.”

        Ireland shook his head. “I don’t trust you. I sent that letter for Third Reich. Not for you.”

        “And he isn’t here. So let’s talk. I’m very interested in what you have to say.”

        Several days before, Ireland’s letter had been intercepted by Schutzstaffel’s special intelligence. The letter was addressed to Third Reich, expressing agreement to meet early at Madrid before WATCH started. The purpose was to talk about Wehrmacht.

        Schutzstaffel couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity to carry out his plans. His agents had long been positioned within LoN’s circle of assistants, as well as within the Madrid palace. All he’d needed was an excuse to go there, and it had been sent right to his doorstep.

        Naturally, Third Reich never received the letter.

        Coordinating with Ireland’s proposed date of meeting, Schutzstaffel sent a message to Fascist Italy under the guise of Third Reich. It was a risky move. If that message was intercepted by the Allies, they would be very suspicious. But by a stroke of luck, it went through, and FI would be in Madrid early too.

        On the morning of his departure, before the sun even rose, Schutzstaffel awoke, dressed, made his coffee, and sat down to write a few more lyrics to his song. If all went well, he planned on visiting Switzerland so they could test out the new words and tunes together.

        He murmured as he wrote:

Here we are

Made the deal, I’ll play my part

What do you want

That makes you so happy when you’re haunting me

Home alone

The tears falling

Pick up the phone

My brother’s gone, I don’t know who I’m calling

To say goodbye…

“This is for you,” he whispered.

He felt a nudge against his leg and reached down to pat Berlin’s head. “The world isn’t going to be the same after today, eh boy?”

Putting away the lyric sheets, he packed his handgun and went downstairs. His driver awaited him outside for the trip to the airport.

To the chief’s surprise, GE was also waiting for him by the doorway.

Schutzstaffel halted. Did his father know what he was about to do? Was he here to stop him?

GE gave SS a long look, his tired red eyes glowing sadly in the dark. He patted his knee, and Berlin padded obediently to him. Then he stepped aside.

For a brief moment, SS wanted to hug his father. He wanted GE to wish him good luck and console his fears of failure. He wished GE could go with him, so he wouldn’t be alone and uncertain. But it was childish. It was weak.

SS simply nodded at him and left.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Ireland growled and marched away into the depths of the palace.

        Schutzstaffel rolled his eyes at the Irishman’s retreating figure and turned his condescending gaze to the global entities.

        “Where’s the Italian?” he sneered. “Late again?”

        LoN shook his head cluelessly and UN muttered, “Your brother sent the invitation. Why ask us?”

        “Because I’m sure you’re colluding with the Allies and I expected you to bring the little traitor.”

        Just as the words left his mouth, a guard at the front gate announced the arrival of Fascist Italy. He froze at the sight of SS and looked around frantically for Third Reich.

        “Wh—,” FI swallowed. “What is the meaning of this?”

        “Change of plans,” SS smiled widely. “You’ll be chatting with me today. How have you been, dear Fascist Italy? Why don’t we all sit and have some tea?”

        “I-I don’t want to —”

        “Please, I insist. Don’t you think it would be a great idea, LoN?”

        LoN gulped when SS flicked his eyes to him and laughed uneasily. “S-Sure. No harm in a little tea.”

        “Wunderbar! In that case, LoN, why don’t you run along and find a good place for us to chat at. I like my tea a certain way, so I’d like to visit the kitchen and have a private word with FI along the way.”

“I should go check on I-Ireland,” UN said. “Do you need me to show you the way to the kitchen first?”

 Nein, nein, let a servant do it. That’s what they’re here for, are they not?”

        Schutzstaffel curled his finger at one particular human who, after getting a nervous nod from LoN, led SS and FI down the hall.

        “How have the Allies been treating you?” SS asked.

        “Very well,” FI replied unsteadily.

        “Better than us, I presume, since you’ve been so kind as to switch sides?”

        “I want to explain things,” FI blurted. “The letter Third sent said he was willing to listen to me today. Why hasn’t he come?”

        “He’s changed his mind. He has more important matters to attend to than listen to your useless apology.”

        They arrived at one of the mini-kitchens, where an Italian servant was already brewing tea. He bowed to the countryhumans and made brief eye contact with SS. A tray full of different flavors was held up to Schutzstaffel, and he selected three random ones.

        “What, um, what tea do you like?” FI asked, watching the teabag being transported into the pot.

        None of them, SS thought. And I honestly don’t know which ones I chose.

        “You’ll find out,” he said. “Anyway, since Third has no time, he told me to give this letter to you instead.”

        SS produced a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “Don’t read it until after you’ve given your explanation to me.”

        FI took the paper and stared at SS. “You…want to listen to me?”

        “Mhm.” SS took a sniff of the air, as if pretending to critique the smell of the flavors. “Though I am losing my patience as we speak.”

“Right, right. Well, er, give me a moment. I wasn’t expecting to give my pitch to you so —”

The chief’s lip twitched. “Why is it any different?”  

“It’s not,” FI said hurriedly. “I think I should start with the night I crossed the border into Switzerland. Wehrmacht was with me.”

“What?” SS dropped his act immediately and turned his full attention on FI.

“He helped me escape while his men were chasing us. I had switched my uniform for a concentration camp prisoner’s outfit — a poor idea on my part — so the soldiers thought I was the prisoner. Wehrmacht caught me. I told him I was deserting.” FI took a deep breath. “This isn’t like the alliance I was hoping for when we signed our treaty of cooperation all those years ago. Our values…morals…they don’t align anymore. A dictatorship — fascism — it’s not what my people want. They’re hurting because of the decision I made. I tried to tell Third Reich but he wouldn’t change anything. I…didn’t know what else to do.”

SS wasn’t paying much attention to the self-pity parts of FI’s speech. His mind still dwelled on the fact that Wehrmacht had encouraged FI’s betrayal.

Was that his first act of treason? Not shooting a deserter on sight and letting him defect to the enemy.

Nein. His first act of treason was keeping me out of the Vichy estate. He knew Israel was in there. He had the gold watch. I pretended to be oblivious and goaded him about his loss at Stalingrad — thinking about that part made him shiver — yet in the end he chose not to give Israel to me. He didn’t care about saving his own face.

“Wehrmacht just…let you go?” SS said in disbelief.

“Si, I…he…he looked lost.”

“And did you say something sappy to him?” SS groaned mockingly. Deep down, though, his heart felt squeezed.

“I just told him to protect the people who were still truly with him…that they were who he should fight for.”

And he snuck off to Ireland shortly after, according to Kennwort.

It was all coming together. Bit by bit, the snippets and stories from different people were piecing the picture of who his little brother really was: a warm heart melting the ice that had trapped it for so long. It seemed nearly everyone else had been able to experience it besides him.

He’d had plenty of opportunities. He should’ve seen the pain in Wehrmacht’s eyes at Vichy after Stalingrad. He should’ve come clean to Wehrmacht about Kennwort and the shooting squad. He should’ve realized that Wehrmacht had become a different person at WATCH.

Yet all those times, he or Wehrmacht was busy with someone already. He’d be called away by a French Resistance disturbance or Wehrmacht would be preoccupied with Prussia or Ireland. There was never a chance to say anything, to drop the sadistic smile and tell his little brother how happy he was to see the old Reichswehr again.

He snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of tea trickling into cups as the Italian servant poured the different flavors. SS sampled each of them without paying real attention to the tastes before randomly selecting one. As the servant poured three cups of it, Schutzstaffel told himself that nothing had changed.

“I’d like mine with a dash of the secret ingredient,” he said.

This new information just proved how wrong this all was. How unfair. Everyone had their chance with the good Wehrmacht and they’d used it. Yet he and Third Reich, Wehrmacht’s own brothers, only ever got the shitty side of him. Outsiders took everything.

Outsiders would pay.

FI arched his eyebrow curiously at the pinch of powder the servant sprinkled into one of the cups. Once mixed, there appeared to be no difference between the cups.

“Secret ingredient?” FI asked, as they headed to where LoN should be awaiting them.

“You want to know what it is?” SS smiled.

“Uh, si, sure?”

As they approached the door to the common room, SS leaned close to FI’s head and whispered, “You’ll find out soon enough.”

LoN waved from the table when they came in. FI looked confused. Then he turned to the cups being placed on the table. Suspicion crossed his face, quickly followed by fear. He whipped his head back at Schutzstaffel, but the Nazi had already sat down and selected a cup to sip from. That left two cups.

FI opened his mouth to speak. But what could he say? Where was the proof? He stared at Schutzstaffel’s face, noting his smile when LoN, oblivious, randomly reached for a cup. Was that his usual grin? Or was it the grin of triumph?

 When LoN’s fingertips nearly brushed the cup, something twisted in FI’s gut, and he almost lunged forward. He swapped the remaining two cups.

“Fascist Italy?” LoN inquired. “Is something the matter?”

“I—um…” FI glanced at SS. Was that a glare on the German’s face? FI quickly said, “I thought I saw something in it. I didn’t want you to drink anything…contaminated.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you,” LoN said in surprise. “Pour that cup out then, I don’t want you to have to drink it either.”

FI took a deep breath as LoN sipped his new cup of tea. He half expected the global entity to keel over dead.

But nothing happened. FI gladly gave the cup back to the Italian servant, who was expressionless as he took the tray away.

Whew, crisis averted, was the one thought on FI’s mind as he shot SS a glare of his own.

“I hope you two have been catching up —” LoN started to say.

Then he paused.

His hand slowly came up to massage his throat. His eyes grew round like the moon. And he looked at FI in horror.

The events after happened quickly in the shocked atmosphere. Froth bubbled from the corners of LoN’s mouth, then blood dribbled down his chin, and his pupils rolled back in his head. His wings flared out, then crumpled, and his body tipped off the chair. The tea cup shattered on the ground, spilling the cursed liquid onto LoN’s spasming form.

FI gawked, frozen and speechless.

“GET HELP!” SS suddenly screamed. “Something’s wrong with LoN!”

The maids on standby rushed to find a doctor. A few darted to LoN’s side and tried to get him to sit up. FI blinked out of his shock, and stood from his seat to help.

Except Schutzstaffel pulled him back and shoved him back into his chair.

“Restrain him,” SS ordered, as more servants and even a palace guard ran into the room.

“WHAT?” FI yelled as hands pinned him down. “What did I do? YOU poisoned him!”

“How do you know he was poisoned?” Schutzstaffel scowled. “Why did you switch the cups?”

“I—because—” FI fumbled for words.

He didn’t get to finish. Just as the doctor arrived, one of the servants let out a wail.

“He’s dead!”