Out of his parents, Kugelmugel had always been closer to Austria.
Switzerland never even wanted a child. He hated kids with a passion, wanting the only one in his life to be his little sister. His and Austria's honeymoon would have been incredibly bland if the Austrian hadn't persuaded him into making love; although it prevented their honeymoon from being the worst one in history, it left Switzerland expecting a baby. And that made him very angry.
He would have gotten rid of the child before it was even born if not for Liechtenstein's enthusiasm and Austria's acceptance. They convinced him to commit to the 9 months of torture, not to be happy about it. And for the first few months, he couldn't have been unhappier. He was snippier than ever (which is really saying something) and called Austria a "stupid piano prick" at least twice every day.
However, something changed. For the first time, he actually felt the stirring of life inside of him. It was absolutely disgusting at first, but then he realized: This is my child. He was responsible for bringing another life into this world, and he subconsciously acknowledged that he loved the thing already. It was his baby, and he'd keep it safe even if it killed him.
But he would never say these things out loud. Not unless he was having an extremely sentimental moment, which came more and more often the farther along he got (these moments usually occurred while hugging Austria from behind and murmuring "I love you" in his native tongue).
Perhaps the sweetest one of all took place on the day Künstler Edelstein was born. Switzerland had spent the entire pregnancy muttering profanities at his unborn child, calling it a stupid brat before it even had a personality. And now that he held the little darling in his arms, he did not say anything like "He's beautiful" or "He's perfect" out loud; it was Austria who'd verbalized that. The Swiss called Kugelmugel's pale blonde, nearly white hair a genetic defect when his husband called it beautifully unique; Switzerland would never dare to admit his relief and wonder at seeing his healthy baby boy.
That was when Switzerland had a brief change of heart. Kugelmugel quieted his crying, ever-so-lightly wrapping a tiny hand around one of Switzerland's fingers. A blush swept across his cheeks. "...Look at you. You must not have heard all the things I've said about you," he muttered under his breath.
"He knows you didn't mean it," Austria assured him in a hushed tone. Switzerland drew in a deep breath, forcing himself to be soften up a bit.
"Ja, I really didn't. I love this little brat already… You're wrong when you say he's perfect. But I don't want an annoying little perfectionist as a son anyway."
Austria smiled warmly, hugging his new family close and pressing a kiss to both of their foreheads. Kugelmugel's eyes fluttered open upon the contact, revealing a pair of purplish orbs. He stirred ever-so-slightly while still maintaining his gentle grip on Switzerland's finger. "Ja, ja, you're cute," Switzerland grumbled, rolling his eyes and trying his very hardest to restrain a smile. Kugelugel's hold tightened; "Fine. You're adorable."
"Our little edelweiss," Austria crooned, referring to the national flower of both Austria and Switzerland.
And the nickname stuck.
It was often that Switzerland got frustrated with his young son. The long sleepless nights and endless demands of the infant didn't settle well with his Swiss father. The ease with which Austria and Liechtenstein could calm a fussy Kugelmugel when it took Switzerland minutes upon irritating minutes didn't help matters either. But deep down he still loved the child, and didn't completely blow his top with him until he was 3 years old.
"Vati Switzy!" Switzerland always thought it would be more logical for Kugelmugel to call one of his fathers Vati and the other Papa, seeing as both terms were used for "dad" in German. Kugelmugel really liked what he called his parents, though, so tended to alternate between the titles.
"I'm busy, Kugelmugel. Wait a few minutes," Switzerland told him sternly, slaving over a pile of paperwork while his tiny son pulled on the tail of his jacket. Kugelmugel pouted, used to being rejected of attention by his parents, though Switzerland was more frequent to turn him down. So he released his dad's jacket and trotted down the hall to the room he called Vati Aussie's Happy Place.
As expected, Austria was seated at his favorite baby grand piano. He didn't have any compositions due to anyone soon, so he was at peace absently keying one of his own. "Vati Aussie?" Austria paused, only mildly peeved at being interrupted when he saw who was doing the interrupting.
"Come sit over here." Kugelmugel's face lit up immediately; he scrambled over to the Austrian as fast as his little legs could carry him and pulled himself onto his lap. Austria wore a soft smile as Kugelmugel cuddled into him affectionately.
"Can you play Edelweiss for me?"
"You sure do love that song…"
Kugelmugel nodded leisurely, his thumb making its way into his mouth. "Ja, I do. It's so pretty…"
"I can't play it with you on my lap," Austria chuckled. His little son didn't hesitate to slide down onto the bench beside him. Smiling even warmer, Austria positioned his hands on the keys, waited for the right mental cue, and began to play.
Although his voice was still high-pitched and he barely matched any of the notes, Kugelmugel closed his violet eyes and sang along: "Edelweiss…. Edelweiss. Every morning you greeeet me…"
It always sounded so much better when Austria sang. So he joined in. "Small and white… Clean and bright. You look happy to meeeet me…"
"Care to join us, Switzy?" Austria paused playing after his son finished the chorus, his smile transitioning into a smirk. Switzerland's face flushed slightly at the use of the childish nickname, and he made his way over with crossed arms. "Were you listening in?"
"Of course not. You know I hate your music," Switzerland snapped. The second sentence was true, although he couldn't help pausing to listen to the heartwarming little duet. He gave a slight yelp when Austria reached out and grabbed him by the waist, pulling him onto the unoccupied half of the bench. "So what did you want earlier?" he addressed Kugelmugel, ignoring the accidentally seductive smile his husband was aiming at him.
The little boy perked up. "Oh, ja!" He eagerly looked back and forth between his parents. "I made art!"
"Joy," Switzerland grumbled. The last time he'd heard those words had been after Liechtenstein was trusted with babysitting for the first time, and both of them had faces, hands, and blouses splattered with paint.
Austria, on the other hand, was genuinely interested. "Well then let's see it, little flower."
Kugelmugel nodded enthusiastically. "I used up all my paper for my paintings though, so I had to use this weird green paper I found…" he indicated, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he searched his pockets for the "art." A grin stretched onto his face as he grabbed hold of it, and he carefully slid it out. "Ta da!"
He produced a chain, formed by rectangular pieces of green paper folded to form rings then stuck to one another. The eyes of Kugelmugel's parents gradually widened as he smoothed out the creation. Austria's expression froze at its point of initial devastation, while Switzerland's continued to grow until he was red up to his forehead.
"Is that… money?" he growled through clenched teeth.
"I dunno," Kugelmugel responded obliviously, still smiling. Switzerland viciously snatched the chain out of his son's hands.
"What is this attached together with?" he snapped.
"Paste!" Kugelmugel chimed proudly, as if it was an obvious accomplishment. The glee in his face washed away in a heartbeat when Switzerland began skillfully ripping the dollar bills apart, literally shaking with anger. "Vati Switzy, what are you doing?!" he squeaked.
"Money is very important to Papa and I," Austria told him, attempting to keep his voice steady. After all, he was pretty frugal too.
"Stupid… little… brat… I never wanted kids to begin with…" Switzerland hissed, his rage growing by the second as he realized how beyond repair the money was. His gaze snapped up and pierced Kugelmugel's very being. "Do you see what you've done?! This is what we use to buy things, and you've gone and destroyed it!" he yelled, causing Kugelmugel to tear up and cower toward Austria.
"Now Vash… I'm upset too. This really was a waste of money….. But he didn't mean any wrong. And it really wasn't that much…"
"'Wasn't that much'?! It shouldn't have been any at all! This is our hard earned money, and the little demon child went and practically threw it all down the drain!" Switzerland hollered. A tear or two now rolled down Kugelmugel's cheeks.
"I didn't know, Papa! I thought It'd make you happy! …Ich liebe dich!"
Switzerland sucked in an abrupt breath, seeing the obvious hurt in Kugelmugel's face and realizing he had him by the shirt collar. "…Damn it, why do you have to be so…." He intended on ending the sentence with "cute," but was too angry with his son to compliment him. So he groaned, releasing Kugelmugel's shirt, tossing the ruined dollar bills onto the piano and storming out of the room.
Kugelmugel was given the silent treatment by Switzerland and had his art supplies taken away until his parents earned up enough money to pay off what he'd used for his "art."
From his first day of kindergarten, Kugelmugel was bullied. It had been Austria's idea to send him to a school of mortals. Unfortunately, he just didn't seem to click with them. Some days, he'd come home smiling brightly with stories of things he learned in class; others, he'd be in tears and recite insults his peers had thrown at him.
"Th-they called me stupid, 'c-cause I only do good in Music and A-Art class," the 5 year old sniffled one day, curled up on the sofa between his parents. Switzerland shot a glare at his husband, blaming him for passing down his passion for the arts when their son hadn't inherited his other father's skills in mathematics. He also realized that Kugelmugel probably received Liechtenstein's airiness too, but decided to ignore that for now.
"Don't listen to anything they say. They're just jealous because they're not as talented as you are. And no matter what, you'll always be my little edelweiss," Austria said softly. Kugelmugel wiped his eyes on his sleeve, smiling affectionately up at the Austrian. Switzerland left the room, feeling as if he wasn't needed at the moment; nobody noticed.
Switzerland had his own way of dealing with a different problem Kugelmugel brought home.
"They call me a little girl because of my hair," Kugelmugel murmured, sitting on a chair in the kitchen while Switzerland busied himself with making dinner. He pretended not to realize that the only reason Kugelmugel was coming to him about this problem was because Austria was at work.
At the time, Kugelmugel's hair had not grown long enough to be tied into the lengthy braids that would eventually become his trademark feature. Instead, they were pulled into cutesy little pigtails. Despite the heckling of the other kids, Kugelmugel was very attached to his long hair, and "I'll cut your pigtails off" was almost as terrifying as threatening to throw away all his art supplies.
"You can't just let those people push you around!" Switzerland exclaimed in annoyance, forgetting he was talking to a 5 year old. "I swear, you're as soft as your father." Kugelmugel gave a pathetic little shrug in response; Switzerland groaned and shut off the stove. "Come here."
Before Kugelmugel could even look up, Switzerland had grabbed him by the wrist and was dragging the child down the hall to the bathroom. He hoisted the small boy up onto the counter and dug through the drawers for the hair accessories Liechtenstein had left over from when her hair was longer. Switzerland retrieved two clips and stuck one in his mouth, slamming the drawer shut.
He took one of Kugelmugel's pigtails in his hands and tucked it behind the boy's ear, wrapping it around his head so that its tip almost reached his other ear. Switzerland slid the clip so that the top portion went over the pigtail and the bottom went under the hair on the back of his head. He removed the other clip from his mouth and did the same to Kugelmugel's other pigtail. "Stay here," he muttered. Kugelmugel just sniffled while his father sped out of the room, returning with a little maroon colored beret. "Put this on," he instructed.
So Kugelmugel put on the beret and turned to face himself in the mirror. He drew in a tiny gasp: you couldn't tell at all that he had long hair.
"Danke, Vati Switzy! Ich liebe dich." Kugelmugel slid off the counter, hugged Switzerland around the waist, and practically skipped out of the room, humming a faster paced version of Edelweiss.
Every day until he transferred schools for first grade, Switzerland put Kugelmugel's pigtails up like that and wrote his teacher a note asking her to permit it. Kugelmugel came home smiling a lot more often afterwards.
Kugelmugel was absolutely in love with The Sound of Music since the first time Austria showed it to him. After doing all his homework, Kugelmugel would turn the movie on the television, and curl up with Austria's cat to watch it. Austria would usually join him, quietly singing along to each and every song with his son.
They tended to watch the movie around dinnertime, so Austria would grab a couple plates and suggest that Switzerland come sit with them; every time, the Swiss would choose to eat alone in the dining room. Sometimes, Austria's cat would lazily stride into the room to keep him company, but when that happened Switzerland would get up and go feed his goats.
For his ninth birthday, Austria presented Kugelmugel with an extra special gift. "Happy birthday, my little edelweiss," the Austrian murmured, and he slid tickets to a showing of The Sound of Music at a nearby theatre into his hand.
"Switzerland… Kugelmugel wants one more thing for his birthday," Austria indicated while they were alone in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around his husband's waist from behind. Switzerland barely blushed when he looked over his shoulder to glare up at the Austrian.
"He wants something else? We went through hell and back to get him those tickets and paint sets. You're raising him to be a prissy, spoiled little brat."
"He wants you to come with us to see The Sound of Music."
He wanted to say no. Anything Austrian that had "music" in it made him twitchy. But Switzerland couldn't turn down his only son. So he went.
"Did you have fun, Vati?" Kugelmugel inquired after the showing, grinning from ear to ear while swinging the hands of both of his parents.
"…That Lonely Goatherd song wasn't bad," Switzerland muttered honestly. Otherwise, he was suffering through the entire musical, though he didn't have the heart to crush Kugelmugel's spirits by telling him that.
"What about you, Kugel? Did you have fun?" Austria asked, smiling gently down at his son. Kugelmugel gazed up at his father with twinkling eyes.
"Do you even need to ask? Oh, the live orchestra… The lighting… The blocking… The dialogue… The sets… Everything was just art!" he breathed. Switzerland couldn't remember seeing the child look so happy in his life. He wanted to smile at him and say: "Happy birthday, little edelweiss" like he knew Austria did; instead he ended up just lightly ruffling his hair.
Edelweiss had been the lullaby Austria sang Kugelmugel since he was a newborn baby. He even used to have a crib in the music room so he could play it on the piano for the child. When the bullying at school got really bad, Austria would cradle his crying son against his chest and murmur the song, making sure to end it with a kiss to Kugelmugel's forehead. The song Kugelmugel hummed while he painted had always been Edelweiss. And it was the first song he learned when he started to play piano himself.
Austria decided to begin teaching him the instrument when he was 7, almost 8. He was already learning violin at school, which Austria helped him with at home, but the child had been begging him to teach him piano practically since he knew how to talk. So they spent hours every day closed in Austria's music room, going over every note and key until they were permanently engraved into Kugelmugel's mind.
Switzerland never verbalized the jealousy he felt at seeing his son spend so much more time with his other parent than with him. He also pretended not to care that he overheard Kugelmugel saying: "I want to be a musician and an aristocrat just like you when I grow up! Not a banker like Papa wants." Instead he "forgot" to call them in for dinner that night.
But Kugelmugel ended up making it up to him. To blow off steam, whether it be over a fight with Austria or a raise in taxes, Switzerland would often retreat to the homemade shooting range in the field outside his home. One day, when he was 10 years old, Switzerland finally let Kugelmugel accompany him after about the thirtieth time of his asking. Plus, after letting him watch on a few different occasions, he gave his son permission to do something he'd never allowed anyone to do: handle his gun. Switzerland clicked the safety on and held Kugelmugel's arms steady, helping him aim while he rambled on about the art of the gun's mechanism; the enthusiasm glowing in the child's face was so similar to what Switzerland felt when his own father taught him how to shoot a gun.
The best part was, when Switzerland finally felt confident enough to let Kugelmugel try shooting by himself, he was good at it.
Never in his life had Switzerland felt more proud than when Kugelmugel hit 8 out of 10 targets spot-on without any assistance. "Did you see that, Papa?! I got them!" he exclaimed, nearly shaking with joy. He didn't realize it, but Switzerland was actually, genuinely smiling.
"Ja, I know…. Good job." He gripped his son's shoulder, glowing with pride.
He hoped the gesture meant as much as it did when Austria called him his little edelweiss.
Prussia, an old family "friend," had grown out of picking on Austria. But that didn't mean he had matured; in fact, he'd stooped to the new low of heckling Kugelmugel.
He had all sorts of names for Kugelmugel, though the teasing began with his actual name. That was something Switzerland couldn't holler at him for: he usually introduced his son as Künstler Edelstein, then had Austria be the one to say the name of the micronation he represented.
Switzerland felt admittedly guilty when a 12 year old Kugelmugel came to him, grumbling: "Prussia's been at it again. This time, he said my friends are losers." Switzerland awkwardly took a sip of coffee and left the comforting to Austria; he wasn't fond of Ladonia, Wy, Seborga, or Sealand, and often reminded his son of that. Oops.
Everything else, however, Switzerland had no problem lashing out at Prussia for. He'd been disapproving of the ridiculous length of Kugelmugel's hair for quite some time, but the fondness both Liechtenstein and Kugelmugel had for it eventually convinced him to accept it. So when Prussia started calling the child a "prissy little girl boy that's never heard of a haircut," the albino ended up going home pretty black and blue. The other insults Switzerland refused to let slide included "Your brain's nothing but paintbrushes and music notes," "How's the weather down there, short stuff?" and especially "You're exactly like your prissy daddy dearest."
It was quite a shock when Prussia suddenly decided to lay off. Both of Kugelmugel's parents were surprised to learn that the reason behind this was Kugelmugel saying: "My Papa taught me how to handle a gun. So back off."
Switzerland couldn't remember feeling more pleased. It looked like his little edelweiss was beginning to bloom.
Kugelmugel wasn't a very social person when he was with anyone besides his family or fellow micronations. So Switzerland nearly choked when his son, currently 14, admitted at the dinner table that he had received his first kiss. Switzerland was terrified it had been with that crazy Australian girl, or one of his male friends. But Kugelmugel's actual answer was even worse yet: one of the girls at his school.
Nations and humans can't have romantic relations. It just wasn't allowed. "What were you thinking?! A mortal girl? Kugelmugel, you made a HUGE mistake. You better not be in love with this girl, or you'll be in a world of trouble… You should let me meet her." Switzerland didn't realize he had started drifting toward his gun closet the moment he stood up.
"I don't love her, Papa. She forced a kiss on me. And I politely told her I wasn't interested," Kugelmugel explained calmly, holding back a smirk at his father's reaction. Switzerland blinked slowly, feeling himself begin to cool down anger wise but heat up when it came to embarrassment.
"…Oh." He gradually sat back down in his chair, stuffing cheese fondue in his mouth to avoid conversation.
A slight smile appeared on Austria's face. "We've never really talked about romance with you… I guess you're going to have to leave the nest sometime, hm? You can't be my little edelweiss forever."
Kugelmugel smiled sweetly, taking a sip of water. "Don't worry, Vati, I won't be going anywhere for a while, especially with a spouse. And I'll always be your little edelweiss."
The real reason he didn't plan on romance was because the only person that had his heart was his very own Aunt Liechtenstein. But his parents didn't need to know that.
"You're WHAT?!"
"I'm moving to Italy, Papa."
So Switzerland was hearing correctly… Kugelmugel, now graduated from college, had been animatedly telling his parents how a talent scout had handpicked his art at a festival his school held. His paintings would be featured all around Europe…. So long as he worked as the scout's personal assistant, in Italy.
"Oh no you're not. You're staying right here," Switzerland growled. The excitement seeped out of Kugelmugel's expression and was soon replaced with protest.
Hesitantly, Austria rested a hand on his husband's arm. "Switzerland… This is a really big deal for him. Opportunities like this don't come around every day." He turned to his son, smiling sadly. "You have my permission." The smile that reappeared on Kugelmugel's face was what made something inside Switzerland snap.
"And that's it, isn't it? That's all it's ever been."
"Papa, what are you-"
"His opinion is the only one that matters. He's the one you always share views with. He's the one you choose to listen to. He's the one you prefer! Because you're his 'little edelweiss.' Whatever. I don't give a damn. Go have fun in Italy. And while you're there, go to hell too." And with that, Switzerland stormed out of the room, slamming the door so loudly it nearly shook out of its hinges.
That was the last he and his only son saw of each other for a month.
"….What are you doing here," Switzerland croaked as he faced Künstler Edelstein, standing on his front porch with a suitcase in his hands. He tried his hardest to keep the overpowering emotions from seeing him after being apart for more than they'd ever been out of his voice.
"It was a mistake," Kugelmugel whispered.
"You're damn right it was," Switzerland muttered, twitching with all the restraint it took to keep from pulling his son into a tight embrace. Oh lord, were those tears welling up in his eyes?
Kugelmugel slowly shook his head, tears certainly in his eyes. "Nein, Papa… The talent scout made a mistake. He read the wrong label. The paintings he wanted featured weren't mine… I had to go all the way to Italy, just to be told that…."
Switzerland had no idea how to respond to that. Austria was always the one Kugelmugel could go to in these situations… But he was at a business meeting in Germany. So as tears started pouring down Kugelmugel's face, Switzerland did the only thing he could think of.
The micronation hadn't physically aged a day past 15, so he was still only up to Switzerland's shoulder. Because of that, his face fit perfectly into his father's chest when he was pulled into a tight, awkward yet comforting hug. He didn't hesitate to drop his suitcase and wrap his arms around Switzerland's back, shaking with silent sobs at this point.
The Swiss knew he couldn't sing- his voice was always out of tune and was as earsplitting as nails on a chalkboard. Austria, with a smooth voice as if he was some god, was the one in charge of providing lullabies to a younger Kugelmugel and giving him the occasional singing lessons. Still, Switzerland gulped hard and sang: "Edelweiss… Edelweiss. Every morning you greeeet me. Small and white… Clean and bright. You look happy to meeeet me…"
Sniffling, his voice shaky, Kugelmugel continued while his father accidentally knocked off his beret and proceeded to stroke the hair beneath it: "Blossom of snow may you bloooom, and grow. Bloooom and grow, forevvvvverrrr…"
Switzerland fiddled with the band at the bottom of one of Kugelmugel's braids that kept it in place, and slipped it off. He did the same to the other braid, then ran his fingers from the top of each braid to the bottom in order to restore the hair to its original form. He couldn't remember the last time he saw his son with his hair down, but at the time didn't care to look. He kept his eyes closed tightly, and made do with running his fingers through the seemingly endless wavy locks. That hair of his didn't seem like a genetic defect anymore; Austria was right: it was beautifully unique. Just like Kugelmugel himself. Kugelmugel, Switzerland's son.
His little edelweiss.