DISCLAIMER: There is mention of sexual abuse in this chapter. Also certain aspects of racism will be explored, and it will be uncomfortable. Please note I am using this story to discuss racism in isolation, not to project these ideals onto any people group or nationality. Thank you.

CHAPTER 21: Schokolade – Chocolate

Gilbert had been kidnapped, drugged, beaten, imprisoned, starved, gassed, experimented on, and betrayed by his own country. But since the war, nothing had terrified him as much as going down to the dungeon to talk to Estonia.

As Gilbert had grasped for strings of conversation while gulping down beer to steady the pounding of his heart, over and over the questions had screamed: What am I doing here? How do I think this will solve any of my problems? And what possessed me to think Estonia would be willing to help me?

Gilbert didn't know what he needed help with, what he had expected of Estonia, or what would come out of meaningless small talk. All he knew is that he was lost, and alone, and scared. And so far, Estonia had been only one not to pass judgement on him, but to listen and patiently answer his questions… even though Gilbert had done nothing but cause him trouble since the moment they met. And when he found Estonia's body crumpled at the foot of the whipping post, it had only scared Gilbert more. How could he possibly expect Estonia to be of any help, when the guy's back was literally in shreds?

And yet, Estonia didn't make fun of him. Instead, he asked Gilbert the one question he'd sworn to avoid:

"You went missing during the war, didn't you?"

It was amazing how one simple sentence could affect him. Gilbert's brain shut down, and restarted, and he felt light-headed, and he couldn't breathe. A part of him screamed to change the subject. But another part almost wept at the chance to share the burden he'd carried for seven years.

It was hard at first, but the more he talked, the easier it became. And before Gilbert could stop himself, it came gushing out like a firehose – the camp, the prisoners, the doctors, the confusion and rage and betrayal – all the pain Gilbert had kept bottled up since the war had ended, the weaknesses and fears he'd been too proud to admit. When his mind came back to reality and he blinked to realize he was still sitting in the pitch black of Russia's dungeon, he almost expected Estonia to laugh at him. To sneer that he got what he deserved, leaving Gilbert alone to pick through the wreckage of his past.

But he didn't. Not a single word of judgement passed from Estonia's lips that night. And after Gilbert stammered an awkward excuse that it was getting late, after he staggered up the stairs nearly dropping the beer and knife because his hands shook so violently… he collapsed onto the floor of his bedroom and laughed.

Because for the first time since that summer night of 1941, he didn't feel alone.

But it wasn't just Estonia who had left Gilbert reeling.

The discussion in that cement container the Baltic States called their bedroom was nothing short of astounding. The way they had speculated, reasoned through, and predicted Russia's motives was like nothing Gilbert had ever seen. He watched Estonia and Lithuania closely to see if there had been any disconnect – a single moment where the two were on separate beats or misunderstood each other. But their deductions and predictions were so closely aligned that sometimes it seemed they were finishing each other's sentences. Even Latvia, who had been left out of much of the earlier planning, seemed to follow the conversation without a problem. And just when Gilbert thought the kid would crack under pressure and blab his secret, he covered it up with a perfectly valid concern that sent his brothers on yet another trail of seamless deductions.

Those three are damn smart.

And he supposed they had to be, if they were going to survive in a place like this. Until this morning, Gilbert had never seen the three of them together. He'd heard each Baltic go on separately about 'my brothers,' spouting what had sounded like self-sacrificial nonsense. But it wasn't until he had seen that teamwork in action – Estonia, the cool head who made lightning-speed deductions, Lithuania with his unique insight into Russia's character, and Latvia whose fears protected them from being overconfident – that Gilbert truly understood their binding loyalty. And if that wasn't enough, when Lithuania admitted the truth about his deal with Russia, he was met with pure, genuine forgiveness.

It's not every day you see nations willing to forgive each other like that. Or support each other, or make those kinds of sacrifices for each other. Maybe between a married couple, yeah, but between three unbound nations? That shit's rarer than gold.

The more he learned about these three tiny nations unbeknownst to Western Europe, the more he grew to resent their situation. Who could shatter the skull of an innocent boy who just wanted to be acknowledged? Who could lash a fucking cat-o-nine into the back of probably the most brilliant nation on the continent?

It just doesn't make sense, Gilbert frowned. Russia lives with some of the coolest nations out there. Why is he hell-bent on ruining their lives?

Gilbert had always hated Russia. But somehow he hated him even more since he'd come to know the Baltic States. And so it was that as Gilbert stood at the great oak door to Russia's office, a deep hatred stirred in his gut – one he'd never felt towards his captor until now.

He didn't bother to knock, pushing the door open with a low creak that reverberated in his bones. He stepped into the office, boots sinking into the Persian rug as his lungs were filled with the scent of books and dust. A quick sweep of the office told him Russia had already cleaned up the scattered files, and the knowledge that several of them had been ruined with bloodstains gave Gilbert a sort of smug satisfaction.

Cold violets darted in his direction, then Russia's face spread into a creepy smile. "Ah, Prussiya! I was worried Litva had not sent you."

"I heard you weren't a fan of blood-stained carpets. It's a pity – I think it adds a nice touch to the place, ja? I mean if evil overlord is what you're going for, the blood really adds to the atmosphere."

Russia's smile didn't even waver. "Oh, you're not here to clean up the blood."

Gilbert ignored the knot forming in his stomach. "Then what the fuck do you want."

Russia rose to his feet, shuffling papers on his desk and setting them aside. "You were looking for letters from Germany, da? When you vandalized my office."

Gilbert felt the blood drain from his face. No way… how the hell can he know that!?

Russia's smile became smug. "Don't think I haven't played this game long enough to know the first thing any ex-superpower will go looking for is correspondence from his closest ally. Be that an ex-spouse, secret lover, close friend…" Russia flicked out a folded document and held it between two fingers. "…or a sibling."

Nein, it – it can't be!

"Would you like to know what this is, Little One?"

Gilbert glared daggers at his captor. "I'm not in the mood for one of your sadistic tricks."

"You can decide for yourself whether or not this is a 'trick' once I have finished explaining it to you." Russia gestured to the chair in front of his desk, that creepy smile still lighting up his face. "Come, sit!"

Gilbert hesitated a moment before crossing the room and lowering himself into the chair. He reached for the document, but Russia snatched it away and tucked it in his breast pocket.

"Patience, Little One."

Gilbert's eyes fell to the letter opener on the desk. If I were fast enough, could I stab him in the throat and then take the letter? The thought had barely entered Gilbert's mind before he realized what a horrible plan it was. Not only was he no match for Russia's strength, but he didn't want to deal with the superpower's rage once he woke up on the floor with a letter opener sticking out of his neck.

Having cleared the desk, Russia took a seat and held Gilbert in a piercing violet gaze. "Seven years ago, you made me a promise. Do you remember what that was, Prussiya?"

Gilbert just glared.

"You offered your life in exchange for your brother's freedom. You told me I could claim the fame of killing you, if I so wished. You said that I could 'watch the light go out of your eyes, once and for all.'" Russia folded his hands on the desk. "It seems you have broken your promise."

Gilbert rolled his eyes; did this psycho actually think he wanted to stay alive? "Oh yes, forgive me. I just enjoyed your weekly back massages so much, I couldn't give them up. And the scenery down there!" He let out a low whistle. "You could make postcards out of that shit."

If the sarcasm bothered Russia, he didn't show it. "Of course after your country was officially dissolved and you showed no signs of weakening, I realized trying to kill you was a waste of time. Torture became a good way to vent, but after nearly a decade even your screams were nothing but dull noise to my ears."

Without thinking, Gilbert rubbed his wrists where the shackles had dug scars into his skin. A sharp CRACK of a whip echoed in his memory.

"My entire purpose behind taking custody of you had been to kill you. But you were so completely and utterly useless, you couldn't even fulfill that role. You were nothing but a rotting carcass stinking up my dungeon – old garbage that needed to be disposed of."

"So you gave up and decided to train me to be a satellite state," Gilbert interrupted, waving a hand. "Yeah we already figured out your evil plan. You're not the only one playing detective, you know."

Russia raised his eyebrows. "Do you really think that would be my first choice? Already you've vandalized my bathroom, destroyed one of my prized china collections, and now rifled through my office leaving a trail of blood through half of my house. You've held a knife to Litva's neck and threatened to kill him while calling him names, and I don't doubt you've humiliated Estonia and Latvia in similar ways. It will take months, possibly years of precious time and energy to force the ideologies of Communism down your stubborn throat, money to buy you food and uniforms, and paperwork to enroll you in military training. Not to mention I will have to navigate the bureaucracy of explaining your existence to the majority of my government, most of whom believe you to be dead. And this does not even scrape the surface; how do you think the other republics and satellite states will react when they first see you at our meeting? By releasing you, Prussiya, I have released a monster that will continue to gnaw at my heels until it is tamed."

Gilbert's brows pressed together as he processed the Russian's words. It had never occurred to him that releasing him from the dungeon would be such a chore.

"Tell me, Prussiya: If you had been in my situation, what would you have done? Say, if you were keeping Poland captive and needed to get rid of him."

Gilbert curled a lip, I hate that little brat. Of course he sympathized with the Poles after witnessing the horrors of the death camps, but their nation representative was a different story altogether. Even between screams of agony Poland had thrown sarcastic comments about how Gilbert needed a tan and didn't get laid enough – it was damn near impossible to control him.

Oh wait – that's probably exactly how Russia feels about me.

"I would send him back to the shithole we pried him out of. Let his own people pick up the pieces."

A dark smile spread across Russia's face. "Exactly." He slipped the document out of his breast pocket and placed it on the desk. "Nine months ago, Comrade Stalin and the Politburo agreed the best way to quickly dispose of you would be to send you back to your own territory. Not only that, but we also saw no use for the GDR itself."

Gilbert's eyes widened. What?

"We drafted a letter addressed to the Allies proposing a reunification of East and West Germany. This, of course, included returning you to the jurisdiction of West German authorities." Russia slid the document across the desk and nodded.

Gilbert snatched it up, hands shaking as he opened the trifold.

Note from the Soviet Foreign Ministry to the American Embassy, Enclosing a Draft for a German Peace Treaty, March 10, 1952

Gilbert had enough experience trudging through mountains of paperwork to read these damn things as quickly as possible. His eyes flew across the page:

The Soviet Government considers it necessary to direct the attention… to the fact that although about seven years have passed since the end of the war in Europe, a peace treaty with Germany is not yet concluded… The peace treaty with Germany should be formed on the following basis: …Germany is re-established as a unified state, thereby an end is put to the division of Germany and a unified Germany has a possibility of development as an independent democratic peace-loving state…

Gilbert's breathing shook. "Y-you… you sent this?"

"Da."

Gilbert's grip tightened on the page. "Th-then…" He stood up so fast his chair clattered to the floor, slamming the documents on the desk. "Then what the FUCK am I still doing here!? You wanted to get rid of me, didn't you!? Why the fuck would you lie about something like that!?"

Russia remained calm, placing his elbows on the desk and lacing his fingers. "We didn't lie. The offer was genuine."

Gilbert bared his teeth in a snarl. "You're lying," he hissed. "This whole thing is a lie, this damn piece of paper is a FAKE!" He waded up the document and hurled it to the far side of the room.

"It is not a fake. The American, British, and French embassies all received copies of the same document. The West German government was immediately informed of the treaty, and all if its stipulations were genuine." Russia leaned forward, a smile snaking across his face. "Knowing all of those facts… how do you suppose it is possible, that you are still here?"

Gilbert's nails dug into his palms as he forced himself to calm down and think. He wouldn't have released me from the dungeon unless it was a last resort. Clearly this – treaty was his only way to avoid it. But if I'm still here, that means… Gilbert's eyes widened as he realized the answer to Russia's question.

"It… it fell through."

"Very good, Prussiya. And who do you think refused?"

Of course Gilbert's first answer was Britain, or France. Hell, maybe even the American kid had it out for him. But something about Russia's smile told him all of those answers were incorrect. Gilbert felt his blood ran cold. No… no, it can't be…

"It was your brother."

Gilbert's mouth fell open. N-nein, that's crazy, w-why would he –

"We sent three more letters requesting German reunification, all within the span of five months." Russia pulled another folded packet from his breast pocket and opened the trifold, spreading three documents on the desk that resembled the first. "But no matter how we worded the terms, the West German government always responded the same way. I have their refusals here…"

Another packet. Gilbert's hands shook. Th-this can't be happening, th-those are fake, all of this is just a lie…

Russia dropped four documents on the desk with a slap. "…all signed and approved by the Federal Republic of Germany."

Gilbert reached for the documents and slid them to the edge of the desk. His eyes were drawn to the familiar glide of an ink signature at the bottom, graceful arcs that swooped upwards and down in meticulous perfection: Ludwig Beilschmidt.

Gilbert's breath caught in his throat. He spread the documents with shaking fingers, his eyes darting from one perfect signature to the next:

Ludwig Beilschmidt. Ludwig Beilschmidt. Ludwig Beilschmidt.

"You seem surprised."

Gilbert's eyes rose to the Russian sitting across from him, lips curling into a snarl. Y-you… you sadistic bastard… th-this is all a set-up to fuck with my head…

"And I was too, at first. But after the second refusal I realized: Why would Germany want to reunite with the nation who abandoned him in Berlin?"

The screaming inside of Gilbert's head stopped, replaced with a deafening silence. "W-what are you talking about."

"I'm talking about when I heard your brother call your name. Naked. Curled up on the cement, shaking with silent sobs as he pleaded like a wounded animal."

An entire new emotion rose inside of Gilbert, breath escalating as he felt droplets of blood forming in his fists. "What did you do?" he hissed.

Russia's smile became smug. "I did what any nation in my situation would have done. Germany killed millions of my people – so much the very ground seeped with blood. But as always, my people would rebuild and eventually be replaced by a new generation. Similarly, though I had spilled my share of German blood, it would do nothing in the way of revenge. Neither would pain – even if I stripped every last muscle from his bones, they would grow back." Russia placed his elbows on the desk and leaned forward, eyes aglow with a satisfied madness that shot chills down Gilbert's spine. "So you see? I took something away from him that he will never get back. And he will carry that weight for the rest of his immortal life."

Gilbert gaped in horror. A white noise arose in his head, chest heaving as blind hatred rolled down his insides like black tar.

"You – y-you son of a BITCH!"

Gilbert lunged for the letter opener, then sprinted around the desk to go in for a stab. Russia caught his wrist, twisting it behind his back with such force that Gilbert cried out in pain. Giant hands slammed his face onto the desk. Gilbert's vision flickered, a searing pain exploded through his head as the tender skin on his forehead split and blood rolled down his temple. His breath was fast and hot against the wood, cheeks mashed so that he could barely speak. He tried to break free, but Russia pressed his entire weight onto Gilbert's back, crushing him into the desk.

"It's war, Prussiya, what did you expect? That your brother would escape with a slap on the hand?" Hot breath panted in Gilbert's ear, "Surely you didn't think I just wanted him for his skills on the battlefield?"

"I'll kill you," Gilbert hissed, words raspy and wet with spit. "I'll fucking kill you!"

"I fail to understand why you are so angry. Given his young age, you should have known there would be those with their eyes on him."

"My brother is not a prize to be won," Gilbert snarled.

"To you, of course not. But to the rest of us, it's just part of the game." Russia's hot whisper sent the skin on his neck crawling, "But you knew that, didn't you? You also knew that my army was advancing to Berlin, that the Nazis were running out of resources and their leadership was doomed. You knew Germany would lose, and you knew he would lose to me." Gilbert could hear the smile in Russia's voice as he said, "So why didn't you save him?"

At those words, Gilbert froze. His mind screamed with the answer: Because I was picking through piles of dead Jews to try and find the survivors! Be-because they needed help, th-they needed food, they needed to find their families –

But he knew in his heart that Russia was right. Gilbert had been on the front lines when the Soviets started gaining ground; hell, he was liberating camps with them. He heard stories of how the Nazis fell back, frostbitten and weary from lack of supplies. He sat around fires while the Red Army toasted to a successful march to Berlin. Yes, he knew Ludwig would be alone when the Red Army closed in. He knew his brother would fight back until his very last breath, until every bit of his strength had been sapped and he drowned in the pool of his own blood… because that was the brother Gilbert had raised. The little blue-eyed boy with determination like steel, who would slaughter millions and think it justified, because it was for his country.

And as Gilbert had watched the fuchsia rays of sun shrink into the Western horizon where he knew his brother was fighting for his life, he made the choice not to go. He turned around and walked back through the twisted wire gates, back into the clinging stench of death and decay. In the name of saving his people, Gilbert abandoned the one person he had sworn to protect.

He – h-he hadn't been with anyone… he wasn't even interested in women… a-and then the anti-gay laws came a-a-and I knew he was terrified… He was so fucking scared of that part of himself… a-and now… Gilbert squeezed his eyes shut, feeling hot tears build behind his eyelids. I wanted to protect him. I wanted him to be able to make that decision for himself, to deal with it on his own terms. B-but… he wasn't ready. He – h-he wasn't ready…

His shoulders lurched with a sob. Gilbert's lips pressed into a grimace as hot salty tears streamed down his cheeks and dripped onto the desk.

"What I did to your brother was right by me. But you might have been able to stop me, had you been there. Do you understand, Prussiya? Germany refused reunification because he doesn't want to see you anymore."

No… no, that's not true! Gilbert's eyes split open, the world a blur as he croaked, "Th-then – wh-what was all that bullshit about getting revenge by telling him I was dead? It would be useless if he d-didn't care."

"That little lie was useful to me at the time. But now that I see you're determined to find proof of correspondence, I decided it would serve my interest to tell you the truth." Russia's deep voice rumbled through the desk as he whispered, "There are no letters, Prussiya."

Gilbert felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. He bared his teeth in a snarl. "Let me go."

"It is useless to deny it – "

"I said, LET ME GO!"

Gloved hands tightened, then Russia took his weight off Gilbert. He had barely stepped back before the Prussian twisted out of his grip and bolted for the office entrance, throwing open the door with a slam and sprinting down the hallways. Gilbert's breath was hot, heart thundering in his ears.

I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here!

He kept running – past dining rooms, libraries, guest rooms, the occasional portrait of Stalin whizzing by. He ran past an empty ballroom, an untouched piano and a sunflower collection. He ran until he staggered to a stop in an abandoned study, his breath ragged and shoulders heaving.

Then Gilbert fell to his knees, pressed his head to the floor, and wept.

~/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/~

Gilbert's eyes flew open with a strangled gasp, heart hammering in his ears. He lurched upwards in bed, coughing so violently his thin frame rattled. His lungs burned, his stomach clenched and he leaned over to retch into the pan that had been set on the floor near the bed.

Gilbert panted, lungs groaning in protest with each careful intake of air. The hot adrenaline of fear drained away, leaving him feeling weak and shaken. Sweat ran down his back in zigzagging droplets, his fists trembling. With a shaky sigh, he opened his eyes. He sat in a plush, queen-sized bed, the comforter a rosy sheen swirling with brass threads of design. Golden sunlight poured in through the open window, enhancing the wooden walls and cream-colored carpet. Gilbert's gaze was drawn to a framed photograph of him and Ludwig propped up on the dresser, arms looped around one another as they raised two beer steins jovially into the air.

Oh, that's right. I'm not in the labs anymore.

Gilbert squinted, straining to remember how many days it had been. Three? Five? He had lost count. Gilbert had been so sure that once Ludwig had saved him, he would regain his previous identity. But this unexplained coughing fit only proved his fears: his symptoms went beyond that of an abducted prisoner. No, this was much darker, much more severe. Gilbert rolled up his sleeve with thin fingers, staring down at the six digit number scrawled onto his arm. It burned his skin in a cold whisper:

What's wrong, Little Rabbit?

Just then the house shook with a door being opened. Gilbert yanked down his sleeve and struggled to sit up in bed, wiping the bile from his mouth. He listened to the jingle of keys and paper bags echo from the foyer, then heavy boot steps entered the kitchen.

"You bring any beer?" he called, voice cracking as he broke into coughs.

There was a thump of bags hitting the floor, and boot steps neared the bedroom. A tall nation stepped into the room and turned to Gilbert in surprise. Blue eyes. Sharp and clear, like glacier melt of the Alps. Broad shoulders and marble white muscle that bulged through the forest green neatly pressed uniform. A face chiseled into sharp slanted lines, with a long pointed nose that shadowed tight thin lips. Hair, as golden as the rays of the sun, gelled and pressed beneath a green and black military cap. In the center glistened a golden eagle, its head lifted high and wings outstretched, perched on a small swastika.

Ludwig's eyes darted to the pan by the bed. "You had another coughing fit."

Gilbert waved a bony hand. "Yeah, yeah, what else is new. Come on, show me what you got!"

For a moment Ludwig looked about to argue, but his face softened into a smile. It was only a slight lift of the lips, but damn did it melt Gilbert's heart. He had forgotten how much he missed that smile. Ludwig disappeared into the kitchen, then returned with an armful of bags. He set them down and pulled out a case of glass bottles.

"I've got… Hefeweizen…"

Gilbert's mouth watered just at the sight of them. "Oh-ho-ho-ho, yesss."

"Lucky Strikes…"

Gilbert sat up bolt upright. "No fucking way! How did you get those?"

Ludwig handed him the cigarette case, and Gilbert flipped open the top to stare wide-eyed at the American treasure inside.

"And something else that I thought you might like…" Ludwig pulled out something square from his bag, then threw it across the room. Gilbert snatched it from the air, eyes widening when he read the golden label.

"Chocolate!?"

That smile again.

Gilbert just stared at his brother, his mouth hanging open. "Are you a god, or something?"

"Nein, just a soldier who knows which strings to pull." Ludwig nodded towards him. "Go on, try it."

Gilbert peeled back the paper, breaking off a small piece of the candy. He couldn't even remember the last time he had seen chocolate, let alone tasted it. He popped the square into his mouth, feeling the sweet candy melt on his tongue. Gilbert closed his eyes and hummed with the sweet pleasure that only came from food.

"How is it?"

"It's fucking heaven." Gilbert broke off another piece and shoved into his mouth, words slurred by the candy,"You know, vhis thotally maketh up f'the shit bread we had yesterday."

"Sorry, we can't afford to waste any food. But don't worry, we're going to celebrate with a proper feast when you've regained your strength."

Gilbert looked up from his chocolate bar."Wiff bratkartoffeln?"

"Just bought the potatoes today."

"Und käsespätzle?"

"As much as you want."

"I could fucking kiss you right now."

"Don't, you'll get chocolate all over me." Ludwig bent down to reach into one of the bags. "I also stopped by the Lager and got you this." Gilbert watched the heavy Prussian blue fabric slide out of the bag. Golden brass buttons and sleeve cuffs stood out bright against the dark color. A black iron cross was attached to the left pocket, and above the right, the same eagle perched upon the swastika.

The hair on the back of Gilbert's neck stood on end.

"Now that we've occupied the Soviet republics, the Wehrmacht is advancing into Russia," Ludwig explained, not seeming to notice Gilbert's hostility. He scanned the suit with sharp eyes, reaching up to brush an invisible piece of dust from the right shoulder. "Heer uniforms are more suitable for the cold, but I thought you would like a Kriegsmarine one since you always preferred the blue."

Gilbert allowed his muscles to relax. It was just a uniform; it could hurt him or anything. "Luddy… I can't wear that."

Ludwig's brows knitted together. "Why not?"

"I – I don't know. Maybe it's because of those bastards in the labs, they were wearing those uniforms."

Ludwig let out a deep sigh, lowering the hanger to the ground. "I understand. Even I don't know who to trust – when I searched for you, it seemed as though our entire government had forgotten you exist."

"Or they were pretending to," Gilbert growled. He stared numbly at the chocolate in his hands; suddenly he had lost his appetite.

"I'm sure it was some conspiracy cooked up by the SS. They must have threatened everyone else to keep quiet."

Gilbert gave his brother an odd look."Didn't you hear what I said about Ribbentrop? Hitler ordered my capture, he's the one behind those fucked up experiments. This isn't a freak conspiracy, Ludwig, this is our entire system of government!"

"I understand what Ribbentrop said to you was disturbing. But just one sentence from one official isn't enough to prove the Führer authorized your capture, and it certainly doesn't bear enough weight to keep you out of the ranks. You're our top soldier, we need you in the invasion! I'm sure if we spoke to him, he would let you return to the front."

Now Gilbert was regretting eating so much chocolate; he was starting to feel sick. He reached for the pack of cigarettes. "So they'll let me fight even though I'm 'not German enough?' I'm honored."

"What else would you have me do? We knew the Führer wanted to get rid of the Jews and 'less German' peoples; how was I supposed to know albinism was included?"

Gilbert's words were muffled by the cigarette as he cupped a hand over the lighter, "Oh, so now you care just because I'm an Undesirable."

"Don't act so righteous. You were the one who told me to look the other way when the Jews were being forced to live in ghettos. I'll bet you didn't even think twice about their deaths until you saw the camps up close."

A sick feeling settled in Gilbert's stomach. Ludwig was right; they were both at fault. He plucked the cigarette from his mouth, puffs of smoke trailing out with his words."Look, you're right, okay? We both fucked up. But now that we know what's really going on, we have the power to stop it! I'm sure there's somebody in the government who's disgusted by all this racial shit; we can kick out Master Mustache and put them in power instead!"

Ludwig looked at Gilbert as though he'd lost his mind. "We're in the middle of a war, we can't overthrow our own government! If the chain of command is ruptured, our armies will fall into chaos and we'll lose to the Allies in a matter of weeks! As twisted as the Nazi ideology is, it's gotten us this far. We're so close, Gilbert – the Red and British armies are all that's left of our opposition. And as soon as this war is over, we can help – "

"Who, the dead? Oh, I'm sure they'll be beside themselves with gratitude."

"I'm serious, Gilbert!"

"And you think I'm not? How many innocent people are you willing to let die in the name of World Domination?"

Ludwig's eyes clouded with confusion. "You… taught me never to ask that question."

"Well I'm asking you now. Give me a number, Ludwig. A million? Two million? How many graves do you want to account for when all of this is over?" Gilbert took a long pull of the cigarette, blowing out a steady stream of smoke that clouded his brother's face in grey.

An icy gaze met him through the haze. "As many as it takes."

Gilbert's eyes widened. Mein Gott, he's serious. Of course Gilbert knew he himself was to blame for his brother's cold worldview, but he thought surely after hearing the horrors of the death camps, Ludwig would change his mind. Gilbert looked down to stare at the tattoo etched into his skin. He remembered the faces of the children craning over the windows in their cells, arms and legs bumping on a wheelbarrow as they were led to a billowing pillar of black smoke… Gilbert rested his elbows on his knees, watching the ember of the cigarette burn in a bright orange ring.

"I guess that's where we're different. Because I would lose this war in a heartbeat if it meant saving another mother, child, doctor, or shoemaker from being lined up by a ditch and shot just because of who they are."

Gilbert heard the smile in his brother's voice, "You can't be serious."

He lifted the cigarette to his lips, staring blankly into the haze as he leaned back onto the headboard. "I'm dead serious."

There was a long pause as Ludwig processed this. Gilbert felt an icy gaze on him, probably searching for a sign that this was all a joke. But as the silence dragged on and Gilbert stared grimly at the wall, his brother's smile fell into a look of betrayal.

"Do you have any idea how long I spent looking for you? I left the front – I left my men to find you, and my only lead was a telegram from Austria saying you were last sighted in Vilnius! I questioned every Wehrmacht and SS officer I came across, and it was only by chance that I heard someone mention an 'immortal specimen.' I infiltrated five laboratories before I finally found you, and each time the number of SS guards doubled. I had authorities breathing down my neck, incessant telegrams from Austria, and the Führer even threatened to take away my post! But I kept searching, because I knew I couldn't win this war alone. Everything we've done so far would be meaningless if you weren't there to celebrate our victory."

Ludwig's brows knitted in confusion. "But now – now you're acting like you don't even want to fight. 'Lose the war in a heartbeat,' do you even hear yourself? You're the Great Prussia; you don't lose wars!"

Once again Gilbert stared at the tattoo. His eyes traveled down the bony length of his forearm to look at the knobs of his knees hanging from the bed. His pale skin twisted with scars, throat sore from coughing fits. His super strength was all but gone; he couldn't even walk to the doorway without clinging to the wall for support. And all he could think about, all he could hear and see and feel, was the utter desperation of millions of persecuted scattered across Europe.

There was only one explanation. It was one that defied all reason, one Gilbert had been running from since the day he was captured. But all along, a part of him had known it to be true.

"I'm not the Great Prussia anymore."

"What?"

He looked up at his brother. "I'm not the Great Prussia anymore. Just look at me, Ludwig. You think this is a nation who would stand a chance on the Eastern Front?"

"Your body will regenerate, you'll regain your strength – "

"This is my regenerated body." Gilbert mashed the cigarette butt into the ashtray on the side table, the ember smoldering with a soft hiss. "You can buy me all the chocolate and potatoes you want, but as long as there are millions out there being starved and worked to death, I won't gain a single pound. Don't you see? I'm the Jews. I'm the gypsies and the homosexuals and the disabled, the 'scum of the earth' to be scraped from Europe's boots. And until we put a stop to this, that's not going to change."

Ludwig looked only more confused."Gilbert, feeling sorry for them is not the same as representing them. I'm sorry you had to see the things you saw in the labs, but – to suggest that you switched representations?" He scoffed. "We're nations, not charity organizations! We take lives in the name of victory no matter the cost – floundering in our guilt will only distract us from our goal. You taught me that, remember?"

Gilbert bared his teeth; only six months ago he would have agreed with everything his brother was saying. But Ludwig didn't understand the visions, how the fear consumed him – how big this was and how it would go down in history. He flung out his tattooed arm, "Then how do you explain this, huh? What the fuck does this represent?"

Ludwig narrowed his eyes. "A mistake. A misguided policy we can fix after we win the war."

Gilbert scoffed. "Misguided policy; is that what they're calling mass murder nowadays? Along with 'evacuation' and 'selection,' and all the other sick euphemisms you people use to wipe your consciences clean – "

"Consciences?" Ludwig cut in, his voice rising. "Since when did you give a damn about what was right and wrong?"

"Since it affected me, okay!? Since so much wrong was forced down my throat, I wanted to fucking die back there! You think I want to give up my entire life's work to save a few civilians? You think if I had a choice, I wouldn't be out there on the front blowing out Communist brains!? I wish I could ignore it and just move on, I wish I could turn the other way and pretend that millions aren't suffering at our hands! But no amount of wishing is going to change the fact that my duty is to my people, and what my people need right now is someone to drag them out of the hell we've created."

A fire of hurt and betrayal burned in those blue eyes. Ludwig drew himself up and strode to the bedroom door. "Your people are the East Prussian citizens who are risking their lives to fight for their country. And before you try to disregard that, remember that I've been doing the same for you since I was born. If their sacrifices aren't enough for you to finish this war, then try thinking about the sacrifices I've made."

And with that, Ludwig stepped through the door and pulled it shut with a SLAM that rattled the house. Gilbert's eyes darted to the dresser just in time to watch the photograph of him and Ludwig topple and land face-down on the wood.

First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—
because I was not a socialist.
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—
because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

-Martin Niemöller, Lutheran Minister and early Nazi supporter who was later imprisoned for imposing Hitler's regime. (Source: United States Holocaust Memorial Museum)

History Notes

The Letters:
Stalin's offer in 1952 for German Unification is REAL, and the text Gilbert reads here was copied directly from the English document. I will elaborate more on the details of this offer later in the story.

Sexual abuse in WWII:
In my planned fics, I never confirm whether or not Ivan is telling the truth about what he did to Ludwig (unlike his earlier statement about Feliks being cut in half, which Feliks himself confirmed to be true) However his claim does have historical significance, as the Red Army committed mass rape in the aftermath of the Battle of Berlin where Nazi Germany was defeated. This left a psychological effect on Soviet-occupied Germany that is said to have lasted through the entire existence of the GDR. I am leaving this part of my universe up for interpretation.

Date of the Flashback:
This flashback takes place in the first week of December, before Pearl Harbor (December 7, 1941) Thus, the United States had not yet declared war on Nazi Germany.

AN: If you want this chapter to be even more heartbreaking, go to the last two sections of Око за Око ch. 6. Look at the dates. In this flashback, Gilbert was in Berlin ;-; (Or you could read the first section of ch. 7 when Ludwig returns to the Estate without Gilbert. My hEarT)