May, 1963

Hammelburg, West Germany

Hans Dietrich awoke that morning feeling like someone was crawling around the bed with him and his wife, Esther. His head was heavy with sleep, but a shrill sound made him sit up. The smiling face of his nearly one-year-old son, Gunther, greeted him. Dietrich sighed heavily, already missing when Gunther's main activity was sleeping, and realizing he was probably never going to be allowed to sleep in for the next decade or so. "How did you get out of your crib?"

Esther was next to sit up. She smiled at the baby and picked him up. "You escaped! Did Uncle Moffitt turn his back on you?"

"I did, completely by accident." Jack Moffitt entered the room, looking a bit frazzled. "Dietrich, I'm so sorry for waking you—"

"Why, in heaven's name, are you up already?" Dietrich muttered.

"Well, good morning to you, too. Gunther started getting a bit fussy and I took matters into my own hands so he didn't wake you. Then I made myself a cup of tea, and… the baby escaped. He's quite the fast climber, too."

"Either that or you were so focused on your tea that you did not notice him climbing the stairs."

"No, he's a fast climber. I was not ignoring him for very long."

Dietrich looked at the clock on his nightstand. It was a little after seven. He rubbed his face. "Well, I am awake. Mostly. This is not how I wanted my leave to start."

"Oh, poor Hans. You wanted to sleep in," Esther said.

"As a matter of fact, yes, I wanted to sleep in." Dietrich got out of bed, walking past Moffitt in order to get to the bathroom. He splashed some water on his face before getting out his razor and shaving cream. He was glad to have Moffitt's help over the next few days, and reminded himself that things could be worse—he could have Troy over again.

Dietrich didn't feel much more awake after finishing his shave, though he congratulated himself on not getting any nicks in spite of his exhaustion. He got dressed before heading downstairs to prepare coffee, as no day, even a day off, could be started without coffee. While getting the coffee started, Dietrich noticed Moffitt's tea steeping in a mug on the counter. The liquid was quite dark, so Dietrich called, "Moffitt! I am pretty sure your tea is ready!"

Moffitt ran into the kitchen, looking a bit panicked, then his narrow shoulders slumped. "That's not ready."

"How do you know when it is ready?"

"I just do."

Dietrich let out another sigh, and resumed his focus on the coffee. He smiled at his wife when she came downstairs with Gunther. After she set the baby in his high chair, Esther went into the kitchen to give Dietrich a hug and kiss, bidding him good morning in the process.

Moffitt came into the kitchen a few minutes later to check on his tea, declared it done, and took the milk out of the refrigerator. He opened a jar of sugar, muttering to himself while carefully adding a teaspoon of sugar to his tea. Very carefully, as if he was working with nitroglycerin. He did the same thing with the milk, keeping an eye on his watch while adding a dash of milk. "Perfection," he said. After giving the tea a good stir, he raised the mug to his lips. "Yes. Perfection."

"You know, sometimes I do wonder if Troy has a point when he worries about you," Dietrich said.

"Troy has no class, whatsoever. He's incapable of appreciating the art of tea."

"Troy cannot appreciate decent food. He is happy eating damn near anything as long as it is edible."

"And yet, we are friends with him."

"Well, he did save my life, and yours, many times over."

"Fair point." Moffitt took another sip of his tea. "Would you like me to make breakfast? Let you and your beloved relax?"

"No, thank you. I look forward to being able to cook for myself and Esther." Dietrich pulled a pan from the cabinet by the stove. "You may, however, get me the egg carton from the refrigerator, then go sit with your tea."

Moffitt obeyed, but before he sat, he paused by Gunther. "You're very naughty, sneaking away from me like that."

Gunther laughed before pointing at Moffitt, squealing out what sounded like a word but wasn't. When Esther approached, Gunther said, "Mama!"

"Yes! You said 'mama.'" Esther kissed the baby's head and cooed to him. She then gestured to Dietrich. "Can you say 'dada?'"

"Da!" Gunther said, pointing at his father.

Dietrich bit his lip, turning away to allow himself to smile in private. He didn't want to admit that Gunther's attempts at words were adorable, but he would admit to himself that Gunther's attempts at words were adorable.

"Hans, no one on the face of the Earth will laugh at you for being proud of your son," Esther said.

"I am proud of my son," Dietrich said. "I am also busy making our breakfast."

"I know that look, Hans, you are trying to preserve your dignity—which you know doesn't exist anymore."

"Esther, I am quite wounded."

She grinned at him. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Dietrich divided up the eggs in the frying pan between three plates, then set down the pan when the telephone started ringing. He cursed under his breath, hoping it wasn't someone trying to cut his leave short, and picked up the phone. "Dietrich residence."

"Good morning, Hans, I hope I haven't woken you up," Markus said.

I should have guessed it was just Markus. Dietrich was glad that the caller was his older brother and not his superior. "No, I am awake. What do you need?"

"Well… this is going to be tough to explain, but I have had a lot of time to think about it, so here it goes. Someone turned up at mine and Liesel's doorstep last night, quite late. I didn't believe it at first, but I doubt this poor young man is a liar."

Dietrich frowned in confusion. "Go on."

"Hans, this person… this person is Konrad's son."

Dietrich felt like he had been punched in the stomach. He wondered if he was still asleep, and having the strangest dream.

"Hans? Are you still there?"

"Yes. I… C-Could you repeat that?"

"A young man turned up at my doorstep last night claiming to be Konrad's son."

"That cannot be possible. You said Konrad's wife's last known location was in East Germany!"

"I know. Trust me, I am just as shocked as you are."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"Honestly, I don't know. It is clear he has been through a lot."

"I can imagine. Why is he here? How did he get here?"

"He has not said. I did not bother asking questions—Liesel and I let him in, gave him food, water, let him get a hot bath, and sleep. In fact, he is still asleep right now."

Dietrich sighed, and rubbed his face. "Markus, do you want me to come down to Munich and help you figure this out?"

"Yes. I think we will be in need of your advice."

There were times when Dietrich wondered how and why people came to associate him with good advice. He paused, and said, "Let me finish my coffee and breakfast, and I will head down to Munich soon."

"Thank you, Hans. I will see you in a few hours." Markus hung up.

Dietrich stared at the phone for a moment before putting it back on its hook.

"Everything alright?" Moffitt asked.

"I have just learned that my oldest brother had a son," Dietrich said.

"Konrad? The one who was the worst of you lot?"

Dietrich nodded. "Yes. All I know of his life after he moved out of our parents' house is that he did get married, and he and his wife had a home somewhere between Berlin and the Baltic coast. He must have 'done the deed' just before he was killed during the Soviet advance into Germany. This child of his showed up on Markus's doorstep last night."

Moffitt thought for a moment. "That would make this child about seventeen or eighteen. Not really a child anymore."

"No. Who is to say what kind of person his child became. I am afraid to find out."

"Would you like me to come with you?"

On one hand, Dietrich felt this was something best left to himself and his brother. On the other, Moffitt had his own unique outlook on life and personal experiences that gave him insights that might help. He was certainly no Tully when it came to mediating problems, but at least he was willing to try if the situation demanded it. That, and Moffitt had yet to meet Markus in person. "If you are offering."

The drive to Munich was a little over three hours, granting Dietrich and Moffitt plenty of time to talk. Dietrich had told Markus a lot about Moffitt and vice versa. So far, Markus had met Tully and Troy, he was going to meet Moffitt, and that left Hitch. Dietrich figured an individual meeting with Hitch would be best before inviting Markus to the various family gatherings and holiday parties that the Rats held throughout the year, but he decided to focus on getting this unexpected incident out of the way first.

"Are you alright?" Moffitt's voice broke through Dietrich's thoughts.

"I am as alright as I am going to be," Dietrich replied. "Shocked. That is all. Not exactly happy that I am going into this with very little information. I dislike being unprepared."

"You do trust Markus, right?"

"Of course I do."

"I get the feeling you wouldn't have said that so willingly only a year ago."

"Not even a year ago. It surprises me how well things have gone."

"I'm glad you were able to reconcile with him. I know… not everyone can accomplish that."

"Are you thinking of Troy?"

"Yes, but I'd been worried my relationship with my father would go fully sour while I still pushing through my time at the university. I'm glad it didn't, but for a while, it looked like it was going rotten beyond repair."

"Ah. Fortunately, it did not fall apart. Your father is a good man, even though things were not always perfect in your pasts."

Moffitt nodded.

Dietrich was quiet for a few long miles of driving. "I am certainly not blaming Markus for this. He sounded about as confused as I was." He glanced at the lanky Englishman. "I trust you to not overwhelm him."

"Of course I won't. Do I look like Troy to you?"

"No. You have your quirks, too."

"I do not."

"Really? Are you going to evaluate whatever cabinet he is using to store tea?"

"No. I wasn't even thinking about that." Moffitt frowned. "Now I am, though."

Dietrich sighed. Well, I have brought this on myself. Good job, Hans.

"I will resist the urge as best I can." Moffitt turned to Dietrich. "He does know how to properly make tea, right?"

"Yes, Moffitt, he does." What have I done? We have two hours left of this drive, and he is going to talk about tea the whole time!

"Good. Your brother is more civilized than Troy."

"He is also more capable of cooking."

"Most people are." Moffitt paused. "Although, this depends on what Markus's definition of 'properly made tea' is."

Oh, for heaven's sake. Dietrich bit his tongue.

"He knows the sugar goes before the milk, right?"

This is your fault, Hans.

"His tea isn't milk with vaguely tea flavoring, is it?"

"Moffitt?"

"Yes?"

"Markus can make decent tea. Stop fretting about it."

Moffitt looked like he was about to argue, but instead grumbled, "Oh, bother."

Dietrich was very glad to be spared from a two-hour tea lecture. In the peace and quiet, he was able to glance out the windows at the trees, shrubs, and bushes that were in bloom all across Bavaria. The closer they got to Germany's mountainous southern border, the prettier everything would become. As much as he would have liked to take a trip to the Alps, Dietrich had to stay focused on the task at hand, and turn onto a road leading to a quiet village just south of Munich.

"Is this near where you grew up?" Moffitt asked.

"Yes. Quite close, actually," Dietrich replied. "I… do not think I have ever taken any of you to this area."

"Does it bother you?"

"Not as much as it used to. There is still a strange feeling about it, but it is not nearly as upsetting as it once was."

"That's good."

Despite his increasing apathy toward the home he grew up in, Dietrich was glad that he didn't have to drive by it while getting to Markus's. He pulled into his brother's driveway, and after getting out and shutting off the engine, he took a moment to admire the delicate work that Liesel had been putting into the gardens surrounding the house and filling the backyard.

"This is lovely," Moffitt said. "Seems very peaceful."

Dietrich nodded in agreement. "It is." He headed up to the front steps, and knocked three times before moving back and waiting for someone to answer.

The door opened, and his brother was standing there, looking a bit frazzled at first, but smiled upon seeing his visitor. "Hello, Hans. Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"Markus." Dietrich shook Markus's hand, then turned to Moffitt. "I also apologize for the short notice on my part, but, this is Jack Moffitt. He was a member of the accursed Rat Patrol that gave me a great many migraines in North Africa."

"Pleased to meet you at last." Markus held out his hand to Moffitt. "You are… taller than I expected."

Dietrich admitted only to himself that the sight of his shorter, stockier brother standing by the tall and thinly-built Moffitt was amusing.

"I will take that as a compliment," Moffitt said. "It's a pleasure to meet you as well. Dietrich speaks highly of you. Well… he does now."

Markus laughed. "I expect I will be hearing things like that for a while. Please, come in, both of you. Um… how do you prefer to be called?"

"Jack is alright."

"Jack. I have been told that you enjoy a good cup of tea. Would you like—"

"Oh, no, Markus, once you get him started on talking tea, he will not stop," Dietrich said.

"I am going to be a good host, and offer some tea. Now, what would you like, Hans?"

"Another cup of coffee would be nice." This morning certainly warrants it. Dietrich hung up his jacket on a rack by the door, and waited until their beverages had been served before saying anything else. "Now, Markus, where is…"

"Our surprise nephew? Upstairs. He has not left the guestroom. Liesel tried to convince him to join us for breakfast, but he refused." A concerned look crossed Markus's face. "He badly needs a good breakfast, though. He is very thin and might be unwell."

"Has he said anything about where he came from or how?"

"No. All he told me was that he was told to find either his grandmother or me, by his mother. No details. His name is Anselm, and I will warn you, he looks like his father."

Dietrich took a sip of his coffee. It still surprised him that Konrad had gotten married in the first place, but he knew nothing about the type of woman Konrad had married. Regardless, he doubted there was any true love between them, and a part of him was glad Anselm never actually knew his father. Dietrich doubted Konrad would have treated him well, if his own treatment was anything to go by.

"I haven't heard anything nice about your oldest brother," Moffitt said.

"There is not much nice to say," Markus said. "He was raised to be cruel, and… so was I. We both treated Hans horribly, but Konrad was not above treating me badly, too. The only reason we ganged up on Hans was because I learned to fight. I was one to be respected—somewhat. The definition of respect in that house was a bit muddy. Konrad had his moods where he wanted a challenging opponent—me—and moods where he wanted to pick on someone weaker—Hans. He would often go after Hans alone, but he also persuaded me to join in." Markus's face paled. "And no one was there to stop us. No one was there to teach us what we were doing was wrong."

"Aunt Miriam gave up on you two," Dietrich said. "Especially Konrad."

"He was taught to resent her, and that resentment only became worse when she tried to care for you. I did, too, at one point."

"Yes. At one point. You still saved some of her belongings at a time when you would have been treated horribly by our mother and especially Konrad for it."

"I know. I still wish I had been braver to stand up for you back then."

"What is done is done. There is no need to dwell on it anymore."

Moffitt was staring down at his tea. "I can't imagine treating… my own brother like that."

"Because you were not raised like we were," Markus said. "My children, Ludwin and Sophie, have their typical sibling arguments, but under no circumstances would I ever allow them to behave like Konrad and I did toward Hans."

"It does make me wonder how many siblings the young man upstairs has, and what their lives were like," Dietrich said.

"I have a feeling if he does, they were not fathered by Konrad. He never said anything about children before his death. Unless, he chose not to say anything."

"What do you know about his wife?"

"Very little. I met her once, shortly after their wedding. I was invited, but I lied about being on duty to avoid going. They had all the pomp and gaudiness of an SS wedding, from what I heard afterward, so I feel I made the right choice. One of Konrad's superiors introduced this woman to him, and they decided to get married within a month. Mother liked her, and that did not surprise me, as something about her felt… disgusting, in a way."

"Ah, so Mother found a horrid kindred spirit," Dietrich said.

"Yes. After that, we never saw either of them. All we knew was that they had property north of Berlin, in a quiet town. I suspected that when the Soviets came through, that was it."

"Apparently not. We are missing many pieces, though."

Markus nodded. "I have not tried talking to Anselm on my own, and part of me is worried about what he will think of you, if he was taught anything about his father's family."

"Admittedly, yes, I would not be surprised. However, this is the perfect opportunity for us to show him that whatever he was taught about me was wrong."

After finishing their hot drinks, the two brothers, trailed by Moffitt, headed upstairs to the guest bedroom. Dietrich and Moffitt stayed outside in the hallway, and heard Markus saying, "Anselm? Do you need anything?"

A young man's voice responded, "No, Uncle Markus."

"Could you… at least come out and talk for a bit. I really would like to know why you are here."

"I told you why last night. I was told to find you."

"I have more questions. A lot more questions."

Anselm sighed. "Fine."

Dietrich hadn't been sure what to expect, other than Markus's warning about Anselm looking a lot like his father. Indeed, the boy leaving the room bore some resemblance to the cruelest of Dietrich's brothers. His somewhat unkempt hair was a similar shade of blond to Markus—not very light and not very dark—but his eyes were a piercing ice-blue, like Konrad's. He stood slightly taller than Markus, but not nearly as tall as Dietrich. His face was a rather sickly pale, and his cheekbones stuck out a little too prominently. Despite it being a pleasantly warm day, Anselm was dressed in a loose-fitting sweater. The way he was hugging himself suggested he was cold.

"Who are these people?" Anselm asked, glancing at Dietrich and Moffitt.

"This is your uncle. Hans. And a British friend of ours, Jack Moffitt." Markus gestured to both men.

Anselm remained where he was, still hugging himself. He looked like he wanted to return to his room, and began slowly walking backwards. When he put his hand on the door to close it, Markus stopped him.

"Please, I want to know what your situation is, so I can help you."

Anselm didn't respond. He hugged himself tighter, likely an attempt to suppress his shivering.

"A hot drink will help. Come downstairs."

Much to Dietrich's surprise, Anselm followed them out of the room, but he stayed away from both Dietrich and Moffitt. Markus led him into the living room, and gestured for him to sit while he went to the kitchen to prepare some more tea.

Moffitt gently pulled Dietrich aside before the two could head downstairs as well. "I don't like the look of him—physically, I mean. I wouldn't be surprised if he's anemic," he whispered.

"Anselm? I was beginning to wonder the same thing," Dietrich replied. "Reminds me of myself when I was punishing myself by starving."

"You didn't even look this bad."

"True, but you are right. We probably should try and get him to a doctor. If he lets us." Dietrich began going down the stairs. His pity for Anselm outweighed whatever he felt toward the man who fathered him. He peered into the living room, seeing Anselm sitting at the corner of one of the couches, wrapped in a blanket. His blue gaze was listless until he noticed Dietrich.

"What do you want?" Anselm said.

"Nothing," Dietrich replied. "I have the same questions that Markus has about you."

"Why are you insistent on asking questions?"

"Most normal people would be when a stranger appears on their doorstep, claiming to be their nephew without much proof other than the recognition of who the father is in their face."

Anselm looked away from Dietrich. He shrank back against the couch when Dietrich approached, prompting Dietrich to pause, then step back. Give him space for now, he thought.

Markus entered the room, holding a steaming mug of herbal tea. "Alright. Let's talk."

"I don't wish to talk," Anselm muttered.

Markus sighed. "What will convince you to talk?"

Anselm didn't respond. He was looking increasingly scared.

Moffitt tapped Dietrich's shoulder. "Sit down."

"Why?" Dietrich asked.

Moffitt leaned over to whisper directly in Dietrich's ear. "I think Anselm's been interrogated before, likely with violence. Sit. It prevents you from looking dominating over him."

Dietrich sat in an open chair. Moffitt knew what he was talking about, having been interrogated and tortured during the war. As much as he wanted answers, the last thing he wanted to do was make Anselm relive a horrible experience, so he was patient, and gestured for Markus to sit down as well. All three men were quiet, giving Anselm time to relax. At the same time, Dietrich knew Moffitt's theory was just that—a theory. One founded in logic, yes, but Dietrich knew there was always the possibility of Anselm just being stubborn, or he was hiding something.

Several minutes of silence passed, then Moffitt stood to go over and crouch in front of Anselm, so he wasn't towering over him. The mug of tea had been set on the table, and it was half-empty. "Would you like anything else?" Moffitt spoke casually, like he was talking to a trusted friend. He wasn't shouting, nor was he whispering. "Are you hungry at all?"

Anselm's only response was to wrap himself somewhat tighter in the blanket.

"We would be willing to light the hearth if you are cold—"

"No!" Anselm snapped.

"Alright, alright, we won't light it. What would you like instead?"

"I want all of you to leave me alone!"

"Okay. We'll leave." Moffitt stood, and stepped back. He motioned to Dietrich and Markus to leave the room along with him.

Before Markus could leave the room, however, Anselm glared at him. "Mother was wrong about you. She told me you could be trusted if my grandparents were gone, but instead you fell in with him—" he gestured to Dietrich, "—and an Englishman." He practically spit the word.

"Things have changed. You may be on the cusp of adulthood, young man, but you have a lot to learn about life moving forward."

"I have learned enough. I am perfectly happy with leaving."

"You are not going anywhere." Markus's voice became firm.

"Markus." Moffitt touched his shoulder. "Don't. Just let him calm down."

A look of dismay came over Markus's face. He let out a sigh, and followed Moffitt and Dietrich into the kitchen, where he leaned over the counter, saying, "I apologize. I wish… I wish I knew what to do."

"The way he reacted when Moffitt suggested lighting the fireplace makes me suspect he has a great deal of trauma," Dietrich said in a low voice.

"I've not heard good things when it comes to trying to cross from East Germany," Moffitt said. "You have no idea when he left, do you?"

Markus shook his head. "I know nothing about the journey he took."

"Any number of things could have happened," Dietrich said. "Trying to get him to open up is not going to be easy. We will need to be patient."

"Extremely patient," Moffitt added. "Anselm's physical health is also something we need to think about. We might have to bring him to a hospital, and it wouldn't surprise me if he has to stay for a little while."

"Would confining him to a hospital help, though?" Markus asked.

"Possibly. It can make one stop and think about things. That does also lead me to another dilemma: who is his legal guardian now? Is his mother dead?" Dietrich asked.

"He has not said. The fact that he was sent here alone, with very basic instructions, tells me he was either told to run by his mother at the last minute, or this was some kind of plan in place in case something happened."

Moffitt sighed after a long moment of thinking. "I'm not sure what the best option is. My concern with bringing him to a hospital is it causing him to panic or become embittered toward us. On the other hand, there may be problems that we can't see. I want to do what's best for his physical and emotional health."

"I think we can wait on getting him looked at. He is taking tea, and Markus said he had food last night, so he will eat," Dietrich said.

"Yes, but that was last night. Now that he's been made upset, he might not eat."

Dietrich was a little too familiar with that. "That is certainly a possibility."

"Let's give Anselm some time, and check on him later," Moffitt said.

The brothers nodded in agreement, and Markus turned to Moffitt. "I suppose we should take the time and get to know each other. Hans has spoken quite a bit about you, and—" He started looking Moffitt up and down. "Um… where is the snake?"

"Anah? Oh, she's home," Moffitt said.

"He thought the fact that you have a snake as a companion made you a lunatic," Dietrich said.

"Hans!" Markus flushed red with embarrassment, and gave Moffitt a sheepish grin. "I took it back. I apologize—"

"It's alright. It wouldn't be the first time anyone has looked at me funny over Anah, or snakes in general," Moffitt said. "You're not afraid of them, are you?"

"Fortunately not."

"I thought you did not particularly like earthworms," Dietrich said.

"No, not really, because Konrad put a whole handful down my back once and that was one of the most unpleasant things I have ever felt."

Moffitt pointed to Dietrich. "He's afraid of spiders."

Dietrich glared at him. "Moffitt, you should consider yourself fortunate that Markus and I are on good terms, otherwise I would ask Troy to make a cup of Darjeeling for you giving Markus this information."

"That's a bit too cruel, in my opinion."

"So is the thought of Markus taking advantage of my fear of spiders."

"No need to worry, Hans." Markus shook his head. "I don't particularly care for spiders, either." He turned his attention back to Moffitt. "I have also been told you work at the University of Cambridge."

"I do," Moffitt said. "I'm not a professor, though. My father is—well, soon to be was. He's retiring at the end of this term. I've already been talking with people about planning a big surprise party for him."

"Impressive. So, what do you do?"

"I work in the archives of the archeology department. Making sure everything is organized and documented. I never felt I could teach. A few of my colleagues have been pestering me about taking my father's position, but I've said 'no' every time. It got quite irritating after a while. Archival work is quieter, less stressful. Better yet, it still grants me opportunities to go on expeditions to North Africa." A somewhat dreamy look crossed Moffitt's face. "I can certainly understand why many people dislike traveling in the desert. It's hot, dusty, and there's very little water. There's still something so alluring and beautiful about it. In a way, that's how I would eventually become friends with Dietrich. My commanding officer received a request from an American base, shortly after Operation Torch, asking if we had any desert experts to help with a mission in their area. He said we most certainly did, and sent me. I was initially only supposed to assist this unit once, and be returned, but I liked Sergeant Troy, despite some of our differences, and he liked me. Needless to say, I was on loan to them indefinitely, which resulted in encountering Dietrich several times over."

Dietrich smirked. "Let us not forget I captured you once before you were given to the Rat Patrol."

"Oh, yes. You surrounded my old tank, took Sergeant McKerras and the rest of us for questioning, and then we escaped the next day." Moffitt looked at Dietrich. "I can't help wondering just how many times you let us go, though."

"That, I will not say."

A thin figure appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Anselm muttered while hugging himself, "You traitor. That is what you are. None of this would have happened if it wasn't for soft-hearted, naïve little children like you."

Dietrich turned to face him. "Is that so? It may surprise you to know that a 'soft-hearted, naïve little child' prevented East and West Germany from going to war a few years ago."

"No, it doesn't. It would have been better for that to have happened."

"Have you any idea what you are saying?"

"I know perfectly well! You were never a truly loyal German! You became an officer to cover your own behind! You probably surrendered the first chance you had after the Allies invaded. It was because of people like him, was it not?" Anselm pointed to Moffitt. "You never were much for working hard. Father tried teaching you, but you were so weak and pathetic that all you could do was curl up and cry!"

Dietrich found he was fighting a desire to slap Anselm across the face. In those moments, he really did look like Konrad. He sounded like Konrad. Dietrich knew that not every incident with Konrad ended in him trying to hide. There were some where he mustered the courage to strike Konrad back, but that seemed to just encourage his brother to keep going. Keep poking and prodding until Dietrich flew at him in an uncontrolled and almost feral rage, punching and hitting until Konrad wasn't able to fight back anymore. He remembered showing up at his aunt's after one such incident. Konrad's blood had dried on his hands, but his own blood, from his mother taking a wooden spoon and beating his hands with it, was still fresh. Dietrich realized he was flexing his hands, thinking of how much it had hurt. He stopped, and drew in a breath, praying silently, Take this boy's senseless hatred from his heart.

"I will not have you speak like this to anyone," Markus said, glaring at Anselm. "We will talk with you later, once you have calmed down."

Anselm stormed back into the living room.

"Are you alright, Hans?" Markus asked.

"Yes," Dietrich replied. "Nothing I have not heard before."

They all looked toward the living room when they heard something thump on the floor, and immediately stood to investigate. Anselm was lying by the couch, unresponsive. Dietrich wasted no time in searching his pockets and handing Markus his car keys. "Take us to the hospital. Moffitt, help me carry Anselm."