Trust is Dangerous- Russia x Germany

Like Father, Like Son

I felt bad for Russia. I knew that he was guilty to what he did to Japan, but he couldn't fix the problem like a rusted out axle. Somebody's emotions weren't like tank engines or blueprints. They were complicated beyond differential equations and sigma notations. I peered inside the office lobby and saw Switzerland flipping though a Geography book, writing down notes. A small plate of salad and a bowl of soup stood on the high circular desk next to him, and looked untouched, save for the opened mayonnaise packet in the salad. He looked up at me and I waved to him. He waved back, only half heartedly and resumed to staring at his book.

"Hi Switzerland." I came up to him, greeting him more formally.

"Ja?"

"Could I talk to your dad? My uncle?"

"Sure." He said flatly. "Wait a second. DAD!!" He hollered. A creak and a growl told me that Austria heard his son. "He's coming." He went back to reading.

"Why are you yelling?" Austria came out, fuming.

"Germany is here." The other replied, pointing in my direction, simultaneously flipping though his book and phone and desktop computer.  

"Oh, hello Germany!" Austria looked back at me, waving.

"Hallo Onkel," I said. "I wanted to come and ask you something."

"Of course." He smiled and signalled for me to follow. He stopped at the door to his pink walled room. "Oh, not here. Hmm, my storage or private office as you will." He led me to a little and cramped room filled wall to wall with stack and rows and folders of papers. Binders, multicoloured tabs, sticky notes, stock cards and staples. It looked like a hopeless mess, and it seemed that someone had tried to organise the mass of paper in the room with different cabinets and bookcases, but alas, no avail. In the middle of the small coop like room with the windows obscured by grounded up tree-stuff, stood a pathetic plastic desk, ones that you see at yard and food sales. A flat gunmetal grey fold-up chair stood next to it, also having a huge binder on it. He rummaged around and found another fold up chair for me to sit on. "Sorry for the atrocious and ghastly look of the room. It is storage, after all."

"It's fine." I was a little fidgety. The small clearing of the room with its small bare bulb unnerved me, and it was the kind of office style my own father had. Cramped, dark, secretive. Isolated, shifty, eerily quiet. Elusive, back end, designed to make you sweat. Austria swept away a bunch of folders on the floor, which clattered down in a flurry of paper, and put his arms on the desk. His silver watch clacked against the plastic desk like a dull thump. He gave me a tired smile.

"What did you want to talk about?"

"Onkel...did you ever....feel like you were judged by your father's actions?"

He looked at me in full understanding. "You think you are? In truth, yes, I was. As you may have  known, your grandfather and my father disappeared after the great war, swept off the face of the globe. What you may haven't known is that they came back. Only a few years ago, I found that they camped out in the Himalayan region, anonymous and unidentified." He paused for a moment, wiped his brow and continued. "I personally was definitely scrutinized and watched. Hungary....is another story. He fit back into society fine, as you see. He's only my half brother, really." He went on a different topic altogether. I let him go on for a bit. I was already told, so there wasn't a big shock. But I guessed to Austria, when he heard the news, was appalled beyond belief. "Are you being targeted, or something? I can always tell Britain. He should deal with this kind of issue. It's not appropriate to point out others' pasts, so much after the 'forgive and forget' speeches had been spread. especially in such a liberal school."

"It's not direct," I lied. The glares and whispers I was still getting were very direct, but I wasn't given outward threats. "It's always implicit. Nobody ever is direct. Some are afraid; others angry."