Ramblings of a Dumbass

Weimar's "eh" Christmas

AN: There is kinda a lot of context semi needed for this chapter however I'm providing none cause this still works as stand-alone thing and also no one reads this anyways so :) also I'm not proud of this one much either since my end goal for it was unclear, my thoughts were really scattered and I wanted to add a lot of points/details but didn't since I wanted to just hurry up and finish this.

It was snowing out as Weimar made a small dinner with what he had, the busted up radio he owned playing music softly. The static sometimes was louder than the music but he still hummed softly along and laughed with the twins when they would grab his hands to make him dance with them. All was, for once, well and good. Their small apartment was warm for once, they had food and they had each other. He had money for once, he just didn't want to think about how his body had to ache and be torn apart for it.

He didn't want to think about the person that made a small Christmas even slightly possible this year. Was it wrong of him to not invite him? To accept the money and then lock the door? He thought so, he knew it was acceptable. He just couldn't shake the feeling of being dirty even if he scrubbed himself raw. And his spiraling thoughts about himself and morals and how long the small roast had to be in the oven were stopped by knocking. Knocking on his door? No one visited him, he didn't have many friends and surely his one friend, the USSR, wouldn't come all this way for a holiday he didn't care much for. The allies? His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach at the thought, it was Christmas and he had no money and they were here to ruin Christmas and-

"Weimar open the fucking door"

Oh.

Weimar glanced at the door and then at his kids reading on the floor. His body shook as he made his way to the door, hand missing the handle once, twice, damnit, a third time. The fourth try was a charm as he twisted the lock and opened the door. Face to face with his brother so soon after what had happened made him almost vomit.

"What do you want?" He asked, throat tight and voice dry. His usual politeness and delight at seeing his family was replaced with noticeable harshness and acidity lacing his words like a snake. His slightly rude tone caught his brother off guard, making him squint at Weimar for a moment.

"Merry Christmas to you too, brother," he said after taking a few seconds to recompose himself. It was odd and slightly off-putting to hear or see Weimar mad, and more so to have it directed at him. He took a step forward, intending to come inside the small apartment. Instead, Weimar closed the door a bit more, blocking whatever opening there was with his body. "You didn't answer my question," Weimar said.

"What the hell am I supposed to say? It's Christmas, you invite me every year. I just assumed you didn't have enough for a stamp this time." Reich placed his hand on the door in an attempt to open it, it had slipped his mind that Weimar was stronger than he looked. The door didn't open more than it was, Weimar looking more agitated by Reich the longer he stood there.

In a slightly wavering voice, Weimar said "Leave." The two stared at each other as the tension grew, Weimar looking ready to fight for the first time in a long time. Reich straightened his posture, indignant at being asked to leave, and to think he came all this way to visit his brother.

"Fine," he said as he shoved his hands into his coat pockets, "I'll go, don't ask me to come again"

"I won't, don't worry"

Reich was taken by surprise once again at Weimar's attitude, not liking it one bit. And to some degree it made sense, dealing with the allies was hard enough but two kids would definitely make sense for his sudden attitude change.

"I know we aren't close-"

"We're oceans apart emotionally"

"-but I worry a little Weimar, are things...okay?" And he made an attempt to reach out but drew his hand back when Weimar started laughing. It wasn't the warm and kind bubbly laugh from their early childhood or even the loud stressed and angry one from war. It was a soft chuckle that sounded strained and bitter and only a few seconds from screaming.

It wasn't a pleasant laugh, Reich had decided. And he stared with mild confusion and worry as Weimar laughed, as it got a little louder before it died down to just his chest heaving and he dropped his head into his hands, wings suddenly flaring up and out like a canopy and then furling around him as if to sympathetically offer comfort. Emotions were annoying little things that Reich wanted no part of, especially with ones so loud and intense as Weimar's. And when Weimar's head snapped back up, eyes narrowed and angry, well the message was clear. He pointed his finger at Reich, hand shaking as he growled with sharp teeth bared, "When I say leave, you fucking leave"

Reich raised his gloved hands up, admitting defeat for once and saying a soft "okay" as he took a step pack. Weimar's eye flicked down and softened for a moment at his hands, covered with well taken care of silk gloves that cost too much.

Money that could have fed his kids instead of keeping his brother's destructive hands warm.

The anger came back full force like a punch in the gut.

"Now leave, there isn't enough food for four," Weimar said, voice low.

The door slammed before Reich could give a response, the hardwood door glaring at him like it knew more then he did. He scoffed as he pulled out two small envelopes from inside his coat pocket and sliding them under the door.

"Merry fuckin' Christmas to you, Wei"