“It's been a couple months…” Germany sighed, pausing in front of the door to his father's office in the fairly small apartment he had, well, spent the last few years in. “I suppose it's time to clean this out and presume Vater dead.”

He placed a hand on the door knob, took a breath as he prepared himself for whatever he might find, and pulled the door open as the doorknob was turned.

Inside, it was apparent that his Vater had made use of all the space he could. The square room had a small desk and at least four filing cabinet units. All labeled something different.

This was a lot better than having a body in the office or even a collection of body parts from various species like Auschwitz had in his office.

How do I even remember that? Germany asked himself for the nth time. USSR told him he was 2 at the time WW2 ended, and when everyone fled he had been brought to the USSR with his siblings. Ubasyl hadn't made it.

Don't think about him. You didn't know him. Germany closed his eyes, trying to hold back tears. Ubasyl hadn't even gotten the chance to help. They had barely known each other.

After a moment, he opened his eyes and walked over to a shelf, and opened the cabinet.

Hours later, after looking at war reports, reports on the country, records of the actions of Reich's allies, Germany found two boxes filled with files behind Reich's desk.

One box had AUSCHWITZ-BIRKENAU written in Reich's hurried scrawl while the other had DACHAU written on it. No doubt these were reports. Reports on progress.

Germany sighed, and opened the box labeled DACHAU, wanting to get what was hopefully better out of the way.

Germany skimmed through file after file of patient reports, inwardly recoiling at the thought that someone, anyone, could in good faith do things like this to these people. To do such cruelty, it was unthinkable.

Only minutes later Germany had enough. He stood up, closed the file and set it back into the box it had come from. He wouldn’t even look at AUSCHWITZ-BIRKENAU, he didn’t want to know what draconian horrors were there.

While he was moving the boxes of files, he heard the buzzing of someone wishing to come into the apartment complex to visit someone. That’s… interesting.

He went to the front door and pressed the ‘answer’ button, and asked, “Hallo? Wer ist es?”

In response: “Hello, it's Russia. I'm wondering if I can talk with you?”

Russia? Germany blinked, before saying hesitantly, “Ja, sure.”

Minutes later, Russia was in a lengthy ramble about how America was insufferable and “please please come back home”. Along with a couple of “any signs of East?”

Once Russia stopped speaking, Germany started with his own spiel.

“You think I don't know that America is insufferable? I can't even go out and get a loaf of bread without having an American soldier breathing down my neck because I'm the son of a Nazi!”

Russia seemed to tense at the mention of Reich, though Germany chose to ignore that.

“And no! I can't come back. Not even to visit! Mutter wouldn't let me leave again! She's a control freak and you of all people should know that! Vater was right to leave her out in the snow when he grew tired of toying with her!”

Russia opened her mouth to speak, but Germany cut her off again.

“She may have moments where she doesn't think, but when she does she worries incessantly. I had to disable my phone line for a week just to get her to stop calling me to try and get me back! I don't want to go back to starving, not knowing when my next meal was. Not knowing whether it'd be good or not while she refused to get her stuff before everyone else because of ‘equality’ and ‘the morals of communism’ or whatever!

“And if there'd been a sign of my sister I'd've told people already! Hell, I'd've called you first because East looks up to you!”

Germany took a deep breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth. “I'm not going back. That hellhole isn't home. It never was. This is home.”

Russia closed her eyes, pursing her lips. She didn't open them until she spoke, “I can't promise the situation at home is any better, but at least then you don't have to deal with being around Americans and also don't have to deal with the evidence of your father.” She gestured to the abandoned boxes of files, where AUSCHWITZ-BIRKENAU was the only label fully visible.

“You're hurting yourself by keeping them around,” Russia said, her eyes glistening slightly when Germany looked back over to her.

“No. No I'm not,” Germany growled, clenching his fists. He didn't want to do this, but he also didn't want to throw Russia out. She was indoctrinated, sure, but she was family.

“And you can stay until you have a way to get out of here, because you aren't welcome here, Kommunistisch.”