Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Translator Notes:

DeepL was primarily used to translate the majority of this piece of fiction, with edits to help make sense of the sentences that weren’t properly translated, along with some paraphrasings to help deliver the idea better in English. Huge thanks to author _Taiga_ (Ficbook, VK) and Kotan (Twitter, Instagram) for the help clarifying some of the Russian that did not translate well through the translator! 

This chapter will be periodically edited to add future translation notes, however I will still include the additions alongside the chapters they're relevant to.

As the original text is in Russian please assume that they are still speaking in Russian by default. They are in the Soviet Union's territory and thus speak the language. The dialogue is only directly translated to English for ease of reading.

I did keep some words untranslated, particularly names. For example, “ Sovok ” is another name for the Soviet Union. It is said that the nickname originated from "СОВетский ОКупант" (SOViet OCcupier - Sovok/Sovoc) from the Polish and the Baltic states. Though nowadays it is used to describe people (almost usually with a derogatory implication) whose lifestyle and mentality is still that of a citizen in the USSR.

Aside from names, some words are transliterated from Cyrillic to add to "emphasis" to the meaning.

Added some accessibility updates to this fic by using workskins for ease of reading translations, all of which are coded by Simbeline! I love how liberal ao3 is with formatting.

Edit 04/02/2025

For transparency, only the first four chapters have been done with heavy reliance on DeepL for translation. Since Sunstorm07's addition to the team, she diligently translates the story from Russian to English. 

Translation Team

Original Author and Consultant

WhiteWildTaiga

Translator

Costolomik (chapter 1-2)

Sunstorm07 (Chapter 4 onwards)

Beta Reader

SnowSecretsHere (Chapter 7 onwards)

Editor

FrootyTooty

Some Amazing Art of the Work:

Chapter Text

The German Reich glared angrily at the Soviet Union and proudly turned his head to the side in an indignant show of defiance. His arrogant posture looked even a little amusing, given that he was now sitting on the floor and his hands were chained together.

“ Fahr zur Hölle, Go to Hell! " said the German dismissively.

“Third, you are no longer in a position to set your terms," said USSR calmly.

The Russian sat in the chair opposite him with his hands clasped together.

How exactly he got to this point, even Reich himself couldn’t properly wrap his head around. After all, he had a plan, he had resources, he had an army. He had it all. And then it all went to hell. He lost the war; he signed a surrender. In a way, he even almost did so willingly. He had an opportunity to end it all, to escape the humiliation and shame—to put a bullet to his temple. And that would have been it. That would have been the end of it for him. But…

Damn him . Reich hoped he’d die in the most agonizing way. And so his time was lost…

The countries decided not to kill him— that would have been too lenient a punishment, as Sovok said. So instead, they just took everything from him: freedom, power, people, territory... sons. Deutschland would be fine, he should definitely be able to cope with the difficulties— Reich invested a lot of time raising him, tutoring him, at least something in his head should have remained. Exactly how the youngest of his sons would survive, however, even Third himself wasn’t sure. Most likely he would simply be turned into an obedient puppet, nothing but a puppy on a leash. Not even Deutschland would be able to help his newfound brother in any way; he simply would not be allowed to.

In fact, Reich was quite resigned to the fact that his youngest son was a dead man even before he was born. The aim of his "voluntary surrender" was entirely for the sake of Deutschland. As ironic as it is, if one dares to speculate on the purely theoretical, if one dares to suggest one simple yet out of this world notion… then it was only the Russian who could have protected him.

His youngest son's life was entirely in the hands of Soviet Union.

Reich forced himself to let go of his own pride so that at least one of his offspring would have a small chance at a future existence. At least a mere "existence". Third had no legal or moral right to ask for the “lives” of his sons. Especially from Sovok.

His excuse sounded rather sad and even implausible, considering the German's attitude towards his own son which could hardly be called "neutral-positive", but... After all, once upon a time, Reich became the "reich" only to save his people.  Leaving them to die like this now would mean that, despite all his words and actions, he really was the coward and weakling that everyone around him thought he was. And Third could never accept being regarded as such. Suicide would only confirm this.  

And burn in the flames of hell that fucking Russian who managed to plant such a thought into his mind.

And now here he sat in the personal territory of USSR. The same country he once tried to invade— the irony was indescribably funny. Third was even ready to laugh out loud.

Exactly how long it had been since his eventual defeat, Reich did not know. At first no one cared about him - he was rotting away somewhere in the cellars of the castle of Great Britain. No one told him the latest news, of course, but still the German knew of the death of Imperial Japan. She was a country strong and mighty that all other incarnations literally felt her disappearance. But other than that, Reich had no further knowledge of the current world situation.

A couple of times he was brought to general meetings of countries where, among other things, the question of what exactly to do with him was decided. Everyone unanimously refused to give him his power, his territory, and his men back. By then the remainder of his estate had already been entirely distributed among his sons and no one was going to divide the crumbs again.

Many wanted to execute him. It was at this point, however, that Sovok intervened; pointing out that such a punishment would have been too lenient for him. In the end, the German almost shot himself— death was for him a way out of shame and humiliation, not punishment. Great Britain, which, albeit implicitly, but rightly was considered not only the king of all Europe but also the most sadistic being in the world, agreed with the Russian. It was he who proposed the very idea that everyone eventually agreed to.

The Englishman knew exactly where to apply pressure to make sure it hurt.

In the end, the German was placed completely, with all his guts intact, at the absolute and unquestioning disposal of the Soviet Union. The Russian was given the right to do whatever he wanted with him. Absolutely everything.

In fact, Reich became his personal slave. Forever. Without the right to appeal against this "sentence" in any way. In fact, no one had any right to appeal against it at all— the decision was final and irrevocable. However, nobody wanted to admit, not even the arrogant jerk USA, this one fact: there was nothing worse than getting into the clutches of the furious Soviet Union. The German had wrought hell on Soviet soil; he had killed tens of millions of his own people. The Russian must hate him with all his soul. With this in mind, this meant that if anyone at all was capable of giving the German Reich a clean bill of remorse for all his crimes, it was the Union. There was also a purely political reason: Third became a kind of "pay-off" for the Allies from the USSR so that it would moderate its ardour and stop where the war had ended.

Union moved him to their personal territory but Reich did not know exactly where he was.

At first, the German was sure that Sovok would drag him to the very same house, which was somewhere on the outskirts of one of the many small towns of the Russian. That particular homestead was considered personal Union territory, and it was where he had once hosted Reich as a guest.

He was mistaken, however. It was some kind of small flat in a multi-storey, brick house. Third had no recollection of a building of this type, and the house itself was intact, unharmed and literally brand-new. Apparently, enough time had already passed since the end of the war for the Russian to start rebuilding his ruined territory.

The possibility that Union had trivially taken him somewhere beyond Moscow was ruled out for two reasons. The first was purely logical. After all, the German was a valuable prisoner, and even his narcissism did not play a role here - it was true. So he had to be kept "somewhere close by". Maybe not quite close, but at least nearby. The second reason was... "the coldness of the grave".

Even though Reich was now stripped of literally everything that made him a country in the first place, he was still not technically human. All incarnations of countries have this, shall we say, "ability" to sense their people from a distance.

Even the dead.

And there were plenty of dead Germans around. Third could literally feel it in his bones: the cold that had once killed his soldiers here during their conquest to the east in 1941 which now felt like a distant time ago. The logical conclusion was that he was not far from Moscow after all. Even though the word "near" took on an entirely different meaning within the scope of the territory of the eldest of the Soviets. In fact, it was... not as bad as Reich had first expected. He did feel his dead people, but for the most part they were “laid to rest”. Countries, after all, had long devised various funeral rites for a reason.

Some people were buried by their surviving comrades, they still did it then, trying to observe at least minimal traditions; some were buried by Soviet people, albeit without honour, but outbreaks of infection from corpses on their land were not needed by Russians either; some dead were burnt - also its own rite. Even so, there were still quite a few unaccustomed bodies, but overall, there were not that many. And there were hardly any corpses under the town itself. So,one could say their mere presence somewhere in the vicinity was "bearable". A chill ran down his spine as Third first stepped onto the ground, but the German only shuddered in surprise, nothing more.

“All right, let's get straight to the point," the Soviet Union spoke again. “I think you are well aware of your own situation, but I will reiterate the main points. First, you are mine. Completely and forever. I have every right to do with you absolutely everything that pops into my sick head and no one will say anything against me.”

“ Wie selbstkritisch du bist, “How self-critical.” " the German gritted his teeth.

“No one will stand up for you, protect you or pry you from my clutches," Sovok went on to say, completely ignoring his words. “Secondly, you're in our territory now. You can't run, hide, or use people here. Besides, I promise you, I'll never let you die. I'll drag you out of the afterlife if I have to. So be an obedient mutt and don't do anything stupid.

“Thirdly... I don't think it matters to you, but it's worth mentioning. The situation of your sons is rather precarious at the moment and, believe me when I say it, your obedience may not completely save their skins, but your disobedience may very well be enough to put them in a difficult situation as it is. Those are matters of "big politics", however, so as long as you're simply on our soil, as per the Europeans’ decision, you need not worry about that. You will not be able to influence it, either negatively or positively. Let's move on. I've been wondering exactly what to do with you in the end. You and I have an eternity ahead of us, unlike humans, not even old age can save you. Torture you endlessly and painfully until you go mad with pain? Tempting, to be sure, but what good would it do? I know you, Third. You're not a power-crazed, bloodthirsty psychopath, even if you've made yourself look like one so convincingly that the whole world bought into the lie.”

No matter how hard Reich tried to control himself, the last phrase still made him lightly clench his fingers. Union said it all calmly and monotonously, without any emotional colouring in his voice at all: he was simply stating the facts. As if those hundreds of thousands of people being burned alive in crematoria were not his.

“You knew exactly what you were doing. You did terrible things, but you did them in your right mind, fully aware of your own actions. All this means that torture won't break you. Kill you, yes, but not break you. You knew what you were doing, and you've always been absolutely certain you were right. No one can ever convince you otherwise. I can turn you into nothing, a pathetic parody of yourself. I could make you whimper in terror at the mere sight of me, I could make you crawl on your knees at my feet and make you snuggle into my arms like an obedient dog. I could make you bark on command and lick my boots like a real dog. However, that would all be... unsatisfying. I could destroy your mind, leaving only your body, but even that wouldn't make you feel remorse for what you've done. Which means it doesn't make sense. I won't waste my time on something that will never pay for itself, even if I enjoy the process. Leaving you to just rot away from boredom and idleness until the end of time is also quite tempting. Perhaps that's what would be the worst and most unbearable punishment for you. But this way you would be utterly useless. I have only agreed to all this in order to gain some new privileges in politics, but that doesn't mean I couldn't have taken them without your presence as well. So, the mere fact of your being in my clutches is of absolutely no benefit or use to me whatsoever. I don't like it. So, you and I are left with only one option that suits me completely. You will... help me relax. You'll be my own personal de-stressor .”

If during the whole monologue Reich behaved quite calmly and even arrogantly, the last words of the Russian involuntarily made him shudder.

“ Was... was willst du mit mirmachen, dummerKommunist? “What... what are you going to do with me, you stupid communist?” ” he hissed softly.

“Sleeping with you, of course.”

The Russian said it so calmly and nonchalantly that Reich literally felt everything inside him go cold with mute terror. His body instantly felt the phantom pain of remembering what it was like to be roughly grabbed by the thighs. It would have been better if it had just been torture. He'd rather have been made a 'dog'.

“And here's the big joke, Third," Union went on as if nothing had happened. “You of all people know that sex is flexible. It can give pleasure to both sides of the process, or it can only give pleasure to one side. It can give one person a sadistic pleasure and the other a miserable existence of agony and humiliation. And knowing your stubbornness and pride, I'm going to assume you'll choose the latter option. Well, that will be your choice. You can continue to deny your hopelessness for as long as you like. I won't convince you otherwise, but if I want to fuck you, I will. And I don't care how much or how loudly you resist. However, on the other hand, you and I may as well arrive at a mutually beneficial compromise: if you're obedient, docile and affectionate, I won't hurt you unnecessarily. Anyway, my condition is as simple as that: either you do all my orders voluntarily, then I won't torture you too much; or you do them by force anyway. You're all mine now, Third, don't forget that.” 

The Soviet Union rose from his seat and in a couple of wide steps approached the German almost closely, looming over him as an ominous shadow. Reich himself jumped to his feet, clanking his chains rather loudly and squaring his shoulders arrogantly - he had no intention of giving up so easily.

“From now on, the word 'disobedience' will be synonymous with 'pain'. In this regard, I'll give you a list of rules you need to follow right away.”

“ Fick dich "Fuck you!" !” In anger Reich even spat right in the face of his tormentor.

Union wiped his snout with the back of his palm perfectly calmly. His cold gaze slid down for some reason as he smeared the remaining saliva between his fingers.

“Oh, don't worry, that's exactly what I'm going to do to you," the USSR continued nonchalantly. “But a little later. And perhaps we could really start with the German language. I forbid you to speak it. Considering your passion for mindless chattering you can talk as much as you like, but only in Russian.”

“ Mistkerl "Bastard!" !” Reich hissed the word, looking directly into Union's single eye. He stood proudly, straight, as if to challenge him. The USSR merely nodded in response.

“Well, that's what I had to prove," he said calmly.

And in an instant, the Russian's fist flew with force straight into the German's jaw. The blow was so strong that Third, even deliberately expecting it, was not able to keep his balance and fell down with a BANG ! Entangled in the chains, Reich didn’t have time to brace himself and ended up hitting his head on the floor with all his might.

The German tried to keep himself from letting out a cry of pain, but a shaky exhale traitorously escaped his throat as Third tried to wrap his arms around the injured part of his body. Union began to pace back and forth unhurriedly in front of the body lying at his feet, nonchalantly clasping his hands in a lock behind his back. 

He continued to speak, but it was only after several long seconds of almost unbearable noise in his ears that Reich regained the ability to understand what he was saying.

“...not to leave this room without permission, not to peek through the windows and do other little nonsense…”

“ Als ob ich einen Scheiß tun wür–! "As if I'll do shi-!" " the German began to growl as a heavy boot flew into his stomach. “OW!”

This time he was unable to hold back a pained scream. Purely by the feel of it, it was as if with just one blow Sovok had managed to tear part of his liver inside him, and Third immediately shrank into a lump.

“I don't deny being a 'fucking sadist' and a 'sick prick', but still, even I'm not a complete beast. You can yell and be hysterical as much as you like - no one here will hear your screams and no one will see what you're about to turn into. Nobody but me and my eldest son. Unless, of course, you do your best to change it.”

“ Du bist selbst Güt.."How benevolent of you…” ." the next kick came in his face.

The German rolled over onto his back, shakily gripping the injured part of his body.

“Let's move on," Sovok continued nonchalantly. “You are forbidden to communicate in any way with other countries, including your sons, but as a gift from our merciful, ” the word was pronounced with an obvious sneer, “Tea Baron, you have the right for only one conversation with anyone. Except I'm not going to bother fulfilling that gift , so suck it up and forget it. If I speak to you, you have to respond immediately. You can't avoid pissing me off either way, so I’m not forbidding you. But if you do, I won't be responsible for you either.”

Reich was about to open his mouth to hiss out a retort when he was interrupted by another kick, again to the stomach. This time Reich cried out in real pain, and a small amount of blood flew from his mouth along with his voice. Apparently Sovok had really torn something in him.

“And lastly, I forbid you to touch yourself.”

Third breathed heavily, crouching and resting his forehead on the floor, trying to reduce the discomfort somehow. The meaning of the last phrase escaped his pain-clouded mind.

"T-touch?" Quietly and hoarsely, with difficulty, he interjected.

In Russian. Union grinned contentedly.

"Touch," he repeated good-naturedly. “To caress, Third. Jerk off. Masturbate.”

The German forced himself through force to open his eyes and look up, full of impotent rage.

“You would... think... there... is... someone..." he wheezed heavily.

“Have I changed that much?

“Asshole," Reich exhaled softly. “Moron... Fucking... Bastard...”

“You see, the Russian language also has quite a few swear words that help you express your emotions quite well. Don’t rush yourself, you'll have plenty of time to remember them all.”

“I thought you were going to fuck me, not lecture me!”

“Oh, that's right. Thanks for reminding me.”

Union grabbed him sharply by the collar of his clothes and with a rough pull forced him to his feet. The German's head was still dizzy from the impact on the floor, the sudden change of position in space caused him to clutch fearfully at the hand that had grabbed him. The Russian pressed his back against the wall, and when the confused Reich's knees buckled, unable to hold his own weight, Sovok shook him by the shoulders with force. After recovering a little, Third managed to keep himself upright.

“Be an obedient stooping bitch," Union said coldly, his eye glinting with an icy fire. “Open your mouth and kiss me.”

Reich protested, pushing his hands on Soviet’s broad chest, trying not to let him get any closer, and turned his head away. Then a huge palm gripped his hair and forcibly turned his face back to the Russian.

Sovok pressed against him in a wet kiss. Third clenched his teeth with all his might to keep the other’s tongue from rushing in. Union played with his lips for a while, nibbling them lightly, but then pulled away.

“Open your mouth," he repeated calmly.

“Fuck you."

“You like to make things complicated," the Russian sighed.

That palm of his that had previously been clutching the German's hair moved lower. Reich thought that Sovok would finger his jaw muscles to force him to open his mouth through the pain, but... no. The palm softly stroked his chin, as if in a semblance of affection, and then moved even lower, to his neck.

Before Third could fully comprehend exactly what was about to happen, the inhumanly strong fingers tightened and cut off his oxygen supply. Reich twitched reflexively, but he didn't want to amuse the Russian with his futile attempts to break free: he tried to hold on as long as possible. Only when his lungs began to burn with unbearable fire and his vision began to darken did the German lose his restraint and opened his teeth, wheezing in an involuntary attempt to draw a single breath. His legs buckled again, but he was prevented from slumping to the floor. Third clutched at his hand as hard as he could.

“L-let me go—" he wheezed desperately.

Union frowned slightly as a small trickle of saliva emerged from the corner of the German's slightly open lips. He wiped it off with his free palm and smeared the liquid all over Reich's cheek. Reich immediately tried to pull away, but he had no strength at all; the lack of oxygen was literally rendering him unconscious. Only then did the steel grip on his neck loosen.

Third inhaled frantically, and the next moment a demanding kiss washed over his open mouth. The worst part was that the German's body itself, purely reflexively, against his will, tried to take another breath - in the end it appeared as if Reich had deepened their 'kiss' himself. The other’s tongue instantly intertwined with his own, and Third gasped with a mixture of horror, disgust, and pain in his chest. The Russian still held him by the neck with one palm, while the other intercepted both of the German's wrists and clasped them behind his back. To hold his partner with just one hand was no problem at all for the USSR. Reich then tried to kick him. He kicked, aiming at the Union's knees, trying to crush his feet, but unlike the German, the Russian was wearing boots.

 Somehow, magically, he managed to wriggle out of the kiss and get away from Soviet, but not for long. The Russian let go of his neck, but grabbed his hair again, forcing him to pull his head up. Sovok waited, as if on purpose, for Reich to take another reflexive, convulsive breath, and again dug into his lips.

Third groaned desperately.

Not only was he in pain – he was almost twisting his own limbs in his futile attempts to break free – but the kiss was also indescribably nasty and disgusting. The other man's tongue took over his mouth as if it were his own, Union naturally sucking him in simply to the point of being obscenely deep. No longer knowing how else to escape the disgusting sensation, Reich  mustered what was remaining of his own instinct for self-preservation and clenched his jaws sharply. There was an instant metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

Union did not even flinch in surprise when his tongue was caught between his sharp teeth, but he immediately shoved the German against the wall with a swing. And when that didn't make him open his jaws, the Russian forcefully slammed Third so that he hit the back of his head against the hard surface. Again. And again.

After the fourth blow did Reich finally unclench his teeth - he almost lost consciousness. The Russian instantly pulled away from him, even letting him go. Unsupported, the German collapsed onto the floor.

“Fuck, that hurts," hissed USSR angrily.

Third did not see it but the Russian spat a pretty decent amount of blood, and with it a piece of flesh almost flew out of his mouth - the German almost bit off part of the other’s tongue. USSR winched slightly.

“You bite me again, I'll knock your teeth out," he promised sullenly.

“Don't you dare..." the German wheezed out from the floor. “Touch me...”

“How stubborn..." sighed the Union heavily. “I may have to force you to do it after all.”

Then, suddenly, the Russian stepped away from him - Reich immediately looked up, trying to work out what had gone through his mind.

Sovok returned to his chair, picked up the small suitcase he had brought with him from the floor, and opened it. The German was unable to see what was inside, and Union slammed the lid back as soon as he had recovered what he wanted. He pulled out a rather large... device. The thing was metal, obviously heavy, bulky, and in appearance was something like two bezels, one on the bottom and one on the top, which was connected at the sides by protruding deadbolts.

It took Third several seconds to figure out what it was, but when he did... his eyes widened involuntarily in barely concealed panic.

It was a gag. Only this particular design did not gag the prisoner, but on the contrary, forced him to open his jaw wide. What exactly Sovok was going to use it for was quite obvious - he wanted to fuck him in his mouth. Wanted to make him suck his dick. And denying the German the opportunity to bite his dick off before doing so was the most logical thing to do.

“Open your mouth, Third.”

“D-don't you d-don't..." the German's voice treacherously trembled, betraying his master's fear in his guts. “Don't you touch me! Don't you dare touch me! Y-You don't... you may not do this to me, Sovok, you may not !”

“What makes you think that?” Union even stopped halfway and raised one eyebrow in surprise, as if he were really curious.

“If you really wanted to fuck me, you would have done it that time!”

“Pfft," the Russian grinned crookedly. “You've got something to compare it to. The situation was completely different then.”

In fact, this phrase smashed his argument to smithereens, that time the situation was indeed completely different. Even Reich himself acknowledged this. The German had no more trump cards in his sleeve–not even this pathetic phrase he threw in a panic and without thinking at all. However, this did not change the fact that now the Russian was obviously going to fulfill his condition - he wanted to fuck him. It was not an empty threat or an attempt to intimidate, it was simply a statement of fact. And he had no way of avoiding it, not even by some miracle.

An absolutely hopeless situation. There was nothing he could do about it.

Reich clutched frantically and shook his head in denial – no, he would not beg for mercy, he would not! Not even Sovok, not even raping him, would make him beg for mercy again for another country! He won't!

“You know, Third..." came the cold voice of Union. “Something tells me you haven't quite understood my words right. In the completely literal sense of the sentence: all I want from you is an opportunity to 'blow off steam’, to 'relax'. I don't need your fucking pleas or repentance for mistakes, I don't need your apologies or an acknowledgement of betrayal and I don't need you in general, but that's how fate has turned out. Stick to your opinion for as long as you like, I don't give a shit about our past squabble. I am not going to ‘retrain’ you or ‘put you back on the right path’, although, yes, that is what the countries of Europe had in mind when they agreed to hand you over to me. At one point I did care about what you say but you have chosen your own path, so don't look for hidden or ulterior motives and don't make up silly excuses - I have already told you all my conditions. You follow my orders, you live your life normally. Resist... well, you can cry out in pain, your voice is pretty sweet, so I don't mind enjoying it.”

The cold and utterly unemotional voice with which the whole monologue, including the last phrase, was uttered, inadvertently caused a truly genuine panic.

“Fucking...”

“Sadist?” The Soviet Union grinned wryly. “I don't deny it. I'm also a 'sick asshole' and uniquely only for you, a 'fucking pervert'. So, open your mouth, Third," the Russian twisted the gag eloquently in his hands. “Or I'll make you.”

In spite of the almost animalistic terror within him, Reich squinted angrily.

“Well, try me, Sovok," he hissed softly. “Try. Make me.”

Union nodded perfectly calmly, accepting the answer, and then placed the metal device back on the chair to free his hands. Third tensed momentarily, preparing himself for a future scuffle.

“Well, that’s your choice," the Russian said in a cold voice.

The fight between them couldn't even be called a fight - Reich certainly managed to hit USSR several times with all his might before he could entrap him, but no harm was done by these pathetic attempts at resistance. Just one missed fist to the stomach and the German was bent in half, and Union instantly took advantage of the brief lull and began to wrap the chains around him. When Third came to his senses after a couple of moments and began to lash out again, his hands were already caught and shackled. The German continued to resist anyway, but there was nothing more he could do as the Russian twisted him and snapped the locks close.

USSR stepped back, looking at the result from afar. Reich looked as if he was hugging himself - he had been chained in such a way that Third was completely unable to move his arms in any way. All he could do now was wiggle his body like a caterpillar and kick his legs. Union had also tightened the chains: not excessively so that the German could still sit on the floor, but tight enough that it prevented him from falling.

Reich thrashed with all his might. He even had time to open his mouth, ready to attack Soviet with a barrage of profanities before...  abruptly slamming it back shut without uttering a word.

“Come on, Third, say something," Union's voice had a faint mocking tone to it now. “I'll listen to you carefully.”

The German snarled softly through his teeth in rage, but did not speak. The Russian picked up the gag again - it was only a matter of opening his mouth and the metal device would be inside.

“This is going to hurt," warned USSR.

Reich tried to put all his hatred into his gaze. The Russian only sighed in response. When Union stepped closer to him, Third involuntarily tried to crawl away, but quickly found his back against the wall; there was nowhere else to retreat. He tried to kick the Russian again but it was as if he hadn't even noticed the blow. Sovok deceptively and gently stroked his cheek with his huge palm - the German immediately clenched his lips to prevent the strong fingers from opening his jaw.

USSR glinted his eye coldly and nodded calmly, once again accepting his refusal. His hand moved lower, and almost affectionately caressed the German's restrained palm. Reich quickly realised exactly what was about to happen, but when Union gave him a questioning glance he only snorted arrogantly again.

Crunch!   came the nasty sound as Union snapped one of his fingers in one easy motion, without any effort.

Third twitched involuntarily, eyes widening desperately, but despite the pain he did not scream, only clenched his teeth even tighter.

CRRRUNCHHHH! went his other finger.

The German gasped shakily, his whole body shaking, but continued to clench his lips desperately.

Sovok gripped both of his broken fingers comfortably and twisted both at an unnatural angle with force. Reich clenched his teeth as hard as he could, but the USSR simply waited quietly, continuing to twist his fingers. In spite of his best efforts, Third could no longer handle it and cried out in agonising pain.

As soon as he opened his lips, the Russian without any ceremony shoved the gag directly into his mouth. In spite of the painful impact of his teeth against the metal rim of the device, the German instantly began to lash out and twitch. He desperately tried to twist, chaotically flailing every bound limb, trying to prevent the gag from being properly slid into place. But to cope with the force of a massive body of the Russian, he was simply not able to. In the end, Sovok still managed to catch the moment when the metal braces of the device were upright as it should and sharply tightened the bolts. The harder he tightened them, the wider the gag rims widened. At one point Reich even stopped lashing out because the tension had become too strong, he had already opened his mouth as wide as he could in principle do so, but the Russian still wouldn't stop. Soviet forcibly pulled his jaw apart to just the maximum width they were physically capable of - just a little more and he would have just broken his jaw as well.

Now Third could not close his teeth at all, not even a millimetre - the device was locked in one position firmly and very securely. Reich groaned loudly in pain he could no longer tolerate.

The scoop exhaled noisily, looking at him, and there was a distinct snarl in his voice, like that of a wild beast:

“So, Third, perhaps you’d consider pleasuring me yourself.”

The Russian placed his huge hands on his own belt and as if in mockery, gently stroked the buckle of his belt. Reich involuntarily stared directly at this very buckle. It was quite conspicuous, quite large, and it was also engraved with a vivid drawing of a golden hammer and sickle, the emblem of the USSR. But what was much worse was not the thing itself, but what was just below it - obvious and visible even through the fabric of his trousers... a boner.

The German shook his head in despair and pressed his back against the wall with all his might. He could not conceal his own panic any longer. Sovok cackled, seeing his reaction, it was obvious that he was fully turned on by the mere anticipation of what would happen next. The Russian himself began to undo his belt and fly. He did it slowly, deliberately, clearly mocking, savouring every moment of time, while the German Reich, sitting at his feet, shook with uncontrollable fear.

Despite the fact that the German's suffocating panic had already all but engulfed his consciousness, somehow Third just couldn't bring himself to close his eyes or trivially turn away from the picture unfolding before him. He was shaking, writhing desperately, frantically glancing around the room, but time and time again he involuntarily returned to the same place: Union's fingers. When he finally pulled his dick out of the captivity of his trousers... Reich gasped in horror.

The Russian's dignity was not just big, it was huge !

His cock had already begun to leak and ooze precum, but even this was clearly not its final size - it was not yet fully erect... The mere realisation that this would be thrust into him literally sent his soul to his heels, and his eyes involuntarily filled with tears of uncontrollable horror.

The German swallowed loudly, shuddering, and tried to crawl away even further, but only uselessly slid his feet across the floor; he had already pressed his back into the wall. The attempt to escape was halted by huge palms that squeezed his head with force. When he was forcibly pulled back, Reich could no longer hold back and still screamed:

“ Nye– !” His jaw was slammed open, making it impossible for him to pronounce the words properly. “ Nye nado! Nyeakkh– !!!” Before he could even finish the sentence, the foreign organ entered his mouth. 

Union, as if to try it out, pushed forward slightly a couple of times. Even despite the gag, the German's huge teeth still slightly grazed the skin of his equally large cock, but due to his inability to bite or move did not scratch his skin.

“Ohhh…” the Russian had delayed this long-awaited moment for so long that he couldn't even hold back that sigh. “How damn good the devil is…”

Third only mumbled desperately in response. When he tried to shout something, he involuntarily twitched his tongue and licked the head of his cock. The nasty taste of the other's slick instantly twisted his entire gut in a gagging spasm. Union grabbed his head comfortably and forcibly pulled it towards him, forcing the German to come on top of him. Reich tried in terror to either pull or crawl away, but Sovok’s steel grip prevented him from even turning his face away. Eventually, after another futile tug, his throat ached, and the Third, with a gasping cry, involuntarily ceased his efforts to break free.

“Only too small for me," came a mocking chuckle from overhead.

The Russian hadn't pushed his cock even halfway in, and it was already pressing against the wall of his throat. Sovok pulled away slightly, coming out almost to its full length, and then pushed back in, all the way in. Reich cried out with a stifled cry.

“Come on, Third, if you won't work with your tongue, at least loosen your throat.”

At the next thrust the German, though unwillingly, really tried to do as he was told - relaxed his muscles slightly and tried to swallow the foreign intrusion. After a couple more thrusts Sovok was able to get his cock into his throat almost completely, Reich still did not have his nose in his stomach, there was still distance, but he could no longer take it any deeper purely physically, even with the forced ‘assistance’.

Quite satisfied with the result, the Russian sharply increased the pace and began to really thrust into the other man's mouth.

Reich had no control over the frantic rhythm of the thrusts or their depth - the harder he tried to pull himself away, the deeper and more sharply he was drawn back. Sovok wasn't so much moving his hips on its own as he was using his hands to thrust his head onto his dick. The whole process was just insanely painful: his throat was torn apart by rough thrusts and his distended jaw was seized with a cramp. In addition, the Russian did not give him time to breathe, or even to swallow his saliva. And now he was drooling like a river, the unnaturally deep intrusions had an immediate gag reflex and his stomach was cramping up, but the German had managed to hold back full-blown vomiting so far. If he also turned inside out in front of Sovok, it would be the end of him.

At the start, Third managed to swallow with difficulty, but when Union increased the pace, he literally had no time to do so.

Every time the Russian pulled away slightly, Reich first tried to frantically draw air into his lungs, and the very next moment the cock in his mouth would cut off his oxygen supply again.

Not a minute later, the mixture of the sounds that reigned in the room from the quiet, guttural growl of the USSR, the clang of chains and the desperate moaning of the German was also joined by an eerily-quiet squelching after every thrust. Gasping for air, from pain and humiliation, Third, choking on his own drool, could no longer hold back and screamed loudly, hysterically.

Union closed his eyes slightly in pleasure and even exhaled in satisfaction - the German was finally starting to work his tongue for him. Even though he did it more accidentally than voluntarily, his tongue twitching on its own after each convulsive contraction of his throat muscles, but the Russian didn't care about that. The heat and rawness of the other's mouth made him dizzy. Sensing that his release was just around the corner, Union gripped Reich's head more comfortably and with the next thrust he thrust his own cock all the way to the base.

Third screamed in pain.

And in the next instant, he abruptly shivered. It was as if something inside him was torn apart.

The Russian loosened his grip, but did not let go. He pushed weakly a couple more times into what had now become such a compliant throat.

“Well, swallow," Union said with a frown.

And when the German did not react at all to his words, the Russian himself lifted Reich's head so that he could look into his cloudy, weeping and swollen eyes. Their gaze was completely blank and lifeless.

“ Blyat’ ,” Union cursed softly. “Seriously?”

He pulled away slightly, pulling his dick out of the other’s mouth, then dropped to the floor with one knee and threw his flaccid body over the other. A sharp palm strike on his back, between his shoulder blades, caused Reich to arch out, open his eyes wide, and... cough.

Union reached up, loosened the tension of the chains and thereby allowed the German to fall to the floor.

Third coughed out a loud, panting cough. He coughed and coughed, hacking from his lungs a mixture of his own saliva and the Russian's own cum. Occasionally he stopped, took a huge, desperate breath, and then continued to let out a horrible wheeze. At one point, the German shook, stomach lurching, and with a heave a huge clot of semi-viscous liquid spilled out of his open jaw - in the end he couldn’t keep his bile at bay. Only then did Reich collapse, exhausted, having only by some miracle managed to fall over slightly away from the resulting puddle, his violent coughing fit finally coming to a slow stop. His breathing became rapid and shaky, occasionally interrupted by short coughs, but overall he was feeling a bit relieved; at least now he could breathe almost normally.

Looking at the whole scene from above, Union growled softly, roughly and quickly jacking himself off. The orgasm really hit him in the head that the Russian’s stance faltered. He had to rest one hand against the wall to keep his balance.

Semen spurted at full force, spilling right onto the German who was curled up into a ball. The Russian exhaled, contented and relaxed: even though he couldn’t make Reich swallow his cum, he really hadn’t experienced such a pleasure for a long time.

“Good," the Soviet Union pronounced his verdict. “That'll do nicely.”

It took him almost a minute to come to his senses. It was only after this time that Union was able to remember his 'partner'. The German was lying on the floor utterly exhausted, he was moaning pitifully and quietly fiddling with his unruly fingers for the gag bindings but could not loosen them at all.

The Russian even tilted his head slightly, assessing his condition. No, there was no point in continuing today. Third would make it, of course, he was much stronger and more resilient than he looked, but why beat all the spirit out of him at once? It wouldn't be interesting at all.

Despite the weakness that plagued him, Reich still flinched, frightened, and tried to recoil when he felt a hand touch him. Sovok effortlessly prevented another escape attempt and wrapped his arms around the cowering German's shoulders. Then he pulled him up and forced him to sit upright. Third no longer had the energy to keep his back straight so the Russian leaned him against the wall.

Everything in front of Reich's eyes was floating, he had little understanding of what was happening and what was being done to him now. However, as soon as his huge palms rested on his neck, self-consciousness returned to him abruptly.

“ Aaahngg …” He mumbled in terror and shook his head frantically.

“Calm down," Union said coldly, sitting across from him on his lap. “I'll just take it off.”

He did start loosening the gag fasteners. He did so slowly. If he hurried, the other’s jaw would cramp if he was too stiff. But Reich's consciousness, clouded by pain and fatigue, could not appreciate this gesture of "mercy". As soon as the tension was relaxed enough, the German jerked sharply to the side, tearing himself from the metal captivity.

It was just as expected; his muscles cramped instantly. Not expecting such an abrupt and so violent outburst of pain, Third shrieked, the sound that came out of him could not be described otherwise, and collapsed to the floor.

“I told you to calm down!” Sovok threw in a slightly irritated tone.

He forcefully caught the struggling German, wrapped his arms around his face and began to press his cheeks and throat in a very palpable, massaging motion.

At first Reich fought desperately in his grip, but when his muscles relaxed under his warm hands, he collapsed and even almost groaned from the relief that washed over him.

Even though the Russian's actions had indeed reduced his pain, Third tried to shrug him off regardless. He shook his head weakly and tried to crawl away, but his exhausted body no longer responded to his brain's command. He had no strength left to even attempt a trivial kicking. Unable to land a meagre blow, Third, in a powerless rage, does the only thing he could still do - twist out from his grasp and clench his jaws on the Russian's fingers. Of course, he couldn't cause any serious injury after being overtaken by exhaustion, but the sharp, shark-like teeth still cut through the skin.

“Ouch." Union grimaced slightly. “Ah, you little shit.”

The Russian had no trouble freeing himself from the bite, but in doing so he was forced to yank his own hand from the other’s menacing jaws as the German refused to let him go until the very last second.

Droplets of blood splattered in all directions. Sovok squinted and glared coldly as he examined the dangling torn flaps of skin on his fingers, some of them still in Reich's mouth.

“I wanted to end our session on a more amiable note…" he sighed.

“I warned you, Third.”

The German grasped to recall exactly what he had been warned of. The Russian picked him up roughly again and set him down on the floor. One of Union’s palm slammed against his forehead, pinning his head to the wall with force.

“What... what are you…” Reich really didn't understand what else had gone through Union’s mind.

And then he remembered.

His eyes widened in horror as the Russian's heavy fist struck him squarely in the teeth.

Chapter Text

Part 2. Teeth.

Union knocked his teeth out in a long, painful and indescribably agonising manner. He took his time, deliberately aimed slowly, as if playing cat-and-mouse, and then, when the German himself stopped twitching and lashing out, he struck sharply. The Russian was clearly sparing no restraint, and literally after each blow Reich fell to the floor like a sack, even though his head was always held upright by the other’s palm. Sovok then forced him back to his original sitting position.

Union moved methodically and with purpose. He knocked out each tooth one by one, further prolonging an already prolonged torture. The Russian prevented him from gagging or choking, allowing him to spit out blood and bones that had already been knocked out. When the German was no longer able to do this on his own, Sovok began to shake him, and then personally pulled out the falling fragments of teeth from his slightly open lips.

It hurt like hell.

Reich broke down somewhere on the sixth or seventh tooth: he began to scream. Loudly, tearfully and eerily hoarse - the already damaged ligaments of his throat very quickly refused to work and snapped out of it completely.

In fact, the whole process probably didn't take very long, it was just that the German had lost track of time. Each outburst of new agony lasted indescribably long for him, and those brief minute breaks that Sovok gave him for a couple of convulsive sighs, on the contrary, seemed like mere miserable moments.

The number of splinters that had fallen from his mouth kept growing on the floor, and the Russian had no intention of stopping. The realisation that half of his thirty-two teeth had not yet been beaten out of his mouth was simply unbearable. Third lost all connection with the surrounding world at the tenth tooth, he simply collapsed as a helpless doll and no longer resisted.

To force him into some sort of more or less upright position, Union again suspended him in chains. Relatively low - the German could sit on the floor. This was only to prevent him from inadvertently drowning in his own blood.

When Reich woke up, he still did not understand anything from the infernal agony in his head and throat. He subconsciously waited for the next blow and the more minutes... or seconds... the German could not properly gauge the passage of time, but the more it passed, the more unbearable it became.

Stop it, stop it, stop it! Third begged, desperately, in his mind. Please, Sovok, stop it! Don't hit me, don't!

He fell back into the abyss of oblivion a couple of times but never managed to black out completely to the point of unconsciousness. Each time Reich shuddered, desperately shook his head and could not understand why, well, why the fuck, Sovok was so slow with the next blow?

In the end, the German could not withstand the suspense and with great difficulty forced himself to open his eyes, still sticky from the already dried moisture, and looked around. The Russian was not in the room. His armchair had been pushed to the farthest corner of the room, and the case he had brought with him had disappeared altogether. 

Sovok is gone. 

He's gone.

The torture was over. At least for today.

The realisation of this fact briefly brought the German a sense of relief and some kind of hysterical joy - for a moment he forgot himself and tried to smile.

The bright flash of pain before his eyes managed to sober him up.

At first Reich tried to groan, but it took only a little straining of his throat muscles for another flash to enter his head. The scratched, tattered and torn throat hurt even more than the battered jaw.

The German twitched desperately in his chains.

Only now did he realise that he was literally hanging in the air, leaning slightly forward. Sovok did not untie him, leaving him in the same position he was in - as if he were hugging himself. In fact, this particular method of restraint was one of the most humane, but with pain clouding his consciousness, he could not fully appreciate his consideration.

For the first few minutes Reich simply accepted his position and tried to relax. Any unnecessary movement was met with another flash of pain, so in order to at least reduce the unpleasant sensation, the German let himself limp, hanging from the chains. This did bring some relief.

But the longer he continued to hang in this position, the more his knees, on which he now sat, began to ache.

Third could change his posture slightly and lean back against the wall, but then he was hanging from the chains and his entire body weight rested on his restrained hands. All in all, this could have been tolerated, at least for a while, if not for the broken fingers. It was also at this point that Reich suddenly realised that swallowing was also unbearably painful. In the position he was in originally, the blood that was still escaping from his damaged gums flowed by itself from his ajar mouth and dripped onto the floor and clothes, but it hardly reached his throat.

Even in a semi-conscious state, the German was able to deduce that if he had been lying on the floor, even if on his side, the liquid would still have run down his throat and triggered a swallowing reflex. One could only wonder whether Sovok had left him in this position as a sign of mercy, or vice versa.

How much time had passed Reich did not know. It seemed to him like an eternity. His knees ached more and more with every passing minute, but he could not hang on his hands either. The saving darkness of unconsciousness still did not come to him. He wished he could pass out, fall asleep, whatever it took to forget himself. But the sobering pain of even the smallest movement prevented him from doing so.

He was roused from his half fainting state of delirium by a sharp slam of a door. The sound was rather quiet, muffled, coming from somewhere deep in the corridor of the flat, but in the ringing silence it seemed deafeningly loud. Like a gunshot.

The German flinched, frightened, but looked up at the doorway of the room anyway, full of anguish, despair and... hope. Two totally opposite feelings instantly surged in his mind. On the one hand, the fact of the Russian's return terrified him indescribably: tortured again, mocked again, pain again, again, again!

On the other hand... Soviet was done with him, right? He's gone, he took his tools with him! Maybe he's... he's had his, he's had his orgasm! What more does he want today? He said he'd only use him as an "de-stressor", not a punching bag...

The German no longer had the strength to resist, maybe if he did not lash out unnecessarily, Sovok would really , true to his word, not cause him any more pain?

He... he doesn't like to lie... if he said something, he always kept his part of the bargain... Never breaks it first... Right?

Right ?

Therefore, despite the conflicting emotions, somewhere in the depths of his subconscious, Third was beyond relieved that USSR didn’t leave him hanging here like this for a few more hours or even 24 hours. However, when the Russian appeared on the threshold of the room... Reich widened his eyes in horror and, disregarding the infernal pain in his whole body and on the fact that he was actually tied up, tried to crawl away as far as possible.

It wasn't Sovok standing there. It was his eldest son, RSFSR.

The Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic. With the incarnation of this country the German had... an extremely specific "relationship". Reich remembered him as a child. He visited Soviet quite often as a guest and occasionally had a chance to see the boy. It is likely that Third was the only one who saw any of the children of the USSR in person at all - for some reason, the Russian controlled absolutely all information about them. Many countries did not even know he had native, "True" children. Reich was one of those few exceptions.

Third did not know exactly how old this boy was, but comparing him to his own son, who was also developing unnaturally slow even for a "true" child, i.e. born of two parents, the German thought they were about the same age. Deutschland, unlike the RSFSR, was growing and changing, albeit slowly, but the Russian one was "stuck" in one incarnation for a long time and then jumped sharply to a more mature age.

Not that it is the norm, but such cases have occurred. Most likely the power and might of Sovok, purely because of his sheer size, involuntarily suppressed the development of his offspring, even if the Russian himself did not want it. Still, their personal territories were within their father's territory, and in the case of Russia they shared a capital with each other.

Reich himself had a similar problem - he constantly had to consciously restrain himself so as not to inadvertently crush his own child's will. This didn’t work as effectively; his temper was too short and explosive, so Deutschland grew rather slowly.

At one time, the Third introduced his son to this RSFSR - he believed that contact with another, equal in status and rights, country would be beneficial to the development of his intellect and analytical abilities.

Deutschland noted that Russia at the time behaved exactly as expected of someone his age - a child of about ten. Reich saw it himself, he had enough of those crumbs of information to come to a similar conclusion. Soviet’s little rascal was always cheerful, positive and literally glowing from within with warmth, light and insanely sincere kindness.

This last fact really surprised the German. Never had he encountered such pure and sincere kindness in the eyes of another country. To see something like this, especially in the son of Soviet Union himself, one of the coldest and the most impenetrable ice that ever existed, was something he had not at all expected.

The only thing that stood out from the general, almost perfect picture, was that the boy was suspiciously and clearly afraid of his own father - to the point he would always cast down his gaze, his hands trembling in nervousness. It wasn't surprising, though; half the world was afraid of Union; it wasn't unusual for him to be really bad at making contacts. All in all, this fact still did not change the point: before the war, Russia certainly looked and behaved like a child.

Consequently, he was also aware of himself at about the same age.

In 41, as he approached Moscow, Reich was fighting a fucking monster.

Union himself hardly ever appeared on the battlefield, rather he was busy with tactics, planning and, most importantly, navigating supplies. Soviet was better at handling multimillion-dollar crowds, he was literally made for this very purpose... His son, on the other hand, was given the role of controlling smaller, but pinpoint and narrowly focused processes.

The guy was working hard to slow down the progress of his blitzkrieg. Every time the Red Army clung to the last cartridge, to the last survivor, literally every inch of its land, every hill, every town, every street or house— it was Russia.

The mere presence of the incarnation of the country nearby turned the already fiercely resisting people into killing machines.

He was literally the embodiment of the very "Russian spirit" that invisibly hovered among all Soviet people and which the Germans cursed so much.

In general, a country's own presence on the battlefield was considered the most extreme option, and the fact that Sovok went for it, sending his own son literally to his death, spoke volumes. At least, that was what Reich thought at first.

It must have meant that the Russians had no resources left, no reserves left, hell, they even sent women en masse to war - that was nonsense! They had already lost a couple of million souls, they must have been desperate! Each violent death of each person causes pain in the body and soul of their country, and when there are so many of them, when they die in such large groups in such a short time...

All in all, logically speaking, it was very reasonable to assume such an outcome. Third knew what it was like when your people died en masse, he knew the pain of their despair. He'd had a hard time with it himself in his time - it was no surprise that a country with a child incarnate couldn't cope with such a strain.

Except then, in the interrogation chair, it was no longer a child sitting in front of him. The incarnation of the RSFSR’s face had changed and had matured so dramatically that he looked like a young man. He was certainly no longer a teenager, but he could not be called a grown man either.

How exactly this happened was difficult to say. At some point the Russians simply stopped retreating. They continued to fight and fight and they continued to die, but they stopped retreating.

They had nowhere else to go - there were not even hundreds, but literally dozens of kilometres to Moscow. That was when Russia found himself in an encirclement, through which his people could no longer break through. In fact, there was nobody to break through - they were almost all dead. They held their positions until the very end, and the boy had no chance to get his incarnation out of there - once the ring was closed, there was no way he could do it safely.

When Reich visited him in person, RSFSR looked simply awful. Not only had the men beaten him so badly that there was literally barely any life left in him, but they even grinded every bone in his arm to rubble. He had no strength to hold his back, rivulets of blood flowed from him, and bits of torn flesh peeled and fell off, but... but despite all this, he laughed hollowly when he saw the German.

Physical torture had no effect - the boy said nothing of his father's plans or other strategically important information. Mental torture was the only tactic left.

Actually, Third really didn't want to get into a blatant "Deflating" or something equally vile but effective - after all, the guy was the same age as his own son. The similarities were… too much. He was not Poland who the German hated with all his soul; Russia was, as of only a few months ago, literally a child. So, the German left this option for a very extreme case, if all else failed to bring any results at all. So he decided to start with... an ordinary conversation.

As funny as it sounded, it was one of the most effective ways of psychological pressure. The boy didn't keep his mouth shut, he started to answer him— if he hadn't been in this position now, Reich would have thought that the whole situation was amusing the hell out of him.

The hysterical laughter that came out of him from time to time was a clear indication that the guy's stamina had already cracked and he was about to break.

They talked for a long time and a lot.

At first Third thought he had everything under control, the situation completely in his hands. Of the two of them it was RSFSR who was exhausted and tied up, it was he who coughed hoarsely, spitting blood clots now and then, it was he who was surrounded by enemies and strangers to him, but... But the more time passed, the more often Reich noticed one involuntary thought in his mind: every time the heavy metal door behind his back slammed, it was he and not the boy who found himself locked in the same room with the beast.

Russia laughed, quite readily answered his questions about "nothing", they even managed to discuss the politics of major countries and the Union in particular. Third knew how to press the fanatics - find what they believe in, and then trample it down with facts and common sense. But it did not work with the Russian - he not only agreed with almost all negative arguments against his father, but even brought a couple of facts, which Reich did not know.

At some point the German realised that of the two of them he was the one being brainwashed. Russia kept talking and talking, not letting him get a word in, not even the pain made him shut up - the harder he was beaten, the louder he began to laugh. It was definitely not just hysterical laughter anymore, the guy was getting quite naturally high from the feeling of pain. The RSFSR agreed that he was a "fucking masochist", as if he really thought he was one himself. And even laughed again at the fact that Third only realised this now.

Once Russia had spoken about Deutschland.

He was speculating aloud about what positive qualities he had, and the potential skills he sported, how exactly he could solve such a problem or how he could answer such a question... How exactly he would have to crawl on his knees if he, the German Reich, were to lose the war.

It blew the German's mind.

However neutral-respectful and strictly businesslike Reich's relationship with his son was, Deutschland was still his son. And Third sincerely did not wish him ill. Quite the contrary, in a way - there was a reason why he promoted Nazism in its extreme form among his people and it was Deutschland who, sooner or later, was to inherit all its victories.

Oh, and Russia was well aware of that. The guy then asked him, what would happen if he, Reich, lost the war? What would happen to him? With his people? And, most importantly, what would happen to his son?

The answer to the second question was the most obvious - he would simply be killed. He had literally pissed off the whole world, this would not be forgiven. To piss them off even more so that they wouldn't let him die before his time would have to try very hard. After his death, the remaining people and territories would be fully at the disposal of Germany.

And then? What would happen next?

The RSFSR assumed that the fate of the Weimar Republic* would be repeated. He supported his statements with very logical arguments, and so skillfully, that Reich unwittingly began to listen to him.

Third realised that if he did not do something right away, it would be he who would go mad faster of the two of them. The only thing that really hurt the guy, and that the German was able to work out, was the strange but genuine affection for his family.

Talking and news about how badly his precious brothers in the occupied territories were doing now was the only thing that made the Russian at least briefly wipe the damn smile off his face. And the apotheosis of it all was the image of his father, the Soviet Union. The boy was devoted to him like a real dog - sincerely, devotedly... Therefore, the German decided to hit exactly on this sore point, on the most sacred and innermost. He believed that this would definitely force the RSFSR to surrender.

Reich told him that he had offered the Sovok an exchange: his son for some important generals-men of the German army who had been captured by the Russians. In fact, he wasn't even bluffing, he had actually sent the Soviets such an offer. The only lie was that the Union rejected the offer. That he left his own son to die here.

Oh dear, that moment was probably the sweetest and most satisfying moment since sawing off Poland. The smile finally slid off the boy's face. He was all droopy and literally shrunk before his eyes. This really broke him, knocked him down. A second later, however, Russia looked up at him with an eerily cold and unemotional look. Exactly the same bloody same as Sovok’s.

“Well, naturally," he said in a calm, icy voice. “You should have considered that, Fritz. Father would never have traded the life of one commander, whoever he was, for several generals.”

And then he smiled again, stretching his teeth into a shark's grin. And he laughed once more.

It was only then that Reich finally realised what exactly had been bothering him all of this time. The guy looked and behaved as if he was a... reflection in the mirror of the German himself.

In due time, Third spent a lot of time in front of the mirror. No, he didn't flaunt his own appearance, although he also devoted time to it — he was rehearsing.

This was how his smile-grin Улыбка-оскал - literal translation; it's a smile and an animal grin at the same time. came to be. Reich tried all sorts of variations on how best to behave in order to manipulate his interlocutor. How to keep the right posture to inspire respect, and how to change it to inspire terror. How to change your facial expression to look smug, how to be pompous, how to be confused, and how to be surprised... How to make sure no one took you seriously.

His shark grin was perceived by everyone as a rather silly game of publicity - which was exactly what he was counting on. No one, not even Britain himself, believed that he would have the strength, audacity and courage to justify another world war. No matter how much Sovok tried to reach out to the countries of Europe, no one took the German Reich seriously. Until it was too late.

And in just a miserable year, his trademark grin became associated not with pompous and defiant behavior, but with racial genocide, war, fire, a sea of blood and... death itself.

Reich rehearsed it for a long time in front of the mirror.

This smile was supposed to inspire terror, was supposed to make his opponents tremble with fear and beg for mercy. It was supposed to be the apotheosis of his rage and revenge for all those years of humiliation that Third had survived.

And it did.

As soon as his shark's teeth turned towards another country, they understood that this was their end. Reich was truly proud of the obtained result. Just one smile, and there was so much in it... Sovok was right when he said that he was just acting like a psychopath, obsessed with blood and desire for revenge. It wasn't insanity, at least not in the way everyone thought; it was a precise calculation, rehearsed thousands and thousands of times.

And then, in the 1941 Reich saw the very same grin facing him. It was as if he was looking in the mirror once again. There was only one small, but almost imperceptible difference: the RSFSR did`t pretend to be a monster distraught with endless agony– he really was one.

The German decided to move the incarnation of the boy further to the rear to deal with him in earnest - after all, they were only a short distance from the front line. It had almost stopped moving in the past month,  and this could be one of the reasons why Russia was so unwilling to give up.

That was his mistake.

A fatal one. As soon as the people untied him, the guy attacked them — apparently, he already thought of an escape plan a long time ago and all this time he was just waiting for the right opportunity. Even improperly fused bones did not prevent him from killing them. He could not pick up anything, nor fight with his fists, but his sharp, shark-like teeth were a potent weapon, he was irrepressible. He quite literally tore people who did not have time to react into pieces, like a wild beast.

His plan was simple and indescribably insane: RSFSR killed the guards, took a gun from one of them and shot himself in the head. Neither anyone nor Reich himself was quick enough to stop him.

The death of the physical body for the embodiment of the country doesn`t always mean final death, so Russia did`t die completely then — in his case, suicide was simply his opportunity to escape. Although formally the Wehrmacht had already occupied the territory, with swastika banners hanging everywhere and the Germans in charge of the remaining men, they were still too close to the front lines, and in fact the land still belonged to its original owner and not to Third. Reich simply thought that of the two possible candidates Sovok himself had more influence here, but apparently the division of land between him and his sons followed some other logic.

If the incarnation of the country died not on its own soil, it would have very little chance of recovery, and even if it did occur, it would be extremely slow. However, the idea, in any case, was unimaginably dangerous: Reich himself, at the time, would certainly not have dared to kill his own body so easily. It was too dangerous, too risky. However, after a couple of weeks Russia appeared again on the other side of the barricades as if nothing had happened, he was able to withstand even such a gamble.

Worse than the miscalculation that day was something else. Third did receive an official response from the Soviet Union to that very exchange offer. It was reading the message that had so distracted his attention that he unwittingly gave the guy the chance through which his incarnation had managed to slip.

To put it succinctly, Sovok told him to fuck off. He really did turn down his offer for an exchange.

The years of war that followed only intensified their already abnormal “relationship”. They met face-to-faсe quite often, killed each other's embodiments a couple of times, sometimes managed to exchange a few words, and sometimes... sometimes they sold each other cigars, passing by the hours - without a single shot fired - and other little things. If the German had to take a short break to, for example, haul the wounded from the battlefield, he had to negotiate or agree on this specifically with the RSFSR. Because he was the one who commanded the Soviet people on the front line. Obviously, in the war, the concept of "neutrality" on both sides, in fact, was almost equated to betrayal, but still, they almost always had the opportunity for mutual agreement. And Russia accepted an invitation to a dialogue, because he also had to think about his people and their lives.

This was not even close to mercy or humanity - it was a pure, mutually beneficial agreement. Reich could get his men to scrape together a couple of packets of cigarettes to give to a Russian (apparently, the Ivans' supplies were pretty bad) in exchange for an hour of ceasefire, and he really kept his end of the bargain. And then they would gnaw at each other's throats again, fighting to the last soldier for some conveniently-located cabin on a hill...

In the remaining wisps of his mind, the German still understood that if the son acted as such, his father must be even more terrible, but Sovok was always somewhere far away, behind the front lines. But the RSFSR was not only present right here right now, literally within firing distance, he still didn’t die, not even if that very shot did hit him. Russia was staggering, laughing, stretching his lips into a bloody grin, but never dying. The embodiments of countries are much more tenacious, stronger and more enduring than ordinary people, this is normal, but ... but what this guy was doing in the war was almost inconceivable. 

And the longer the war lasted, then more ordinary Germans began to sincerely, wholeheartedly, be terrified of outraged Russians, the embodiment of which was the RSFSR. Especially after it became obvious that of the two of them, it was the Reich that was losing, not the Soviets.… This feeling of fear has been transmitted to the Third himself.

When the Red Army crossed the border into Germany, the Reich involuntarily shook in terror, not at the very fact that he was now clearly losing, but because he knew full well that USSR would unleash THAT beast upon him, upon his men, upon his son. The inevitable, but still such a distant vengeance of Union could not be compared to the fear of realising what a monster, completely сonsumed by a thirst for blood and violence, whose onslaught was not stopped by a hole in the skull from a direct sniper's hit, might do…

So, Reich really had reason to fear the guy even more than his father because at the very least Sovok was a hunk of impenetrable ice; he would not blindly rush in any directions with sharply violent emotions, including both rage and anger, just for fun. But his son was a goddamn kamikaze who, without fear and doubt, rushed straight into bullets, just to get at least one ghostly possibility of victory from the clutches of the German.

The most dreadful thing was that he was able to achieve this.

Of course, as the commander-in-chief of his own army, Reich was well aware that without a competent supreme leadership, which was obviously Union himself, such tactics were doomed to failure, but ... but the USSR alone, without that tame monster, completely devoid of any instinct of self-preservation, also would not have managed what they had managed to do then …

“Long time no see, Fritz," smiled Russia, stretching his teeth into that grin. “You look awful!”

With silent horror Third literally froze. If even the typically unemotional Sovok decided to give him punishment in the form of violence, what could one expect from his personal killing machine?!

Not all Germans who were captured by the Russians betrayed their country, but those who fell into the clutches of the RSFSR personally… they told him everything. Absolutely everything.

Reich did not know what the guy was doing to them, but he did know that in their last days they were experiencing animalistic terror. In fact, such a source of information was highly inaccurate - humans, in principle, are rather weak and easy-going creatures, it is not that difficult to break their will.

However, the facts weren’t out of place, and Third simply couldn't ignore it.

Russia grinned wryly, noticing his reaction.

“Don't worry about it," he suddenly spoke in a completely sane voice. “It's not my job to 'hurt' you," he said, emphasising the word by gesturing his fingers with air quotes.

With a light, slightly bouncing stroll, RSFSR approached him, Reich trembled. Russia cast him a thoughtful glance and even tilted his head slightly to the side, as if he were contemplating something.

The scariest part was that the guy's eyes were exactly the same as his father's - blue pupils like the purest ice. Just as cold and completely unreadable. His gaze betrayed little of his emotions and thoughts, the Russian could hardly read his eyes at all. True, unlike the USSR, whose gaze was almost completely blank and dead most of the time, Russia seemed surprisingly alive against his background. But there was no trace of that naïve kindness and warm embers of infinite generosity as in his childhood.

“Anyway, here's the thing, Fritz…”

RSFSR reached out to him with his hands, which made the Reich shudder involuntarily and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. And a second later... there was a muffled sound of the clicking of locks.

“Father ordered me to look after you to keep you from dying,” Russia continued calmly. “So, get used to it — you will see my face much more often than you'd like to.”

The German opened his eyes and stared at the guy. He didn't free him entirely nor did he removed the shackles from his own wrists, only unfastened the chains; the German was able to fall to the floor, saving his knees from the weight of his own body, and was able to move his hands again.

“In short, I’m going to clean you up after father's visits: stop the bleeding, set your bones, stitch up wounds and all that stuff, so …” the guy crouched down in front of him. “Be nice, open your mouth.”

Had he phrased it any other way, the German might even have been able to get himself under control, but Russia said that and in almost exactly the same tone as Sovok... Reich recoiled from him in horror and did the opposite, shutting his mouth.

“I said open up,” RSFSR repeated a little irritably.

Third shook his head frantically in denial. He tried to turn away and to crawl, but only pushed himself harder against the wall.

“Damn it, Fritz, well, I don’t have time to mess with you!” the guy could not restrain himself and still raised his voice.

The loud shout made the German shrink into a lump and shake with undisguised panic.

“All right, you don't want to do this the easy way, I'll do it the bad way.”

The phrase sounded completely calm, cold , exactly the same fucking voice. And that only made it all the more frightening.

Reich could not stand the humiliation and shut his eyes in fright, terrified of what might happen. A couple of moments stretched for an eternity, and then he was... lightly flicked on the nose.

Quite weak, it doesn't hurt.

From the surprise, the German even opened his eyes and stared at the absolutely unpeturbed RSFSR.

“Listen, Gans**, I'm not my Father,” an address completely out of character of Union made him relax a little. “And I'm not here to hurt you.”

Reich let out a shaky breath. Russia sat down in front of him directly on the floor, sitting cross-legged. Now their eyes were approximately on the same level, which caused a phantom feeling of equality between them. The guy looked a little bit annoyed — he was betrayed by the nervous twitching of his fingers, but generally, for some reason, there was no obvious threat from him. On the contrary, he still patiently waited for his reaction, not trying to get his way by force.

Forgetting himself, Third swallowed desperately, and his throat again responded with unbearable pain.

“I'm not asking you to trust me or anything like that,” the calm voice of the RSFSR rang out. “I'm just laying out the facts for you: either you become obedient, soft as silk , then I’ll see what can be done with you and how to reduce your pain. I don't need to hurt you more than necessary. If it calms you down, then know: Father would be angry if I hurt you without his knowledge, and I don't need to throw him off balance once again.

“Or, you keep fighting and resisting, and then I'll just force your bones back to their place and leave. Or you won't let me help you at all, in any way, and then... Hmm, you've got to take my word on: Father absolutely wouldn't mind, if you jerk him off with crooked, incorrectly fused fingers next time. And there will be a next time. And you’ll still have to jerk him off. So come on, decide."

Such a calm and measured tone was rather dissonant juxtaposed to the “worst” option. Even the mere fact of the conversation did not suit him. Usually the guy always behaves quite carelessly, smiling constantly and making jokes. Even during the war he behaved exactly like that, during the breaks between breaks of his fucking-unkillable-creature-ohmygod-JUSTDIEALREADY mode. But now he looked surprisingly serious.

In a way that... that Russia was just indescribably, eerily similar to USSR.

This, to some extent, was even funny, because purely externally RSFSR had little in common with his father. Starting from the banal physique, which the guy had too bony, ending with too lively and active facial expressions. No, there was something elusively common between them, of course: if you put them next to each other and compare them, then anyone with practical confidence will confirm that they are close relatives. But still… Usually these two were complete opposites of each other, even if they had some common features. And now the guy looked at him just as seriously as the Union used to do, in that distant time, when they had actually been partners.

And Sovok himselfwith such a look made it clear one simple truth: "My words are not an empty sound; if I say so, I will do it." Without any "ifs", "onlys" and other tricks.” And he had indeed been remarkably consistent fulfilling his obligations, sometimes even pulling off the near impossible.

A simple, but capacious example: the last time USSR looked at him this way was after they divided Poland. At that time, he gloomily promised that "when someone tries to trespass on his territory, he will throw him out."  Then this threat looked quite ridiculous — the whole world already understood who exactly owns the strongest ground army in Europe, but ... But now it is Reich that is sitting humiliated and defeated out of the two of them.

So…the German breathes out despairingly and slo-o-owly opens his mouth. The remnants of broken pride in him screamed softly, but Third forced them to shut up; he was tired of the pain, really tired. He did not want to receive another portion of it more than he wanted to preserve a stubborn image in front of someone.

“Thank you,” the guy said absolutely seriously, but the next moment he suddenly grinned, and his voice abruptly became slightly cheerful and carefree. “Come on, open wider, I can't see anything!”

Russia reached out to him and forced him to open his jaws even wider with his hands. All in all, he really didn't try to push the bones apart more than their physical capacity, but he had to rest his fingers on the injured gums, so Reich still protested and even involuntarily tried to pull away, but RSFSR did not let him do so.

“Listen, Gans, I can’t promise that "it won’t hurt", because, sorry, it will,” he calmly explained. “Father prohibited spending too much medicine on you, so we’ll just have to make do with everything we have in our hands.

The German exhaled desperately, but stopped resisting. To his surprise, the phrasing and just the guy's speech was quite... well, the word “respectful” doesn't fit here, but still it was something closest to it. Russia not only bothered to explain his actions, but he did so as if he was not talking to his father's “pet” but to someone sensible.

RSFSR tilted his head from side to side several times, trying to see what was going on inside.

“Well…” he drawled. “Let's just say: it's not as bad as it seems. It's a little worse.”

Reich blinked with surprise – was that really a joke? However, he was not given time to realise whether this was true or not, because the guy lightly pressed his fingers on his aching gums. The German shuddered a little, he could feel them bleed again. The Russian paid no attention to this and continued to gently palpate his gums. The action caused considerable discomfort, but it was still noticeable that even if Russia was unceremonious, he was not going to deliberately injure him either.

Third eeven relaxed involuntarily, but in an unfortunate moment, he was pierced by a flash of sharp pain. He groaned.

“It’s a shard of tooth,” explained RSFSR. “Don't move, I'll pull it out right now.”

Reich even managed to groan in protest, but the guy paid no attention to it. He quickly, deftly, pulled out a pair of tweezers from somewhere, crawled into his mouth and with just one precise, sharp movement tore out a shard.

Third screamed loudly, but instantly shut up, because the ripped throat has also instantly echoed with unbearable pain. He twitched desperately, wrenching himself out of the other’s grip and slumped to the floor. His gums bled again and the thick liquid flooded his mouth almost instantly; at first the German tried to swallow it as a reflex, but...

Swallowing hurts, screaming hurts, moaning hurts too. How much more was enough, God damn it?! He was sick of it! Sick of it!

Reich whimpered desperately, exhausted, the blood dripping from his lips and onto the floor.

“All right, all right, that's enough," Russia lightly patted him on his shoulder. “Pull yourself together, Fritz.”

The Russian waited a few more seconds, giving him time to catch his breath. Then, without much force yet insistent, he wrapped his arms around the German, pulled him up quite gently and sat him back down. Reich looked up at him, his moist eyes filled with pain.

“Even if you give me kitty-cat eyes it won’t work.” Russia snorted. “Come on, Gans, the shards need to be pulled out, otherwise the inflammation will start later, and it will hurt you even more. Father, of course, will appreciate it, but then I'll have more work to do, so come on, pull yourself together. Open your mouth.”

Reich sobbed, he was weeping with helplessness and pain, tears welling up in his eyes by themselves against his will. But the German simply could not admit that the guy does have a point. 

Gathering his courage, he opened his trembling lips back. 

Russia nodded appreciatively and returned to his interrupted task.

“One more," he warned, before pulling out another splinter of tooth.

Third groaned wearily.

* The Weimar Republic is an informal name given by historians to Germany from 1919-1933.

 It is an “informal name” because from 1871 to as late as 1943 the country was officially called “Deutsches Reich,” in other words “German Empire” or “German Reich” (the German word Reich can also be translated as “state”). In 1943, the country was officially renamed the “Greater German Reich” and in 1945 it disintegrated into the German Democratic Republic (GDR) and the Federal Republic of Germany (FRG). After defeat in the First World War, a lot of obligations were imposed on Germany– it was made to pay huge reparations, hand and foot twisted by the Versailles contract, and also its industry was almost completely destroyed. In other words, the first decade of Weimar’s existence was a real hell on earth for her.

**Why "Gans"?

Russians might call Germans "Fritzy" or "Gansi". These nicknames were born during World War I when Russian soldiers realized that Fritz and Gans were the most common names among their German captives. In a similar way, Germans and other nations often call Russian “Ivans.”

So, that was the name Soviet army soldiers used to call all Germans. The German name Fritz became rather a nickname, but Gans was commonly used as a "standard name".

Translator’s Note: On the translation of Hans as “Gans”, the author specifically said that “in Russian, Rus/RSFSR is supposed to address the German directly with a VERY distinct "g" sound, even though it is correct to say "Hans". This is a historical tradition in the Russian language when borrowing some foreign word.” 

*** Insightful note: there is a "very subtle" (not really) allusion in the text to the story of Yakov Iosifovich Dzhugashvili - Stalin's eldest and native son. He was commander of one of the artillery batteries and in the first year of the war he was surrounded and then taken prisoner by the Germans. What actually happened there is not known - Yakov's name became a propaganda tool in the hands of the Germans, they claimed that he voluntarily surrendered, that he was against communism and his father's political movement, and that he is now living comfortably. However there are reports that he had never thought about cooperation with Germany, he did not make any concessions, he lived together with the other prisoners of war and worked in the galleys.

There is an unconfirmed myth, which arose from the words of Stalin's daughter, Svetlana Alliluyeva: the Germans offered an exchange - his son for some German army commander. Again it is difficult to say what really happened, but there is a known fact: there was no exchange that took place.

Yakov was shot in 1943: he took off abruptly, ran towards the barbed wire fence, and one of the guards was forced to open fire to kill him, preventing an attempt to escape from the camp. Given the utter impracticability of such a plan, it was probably literally suicide on his part.

Final Translator notes:

Sincerest thanks to Sunstorm, our newest addition to the translation team, for helping out with this chapter! She will be joining us for future chapter translations. 

Thank you everyone for patiently waiting. We're hoping the translation releases to be monthly and won't take the same amount of time it took to post this chapter))) 

Chapter Text

RSFSR pulled out all the fragments of his teeth, and then gave him to rinse his throat with some solution. Surprisingly, it didn't sting, though the foreign liquid itself bothered his aching gums again. But then he felt much better - his throat was no longer so sore. Swallowing was still painful, but overall it was tolerable.

When the guy stopped holding him, the enervated German slid to the floor, he was completely exhausted. However, when Reich was already on the very brink of consciousness, he suddenly felt himself being pulled up again.

"W-was...? w-what?" sluggishly, barely audible, he muttered in German. "W-wofür?What for?"

"I'm sorry, Fritz, but if Father left you hanging, it means he wants you to hang. Nothing personal."

The guy fixed the chains in the same position they were originally in. Third twitched in desperation before going limp in exhaustion, convinced once again that it was absolutely useless to struggle. He vaguely remembered how Russland, almost in a friendly way, tapped him on the shoulder and advised him to "hang in there" before leaving, and then the saving darkness of oblivion finally engulfed his exhausted consciousness...

How long he was hanging like that, Reich did not know, and simply couldn’t comprehend. At some point the voice of Russia rang out again from somewhere in the distance:

"Gans, drink."

Third couldn't even open his eyes, but when his lips felt the moisture, they opened slightly and took a weak sip.

"Well done. Sleep on for now."

When consciousness returned to him once more, the first thing the German realized was that he was lying down. Not sitting on his knees on the hard floor, chained to the wall, but lying down. Even on something relatively soft. 

Something strange was slightly pressing down on top of him and preventing him from moving, but he couldn't figure out what it was. 

He was also hardly cold at all. Well, maybe just a little... No, it was safe to say he wasn't. Come to think of it, he hadn't been so warm in the Russian land for a long, long time...

He was still not fully recovered, Reich only wrapped himself more tightly in something rough, but warm, and passed out again.

The next time he woke up, he was more or less clear-headed. At least, the German was able to figure out that he was awake. 

He felt much better: his throat and face were still slightly sore, but it was bearable. The broken fingers hurt more noticeably, but if he didn't deliberately disturb that limb, it felt more or less normal– the bones were fixed, so they didn't twitch on their own. The only thing that made him feel really noticeable discomfort was...his teeth. Or rather, their absence. 

Third snaked his tongue over his gums where they should have been, and found only emptiness. Not that the action turned out to be painful, just that his gut twisted in an extremely unpleasant feeling when his tongue couldn't find a natural barrier where it should be. Still, Sovok didn't knock out all of his teeth: mostly just the front ones. The very back and side ones, the ones that were not so sharp, but almost flat, chewing teeth, remained on both sides.

What an... ambivalent feeling. On the one hand, Reich with all his heart sincerely hated the Russian, on the other hand... The German realized that he did not lose all his teeth at the whim of Union. Either he felt sorry for him, or he simply found it too boring to bring the torture to an end when the victim stopped twitching. Most likely, the second. However, knowing the nature and manner of behavior of USSR, Third could say with clear certainty: if Sovok left them to him, it means that next time he will not hesitate to finish the job extracting all his teeth when he steps out of line again. The “punishment" had already happened, it could easily happen again, but there must be a reason for it. And if the German doesn't give one, there will be no "punishment," at least not in this form. The certainty of at least such a simple thought brought a certain peace of mind– complete ignorance is far more frightening.

After lying down for some more time and finally convinced that he was fully awake and could not go back to sleep, Reich decided to get up. As soon as he raised himself slightly, a small flash of pain pierced him again, he even groaned in shock and fell back down. His stomach ached, having received several hard blows during the Russian's visit. However, the second attempt to sit up had already succeeded– yes, the bruises hurt quite badly, but the German was able to endure it.

He was still in the same room, but lying on a hard mattress laid on the floor in one of the corners. There was no pillow, so his neck was uncomfortably stiff, but it was obviously better than sleeping on the floor or worse, hanging on chains. He wasn't covered by any blanket or anything like that, though the German certainly remembered wrapping himself in something warm in his half-awake state. A metal handcuff encircled one of his wrists and prevented him from moving freely, but Third was still able to stand up and even walk a little - the length of the chain allowed him to do so. So that was something to be tolerated.

But the next revelation for Reich turned out to be extremely unpleasant.

“Verdammte Scheiße, Russland!”Damn it, Russia!The German swore loudly. “Wo machst du meine Militäruniform?!”Where did you take my military uniform?!

His military greatcoat, his uniform, his personal clothing of his incarnation was gone!!!! Gone, removed and taken away! Instead, they dressed him in indescribably ugly, disgusting, philistine rags— a plain cloth shirt and trousers.

It was... it was simply unthinkable! Even the Englishman didn't tear off a part of his incarnation from him like that!

“Why are you making such a fuss?” The RSFSR appeared on the doorstep of the room.

”Was bedeutet es?!”What's that supposed to mean?! Reich exclaimed furiously.

Third jumped to his feet and even rushed towards the Russian, but his restrained hand did not let him go far and pulled him back with force. The German, who had not expected this, almost fell back to the floor, only barely managing to keep his balance.

“Father forbade you to speak German, Gans,” the Russian calmly reminded him.

”Scheiss drauf! Beantworte die Frage!” Screw this! Answer the question!

Reich pulled the chains again, convinced that it was useless to break free, and still he froze in the middle of the room. However, he did not take away the angry growl and the fierce fire in his eyes. Russia grinned meaningfully.

“I see your throat is all right now…” the guy drawled. “How's the arm?”

”Ignoriere mich nicht!”Don't you dare ignore me!

“I have fixed the bones, but I can't put a cast on,” the Russian continued to speak as if nothing had happened. “So be careful with them.”

The German choked with indignation - the guy was really ignoring him! Russland absolutely knows German, he understands what he is told, he just slip away the words! Third roared and yanked the chains with all his might in a rage. The loud crash managed to sober his mind at least a little. Forcefully clenching his whole fingers into fists, Reich literally spat out the following words:

“Where, scheisse, did you put my uniform?”

Russia grinned wryly.

“It was covered in blood, so I took it off,” he finally answered. “Father is annoyed by the sight of your military uniform, so you won't get it back.”

“I won't wear diese widerlichenthese ugly rags!”

“The clothes are new,” the guy said calmly. “You can do what you want, Fritz, you can sit completely naked– you won't be able to embarrass me with that, and Father will only be happy at the next visit. But if you rip these clothes, you can't get new ones just like that.”

“Pfft,” the German snorted. “What, for the sake of a seedy shirt, are you going to make me suck you off too? You're already a big boy, I bet you know how to play grown-up games, too!”

“Come now,” briefly grinned Russia, even so rude and straightforward construction of the phrase did not bother him at all. “Why so dramatic? I'll just see how long you can stand the night's cold.”

The phrase made Reich involuntarily freeze.

“It's still hot outside right now, but…” The guy broke into a shark grin. “Winter is coming. Believe me, Gans, I won't let you freeze to death, but you know perfectly well that of the twelve months of the year it's cold at night for at least nine of them…

“A feeble threat.” No matter how much the German's whole gut shrank, he tried not to show it.

He did know that perfectly well. Okay even in winter, that at least makes sense, but the Russians still have cold weather, even in May. In May!!! In spring, when Europe is almost unbearably hot! Autumn is scary even to think about– the air temperature was already below zero in November... It is possible for a person to sleep calmly and relatively comfortably on the street under the supposed thin blanket only at the temperature of about plus fifteen degrees. Ten degrees is almost unbearable frost, which, even if it does not kill, it starts to threaten one's health. And for the Russians it is about fifteen degrees during the DAY most of the year! Not at night, during the day!

“We'll just have to wait and see,” RSFSR shrugged his shoulders quite calmly.

He hardly noticed how much his words affected Reich, just that the guy was sure of what he was saying. He clearly knew exactly how to threaten or frighten the prisoner.

“Well, now that you’ve come to your senses, I have an important task for you!” The guy suddenly declared optimistically.

“What?” The German was bewildered by such a drastic turn of events, that even his recent rage evaporated quickly.

“I'll be right back, wait a bit.” RSFSR left the room.

Reich followed him with a perplexed look.

"A task?" Does the guy really think he can make him do anything?! It was both funny and... intriguing. What could Russland possibly have come up with that would sincerely suggest that he would do it?

With a brief smile, the German nevertheless forced himself to pull himself together. He turned back to the mattress as the only more or less clean and soft surface within reach, and sat down on it, waiting for the guy to return. He had no choice, anyway, he will have to at least just listen to him. Useless tantrums would do him no good, they would only embarrass him.

He didn't have to guess long– RSFSR returned in just a couple of minutes and placed a rather large... bucket on the floor in front of the German's confused gaze.

“What is it?” Reich hissed softly.

“Be kind, tidy up here,” the Russian voiced his 'task'.

“Tidy up?” Third looked around the absolutely empty room.

“Tidy up.” The guy nodded accordingly and pointed to the floor near the wall, under the chains.

Oh, that place was terribly filthy indeed. All the blood, saliva, and who-knows-what that had been spilled during the Sovok's visit had dried up, leaving a nasty, sticky crust. When he realized that the Russian wanted him to wash THIS out himself and by hand, Reich literally gasped with sincere indignation.

“What?” Snorted the guy, looking at his distended face. “I'm your ‘doctor’ not your ‘nurse.’ This room is yours from now on, and if you want to live in filth like a pig, then please, be my guest. If not,” the Russian lightly kicked the bucket with the toe of his boot, “here's your opportunity to maintain some modicum of pride in front of yourself.”

The German grimaced in undisguised disgust and even involuntarily moved away from the Russian.

“If you do not want to clean the floor, at least clean yourself up, you stink of blood and dirt,” Russia calmly reacted to his formal refusal to carry out the order. “Just in case I remind you: you are forbidden to do anything unreasonable, so do not make life difficult for both of us. If something is really unbearably urgent, you can call me, but if you start abusing the opportunity, I'll take offense with you."

Third blinked in confusion at the exact wording of the last sentence.

“You must abide by the rules Father has laid out for you. If you behave well, your life won't be as unbearable as it has been for the past few years…” The guy thoughtfully mussed the hair at the back of his head. “Mmm, I think I've said it all. All right, you get yourself settled in for now. I don't know when dad will have time to come visit you again, but for now you have a chance to breathe and get your bearings. Anyway, good luck!”

RSFSR lightly waved goodbye to him and left the room. Reich saw him off with a slight frown and a surprised look. Not only did the guy not force him to do the "task," but he left him alone and relatively free to move around. Before that, the German thought he had been untied and laid on a mattress only because he was wounded, but should he recover even slightly, he would be chained back to the wall. But no, from the looks of it, he has really been given this opportunity, and unless he gives an excuse himself, the Russians won't take it away either.

It was... so strange.

On the other hand, all this was of little use. "His room" was almost completely empty as it was, and the shackles hadn't been completely removed from his wrists-he was still chained to the wall and could only move within a couple of meters.

Reich looked around once more, and then involuntarily turned his attention back to the bucket the guy had left behind. Like he said, "at least clean yourself up," right?

The phrase was just indescribably... sneaky. The German, on the other hand, was obsessed with cleanliness and order. Up to perfectionism, to hysteria if something was wrong. Third himself admitted that he sometimes got too carried away, but he couldn't get rid of his peculiarity either.

Everything. Always. Must. Be. In Their Proper Place. Every little thing, every object or person. 

He was disgusted by dirt and even dust, he was literally obsessed with cleanliness and order so much that ... that Reich always did the cleaning in his own office himself. Of course, he had special people, but from the mere thought that some animal would touch his things or, God forbid, put a stack of folders at least a centimeter to the left… Ahem, in general, Third really did the cleaning in his office himself.

But even he never washed the floor on his own. That was... too low for him! He is the embodiment of a country, not... a janitor. These people should be crawling on their knees, wiping the floor with a damp and dirty rag!

The German unwittingly listened to the silence of the corridor— the Russian's footsteps had gone and his presence was no longer noticeable somewhere nearby. Apparently, he was really left here alone and there would be no continued supervision of him. After a while to clear his conscience, Third got up and approached the bucket.

The water was faintly rippling from the shaking and still hadn't calmed down, but even though it rippled, it gave a fine reflection. With nothing else to serve as a mirror, Reich knelt down beside it.

Out of the water, a pale human male was looking at him. The colours reflected was a bit off, distorted, but it was possible to discern that his skin had completely lost the red of his flag and had become white, like humans. Also, the pattern of the inverted swastika was gone. Even his hair had lost the coloring of the flag and was now a dark, almost black, chestnut color.

Not that Third specifically hid his natural hair color behind the "mask of the flag," he rathered to let it completely hide his real face. In a sense, it was much easier, but now his flag meant nothing, and it no longer carried any political, symbolic, or national meaning. His power was completely gone, and behind it the colors, the pattern, and everything else had disappeared. Now it's not even a "white" canvas, because even that color carried a specific meaning and meant surrender, but rather a "transparent" one. That's why the natural part of his physical embodiment became visible.

Well, at least he wasn't as gray as Russland. The young Russian also hid his real hair color behind the coloring of his red and blue flag, but the German saw him weak and emaciated, such that the guy could no longer maintain this "mask" on his face. In fact, with absolutely gray hair, the bloody shark's grin looked even more terrifying than Reich himself had in his best years...

The German shook his head, pushing the unpleasant thoughts away.

RSFSR treated him rather violently with the dilemma he was presented with: gather the remnants of his pride into a fist and just stop paying attention to this stupid bucket, or... or allow himself to give in a little. Just a little bit. Almost nothing.

"I'll just rinse my hair," Third decided.

He hadn't had a chance to wash himself in some way for ages. The people of Great Britain only poured ice-cold water over him, and that only when his appearance became absolutely unbearable. Well, before various meetings of the countries, and just before his body was handed over to USSR, he was still brought to a relatively digestible form. By chaining him directly to the bathroom and roughly wiping him with a rag, like furniture or some insane person...

“Br-r-r,” Reich shuddered when he remembered it.

The clothes he was given were clean, by the way. And his body was clean, too. That's strange. He was literally covered in his own blood. It smeared all over his face and was definitely dripping down, right onto his uniform. And suppose, well, his dirty clothes had been taken off, but there still had to be traces of dried blood, at least on his face.

However, there were none. There were only some strands of hair that were sticky, obviously not just from the months of dirt that had accumulated on him. What was it, then, that the RSFSR had so helpfully washed him off while he was out? The assumption sounds fanciful, but there were no other options besides it.

The water he was brought was crystal-clear, so why not wash off at least the main dirt while he had the chance? It wasn't even a "concession," the guy himself had given him the opportunity so lightly, it wasn't bending to someone else's will, it was just a gap in terms of conditions...

Reich nevertheless reached out with his palms to the water, but as soon as he touched the surface with his fingertips ... he abruptly withdrew his hands.

It was warm, it was warm! The water! It was warm! Not boiling, of course, but quite hot!

The German let out a shaky exhale and even glanced toward the door, involuntarily expecting that this was all just one big taunt. But no, Russia had really gone out of sight and clearly had no intention of returning anytime soon, giving him a relative freedom of action. It absolutely indicated that the guy didn't just thoughtlessly skip this flaw in the conditions, he actually gave him the opportunity to put himself in order.

Reich still couldn't resist and rinsed his own face. The mere fact of being able to do such a trifle already brought a sense of relief, and yet the water was so warm and pleasant... And it all came upon him so unexpectedly!

Truthfully, Third didn't expect Sovok to agree to this. But RSFSR would not have gone against his will, so he had to be doing this with Sovok's express permission, or at least approval. Then again, Third couldn't deny the possibility that the guy might have simply found a loophole and took the opportunity until Union gave an explicit order to do otherwise. 

Reich was still sure that USSR would not have ordered his son to literally "take care of him." Most likely he said something along the lines of: "Watch over the NemetsGerman so that he’s more or less normal". So, whatever the reason, it was still the guy's personal initiative. Therefore his words "I’ll take offense with you" were not just a randomly thrown phrase, but had a concrete meaning.

The German even winced slightly, but was forced to admit to himself that of the two evils he was still inclined to "give in a little". In a normal way, to fully scrape out of his own hair all the filth that had accumulated on him during his entire time in captivity, the German just wanted unbearably.

“Russland!” He called out loudly to the boy.

Russia reluctantly came into view after a couple of minutes. Obviously, he didn't like being called like a dog, but he didn't make it obvious.

“What?”

“At least give me the soap.”

The guy squinted a little.

“And the magic word?”

The phrase left the German absolute deadlock. He even blinked.

“W-what... ‘magical?’ I don’t get it.”

The guy, surprisingly, grinned rather good-naturedly.

“‘Please’, Fritz. The word is ‘please.’”

Reich was already quite frankly confused.

“Oh, is that a term?” he realized.

“Yeah. You're not the owner here, so be kind and talk accordingly.”

Third involuntarily winced. "Be kind." Russians use so much phrases or sarcasm in their speech that even nominally knowing this language, you can hardly understand what the hell they are saying to you.

“My o... my request still stands,” the German muttered irritably.

Russia grinned again, but didn't push the topic further. Without saying anything else, he left the room. He was gone for several minutes, and just as Reich thought he'd been ignored, no. The guy did come back. Besides bringing soap, he even brought him a big, soft, terrycloth towel.

“When you're done, leave them by the door somewhere. I'll take them out later.”

In response, the German only snorted in irritation, but did not snap back. Russia did not stand above his soul, but simply walked away again, leaving him alone again. Washing his own hair, kneeling and bent over, with just one hand was extremely uncomfortable, but bothering his broken fingers with the other, Third rather he didn't. When he did manage to thoroughly scrape all the dirt from his clumped strands, Reich couldn't even hold back a quiet sigh of relief.

Such a trifle, it would seem, but how much positive emotions the most ordinary feeling of at least relative cleanliness brings! He had been deprived of even such a trivial thing for ages...

His mood even improved dramatically.

And then it faded back when the German accidentally glanced down at the dirty floor. A simple question flashed through his mind, no matter how hard the German tried to ignore it. Which was worse: forcing himself to tolerate the disgust for ten minutes or continuing to exist side by side with the discomfort all the time? The answer was all too obvious.

Russland should go and die, once again angling the question in such a way that he couldn't find a reason to refuse doing so.

***

“How is the nemetsGerman?” the Union asked coldly.

“Oh, I examined him,” Russia replied instantly. “All his fingers, toes, hands and at least five ribs were broken, his lungs were most likely damaged, and there were signs of beatings and numerous lacerations. Everything had completely healed before he came to us.”

“Anything interesting?”

“A huge scar on his stomach, but I think it has remained since the time of the 'vivisection'. And there were signs of rape, too. Most likely from before…” the guy hesitated for a moment, as if embarrassed, “Before the Deflation. They'd been beating him up for a relatively long time, and everything that could have already healed."

“Well, what can I say,” Union shrugged indifferently. “Unoriginal, but effective. The Englishman knows where to hit the most painfully, especially in Reich’s case…”

“Father, if you bring him to that state just one more t…”

"You don't have to remind me!" USSR cut him off with an irritated bark. 

The man took a deep drag on his cigar, exhaled a cloud of smoke and continued speaking again in a calm voice:

"I'm not going to Deflate him.”

The fact that Third still managed to regain his composure can already be considered almost a miracle. But the "flag" has already come off him completely, which means that he is already teetering at the very edge. Now he's more like a weak and fragile person than an embodiment of a country.

“After all, we are not…” Union grinned wryly, “complete beasts.”

The guy grinned, too, appreciating the irony. After all, that was the word the Germans, the English, and the Americans used to describe the Russians in one voice.

Chapter Text

Part 4. Boring Weekdays.

The days of his existence were extremely monotonous and boring. The room he was in was not very large, but it could neither be called very small - four metres wide and five metres long. The private office of Reich himself, where he spent most of his life, was about the same size. Just because of the complete lack of furniture, wallpaper or anything else, this room seemed very tiny. All that there was a lonely armchair in the farthest corner, which the German could not reach; heavy curtains on the windows that blocked the view of the street. And that was it, nothing more. Except, perhaps, chains.

The construction, in fact, was quite curious. Having nothing to do, Third examined and felt literally every centimetre of it.

Both chains and shackles were cold and metallic, but they were made of some strange alloy. Quite light and smooth alloy. Usually, handcuffs are almost the main part of all kinds of torture— they deprive a person of the ability to move his hands normally, and the limbs become numb. And the heavier the shackles, the faster and more unbearable the final result becomes.

Of course, the handcuffs were not comfortable at all, but everything could clearly be much worse— they almost didn’t rub the skin.

Moreover, the most curious thing was not even the shackles, but the chains themselves. They were attached directly to the wall, in several places. Apparently, it was all one continuous and long chain, not several separate ones. Each "fastener" allowed both the individual links to be fixed one at a time and could simply serve as a "holder" so that the chain would slide freely but be fixed at a certain height. In addition to the shackles themselves, which were supposed to be worn on the wrists, similar locks hung literally along the entire length of the structure, at different distances. Obviously, they were intended for additional twisting around the prisoner so that he could not move. In addition, exactly the same "fasteners" as on the wall were also located on the ceiling and on the floor. Taken together, all this made it possible to twist the prisoner literally into absolutely any position, at any height, including complete hanging in the air, and even fix him in it tightly, without the ability to move. In other words, it was all quite entertaining. And also, separate locks on the chain made it possible to adjust the length and, accordingly, the available radius for moving the prisoner. Measure by eye, Reich noticed that there were at least three main, available options. The first implied almost complete binding to the wall: the chains remained about a metre in length, so it was possible to move a couple of steps, but no further. The second, on which the German was now fixed, gave a little more space. Third could even stand up and walk from one corner of the room to the other, and he could also reach the window sill, but he could not approach it normally. The latter option would allow the German to walk right up to the door from the room and also to the window, but he could not reach the farthest opposite end even that way.

The worst thing about his situation was that he had absolutely nothing to do. Literally. All he could do was walk a little, sit, lie down, scratch the wall out of boredom, once again making sure that nothing would fall off from it, and count the cracks on the ceiling. Nothing else.

And if Reich just slept with a clear conscience for the next couple of days; on the third, he felt and examined literally every centimetre of the space available to him and was fully convinced that he would not be able to break or damage either chains or locks in any way; then on the fourth day, the German already quite clearly felt simply unbearable boredom.

He couldn't even really sleep anymore - the body almost completely recovered from the stress experienced and simply refused to pass out. If at first he almost howled like a wolf from the pain that tormented him, which did not allow him to fall asleep, now Reich could not fall asleep purely because he no longer wanted to sleep.

The embodiments of countries are much more resilient and stronger than ordinary people. In other words, normally, countries usually do not sleep literally for days, and this is absolutely normal for them. They do need to sleep themselves, but for vigor and full recuperation, they do so for a couple of hours a day. And if countries also optimize their own regimen a little and rest, say, for fifteen minutes every three hours, then they can stay awake for weeks almost without consequences.

Of course, everything is individual and depends on physical and, most importantly, mental exertion, but on average it was about that. Most countries perceive the very concept of "sleep" only as an annoying and terribly disturbing feature of physical embodiment from which there is no escape. Spending two or three whole hours just lying around when you have a lot of work to do and absolutely no time for literally anything is the most annoying thing.

The German had long noticed that he had become unnaturally prone to falling asleep more often, but there was an absolutely logical explanation for this— what else was he supposed to do? Time dragged on infinitely slowly, and the only available way to pass it was to sleep for days on end. Even though for the most part he was not quite asleep, but rather dozing off— he was somewhere in the middle between dream and reality. But if he did fall into the darkness of oblivion... Reich woke up with an almost unbearable pain in his chest from lack of oxygen and a wildly beating heart.

Actually, Third expected that Sovok would torment him, if not every day, then at least "quite often," but no. It had been two weeks since his visit, maybe even more— the German did not know how long he had been out, and the Russian had never returned.

But Russland came very often— Reich heard the front door to the apartment open and close, so he could know when he was completely alone here, and when Sovok`s little rascal was somewhere nearby. The guy did not come to his room every time, but, it seemed, at least once a day, he still peeked: making sure that everything was in order and checking how the injuries healed.

The RSFSR never showed him a drop of aggression, even when Third refused to be examined. However, there was absolutely no question of any feigned friendliness or anything like that either— even if Russia never injured him, he never stood on ceremony. If the guy came to examine his fracture, then he would examine him, and it didn’t matter if he would have to twist the German into an extremely uncomfortable position. However, the Russian didn’t cause him unnecessary pain and never left him bound, even if the German, in an attempt to resist, or managed to kick or hit him with all his might.

Also, as soon as the guy appeared, the phone started ringing somewhere in the back of the apartment every now and then. Reich could not hear the conversations, but it was quite obvious that Russland worked here — apparently, his personal office was located in one of the rooms. No, Third, of course, assumed that he would keep it "nearby", but not this close!

The constant noise annoyed him terribly— not only is he dying of boredom here, but also this endless ringing hits right on the ears! The German understood that in fact the sound was not so loud, it was just his consciousness, going crazy from constant silence, that clung so strongly to literally any source of noise.

Great Britain also stressed him in this way: when you're sitting on a cold floor and somewhere in the distance you keep hearing a rhythmic sound: drip, drip, drip, drip, as if the drops are hitting you right on the brain - it was just unbearable.

The Russians did not treat him so cruelly: yes, the noise of the phone in this situation infuriated as much, but in general there was no absolute silence, as underground. Reich could hear some noise from the street: the sound of passing cars, the distant echo of voices, the howling of particularly strong gusts of wind and other small sounds of human life. He could not make out anything concrete, but still he had at least some kind of reference point for determining the passage of time.

Third did not know how long he had been a prisoner, but, considering all the factors of his confinement, it seemed to him that an eternity had passed - maybe twenty years, or even more... He understood that it was not so, but he couldn’t get rid of such an impression either. The constant darkness, the absolute silence, and the total absence of any events at all drove him mad. In the Englishman's confinement, Reich couldn't even tell if it was morning or evening, if it was already tomorrow or if only five minutes had passed since he had last awakened.

But here he could.

Even though the window was curtained with heavy and thick curtains, the lighting from the street penetrated the room. The German could at least say that it was daytime. And when he fell asleep for the last time, it was still dark, which means that several hours have passed since then. After an eternity in hell, even such a banal thing as the usual awareness of the passage of time was like a blessing to him.

In fact, it was even a little amusing: from Sovok's side, the decision to lock him up here, in these very conditions, seemed rather strange. Too... Merciful. Third had no useless hopes: he was well aware that the Russians also know how to torture— German soldiers who were captured did not just give up all the information they knew... Therefore, this decision was a kind of bribe for him: they say, look— we are not beasts. If you behave well, your imprisonment will not be as unbearable as being with the InselaffeEnglishman. All you have to do is to get your ass handed to you voluntarily and live the life of a bedwarmer.

During the next check Russland asked him:

“Want some tea, Fritz?”

Reich snorted irritably.

“Are you going to mock me after all?”

If he spoke German, the guy just completely ignored it, so that only Russian speech could provide any variety in the endless monotonous weekdays. If at first Third was still strong, then as the days went by it became harder and harder to do so. Russia did not insult or mock him, and he had not had anything like a "normal conversation" for a long time.

It wasn't that the German wanted to talk nonsense with someone, but it was hard enough to keep silent for months on end, and to talk out loud to himself... no. He hadn't broken down yet, he hadn't lost his mind.

“How come?” RSFSR raised one eyebrow in surprise. “It's just that I'm going to brew one now, but I'll probably forget to drink the whole pot myself... It's a pity to just pour it down the sink like that. I can give some to you.”

“I'll manage," Reich grumbled irritably.

Even though he felt a slight feeling of hunger, but for all the time that had passed, it had become almost habitual. Countries, unlike people, do not need food to maintain the normal functioning of the body, so the German was not going to roll down to requests to feed or water him at all.

“Well, it's up to me to offer,” Russia calmly shrugged his shoulders. “Well, let's see if your fingers have healed.”

The guy finally unwound the fixing bandage and freed the limbs from immobile captivity. Third experimentally moved them, squeezed and unclenched — in general, they really almost didn't hurt and even obeyed him normally.

“I still don't recommend that you strain them too much, but I think nothing terrible will happen. I thought it would be worse, but you can be proud of yourself, Gans, you're still a tenacious creature.”

“You’re one to talk,” the German snapped.

How long did the bones grow together, almost a month, right? That was indescribably long! Previously, such injuries completely healed within hours, not weeks! Reich understood that now he was really more of an ordinary person than the embodiment of the country, but such a clear and noticeable change truly... frightened him.

Humans have... they... they have terrible regeneration in general, don't they? They can't regrow bones or lost limbs, they can't even survive the loss of a single litre of blood with great difficulty! Humans are just indescribably weak and pathetic creatures!

Third involuntarily ran his tongue over his gums - he still could not get used to this unpleasant feeling of unnatural emptiness.

“My teeth…” No matter how hard Reich tried to maintain a sullen calm and equanimity, his voice trembled for a moment. “They're not going to grow back, are they?”

It used to be possible, but now... people don't recover their teeth. The guy looked at him with a completely unreadable look in his eyes that didn't contain the banal pity or even the logical gloating that the situation demanded.

“Do I need to be honest or tell the truth?” Russia grinned.

The German was taken aback, blinked in surprise, and did not even know what to answer. However, the guy did not expect an answer.

“Most likely, not,” he said. “Maybe if we put the teeth back in, they could grow back, but... No, you could ask Father for permission, of course…”

Reich did not even listen to the end of the sentence, snorted angrily and turned away.

“Well, that's what I thought.” Russia nodded.

The guy collected all the garbage left after removing the bandage and got up, preparing to leave.

“And close the door!” Third barked loudly after him. “I hate your fucking phone!”

RSFSR looked at him with an absolutely unreadable look, shrugged carelessly and really closed the door behind him when he left the room. Reich even squinted in surprise in that direction. He had to strain his ears to hear the muffled, retreating footsteps, but the guy really just left. He quite calmly fulfilled this request of his. Just like that, for nothing. It didn't actually save him from the loud twittering completely, but at least the German stopped waking up from it every time. And when he was awake, the ringing didn't bother him as much.

In general, for all the time that had passed, he had the opportunity to properly consider the youngest of the Russians. During the war, he wore a heavy, long, officer's overcoat, similar to his father's, but now an ordinary jacket has taken its place. It was also quite long, just below the waist, but it was exactly a jacket, and definitely of the "philistine type", not military. It had a hood with fur, which, obviously, had once been white and fluffy, but now was grey with dirt and rolled away.

It was pretty weird.

The appearance of a country depends to a great extent on how well or poorly things are going in its territory. Of course, there are some tricks of deception and disguise, but in general one can always tell quite a lot from the appearance.

The most obvious thing that caught Reich`s eye was that Russland was as thin as a skeleton. Quite literally: his skin seemed to be stretched right over his bones. He was also slightly "faded": his skin was painted in the colours of the flag, as it should be, but they were slightly pale and muted. In general, this could indicate many things, but given his thinness, the most obvious possibility was mass starvation among his people.*

In fact, RSFSR looked just as bad during the war, but then it was logical... How much time has passed? Obviously, a couple of years for sure! During such a period, they could recover to a more or less normal state. In addition, USSR himself looked absolutely healthy, although, in theory, it should be worse off than his children – as he would’ve taken on some of the difficulties of all the children in his composition. At the very end of the war, even Union himself looked rather shabby, even if it was impossible to call his appearance "pathetic".

So, why was Russia still suffering from anorexia? If it wasn’t about people's hunger, then what was it? The economy? The lands of RSFSR were the largest in the composition of the Soviets, most of the productive and food power, in theory, should be in it. And again, Union looks absolutely normal and still massive; no, things were going more or less normally here, too.

Maybe Russland was just struggling to maintain its "stability" for some reason? But he was also the eldest of the "true", native offsprings of Sovok, he had to be extremely stable by default! In theory, he really was, he was able to withstand even the war, and right in its front line, in close proximity to the massive, painful, deaths of his people, and this was an extremely significant indicator.

There was also the option that all these things were present a little bit, but all together and at the same time, and therefore gave such an effect... But Reich could not be entirely sure.

However, whatever the reason or causes, the appearance of RSFSR clearly left much to be desired. His clothes were shabby, worn and ragged, they were all rather untidy. And for some reason, the guy had both wrists wrapped in bandages. Maybe, of course, the bandage went further, covering up all the forearms, up to the elbows, but the long sleeves of the jacket did not allow him to say for sure.

In fact, both his thinness and these same bandages were partially hidden behind baggy clothes and were not so striking, it's just that Third himself was used to clinging to all sorts of trifles, and the old skill has been preserved in him to this day. An important role in the "disguise" was played by his woollen jacket— for the most part, it hid the unhealthy thinness of its master. It was the German who was able to notice that it looked somehow suspiciously loose, literally hanging on his ribs and didn’t even touch his sunken stomach. However, the jacket performed its role with dignity— it hid the protruding bones of the chest and collarbones, and also covered the neck...

Neck.

Only now did Reich realise that the slightly different coloured marks he'd seen were eerie, enormous scars. Long healed, of course, but still.

There are exactly three ways scars can appear on the body of a country: either when the wounds of the physical incarnation were so enormous or deep that they simply couldn't fully heal; or they appeared because of the country's internal problems: ruined economies or cities, civil wars, just wars, repression or the like; or... traumas of the soul. The latter are the most difficult to inflict, and usually another country, close for one reason or another, must be involved. The most trivial example is the betrayal of someone you trusted.

Personally, Reich did not inflict similar wounds on the guy, although he could well have done it indirectly— in the war, literally every suitable piece of land was dug up with ditches and trenches, and there were a lot of hostilities in the territories of RSFSR... However, usually such injuries take the form of scars, similar to traces of oblique cuts, like from a knife blade. In Russia, the marks generally had some strange shape, and Third could not say exactly why they appeared.

Although, logically thinking, the guy should have a whole bunch of various scars— trivially from the war alone. It was just that, again, they were hidden by clothing and couldn’t be seen. This made him wonder whether the guy was rather self-conscious about his appearance. Otherwise, the clothes of his incarnation would not be so baggy and voluminous. And he hid his grey hair under the "colouring of the flag" ... Not that this absolutely confirms the conjecture about the complexes, many countries do exactly the same just like that, without a specific reason, but still.

Another thing that caught his eye was a small pendant in the form of a golden heart**, which Russland wore around his neck. Most likely, the pendant can open, and there is certainly something inside, something important for RSFSR, but the German did not notice any obvious emotions towards the little thing. The trinket just hung around his neck, and the guy never turned it in his hands or did any other noticeable actions with it, even purely reflex, as if he forgot about its existence at all. At least in the presence of Reich. The pendant appeared on the Russian during the war, but after the guy was in his captivity, so Third could only guess what was inside.

It had been probably a month since the German woke up for the first time after the visit of Sovok, and the eldest of the Russians never appeared again. At first, Reich simply rested mentally and physically with a clear conscience— since such an opportunity had fallen out, so why not take advantage of it? All the bruises had gone off him, the broken fingers had healed completely and no longer even ached; in general, physically he had not felt so whole for a long time. It seems that even the injuries that remained after the Inselaffe  was finally gone.

In general, at some point the Englishman abruptly stopped any of his mockery— there were already quite a few of them, after signing the surrender, the meaning of torture disappeared, they remained rather just to make sure that he was not dead yet. However, one day they stopped completely. At first it seemed very strange to the German, but later everything fell into place: he was simply given time to recover as much as possible before his carcass was handed over to USSR — Great Britain cared too much about his image as a noble and merciful ruler-patron of the whole of Europe. Therefore, when Reich met Union again, he was again able to keep a proud posture and contempt in his eyes. The German even managed to pull himself together and tried to restore his physical incarnation to the maximum, so as not to look pathetic and tortured.

And now, when he was given a chance to lick his wounds again... the situation involuntarily caused a quiet panic.

Logic dictated that Sovok, most likely, simply didn’t have time for him— he was a huge, operating country, despite having a bunch of offspring in his composition, managing such gigantic territories was a very time-consuming process. In fact, Third had no idea at all how exactly the Union was able to manage such huge territories... The personal lands of Reich himself in his best years were almost thirty-two times smaller! He did not even grow to a miserable million square kilometres, while Sovok had twenty-two of them... And Third himself simply fell off his feet, not having time to keep track of everything, even though he threw off the lion's share of bureaucracy and other trifles on his son when he became "stable" enough for such heavy loads.

And from this point of view, the words of the Russian about "blow off steam" become very logical. Probably, he really, quite literally, needs to rest sometimes.

True, then the question was, with whom did he do this before? As far as the German knew, Sovok had never had such a relationship. The closest communication with another country that USSR, in principle, ever had, was... with Reich. And nothing like that had ever happened between them.

And sleeping with people… well that is a rather disgusting part…

Countries— they’re not people. To use an analogy, it would be sort of similar if a person starts looking at a pretty female… gorilla. Of course, the comparison is rather rough, as physically and anatomically, Countries are not so much different from people, but still. Such thoughts are rather disgusting. Albeit sometimes, though extremely rarely, and only if it was absolutely and unbearably urgent, and that there were simply no other options close at hand… a lot of them have been doing this quite often. But in a decent society, no one would ever admit to such a thing even at gunpoint 

However, it was for USSR that no one at all ever noticed his "courtship" with people; he treated them with absolute, complete indifference. He didn't even despise them like insects, at least not explicitly, he just didn't care.

And if he really slept with at least some country at one point in time ... The whole world would know about it. Politics is a rather dirty business, and it is simply impossible to hide such things from the world stage. No, how Sovok "relaxed" before, it was definitely not sex.

So his decision to drastically change his approach to rare vacations seemed rather unusual. Most likely, the Russian really just decided not to miss the opportunity that fell into his hands for free. A personal, ready at absolutely any moment, hole for pleasure, which at the same time was not yet an animal-human... Souned, in fact, pretty good. Perhaps, Third even had to admit that the idea was very curious. This was cruel, and sadistically pleasant, and for the enemy destructively humiliating... And how did he not think of something like that? They had so much time with Poland to have fun... That would’ve been even better than what Reich ended up doing to him! The Pole deserved the most perverse revenge, such a fate would be just right for him.

... How ironic it was that the "entertainment" they'd have now would be the German himself...

In fact, Third was really surprised when he realised that that time Sovok really seemed to be going after the blowjob. He didn't fuck him then, not just because Reich was an immovable log after his teeth were knocked out, but because the Russian had no intention of doing so in the first place. Apparently, he decided to start with something “easier”.

However, this only proved that next time the Union would come, it would be with a clear intention of fucking him. It couldn't be any other way. And the further the moment of truth was delayed, the more the German's involuntary panic intensified.

Knowing that you will definitely be fucked today is still better than knowing that it will definitely happen, but not knowing exactly when. Ignorance is much more frightening, and in this situation the effect was further enhanced by involuntary expectation. Third simply had nothing left - he even had nothing to do here to distract himself, he waited for days on end for Sovok to finally remember him.

At some point, Reich even caught himself thinking that simply asking RSFSR about this was not such a bad idea. Russia could certainly tell when his father decided to once again retire for a couple of hours. Even if he didn’t know for sure, he would be able to estimate at least an approximation of some sorts.

However, if the German couldn’t resist and asked the question... Damn it, no! He wouldn’t be broken, not in such an obvious way— he would NOT ask the guy when Sovok would decide to visit him again, he would not!!!

No matter how humorous it may sound, but it was on this evening, when Third was lying, staring at the ceiling, and from nothing to do thinking about everything, it was today that the RSFSR come to him for a routine check and said this phrase:

"My Father managed to give himself a small ' vacation' . So, you can already begin to gather your courage and prepare mentally."

 "Will he come tomorrow afternoon?" No matter how hard Reich tried to restrain himself from such questions, the words burst out of him by themselves.

He bit his tongue immediately with the rest of his teeth, but Russia reacted completely calmly— he just shrugged.

"I think it will be later in the evening, when it gets dark."

Third even surprised himself at how calmly and unperturbed he took note of the information. He had managed to sleep almost normally during the night, and even during the day he felt more or less normal. Only when it began to get dark outside the window did the German suddenly realise that his hands were shaking.

He immediately pulled himself away and tried to calm down. It did help for a while, but then...

The light penetrating into the room gave a small shadow from the edge of the curtains and during the day this very shadow moved slightly, shifting after the luminary. Even if it can never be called a "normal clock", yet such a definition of time was more accurate than counting seconds to oneself and constantly going astray. So, usually the Reich watched the passage of time in this way - he watched the shadow every day and already had a rough idea of how many hours a particular location meant. However, this time it seemed to have grown to one place and did not move at all.

The German still began to count the seconds to himself, but no matter how many minutes he typed, the damn shadow remained in place. The more time passed, the longer it began to drag on.

"Pull yourself together, Third, now!" he mentally chastised himself.

Such small shakes brought him to his senses, but not for long. Waiting for every next minute was harder than the previous one. At some point, unable to stand the nerves, the German even began to get up and walk around the room back and forth, and then fell back on the mattress.

And only when the waiting became completely unbearable, when Reich even involuntarily had time to think that some miracle would suddenly happen: Sovok would abruptly be occupied, and "hour X" would be postponed until an indefinite time... that's when the front door to the apartment rumbled. Russland also always slammed the door, but this time the sound was definitely different — louder and sharper.

Third jumped to his feet even before he realised what he was doing, and instantly buried his back in the safest place in his position - the wall. Solid support brought a phantom feeling of at least partial security, but from the reflex desire to hide in the very corner, the German was still able to pull himself away.

No matter how hard he tried to maintain control over his own body and thoughts, the Reich still involuntarily flinched when Soviet Union appeared in his field of vision.

He looked exactly the same as the last time— cold, calm and absolutely unperturbed. One of his hands was in the pocket of his heavy overcoat, and the other was firmly holding the same damn suitcase. The Russian slowly looked at him with a completely unreadable look of an icy eye.

"Well, Third," Sovok spoke coldly instead of at least a formal greeting. "Last time, we didn't get to the most important thing. Today I intend to finish what I started."

***

Translation Notes:

In the original text, Reich refers to Britain here as Britashka (Бриташка) , a derogatory russian word for the Englishman. It’s a play on words, mixing Britain with the word bukashka (букашка) meaning “little bug” in Russian.

But there is no reason for Reich to use the term in this third person retelling of his thought process, so we opted to use the German derogatory word for the English, Inselaffe(n), meaning Island Monkey. 

***

*On the territory of USSR there was a mass famine in the post-war period, in 1946-1947. It was a direct consequence of the Second World War, the drought of the 46th year, which led to a low harvest, as well as the fact that United States is a jerk who did not fulfill his own promises made in 1945.

 During the war, US sponsored USSR with food, certainly not for free, and after the defeat of Germany, promised that they would be given another large loan to purchase food. However, in the same year, 1945, America had a change of presidency, who began to impose a loan in exchange for some concessions with USSR in Eastern European politics— as a result, Sovok sent him to hell.

It is believed that the disaster could have been avoided, because Union himself had extensive grain reserves, but the Soviet government decided to increase the volume of grain exports abroad, almost twice the pre-war level, and there was not enough bread for its citizens.

There were reasons for such a decision: it was necessary not only to restore the entire economy in a very short time (grain was sold, of course, for money), but also to feed other European countries (in particular, the same ruined Germany), on the lands of which there were no reserves left. It is estimated that up to 1.5 million people died as a result of the famine.

**The idea of a heart-pendantis mainly stolen from "lost! AU» (18+). Later, another idea will appear, partially stolen from them, associated with the eye of USSR.

Authors ask for a link to them for using their content, and the situation fits the definition quite well, so don't consider it an advertisement, but here it is. I have nothing to do with the history of this AU and will not have (all other coincidences are accidental), but it is their image of Russia (the RSFSR, the future of the Russian Federation) that is the closest to my ideas that I managed to find.

Chapter Text

Part 5. The Incident.

"Well, Third," Sovok said coldly. "You and I didn't get to the most important thing last time. Today I intend to finish what I started."

Union walked with a completely unperturbed look to the farthest corner, effortlessly picked up the chair, dragged it to the middle of the room, placed it directly in front of the chains, before finally turning to him.

Reich felt his breath catch from the wave of panic that was building up. Since Sovok's phrasing was so direct, he must be serious. This time he wouldn't stop halfway-- this time he'd really fuck him.

"Perhaps, for the sake of decorum, I should remind you that if you're nice and obedient, you won't get hurt."

Third swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat - he was mocking him! A wave of impotent rage and indignation even began to awaken in his soul, but when the Russian purposefully stepped in his direction, it was sharply replaced by unrestrained panic - the German could not stand it and involuntarily shut his eyes.

He hardly even resisted when indescribably strong palms encircled his shoulders and forcibly dragged him from the very corner of the room to its middle, opposite the armchair.

"So what? " Union cupped his chin and even lightly stroked him.  "On dry, or are you going to work your tongue on the case? "

"G-go to hell," his voice shook against his will.

"So, you agree to take me dry," Union nodded. “Well, that’s expected... Third, you know perfectly well that your ass is also a little small for me. But if you think that I won't be able to pull you on top of me, then you are deeply mistaken.”

"S-since when have you been drawn to p-puns, Sovok? "

The Russian even grinned.

"You said it yourself that European humor is extremely contagious." 

"That was my joke, d-don't you dare twist it!” the German snapped angrily.

However, this stupid joke somehow brought Reich to his senses. The panic didn’t go away completely, but Third was able to regain at least some control over his own body.

When Sovok pressed against him in a wet kiss, the German instantly put his hands on his chest in an attempt to keep him away, and pressed his lips together as hard as he could, but... he no longer had his front teeth or a reliable barrier in the form of them. The Russian just forced his tongue and still got in.

Reich tried to do everything to prevent him: he stubbornly continued to break out, even though strong hands squeezed him into a motionless grip, continued to clamp his lips, tried to turn his head to the side, pressed his tongue as low as possible so as not to intertwine with other's ... All this almost did not help, but Union also could not fully suck into him.

Suddenly the Russian abruptly broke away from him. Before Third could react, a stunning slap flew at him. The German groaned — not that it was painful, just unexpected, but for a second he lost his orientation, and when he regained it, he found that Sovok was pressed against him again and was already in full control of his mouth. Reich whined in a choked voice.

Union again, just like the first time, penetrated his mouth indecently deep and did not hesitate at all to imperiously prowl inside it. His body reflexively tried to resist as much as it could, but if Third allowed his own tongue to move, it looked as if he was responding to the kiss, which the German simply could not allow.

The Russian didn’t pull away and didn’t give him the opportunity even for a small breath, so that soon Reich involuntarily went limp from lack of oxygen; his vision darkened.

Only then did Sovok break away from him and even move away slightly. The Russian himself took a deep breath, and then naturally exhaled with a growl. He roughly grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled it down with force, revealing a view of his protruding collarbones. Third cried out meekly in pain as the other man's teeth sank on his skin. Union kissed him roughly, leaving hickeys, biting thin skin until he drew blood.

The German struggled with all his might, trying to get away from contact, and when this did not help, he somehow managed to wriggle out of other's grip and tried to hit the enemy. He was about to elbow him in the face, but Sovok intercepted his hand and stopped it before it could reach its target. 

That seemed to bring the Russian to his senses. He pulled away from his neck and looked up at him coldly.

"But you'll still have to caress me, Third," he said calmly. "Generally, I'm not at all averse to tearing you apart like a herring, but there is little point in being so drastic. So... "

Union put pressure on his shoulders and forced the German to kneel in front of him. When his face was right in front of the shiny gold buckle with the coat of arms, Reich let out a shaky exhale.

He jerked desperately to the side, but the Russian grabbed him by the hair and forced him onto his groin. When the German felt the other's arousal through the fabric of his clothes with his own cheek, he literally gasped with horror and disgust. Sovok himself thrust his hips slightly towards him, and Third involuntarily rubbed his nose directly against his wood, an unpleasant smell instantly hitting him in the head.

Reich struggled to pull away, hitting the Russian on the legs a couple of times, but in the end Union seized both of his hands by the wrists and brought them high above the German's head. He didn’t even have to tie him up; holding Third with just one palm for Sovok wasn’t difficult at all, he did not even seem to notice that other man's limbs in his grip continued its useless attempts to escape. Then Reich tried to either crawl away or just kick the Russian with his feet, but in the end he just rested his back against the wall, and his feet were firmly wedged between the other's heavy boots. Now he had nowhere else to retreat, and Union was next to him as closely as possible.

The second palm of the Russian rested on the back of his head and slightly ruffled his hair.

"Well, can you handle it yourself, or do you need help?"

The German choked in disgust, he immediately turned his face to the side as far as he could.

"Don't pretend to be touchy, Third, you and I both know very well that you have real talent."

Regardless of the fear he felt, the phrase hurt the German so much that he involuntarily flinched:

 "I've never been a whore!!!"  he exclaimed loudly, emotion colouring his words.

"I don't argue," Union assured him quite calmly. “However, you also got your "glory" for a reason.”

"Mock me all you want, but don't you dare insult me!" Reich snapped furiously.

What exactly he blurted out, the German realized after Union uttered the words:

"All right," Sovok shrugged. "Agreed."

He didn’t continue the "subject". That palm of his that lay on the back of his head pulled away, and at first it brought even a little relief, because Third was still able to turn his face to the side, but then he realized why exactly the Russian had done it.

Sovok began to unfasten the belt buckle on his own. Reich instantly closed his eyes, turned away as far as he could, and pursed his lips as hard as possible.

"Come on, Third, please me, and then I won't hurt you."

The German heard the slow, nasty sound of the zipper as the fly parted. Unable to resist, he opened his eyelids for a moment, but immediately closed his eyes back and just pressed his back against the wall as much as possible, trying to lean away.

Something insanely hot and raw touched his face.

Reich almost twisted in disgust, but he forced himself to restrain a shaky exhale from escaping him, Sovok purposely, in mockery, ran the organ over his lips, along his cheeks, smearing the oozing grease... The German only squeezed harder. The Russian sighed, and the next moment his fingers pinched his nose.

No matter how hard Third tried to resist, in the end, he could not stand it and opened his lips to take a breath of air. Exactly one moment later, when he closed his mouth, it wrapped around the shaft of the cock. Reich gasped.

Previously, at the time of the blowjob, he had already been beaten, and his head had received several strong blows that he only had a vague awareness of what was happening. Now his mind was pretty clear, he felt all the sensations, including the taste of other's flesh, quite distinctly.

He couldn't even bite now! Union put his palm on the back of his head again and squeezed his hair, kept his head from bending so that his dick wouldn’t go under the remaining side teeth, and when the German simply clenched his jaws, those same side teeth prevented him from fully closing and pinching the organ at least that way. All he could do was lightly nibble on the trunk with smooth gums. This didn’t give the Russian a drop of pain, but on the contrary, it increased the feeling of pleasure.

This time Sovok changed his tactics slightly: again he did not move his hips so much as force the German onto him, but now he did not roughly pull him to the end of his length, stopping somewhere in the middle. A couple of rather slow, rhythmic thrusts, and he thrust into the back of his throat.

Reich coughed in a choked voice.

Union pulled back a little, allowing him to breathe, but did not completely leave his mouth. After giving him a little time, he again began to thrust into him— not very deeply, but he touched his throat so that he irritated the walls, and the German began to cough against his will. At the same time, he involuntarily contracted the muscles of his throat and lips, and even, damn it, twitched his tongue, creating the illusion that he was really licking the other's shaft.

Third let out a strangled noise: he tried to restrain himself, but the longer he forced himself to endure, the stronger the reflex to cough eventually became. Drool flowed out of him again, which he could not really swallow, but this time Sovok did not allow him to fully choke on them. He monitored the condition of the German and, when it got bad enough, pulled away for a while, allowing him to swallow, and then continued to move again. Those short breaks were perhaps the most horrible thing – when Reich swallowed spit, he unwillingly swallowed the organ as well.

As a result, it was quite a full-fledged blowjob. Yes, not voluntary, but Sovok made the German suck his cock in an almost entirely realistic way.

The Russian even exhaled quietly with pleasure: the wetness and heat of the other man's mouth was just magical. This time he managed to restrain himself and not let the situation get out of control, but Reich's tongue was really fucking amazing - he really had his "bad reputation" for a reason. His futile attempts to resist and his pitiful mooing only added to the high.

At the beginning, Third still continued to struggle somehow, but, in the end, he realized that not only was it absolutely useless, but he was also making it worse for himself. Active movements accelerated the consumption of oxygen, and he began to gasp much faster. Therefore, at some point, he even almost stopped twitching and just tried to distract himself from the unbearable sensation of the foreign object in his mouth. However, no matter how hard he tried to do it, when the other's cock began to twitch noticeably, suggesting that he was very close, and Sovok still did not move away from him, the German again began to mumble in protest and pull away.

The Russian grabbed the back of his head more comfortably, but did not let go. Reich jerked violently, in another attempt to escape, and the next moment ... bitter liquid filled his mouth. He immediately choked and coughed, but this time Sovok did not move away.

"Swallow," came his cold order.

Third shrieked in desperation and began to break out with renewed vigor.

"Swallow, I say!" Union barked in irritation.

He pushed his hips towards him and somehow got his throat from the inside in a way that triggered a swallowing reflex- the muscles in his throat contracted on their own. Only then did the Union finally let him go.

Reich immediately recoiled from him as far as possible, fell to the floor and instantly began to spit out the remnants of the semen. This time he himself — on purpose — went into a hysterical cough, in a desperate attempt to cough out scraps of thick liquid from his throat, but, of course, it was useless - he had already swallowed everything.

Swallowed!!! Sovok's cum– swallowed!!!

Third coughed with renewed vigor, not wanting to put up with this fact. At some point, the muscles of his stomach cramped, and the German, twitching in horror, gagged his own mouth with his palms. He almost threw up.

Again, right in front of the Russian!

Reich forced himself to swallow the drool that had come up, which made his whole gut echoed with a grumbling, disgruntled grunt. His body seemed to swear: Decide already! Should I get rid of the liquid that got inside, or, just let it be? Better let it be. Because the German didn't want to vomit again in front of Sovok any more — it would be an even greater disgrace.

"Today you will not get off with one blowjob, Third", a cold voice rang out.

The German raised his swollen eyes to Sovok - tears were already rolling down his cheeks, but despite this, Reich still tried to put all his hatred into his gaze and even growled quietly with anger.

Oh, no, he wouldn’t give up just like that. He would resist. He wouldn’t allow himself to be tied up so easily, he wouldn’t allow him to be undressed so easily, he wouldn’t allow him to be fucked so easily!

Union nodded calmly, accepting his "choice".

One broad step of the Russian, and the German reflexively regrouped in order to have time to react to any action of the enemy. However, Sovok unexpectedly did something that Third did not expect from him at all: he abruptly intercepted his hands so that they did not interfere with him, and then a huge palm lay on the back of his head, and the next moment the German was forcefully pressed right against the floor.

That's not fair! — the involuntary thought still managed to flash before Reich's eyes went dark and he lost consciousness.

When he finally came to, he didn’t understand anything — his head was insanely dizzy, his forehead and hands hurt. And he could hardly move, or rather he could, but... something was in the way.

The German didn’t immediately figure out the reason for this, but as soon as he blinked slightly his mind cleared and he began to think. It turned out that his hands were shackled and wound up behind his back. Moreover, not only his wrists were tied, but also his elbows, because of which he could hardly move them at all, and it was because of this that he lost his spatial orientation. When Reich realized what was going on, it became much easier — even his head stopped spinning so much.

He found Sovok quickly enough— he was sitting opposite him in the same chair and ... drinking tea.

Literally.

He was actually sitting, leaning back on the back of the seat, and holding a cup and saucer in his hands. Against the background of the Russian's huge hands, the dishes seemed unnaturally small.

 "Good morning", Union greeted him calmly and sipped the drink.  "You took a long time".

He was fully dressed again: apparently, some time had really passed since their brief scuffle.

"Isn't that too dirty for you? " The German hissed softly from the floor, still not fully recovering.

"I want to fuck you, not beat you half to death," Sovok responded easily.  "What's the use of the process if you will be a weak-willed log? "

"You won't make me moan for you!"

"Pff," the Russian grinned meekly, for some reason this phrase really made him laugh. "Third, you don't seem to be a fool, but you behave that way. You're totally mine, if I wanted to "make you moan" you'd already be doing it. You would wag your ass in front of me and beg to screw you off. However, don't worry, I’m fine with screams of pain.” he assured him quite calmly. "As long as it’s sincere and with feelings."

Reich shook his head slightly to finally come to his senses, and even managed to get up and sit down, even though it was quite problematic to do this because of partially shackled limbs.

And only now did the German notice that he was... completely undressed.

Third jerked sharply towards the only potential shelter within the radius of access — to the wall — and immediately involuntarily tried to tuck his legs as close as possible to the body in order to close the vulnerable areas. He exhaled convulsively, and he was thrown into an obvious shiver that he simply could not restrain.

The clothes brought at least some sense of security, even if it was absolutely phantom, and now that he was naked, even this trifle was gone. In addition, the effect was enhanced by the fact that, as a country, Reich almost never took off his own clothes at all, as they were also part of his embodiment, and now... Now he was absolutely defenseless.

And, as if that weren't enough, he couldn't even cover himself with his hands! No matter how hard the German tried to restrain himself, under the cold gaze, his body contracted even more by itself, desperately trying to close. And even this trifle he could not do fully — his legs were also chained by the ankles to the floor. He could wiggle them and could even squeeze them at the knees and pull them closer to him, but not completely.

"Well then!" There was a sharp clap of hands as Sovok placed the cup directly on the floor by the chair and rose heavily to his feet. "We’ll assume that you’re finally awake."

He stepped closer, grabbed his shoulders and forced him to his feet with a rough jerk. Then he reached up somewhere and reined the chains sharply. Third involuntarily cried out when he felt his legs come off the hard surface. Union fixed the length of the chains, stepped back and nodded contentedly, looking around at the scene that opened before him.

He suspended Reich quite high, but so that he could still stand on his toes. The German could relax and hang on the chains completely, but then his bound arms would be bent at an uncomfortable angle and ache. Enough so that in the end, his body would try to stay on its feet, without the will of its master. And this in turn, given the general instability of his position, resulted in the fact that the Third had to involuntarily bend in his lower back. This in turn, resulted in the Third's having to involuntarily arch his back.

The Russian exhaled with a low growl from this one sight: Reich staggered, balancing precariously on his toes, cursing quietly through the remnants of his teeth and frantically... blushing. He, too, was well aware of his own posture.

And he couldn't do anything about it, continuing, in a way, to expose his own arse almost willingly to the devouring gaze. Aside from the visible blush on his cheeks, his fear, embarrassment, and shame were made evident by the tightening muscles of his anus.

The German was not going to turn his back to Sovok voluntarily, but he could not force himself to face him either. The groin is also an extremely vulnerable part of the body and the inability to protect it caused a real, uncontrolled panic. In the end, Third clumsily turned sideways to the Russian — so he partially blocked the view of his backside, and in front it was possible to partially close at least if he managed to bend his legs a little, at least one of them.

Union came closer to him again. When huge palms rested on his stomach and lower back, Reich instantly sprang up, trying to get away from contact, but his strong fingers didn't allow him to do so.

"You have such smooth skin ...", the German swore he heard in that icy voice barely noticeable notes of some kind of perverted tenderness.

Sovok stroked his stomach very eloquently. Warm fingers almost affectionately ghosted over the scanty muscles of his abs and outlined the edges of a huge scar. In general, there were quite a few small scars on the German's body, but this one stood out especially against the background of others: it was large and long — it started from about the waist and stretched almost to the chest, as if Reich had his stomach ripped open.

But why "as if"? That was exactly what happened.

The Russian even squinted a little as he ran his palm over the scar - this wound was his handiwork, and the work was quite good: the edges were even, though it was almost impossible to make them so - no one would lie still when he was being "dissected"... However, the Reich was still a fully-fledged country at that time, and even such a serious wound had healed almost completely without a trace.

Then the fingers stroked the protruding pelvic bones without any hesitation.

"Don't you dare touch me!" Third exclaimed furiously.

 In defiance of him, the other's palm only slid even lower.

 "DO NOT TOUCH ME!!!" Reich yelled out loud.

He thrashed in desperation, but, of course, couldn't escape. Warm fingers wrapped around his testicles and rubbed it almost affectionately. They, as if in mockery, stroked his balls and walked along the entire length of his flaccid dick. From his own helpless openness, the German literally gasped.

"You shouldn't be so self-conscious," Sovok said. "You have a nice, hard cock. I'd like to see it aroused."

"Shut up!!!" Reich blushed in shame.

The worst thing was that now the voice of the Russian sounded completely calm and without notes of obvious mockery, giving the clear impression that he was saying this genuinely.

Not that Third was really perplexed because of something like this — he quite sincerely considered it extremely dumb and stupid (in the opposite, the German would never admit even to himself) — but still, compared to the same Sovok, his "dignity" really seemed extremely... humble. And such an impudent, completely tactless pawing only further enhanced this effect.

Even if the touches of the Russian were quite neat and painless, the mere fact of realizing that his fingers can close at any moment ... It was unbearable. Besides, Sovok had very-very dry, calloused palms, so even though his movements were almost affectionate, they still seemed extremely rough.

"Get your damn paws off me!" Reich exclaimed desperately.

The other's fingers froze for a moment and even closed a little — the German let out a gasp from the feeling of horror, but Sovok did not squeeze the organ. He actually stopped pawing him and raised his palm higher, back on his belly. And then he pressed lightly with it and made Third step back a little, making his posture even more unstable than before. Now he was arching his back even more.

The second palm, which had been lying on the German's back before, slid down and stroked the involuntarily shuddering buttocks. Sovok grabbed one of them and slightly groped it. Then he let go and... slapped sharply.

Reich couldn't hold back a short cry of surprise. He jerked violently, but he was prevented from dodging, and his ass instantly burst into flames. The Russian's palm immediately lay back down and began to knead and stroke the place of impact. From shame, the German naturally burned from the inside, and from the suffocating helplessness he wanted to literally howl.

Sovok, as if on purpose, in mockery, slowly ran his fingers over the compressed hole, stopped and lightly massaged the muscles, slightly pressing, but not penetrating inside.

"Come on, Third, you know you need to relax," he said calmly.

In fact, Union really expected that the German would at least snap back at him, but ... no, Reich was silent. He trembled ever so slightly, pinched himself as far as his posture would allow, cast quick glances over his shoulder and even, damn it, involuntarily brought his legs to his knees. Actually, Third was clearly trying to bark something in response, but the words seemed to be stuck in his throat.

He was really afraid of this— of what was going to happen.

Which meant, it wasn't just an abstract fear of rape or banal pain, which, in principle, is inherent in all people, regardless of gender — it was exactly that uncontrollable panic, when your worst nightmare comes true and you can't do anything about it....

Union even narrowed his eyes slightly when he realized this. No, it was this effect that he was counting on, but still. It was also impossible to simply ignore the presence of this fact.

The Russian frowned, but abundantly licked his own fingers, and then without ceremony thrust one inside the German. Third could not hold back a short, desperate cry, but quickly shut himself back.

"Why are you so tight, huh?" involuntarily threw Union.

Of course, his fingers were also somewhat larger than the "average male fingers", but he really did not expect that sliding one would be so hard. He needed to work on stretching him, at least a little, or he would literally tear Reich apart.

In fact, then USSR was telling the absolute truth— he would really like to take the stubborn German right like that. Dry and without preparation. Even if it would not be very convenient and even painful for him, he wanted to see other's blood almost unbearably. However, then that would traumatize him too much — after all, Union himself was well aware that he was quite huge, and Third had not had sex for a long time to make allowances for his lack of virginity. In any case, he would squeeze the blood out of him today— it was not part of his plans to use normal lubricant, the German did not deserve it with his behavior.

The Russian pulled out his finger, spat another portion of saliva on the palm of his hand, and returned to his interrupted work. This time, he had already squeezed two fingers inside Third, lubricating him roughly from the inside.

The body in his hands shook desperately. Reich continued to clench stubbornly, and he had to strain even slightly to push the walls of his gut apart.

The fingers pushed inside were trivially easier - if the muscles have been spread once, they will spread much more easily again. Union pushed his fingers in just to the maximum depth he could. Well... the German really wasn't a virgin. That was understandable, if one knew what to look out for. The walls of the anus, in principle, are not as elastic as the walls of the female vagina, and they simply physically cannot fully restore their former shape if they have ever been subjected to an unnatural rupture — the Russian felt barely noticeable scars from old wounds.

Apparently, Third taken not only genitals, but also something much harder, longer and larger... not surprising, really. Even without taking into account all the other possible options, which most likely also took place, there was at least one indisputable fact:  UK knows very well what kind of torture is the most painful and effective, especially if additional, artificial... "devices" are used.

However, Union himself still did not want to stoop this low: playing with toys was fine, it was interesting, but absolutely tearing his whole gut open with a dildo...? He would rather fuck Reich dry - it would be more pleasurable for him and less painful for the latter.

The Russian added another finger, and then tried to feel the prostate, and here some difficulties appeared. Finding this small organ wasn't really that hard, if you knew a little about anatomy and where to look, but the muscles were not developed in this direction at all.

Hmm, how curious. Very curious.

The German just doesn't seem to realise there's any alternative to violence! Has he really never had a proper prostate massage? Given some of the facts of his life that the USSR knew, it seemed practically unthinkable, but... but if it was true, then the possibilities were extremely enticing....

For some other time. Today, Union had already settled for a rougher version and wasn't going to change plans at all.

"B-bastard", A quiet, trembling voice suddenly rang out.

USSR tore the only eye from the other man's arse and raised it to the German. He was trembling all over his body, breathing shakily and obviously trying to shrink into a lump, but despite the animal terror inside him, he still threw this insult. Truly, reckless stubbornness and persistence... well worthy of respect.

"Monster... "

But this word even made the Russian grin wryly.

"Believe me, Third, I know," he assured him. "You're absolutely right.

USSR pulled out his fingers and smeared the remnants of saliva on its own cock. He squinted a little, assessing the result, spat another portion into the palm of his hand and smeared it too. Only after that did he slightly change his position and moved completely behind the German's back.

When he finally brought his own cock to the still convulsive clenching hole, Third quietly sobbed. Union exhaled, but did not say anything anymore — well, this was his choice. He had the right.

He moved forward quite slowly and smoothly, but without stopping, so that the German still convulsed in his lower back and gasped in pain. The Russian paused for a few moments to get a comfortable grip on the man's thighs, and then continued his thrusts.

Reich was just insanely tight. Almost painfully tight. He was still clamping down desperately, so that the cock moved with great heaviness, slowly pushing the tight but so sweetly hot walls apart... The Union growled softly, mournfully - it felt indescribably good right now. So much so that he was quite ready to spit on his own fancies and sharply thrust the German on himself to the very base.

Third was about halfway down his length - he couldn't stand it any longer and moaned softly. This brought the Russian to his senses, and he froze, giving the German the opportunity to get used to it at least a little. But as soon as he fell silent, Union continued to move - he himself could not wait even longer, he could not wait any longer, he wanted to get to the process as quickly as possible.

Reich was already literally suffocating from uncontrollable horror and pain. Every millimeter of the foreign object inside him only intensified both of these feelings. Tears of despair were running down his cheeks, and Sovok still did not finish moving.  It was seemingly - well, how much deeper could it go? How much more could he be stretched, how huge was this fucking cock? Not only was it just long, it was also just insanely thick!

Even though the movements were rather slow, and the walls of his gut slid quite well, every moment of this torture was simply unbearable. The physical pain was quite severe — albeit not so much as to yell out loud from it, but the moral pain completely filled the edge of possible endurance until the very end. The worst thing was that Third was absolutely powerless, there was nothing he could do about it!

His own helplessness and hopelessness of the situation literally drove the German crazy.

He couldn't, he just couldn't take it! The continuous feelings of panic and constant terror that he had been managing to endure lately were now wearing him down completely.

Unable to bear the mockery, Reich, in a desperate attempt to do at least something , abruptly threw the one insult that he would never have dared to utter if he were in his right mind:

“You raped the mother of your children like this too, didn't you?!”

THE WORLD SHATTERED.

 Union even froze.

Instantly, abruptly, unexpectedly.

Third involuntarily looked over his shoulder to understand what had happened. And the next moment he saw a blank, dead stare, staring into nothing.

There was no emotion in that gaze, not even anger, not even rage, nothing at all, just a scalding cold abyss of impenetrable ice.

 "Don't you ever..." Union began to whisper faintly in a hoarse, lifeless voice.

In a small part of his mind, the Russian still understood that Reich did not know what he was talking about, did not know that it would lead to such consequences...

" ... dare to... ", he continued a little louder.

If he had known, he wouldn't have dared to say such a thing, wouldn't have dared to say it out loud…

" ...EVEN...", USSR has literally growled.

This is absolutely illogical, not rational; the past cannot be changed, but in the future the whole plan may go to hell, but…

But no matter how desperately he tried to hold all the broken shards in his palms, they still slipped out of his fingers and continued to fall into the abyss.

" ...TALK ABOUT HER!!!"

The Russian clenched his fingers tightly on the other man's thighs and with one sharp jerk thrust the German all the way in, to the base.

In the first second, Reich only opened his eyes wide, trying to hold on with the last of his strength, but when he thrusted all the way in again and again... Third screamed at the top of his lungs.

"I was gentle and soft with her ..." Sovok growled wryly, grimly.

Each of his next thrusts was easier than the previous one. He accelerated rapidly, increasing the pace more and more.

 "... I touched her like an idol, I literally prayed to her image and name..."

Streams of blood flowed between the German's convulsive legs. In unbearable pain, Reich rolled his eyes and yelled with renewed vigor.

 "... I didn't care about myself, but I was ready to do anything for her ... "

Third cut off abruptly, breaking off his voice. The Russian was already literally hammering into him, impaling him on himself at breakneck speed. Sovok did not pay attention at all to the fact that the German had already stopped yelling, and that the body in his hands had gone limp and even stopped clamping, and that a quiet squelching was heard with every push.

" ...I killed her as quickly and painlessly as possible... "

Despite the hellish pain, despite the fact that he almost did not understand anything, an involuntary thought still flashed through Reich's head: what did he do?

"You don't deserve such a fate, you don't deserve death at all!! " Union continued to growl.

Once again, having left the German's body, the Russian suddenly pulled away .He yanked him down roughly, almost twisting his restrained arms at an unnatural angle, which forced another painful shriek out of the torn throat, and abruptly threw Third to the floor.

Before he could react, Reich was struck painfully. As if that wasn't enough, USSR abruptly grabbed him by the hair, lifted him up and forcefully threw him to the floor once more.

 "You will live, knowing that you will never get out of here…"

Third fought desperately, trying to crawl away or shield himself. He was able to move his arms again, and immediately reflexively covered his own head with them, in a pathetic attempt to protect at least it.

 "...to live knowing that you're destined to rot here forever... "

The Russian didn't even notice it - he just yanked his interfering hands aside, and there was a miserable crunch of unfortunate fingers. Union did not pay any attention to this and slammed his fist into the man's face with force.

"... destined to wriggle on the floor in front of me forever, begging for mercy..."

He didn't stop for a second, he kept hammering and hammering the German's body with endless blows.

Union continued to growl something further, but Reich could not make out any more words. After another blow to his head, his eyes went dark, and he could no longer make out anything.

***

... When USSR finally regained his composure,he found himself sitting on top of the barely breathing German, pressing his face into the floor with his knee, his hands were covered in blood, in one palm he was clutching a knife, and in the fingers of the other he was holding the other's... eyeball.

If he had twitched, he could have yanked it right out of his eye socket, but the Russian remained perfectly still. Mentally, he slowly started to spew out a stream of every existing swear word he could think of.

Reich moaned pitifully underneath him. He was breathing very fast, twitching and wriggling quietly, but he was obviously alive.

The Russian carefully twisted the eyeball just enough to see how bad it was. He had already managed to cut some of the muscles holding it together, but the eye nerve itself was intact. Union carefully put the eye back into the eye socket, and it obediently fell back into place.

He was shaking inside, but outside USSR looked more like a motionless, icy statue. He felt the presence of his son nearby, who was ready to rush to administer first aid. Russia was able to bring back a formally deceased man from the other side, he knew better than anyone how to "stabilize" the embodiments of countries, everything would be fine with the German. He was still alive, and that was the most important thing.

In fact, it was almost equivalent to a fucking miracle.

"Almost", because if things had gone too far, RSFSR would have stopped him, he would have dragged him away from the German. He was strictly forbidden to interfere until there was a threat to the life of the Third, and loss of vision was not included in this wording…

... It’s okay, it’s okay…

... Reich is still alive, he's still alive, everything is alright…

…He's still alive…

Union rose to his feet with a heavy weight. When he turned to exit the room, Russia was already standing in the doorway, waiting for permission. Just one, barely noticeable, mute nod, and the guy immediately rushed to the limp body. When his son was next to him, USSR suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing him to stop.

"Let him suffer," he coldly, croaked in an eerie, hoarse voice, devoid of all emotion. "Save his eye, but no more."

Russia hesitated for a moment - it was obvious he wanted to object, but he didn't dare to contradict him in this state.

"If you say so."

In the Russian language, the word "Mor" is an ancient and commonplace name for epidemic or epizootic, widespread death, plague.

Chapter Text

When another's hands touched his body, the German screamed in fright.

"Easy, easy, Fritz, it's me",  the voice of RSFSR rang out. "Calm down".

Something cold and hard touched his face, and Reich reflexively tried to pull back.

"It's just water".

Third froze in fright, but when the moisture touched his lips, he couldn't stop himself from taking one tiny sip. It was just as he said, just plain water. After giving up, he obediently drank from the glass. Then he was gently lowered back to the floor, but, to his genuine surprise, the German realized that his head was laid on something more or less soft.

"You have a deep wound on your side," Russia said. "It needs to be sewn up, and of the available anesthetic, I can offer you, perhaps, a wall".

Third  was in unbearable pain, yet in spite of this he no longer groaned loudly, only weakly, and with great difficulty, gasping for air— he no longer had strength left for anything else.

The worst part of it was that everything in front of his eyes, for some reason, was floating in a fucking haze, and he was unbearably dizzy that he couldn’t understand what was happening. Even the image of the Russian sitting on the floor right next to him, who for some reason, looked indescribably unsightly and bony with his jacket hanging on his thin body, kept blurring all the time in the semi-darkness of the room and did not want to become clear. Reich wasn’t quite sure what exactly the offer was, but the mention of the wall made him shudder in fright.

"Well, no anesthesia, so no anesthesia," the guy shrugged. "Gans, answer me a very important and critical question: how do you feel about lemons?"

"What?" The German asked quietly.

The question left him at an absolute impasse. He was even able to focus his floating gaze on the Russian. Russia was just threading a thread into a half-bent needle – a surgical needle — specifically for suturing wounds. Despite the absurdity of his question, the guy looked absolutely unperturbed, even his eyes glistened faintly with the same flame of cold calmness as his father in his usual state.

"Lemons," in contrast to the complete indifference in his gaze, Russia repeated the phrase surprisingly good-naturedly and even grinned.  "The fruit. Yellow, sour..."

" I know wha-Scheiße!" , the German cried out in a strangled voice from a sharp flash of pain when the needle touched his skin.

He was either not allowed to twitch and escape, or his body simply did not respond to the order of his brain — Reich did not understand — but he stayed where he was.

"Well, we have such a phrase: ‘life is as sweet as honey,’” the Russian continued to say absolutely carelessly. "So, if you look for an antonym, you'll get ‘as sour as a lemon’.”

"What nons..." Third choked in the middle of the sentence as the needle pierced him again.

"And imagine such a situation: you live, you don't bother anyone — and suddenly pop! There's a crate of lemons on your doorstep. At first you don't understand anything — there is no note, no return address, nothing, just a crate full of lemons. Well, you just shrug your shoulders and bring it to you. You keep a couple of them for yourself to drink tea with, give the rest to all your acquaintances, and then you just enjoy life, knowing that you are so lucky".

Reich didn't know what the hell was going on, but the guy kept talking, and he had no choice but not to listen to him. His consciousness tried to process the information it received as much as he could, even being in such a deplorable state.

"And the next day, another crate full of lemons appears on the doorstep. And then another, and another, and another. You've already given lemons away to everyone you know, you've tried to throw them in the garbage... "

"Stop it!" The German exclaimed in despair.

 "... you were trying to track down who brought them to you," Russia continued to say calmly. "You've already had a fight with the post office in your neighborhood, but every bloody day, there's a fresh crate of damn lemons on your doorstep.

 "But what if I... change… my address...? " Third exhaled with difficulty.

No matter how bad he felt right now, he heard everything and just physically couldn't ignore the words. In a desperate attempt to distract himself from the unbearable pain, he nevertheless involuntarily tried to understand the meaning of the monologue.

 "Nope, it didn't help either. No matter what you do, there will be a new crate of lemons waiting for you every morning. It's just how fate turned out: life began to give you endless lemons. What would you do in such a situation? "

Reich gasped for air and shook his head desperately in denial—he didn't think much anyway, and when he had to answer a question... Thoughts just didn't want to stick together, and his brain refused to work.

"What would you do, Gans?"  RSFSR insistently repeated. "Answer the question!" He raised his voice suddenly.

Third twitched in horror, but still exhaled:

"I don't know! I... I don't... I don't know...!”

"Think, come on! You have a bunch of lemons, and every day there are more of them, what can you do?"

"Fuck them...! ", if earlier the German barely whispered, now his every next word became louder and harder. "To hell with... such a fate! Burn them! All the lemons! Cut down all the trees! Destroy them! May fate... take them back! If I have to, I'll make her choke on them! I don't need those fucking lemons!!! What should I do with them?! "

Reich sharply cut himself. When he began, he breathed with difficulty, and now he was almost fully shouting in his voice, but as soon as his lungs ran out of air again, the German remembered that he felt unbearably horrible right now. He had difficulty focusing his eyes on Russian.

What exactly was he doing, Third could not figure out; the only thing was that he remotely felt careful touches on him — it seems that the wound had already been sewn up for him, and he didn’t even notice it.

The German inhaled another gulp of oxygen through his mouth. He might’ve been twitching and thrashing involuntarily a while ago, but now he collapsed, so tired that he finally stopped struggling, letting Russia do its work.

" S-sovok...", his voice trembled, because his sluggish tongue was struggling to respond to his brain's command. "He said that... he killed...her... "

That phrase shocked Third so much that he still clung to it, even while in a semi-lucid state. The subject of his children was always forbidden; Union never spoke about them: he, very carefully, hid the fact of the very existence of his "full-fledged" offspring born from two parents from the rest of the world — no one really saw any of them, and they never appeared at official functions or at Britain’s dinner parties… No one knew how old they were or who their mother was.

Of course, given the various sources of information, mostly unreliable, the description of the history that people are allowed to tell, one could assume a couple of options, but no one could say anything for certain.

"Well, if he said it, it's true," Russia shrugged calmly.

That made sense... Union didn’t like to lie...

Reich shakily swallowed again, gathering his strength, and forced himself to open his leaden eyelids.

"What... happened? W-why...? "

The guy sighed.

"I'm not allowed to talk about it, Gans. It's a taboo, a forbidden subject. Just forget about it."

Reich fully understood the danger of inquiring further, but the curiosity was so strong that he just couldn't put it out of his mind. Given the attitude of the guy, it suggested that he wouldn't cripple him further, so there was almost no risk by asking the question:

"What... was she... like?"

Russia looked up at him and then narrowed his eyes — cold, like his father's. The German had already decided that he wouldn't mind if he didn't get an answer, but suddenly the guy spoke:

"Her hands were exquisitely graceful, warm. And she had an indescribably soft and tender smile..." RSFSR somehow smiled bitterly. "You know, Fritz, actually, I don't really remember. It was so long ago, literally in a past life... Okay, that's it, don’t worry about all this nonsense".

Third obediently quieted down and even stopped struggling. It is only now that Russia, as a matter of fact, has been able to start his work normally.

He had already examined the German and outlined the most basic places that needed to be cured first.

"K-kalt...C-cold" Reich suddenly whispered faintly. "Kalt..."

RSFSR sighed. He used ice to stop the bleeding, so it was not surprising that the German felt cold. The problem was that the rupture had occurred quite deep inside the body, and the scarlet streams did not want to stop completely. Humans shouldn't lose too much blood, it's already too thin and doesn't clot much, and Third had already lost quite a lot of it.

"Be patient," Russia said. "There are no blankets, but then I can bring you a plaid from the couch. It's heavy, but it'll keep you warm."

"Kalt..." Reich sobbed desperately, in his delirium he had not heard the last sentence.

 RSFSR nodded calmly, taking note of his condition—it could be considered that the German had passed out after all.

In addition to the most dangerous wound, which he had stitched up, there were a whole bunch of smaller ones; there were fractures again, as well as dislocations. But they could be treated later, now the most important thing was to minimize the risk of infection as much as possible, and to do that he had to wash all the cuts thoroughly and fill them with antiseptic... And he had to do something about his eye, so he just washed it temporarily, but didn't even put a bandage on it, so that Third wouldn't traumatise it even more by frantically rotating his pupils, unable to understand why the hell he couldn't see anything. It was pointless to explain to him in such a state not to do that... Anyway, there was a lot of work to do.

Russia couldn't help but snort: “Let him suffer, damn it.” Globally, there was a ban on the use of strong painkillers. Still, he injected a weak one into the German, but it was almost useless... It seems like this night was going to be insanely long.

***

The sun was shining brightly. He stood with his proud and majestic posture and frowned as he watched a tank (a tank!) — a huge, multi-ton steel machine for destruction... got stuck in the mud almost up to the turret and couldn't get out of the "trap". The crew did not see where they were going, because they broke through some kind of hut, intending to take a shortcut, and now huge logs got stuck in its tracks, and the machine stalled.

Reich frowned in confusion — what was he doing here?

He remembered that day, remembered how he had struggled to keep himself from rubbing his own eyes as he stubbornly played the part of a serious and unperturbed statue. This delayed the troops only briefly, but enough for the Russians to retreat to the forest. To look for them among the trees would be suicide.

Third blinked slowly, trying to figure out what was happening, and the picture in front of his eyes changed abruptly.

......

"Hey, Russland!" He called out loudly to the guy. "Well, where is your God, Russia? The one who is always with you? "

Russia froze tensely in the middle of the street — he clearly did not expect to see Reich personally here. The German remembers the answer perfectly, but his fists still involuntarily clench when the RSFSR begins to laugh gruffly.

"Look around, Fritz!” The guy spread his arms to the sides. "He's already here!"

"I see only burning houses and total despair," Reich smiles.

The whole area around them was indeed on fire. The flames were greedily nibbling at the skeletons of the blazing buildings, but, despite the situation, Russia continued his hysterical laughter.

......

 "Capitulation, German Reich, " calmly pronounced Great Britain.  "You must sign the capitulation ..."

The German, lying at his feet, only laughed hoarsely. He involuntarily tried to curl up into a clump and tried to keep his organs from spilling out his open stomach with his hands, but he continued to laugh quietly and grin his shark smile.

…...

“Are all Russians that crazy?”  The Kingdom of Italy asked him. “What kind of absurdity was that?”

 "Don't be a fool, Italy! " Reich exclaimed involuntarily. " It's obvious! "

His ally frowned in confusion, clearly not understanding anything, and Third rolled his eyes.

"Frost, Italy," the German hissed angrily, as if it were a matter of course. "The smell of goddamn frost is in the air! Winter is coming soon, and we must capture the capital before the frost comes! We can't give Sovok six whole months to think of something!"

......

Reich stood in the middle of one of Berlin's dilapidated streets.

USSR tried to eradicate religion from their people, but the Russian captives still claimed that their God was with them. Well, if that was the case, now he had come with them to his land.

The German saw only burning houses and the utter despair of his own people, but only hysterical laughter and a hoarse whisper rang in his ears:

"Do you want history to repeat itself, Fritz? Do you want a new Weimar Republic to appear?"

……

Weimar Republic shakily swallowed, trying to keep herself in control, but her body still trembled and her hands shook treacherously. She huddled in the farthest corner of the ballroom and prayed to herself that France would not find her here. She managed to slip away from his gaze all evening, but gradually the stubborn “business partner” became more and more persistent. The Frenchman came to this reception in his male incarnation, and her subconscious mind was telling her that he was dangerous.

There was only half an hour left, a measly thirty minutes, and she would be able to politely apologize to Britain and get out of here...

She’s running out of time.

The girl slipped out of her hiding place only when enough time had passed since the start of the banquet to leave the celebration without offending the host. Leaving the reception without the knowledge of its organizer was simply a blatant violation of the rules of decency, so first she had to talk to England.

Walking right through was also extremely rude, so Weimar was forced to walk slowly and unhurriedly, smiling a polite smile at all the other guests. Few people paid attention to it, most just glanced at her, as if she was invisible to them, but now the German was happy about it.

Britain, as expected, was found in the middle of the hall. In general, this reception was considered “informal”, so even the Englishman took a little liberty: right now he was talking to Spain, standing and holding a saucer with a cup of tea overhang. She couldn’t just come up and distract the host, so Republic only showed herself in sight of England, gave a little curtsey, showing that she would like to talk to him, and then obediently stepped aside and pretended that she was very interested in another snack on the tables, and waited for the Englishman to deign to approach her in person.

That was when she was caught. Someone else's hand rested on her thigh in a masterly manner, and the girl shuddered in fright. She quickly put on a sweet, polite smile on her face, but she was already screaming in silent terror to herself.

France started the conversation quite politely, but he quickly moved on to what he came here for:

 "Would you deign to step back with me and talk... in a more private setting?"

A suffocating sense of panic floods the entire consciousness of Weimar Republic.

"E-excuse me..." she said timidly. "Unfortunately, I have to refuse you, sir... "

This was terribly impolite, terribly rude, but she just couldn’t agree: in the presence of other countries, France would do nothing to her and would not let go of his hands too much, but in private...

"Mon cher,My dear" the voice of Great Britain suddenly rang out. "What's going on?"

The Englishman stood with a proud, majestic bearing, making it clear which of the three was in charge, and looked at them both with a slight benevolence. France instantly retreats from the German.

"I beg your pardon, Your Majesty," he apologized politely.

The Frenchman was visibly stifled, but he did not deflate completely to his second embodiment; he gave Britain a male bow, not a female curtsy. In general, this was also arrogance, but France used her privilege of an “official wife” to the fullest wherever she could, and Britain quite often let her get away with it.

"I was going to suggest to Frau Weimar that we discuss our political affairs away from prying eyes, in order to avoid...misunderstandings."

The Englishman's inquiring gaze shifted to her. The girl swallowed hard.

"I-I'm sorry, Your Majesty," she begins timidly. "But m-my deadline for re-repayment hasn't expired yet! I-I still have time, w-we don't need to discuss the terms of its return!”

"Oh, so you're going to be able to give me all the interest this time?" France smiled.

The phrase pierced her head like a bullet— the German literally gasped with terror inside her. No, she couldn't. Not again. She would have to pay the interest again through another way.

But at least she wanted to postpone the moment of truth just unbearably. It would be better for her to open the door to the Frenchman herself than to allow her to be taken away from the reception, in front of all the countries of Europe, no matter how realistically they all pretend that they do not care about her, at that moment the eyes of absolutely everyone present will be directed at her. Someone would look at her with contempt, someone with pity, and someone with undisguised... lust.

Poor, weak, pathetic, whore Weimar. Again, she can't pay off her debts.

No matter how hard she tried to control herself, her body trembled treacherously, her head sank to the floor, and her knees buckled, but somehow she miraculously stood on her feet.

"That's enough," said Britain's calm voice. "Mon cher, this evening is not for politics. Please don't disgrace my authority."

The Frenchman hesitated for a moment longer than the rules of propriety allowed.

"Of course, as you say, mon amour.my love"

France reached closer and kissed the Englishman lightly on the cheek. In fact, it was another blatant violation of the rules, but Britain reacted completely calm – he even allowed the other man's lips to touch him. France gave Weimar a frown, but in the end obediently stepped aside. Great Britain saw him off with a slightly squinted gaze.

"I assure you, madam," he returned his attention to the German with a completely unperturbed look. "This will not happen again."

He didn’t say the words “Excuse me”, although, in theory, he should — this was his reception, and it was his guest who insulted her. As the host, he was to guarantee the safety and preservation of his own dignity to all those invited. A clear sign that he didn’t consider her one at all.

"T-thank you, sir," the girl nods in appreciation.

"Did you want to talk to me about something?"

In fact, England might’ve well refused to continue the conversation and simply left her company, and the German would have been forced to spend the rest of the evening at the reception because it was impolite to distract her host again, but Britain not only immediately understood why she had approached him in the first place, but even deigned not to ignore it.

He calmly accepted her apology and let her go. This was never “mercy” on his part, it was a pure, multi-layered calculation: firstly, Britain is extremely careful to maintain his image of a good-natured patron in public. Secondly, now the German unwittingly owed him for this trifle as well, and in the future he would be able to use it to his advantage. And thirdly... well... when whore Weimar moans under him at least a little voluntarily, it would be much more pleasant for him himself.

Her own helplessness and hopelessness of the situation was simply killing her from the inside out.

***

"Hey, hey, Gans, control yourself,” RSFSR muttered in a soothing voice. “Shhh, be quiet, calm down…”

At first everything was more or less normal, but after a couple of hours the German still started to develop a fever and started shaking all over. It was hard to say exactly what he was dreaming about, but Reich was deflating right before his eyes, his body had already noticeably lost even the meager muscle mass that he had. And even though the rest of the changes in his physical incarnation were not so obvious, the fact that his hips had become a little more rounded and feminine was already visible.

Despite all the efforts of Russia, the process had slowed down, but not stopped.

***

The blade of the knife stops literally a millimeter from the surface of the “ball”.

Young, newborn countries are formed in the shape of small balls, with a diameter of only a few centimeters, which is very convenient in the sense that they do not need to be carried in a huge belly like humans. And it was just such a «ball» that was now lying on the floor in front of him. Reich growled through clenched teeth and swung again, but the blade stopped again, never reaching its target.

He can't lower the knife for some damn reason. He just can't.

The “ball” was very, very small, it left the placenta in which it was formed too early, it was premature. And he was also very, very pale, even if it was also an inferior country, normally at this stage the colors of the future flag should already appear. However, there were none: the ball was almost completely white. Unnaturally white.

Third did not understand this conflicting feeling himself, which was now tearing his chest from the inside out.

He hated that damn ball with all his soul, he really wanted to kill it. The “ball” was literally the physical embodiment of his pity, his insignificance! A direct and indisputable proof of his shame!!! He had to get rid of him, he had to finish what he had started!!!

But at the same time there was something else... the German couldn't explain it, couldn't understand it, but... the “ball” in front of him was so... so small... and... and weak... and also too... fragile… But he was alive.

Reich felt how the small country in front of him was frantically searching for warmth and protection, how desperately it was calling out for someone who could give it that...

He just couldn't bring himself to put the knife down, he couldn't, - that was all!!!

Unable to withstand the storm that raged inside him, the German violently threw the weapon aside and grabbed his hair with force. His own helplessness made him want to howl.

......

"No, just imagine, Fritz!" the Russian continued to laugh hoarsely... "Deutschland will be forced to crawl on his knees before these vultures, begging and pleading with them to give it even the smallest indulgence.... "

……

Weimar Republic nervously clenched her hands into fists, took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself, and then forced herself to open her eyes and look into the eyes of the pack of beasts in front of her. She put on a slight, polite smile on her face.

"Your Majesty, let me report…" she began.

The idea and calculation were as simple as a stick: if you can't keep it, at least sell it at a higher price. There was no point in playing with “pawns” and wasting time on them, you needed to go straight to the “king”

France was furious, but he had no choice but to submit to Britain, which found her proposal “interesting enough”. Under his pressure, the terms of reparations were slightly changed, which would allow the German to at least breathe a little more freely.

Of course, no one would ever help another country for “just for the sake of it” or “out of the kindness of their hearts” – this was simply absurd. However, she simply did not have anything to pay for this favour, because that was the reason why it all started in the first place - she did not have a penny.

So that evening, Weimar Republic was on her knees and sucking an English dick with feigned but most sincere enthusiasm.

….

Great Britain knew exactly where to hit to make it hurt more. Reich, as if in slow motion, saw a tiny “ball” fall to the floor, and then the Englishman's shoe, as if by accident, steps right on top of it...

***

“NO!!!”

Third twitches shakily— if he hadn't been immediately grabbed, he would have jumped up, despite all his injuries.

"Quiet, Fritz, quiet, calm down! " Russia managed to catch him and did not let him hurt himself even more.

Reich could not understand that he was now awakening in reality, he was literally suffocating with terror.

“No, that's not true! It didn't happen, it didn't happen!!!”

He hadn't lost his mind yet, he remembers what his memories are, and what are just disembodied nightmares! It wasn’t real, it wasn’t!

***

Great Britain knew perfectly well where to hit, so that it would be more painful. Reich lost the war, but the last battle was his - he wrestled from the clutches of the Englishman the opportunity to get full revenge on his heirs. Forced to speak out, forced to promise in front of witnesses that Britain would spare his... sons. Not son— sons . There were several.

England didn’t know of the existence of the second offspring. It was a disgrace. He was humiliated by an already defeated enemy, right in front of the eyes of the whole of Europe.

Despite the fact that Soviet Union carried out a vivisection under his direct control andd quite deftly and quickly pulled out an organ uncharacteristic of the human male body and opened the placenta right in front of his eyes, for some reason Great Britain did not know about the existence of his second son...

……

The Englishman couldn't help but smile with his trademark, polite smile. On the outside, he was quite calm, but the German knew that inside he was literally torn with anger.

"You'll regret what you did," Britain promised him.

"Oh, I've just embarrassed you a little bit in front of all the countries!" Reich let out a hoarse laugh.

"Is it possible that a ti-i-i-ny slip has hurt you so much, Oh Great—" Third didn’t have time to finish the sentence as a strong blow hit him in the jaw.

Britain just looked at him with burning eyes, even the wings of his nose were visibly fluttering with barely restrained rage.

"You know, German Reich…," he begins in a rather polite tone, but then stops abruptly, as if he had accidentally made some mistake. “Oh, excuse me. After all, it would be much more correct to address you in a slightly different way, wouldn't it... Frau Weimar ?”

Third froze abruptly, and his whole insides were shackled by the cold of uncontrollable terror. He instantly knew exactly how Britain would want to take revenge on him for his shame.

……

The German carefully twisted the ball in his palms. The little life inside it was still fluttering weakly, but it could not open up — take on a normal, human appearance. It had been a few days since he had been forced into the world, and it was bad. It was really, really, really bad. The process shouldn't take this long!

Young, especially newly born, countries are always extremely weak and unstable, this is normal, but Reich had already tried everything he knew but could not improve his condition in any way.

The child was dying in his arms, and there was nothing he could do about it!

The worst thing was that the next deadline for payment of the endless debt was coming soon, and if before he managed to keep the ball in his hands while he juggled his workload, now there was simply no way to do so.  Somewhere in his mind was a stubborn thought, telling him that if he left the child unattended for even a short while he would crumble to ashes, never able to take a full form…  These conflicting feelings were tearing him apart from the inside.

In theory, he should be happy about this: he doesn't have to kill him personally — the problem will disappear by itself! Why the hell did he keep warming the ball in his palms so persistently?

From the unbearable pain somewhere in the area of his heart and suffocating despair, he wanted to literally howl. Again! Again, he was completely helpless and didn't know what to do!

***

"Damn it, Reich, you can't just give up like that! "Russia growled quietly." I need you alive, not a broken doll... "

He had long since covered the German with warm heating pads and even wrapped him in the same plaid, but Third was still shivering and shaking from the cold, despite the fact that his body temperature had only increased. The guy wiped his face and neck with wet, cold rags, trying to beat down the fever, and carefully gave him water. He gave him some medicines, but there was little use without actual painkillers— the German dreamed of this pain in his sleep, and he was going insane from it.

"Damn you, Fritz", RSFSR snorted. "Father will be angry.… Oh, well, it can't get any worse for me, can it?"

He changed the cold cloth on the man's forehead once more and got to his feet. There was no way he was going to let the German deflate now; if he gave up, he would be most likely unable to pull himself together for at least one more time and would no longer be able to fully restore the appearance of his incarnation... he’d be broken.

This couldn’t be allowed to happen. By no means. If he had to use a sneaky trump card out of his sleeve for this, then, well, so be it.

***

Great Britain understood perfectly well what exactly would make the stubborn German break down. What exactly is the way to make him bend, how to crush him morally. How to make him deflate by force.

The Englishman, of course, did not dirty his own hands personally. It was beneath his dignity. He just gave it to humans.

Humans.

Those... animals.

It wasn't even rape, it was much worse. They fucked him for a very long time, constantly changed, did not give him a minute for a break... The matter did not end with the usual deflation , because when his incarnation took on its female appearance, another hole appeared, quite capable of fully satisfying anyone... 

Suddenly, beautiful, calm music began to play.

Reich gasped for air and opened his eyes. He was sitting on the very edge of the bed, awkwardly fingering a child's hair and looking straight at a sickly white face.

Nearby, on the nearest bedside table, there was a small music box. It was made in the form of a glass ball, inside of which stood a porcelain figurine of a beautiful girl in a chic ball gown. The “Empress”, as the previous owner called her, was slowly spinning in her transparent cage and singing her melody.

The only option Reich could think of was simply to simply ask for advice from someone else, someone who had already dealt with children and might have faced a similar problem. He did not want to reveal the fact that he had a “full-fledged” child, because he would immediately be laughed at, and then he would definitely not be able to hide his shame, but... there was no time to delay.

Of all the possible options, Third ended up leaning towards the only possible one. No one would ever help another in exchange for nothing — it is not profitable — but yet there was exactly one country in the world who could not only agree to help him at such a price that Reich could pay his due, but would not even laugh at him. At least for the simple reason that he never laughs.

In fact, even in his icy eyes there was a flicker of surprise for a second, but he immediately regained his usual imperturbable look. Soviet Union listened to him in absolute calmness.

"Music", he answers his question. "I would recommend music to you. Something calm and peaceful".

Reich knew that USSR had children, at least one, even if the Russian, for some reason, diligently hid them from the rest of the world. And it seems that he was not mistaken — Union really proposed exactly the idea that the German himself somehow did not think of.

Yes, an unstable incarnation needs something to cling to. Usually, this role was played by the symbolic or political signs of the country: the flag, the anthem, their own government... But what do you do when the country hasn't even really formed yet? For children, these standard methods simply did not work.

 "The best option would be something physical and tangible, for example, a music box", the Russian continues his thought.

"But a physical thing must be saturated with emotions! " The German exclaimed involuntarily. "I don't have time to do something as complicated as a whole musical box!"

Countries are, first of all, the spiritual embodiment of the emotions, feelings and desires of the people who live within them; which, in fact, simply takes the most convenient form for performing their duties - the human body. So, the thing designed to stabilize the country must be literally imbued with some positive emotions, otherwise nothing will work.

The most effective way is to do such a thing by hand, on your own. But Reich really didn't have time to create something like this from scratch, even if he already had a clear idea of what parts to assemble the music box from.

Soviet Union looked at him with a slightly narrowed, strange and completely unreadable look.

"You know, Third, coincidentally I've got something that might help you," he said suddenly.

The Russian said that a long time ago he was going to just throw away the musical box, but he still did not get around to it, and so at least it would serve a useful cause. To the question of payment, he told the German that he would be doing him a favor if he took it, before almost forcibly thrusting the box into the German’s hands, accepting no objection.

After the ball had finally opened , the German was able to use another opportunity to stabilize the country – he gave his son his true name. He won't be destined to rule on his own for a long time yet, so the choice fell on a rather banal, but the best, in this situation, option. It used to be the name of an old man-Empire and was strongly associated by people with the identity of their own nation.

Deutschland was still extremely unstable, he was not regaining consciousness, and he had taken on the form of a very young human child, maybe eight years old, but at least he was alive and no longer crumbled to dust in a slight breeze. That didn't mean that Third had pulled him out of the grave, but at least he was no longer hanging over the abyss, just lying on the edge of it.

The fact that he was stabilized and literally saved by an ordinary music box was, to some extent, even funny. Although, it's probably worth taking a closer look at the Empress , as the situation stopped being so illogical.

The figure was simply imbued with immense tenderness and infinite warmth. It was definitely handmade, and the master who made it literally put his soul into the work. As the embodiment of the country, the Reich almost literally felt the infinite love with which every fold of the chic dress was carved.

The work was done very efficiently: the figure itself, the dress, and even the girl's face was worked out in great detail and carefully, which, given the small size of the entire composition, involuntarily caused quite sincere admiration. This box was literally a small piece of art, it was almost perfect. The only thing Third himself could find fault with is the painting of the figurine. As someone who knew a lot about art, he was a little disappointed that there was nothing interesting from this point of view. No, the colouring of the Empress was quite good, it was just that there was nothing really outstanding, as in all other aspects. However, it did not change the fact that the creator of this box was able to make a real miracle.

The German was even really curious as to how exactly it had ended up with Sovok and why he had called it Empress...

Reich himself did not understand the feeling that has continued to beat in his chest until now, but for some reason now, looking at the thin, pale, but lively face opposite him, he felt somehow ... easier.

Third even succumbed to an unexpected impulse and carefully laid down next to the little country on the bed, awkwardly hugged his head and buried his nose in the child's hair. The girl in the glass ball sang her melody and slowly spun, as if dancing, to the tune of calm, beautiful music…

***

Reich took a shuddering gasp of air and opened his eyes. More precisely, one eye— the other is hidden by a bandage, but he did not realize this.

"Whoa, whoa, Fritz, take it easy! " the voice of Russia is immediately heard.

The guy grabbed him again before the German could get up and hurt himself even more, but Third still continued to weakly beat with all his limbs. His eye darted frantically around the darkness of the room, searching for the small music box: he could still hear its beautiful melody.

 "Wo ist sie…? Wo…?Where is she…? Where is…?" he whispered gruffly in German. "Warum tanzt sie nicht…? Warum… hat sie… aufgehört sich zu drehen?! Stopptest…! Ich habe es repariert… sie muss tanzen!!!Why isn’t she dancing…? Why has she stoped spinning?! Stopped…! I fixed it… she should be dancing!!! "

He saw a vague image of a graceful figure and could not come to terms with the fact that only pathetic fragments remained of the once beautiful dress…

"Gans, you're delusional," the RSFSR assured him absolutely calmly. "Calm down".

Third twitched desperately, but his attempts to escape were thwarted when the Russian, unable to hold all the German's limbs, spat and simply sat on top of him. The guy squeezed his body with his knees, not allowing him to move too much.

 " Fritz, stop twitching and let me give you a damn injection! "

Reich's clouded consciousness could not understand the request, but when someone else's palm was light on his forehead and pressed down on his head, he vaguely felt a sharp pain in his neck and froze in fright, really ceasing to resist.

"Well, that's better", Russia spoke calmly again. "Be a little more patient", the guy got off him and again began to lightly stroke his hair, damp from water and sweat.

"You'll feel better soon, just be patient for a little bit more…"

Third groaned deeply, but obediently went limp.

"That's it, well done, calm down..." RSFSR continued to whisper meaningless but pacifying words in a quiet, calm voice.

The German was still terribly ill, but gradually the hellish pain really faded into the background, and he felt a little better...

... Beautiful but the little imagined tune still played in his ears...

*It seems that the time has come to summarize the headcanon that the author adheres to:

1) The label about «Genderswap» is there for a reason. Countries are not people, they don't have a precise gender. Accordingly, in fact, the work does not quite correspond to the label «slash», because for the incarnations of countries, the concept of "gender" itself is very relative.

What is called the term «deflation» is the transition of a country from one gender of its incarnation to another. Due to the established purely historical approach, it is most often assumed that the «male» appearance carries «power» and «influence», when «gentleness» and «courtesy» are «female».

If a country is forced to «deflate» to a female incarnation forcibly, against its will, then it literally breaks down. It is forced to bend, forced to yield. In this case, the process can be extremely morally traumatic. Rape is far from the only, but the most effective and frequently used method is for «forcible deflation».

2) Weimar Republic and Third Reich are one and the same person. This is also the basis for the old friendship between him and the USSR — according to real history, WR and the Soviets had VERY close, mutually beneficial and friendly relations. In 1933 (when the Nazis, led by Hitler, came to power) they abruptly tore up all the old agreements.

On the account of WR's debts: after the First World War, it was tied hand and foot by the Treaty of Versailles, disgraced, humiliated, destroyed its economy and forced to pay huge reparations. Over the years, the size and conditions of payments were constantly softened, because Germany was physically unable to pay them.

3) The text mentioned «full-fledged» or «true» countries-children born of two parents. As a matter of fact, there are also «incomplete» ones, born of only one parent, and as a rare exception there are countries «created» artificially - having no parents at all.

4) From 1871 to 1943, Germany was officially called «Deutsches Reich». However, two different countries cannot have the same name at the same time, so Reich never crossed paths with GE personally, he appeared after his death. Empire died after it became clear that he had lost the First World War.

Officially, Third was always called «Deutsches Reich», but it was only after 1933 that he was able to get other countries to address him in this way. To avoid confusion, the world began to call him «Reich» rather than «Empire», in the Latin manner, like GE.

«Weimar Republic» and «Third Reich» are just his nicknames, not the official name of the country.

Chapter Text

Terrible. Oh, how terrible he felt…

He was almost unbearably dizzy, his whole body was aching, and for some reason, he couldn't move. And it was pitch black all around. There was no way to open his eyes.

Reich gave a strangled groan.

No, it seemed that he could still open his eyelids, then why couldn’t he see anything? Or could he? How dizzying... or maybe...? No, he definitely was opening his eyes but there was still darkness around! What was going on?! Why couldn’t he see anything?!

The German jerked awkwardly, trying to either sit down or stand up, and his whole consciousness was instantly flooded with PAIN. He immediately fell back down, and a faint moan escaped from his torn throat.

What was going on?!

“Gans!” Somewhere nearby, the voice of the RSFSR rang out. “You're awake!”

Familiar, thin, bony fingers touched his shoulders and gently forced him back down.

“Don't move, Fritz, don't get up,” the guy said. “I'll explain everything to you right now, just don't get up, you shouldn't.”

Reich only wheezed in response, unable to force his parched throat to make a sound.

“Oh, water, right?” Russia said, a little confused. “Damn, wait a minute”.

The German heard the boy pick up something heavy from the floor, and then there was a gurgling sound.

“I'm going to help you up, don't be afraid”.

Third felt the other's hand gently squeeze under his head, and then he was carefully lifted. Something hard and faceted was put to his cracked lips. As soon as he felt the moisture, Reich greedily gulped it down. He was too hasty and the liquid went somewhere wrong - the German choked, and the glass instantly moved away from him.

“Hush, Fritz, take your time,” Russia said in a calm voice. “I won't take it away from you, don't rush.”

When he stopped coughing, the moisture on his lips returned, and Reich took a few more weak sips. After quenching his thirst, he felt a little better, and he went limp. He was gently lowered back onto the mattress.

“Well, if I think, then I exist”, Third smiled bitterly to himself. “I feel pain, so I'm still alive.”

In fact, the German was quite surprised when he realized one simple thing – he was alive. He infuriated Sovok to the point of blind rage, and he was still alive. Even more than that, he still seemed to be in the same apartment, and not... well, not in some damp and cold basement.

“You can't see anything because you've got a bandage over your eyes,” said Russia’s calm voice. “Your right eye is damaged, the other one is fine. This is done so that you move your eyeballs as little as possible. The injury is serious, I don't even know if it will be able to heal... Look, since I'm here anyway, why don't I check on you?” The guy suggested. “I need to inspect your stitches. I'll tell you everything while I'm at it.”

Third felt thin fingers lay on him and lift the thing that was covering him– his body instantly felt the unpleasant cold, and the German moaned in protest.

“Hush, hush,” RSFSR instantly muttered meaningless words in a soothing voice. “Gans, you remember the terms, right? I'm your ‘doctor’, I'm not ‘offending’ you. Do you remember?”

Reich let out a shaking exhale, but in the end obediently relaxed and stopped squirming. He truly understood that the guy would not cause him any more pain.

However, as the German felt a soft touch on his bare skin, the realization that he was still completely naked and completely defenseless fell upon him all too abruptly and unexpectedly. Reich shuddered in fright and tried to recoil. His whole body was instantly aching.

“Gans, don't move!” A note of panic flickered in Russia's voice.

But instead of grabbing him and forcibly holding him in place, RSFSR’s hands twitched instantly. The momentary panic was gone, the urgent need for immediate escape had disappeared, and the German himself froze, tense.

“Oh, damn.” RSFSR swore quietly. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. Okay, all right, fine. Gans, you're not wearing any clothes right now. At all. You have a bunch of wounds and they have to be checked constantly, so I didn't bother to dress you. Calm down, Fritz, I won't "offend" you. Let me examine you.”

In general, this whole situation was just inexplicably strange, but... the guy bothered to explain his actions once again. Explain. And even though Reich was not fully aware of what was happening, the mere fact of having such a small thing really calmed him down.

As if he was still a person worthy of some respect. As if he was still a "person" at all, and not a… thing, or a toy. Third exhaled; desperately, but quite sincerely, he tried to force himself to relax.

“Thank you,” Russia said in all seriousness.

The other's fingers touched his skin again, and the German involuntarily shrank anyway, but he was able to restrain himself from a reflexive desire to recoil. The guy still pulled the warm plaid from him, but lowered it only to his waist, without revealing what was below; Reich involuntarily exhaled in relief.

“Anyway, look,” RSFSR spoke. “You've got a huge wound here, on your side...”

His hands gently swept over the part of Reich’s body where the injury had obviously been.

“...I stitched it up, remember? Everything seems to be fine with it, the seams aren't rotting nor is it inflamed, all is as it should be. A couple of minor scratches here and there, nothing serious... And here the wound became slightly inflamed. I've washed and treated it, but it needs to be monitored.”

Fingers gently prodded the other side, and Third hissed in pain.

“I'm sorry. Though again, it didn't fester, and that's a good thing too. Next, one of your ribs cracked when you fell, so I bandaged you, so it may be hard for you to breathe. The most serious thing — is your right hand. Three fingers were broken, there were a few cracks in the forearm, and your shoulder was dislocated. I straightened everything and fixed the bones. The left one also had two broken fingers, and it was also dislocated. It's because of your hands that it hurts you to move, so please stop doing that. So... now the legs.”

The guy pulled the plaid off him, but left his groin area covered, knowing full well that doing otherwise would cause the patient to start protesting again. His fingers moved cautiously over his right leg.

“There's a couple of cracks here too, but it's not that serious. Just don't lean on it and you'll be fine. There are a couple of scratches. Besides the bones, you also had a huge pile of bruises of varying severity, but they’ve already begun to fade away. In general, I highly recommend you not to move at all. Don't even try, it'll hurt a little less if you rest. Gans, take my word for it, I really don't want to drag you around to tie you up and fix you, so please don't make life difficult for both of us.”

Russia did not directly examine another one of Third’s wounds, limiting himself to making sure that there were no bloodstains on the sheet. This was also good, the tear did not open again, even despite the extremely active fumbling of the German.

“Well...” the guy drawled thoughtfully. “Actually, it's really not as bad as you might think. Let me give you some mild sedatives again, you can fall back asleep with them, okay?”

RSFSR asked him as if Reich, in principle, could answer him. However, the guy didn't expect a full-fledged answer - the German heard the guy stirring, and then there was the soft sound of metal hitting glass, when Russia, obviously, started stirring something in the glass.

“Here, drink this.”

The other's hand slipped under his head again and lifted it slightly. For a moment, Third hesitated, but then, giving up, obediently swallowed the medicine.

“Well done,” said a soft voice.

It would seem that such a manner of communication, as with a helpless cripple or, perhaps, a child, should cause him anger, or at least, irritation, but for some reason, it didn't.

“Is there anything else I need to take care of?”

Actually, initially Reich was not going to say anything at all, but... the guy's voice was so... calm and peaceful... so... trustworthy ... Just the sound of it made him feel a little lighter, and the German involuntarily relaxed, almost against his will.

“C... cold,” he whispered faintly. “I'm... I'm cold...”

There was a slight rustle, and the German felt the guy pull something lukewarm from his body, which, as it turned out, was what kept him warm before.

“Yes, it has already cooled down completely… I'm sorry, I hadn’t checked on you today yet.… Wait a minute, I'll change the water.”

Russia covered him again with a plaid, got to his feet and left. While he was away, Reich decided to confirm what the Russian's told him once again. It was unnecessary, but the German simply could not take and fully believe the words of the other country.

It turned out that he really shouldn't have moved his eyes — every movement sent a flash of pain through him, and his head began to spin. So that was why he felt so sick. When the reason became clear, he felt a little better.

The only part of his body that responded to the order of the brain, besides the sluggish tongue, was his left leg. Trying to move everything else even a little was only met with pain and his body refused to obey its owner. He did not find any incomprehensible injuries that would not fit into the guy's words — it seemed that RSFSR really told him about all the problems there were.

The wound that he should have thought of first after the rape, Third didn't even remember, it was the least of his worries.

“Here you are,” came the Russian's voice again.

He carefully lifted the plaid again, and put something under his side. Something insanely warm and just indescribably pleasant.

“It's a rubber heating pad,” the Russian explained.  “It has hot water inside, so be careful while it's fresh, it might even burn.”

The guy put another water pad at his feet. Reich struggled weakly in an involuntary attempt to hold the warm things closer to him. RSFSR wrapped him back in a plaid, tucking the edges so that the cooler air of the room did not get to him.

The German went limp and passed out even before the guy finished.

Russia critically examined his ward – well, it seems that he was in relative order.

It had been a little over a week since the incident, and it was the first time that Third had fully regained consciousness and even managed to say something comprehensible. His wounds and injuries had already begun to heal, but the process was rather slow. Perhaps still a little faster than humans, but still indescribably slow.

Well, at least he didn't "deflate" after everything.

He lost quite a bit of weight and muscle mass, but otherwise his physical appearance had not changed much. Reich even managed to climb out from the abyss of his own consciousness — really amazing stubbornness and endurance.

Truly, indeed, it was worthy of respect.

RSFSR was even forced to admit– now he really understood what it was Father once saw in him long ago, despite everyone considering the German a pathetic, helpless weakling, and why this had affected him so much...

Though the fact that Third was still freezing like this was quite strange. Russia even glanced with a squint towards the window. Well, he was already here anyway, so he could check it out.

The guy went to the windowsill, pulled back the curtains and carefully examined the wooden frames. He pulled a metal lighter from his jacket pocket, struck it, and ran the light around the entire perimeter of the window. No wind seemed to be creeping inside.

Third continued to freeze, although in general the temperature in the apartment was quite comfortable– RSFSR did not really like the cold himself, so he made sure that the heating worked without disruption. Shrugging, he jumped off the windowsill and pulled the curtains back.

Perhaps the constant fever was just one of the manifestations of his psychosomatic problems. They tried to minimize the Сold of the Grave from the nearest neighborhood — they tried to find and pull out the bones of as many German soldiers as possible who had died here, and sent them back to their native land. It was simply impossible to find all of the fallen, there were too many of them. However, now there were still more restless Soviet soldiers lying in the ground... at least right here, in the nearest districts.

Russia couldn't think of any other possible explanations for what was happening.

Finally, the guy checked on Reich again, making sure that he really fell asleep and that everything was fine with him so far, then left the room. The German's awakening had distracted him from his work, and he had to return to it.

Russia let out a tired sigh — he hated paperwork more than anything else, but he had to go through the reports today. That was the way countries live – a dull existence behind a mountain of endless papers. Typewriters have been invented now, and they have significantly reduced the tediousness of work, whereas before everything was written by hand and pen... Br-r-r, how horrible.

For the most part, RSFSR did this very paperwork here, in the same apartment. He had to empty and urgently vacate one of the rooms for Third to keep him as close to himself as possible, in order to avoid... potential accidents.

He went into the adjacent room, which was now assigned the role of everything at the same time: the living room, the library, and the office; and then the place where RSFSR lay slumped at his desk.

Just looking at the whole mountain of paper made him feel sick. For the most part, he was responsible for managing and coordinating the actions of the “red machine of the Soviets,” and it was on his shoulders to make sure that everyone had everything they needed to accomplish their tasks…

All right. Where did he stop? Oh, yes, he needed to finish preparing a brief summary of the results for Father, and also check if everyone was done…

Suddenly, Russia jerked violently, and his fingers grabbed the phone just a moment before the phone rang.

“Moscow, I asked you not to redirect here yet!”

“Oh, how zaynyaty you are!Oh, how busy you are!” the voice on the other end of the wire echoed into his ears. “ There's no way doklikatisya to you otherwise!Otherwise there’s no way to reach you!”

RSFSR rolled his eyes in irritation, but quickly pulled himself together.

“ Сhogo u tebe stalosya, Ukrop? What happened to you, Ukrop? ” He got straight to the point.

“Well…” Ukraine hesitated nervously. “ Anyway, ti pam’yatayesh tu shtuku, yaku bat’ko skazav zrobity until tomorrow? Anyway, do you remember that thing Father said to do until tomorrow?”

Blyat was all that flashed through the Russian's mind. He's kidding.

“ Skilki are missing? How much of it is missing?” asked Russia, trying to sound unbothered.

“About forty tonnes.”

Blya-a-at…

Apparently, he was silent long enough for the Ukrainian to really start worrying.

“ Is it zovsim that pogano? Is it really that bad?”

“ Tebe dokladno abo phrase «thi trup» is enough?Do you need details or is the phrase “you’re dead” enough?”

“ Damn, nu, come up with shcho-nebud’! You're u nas nairozumnishiy! Damn, well, come up with something! You're the smartest one here!”

Russia sighed.

“Ukrop, the delivery must be complete and on time, even at the cost of your life.”

“ Da rosumia ya!I know that!” The Ukrainian replied irritably. “I still have shche paru dney, ya zmozu nabraty the necessary amount of grain, noh shcho, teper my people going s goloda pomirat’? I still have a couple of days, I can collect the necessary amount of grain, but what, are my people going to starve to death now?”

Oh, of course, it's better for my people to die…

“ Ya compensuyu tobi for the damage, the main thing is dostav postavku on time. I'll compensate you for the damage, the main thing is to deliver it on time.”

“ Nou, zapozdayet na denyok, what's the big deal? So, it'll be a day late, what's the big deal? ”

“Ukrop, if you delay delivery, you'll have to report to Father!"

“ Znushchayeshsya?! Are you kidding me?!” The Ukrainian involuntarily exclaimed. “ Zaraz ze vesna na nosi, I won't even go anywhere near him yi odnoy nogoy! Spring is around the corner now, I won't go anywhere near him).”

RSFSR rolled his eyes again and even rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“ Ladno, I've got your back. But, Ukrop, nay bilshe odnogo dnya. Okay, I got your back. But, Ukrop, no more than one day).”

“I got it,” the Ukrainian snorted, and then, hesitating for a second, reluctantly dropped the continuation of the phrase. “Thanks, Ros.”

“Yeah,” the Russian replied. “Goodbye.”

There were beeps in the receiver, but the RSFSR did not put it back, waiting until silence fell.

“Moscow, don't bother Father about this.”

“As you say, master,” the subject replied calmly over the other line that had always been connected. "Should I contact Rostov Region? "

"Yes, be kind. Describe the situation to him. If anything, let him involve his brother, Krasnodar should definitely have reserves for unforeseen expenses."

“It will be done, master.”

“Thank you.”

Only now did Russia hang up the phone.

Well, damn, that was great. Simply excellent. It was bad enough he had problems, now he had this...

All right. A brief report. Yeah, right.

The guy pulled a watch out of his jacket and looked at the time. It'd been a couple of hours - perhaps he can already risk going to Father. He'd have to see him before morning, and he had some news for him.

Since Reich was asleep now, there was no need to go out through the door by slamming it loudly. This was done on purpose so that the German would have at least a ghostly impression of control over the situation - he knew when he was alone in the apartment and when he was not, and the fact of having that much knowledge reassured him.

Russia just focused on where he needed to be, and after a few moments of slight dizziness, he opened his eyes elsewhere.

«Movement» .

An extremely useful skill, although it has its own limits. The most important of them is that you can move freely only on your own land. On someone else's land, such an opportunity will only occur with the direct permission of the owner, but even in this case it will be much more difficult to do than at home.

Not all countries can do such a trick as quickly and easily as he did — during the war, he had to learn quickly in order to somehow coordinate the actions of different parts of the army. In other things, and in everyday life, the skill turned out to be extremely useful.

Russia carefully stepped into the house, trying not to pay attention to the grave cold that reigned here. The light was only on in one room, but the guy didn't immediately go there— he silently slipped past and went to the kitchen first.

He closed the door tightly behind him before flicking the switch, turning on the light. He put the kettle on the stove, but made sure to remove it shortly before it boiled, so as to make as little noise as possible.

The guy listened attentively to the dead silence of the house, and cautiously tried to reach out to his father. It is quite difficult to describe in words exactly how this happens, it's just that countries that are close for one reason or another can feel each other, even from a distance. Union looked more like a huge block of ice than a living thing, and he didn't react at all to careful inspection.

Well, he can only hope that he will be in a more adequate state now than he was a couple of hours ago.

As luck would have it, events had come together in such a way that Third enraged his father a little earlier than necessary, and now literally everyone has suffered from it. And in addition, spring was just around the corner... despite the fact that more than a week had passed, Union was still acting like soulless machinery, just mechanically continuing to do his job. It was necessary to bring him to his senses somehow, and the right event had just happened. The main thing was to not go too far.

“Would you like some tea, Dad?”  Russia smiled softly, carefully walking around his father's table, placing a mug with a drink and a prepared report a little to his father’s side.

USSR slowly turned, giving his son an absolutely empty gaze. He was leaning back in his chair and appeared busy... carving a small figure out of wood with a knife. It seems that it was a bit like a crane, or some kind of heron — it was not quite clear yet. Shavings and scraps covered his knees and littered the entire floor, but Union did not pay any attention to it at all.

Well, it wasn't that bad. At least he hadn't folded origami flowers out of paper yet — that would be a very, very bad sign. And so, RSFSR could assume that everything was fine.

“He's awake,” Union said with complete indifference.

It was not a question, but a statement.

“Yes, but...” Russia hesitated for a moment, and then cautiously continued. “He is still unstable .”

“We must proceed with extreme caution.”

“Father, something needs to be done.”

In fact, the guy wasn't even lying, he had done everything he could, but Third was really still in a rather deplorable state, his constant fever only proved it. It was necessary to do something else, something that could quickly resonate with the German and be able to stabilize him.

Russia used standard methods, general recommendations, so to speak. Universal ways of doing things that could be tried. It helped, of course, but something more narrowly focused was needed. It would no longer work to use his affection for his own son again - associations between the voice of RSFSR and memories of German have already been formed, and in these circumstances would only aggravate the situation. And Russia didn't dare to hit at random — it was too risky.

Father knew Reich much better - if he couldn't come up with something suitable, then no one can.

“He won't escape so easily...” the guy abruptly paused mid-sentence, seeing a muscle twitch on his father’s face. 

In other matters, Union did not explode anymore — he had already burned out.

“Well...” he said dryly, “I'll think about it.”

RSFSR almost exhaled with relief, — everything is fine. His father's voice became cold and emotionless again, but fortunately, it no longer seemed empty and dead. The fact that Reich was alive continued to help even now, it still brought his father back to a precarious balance. It was good, it was very, very good.

“At least try to feed him.”

The guy's hands dropped.

“Feed?” He asked, confused.

This order completely disrupted his rhythm, Russia himself somehow did not think of such a thing at all. No, there was definitely logic, but...

“Right,” Union resumed his interrupted work and continued carving the figure. “People need food so their body functions normally.”

It seemed that the carving was a heron, a symbol of tranquility.

“What's the problem?” USSR asked coldly, when the guy hesitated to answer. “You know how to cook.”

“Yes, but... It's... And what if I have to feed him all the time?!”

“So, you will feed him all the time.”

“But...” The young man cut himself off abruptly as Union looked up at him with an icy gaze. 

“I'm sorry, Father,” he said humbly. “As you say.”

The man frowned slightly, and Russia instantly hurried away from his field of vision, even before USSR had time to utter the obvious order aloud. He had already reached the door, when suddenly, a cold voice rang out again.

“Wait.”

Obediently, Russia turned around, raising one eyebrow a little in surprise. Father stirred heavily and took the mug of tea in his hands.

“Do you still have hunger pangs?” He asked calmly.

RSFSR shuddered nervously — Union hit the bull's-eye with his question.

“No, Dad,” he said awkwardly, and even broke into a slightly silly, embarrassed smile. “I'm better now.”

Union gave him a cold, squinted look. Obviously, he realized that Russia had evaded the answer, but he did not put pressure on him.

“Fine. Go.”

“Surrender, German Reich,” the Englishman's voice repeated in his head. “You've got to sign the surrender...”

The German awoke in silent terror, desperately gasping for air. He didn't know if it was day or night, and he couldn't get up or even raise himself, but after a while his consciousness fell back into the abyss of his own mind.

He heard the sounds of falling shells and explosions.

“M-my Führer...” Italy's voice trembled in fright.

“You're nothing but a useless piece of garbage!” shouted Third himself.

“Father, don't!!!” Deutschland exclaimed in horror and even rushed to cut him off, but not in time. The box shattered against the wall and broke into shards, which clattered to the floor with a loud sound.

Reich opened his eyes and jerked sharply in a reflexive attempt to get up, but his whole body was again pierced by a flash of agony, and he fell back onto the mattress.

Third gasped for air very quickly, shuddering. His heart was beating wildly and pounding in his head. He felt dizzy again, and he didn't know where he was. He couldn't see anything, and the pitch-black darkness only added to the feeling of utter terror. He tried to scream, or at least to groan, but no sound came out of his throat.

Unsure whether it was still a dream or already reality, the German wanted to literally howl — it was unbearable, unbearable, simply unbearable!!! He couldn't stand it, he couldn't!

“Russland!” the German desperately called, “Russland!!!”

It wasn't exactly ordinary communication in its literal sense, because the words weren't spoken aloud. Generally, only countries that were close to each other could use this technique, but he felt so horrible now, and the youngest of the Russians was the only option his tortured mind could come up with...

“What happened?”

Reich involuntarily shuddered when he heard his voice. He hadn't noticed Russia come into the room, but now he was definitely there. Russia’s hands landed softly on his shoulders and gently pressed him back onto the mattress. Third grasped the other's clothes with the fingers that still obeyed him. The mere presence of the guy next to him gave a feeling of relief, albeit a slightly irrational one, in the depths of his soul.

“I... I...” the German muttered quietly, before he abruptly broke off.

Shit.

Shit!

Reich sharply unclenched his own fingers and roughly pushed the guy away. Or rather, he just tried to, he just wouldn't have the strength to do it fully, but Russia himself moved away from him, feeling the faint resistance.

So, why did he call him? To say, oh, I had a nightmare, sit with me for a while? That was... stupid! And... and... shameful! It was a sign of weakness!

“Listen, Fritz,” Russia suddenly spoke in a surprisingly serious voice.

Judging by the soft rustle, the guy got down and sat next to him on the floor.

“I know this is going to sound a bit illogical, but let me get this straight. You're safe here.”

The phrase pierced his head like a bullet — Reich froze abruptly.

“You are on our land, you are under our protection. No one will ever reach you here, under any circumstances.”

“What...what are you...”

“Yes, now you are just a "trophy" of the Soviet Union. But you're his "trophy," Fritz, a personal one. Gans, you yourself know this very well: Father does not give away his things for nothing. You should have heard the wording he squeezed out of the Englishman… Britain will never reach you again. You have been handed over to USSR, and I quote, ‘forever and without the right to appeal this verdict by anyone’. Even Britain can't get out of the bureaucracy he got himself into. He'll never do anything to you again. Father won't let him. Now you are under his iron wing, no one can get you here.”

No matter how contradictory it was, those words really struck a chord with the German, and he simply could not ignore them.

"I understand that this side of the coin is not very attractive, but you still need to look at the situation from this angle. In general, neither Father nor I need to hurt you at all… However, it's not worth angering Dad either — he explodes like a volcano and becomes completely uncontrollable."

Third huffed in confusion– it's... it's... damn!

Again! Damn it, Russland was once again framing the situation in such a way that Reich just couldn't help but listen to his words!

"Sleep calmly, Fritz. Here, your nightmares are just bad dreams. You still have the right to choose, which means that the situation is not yet hopeless."

There is a choice. The situation is not hopeless.

“To hell with... such a choice ...” the German whispered plaintively. “Either die or...”

“Live”, the Russian interrupted him, and Third could almost hear the soft smile in his voice. “Almost nothing has changed, just the scenery.”

 “ Almost ?”

“This time, you have a guarantor of protection from other countries. Not European: polite, but empty and hypocritical, but ours — cold and gloomy. You know Father keeps his word. And he guaranteed you that ‘no one will see what you turn into here.’ He's already pulled you out of the clutches of those vultures, and he won't give you back. In a sense, this is a promise of safety, of your protection while you are in his hands. You aren't yet 'unquestioningly following all of his orders’, but for now you are simply ‘on our land, according to a pan-European decision.’”

Reich desperately shook his head in denial, but the words really touched a nerve. One of his most secret fears was revealed and torn out - salvation from other countries was never given to him, even in his own lands, on which, in theory, he had some rights there.

And the worst thing was that... the German himself admittedly agreed with everything that Russland was telling him now.

Union always kept his word, he would not break the treaty first… Third knew it perfectly well, and moreover, he himself had asserted it. He had quite sincerely and honestly accepted it as a constant, as an indisputable fact, even before everything that had happened.

That was what was most unbearable, that was what made his soul crack with despair. After all, Russia was telling him the pure truth, and Reich knew it was true, he himself admitted it...

“Are you cold?” RSFSR asked suddenly, and softly.

The question pulled the German out of the depths of his own despair. Third somehow squeezed himself together and turned his head to the side. He did not want to admit such weakness out loud, but Russia did not insist on a direct answer.

“Let me change the water anyway,” he suggested.

He touched him carefully, as if silently asking permission, and, meeting no obvious resistance, began to carefully unfold the folds of the plaid.

“You have nightmares because you're freezing,” the guy explained his initiative. “The heat always drives them away. You'll get warm and you'll be able to get some decent sleep.”

Perhaps Reich would’ve been able to control himself if it hadn't been for this stupid question. So even and set... in such a soft tone. As if Russland really... worried about him. Really... took care of him.

And in his mind an association formed all on its own: care, warmth... Safety .

When the Russian returned and carefully placed a rubber heating pad in his weak embrace, Third could not stand it.

"E-eyes..." he breathed faintly.  "Open them. At least the one that's uninjured."

The guy didn't reject him immediately, but Reich still heard his clothes rustle as he stretched his shoulders, obviously a little nervous. He didn't want to do that, it was dangerous, the injury hadn't healed yet, it shouldn't be disturbed like that, Third understood him perfectly well.

“I...” the German's voice shook for a moment. “Damn, I'm begging you, Russland. Please. Open it. I can't... I can't... in this darkness...I don't understand where the dream starts and where it ends…”

There was a soft sigh.

“Alright,” Russia concedes. “But you should be more careful. Don't move them too much.”

“I... got it.”

Familiar, slightly bony fingers gently touched his face and began to unwind the bandages. The guy did it quite quickly, and deftly, he clearly knew how to handle immobilized patients.

Reich couldn't hold back a quiet sigh of relief when he was finally able to see anything other than the blotches of color in front of his eyes.

The room itself was in semi-darkness, apparently it was the middle of the night, only weak lighting penetrated from somewhere in the corridor. Third turned his gaze to the Russian and involuntarily shuddered when the cold eyes of Union flashed in the darkness. Russland immediately closed his eyelids slightly, as if on purpose not to frighten him.

“All right, Fritz, seriously, sleep already,” Russia's voice was still the same — soft and calming. “I still have so much work to do today...”

“So, go.” Reich snorted softly, he was indeed already half asleep. “I’m not holding you back.”

He was still vaguely aware of the slender fingers gently removing the strands of hair from his forehead that were poking into his now open eye.

“All right,” came RSFSR’s soothing voice “Have a calm night.” **

It was so... funny. The Germans wished each other Gute Nacht, good night, literally… but now, perhaps, Reich was ready to admit that he wanted exactly a calm night , without nightmares and dreams…

Even if this meant that by default, he had to accept to some extent that he was now destined to live on Russian land.

RSFSR even shook his head in surprise, as carefully as possible "examining" the condition of Third from the next room — wow, it really worked. It seemed so ridiculous, just a reminder of a couple of facts, and what effect…

As strange as it might sound, it seemed that Father still really knew what he was doing.

However, he should really feed the German, it was just that there were some... difficulties doing so. Usually, Russia did not have to worry about where and how to get food for himself, and that was exactly where the problems appeared. He could not abuse his status as a country too much, otherwise... some other "difficulties" may arise. It was necessary to formalize everything officially.

In general, everything was a little more complicated than it seemed at first glance.

Author’s Note: 

* Due to the appearance of misunderstandings, I shall explain: Both, Russia and Ukraine speak "surzhik", an insane mixture of both languages, Russian and Ukrainian, and not one specific one. Therefore, a request to experts in both languages: do not correct the text, it is written so specifically.

** In Russia, it is a "calm night" that people wish each other.

Ukrop is the nickname Russia gave his brother, and he calls him Moskal’ in response.

  Surzhik was written in transcription to convey how crazy this mix of languages is.

Translators’ Note:

Surzhik is written to be vaguely more like a mix of English and Ukrainian, since we are still following the format ‘what’s translated to English should be automatically assumed as originally Russian.’ 

Chapter Text

Soviet Union sat with an absolutely impenetrable expression on his face, dejectedly listening to a stream of almost obscene swearing from the phone.

“Well, it has arrived,” he replied coldly.

The voice on the other side of the line literally exploded with indignation. In fact, Union had no idea what exactly Poland was telling him, but his confusion lasted for a moment, the interlocutor did not even notice it.

“So, there must have been reasons.” He said, calmly. “I don't have to notify you about such trifles.”

Russia did not report any problems to him, so it was logical to assume that Ukraine had made a mess of things. When the Pole finally crossed the line of professionalism, and started turning personal, Union abruptly and coldly cut him off:

"That's it. Shut up."

He can throw mud at him as much as his rotten soul wants, but USSR will not allow him to insult his kids.

"Be grateful that we continue to sponsor you at all. Did the delivery come? It did. Did we keep our end of the bargain? We did. We don't owe you anything. Choke on your grain and spare me your meaningless chatter."

It was literally audible how Poland had already taken a deep breath, clearly intending to roll out another heartfelt speech, but the Russian did not wait for him anymore — he just rudely slammed the telephone receiver back into place.

USSR growled loudly and angrily, pulled out a pack of cigars from his overcoat and almost tore it open, setting one on fire and taking a long drag of the cigarette.

"Brat," he spat the insult from his tongue into the empty room..

What a troublesome boy. Covering up for his brothers again and withholding information from him. What a sticky bug, nothing can get rid of this fucking kindness, defiance and bordering on madness...

"Dad?" the voice of the culprit of the incident was heard. "Would you like some tea?"

Union shot a withering gaze at his own son. Russia was already standing next to him, but still prudently a little further away so that he couldn’t reach him from his place. How and when exactly he managed to appear here, and so inconspicuously too, remained a mystery.

The guy smiled gently at him and handed him a slightly steaming mug, but as soon as he noticed his dad’s reaction, he immediately shuddered and took a step back.

USSR abruptly stiffened and broke eye contact, and with it his heavy, icy pressure. He took a very slow, deep breath in and out, trying to pull himself together.

His son didn't know that the call was from Poland, and if he had known, he wouldn't have dared to go to him so openly — he just felt a flash of anger and instantly tried to do something to calm him down.

"Yes," the man finally responds, voice cold.

The guy nevertheless came closer to the table and gently gave him a hot mug of tea.

"Did something happen?" His son asks cautiously in the most soothing tone he could muster.

How exactly he managed to sound like that, Union had no idea.

"No."

USSR himself had to honestly admit that he had been too irritated lately, and the incident that transpired was just a small trifle. Sometimes one can run into unforeseen difficulties and deadlines can't be met on time... it happens.

It's nothing. Just a trifle.

He'd already been pretty strict about absolutely everything lately, and everyone was probably already scared… No wonder Russia was afraid to report this to him.

"Sovok, you really are just an unstable beast…," he smiled mirthlessly to himself and sipped the tea in his hands.

Damn it. With ginger and honey. Delicious.

"I’m grateful", USSR responds.

The words turn out dry and emotionless, but that gentle smile returns to RSFSR’s face.

It would seem logical if it were forced, but for some damn reason this wasn’t the case — Russia always smiled at him sincerely enough that the action didn’t not look fake. However, this time his anxiety was still visible, his fingers slightly trembling.

"Everything’s fine," says Union.

It sounded cold, but this was his completely sincere, albeit clumsy attempt to calm his offspring.

"Nothing worthy of attention."

"Okay," Russia smiled softly again. "As you say."

***

Reich stirred sleepily in an attempt to wrap himself tighter in the warm plaid. He was dreaming again, something bad, but that wasn't why he'd woken up.

The smell.

Third could smell something. Light, almost imperceptible, but something very, very... pleasant.

At first, the German tried to ignore it, thinking that it was just his consciousness playing a cruel joke on him again. Blackout curtains covered the window, but it seemed to be day after all—it was quite bright. It was just that the sun wasn't shining too brightly; it must be overcast.

The stubborn smell did not dissipate one bit. He didn't seem to have dreamed of it after all. Reich blinked sleepily, but still opened his eye and tried to figure out what was going on. No, really, he truly could smell something. Something insanely pleasant and... appetizing?

Third couldn't stand it, he very slowly and carefully raised himself on his elbows and sat down. The plaid immediately slipped off his shoulders, but the German pulled it back on and wrapped himself tightly in it. It hurt to move his right hand, but his left one was almost obeying him — it was with it that he managed to hold the heavy, sliding fabric.

His movements were somewhat limited, because this time all his fractures were fixed with special spokes - they played the role of a fixed frame in the absence of a full-fledged plaster. However, he wasn't handcuffed to the wall, so in theory he could even get up and walk.

Actually, that was exactly what he was trying to do, but then his leg started to ache. Reich hissed quietly with anger, but stopped trying. He could stand on both knees, but he couldn't get to his feet. Whatever, he didn’t care.

For some reason, the German understood that he was doing some illogical shit right now, but he couldn't help it. The pleasant smell was so enticing, so inviting, and it was definitely coming from somewhere in the corridor…

Curiosity was stronger than rationality, and Third cautiously approached the exit from his room. He could only crawl quite clumsily on the floor, or move gently on his knees, but eventually he managed to get to the corridor.

Reich did not dare to leave the confines of the room, more subconsciously than consciously, but nevertheless he froze at the exit, leaned his shoulder on the door frame, and cautiously looked out.

Visible from this angle, the corridor was quite small, just a few meters long. There were a couple of doors to its left, but now they were closed, and the one directly opposite from where he peered was wide open. The corridor itself turned to the right.

In the room that was open, there was a large table and a couple of stools pushed under it. There was nothing else  visible, but Third was sure that the alluring smell was coming from there.

Later, the German wouldn’t even know what he would’ve done if he hadn’t been interrupted, but just at that moment, when he was hesitating, not knowing what to do next, RSFSR suddenly appeared in sight.

He came out of the room that was opposite him. The Russian did not notice him at first as his gaze was focused with his hands, which he was drying with a towel. But then he looked up, and for a moment their gazes crossed.

"Fritz? What are you doing out here?"

Reich shuddered in fright and immediately flinched away from the door. When Russia peeked into his room a couple of seconds later, the German was already desperately pressing his back into the opposite corner. To the obvious question that lingered in the guy’s eyes, Third only shook his head in horror as a sign of denial.

"N-no, n-nothing... I didn't... I didn't go out..." He began to erratically justify himself.

"Gans, if you're hungry, I can feed you," RSFSR said quite calmly.

Third froze abruptly.

"Hungry."

In general, usually the embodiments of countries do not need food as such. They can eat and even often do it, but the process is more  of an...  aesthetic purpose. Countries feel and enjoy the taste of food, but they do not need food for the full functioning of the body. They are, first of all, the spiritual embodiment of their people. Physiology for them is always secondary and generally quite relative to one’s soul.

They only begin to feel the feeling of hunger when their people start to suffer from it en masse. In this case, eating helps to partially dull the unpleasant sensations.

However, Reich no longer had his own people. He didn't have anything else at all. And he really began to feel hungry all the time, just after waiting for so long— the Englishman didn't care about such trifles — he somehow involuntarily got used to it and stopped paying attention to it.

But now, when he smelled that delicious smell... when he realized what exactly made him get up and even move... his stomach, for some reason, literally howled in despair. The German couldn't even resist and winced painfully as his stomach cramped.

He was really hungry.

Just really, insanely starving. Unbearably so. And the pleasant smell stirred his whole gut, beckoning to him so enticingly...

"Wait about ten minutes,” came the voice of RSFSR, from which Third involuntarily shuddered. "It's not ready yet, but as soon as it is, I'll bring it to you, okay?"

Reich snorted in annoyance, pulled himself together, forced his body to detach from the wall as if it were not he who had pressed himself into it in terror a moment before. And he even turned away from the Russian, almost arrogantly. Despite all this, he did not snap out loud.

Asking RSFSR to feed him was never going to happen - it would be tantamount to admitting his own weakness, but... but... if... the guy himself offered him, it would be fine, right? It was not a “weakness”, it’s just... “concession”.

A small one.. Very tiny... quite acceptable...

Russia didn’t demand a direct answer from him, just walked out calmly and left him alone.

Ten minutes, right? That was not so long, he could wait a little longer.

While he had time, Third decided to take a full look at himself. This was the first time his mind was working more or less normally, and it was worth taking advantage of. And it was also vital for him to distract himself, so as not to keep his mind from the alluring smell.

The German fidgeted cautiously, trying to make himself comfortable, so that everything hurt as little as possible. He sat leaning back against the wall, but then the bones of his spine rested directly on the hard surface. He had to work hard to get his fingers on the pillow and put it behind his back.

Wait, a pillow?

Reich stared at the object in sincere surprise.

When the hell did that show up here? Third was at a loss to answer the question, but when he tried to remember, he realized that he had been lying on it for quite some time, right from the moment of the incident. That's why his neck didn't go numb, despite the fact that he literally slept for days and nights.

Shrugging his shoulders, the German nevertheless shifted the pillow.

On the whole, Reich found nothing new – his injuries had indeed begun to heal, and he was even able to move. He didn't feel any obvious problems with breathing, and his broken fingers were firmly fixed - if he didn't bother them, the pain was bearable. Other than that, there was only...

Suddenly, the German literally shuddered when, quite unexpectedly, he realized one simple thing. All this time, and it had been quite a long time, he honestly and sincerely did not even think about the wound from which, in theory, he should have suffered from in the first place. No, if he were to purposefully concentrate, he could still feel his butt aching a little, but overall...

After being raped, the victim always wakes up in unbearable pain in one sensitive place, alone, frozen and insanely dirty. She feels unbearably ill, she's exhausted both physically and mentally, but she needs to get up on shaky legs and, staggering, at least just wash and wash off and out of herself all this filth.

At best, she'd at least have hot water to warm herself in, and if not... it's better to just die.

From all of the above list, Reich only had pain. And even then, it was absolutely not the one he subconsciously feared, more than anything in the world, to experience again. Fractures and stitches are, of course, also bad, but this is not even close to the unbearable mixture of that physical and mental agony, when all your insides are torn to shreds, the remnants of pride and self-esteem are trampled into dust, and all this is accompanied by a dreadful, all-devouring cold...

He was definitely completely washed of blood and everything else — this fact involuntarily made the German shudder with embarrassment and shame, because it was obvious exactly how it happened. There were simply no other options; Reich was absolutely sure that no human hands had touched him.

It was as if there were no people in this house at all, which was quite strange, because he was in a multi-story residential building. But they weren't really there, at least Third didn't feel them. No, they were still somewhere nearby; the German heard the residual noise of human life from the street, but they did not appear to be in the immediate vicinity.

Another part of rape is just having a hell of a dry throat. During a blowjob, too much saliva is released, and tears flow out of the eyes... it dehydrates the body very much. And there’s always a nauseating taste of someone else’s semen left in the mouth. However, none of this was present, and the German clearly remembered that water was the very first thing that Russland gave him immediately after what happened.

All in all, Third felt like a dog beaten in an unequal battle, not a torn slut. And it wasn't... that bad.

It was surprisingly not that bad.

Russia, as imperceptibly and unobtrusively as possible, Listened to the condition of the German from the next room while pouring soup into a bowl.

It is believed that such a trick can only be made by those countries who are close, for one reason or another, but in fact, with proper skill one can Read almost anyone. It’s just that not everyone can do it discreetly, and kindred spirits don’t usually close themselves to each other with an impenetrable wall, so with them it's far easier.

In the specific case of Reich, a simple trick worked: the words of RSFSR that he would not cause him any more pain coincided with reality, and the German unwittingly garnered a drop of trust in him. Third did not, purely subconsciously, shield his mind from him as carefully as he did at the beginning.

In general, the guy thought for quite a long time about how exactly to stuff food into Reich, but the circumstances turned out extremely fortunate. He himself had already noticed and caught certain patterns a long time ago, and when this was combined with Father’s knowledge, in the end there was a complete picture of the correct way to approach the stubborn German.

Trying to force him to do something against his will was a dead end. Third would not do it, under any circumstances. He’d rather die from overexertion than break down.

And he would not accept pity under any pretense  — it’d infuriate him, and Reich might even explode in the same way as Father does. The consequences, of course, would not be fatal, but if the German was offended, then he would be mad for a long, long time and might never let him near him again. The excuse that Russia was treating him more by order of USSR than out of “banal pity” was strong enough that Third reluctantly gave way and allowed Russia to touch him and examine his injuries.

In short, in any interaction with a German, the only thing left to do was to frantically fumble around and quietly pray for success... in general, nothing new. He was used to it and knew how to navigate it.

It was good that the feeling of hunger attacked him so viciously that Reich agreed to eat almost voluntarily. Even if he did not say consent out loud, he did not refuse directly — this was a clear sign that he didn’t mind at all, he just had a sense of pride that did not allow him to show "weakness.”

Well, everyone has their own personal issues, like cockroaches crawling around in their head. The strange ones must also be respected.

"Well, I'm not promising you a Tsar’s dinner, but it seems to be quite edible," the Russian said in a surprisingly positive tone, entering Reich’s room.

Reich looked at him with a frown.

“Tsar’s dinner.” For the prisoner. Who would be fine with leftovers from the table, because he did not deserve more, not even if such a meal is a reward for “good behavior”. How ironic. 

"Congratulations, Russland, the title for the world's lamest sense of humor has been awarded to you," he snapped listlessly. "And that’s a big achievement, because Sovok does not have one at all.”

"What do you mean, he doesn't?" Russia feigned surprise. "And from whom did I get such a unique talent?"

The German hesitated a little in confusion – other countries usually ignored such small games. The pompous kings of the world dismissed it as "stupidity" and a "a useless waste of time," as if polite European talk about the weather was better.

"I'd hazard a guess that it's your own gift, because at least you're laughing at your own jokes."

"If Father doesn't laugh out loud, it doesn't mean that he doesn't love his own humor," the guy smiled. "In fact, Father is a cheerful man, it's just that for some reason his jokes make everyone else want to hang themselves."

Reich coughed, trying to suppress a traitorous chuckle. God, the guy hit the bullseye. Sovok was exactly like that.

Yes, Sovok did have a sense of humor, it was just... well... It was better to hang yourself than listen to his veiled mockery. If necessary, he managed to say such general phrases that carry such a murderously offensive subtext, if you think a little about the meaning of his words.… The expression on other’s faces at those moments were just amazing .

Rather pleasant memories of bygone days even made Third involuntarily relax his own body, which had previously been tense and ready to bolt at any moment.

However, when Russia easily and deftly sank to the floor in front of him, sitting cross-legged, managing not to spill a drop of liquid from the plate, quite purposefully wrapped his fingers around the spoon and scooped the soup up with it... Reich literally stared at him, almost goggling in surprise.

"What's wrong?" The guy didn't understand his reaction.

The German looked at the Russian's face in confusion.

"Gans, your arms are broken,." Russia explained calmly.

This realization fell on Reich all unexpectedly.

That... that was... damn! Damn!

He... he really hadn't thought about that... hadn't even considered it! Not a second thought at all! How could he screw up like that?! How could he not take into account such an obvious thing?!

Third looked down at his own fingers, completely lost. His right hand hardly moved at all, and his left hand... his thumb and middle finger were broken. He might still be able to hold an empty spoon, but to eat... Yet, to allow himself to be spoon-fed... like a cripple... or... a pathetic weakling... or... perhaps a helpless child...

But on the other hand, the pleasant smell still tickled his gut, and its source was so close... just within reach now... the smell was indescribably pleasant!

Extra saliva began to gather in his mouth, which the German swallowed a little sluggishly.

Suddenly there was a loud "snort" as Russland rolled his eyes.

"Gosh, Fritz, it would be a shame if you poured soup on yourself," he told him. "There's nothing wrong with being fed. Come on, you should really eat, food restores your health significantly. You see, all the fractures will heal much faster."

"Also true," Reich was simply forced to agree.

RSFSR nevertheless scooped up the soup with a spoon and handed it to him.

"Come on, Fritz, otherwise I won't be able to resist and I’ll really start coddling you like a child."

This stupid phrase was enough to bring the German to his senses.

"A weak threat," he snorted.

"Well, you asked for it," smiled Russia. "So, Gans, a spoon for..."

"Shut up!" Reich cut him off sharply and rudely. "Give it to me already."

He reached closer and wrapped his lips around the damn spoon. As soon as the liquid got on his tongue...

Lord Almighty.

It was... was... so delectable! No, it was... simply divine!!!

The liquid was warm, almost hot, but not burning. Third literally felt a lump of pleasant warmth fall through his esophagus and settle, with a warming weight in his stomach.

"Mmm..."

The German almost groaned out loud from the sensations that fell upon him. In fact, the traitorous sound escaped him, but his mind, clouded by pleasure, did not comprehend it.

Reich was quite ready to lunge for the second portion. Fast, like a wild animal.

If he had to, he would spit on all his concerns and discard all pretenses with how much it would embarrass him— he would just start drinking and lapping up the damn soup like an animal out of a bowl

"Hey, hey, Gans, take it easy!" The brief moment of insanity was stopped by the voice of Russia. "Don't worry so much, I won't take your food away from you!"

Third abruptly froze. He literally clutched the guy with the few fingers that still obeyed him. RSFSR pulled away from him slightly and lifted the plate a little higher and further away from Reich so that the German would not accidentally overturn it and spill all of its contents. Reich blinked in confusion, pushing away the fleeting moment of insanity.

"S-sorry..." he breathed out uncertainly.

What exactly had come over him just then, Third could not even explain to himself. It seems that he had such fits only during the first period of the forced hunger strike, then they somehow disappeared on their own when the German was able to pull himself together and began to at least partially restore his incarnation after interrogations…

"I'm sorry," the German apologized again. "I didn't mean to do that."

Russia nodded calmly.

"It's all right,” he said softly.

He scooped up a second spoonful and handed it to him as if it were nothing. Reich swallowed this portion without argument and much more calmly. The indescribable flavor and pleasant warmth made him a little dizzy again, but this time he was able to control it.

However, he still couldn't completely stop himself— he swallowed everything too quickly and greedily and immediately reached for the next one. The Russian did not torment him and delay, immediately giving him the next portion, but said warningly:

"Take your time, Fritz, you might choke."

Third nodded obediently, knowing full well that what the guy said made sense. However, he soon felt better, and Reich was even able to regain control of his own thoughts.

It was surprisingly practical on the part of RSFSR to offer him soup. There was nothing to bite and nothing to chew.… He had almost no teeth. If he had given him a piece of meat, he physically wouldn't have been able to eat it...

No, the liquid was not empty, there was cabbage and, it seems, onion floating in the broth... And then there was some kind of cereal. Everything was soft and cooked, the German had no difficulties with eating.

And Third could barely restrain a bit of nervous laughter when he realized one thing: It was shchi. Well, Russian "shchi," their national dish.

During the war, supply disruptions and delays happened to everyone, even the Germans. So, the Wehrmacht soldiers were absolutely not averse to having a snack with whatever came to hand.… And Russians, both soldiers and civilians, often cooked shchi — that soup was easy to prepare and didn’t require too many ingredients.

People aren't particularly picky, especially when they're starving to death, but Reich himself just couldn't bring himself to try this simple pottage. He chose to endure hunger, but he never touched this... food, if it was possible to call it that.

However, now that he has already tried it… The simple appearance of the pottage still left much to be desired — it was still the same, unpleasant-looking liquid, in which some obvious spots of oil floated… And it was the most delicious thing Third ever ate!

Even if one tried to ignore hunger, Reich just couldn't help but agree that the soup is not only edible, but also really delicious…

He didn't even notice when the last spoonful came up.

"Want some more?” Russia asked cheerfully.

"And will you give me more?" Third snapped back sluggishly, more out of habit than anything.

"Well, uh-h..." said the lad thoughtfully. “Actually, I can, but you really shouldn’t eat more yet. Your body hasn’t digested anything for a long time, it may not be able to handle such an amount.”

Perhaps the German would have liked to have more, but yes, what the Russian said was true. He should not eat too much food after a long hunger strike, it would only make his condition  worse. Reich could only nod in agreement.

There was silence for a couple of seconds.

In general, at least according to the most banal rules of decency, he should thank the guy, but to say thanks ... to the Russian ... consciously and out loud…

In fact, Third even opened his mouth a couple of times, but he couldn't force anything out of himself. In the end, he only snorted, looked away, in slight embarrassment, and involuntarily shivered.

His plaid slipped off a little, and the German lightly wrapped his arm around his shoulders in an attempt to cover his naked body. Logically, he knew that it was a bit irrational to be embarrassed in front of someone who had already washed you, and your ripped ass in particular, of blood and everything else, but still. Shame stubbornly awoke in his soul every time he began to think about it.

Russia completely ignored his nakedness and did not pay any attention to it. It was as if he perfectly understood his feelings and did it on purpose so as not to embarrass the German.

His clothes, the ones he had been given, were lying here, folded in a neat stack on the floor next to the mattress - Reich could reach them. However, one problem remained — his broken arms. He wouldn't be able to dress himself, even if he tried.

RSFSR, apparently following his gaze, sighed.

"If you'd like, I can help you get dressed," he said.

The German shuddered involuntarily. "Why all of a sudden?"

"In general, the main injuries have more or less healed, so the fabric will no longer disturb them," the guy replied quite calmly. “If you honestly promise me that you will not resist when I need to examine your fractures, which means taking off your shirt, then, there is no reason for me to force you to stay undressed."

Reich doesn’t pronounce his consent out loud or voice his requests, but when the Russian himself picked up a stack of clothes and moved it closer, he did not resist. It was still painful for him to move his limbs, but he was absolutely not going to lie there like a helpless log — the German helped as much as he could: he got up and obediently threaded his limbs through his sleeves.

As soon as his skin sensed a pleasant sense of coverage, relief fell on him abruptly. It was so strong that, when at last, bony fingers deftly buttoned the last buttons on his shirt, Third nevertheless involuntarily exhaled a quiet,:

"Thank you."

He immediately shut up, sputtering out strangled and confused sounds, and in the end, rudely pushed the guy away, not letting him finish what he started. Russia grinned softly, but obediently stepped back and did not insist on anything. He just covered him with a warm plaid again, before leaving.

Chapter Text

“Post-traumatic stress disorder?” Union asked coldly.

"No more than that," Russia replied. "He has nightmares about the war and the Englishman... apparently, his impact is far more severe than we expected, Father.”

"He ‘deflated him’ against his will, that makes sense," shrugged USSR.

Those traces of violence that he personally discovered were quite visible. If Third had received them back when he was still a full-fledged country, they would not have remained so clear. No, he’d been afflicted by his injuries after his regeneration had weakened noticeably, which was after his defeat.

Examining Reich was like reading a psychology textbook. As soon as he ceased to frequently switch his embodiment, taking on a more or less consistent appearance, his character became more stable and pronounced. If one was generalizing, they might claim that Third has always been a rather loud upstart.

He was overly irritable and terribly resentful, often transitioning sharply into outbursts of anger, swearing, and aggression; and then cooling down too quickly... It’s almost as if he ticks the box for criteria to be diagnosed with “dysphoric type post-traumatic stress disorder,” along with the standard manifestation of “fight or flight” reflex that comes with chronic stress.

The embodiment of the country cannot physically "run away" from the political arena, so the only option that remained was aggression... It's just that after 1933, when he survived the revolution and changed his flag and national ideology, his hands were untied far too abruptly and he obliterated all of his boundaries.  

The German diligently hid the second facet of his own disease, which manifested in the form of nightmares and constant fever. He hid it from everyone, including his own son. Reich still considered it a "weakness" and hated himself for such a condition... This was also a very indicative symptom of his unstable psychological state, in fact.

Only a decent dose of alcohol and a long conversation in an atmosphere of safety, mutual respect and equality between both interlocutors partially broke this mask of his and allowed him to look a little deeper into himself… Even during summertime when it was really warm, the German was freezing. Although he never complained about it out loud, he never refused a warm shawl, wrapping himself in it up to his nose.

Well, it seemed that there was something Union still needed to admit: he really was so blind that he quite sincerely did not notice such obvious details, even though the two of them shared drinks together… quite often too. Even as partner countries. However, that was all in the distant past and didn't matter. All that remained was the experience and knowledge he gained from the situation.

"I don't think there will be a better time," Russia said. "It is necessary to consolidate success right now, while there is improvement."

USSR measured his son with a heavy look.

"Better time," of course.

He was still terribly irritated, and he was still struggling to keep himself from another outburst of gratuitous aggression — it was too risky to come to the German in such a state.

"I recommend something physical and tangible," said RSFSR cautiously, closely following his reaction, ready to step back at any moment. "Something that might touch him."

Union exhaled deeply, trying to calm down - within that one day, Russia had already managed to get under his skin several times... dozens of times... Damn, it was definitely time for him to get his act together. How much more could he yell at his own kid?

The man himself recognized that his nerves were too ragged, even for him, but there was little he could do about it. The most effective way was simply to not let anyone closer than arm's length to him. But Russia, in the literal meaning of the phrase, was locked in the same cage with him, he was always somewhere near him and... oh, he’d just have to admit that if it weren't for his son, there would be much more damage and many more consequences.

"I have one thought in mind," Union replied reluctantly. "But it's still a bad idea. I've almost killed him, it's dangerous.”

"Otherwise, nothing will work," the guy said. "There will be no associative connection. It is necessary that he forms it with you, Dad."

USSR growled, causing his son to step back a few steps, so that his presence in the room would no longer be too obvious, and the man abruptly cut himself off. He was losing control again.

It was all too risky. However, he couldn’t argue with the facts either.

"You’re right," the man said reluctantly.

Russia was always right, but sometimes the truth hurt too much. But in this venture he got involved not only voluntarily, but also by his own initiative, and such things do not wait for you to be in a good mood — you either seize the moment or miss it.

Last time, Union missed his chance and it was because of this that everything flew into the abyss. This time the consequences would not be so fatal, certainly not on the scale of a world war, but... still. It would be a shame if everything ended like this without even starting.

He needed to pull himself together. He would be able to control himself for five minutes. It was not that difficult. The main thing was that no unforeseen situations arise in advance...

***

Reich was dozing in a half-sleep. Russland had gone somewhere — the German heard the door slam, and he was left all alone in the apartment.

After the meal, he was so tired that he just wanted to lie down and pass out, but... Then he would see endless nightmares again. Third desperately did not want to wake up gasping for air, with a frantically beating heart in his chest and head. This reluctance was especially evident in contrast to recent pleasant sensations.

So, in the end, the German decided to compromise – he did not fall asleep properly, but at the same time he did not load his head with useless thoughts, as he usually did when he passed the time. He just lay there and tried to enjoy the moments of warmth and relative peace.

He still felt a slight chill, but here, under the heavy plaid, it was almost not felt.

Reich did not know how long he had been lying like this, but at some point another slam of the front door pulled him out of his half-sleep. Third blinked sleepily and faintly stirred.

In general, he could have immediately passed out again, but... suddenly, he suddenly realized that right now he was hearing someone else's heavy footsteps approaching.

That feeling of uncontrollable panic immediately stirred in his mind, but at first the German still managed to restrain himself — was there any other explanation? Could it still be Russland?

Any stupid excuse would do, except... A tall and massive figure appeared in the doorway.

Sovok.

Reich shook in horror— if he could rise, he would jump to his feet right now. However, in reality, he was only able to raise himself slightly onto his elbows, and he did it so quickly that he disturbed his injuries, falling back down. In other respects, the German tried to take up as little space as he could — he pressed his broken arms to his chest, and bent his legs at the knees, pulling them closer to his body and trying to crawl away. A pathetic attempt to escape ended with his head hitting the wall — there was nowhere else to go.

Union gave him an icy stare. He did not enter the room, and did not approach him, stopping right at the entrance.

“You know what, I've been thinking, Third,” USSR suddenly said in a dry, emotionless voice. “About how we countries are a mishmash of all the garbage that people feed us. Their hopes, dreams, ideals, and other ‘soul’ nonsense.”

Reich blinked in confusion, not understanding what was happening.

"And that's how this fucking thing works, that our entire embodiment is composed of certain pieces from these very ‘soul values.’”

The German still didn’t understand anything.

“In short, you won’t get your uniform back, because it incredibly infuriates me, however...” With one movement of his hand, the Russian pulled out a small object from somewhere in the folds of his overcoat and showed it to him.

Reich's eye widened against his will.

"...perhaps one trinket won't do much harm."

With a careless movement, Sovok threw the object towards him. Because of his broken fingers, the German could not catch it, but still instantly wrapped his palms around it and instinctively pressed the object closer to him, as if fearing that Union would suddenly change his mind and take it back.

It was the Iron Cross.

The one that was part of his embodiment. Third had not seen it for ages — it had already disappeared in the half-ruined Berlin, when the last days of the war were passing, and the German did not know where. As he sat in his office, smiling his trademark smile in front of the Allied countries, the cross was still on him. When he first woke up as a captive, it was gone.

All unnecessary awards were removed from him: all medals and orders, all insignia. So, the cross also disappeared then. How exactly it ended up in the hands of the Russian, Reich had not the slightest idea.

Each country, in addition to their ‘physical incarnation,’ their bodies, also has ‘personal things,’ which in fact are ‘soul’ values. The most banal example would be their clothes, in a sense that they are also part of their embodiment, and normally, a country will never wear what it doesn't like for one reason or another. However, in addition to this, almost everyone has something very personal, something that the country is emotionally attached to.

And even though the German attributed such attachments to weakness, even he could not get rid of something like this. Still, even in his life, there were moments that, for one reason or another, sank right into his soul, and he could not do anything about it. And even he had such ‘personal things’ to which he had a rather strong emotional attachment, even if Third himself stubbornly denied its existence.

The Iron Cross was one of those things.

He could survive the loss of his favorite knife, as well as the loss of all the other useless, but cool trinkets, but... There were exactly three things he really cared about in his time: the iron cross, his military uniform, and... and the one little music box that he himself, a long time ago, broke in a fit of rage.

The Russians deprived him of the last thing that was important to him — his uniform. Even if they did not destroy it (Reich would have felt it if they did,) they took it away. Suddenly, however, they returned the Cross.

And even if the German did not admit this to himself, somewhere in the very deepest depths of his soul he was just… insanely grateful that his cross was somehow taken away from Britain. It would be better if it were gathering dust on the shelves in Sovok's house as a souvenir than it would be if it were melted down with the light hand of an Englishman.

USSR, watching his reaction, nodded in satisfaction.

"The conditions I set are still in force," he said coldly. "If you behave well, I won't be so cruel.”

Union had almost turned around, clearly intending to leave, when suddenly he froze abruptly and stared at him again. In just an instant, the sharpest rage flashed in his eye.

Third involuntarily shuddered — he did not understand what exactly made the Russian so abruptly mad. Sovok exhaled slowly but noisily, growling under his breath. He was clearly trying to control himself, but not very successfully, it seemed. The German closed his eyes in fright.

"Son!" USSR barked loudly.

Russia appeared in the doorway of the room almost instantly, literally in a fraction of a second.

"Father?"

Reich still managed to open his eyes in surprise and see how Union abruptly grabbed the guy by the collar of his clothes and roughly pushed him into the corridor. Both Russians disappeared from his sight, but the German could still hear what was happening.

Judging by the dull blow, Sovok abruptly pinned his offspring to the wall.

There was silence for a couple of moments, and then a terribly angry voice rang out:

"Tell me, why the hell did the delivery that the idiot Poland was supposed to receive reach him so late?"

RSFSR hesitated for a moment.

"The problem has already been solved, Father, I didn't..."

"You didn't report it," The guy was coldly interrupted.

There was a short silence. Apparently, USSR gave him a short time for justifications, but they did not follow. The guy didn't comply. There was the sharp, dull sound of a blow, followed by a strangled "oh!"

Something heavy crashed to the floor with such a crash that Third, who had been listening to them, instantly recoiled and reflexively tried to squeeze into the very corner of his room. The realisation that it was the youngest of the Russians who had fallen truly frightened him.

The following sounds were difficult to recognize. Among them was the rustle of clothes, the sound of shoes walking, a muffled blow, and then... Russia screamed in pain. A loud, indescribably terrible crunch was heard.

The boy broke off the scream as suddenly as he had started it. He gasped for air convulsively and noisily, and then, it seemed, tried to crawl away, - there was a characteristic rustle of a body sliding on the floor.

"Let your brothers be responsible for their own failures," Union said calmly.

"Whatever you say, Father," Russia's voice trembled slightly, it sounded a little nervous, but on the whole, surprisingly... calm, as if he hadn't been screaming in agony just a few moments ago.

The next few seconds of silence seemed like a fucking eternity to the German. But then there were footsteps again, fortunately retreating, followed by the rumble of a closing door — Sovok was gone. Only after that, a quiet, barely audible and slightly hysterical... laughter came from the guy.

"Shit, this sucks, shit..." he swore through his teeth, not stopping his nervous laughter.

Apparently, the Russian was just trying to cope with the unbearable pain.

"Damn… a broken hand… and in exchange for what? Damn..."

He was silent for a moment, as if gathering his strength.

Сr-u-unch!

This time Russia did not scream, only hissed in a strangled voice. Apparently, he fixed his own fracture.

And then silence fell.

Only after listening carefully, Reich realized that the guy had risen to his feet and gone somewhere deep into the apartment, but he could not catch anything else concrete.

Third let out a shaky exhale and slid down the wall back onto the mattress. Despite all his injuries, for the last couple of minutes he had been trembling, pressing his back into the farthest corner of the room, as if it were the safest part of the space.

Lord, what just happened?! Wh-what came over Sovok?!

Third had never, ever, in all of the long time he spoke with the Russian, never seen him like this! Well, it was logical to assume that when he pissed him off himself, that time, during his last visit, USSR was probably about the same, but… If the German had known that Union could, in principle, explode to such an extent, he wouldn't ever have said a word against him at all!

Oh, no, well, he would have, of course, but... Damn. It was complicated.

Most of the time, ninety-nine point ninety-nine per cent of the time, Union walked as if he were an ice statue. No, of course, he would swear, growl, get angry, and could even grab his interlocutor sharply, lifting him above the floor and giving him a good shake, but... No matter how bad the situation was, no matter how much pressure or even humiliation he was under on the world stage, he had never snapped like this! Not to this state of... blind rage. No, it was very logical to assume that the country behaves somewhat differently at home than in public. Third himself radically changed his behavior when he went out. At home, in front of his son, he tried to behave...as...as Sovok. Cold, reasonable, imperturbable and calm. It was in the presence of other countries that he pulled on his "mask," his trademark smile-grin, and began to actively gesticulate and laugh loudly. His reasoning for this was simple — he was considered a loud upstart, and no one took him seriously. It was profitable for the German, he needed time to prepare equipment and an army.

Union... he was always equally calm and cold, whether at an official meeting of the countries or in his private home. Maybe he was holding himself back in front of his guests on purpose, but Third had never noticed him pretending or playing to the public - it was just his usual state of mind. Sovok, after all... he doesn't lie. He really doesn't like to do it, it’s an undeniable fact. And any pretense is also a lie.

Damn it, even after a decent dose of alcohol, he remained almost the same!

No, something imperceptibly changed, as if the ice was moving a little, as if the impenetrable crust was opening up, just the slightest bit... In fact, as soon as the alcohol loosened his tongue, the usually silent Russian would not shut up for hours, and he could discuss almost any topic, from politics to painting to ballet. Union could support almost any conversation if he was in the mood.

However, there was still a curious pattern: if you pour a decent amount of alcohol into the Russian, then he was drawn to chat. If you pour an inordinate amount of alcohol into him, then... USSR was one of those rare exceptions that did not mumble in a state of alcoholic intoxication, but on the contrary — fell into a state of apathy.

It was at this moment that the same feeling arose as if the crust of ice was cracking a little — even his gaze changed! At that time, he did not yet wear this patch on his right eye— it was something that he started wearing recently after the war— the changes were quite noticeable; the coldness of those bright blue irises… softened a little… melted… 

Damn it, Reich was probably the only one who saw him like this at all — he was the only one who got wasted with him, he didn't allow himself to do this with anyone else.

After all, they… they drank together quite often. Even for partner countries.

And even though Third drove those thoughts away all his life — as he never allowed himself this obvious weakness in anyone else's presence — he, unlike the Russian, could not withstand too much alcohol and sometimes began to act batshit crazy. Usually, both of them bailed on all the small stupidities they created in a frenzy, yet both were good — Union also sometimes got a taste for something that, in one way or another, fell under the definition of "fun.” It was something like an unspoken agreement between them. Do not use any compromising evidence from such encounters against each other. Both benefited, as the conditions were completely acceptable to both of them.

It was only in ‘33 that the triumph of Reich turned into a real disaster for him. Perhaps that was the only time when the German saw the Russian pushed to a state of rage…

All other countries had always been unabashedly afraid of USSR, but Third himself had never really understood such a reaction. Well, yes, Sovok was all frown-faced ice, yes, he did not smile politely with hypocrisy like everyone else, but... in general, he always, in absolutely any situation, remained quite sensible. Especially in contrast to European countries.

So the German really didn’t expect to see his usually ice-cold eyes blazing with rage.

"Hey, Gans! Wake up already!"

Third involuntarily shuddered at the strange voice and looked up at Russia. He was standing at the entrance to the room, leaning his shoulder against the doorpost. The pose looked somehow lazy, as if the guy had been waiting for a reaction from him for some time. The German, who had just been lost in thought, didn't even notice his arrival.

"Are you alright?”  RSFSR asked him in such a carefree and calm tone, acting like  nothing bad had happened.

In general, he looked absolutely normal: he was smiling a small, serene smile, and his appearance was exactly the same, albeit slightly more disheveled than usual. In short, all that gave away what had happened was that the guy was slightly hugging one arm. Though both of his wrists had always been rewound with some dirty bandages, the overall picture looked the same as always; if the German had not known what happened, he would have ignored it. It looked totally natural, like the guy wasn’t even pretending.

"W-why..." Reich cut himself off halfway through, but once he'd started talking, he had to finish. "Why did he do that to you?"

"Oh, don't mind him," Russia waved him off placidly. "He's having a springtime anti-church aggravation, so he's as angry as a boar. He'll cool down in a week."**

"And if you're honest?"

The guy grinned, for some reason he was amused by this phrase.

"Well, I'm not lying." smiled RSFSR. "Christian Easter is coming soon, and people will start painting on eggs again… There's nothing we can do. So, he's a little more fiery than usual."

"And that’s why he broke your arm?!" The German couldn't stand it.

No, for the most part, this justification explained the situation perfectly. If something has been getting on one's nerves for a long, long, long time, then even a usually good-natured person will get mad sooner or later.

In addition, Third perfectly understood the feeling of unbearable, chronic irritation when your own people do not obey you or do something wrong. Reich himself once suffered from outbursts of uncontrollable rage, during which he could destroy literally everything that came across on the way, but... But even he did not beat his own son during such outbursts!

Usually.

In the last years of the war, Third sometimes took his anger out on Deutschland, blaming him for things that someone else did wrong, but he never broke his bones. A broken bone was... painful. Very painful. The German knew this violence on his own skin — he himself had been forced to tend to his own fractures more than once. But he never mutilated his own son like that , at least not directly — the wounds and pain from the bombing of his cities still fell on his son’s shoulders…

RSFSR calmly shrugged.

"I'm telling you, it's the spring aggravation. Literally every little thing angers him now. In general, it's nothing," he said. "I'm not you, I’ll be fine by morning."

This could be true — the embodiments of countries have much higher regenerations than ordinary people. Normally, of course.

Third nodded a little sluggishly — he was still desperately clutching the Cross to his chest.

"Well, if you're alright, then I'll go and give Dad a drink," Russia smiled at him with an indescribably natural and good-natured smile. "Don't worry so much about it, sometimes it just happens.”

“He explodes like a volcano, and then quickly cools down. It's just that a lot of bad things have been happening, and they coalesced into that ... but this is all normal."

The guy left, leaving him alone. And the German could only swallow, pulling himself back together.

Sovok said that his conditions were still in force, so without a suitable excuse he would not do anything - today’s event only confirmed this. This means that there was no point in worrying for no reason. Reich was... safe here. As long as he stuck to the rules, of course.

And he didn't violate them, he did not even leave the room, although, in theory, he could have done so today.

However, the German simply could not easily get his thoughts out of his head.

No, the justification really seemed logical to him, but... it did not negate the fact that Union had injured his own child for no sane reason.

"But there was a reason," Reich suddenly realized.

Not the one that had become a formal excuse for "punishment" — Sovok had known about the failure before, if he'd wanted to teach a lesson for it, he would have done so as soon as he'd found out. No, there was something else going on here. Come to think of it, USSR did seem annoyed from the beginning, but he was quite calm throughout his entire monologue, it was only at the very end that he suddenly noticed something that pissed him off.

Third unconsciously ran his good palm over his cheek. Union was looking at his face then - what caught his eye? The German did not find anything concrete and put his hand lower on his neck. And here his fingers grazed something, and he felt very slight pain. There must have been a small bruise there, a puncture mark. Well, yes, Russland injected him with painkillers when he was feeling really bad — Third vaguely remembered that moment.

The sudden realization made him shudder slightly.

"Father prohibited spending too much medicine on you, so we'll just have to make do with everything we have in our hands," the guy said, right?

Was it… was it because of him? Sovok broke his own son's arm purely because Russland disobeyed his order and helped him?

Reich didn't quite understand the strange feeling that made his chest ache uncomfortably, but it seemed he was a little... ashamed? The German snorted and shook his head sharply.

The guy ran into trouble himself, he was not a fool and he knew exactly what he was doing. Of course, the associative chain of thought went on by itself, and questions like "so why the hell did Russland do that then?" and "why does he treat him well at all?" immediately arose in his head, but Third only irritably waved them away.

The most logical answer – the guy was simply trying to keep him alive so that he could satisfy USSR. That was the end of Third's reasoning.

After all, the German himself understood perfectly well how human psychology works, but the worst thing was that despite knowing this, he could not fight his own mind.Whether it be by his will or against it, he would always sympathize with Russia.

After all, the German himself understood well enough how human psychology works. Yet worst of all, despite knowing this, he could not fight his own mind. There is usually a bad cop and a good cop, and unlike the former, the good cop would always sympathize with the subject. 

***

"Hmm..." USSR drawled, a little irritated, quickly glancing at the next report. "Alright, you're free to go," he finally waved him off.

It was a sign to get out before he exploded, but Russia suddenly hesitated a little.

"What else?" Union barked, noticing the delay.

"He felt really bad," the guy muttered uncertainly. "He was Deflating .”

It wasn't that RSFSR felt offended or anything like that — he really violated a direct order, he knew what he was signing up for. However, among other things, his duties included notifying his father of any possible "problems." And this situation clearly fell under the definition, and if he withheld this information now, then USSR might get even angrier later. Anyway, the storm had already passed by,  and it wouldn't get any worse.

"Reich is not a helpless weakling," Union said through clenched teeth. "Such an obvious approach will never break him. That's it, get out of here, don't be an eyesore!"

Russia nodded obediently and instantly hurried to disappear from his parent's sight. It was absolutely useless to argue with him anyway, especially now.

It was rare for anything –  or anyone – to make Father show emotion, especially one as strong as genuine respect. But if one succeeded in doing so… Union would believe in them with all the fragments of his broken soul until the very end, with all of his stubbornness, even if the facts showed otherwise.

*Reich is described as having "dysphoric PTSD," a term without a direct English equivalent. This classification reflects differences in the understanding of PTSD between English-speaking countries and Russia. It includes four manifestations: 1) Asthenic PTSD, characterized by lethargy and apathy; 2) Anxious PTSD, marked by anxiety attacks and emotional instability; 3) Somatoform PTSD, where symptoms are psychosomatic; and 4) Dysphoric PTSD, which involves hostile behavior. (source)

In the world history of the study of psychology, Russian and Soviet scientists play an extremely important and very significant role.  A particular example is Ivan Petrovich Pavlov (14 (26) September 1849 - 27 February 1936), whose most famous experience is the “Pavlov's dog.”

He studied conditioned reflexes, proved the physiological basis of the psyche (although no one seriously believed in it at his time), developed a study of temperaments, opened the prerequisites for future psychosomatics and much more. He had students and followers who deepened and continued his research.

In short, both Union and Russia should understand psychology quite well. Especially considering that in all "labor," "correctional," and "concentration" camps, a variety of psychological techniques were used extremely actively, often, and, most importantly, effectively. Another example is agitation and propaganda, which has been so deeply ingrained in the subcortex of people's minds that even those generations who, in principle, have never seen a single poster in person, know and can pronounce some quotes literally.

** The USSR had a complex relationship with religion, primarily due to its Marxist-Leninist ideology, which promoted atheism and viewed religion as a tool of oppression.

Chapter Text

"You decided to make me try all of the Russian national dishes?" Reich snapped, critical of what he was offered by Russland.

It had been quite a while, perhaps a couple of weeks. Everything was “back on track” and the usual everyday life flowed in a leisurely stream. Even the ringing of the stupid phone returned — though Third did not notice its absence when it was silent. The German felt much better, even if his fractures hadn’t fully healed yet. Overall, everything was relatively normal until Russia asked him about any complaints. Actually, the fact that the feeling of hunger returned to him so quickly was abnormal, but Reich was not going to complain about it. His own body betrayed him treacherously—his stomach rumbled. RSFSR was slightly... confused by this.

He quickly pulled himself together and said that he would figure something out, and half an hour later he brought him a plate of pelmeni. 

The thought that the guy was making fun of him intruded in the German's mind, but Russland looked absolutely unperturbed.

"No, not at all,” the guy smiled. "Pelmeni are a Finno-Ugric national food, not Russian. However, it is difficult to say whose exactly... Udmurtia and Komi are always arguing about which one of them came up with this word first."

"Who?" the German did not understand.

"Well, my guys."

"Guys?” Reich was already quite frankly confused.

It took him a few seconds to figure it out. Third did not know the countries with such names, it seemed that he forgot about the existence of some dwarf states under the wing of... oh.

"They are not countries, they are subjects," he realized.

Russia called his subjects "guys.” As if... they were equal in rights with him. Amazing.

"Yes, they are subjects," RSFSR confirmed his guess. "Many different nationalities live on my land and many of them have their own personal representative."

"And what's the difference?" the German frowned. "You are their master, which means their national values ​​belong to you. So, the dish is still Russian."

"Gans, maybe other countries don't see the difference, but I don't care about the ethnic minorities in my composition,” the guy spoke surprisingly seriously.

Considering that his manner of conversation was usually relaxed and positive, such abrupt transitions were quite noticeable.

"Many of my subjects are older than you and me combined, they decided to live under a foreign wing a long time ago and no longer have influence in the world, but they still exist. Even though everyone abroad believes that pelmeni is just one of the national stereotypes about Russians on par with vodka and balalaika, I know that this dish is Finno-Ugric... Even despite the fact that "ushki" were eaten by everyone: both by tsars and commoners from long, long ago, and absolutely everywhere."

Russia smiled softly. "It's not a very pleasant fact, though, so shhh," he winked. "Or the guys will be upset. And in no case should China be dragged in here, we know well enough that it was he who borrowed the dish from us when the Siberian Road was laid, not the other way round."

Reich just rolled his eye and winced in annoyance — it was absolutely useless to argue with such logic, he realized this from long-ago conversations with Sovok.

"Still, you are strange," the German snorted. "Russians."

"Well, that's just our mentality," Russia shrugged. "Collected hodgepodge from a variety of nationalities. That's how it happened historically."

Actually, the pelmeni were delicious and, surprisingly, they didn’t make him want to spit it out.

In German cuisine, there was also something similar, a dish called "Maultaschen".

At its core, it was absolutely the same - they were both toppings wrapped in dough, and only their shapes differ.

The Germans, however, cook it mostly with meat (lean varieties are only for brainless religious fanatics,) and Russland brought him ones with cabbage.

Most likely, this choice of ingredients was, again, purely because of the specifics of the situation - Reich would not have been able to properly chew pieces of meat, even if it were cooked.

And he ate perfectly calmly and without any apparent difficulty. This time he even managed to hold the fork on his own - his left hand was almost recovered, the guy had already taken off the spokes, only the elastic bandage remains. His fingers still ached a little, especially if disturbed, but in general, they were able to hold the cutlery.

"Why don't you eat anything?" Third suddenly asked.

The German himself could not really explain why the hell he was drawn to chatter.  He simply... wanted to. Russland treated him normally, so why not take advantage of that at least a little?

"I've never heard you cooking anything."

"Oh, it’s not a big deal,” Russia waved carelessly. "I don't think I should. Usually I start… blowing the roof up .”

The guy laughed and even spun his finger around just beside his temple, as if he said it either as a joke or just not seriously.

Reich looked up at him. What the hell does "blowing the roof up" mean? No, the German understood that it was a Russian phraseology that seemed to mean something along the lines of "going crazy,” but... The situation had caught his attention so strongly, because it crossed with his long-standing thoughts. Russland was as thin as a skeleton. Unnaturally thin.

And even if Third did not notice anything unnecessarily strange in his daily behavior... This fact was also actually quite strange in itself. It was as if the thing that Reich had encountered in the war, and this guy here, were two completely different personalities.

Well, the same “man” cannot simultaneously display such sincere hatred and then show the same sincere kindness. Reich saw no sign of pretense - perhaps Russland was really taking care of him by direct order of USSR, but he did it clearly not under pressure, but quite voluntarily.

And it completely contradicted what Third had seen when... damn it. Not completely, he realized suddenly.

The scene that had happened during Sovok's last visit flashed before his eyes. As the guy felt the unbearable pain of the fracture, he started... laughing. Just like he did during the interrogations. He actually laughed at the feeling of the pain, he almost literally got high from it.

He truly was some kind of masochist, even though in an ordinary, everyday state, the Russian clearly restrained himself from such inclinations. His gaze fell on the guy's bandaged wrists. The "dirt" that was on them was not dirt at all, it was old, long-dried blood…

He cuts his own wrists, Reich realized.

And this realization quite sincerely dismayed the German.

Countries do not usually get sick physically like people - symptoms of a disease can only appear when there is a mass epidemic among the population.  This includes hunger - normally they feel it on extremely rare occasions... But mental illness is something else entirely.

It is... something “spiritual”... it is something in the direct essence of the embodiments of countries. And no disease will ever just come out of nowhere.

The first argument that flashed through the mind of the German was the war. It would be a logical enough justification for what could have traumatized the guy so much. Still, even without taking into account all the other banal options, the Russian changed the appearance of his embodiment too abruptly, jumped too quickly from a child to an adult – this can also be associated with some problems.

People grow slowly for a reason - the hormonal background and other subtleties of a living organism should change gradually. It is one thing when a country initially, after emerging from its "ball,” took the form of an adult, and quite another when the country changed so abruptly after already having a fully formed personality. As long as the country has the appearance of a child, the embodiment recognizes himself as about the same age. Of course, there are a whole bunch of subtleties and features, but still the young embodiment almost completely indicates a childlike naive consciousness.

Although physiology is always somewhat secondary, it cannot be completely discounted either. The same could be said for “deflation,” though it is a perfectly normal and natural phenomenon for the embodiment of countries, it should not occur too abruptly – male and female organisms differ from each other quite strongly. And here, it is not even in the most basic physical structure of the body (along with some limbs that stick out) that marks the difference but rather, again, it is in the hormonal background along with other small subtleties.

In general, the subject was very sensitive.

The second argument that came to mind was the influence of Sovok, but... Third did not consider it a sufficient reason. As a child, Russia was clearly afraid of his obviously strict father, but Reich did not notice anything excessively suspicious in their relationship. They may have been a little more reserved in front of the guests, but still. Although Deutschland, who spoke with the younger Russian more often, was still a little worried about this... But he could not give any direct and indisputable facts, only vague suspicions not built on the most accurate reasons.

The German did not ignore his son's opinion, of course, but he could not fully agree with him either. And Deutschland himself also admitted that he had only vague suspicions.

In general, playing the role of the father, Union was obviously strict and found fault in the smallest of things – the devil is in the details after all – but there was nothing infernal in this image; Reich himself was the same, if not worse.  /

Another fact that goes against this argument is that USSR was diligently shielding his own brats from the rest of the world, including all those whom he doesn't call his own flesh. This decision seemed quite strange and even somewhat suspicious, but only at first glance. In fact, in his part it was an obvious attempt to protect them. To save them.

Even if it was simply impossible to completely fence off the "Baron,” since his spider webs are stretched absolutely everywhere, USSR had managed to create a fairly effective system. No one has ever seen all his children, and no one can do anything to them without a direct confrontation with Union himself. Such... a strange concern. Just in the spirit of Sovok — cold and unflappable. He never boasted aloud about his children and never swore to do everything possible for their well-being, but in fact that's exactly what he does.

The republics within USSR were obviously not the same as some dominions or, even more so, colonies under the wing of Great Britain – it was a well-known fact that all the children of that Englishman, both natural and adopted, hated him with all their hearts and souls. And they do it quite deservedly and reasonably. It seems that only the Dominion of Canada for some reason really respects his stepfather, while the rest, including his noisiest offspring, America, simply can't stand their own parent.

Over the last hundred years Inselaffe had been trying to somehow soften and regulate relations with his own children, and Reich sincerely hoped that after the war the poisonous snakes would tear their own king to shreds — Third tried to do everything to weaken the Englishman as much as possible. It was stupid to hope for his death, but still Britain was enraged to a white-hot fury for a reason – he lost quite a lot in the flames of war.

Of course, all this does not fit into the image of Union that the German saw quite recently, but Third really did not expect that Sovok would break his own son like this... Yes, disobedience is like water that wears away the stone of loyalty, and the longer the drops drip, the bigger the hole becomes, but still. Did the fact of violating that one order really anger him so much? 

It was difficult to decide on a definite answer, since the German knew too little about the relations between the Russians. Although the fact that Russia serves Union almost completely implicitly, and even with an almost fanatical devotion… The reason that he does it this way because Sovok reacts so inadequately to disobedience is quite logical.

But this, again, does not explain the guy's attitude towards him. Third was absolutely sure that RSFSR was doing this relatively voluntarily — well, it was impossible to play infinite kindness and good-naturedness so sincerely.

The mystery intrigued Reich; he was really curious about that cause-and-effect relationship.

Nothing in the behavior, decisions, and actions of intelligent individuals happens “just because;” everything has a reason and everything is interconnected. It's like a mosaic: there are many pieces that individually mean little, and each of their shapes can be completely different. The main point is revealed only when every one of the individual fragments fall into place... and here it is extremely important to find all the pieces, because sometimes only one tiny fact can turn the whole picture around from a completely different angle.

Third had only individual fragments in his hands, which so far did not have a reliable and full-fledged logical connection. If he wanted to find the others, he had to try very hard.

It was categorically impossible to ask directly - that would give away his intentions, and then the guy may begin to deliberately hide something, conceal or simply restrain himself. In this case, it would become even more difficult to obtain information.

So, Reich decided to take a roundabout way. He just calmly continued to eat, but with a little less noticeable enthusiasm. Everything had to be done carefully, so that the action wouldn't seem overplayed in the end.

"Don't look at me like that, Fritz," said Russia suddenly, somehow offended.

He even folded his arms over his chest, as if he really understood what exactly embarrassed the German, and pouted because of it - in fact, Third almost told him aloud that he thought he was mentally ill.

Yes, perhaps his brief hesitation was quite obvious, he needed to distract the interlocutor with something else, to divert the conversation in order to distract his attention.

Reich looked away, embarrassed, as if to admit that he'd been exposed.

"Aren't you... really disgusted with... messing with me?"

He didn't say the obvious things out loud, but they both knew exactly what he was talking about. This time, even the floor of the room had been thoroughly cleaned of blood and everything...else.

Naturally, Third had not cleaned up anything, since he was still moving with difficulty. He wouldn't have been able to clean himself up even if he had woken up much sooner than it had happened.

But everything was cleaned, including the body of the German himself.

"Pfft,” the guy snorted, shrugging carelessly. "Gans, I've seen so much shit in the war that, by now, I don't even care," he said quite calmly.

"So that's where you got such first aid skills, in the field?" Reich realized.

After all, RSFSR not only sewed up his wound, he manually set all his fractures and dislocations. It's not that easy, especially considering the scale of the injuries.

"Sort of. If I wasn't in the shoes of some commander, then I would pass the time in the shoes of a surgeon. Well, you know, when you feel pain from literally every dying person, you somehow involuntarily begin to ignore all the other inconveniences and just try to pull their soul out of the other world. Although people are really so... dirty. Especially when they are so severely restricted in conditions of detention. I can't help but admit it. At first, yes, I had to put up with it, but then it somehow didn't matter."

Reich slouched a little nervously. In general, he understood everything perfectly, he also felt the death of his people, but... In war, his craving for cleanliness and order was just a real curse.

Over time, he still had to shove his disgust away, but he was still disgusted by what he was forced to look at at the front... And on the eastern front, his personal presence was simply mandatory.

But to save people when they are writhing in agony and spraying not only blood in all directions, but also all other... "waste products of their vital activity"... ugh.

It was disgusting. It was just unbearably disgusting.

When embodiments of countries eat, their body manages to absorb almost one hundred percent of the resources they consume. Except that sometimes, difficulties arise with water and other liquids, and if there was not enough time for complete assimilation, they still had to use dirtier methods to dispose of the excess…

In general, countries did not even need to wash themselves - normally they could control the appearance of their physical embodiment and, if necessary, change it a little. An ordinary damp cloth and five minutes in the restroom in front of the mirror are quite enough to keep themselves in complete cleanliness and order. In general, they can quite literally never take off their clothes, because those are also a part of their embodiment, and it was quite uncomfortable to tear them from the body.

Countries were not people - their bodies were more advanced.

Taking a bath or shower was, in fact, a purely aesthetic activity, because the feeling of relaxation in hot water was quite pleasant.

When there were only a couple of pelmeney left in the plate, Third hesitated a little. "Delicious,” the German tossed out awkwardly instead of a thank you. "But I'm absolutely full," he said and handed the plate back to the Russian.

The most banal option of what to do with the remaining food, which most likely should have come to mind first, was to finish it yourself. This was not some kind of soup, a single homogeneous liquid – these were individual pelmeshki that have remained clean and untouched - nothing disgusting and humiliating, even to the picky eye of a German.

This was what Reich was counting on - he wanted to see the reaction that RSFSR would have when this thought flashed through his head.

And he did not make a mistake with his choice of tactics: he made the right decision. Because, for a moment, there was a flash of... hunger in the guy’s eyes. A savage hunger. It seemed that Russia wasn't kidding after all – he really had an issue with food.  But whatever it is, it was definitely... not anorexia. With this disease, people lose the feeling of hunger, they do not want to eat. The Russian had the opposite.

RSFSR quickly pulled himself together, almost instantly regaining his former appearance, but still this weakness flashed in him. "Well, as you wish," he replied nonchalantly.

The guy took the plate and got to his feet, about to leave.

"Anyway, Fritz..." Russia hesitated for a second. "Don't keep silent if something happens, okay? If you get hungry again, tell me. There is nothing shameful about feeling hungry. I will feed you, no problem. Alright?"

By the logic of things and already formed patterns it was clear that in general the Russian, as before, would not demand from him a direct answer, but unexpectedly, even for himself, Reich still gave him one unwillingly:

"Okay."

He cut himself short, but the phrase was already spoken.

"Thank you,” the guy smiled gratefully at him.

Third hunched his shoulders in a strangled manner and didn't even pout when Russia left the room, closing the door behind him. The German did not want to admit it, but it seemed that something in his chest felt a little nervous when he caught these notes of request in the other's voice. And it was also... pleasant for him to hear this appreciation?

Reich snorted, pushing these thoughts away from him.

He had already caught himself several times that he was somehow subconsciously drawn to pull this indescribably soft "thank you" out of the guy. In general, Russland did not particularly spare thanks, but he still did not throw them just for nothing.

Third involuntarily glanced at the plaid, which was now neatly folded and lying next to the mattress on the floor.

At some point RSFSR had wanted to take it away - the German wasn’t shaking from the fever as often, even at night, so that in general the need for it was gone. The guy took it in his hand and picked it up, but Reich suddenly clung to the fabric like he was clutching at a life-line. He immediately yanked himself away, but it was too late - the Russian stared at him in wonder.

Awkward glances continued between them for a couple of seconds, then Russia sighed quietly and said:

"Okay, so be it, you can keep it, but only with one 'but.’”

"And with what?" Third snapped sluggishly.

"If you get it dirty, you'll wash it yourself. You can cover yourself with it while you sleep, but put it away in front of Father.”

The German did not immediately concede, but just for show, and in the end nodded in agreement. In general, the deal was absolutely logical.

The fabric of the plaid was quite rough and very heavy, it was definitely not intended to be used as a blanket. It probably wasn't even a plaid, but more of a covering, for example, of a sofa or something as large. But for all the time that had passed, while Reich wrapped his shivering self in it in pathetic attempts to escape from the cold abyss of darkness devouring him, he somehow got used to it so much that he really did not want to lose the opportunity to bury himself in it up to his nose and cover his head with it.

Especially considering that the plaid had one curious feature — the smell.

It smelled of... books. There is always an extremely specific but pleasant smell of paper in libraries, and it was this blanket that was impregnated with it. And the German also caught something else that was embedded in the fabric, something... sweet. But Third couldn't figure out what it was, exactly.

After eating, the German felt fatigued, so he decided that he could take a nap for a while. Reich was still subconsciously afraid of the return of nightmares, but if he didn't fall asleep fully, then everything would be fine.

Already in a half-doze, somewhere on the very edge of consciousness, Third suddenly had the idea that to understand and fully figure out the motives of the Russian would be an extremely good alternative to his pathetic existence. Such a small... goal.

Well, what was the big deal?

He had nothing to do here anyway, and it was not his destiny to die, he let go of his only chance in '45 by his own hand.

Now they'd even pull him back from the dead, cure him, and nurse him back to health if necessary.

And even if for this he would have to give up a little on his stubbornness, according to which he was determined to completely ignore any attempts to establish contact with him, he had already completely screwed up in this. So, he could have conceded a little...a teeny tiny bit...  Reich himself did not notice how he fell asleep, wrapped in a warm blanket to his nose.

***

He was falling.

It was so stupid — the suffocating sense of panic finally got to him, and he tried to escape from the hopeless situation. But he was in such a hurry from too much nervousness that he stumbled quite literally out of the blue. He just got tangled up in his own legs — complete absurdity.

But the worst part was that it happened at the very edge of the stairs. He tumbled down the steps.

Suddenly someone’s huge, strong hands caught him.

"I apologize,” with a horribly icy, absolutely emotionless voice. "I didn’t notice you."

The German froze in shock. He understood that this was just banal politeness, but this was the first time in his life that such a simple phrase was uttered to him. The stranger lifted him slightly into the air, as lightly as a feather, and helped him to stand. And just like that, he let him go, without any hint of… 

"T-thank you," the German timidly squeezed out of himself.

Reich had never seen this country before. Apparently, he was formed quite recently. He looked a little creepy - his flag was all blood red without any patterns or symbols.

The man gave him an unusual look with a blank stare. He was not angry or disgusted, even his face did not show any emotion - it was just incredibly strange, because by the rules of etiquette, countries should always smile slightly at each other.

The German was involuntarily embarrassed - it was he who ran into him, and not the other way around, and, in theory, it was he who should beg him for forgiveness. But the man just nodded calmly to him, dryly accepting his gratitude, and then just continued on his way. Reich followed his broad back with his gaze until it disappeared from his field of vision.

After all, there was another strange detail that the German could not even formulate right away. It was the first time he had ever seen anyone look at him... with absolute calmness. There was no hint of contempt, pity, or lust in his eyes, which were as biting as the purest ice, nothing at all. Only, perhaps, cold politeness.

……

"Weimar Republic, do you have anything to say?"

The German involuntarily shuddered and finally "deflated" to his feminine appearance. Up to this point, he had managed to control himself, but when he was given the floor and the attention of all the countries in the room turned to him, he could not withstand their common pressure.

A suffocating panic instantly rose in her soul, but no! She couldn’t succumb to it, she couldn’t! She needed to give this goddamn speech, she needed to overcome it, she needed to force herself!

"Y-yes," she squeezed out with difficulty and rose to her shaking legs.

The next words traitorously stuck in his throat.

Damn it, he prepared this speech, written it in advance, rehearsed it in front of the mirror... Let it be a mere trifle, just another meeting of European countries, nothing important and serious, and Reich understood perfectly well that his opinion will not be seriously taken into account by anyone, but still. If he did not at least begin to express it firmly, then he would never be considered at all.

And now, when it was time to speak, he could not squeeze anything out of himself. It would be great if time could be stopped at least for a while to catch his breath, and then let it run on, but it was impossible.

Seconds of silence treacherously flowed, and Weimar stood, silently wasting the precious time of other countries. It was better for her to just sit back down, keep silent, pass the word on to the next country — she literally felt this contempt and irritation sliding through mute reproaches.

The German herself did not know why, but she looked around at everyone present here.

Reich did not understand what he was so desperately trying to find, because he knew perfectly well what exactly he would see here. Someone was looking at him right now with open contempt, someone with gloating, and at best with polite indifference like Britain... and very, very rare exceptions, some, such as Kingdom of Italy had pity. It was obviously better and not as negative, but it was not what he needed at all!

Weimar had already been desperate to find anything suitable when her gaze finally reached the most recent country at this meeting. He was sitting in the farthest corner, in the most shameful place, not even allowed to be in the general circle - diplomatic isolation*, he must be present here as part of Europe, but he would not even be given a chance to speak a word today.

His status was even worse than the German!

But despite this, he looked absolutely calm – sitting a little lazily in his chair, with his hand slightly resting on his head, so unagitated as if he were completely equal to all the others present in the hall! It was quite clearly an involuntary impression, as if he had chosen a place far from everyone else, and not been forced to sit there by the restrictions imposed on him.

However, Weimar's attention was attracted not even by this, but by his gaze.

Cold pupils looked at her with absolutely straight even and calm... respect.

A minute ago, there was no respect there, the German is absolutely sure of that – trying to contain her excitement, she looked at everyone present. From the very beginning of the meeting, this country looked at everyone, including her, with complete indifference of icy eyes. A flame of emotion lit up in him literally just now, when she was able to get up on shaky feet, unequivocally and clearly letting everyone present understand that she still has something to say, even if she does not say anything out loud.

Reich swallows the lump in his throat.

"L—let me point out that..." he began his slightly halting speech.

……

“Nonsense!” the Russian roughly cut him off, but noticing out of the corner of his eye how the German shuddered in fright, quickly regained control of himself and continued to speak in a calm voice. "Religion is a real opium for people. It subdues and stupefies them, but they are still desperately drawn to it, like junkies in the lurch."

"B-but, at least, it helps to better c-control them…”

The German's voice trembled slightly; he was still not used to the fact that the interlocutor could just calmly listen to his opinion. Sometimes he stammered or stuttered, but he was not hurried or interrupted, so his speech became flatter, calmer and more relaxed.

Even though this time one of the Russian's eyes was hidden by an emblem embroidered with the inscription of his new official name, the interlocutor's gaze was still very expressive, and there was still not a hint of anything negative in it.

Reich gave several arguments at once, half of which Soviet broke with his opinion. They argued for quite a long time, but eventually the Russian sighed, took a deep drag on his pipe and exhaled a large cloud of smoke.

"Well, I admit, you're partly right too."

"O-only partly?"  The German smiled involuntarily.

"Exactly."

…...

"Who cares,” snorted Sovok.

Reich involuntarily squinted in his direction and tried his best to hold back a laugh - it was so funny!

Where absolutely any country in Europe would start a long, meaningless prattle and say something along the lines of: "I offer my most sincere condolences, I am extremely embarrassed to say this, but, unfortunately, I have to admit that due to the circumstances, I have no choice but to inform you that I am forced to disagree with your respected opinion..." the Russian threw out only two words with absolutely the same meaning... This was in stark contrast to everything the German had to get used to.

USSR looks absolutely unperturbed and serious, which only enhanced the comical effect. At least in the eyes of Reich himself. The rest would be terrified.

"You should say that to Britain’s face." he smiled slightly. Just a little bit, if at least someone notices that he was laughing at "His Majesty,” he would be in trouble. 

And Union suddenly squints his icy, completely unreadable eyes.

"Why the hell do you think I’m standing here on the balcony, away from the main banquet?"

The German blinked in bewilderment – it took him a few seconds to realize that the very absurd thought that flashed through his head first, was actually the reality that came to be... The German snorted into his fist.

He immediately tried to regain his imperturbable appearance and pretend that he had just not laughed, but only coughed unsuccessfully, but the Russian was standing too close to him and could see perfectly well what kind of reaction his words had evoked. But Reich didn't worry about that, he was sure that Sovok wouldn't snitch on him. And not because the German would accuse him in return, but rather doing so simply in... mutual respect, or something. This conversation was only between the two of them. Other countries need not know what they talked about. So, USSR did nothing conspicuous, just took another drag on his smoking pipe – the official excuse for coming out for fresh air.

Union was also considered part of Europe, and now that the political and diplomatic isolation from him had been practically lifted, he began to appear at British dinner parties much more often. Obviously not of sheer good will, but the Englishman could not always refuse to receive him, and he himself could not simply not invite him – the unspoken rules applied even to him. Usually it all came down to the fact that USSR did show up at the banquet, caused a stir and a wave of silent horror by the mere fact of his presence, and then left at the first opportunity, and absolutely everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Reich was sincerely amused by all this - in the presence of a Russian, many European countries quickly got lost, fell into dead ends and simply didn't know how to behave further. At the same time, Union also somehow managed not to violate any of the "guest rules"- he behaved unusually direct and rude for Europeans, but he did not openly insult or humiliate anyone, so it was rare when someone could pick on him.

It seemed like a goddamn miracle to the German. The Russian managed to walk on the very edge of the blade and did not even stagger.

How exactly he was able to get these privileges for himself was a rather difficult question. He was a new, young country, who also took power for himself with the help of a revolution, a coup d'état and a civil war – in theory, everyone should wipe their feet and spit on him from a high bell tower. But somehow it turned out that USSR himself spat on the whole of Europe from the same high bell tower. Of course, he had a very serious argument in the form of having the largest land territory, but the situation was still quite surprising.

Because, in fact, apart from the territory, the Russian had nothing — not only was he not the richest country, he was one of the poorest — after the World War, all resources were exhausted on his lands, and he had neither decent military power nor too much influence in the world… In fact, he had nothing at all. He was an agricultural country that, right now, tried to organize mass industrialization, when all the developed countries of the world did it a hundred years ago at least. And on such a huge territory - this by default increases the complexity by X-times higher, no less. He was behind in everything and against everyone. Logically no one should consider him at all! However, this did not happen.

As far as Reich knew, the predecessor of Union, the Russian Empire, was also the same — strange, completely incomprehensible, rather backward, but despite all that, it somehow magically managed to remain one of the most respected countries in the world. It was probably just a feature of their nation. The German did not know this for sure — he himself did not find RE alive anymore, he disappeared somewhere around 1917, and no one saw him anymore. There was a civil war on his lands for several years, no one really knows what exactly was going on there...

However, in a sense, other European countries indirectly confirmed this assumption — in the eyes of all "cultured Europeans," all Russians have always been distant, incomprehensible, perhaps even savage, and, most importantly... strange. The last word just perfectly described Soviet Union.

He was a stranger here. At this British reception. And USSR didn't even try to become "one of them" — he just didn't care.

Reich even involuntarily hunched his shoulders — he did not want to admit this even to himself, but he would like to be like him. At least a little. He was bound in his chains and could not even step aside without the direct permission of his merciful... "protectors." Like a rat in a trap, all he could do was shake in the depths of his soul with rage and anger, but continue to smile sweetly at everyone around him.

Third quickly regained an unperturbed look — other countries were too close, he couldn’t show his weakness.

Speaking of them…

The German noticed the other’s approach, but didn't make an obvious show of it. He wanted to see a natural reaction, and it was possible only if the "enemy" did not know that he was seen.

France had even opened his mouth to throw his cursed "Weimar!" when he noticed USSR. He immediately stewed abruptly and involuntarily stepped back. For a couple of seconds, he was clearly struggling within himself, choosing one of two evils, but eventually decided to retreat — he did not want to get involved in a potential conversation with a Russian any more strongly.

The German didn’t even hold back a victorious grin - this round was for him. This time he would manage to collect the necessary amount in time, and the Frenchman would be forced to choke on the money, but he would not get “him.” No way. Sooner or later, the countries of Europe will be forced to recognize that his true name is the “German Reich” and not some pathetic “Weimar Republic.”

 ***

Third shuddered slightly and opened his eye with difficulty.

It was not like his usual waking from a nightmare where he would’ve almost jumped up, gasping for air with his mouth, choking, and his heartbeat pounding deafeningly in his head.

This time there was nothing, no physical pain, but there was something else that hurt… perhaps… mental pain? How else could he describe the strange conflicting feelings which made his chest ache and his eyes sting treacherously, Reich did not know.

Why the hell did he remember exactly that?!

In an unwitting attempt to do at least something that would save him from these unpleasant sensations, the German fumbled for the small trinket under his pillow, pulled it out and squeezed it tightly in his fingers, almost pressing it to himself.

Third did not attach it back to his neck, sensibly figuring that Russland would not have warned him against that without any substantial reason behind it. However, he did not want to put it very far away and in the end he put it where it would not be visible, but at the same time as close to his person as possible.

It is quite difficult to say what exactly his Iron Cross meant to him. Perhaps the most concise and brief description would be the word...“everything.” This little thing contained absolutely everything that Reich had ever held dear.

The physical strength of the country’s embodiment depends largely on how developed a military power, an army is... However, according to the Treaty of Versailles, Third was forbidden to have his own army. The staff of a hundred thousand people could not even be counted; these people meant for maintaining order in the streets of the largest cities was catastrophically insufficient, it was not an army, this could not even be considered military police! And if there was no army, then there would be no military awards…

Reich himself wore his medal a little earlier than he was able to officially restore the traditional German Iron Crosses, but the day he finally did so was perhaps one of the best days of his damn life.

It was a sign that he was able to do what he dreamed of, he was able to throw off the suffocating shackles, he was able to get back on his feet, he was able to rebuild his lands, he had regained dignity for his tormented nation! He did it, he was not the weakling everyone thought he was— he did it all!

But this was not really what encouraged the German. On the contrary, it was working against his master that only intensified bitterness in the chest. And the effect was just because... The cross was not only a sign of his strength of will, but also one of his greatest weaknesses.

And this “weakness” was at the complete disposal of the Russian... If Sovok had given him the ultimatum – either spread your legs freely before me, or I destroy the medal in front of you – Reich would... spread his legs.

He would have done it.

He would have done anything, even cast aside his own pride, if it meant that the cross would remain safe.

But Union had given it to him... for nothing. For no reason. Not as a reward for good behavior, not even as a condition for further “cooperation.” Nothing at all.

So... strange.

Third was not exactly sure that Sovok fully knew the value of the medal for him, but... ah, he could only guess. Damn it, they used to talk to each other, they talked a lot, the Russian could well understand the importance of such a simple trinket. If anyone could have thought of such a thing on their own, it was USSR.

And he gave him the cross.

He, for some reason, even took the medal for himself after the German's surrender! He took it! Most likely, of course, purely for the sake of a "souvenir" — Union had some kind of strange passion for collecting all sorts of junk, in his personal house there were whole cabinets with useless stuff, the shelves of which were filled with all sorts of statuettes, figurines, jewelry boxes, trinkets, cans of formalin and other nonsense…

And Reich suddenly realized that a single tear had flowed down his cheek.

He immediately wiped it away, of course. Tears are a definite and undeniable sign of weakness, but... but he was absolutely alone in the room, and there was no continuous surveillance on him... so a small concession to himself can be allowed. If there are no witnesses, it will not disgrace him.

Sovok, after all... he had agreed to this turn of events... He had taken Reich for himself... had really snatched him out of the clutches of the European vultures... He himself had said that it had done him no good, on the contrary, he had probably had to concede something in order to get the right to control his fate completely...

And, as if that fact alone wasn't enough, he actually did it, so… damn .

The German himself knew and understood perfectly well that the physiology of the human body is arranged in such a way that people physically cannot endure absolute inactivity. They go mad and break down when they are deprived of any purpose of existence. This is not necessarily death, at least not of the physical body, but death of the soul, of consciousness.

Reich had repeatedly seen such broken people with his own eyes: formally, they are still breathing, they can even move and do some mechanical work, but their gazes become... empty. Dead. No emotions, no desires — they don't even want to eat anymore, even though they are gradually dying of hunger. Just living corpses that are still moving.

And even though the German himself desperately clung to the remnants of his own mind, such an effect did not escape even him — he was the embodiment of the country, he must do at least something! This was his direct responsibility, this was the very essence of his existence!

... After all, Sovok was absolutely right when he said that the most terrible punishment for Reich would simply be to make him rot from boredom and idleness until the end of time.

That was exactly what Britain tried to do to him, he put him under lock and key, in a cage, where the German lived in the dark and went mad from the fact that nothing was happening around him at all… And if to think from this point of view, staying in the territory of USSR was like a blessing. Yes, with some reservations, but…

Union was not a fool either. He put him in exactly such conditions on purpose and consciously.

It turned out that Russland told him the pure truth: he still had a choice. Sovok gave him that choice. Even if it was a small one. Either surrender and die; not as much in the body, but in the soul. Become a helpless doll, one that did whatever their owners want. To break down.

Or... hah , no matter how ironic and banal it sounds, to live. Just like the guy said. With conditions and restrictions, of course, because this time he really deserved the most terrible punishment for all the crimes he committed, the German did not deny it himself. But still. It was to live.

Reich would always, for all his fucking existence, choose the second option. He did not break when he was shackled by the Treaty of Versailles, when he was continuously wiped off by the whole of Europe, he did not break when another difficulty fell on him in the form of a dying child...

Damn it, he didn't break, even when all his dreams, aspirations and ideals went to hell, along with his army and dreams of conquering the world — he took the trigger away from his head. He didn't break even then!

He stepped over his most secret, deepest, most sincere fear – he knew that after the surrender he would face years of continuous torment and humiliation, he understood it perfectly!

And still he took the gun away from his own head.

After all, to simply blow his own brains out would be much... easier. Just one shot, and there would never be any pain, shame or humiliation... Only one simple realization in the last moments of life – that he was really a coward and a weakling. Scared to be responsible for his own actions.

A complete failure.

That was what everyone around him thought and called him...

... almost everyone...

And even if Third would now persistently and completely deny this, never and under no pretext would he admit it aloud, even only to himself, and would stubbornly continue to wave it off with the excuse of "duty to his people and, in particular, to his son,” there was still one small but extremely ironic fact.

After all, when Reich met the Allies in his private office, grinning with his trademark smile, to see again in the icy eye opposite a spark of the flame of that same sincere respect, flashing just for a moment, was definitely worth everything that the German had to go through when he pressed the cold muzzle to his own temple with a trembling hand.

… because the mere thought of how in that very look, at the moment when its owner saw a breathless corpse, would shift into bitter dis-ap-point-ment … The thought of it was far worse than anything that could ever happen to him...

The German clutched the medal tighter in his fingers and shamefully covered his face with his hand. He simply could not hold back the traitorous tears. 

Damn Sovok... he just went ahead and gave him the Cross... now he couldn’t even bear to hate him with all his soul....

Note to part

The word ‘ushki’ in Russian is very consonant with the word ‘ear’ (ears). As a matter of fact, the traditional shape of pelmeni does look a bit like ears, so in the original, the connection between these two dishes with different names is obvious.

Other countries refused to recognize the new government led by Lenin as legitimate because it came to power through revolution and coup d'état, which caused division among the people and civil war.

At first, the "new country" didn't even have a name. And the flag, too — during the revolution, an empty, red canvas was used as a symbol, but it was not officially fixed. Conditionally, at that time, the country was called Soviet Russia (the official name of the RSFSR was adopted on July 19, 1918, immediately after the execution of the Romanov family, which occurred on the night of July 16-17).

From 1917 until 1924, Soviet Russia, then RSFSR, and, finally, USSR, were in diplomatic and political isolation from the rest of the world – all the old treaties were torn up, no new ones were concluded. The only country that recognized the new government was German Empire. GE concluded with Soviet Russia the indescribably humiliating "Brest-Litovsk Peace" on March 3, 1918, which led Russia out of the First World War.

In May 1919, there was an attempt to establish diplomatic relations with Switzerland, but a few months later they were again broken. The next country, which has already fully and officially recognized Soviet Russia, became... Weimar Republic, with the conclusion of the «Treaty of Rapallo» between them on 16 April 1922. Union would become «Union» only on 30 December of the same year, but «Soviet Russia» was exactly him.

Chapter Text

Part 11. Slow Recovery.

"Oh, it was tearing up," Russia noted with mild surprise when he removed the bandage from the damaged eye.

Reich froze tensely. Shame, shame, shame! He was sobbing out of despair and impotence, and the guy would definitely be able to deduce so!

He simply dried and wiped the tears from his unharmed eye away, and when the swelling subsided, there were no traces left. But the tears from the other one soaked into the bandages covering it. And now, when Russland took it off, he absolutely would've figured out what had happened.

"That's good," the Russian spoke surprisingly steadily. "There is no more pus. I was afraid that the lacrimal glands were more affected, but since they worked it seems that everything is not so bad."

How exactly the guy managed to turn the situation into something more suitable, neutral, almost harmless and acceptable for both of them, Third simply did not understand. Just one phrase, and the overall image instantly changed and ceased to be so humiliating.

Well, yes, it's just that the lacrimal glands started trying to lubricate the surface of the retina – the most common phenomenon in eyeball injuries. Nothing shameful, everything is natural and even right. This does not negate the fact that Russia noticed the tears and, most likely, came to that same, exact conclusion of what really happened, but he did not poke his face at his own weakness.

That was so… so… thoughtful of him…

More sweet and stupid words seemed inappropriate to Reich in this situation. However, if he was less pedantic with his terminology, then he could say that the behaviour of the young Russian was the most acceptable to him. 

So, in the end he was still able to pull himself together and even forced himself to relax, letting the guy do whatever he wanted. It wasn't that Third still didn't… uh… didn't trust him, it was just that he was unwittingly stressed whenever someone else's fingers touched him.

But even he had to admit that RSFSR had always examined him rather carefully. Of course, in general, he also sometimes hurt him, but in a situation where he needs to have his stitches removed, it simply cannot be avoidable - the Russian did not stuff him with pills and other filth.

In fact, Russland somehow miraculously managed to do everything in such a way that even the stubborn Reich unwittingly, but almost voluntarily, gave in to him and allowed him to coo over himself. How exactly the guy did it, the German couldn't even properly grasp, he just… didn't want to be rude to the Russian or close himself off from him in other ways. Third couldn't simply open up completely either, even if he really wanted to do it, but he didn't want to consciously push him away on purpose.

Reich wouldn't admit it out loud, but the fact that he was being treated so patiently, and even cared for, was… pleasant? He did not know how else to describe that strange, a little conflicting, but clearly warm feeling.

In general, he had nothing to compare it with; he himself had never even known parental care, not even that perverted parody of it that the embodiments of countries can squeeze out of themselves. He had always been forced to rely only on himself and on his own strength. From the old man-Empire, he inherited only his manuscripts and notes, from which it was possible to draw knowledge and information, but, apart from this, there was nothing positive at all, only total destruction and despair. Third himself quite honestly admitted that all this must have affected him, and that he himself turned out to be an awful parent too, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

But the attitude Russia held towards him did fit into the term “care,” albeit with some exceptions for the specifics of the situation. And that same feeling of warmth, involuntarily and of its own accord, washed over him when Russia came to check up on him and uttered, indescribably gentle, “Are you all right?” 

"Would you open your eye?" Russland suddenly asked.

Still in the same gentle, soothing tone.

This time, however, Third involuntarily tensed up again – up to the point that, even though the bandage had been removed, he was squeezing his eyelid shut.

"Let's check how well your eye sees," the Russian explained his initiative.

" But what if… it doesn’t work? "No matter how hard Reich tried to hold on, his voice still gave a treacherous shrug.

RSFSR thoughtfully tilted his head to the side.

"We won't know until we try," he remarked quite reasonably.

The argument was extremely sound, the German could not even quickly come up with at least a more or less decent excuse. The truth was utterly pathetic, but prosaic: Reich was just afraid to open it. Actually, it wasn't the first time the guy examined his eye, but in all the previous times, Third for one reason or another, didn't fully understand what was happening. Now that he was fully conscious, he felt a sense of… unease .

The German used to trust his intuition, it almost never failed him, and now he was worried for some reason. It seemed that there was no obvious hint: the eye reacted to light and it did not hurt even if he moved it quite actively. His head also did not seem to spin... But something was still giving him peace. Perhaps this "something" was the understanding that a healthy eye really shouldn't have been opened so quickly.

What a conflicting mixture of feelings.

On the one hand, Reich did not regret his decision at all – it was easier to distinguish where dreams end and reality began when he was able to see, but... but on the other hand, he was perfectly aware that RSFSR did not want to indulge his whim for a reason. The guy had reason to believe that this would negatively affect the healing of the damaged eye. The assumption that this really had a negative impact in the end was quite logical.

And yet Third couldn't even get angry – it was his own fault, he himself asked to be given the opportunity to see. If now he goes blind in one eye because of this, he is entirely responsible for it.

He couldn't even blame it on Sovok.

The German, after all, had deliberately thrown the one and only phrase that he thought would be able to hurt the usually cold and impenetrable Union. Well, it did. Third wasn’t counting on THAT kind of reaction, but he guessed that the topic must be very painful. It was not just that the Russian tried not to talk about his children too much. But in his panic, Reich didn't have time to fully weigh the risks and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"Well, all right. Let's close it back then. Let it re..." the guy suddenly stopped right in the middle of the sentence.

RSFSR somehow embarrassedly moved away, covering his mouth with his hand, and deeply... yawned. "...rest a little," he muttered through a yawn. "Sorry," he said somewhat embarrassedly, shaking his head slightly. "I got caught up with work."

In fact, Russia did look a little tired, just until that moment Reich somehow did not pay attention to this. The behavior was exactly the same as usual, except that the guy began to stretch his shoulders a little more often and somehow tensely, and also began to blink a little sleepily. In general, it was not too striking, but if one looked closely, it was possible to notice it.

Countries also need sleep, at least sometimes, but there is never enough time for it at all - Third himself remembered it perfectly well. He preferred to set aside a couple of small breaks a day, around fifteen minutes, for a light nap right in his work chair, but he postponed sleeping until the very last moment. It's just an indescribable waste to spend a few hours on this.

Deutschland always noted that this had a negative impact on his overall productivity...

… His son… 

Reich shook his head, pushing away unpleasant thoughts. There was nothing wrong with him; he should be able to cope with the difficulties. He tried not to think about his second offspring – the more he thought about it, the more horrifying things came to mind. It was better not to begin to speculate.

They were alive – that was the most important thing.

As long as they breathed, there was always a chance to achieve something, regardless of how bleak the situation may seem.They were both alive and they were both active countries: according to the decision of Europe, all the property and power of Third was divided between them, they were both recognized as his heirs.

At least, Reich naively hoped that everything turned out this way – otherwise his "sacrifice" would have been absolutely useless...

***

"It will be necessary to measure the released radiation and the shock wave, especially over the site of the explosion itself," Soviet Union dictated. “This time we need to squeeze out ten thousand meters, I don't agree with the old eight.”

"All right, Father," nodded RSFSR, quickly making a note right in the margins of the paper in his hands. "Further, the buildings imitating residential buildings were erected on the same foundations as last time," he continued a brief report on the work already completed. "The bridge was also restored, at a distance of one kilometer."

"This explosion should be much more powerful, make sure of the quality of the fixing equipment in the bunker twenty-five kilometers away."

"Do you think the wave will reach even there?" Russia clarified, a little surprised.

"It's quite possible. If the earth is going to shake even at this distance, I need to know that."

"I'll take care of it, Dad," the guy smiled.

Specifically, this time it was a little bit tight.

Only the "inspired USSR" could be worse than the "evil USSR," but both of these states were no match for the "gloomy USSR"... The death of the main political leader always had a rather negative effect on the state of the country and of course, it was crucial for him to die as soon as possible, in the spring… On top of that, the German also managed to "explode" this whole cocktail at a very bad time... So many different factors overlapped simultaneously.

In fact, it was even somewhat surprising that in the end everything was settled so peacefully, except for someone's slightly bruised skin.

In general, Russia did not want to heat up the already boiling cauldron of world politics, and such an event as the testing of a potentially usable bomb of a new type would definitely cause other countries to worry...

But sooner or later it would happen anyway, and now the moment could also be used for other purposes. Father definitely had to be pulled out of the depths of his own whims but arranging for him something more neutral, such as filming a movie, did not succeed, so he had to choose the least among several evils. 

Besides, while USSR was engrossed with something, he seemed to forget about everything else — it was its closest state to something positive. So, while Union was distracted by the matter that had enraptured him, one should not complain but instead frantically enjoy the moment.

RSFSR sighed wearily. Lord, he really wanted to ask his father for a little vacation... Now he could only dream of one.

***

Reich had already caught himself several times thinking that once again he had lost his way counting the days. He tried to keep track of time, but every single instance it turned out that he somehow missed a couple of days and only then noticed it.

Apparently, most often this happened on rainy or simply cloudy days - the sun's light from outside the window did not shine so brightly, and the German simply did not notice that the morning had already turned into twilight, and the evening into the next morning.

Recently, Russland hadn't been visiting him everyday, and he almost did not come into the apartment at all, and if he did it was usually in the dead of night. The German didn't notice his arrival every time. Apparently, the guy was busy with something important or just made sure that something went as it should.

Another "problem," though that term didn't really fit the situation, was that he almost stopped having nightmares and was able to sleep normally. And when he had such an opportunity, he slept all day long.

Apparently, the mere presence of his Cross was able to stabilize him as an embodiment, and now he felt much better. In fact, it was even funny – are his ideas, his essence, still alive among people? If not, he would hardly still be able to exist, even in such a weakened state.

Third sighed softly and stretched sleepily, kneading his stiff limbs. He was still struggling to walk, so he almost never stood up, but over time, he began to notice more and more often how much a sedentary lifestyle was starting to take a toll on him. He constantly felt weak and lethargic, and his limbs did not obey him well. Constant boredom turned into full-blown laziness, and he just didn't want to do anything. But when one day he couldn’t even raise himself up on his elbows the first time (although he was doing it quite calmly,) Reich was finally convinced that he had neglected his own body with his own hands.

Russland had already warned him several times that the complete lack of movement would lead to such a result, but the German just snorted and waved him off. 

However, his body was really recovering very slowly, just like ordinary people... apparently, he still really had to remember about their physiological features, since he had to rely on them now.

Third still couldn’t do anything in full, so he had to focus on something simple. He had to start doing something.

Exercise.

It sounds so... human. It is people who had to keep their muscles working to keep them from atrophying — what a shame... How do they even live with such imperfect bodies?

In his case, Reich began with the most basic thing: just a small warm-up. For example, he carefully clenched and unclenched his broken fingers, those that were already more or less fused and moving. It turned out pretty badly, fine motor skills came out either very slowly, or did not work at all - it was not always possible to touch the tip of one finger on the other. His hands obeyed better, even his right one, which was more damaged - the fixing spokes had already been completely removed, but it was still quite painful to move them.

In addition to his arms, the German tried not to forget about the rest of his limbs — his legs, and, most importantly, his back. The latter had some difficulties due to limited mobility, but at least there was a little movement. It seemed that all this was just a mere trifle, but after only about a week of such exercises, Third began to notice positive results. Gradually, his body was coming back to life.

However, he discovered another problem – a persistent, recurring feeling of hunger. Russland had fed him several times since the incident with pelmeni, and Reich did not hide this unpleasant fact from him, but apart from that, there was probably nothing else to complain about.

So the German spent the next long and boring day as he usually did – lying on the mattress, staring at the ceiling, thinking about nonsense, and at the same time carefully stretching his limbs.

A bang! of the apartment's front door snapped him out of his half-drowsiness and his own thoughts. For some reason, this time Third didn't even really pay attention to it – most likely it was Russland who ran in for a couple of minutes and would eventually leave again. In the last few weeks, probably, the German could not say for sure, the guy had been turning up in the daytime in this fashion.

That was why Reich didn't expect a familiar, tall silhouette to suddenly appear on the doorstep of his room.

It took him a moment – Third stared stupidly at the 'guest,' trying to figure out what he was looking at.

"Hello there," Union grinned briefly.

This time, the German literally jumped to his feet – he jerked sharply, almost jumping up, and the next moment he was already standing, pressing his back against the wall.

"W-what...? W-what are you doing?!" he exclaimed involuntarily.

"Shock therapy," the Russian replied lightly. "Look how you jumped up."

Reich tensely froze in mute horror. It was a complete surprise to him; the guy had not warned him of his father's imminent visit, nor had Third noticed any possible hint of it in his behavior.

Sovok looked quite adequate, it seemed that he was neither annoyed nor angry, but the damn suitcase in his hand clearly and definitely said that this time he had come not to return long-lost things, but with some other clear intention.

The fact that he walked calmly again, as before, then began to drag that cursed armchair to the middle of the room, only confirmed this once again.

Third, watching him, swallowed nervously. He was shaking visibly, slowly sliding down the wall back onto the mattress.

There were several reasons for this: firstly, one of his legs was still aching and it was painful to lean on it, and secondly, such a reaction instantly betrayed his fear. So, in the end, Reich carefully lowered himself into a sitting position and forced his own back to stop frantically pressing against the wall. But no matter how hard he tried to get ahold of himself, his knees still buckled and reflexively tried to press his legs as close to his body as possible so that he could block the view to his most vulnerable and most piquant parts from that icy gaze.

His hands also instinctually clutched at the collar of his shirt to cover his neck - another exposed area. Though the rough hickeys were long gone, he felt their phantom aches, forcing his body to close desperately in an involuntary attempt to protect himself from more.

"L-last time, you gave me time to fully recover," the German mumbled in a slightly shaky voice, trying to distract himself from his own panic.

"What are you talking about?" Sovok raised an eyebrow, as if it really surprised him. "I come to you when I need to rest. If it so happens that you can't satisfy me, I'll find a way to make you do it.

"Pff, and how?" Reich tried his best not to show that he was literally shaking with silent terror inside. "I-I don't see a suitable arsenal here."

Of course, it was absurd, because besides the chains on the wall, the Russian could have brought everything else he needed with him.

"Just take my word for it, Third. To drag you into a room with the right equipment is the least of all possible problems," USSR assured him quite calmly.

At that moment, he had just set the armchair in its place and turned it to the German.

"And what, y-you'll beat me half to death again if I say a word about…” Reich hesitated strangely.

Union squinted at him with a cold stare, and Third couldn't get the next words out of his mouth.

"Mi– Y-your..." He paused.

The words were stuck somewhere in his throat, and he couldn't push them out. It just wasn't working. Literally couldn't, though he'd really tried.

"Well..." the Russian drawled.

He slowly lowered himself into the armchair and clasped his hands together.

"It's pointless to deny it, I didn't expect such a stunt even from you," he said calmly. "Now I'll keep this in my mind and it won't happen again. You can consider that this was the "first time" of violating an order, in which I simply ignored you. If you mention this topic again, I will give you a warning. And if you disobey me for the third time, I will simply cut out your tongue so that you will never talk too much again."

Reich froze.

Such a sharp, but calm, straightforward threat genuinely frightened him. After all, now Sovok spoke in all seriousness. Just like that time, with teeth. It was not an empty threat, he would really do it.

The German's eye flickered against his will. No matter how hard he tried to restrain himself, his mind and gut were still flooded with exactly one emotion – panic.

Pure animalistic terror.

If earlier Third felt his usual dislike, mixed with old resentment, disgust and fear of repeating previous nightmares... now the usual "fear" had turned into a clear understanding — Sovok would not be nice to him for long. This was not just a mockery of him, and certainly not some kind of cruel joke. Either Reich would accept his rules of the game, or the Russian will simply spit on him and his strange troubles just to get what he wanted through more extreme means. And he won't disdain them, that's for sure.

"Well then!" the Russian suddenly said rather optimistically.

From such a sudden change, the German almost jumped again.

"Okay, so be it, I admit, today your condition really leaves much to be desired. So, I'm ready to change my approach a bit. Let's do this: I promise you that I will not have you today.” Sovok paused for a moment, as if giving him time to comprehend the meaning of the phrase. "However, I need to relax, and you're going to help me with that."

Reich was... confused. No matter how hard he tried to control himself, he blinked in surprise.

A choice.  

Sovok gave him a damn choice!

The German even managed to open his mouth to throw another barb with an obvious and sharp refusal, as... The words got stuck in his throat again, and he chokingly closed it back. Phrases spoken in other men's voices surfaced in his head. "If you behave well, I won't be so cruel." "You know very well yourself, Fritz, Father keeps his word."

If Sovok said that he wouldn't sleep with him today, then he wouldn't really do it. Reich understood perfectly well that he would not like the alternative, whatever it was, either, but...

His body involuntarily shuddered from the phantom memories of HOW huge the Russian's dick is, and HOW long it took for Reich to take him fully.

F-fuck… Fuck!

Reich exhaled frantically and even squeezed his eyes shut. Animalistic panic was beating inside him now, with the remnants of at least some pride. To his body’s horror, despite everything, the second one still won: n-no…

He won't… wouldn't… he wouldn't beg for mercy. He won’t… he won’t be forced to beg… n-not for mercy… no way…

Clap! came a loud, sharp sound, making the German involuntarily flinch and open his eye.

It was Union clapping his hands as he rose to his feet. It was quite difficult to say what exactly has changed about his countenance, it seems that everything has remained exactly the same as it was, but somehow… miraculously… Sovok suddenly looked surprisingly good-natured.

"Sit in the armchair," he casually waved his hand in the direction of the furniture and walked out of the room.

Reich saw him off with a surprised look. At first, he was confused again: what the hell? Why would that be... And then he remembered another phrase said by the Russian on the very first day he was in his clutches.

It seems that Sovok really wasn't going to force him to the brink and break his will— that wasn't what he needed. He didn't... he didn't want to demean him, to destroy him the way Britain did.

The Englishman, though not publicly, was rightly considered the world's foremost sadist — it literally brought him physical pleasure to watch his victim's psyche break down.

USSR just wanted to bend him a bit. For Reich to give in to him, if that was the word. He wasn't going to purposefully grind down his pride and self-esteem, he didn't need to break him for his own purpose.

The logic, in general, is clear - sleeping with a log is not going to be pleasant for anyone, but – shit – but ... This was obviously a less painful and agonising... option.

...Reich, after all...he was really tired of the endless pain. Insanely tired. And Sovok... Sovok had said... that he wouldn't hurt him if... if... damn it.

Third anxiously swallowed the lump forming in his throat. In a desperate attempt to escape the need to make any final decision, his mind reflexively tried to focus on something simpler.

He would eventually be in that chair either way, the only question is how. Either he would sit in it himself, or he would be lifted from the floor, dragged and placed in it. And if Sovok, in his obviously good mood today, suddenly decided not to be too rude and suddenly sweeps him into his arms, he will look like a helpless cripple. And Reich could certainly not allow the latter option to happen.

So, Third, snarling softly through the remains of his teeth, clenched the fingers of his uninjured hand into a fist and stood up on his weak legs.

It was quite difficult for him to walk, and one of his limbs was in pain when he was leaning on it, but since he was alone in the room now, he allowed himself a slight weakness — a limp. He had a hard time getting to the damn armchair, but in the end, the German managed to hobble to it and fell into the seat.

Sovok returned quickly, literally in a couple of minutes. He brought with him another armchair, exactly the same, and a small, high, round table. He set up the furniture in front of him, and then placed a... chessboard on the table.

" Scheiße , are you serious?" Reich involuntarily sighed.

"Quite," Union even grinned. "If you win against me, you'll get some small reward."

Third squinted in suspicion – everything seemed too good and harmless.

"For example?"

"Well... For example, I can let you occupy your leisure time during my absence. Perhaps, ‘one book a week.’”

"That simple?"

"Of course."

No matter how hard Reich tried to ignore this offer , he couldn't help but admit that it was a damn good one. Lying around doing nothing all day long was really driving him crazy. He was already imposing on Sovok's brat to somehow brighten up his own existence.

"I will not encourage absolutely every cooperation of yours," USSR spoke calmly. "However, if you behave well, you will begin to have such opportunities much more often.

"If I win, I can ask you for any reward I want, right?"

"No, not any, as long as it is within reason. But yes, I'll let you come up with it yourself."

"What happens if I lose?"

Sovok shrugged with indifference.

"That depends on how you lose. In general, I won't do anything to worsen your current situation. The very fact of our match will count as ‘good behavior’ from you, which means there will be no point in me ‘punishing’ you. Unless, of course, you manage to piss me off in the process."

Third glanced at the chessboard in confusion, the table, and, eventually, at Union himself.

"What's the catch?" In the end, he asked bluntly.

The Russian narrowed his eye slightly, and it was completely impossible to read his intentions from his stone face. He silently pushed the game board to the edge of the table to free space, and then picked up the suitcase he had brought with him from the floor and opened it.

Sovok had obviously positioned it so that Reich couldn't see the contents — the lid blocked his view. He could have turned around somehow to look inside, but the German did not do this, even though expectation and ignorance were extremely stressful for him. If he fidgeted or lifted himself up, it would be another sign of weakness and fear.

Sovok fumbled for a while, took something out, unscrewed it, and then there was a sound of gurgling liquid as he began to pour something somewhere. And then, with a completely imperturbable look, he placed a glass half filled with... water in front of Reich.

The German recoiled in horror, pressing into the back of the seat – he instantly recognized the idea. A second later, he regained his more or less calm and unperturbed appearance, but the treacherous trembling of his body still betrayed his panic.

"G-g-get lost," he said with difficulty.

USSR sighed quietly.

"Third, sooner or later I'll get tired of repeating the same thing over and over again," he assured him quite calmly. "You must obey my orders, otherwise I'll have to make you obey them by force.”

"So it's the same shit either way! Whether I agree or not, it’ll always end up with me being fo—" the German didn't even have time to finish his sentence, breaking off in the middle and screaming in a choked voice when a heavy boot fell right on his foot.

Without giving him time to recover, Union roughly grabbed him by the hair, pulled his head up, shoved the glass to his lips and spilled its contents into his throat.

Not expecting such a sharp blow, Third choked but then swallowed the liquid anyway. When he was released, he coughed and winced involuntarily. Sovok hit him on the leg that was more healed, but, still, it was painful.

"In the second case, you get a unique opportunity to enjoy the process yourself," a cold voice rang out. "Although what you say is technically correct — it’s still worth offering the reward to make it seem sweeter."

Reich growled softly in anger. The water turned out to have some kind of strange, excessively cloying taste. There was clearly something dissolved in it. The most terrible thing was that the German guessed what it was — it seemed pretty obvious. What else could it be if it was, in fact, still directly about sex?

"I won't moan for you like a..." Third broke off in mid-sentence.

Sovok's completely calm look made it clear that he would do it. Like a good boy. If he refused to do so voluntarily, he would be forced to.

Reich opened his mouth again to bark some insult, but hesitated without saying anything - USSR didn’t wait idly for his formal refusal and again began to rummage through the damn suitcase.

What exactly he was doing, the German again did not see, and he could not understand it, relying only on hearsay. He could make out some clinking, metallic sound when the Russian obviously opened a box or something, but it didn't tell him anything in particular.

Third swallowed hard. This method of "pressure" worked even better than a direct threat. The unknown frightened him much more. Sovok shook his hands when he finished his "preparations” before wiping his fingers with some kind of rag. Vague suspicions became much more formed, but the German did not have time to fully realize them.

"Are you sure?" the Russian clarified once again, obviously giving him the last opportunity for voluntary cooperation.

Reich was shaking — whatever was going to happen, it’d all spiral down to hell, and the worst part was that despite his own stubbornness, the German knew perfectly well that he was digging his own grave with his own hands. USSR waited a few seconds for decency and then sighed.

"Well, then I’m going to have to do it the bad way again. Come here."

He stepped hard towards him. Third instantly revived from the paralysis that shackled him and tried to recoil, but he simply had nowhere to run away from the armchair – he was grabbed by the shoulders and forced to his feet. The German tried to escape, but this time he wasn’t even allowed to try.

It was not difficult for Sovok to twist his arms behind his back, to grab him in a harsh grip and force him to bend down. The Russian dropped one knee to the floor, and threw the German over the other. Trapped between his arm and his side, all Reich could do was twitch helplessly.

Sovok was not ceremonial. Immediately, he rather rudely unbuttoned and pulled off the German's pants, revealing a view of his ass. Third was ready to literally curl up and die from shame and humiliation, but, refusing to give the Russian an even greater spectacle, he forced himself to relax and go limp.

No matter how hard he tried to control himself when the other's hand touched him, the German simply could not restrain himself. The usual feeling of horror grew into a full-fledged hysteria in a few split seconds.

"Don't touch me, you bastard!" He cried desperately. "Don't you dare touch me! DO NOT TOUCH ME!!!” The German had already shouted the last phrase out loud.

"Don't scream like that," Sovok even winced slightly.

Indescribably cold fingers stroked his ass, and then without further ado penetrated inside.

Reich fought desperately in his grip and even somehow managed to twist one arm. Without hesitation, he slammed his elbow into Sovok's back, but he didn't seem to even notice the blow.

The first finger was joined by a second, and they began to stretch him open.

Don't, don't, don't… the thought flashed in the German's head in desperation.

"Come on, Third, twitch harder," a hint of a grin flashed in the Russian's voice.

Contrary to the order, Reich froze abruptly. And only after a couple of seconds did he realize what happened.

"You're mocking me!!!" He exclaimed hysterically.

"I'm not pleased with your behavior," Union replied calmly. "If you don't want to hear mockery, start behaving properly."

Lost in sincere indignation, Third couldn’t even find an answer. In the short time he had been frozen in prostration, the Russian decided that it was enough and pulled out his fingers.

Reich twitched in fear, but Soviet still didn't let him go. Sovok reached out somewhere, but Third couldn't see what exactly he did. Realizing that nothing good was going to happen, he struggled in his grip again. When he felt the press of something big against him... Reich literally suffocated with irrational horror.

This, of course, simply could not be the manhood of Union himself — his positioning was wrong, and he was fully dressed, but panic still completely clouded his entire consciousness.

"No, no, no, no, no!!!" he wailed aloud and began to struggle with renewed vigor.

"You're making it worse for yourself," the Russian said calmly. "Calm down, Third, it won't hurt so much this time, I promise. Physically, at least."

No matter how hard he fought, Reich simply could not break free from his grip. Union only squeezed him tighter, not even allowing him to move away, and continued to push the foreign object inside him.

It wasn’t like it hurt – but that feeling of penetration, something pushing through and making its way inside him… just like before… stretching his tight walls apart… 

"Enough!" Reich couldn't take it anymore. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!"

It was unclear whether USSR actually heeded his pleas or just finished what he wanted to do, but he did loosen his grip and let the German fall to the floor. The latter instantly recoiled from him.

Logically, Third should have pulled out the thing that had been left inside him as quickly as possible, but his hands acted before he could think: on the contrary, they pulled the clothes back, in an involuntary attempt to shield himself. The German froze tensely, realizing his own mistake.

Now, in order to get rid of that foreign object, he would have to lower his pants with his own hands right in front of Sovok. Between that or leaving it the way it was, the first one seemed much more humiliating.

"Wh-wh-what is that?" he breathed hard. "What is that?"

"A new upgrade of old toys."

Union did not hurry to get back on his feet and showed him the small device in his hands. It was a small black box with a switch. The Russian turned it to the next value and... Reich screamed out of shock.

That thing inside him. It vibrated.

"Now radio-controlled," Sovok stated the obvious.

No, vibrators were invented quite a long time ago, but Third has not really seen such designs yet. In his "worst years," manual home models already existed, but they were not controlled from a distance. Was it any wonder that people are extremely quick to improve such things, and not pay attention to anything that was really useful?

The worst thing was that in general, the vibration... Well, it was hard to call it "pleasant," but his body, which was gradually heating up under the influence of the drug, slowly began to respond differently. At first, Reich only snorted in annoyance, but when he moved slightly, involuntarily trying to remove the unnecessary load from his shoulder that now rested on the hard floor... The vibrator inside him also shifted. 

Third, with incredible difficulty, restrained himself from a shaky sigh.

The thing vibrated, grinded, and slipped out a little bit by itself, but the fabric of his clothes didn’t let it fall out, so it slid back inside. Compared to the giant dick of Sovok, it seemed quite small, and its movements really did not cause much pain — the Russian must have lubricated it well so that it slid easily inside of him, for there was only unpleasant discomfort. But with each of its weak thrusts, it rested right... right on his prostate.

And together with the heat, which was already slowly beginning to make his head spin a little... Reich himself did not notice how he arched his lower back. The German was able to hold back his own vulgar exhalation only by literally smothering his mouth with his palm.

Suddenly the vibrator turned off.

Third raised his eye, wet with tears of shame, right at Union. The Russian looked indescribably aloof and detached, as if what was happening really did not excite him at all.

"Don't worry, Third, you still have a chance to change the situation." Despite the obvious mockery in that phrase, he said it calmly and evenly. "If you want, something bigger and longer will take its place."

Reich shut himself up. When the Russian purposefully stepped closer to him and bent down, the German did not even attempt to break free. Union lifted him to his feet quite calmly, as lightly as a feather.

Caught in a tight grip, Third shuddered in fright and shrank as much as he could, but no pain was inflicted on him. Sovok simply dragged him and sat him back in the armchair. Either as an additional mockery, or simply because he had planned it from the beginning, the Russian even brought the German, disheveled after this small scuffle, into relative order: he straightened his rumpled shirt and even–damn–buttoned his pants.

It was as if the last ten minutes had simply not happened – from an outsider’s perspective, Reich looked as if everything was completely normal, and he was just sitting in an armchair, just like he did at the very beginning.

Then USSR pulled away and took a step back, returning to the table. He again took a rag out of his suitcase and began to wipe the residue of lube from his fingers with it.

Only now did the German seem to wake up from his stupor and move weakly. He fidgeted slightly, trying to sit up so that the vibrator inside him would not feel so obvious. After struggling to find the most suitable position, he tensed again.

Even though a clear understanding – that his resistance was really just making things worse – had long ago formed in his mind, Third still just couldn't accept it.

"W-what, do you want to just jerk off to me?" He spoke in a trembling voice, in order to somehow delay the moment of truth.

The Russian froze for a moment, turned his icy gaze on him and thoughtfully tilted his head to the side, as if calculating something.

"Generally, yes," he nodded, completely unperturbed. "That's it."

"And what the hell do you need chess for?!" Reich exclaimed in despair.

"It alone is too boring," Sovok shrugged lightly. "I want to play a little."

Damn! Damn! Damn!

He was just mocking him! He was looking down on him and laughing at him to himself. Sovok wanted to… wanted to force him... on himself… Sadistic bastard! If he didn’t want to cause suffering with his own hands, then he’d watch him suffer!

There was a soft thud as Sovok poured the chess pieces out of the box before he began to arrange them on the chessboard. He did it so smoothly and calmly, as if Third had already given voluntary consent to his sick idea. And it was this calmness that was the most unbearable of all! He made him feel as if he had somehow agreed, but had forgotten about it, or hadn’t realized he had done so!

It turned out to be a kind of... "pressure.” Not the roughest or heaviest, and not even the most straightforward, but very, very persistent. It wasn’t meant to break but to bend quietly – with a creak, but just to bend.

"T-that's… that's not fair!” As a result, the German exclaimed piteously. "Not fair!!!"

On an aphrodisiac, and even sitting on a vibrator... Chess is a strategic game, one has to think!

"The conditions are unequal, I have no chance of winning!"

"Like that has ever embarrassed you," Sovok shrugged.

Reich let out a... sob. He instantly covered his hands over his own lips to prevent more pathetic sounds from coming out, but in addition to that, an actual tear rolled down his cheek, despair literally choking him. To not have even the ghost of a chance to change anything... it was simply unbearable.

It was at that moment that Sovok suddenly looked up at him and gave him a strange, unreadable look.

"Well..." the Russian said thoughtfully. "You're right, though, I admit," he said, quite unexpectedly. "The odds must be equalised at least a little, otherwise it won't be interesting at all."

Third involuntarily shuddered and raised his head. USSR pulled out something like a flask, unscrewed the lid, then easily and calmly filled the same glass from it to the very brim. And then, under the shocked gaze of the German, he drank every drop with a completely unperturbed look.

"The dosage is higher," Sovok nevertheless voiced the obvious thing. "Considering that I don't mind something more serious, when you start to lose control of yourself, it will also become more difficult for me to hold myself back. The conditions are almost the same."

Reich gasped desperately for air, panicking, trying to think of any other way out. Nothing possible or feasible just came to mind. He no longer had any arguments at all – he had driven himself into a complete dead end. There was simply no way to improve the situation, but damn it, Sovok still gave him the opportunity to at least not make it worse.

"I-if I…"

These confused words became tantamount to the German's confession to himself at the beginning of the end. In fact, it began a long time ago: it was enough to entertain a thought in one's head just once, even if it was an involuntary one, then it would grow and soon become impossible to ignore, even if one so desired.

A mixture of fear, despair and wild horror from a clear understanding – in the clear consciousness of USSR can easily come up with something much more humiliating or painful...

And the most unbearable thing was that the situation wasn't even hopeless. That was the scariest part of it—there was a way out. Even two, to be completely honest, but there was no way he could agree to one of them. Then there was only the one that Sovok ‘favourably’ gave him.

"If I play a game with you… then y-you wouldn’t lay a hand on me, r-right?" Reich asked in a trembling voice.

Only now did Union frown slightly in annoyance.

"Third, don’t try to manipulate the wording," he said coldly. "I won’t sleep with you. If you want a rougher, more detailed and straightforward sentence structure, well, okay: today I will not pull you on my dick with either your mouth or ass. Everything else is at my discretion."

"O-okay," the German swallowed anxiously. "Y-you won’t sleep with me… e-even if… if…”

When.

"Y-you’ll get yourself all worked up, won't you?"

"I won't," nodded USSR.

Reich desperately shook his head in denial.

Damn, damn, damn!!!

He couldn't, he just couldn't just agree to this obvious disgrace, but... damned "but." Not to admit that this method was indeed almost the only one in which sexual violence did not turn into another outright rape.… Third grabbed his own hair with force.

He wanted, unbearably, to hurl a slew of the worst profanity that ever existed at Sovok, but he couldn't force the words out of himself. The perfect realisation that the previous scenario of hellish pain, beating, endless nightmares and the all-consuming cold that followed could easily happen again if he pissed off the Russian literally prevented him from doing so.

Despite the fact that the German didn't say anything out loud, Union, watching his reaction, nodded with satisfaction, slammed the lid of the suitcase, put it on the floor, and then turned the board so that the white pieces faced Reich. After that, he calmly sank into the armchair opposite and locked his fingers together again.

Third slowly raised his head and stared at the figures with a lost look. After all, he always liked to play with white ones... Sovok still remembered this. White moves first, the initiative is behind them, they are the ones who set the rhythm of the game. His favorite tactic was to attack lightning fast, quickly seize the board and shatter the enemy. If there is an opportunity to make the right combination, if you are the first to obtain the right position, then victory is in your hands. To do it with white chess pieces is always easier. White goes first – they dictate the rules, they are always, regardless of what the enemy does, a step ahead...

Third growled softly in impotent anger. If he couldn’t change the situation in any way, then it must be directed in a more suitable direction. The average duration of one game of classical chess lasts about an hour, but the embodiments of countries are able to process information more quickly than humans. In addition, Reich not only had a decent experience of playing chess himself, he was basically a good strategist. He won real battles with real opponents with meager losses. His blitzkrieg was an almost perfect way of waging war. The sooner the game ends, the sooner Sovok would leave, therefore, the sooner this shame would end.

So... His first move was completely in line with his favorite tactics.

With a trembling hand, Reich reached for the figurine and moved it to its new place.

Knight to F3.

* The "death of a political leader" is the death of Stalin.

He died of a cerebral hemorrhage on March 5, 1953 (almost eight years have passed since the end of the Second World War and the signing of the surrender by Germany).

Orthodox Easter that year was April 5, and what USSR and RSFSR discussed was the test of the world's first hydrogen bomb, the so-called RDS-6s, which took place on August 12 of the same year (1953.) The "last time" that was mentioned in their dialogue was the RDS-3 bomb, detonated in 1951.

** “Blitzkrieg” (lightning war) - a method of conducting a short-term war, according to which victory is achieved in the short term, before the enemy manages to mobilize and deploy its main military forces.

It was this tactic that captured the whole of Europe, including the brilliant breakthrough of the impenetrable French border. The only disadvantage that emerged was that this tactic proved to be quite ineffective in... large territories.

Indescribably, the huge scale of the geography of military operations did not allow the Germans to redeploy the army and equip the rear in a timely manner. Tactics dictated a very rapid advance, which is why the main body of troops always moved forward, not finishing off the still defending structures, and leaving large groups of active Red Army soldiers in their own rear. The latter, without thinking twice, went into partisanship.

The legendary, lightning-fast, invincible German blitzkrieg simply drowned in the endless forests and fields of the vast territory of the USSR.

There are real records and memories of ordinary German soldiers that they literally went crazy from such a scale of territory - in Europe they drove at a victorious gallop from the capital of one country to the capital of another, and in Russia the same distance was from one-horse village to another. To make it worse, through total off-road terrain >_<.

Plus, this is an indescribably stubborn resistance. The Germans captured Belgium in 18 days, impregnably fortified France in 40, and in Russia during the same time the same army could not take only one city, for example, Kiev (the operation to defend which, although it ended with the defeat of the Soviet side, lasted more than 80 days).

Hitler and the rest of the German High Command were not idiots when they thought that they could take over the USSR in six months, before the onset of frost - the tactic really worked, it was almost genius, it had to (!) work this time (!) too. In fact, they even almost succeeded, they just lacked some resources and time.

Chapter Text

Knight to F3.

An immediate attack, instant aggression. Sovok’s answer was not long incoming. This is just the beginning of the game, there's nothing he can do here. All that remains is to follow the established rhythm.

Pawn to C5.

The most logical and, at the same time, the most predictable move is the potential for an attack in the center, freeing up the passage for the rest of the pieces, but not weakening the king's defense...

Reich fidgeted slightly, trying to sit back comfortably so that he could feel as little as possible and not be distracted by the vibrator inside him — while it wasn't working, he could force himself to focus and just ignore it. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and when he opened his eye again, all extraneous, interfering factors faded into the background.

It was uncomfortable, but bearable, and he couldn't let his irritation blur his consciousness. To rush headlong into battle is not worth it; first he needed to take the right positions.

Pawn to C3.

Union frowned slightly, instantly realizing what exactly this move had been made towards. It was both defensive and aggressive because it was formally an invitation to the so-called ‘London system.’ This is one of the most common formations for starting a game.

The variations for the very first moves are quite limited due to the constraint of the pieces, so literally all possible combinations have long been studied, written down and named.

Despite the fact that the ‘London System’ is, in fact, a defensive technique that gives White a universal opportunity to respond to almost any move of Black, it allows him to occupy the very bridgehead for a subsequent attack, without leaving gaps in the defense.

Sovok clearly did not want to blindly follow his rules, so he went in such a way as to return to the accelerated rhythm of the game.

Pawn to D5.

And here Reich himself cannot do anything, and all that remains for it is to block the passage to his positions.

Pawn to D4.

The next move was quite important, because it depended on him whether the Russian would accept his position on the board. He could have made a mirror move with his knight on F6, and then Third would have answered him with a bishop on F4. The pure "London system" in its most standard incarnation. However, Sovok decided to disappoint him and acted more trivial.

Pawn C5 takes pawn D4.

Reich snorted in disappointment.

Pawn C3 takes pawn D4.

Turns out it's just a standard ‘Slav exchange’ – nothing interesting or useful. They both lost their pieces, and neither of them took good positions, the Russian just relieved the tension in the center of the field. And at the same time, they also rolled back to the previous stage of the game: Sovok was again faced with the choice to follow the ‘system’ or not.

Knight to C6.

But this did not please Reich: it could be a good entry to ‘The Ruy Lopez,’ but he did not want to go into it at all. Too banal, too predictable. Nice when the opponent plays book moves, but sliding into that himself is playing with fire. So, the German had to spend one more move on defense.

Knight to C3.

However, it turned out quite well. Sovok frowned a little, but still made the exact move that Third had been pushing him from the very beginning of the game:

Knight to F6.

Bishop to F4, came the quick reply.

‘London system.’ Now, whatever USSR does, the advantage will be on the side of the Whites. He can still, for example, make a mirror move with his bishop on F5, but this line was bleeding initiative. In addition, a more aggressive move on his part may be a pawn move, for example, on line A, in order to potentially stretch the opponent's position.… However, here Sovok did something that Reich did not expect from him at all.

Knight F6 to H5.

Third actually blinked in surprise. What the hell was this? No, that much was clear - it was just an attempt to ‘dry up the game,’ to settle into equally stable positions where neither side would gain a clear advantage. The real problem was different: by making this move, Sovok was essentially offering him a draw. Nobody wins, nobody loses. The optimal outcome.

As if they were comrades. 

Reich's fingers dug violently into his armrests as he let out a quiet growl of frustration. Oh, hell no, he wouldn't surrender like this. Sovok can go fuck himself.

Bishop to D2.

A step back, returning to the exact same position. Well, almost the exact same — he still needed to leave a little space for future maneuvers. But Sovok, as if deliberately mocking him, also stepped back. He had more aggressive and effective options available; he simply chose not to use them.

What a crude, brazen way to reset White’s growing advantage back to zero.

Knight H5 to F6.

Gradually, Reich grew engrossed and even relaxed unwittingly. All irrelevant trivialities faded from his mind, yielding to what mattered most — concentration. It was especially important now that the most hackneyed first moves had already been made and the game was becoming more interesting.

It’s hard to put into words how a chess player’s thought process unfolds at the board — they don’t think about moves — they see them. They see a position they can claim; they see how the opponent might retaliate; they see what avenues this would unlock… Peering too far ahead is pointless, it is ineffective to keep too much information in his head. Yet Third wasn’t merely estimating his opponent’s potential moves a few turns ahead — he knew, with visceral certainty, how the board would look in the near future.

Repeating the same move with the bishop would have been ideal, but he had already done that before, so he needed to do something different.

Pawn to E3.

Union hesitated to answer. He even leaned forward slightly, approaching the chessboard, a clear sign of immersion in thought. The options for further action were becoming wider and wider, so it took him time to outline his next steps.

Pawn to E6 , he finally moved.

If USSR had to hastily adjust his tactics mid-game, adjusting it to the actions of the enemy, the German’s strategy had long been polished — the initiative was up to him. Of course, Reich also spent some time thinking about options, but so far the game was going as it was necessary for him.

Bishop to D3.

The Russian frowned slightly, clearly realizing that Third already knew his next move and wondered if it could be avoided.

Bishop on D6.

Reich grinned. To himself, of course. Union had begun blindly mirroring his moves, and this time it was his mistake. Not fatal, but the German considered it his first small success - Sovok should have put the bishop on E7, and soon he’d understand why.

In fact, despite its seeming primitiveness, in the Russian situation, the mirror tactic was, perhaps, the best solution. It prevented him from falling dangerously behind in tempo, which is simply lethal for chess. If White, in its essence, is pure attack and aggression, then Black, by force, is pure defense. It is possible to seize the initiative, of course, but if the opponent knows a little bit about the game, well. No one in the right mind would simply let that happen.

Statistically, White wins more often — because the game either ends in their victory or with their first fatal mistake, one that completely overturns the game. And Third had no intention of making such a mistake.

Pawn to E4.

By the barely noticeable twitch of his brow, USSR realized he’d blundered. Under no circumstances could he allow this pawn to advance further — otherwise, he risked losing both the bishop on D6 and the knight on F6. At least one of them would surely fall. Had he played E7 earlier, this threat wouldn’t exist. But now, he had no choice but to yield to the German’s pressure and take the bait.

Pawn D5 takes E4.

When choosing between three evils, it's better to sacrifice the least useful piece. Reich effortlessly claimed the pawn offered to him.

Knight C3 takes E4.

The Russian's response was the most predictable one: retreat.

Bishop D6 to E7.

This way, he’d both shielded the bishop from attack and protected the knight on F6 — it couldn’t be taken without consequences now. Third had no intention of pointlessly sacrificing his own piece, so the skirmish on this flank would need to be put on pause for now. The German had driven Sovok out of this area of the board, forcing him to lose both tempo and pieces, ruthlessly crushing any attempt to seize the initiative.

Reich himself did not notice how he shifted a little nervously, either from anticipation or from satisfaction with his small victory. He was getting worked up, pulled deeper into the game, and the German didn't even pay attention to the fact that at the same time his body was also gradually warming up.

Since now he has a small head start, it must be spent usefully. The most effective thing to do is to use it for additional protection, which is also a very important detail that should never be forgotten. Well, the most effective and fastest way of protection is, of course, ‘castling.’ This is a technique in which the king moves from the original position to two squares, and the rook jumps over it and stands on the adjacent square, as if blocking the entrance to the bunker. Well, or to the fortress... It depends on who likes which association best.

So, in the end, Third did it.

Kingside castling.

Now the white king stood on G1, and the rook moved from H1 to F1. Union shrugged slightly at this and made exactly the same move.

Kingside castling.

It makes no sense for him to do anything else now, the position on the board is not in his favor. So, all that remains for him is to remain on the defensive, waiting for the next action of his opponent.

Though Sovok’s defenses now appeared impenetrably dense, they harbored one critical weakness — the pawn on H7. A sudden invasion by the right piece would turn Black’s own king’s bunker into a tomb: his entourage wouldn’t just fail to protect him — they’d trap him with no escape. Thus, the German’s next move was a calculated setup for precisely this future flank assault.

Queen to C2.

USSR even tilted his head slightly, weighing his options — he clearly grasped both his precarious position and the weakness of his field, deliberating countermeasures.

It was only now that Reich realized with a quiet smile that Russland, when he was thinking, was tilting his head exactly as his father had been, somehow bird-like, as if he were trying to look at the situation from a slightly different angle. It became extremely symbolic even though the youngest of the Russians also clearly inherited his talent for turning the situation inside out in an indescribable way from his parent. A small but funny fact.

Pawn to H6.

Well, not a bad option — it doesn’t give up material for nothing and slightly opens up maneuvering space. Sure, it weakens his overall defense, but not critically — right now, the very cramped position on the kingside, which the Russian had embraced, only hampers him.

Third could take that pawn immediately, but it’d be utterly pointless— he’d just waste a bishop. Better to shift focus elsewhere.

The German shifted impatiently, stirred, and even began to twitch his fingers a little nervously – the simple exercise of flexing and extending the broken phalanges to restore their mobility had somewhat become an involuntary habit when thinking.

Reich exhaled a little noisily and did not notice how he suddenly licked his dry lips. For some reason, he felt an almost maddening urge to speed up, turn up the heat, launch an attack — but for now, his reason yanked him back: No, no. Inefficient. Illogical. Unacceptable.

A quick and effective attack will not work, but his positions are good, he should not leave them. An unexpected strike targeting that same H7 square is still his main plan. Having gone through all possible options for further events, Third decided to give in a little in the initiative – let USSR find himself in a hopeless situation and be forced to somehow dig up his own fortifications on his own.

Rook A1 to D1 , the German made his move.

He had no intention of abandoning his established positions, nor was there yet any need to divert his other rook from the king's defense. Pawn moves would prove ineffective now, leaving only one option: utilize the dormant castle.

Sovok hunched over the board once more.

Reich interlaced his fingers. Now that he had to await his opponent's move before deciding his next play, all he could do was wait. Oh, he'd certainly calculated possible responses of Sovok in advance, yet he couldn't say with absolute certainty which path he would choose.

The seconds passed like an eternity. Even if they don't count the total time for thinking about moves now, as they are supposed to do in official tournaments, they still can't slow down too much. However, even in the same tournaments, players can safely afford to think about one move for up to several minutes.

Well, what's taking so long?

Generally, it is considered indecent to distract or rush an opponent, but they had never played in silence like this before — usually a game of chess or another board game served merely as background for their debates or conversations. With alcohol and soft music from a gramophone, for which the Russian had a whole collection from somewhere.…

"S-since when..." Third hesitated, strangled, not quite understanding what the hell he was talking about, breaking the silence. "Since when do I even turn you on like this?" he finished the sentence anyway.

"Does that surprise you so much?" Sovok replied absently, his gaze and thoughts visibly chained to the board — a reflex more than a response.

He hesitated for a few more seconds but finally made his move.

Bishop to D7.

Reich didn’t immediately resume speaking — his focus returned to the board. If the Russian wanted to use his bishop, he’d have to relocate his knight from C6. Taking White’s pawn on D4 seemed unlikely, but targeting the queen was a real possibility — his position was favorable enough. No need to take risks; better to restrict his options slightly.

Pawn to A3.

Only then did Third continue, his words slightly faltering:

"W-well, you know... it's kind of strange. Never even a h-hint before, and now suddenly… ‘yes.’"

It was true. Behind their backs, they were almost called lovers for how closely they communicated with each other. But despite all the laughs from other countries, Union never allowed for such a dynamic to develop between them. No hints, no jokes or mockery, nothing at all.

Perhaps he really was literally the only country in Europe that always talked to him... just completely calmly. Even then, at the very beginning, when they hadn't had time to work with each other yet. Polite, but not cloying, within the bounds of ordinary respect. As if speaking to an equal.

Naturally, all of this held true only until that cursed year of 1933, when they tore into each other with unmatched fury and — in one swift, mutual motion — ripped up every old treaty and understanding between them... Ahem. Well, to be precise, it was Reich who tore them up. Sovok merely chose not to argue yet again, likely knowing full well it was pointless. They both retreated into a state of icy neutrality: none of the other nations ever learned what exactly they’d failed to share.

After that, any of their ‘relationships’ — both friendly, if they could be called that at all, and partnership — turned upside down. Even when, much later, in 1939, they still concluded a shaky truce with each other, there was no question whether or not they could return to the old days. By that time, the new World War loomed on the horizon, and USSR no longer even attempted to intervene or slam the brakes — no one listened to him anyway, despite the fact that it was he who had been warning everyone about the coming slaughter... Now, he simply fortified his own positions.

In general, such an abrupt change genuinely stunned the German. So back then, when there was opportunity, it was an absolute ‘no’ — but now he'd suddenly changed his mind?

"Your body is perfect," Sovok stated evenly, calmly. "Flawless."

The phrasing alone almost literally made Reich's jaw drop. He went completely rigid.

He froze in a daze for a couple of seconds, and then a fire of real rage flared up in his soul, which literally the very next moment... disappeared as abruptly as it had appeared. The reason for this was simply absurd and ridiculous: the Russian, after his words, moved a little, slightly propping up his head with his hand – the most standard posture of mental immersion. He was still staring at the chessboard, and there was only thoughtfulness in his gaze and nothing else.

In other words, everything indicated that Union uttered this phrase without any ‘second thoughts,’ without any hints or motives, he just said out loud what he was thinking. He’d simply voiced his thoughts aloud, the same way someone might answer ‘green’ when asked what colour the grass is.

Reich... was confused.

"Are you mocking me?" he muttered, uncertainty cracking his voice.

Only now did USSR look up at him. For a couple of seconds he looked at him with a slight, barely noticeable bewilderment, as if he didn’t sincerely understand what he had said, and only after that he sighed softly.

"Third, I've never said anything like that to you before, because I thought you would consider it an insult," the Russian explained quite calmly.

And then he reached for the figures and made his move.

Rook to C8.

The German squinted at the board, escaping from the awkward silence. How fortunate it was that Sovok gave him this opportunity: now he can pretend that he is just thinking about his next actions, and not frantically and confusedly trying to make sense of this fact in his head.

The words surprised him so much that Reich almost blurted out the meaningless, "And what's changed now?" The question would have been completely stupid and even inappropriate, because the answer to it was quite obvious: everything.

Everything has changed.

They used to be, at the very least, business partners. Good business partners. They not only traded with each other, they also worked quite closely together in politics. And in any case, especially such an extensive one, outright insulting your partner is sheer madness. And the most unbearable irony was that... that Union was right: a German would be offended by such a ‘compliment.’

He would have taken it as a phrase with erotic, even vulgar overtones.

But Sovok never, in any way, hinted at his...‘dirty dealings.’ Not even with such seemingly general and, overall, harmless words.

At the same time, there wasn’t the slightest impression that the Russian was deliberately or intentionally holding back from sharp comments — his behavior looked so natural that Third even involuntarily thought that Union simply didn’t know about them. It seemed strange, but not as strange as the possibility that he did know these details and yet maintained such an unshakably calm and consistent demeanor during their conversation...

Alright, now the black knight’s retreat from C6 didn’t just open a path for the bishop—it opened a path for the rook, whose mere presence threatened the white queen. For such an exchange, Sovok could easily sacrifice the knight and send it to D4. Reich didn’t want to move either his queen or bishop from their positions, so it would have to defend with the knight.

Moreover, this move would kill two birds with one stone — it would open a path for his own bishop along the white diagonal. Almost perfect.

Knight from E4 to C3.

"Think whatever you want," Union suddenly said.

Most likely, he still noticed that his words had struck a nerve with the German.

"It's true, and you know it. Just don't try to convince me otherwise, you're an artist, you know exactly what I mean."

Reich shuddered — these words stunned him even more than the previous ones. Actually, no, he understood everything a little differently... no, well, what else could you think after hearing ‘your body is perfect?’ It was obvious, especially since the Russian got hard for him!

But now... damn it.

It is quite difficult to describe his entire chain of thought, as there were too many small variables in it, and it was quite confusing. Still, some patterns can be discerned.

For Reich, subconsciously, the word "ideal" was associated, first of all, with strength. To be independent of others, to make decisions independently, not to dance to someone else's tune, it’s important to be strong. If this were to apply to the physical embodiment of the country, then it turns out that he would like to have a tall, massive, muscular, and strong body...

...just don’t think about it, don’t look at Sovok, don’t think about it…

Yet, the physical strength of a nation’s embodiment depends overwhelmingly on its military power — its army and technology—and for most of his life, the German simply lacked a proper army. No matter how much he desired it, his physical form could never become what he truly wanted.

So then, to even come close to the unattainable, he had to seek another path.

‘Ideal’ meant something… exquisite. Beautiful.

Third could draw, and that included people. Perhaps art was his only joy in those first, most terrible years of his miserable existence. No one could forbid him from this small hobby – that would have been utter absurdity. He was never allowed to say a word in excess, yet on a canvas he could create absolutely anything he desired.

It might have been just an illusion — self-deception — but it was the closest thing to freedom the German had ever known. Shackled by the Treaty of Versailles, he couldn’t take a single step without direct permission of his executioners-overseers. So, Reich, without any remorse, spent literally every free minute of his time that he could spare on such useless stupidity in terms of efficiency for the country. And truth be told, he believed he’d achieved quite a respectable skill level.

He knew the peculiarities of physiology, the structure of muscles and bones, he knew how it all looked from the outside, and he understood what the body should be like to make it look as perfect as possible in a drawing. And the best thing about portraits at all times was that they always looked best with... delicate lines. Aristocratic contours, smooth and flowing transitions. Graceful, gentle curves.

The combination of these two factors leads to the final result: A rather tall, refined, elegant figure - just slightly feminine, with a subtly defined waist and delicate hands, yet not weak in the slightest. A body with lean but dense, powerful muscles. While Reich couldn't boast substantial mass, he compensated with density.

In fact, purely physically, he was much stronger than it might seem, looking at his modest size. It's just that in comparison with Sovok, any power advantage was completely lost against his background: the Russian was not only massive purely visually, even an ordinary person of his size is quite strong, he was a gigantic, functioning country – Third will never be surprised at all if Union can tear and straighten with its bare hands, say, all the rings of a steel chain without much effort or break through a thick brick wall with one blow... Damn it, he broke human bones like dry branches without even noticing it.

...the fact that the German survived his beating at all was no miracle — surviving something like that is outright impossible. An unequivocal sign that even in a state of rage, USSR, though perhaps without realizing it, restrained the power of his own blows: otherwise, Reich wouldn’t have gotten off with just a couple of non-critical fractures. He would’ve been reduced to a lifeless slab of meat...

In general, when his identity stabilized, when he developed real experience and personal tastes instead of social conventions, when he could finally stand firm despite everything – only then did his physical form take that permanent shape.

The most ideal that could be created in those conditions. Utterly flawless — no excess weight, no unnecessary bulk, every aspect perfectly proportioned. A refined silhouette masking steely determination and raw power. The only conceivable addition to his personal ideal would be impeccably tailored clothing. His military uniform didn't just unequivocally demonstrate to other countries that he wouldn't dance to their tune – that he possessed his own will and interests. That magnificent long coat clung to his frame perfectly, accentuating his height and highlighting every advantage of his physique.

In the end, the German got so used to and attached to the result that he quite consciously did not change it in any way, even when, in theory, he got such an opportunity — he still managed to assemble and arm his own army, despite all the restrictions.… In addition, by that time there was no point in radically changing his embodiment — this look suited his already fully formed personality much more perfectly than anything else.

And he was far from the only one who recognized the exquisite beauty of his own body. Connoisseurs existed, and Third knew exactly how to leverage this peculiarity to his advantage - how to extract maximum benefit from it. Though in his position, the choices were rather limited; he simply couldn't utter a firm ‘no’ - he was forbidden from contradicting others too often...

Reich was well aware that his passion for his own image was already bordering on some kind of psychosis, the exact name of which was narcissism, which was only intensified by the fact that he spent too much time in front of the mirror, but if he suddenly met himself as a casual interlocutor, he would... he would have wanted to fuck his own body.

To possess it. This ideal. Because it was perfect, utterly magnificent — it's literally the best combination of pumped-up muscles, brute strength, with thin, aristocratic lines... Wait, stop! What the hell?!

Third shook his head sharply — he himself did not notice exactly when his thoughts had slipped into such an obscene direction.

I'm hot, he finally realized.

In an involuntary attempt to cool down, his fingers automatically reached for the collar of his shirt and pulled it slightly. Realizing what he was doing, Reich immediately pulled back his palm and tried to regain his calm appearance.

However, no matter how hard he tried to push those foolish thoughts out of his head, he could no longer ignore the unnatural heat. He fidgeted slightly again and only now remembered that his body was so irritated precisely because of the object inside him — that was why he hadn't been able to sit still all this time. As long as his thoughts had been entirely focused on chess, he had genuinely not noticed these distracting factors. But the moment he let his mind wander to something else, his concentration shattered.

Pawn to A6, Union finally made his move.

The Russian clearly did not want to follow Reich's plans and did not weaken his defenses, only carefully brought out the hitherto shackled figures.

Third exhaled rather noisily and immediately curbed himself — no, no, he can't show his weakness, he can't. He tried again to force himself to get completely involved in the game.

W-well, the board state had shifted significantly. Now there was something to think about.

Reich understood it perfectly well – even though he was trying his best to keep himself in check, there was nothing he could do against the drug in his blood. His body was responding. Slowly for now, but if this continued, he wouldn’t last until the end of the game. He had to act fast, had to go on the offensive — he needed to force Sovok to play by his rules, no matter what it took.

The main plan of a breakthrough to H7 won't work – while the path for the bishop is now open, moving it there would be pointless. Sovok would simply take it with a knight, and the queen invading the same square would fall to the king's strike. Without any check threat, he could make that move.

But Third hadn't been holding his positions intact all this time for nothing. A second option for a lightning attack on the same flank still remained possible - via the H6 square.

The plan was ridiculously simple, and the Russian will probably figure it out easily, but at least it's something. The game needs to speed up - after all, Union also drank that damn aphrodisiac, so he must be getting worked up too by now, even if it doesn't show yet. If they increase the tempo, if they create a real threat of losing, his composure should start to crack. And if he begins to hurry and get nervous too, the likelihood of him making a serious mistake will increase sharply.

So, Reich’s idea was as follows: execute a lightning strike using a queen-bishop combination. First, the bishop takes the pawn on H6, forcing Sovok to recapture with the G7 pawn. Then the queen invades that same square and... that's it. No matter what move the Russian makes, he won't be able to protect the king. The specific defense won't matter—the German will simply bring up his knight or second bishop to deliver an effortless checkmate in two moves. This is how the black king's bunker becomes his tomb: his own pieces will block any escape.

The idea was good, there was only one problem: the white queen was in the wrong place. Actually, that was why Union still has a chance to react and do something – there were options.

But he should at least just try to pull off a combination - the threat will be very serious, this should make the Russian at least a little nervous.

Having made his decision, Reich reached forward, took the queen piece and even raised it, as...  He gasped loudly, jumped to his feet abruptly and almost fell right on the table, resting his hands on it.

The vibrator inside him. It turned on.

"Wh-what... What the hell?!" the German gasped. "Turn it off!" How exactly Union managed to look so imperturbable was simply incomprehensible.

He didn't twitch, didn't scowl, didn't react in any way, as if he really hadn't done anything and didn't even know what bug had suddenly bitten the German.

Third hadn't anticipated such underhandedness. Well, that is to say - he had expected it theoretically, as this was a logical development of events, but absolutely nothing in the Russian's demeanor or movements had suggested he'd execute it at this precise moment. Most likely, Sovok had been holding the control panel in his left hand - the one obscured from the Reich's view by the table. From his position, he couldn't see anything below chest level, including the hand resting on the armrest, making this action completely unpredictable.

At such an unflappable reaction, the German literally choked with indignation — the curses ready to spill out lodged in his throat. USSR merely narrowed his eyes slightly.

"We are ‘playing,’ Third," he said, perfectly calm and flat despite the phrase’s obvious irony, then nodded at the board. "Your move."

Reich swallowed another wave of curses — this time in his native German, boiling up from pure fury.

"Playing."

Oh, natürlich, fuck!Oh, of course, damn it!

After all, from the outside it looked as if nothing had happened. Well, yes, he's a little disheveled and his face was likely already flushed from the heat coursing through him, but it's unlikely that a potential bystander who suddenly appeared out of nowhere would have realized that at that moment one working, unnatural thing was stuck in him. Even his posture, though odd — standing on slightly trembling legs, hands braced against the table — wasn’t obviously incriminating.

Reich let out a low, furious growl.

So,‘we're playing,’ huh? Who'll get worked up first? Who'll break first? Damn, Sovok, you’ll have to work harder for that spectacle, you bastard!

Third forced himself back into the armchair. His back arched involuntarily as he tried to find a position where the movements wouldn't be as noticeable - it looked obviously strained to an observer, but it was better than nothing.

Queen to C1, he finally moved the piece where he originally wanted.

The vibration wasn’t as intense as that first, demonstrative time — the device likely had multiple settings, and currently, it was set to the lowest. Third did not want to confirm this theory. If he could barely endure it now by sheer willpower, the mere thought of what would happen if the Russian increased the speed terrified him.

Sovok's gaze returned to the figures, and... Oh, it was almost worth it.

For several seconds, he simply stared at the pieces — then suddenly, his eyes began darting rapidly across the board, clearly scrambling to calculate  all possible variants. While ‘frantic panic’ wouldn’t quite describe it — his posture remained outwardly calm — the German's idea worked the way he wanted it to — the Russian was clearly nervous too.

Rook to E8 , he finally moved.

Reich did not want to please Sovok with his appearance, so he tried to behave as calmly as possible, but... He had fidgeted nervously before, and now... Scheiße . The German clenched his fingers forcefully on the armrests of the armchair.

Vibrator. Damn vibrator. Humming, rubbing, clouding his thoughts, driving him mad.

In a desperate attempt for relief, Third slightly raised himself on his elbows, lifting his hips just enough to reduce contact with the seat. The pressure eased slightly.

USSR made exactly the only move that saved him from a hopeless situation — now it will not be possible to pull off the plan. Reich needed a new strategy, but with no clear alternatives, waiting was his only option.

To move the figure, the German had to sink back into the seat — he gasped in a choked manner when the device inside grazed against his cherished spot especially strongly, but immediately shook his head, chasing away the delusion.

Rook from F1 to E1, he slid the piece with excessive force before lifting himself up again, muscles taut.

Union's response did not take long — this was the most obvious thing he could do at all, precisely because of the presence of this move, Third did not get into trouble right now. Connecting another piece to the defense so that the possible loss of a pawn on H6 does not become critical for him.

Bishop to F8.

Reich exhaled in irritation — defense, goddamn defense. A rock-solid fortification. How the hell was he supposed to crack it open? One of them needed to launch a direct assault, to break the positional deadlock — but if he made that move now, it’d be his loss. No. He can’t. He has to… Endure.

Bishop to F4.

However, it is worth paying a little tribute to the Russian — the Russian was moving faster now, and did not delay for up to a few minutes. Apparently, in this way he was just stalling for time, waiting for the German to reach the point he needed: the way he’d tugged at his collar, involuntarily betraying how close he was to losing himself to wandering thoughts… a telling sign indeed.

Pawn to B5.

Reich shook his head slightly. It was so hot, unbearably hot... Because of the slightly floating picture in front of his eye, he did not even immediately realise how exactly Sovok had moved. He had to blink a couple of times to focus his eyes and look at the board again.

The German shook himself abruptly.

Attack, it was an attack! The Russian moved pieces, he's obviously going for an exchange!

S-so, what is his goal? The pawn and knight? Yes, he’s clearly targeting them… Hmm, he’s planning to use the ‘isolator’... and that threatens the bishop on D3… Damn it, sacrificing the knight was one thing — he'd already written off that weak pawn anyway — but losing a second piece? That was unacceptable.

U-unless… if… damn… if Union's pawn on line A becomes isolated… That’d create a favorable position… He could… could try to lure the black queen out… And Reich could reposition his second knight to a stronger square…

Despite the speed of the toy inside him not quite high, it was becoming more and more difficult for the German to restrain himself literally with every second - Third once again nervously tried to change posture and immediately exhaled noisily, convulsively. Each time he moved, the vibrator also moved. And judder. And rubbed against him. And... and... touched... his prostate...

With each such small push, waves of heat spread throughout his body, the heat of which already made his head spin.

This time, Reich didn’t dare lower himself back into the armchair to relieve the strain on his elbows — he shifted his weight onto one arm and his legs, refusing to sit. It was already hard enough for him.

Queen to D2 , he moved.

The next moves came rapidly—banal exchanges:

Pawn to B4.

Pawn A3 takes B4.

Knight C6 takes B4.

Mmm, damn... ‘The isolated pawn,’ right in the center — what a nuisance...

This term describes a pawn severed from its allies, left vulnerable without support. Such a pawn becomes an easy target — but worse, it can’t control the square directly in front of it.

White found himself in a situation where a pawn on D4 got into such an "isolation," and Black's pieces are clearly seriously aimed at seizing this very square in front of it in order to scratch out an undeniable advantage.

In general, there is an opinion that the mere fact of such a position in the center is an unequivocal sign of the future defeat of the one who fell into it — but Reich disagreed. Yes, the ‘isolated pawn’ is quite unpleasant, but it can also be used for good. The outcome was far from decided.

Right now, Third faced a choice: save his bishop and drag out the game, or sacrifice it for long-term victory. That damned black knight, lurking deep in his territory, would be a nightmare to deal with. He should get rid of it. Even if he has to pay such a price for it.

This time, in order not to sink into the armchair, he shifted the weight of his body to his other arm — the previous one already hurt from overexertion.

Knight F3 to E5, the German moved.

USSR responded exactly as expected.

Knight B4 takes bishop D3.

The German's move did not shine with originality and unpredictability either. Once again, he tried to lean entirely on his right arm — when suddenly, a sharp pain shot through both the arm and one of his legs, which had also been straining under the constant pressure.

Not expecting this, Reich abruptly fell back into his seat — the working thing inside him forcefully hit the cherished point.

A strangled “mmngh!” involuntarily escaped him, no matter how hard he tried to restrain himself. Third instantly clamped a hand over his mouth — but his eye widened involuntarily, and his chest heaved in traitorous, uneven gasps.

The vibrator.

It pressed right against the walls, slid right next to the prostate, irritating, massaging, melting his insides— ngh! Right there… just a little… bit… 

Damn, damn, damn, damn!!! the German shook his head violently, driving away thoughts and forcing his body to freeze motionless.

He managed to stop himself from arching his back involuntarily — but the tremors wracking his body were beyond control now. Desperate to regain command, he forced himself to breathe deeply. The cool air cleared his head, offering fleeting sobriety.

Goddamn limbs… Neither his arm nor leg had fully recovered from the fractures, and when overloaded, they’d buckled. Probably not re-injured — no ominous cracks or warning signs — but the pain flared sharp and insistent.

The German could not stand properly and could not fall on his right hand, and the other was already treacherously aching... However, the not too strong and consciously expected pain even helped to distract a little - Third strained himself again tensely.

Queen takes D3.

Sovok waited to make the next move —he had calculations to weigh.

Reich let out a hissed breath through clenched teeth — this was unbearable! Even his half-standing posture offered no relief now! His hips twitched involuntarily with telltale motions, desperate to chase even a shred of pleasure — unlike his mind, his body didn’t comprehend the context. It only knew one thing: a vibrator in the ass could feel good, and it knew how to make that happen.

Third exhaled in a choked, ragged gasp — no longer just trembling, he was now nearly gulping air. Every second tested his limits; no matter how fiercely he willed himself to endure, his buckling knees threatened to betray him with movement of their own.

Pawn to A5, Union eventually moved.

He did not give up the piece, although in fact Reich was counting on it. He wanted the Russian to accept another exchange: he would move his bishop to B5, which the German would take with his knight, and then USSR would sacrifice a weak pawn, exposing it to the queen's blow.

There was no room for half measures now — Sovok could’ve pushed his queen to D5, trading it for White’s… Sure, the material loss would’ve stung, but the German would’ve accepted it. The game needed to accelerate. In this scenario, both of them would have remained in a more or less equal position, but the game would have advanced sharply.

But Union refused. Fucking bastard! He’s stalling on purpose! Christ, his dose was twice as strong! H-how is he still this composed?!

Breathe! Calm down! Reich mentally snarled at himself.

The game is still going more in his favor: despite the rather profitable exchanges for Black, it has not yet been possible to wrest the leading position on the board from Sovok. Time to press the advantage.

Queen to F3.

Previously, while he was waiting for the Russian's countermove, the German tried to calculate his probable moves, but now, no matter how hard he tried to focus on the board, he could not manage to do it. He looked up at it, but immediately began to fidget and squirm, and he had to concentrate on his own body to pacify it even for a little longer.

Mmm, he feels horrible, his head is spinning...

Maintaining control was impossible now - his hips had begun rocking involuntarily, barely responding to his commands.While the heat that flush his body was something he could handle, the new sensation of– of tightness — Ah! Another strangled gasp escaped Reich, this time quite loudly. 

He felt so tight!

Truthfully, this feeling had been building for some time, but now it was starting to become unbearable, intense, and impossible to ignore. He was hard. Fully aroused.

The German had denied this reality as long as possible, but now the realization hit him too hard. Unconsciously, his hands drifted downwards… 

"Don't you dare, Third!" Suddenly, the harsh voice of Union rang out.

His hands jerked away before reaching their destination, fingers instead clawing at the armrests on the sides of the legs. In the heavy silence, the Russian's words rang deafeningly loud.

"W-what...?" Reich weakly shook his head, his mind struggling to process what was happening.

"You're not allowed to jerk off," the Russian reminded in a cold tone. "Don't forget my orders, you must not violate them. "

The German squinted in confusion — it took him several seconds to parse the meaning of those words, and several more to grasp their context.

Right. That. On his very first day in this apartment, USSR had presented him with a list of ‘rules’ he was forbidden to break... In addition to the rather obvious ban on the German language and leaving the room, among them was this strange clause – the ban on ‘touching himself.’

Before Third could articulate his outrage, Union’s voice cut through again:

"You can stroke or fondle yourself in any other way, but don't you dare touch your own dick."

"W-what nonsense...?" Reich snapped weakly.

The worst part was that he understood the logic perfectly — this wasn’t nonsense, it was just one of the variants of torture, mockery. The idea is to make him ache with lust: deprived of the right to relieve his own body’s demands, his only remaining path to release was... to endure the torture until his traitorous body climaxed against all restraint.

He didn’t have the mind to even consider the option of requesting Sovok’s ‘assistance’ — he wouldn’t. Wouldn’t. He’d rather drop dead from overexertion, his heart seizing mid-game, than stoop that low.

Third hissed softly but desperately through his teeth — with every second of waiting, he only got worse and more unbearable.

Sovok himself was already slightly squirming and moving: all the time he was changing the hand propping up his head, then a little nervously stretching his shoulders. It's just that the clouded consciousness of the German no longer recognized these obvious signs of impatience.

Bishop F8 on B4, the Russian made his move.

He froze mid-move, hand still hovering over the board — realizing his blunder too late. The piece had already been placed; adjusting it now would be the crudest rule violation. Even if Reich might miss it in his current state... it would still be cheating.

His hesitation lasted only a brief moment, then USSR regained his composure and the same calm air as it calmly assumed his previous position.

Meanwhile, Third in front of him was completely exhausted. Whether fully aware or not, he was now writhing in his seat with frantic abandon, practically impaling himself on the toy inside.

The scene unfolding before him was irresistible; the Russian no longer even kept his attention on the board, almost openly staring at Reich. He had used a little trick before: he looked at the German ‘out of the corner of his eye’— he looked directly at the playing pieces, but slightly unfocussed his gaze and watched what was happening at the edge of his vision.

An exceptionally useful technique: Union didn’t need to turn his massive, unwieldy body to monitor activity behind him — any reflective surface in his line of sight sufficed. A potential enemy would never realize they were under constant surveillance; the ‘unfocused gaze’ appeared merely as deep contemplation, as if he were staring blankly into middle distance. In fact, even the German — despite years of interaction — never deciphered this trick in his arsenal, though he’d had ample opportunity to notice.

Reich froze tensely — when it was his turn to move, he managed to regain at least a drop of self-control. He was flushed, gasping for air, unconsciously fiddling with the collar of his shirt with his fingers, trying to unbutton it or just pull it off to start fanning himself with it in a pathetic attempt to cool down.

Third began taking painfully long pauses between moves — he was getting more uncomfortable. Finally, with visible effort, his trembling hand reached for a piece, shaking like a leaf.

Rook to E3.

Union couldn't even contain his own noisy exhalation when his tension abruptly subsided. Reich didn’t understand, didn’t notice — he’d just overlooked the move that would’ve guaranteed his victory. He should’ve launched the attack right now, aimed at that damned H6 square he’d been targeting since the opening.

Had he moved his bishop there, the Russian would’ve been forced to capture with the G7 pawn. Then all Third needed was to bring his knight to E4 and… game over. The match could’ve been decided then and there.

Had Union played, say, F6 takes E4, he would’ve opened a path for White’s queen to F7. The king would’ve been forced to retreat to H8, followed by knight to G6 — delivering checkmate. Sure, Black could’ve stalled with a few desperate moves, but the Russian’s position would’ve been utterly demolished. There’d have been no escape.

Just one weakness. Just a momentary lapse in control. Just one misstep with that damned bishop — and Union nearly lost. USSR simply could not but recognize the phenomenal endurance of the German, who until now by some miracle managed not to roll the situation into an unequivocal loss.

Reich couldn't resist unbuttoning his shirt collar as the suffocating heat pushed him to the brink of sanity. He was still aware that he was literally humping on the vibrator, but he couldn't do anything about it — his body was wriggling in characteristic motions, thrusting its hips back and forth against his will.

The tightness was unbearable.

His legs kept twitching with the urge to fall open, desperate for even marginal relief — yet through some miracle of will, he still prevented that ultimate surrender. Whimpering pathetically before Sovok was humiliation enough; voluntarily spreading his legs? He'd rather die.

Therefore, Third, in a pathetic attempt to hold on, on the contrary, shakily clenched his knees. Realizing yet again that his legs had fallen too far apart, he forcefully squeezed them shut — a sharp flare of dull pain in his groin bending him double.

His gaze dropped reflexively, seeking the source — his knees pressed together in a vice grip, while just above them... Reich choked back a gasp and jerked his head away. He couldn’t look. Couldn’t acknowledge the obvious wood straining against his pants.

Clear and undeniable proof of his disgrace — he got horny. Right in front of Sovok, right in front of him, under his heavy gaze! And despite this, despite the fact that the Russian was still sitting across from him and clearly enjoying the experience, the German's hands kept reaching down all by themselves. If it weren't for his stubbornness and pride, Third could have already reached under his clothes and started quietly caressing himself, regardless of the overall situation and the observer right in front of him.

Bishop B4 takes knight C3, Union made his move.

Pawn takes C3, Reich immediately answered him — he couldn't think of anything more complicated than what was ‘obvious.’

And the worst thing was that with every moment his endurance was bursting at the seams — he desperately wanted to touch himself at least a little... his dick was already literally aching, literally BEGGING for affection.

Well, at least a little… j-just a simple… slight… caress…

"No, Third!" Union snapped again, irritation bleeding through.

Reich flinched, hands jerking back — but weakly shook his head in denial. He couldn’t hold back anymore. Not pride, not some stupid order could stop him now.

A sharp screech of armchair legs against the floor cut through the air as USSR heaved himself to his feet.

The German startled as if shot — or doused with ice water.

His mind instantly cleared, and then it was filled with uncontrollable panic: even his opinion that the order was ‘stupid’ immediately changed.

"W-wait!" he blurted in desperation before thinking. "Wait! I haven’t… I didn’t break the rules yet!

Despite all the factors, the likely development of events towards getting fucked today was still much worse than what was happening to him now. Moreover, the German had a clear understanding that a simple blowjob, even if he did it quite voluntarily, would not be enough — if the Russian decided that Third had once again failed to fulfill his conditions, he would take him completely.

… And Reich himself, under the aphrodisiac, would not be able to do anything about himself and would voluntarily and forcibly moan under it like a whore.… It seems that when Sovok said that ‘if he wants to, then Third will squirm in front of him and ask him to fuck him,’ he meant the literal embodiment of these words. Because he can actually make him do it.

"And you won't," Union suddenly assured him coldly.

The German froze in momentary shock.

"What?" Involuntarily, it burst out of him.

It seemed to him that he had misheard or just misunderstood. His head still spun, even basic thoughts crawling through molasses, gears grinding in his skull.

USSR took a step forward — and Third practically folded himself into the armchair’s corner, bracing to recoil, but the Russian strode right past him.

"If you don't follow my orders, I'll make you do them by force," Sovok repeated the phrase he had already said several times.

Reich peered hesitantly from behind the furniture, struggling to process the scene. A soft clink of metal echoed as Union unhooked a pair of shackles from the wall.

"Radical measures, if necessary," the Russian added, turning back toward him.

Third blinked in confusion and swallowed shakily. He understood the implication perfectly — but the sheer absurdity of the situation left him reeling. Even his arousal dimmed momentarily, overshadowed by genuine shock at the unfolding madness.

...Why?

Why would Union give him a chance to fulfil essentially impossible conditions?

The fact that the condition was indeed simply impossible, the German realised from the very beginning, but he simply could not just like that and admit out loud that he would surrender completely without a fight, without even trying.

The question stunned him so completely that he barely resisted as a huge palm roughly seized his left wrist. The Russian snapped the metal cuff shut, chaining him to the armrest.

Second cuff of the same chain clicked shut just above his elbow. Then Sovok moved to the other side. He grabbed right arm too, but suddenly Third gasped in pain.

Reich immediately stifled noise and even turned head away — damn, damn, damn!!! Shame, what a shame!

To his surprise, USSR froze for a second, looking at the shrunken German with a cold, appraising look. Then, goddamn it, he released the half-healed wrist and only fastened one cuff just above the elbow.

Third yanked violently against the restraints, but breaking free from metal bonds was, of course, impossible. Only now did he seem to snap out of his daze, emitting a furious hiss through clenched teeth.

"You... you're nuts!" he shouted desperately. "How... how am I supposed to make moves like this?!"

The fact that Reich himself was still trying to reduce the matter to the continuation of the game almost made him laugh...— or maybe it was the fear and overwhelming tension pushing him towards full-blown hysteria.

"Speak your moves aloud," Sovok shrugged casually. "I'll move the pieces for you."

The German jerked again. Now his hands were shackled to the chair, forcing him to slump against his back. The vibrations inside him continued, so he arched his spine slightly to endure it better. He could still bend his right arm at the elbow, but its mobility was severely limited.

Truth be told, though Third would never admit it — being physically unable to touch himself made him feel... a little better.

The heat and tightness remained unbearable, his trapped erection still desperately craving touch, but at least now he didn't have to fight his own body. In a way, it brought a drop of relief.

And in general, the whole shake-up, the sudden change of actions and the situation brought him to his senses a little. But when Sovok finally settled back into his seat and fixed his gaze on the board — now it was his move, Reich realized nothing had truly changed. This fleeting moment of partial clarity would soon pass; neither his arousal nor the relentless toy had vanished. Only now, the German had lost even the theoretical possibility of relieving himself.

Bishop to A4, Sovok decided at last.

Third licked his dry lips.

It was hard to say which was worse: physical torture, when he goes crazy from unbearable excitement, or moral torture, when he, not keeping control of himself, begins to jerk off to himself with his own hands, still well aware that at this moment he is being watched.

… Perhaps the second was still much worse...

"R-rook to A1," he said in a slightly trembling voice.

In fact, this was tantamount to his voluntary consent to continue the ‘game' despite everything.

USSR obediently moved the white piece as instructed. His reply was swift.

Bishop to C2.

Reich leaned back wearily against the armchair, covering his eye — damn it, he should’ve moved the rook to C1 to block Sovok’s advance to C2. Such a stupid oversight.

Every part of him ached: his head spun, muscles throbbed from overexertion, and the cock trapped in his pants still desperately craved freedom.

Third couldn't even stand it and moaned softly — he felt so bad .

The worst part was that his mind now reflexively tried to ignore the negative aspects of the situation, focusing instead on the far more... pleasurable sensations.

His body arched again, pressing down harder onto the vibrator.

The German only now realized that, it turns out, he had been sweating all over a long time ago — he was literally wet through and through, even his shirt was already stuck to his skin. The realization of this came when his overly heated body, having received a short rest from throwing, cooled down slightly and now felt just a freezing feeling of cold. Thanks to this, the waves of heat that spread from that most cherished point inside him became even more… enticing.

Reich shook his head weakly in denial, but resistance was futile. His back arched again, hips lifting — only to slam back down harder.

A thrust. Then another. And another.

A pleasant warmth spread throughout his body, hitting him right in the head, and, strangely enough, gradually returned his strength.

With effort, Third pried his eye open and focused on the board — he had to do something, change the tide.

"Pawn to H3," he declared.

Sovok moved the piece and stared contemplatively at the board. Seizing the momentary distraction, the German allowed himself a tiny indulgence — resisting his involuntary urges was becoming impossible. He reached his trembling, almost-unshackled hand to his own chest.

Initially, Reich had only meant to adjust his disheveled shirt, peeling the damp fabric from his sweat-slicked skin — just to occupy himself, just to move somehow rather than lie there like a broken, powerless wreck. But as soon as his fingers touched his body... he shuddered faintly.

His skin reacted violently, even through the cloth. It was quite difficult to describe the feeling that arose: it wasn't exactly pleasant, but he wanted to repeat it for some reason, even to strengthen it a little — the disobedient fingers began to lightly stroke chest.

Bishop to F5.

Third flinched and jerked his hand away even before Russian could raise his expectant gaze at him.

Strange, even in spite of the slightly lowered heat, his head began to spin again, unable to think properly. This time it was a little different, feeling as if it was filled with lead and became very heavy, but the result was about the same: it became difficult for him to focus his thoughts on something specific.

And the tightness was gradually becoming completely unbearable again.

"W-what..." Reich muttered in a trembling voice. "What’s stopping me... from just waiting out... the orgasm?"

"My patience," Union responded, "isn't limitless. If you take too long with your move, I'll have to hurry you up."

For some damned reason, the German found this phrase amusing:

"Pfft," he snorted. "And how exactly?"

"You'll find out in a minute."

Third swallowed his chuckle. The Russian wasn't joking now. He squinted at the pieces.

"Pawn to G4."

He'd hoped to force an exchange, any exchange, but Sovok once again refused to play by his rules.

Bishop to H7.

He's just mocking him. This isn't even ‘stalling for time’ anymore, it's outright mockery, as if meaning to say: Go on, attack me, I'm allowing it, show me what else you can come up with.

And Reich... he no longer knew what else to do. All that remained was offering exchanges, but the Russian stubbornly ignored his attempts to impose his own rules, just sitting tight in his damned defensive position.

Yet he couldn't see any better alternatives either. Taking the knight on F6 would be tempting enough to sacrifice the bishop, finally sending it to that cursed H6 square. But that diagonal was now protected by the black queen, against which the German could do nothing. It would just be a pointless sacrifice of pieces.

Then he needed to lure out the queen.

"Pawn to C4."

Third even winced at how pathetic this move was — he might as well have been begging Sovok outright: Come on, take that poor pawn on D4, just move your queen! It's not like anything serious will threaten you, you'll only lose that damned knight...

Reich slumped back in his chair — his head was spinning again, and now he was starting to feel slightly nauseous from it all.

The unbearable heat was replaced by an even more incredible cold: if the first Third could still half-withstand, then he simply could not bear the second one — all his nightmares, all his fears were inextricably linked with the cold. To feel it now in such an exhausted, weakened, and most crucially, utterly helpless state... His thoughts stubbornly refused to focus on the game anymore, insistently drifting toward something more pleasant. Toward the movements inside his body, whose warmth now sent shivers of excitement through him.

The German swallowed loudly.

Movements.

Steady, rhythmic, not too... aggressive... w-warming... M-maybe… just a little harder… well… just a bit... l-like this... Sovok did allow this, so why not... Damn, what is happening!!!

The German gasped quietly when he realized that now he was not only pushing his hips towards him, but without any embarrassment... stroking his own body — he stopped his own hand the very moment it was about to slip under his clothes.

Yet no matter how hard he tried to regain control, his thoughts kept scattering wildly. Only the muffled thud of a piece hitting the board when Sovok made his move brought him back to some semblance of awareness.

Reich forced his leaden eyelid to open slightly.

Knight to D7.

Nngh, damn — not only did he refuse to take the pawn, but now he's moving the knight out of attack.

The need to think about something else was simply unbearable — not only the body, but even the mind was begging its owner for rest, for a break, at least some kind… Here, there was a prospect, a chance to relax, to feel pleasure... to w-warm up... Oh, hell.

Third had already realized the arousal was crashing over him in waves: peaks would hit where he couldn't think of anything else, but if he just ground down harder on the toy at those moments, thrust a few times, stole droplets of pleasure and warmth — the madness would briefly retreat.

But now the breaks between these "waves" had become very short — he did not have time to think about further tactics during this time.

The seconds ticked by treacherously, and he couldn't even bring himself to focus on the board. His head was spinning and he wasn't thinking straight.

"Time, Third."

Sovok's voice made the German flinch, yet his mind kept scattering: he was so... so cold... God, he was so cold... and tight... and... and...

The Russian rose to his feet. The sharp sound made Reich twitch nervously.

"N-no, wait, I... I’ll… move now..." he began feebly, words tangling on his tongue.

"You're taking too long."

Sovok closed the distance between them. The German tensed up, instinctively trying to shrink back as far as possible.

What was he going to do to him? What the hell was Sovok going to do to him?!

The Russian's icy stare gave nothing away.

When those unfamiliar hands reached for him, Reich pressed himself into the chair with pathetic desperation, but there was nowhere to go — he was physically trapped.

He couldn't even defend himself with his hands, he was completely vulnerable.

Union narrowed his eyes slightly, clearly assessing his reaction, and then slowly, as if mockingly, began to undoing the buttons of his shirt. Third tried to recoil, but simply could not do it. Then, in an attempt to at least deviate from contact, he shudderingly pulled in his own stomach.

Of course, it didn’t help at all. When the Russian finished with the buttons and roughly tugged the fabric aside, his enormous hands settled on Reich’s sides.

Suddenly, Reich arched violently, suddenly shot up, gasping loudly, and opened his eyes wide.

Warm!!!

The Russian’s hands were unbelievably warm!

The realization hit him like a physical blow — his mouth fell open in a shuddering inhale. His entire body jerked, caught between wrenching away and pressing closer. He couldn't get away, Sovok held him firmly and when the body in his hands stopped twitching too violently, he resumed dragging those palms over him.

As if that weren’t enough, the Russian leaned in and pressed a rough kiss to the base of his neck — Third didn’t just feel the heat of his lips, he was engulfed by the scalding exhale against his skin. At the same time, Union dragged a palm up his stomach, traced his ribs, then rose higher...

" Haaah! " Reich suddenly exhaled loudly, right into the other’s ear.

The Russian froze for a moment and even pulled away from him.

"Hm. Are your nipples really that sensitive?" he grinned wryly.

"Don’t you da– aaahmmmh— " The German’s voice fractured, barely choking back a moan at the last second.

"Curious…" Union stroked his chest again, almost tenderly now, deliberately touching the tender points.  "I’ll have to remember that."

Sovok moved even closer to him, his boot spread the German's clenched legs, squeezing between them, and then the other's foot forcibly spread his knees. Sovok rested on the edge of the seat, but due to the fact that Third’s desperate squirming backward, away from those hands, only made him slide lower, until the Russian’s knee dug ruthlessly into his groin.

Reich gasped loudly.

His dick, as if feeling the opportunity to finally free itself, literally HOWLED with an irresistible desire. The German, without fully realizing it, began to rub against else's leg.

Sovok didn’t block his view of the chessboard, positioning himself slightly to the side — but by now, he was clearly worked up too. The worst part was that literally every crude movement he made was now... bursting with fire.  When those foreign lips pressed against his neck again, Reich couldn’t suppress a quiet moan.

This… this almost felt pleasant...

No, no, no! He immediately pulled himself back. This isn’t pleasant at all — it’s vile, disgusting, though… maybe just a little bit— No!!!

Desperate, Third moaned out loud this time.

Admitting that Sovok’s actions were actually shattering what little remained of his crumbling mind was unthinkable — but they did feel good.

"Knight to C6!" Reich nearly shouted in terror. "Knight to C6!!!"

Union froze instantly, his gaze flashing with icy intensity. Then he, with obvious reluctance, slowly pulled away from his neck. The Russian returned to the board and obediently moved the piece.

Third fell back desperately, his entire body trembling.

What the hell, what the hell is happening?! He was burning up again! Or… no, no, he was cold, unbearably cold! The warm hands were gone — the very hands that had been warming him!

Reich squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head in denial, but when he opened them again, Sovok was looming over him once more.

A sharp convulsion brought his whole body together, and the German screamed in a choked voice, just an irresistibly strong desire hit him right in the head, and there was nothing he could do about it. His starved, touch-deprived body revolted against reason, drowning his consciousness in white noise.

When foreign lips sealed over his own, Third had already lost all coherence: he himself greedily fell into the other's mouth, himself intertwined with the other's tongue, himself moaned loudly right into the kiss and, damn it, himself clung to the massive shoulder with all his might, pulling the source of warmth closer to himself.

The Russian showed no hesitation in exploiting this opening. His palms slid back onto the hollowed stomach, then roamed lower, mapping every shuddering curve with deliberate, scorching precision.

Reich desperately rolled his eye. His mind had already snapped, but somewhere on the fraying edges of consciousness, one last semi-lucid thought flailed in panicked desperation — ‘just not by force, just not by force!!!'

He didn’t even know how, but somehow Third tore himself away from that desperately craved, scorching-hot mouth.

"N-nein...!" he whimpered. "N-not... like this... WegGo away! ! Go away!" The German babbled hysterically, even slamming a fist against the Russian’s back with all his strength. "Don’t! Weg! WEG! "

Sovok didn't even feel the blow, but he still frowned in annoyance, and suddenly, he actually leaned back slightly.

"Well then," Union rasped hoarsely, "Seems we'll have to increase the speed."

It took Reich a moment to figure out exactly what he meant, only when the toy inside him suddenly jerked violently, hitting the desired point especially hard.

"AH!" He blurted out loudly.

A huge palm ran almost affectionately through his sweat-soaked hair, pulling it away from his face before disappearing. USSR turned away from him, stepped back and sank back into his armchair. He even adjusted his position slightly, settling in with the air of a spectator preparing for a show.

The German stared up at him through a trembling eyelid — the shift in events surprised him, but he lacked the capacity for more.

The vibrator inside him began to move in a different way: it slowed down slightly, and then accelerated sharply, and it very plausibly imitated the tremors — it seems that Sovok began to play with the speeds.

Realizing he had no other choice, Third surrendered. He needed to cum, needed release, otherwise he would simply die from overexertion. It’d be easier if those hands were to caress him again, but he refused to ask him to do it.

He’d survive this. He could endure even this!!! It wasn’t impossible, just… he just needed to focus on something pleasant!

Reich desperately tried to recall in detail what it was like for him when else's flesh enveloped his own penis. Back then, he had been the one looming over his victim, he had held all the power... The intoxicating rush of dominance had made his head spin.

Oh, yes, it was extremely pleasant for him then... For his fucking corridor Poland had paid him in full and with all the ‘interest’...

The German arched sharply and convulsively, groaning loudly and long, with arousal.

USSR was sitting slightly leaning back in his chair, propping his head on his hand and watching the spectacle through half-lidded eyes. Well, this wasn’t disappointing — there was certainly plenty to see.

Reich flushed again, began to gulp desperately for air, fidgeted, this time even rolling his eye up rather lewdly... And once more, sweat slicked his body, droplets not just glistening but now openly cascading down his forehead, collarbones, across his exposed stomach. From his seat, the Russian had a perfect view of every muscle twitching beneath that pale skin. Truly, the sight was beyond praise.

How ironic, really, that things had devolved to this, yet Sovok did not regret his decision. "Punishment" for sins committed still implied suffering, even if that suffering came wrapped in pleasure.

He watched the German thrash before him, drinking in the scene with profound moral satisfaction. Well, Third? How does it feel to choke on smoke and convulse in agony?

Unbearable, unbearable, it was simply unbearable!!! It wasn’t working, it wasn’t enough! Reich desperately gulped for air — he was already completely out of his mind.

Something pleasant… he needed something pleasant…

Italy… had such… a broad chest… pressing against it… felt so good… His body was massive too, wide-shouldered, bigger than the German’s own. Not the same, but close enough, if he just closed his eyes and pretended…

Third arched violently as a wave of sweet lethargy seized him — but it still wasn’t enough! His eyelids flew open, gaze darting frantically around the room, scrambling for anything else to cling to.

Perhaps that was his mistake, because his pupil had found something that could save him in theory — the German was staring at Sovok with his eyes wide open.

Italy… had… a massive body… not the same, but… close enough…

Before, Third could only guess, infer based on outward proportions. But now… now he’d seen the Russian’s… manhood. Big. Enormous, thick… If… if it were… inside him … it’d be… so… so tight there… so… so sweet… so… good…

A violent spasm wracked his entire body.

Reich choked on the sudden surge of pleasure, eyes rolling back as he screamed:

" A-AH !"

He jerked sharply, almost twisting his shackled limbs, his whole body shot up, and then abruptly went limp.

***

Consciousness returned to the German reluctantly. He was feeling hot as hell again, and he didn't understand anything. When something liquid, but blessedly cool touched his lips, Reich latched onto it greedily. He swallowed several times before realizing: he was voluntarily drinking something.

Third choked.

He nearly aspirated the water, but the glass instantly moved away from him when the German began to resist.

"It’s just water," came Union’s voice.

No cloying aftertaste — likely truthful. Just plain, ordinary water.

The Russian brought the glass closer again, but Reich — despite not having quenched his thirst, instantly turned his face away. USSR gave a calm nod and withdrew, making no move to force him.

Sovok returned to his seat, sinking back into the chair opposite.

"I moved queen to F6," the Russian informed him. "Your move."

"W-what...?" Reich whispered softly, with difficulty.

A crushing weakness pressed down on him — his head spun, lungs burning as if filled with fire. He gulped air in ragged gasps, vision still swimming in a murky haze. As if all that weren’t enough, he could now feel the dampness there. The realization that he’d just shamefully came in his pants right in front of Sovok, was simply unbearable.

The German shook his head weakly and blinked desperately, trying to regain consciousness. It took him a few seconds, but finally he was able to begin to make sense of what was going on again.

"Your move," Sovok repeated politely.

Reich's gaze darted across the board in confusion — over the pieces, then up at USSR himself. What the hell? He got what he wanted! Made him... right in front of him... What else did he need?!

"I..." His voice betrayed him, trembling. The weakness gripping his body was so overwhelming even his tongue felt leaden. "I've already..."

"You haven't lost yet, Third," the Russian cut in, nodding toward the board. "The game isn't over. Move."

Union sat down in the same position again, leaning back and lazily propping his head. Apparently, all this time he was really just patiently waiting for Reich to come to his senses.

The German even managed to open his mouth to ask "what the hell?" out loud, as… He figured out exactly what the catch was. The vibrator was still on.

Sovok kept the speed stable again, but it was turned on, and clearly not at the lowest setting. And while the next wave of arousal hadn’t crashed over him yet, it was only a matter of time. The drug in his bloodstream hadn’t lost its potency either.

Realizing that everything that had already happened was, in fact, just a prelude to the main action... Reich let out a broken moan.

Oh my God, is it not over yet?! Just the beginning? He’ll make him… again… How much more?! Damn it, why...Third violently cut off his own thoughts.

There was a ‘why.' He knew that. There was.

"What, are you deflated already?" The voice of Union sounded again, only this time the German realised that it had been unusually hoarse all this time.

The words lashed through Reich — it hooked him so much that even all other trifles instantly faded against its background.

Was he… Scheiße … was he trying to ‘provoke him?’ Rub his nose in his own helplessness?!

Third hissed out a stream of incoherent curses, forced himself to meet the Russian’s gaze and flinched, his fury snuffed out in an instant.

Sovok was breathing very slowly, very heavily, hoarsely, slightly whistling, with quiet growling notes literally escaping from his lungs with each exhalation. Only at first glance, very inattentively, he sat motionless, in fact, the Russian was slightly moving his shoulders all the time, slightly fidgeting. And his eye burned with a cold, icy, but flame.

In short, he was worked up – still in control – but worked up.

His entire being radiated a barely restrained threat, aggression and impatience: Just try to anger me. Just try to disobey me once again.

Third swallowed hard.

‘The game isn't over.’ Sovok's condition, the one he himself outlined, still stands. If he keeps playing the damn game, the Russian won't touch him. Goddammit.

But as soon as his flare of anger faded, the weakness came rushing back. And it was killing him — he could barely move, couldn't even sit up properly... hell, he couldn't even push himself away from the armchair. His muscles had given up entirely.

More than anything, he wanted to just pass out and sleep — to rest, even for a moment. But the blood simmering in his veins and the device still working inside him had other plans. And honestly… Union had already given him time to regain his senses on his own, without resorting to forcing him awake with, say, ice water or some kind of ammonia… That was probably why the Russian now looked so sharply different. The change hadn’t been sudden, Reich had just been out of it for a while.

… God, just how much self-control does he have? Third had pushed himself to the brink — he’d fucking passed out from the strain! Yet the Russian was still holding himself back.

They're his own rules, Sovok should not care about them at all. They existed solely to make the German suffer, so why the hell is he torturing himself by following them?

Reich exhaled desperately — he had no choice. It would be stupid to give up now, he had already endured so much, it would be a shame to admit that it was all for nothing.

Third forced himself to focus on the chess pieces with almost incredible difficulty.

S-so, what had changed? How had he moved last? The German stared blankly at the board — why was the black queen now on F6? How had it gotten there? Why had it advanced?

The answer came quickly — the white knight on C6. Reich… dropped his hands. Figuratively, of course; physically, all he could do was slump his shoulders. He stared at his own figure in undisguised horror.

A mistake, it was a mistake! A fatal mistake!!! What the hell had he been thinking?!

He should’ve moved the pawn to C5! Should’ve let Sovok trade the knight on E5, then taken it with the bishop! Or lured his rook out the same way. Or forced the Russian to retreat his knight to F6, giving Reich a chance to correct his earlier blunder, that missed opportunity to push the pawn to G5… Any of those would’ve preserved his advantage, kept him in the lead!

And now…

A ‘fork’ targeting the black queen and pawn in this position was utterly pointle... A sharp, loud noise cut through the air as USSR abruptly stood.

"Third, stop stalling," came his growling, irritated voice.

The German flinched, but the Russian did not go to him. Instead, he circled his armchair and stood gripping its back — his patience hanging by a thread.

"Knight takes pawn on A5," Reich blurted.

The move sucked, but he had nothing else to do — he had to justify his own blunder at least in this way. Union approached the board, abruptly, roughly moved the white piece, froze for a couple of seconds and immediately made his move:

Knight to B6.

Then he slowly straightened up and stared at him expectantly. Third sagged wearily, he was so exhausted. Sovok's move was clearly made for something specific, with some kind of future calculation, but he didn't even want to think about it anymore.

"Pawn to C5," the German exhaled.

The Russian had begun pacing restlessly back and forth in front of him, hands clasped behind his back — but the moment Third spoke, he froze mid-step. Sovok took a very deep breath and exhaled very slowly. His oppressive aura, his obvious irritation, ‘curled up’ in the blink of an eye and became less obvious.

"Are you sure?" USSR asked in a completely icy voice.

Reich faltered. He even managed to pry his eye open wider. What? What just happened? Why is he stopping him?

He looked down at the board and... gave a strangled groan of impotence — he understood everything now. If that stupid knight move had been just a mistake, a fatal one, but still a mistake — this move was an absolute disaster.

Damn it, it’s so obvious, why didn’t he see such a simple combination?!

"Move," he muttered, his voice hollow.

Sovok narrowed his eyes.

"Move it, verdammt !" Reich snapped furiously. "I’m not an idiot, I can admit when I’ve lost!!!"

"Liar!" the Russian barked irritably, then abruptly cut himself off. "You haven’t lost yet," he continued, his tone glacial once more. "Though you're obviously trying your best to change that."

Sovok still returned to the board and pushed the pawn where indicated. His counter was immediate:

Rook takes C5.

Third didn’t even realize his body had begun rocking slightly again, involuntarily grinding down on the still-active vibrator. The moment he noticed, he jerked himself still, but… the arousal was creeping back. And he had no strength left to resist.

Damn it.

Reich groaned in agony. The sharp flare of his anger had burned out quickly, leaving only utter despair. God, he felt so bad right now.

He's tired, he's exhausted, his whole body hurts, his head pounding. He’d been humiliated and disgraced — why the hell was this still going? What does Sovok want him to do: voluntarily admit defeat and satisfy him?

It was a logical assumption, but there was one glaring contradiction that the German couldn’t wrap his head around — Union kept insisting he hadn’t lost yet.

What the hell?! How much longer would this torture go on? Why couldn't he just finish it already!

"Pawn takes C5," he muttered in a dead voice.

The Russian's response was instant.

Queen takes A1.

The dull thud of the piece against the board sounded like a verdict.

Check.

Check. If he hadn't moved that pawn to C5 earlier, he wouldn't be in this position, he wouldn't have lost two pieces for nothing. He'd genuinely had chances to turn things around.

"King to H2."

Queen takes knight on A5.

Totally. Complete. Defeat. What else was there to do?

"Don't be a fool, Reich," Union growled angrily.

The German even managed to lift his gaze.

What? What does he want from him? He didn't understand what was happening — why the Russian was almost literally trying to dissuade him from ‘admitting defeat.’

"Queen to C6."

A deafening crash echoed as Sovok slammed his fist onto the table. The pieces even jumped.

"Stubborn fool," he spat out evilly.

Reich couldn’t even explain to himself why those words cut SO deep.

"I'm quite worthy of you!" he lashed out. "You’ve crushed every move I’ve tried — there are no options left!"

"There would be," Sovok bit back, "if you’d let a single goddamn alternative thought into that stubborn head instead of trying to ruin the game."

"Oh, now you’re the expert on anger!" Third snapped. "What, gonna ‘punish’ me for not reading your fucking thoughts?!"

Third was abruptly embarrassed when he realized what he’d just done. Union froze like an ice statue.

"What, do you think I won't come up with something that will make you suffer even more?" he asked coldly.

Reich swallowed. He knew he shouldn’t do this, knew provoking an already-furious Sovok was suicidal — he understood perfectly. And still, he dared to growl the phrase out loud:

"Go on. Surprise me."

USSR growled irritably, quickly, abruptly, moved the white queen to where he was told, and just as quickly made his own move. But it happened so fleetingly that the German didn't even catch how the Russian had played — Sovok immediately stepped forward, deliberately blocking Reich's view of the board with his massive body.

The mere sight of that looming, mountainous figure was reason enough for outright panic.

Sovok roughly seized his legs and forcibly spread them apart. Third belatedly twitched, but could do nothing — indescribably strong hands did not even notice his resistance. The Russian positioned himself directly between Reich's thighs, only then releasing his grip. In a desperate attempt to shield himself, the German's knees twitched inward, but only succeeded in clamping weakly against Sovok's hips.

An attempt to stagger back, at least for a little while, if only to manage to kick Union, stopped him, grabbing him by the waist and forcibly pulling him closer to him. His fingers stroked his stomach as if in mockery before… settling squarely over his groin.

His half-hard length twitched violently through the fabric in response to that long-awaited touch — Reich went rigid. Suspended in stunned paralysis, the reality of what was coming crashed over him. Every shred of his earlier self-confidence in his own steadfastness evaporated in a split second.

"No!" he gasped, horror-stricken. "Don’t you dare!!!"

Ignoring the protests, Sovok began unfastening the damned zipper. Third tossed around in his armchair with renewed vigor, but could neither recoil nor get away from the touch. Then… warm fingers finally made contact with bare skin... Reich whimpered. Flame-hot humiliation flooded his face as he screwed his eyes shut and turned away.

Sovok, surprisingly careful, pulled Third's cock out of the captivity of his clothes. He seemed utterly indifferent to the fact that the shaft was smeared with thick, long-cold fluid. Without hesitation, the Russian wrapped his palm around it and stroked up and down a few times.

The German let out a... choked whimper.

There was no other way to describe the sound that came out of him. He even stopped twitching, he just froze tensely. Right in the position exactly as he’d been positioned: sliding to the very edge of the armchair, and hugging the body of the Russian with his knees.

For Reich, such a simple action was equivalent to a full-fledged explosion. His body — worn down, exhausted, tortured, was finally given what it had been BEGGING for, pleading for, all this ENTIRE time.

Sovok's fingers were unbelievably dry, rough with calluses, yet... impossibly warm! And when they so carefully, so gently - without causing the slightest pain - cupped and massaged his dick's head... A convulsive languor seized his whole body.

Third literally felt his cock swell with blood, springing to life as it finally gained freedom, responding instinctively to... touch.

That very caress he'd been whining and begging for all this time.

Reich gulped air noisily and shook his head.

"Y-you... what are you... stop it!"

"You asked for this," Sovok rasped in response. "Now quit your whining."

He wasn't doing anything unusual, nothing special — just lightly stroking and caressing his shaft. Simply moving his palm back and forth, just letting his coarse, rough fingers brush against all the most sensitive spots.

And the German… the German began to desperately gulp for air, using every last ounce of willpower not to arch into a curve and thrust against the Russian, if only to intensify the sensations.

At first, he managed to restrain himself — but when Sovok leaned in closer, he pressed hot lips to his neck without pausing the relentless motion of his hand...

"OH, LORD!!!" Reich shouted out loud. "NO!!! Stop it, wait...enou— ah... ah! Aahh! "

Union winced slightly and pulled back — the scream came right next to his ear, but not only did it not stop his movements, but it also slightly accelerated and intensified them. Third started literally choking with despair.

He was still aware that none of this should feel good, that it couldn't — but his body had long since betrayed him. Between ragged pleas for release, hot, moans tore free:

" Ah! No, Gott , no! O-oh. .. Mmm... Y-yes... Yes! No, stop! N-no... oh ... y-yes... mmm..."

It was... pleasant…

No, God, no!!!

P-pleasant...

No!!!

So good...

Without realizing what he was doing, the German reached for the Russian himself, his free hand desperately clutching Sovok’s shoulder, trying to pull him closer.

When foreign lips pressed against his neck again, Reich weakly shook his head, struggling to regain control.

"W-wait," he whispered barely audibly, attempting to evade the insistent kisses.

In a desperate bid to think of something, to escape somehow, he blurted out:

"Wait, wait! I haven’t lost yet! Haven’t lost! "

"Now you have," Sovok snarled in response.

"No, it’s not mate yet! "

USSR froze abruptly.

He was already literally growling with arousal by now and he clearly didn't give a damn about his own rules of the game anymore — that ‘his patience’ of his had finally run out.

Then, suddenly, the Russian snorted, shook his head like a feral beast, and still pulled back.

"Your move," he spat irritably.

Third hesitated, once again genuinely surprised by the turn of events.

"NOW!"

From fright, Reich jumped, almost along with the armchair. He instantly stared at the board and at the remaining pieces.

"..." The German swallowed hard.

Union was serious. About him having ‘already lost.’ He’d truly lost.

Third’s eye flew open as realization crashed down on him.

His move to C6 was the last mistake the Russian allowed him to make. The logic had seemed sound — attacking both the black knight and rook, banking on taking at least one. But pulling the queen from its position had left the bishop on F4 exposed. With check.

He should’ve pushed the pawn. Just taken the knight on B6.

Then they’d have been left with ‘opposite-colored’ bishops, one rook each, queens, roughly even king-side positions — in short, a draw.

A draw.

The one that Union offered him at the very beginning of the game. No one loses, no one wins. He spent almost the entire game making sure that all of White's mistakes were drowned in his passive defense.

Queen to A4. That had been the USSR's last move.

It both protected his own rook and attacked White's bishop.

"Queen takes A4," Reich said in a trembling voice.

Now there truly were no alternatives left. The subsequent moves were quick, meaningless — the German was just delaying the inevitable.

Knight takes A4.

"Pawn to C6."

Knight to B6.

"Pawn to C7."

Pawn to F6.

"Rook to B3."

Knight to C8.

Only then did Third hesitate. Yes, the game could be dragged out further — checkmate hadn't been delivered yet, but... it was pointless. The remaining pieces and their positions were completely against him. Black's defense remained completely deaf, and there was no way to crack it. Exchanges wouldn't help, there was nothing left to exchange. The one chance that could've turned everything around ‘the promotion of a pawn,’ wasn't going to be allowed.

What could be so difficult about saying just two words out loud?

‘I lost.’ ‘You win.’ ‘I surrender.’

Yet the words stuck in his throat. Reich swallowed convulsively again and squeezed his eyes shut. Panic was literally choking him.

"What do you want?" He whispered softly, admitting defeat.

USSR glared at him coldly, looking him over with an appraising gaze.

"Kiss me," came his icy voice.

When the German opened his eye again, he found the Russian’s face directly before his own.

"Kiss me," Sovok repeated hoarsely. "Come on, Third. I’ve held up my end of the deal. Now it’s your turn."

Third let out a quiet sob — Sovok was right again. He really hadn’t fucked him prematurely, even when barely holding onto his own self-control. Cursing both himself and the Russian, Reich squeezed his eyes shut, but still obediently leaned into that damned kiss. His lips met Sovok’s timidly, fearfully, yet voluntarily, goddamn it.

When the tongue of Sovok penetrated his slightly open mouth, the German no longer resisted, although he did not fully respond.

Let it all just end as quickly as possible.

The Russian didn't demand full initiative. He took what he wanted himself, plunging deeper, those calloused palms roaming his body again — careful now, avoiding pain, even soothing in their touch.

Third went completely limp in his grasp — this was his limit. The edge. Both physical and moral. He had no strength left to resist, no will to snap back—he’d agreed to the terms, he’d been the fool.

‘A draw.’

It was so obvious, really. Just play for a draw. What a stupid… mistake.

A strangely familiar sound yanked Reich from the depths of his apathy. Without stopping those ceaseless strokes, Sovok used his other hand to undo his own belt — the buckle clicked. The German did not immediately realize what it was — he was completely exhausted, but when he realized... He jolted in terror.

Somehow, Third didn't realise how, but he managed to pull out the last remnants of his strength.

"You promised!" he cried out in utter desperation, trying to wrench away. "Promised!!!"

"Quiet, Third!" Union responded a little irritably. "I remember my words, and I'm not going back on them."

The German froze in confusion. The Russian pulled out his own cock with a low, deep growl. Just a couple of movements and it bulged right before his eyes, straightened up... It was also shackled by clothes all this time. Sovok adjusted himself slightly, then yanked Reich closer until their bodies collided, drawing a choked gasp from the man.

One hand supported the German's back, forcing him to arch upward, while the other wrapped around both their lengths, stroking them together in a single, relentless motion.

Surprisingly, his movements were not abrupt at all, on the contrary, they were smooth and rather slow, rhythmic. Sovok’s grip was firm, his calloused palms working both lengths with purposeful pressure, yet it never crossed into pain.

Despite the fact that the rough skin made the action seem rather rough, the very fact of such a long-awaited caress, the presence of this warmth, brought Third... real pleasure.

It felt… good. Rough, yes, but good.

Reich went pliant in his grasp once more. The Russian really did not break his word, it was quite within his phrasing…

In the end, the German didn't notice how involuntarily he began to thrust his hips into it in exactly the rhythm that Sovok had set. No longer turning away when those lips claimed his, he began kissing back, properly now, his tongue tangling with the Russian’s as muffled moans of pleasure escaped him.

Somewhere on the edge of his mind, there was still the stubborn thought that he was embarrassing himself, but he couldn't hold back anymore. Even moral outrage required energy he no longer possessed.

And then there was a gaze — that one, singular factor that had started it all. The very thing that had sent everything falling into the abyss.

Reich’s floating consciousness no longer noticed any small differences — this time, the gaze across from him wasn’t nearly as lifeless as before. Instead, faint embers of something flickered in that gaze, slightly unfocused, glazed. But Third no longer processed such insignificant deviations. It was enough for him to see the same unique color of the eye in front of him, and the rest, the mind built from memories.

From those memories — where impossibly strong hands had steadied him from falling, and he’d seen that blue, pure-ice gaze for the first time… The very one that had regarded him with… Just. Simple. Calmness.

Polite but not cloying, as if… as if looking at an equal.

What a… trivial thing. How absurd. And yet it had – damn it all – it had buried itself deep in his soul.

There’d never even been lust in that look, Reich knew exactly how desire burned in others’ eyes, but this wasn’t it. Even now, this wasn’t it!

Third couldn’t decipher exactly what he saw in that gaze, but he knew. It wasn’t lust.

"You wanted me," Sovok suddenly whispered in his ear.

Not a question — a statement. Reich twitched weakly, but no strength remained for resistance, not even moral posturing.

"I wanted..." he admitted, the word barely audible.

Denial was pointless — the precedent between them existed.

"Wanted to be taken by me."

"I wanted..."

His fogged mind didn’t register that Sovok’s next words were in German:

"Du hast mich gebeten, dich zu fickenYou asked me to fuck you."

"..." Reich’s breath hitched.

True — that phrase too had been whispered in German that night.

"Gebeten...Asked..." Third finally responded, lips barely moving.

"You still want it now."

"I... don’t... don’t..."

The damning "no" lodged in his throat. He was so tired of lying... including to himself.

A lifetime of false smiles and denials, of pretending and rejecting... never able to admit, even in the privacy of his mind, what he truly thought, felt and craved.

"...Not like this," Reich exhaled at last.

Union carefully leaned against him with his warm, huge body. In a completely different way, gentle, not aggressive. The German, utterly disoriented, instinctively leaned into the contact, fingers clutching desperately at the Russian’s shoulder.

“Sh-h-h,” the Russian whispered softly in his ear. “No one will hurt you anymore. You’re safe here. ”

That was the last thing Reich had sorted out. Then, a sharp spasm shot through his entire body, and the long-awaited darkness engulfed him.

Politics in Europe before the Second World War in 1933-1939 and the USSR's participation in it. (the list is very short, with only the most important events.)

December 1933: France and the USSR put forward a joint proposal for a collective security treaty in Europe, the ‘Eastern Pact.' It could not be concluded because Germany and Poland refused to participate in it.

26 January 1934: Poland concluded a non-aggression treaty with Germany.

18 September 1934: the USSR joined the League of Nations and began to fight for the creation of a united anti-fascist front and a system of collective security. Its proposals were not considered.

2 May 1935: mutual assistance treaty between the USSR, Czechoslovak Socialist Republic and France (arising from the ‘Eastern Pact’).

1936: ‘Kandelaki Mission.' The USSR started an initiative with Germany to sign a non-aggression treaty, but Berlin ‘politely refused’ on the grounds that the two countries do not share a common border.

March 1938: German troops moved towards the Czechoslovak border. The Czechoslovak Republic is supported by the USSR and France, but the Union's proposal for an international conference is refused by France, England and the Czechoslovak Republic itself.

19 September 1938: ČSR asks the USSR if it will assist in a military conflict, to which it receives full consent. Poland declares that it will declare war on the USSR if it tries to send troops to help the Czech Republic. The USSR's proposal to discuss the problem in the League of Nations is blocked by England and France.

20-21 September 1938: England and France demand that the ČSR meet Germany's conditions.

September 29-30, 1938: Negotiations were held between Great Britain, France, Germany and Italy on the details of the agreement on the Czech Republic issue. Representatives of Czechoslovakia (!!!) and the USSR were not allowed there. The "Munich Agreement" was adopted, which obliged the Czech Republic to satisfy all claims to it from other countries.

September 30, 1938: A declaration of mutual non-aggression was signed between Great Britain and Germany; a similar declaration by Germany and France was signed on December 6 of the same year.

October 1-10, 1938: the annexation of the Czech Republic and the partition of its territories by Germany, Poland and Hungary. Since the Czechoslovak government did not prevent this event, the USSR was unable to support it militarily.

August 19, 1939: Germany appeals to the USSR with a proposal to restore trade agreements between them.

August 23, 1939: Non-Aggression Treaty between Germany and the Soviet Union (Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact).

September 1, 1939: Germany attacked Poland.

In general, the Union has been really trying for all these years, either to create international peace agreements, or to slow down the emerging conflicts, but it has been stubbornly ignored and silenced.

France directly violated its treaty with Czechoslovakia. Poland took a bite out of the Czech Republic. Under pressure from England, all this actually happened.

The "Polish Corridor" (or "Danzig Corridor") is a piece of German territory that was voluntarily and forcibly transferred to Poland under the "Treaty of Versailles" in 1919, after which ethnic Germans living there began to be subjected to rather severe discrimination.

The "corridor" provided Poland with access to the Baltic Sea, severed the integrity of German lands, separating the exclave of East Prussia from it (the capital is Konigsberg (modern Kaliningrad)), and as a result of its emergence, the city—state of the "Free City of Danzig" also appeared.

Since 1938, Germany began to put pressure on the annexation of Danzig, and she also insisted on granting her the right of land and sea transit through the "corridor." The Polish government refused to satisfy these claims, which served as one of the official pretexts for the attack of Nazi Germany on Poland on September 1, 1939 and the outbreak of World War II.

This "corridor" wasn't the only source of tension between the two nations, but it became one of the primary reasons for Reich's particular hatred toward Poland - this territory had been violently and brutally torn away from Weimar Republic (Poland desperately needed its own access to the sea and global maritime trade, and it aggressively fought to secure this right).

Translator notes:

You're in for a treat.