As The Bird Flies

6

1939, after the signing of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact

Moscow, RSFSR, in an office building near the meeting hall.

Germany was fine pressed as he walked up to him. Something about his walk, his eyes, his smile, set him off in all the wrong ways. He knew those eyes, but he couldn't tell from where he knew them. Maybe he'd seen him before, when they were both young? Or maybe he knew those eyes even better than that.

"You asked for me?" National Socialist Germany asked. The Soviet fought the urge to scowl upon hearing his voice. When he'd first heard the fascist was calling himself a socialist while killing communists, he'd rolled his eyes so hard they'd practically gone into the back of his head. Unfortunately, his actions to aid his comrades in Germany had to be limited. He didn't wish for war, yet.

"Yes," he replied, "I just want to ask you a few questions."

"As long as I get to ask you some," that smile was too familiar for comfort. Soviet nodded, and Nazi's smile went even wider, showing off the sharpened canines that only very specific nations had.

"Fine," he replied, opening a door and beckoning him in. Nazi sat at one end of the table, looking at him curiously, and Soviet sat down at the other. They waited for a moment, before Soviet started.

"When were you born?"

"1916,"

"The National Socialist Party was started in 1919, so I suppose you weren't born as a personification?"

"I am Germany, not the National Socialist Party," Nazi said, "and that's two questions, so I get to ask two."

"My apologies. I haven't seen Weimar anywhere so I made an untrue assumption."

Nazi scowled, "Okay, my first question is: why did you really bring me here?"

"Curiosity killed the cat," he said, and Nazi shrugged at the use of the English slogan. He understood it like second nature.

"Okay, then," he continued, "what will you do with your time with Poland? He's a real pretty boy-"

"Aren't you arresting homosexuals?"

"Doesn't fucking matter if I can still get a girl pregnant," Nazi hissed, bristling, "Answer my question."

"Probably make him clean my house," Soviet shrugged, "I don't care much for relationships like you do."

Nazi rolled his eyes, "Every man for himself, I suppose."

Soviet nodded, "I suppose."

"So, what do you want to ask now?" Nazi kicked his legs up on the table, and Soviet finally felt like his assumption was confirmed.

"So, are you supposed to keep the fact that you are the child of the United States and the Russian Empire a secret, or were you just supposed to not make it obvious?" he asked, "I know United is a bitch about his plausible deniability nonsense."

Nazi stared at him, looking shell-shocked. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for a response. A gun getting pulled on him was also something he suspected.

He reached over and grabbed Nazi's wrist, not obstructing his aim but improving it.

"Do you really want to go to war with me?"

The gun fell to the table, and he escaped from his grip, staring at him.

"How did you figure it out?"

"I know the United States better than many," the Soviet Union said, "and the Russian Empire was my own father. I would recognize his features on any face."

Nazi frowned, "Don't tell my dad you figured it out, he'll go ballistic."

"Don't worry," the Soviet said, "I won't."

Not when his son would likely become a criminal, just like his father. And United knew it too- he didn't want anyone connecting the two of them unless Nazi became the hero in Europe's story. Soviet knew he wouldn't, because he would never allow him too. A hero is not born, a hero is made, and he would make himself the hero.

Nazi fled the room, not allowing him to ask any more questions. He smiled as he left. One day, blackmail would likely be in order. But he had to be cautious about blackmailing the empire. There was a reason many countries lay dead for telling the truth.