"Sir! An important letter for you!"

Soviet sighed before standing up. The paperwork on his desk looked more chaotic than the chart of alliances in the first world war. The thought alone brought up memories. But even if they pained him, he wouldn't get rid of them even if this saved his life.

He opened the door. A young man stood in front of him, barely reaching the shoulders of the powerful country. The man gave him the envelope and saluted. Then he left. Soviet asked himself, who this letter could come from. One of his allies? Did America do something stupid again?

But no. The address showed him; this letter was written by one of the most important people in his life. Someone who he'd die for. He hadn't gotten a letter from her in more than a year and neither had he written one in the exact same time-span. It wasn't like he didn't want to write her; no, quite the contrary. Her letters often brought light into his life. Even more so than his other children. But in the last couple months, he had just been too stressed out. His people struggled and his children needed a lot of his time, since they were between the ages of 11-14.

He sat down on the chair. Somehow he dreaded what was in the letter. So, instead of opening it, he took a file out of the drawer.

"TOP SECRET!" was written over it in capital letters. While many would assume they were of military use or something the like, it wasn't.

Upon opening, one would see a drawing, made with crayons and colored pencils. Crude lines, simplistic proportions and sloppy coloring; a drawing made by a child. Soviet still remembered the day he had received it. He cherished it.

But now, he grew more and more intrigued by the letter he had received from his sunshine.

He opened it.

"Dear Papa,

It's been a long time since I wrote you. I'm really sorry, I just found the courage to pick up a pen again. Are you alright? I hope Russia and the others don't annoy you too much.

I should stop. Playing it off like everything is alright... it's futile. You're probably asking what I mean with that. Huh, I'll say it later. Before that, I'll tell you something else.

You're the greatest father figure one could wish for. You cared for me. Sang me lullabies in broken German to soothe my anxiety. Went outside with me to build snowmen and have a snowball fight. Remember when you decked me in the left eye with one and I fell to the ground? How you panicked and I didn't understand a thing?

Or the first time I decorated a Christmas tree with you? And the cat wouldn't come down from it, so I decided to get it off and accidentally caused the entire tree to fall?"

The memories flooded his mind. They warmed up his entire body as he felt a smile tug at his lips. He still remembered it like it was yesterday. But why would she bring this up now? The part above didn't help either.

"I really hated it when America took me away from you. First he killed my mother and then he has the audacity to demand control over me and my people. The only one who really understood me then, was France. Sometimes, it felt like, she was.... Like a mother. Of course, no one would or could compare to my real mother.

But at least you visited me every birthday and Christmas. You brought me presents. I still laugh when I think about America's face when I opened the Christmas present of 1921 and in there was your flag. You should have seen it."

Soviet didn't need to. He had known this reaction would come as soon as he sent the present. Only a day later he had arrived and America had to hold himself back, as to not ruin Christmas for the young child.

"You... risked a lot by rescuing me from your own soldiers back in 1943. You lied to them about why you did this. I still don't know why you did this. I may be like your child, but I have no blood relation to you. Why did you do this? I don't really expect an answer. I'm just really curious."

This caused his throat to dry up. He hadn't told her yet. He would, sooner or later. But with America watching his every move and listening to his every word when talking to this girl, it was impossible. And if he found out, it would only be a matter of days until another war was declared. The last thing either of them needed, was all out nuclear destruction. Losing her was a thought, which haunted his nightmares.

"Well, my space on this letter runs out, so I have to tell you now.

I'm done with my life."

Those words squeezed every ounce of air out of his lungs. His golden eyes widened.

"I tried so hard. Believe me. But every time I picked up the pieces, someone takes them away and tosses them on the floor again. I hate it. I hate the fact that I can't do this anymore. I'm sick of pretending that everything will be alright, because it won't. Not for me. West, Switzerland and Liechtenstein are my friends, but I don't want to drag them down. I don't want to bother them. France, Britain and their sons only look out for each other, not for me, so I don't care about them.

You know Wehrmacht is dead, as is my mother. The rest of my siblings are beyond my ability to reach. For if I try to get past the borders, others will follow and this will result in utter chaos. I don't want that.

I just want everyone to be happy. I couldn't figure out, how I'd give them this seemingly impossible present. But now I do.

Don't feel bad for me. You did nothing wrong. I'm the one at fault. No matter what, I'll always love you.

I love you,

Austria"

He hadn't noticed his vision going hazy or the fact that tears ran down his face. "No. No. No. No", this thought repeated over and over in his head. Pain hummed beneath his skin, consuming everything on its way like a wildfire. His nails dug into the paper, threatening to tear it apart.

This had to be a nightmare. It just couldn't be true. Austria, his oldest one. Someone he had sworn to protect. The one person, no one knew his real connection to.

Images of her smiles burned in front of his inner eyes.

Something he would never be able to see again.

It broke him.

-
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