Don't own Hetalia.

Man Behind the Curtain

"Hallo, little one."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Roderich Edelstein, child. What is your name?"

"Adolf, Herr Edelstein."

The older man smiled politely at the small child and nodded. "Adolf then. How old are you?"

The child blinked and held up his hands. "Eight, sir."

"Ah; becoming a young man, are you?"

The child smiled proudly and nodded. "Ja! Then I can help mama!"

"Is your mother hurt?"

"She's not feeling good. She won't tell my why, though."

Roderich nodded, looking worried but, before he could speak, a woman called out. "Adolf! Adolf, please come back in! It's dinner time!"

The young boy looked up before turning back to the man. "I have to go, Herr Edelstein."

"Very well, Adolf. I am sure we will cross paths again. Have a good day."

Roderich walked off, and the boy watched him for a moment longer before turning and running back to his house and mother. When he entered the house, he called out, "Mama! I'm back inside!"

His mother, with her kind if sickly face, smiled warmly at him and the two sat down to eat. The dinner was for the most part quiet, interrupted occasionally by the mother's tired coughs. The silence was finally broken by the woman, who shot her son a curious look. "I heard you talking outside with someone. Was it one of the neighbors?"

Adolf shot his mother a smile. "No, it was just a man. He said his name was Roderich Edelstein."

The woman froze and shot her son a reprimanding glare. "Adolf! What have I told you about talking to strangers? What if that had been a man desperate to get a little more money since some have fallen on hard times? He could have kidnapped you and sold you to some disgusting auction house!"

The boy wilted and lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry, mama."

The mother sighed but smiled a little at her son. "It's not your fault, dear. But it's clear that we can only trust ourselves to understand our plight."

"Yes mama."

"Now let's go to bed. But don't trust strangers so easily, do you understand me Adolf Hitler?"

"Yes ma'am."

Adolf, twelve years old and tolerating his school life, looked on in fear as his mother continued coughing, the wheezy sound becoming more desperate as she fell to her side, body quivering due to lack of air. The young boy ran outside, screaming for someone to help, when he caught sight of a man he hadn't seen in years, but had never forgotten.

"Herr Edelstein! Herr Edelstein! Help me, bitte!"

The man immediately stopped and turned to see the child. "Adolf, what is the matter?"

"It's my mutti! Her condition's getting worse!"

The man's eyes widened and he followed the child back to his mother. When he saw the gasping woman, his eyes became steely. He scooped up the woman into his arms and ran out, shouting back, "Hurry! We must get her to a hospital!" The two were able to get to the hospital quickly and had little trouble getting Adolf's mother into a room but, when Roderich tried to enter the room, the doctor stopped him.

"Es tut mir leid, Herr Edlestein, but it is family only."

Roderich sighed but nodded and smiled at Adolf who waited by the doorway. "I understand. I will see if I can find you in the future, Adolf."

"Do you live near here?" Adolf liked the man, he seemed to genuinely care about the boy and his mother. He felt more like a father to Adolf than Adolf's more abusive sire. The young boy couldn't help but wilt a little when the man shook his head gently.

"Es tut mir leid, little one; I live in Vienna and come here for...political reasons."

This made the boy perk up a little. "You're a diplomat?"

Roderich gave a vague smile. "In a way."

The man then left and it wasn't very long before Adolf's mother breathed her last breath. His father's absence made it impossible for Adolf to support himself and soon he was stuck on the streets trying to get by cleaning houses. His hatred for the Jewish people began to fester around this time as he was also denied access to a renown art school. He joined the German army (while overhearing some of the doctors mentioning him as well as a "strange Austrian man recommending him") and made it to Corporal before the World War ended and Germany was plunged into mass amounts of debt.

He grew more outspoken around this time but it backfired as, in a few failed attempted revolts, he was denied the chance to become Fuhrer and was arrested. While there, he was visited by two men occasionally; one a polite if strict blonde-haired blue-eyed man, the other an older, more obnoxious albino. Their visits helped nourish Adolf's belief in the superiority of the Aryan race and it wasn't long before his book was written.

The blonde (Ludwig, he called himself) agreed to get the book published, with the help of a man he was sure Adolf knew.

"Hey, Specs! We gotta ask you something!"

Roderich's hands stilled against the piano keys and he looked up. Lounging against his couch was an arrogant albino man, grinning at him like he had already agreed to the question. Remembering the "we", the violet-eyed man turned to the door. "You may come in, Ludwig."

Hearing the admittance, Ludwig entered the room and closed the door politely begind him. Roderich took a deep breath, savoring the silence one last time, then looked at them. "What do you need?"

"Well…" Gilbert drawled, "a citizen of yours is in one of our prisons, and he asked that we publish a book he wrote while there. Now, we can do that, but…"

"We don't have as much influence as you do." Ludwig finished. "We were wondering if you would support the push to have the book published."

Roderich looked down contemplatively before glancing up again. "Do you know my citizen's name?"

Feeling the Austrian man cave, Ludwig left to grab some beer from the fridge that Roderich bought solely for the Germans and Gilbert grinned. "His name's Adolf Hitler and the book's entitled "Mein Kampf."

Hitler was released from prison, and in a few political moves he was given the name Fuhrer and made leader of Germany. With his ascent to power, he met the personifications of Germany and Prussia and found them to be his supporters that helped get his book published.

They were all sitting in Ludwig's (or rather, Germany's) office when Prussia turned and stared at him intently. "So, what will you do now?"

Hitler looked at his fidgeting hands and thought about sharp violet eyes framed by square glasses. "First," he began, "we will try to get the Italians to trust us. Then, we will reunite Austria with Germany." Germany smiled slightly in agreement and, unnoticed by the pleased Fuhrer, Prussia grinned ferally to himself.

Italy himself was easy to convince (he agreed the second he hear big brother Austria would live with them), but it took some time to get Mussolini's trust. When they obtained the chance, Anschluss was quick to take place, and Hitler was met with cheering crowds in Vienna. The day went by quickly, and by evening the leader of Austria approached him with a man following behind.

"Herr Hitler," he said, "I would like you to meet Herr Edelstein. Also known as the personification of Osterreich."

Adolf knew there was surprise on his face, but Austria merely smiled and lowered his head. "It is good to see you again, little one." The night ended shortly after, and Hitler dazedly followed Roderich back to Germany's house. When the nation opened the door, he was tackled into a hug by a small hyper Italian.

"Big brother Austria! It's so good to see you again! Guess what; I'm going to live here for the war too!" Italy continued to babble excitedly and Austria sighed but patted Italy gently on the head. The auburn-haired man finally let go only to be replaced by a larger pale body.

"It's so good to have you back where you belong, Specs." Prussia's smile was nothing like Italy's. His was a more savagely pleased smile and his grip on Austria's arms was tight enough to brand marks there. Still, Roderich did not snap back an argument and instead stared at Gilbert before bowing his head. Prussia's smile widened into a grin and he tugged the Austrian to the couch, murmuring something about Silesia.

Adolf followed behind them, and stared at Austria for a moment before choking out a statement. "You're that man from Vienna. Who helped get Mutti to the hospital and recommended me for the army."

"How did you know about the recommendation?" Austria didn't bother denying the claim, his hands fiddling with one of Prussia's as the albino eyed them carefully.

"I heard one of the doctors mention it." Roderich hummed in acknowledgement and Hitler frowned as though conflicted. He had always wanted, as a child at least, for the Austrian man to be his father. He clearly cared about Adolf, even all those years ago, but now he had made the man merge with the country he loved. The land he refused to fight for represented as the man he admired. It was all very confusing.

Finally, Hitler came to a decision, and kneeled down before Austria. Gilbert immediately tensed, but the Fuhrer ignored it and focused solely on the purple eyes watching him gently. "I promise," he began, "to always try to protect you and your lands like you have tried to protect me in the past. Only until my death will I allow the union between Germany and Austria to be threatened."

The life in Germany's house didn't appear to really change. Austria would play on the piano from the time to time but he was mostly seen sitting on the couch and looking out the window. Prussia was always near him on those days, lying on his lap or sitting propped up against the piano.

This repetitive behavior seemed to calm both Prussia and the watching Ludwig, but Austria seemed to do it only out of an ingrained habit. This calmness was broken one night as Austria was reading and Gilbert went to the kitchen for a beer. When he returned, Roderich was staring straight ahead, his shoulders shaking with dry sobs and blood trickling down from his nose.

Prussia's cry was a mixture of anger and fear as he threw himself onto the couch and cradled the pianist into his chest, whispering to him desperately. "It'll be over soon. We're removing that fucking taint from you, Specs; it's gonna hurt a bit. But you can't leave. You aren't allowed to leave. You're mine, Ostmark, and you'll always be mine."

Roderich continued to shake, and Gilbert spent the entire night holding him, repeating his new name over and over, as if trying to get him to respond to it. It finally ended as the sun was beginning to rise and Prussia couldn't stop him self from whooping in joy as Austria blink back into consciousness. "What happened, Preussen?"

Gilbert grinned and looked Austria over carefully. "You were being purged of that taint in you, Ostmark. That's all."

After that night, while the pain never grew to be that severe again, Roderich stopped playing the piano all together. He would hum, or sing quietly to himself, but the piano became a lonely fixture in the dominating nations' living room. Prussia figured out why one day as Austria was reading and he was dozing on the aristocrat's lap.

Austria had been turning the page and Prussia caught sight of the pianist's hands. His fingers were quivering, like one's would if one were moving them despite being in pain. Roderich's eyes met Gilbert's as the albino was caught staring, but the Austrian just offered him a tired smile. "Some of my people grow unhappy and have to be put in their place. I can feel their pain and it hurts me to feel their suffering. That is all."

Prussia nodded then grabbed one of Austria's hands. He nuzzled it carefully then returned to his dozing, Roderich's other hand putting away the book and running through the albino's hair. The next day Gilbert left for a few hours, returning with Austria's record player and a couple of classical music records to go with it. Austria thanked him with strudel and a kind voice, which the other all but preened under.

A few more weeks followed with a kind of almost domestic calmness until the Germans invaded Poland and World War II began. When this happened Roderich waited for two weeks and, when Feliks didn't arrive, grew worried and asked the brothers.

Ludwig shrugged looking confused for a moment, but Prussia sneered, his eyes dark and teeth bared. "Who cares? He's such a girl; does it matter where he is?" Austria didn't answer, merely staring at the indifferent Germans, before turning and leaving the house. No one stopped him, thinking he would come back.

It would be months before they would stop regretting that decision.

Roderich stood on the street leading to Poland's house and eyed the police nearby contemplatively. If Poland wasn't with them, it was possible an Ally had him, but the German communities in each country had reported that there have not been any sightings of the Polish man he described. That could mean only one thing, and Austria needed to get to him before he broke.

Sighing, Austria straightened his jacket, lifted his head arrogantly, and walked casually by the storm troopers. He felt them eye him suspiciously, and smirked slightly when they called him back. They eyed him once more, before asking roughly, "What is your name?"

Head still high, he answered, "Roderich Edelstein."

The storm troopers' faces darkened and, fingering their guns, they asked, "Are you a Jew?"

"I don't think that's any of your concern."

Their faces darkened even further. "Where is your star?"

"I don't have one, nor do I have any need for one." They finally drew their guns, and roughly grabbed his arms. "What are you doing?" Austria tried to sound outraged, but the smirk was starting to show on his face.

"We're taking you to a camp for not wearing your star, Jew." The trip to the concentration camp was uneventful, if one took into account the Nazi troops' insults and the handcuffs limiting his freedom (which was soon to become a laughable ideal). His "registration" was a quick and heartless affair, the numbers tattooed onto his inner forearm like brands on cattle.

He took the carving into his skin with barely a flinch, and in little time was sent to work in the factories. He did his work mechanically and silently, his eyes flicking about in search of a certain face.

The sound of metal meeting flesh greeted his ears, and Roderich turned to see that he had guessed the correct camp. Feliks was on the ground with a mark on his cheek, a supervisor standing over him. "Work faster, you stupid Pole! And do not think yourself so great you don't need to do this work!"

The man moved to hit the blonde again, but by then Austria had arrived and stood calmly in front of the Nazi. "I think he understands, sir. He's sorry."

The man eyed him. "Are you his friend?"

"In a way, yes." Pain suddenly bloomed in his right cheek and Roderich found himself on the floor staring up as the man sneered at him.

"Wrong answer, Jew. Your kind doesn't have friends." The man left none the less and Austria sat up and turned to Feliks.

The normally hyper blonde was clearly tired, bags under his eyes, which were once an eye-catching grassland green and were now a dull bottle glass green. His hair was dirty and ragged; the fringes suggesting people had tried to cut it and gave up. The dull green eyes met violet, and Poland flinched as he recognized Austria. "R…Roderich?"

"Hello Feliks. I'm so sorry that this happened." Poland forgave him by throwing himself into the pianist's arms and sobbing into his chest.

His appearance seemed to provide Feliks a strong anchor, as the boy would grab Roderich's left forearm (pressing his fingers against the number branded onto the other's flesh fervently) and whisper to him in Polish in the dead of night, crawling into the other's bed like an affection-starved dog.

Roderich treated him carefully, like a cracked glass already so close to breaking. Often the guards would beat him for speaking in Polish, but he didn't stop crooning the Pole's tongue back to him, the words a balm to the blonde's spirit. He would sneak his food to Feliks, denying any want with an airy, "I am not hungry."

It wasn't like he truly needed the food now; unless ill or if the nation itself needed sustenance, no nation truly needed to eat food. They merely did as a way to appear more human. And seeing as the economy for Austria had improved with the union of it and Germany, Feliks had a far greater need for food than Roderich did.

This cycle continued for weeks. The two standing as the people around them fell, some never to rise again. The monotony (a bloody definition if there ever was one) was finally broken on one of the first breaks they were given.

They were outside; Feliks curled up against the building wall and Roderich looking past the gate wistfully. A cry caught his attention (more aquiline than human, thank gott) and Austria looked up to see a black eagle gazing fixedly at him. Seeing the aristocrat's attention on him, the bird nodded then took flight, disappearing soon after.

Feliks, who had watched the eagle with curious eyes, turned to look at Roderich. "What was that?"

"That was my familiar. He appeared with the Anschluss and represents my country in its current turmoil. His name changes, but I haven't had a familiar since the death of Konig and the split of the Austro-Hungarian union."

"Konig?"

"It means "king". He was a double-headed eagle."

"Oh…what is this familiar's name?"

Austria's smile was a melancholic one. "His name right now is Ketten."

The arrival of Gilbert and Ludwig was like an inferno upon a field in the middle of a drought. Prussia burst into the factory, his red eyes searing into the guards' souls as he ran to Roderich. His muscles were tensed powerfully, much like an ill at ease tiger, and a similar growl echoed in the factory as he took in the sight of the aristocrat's scratched up and bruised face (he even snarled when he hugged Austria and felt ribs pressing back against him).

Ludwig trailed behind his brother, quiet and smothering; the smoke to his brother's fire. Even further behind was Italy, eyes wide and body shaking in fear. The guards tensed, recognizing the two Germans as two of the Fuhrer's advisors, but Gilbert didn't hold back the poison in his voice as he growled at them.

"Do you even know who this is?" He continued, not letting them have time to respond. "This is Roderich Edelstein! He was the one who recommended our great Fuhrer to the military and insured the publication of his book!"

The guards listening paled at that, and moved back to allow them to leave. No one said anything as Roderich took Feliks with them, too afraid of another rebuff from the angry albino.

"How dare they do that to you! Without you, the country would still be in ruins and here they are treating you like some Jew!" Any ease Gilbert had felt before Austria's disappearance had obviously been obliterated as he tailed the aristocrat through the kitchen, keeping him in sight as he went about fixing himself a small meal (the first he's had in weeks, though he wouldn't admit it to anyone anytime soon).

His glasses had been replaced as soon as he entered the house by Germany, who merely asked for an explanation of what happened to his previous pair in return. Austria gave it easily, saying that they guards had been upset that day and one had broken them while punishing him (no one asked why he was punished, and so he never said that it was "for existing"). This caused Germany's face to darken, but he none the less gave Roderich his non-prescription glasses.

Prussia would hold him every night, often dragging the aristocrat into his bed. He'd learned to stop complaining about Poland's nightly visits as Austria would ignore him then, but it was all for the best. While feeling Feliks safe in his arms was soothing, the sound of Gilbert's heartbeat and the movement of his chest as he breathed was the balm to his nerves.

The fact that Prussia was still beside him, as ready to protect him as he was centuries ago (when they were both too young to feel what they do now), calmed Roderich's insecurities like the day calms the melancholy of the night. All of the words the guards called him (filth; worthless; trash; Jew), the only names given to him other than his number, would evaporate and drift away before the wind could whisper them into his ear.

Instead, familiar names (Specs; libeling; hell, even Ostmark) would wrap around him, cradling him into a cocoon that would have convinced him that the last months (weeks; days; what's time to the suffering?) didn't exist were it not for the near-catatonic Feliks and the numbers branded into his arm.

Feliks was finally beginning to recover though, which was a relief to the immortal pianist. At times he would regress, but a few words in Polish and a press of his hand to the Austria's identification number was sure to wake him up. It took some time, but soon Feliks had returned to being his normal happy self, to the relief of Austria and Italy each.

Then the US entered the war.

Things took a steep nose dive from there. Ludwig and Gilbert became more hostile, their absorbed territories avoiding them for fear of attack. Only Roderich (and, by extension, Feliks) was able to be near them without harm befalling him.

Then, with the apparent suddenness of a bubble popping, the war was over. The Axis had lost.

The Allies destroyed any cultural or otherwise title of Prussia, and Austria scrambled to keep Gilbert from fading as the albino lay in a coma-like state in his arms. The Teutonic knights and church returned to Austria's lands, and Roderich gasped in relief as Gilbert began to breathe again.

The next thing the pianist remembered, Alfred appeared and dragged both Gilbert and a screaming Feliks away. "Compensation for Russia," he tried to explain, but the look in his eyes easily mirrored Austria's dismay.

Then, the iron curtain closed, leaving Austria with two black eagles (Ketten remain unchanged, if for a different reason, and Ludwig flinched if he so much as touched Erinnerung), a broken Germany in his care, and an equally broken heart.

It was only after the Allies had left to claim his lands and Ludwig was soothed to bed, did Roderich allow the tears he was hiding to fall. His pseudo-child, adopted through the suffering they both went through, taken. His son in bond; destitute and oppressed. And his other half in mind, soul, and spirit, ripped away from his arms.

Why did the world have to take and destroy all that he loved?

So…yeah. The ending was rushed, but my thoughts: angsty angsty angst. I don't know why it turned out like this, but the story itself has been actively in my head for months. This is not completely historically accurate, but I tried my best.

For anyone interested, Ketten becomes Befreiung in Dark Days.

How much of this will affect my other stories? No. Freaking. Clue. The numbers will, familiars will, and Feliks' closeness with Roderich will.

I'm sorry if Prussia appears too OOC, but I think the high he and Germany went through with all of the nationalism in their country at the time would make him a bit…off. But this was definitely meant to be a PruAus story.

This wasn't meant to offend anyone, and if it did…why are you reading a WWII fic?

Please review.

Ja ne!