A/N : Yay for crack.

Pairings : Sweden x Germany, heavy one-sided Sweden x Finland, and Denmark x Finland.

Warnings! : AU. Human characters. Set in WWII era Europe. Starts in 1940, and moves onward. Violence, language, war, arson, murder, sabotage, Nazis, angst, occasional insanity, character death, defector!Germany.

A note on names : Finland will be going by Timo, as it is an actual Finnish name. From the creator's picks, I liked Lukas for Norway and Magnus for Denmark, so there you go.

Thanks for reading, and drop a line if you have time.

All of the chapter titles are Johnny Cash songs, because whenever Sweden is in my head, I swear that's all I hear. Just a lot of Johnny Cash. Don't ask.

ORANGE BLOSSOM SPECIAL

Chapter 1

Twenty-Five Minutes To Go

The train would leave soon.

The sounds of bustling and the sharp smell of coal and the crowds of people were indicators of a departure. The station was for military, and transport this time was of men, not weapons or ammunition. Five hundred men, soldiers of the Wehrmacht, stood around with their hands tucked in their pockets, puffing carelessly on cigarettes as they chatted to each other and waited for the next leg of their journey to begin.

The sky was blue. White clouds. The time of year when winter was turning into spring. There was still snow on the ground, but the grass was starting to push up underneath it, and the wind was warmer. The sun was brighter in the sky, and the clouds less overwhelming. The wind was blowing.

The atmosphere was light.

These soldiers were unarmed, relaxed and unworried. They were not off to a dangerous combat zone. They were not going to the Western front. They were not going to the sea. They were not destined to go up in the air. They were going North. A daily transport of unarmed men through (supposedly) neutral lands. There was nothing to fear. Nothing to worry about, and they could enjoy this train ride, safe and secure. No weapons. No helmets. No scarves of machine-gun ammunition.

Just a train ride.

And still...

"Why d'ya have to look so worried all the time, Lutz?"

No response, and then finally, over the commotion, a deep, "Sorry. Can't help it."

Ludwig couldn't. It was his nature to worry. Just because Gilbert didn't understand the meaning of the word did not mean that he was so lucky. Worried about everyone and everything, all the time, because Gilbert was always giving him good reason to.

Standing there on the end of the train, gripping the railing in his hands so tightly that his knuckles were white, Ludwig could only stare down at Gilbert, and try his best to keep his face impassive. Tried not to crack, not to let anything show, to let no emotion pass.

But Gilbert, as a good brother perhaps, always knew when he was fretting.

"You worry too much, you know. You should try to have a little more fun. Relax a little."

Easy for Gilbert to say. War was fun for Gilbert.

It wasn't fun for Ludwig.

"I have to worry," he finally snitted, as Gilbert leered up at him, "God knows you don't."

Gilbert rolled his eyes and shrugged him off, and Ludwig shifted his weight anxiously as the train slowly filled up with men. Feeling clammy and nauseous, suddenly. Strangely devastated, under it all.

It was almost time to go.

Gilbert was not part of this transport. He was just on leave, and had come down to see his brother off. A fond farewell, because even though Gilbert never worried, that didn't mean that something could not suddenly happen to either one of them. Gilbert wouldn't have missed sending Ludwig off for anything in the world, and Ludwig was painfully aware of that.

Felt more miserable every second, knowing he wouldn't be able to keep an eye on Gilbert anymore.

Gilbert wasn't invincible, although that seemed news to him. Ludwig loved Gilbert to death, loved him, but was also aware of Gilbert's many flaws, and his arrogance and boldness and fearless and recklessness would one day do him in.

War was unpredictable, and Gilbert was reckless.

Couldn't stand the thought.

Gilbert just stared up at Ludwig, smiling away, so easily, and Ludwig felt sick for it. Gilbert was utterly unbothered, so carefree, hair shining away in the sunlight and eyes lit up a pale pink in the white sun. Ludwig stared right back at him, and burned Gilbert's face there into his mind. Loved him so much, didn't want to leave, but had to. Gilbert was reckless, and so Ludwig remembered every single detail about him every time they parted. Just in case.

"Do you know when you're going back to France?" Ludwig asked, and Gilbert shrugged a shoulder, waving his hand in the air, eyes ever running over Ludwig's face.

"Ah. Few weeks. Who knows? Since you're leaving, I'll probably try to go back sooner."

A pang of hurt. Why did Gilbert always have to be that way? Was there any other man on Earth that would cut their leave early to go back to war?

"Don't push it," Ludwig grumbled, and Gilbert reached up to punch his upper arm, gently, beaming away.

"Don't tell me what to do, jerk."

"Someone has to."

"Someone, maybe, but not you. I'm the man of the household, remember?"

"Since when?"

"Since I out-drank you at Oktoberfest four years ago."

"I was only fourteen. That hardly seems fair."

"You shouldn't be such a lightweight. That's why you can't tell me what to do."

Halfhearted jests. Attempts at normalcy. Stupid jokes there on the brink.

Oh, the way Gilbert was smiling at him was making him so sick, couldn't even stand it. Loved him so much, and didn't want to leave him.

This guilt was killing him from the inside out. Dumb Gilbert; what did he know?

Gilbert saw Ludwig's pale forehead and furrowed brow and racing pulse, and mistook it for fear.

"Hey! Don't worry about it," Gilbert said, eagerly, leaning against the railing with folded arms and placing his chin upon them as he gazed up at Ludwig fondly from the ground. "It's just Norway. What are you so worried about? You're lucky. There's nothin' much goin' on there right now anyway. You don't even have to fight now. I'd rather you went to Norway. You'll be pretty safe there. It'll be like vacation!"

Vacation? Ha.

Shaking his head, Ludwig gripped the railing in his hands, fighting off the squirming of nausea in his stomach as he stared ever down at Gilbert from above, still getting his fill of Gilbert's face. Would miss him so much.

Gilbert just didn't know.

Ludwig tried to make light of that horrible clamminess churning within, and said, coolly, "Yeah, I get to walk around in the snow and tell people not to run so fast in the streets, and you get to go out and lay around in Paris by the fountains? That's not fair."

Gilbert only snorted, reached up to place a hand on Ludwig's shoulder, and said, casually, "Your time will come. Better to get your legs first. Learn how to shoot someone, and then you can go to France."

"I know how to shoot."

"I know you can shoot. I said learn to shoot someone. You can't just go around holdin' the rifle and bluffing. You need to learn to pull the trigger. You're too nice, Lutz. It'll bite your ass one day, freezin' up like that. Remember the last time?"

He did. Didn't want to. But he did.

"I didn't get shot."

"Because I was there!" Gilbert was quick to point out, and Ludwig could only squirm under Gilbert's heavy hand. "You're a good shot, you're just too nice. Ah, you're still a kid—whaddya you know? Well, I'm glad you're goin' to Norway. It'll be a good breaking in for you. First Norway, and then France, and then the world, right?"

Their gazes met, and Gilbert's fond look was mingled with pride, and now the guilt was almost unbearable.

He would never go to France.

"But, damn, you look good in that uniform!" Gilbert suddenly crooned, taking his hand from Ludwig's shoulder and tucking his fingers within the space between the buttons of his shirt, and it was with a somewhat strained laugh that he added, "You grew up way too fast. I wish you'd have joined the SS instead. Or just stayed at home, better."

Ludwig could only shrug, and say, lowly, "And let you have all the fun throwing grenades?"

Gilbert broke into one of those broad, self-satisfied grins then, the ones Ludwig loved, and grabbed the railing, pulling himself upward as he said, "That's it! You sound just like me sometimes!"

Oh, god—

And then Gilbert stepped up onto the rung of the railing, tilted his head upwards and kissed Ludwig quickly upon the lips. Gilbert's favorite way of doling brotherly affection. Even in front of everyone. Ludwig pulled away, as he always did, cheeks red.

"Knock it off," he chided, and as Gilbert pulled away with a leer, Ludwig could only look around in embarrassment, somehow worried that everyone would be watching him. He wasn't as comfortable displaying affection so publicly as Gilbert did. He was always so worried that everyone would stare.

No one ever did, and it was not such a strange thing, for brothers to show fondness like this. No one gave them a second thought, and Gilbert just rolled his eyes and said, "You're the weirdest guy I ever met. Can't even believe we're related. Still love ya, though."

Ludwig thought, for just a moment, that his face might have crumpled. That his mask had broken, because damn if he didn't suddenly want to cry and furiously so. Loved Gilbert, so much, always had, but god help him, he didn't want to be Gilbert. That was why he memorized Gilbert's face now, so intently, and why he was a breath away from bursting into tears.

Gilbert looked so happy. Confident. Gilbert didn't know. No one knew.

Ludwig quickly blinked away the sting in his eyes, and Gilbert must have seen his break in composure because he clapped Ludwig's arm and gave him a good shake.

Over the chatter of soldiers and the moving of equipment, there was the sudden blast of the train horn. Last call. It was time to go.

Came too soon.

Gilbert reached up and took Ludwig's hand within both of his own, patting the top with that sure, fervent confidence that came so easily to Gilbert, and he said, above the ruckus, "I'll see you when you come back. I'll get leave and meet up with you somewhere, alright?"

Ludwig could only nod. His throat had clutched up.

Gilbert gave a laugh, squeezed his hand, and added, "I know I'm hard to let go of, but no need to cry, kiddo. Hey, just be careful, alright? Just...you know. Just be careful. Remember what I told you, please. Don't be so nice. Stay on guard all the time, alright? I'll see you soon."

"Sure," was all Ludwig could manage, thickly, too close to crying to say much else, and Gilbert placed a firm, swift kiss upon the top of his hand.

"I'll see you again. Don't be so sad. We'll be together again soon."

Ludwig nodded, and Gilbert's hand slipped from his own as the train lurched forward.

Don't cry. Don't cry. He would not cry.

Couldn't cry. Didn't want that to be the last thing Gilbert remembered.

"See ya around, Lutz. Take care."

"Goodbye, Gilbert. I— Please be careful."

Gilbert lifted his chin, smugly, watched him go, arms crossed above his chest, brow high and smiling, as he looked as though he just knew that everything would be okay. Gilbert was so casual, so unbothered.

Ludwig felt so dizzy then, because it hurt, to stand there on the end of the train and grab the railing with one hand and wave with the other, and to know that, for all of Gilbert's sure words and promises, Ludwig wouldn't come back. He wouldn't see Gilbert again. He loved that man, always had, but he wasn't going to see him again.

Goodbye was really farewell.

Godspeed.

The wind picked up as the train gained steam, and the great cloud of smoke darkened the sun momentarily from overhead, casting him in a faint shadow. The tracks began to blur. The men behind him were chatting, but he had no mind of them, taking in the last glimpse of Gilbert's pale hair, gleaming silver in the high sun.

For the last time.

The tracks passed. Gilbert was far away. Not even a minute later, and he was no longer in sight. And that was that. The others retreated into the car as the wind whipped up, but Ludwig stayed put, removing his cap and keeping it tucked under his arm so that it wouldn't blow away.

No one knew.

This train was going to occupied Norway, alright. Ludwig wasn't. He wouldn't be onboard when it pulled in.

When the train passed through Sweden, Ludwig was going to mysteriously vanish.

A terrible thing for a man to do, to jump into foreign lands and desert the country that had borne him and sheltered him and raised him. To forgo his instilled pride in his land, and seek asylum in another. The worst thing a man could do, to defect from the motherland that he had been trained to support and adore. An even worse offense for a soldier, bound to protect her by honor and sworn in blood.

The worst thing a man could do. Ludwig would do it all the same.

He loved Germany as much as he loved Gilbert. He always would, but it wasn't Germany anymore. It was something else. Something dark. It wasn't the country he had once known, and when this train passed through the quiet, flat fields of Sweden, a country he knew or cared nothing about, he would wait until the night was well along, and when the other soldiers had nodded off, he would hang over the railing and search for a soft-looking spot.

Jump.

He wouldn't go to Norway to occupy a town and torment its citizens. He wouldn't wait to get sent out to kill other men on the French border. He wouldn't wait for Gilbert to nudge him into joining the SS. He wouldn't support a cause he did not believe in. He loved Germany. That was why he had to jump, and maybe Gilbert would never understand it, but it was the only way he could keep his pride and his respect for his country's good name.

Gilbert wouldn't understand, never would, and would hate him for it.

The hours passed, and Ludwig stood there, lost in his thoughts. As the harsh wind whipped his hair loose of its severe style, he only crossed his arms and stared out into the white and hazel fields, tall grass poking up defiantly through the snow drifts, and the farther and farther away he got from all of that, the lighter the burden on his shoulders became.

Even though it would shame Gilbert. Even though it would hurt him, more than any bullet ever could. Gilbert loved war. Ludwig couldn't bear any more of it. Gilbert had pushed and pushed, had immersed Ludwig in everything, and Ludwig had seen enough to know that he wasn't where he wanted to be. He would disappear from the world, for a while, and everyone would assume him dead, eventually even stubborn Gilbert, and maybe when this unforgivable war was over he could reemerge from thin air and attempt to contact those whom he had once known.

Standing there, on the edge of the platform, watching the railroad run back behind him, he could only sigh to himself, as the air grew ever colder, and say aloud to no one, "I'm so sorry, Gilbert."

Maybe it would be for the best that they wouldn't meet again.

If he jumped off of this train in the middle of Sweden and tried to defect, Gilbert wouldn't ever want to see him again, anyway. He would be dishonored, and disgraced, doomed to live in shame, and everyone would think him a coward. Especially aggressive, proud Gilbert. He could never go back home. Gilbert would disown him entirely.

Loved Gilbert, but Gilbert wouldn't love him anymore.

The fields zoomed by, the white clouds rolled slowly across the endless sky, and for the first time in years, he felt something almost like peace, as the cold wind roared in his ears.

Traitor, Gilbert would say. There were worse things than being called a traitor.

Murderer was worse.

The sun began to lower towards the horizon. The sky was pink. He could smell grass and snow and the air was sweet with the outdoors. Sweden was close.

He tried to feel hopeful. Sweden wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he would learn to ice fish. He could go farther up and see the northern lights. Maybe he could get some dogs and put together a sled team and run them just for fun on the weekends. He would live here as one of them, just a normal person, with a normal job and a normal house and a normal outfit. His gun would be used for hunting deer.

Not people.

He would forsake his duties in favor of his conscience.

He would start a new life out here in the snowy fields and pretend that he had never seen those things, or turned his head away as people screamed, that he had never heard the breaking of glass or smelt the gasoline and smoke from the burning buildings. That he had never heard that gunfire from the street and just closed the curtains. That he had never had the opportunity to save a life and had instead just stood there, frozen. He could pretend that he had done something. Instead of nothing.

He would be normal here.

The fields passed. Salvation.

No one would ever know.

Ludwig just hadn't known that saying goodbye to Gilbert would really hurt that much.