The Cold War Therapist [CountryhumansxReader]

I lived

"Post an die Dame! (Letter for the lady!)" You woke up to a three fingered hand peaking through the door.

"Morgen Hans." You mumble, wondering if there was a reason only crippled soldiers worked in this building.

"Danke sehr." You walk up to him and take the letter whilst peaking into a pair of jolly brown eyes.

I lived!

They screamed at you.

The war is over and I lived!

"Bitte!" He grinned and the door shut.

Hi there (Your Name)!

It would've been dandy if you had mentioned that the money was going to be brought by some shady looking government working guys cause I have to say it almost killed your mother.

You should've seen them they were huge scary looking guys.

Anyways just know the president and the USA kept their promise and delivered the money early, we were already able to by some medicine for your mother, she says she already feels better.

I love you! I hope you're doing well!

Your one and only (literally) dad.

You sigh.

Hallelujah.

It was about time to go to Germany's room but you had a plan beforehand.

Food for the day was one loaf of bread. A big loaf. And it was luxury. You knew that the kids on the streets got a spoon of jam or a slice of bread per day at best.

The population was starving.

The girl's sadness, loneliness for not being included in the soccer game forced you to come up with something.

When Hans delivered bread you eagerly took the loaf from him, divided it into two pieces and skipped down the stairs like a little kid.

The boys were playing, still in their Hitler Jugend uniforms.

The poor kids don't even have clothes to change into.

The girl was still standing, watching, having nothing better to do.

"Mädchen. (Girl)."

She turns to you, afraid, expecting to be yelled at.

"Sag den Buben da, dass du Brot für sie hast wenn sie dich mitspielen lassen.

(Tell the boys that you have bread for them if they let you play)."

Her eyes go round.

"Wirklich?! Danke Fräulein! (Really?! Thank you miss!)"
She grabs the bread and turns around to run away before turning back, grabbing your hand and kissing it.

"Sind Kinder nicht das wertvollste was wir haben?

(Aren't children the most precious thing we've got?)"

The guard at the door asks, lost in thought and watching the girl walk up to the boys.

The memory you tapped in was dark, a little boy in a soldier's uniform, swastika on his arm. No more than fourteen. Looking up to the sky, but his green eyes were blind. Lifeless. Dead.

Your heart shattered, breathing heavily you started staggering away from the soldier and the memory.

He was watching you, pitying you like one would pity someone who lost their child, not knowing it was his own pain you felt.