Chapter Text
World War Two. After the first ‘Great War’, the idea of another World War was beginning to be feared. Fighting had always been an almost strictly competitive affair, but after the now half-forgotten war, it was becoming increasingly apparent that global-scale war was more about sorrow; it was an entire cycle of bloodlust, grief, and revenge. However, it was inevitable. So why not participate?
December 15th, 1939. Stan was your typical 18-year-old kid. Fresh out of high school and applying for college. College was his only hope of making it in life, considering he had lost his parents early on in life and had no siblings, so he needed to make it into a good one. When he rushed to the mailbox, he had his hopes up, thinking, “Is this the day?”
He hurried home, ripping open the mail as his grin was wiped off his face. His heart dropped through his entire body, flopping on the floor like a dead fish. A draft. Being sent off to war, surrounded by people you don't know, wasn't exactly on his 1939 bingo card.
He knew how horrible Germany already was in this war; hearing the crimes and listening to the radio just for more ethnic cleansing and propaganda news to be broadcasted. He couldn't fight for that, could he? It was either refuse to fight and meet the same fate as others, or fight and have a chance at survival; golden morals or not. “Save your own skin” is what any reasonable person would think.
May 28th, 1940. On a crisp fall morning, waves crashed against the shore. The battle of Dunkirk had just started to set in. The imprint left behind by British troops leaving lives as numbers, nothing but a sum.
Stan had realized it was probably better in Britain, because Germany was very homophobic, he was gay, and those two mixed together were not pretty. Germany was ruthless when it came to groups of people they didn't like. If anyone found out Stan was gay and reported him… Well, you could say he wouldn't be attending college any time soon.
He wanted to stop fighting and just escape with his life, so he followed the British soldiers in an attempt to get away without dying. A risky play. However, he figured no risk, no reward. He eventually made it onto a British ship that was retreating.
In spite of that, like many others, the ship fell victim to a torpedo attack, leaving him and all the other British troops to their sense of survival and their strength to swim. The current was strong, but Stan was in shape. He knew he had to keep swimming if he wanted to survive; even if his arms felt like jelly and the current was violently working against him. The sand in the water felt as if it were sandpaper, and the salt concentration was so high his eyes ran like waterfalls. He wasn't able to see the deck, so he just swam away from the sounds of shouts and terror in hopes to hit solid ground eventually.
As the harsh, sandy winds hit the deck, the sound of screams filled the air as a boat approached. The muffled shouts of innocent lives being crushed against the deck filled Stan’s ears as he tried to push himself harder to reach safety, and his adrenaline rushed impossibly faster.
The soldiers swimming in the water had just experienced being on a sinking ship, and now they were about to be crushed by an incoming ship. Luck was clearly not on their side today, per usual out there…
Survival was all that was on his mind. He was well aware that he was surrounded by Allied troops and needed to blend in.
The day prior, he had ripped the Swastika off his jacket for in the event he got too cold and needed to keep blending in, and had changed into a regular gray shirt, which was a little baggy on him. He had platinum blonde hair that reached his shoulders in an outgrown wolfcut-mullet type hairstyle. He’d been issued at Dunkirk for a while now, and had not had time to get his hair cut again. He had on his laced combat boots, slightly overlapping his baggy, black pants. He didn't have the typical uniform on, and his satchel served to further give this away.
He didn't stand out, however. He was just another rebellious teen who sucked out their childhood to fight in this hell hole; drafted or not.
He had a few piercings: an eyebrow piercing, snake bites, and a few ear piercings. He regretted the piercings now, as he had to sneak them daily during uniform check since they didn't fit the regulations and order Germany had aimed for.
The piercings didn't stand out much among the Allied troops since their military was much more laid back on the matter, due to how uncommon they were on men, but all these things together -- the hair, weird clothes, and piercings –- were a not so small hint that Stan wasn't Allied at all…