Prussia finds it curious that despite not remembering a single thing about the incident – he remembers up to the part where he received a boot to his gut, he has re-occurring nightmares of that night. Of gruesome scenes of brutality and hurt. In the dream he can feel it again and it hurts. It’s so real. It’s too real.
He doesn’t sleep much anymore.
Neither does his brother.
And, in a domino effect, since if Germany can’t sleep, neither can Italy – although Prussia’s always loved Italy and to watch him drift off on his brother’s shoulder brings a small smile to his face. Eventually, Germany would take him to bed and come down a little later. He’d put his hand on Prussia’s shoulder and say, “You need to sleep, bruder.” Or he’d ask if he’d taken the painkillers, or if he needed a hot beverage. Prussia would shake his head.
“I can’t,” he would say. “You know that.”
Today, his brother is taking him back to the doctor. It’s been just under a week. Germany drives through Berlin on the West side. Strangely, the strange lull of the car puts Prussia into a weird state of rest. He can still hear the tunes on the radio and his brother humming to them, but he also realises he’s slipping into a state of unconsciousness. It doesn’t hurt, it’s smooth and warm and he embraces the strange state he’s in – a hand on reality while dangling into unconsciousness.
Germany circles Berlin once more when he notices his brother’s fallen asleep. They’re over an hour late to their meeting at the hospital, but when he explains why they’re pardoned.
Prussia doesn’t like the hospital.
It’s too white.
It’s too sterile.
It’s too clean.
He feels uncomfortable. He feels physically sick. He needs to go to the bathroom. He needs to escape to somewhere that isn’t so… so haunting. But he’s taken to an examination room and sat on the bed. His brother’s there, and begins to talk.
“The doctor’s coming in,” Germany says. “He might touch you. Is that all right?”
Prussia shudders. “I don’t like it here.”
“We can leave soon, I promise,” says Germany. “He’s going to ask some questions. Then we’ll go home.”
Prussia nods. He doesn’t want to do any of this, but he knows he has to. He wants to go home and lay on the lounge. Maybe Germany will let the dogs on the furniture to lay around him like last time (Germany hates the dogs on the furniture). The doctor comes in. There’s a woman beside him – a nurse.
“I don’t want her in here,” Prussia says suddenly.
“Gilbert…,” sighs Germany.
The doctor hurries the nurse away. The nurse, however, doesn’t seem to take it to her heart. She smiles, nods her acknowledgement and leaves.
“I just want to ask a few questions today Mr. Beilschmidt,” says the doctor. He sits down on a chair and folds his legs. Germany notices his brother instantly relax. “How are you feeling?”
Prussia sighs and looks at the patient doctor.
“Like fucking shit.”
He’s told its normal to not be sleeping. He’s told that whatever support he needs, his brother and his family are there and that they don’t judge him ever and that what happened was never his fault and they only want him to be better. Prussia realises Feliciano was told to go back to Italy this morning because he was overly emotional, and Prussia kind of likes the stone-face of his brother. He doesn’t want to be cried over – he just wants someone there. Someone like Ludwig.
They’re organising therapy now, but Prussia doesn’t want it. Not yet.
“Do you want to prosecute?” asks the doctor.
Prussia is silent for a moment. He swallows.
“Yes.”
“It means going to court, telling a judge exactly what happened.”
“I- … I don’t remember exactly what happened.”
The doctor clears his throat.
“There’s a technique used by specialised therapists often used with victims of serious crimes where the brain blocks memories of a traumatic experience.” Prussia begins to shake. “A session would allow you to remember, but perhaps… if one is given the option of remembering…”
He still dreams of it, and he remembers the dreams.
“I don’t know, - I,” he shakes his head. “I don’t even know.” Germany touches his shoulder gently. “You don’t have to make the decisions now.”
“I want to leave now,” Prussia says.
“I’ll write a prescription for sleeping tablets,” he says. “It will take time, but you will feel normal again, Mr. Beilschmidt.”
He thanks the two, writes out the prescription, and then leaves. The car trip back is quiet. Prussia gets MacDonald’s for the ride home. Germany doesn’t like the stuff, but Prussia’s always loved anything that was bad – bad movies, bad governments (as long as it wasn’t his), bad sex (naughty- bad, not poor-performance-bad!).
He’s getting tired again. His body is forcing the shut down now. Germany is humming to the tune on the radio and singing – surprisingly, he has a beautiful, deep, rich singing voice. He never sings though – and when he does, he thinks he’s alone and sings loud and turns up the music. Prussia thinks not even Feliciano has ever heard him sing before – what a loss it is! He even asks his brother to sing sometimes, but the man splutters and flushes red and says that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
They arrive home. Germany brings Prussia inside and puts him in the spare bedroom. He’s sleeping very deeply. With a quiet whistle he calls the dogs in from the backyard and commands them up on the bed. Prussia gives a happy murmur from bed as the dogs settle in his side and a hand goes to scratch their noses as he drifts back to sleep, contented. Germany sighs by the doorway, watching Blackie and Aster stand guard against brother’s nightmares.
+++++
Italy comes over the next day. He smiles and gives Germany a hug and is surprised when Germany hugs for that little bit longer, squeezing him tightly. When Italy pulls away he can see the anguish on his lover’s face, how it’s tearing him down and grinding him into the dirt.
“You need to rest,” he says. “It’s three. Go upstairs and take a nap.” “Bruder-,” Germany retorts.
“Is sleeping in the other room with the dogs. It’ll be all right,” he says.
“How are you supposed to help him when you can’t even look after yourself?” Germany has to agree. “I’m making dinner tonight. Now go.”
Germany goes upstairs to rest. He has to admit he feels less than one-hundred percent and when he closes his eyes, it feels wonderful. He slips off into a dreamless sleep, exhausted.
Italy, downstairs, hears the phone ring. Not wanting to wake up the Germanic occupants of the house, he picks it up on the second ring.
“Ciao, it’s me, Italy,” he says cheerily.
“Italy?”
“Miss Hungary, ciao ciao,” he smiles, always happy to hear the pretty voice of Miss Hungary on the phone.
“Hello Italy…,” she seems upset, withdrawn and quiet. “Um. How is he? I…,” there’s a pause. “I haven’t seen him since… that night. I want to know-,”
“He’s sleeping at the momemt,” replies Italy. “He’s getting better. Germany said it’s going to take some time though. Do you want to see him?”
There’s a pause on the other end. “No… I don’t want to come around unannounced. I-I just wanted to know that he’s getting looked after…,” she sniffs and Italy knows she’s crying.
“Don’t cry, Miss Hungary.”
“It’s all my fault, Italy – and what if Gil can’t look at me. I don’t know what I’d do. I don’t know how he can forgive me. I can’t forgive me.”
Italy swallows. “They’re both sleeping now,” Italy says. “If you want, maybe I tell him you called. It wasn’t your fault, Miss Hungary. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. But Prussia would be happy someone like you is looking out for him.”
There’s a moment of silence. “Thanks Feliciano,” Miss Hungary’s tone is lighter now. “Tell them I wish them both well. I’ll send a fruit basket in the morning.”
“That will be nice, ve,” Italy smiles. He’s going well at solving problems today. “I have to get back to cooking. It was nice talking with you, Miss Hungary. See you soon!”
“Yeah, bye Feliciano.” The line goes dead. In the silent house, Italy goes back to his cooking.
Thank you for all the kind comments. I try to make the fic as respectful as I can, since no one wants to go through this sort of thing, but it does happen and there is a long road to recovery. Thankfully, though, it is possible to move on with life and not let the incident, or the persons, define you and your future. I'm glad you are all enjoying this fill! Look out for more soon. Also the title before should have said 2/5. I fail.
Re: Sucker Punch 3/5
Prussia finds it curious that despite not remembering a single thing about the incident – he remembers up to the part where he received a boot to his gut, he has re-occurring nightmares of that night. Of gruesome scenes of brutality and hurt. In the dream he can feel it again and it hurts. It’s so real. It’s too real.
He doesn’t sleep much anymore.
Neither does his brother.
And, in a domino effect, since if Germany can’t sleep, neither can Italy – although Prussia’s always loved Italy and to watch him drift off on his brother’s shoulder brings a small smile to his face. Eventually, Germany would take him to bed and come down a little later. He’d put his hand on Prussia’s shoulder and say, “You need to sleep, bruder.” Or he’d ask if he’d taken the painkillers, or if he needed a hot beverage. Prussia would shake his head.
“I can’t,” he would say. “You know that.”
Today, his brother is taking him back to the doctor. It’s been just under a week. Germany drives through Berlin on the West side. Strangely, the strange lull of the car puts Prussia into a weird state of rest. He can still hear the tunes on the radio and his brother humming to them, but he also realises he’s slipping into a state of unconsciousness. It doesn’t hurt, it’s smooth and warm and he embraces the strange state he’s in – a hand on reality while dangling into unconsciousness.
Germany circles Berlin once more when he notices his brother’s fallen asleep. They’re over an hour late to their meeting at the hospital, but when he explains why they’re pardoned.
Prussia doesn’t like the hospital.
It’s too white.
It’s too sterile.
It’s too clean.
He feels uncomfortable. He feels physically sick. He needs to go to the bathroom. He needs to escape to somewhere that isn’t so… so haunting. But he’s taken to an examination room and sat on the bed. His brother’s there, and begins to talk.
“The doctor’s coming in,” Germany says. “He might touch you. Is that all right?”
Prussia shudders. “I don’t like it here.”
“We can leave soon, I promise,” says Germany. “He’s going to ask some questions. Then we’ll go home.”
Prussia nods. He doesn’t want to do any of this, but he knows he has to. He wants to go home and lay on the lounge. Maybe Germany will let the dogs on the furniture to lay around him like last time (Germany hates the dogs on the furniture). The doctor comes in. There’s a woman beside him – a nurse.
“I don’t want her in here,” Prussia says suddenly.
“Gilbert…,” sighs Germany.
The doctor hurries the nurse away. The nurse, however, doesn’t seem to take it to her heart. She smiles, nods her acknowledgement and leaves.
“I just want to ask a few questions today Mr. Beilschmidt,” says the doctor. He sits down on a chair and folds his legs. Germany notices his brother instantly relax. “How are you feeling?”
Prussia sighs and looks at the patient doctor.
“Like fucking shit.”
He’s told its normal to not be sleeping. He’s told that whatever support he needs, his brother and his family are there and that they don’t judge him ever and that what happened was never his fault and they only want him to be better. Prussia realises Feliciano was told to go back to Italy this morning because he was overly emotional, and Prussia kind of likes the stone-face of his brother. He doesn’t want to be cried over – he just wants someone there. Someone like Ludwig.
They’re organising therapy now, but Prussia doesn’t want it. Not yet.
“Do you want to prosecute?” asks the doctor.
Prussia is silent for a moment. He swallows.
“Yes.”
“It means going to court, telling a judge exactly what happened.”
“I- … I don’t remember exactly what happened.”
The doctor clears his throat.
“There’s a technique used by specialised therapists often used with victims of serious crimes where the brain blocks memories of a traumatic experience.” Prussia begins to shake. “A session would allow you to remember, but perhaps… if one is given the option of remembering…”
He still dreams of it, and he remembers the dreams.
“I don’t know, - I,” he shakes his head. “I don’t even know.”
Germany touches his shoulder gently. “You don’t have to make the decisions now.”
“I want to leave now,” Prussia says.
“I’ll write a prescription for sleeping tablets,” he says. “It will take time, but you will feel normal again, Mr. Beilschmidt.”
He thanks the two, writes out the prescription, and then leaves. The car trip back is quiet. Prussia gets MacDonald’s for the ride home. Germany doesn’t like the stuff, but Prussia’s always loved anything that was bad – bad movies, bad governments (as long as it wasn’t his), bad sex (naughty-
bad, not poor-performance-bad!).
He’s getting tired again. His body is forcing the shut down now. Germany is humming to the tune on the radio and singing – surprisingly, he has a beautiful, deep, rich singing voice. He never sings though – and when he does, he thinks he’s alone and sings loud and turns up the music. Prussia thinks not even Feliciano has ever heard him sing before – what a loss it is! He even asks his brother to sing sometimes, but the man splutters and flushes red and says that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
They arrive home. Germany brings Prussia inside and puts him in the spare bedroom. He’s sleeping very deeply. With a quiet whistle he calls the dogs in from the backyard and commands them up on the bed. Prussia gives a happy murmur from bed as the dogs settle in his side and a hand goes to scratch their noses as he drifts back to sleep, contented. Germany sighs by the doorway, watching Blackie and Aster stand guard against brother’s nightmares.
+++++
Italy comes over the next day. He smiles and gives Germany a hug and is surprised when Germany hugs for that little bit longer, squeezing him tightly. When Italy pulls away he can see the anguish on his lover’s face, how it’s tearing him down and grinding him into the dirt.
“You need to rest,” he says. “It’s three. Go upstairs and take a nap.”
“Bruder-,” Germany retorts.
“Is sleeping in the other room with the dogs. It’ll be all right,” he says.
“How are you supposed to help him when you can’t even look after yourself?”
Germany has to agree. “I’m making dinner tonight. Now go.”
Germany goes upstairs to rest. He has to admit he feels less than one-hundred percent and when he closes his eyes, it feels wonderful. He slips off into a dreamless sleep, exhausted.
Italy, downstairs, hears the phone ring. Not wanting to wake up the Germanic occupants of the house, he picks it up on the second ring.
“Ciao, it’s me, Italy,” he says cheerily.
“Italy?”
“Miss Hungary, ciao ciao,” he smiles, always happy to hear the pretty voice of Miss Hungary on the phone.
“Hello Italy…,” she seems upset, withdrawn and quiet. “Um. How is he? I…,” there’s a pause. “I haven’t seen him since… that night. I want to know-,”
“He’s sleeping at the momemt,” replies Italy. “He’s getting better. Germany said it’s going to take some time though. Do you want to see him?”
There’s a pause on the other end. “No… I don’t want to come around unannounced. I-I just wanted to know that he’s getting looked after…,” she sniffs and Italy knows she’s crying.
“Don’t cry, Miss Hungary.”
“It’s all my fault, Italy – and what if Gil can’t look at me. I don’t know what I’d do. I don’t know how he can forgive me. I can’t forgive me.”
Italy swallows. “They’re both sleeping now,” Italy says. “If you want,
maybe I tell him you called. It wasn’t your fault, Miss Hungary. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. But Prussia would be happy someone like you is looking out for him.”
There’s a moment of silence. “Thanks Feliciano,” Miss Hungary’s tone is lighter now. “Tell them I wish them both well. I’ll send a fruit basket in the morning.”
“That will be nice, ve,” Italy smiles. He’s going well at solving problems today. “I have to get back to cooking. It was nice talking with you, Miss Hungary. See you soon!”
“Yeah, bye Feliciano.” The line goes dead. In the silent house, Italy goes back to his cooking.
Thank you for all the kind comments. I try to make the fic as respectful as I can, since no one wants to go through this sort of thing, but it does happen and there is a long road to recovery. Thankfully, though, it is possible to move on with life and not let the incident, or the persons, define you and your future. I'm glad you are all enjoying this fill! Look out for more soon. Also the title before should have said 2/5. I fail.