I know rape is treated as a kink, but I prefer the aftermath of the act and how it emotionally and physically effects not only the victim, but the friends/family around that person as well.
In the case of this fandom, I think the most interesting character for this would be Prussia, because he's one of the most self-confident, arrogant and fearless characters in the series. How would he react after something like that happening to him?
I'd prefer no pairings, just strong family/friendship bonds, particularly with his brother. You can throw in Spain, France, Hungary and/or Austria if you want since they are/were all close with Prussia.
Don't care if the assaulter's identity is unknown, or who the assaulter is, as long as it is a male.
Recovery stories are my fav and you're right fellow anon it doesn't get enough recognization. I've written a story like this before in a different non anime fandom and the character was a lot like Gilbert/Prussia. These types of characters are always interesting to explore when a great tragedy like a sexual assault happens to them. Right now I don't have time to write anything because I'm in the process of moving and getting my nursery set up since I'm due in a couple months and of course my normal 8-5 working schedule. I encourage someone else to fill this though and I'm going to be tracking this in hopes.
I really wish I could do a story like this justice, but I'm afraid to tackle the subject matter and do it justice. Maybe some other more talented anon than myself can? Please?
It must be almost two in the morning when Prussia finds himself face-down, on the ground in the alley behind a bar in North Berlin. He doesn’t know much, except that there’s a great throbbing that is travelling from his knees to his stomach and that his arms feel like they’re made of stone and he can’t move. He can’t breathe.
There are shadows moving far away on the main street, staggering shadows of drunken groups, of people, but they don’t see him. He’s pressed to the ground near a dumpster in a darkened alley in the early hours of the morning.
Something catches his eye just under the bottom of the dumpster – his mobile phone. With a grunt, Prussia peels himself from the ground and crawls toward it, wrapping his scratched, bloody fingers around the screen and typing through the pin-code.
He hopes Hungary is still inside. He hopes she’ll pick up. Otherwise he’s going to have to call his brother and he can’t bear the thought of Germany seeing him like this. No.
“Gil, where the fuck are you?” Hungary’s voice is a relief to his ears, even though it’s angry and demanding. “I’ve been waiting for forty five minutes!”
“H-Liz, I,” he stutters. His voice is tight and he can’t seem to find the words. “I need… help.”
“Where are you?”
“Out the back… of the bar, I think,” he breathes. “I just need you. I think I’ve been mugged – I don’t know what else.”
There’s no response on the phone. Prussia calls for Liz again when suddenly the back door of the bar opens a long way down towards the street.
“Where are you?” her voice is panicked; wet.
“Further up,” he rasps. He sees the silhouette of Hungary run to his side. He drops the phone and relaxes when she drops to his side. She’s crying when she gathers his head into her lap – she’s wearing a pretty dress and he’s quite sure that oozing feeling in his head is blood.
“Who did this to you?” she cries. She’s already calling someone else.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Don’t- Don’t call my brother.”
“I’m calling the paramedics,” she sniffs. “Just stay with me, alright? Don’t go to sleep.”
Prussia wonders how bad his injuries are. He can only feel the sharp ever-present throb. But he’s cold. Really cold. And it’s spring in Germany, so he didn’t bother taking a coat. Hungary does and she wraps it around his body. Since when had he begun to shake?
Hungary smooths back Prussia’s hair and sees the bloody welts on his forehead. His eyes are closing and she encourages them back open, making him look at her and only her and not anything else because the paramedics will be here soon and then you’ll be all right, Gilbert. He shakes in her arms. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. He’s not supposed to be like this, defeated and afraid.
“You’re going to get through this,” she says to him.
“How do you know?”
Hungary smiles. “You’re too awesome to let this get you down, Prussia.” His eyes roll back again. “Look at me! Gilbert, look at me!” There are sirens in the distance; he can hear them just over Hungary’s short demands. He takes her hand. He’s going to fall asleep. He’s so tired and it hurts so much.
“They’re almost here, Gilbert,” she says. “Just stay awake a little longer.”
And as the sirens approach and Prussia’s eyes close in her arms, Miss Hungary can’t help but think how all of this is her fault, and how she wished she’d never asked him to go drinking at this new place and that if she could travel back in time she’d do anything not to let this happen again - like call him ten minutes after he didn’t come back from the bathroom instead of getting upset that he was probably picking up a woman that wasn’t her. Hungary knew she was stupid. Stupid and foolish and the paramedics have arrived so she transfers her Prussia into their arms as they treat his injuries and load him into the ambulance. Hungary suddenly, mindless and numb, follows.
+ + + +
It’s four-thirty when Germany gets the call. His phone disturbs Italy as it rings on the bedroom stand. It’s a number he doesn’t know but he answers it anyway.
“It’s me Hungary. Ludwig?”
Germany, in his drowsy daze, takes a moment to register the voice on the other end. “Ja?”
“I’m sorry to have been calling you so late,” she says. “I-It’s Prussia. Something’s happened.”
Germany rolls out of bed and turns on the light. He remembers vaguely that Prussia had gone out for drinks, though his brother was a grown man – he could look after himself. Germany had gone to bed well before he knew his brother would be arriving home.
“He’s been discharged from the hospital. He’s at the police station in North Berlin – Prenzlauer Berg…,” Hungary’s voice is wet and shaken. “We were at a bar, and it was late and I thought he’d just gone to the toilet – and he got mugged…, and … and, the doctors think he was raped.”
“What?” cries Germany. Italy sit up in bed, blinking out his drowsiness – had something happened?
“Please, Ludwig, he needs you. Can you come down and pick us up?”
“Ja.” He is already pulling on his boots and doing up the fly of his pants. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
The German clicks off the phone and throws it on the bed.
“Something’s happened to Prussia,” he says gravely. “I have to go to the police station. They said he was mugged. And raped.”
“Prussia?” Italy squeaks. “Oh Ludwig, do you want me to come with you?”
“Ja,” he says rubbing his eyes. He isn’t thinking clearly. Italy embraces him as he stands up and sways. His brother? Attacked? Germany knows his brother, being the cocky loud-mouth he was, could get a little bit rowdy after having a few beers, and has come home boasting about how he’d taken on a gang, while having a swelling black eye, but not ever had Ludwig expected… Not ever had he thought…
“It’ll be all right, Ludwig,” says Italy. Suddenly the Italian is fully dressed. “Do you want me to drive? We’ll go and pick him up and bring him home. We’ll do everything we can for him.” Italy squeezes his partner’s hand. “Come on.”
Germany nods and goes downstairs. Italy calls back Miss Hungary to tell her they are on their way.
When asked later, Germany doesn’t remember much of the drive into Berlin. He only remembers, with a sharp memory, what followed directly after.
Hopefully this is a decent start! I love the family relationships, so will be focusing more on them in later chapters. I threw Hungary in there because I love Prussia and Hungary's relationship between loving and hating each other (even if it isn't romantically-orientated). This isn't human AU, by the way. Will post 2nd chapter soon!
Brilliant start, anon! The characterization is excellent and the premise has already got me hooked. I love family relationship fics, so I can't wait to see how this will develop. I'm already totally in love with this.
Germany arrives at the police station at almost five in the morning and is confronted by a police officer in his mid-thirties named Officer Schmidt.
“You’re the brother of Gilbert Beilschmidt?” he asks. Germany swallows thickly and nods. “We have some paperwork that needs to be filled out… and then-,”
“Can I see him?” he demands as the officer begins to talk. Behind him, Italy is in the waiting room. Germany sees Miss Hungary approach his partner and hug the Italian, before noticing himself. Hungary, whose face is contorted and red and puffy, gives a curt nod to Germany but doesn’t move to approach him.
“Yes, this way please,” Officer Schmidt leads Germany through the offices of the police station to the private office rooms. Prussia sits in the middle of the room on a long brown lounge, wrapped in a heavy hospital blanket. Germany swallowed thickly. It is definitely him.
“He’s been here for half-an-hour,” speaks the officer. “He received a severe concussion, scrapes and bruising. The kit came back positive, but… he doesn’t seem to remember much of it.”
Germany nods curtly. “T-Thank you.”
Germany, with shaking hands, opens the door to the room and steps in. The room is strangely warm. Prussia looked up from the lounge he was sitting on.
“Bruder…,” he whispers.
Germany comes to sit by his brother’s side on the lounge. He touches Prussia’s shoulder slowly and the man flinches a little. His hands are shaking where he clutches the shock blanket around his body.
“We’re going to take you home,” says Germany levelly. He feels his brother shake a little bit and sway and slowly gathers his sibling into his arms. Germany presses Prussia into his shoulder, wrapping his arms around his back and shoulders, and buries his nose into his white, matted hair and repeats to himself that he’ll never let anyone touch his brother, hurt his brother, like this ever again and he’ll hunt the dogs that did until their very last breath.
Prussia’s eyes shut and Germany registers a hot wetness seeping through his shirt as his brother shakes in his arms.
“Everything’s going to be all right now,” mutters Germany, though even he’s not sure he believes it. “We’re going to take you home. Is there anything you need?”
“I lost my wallet.”
“We can fix that later,” replies Germany. “That’s easy. Don't worry about that.” He sees something on the side table beside the lounge – packets of hospital prescription painkillers. Two pills have already been popped from the packaging.
Prussia shakes. “They say I was raped.”
“We don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want-,”
“I must have been…,” he mutters against his brother’s shirt. “I’m sore. I can barely move.”
Germany holds his brother for a while longer. He wants to ask his brother why he wasn’t called sooner, why Hungary hadn’t called him when he’d been admitted to hospital – or just… sooner, but somewhere deep inside, he knows his older brother and his mental complex is the answer. He’s the baby brother. He’s not supposed to be the responsible, reasonable one. He’s not supposed to be the one you call for help.
“Italy and Miss Hungary are in the waiting room,” says Germany. “Can…,” he swallows. “Can you walk, bruder.”
“Ja…,” Prussia peels himself away and makes a move to stand. Germany gathers his things – his torn jacket, his mobile phone with a cracked screen and his medications before helping to steer his hobbling brother out of the office. Officer Schmidt meets him again as Germany helps his brother into the waiting room. Italy and Hungary are waiting anxiously, and Prussia gives them a watery smile when he approaches.
“I have to do some paperwork,” says Ludwig. “It won’t take long, I promise. Then we’re going home.”
Hungary goes back to Prussia’s side as he sits down in the uncomfortable plastic chairs and stays by his side as they board into the car and go back to Germany’s home. Germany offers Miss Hungary a spare bedroom for the night when they arrive home at close to 6am – everyone is exhausted, but the morning will be long.
Hungary doesn’t want to leave Prussia as they help him to sit in the den and start the fire – at least, if anything, he may just stop shaking. Italy convinces her to give the brothers some space and so they go upstairs. Germany sits by his brother’s side and picks flecks of dirt from his hair.
“Bath?”
Prussia nods.
“Do you want me to…,” he can’t bring himself to say it. Prussia stares blankly into the distance, his eyes glazed over and a face like stone. Germany touches his hand. “I’m your bruder. Ich würde alles für dich tun.”
“I know…,” comes Prussia’s shallow reply. “Danke.”
They stumble into the bathroom.
“Do you want your pyjamas?” asks Germany. He takes the blanket from his brother. He realises he’s wearing torn, stained dark jeans, a dark black tank and a white shirt – well, Germany supposes it used to be white. His stomach churns at the site of his brother.
Prussia tenses up when Germany peels the white shirt from his brother’s shoulders and throws it into the corner. He begins to run a bath. Prussia looks at the white porcelain. He sees the clear, clean water filling up the tub – the water he’s only going to get terribly dirty. He’s shivering again. Germany sees the cuts along his bare arms – the scratches and bruising from the ground.
“Can you leave?” Prussia asks.
“You don’t want my help?” he asks. “Gil…I-,”
Prussia doesn’t reply. He doesn’t want his brother to see him like this – he can only imagine what’s under his clothes, and if it’s anything by what’s on his arms, he can’t bear for his brother to see it. And if the doctors are right and he has been -he can’t even say it- then it’s probably not very nice down there, and this isn’t his brother’s fault, it’s his fault and he shouldn’t have to put his Ludwig, his dear Ludwig through this and-,
“Just my pyjamas, please.”
Germany nods curtly and stands to his feet after grabbing Prussia’s shirt.
“If you need me, bruder-,” Germany’s voice trails.
“I know.”
He leaves the bathroom. Prussia is alone. Finally.
He looks at the water. It’s steaming. His button to his jeans – favourite pair, and he’d worn them because his ass looked fantastic in them, and he wanted to impress Hungary and fuck – is hanging by a threat and the zipper takes a moment to bring down. He kicks them off as sees the grazes, washed and bandaged on his shins and thighs. His underwear is stained. He’s a disgrace. Bruising along his ribs, a big graze on the side of his hip, bruises on his lower back… Prussia looks at himself in the mirror for a long time until it fogs up and he can’t torture himself with his own reflection anymore.
He feels something rise into his throat – the sickening taste of beer and bar peanuts, and his sore, beaten body lunges for the toilet. He makes it just with a second to spare. The taste of beer isn’t as nice coming back up. Against the latrine he shakes and gasps for air, completely wrecked.
+++++
Germany can’t sleep, even though daylight is creeping over the horizon. Italy is still up and is making tea in the kitchen. Germany’s holding Prussia’s pyjamas, listening to him vomit in the toilet, listening to the sick gagging noises and the spits and the gasps for air and he wishes he could do more for his brother, wishes he knew what else there was to do for him. He wished he could say something – anything- and it would all be alright, but that’s not the case and
“Drink your tea, Ludwig,” Italy interrupts his train of thought. He sees the tea and takes the cup. The taste doesn’t even register on his tongue. Italy sits beside his partner and takes his hand.
“He’ll be all right,” says Italy.
Germany doesn’t reply. Italy laces his fingers between Germany’s and sighs, leaning against his shoulder. His thumb brushes over Germany’s knuckles.
“It will be all right,” he sighs.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” says Germany eventually. He can hear Prussia in the bath now. There’s an occasional sloshing of water. “He didn’t want my help – I,” he shakes his head. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”
Italy hums. “Ve. Prussia’s proud, just like Germany,” he smiles and takes the half-drunken, now cold tea from Germany’s fingers. “We just help. There’s nothing we can say...”
“Ludwig!” Prussia cries from the bathroom. Germany bolts up.
“Ja? I’m here,” he’s about to go into the bathroom, but for some reason he holds back. “Can I come in?”
“I-I just want the pajamas. Can you leave them by the door?”
Germany shakes his head. “Of course.”
He leaves them and then walks away. Italy gives him a tight smile as he walks past again. The sun is streaming through the window into the lounge room by this point. Italy realises it’s going to be a long day.
Germany says to Prussia in German, "I would do anything for you" in case you wanted the translation. Thank you for the kind comments regarding this fill. Please look out for more in the coming days!
Wow, anon. Just... wow. You're doing a beautiful job with this. Prussia's reaction to what happened feels so natural for him, and it's totally breaking my heart. Same for Germany who is just so vulnerable and desperate to help. I'm totally loving this to bits!
Also, I didn't see this update posted to the fills list yet, so please don't forget to do that because I'd hate for this fantastic fill not to get the attention it deserves.
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.
Haunting and beautiful as always, anon. I really like how everyone's pain is coming across their actions instead of the narration pointing it out. This creates a much more powerful atmosphere, and I'm just aching for everyone to feel better soon, especially Prussia.
Ow, this is so sad :( I, too, really wish for everybody to feel better, but of course it takes time...Also, Author!Anon, I think your're being very respectful, given you're writing about delicate and difficult stuff. Keep up the good work!
I'm the OP of this prompt and I just now saw that this was filled! I thought for sure I was tracking it, but I guess I didn't set my alerts to go to my email. Sucks, because I have been missing out an absolutely AMAZING piece of writing! This was more than I could have ever asked for, it is so beautifully written. Not many people can treat this subject matter with the respect it deserves. I know this is a kink meme, but I've never been a fan of rape as a kink. These emotional aftermath stories are so much better due to the overall emotional and physiological impact the event has on the victim and their loved ones.
This is by far my favorite fill on this meme and I am so awe struck with your writing. I know it's not right for me to say, but one wouldn't expect to find this level of writing on a kink meme...and I am a fellow filler. I hope you know what I mean, because I certainly mean nothing rude about. This has been added to my email alerts now, so I'm hoping with the next update an alert will be sent to my email. I'll be checking back here periodically though in case my email alerts still aren't working.
Thank you so much for this fill and sorry for the late reply!
warning: alcohol abuse, attempted suicide, aftermath of rape.
Prussia receives the fruit basket from Liz, but he doesn't eat any of it. Germany watches the expensive tropical fruits go to waste in the basket, slowly rotting away. Eventually he throws it, and the nice cane basket out because it’s just such a terrible thing to look at all the time.
Prussia doesn’t want to go outside anymore. He stays in, with his brother mostly, watching mindless television, or sleeping – or sometimes both. Germany works from home, so it’s nice to always be there for his brother, although it’s a constant reminder of how terrible he’s doing. Germany has tried to organise just one meeting with the Councillor – maybe he can come to their place, where it’s safe and secure and no one will ever pressure him into doing something he doesn’t want to, but he just can’t keep these feelings bottled up and if he can’t talk to his own brother for shame or something, then maybe he can talk to a professional. Prussia doesn't want any of it though.
Italy comes and goes, although not as frequent as he has before. He’s been told to come only twice a week. Miss Hungary hasn’t come near Germany or rang since that afternoon. Germany and Italy know Miss Hungary and Prussia should speak, but they feel it won’t be for a long time.
Two weeks since the incident and Germany is in the office when Prussia enters with a small knock. Glasses slide down Germany’s nose and he acknowledges his brother with a small smile.
“Yes?”
Prussia hesitates for a moment.
“I… see you brought ingredients for Currywurst…,” he mutters by the door. He runs a hand through his white hair. “Maybe I can make it. You seem busy.”
“I’m not that busy, but ja, that would be nice,” says Germany. Then he adds for good measure, “I can’t get it to taste the way you can.” Usually he wouldn’t admit the small fault in his cooking to a normal egotistical self-absorbed everything is awesome Prussia, but this isn’t the same man he’s known all his life.
“… Great then. I’ll do it,” he says. “Italy’s not coming around tonight?”
Germany sighs and puts down his pen. “I wanted to talk to you about that.”
“I don’t mind him coming around-,” Prussia begins uneasily. “I like Italy…”
“It’s not that,” says Germany. “I have to go to Munich overnight tomorrow; I’m meeting with Switzerland. You’ll be alone. Do you want Italy to stay over? Would you feel comfortable with that? It’s just that I… I don’t want to leave you alone,” he hopes Prussia takes it in a way that doesn’t mean Germany doesn’t trust him; he does. He just wants to know someone is looking after him – in case of panic attacks (there have been a few), emergencies or nightmares (there have been a lot of those).
“… I think I can manage,” says Prussia eventually. Germany offers him a worrying look.
“Are you sure?” he says. “You’re not putting him out, or anything. Italy enjoys spending time with you.”
Prussia shakes his head. “I can cope. It’s one night. Please, I survived my entire childhood in the middle ages without Vati or you around.” He laughs at the memory. “You were just a ball of fat. What could you help me with?”
So Prussia goes to make the currywurst and it’s good – very good, and they eat at the table and Prussia sneaks his end of sausage to Blackie under the table and Germany pretends not to notice and it all seems normal. Then they shower, Germany finishes his paperwork, receives a call from Italy, then they go to bed. Prussia takes Blackie into his room lately, to sleep on the end of the bed. Sometimes Germany finds his cat, Germouser, on his bed, on what is usually Italy’s side. Germouser doesn’t like to cuddle as much as Italy, however.
The end of the week comes and Germany has to work away from home. They’ve had this conversation if Italy, or Spain or France want to come over for the weekend or the night, but yet again, it’s something he doesn’t want and doesn’t need. He’s maybe going to watch a movie. Sit with the dogs. He doesn’t want anyone. He doesn’t want to go out. He’ll probably take the phone off the hook, turn off his mobile phone and not go on Facebook.
So Germany leaves for Berlin after lunch on the Friday with a book full of meetings and things to do, and Prussia is left at home. It’s blissfully silent and the ex-nation sighs. The advantage of living in the country, away from people, he supposes is the blissful isolation that at this time, he truly relishes. Prussia takes the dogs for a walk. It’s normal and fine. He stays to the path. There’s no one around.
He returns to the empty house and lets the dogs into the house, but not on the furniture. He heats up an oven dinner. He puts on a DVD and eats. He even has a beer. It doesn’t taste different or funny, it tastes nice and he enjoys it and maybe this will all be all right and maybe he’ll get through this and the phone suddenly rings.
He looks at it from across the room. Darn. He’d thought he’d taken it off the hook.
It rings twice.
Maybe it’s his brother. Maybe something has happened.
It rings three times.
Maybe it’s Feli. He doesn’t want to pick up, really. It’s not that he doesn’t like Italy, he just doesn’t want to talk. To anyone. Really.
It rings a fourth time.
Maybe he should pick it up. What if it’s important.
What if it’s Hungary? What if Liz’s voice rings through the receiver and he remembers and falls back into where he was, into the comatose and he just can’t do it.
The ring falls dead into a voice message tone.
Bruder, Ludwig’s heavy voice is tinny on the speaker. Pick up. It’s just me. Just checking you’re all right. I’m in Berlin… there’s a silence. Prussia grabs the phone and clicks it on.
“Ja? I’m fine,” he says.
“Ah!” says Germany, surprised. “I’m glad. I just wanted to make sure.”
“I know,” replies Prussia. “I’m watching a film. I’m eating pizza… I had one of your beers. I hope that’s all right. From the bar fridge in the laundry.”
“It’s fine,” replies Germany. Prussia never asked for his forgiveness in the past, but his drinking habits becoming normal again seems like a good sign. “I’ll let you go, then. Have a good night.”
“You too, bruder.”
He clicks off the phone and puts it back on the receiver. Prussia presses play on the DVD. The cars whirl back into their expensive complex stunt performance and the actors begin firing weapons at each other. Prussia sip the beer. That warm feeling settles in his stomach. He feels his skin begin to prick.
+++++
It’s cold in Germany. Italy isn’t used to the cold, and so has the car heater on and a jacket. The road is slippery and he’s glad he didn’t take his Vespa to Germany’s house like he has sometimes, or his yellow Ferrari. His red fiat handles the terrain a little well.
When Italy gets to Germany’s house, it’s dark. The dogs bark and the porch light, motion sensored, flickers to life. He unlocks the door and steps in. He knows this is wrong and maybe a little bad, but Germany had asked him and he loved Prussia and he was only going to check and then he was going to go home –and that was it!
Italy pads into the den where a fire is smouldering in the hearth. It’s warm inside and smells of cheap pizza. The credits of a movie are playing – a poor b-grade action that seems just so Prussia. Littered around are empty beer bottles, but other than that, the house is silent.
“Ciao, Prussia, it’s me, Feliciano! Are you around?” he calls, taking off his scarf and coat and hanging it on the stand by the door.
There’s no answer and Italy closes the door behind him and goes to turn off the television. Maybe he’s sleeping. He checks the guest bedroom by the study (Prussia sleeps there now, because the basement has bad connotations and there’s just a trap door and furniture could fall and he’d be trapped and why hadn’t that been an issue before?). He’s not there, however, and Italy calls again.
“I know Ludwig said no one would come around, but I just wanted to check on you,” he says. “I’m not staying. Are you around? Gilbert?”
He comes to the kitchen and the dining room. There’s a clunking sound and the light is on and flickering. Italy rounds the corner and there is Prussia, on the ground. Bottles of beer and whisky litter the floor and he’s just staring – staring at something or a tile or something, Italy doesn’t know, but he rushes to his side but doesn’t touch him. Doesn’t dare attempt to touch him.
“Gilbert, it’s me, Feliciano,” Italy says patiently. “Can you look at me? What have you done?”
Prussia remains motionless for a moment before his eyes roll towards Italy – red like blood – and he says, “Fuck. Is West here?” he attempts to move, but can’t and falls again. “Is he back? Fuck. Fuck.”
Italy shakes his head. “No, it’s all right; it’s just me, Feliciano. I just came to check on you.” Italy spies a packet of sleeping tablets on the floor. A lot of them have been popped. “Have you been taking these, Gil?” he picks up the packet and pockets them.
Prussia doesn’t reply. He just stares for a moment longer.
“How many did you take? A lot? Just now?”
He shrugs a little.
“You can’t take these with alcohol,” he tries not to berate him, not to get mad, but he’s frustrated and angry. Because he’ll hate himself if something happened to Prussia, and Germany would hate himself, and he really loves Prussia and why did this shit have to happen to them and - ,
“I know,” replies Prussia. “But I did.”
Italy blinks back hot, angry tears.
Prussia rolls his eyes towards Italy. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles with a slur. “Don’t tell my brother…,” Italy nods. “I didn’t want to feel anymore. It’s hard to die. For us. When I was dissolved, I tried a lot. A lot of different ways,” he licks his dry lips and Italy almost doesn’t want to hear anymore. “I wanted it to be over – why was I kept alive?” He shook his head. “Guns, pills, long drops, short drops, none of them worked.” He sighs and picks up a bottle of whiskey, almost empty. The alcohol sloshes in the bottle.
“Why?” Italy has to ask. “And leave your brother alone? Leave all your friends? Ludwig and me and Miss Hungary and Spain and France?” He touches Prussia then, on the shoulder. He doesn’t flinch away, though Italy suspects it’s because he can’t feel anything, really, with all the sleeping tablets and the alcohol.
“Selfish,” Prussia agrees and then doesn’t say anything for a long, long while. Italy knows he won’t be going back home tonight.
After a long time, Italy says, “I won’t tell Ludwig about his,” he says shallowly. Prussia attempts to stand and Italy helps him very carefully, holding his tall, lean frame around the arms and shoulders. They stumble into the guest bedroom. Gilbert collapses on the bed and Italy pants. He only downs one glass of water per Italy’s request before his head collides with the pillow and he’s asleep and Italy is left in the wake of it all – in the messy apartment, in the grief and the guilt and the lies he’ll have to hide from his partner about his dearest brother. Italy wonders if he can do it, keep his promise to Prussia – for a moment he has serious doubts. Still, he knows that in the morning, Prussia won’t want physical recollections of the first night he’d spent alone, trying to will away the hauntings of his demons.
++++
The next morning, Germany’s house is clean. Prussia rises with a terrible hangover around 11am, and Italy, wordlessly, makes him a greasy breakfast and puts on a pot of coffee.
Eventually, when the situation becomes too heavy and awkward, Prussia says,
“Thank you, Feli.”
For a second, with Italy’s back to Prussia, the nation doesn’t reply.
“I meant what I said,” says Italy, plating up more bacon. “I won’t tell Ludwig.”
“Danke.”
“On one condition.”
Prussia tenses up. Italy watches with a stone face. The Prussian doesn’t like to be cornered up, and Italy knows he shouldn’t be doing this, that all the books and the websites told him to be considerate and give people time, but he just can’t let this suffering get prolonged.
“You need to speak to someone, Gilbert,” he says almost fearlessly. “You’re hurting people trying to help you. It killed me. I’ll keep this from Ludwig. It’ll be between us, if you do that.”
There’s something behind Prussia’s eyes, hard-resilience and determination and maybe a little bit of betrayal and some hate, but then it melts, melts like ice on the dune and there is an understanding. Prussia nods slowly.
The coffee maker stops running.
Thank you to all those kind comments on this fill! The next chapter will be the final and should be uploaded within the next couple of days. Again, your thoughts on this chapter are always appreciated. I realised I was dealing with some pretty hard-hitting things, but have been through the emotional turmoil that comes with mentally ill friends. Italy and Germany want to help, but they're not sure how. Not even Prussia's sure how he can be helped. Anyway, thank you very much for reading, guys!
Wanna just reach through my computer screen and hug both Gil and Feliciano! You are truly an amazing writer to be able to convey such deep emotion and handle such delicate subjects with such care and respect. I thank you so very much!
Oh, anon, this is amazing! I'm really enjoying this fic (and I never read this kind of thing, so it means a lot). I hope you're still planning to provide a final fill for this because it's really perfect and I'd love to read the rest. Thank you so much for writing this!
I hope there's an end to this still! I'm the OP and I haven't gotten any alerts that this has been updated. There's another of my fills I'm missing out on because of that issue as well. I have both stories on alert but don't receive any notifications like I used to with my paid LJ account. Still, I absolutely love this, just love this. I have received more than I could have ever hoped for with my prompt. Thank you for filling it so wonderfully and I'm sorry I haven't been able to give you the gratitude you deserve.
I still hope you're planning on posting your last part?
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Prussia - Rape Recovery
(Anonymous) 2013-06-16 03:33 am (UTC)(link)In the case of this fandom, I think the most interesting character for this would be Prussia, because he's one of the most self-confident, arrogant and fearless characters in the series. How would he react after something like that happening to him?
I'd prefer no pairings, just strong family/friendship bonds, particularly with his brother. You can throw in Spain, France, Hungary and/or Austria if you want since they are/were all close with Prussia.
Don't care if the assaulter's identity is unknown, or who the assaulter is, as long as it is a male.
Re: Prussia - Rape Recovery
(Anonymous) 2013-06-16 05:29 am (UTC)(link)+1,000,000,000
Re: Prussia - Rape Recovery
(Anonymous) 2013-06-16 05:48 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Prussia - Rape Recovery
(Anonymous) 2013-06-16 06:33 pm (UTC)(link)months and of course my normal 8-5 working schedule. I encourage someone else to fill this though and I'm going to be tracking this in hopes.
Re: Prussia - Rape Recovery
(Anonymous) 2013-06-17 03:35 pm (UTC)(link)Sucker Punch 1/5
(Anonymous) 2013-07-26 07:51 am (UTC)(link)It must be almost two in the morning when Prussia finds himself face-down, on the ground in the alley behind a bar in North Berlin. He doesn’t know much, except that there’s a great throbbing that is travelling from his knees to his stomach and that his arms feel like they’re made of stone and he can’t move. He can’t breathe.
There are shadows moving far away on the main street, staggering shadows of drunken groups, of people, but they don’t see him. He’s pressed to the ground near a dumpster in a darkened alley in the early hours of the morning.
Something catches his eye just under the bottom of the dumpster – his mobile phone. With a grunt, Prussia peels himself from the ground and crawls toward it, wrapping his scratched, bloody fingers around the screen and typing through the pin-code.
He hopes Hungary is still inside. He hopes she’ll pick up. Otherwise he’s going to have to call his brother and he can’t bear the thought of Germany seeing him like this. No.
“Gil, where the fuck are you?” Hungary’s voice is a relief to his ears, even though it’s angry and demanding. “I’ve been waiting for forty five minutes!”
“H-Liz, I,” he stutters. His voice is tight and he can’t seem to find the words. “I need… help.”
“Where are you?”
“Out the back… of the bar, I think,” he breathes. “I just need you. I think I’ve been mugged – I don’t know what else.”
There’s no response on the phone. Prussia calls for Liz again when suddenly the back door of the bar opens a long way down towards the street.
“Where are you?” her voice is panicked; wet.
“Further up,” he rasps. He sees the silhouette of Hungary run to his side.
He drops the phone and relaxes when she drops to his side. She’s crying when she gathers his head into her lap – she’s wearing a pretty dress and he’s quite sure that oozing feeling in his head is blood.
“Who did this to you?” she cries. She’s already calling someone else.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Don’t- Don’t call my brother.”
“I’m calling the paramedics,” she sniffs. “Just stay with me, alright? Don’t go to sleep.”
Prussia wonders how bad his injuries are. He can only feel the sharp ever-present throb. But he’s cold. Really cold. And it’s spring in Germany, so he didn’t bother taking a coat. Hungary does and she wraps it around his body. Since when had he begun to shake?
Hungary smooths back Prussia’s hair and sees the bloody welts on his forehead. His eyes are closing and she encourages them back open, making him look at her and only her and not anything else because the paramedics will be here soon and then you’ll be all right, Gilbert. He shakes in her arms. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. He’s not supposed to be like this, defeated and afraid.
“You’re going to get through this,” she says to him.
“How do you know?”
Hungary smiles. “You’re too awesome to let this get you down, Prussia.” His eyes roll back again. “Look at me! Gilbert, look at me!”
There are sirens in the distance; he can hear them just over Hungary’s short demands. He takes her hand. He’s going to fall asleep. He’s so tired and it hurts so much.
“They’re almost here, Gilbert,” she says. “Just stay awake a little longer.”
And as the sirens approach and Prussia’s eyes close in her arms, Miss Hungary can’t help but think how all of this is her fault, and how she wished she’d never asked him to go drinking at this new place and that if she could travel back in time she’d do anything not to let this happen again - like call him ten minutes after he didn’t come back from the bathroom instead of getting upset that he was probably picking up a woman that wasn’t her. Hungary knew she was stupid. Stupid and foolish and the paramedics have arrived so she transfers her Prussia into their arms as they treat his injuries and load him into the ambulance. Hungary suddenly, mindless and numb, follows.
+ + + +
It’s four-thirty when Germany gets the call. His phone disturbs Italy as it rings on the bedroom stand. It’s a number he doesn’t know but he answers it anyway.
“It’s me Hungary. Ludwig?”
Germany, in his drowsy daze, takes a moment to register the voice on the other end. “Ja?”
“I’m sorry to have been calling you so late,” she says. “I-It’s Prussia. Something’s happened.”
Germany rolls out of bed and turns on the light. He remembers vaguely that Prussia had gone out for drinks, though his brother was a grown man – he could look after himself. Germany had gone to bed well before he knew his brother would be arriving home.
“He’s been discharged from the hospital. He’s at the police station in North Berlin – Prenzlauer Berg…,” Hungary’s voice is wet and shaken. “We were at a bar, and it was late and I thought he’d just gone to the toilet – and he got mugged…, and … and, the doctors think he was raped.”
“What?” cries Germany. Italy sit up in bed, blinking out his drowsiness – had something happened?
“Please, Ludwig, he needs you. Can you come down and pick us up?”
“Ja.” He is already pulling on his boots and doing up the fly of his pants. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
The German clicks off the phone and throws it on the bed.
“Something’s happened to Prussia,” he says gravely. “I have to go to the police station. They said he was mugged. And raped.”
“Prussia?” Italy squeaks. “Oh Ludwig, do you want me to come with you?”
“Ja,” he says rubbing his eyes. He isn’t thinking clearly. Italy embraces him as he stands up and sways. His brother? Attacked? Germany knows his brother, being the cocky loud-mouth he was, could get a little bit rowdy after having a few beers, and has come home boasting about how he’d taken on a gang, while having a swelling black eye, but not ever had Ludwig expected… Not ever had he thought…
“It’ll be all right, Ludwig,” says Italy. Suddenly the Italian is fully dressed. “Do you want me to drive? We’ll go and pick him up and bring him home. We’ll do everything we can for him.” Italy squeezes his partner’s hand. “Come on.”
Germany nods and goes downstairs. Italy calls back Miss Hungary to tell her they are on their way.
When asked later, Germany doesn’t remember much of the drive into Berlin. He only remembers, with a sharp memory, what followed directly after.
Hopefully this is a decent start! I love the family relationships, so will be focusing more on them in later chapters. I threw Hungary in there because I love Prussia and Hungary's relationship between loving and hating each other (even if it isn't romantically-orientated). This isn't human AU, by the way. Will post 2nd chapter soon!
Re: Sucker Punch 1/5
(Anonymous) 2013-07-26 09:19 am (UTC)(link)Re: Sucker Punch 1/5
(Anonymous) 2013-07-26 09:57 am (UTC)(link)Re: Sucker Punch 1/5
(Anonymous) 2013-07-26 11:50 am (UTC)(link)Re: Sucker Punch 1/5
(Anonymous) 2013-07-26 12:51 pm (UTC)(link)Germany arrives at the police station at almost five in the morning and is confronted by a police officer in his mid-thirties named Officer Schmidt.
“You’re the brother of Gilbert Beilschmidt?” he asks. Germany swallows thickly and nods. “We have some paperwork that needs to be filled out… and then-,”
“Can I see him?” he demands as the officer begins to talk. Behind him, Italy is in the waiting room. Germany sees Miss Hungary approach his partner and hug the Italian, before noticing himself. Hungary, whose face is contorted and red and puffy, gives a curt nod to Germany but doesn’t move to approach him.
“Yes, this way please,” Officer Schmidt leads Germany through the offices of the police station to the private office rooms. Prussia sits in the middle of the room on a long brown lounge, wrapped in a heavy hospital blanket. Germany swallowed thickly. It is definitely him.
“He’s been here for half-an-hour,” speaks the officer. “He received a severe concussion, scrapes and bruising. The kit came back positive, but… he doesn’t seem to remember much of it.”
Germany nods curtly. “T-Thank you.”
Germany, with shaking hands, opens the door to the room and steps in. The room is strangely warm. Prussia looked up from the lounge he was sitting on.
“Bruder…,” he whispers.
Germany comes to sit by his brother’s side on the lounge. He touches Prussia’s shoulder slowly and the man flinches a little. His hands are shaking where he clutches the shock blanket around his body.
“We’re going to take you home,” says Germany levelly. He feels his brother shake a little bit and sway and slowly gathers his sibling into his arms. Germany presses Prussia into his shoulder, wrapping his arms around his back and shoulders, and buries his nose into his white, matted hair and repeats to himself that he’ll never let anyone touch his brother, hurt his brother, like this ever again and he’ll hunt the dogs that did until their very last breath.
Prussia’s eyes shut and Germany registers a hot wetness seeping through his shirt as his brother shakes in his arms.
“Everything’s going to be all right now,” mutters Germany, though even he’s not sure he believes it. “We’re going to take you home. Is there anything you need?”
“I lost my wallet.”
“We can fix that later,” replies Germany. “That’s easy. Don't worry about that.” He sees something on the side table beside the lounge – packets of hospital prescription painkillers. Two pills have already been popped from the packaging.
Prussia shakes. “They say I was raped.”
“We don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want-,”
“I must have been…,” he mutters against his brother’s shirt. “I’m sore. I can barely move.”
Germany holds his brother for a while longer. He wants to ask his brother why he wasn’t called sooner, why Hungary hadn’t called him when he’d been admitted to hospital – or just… sooner, but somewhere deep inside, he knows his older brother and his mental complex is the answer. He’s the baby brother. He’s not supposed to be the responsible, reasonable one. He’s not supposed to be the one you call for help.
“Italy and Miss Hungary are in the waiting room,” says Germany. “Can…,” he swallows. “Can you walk, bruder.”
“Ja…,” Prussia peels himself away and makes a move to stand. Germany gathers his things – his torn jacket, his mobile phone with a cracked screen and his medications before helping to steer his hobbling brother out of the office. Officer Schmidt meets him again as Germany helps his brother into the waiting room. Italy and Hungary are waiting anxiously, and Prussia gives them a watery smile when he approaches.
“I have to do some paperwork,” says Ludwig. “It won’t take long, I promise. Then we’re going home.”
Hungary goes back to Prussia’s side as he sits down in the uncomfortable plastic chairs and stays by his side as they board into the car and go back to Germany’s home. Germany offers Miss Hungary a spare bedroom for the night when they arrive home at close to 6am – everyone is exhausted, but the morning will be long.
Hungary doesn’t want to leave Prussia as they help him to sit in the den and start the fire – at least, if anything, he may just stop shaking. Italy convinces her to give the brothers some space and so they go upstairs.
Germany sits by his brother’s side and picks flecks of dirt from his hair.
“Bath?”
Prussia nods.
“Do you want me to…,” he can’t bring himself to say it. Prussia stares blankly into the distance, his eyes glazed over and a face like stone. Germany touches his hand. “I’m your bruder. Ich würde alles für dich tun.”
“I know…,” comes Prussia’s shallow reply. “Danke.”
They stumble into the bathroom.
“Do you want your pyjamas?” asks Germany. He takes the blanket from his brother. He realises he’s wearing torn, stained dark jeans, a dark black tank and a white shirt – well, Germany supposes it used to be white. His stomach churns at the site of his brother.
Prussia tenses up when Germany peels the white shirt from his brother’s shoulders and throws it into the corner. He begins to run a bath. Prussia looks at the white porcelain. He sees the clear, clean water filling up the tub – the water he’s only going to get terribly dirty. He’s shivering again. Germany sees the cuts along his bare arms – the scratches and bruising from the ground.
“Can you leave?” Prussia asks.
“You don’t want my help?” he asks. “Gil…I-,”
Prussia doesn’t reply. He doesn’t want his brother to see him like this – he can only imagine what’s under his clothes, and if it’s anything by what’s on his arms, he can’t bear for his brother to see it. And if the doctors are right and he has been -he can’t even say it- then it’s probably not very nice down there, and this isn’t his brother’s fault, it’s his fault and he shouldn’t have to put his Ludwig, his dear Ludwig through this and-,
“Just my pyjamas, please.”
Germany nods curtly and stands to his feet after grabbing Prussia’s shirt.
“If you need me, bruder-,” Germany’s voice trails.
“I know.”
He leaves the bathroom. Prussia is alone. Finally.
He looks at the water. It’s steaming. His button to his jeans – favourite pair, and he’d worn them because his ass looked fantastic in them, and he wanted to impress Hungary and fuck – is hanging by a threat and the zipper takes a moment to bring down. He kicks them off as sees the grazes, washed and bandaged on his shins and thighs. His underwear is stained. He’s a disgrace. Bruising along his ribs, a big graze on the side of his hip, bruises on his lower back… Prussia looks at himself in the mirror for a long time until it fogs up and he can’t torture himself with his own reflection anymore.
He feels something rise into his throat – the sickening taste of beer and bar peanuts, and his sore, beaten body lunges for the toilet. He makes it just with a second to spare. The taste of beer isn’t as nice coming back up. Against the latrine he shakes and gasps for air, completely wrecked.
+++++
Germany can’t sleep, even though daylight is creeping over the horizon. Italy is still up and is making tea in the kitchen. Germany’s holding Prussia’s pyjamas, listening to him vomit in the toilet, listening to the sick gagging noises and the spits and the gasps for air and he wishes he could do more for his brother, wishes he knew what else there was to do for him. He wished he could say something – anything- and it would all be alright, but that’s not the case and
“Drink your tea, Ludwig,” Italy interrupts his train of thought. He sees the tea and takes the cup. The taste doesn’t even register on his tongue.
Italy sits beside his partner and takes his hand.
“He’ll be all right,” says Italy.
Germany doesn’t reply. Italy laces his fingers between Germany’s and sighs, leaning against his shoulder. His thumb brushes over Germany’s knuckles.
“It will be all right,” he sighs.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” says Germany eventually. He can hear Prussia in the bath now. There’s an occasional sloshing of water. “He didn’t want my help – I,” he shakes his head. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”
Italy hums. “Ve. Prussia’s proud, just like Germany,” he smiles and takes the half-drunken, now cold tea from Germany’s fingers. “We just help. There’s nothing we can say...”
“Ludwig!” Prussia cries from the bathroom. Germany bolts up.
“Ja? I’m here,” he’s about to go into the bathroom, but for some reason he holds back. “Can I come in?”
“I-I just want the pajamas. Can you leave them by the door?”
Germany shakes his head. “Of course.”
He leaves them and then walks away. Italy gives him a tight smile as he walks past again. The sun is streaming through the window into the lounge room by this point. Italy realises it’s going to be a long day.
Germany says to Prussia in German, "I would do anything for you" in case you wanted the translation. Thank you for the kind comments regarding this fill. Please look out for more in the coming days!
Re: Sucker Punch 1/5
(Anonymous) 2013-07-26 01:11 pm (UTC)(link)Also, I didn't see this update posted to the fills list yet, so please don't forget to do that because I'd hate for this fantastic fill not to get the attention it deserves.
Re: Sucker Punch 1/5
(Anonymous) 2013-07-26 01:49 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Sucker Punch 3/5
(Anonymous) 2013-07-29 04:27 pm (UTC)(link)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
(Anonymous) 2013-07-30 07:21 am (UTC)(link)Re: Sucker Punch 3/5
(Anonymous) 2013-07-31 01:41 pm (UTC)(link)Keep up the good work!
Re: Sucker Punch 3/5
(Anonymous) 2013-08-09 05:34 am (UTC)(link)This is by far my favorite fill on this meme and I am so awe struck with your writing. I know it's not right for me to say, but one wouldn't expect to find this level of writing on a kink meme...and I am a fellow filler. I hope you know what I mean, because I certainly mean nothing rude about. This has been added to my email alerts now, so I'm hoping with the next update an alert will be sent to my email. I'll be checking back here periodically though in case my email alerts still aren't working.
Thank you so much for this fill and sorry for the late reply!
Re: Sucker Punch 4/5
(Anonymous) 2013-08-11 03:11 pm (UTC)(link)warning: alcohol abuse, attempted suicide, aftermath of rape.
Prussia receives the fruit basket from Liz, but he doesn't eat any of it. Germany watches the expensive tropical fruits go to waste in the basket, slowly rotting away. Eventually he throws it, and the nice cane basket out because it’s just such a terrible thing to look at all the time.
Prussia doesn’t want to go outside anymore. He stays in, with his brother mostly, watching mindless television, or sleeping – or sometimes both. Germany works from home, so it’s nice to always be there for his brother, although it’s a constant reminder of how terrible he’s doing. Germany has tried to organise just one meeting with the Councillor – maybe he can come to their place, where it’s safe and secure and no one will ever pressure him into doing something he doesn’t want to, but he just can’t keep these feelings bottled up and if he can’t talk to his own brother for shame or something, then maybe he can talk to a professional. Prussia doesn't want any of it though.
Italy comes and goes, although not as frequent as he has before. He’s been told to come only twice a week. Miss Hungary hasn’t come near Germany or rang since that afternoon. Germany and Italy know Miss Hungary and Prussia should speak, but they feel it won’t be for a long time.
Two weeks since the incident and Germany is in the office when Prussia enters with a small knock. Glasses slide down Germany’s nose and he acknowledges his brother with a small smile.
“Yes?”
Prussia hesitates for a moment.
“I… see you brought ingredients for Currywurst…,” he mutters by the door. He runs a hand through his white hair. “Maybe I can make it. You seem busy.”
“I’m not that busy, but ja, that would be nice,” says Germany. Then he adds for good measure, “I can’t get it to taste the way you can.” Usually he wouldn’t admit the small fault in his cooking to a normal egotistical self-absorbed everything is awesome Prussia, but this isn’t the same man he’s known all his life.
“… Great then. I’ll do it,” he says. “Italy’s not coming around tonight?”
Germany sighs and puts down his pen. “I wanted to talk to you about that.”
“I don’t mind him coming around-,” Prussia begins uneasily. “I like Italy…”
“It’s not that,” says Germany. “I have to go to Munich overnight tomorrow; I’m meeting with Switzerland. You’ll be alone. Do you want Italy to stay over? Would you feel comfortable with that? It’s just that I… I don’t want to leave you alone,” he hopes Prussia takes it in a way that doesn’t mean Germany doesn’t trust him; he does. He just wants to know someone is looking after him – in case of panic attacks (there have been a few), emergencies or nightmares (there have been a lot of those).
“… I think I can manage,” says Prussia eventually. Germany offers him a worrying look.
“Are you sure?” he says. “You’re not putting him out, or anything. Italy enjoys spending time with you.”
Prussia shakes his head. “I can cope. It’s one night. Please, I survived my entire childhood in the middle ages without Vati or you around.” He laughs at the memory. “You were just a ball of fat. What could you help me with?”
So Prussia goes to make the currywurst and it’s good – very good, and they eat at the table and Prussia sneaks his end of sausage to Blackie under the table and Germany pretends not to notice and it all seems normal. Then they shower, Germany finishes his paperwork, receives a call from Italy, then they go to bed. Prussia takes Blackie into his room lately, to sleep on the end of the bed. Sometimes Germany finds his cat, Germouser, on his bed, on what is usually Italy’s side. Germouser doesn’t like to cuddle as much as Italy, however.
The end of the week comes and Germany has to work away from home. They’ve had this conversation if Italy, or Spain or France want to come over for the weekend or the night, but yet again, it’s something he doesn’t want and doesn’t need. He’s maybe going to watch a movie. Sit with the dogs. He doesn’t want anyone. He doesn’t want to go out. He’ll probably take the phone off the hook, turn off his mobile phone and not go on Facebook.
So Germany leaves for Berlin after lunch on the Friday with a book full of meetings and things to do, and Prussia is left at home. It’s blissfully silent and the ex-nation sighs. The advantage of living in the country, away from people, he supposes is the blissful isolation that at this time, he truly relishes. Prussia takes the dogs for a walk. It’s normal and fine. He stays to the path. There’s no one around.
He returns to the empty house and lets the dogs into the house, but not on the furniture. He heats up an oven dinner. He puts on a DVD and eats. He even has a beer. It doesn’t taste different or funny, it tastes nice and he enjoys it and maybe this will all be all right and maybe he’ll get through this and the phone suddenly rings.
He looks at it from across the room. Darn. He’d thought he’d taken it off the hook.
It rings twice.
Maybe it’s his brother. Maybe something has happened.
It rings three times.
Maybe it’s Feli. He doesn’t want to pick up, really. It’s not that he doesn’t like Italy, he just doesn’t want to talk. To anyone. Really.
It rings a fourth time.
Maybe he should pick it up. What if it’s important.
What if it’s Hungary? What if Liz’s voice rings through the receiver and he remembers and falls back into where he was, into the comatose and he just can’t do it.
The ring falls dead into a voice message tone.
Bruder, Ludwig’s heavy voice is tinny on the speaker. Pick up. It’s just me. Just checking you’re all right. I’m in Berlin… there’s a silence. Prussia grabs the phone and clicks it on.
“Ja? I’m fine,” he says.
“Ah!” says Germany, surprised. “I’m glad. I just wanted to make sure.”
“I know,” replies Prussia. “I’m watching a film. I’m eating pizza… I had one of your beers. I hope that’s all right. From the bar fridge in the laundry.”
“It’s fine,” replies Germany. Prussia never asked for his forgiveness in the past, but his drinking habits becoming normal again seems like a good sign. “I’ll let you go, then. Have a good night.”
“You too, bruder.”
He clicks off the phone and puts it back on the receiver. Prussia presses play on the DVD. The cars whirl back into their expensive complex stunt performance and the actors begin firing weapons at each other. Prussia sip the beer. That warm feeling settles in his stomach. He feels his skin begin to prick.
+++++
It’s cold in Germany. Italy isn’t used to the cold, and so has the car heater on and a jacket. The road is slippery and he’s glad he didn’t take his Vespa to Germany’s house like he has sometimes, or his yellow Ferrari. His red fiat handles the terrain a little well.
When Italy gets to Germany’s house, it’s dark. The dogs bark and the porch light, motion sensored, flickers to life. He unlocks the door and steps in. He knows this is wrong and maybe a little bad, but Germany had asked him and he loved Prussia and he was only going to check and then he was going to go home –and that was it!
Italy pads into the den where a fire is smouldering in the hearth. It’s warm inside and smells of cheap pizza. The credits of a movie are playing – a poor b-grade action that seems just so Prussia. Littered around are empty beer bottles, but other than that, the house is silent.
“Ciao, Prussia, it’s me, Feliciano! Are you around?” he calls, taking off his scarf and coat and hanging it on the stand by the door.
There’s no answer and Italy closes the door behind him and goes to turn off the television. Maybe he’s sleeping. He checks the guest bedroom by the study (Prussia sleeps there now, because the basement has bad connotations and there’s just a trap door and furniture could fall and he’d be trapped and why hadn’t that been an issue before?). He’s not there, however, and Italy calls again.
“I know Ludwig said no one would come around, but I just wanted to check on you,” he says. “I’m not staying. Are you around? Gilbert?”
He comes to the kitchen and the dining room. There’s a clunking sound and the light is on and flickering. Italy rounds the corner and there is Prussia, on the ground. Bottles of beer and whisky litter the floor and he’s just staring – staring at something or a tile or something, Italy doesn’t know, but he rushes to his side but doesn’t touch him. Doesn’t dare attempt to touch him.
“Gilbert, it’s me, Feliciano,” Italy says patiently. “Can you look at me? What have you done?”
Prussia remains motionless for a moment before his eyes roll towards Italy – red like blood – and he says, “Fuck. Is West here?” he attempts to move, but can’t and falls again. “Is he back? Fuck. Fuck.”
Italy shakes his head. “No, it’s all right; it’s just me, Feliciano. I just came to check on you.” Italy spies a packet of sleeping tablets on the floor. A lot of them have been popped. “Have you been taking these, Gil?” he picks up the packet and pockets them.
Prussia doesn’t reply. He just stares for a moment longer.
“How many did you take? A lot? Just now?”
He shrugs a little.
“You can’t take these with alcohol,” he tries not to berate him, not to get mad, but he’s frustrated and angry. Because he’ll hate himself if something happened to Prussia, and Germany would hate himself, and he really loves Prussia and why did this shit have to happen to them and - ,
“I know,” replies Prussia. “But I did.”
Italy blinks back hot, angry tears.
Prussia rolls his eyes towards Italy. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles with a slur. “Don’t tell my brother…,” Italy nods. “I didn’t want to feel anymore. It’s hard to die. For us. When I was dissolved, I tried a lot. A lot of different ways,” he licks his dry lips and Italy almost doesn’t want to hear anymore. “I wanted it to be over – why was I kept alive?” He shook his head. “Guns, pills, long drops, short drops, none of them worked.” He sighs and picks up a bottle of whiskey, almost empty. The alcohol sloshes in the bottle.
“Why?” Italy has to ask. “And leave your brother alone? Leave all your friends? Ludwig and me and Miss Hungary and Spain and France?” He touches Prussia then, on the shoulder. He doesn’t flinch away, though Italy suspects it’s because he can’t feel anything, really, with all the sleeping tablets and the alcohol.
“Selfish,” Prussia agrees and then doesn’t say anything for a long, long while. Italy knows he won’t be going back home tonight.
After a long time, Italy says, “I won’t tell Ludwig about his,” he says shallowly. Prussia attempts to stand and Italy helps him very carefully, holding his tall, lean frame around the arms and shoulders. They stumble into the guest bedroom. Gilbert collapses on the bed and Italy pants. He only downs one glass of water per Italy’s request before his head collides with the pillow and he’s asleep and Italy is left in the wake of it all – in the messy apartment, in the grief and the guilt and the lies he’ll have to hide from his partner about his dearest brother. Italy wonders if he can do it, keep his promise to Prussia – for a moment he has serious doubts. Still, he knows that in the morning, Prussia won’t want physical recollections of the first night he’d spent alone, trying to will away the hauntings of his demons.
++++
The next morning, Germany’s house is clean. Prussia rises with a terrible hangover around 11am, and Italy, wordlessly, makes him a greasy breakfast and puts on a pot of coffee.
Eventually, when the situation becomes too heavy and awkward, Prussia says,
“Thank you, Feli.”
For a second, with Italy’s back to Prussia, the nation doesn’t reply.
“I meant what I said,” says Italy, plating up more bacon. “I won’t tell Ludwig.”
“Danke.”
“On one condition.”
Prussia tenses up. Italy watches with a stone face. The Prussian doesn’t like to be cornered up, and Italy knows he shouldn’t be doing this, that all the books and the websites told him to be considerate and give people time, but he just can’t let this suffering get prolonged.
“You need to speak to someone, Gilbert,” he says almost fearlessly. “You’re hurting people trying to help you. It killed me. I’ll keep this from Ludwig. It’ll be between us, if you do that.”
There’s something behind Prussia’s eyes, hard-resilience and determination and maybe a little bit of betrayal and some hate, but then it melts, melts like ice on the dune and there is an understanding. Prussia nods slowly.
The coffee maker stops running.
Thank you to all those kind comments on this fill! The next chapter will be the final and should be uploaded within the next couple of days. Again, your thoughts on this chapter are always appreciated. I realised I was dealing with some pretty hard-hitting things, but have been through the emotional turmoil that comes with mentally ill friends. Italy and Germany want to help, but they're not sure how. Not even Prussia's sure how he can be helped. Anyway, thank you very much for reading, guys!
Re: Sucker Punch 4/5
(Anonymous) 2013-08-13 07:21 am (UTC)(link)Re: Sucker Punch 4/5
(Anonymous) 2013-11-15 10:24 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Sucker Punch 4/5
(Anonymous) 2013-12-02 12:46 pm (UTC)(link)I still hope you're planning on posting your last part?