Catch you reader-sans later~!
- Turtle-chan
It’s been several months since
the kidnapping incident and little has changed.
You have spent almost all of your time locked up in your room, refusing
to come out, often refusing to eat. You
won’t let any of the boys near you except for Japan because he does not try to
touch you, but you are wary of even him.
Your mind is haunted, crowded with memories of pain and despair. The new you seems to have taken over almost
completely. You only have a few memories
from before the incident and they’re vague and indistinct, quickly shut out by
the new you.
The
atmosphere in Germany’s house seems much darker and gloomier than it has ever
been. Even Italy is affected by it,
often crying alone out in the garden, tears dripping onto his guitar. Japan has remained the same on the outside,
but he has taken on a lot more chores, making up for what you used to do so
that the others don’t have to. Germany
has thrown himself wholeheartedly into his work and training, but he still
makes time every day to come up and visit you, enduring your silence and your
glares and your screams if he gets too close.
That’s
what he’s doing now, actually. He is
sitting in a wooden chair beside your door, on the complete opposite end of the
room from you. You’re huddled in a
corner of the room, looking over at him with animalistic distrust. Why doesn’t he do something? the new
you hisses in your mind. He
just sits there like a bump on a log, watching us. Doesn’t the bastard get bored? One of these days we’re going to…
No! the old you exclaims, fighting back against the new
you. We… We love him, right? Isn’t that why he does this? Doesn’t he love us, too? We can’t hurt him.
Quiet, you!
You don’t know what we want, what we need! I know what’s best for us and it’s not
him! He should just disappear, all of
them should disappear! They hurt us;
they killed us! We should show them what
it feels like!
But why? An eye for an eye makes the whole world
blind, right? They were our friends…
Would friends do those things to us? Would they trap us, rape us, defile us, wound
us, kill us? Would they break us? No!
Those are no friends of ours.
But… It wasn’t them that did all that… They weren’t themselves… Don’t we know that better than anyone? What it’s like to not be whole?
Shut up, shut up, shut up! You idiot!
You fool! We can’t hang on to
childish sentiments like that! We have
to grow stronger, more powerful! We’re
even weaker now because you won’t go to sleep!
Let me take over for a while.
I’ll wake you up when we’re ready.
I’m not tired,
though. And I want to talk to them, all
of them. Why won’t you let us talk to
Germany? Why won’t you let us tell him
that we’re scared and hurt and tired of it all and that we need him to help us?
Do you really believe they can help
us? That they even want to? They’re the ones that broke us! How many times do I have to repeat myself
before you understand it? It’s all their
fault!
How is it their
fault? I don’t understand what you’re
saying!
~~~
Germany
sits in his chair and watches as you mutter to yourself as you have been for
the past several weeks. It breaks his
heart to see you like this and it’s even worse because he can’t do anything
about it. All he wants is to hold you,
to kiss you and tell you he’s here for you, that it’ll get better, that he’ll
help you through this. But he
can’t. He thinks back on what happened
the day you were kidnapped, the panic and fear and raw adrenaline that fueled
him to make it to your side.
You
left him sitting there in his office, dazed and unsure of what was going
on. All he could remember was the fear
in your eyes. He stood up and walked
over to the window, gazing out. The
light from his desk lamp caught on the glass and threw his reflection back at
him. He saw himself, his clothes rumpled
and his hair messy, and let out a pained sigh.
Verdammt… He rested his forehead on the cool glass
and slammed a fist into the wall next to him, his eyebrows drawn together in frustration. He wanted to go to you, but he knew he
couldn’t now, not since you’d seen… the other one. He’d been trying desperately to keep you away
from that, locking himself in his office when he felt like he was losing
control, not sleeping for fear that he’d wake up as someone else. He’d tried to keep the others in check, as
well, sending Italy out every night on make-believe missions and giving Japan
all the paper and ink he wanted. But
alas, everything was in vain because he snapped. Because he was too weak to protect you. He hit the wall again, not worrying about the
dent he was leaving. He looked over at
the sofa in the back of the office and trudged over, flopping down on it and
falling into a restless sleep.
~~~
Germany
woke up in a cold sweat, sitting bolt upright.
Sickly crimson moonlight was streaming into his office like blood from a
wound. Something was wrong. The house was too quiet, too cold. He could see his breath forming clouds in the
still air. Unable to shake the feeling
of wrongness, he risked slipping upstairs to check on everyone. He could hear snoring from Italy’s room and
he smelled blood, meaning he had come back from his little excursion with what
he wanted. Germany shivered and checked
Japan’s room. He was asleep on his
futon, pages of unfinished drawings of mostly naked women scattered about
everywhere. He shook his head and closed
the door, approaching your room. As he
did so, an indescribable feeling of dread settled in the pit of his stomach and
he didn’t want to open the door. He
shook his head sternly and reached out to turn the doorknob with trembling
hands.
Before
he even looked, he knew you were gone, but he had to be sure. Your bed was empty, the blankets piled on top
of it as though you had been there at some point. They were cold like the rest of the house,
though, so it had been a while. Folded
into the sheets was a small note. Germany
steeled himself for the worst and it was good he did.
I see you’ve found our little surprise for
you, Germany. How do you like it? Thrilling, isn’t it? Well, now that you’ve seen it, I suppose it
would be gentlemanly of me to tell you that your precious little poppet—she’s
quite cute, isn’t she?—is with all of us in Russia’s home. Of course, we invite you to attempt to rescue
her, but do not take us lightly. Even if
you manage to save the girl, she may not be the same as the one we stole from
you. Are you willing to accept
that? I suppose we’ll find out soon
enough, now won’t we?
Best of luck,
England
Germany
gritted his teeth together and crumpled the note. It was written in blood and it smelled of
cupcakes. That pissed him off. Without another moment’s hesitation, Germany
went into Japan and Italy’s rooms, rousing both of them.
“Get
up! Get up! Vee haf to go!” he shouted, dragging Italy
out of bed as Japan made his way down the steps sleepily. He looked around at the two of them and was
at least comforted to know that they were in their right minds for the moment.
“Was’samatter,
Germany?” Italy slurred sleepily, rubbing his eyes.
“(y/n)
is gone,” he told them, clenching his fists as a wave of sadness washed over
him. He would have his revenge and he
would rescue her. He had to. “I am goink to fint her unt you kan kome as
vell, but you kannot slow me down. Zere
is not much time.”
Japan
and Italy exchanged a brief glance before turning back to Germany. “We will come, Germany-san. (Y/n)-san is important to us as well,” Japan
answered him, a look of quiet determination gleaming in his vacant eyes.
Germany
nodded. “Let us go, zen. Take vhat veapons you can kary easily,” he
told them, going for his Luger, the one he had taught you to shoot so long ago
and the one he had made you carry on the night of France’s party, the night he
had finally gotten up the nerve to tell you how he felt and the first time he
had gotten to feel your lips on his.
Precious memories of you were stored within the metal of his pistol and
he pressed it briefly to his lips before slipping it into a holster at his
waist. He also took a knife and extra
ammunition, stuffing it into the pockets of his cargo pants before walking out
the door with Japan, armed with his katana, and Italy, armed with white flags
and a set of throwing knives. The knives
concerned Germany a little, but he knew that somewhere within him Italy was
able to use them with deadly accuracy. Time to storm the castle.
~~~
Standing
in front of Russia’s house, it seemed like a completely different world. There was snow everywhere, three and four
feet deep in some places, and a stiff wind blew more over onto the men. The trees were all barren, little more than
large, withered hands sticking up from the ground and that same horrible red
moon hung low in the sky. There were no
lights in the house, but that meant nothing to Germany. He somehow knew that they were all there,
waiting on him to make the first move, hiding in the shadows. Germany stood in front of the heavy wooden
door and brushed his fingers against the freezing cold metal of the Luger. This is
it. I have to do it for her. With a surge of determination, Germany
reached out and turned the doorknob, shoving the door open and going inside
with Italy and Japan following nervously behind him.
As
soon as they were all inside, the door slammed shut behind them like in a bad
American horror movie, but he tried to ignore it. He could feel someone’s presence in the
shade, but he couldn’t see them, so he kept walking, the Luger in his hands and
ready to fire.
He
kept hearing whispering noises and soft footsteps coming from all around and he
was on edge, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. The noises just kept coming as he approached
a narrow staircase. He couldn’t see the
top and normally he wouldn’t have taken a risk like that, but it was his only
choice to save her. He turned back to
Japan and Italy and gestured them to follow him. As he approached the top of the steps, he
signaled them to stop and await further orders as he snuck up to peek around
the corner for enemies. When he turned and
looked to the right, he saw nothing and he was about to turn to the left when
he was grabbed from behind and something hard and sharp was pressed against his
throat.
“Ugh,
making my life fucking harder than it needs to be, eh?” an irritated voice muttered. “Yo, what do we do with these sons of
bitches? He said they’d be coming.”
“Do
you think I care?” another voice sighed, his French accent coming through in
his speech. “Why don’t you go ask him?”
“It’s
his turn with the bitch, remember? You
really think it’s a good idea to interrupt that crazy fuckin’ tea party?”
“Whatever. Do what you want.”
Germany
struggled against the person holding him, managing to slip away while he was
distracted with his conversation. “Vhere
is she?” Germany panted, pointing the Luger at the shadowy figure in front of
him.
“You
really think I’m gonna tell you, bastard?
You’re a fucking idiot,” the first man’s voice mocked as he stepped into
a patch of moonlight. He scowled over at
Germany with violet eyes, his long, messy blonde hair pulled back into a
ponytail at the nape of his neck with one wild curl hanging loose. His red flannel shirt was left unbuttoned and
his torso was wrapped in bloodstained bandages.
In his hand was an old hockey stick with a razor blade on the end of it.
“No,
I do not sink you are goink to tell me.
I know you are goink to tell
me,” Germany responded. “Unt if you do
not, I vill just kill you unt mofe on to zee next man. Zis is how var vorks.”
“Yeah,
yeah, whatever you say, old man. It
takes two to tango, so let’s dance if that’s what you wanna do,” the man
snorts, readying his hockey stick.
“Excuse
me, Germany-san. I would like to face
this man in your stead,” Japan interjected.
“Nein! I kannot haf you gettink hurt,” Germany responded,
shaking his head.
“Is
not our mission to retrieve (y/n)? You
are best suited to complete that mission so please leave this to me,” Japan
told him.
Germany
gave Japan one last conflicted look before stepping back and nodding with
resignation. “Alright. Just make it out of zis alife,” he said,
pulling Italy up the stairs and taking off down the hallway with him.
“Hai,” Japan said, nodding as he turned
to face the man with the hockey stick who has stood by looking bored the whole
time. “I, Japan, shall be your
opponent.” Japan slipped into the proper
stance and lightly gripped the handle of his katana with his right hand, his
eyes focused completely on the man in front of him.
Germany
hustled Italy through the dark, winding hallways of Russia’s massive house,
listening at each door for sounds that would alert him to your presence. Finding nothing, he decided to risk ascending
another set of stairs. Judging from what
he saw outside, that should have been the last floor before the attic.
He
proceeded up the stairs as the last time, but was more cautious when rounding
the corners. Seeing no one, he signaled
Italy, weeping quietly in fear, to follow him.
At one of the doors in the middle of the hall, dim, flickering light
seeped through across the floor and he walked over to listen to the noises from
within.
“Who
else is left, aru?” a soft man’s voice inquired. His accent suggests something of an Oriental
background.
“I
am not thinking it will be mattering,” another voice responded. Germany thought he recognized both voices,
but the last one gave him chills.
“Eh? Why?” the first man asked, sounding confused.
There
was a brief chuckle from the second man and Germany heard heavy footsteps
approaching the door. He quickly began
to force Italy into a retreat, but it was too late. “Be using your own eyes. That is what they are there for, da?”
Germany
looked up and saw a large man, even larger than himself, standing in the
doorway, filling it almost completely.
He had dark, red-brown hair and blood-red eyes with dark circles
underneath them. His skin was ghostly
pale and he wore a black jacket and crimson scarf, both frayed at the
ends. In his hands was a heavy-looking
shovel and Germany could see the butts of a pair of pistols sticking out of the
pockets of the long coat. His face was
completely expressionless.
“Aiyah!”
the other man exclaimed, jumping to his feet.
He had long hair tied in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, much like the
man Japan was to have faced, but his hair was covered by a black Chinese
military cap. He also wore a red
Changshan with black trim and the collar was open to just past his
collarbones. It lacked the traditional
long, flowing sleeves but seemed better suited to combat. In his hands were a pair of elaborately
decorated pistols and he had knives tucked away all over his body.
“G-G-Germany…,”
Italy moaned, trembling and clinging to Germany’s uniform.
“Be
brafe, Italy! Vee haf kome zis far unt
vee kannot gife up now,” Germany responded, not breaking eye contact with the
large man in the scarf. He seemed the
most dangerous.
“We
will not let you pass,” the Chinese man, as that is what Germany inferred him
to be, said, pointing a pistol at each man’s head.
“I
do not ask zat you let us past. I vill
fight you if I must, but I haf to fint zee girl,” Germany responded, preparing
himself for combat and wishing he could avoid it. It was risky; he could die and she would be
captive forever.
“The
life of one girl is having more worth than the life of you? Your logics are flawed,” the other man told
him, his thick Russian accent making the words even bite harder.
“Yes,
it is illogical, but it is true. I lofe
her unt so I vill fight as long as I kan to protekt her,” Germany told him
firmly and his voice did not waver.
“Hmm…,”
the Russian responded, his expression never changing.
“G-Germany…?”
Italy squeaked from behind him.
“Vhat
is it, Italy? Zis is not a goot time for
talkink,” Germany responded tensely.
“I-I
think she’s upstairs,” Italy told him meekly.
“I heard voices.”
The
Russian made no indication as to the correctness or incorrectness of Italy’s
theory, but the Chinese man’s eyes widened.
Germany noticed and looked between the two, having to make a difficult
decision. He could either team up with
Italy to fight the two men and hope at least one of them made it out alive, or
he could send Italy ahead of him to rescue her and simply hope that England
wasn’t still waiting for them.
“Italy,”
he said, feeling pained even as he thought of what he was about to say. “I vant you to go upshtairs unt fint (y/n). I vill try to join you as soon as possible,
but I vant you to safe her if you kan. I
may not be able to get up zere to you.”
Italy
looked up at Germany with tears in his eyes.
He shook his head sternly a couple of times and made a face that looked
like he was thinking very, very hard. “No. I’ll stay down here. You go and save her. She needs you,” he said as his body seemed to
change slightly. His hair started
looking like it was turning darker and his skin seemed to be getting
lighter. Germany knew immediately what
he was doing and it terrified him.
“No! Italy, don’t!” Germany exclaimed, not wanting
his friend to have to turn himself into a monster.
“It’s
alright, Germany. I’ll be fine,” he said
with a smile, his eyes starting to open.
“Go save (y/n) and then you can come save me. It’ll be just like old times again~!” With that, he opened his eyes to reveal
crimson irises and he started to pull out his throwing knives, a smirk on his
face. “So, who wants to play first?”
Germany
turned away with a pained grimace on his face and began to run down the hall to
where the next set of stairs should be.
He heard shouts and banging from behind him, gunshots from the Chinese
man’s pistols, and screams of pain. Danke, Italien…
He
found the stairs and crept up them, catlike and silent. The attic area was even darker than the rest
of the house and colder, too. He was
already starting to shiver. Down the
hall, he heard a voice, male and with an accent, so he followed the noise. At the end of the hall there was a locked
wooden door. Inside he could hear
shallow, irregular breaths and a female voice mumbling.
“(y/n)? (y/n)!
Just holt on, (y/n)! I am komink
for you!” he called out, jiggling the doorknob, unsurprised to find it
locked. He began to slam himself against
the door, aiming for the area near the knob, trying to break the lock or the
door, one.
“Well,
well, well,” a somewhat familiar voice said.
Germany turned around to see a man wearing a pink sweater vest and a
bright blue bowtie walking toward him.
His electric blue eyes seemed to glow in the dark and his
strawberry-blonde hair shone in the moonlight.
“What. Have. We.
Here?”
“Let
her go,” Germany said, his voice serious and commanding.
“Hmm… But she’s such a lovely poppet. No, I don’t believe I shall be letting her go
any time soon,” the man responded.
“Let
her go, verdammt!” Germany bellowed,
slamming his shoulder against the door again.
This was bad. He was getting
hysterical. He needed to calm down and
examine the situation to make a plan.
But she was so close. Just one
door stood between him and the love of his life, his precious treasure. He could even hear the sound of her singing
in a broken voice. It pained him so much
to know that he was still as helpless as ever.
“Ah,
ah, ah,” the pink-haired man scolded, wagging a finger in the air in front of
Germany’s face. “Swear jar.” He held out a jar containing a large amount
of loose change. He had moved himself to
stand directly in front of the door while Germany was distracted.
“Nein! I vill not let you schtant in my vay, Englant,”
Germany hissed.
“Swear. Jar,” England commanded, a dangerous gleam in
his blue eyes. “Now.”
“Nein!
Mofe out of my vay,” Germany responded impatiently, pushing the smaller
man.
Bad
move. England grabbed Germany by the
lapels of his coat and slammed him against the door, holding a knife to his
throat. “In my house there will be no
swearing. It is rude and
ungentlemanly. I asked you nicely
before, but you’ve forced my hand,” England told him, his face serious and
angry.
Germany
grimaced and tried to force England off of him, but anger had made him strong
and Germany had been going for too long.
He was getting tired, but it was too close to stop. He had to do something.
So
he pointed his Luger directly at the center of England’s forehead. “Vee are at a schtalemate,” he declared,
looking down at England.
His
response was not what Germany expected.
He began to laugh, manically. “Ah,
I was so looking forward to facing off with you like this. You’re so much cleverer than the others, you
know,” he giggled.
“I
do not take zat as a kompliment from you,” Germany responded. “Now, zere are two options you haf. Zee first is zat you kan let me in zat
room. Zee sekont is zat I kan shoot you
in zee het. You might be able to kut me
first, and I might die, but you vill die first unt I vill get into zat room one vay or anozer. It is your choice.”
England
was opening his mouth to respond when a dark figure appeared behind him. The Russian stepped out of the shadows, his
face blank as before. In his hand was a
ring of keys. He pushed past Germany and
England, brushing them aside as though they were no more than specks of
dust. He selected a key from the ring,
fitted it into the lock, and turned it.
He looked pointedly at Germany before turning to England. “Come, “was the only thing he said before
turning and leaving as suddenly as he came.
England looked conflicted for a moment, but he followed, leaving Germany
alone with the door unlocked.
For
the briefest of moments, Germany was shocked senseless, but he recovered almost
in the blink of an eye. She’s just inside. Finally.
Finally I can see her again.
He turned the doorknob and nearly ran into the dark room, not even
worrying that it could have been a trap.
There
was a sliver of moonlight streaming in through the barred window in the back of
the room and underneath that window was an old tattered mattress, stained rusty
brown with old blood in some places and losing stuffing in others. On the mattress was a small, frail body that
he would have recognized anywhere. He
ran over to her and knelt beside her.
She
looked up at him, her once beautiful eyes now dull and listless. He tried to smile at her, to keep her from
seeing the shock and pain he felt on looking at her, but he also let out a sigh
of relief. She was alive. Wounded and damaged, but alive. She was almost entirely naked, her clothes
strewn about the room, and her body was covered with cuts and bruises, most of
the bruises in the shape of fingers. There
was a long cut above her left eye and blood oozed from it down her cheeks. Her lips were dry and split in several
places, clotted with blood. There were
dark circles under her eyes and he wanted to weep for her, for everything she
had endured, but he didn’t. He had to be
strong, to finally protect her.
“Thank
Gott.
You’re alive,” he breathed as he bent down to hold her, wanting nothing
more than to feel her small, warm body in his arms, to assure himself that he
wasn’t dreaming.
As
soon as his fingers brushed her skin, however, she sat bolt upright and began
to shriek, wailing like a banshee. “DON’T. TOUCH.
MEEEE!!” she screamed, curling in on herself and lacing her fingers
through her hair which was damp with sweat and matted with blood.
Several
emotions washed over Germany in quick succession. Shock.
Confusion. Understanding. Pain.
Compassion. Self-hatred. Love.
He felt his heart shatter and for a moment he entertained the thought
that it probably looked like Berlin, an intricate spider web of cracks. He could do nothing but watch as the girl he
loved, the most important person in the world to him, screamed herself
senseless and all because of him.
He
stayed in that room with her, unable to figure out what to do until Japan came
in, dragging an unconscious Italy behind him.
Japan took one look at the room and said nothing, but set to work
gathering up (y/n)’s clothes and folding them before setting them gingerly on
the mattress beside her. After a while,
she passed out and they wrapped her up in Germany’s jacket. Germany picked her up bridal style and held
her close to his chest, wondering if this would be the last time he was able to
hold her. Japan shook Italy awake and
they all left without a word and without looking back. They made it home unmolested and the boys
started the schedule of shifts watching (y/n) and guarding the house. A cloud of gloom descended upon the house
that no one was able to penetrate.
Germany
shakes his head, clearing the dismal memories from his mind. (y/n) is still murmuring to herself, looking
like a terrified animal and glancing furtively his way every so often. He feels a dull aching in his chest looking
at her. He knows that the girl he loves
is still inside her somewhere, trapped in a maze of her own mind. Looking at her once more, he makes a promise
to himself and to her.
“I
vill bring you bak, (y/n). If you’re in
there somevhere, I just vant you to know zat I reskued you once unt I vill do it
as many times as it takes to bring you bak to me. Vee all miss you. I miss you more zan anysink. If zere is any vay for you to fight zis, I
beg zat you try your best unt do it. I
belief in you. Do not forget zat I vill
kome for you. Ich werde dich immer lieben, mein Schatz.” With his declaration made, Germany stands up
and gives the girl a final sad but loving glance before walking out the door.
Japan
peeks out of his room at the end of the hall and sees Germany leave. He looks tired, worn down by too much
sadness. Japan wants to help him, but he
doesn’t know how and, somehow, that makes everything that much worse.
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