A/N: Ah, typical me. When I'm busy with a few stories, what do I do? Write a completely separate one-shot. Because I'm me.
Oh, and warning: gory in places, suicide attempt and FREAKIN' LONG! Seriously, we're at 8K here.
Oh, and human names will be used in this, but only Romania's and Bulgaria's, which are: Romania = Vladimir Popescu, Bulgaria = Nikola Dimitrov. And I'm such a lovely person- major suffering. That's what happens when I say 'I'm such a lovely person'. Because I'm me (repetition much?).
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia
Today was an anniversary, of sorts. Not a marriage anniversary, or a death anniversary- well, that isn't so far off. Luckily, it only happens every one hundred years – so his what…fourth time? Fifth? No, definitely fifth.
To put it simply, it was exactly five hundred years after the day Romania was brutally 'killed' – of course, being a nation and all, he didn't die.
But it was still arguably the most traumatic event in his life.
Bulgaria sighed once more, bored as hell as the meeting dragged on. Oh, how he wished he could just go home. He had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that made him think that he had forgotten something important, but he just couldn't seem to place what it was. It was really annoying, actually.
As yet another argument broke out, he gave up on the meeting altogether and turned to his neighbour and best friend, Romania, who happened to be sitting next to him.
"Hey, how long til we can leave?" Bulgaria murmured, knowing that a whisper would be lost in the racket the rest of the world was causing. Romania merely shrugged and coughed into his hand, sagging in his chair and sighing, before coughing again. The Bulgarian frowned at this. "Are you ill?" He got no reply, which only caused him more concern.
Reaching across, he gently shook the Romanian's shoulder. "Roma?" Usually, the nickname brought Romania to attention, but this time, it seemed to have failed as his gaze seemed distant and shadows seemed to begin dancing in his eyes.
Frowning, Bulgaria rose from his seat to kneel beside his friend and turn his chair round so they were facing each other. He noticed that his neighbour seemed paler than usual, and fatigued for some strange reason, considering the fact that he was normally energetic.
Suddenly, Romania started gasping for air and thrashing around, nearly kicking Bulgaria in the face had he not shot backwards out of reflex. Failing to stifle a cry of surprise caught the attention of nearby nations; namely China and – unfortunately – Hungary.
The raven-haired Balkan knew that Romania and Hungary had a…complicated relationship, and he hoped that she would put any grudge or hatred past her to help him.
Bulgaria almost tackled his friend in an attempt to restrain him, and he found it surprising that he was still on his chair and not on the floor. He held onto the Romanian's wrists in order to hold his arms down, but it did nothing to keep his legs from flailing about.
China rushed into action even though he did not fully understand the situation by swiftly jabbing the same point on each of his legs, just below the knee on the outside. Immediately, Romania's legs went limp, causing Bulgaria to panic.
"What did you do?!" He cried, staring at China.
"Aiyah, calm down! I used a pressure point to temporarily paralyze his legs. It doesn't last long, though" He explained, before beckoning Hungary over. "Hungary, can you hold him down by his shoulders? And make sure his back is to the chair. I need him as straight as possible."
With only a slight moment's hesitation, the Hungarian walked closer and easily grabbed Romania's shoulders and none too gently slamming his back into the chair and holding him there. She growled when he began resisting even stronger than before.
"Keep still, will you?!" She hissed, but was only answered by a feeble gasp for breath, as if the energy spent thrashing about had drained him. "C'mon, you're only making it worse!" Bulgaria swore he heard her mutter 'please' under her breath, but he wasn't sure.
Once Hungary had successfully restrained him, China gently put a hand on the Romanian's chest. He retracted it after about a minute and furrowed his brows.
"He seems to have problems with his breathing. Is he asthmatic?" The Asian nation asked.
Bulgaria shook his head. "No. I don't know why he can't breathe suddenly…" He gasped as an idea dawned on him. "Oh God! Please, not today, it can't be today…" Biting his lip, the Balkan checked the date, which only confirmed his fears.
"What is it?" Hungary frowned as Romania's movement turned jerky instead of frantic, as if he were convulsing. The most logical answer to the sudden change would be from lack of oxygen.
"Hundred years…damn, I knew I forgot something important! Why did it have to be this of all things?!" Bulgaria was furious with himself. Romania had told him last week that he didn't think he could come to the meeting, but had he listened? No! Instead he'd nearly dragged his friend along, forgetting what that day meant for the pair- Romania especially.
"'Hundred years'? What do you mean?" China asked.
The Bulgarian opened his mouth to reply when Romania suddenly sucked in a deep, shaky breath and started coughing. After this, Bulgaria knew that it was indeed what he feared.
~In Romania's head~
I can't believe it. There I am, just living my life as I normally would, and suddenly I'm in court being accused of being a witch. Then again, I should consider myself lucky to be given a trial at all.
I stand to attention as the judge yells for order. "Vladimir Popescu, you have been accused of being a witch. Because of your position in parliament, we have decided to give you a trial to answer this question: do you plead guilty or not guilty to the accusation of being a witch?"
I try not to sigh with irritation. These people know nothing of what I really am. "Not guilty." I respond in a clear voice. After all, it's true. I'm not a witch.
"Do you have any evidence to support that? The lady that brought forth the accusation claimed that you 'suddenly appeared out of nowhere – it was like magic'. Do you deny this?"
I open my mouth to reply, but then close it. They don't understand what nation-hopping is; they think it's witchcraft. This is really not my day. I decide to remain silent. Oh, how I wish Nikola were here. He'd be able to vouch for me.
The judge raises an eyebrow at my silence, before sighing. "Very well. If you wish to remain silent, then I will take it to mean that the lady – who wishes to remain anonymous – spoke the truth. Therefore, we will conduct the test to see if you are a witch or not."
I feel dread settle in the pit of my stomach. I know what test he means.
"For those of you not already familiar with the test, the accused will be dunked in water. If he floats, then he is a witch, and if he sinks, then he is not." The judge explained, confirming my fears. A really stupid thing about the test, I think, is that the accused dies either way; from drowning or from burning at the stake. Wow, I really can't win here.
"We will begin the test immediately. The water has already been prepared." Suddenly, two guards are grabbing me and dragging me backwards, and I'm not even ready.
My surroundings seem to blur together, and I suppose I tuned out for a moment because next thing I know I'm falling into ice-cold water, and the shock knocks the breath out of my lungs. I struggle to the surface, but the water floods my nose and mouth and stings my eyes, causing my gag reflex to try and get rid of the water that I'm practically inhaling. My body urges me to cough but I can't because the water's surrounding me and I'm desperately thrashing about in a last effort to get oxygen to my already starved brain before it shuts down but my energy's quickly draining and I'm losing my strength to try and escape the confinements of the water-
As if on raw instinct, once my feet graze the bottom of the deep (is it a well?), my legs bend and I seem to crouch, before my body pushes off from the ground and I'm sent hurtling upwards like a torpedo-
And then my head breaks the surface and I desperately gasp for air, coughing and spluttering as I do so. How cruel, this test is.
Yes, I'm definitely in a well; that much I can tell from the slick, cylindrical stone wall. Which means that in the space when my mind pulled a blank, I was dragged outside and shoved down the almost full well which lies just outside the court. This works against me because I'm treading water as best I can, but the water is too dark for the people I spot above me to see the movement of my legs, and someone shrieks loudly, "Witch!".
"I-" I cough feebly, "I'm n-not a…witch…" Not only am I tired, but I'm cold. I can't supress the shivers that course through my body, not even when I'm roughly hauled out of the well and onto the grass.
"Well Mr Popescu, it seems that you are in fact a witch. I sentence you to be burned alive at the stake at 9:00PM tonight." The judge glares at me disdainfully, as if I'm some sort of disease.
It's almost funny how quickly I go from being a highly-respected man to a disgusting piece of filth. I would have laughed if my teeth weren't chattering. I raise my hand to lift my bangs out of my eyes, which seem longer now that they're soaking wet.
"B-but that's…in two h-hour!" I cry, and he merely shrugs and repeats the sentence, before turning and walking away, leaving me two hours to prepare for my 'death'. I barely register the salty tears rolling down my cheeks as I curl into a ball, too tired to do anything else.
~Real world~
Bulgaria swore his heart stopped when he saw Romania start crying. He moved forward to embrace his friend, and in that moment, the world around him didn't matter as he just held his suffering friend. Every century, this happens, he sighed, and every century, he never truly recovers from what happened. Although I wasn't there for the test, he told me about it, and I don't think I'll ever forget it.
"Just…stay strong, Roma…" Bulgaria murmured in his friend's ear, silently thanking Hungary and China, who had backed off when the Romania began crying to allow the two Balkans a private moment. "The worst is yet to come." He added with a sigh.
"What's going on?" The Bulgarian didn't even need to look to recognise Norway's monotonous voice. He'd seen Norway enough times (usually due to Romania's insistence of him tagging along occasionally) to be able to tell his voice apart from others. "What's wrong with Romania?"
"…"
The Scandinavian nation noticed Bulgaria's hesitance to answer, and frowned. "Bulgaria?"
"…I think you'd prefer not to know. I think we'd prefer you not to know. Trust me on this." His voice wavered on the last word, and he closed his eyes as the awful sight of his friend which he witnessed on that day flashed before him. "I'm getting him out of here alone."
"Why?" China asked. "He obviously needs help, and I don't think you can do it alone."
"I've managed the past five times." His eyes snapped open and he gasped as soon as he realised what he'd said.
"'Five times'?" Hungary echoed, voice edged with both concern and suspicion. "What exactly is happening to him anyway?"
"It's…please don't ask." He took a shaky breath. "I-I really don't want you to see the worst bit."
Norway stepped closer and whispered, "Is it the cause of his pyrophobia?" This earned him a surprised look and a slow, seemingly unsure nod from the Bulgarian. "I'm coming with you." He stated, leaving no room for argument as he lifted Romania from his chair, breaking the hug between the two Balkans, and positioned him on Bulgaria's back; out of simple reflex, his arms shot out to keep his friend on his back.
This action had caught the attention of other nations, who had finally begun to calm down (courtesy of Germany). As questions began to flood in, Bulgaria chose this moment to quick-walk out of the meeting room, not bothering to argue with Norway who followed and once again silently thanking China and Hungary; this time for keeping the others at bay.
"C-cineva te rog ajută-mă..." Romania whimpered in his own tongue, and a stab of sympathy quickly turned to shock as he realised what that meant. (Cineva te rog ajută-mă is Romanian for someone please help me)
He begged people to help him just before 9PM – he's that close to the incident already?! Bulgaria bit his lip and murmured, "E în regulă, doar...stai puternic." He spoke in Romanian in the hopes that it would comfort him instead of just using English. Bulgaria didn't know why, but with Romania especially, comforting them in their own language worked better than another's language. (E în regulă, doar...stai puternic is Romanian for it's okay, just...stay strong)
Norway opened the doors for Bulgaria as the trio headed to a spare room on the next floor that was used if a nation suddenly felt under the weather. They never normally used it, but right then, they couldn't be more glad for it.
Once in, the raven-haired Balkan gently set his friend down on the sofa (with the assistance of Norway) that was placed in the middle of the room, accompanied by a few chairs and a table.
Sighing, Bulgaria pulled a chair up so that he was sat next to Romania's head, and ready to leap into action lest the latter start thrashing about, which he knew was inevitable.
~In Romania's head~
It's 9PM now. I'm going to be burnt alive by my own people now. I'm going to 'die' now.
I'm still reeling from the shock of it. Not only am I still cold, but I feel like my soul has been plucked out of my body. For not only are my own people going to be trying to kill me, but I won't be able to die. I have to endure the agonising pain until the fire dies out, which would be a long time considering I'd be coated in oil and surrounded by wood.
To say I feel nauseous is an understatement. I feel as if I'm about to…well, a blunt way of putting it would be 'puking my guts out' – guts that will be burning soon-
No, I can't think like that. But how can I not? I may not be reduced to ashes, but I'll still be pretty badly hurt by the end of it. And then what after that? I can't remain in hiding; nor can I go walking round as I normally would. Oh Nikola, I could really use your help right now.
Currently, I'm having oil soaked into my skin, and some of my clothes taken away, and all the time I'm stuck in my thoughts, only paying attention to my surroundings when I'm suddenly being tied to a wooden stake. This isn't fair, I think to myself as I notice a swiftly gathering crowd. That's the thing with these people. They flock to executions like vultures to carrion.
I can vaguely hear someone speaking, announcing to the crowd who I am and why I'm being sentenced to this, but I don't listen. Instead, I take a shaky breath and wonder if I should nation-hop away. I decide against it, knowing that not only would it cause a manhunt for me and provide concrete evidence to nearly a hundred people that I was a 'witch' (in their eyes anyway), but I need to be in a calm and relaxed state in order to nation-hop, and I don't think I can ever be calm in this situation.
Suddenly there's a bright flash of light, and the fire eagerly surrounds me, eating the wood and lapping up the oil as it dances around me, seemingly mocking me before it lunges at the stake which I'm tied to and races up it like a squirrel up a tree.
As soon as the flames spread from the wood to my skin, I'm engulfed by it and it roars with delight as it devours my flesh. The pain registers after a few seconds, and then I'm screaming in pure agony and once again thrashing about in an attempt to be free of this pain.
"S-stop! Please! No more!" I cry out, but I'm either ignored or my pleas fall on deaf ears as no-one helps. Instead, they watch with a sadistic glee as I suffer in the most painful way.
I'm struggling to breathe now, the fire burning the oxygen that I so desperately need and replacing it with its suffocating fumes. I gasp and wheeze, trying to show the fire, trying to show the crowd, that I can't breathe, that I need help, but they don't listen. They just wait; wait for me to die; but I can't die because I'm a nation; but they don't know that, they just keep waiting; waiting for me to die.
The flames are like hungry flies; crawling over your skin and biting it – except the fire isn't just biting my skin; it's devouring it like a hungry pack of wolves and I can't do anything except endure it and scream. After all, what else can I do? Wait for a miracle? Don't make me laugh. What sort of miracle could possibly save me from this?
It was in that moment that I wished more than anything that I was an ordinary human; so I could die from this, instead of suffering for perhaps hours until the fire dies, having been starved of its food which, just like animals, serves as its energy.
Of course, that wish is about as possible as pigs flying; nothing more than a childish fantasy.
Then the fire penetrates the underlying flesh which feared its burning wrath as the skin gives way in multiple areas of my body. The skin is burnt, the flesh is burnt, I'm burnt; but more than that, the memory of this day will be forever burnt into my mind.
I don't understand how I'm screaming when there's no breath to mould into words. I don't understand how the crowd is cheering when someone's (I'm) burning to death. I don't understand how the fire can still be so hungry, so greedy – hasn't it eaten its fill? But I suppose fire is gluttony reincarnated. It always takes, never gives, always eats, never finishes. And I'm its next meal, since the wood has already been devoured.
I want nothing more than to feel the lull of unconsciousness; to have the noises around me act as background noise, to form a faint lullaby which lets me slip into unconsciousness, which is my little safe haven from all the suffering in reality. Unfortunately, that lull never comes, and I'm left fully conscious and fully aware of the pain that is starting to overwhelm me.
"VLADIMIR!" A voice suddenly yells above the din of cheers of the crowd and roars of the fire. I know the voice. But it couldn't be him. He didn't come before. He didn't vouch for me; he didn't save me when he had the chance. So why is here now, when all he can do is watch helplessly?
"Stop this now!" There it was again – Nikola's voice, but I can't see him as the ring of fire is rising above my line of vision, and the smoke is like a suffocating barrier that blocks me off from the world. That blocks me off from Nikola. It's as if it's mocking me. 'You can't see your friend', it hisses, 'you're stuck here, left to burn, and no-one can help you'.
"Get outta here!" Nikola yelled again. Was he talking to the crowd or the fire? I would chuckle at my utter ridiculousness if not for the fact that I can't breathe and my lungs are close to burning.
Suddenly, the flames, like rats, burrow into my stomach and begin licking my organs. I'm being eaten alive, not by animals, but by fire. The agony I'm already in increases dramatically with the addition of my vulnerable organs being targeted by this greedy killer, and I let loose a howl, which only rips at my sore throat.
Then I get it at last. The saviour that I silently begged for: the lull of unconsciousness. I welcome it with open arms, and in the short time I have before I pass out, I process one last thought: so this is what it feels like to be betrayed by your own people.
With that, I slump against the burning stake, my soul fleeing the dying body which I have to call my own.
~Real world~
Hungary didn't understand half of what was going on. What was originally a normal meeting (chaotic but entertaining) turned into her acting as a guard of sorts, stopping any curious nations from exiting the meeting room to see what was up with Romania.
She didn't really understand why she was protecting him, either, considering the fact that she and him rarely get on. So why was she helping him, and why was she worried about him?
Shaking her head, Hungary glanced at China, who was guarding the door next to her (they were double doors, so two people seemed more logical than just one). He seemed calm on the outside, but on the inside, he was panicking. Then again, so was she. In fact, most of the nations were panicking. After all, it's not every meeting where someone passes out and has to be taken somewhere else and no-one has a clue what's going on.
The rest of the world had given up trying to force their way through the doors, and for that Hungary was relieved. Of course, a loud scream from upstairs shattered any calm that had settled on them.
"Aiyah! What was that?" China asked, glancing at her in fear.
"Whatever it was, it didn't sound good." She replied, knowing undoubtedly that it was Romania's scream.
America appeared out of nowhere, demanding to get past. "Dudes, I'm the hero! I need to go save him!"
"America, you don't even know what to save him from." England walked over with an exasperated sigh. "Although I think I know what's ailing him," he added under his breath, which went unnoticed by everyone.
"Well I won't unless I go up there and save him!" The American retorted.
"You're not getting out of this room until Norway or Bulgaria comes down and says it's okay." Hungary glared at him confidently. I don't even know if one of them will come down, but I hope they will, she thought as America pouted, turned, and walked away, England following close behind.
"Do…do you think he'll be alright, ve~?" Italy suddenly spoke up, looking scared, worried and timid at the same time.
Hungary knew she couldn't lie to him. "To be honest," she began slowly, "I don't know. He may be annoying, and he may make me want to kill him many, many times over – but he's strong, and I know for a fact that he'll get through this."
"Okay!" Italy beamed and was about to turn when he asked, "Oh, and because you complimented him, does that mean that you don't hate him as much as before?"
"No, I still want to kill him sometimes."
"Well…sometimes is better than all the time!" The Italian then scurried off to Germany and Japan.
That's right, she thought, I don't want to kill Romania all the time nowadays. Maybe…I'm slowly beginning to stand him? She shook her head furiously at the thought. No, of course not! We're enemies, and always will be…right?
When the first scream tore from Romania's lips, Bulgaria knew he had to act fast. All but leaping onto the sofa, he pinned down his friend's wrist with his hands and used one leg to straddle him, which pressed one of the Romanian's thrashing legs against the back of the sofa, and he placed his other leg on the side of his friend's free leg which faced the edge of the sofa, effectively sandwiching the flailing limb in between his two legs. He just really hoped that Romania wouldn't kick upwards high enough to hit him…there.
Norway jumped like he'd been electrocuted and stood, unsure of what to do as Bulgaria seemed to be handling the situation.
"S-stop!" Romania cried out, head jerking from side to side as his back arched. "Please! No more!" The pleas broke Bulgaria's heart, but he knew he couldn't help his friend any more than restraining him.
"What's happening to him?!" Norway gasped out in horror as huge burns began to appear all over the Romanian's body – of course, only the ones on his arms, neck and face were visible as the others were covered by his clothes.
"It's Step 2 of TDR." Bulgaria explained simply, which only worked to confuse the Norwegian even more.
"What's that?!"
"TDR is what I call it. It stands for Test, Death and Recovery. That's all I can say, as I think you know the rest."
"Ah, I understand. He…he told us – me and England - about what happened once before, but I didn't know he suffered from it."
"It's every century that this happens. Oh, and I need your help with something."
"What is it?" Norway was just glad to be given a job; to be given some guidance.
"Can you get me some towels from the bathroom downstairs? I urgently need them. Oh, and could you tell everyone downstairs not to come up until I deem it alright? No doubt they want answers, but I can't be dealing with them right now. Thanks."
Nodding, Norway headed out the room, and quick-walked downstairs, opting to speak to the gathered nations first.
He didn't bother knocking, instead almost throwing open the door and effectively getting everyone's attention. "N-Norway!" England rushed over, muttering in a low voice, "Is it about-"
"-the cause of his pyrophobia, yes." Norway finished.
"I kind of guessed, considering the date today is the same as the one five hundred years ago. Does this mean he's re-experiencing the memory or something?"
"Yes, every century apparently. At least it's not every year."
"I know. So, how is he?"
Norway bit his lip, looking down. "Burns are appearing – I presume it's all over his body. He's screaming and thrashing around, and it kind of sounds like he's suffocating. It's pretty bad, but Bulgaria's on top of it…and him…" The last part was added rather reluctantly.
"Uh…no comment. I don't even want to know. As long as it's helping, I suppose. Bulgaria isn't one to take advantage of people like that-"
"It's not what you think!" The Norwegian hissed with a glare. "He's restraining him, that's all! God, get your mind out the gutter!"
"I-how-well, you should've worded it better!" England spluttered, before shaking his head and speaking at a normal level. "So, what did you come here for?"
Norway turned to the crowd. "Bulgaria told me to tell you that no-one leaves this room until he deems it alright, as you all no doubt want questions, and he- we can't be dealing with all of you." Then he decided to add something of his own, "Oh, and if you have to be somewhere in your country or something, then you may go, but if you're going to stay, don't leave this room until I come back down and say otherwise."
"But what's wrong with Romania, dude? We just wanna know!" America stepped closer, a cross between a frown and a pout on his face.
"I can't-" The Scandinavian nation was cut off by a howl of agony and a loud yell of "NORWAY!" which could easily be heard. "Damn, I took too long!" Norway hissed as he turned to leave. "Just…don't leave until I'm back, alright? I've got to go!"
With that, he ran out of the room, barging into the bathroom to collect fresh towels and sprinted all the way back to the room where Bulgaria and Romania were. As soon as he entered the room, he understood why Bulgaria needed the towels quickly.
Romania's coat and shirt were lying abandoned on the floor, and Bulgaria was desperately pressing his hands over his suffering friend's stomach. The relief flashed in the raven-haired Balkan's eyes as he glanced at Norway, before reaching a hand out to take one of the towels. However, he retracted his hand, instead taking his gloves off both hands before grabbing one of the towels that were now next to him, along with an extra pair of hands which belonged to Norway, who looked horrified.
He used the towel to press down on Romania's stomach, but in the short time it took to remove his gloves and reapply the pressure, Norway had seen a ghastly wound on his friend's stomach, which quite frankly looked like someone had dug into the area. He was sickened by the fact that he could spot a few burning organs in amongst all the blood that was pouring from the wound.
Desperately trying to divert his attention, he opted for holding Romania's wrists above his head so they were out the way of his stomach. His face was creased, his eyes squeezed shut, and his mouth was open and gasping for air. He was still struggling, but luckily Bulgaria still managed to hold down his legs.
Suddenly, Romania slumped, going completely limp, and for a moment Norway thought he'd died or something, when his breathing began to even out. However, his injury still bled, and Bulgaria had already had to replace the towel as it was soaked with blood.
"Right…that's the end of Step 2. Only a couple more MaRs left." Bulgaria muttered, once again confusing Norway.
"What the hell are 'MaRs'?" He asked exasperatedly.
"Well, that's what I call it. There's MiRs and MaRs – Minor Reactions and Major Reactions. With TDR, most of his reactions are MaRs. For example, in the Test, he can't breathe in reality because he's basically drowning. In the Death – the worst one – he gets burns in reality because he's burning alive. And in the Recovery, he becomes unresponsive in reality because he suffers from major PTSD and develops pyrophobia."
"If…if you don't mind me asking," Norway began, "what part did you play in this?"
Bulgaria tensed before sighing and cursing under his breath as he had to replace the towel again. "I only showed up near the end of his sentence. I managed to put out the fire with a lot of water and I chased away the crowd – quite literally. I think they thought I was a maniac or something because I grabbed a flaming stick and began chasing the crowd away, shouting 'get outta here' and stuff like that. It worked, surprisingly enough, and I was able to save Romania before the damage worsened." He indicated to the Romanian's bleeding stomach. "This was probably the worst injury he sustained."
Norway listened silently. "Anyway, I got him to a house I had in the countryside not far from there, where it helped him recover. I knew it was too risky to go to his house, you see, lest someone spot us, considering it wasn't in the countryside, where there wouldn't be as many people. He wouldn't talk to me for at least three months – he just stayed in my guest room, rarely spoke, barely ate, hardly slept…i-it was horrible to see my best friend like that. But I suppose he'd been betrayed by his people - no, that's an understatement. He was 'killed' by his people, and they only watched him suffer. To have to go through that…" Bulgaria's gaze dropped to the floor, unwilling to look at Norway. The latter knew there was something extra that he was going to say, but couldn't for some reason.
"What were you going to say?" The Norwegian pressed cautiously, stepping closer and kneeling down.
"He…" The Bulgarian trembled, "I caught him t-trying to…to kill himself a few times – it was awful!"
Norway just managed to stifle a gasp as he processed the information.
"Most of the time I stopped him before he had the change to raise the knife, but when I was too late…he couldn't do it anyway. I don't know whether it was his physical, emotional or mental strength (or rather, lack of) that stopped him, but I was glad that he never went through with it. I…I don't know what I would have done."
Norway couldn't believe what he was hearing. Romania, one of the most cheerful nations he knew, had tried to kill himself in the past. I've heard something similar, though, he thought with a grimace. When the Kalmar Union fell apart, I walked in on Denmark when he was about to…I don't think I'll ever forget that moment, when I saw how fragile he'd become.
"Hey…it'll be okay. That was in the past." However, his words seemed to have the opposite effect on Bulgaria. Instead of comforting him, it only made him more upset.
"That's the thing, though! He's re-experiencing the past, and the last few times this happened…he tried to do it."
"It won't happen, though. You- we won't let him." Norway reached over and patted the Bulgarian's shoulder, before gently taking the third bloodied towel away and replacing it.
"I-I just hope this'll all be over soon. I want normal Roma back."
"As do I, Bulgaria, as do I."
~In Romania's head~
My eyes open blearily and I'm met with the sight of none other than Nikola himself, staring at me with concern. Relief soon appears and he relaxes, a large smile on his face. I don't understand why he's smiling, though. Did he forget what just happened?
"Thank God, Vlad, I was so worried. You've been unconscious for three days now. I thought you might have slipped into a coma or something!"
Normally, I would have made a smart remark or light joke to this, but I just don't seem to have the energy or joy to do so. It's as if the fire has eaten my happiness as well as my flesh.
This seems to have triggered something, as the walls of the room around me melt away, into a ring of fire, and I can't move and the smoke seems to be suffocating me because I'm gasping and wheezing; I can't seem to breathe properly and then the fire starts speaking. 'Calm down' it hisses, 'you're okay. You're safe'; this confuses me – fire doesn't reassure, it kills. Fire doesn't comfort; it burns.
With that thought in mind, I begin to feel my body burning as the fire starts devouring it again – just finishing what it started. I feel something clamp down on both of my wrists and I see that the fire seems to have grown a pair of fiery hands which are now burning my wrists, and I struggle to break free but I just can't and-
-and then the room is back, and I'm staring up at Nikola once again, who releases my wrists (I thought the fire was holding them down?) and sits back.
"It's alright, Vlad, just breathe. Deep breaths, alright?" After I accomplish this, he smiles weakly. "I think you were hallucinating, and that caused you to start hyperventilating. Don't worry; the fire can't get you here. You're safe."
I shake my head. The fire can get me anywhere I go. I try to sit up but sharp pain lances through my stomach and I cry out in surprise and pain, before collapsing back on the bed and biting my lip as I wait for the pain to die down.
"Don't try to get up yet, okay? Thanks to you being a nation, you're recovering fairly quickly, but it's still gonna take a while until it's completely better. A week, at most."
A week. I'm bedridden for a week. But I don't want to get up. I want to be taken by the angels, to a better life. Or would I be taken by the demons?
A shiver suddenly passes through me, and Nikola frowns and places a hand on my forehead, which I just notice is bandaged. My hair seems to be a lot shorter too, and is still a bit singed. Luckily, my face only sustained minor damage.
"Hmm…your temperature seems a little high…stay here, I'll be right back." My Bulgarian friend gets up and leaves, and I sigh and await his return.
Over the next few days, my body slowly improves from the hell it had been through – that I had been through – at the stake. I can't sleep because every time I do, the fire flashes before my eyes. Every time I try to eat, I keep seeing little fires burning the food, no matter what it is. Once, Nikola had cooked steak for us, but he accidentally burned it a little and I ended up crying in front of him. In fact, I often cry, because no matter where I go, the fire would always follow me, whether it be in my memory or in the kitchen.
And over these days, I never once speak.
I bottle it up, I suppose one could say. I thought originally that it would be better if I didn't tell anyone. However, this works against me and I start getting suicidal thoughts – thoughts that I've never had before and actually listen to.
But every time I try to go through with it, Nikola always appears and takes the knife away. He tells me that he's doing the cooking while I'm staying with him, so I needn't bother chopping the vegetables. But he knows what my real aim is when I take the knife. I can see it in his eyes.
There's a couple of times when he wasn't there, though. When I hold the knife in my hands, and Nikola isn't there to take it away. I have my chance, but I blow it for different reasons. Sometimes the pain in my stomach that appears from moving around becomes too much for me, and I have to go sit down and curl in on myself. Other times, I just can't do. It's as if my brain disobeys my command.
At the moment, I'm lying in bed, Nikola having left a short while ago to get food for dinner tonight. I want to go. I want to die.
Slowly getting up, I walk over to the door, wincing at the pain that the movement causes my stomach. Tackling the stairs is a painful and gradual challenge, but I manage to overcome it.
Entering the kitchen, I find the knife block sitting on the counter. One of them lies in front of it, its blade glinting in the dying sunlight. It seems to mock me, just like the fire mocked me. They both want me to die. They're both killers; fire kills nearly everything, knives kill…well, animals, plants…and people.
It's in my hands rather quickly (when did I go to it?) and I raise it. I could just run it over my wrists, but I doubt that it'll do much. The wound will close up pretty quickly. The only option is plunging into my chest. The only option is destroying my heart. Nikola's out the house right now. He can't stop me.
Taking a deep breath, I ready the weapon. I close my eyes. This is it. I bring it down, and I can almost feel the countdown of centimetres. This is it. Who cares if I'm a nation? I'm going to die, right now. This is it.
"VLAD!" A voice cries out, and then my hand is being gripped, and the knife is being thrown out of reach, away from me, and I open my eyes, and there Nikola is, staring at me before wrapping his arms around me.
"I told you that you needn't chop the vegetables!" He tries to laugh it off, tries to think that I was about to impale an onion and not my heart, but it doesn't work. I can feel the tears that he sheds, and then he breaks the hug. "Wh-why?" He asks, begging for an answer, begging for me to just tell him why.
And the first thing I say to my friend is: "I want to die."
~Real world~
Bulgaria rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands, fighting back tears. The one sentence would always remain in his memory. His reaction to Romania saying that he wanted to die was to completely break down in front of him.
~Flashback~
Nikola feels like he's just had the breath knocked out of him. His eyes widen, the tears continue to roll down his cheeks, and he just stares, frozen, at the friend.
"Wh-what?" He whispers, not wanting to believe it. Not wanting to believe anything right now.
"I want to die." Vladimir repeats, and his gaze drops to the floor.
Nikola just feels hollow then. His best friend, his ray of sunshine, has just basically told him that he's suicidal. His best friend is suicidal. He's been in denial ever since he first caught Vladimir with the knife. He was never trying to kill himself, he tells himself every time, he was only trying to help out by chopping the vegetables.
But this excuse didn't work this time because the knife was mere centimetres from Vladimir's chest and if he had been a second too late, then his friend might have died. This cruel fact weighs down on Nikola, and he feels like he can't breathe.
All the energy seems to leave the Bulgarian's body, and his knees buckle under him. He falls to his knees, where his arms hang limply by his sides. His eyes are wide, tears still pouring from them, but he doesn't blink. The first thing his friend says to him since the last time they met was 'I want to die', and this fact alone causes him to break down.
"V-Vlad…no…" He whispers. The Romanian takes a shaky breath and crouches down, wrapping an arm round his stomach in the process. It's only then that Nikola realises that Vladimir is also crying. And for the same reason.
Vladimir cries because he wants to die, but not only does his healing ability as a nation stop him, but his best friend does as well.
Nikola cries because his best friend wants to die, and the only thing stopping him is his healing ability as a nation and Nikola himself as well.
No words are exchanged as the two nations suddenly embrace each other, both crying for the same reason. They stay like that for a few minutes, and in that moment, the world doesn't matter, because to Nikola, it's a cruel place. Why should such a cruel place matter to him? It's made his best friend suicidal. It could have made him lose the person closest to him. And he will never forgive the world for that.
~End of flashback~
Norway watched as Bulgaria took a shaky breath and his eyes focused. They had been distant before, as he was experiencing a flashback, but the Norwegian had not the heart to snap him back to reality. Instead, he opted to just let the memory play out, even though it brought the Bulgarian sadness.
"N-Norway…" He called, his voice little above a whisper.
"Yeah?" He stood up, relieved not only at being given an instruction instead of just sitting there and that the bleeding had stopped on Romania's stomach.
"You can tell the nations downstairs that it's okay for them to leave now. Just…please tell them not to crowd in here. I'm only answering the questions of five people, though. You can come in anyway, so you don't count as one of the five."
"Okay. Got it."
The walk downstairs seemed to take longer than before, and when he opened the door, he was met by a much calmer atmosphere. He noticed that some nations had gone home, and, upon arrival, was bombarded with messages from the people who had left that had been entrusted to the remaining nations, as well as questions from those with no messages.
"Alright, Bulgaria says that you can leave the room, but only five are allowed to go into the room. I'm not one of the five, but I'm allowed to be there. Once your questions are answered, you can tell everyone else. Now, who's going? Choose amongst yourselves." Norway instructed.
Almost half an hour of arguing later, Norway stood before the door to the room with England, Hungary, China, Italy and America.
Knocking on the door, the Norwegian murmured, "We're coming in," and opened the door. He was met with the sight of Romania still unconscious on the sofa, although it almost looked like he was sleeping peacefully, and Bulgaria, who was kneeling beside the sofa, slumped over his friend's stomach, fast asleep.
Norway hissed at the others to shush and to stay there, before silently padding over to the pair of Balkan nations. They were both out cold, but seemed peaceful. He didn't want to wake them up.
The Norwegian noticed that the pile of bloodied towels was gone – presumably Bulgaria had taken it during the half-hour argument that had occurred downstairs.
He exited the room and closed the door behind him after turning the light off.
"It's best if we don't disturb them. But I do know one thing: they'll be okay." Norway couldn't stop a small smile from appearing on his face.
Yes, Romania would suffer from the memory every century. But he had Bulgaria to help him through it.
And together, the two Balkan nations would overcome the blazing memory.