Title: Ground Me
Author: Myself.
Length: 717 words.
Warnings: Possible Out-of-Character on Gilbert's part; panic attack/breakdown moderately vividly described; Human names used.
Rating: PG
Characters: Prussia-Centric, Russia
Pairings: Russia/Prussia
Summary: Drabble; Prussia falls prey to a panic attack and attempts to find solace in a rather unusual place - namely Russia's arms.
Author's Note: This was originally posted on Tumblr, but I figured it would be acceptable to put this up on here. My writing skills are rather rusty, so I apologise for any weird issues with my style you may come across.
Please enjoy!
Disclaimer: Hetalia and the characters are not mine and I hold no rights to anything other than the writing.
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"Braginski! Braginski, open the fucking door!" Gilbert pounded at the heavy wood of the door to Russia's house with his fist, his other hand wrapped tightly around his middle in a vain attempt to keep him from shattering where he stood. "Russia!" he screamed again, and there was an edge of desperation in jist voice, an edge that bit into his vocal cords until they were tight and harsh and made his voice crack.
No, no, no, he thought, slamming his fist into the door hopelessly thrice more, before the last hit stayed, and his hand made a soft squeal as it slid down the varnished surface of the door. Don't you be away, too.
He was dying and he knew it. He was dying, he was dying, he was nearly dead now, and not a single soul would witness it. There was nothing worse than being forgotten. He was going to die alone and be forgotten, because no one was there to see him.
His knees hit the cement harshly and jarred his teeth, but he barely noticed. His arms wrapped themselves around his ribs tight and he rocked back-and-forth, trying desperately to hold himself together as the first tears wound up splattered on the ground beneath him.
He was going to die alone.
Why did Ivan have to be out today, along with everyone else who could keep him from being alone? Did anyone even care that he was a dead man walking? Did they care that he was so alone and it scared him so much?
Fuck them. Fuck them.
The shaking started then, and the tears were falling at a steady pace, carving tracks in his skin and he gave up on trying to rock himself, because he was going to die and there was no point in being comfortable.
He sobbed.
His grit teeth proved of little use, and eventually he gave up on holding back on his sobs, too, and resigned to crying on Russia's front step like a pathetic runt of a child that had been left half-starved before an orphanage's door and had barely the strength to wail.
It was at this point that the door swung open, but Gilbert was far to gone - Dead, dead, you're so very dead, why haven't you died yet, you useless thing, you're better off dead - to even notice or even care if he had, and the arms that picked him up and held him didn't shake him from his reverie. In fact, it was not until he had no energy left to cry so hard, and only when his sobbing turn to pathetic sniffles did he notice those arms, and the lips that murmured soft, pointless things into his hair, and the hand that made small, soothing circles on the small of his back, and the very fact that he was most certainly not alone, and the whole ordeal suddenly seemed very outrageous to him.
Ivan seemed to relax when Gilbert finally started moving again, even if he only moved to bury his face in the other man's scarf and take a deep, shuddering breath. They sat like that a moment longer, Gilbert breathing in the scent of another person and Ivan gently rocking the chair, holding Gilbert close, before he leant back to grab the Prussian's chin.
"What's wrong?" he asked, and Gilbert grimaced, for he did not want to answer. What would Russia say? That he was weak? Pathetic? Disgusting? He jerked his head away and stared at the ground, but Ivan was persistent and refused to let him stay like that, and grabbed his chin again. "Tell me, please."
Gilbert squeezed his eyes shut, for he refused to meet Ivan's eye, only to have his pride absolutely disintegrate - Pride? Pride? What pride do you have? You lost it the day you stopped existing, you fool - "I'm afraid," he said, his voice small, "I'm afraid and I'm pathetic and I don't want to be alone."
Instead of laughing and mocking him, or pushing him away, or doing any other awful unmentionable thing, Ivan just pulled Gilbert tight to his chest for him to feel how very much not alone he was.
"You won't ever have to be alone again."
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