Hey. Thanks for reading. This is the first Hetalia fanfiction I've ever shared with the public, and it deals with some rather sensitive content, so I'm sort of afraid of the reception, but I guess it should be alright.
I'm sorry if it's poorly written. I'm not a very good writer in the first place, and it doesn't help that all of my writing is done on an iPhone or a word processor with no spell check. Hopefully it isn't too horrendous. In addition, I apologize for how out of character everyone is, especially in the early chapters. I promise to to make them transition back into their actual personalities later on.
Rating - M
Warnings - sensitive matters, violence, drug use, implied rape and abuse, slash
Summary - Army veteran Elisabeta and her newly-crippled childhood friend Gilbert move in together in an attempt to start a new life in place of their traumatic pasts, but are thrown into an all-out war between Mafia leader Ivan Braginsky and the law itself when a fleeing subject of the former arrives on their doorstep and seeks refuge.
The hospital room was dimly lit, with curtains over the only window and yellow light pouring down from ceiling. It smelled of sanitation; as if everything in the entire room had been scrubbed clean, save for the conscience of its sole inhabitant. Gilbert lay with his head propped up against the pillows, eyes focused on the muted light of the curtained window. He sniffed defeatedly at nothing in particular and attempted to readjust the position of his aching shoulders. The choking atmosphere of the hospital was enough to subdue his, even if not for the events of the past few weeks. He felt trapped - in the building, in life, and now even in his own body. And thus he had vowed to honor his role as a prisoner by denying himself the reckless pleasure he was used to.
It wasn't as if anything that had happened had been his fault. He had gotten into a car with his younger brother, and they had been rammed into by a sliding semi truck. He hadn't caused the accident; he hadn't even been driving the vehicle. There was no way that he, Gilbert, who lived in a single bedroom apartment and worked at a supermarket, stocking shelves, could have either predicted or prevented a six-car pileup caused by black ice and poor visibility. Yet he took full responsibility for the accident.
The doctors and the therapists and anyone else who was unfortunate enough to be caught talking to him these days would have told you it was irrational. They might have said that he was grieving and he was trying to compensate for his brother's death by taking on the blame. After all, he had survived and Ludwig had died. It wasn't fair. Gilbert was the elder sibling. He wasn't supposed to survive his baby brother. He was supposed to be dead and rotting long before Ludwig ever considered the fact that he would, one day, die.
No one could tell him that it wasn't his fault. No one could tell him that he had suffered enough, because not only had he just lost his only brother, but he was also paralyzed and completely alone in the world. All that mattered in his disillusioned version of reality was that his brother was dead and it was his fault.
More than once, he had considered his fate. He couldn't walk. As far as he was concerned, he couldn't survive on his own. He had no family who could ever hope to support him - hell, he had no family that wanted anything to do with him. Not once since the accident had someone visited him - not even a friend of Ludwig's to offer him their condolences. No, he was alone. No one was coming to save him this time.
He had spent so much time thinking that he had convinced himself that no one had ever cared at all. Not even his brother, who he would give the world for, had ever loved him. His own parents hadn't shown much compassion towards either of the boys, and their grandfather, who had ended up raising them most of the time, had only taken them on because he had to. There was no intimacy between the family members - he had never even known closeness and love. He was destined to be alone and miserable forever.
He kept thinking back to his years of acting in like the cool kid. There had been no real reason for it. It was just a stupid and failed coping mechanism, because everyone knew he went home and shut himself in his room and beat himself up about what a loser he was. No one had been fooled by his egotistical facade, and, if they had, they probably just thought he was a narcissistic asshole. Even his 'friends' probably went behind his back and talked about what a complete and utter tool to society he was. Gilbert was the stereotypical fluke of a high school sports star. And now he was going to die alone.
Days seemed to blur together in his demented world, filled with morose conversation from the halls and failed attempts at rehabilitation. They would try to make him do everyday tasks like moving through the halls in his wheelchair, but he would refuse to comply. He didn't break down, but, when he got back to his room and they left him alone, he sobbed into his pillow until he fell asleep.
They gave him food but he didn't want to eat. He became very thin from eating hardly anything. His eyes grew dull and lifeless, looking colorless and strange against his pale skin. Anything he had done to make himself look normal faded into his depression as he grew further and further away from anything he had ever been. He shied away from light, and from people. For maybe the first time in his life, he began to realize just how different he was. He was so pale; so sensitive; so adverse. Every time he considered this, he had to hold back tears, thinking of what Ludwig would have said. The younger sibling never would have expected such a complete and utter breakdown from him. Gilbert was supposed to be strong. Now he didn't care. He didn't expect anyone to come looking for him ever again.
When someone finally came, he was unprepared. He looked tired and helpless, with his hair unwashed and his eyes stinging from . He heard the door creak open and looked up to see a woman, dressed promptly in a green military uniform. She gave the nurse a crooked smile and a nod before turning mechanically to Gilbert. Her soft face moved in a look of muted sorrow as she offered that same lopsided smile that didn't reach her eyes.
She glanced over his still lower body and pained face, parting her lips slightly. She unzipped her thick army-issued jacket and dropped it on the floor, revealing a tan t-shirt.
Gilbert dropped his gaze, not wanting to be caught staring at her chest.
She snorted. "What the hell, Gil?" Her brows furrowed in concern as she reached out to touch his greasy hair. He cringed.
"Please don't touch me.."
She drew back, arm moving back to her side. "Are you okay?"
He hesitated before shaking his head. She ignored his reaction and went on.
"I just got back. I'm finally done with my, you know, military service." She paused for a moment then sighed. "But I don't suppose you care."
He shook his head. "No, of course I care. That's.. great." He smiled, but she didn't believe his terribly out of character gesture.
"Listen, Gil, I'm really sorry that I didn't call or something. Roderich picked me up at the airport and I didn't know until then," she tried to explain, even though she didn't expect him to listen. He sighed.
"You wouldn't think he knew."
She frowned, pulling a chair from the wall and sitting down. "What do you mean?"
Gilbert shrugged. "It doesn't matter.. Anyway, it's great to have you back, Liz." He smiled more sincerely and sighed.
A flash of darkness crossed her face as he spoke, but she shook lit away. "Yeah." Liz glanced around. "So, when can you get out of here?"
He glanced up at her. "I don't know. My apartment isn't very accessible, and I think they worry I'm not stable.."
She stared him straight in the eyes and frowned. "Sorry, but you don't seem very stable, Gil."
They looked at each other for a moment, his pale red eyes meeting her troubled, dark gaze. Elisabeta broke the silence by putting her hand on his.
"Take me seriously," she began, and he wouldn't have, but he was haunted by a lifetime of never being able to. "I know what you're feeling is probably more than I could ever know, but I'm here and you can talk to me. God knows, I've got my own problems, but who would ever listen to them?"
He looked away, unable to meet her eyes. "You don't get it."
She stood up, glaring at him. "Gilbert! I watched men I loved like /brothers/ bleed out and die in my arms! I came home to an ex boyfriend who thinks I should have stayed in the kitchen 'if I couldn't handle it'. My friends don't get why I left in the first place. And my closest childhood friends.. One's dead and the other is so self-obsessed that he won't talk to the only person who /wants/ to talk to him!"
They stared at each other again, but this time neither broke off.
"What do you want?" Gilbert asked finally.
Liz shrugged. "I want us to act normal again."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Honestly? I've been overseas for the better part of four years, and you've been here moping 'cause your brother's dead. I don't think we act anything like we used to." She frowned and picked her coat up off of the ground.
He stared up at the ceiling. "I don't we /are/ anything like we used to be."
"You seriously need to get out of here. It's messing with your mind," she said, smiling genuinely for the first time in days, even before coming to the hospital.
"I guess I will eventually."
Liz glanced up at the clock and groaned. She roughly pulled her jacket back on and sighed. "Alright, time to get yelled at by my parents."
"You came here before going to see them?"
She snorted. "Duh."
Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Well, cool."
Without another word, Liz left and he was left alone again.
