I'm not crazy. I'm not. I know I'm not. But everyday they tell me that yes, Matthew, you are crazy. They don't say I'm crazy, exactly, they say I have a) severe depression b) anxiety issues and c) schizophrenia. But to me, it sure sounds like crazy, or at least mentally fucked.
Does it sound like crazy to you?
Probably.
But I'm telling you, I'm not crazy. Sure, maybe I'm depressed. Maybe I have anxiety issues. But everybody, yes, everybody, gets like that sometimes. Everybody knows it's true.
And schizophrenic? Complete and utter bullshit.
Ivan is crazy. He has major issues with violence and is completely delusional. Maybe a touch of a superiority complex, but I'm not too sure about that one.
Ivan's sister, Natalya, is crazy. She's even more violent than her brother, and is, by the way, completely in love with him.
I've also heard a rumor that their older sister has an inferiority complex.
Their entire family is wacked.
Vladimir, that Romanian guy, is crazy. He honestly believes that he's a vampire. I half expect him to jump me and try to bite my neck every time I see him.
Me? Not crazy. In comparison to the freaks here, I'm almost terrifyingly normal.
They say I have a history of mental illness in my family. My half-brother's dad, and my sort-of-uncle-thing had very similar "problems" to mine, plus an inferiority complex the size of Canada.
I don't remember much about him. He killed himself when Al, my half-brother/cousin-thing and I were probably eleven and twelve. Arthur was technically my dad's cousin, so I'm not sure what that makes Al. Since my mom died while giving birth to Alfred, I've always kind of hated him. It doesn't help that he's everything I'm not, but I'm getting off track.
Back to my point.
My uncle saw fairies and unicorns and shit like that. I mean, what? He was a grown man. Because of this, he had pretty much no friends. He insisted he didn't need them, but it was painfully obvious he did.
He loved only two people: me and AL. He doted on us. Told us stories, tried to cook for us, the whole deal. It drove me crazy; I already had a doting father. But AL loved it. At least, until he got older. By the time he was ten, he barely paid attention except to call him crazy.
It was so hard for Arthur. And one day he just snapped. We came home to the house we all shared to find him dead with slit wrists at the kitchen table, note on top of a small pile of his trademark burnt scones.
But to me, the strangest part was that I could see a mint-colored winged rabbit in his lap, crying softly. It was the vision he had talked the most about, the one he called Flying Mint Bunny. Of course, like any rational person that cared about their uncle, I asked it what had happened. And it answered me. But Al and Papa just stared at me like I was crazy.
Which I wasn't. And I'm not. But they stared at me anyway.
They claimed it wasn't there.
They claimed none of it was there: not Flying Mint Bunny; not Arthur's other friends; not my best friends, Gil and Carlos; not even the little polar bear that I called Kuma. They claimed it was all fake, all made up, all my crazy ramblings for attention.
But they weren't. I swear they were real. Just as real as you or me.
They still are real. They are, but these fucking pills scared them away or something.
I hadn't seen them for five months. I've been stuck in this sorry excuse for a mental hospital.
I mean, they can't even tell that I'm completely sane! Idiots, all of them.
But I just couldn't stand not seeing them. It was too hard.
So I stopped taking the pills.
It's been a lot better recently. I've been seeing my friends more often. It definitely brightens up the hospital to hear Gil calling everything "unawesome." Which is totally true.
But don't you dare say Gil and Carlos and Kuma are figments of my imagination. No. I could never have personalities like they do. I'm shy, quiet, sad little Matthew and they're loud and happy and outgoing and basically the opposite of me. They're their own people and I couldn't make them up.
Especially their plan.
They've thought up this whole super elaborate plan to help us get out. Out of this goddamned mental hospital where I don't belong.
Because I'm not crazy.
Remember?
The plan is actually pretty simple, in the beginning. You see, all I have to do is get out the window.
Now Gil's telling me it's time to go. Carlos is smoking one of his ever-present cigars (another thing I would never do ever) and Kuma is standing at the door, watching for nurses.
Just out the window, Birdie, and we'll be out of here, Gil says, and we'll be in the awesome world again and we can all be together forever, he says, but I'm scared, I don't know what's out there, out of the window.
What if I fall, I ask him, and he answers that it'll be fine, that I won't fall and even if I do he'll be there to catch me.
Okay, I say, smelling Carlos' cigar and Gil's cologne and knowing that whatever happens I'll be fine. At least better than here, in Hetalia Mental Institution.
Right?
Gil climbs out the window.
I think I'm ready. Ready to not be crazy again.
Because I'm not.
"Can you tell us what happened, sir?" asked Alfred, rubbing Francis' back as he wailed in French.
"Well," said the large German man, "we found a notebook filled with ramblings, mostly his insistence that he wasn't crazy." He handed the notebook to the younger man. "It seems that his hallucinations led him to believe that he would be able to escape Hetalia by jumping out the window."
"And technically he was right," chimed in the smaller man, an Italian, seated on the other side of Francis. This only made him cry harder. "Oh, I'm so sorry, sir, I didn't mean anything like that! Ve, Ludwig, help!"
Ludwig rolled his eyes. "What Felici—er, Dr. Vargas is trying to say is that Hetalia has a small sum of money that will hope will compensate for any funeral preparations or other such issues, as it is technically our fault. Matthew wasn't taking his medications, and we didn't notice. He never caused problems, so we didn't think anything was going on…" He trailed off, accepting the fact that nothing was going to soothe the Frenchman. Feliciano continued babbling worriedly, while Ludwig decided to let his mind wander. It settled on the most prominent of Matthew's visions.
'That annoying one…Gil…he sounds familiar, rather like my older brother…I do miss him. He was trapped on the other side of the Berlin Wall with my father…I wonder what happened to him?'
As he thought, he noticed a shimmering in the corner of his eye. He turned towards the kitchen to see a translucent pale-haired man float from the kitchen to the living room. The man seemed to notice the men gathered around the coffee table and glanced at them. He smirked when his crimson eyes landed on Ludwig, waved, and perched on the arm of a chair.
Ludwig's mouth fell open. "Gil…bert…?" he whispered, as all three men on the couch followed his line of sight.
"Lud? What…what are you looking at?" Feliciano asked quietly.
"I see Matthew's friend…Gil…he looks like my brother did…"
"Lud…" Feliciano whispered nervously, "There's no one there…"
A/N: Well isn't that pleasant! This is just a oneshot that flew into my mind when I went camping and I just had to write it.
Just so it's clear, Matthew really isn't crazy. He sees ghosts. Gilbert died (Dx) during the Cold War, as did Carlos (who was Cuba by the way!) and Kuma is just a dead baby polar bear.
Never thought I'd write those words.
He indirectly inherited the trait from Arthur, who just converted the ghosts into forms he could understand, forms that were less scary to him. And since Matthew isn't noticed by very many real people, the spirits that showed themselves to him appeared as people his own age. (Or polar bears. Whatever.)
The reason Ludwig can see Gil is that I believe that family members can see their other family member's ghosts at times. This is why the people that claim to see recurring ghosts are often related to the ghosts they see.
Um, I hope that made sense to you! Please review, I know this isn't amazing work, but if you review it may get better!
Have a great day! \(^u^)/