(A/N: My hand slipped during note taking and next thing I know, this happened I apologize.) (Also, i fergot the disclaimer in the last chapter. SO I DON'T OWN HETALIA. HIMA PAPA ALPACA NINJA DOES.)
His friends told him he was lucky. He walked away from the accident with a broken arm and a mild concussion, with a variety of scrapes and bruises. But honestly? He didn't care about that. He was worried sick about the stranger that he had run into. He had been in a coma for two days, and the doctors were grimly positive he would never walk again. Congrats, asshat, you just ruined some innocent kid's life because you decided you could drive whilst plastered out of your thick skull.
His friends told him he was lucky. His lawyer had gotten him only five years in prison, instead of ten. Like it mattered. In five years, his victim (and he shuddered every time he thought of the kid that way) would still be confined to a wheelchair while he walked free. He thought he should have gotten a life sentence or something. Would've been fair.
Damn it, his brother had warned about driving drunk! Why hadn't he listened?! He had stared at the crumpled body in the street, mind sluggishly putting things together. When it finally struck him, he had tried to drag the kid out of the middle of the road, wondering why his left arm refused to cooperate. The kid wasn't waking up, wasn't responding to anything oh god what if he was dead please don't be dead.
Lucky, huh?
"Bullshit." Gilbert Beilschmidt muttered into his hands as he hid himself from the stares of the world.
(A/N: I know nothing about court and granted I should have looked the sentence for drunk driving and injuring someone for life up, but just take this and leave. Good reader, great follower, fantabulous individual who will not leave hate.)
