AN: Hiya guys! Sorry for the longish wait, I'm pretty busy right now...unfortunately. So, I hope you like this chapter, because I certainly enjoyed writing it! ...I'm so screwed up.
Disclaimer: While these things are stupid, they are also important. I don't own Hetalia. *grabs stomach* Ouch. It hurts to face reality.
Toris shivered as he left the warm comfort of the restaurant. He looked uncertainly at the inky black sky, wondering if it was a good idea to work overtime. He looked back longingly at the warm restaurant; he could always stay, it wasn't like anyone was waiting for him at home . . . Toris shook his head; he knew that he needed his sleep. He slowly started to trudge away from the building, wrapping his jacket closer around him with every step. The wind was freezing. It almost felt like knives cutting away at him, the steel icy cold. He snapped out of his thought with that simile, how did he even think of that? Why did it feel like he was actually in that position before?
Toris slowly shook his head again, lack of sleep played with the brain. He was probably just more tired than he thought he was before. The thought of him being tired caused him to think of sleep, the thought of sleep put an image of his bed in his mind, automatically Toris' eyes started to flutter shut. He forced his eyes open again and slapped his cheek to keep himself awake. As he continued to walk, Toris counted off the days where he had less than five hours of sleep. He soon ran out of fingers to count with in his hazy consciousness.
"The things I do for extra money . . . "He murmured to himself. It was true; he had plenty of jobs in order to gain those extra couple of bucks. In the morning he had a newspaper route, in the evening he bagged groceries, and in the evening he had his full time job as a waiter in the restaurant he just walked out of. The waiter job gave him enough money to rent the apartment he lived in, but what about all of the bills, clothes, and food? He was only eighteen and never even thought to go to college. He was lucky enough to be able to have his own home in the first place, what are a few days without sleep if it kept you your home? Speaking of his apartment, that's where his bedroom is. Bedroom . . . bed . . . sleep . . .
Shaking his head again, Toris made a turn into the alleyway leading to the back of the apartment building he lived in. Sure, it was dangerous walking into an alley at night; but who would mug an eighteen year old waiter with barely any money? What good would that do? He's done this a million times, why would something happen this one time? . . . . Toris should really learn not to tempt fate.
Toris heard an awful cracking noise as the steel toed boot connected with his chest. It probably hurt a lot too, but he was so battered and out of it that he didn't feel anything anymore. Consciousness drifted in and out; he was barely conscious in the first place. Toris vaguely felt his jacket be ripped off of him; he looked up to see one of his muggers shake it violently, probably hoping for cash to fall out of the pockets. Luckily for the thief, and unluckily for Toris, a wad of one dollar bills in tips fell out. The thief greedily picked it up, put on Toris' jacket and kicked Toris in the face before running off with this buddy.
Toris coughed up blood and continued to hack after the blood stopped coming up. He tried to stand up, but a blinding pain in his chest sent him back to the ground. He wasn't sure if it was the broken rib or the gash below his ribs. Luckily for him the gash wasn't deep enough to kill him right then and there, but he was stuck here now. On the ground in an alleyway at midnight, no jacket to keep him warm, no one to call. His vision started to go black, a calm feeling enveloped him. Sleep sounded nice. He'd just go to sleep for a moment before walking back to his apartment. Just a few minutes . . . what harm would it do? But a part of him didn't want him to sleep.
No! It screamed. Don't sleep!
'Why can't I sleep?' He asked that one part of him. 'Isn't sleep good?'
Not this kind. The voice warned. The voice was so different from his, and yet it was the same. It was calmer, wiser, older. But it was also more nervous, disturbed, tired. But it was firm. Don't sleep. Sleep isn't always a good thing.
'How can it not be good?'
Don't you want to see your friends again?
'What friends? There's just me.'
Remember. The voice started to fade. Remember who you are. Remember who I am. You need to live, otherwise we are all doomed.
Toris couldn't even think of a response. He was too tired. His vision started to fail him.
"Liet!" The word echoed in his mind. He constantly had dreams about that flamboyant blonde, Toris wondered what he was. Was he a person he used to know? Or just an imaginary friend his mind created to help him feel happier?
"Liet!" The voice echoed in his head again, why did hat one word make him feel so happy? It was almost as if that boy knew him his whole life. It certainly felt like it, why else would he feel this way about him? Toris blinked and it took nearly twenty seconds for him to build up the strength to open his eyes again. 'I'm just so tired.' He thought lazily.
"Liet! Omigawd, Liet!" An older teenager crouched in front of Toris. He looked exactly like the boy he would dream about. His straight, chin-length blonde hair was askew and his lazy green eyes were widened with shock and worry. Toris wasn't surprised though; he didn't fully register what he was seeing.
"Liet . . ." The teenager's face fell when he saw the lack of reaction on Toris's face. "Please." He whispered. His pleading fell upon deaf ears though; Toris's eyes already fluttered shut.
~Toris's POV~
Darkness surrounded me, I couldn't see or feel. Was this death? I thought it would be more like sleep. It felt like loneliness. Images flashed before me, faster than I can comprehend. If this was death, I don't like it. Not. At. All. The images started to slow, they were still fast but I was now able to catch glimpses of them.
"Liet? Why are you so scared?"
" . . ."
"You can, like, tell me anything y'know?"
"I don't . . . I can't talk about it."
"No worries! You can, like, tell me when you want!"
It was that same boy, why was I so scared? Why can't I talk about it? Another image flashed by.
I was lying in a bed with two other boys. One of them was quietly trying to hide his tears, while the other was outright sobbing. Even though I was crying myself, I needed to comfort him.
I didn't have any comforting words to say.
Pain, enveloped me. I don't know who those people are! Why am I being shown this? What's going on? Why . . . why am I in so much pain? Yet another memory flashed by.
I felt my back, feeling the roughness of the scarred skin. The pain has long since gone, but the memories were still there. I started to shake, but I forced myself to calm down. It was over now . . . It was finally over.
I grabbed my head, everything started to hurt. My heart was beating fast; my brain felt like it would explode with all of this information. Another image.
I bit my tongue to keep myself from screaming. A white hot pain flashed before my back, again, and again, and again . . . there was no end to this. My mouth was filling with my own blood; if I kept this up I'd bite my tongue off. Another white hot pain hit my back. No, I'm not giving him the satisfaction of my screams.
I was crying now, on my knees. This isn't death. Death isn't painful. This is hell. All I felt was pain. I felt as if I was burning from the inside out. I couldn't talk, I couldn't scream. I could only watch, watch and feel the pain. Feel the pain of the images. These aren't memories; no one could live through this, let alone me.
These aren't your memories.
'Then whose are they?!'
Mine.
'Then why do I have to live through them?'
Because they are also yours.
'That doesn't make any sense!'
Yeah, it doesn't. The voice chuckled slightly. Nothing really makes sense in the world. I am you, you are me, and yet we are totally different people.
'But why? Why do I have to live through this hell?!'
. . . Because, you need to remember. Remember, who I am. Who you are.
'I don't want to remember!'
But you must. The voice was obviously sad. If you didn't have to, I wouldn't do this to you. I'm so sorry.
'Please! I don't want to remember! PLEASE!'
I'm sorry . . .
The voice faded away. I was left there, in silence. Nothing came up, there was just rest. . . . Another torrent of images flashed before me, pain tore me to pieces. Please. I couldn't do anything. Please. I could only watch. PLEASE! The images burned inside my head. I don't want to remember!
Poland's POV~
I watched as Liet went slack; pale. I couldn't help but have tears come to my eyes. He was my only friend. Well, the only one that stuck around for so long. I silently prayed for him. I couldn't do anything anymore.
I knew that he wasn't dead.
His wounds started to heal. Slowly at first, but they gradually healed faster. I shakily knelt down beside him. His face was contorted with pain. He was muttering below his breath, so quiet that I couldn't hear. My tears continued to fall for him. He needed to remember. He needed to. But even I wish that he didn't have to. No one should have to go through this, no one. He was still human. Humans could never go through what a Nation has to go through. They would go mad. Being so close to death unleashed Liet's memories. They were all pouring into him right now. But too fast, too fast.
I grabbed his arm and loosely wrapped it around my neck. I used one arm to grab his waist and I slowly pulled Liet off of the ground. He was shaking; my heart broke seeing my friend like this. His unintelligible, silent mutterings became louder and clearer.
"I don't want to remember." He said softly. "I don't want to remember." I winced.
"Like, none of us do." I whispered back. "None of us do."
AN: If you aren't crying...I'm actually okay with that. I can't cry either. :P I don't have much to put here besides my usual beg for reviews, so...yeah. See you next time, my little lambs~!
Also! There's no point following/favoriting a story if you're not going to review! Just saying~!
Stay as awesome as Prussia,
-Prussianess
