When a Nazi and a Commie Meet... Ch. 7
Chappie seven! Enjoy!
Ivan's Pov:
This is very strange. I apologized to Prussia... He should be happy now, right? Why isn't he happy? Why does he still look so scared? More scared than before actually. If not for the situation, I would've found it cute...
But what really threw me off is when he started to waver.
"Hm? Prussia? Are you alright?"
He didn't answer me. He just kept staring off, his knees starting to tremble. It was very obvious that he was going to faint very soon.
Now that I think about it, neither of these things are really that odd. Well, they are, but not as odd as the fact that e was meeting my eyes. He hasn't met my eyes once since I've seen him during the time of the Berlin Wall. His eyes are so pretty when I can finally examine them, but they are not the same as before. Even when he's dazed, I can still tell that his eyes had lost some life, some color, some of him.
I snapped out of my own daze when he started to blink, taking a step towards him. "Gilbert, sit down! You are about to collapse! What happened?" He only took a step back. He mumbled something and I just barely heard it. I don't...? What does that mean? Does he not forgive me? That would be sad, so very sad... I didn't get to think about it much though. His body started to collapse, and my arms immediately shot out and caught him. I chuckled a bit; it's like he's a little princess...
I was snapped out of my thoughts when I remembered that he was still unconscious, for no apparent reason. What if he was dying? The thought worried me greatly, so I set him back on the bed. I stood there dumbly for a few moments, just staring at him. What should I do? Should I call someone? I should cover him, right? I did just that, pulling his boots off and tucking the blanket over him. As I was doing that, I felt something sharp poke me. I frowned, ghosting my hand over his body.
There. Right there. Carefully, I grabbed the sharp object and pulled it out of his belt.
When it was in my hand, it took me a while to understand what it was. What... Why would he have this? He was sad enough to have this?
I gently picked up his wrist and pulled the sleeve of his shirt up, staring at the exposed flesh. I don't believe it. I don't want to believe it! Where did those cuts come from? One of them even oozed out a bit of blood when I squeezed too hard. It was new, and untreated.
Silly, silly rabbit. When you get cut, you must dress the wound...
Did he do this himself? That would be sad. I like it better when my- when Prussia acts happy. I know he isn't happy, but still. I dropped the dagger from my hand, staring at it for a moment. How ironic; this was the very same knife that their old "fuehrer", Hitler, had bestowed upon him as a gift. The eagle on the Prussian flag was carefully carved in and painted over with black, then the paint was rubbed away a bit, giving it a nice rusted effect. The blade was steel, carefully handcrafted. Hard to find nowadays. But there was one small imperfection about it; the tip had dried blood on it.
Prussia's blood.
Nothing I can do about it now, I suppose. After all, I am the one who caused it... Right? Yes, I am...
So like any good Russian (We have those, right?) I walked to the washroom and dug around a bit before I came up with a first aid kit and walked back to Prussia. Maybe he has scars somewhere other than his wrists, but if I look, he might get scared.
I'd never touch him like that without his permission ever again, but this is Prussia we are talking of, right? So he would take it too far... I started to wrap up his wrists, quickly discovering just how many cuts there were. Some were old, some new, some were short, others wrapping around his wrist once or twice. Some were cut horizontally, some vertically. Some were deep, others, I could see, were very shallow. A few were even in strange shapes. One of them was a ragged circle, and upon staring at it for a moment more, I made sense of the squiggly lines and chuckled.
Prussia tried to make a cornflower on his arm...
There were also other shapes, but I couldn't really make any sense of them. It was sad though; the scars didn't stop until his elbows, so now there was white gauze wrapped all the way up to his bony elbows.
Bony... He was rather bony, wasn't he? Far too thin. Was he starving himself or is this just an affect of having his nation taken away from him? And was he supposed to breath so lightly while he slept? Wasn't he supposed to sleep with heavy breaths, not short gasps?
How much have I hurt him?
