I don't really know what to think about this chapter. I kinda hit some writers block I think (it's been a minute since I wrote it), and this is what that produced. Anyway, review, I don't own Harry Potter, fuck JKR, the usual.
Exhaustion hit Fred hard. It always had. George seemed to be able to run on empty for weeks before it caught up to him, but not Fred. Fred desperately needed sleep.
Unfortunately, he wasn't able to get it. It didn't help that the rations they were given were less than a quarter of what a person needed in a day. Fred hadn't eaten like that in years. His body wasn't used to it anymore. He hoped desperately that passerbys wouldn't hear his stomach growl.
The worst thing was the drugs they were given. They were supposed to curb the need for sleep and food. And, after something like 15 doses in the span of 2 days, they did. Fred didn't feel hunger or exhaustion. He hardly felt any physical sensation at all.
He directed what little attention he had at George. Not being preoccupied meant thinking about Matt. He didn't know if it was the drugs, but all of his thoughts had turned sour, towards Matt or otherwise. He was angry at Matt for leaving him, even though he knew very well that it was the other way around. He was angry at George for being injured and worrying him.
There was another thing wrong. Since the drug started kicking in, he couldn't see George's colours. They began to fade after the first dose, but by day five they were totally gone. There was no pain, no fear, no happiness. Fred had to work to read George's mood, something he hadn't had to do in years. George's face had never been telling, and Fred relied on what little body language George betrayed. He missed when he could glance at George and know exactly what he was feeling at any given moment. He supposed it was fitting, however, that a drug would be the thing to take away that ability. In a way, he felt cleansed.
Fred had thought that the first week was hell. He was livid when Remus gave them their post-mission debrief and called their week a "warm-up". He almost blurted out that Remus wasn't there, and he didn't understand what he was putting them through. He stayed silent though, the months of training preventing him from speaking against Remus.
He didn't know how he could survive the rest of the month, let alone the rest of the war. It seemed to Fred that everybody had already reached their limit, and the war showed no signs of ending.
George was beginning to enjoy his second mind. It was free of most everything that plagued him on the daily. He only had vague memories of everything stored in his original mind, only a distant sense of his emotions. Even his PTSD was less pronounced, though it wasn't nearly as faded as everything else. He had truly had a new mind fashioned, and he was a blank slate when he used it.
What scared him the most was the ease with which he obeyed orders. All of his Order training, all of the memories of Mad-Eye and Remus and Dumbledore telling him to obey unconditionally, were stored in his second mind. No thoughts of rebellion were. Submitting to authority, namely Remus, was all he knew. It wasn't something that had come easily before.
It was becoming a warzone in George's head. His second mind was becoming stronger, and it was developing a, well, a mind of its own. There were times on the weekend post-mission that George would lay in bed pretending to be asleep, but he wasn't asleep. He was almost never asleep. He was so exhausted, but he spent his time fighting off his second mind rather than get some much-needed rest. Something about the seizure or whatever it had been had fucked him up. He tried talking to Remus, but Remus just saw it as a good thing. It would improve his "performance". George almost lashed out, but he bit his lip and nodded. He apologized for wasting Remus' time and fought off the thoughts of past experiences. Remus wasn't abusing him, no matter how it seemed. Remus was trying to get through the war, just as they all were.
By Saturday night, George was so desperate that he was debating confiding in Angelina. Fred wouldn't do, as he would just worry needlessly. George wasn't going off the rails, he was just losing a bit of control.
It was Sunday morning at an ungodly hour that it occurred to George. He could pray. He had lost all faith in a God years ago, but he didn't know what else he could do. There wasn't anybody who would understand, but how could God not understand? He was all-knowing, wasn't he? He created this spell, this situation, and therefore He must have been the solution.
George climbed out of bed, careful not to wake Fred (since Alicia had moved in, Fred and George had been sharing one of the bottom bunks). He didn't know what else to do, so he got on his knees and rested his elbows on the foot of the bed. It was how he had prayed as a kid, back before his mother had stopped checking on them to make sure they were saying their prayers. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Hey, God. It's been a while. I'm not really sure what I'm doing here. This isn't my usual 'I'm sorry for cursing, don't send me to hell'. I've given up on that. I curse and I masturbate and I eat pork and all the shit I'm not supposed to. I don't drink often? Maybe I should stop eating pork. It's not that good anyway, just kind of meh. I don't even like chicken or beef that much, either. Suppose I should be vegetarian, huh?
"Anyway, my point is, I'm not a perfect person. Far from it, actually. About as far as you can get without committing huge sins like murder. I don't know why You would want to listen to a person like me, but here we go.
"I don't know what to do. I'm scared. I feel a loss of control every minute of every day. You control everything, so You must control this. Please, please, please bring me back to myself. I don't know what I'm doing. I'm so fucking lost. And I'm swearing in the middle of a prayer. Please don't stop listening. I need somebody to hear this."
George was in tears. He was trying desperately to keep his voice down. Nobody could wake up. Nobody could hear him.
"I need Your help. I don't care what You do. Do anything. Kill me if You must. Send me to Hell. Just don't ignore me. I need help. Please."
George didn't say Amen. He collapsed his arms and head onto the bed in front of him and cried. He sobbed until he had nothing left except a calm that he had prayed for. It was still hours until the sun would rise, hours until London would wake. It was almost silent, apart from the occasional car and Fred's snoring. George's knees and back burned, but he didn't move. He couldn't bear to disturb the quiet that he had longed for.
Something hit him hard on the head, just above where his ear was still bandaged tightly. Furious that something dare disturb him, and also in quite a lot of pain, he snapped his head up to find Fred's foot resting beside him. George rolled his eyes and got up, stretching. He slipped back under the covers gingerly, glad for once that Fred was a heavy sleeper.
He turned to face Fred, who was so very asleep that he was drooling and still. George brushed some hair out of his twin's face before wrapping his arms around Fred's torso. He made a small noise, and George feared for a moment that he had woken Fred, but Fred went perfectly still again. George sighed and burrowed himself in Fred's chest, returning to his struggle to hold off his second mind.