Author's note: Hello! It's so nice to post on this site again! I have been working on this story for a very, very long time and I just wanted to post it already. So, some things before we get started: there are a lot of dark themes that will be explored within this story like physical/mental/sexual abuse, violence, mentions of suicide, self-harm, talk of mental illness, flashbacks, triggers, and the like. Please do not read this if any of these themes make you uncomfortable, I really want you to enjoy this story comfortably. That being said, the main character is Prussia and the story will be in his perspective. He suffers from hallucinations, disassociating, panic attacks, and flashbacks so his reality is a little wonky. He's not a very reliable narrator so keep this in mind if things start to jump around. Anyway, please enjoy this chapter! Review if you like or have some constructive criticism you'd like to give, all is welcome!

Chapter 1: White Noise

Sunday, October 6th 1991 : 80 days until Christmas

I crave white noise. Absolute silence frightens me. I can hear everything in silence. At least my thoughts and memories can be drowned out by the constant hiss of the rain falling down on the roof of the house. I allow my mind to go blank as I stare at the wall before me, pausing my consciousness, ceasing to exist. . . Perhaps if I were to close my eyes, empty my mind, and stop breathing I would disappear.

Unblinking I stare at the blank wall, eyes as still as an undisturbed lake. My vision begins to darken and fizzle out like a burning film reel. Colors saturate, the lines of reality bend and move.

"Are you okay?" A familiar voice asks me from miles away.

"Okay." I repeat, as an answer? A question?

I tilt slightly to the left as a weight is added to the couch I am on, causing me to blink and restoring my vision to normal. A slightly tanned hand places itself over mine. My eyes remain on the wall.

"What are you thinking about?" The voice asks again. He sounds so muffled. So far away. It sounds like words I once knew but no longer remember the meaning.

"I . . . Don't." Is all I can manage in German right now. The warm hand on mine squeezes slightly and my eyes still remain transfixed on the blank wall before me.

"Is he alright?" Another voice asks, high and feminine, like a siren beneath the surface of the ocean. Muffled, but pretty.

"I got him to say three words. . . That's all he has spoken so far."

"Maybe he's overstimulated, perhaps after some rest he will come back to us."

The colors begin to dance in front of me again as my eyes burn and water. I'm looking at a wall, a window, some bushes, a street, a light, the ground, but I can't recognize anything anymore. I can see shapes, colors, lines, but where does the bush end and the street begin? What is the difference between the wall and the ground and the light on the street? Everything is blended together, pixelated, burning away from me.

I tilt again slightly to the right as the weight is taken away, causing me to blink and returning my sight. Ah. So that is where the bush ends.

Two hands place themselves on my knees as a figure kneels before me, in front of my line of sight. Blue eyes as deep as the ocean stare into mine. They belonged to the love of my life.

"Wolfgang." I say while placing my hand on top of one of his. The blue eyes look hurt so I reach out and cup the face they belong to. I can see his smooth skin now, that straight nose, thin lips, blonde hair. The man before me sighs and looks up somewhere beyond me.

"He's not going to move." He says

"You might have to carry him. If he can't recognize you there is no way he is making it there by himself." The siren says.

The hands on my knees leave and return in two different places, one underneath my knees and the other against my back. My eyes remain on the wall as I levitate from the coach. Maybe if I concentrate enough, I can lift myself all the way up to the clouds.

"Hmm." I let out a noise of disappointment as the wall leaves my vision and is replaced with a long dark opening. I close my eyes and try to levitate back to the wall, but find myself looking down a set of stairs instead. I need to practice this.

My floating ends with me laying on my back against something very soft. My line of vision falls on another wall, this time above me. Ceiling, perhaps. This will work mighty fine.

The beige color begins to bend and squiggle as little fireworks explode in my eyes. Blue then fizzle, red then fizzle, green then fizzle.

"I don't know what to do." Wolfgang says, tears at the edge of his voice.

"Give him some time. . . Just give it time." The siren sings.

October 7th, 1991

I reach out for the warmth I desperately want, but my hands find nothing. No warmth. Just an endless sea of cold sheets.

The events of the last two days flood back to me violently and I sit up abruptly.

"Where the hell am I?" I ask, mostly to myself.

"What?" A voice asks.

I look to my left and see Germany sitting next to the bed.

"Where am I?" I ask, barely recognizing him.

"I can't understand what you're saying, you have to speak German, or English." He says.

I look around the room and slowly begin to recognize that it is my own. I get on my knees and face the headboard, arms reaching up to the flag that hangs over it. I run my hands over the course material.

"Gilbert?"

I ignore him and keep running my hands over my old flag. This was mine. It used to be me. Who was that?

"Gilbert."

I keep ignoring him as I turn around and look at the flag on the opposite wall. That's the Holy Roman flag. I know that one. This is my room. My old room. Who?

"Prussia."

I turn to Germany and tilt my head slightly to the left.

"This. . . Is not Novgorod?" I ask. He sighs and stands up, reaching toward me. A terrible feeling crashes through me as I cower away.

"I'm not going to hurt you. . . Please, I can't understand Russian." He says. My eyebrows furrow as another intense memory of the past few days hits me like a truck.

"Sorry, I. . . I'm having trouble making sense of everything right now." I finally say in German.

"It's okay. We knew you would probably have trouble. You were in horrible shape when you got here." He says softly while sitting next to me. I blink a few times and stare at my hands as I open and close them.

"Feels like someone gave my brain a sponge bath." I admit while placing a hand on my forehead. Everything's so blurry. So far away. He places a hand on mine and my moment of clarity slides away from me. I sink back down onto the bed and stare at the pillows.

"Gilbert?" He asks.

The pillows look expansive from this view, like rolling hills covered in snow. They smell like fresh linen and remind me of washing sheets outside and hanging them on a line. That was Ukraine's job. I used to watch her and admire. She was like a mother to us.

Blue then fizzle, red then fizzle, green then fizzle. My eyes burn from not blinking. The pillows blend into each other to form a solid white mass, the wall in the background seeps into the pillows and vice versa. Colors deepen, lines disappear, everything is everything, bolded and combined.

A hand runs through my hair, causing me to blink.

"Please, come back to us."

October 8th, 1991

My eyes fly open and I see Germany sleeping on a chair next to my bed. A lingering fog remains in my mind but I can sit up and look around and tell where I am. I look back to Germany and sigh. He looks older since the last time I saw him. What a handsome man he has grown to be. Standing from the bed, I walk over to one of the dressers and look through the clothes in them. Most of these are too big for me now, so I have to go to the bottom of the drawer. I pull out a shirt that could pass but that's all.

I take off the shirt I have on and place it on the dresser. That's when steps creak on the stairs and I look up, eyes meeting Italy's.

"Gilbert -" She begins, eyes trailing down my body, "you. . . I" She can't even form a sentence.

"Keep down." I say, not wanting her voice to wake up Germany.

"Keep down? I've never seen someone look so emaciated in my life!" She says before covering her mouth and walking toward me, placing a hand on my chest like she doesn't believe what she sees. Before I can tell her to be quiet, I notice Germany move and open his eyes. Dammit.

He stands abruptly and looks at me like Italy had done. I can see his jaw tighten and he looks away.

"Italy, leave us." He says sternly. She gives him a worried look but obeys nonetheless, disappearing as quickly as she appeared.

Nervously, I look back to Germany.

"Ludwig, I know it looks bad b-"

"You lied to me." He interupts.

"Excuse me?"

"You said you were going to be fine. You said it wasn't going to be that bad. You also said that I'd be fine without you. . . Well, I'll tell you I definitely wasn't fine without you." There is so much emotion in his voice it breaks my heart.

"You can't get mad at me for what I did." I say hardly above a whisper.

"I'm not mad at you. . . Not at all. . ." He eyes my body again. "I wouldn't have been able to go through what you did, not then. . . I understand why you did what you did, but it still hurts. . . And I feel like I deserve what happened to you, but all I got was a slap on the wrist." His voice cracks as he chokes on tears. I feel my own eyes begin to mist as I approach him and place a hand on his arm.

"That's all I wanted to happen to you. I wanted them to go easy on you, you were just a kid." "Still. . . I hate that this happened to you. . . And I'm so sorry that you keep suffering because of my actions."

"It'll be okay, little one." I say, head feeling woozy again. I'm looking into his eyes one moment then staring at the ceiling again the next. I'm not entirely sure how I ended up on the bed but the firework show is pretty nice.