Chapter 3: Surprisingly Clear

Sunday, October 13th, 1991: 73 days until Christmas

I shift and hit something warm. Warmth is something I have been craving for decades. Of course I'm going to take it and hold it close to me. I nuzzle my face into it and it laughs.

I open my eyes and look up to see that I am holding Germany. Smiling, I rest my head back down on his chest.

"You're warm." I comment. He wraps his arms around me and I close my eyes, feeling the most content I ever have been in the last sixty years.

"You have no idea how much seeing you fills me with joy." He says.

"This all feels like a dream. . . I can hardly believe that it's real." I admit.

He laughs softly and I hold him tighter.

October 14th, 1991

"Hold your left arm out." Canada says while sitting in front of me. I do as I am asked. "Alright, I want you to push against me." He places his hand on the top of mine and pushes down. I push up against him.

"Hm." He comments while putting his hand underneath mine and pushing up. We do this for both of my arms in all four directions. I get nervous when he places a hand on the side of my knee.

"Same here, I'm just testing the strength of your legs." He reassures me. I nod and swallow anxiously. We do this for the outside of both legs before he places his hand on the inside of my thigh.

I let out a shaky breath and move away from him. He looks up at me, lavender eyes making me shiver. He raises his hands.

"We don't have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable." He says while standing up and moving to the clipboard he has on the nightstand. I look down at my legs and stare.

Blue then fizzle, red then fizzle, green then fizzle. My legs blend into the bed sheets and vice versa, becoming one solid entity. I can't feel them anymore, they are inanimate, like the bed. The touch of a hand to my inner thigh is harrowing. It makes me vulnerable. I never had a choice with him. His hand sliding up my thigh, I had to play along.

No. Stop. Not in his vocabulary. They had no meaning to him, he told me that. His touch was horrible but the thing I hated most was the way my own body would betray me. He'd make me feel bad about it, make fun of me, torment me.

"I can't take you seriously with this." Russia says, emphasizing his statement by gripping me through my pants. I gasp and try to push him away, but I could never match him in strength.

"Get your hands off of me, I said no."

"No?" He says in a teasing manner, "It feels like a yes." His hand begins to knead me and I feel nauseous. My mind reels as I try to find a solution, anything, to get him away from me.

"Hel-!" I try calling out but he covers my mouth and pushes me harder against the wall.

"Fighting me and begging me isn't going to stop this. . . If anything it makes me want to do it more, so I suggest you stop." He threatens in a low voice. "Are you going to be good for me?"

Humiliation and shame crash over me as I'm forced to say yes. I'm forced to just play along as his hand slides up my thigh because the punishment for not 'being good' will hurt worse. He thrived off of demeaning me, emasculating me, forcing my body to react by grabbing my left hand and pressing into my palm. I knew that I couldn't help it, but it didn't make me feel any less worse about the erections and orgasms. He said if I didn't want it then I wouldn't be hard, I wouldn't come. . . but I didn't want it.

I feel my eyes begin to water as I stare down at my thighs and the bedsheets. No, no, don't fucking cry, how pathetic. I was raised better than this. Keep it together.

"Gilbert?" Canada says, kneeling down in front of me. I look into his lavender eyes and see Russia.

"I'm sorry." I manage.

"Sorry? There is nothing to apologize about."

"I'm sorry for flinching and being difficult."

"You are not being difficult, trust me. I understand that you've gone through some very distressing situations, I should have warned you that I was going to touch you like that." I let out a breath of relief and look back down at my thighs. Disappointing and disobeying are two things I can't stand. "Let's take a break, I've gotten enough information from you for now." He suggests while standing up.

October 15th, 1991

". . . Mostly in and out, but you're more than welcome. . . Sure. . ." The voice is so muffled and far away.

The door to the basement opens and I hear multiple pairs of shoes walk down the steps.

"Oh, my heavens." A high masculine voice comments. I feel something drape over me and I open my eyes to see a figure kneeling beside the bed with their chest on mine and arms wrapped around me.

"What the hell?" I ask.

"No one thought you were alive." The figure says while leaning up off me and looking at me. Brown eyes, dark hair, glasses, defined nose.

"Austria?" I ask.

Tears are falling from his eyes as he runs a hand through my hair.

"It is absolutely wonderful to see you again." He says. I sit up and blink a few times, slowly starting to recognize him fully and understanding where I am.

"You as well." I answer.

"Would it be alright if I spoke with him alone?" He asks whoever else entered the room.

"Sure." Comes Germany's voice. Footsteps leave the room, making us alone.

"Gilbert, I'm so sorry. I knew I should have said something, I was just so scared that I-"

"Shh," I interrupt him, "it's not your fault."

"It is. I knew you were alive and I remained quiet." More tears fall down his face as he says this. I wipe them away with my thumb.

"I'm glad you did. Even if everyone knew, there was nothing they could do."

Austria nods and looks down.

"I know we were no saints in the forties but. . . This was excessive." He comments.

We remain silent for a while before he asks me a question.

"Have you seen anyone other than Germany, Italy, Canada and myself?" I shake my head.

"I'm a little nervous, honestly. I fear my presence may open old wounds. I was severely hated and feared, and condemned to death as the most heinous villain to live on this Earth. I'm sure seeing me alive will haunt the others." I admit.

"It's been almost sixty years. I'm sure they have healed, even if at least a little."

October 16th, 1991

"Please, no, anything but that. . . I can't take this."

I'm haunted by what has happened. My nights are filled with memories I wish I could just forget. I remember not being able to sleep comfortably. Any little movement could mean the end of my life. Could be someone just around the corner, just outside the door, at the mouth of the tent.

"I-I don't know what you want, please I. . ."

Something brushes my shoulder and I jolt awake, taking the wrist that brushed me and pulling it. I used to pull this move often during war, and it has saved my life more times than I can count. I always end up over the perpetrator, like I am now.

I find myself straddling a very surprised looking Canada.

"I am so sorry. I had no idea I even woke you up." He apologizes. I reorient myself and sit back on him.

"It's alright, it's not your fault. I should have warned you that I can do that."

"Well, I'm glad to see you alert and well-situated. . ." He trails off, looking awkwardly to his left. At first I'm confused by his awkwardness before it dons on me the rather intimate position we are in. As I'm moving off him to sit on the side of the bed, Italy walks down into the room. She lifts an eyebrow at us and I notice Canada blush considerably before getting off the bed and busying himself with one of the pill bottles on the nightstand.

"Glad to see you awake, Gilbert. How are you feeling?" She asks.

"Surprisingly clear." I answer.

"Good. . . Canada, may I speak with you for a moment?"

"Of course." He answers, following her outside of the room.

A bit curious, I wait until the door is closed before going to it and listening to their conversation.

"When I walked in, were you two. . ?" Italy begins.

"Heavens no. I would never take advantage of someone like that. He reacted poorly to me touching him and tossed me onto the bed. Nothing more."

"Okay, good. I mean, not good that he reacted that way but good you're not taking advantage of him. . . Anyway, I wanted to tell you that we might have a problem. Germany just got off the phone with America who just met with France and England. They are demanding that Gilbert should attend the meeting tomorrow morning since some of the talking points involve him. . . They even suggested that they don't feel comfortable with him living with or in Germany."

My heart sinks as I stare at the door.

"What? That is ridiculous, he is in no shape to be living alone." Canada says.

"I know. Germany and America know that too, but Western Europe is convinced it is dangerous. . . Is he well enough to go to the meeting?"

Some silence passes before Canada gives his answer.

"He could be."