Hetalia Angst

Don't Wake Up

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS ONE OF MY DARKER STORIES. TRIGGER WARNINGS AND CHARACTERS ARE LISTED, MORE OR LESS, IN THE ORDER THEY APPEAR. IF YOU DON'T LIKE DARK STORIES, DON'T READ THIS. THANK YOU.
⚠️Trigger Warnings; PTSD flashbacks, wwii gas chamber, suffocation, burning alive, wwii live experimentation, intense pain, immense fear, implied past rape/non-con, comatose character, severe phobias, mentioned torture, severe anxiety, Berlin Wall escape⚠️
Characters: Gilbert Beilschmidt (Prussia/GDR), Implied General Winter, unnamed doctors, Matthew Williams (Canada), Arthur Kirkland (England), Francis Bonnefoy (France), Ludwig Beilschmidt (Germany), Alfred F. Jones (America), Antonio Fernandez Carriedo (Spain), Ivan Braginski (Russia), Eduard VonBock (Estonia)
Word Count: 2000 words

The frigid touch of the cold, familiar hands made him gasp, crimson eyes widening in fear. He ran his hands over his skin, trying to chase away the feeling, trying to ignore the sneer that insisted on tainting his thoughts. He shook his head, squirming in his spot to try and escape the fingers that were grabbing, pressing, clawing, drawing gasping cries from his lips. Hot tears trailed down his cheeks, choking his voice as he tried to call for help, praying for someone to find him, to save him from the hell he knew was coming.

A terrible burning in his throat snatched his words from him, leaving him trying desperately to inhale the precious oxygen he needed. He coughed hard, trying to get rid of whatever was stealing his breath. It didn’t help for long though. Soon, he could feel his head spin, drifting him in and out of consciousness. He hadn’t realized he had closed his eyes until they opened to a gentle orange glow. A deep, ragged breath forced its way into his lungs, filling them with the much needed oxygen. A scream forced its way from his throat, making him that much more aware of his surroundings.

The light and warmth of the fire would have been comforting under nearly any other circumstance. But now, as he pulled at the ropes he found binding him to a wooden post, the fire was too bright, too hot, pulling him in and licking at his skin as he cried and thrashed. The burns spread across his skin, biting up his body as the flames climbed his clothes. His screams sounded far off, as though that terrified sound wasn’t coming from him, but from another creature. The added pain of his tears dripping into cuts he hadn’t even realized he had had made him cry out again, more tears falling which only added to the pain.

The brightness of the fire was interrupted by black dots speckling his vision. His head was reeling and he relished the feeling of unconsciousness washing over him, cooling the burning and giving him just a moment of peace before it became too cold. He could hear words, words from his language. But were they? He couldn’t understand them but the harsh way the vowels and consonants hit his ears was much too familiar for it to be a foreign language. Finally finding a sliver of strength left in him, he forced his eyes open once again, revealing the ruby irises to piercing gazes, as though the people surrounding him were vultures set on devouring him for all he’s worth.

An attempt to shift was stolen by the straps of leather that held him in place. This wasn’t right. He knew something was off. Even with that realization, he found that he didn’t know where- or in this case, when- he was. He blinked hard, trying to clear his blurry vision before he felt an overwhelming pain overtake him. Try as he might, he couldn’t place where the pain was coming from. All he knew was that he felt like he was on fire again, pain coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. At first, he thought he might have woken back up in the stretching flames that seemed to constantly pull him back before remembering the straps that bound him.

A far off scream sounded, confusing him until he realized it was coming from him again. He felt sick. It felt like he’d been screaming for hours, making his voice raw from the exertion. Even so, it was better than forcing himself to stay silent through the excruciating pain. His eyes must have closed again because moments later he opened them again, revealing the hazy room around him. This time it seemed nicer. No longer an experimentation room, but a nice bedroom, clad in gentle blues. He found that he was surrounded by curious, worried faces, fixing their eyes of blue and green on him. Sitting up quickly, he pressed himself back against the headboard, looking around at the indistinct faces all around him before his eyes met a pair of cool violets.