bits of my mind

scars (gerpol fluff/angst)

TW for: scars, mentions of war, death, slight gore and suicide attempts

-----

"Another scar to add to my ever growing collection," Poland sighed unhappily, ruffling his one remaining wing. "What happened?" Asked Germany. Poland frowned, looking away.

"I... I forgot I couldn't fly anymore." Poland flushed, biting his lip. One of his wings was brutally ripped off during the war. "And I jumped off, wanting to take flight and join the birds in the sky."

"I no longer belong with them.

I'm a scarred monster."

"Hey, what makes you say that? You're not a monster," Germany said, reaching out to touch Poland's shoulder. "I can't stand the look of myself. There's scars all over me," Poland muttered, taking his shirt and pulling it on.

Before he could do so, he was stopped by Germany. "Warten," Germany whispered. "Can... Can I touch your back?"

Poland hesitated. He didn't like anyone touching his back, not after his wings were hurt. Germany raised his hands, showing that he meant no harm. Relenting, Poland turned away from Germany, exposing his back.

White scar tissue stretched across his back, a testimony to the horrors of war he'd faced and survived. The German cautiously laid his hand on Poland's back. Poland flinched visibly, and Germany took his hand off, giving Poland a free range of movements in case he changed his mind.

"Nie, w porządku, kontynuuj," Poland inhaled deeply, naming five things he could see in the room in an attempt to calm himself down...

The fan.

The potted plant by the windowsill.

A couple of posters on the wall.

The wooden door.

His own hands.

And then four things he could feel.

The sheets under him...

Germany tracing the scars across his back.

Poland stiffened up, trying not to flinch or react any other way. "I don't think your scars make you look monstrous," Germany murmured, "I think they make you look strong. Not everyone could say that they've been through all the shit you've been through."

He continued tracing the scars, as if fascinated, and kissed the scars that weren't obscured by the linen bandage wrapped around Poland's torso. Then, when he was done, he hugged Poland from behind.

"Niemcy?" Poland asked, whispering. "Ja, mein Schatz?" Germany replied, closing his eyes and resting his head on Poland's shoulder. "Is it true, the things you said? You don't hate me?"

"Ja, und nein, ich nicht," Germany confirmed. "If I could travel across time, I'd choose to stay here, with you. He peppered a few kisses across Poland's scalp. "Ich liebe dich sehr. You inspire me."

"I love you too," Poland replied, holding on to Germany's hands. "Dziękuję Ci."

Germany chuckled, his warm breath blowing across his partner's neck. Poland was reminded, as he felt Germany's clothed chest pressed up against his bare back, with the familiar and stabilising thump thump thump of Germany's heart that they were both gloriously alive and safe.

"If you ever feel ashamed of your scars," Germany said, moving away from the hug and pulling his own shirt off his back, "I have some of mine too. We're in this together."

In the middle of his back was a ghastly scar resembling a swastika tilted at a 45 degree angle. He smiled sadly. His father, deranged by war and the thirst for power, had carved it into Germany's back.

Smaller scars dotted his torso, chest and along his arms, a reminder of the shrapnel and bullets that had torn through the sooty air of war. A small line on his wrist when he'd tried to end it all, and a patch on the side of his neck where he'd had a close encounter with death.

Poland could remember very vividly, him on the front lines, dodging flying debris and shooting at enemy troops, and then the stabbing pain as his wing was ripped off. He touched the wing, now a clump of feathers, and drew his hand back, expecting it to be coated in sticky, metallic smelling crimson.

Germany held Poland's hand, pulling him back to the present. "You're safe now."

Humming a lullaby, he massaged Poland's back, being careful with his wings. The Pole relaxed, leaning in on Germany's touch. They sat together, topless, as Germany hummed.

Poland's eyelids drooped as the realm of sleep beckoned him to step in. Realising this, Germany carefully lowered Poland to the bed and laid beside him, continuing to hum and drawing circles on his back with his thumb.

"Dobranoc, Niemcy," Poland murmured.

"Gute Nacht, Polen."