Memories: Rewritten

Chapter 3: Lines of Questioning

Surprisingly, the first feeling he regained was thankfulness for the fact that he could actually move his eyes without pain. The everlasting headache returned to its manageable dull throb, permitting him to finally open his eyes. The curtains were half-drawn with enough light emitting through to know that it was still mid-day. Germany lay in his bed with a cold washcloth on his forehead. A small bead of water glided from his temples to his cheeks. He carefully tilted his head to the left. Prussia sat beside the bed in a chair that looked like it had been taken from the kitchen, his body slouched forward with his head in his hands. His mess of platinum hair fell in his eyes with pieces standing every which way. As he heard the sheets stir, he looked up. His eyes met Germany. The flames of adrenaline that burned in his irises earlier were now dulled with anxiety; two stray tears welling up in the corners of his eyes waited for the perfect time to frame his cheeks and chin as they fell.

"Gott sei Dank, thank you, God," Prussia whispered as he brought his hands up under his chin, "you have no idea how relieved I am, Westie."

"What happened?" Germany murmured. His voice was hoarse, his throat scratchy from the scream.

"Italy told us that you were having lunch together when you were struck with a headache. He said you looked pale and dizzy, so he brought you home and Austria and I brought you inside. You yelled out in pain before fainting."

Prussia bit his lip. On cue, the two tears trickled down his face. "We carried you upstairs. I put you into bed. I couldn't walk away from you. I can't let anything bad happen to you. I will always be here to protect you."

Germany scoffed and carefully tilted his head to the right, then back to the left as he readjusted himself slightly. "You're never this endearing."

Prussia chuckled. He stood from the chair and moved it closer to Germany. He sat back down and placed his hand on his brother's head once again, softly ruffling his hair. "And now that you're okay, I will never do it again--not unless it's absolutely necessary."

Germany sighed deeply and closed his eyes again. He tried to piece together his last memories before losing consciousness. He remembered being in terrible pain, his headache feeling as if it would split his head open, and he screamed before falling. He was in a position to fall, teetering on the edge of the couch, but why?

Then it all came back to him: the words Prussia said, the realization, the grabbing of his shirt. Germany immediately came to his senses as the adrenaline kicked his brain back into gear. He sat up abruptly. Prussia leaned back and stared at him. Germany tried to speak, but all he could do was open his mouth. He felt his nerves creeping up to his throat, knowing better than anyone that confronting his older brother was one of the most difficult things to do.

"You really shouldn't push yourself," Prussia said, "you really should lay back down."

"You were in my dream," Germany blurted.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes, and I didn't know it was you until you said what you said. 'Don't worry, you'll be okay,' it was you."

Prussia's brow furrowed and he tilted his head in bafflement. "I said that to you in a dream?"

"Yes," Germany shot back. He remained sitting up, not heeding Prussia's advice. "I had the same headache in my dream, and when the pain started, you said the same thing to me. It was you in the dream."

Prussia nodded somberly and pushed his hands together, almost like he was praying. He concealed his mouth with his hands. Germany leaned in closer, anxiously scanning Prussia's face for whatever serious thing was about to say.