Memories: Rewritten

Chapter 9: The Truth

 Germany must have laid in bed for hours, his eyes fixated on the ceiling as his thoughts fell into spirals. Disappointment spiraled to disillusionment, disillusionment spiraled to longing, and longing spiraled back into disappointment. He knew information was being withheld from him, but the more he sought answers, the more disconnected he became from himself, and in the moments his brain and body felt like completely different beings, he longed for the life of simplicity he'd left behind. He reflected on his silent drive home from England's and hoped he would keep his promise. The split-second emotional connection between himself and Prussia made Germany realize how void his heart had become, how comforting it felt to be connected again, and if Prussia knew the nature of his conversation with England, he would surely cut him off once more. Prussia's near touch reminded him of his humanity. Germany clung to the memory like his life depended on it, and in a way, it did.

Germany pushed the covers off himself and slowly sat up, letting out an exasperated sigh when he became upright once more. The physical weakness, the result of him vomiting, refused to subside no matter how much time had passed. His strength withered with each passing day, and as his shell of a body rose to a standing position, he yearned for physical and mental strength once more. He finally exited his bedroom, leaving the door open as he made his way down the stairs. With one hand firmly gripping the banister in case he lost his footing, Germany reached the bottom of the staircase without incident.

On his way down the stairs, the sound of Austria's piano grew progressively louder. Germany shuffled towards the drawing room to witness Austria sitting at the piano's bench, his body swaying with each stroke of the keys. The rain lightened up, its stream only barely streaking the windows. Each of Austria's fingers alternated between arcing and falling flat as he played, his hands moving across the keyboard. His curl drooped in his field of vision. Germany quietly stepped into the room and came closer to the piano, watching the hammers rise and fall with each stroke of the hand. Austria noticed Germany's entrance and finished the measure he was in the process of playing.

"How are you feeling?" Austria asked warmly.

Germany feigned a small smile in return, not wanting to cause more concern. "Not great. A bit better, though."

"Do you need something?"

"No. Just listening."

Austria nodded and resumed where he'd left off, his previously stoic expression now curled into a smile. Thankfully, he seemed normal once more, no longer the crumpled heap cowering on the floor. His orderly nature meant that Germany always had an inkling as to where he would be and what he would be doing, and with Italy's existence being akin to a wild card, the consistency was a breath of fresh air. Witnessing Austria reduced to rubble, a far cry from his usual self, rattled Germany into a newfound appreciation for his predictability. With every other aspect of his life reeling, he was thankful for the sonata serenading his ears, the predictable sound from his predictable pseudo-parent bringing him another sliver of happiness.

Germany gave Austria's shoulder a light pat to indicate he was leaving, then made his way towards the kitchen. This seemed like the perfect time for a beer. He opened the fridge and, to his dismay, there was not a single beer left. Prussia had, most likely, finished every last bottle on his most recent bender. Germany figured there may be some in the basement's refrigerator. The entrance to the basement resided near the opposite end of the living room. Germany walked through the living room and opened the door, its creaking a result of its infrequent use. He gripped the railing once more and slowly inched his way down the steep staircase, their narrow width ensuring that his feet would only fit halfway on each step. He reached the bottom and flipped the only real lightswitch on.

The basement was not finished, its primary purpose being a storage room. The walls were lined with shelves packed to the brim with boxes and plastic bins. Bins with seasonal decorations were labeled in Austria's cursive scrawl while cardboard boxes were merely marked with room names or their contents. Larger boxes sat on the floor next to the shelves, and at the far corner of the room was the refrigerator, its barely-audible hum giving the room a subtle breath of life. Germany often had no reason to venture into the basement, the refrigerator being for overstock and the storage only combed through by Austria. The light bulbs in the ceiling could be switched on using the strings dangling from them. He pulled one as he walked, illuminating the area in a cream-colored tinge. When he opened the fridge door, he found exactly what he was looking for. Knowing his strength still faltered, he only grabbed two beers. He made a mental note to ask Prussia for help in restocking the upstairs stash.