Memories Best Forgotten

Nightmares

"I don't know..."

The sound of blood dripping from the sharp blade in a German's hand pierced the thick air. The tall German's boot steps sounded heavily and echoed off the concrete walls. "You must know something, American." The already bloodied knife drew across the weakened man's skin, drawing more crimson liquid to slowly slide down his pale, hallow cheek.

His once bright, sea blue eyes glared emotionless and dull up towards the taller, brutal man. "Even if I did know something... Why should I tell you? You have nothing to threaten me with aside from my life. You have no idea who or even where my loved ones are. I have nothing to gain, nor to lose. So kill me. Kill me dead, German. No one would even notice my disappearance with all the hundreds of thousands of millions of innocents being murdered each day. I'm just another soldier to die for the cause."

The brunette German snarled, yanking the American's head back by his hair. However, the blonde was numb to the pain. "You will tell me what you know! How did you know the weak point of our base? How did you acquire information for the Italian Resistance!? How did the American pilots receive the coordinates of our German fleets!? Tell me, you damn insect!"

A deep chuckle escaped from a dry throat and cracked lips. "If only you knew... You'd be calling me a god... Not an insect."

Only, this angered the German further. "Why would I call you anything higher ranking than a swine?"

"Name... Alfred F. Jones... Rank... Lieutenant... Number... 558/3..." Alfred muttered, his eyes closed.

Again, the German sneered, and slammed Alfred's head down on the table. "I told you to stop repeating that!" The blade was raised above the brunettes head. Alfred knew what was going to happen. It's happened six times already. The silver glinted in the dim light of a broken lamp before sailing down. Alfred cried out in agony as fire spread in his hand. 

Another finger missing.

 Another trophy for the Gestapo. 

Fresh, scarlet blood poured over the already bloody, wooden table. New, salty tears streaked Alfred's dirty, hot, pale cheeks, stinging the new cut and clearing thin paths through the dirt and dried blood.

Finally, the German had enough. He angrily slammed his hand down before gripping the handle of the blade in his other hand. He raised the knife once again, then, with a jerky motion, he hammered the silver through Alfred's hand and table. The American's screams became louder as he struggled to push the blazing agony away as he had done for the previous two months.

Another German burst into the room, shouting in German to the Gestapo officer. Only a few words were recognized by the breaking American. The brunette officer was commanded to leave the room and shut the door behind him. The new German rushed over and tore the blade from Alfred's hand, inflicting more pain.

"Oh, God!" Alfred cried, his blood gushing out over his hand.

"Alfred! Alfred, listen to me! America, please!" The German accent was desperate as they picked up the blonde from the torture chair. However, all the American could to was scream and weep as spasms cursed his now fragile body. "Dammit, Al! How could you let them do this to you!? You could take out this entire hellhole with your hands tied behind your back." The familiar man gently took off Alfred's torn shirt, careful of infections, burns, and any wound. America's once beautiful, unmarred golden-brown skin was torn, stained with his own blood and burned. His skin was paled with the lack of the beautiful American sunlight he should be in currently, instead of being held in this dingy cell.

Alfred panted heavily, his face contorted in torment. 

"P-pearl... Ha-arbor..."

The white haired man slowly and carefully bandaged the broken body. "I forgot about that. You must still be weakened from that. I'm so sorry, Alfred. Come on, we have to get you out of here, big guy." Gilbert hoisted Alfred up, causing the younger to hiss in pain. "Sorry."