A Million Voices [UsUk]

Disorder

Alfred! Alfred, wake up! Alfred!

Is he okay?

Of course not! He just blacked out, you idiot!

Alfred!

Only a small mutter could be heard from the person being called. Alfred felt such a heartbreak that he couldn't bare to see anything or anyone anymore. After minutes of endless torture and screaming from the pain, he passed out in Mathias' arms.

"Alfred..." Elizabeta whispered in shock and stood up to bring a wet rag and some water from the kitchen, just barely being able to stand on her feet from the shock of Alfred passing out in pain.

The American coughed a couple of times really harshly and held onto Mathias' hand as Elizabeta pressed the wet white rag against his forehead, which was supposed to make him gain back slightly more consciousness and make him more aware of his current surroundings.
"Arthur..." He mumbled quietly and all of their expression turned to frowns, knowing that there was no way for him to get back to normal for quite a while after this unexpected turn of events.

Firstly, he got flashbacks from the plane crash - it's inevitable. It's something he would have to deal until his own life ended. His significant other ended his life, and that was a much heavier burden to carry than a plane crash.

"Alfred, are you alright?" Elizabeta muttered, and only got a small nod from the American. Soon, the three of them helped him up from the floor and set him on the couch, for which he only mumbled a barely coherent 'thank you'.

"He's dealing with post traumatic stress disorder." The Hungarian girl concluded with a stern, but caring expression on, and Gilbert and Mathias looked at her with slight confusion.

"Are you serious? Isn't that, uh... A bit too harsh of a diagnosis?" Gilbert asked with furrowed eyebrows, but Elizabeta shook her head.

"Come to the kitchen with me, Gil. Mathias, you've got to stay here with Alfred while we talk." The girl demanded and took her boyfriend by the hand before dragging him into the kitchen of the American's apartment.

Gilbert sighed and knew he had to follow her in, liked it or not. "What?" He asked tiredly.

"You might not believe me, but it really is PTSD he's dealing with. But we have to help him. What would his life be like if for the next fifty years, he would have to get constant flashbacks from when the airplane crashed, or if he would torture himself by the thought of Arthur ending his life?" Elizabeta frowned and explained the aftermath of the formed disorder.

"Uh, just how do you plan on curing Alfred from a mental disorder?" Gilbert crossed his arms and whisper - yelled to Elizabeta so that Alfred couldn't hear from the living room.

"Well. Treatment should work. Although memories cannot be eliminated, what treatment can do is take away or reduce the extent to which those memories bring about tremendous distress and anxiety, as well as unhealthy behaviors focused on avoiding or preventing those memories." She lectured him in a quick and steady tone of voice, leaving the German in awe.

"You sound like you've learned to recite those words." He muttered in disbelief.

Elizabeta huffed and crossed her arms as she leaned against the table in the kitchen. "Yeah, well, I actually read books, unlike you." She rolled her eyes and gave a victorious smirk."
Gilbert just blushed in embarrassment and faltered  his glaze a little to the side. "So, uh, you suggest treatment? Where do we find a person who'd help him with that?"

"She's standing right in front of you."

"You?! You're not a therapist, Liz." Gilbert glared in complete confusion.

"I know enough to help my friend, Gil. Oh, also make sure that Alfred doesn't get drunk any time soon. Even if he asks you to share drinks with you, you can't let him. It will worsen if you let him."

Gilbert sighed, not wanting to start any arguments with Elizabeta. "Alright. Uh, when will you talk to him about the therapy, then?"

"Now." Elizabeta said and swiftly dissappeared into the living room, leaving a startled, flustered and confused Gilbert behind.

"A-alright." He managed to mutter out and then sigh before taking his steps back to Alfred's place in the living room.

The American was shifting on the couch, shivering a little and burying his face in the pillow to prevent himself from beginning to cry. "I... Can't breathe..." He muttered and almost screamed, throwing his pillow from the couch and curling up, shaking as if it was a cold winter.

Elizabeta sighed and knelt next to the couch, gently trying to take his hand, but he pulled back. "Alfred, listen to me. You're not in the plane anymore. You're safe at home. At your own home. I'm here, Gilbert's here and Mathias is here as well. You're safe." She tried to assure him in a soft spoken tone, and for a brief moment, he stopped shivering a little, averting his look to a blurry picture of her.

"I'm... Safe..." He mumbled and grasped her hand with quick movements.

"That's correct. Now, sit up in a comfortable position. Discomfort won't help you feel better." She sternly warned him, and the American listened quickly, wiping off his tears as he sat up.

Elizabeta still held Alfred's hand as she turned to look at Gilbert. "Get me a chair, please. I won't forever kneel in front of the couch." She snarled and he quickly ran to get her what she wanted.

"Thank you." The brunette smirked and sat on the kitchen chair, turning back to the American.
"Now breathe, Alfred. Just take deep breaths, one after the other. You'll feel relieved after it."

Alfred nodded and began following her steps. "Inhale, exhale." She repeated. "Inhale, exhale."

After a few minutes, he stopped trembling and instead just curled up to hug his knees with his arms. "I miss Arthur." They all heard him whisper, and both Mathias and Gilbert just wanted to burst into tears at the exact second. But they kept quiet.

They had to be strong for Alfred.

"Alfred... This is a long and difficult process you will have to go through if you ever want to... You know... Feel better. I know, it must be terrible, but let's think of the good." Elizabeta looked him straight into his blue eyes.

I remember when Alfred's blue eyes where the most cheerful eyes I've seen. Full of life, love and just... Happiness. They used to shine brighter than the morning sun.

But now they are just... Dark. Grey, cloudy and... Sorrowful.

Oh, this is going to be a long ride back to normal.

Hang in there, Alfred.

Hang in there.

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A/N

I feel really bad for people who have to go through PTSD. It is a terrible, constant feeling that rarely actually does go away, but there is therapy that can somewhat relieve the pain.

The information given by Elizabeta in the story, I have found on a webpage:
https://www.verywell.com/is-there-a-cure-for-ptsd-2797659 (Is there a cure for PTSD?)

I love doing research, so I thought, why not use all the research I do for this fanfiction? XD

And yeah, I always thought of Hungary as a character who could make a good therapist.
I don't know why, but eh. I know what I'm doing, I guess.

Thanks for reading!