Ramblings of a Dumbass

Little Japan part 2

AN: uhhmh yes hello I'm not as proud of this part as I was with the first part but oh well. also yeah yeah I know this isn't factually correct like medically wise but shut up it was already written and done when I researched stuff

He was sure he was dead. Except he wasn't, he could hear the pained screams of others after the high pitched ringing in his ears had finally stopped. And he felt very, very, afraid at this realization. Because once he found he was alive he made an attempt to stand, his body shaking and in pain until he saw his legs were a mangled mess of blood, bone, and tendons. He hyperventilated until he passed out, blackness clouding his vision.

When he woke up again he was hot and clammy, his body ached and was cut up. He made no attempt to sit up or move this time, choosing to stare at the blank white ceiling with tired eyes. His breath hitched when the thought to check his legs came to him, vision flooding with the image of them. He felt bile rise in his throat but nothing came out. He glanced around the small empty room, he was alone and afraid and in pain. He tested his voice, calling out to anyone. The quite and choked call fell on deaf ears. His eyes welled up with tears, from the pain, from fear, from waking up alone. And there he quietly sat, crying and staring at the blank ceiling. A clock going tick, tick, tick, the only other noise.

When a pretty Asian woman walked in Japan perked up. Finally, someone to answer his questions. She regarded him with a sad and polite smile. She was sickeningly gentle to him as she explained what had happened, where he was, what he would see when she removed the crisp clean blanket that covered him from the waist down.

"You poor thing, so brave and strong to go and fight" she murmured as she prepared some bandages. She shook her head disapprovingly, "sending you poor boys out to fight and be found in your uniforms by your mothers."

Japan watched with curious eyes as she checked and counted and checked again all her supplies.

She was stalling the inevitable.

"May I see them?" Japan asked quietly, voice scratchy and throat sore. The nurse looked at him a moment before nodding. She carefully removed the blanket and Japan watched with wide eyes as he saw that there wasn't anything to see. His legs were gone, as simple as that.

They had amputated his legs from the knee down, they said he was lucky. Japan did not consider himself lucky at all, did he still have a good portion of his legs and was still alive? Yes, but he would have rather died than go through the pain. There was so much pain. And he was angry, angry at his father for sending him to fight, angry he was still sending soldiers. Angry that despite what happened he refused to pull out of the war. And he was angry that his father was too much of a coward to visit him, to see a direct cause of what had happened. His refusal to show his face made Japan want to switch sides just to have the joy of yelling "you lose" at him. And as he sat and festered in his own anger he allowed himself to think about his father he had lost touch with. He didn't have the energy to let the flame of hate burn any longer and let his sudden sadness wash it out with thoughts of industrialized songbirds and slightly burnt eggs.

He watched with empty eyes and the disinterest of a forgotten god as the nurse took off the bandages to replace them. He learned to stop wincing when she would take a clean rag and douse it in alcohol and clean the bloody and bruised stumps. He would listen as she explained how to go about in-home care and that if push came to shove he could always see about an in-home nurse. He didn't have the heart to tell her he wouldn't have that sort of money to throw away, what with the fact he would need to work to clean up his father's mess. She finished her job efficiently, as a nurse should, and would leave with a smile and a promise of a meal later that usually came late. When she left he always found himself tracing the bandage edges, picking at them occasionally and growling at how his legs felt itchy but he couldn't scratch them. He didn't like being in the hospital and wanted to just leave, possibly drown himself in a nearby river.

When the nurse mentioned getting a prosthesis for his legs he was too tired to argue that he wouldn't be able to afford it. He listened as the nurse told him happily that they would take measurements and see to it that he got a comfortable set so he could walk with minimal usage of a crutch. He figured if the world could make planes and god damn atomic bombs they could make usable fake limbs. He tiredly watched as the nurse brought in a man, dressed in a similar uniform and a note pad, taking a measuring tape from his coat pocket. He went on with his work, measuring and scribbling down the measurements and then fleeing as soon as he came. Japan wondered if he would even get the new legs the doctors and nurses were so excited about. All he knew for sure at that moment though was that he was tired.

Weeks went by as Japan continued his life in the hospital, his father never made any sort of indication to collect him. And when the same man from weeks ago came in with a box, nurse trailing a step or two behind, Japan perked up even for just a moment. It was a large box, made of wood and left unpainted or polished. Just a plain wooden box. Japan sat up, wasting energy he never got back after the bombs and leaned forward as the doctor lifted the lid. Inside was a set of his very own custom legs, made of smooth polished wood, thin metal rods and screws and loops, and sturdy leather straps. Japan sure thought they looked nice but well, they also looked heavy. Very heavy. But Japan didn't want to seem ungrateful, not when they could take away his chance of mobility so he smiled as best he could and said a thank you. The nurse helped him, gently strapping them on and making sure everything was in place. Actually using them was more painful then he thought, if the watery yell that left his sore throat when he applied his weight to his still sore stumps was anything to go by.

Japan had managed to find his way home when they deemed him ready to go home, or rather when they kicked him out. Half the patients were sent off, dozens of barely alive soldiers taking just one room. And he stumbled his way home, body aching and still not well from being manhandled the way it had. And when the large house came into view with blooming flowers on the sides, there sat a man. Hunched over and in a, although different, military uniform. Japan didn't know this person, did he? And surely if this man was a possible higher ranking official meeting with his father, he wouldn't be sitting on their porch steps. It's not until the man looked up that Japan got a clear view of his face. Shock and then intense happiness washed over him at the man, it was Earwyn. At least one of his fathers came looking for him. He was just so happy to have a parent there for him he didn't question the uniform or the obvious reason why he was in Japan in the first place.

Japan let out a relieved laugh, the first happy noise he let out in weeks.