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sunny-mercya · 5 months

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The Cruel King

03. Attempted Death

Nordic 5 x Male Reader

Fandom -> Hetalia

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-> Warning; Mention of abuse, neglect, attempted suicide and sexual assault

10th of May. 1885 - Berlin, Prussia

A whimper escaped your lips, staring with fearful eyes at Matthias blue ones—whose face was stoic and cold gazed, void of emotion to read.

»Pleasure to see you too min skat.«

Matthias had loosen his grip on your arm, only to let his hands wander to your wrist—grabbing them tightly together—and his other clutching the sides of your face—strong hold, adding pressure to your jaw.

»Why are you here?« it was hard to speak, but you managed.

»To take you back home of course.« the corner of his lips moved up a bit, creating a tiny smile. His hold on your face lessened.

»No.«

»Excuse me dear, but what do you mean with no?«

»Nein. I werd ned mi dir mitgeh Matthias. I werd hier mi Gilbert bleiben. I will me scheden vo dir, will mei freiheit.«

There you have said it, in your native language even. Even with the fear you felt, you felt so proud of yourself to muster up such a defiance against Matthias.

Matthias face morphed into a furious expression. Eyes losing all sense of life, dulling in colour and narrowing down, with his lips, into a snarl. Clenched his jaw, the grip he had around you started to get stronger. Crushing painful even.

The boiling anger in him, which had been on a slow rise since had been informed of your disobedience and informal visits to the Prussian, turned into a spark of fireworks

»How dare you to speak to your husband, your sole King, in such a shameful language. How dare you to demand something without manners of begging and how dare you to go against me in such defiance.«

Matthias spoke with such venom in his voice, feeling the spewing hatred in his husked whisper. Matthias wasn't someone who would shout, he will say it in such calm demeanour so they knew how serious he was.

Because how, in the name of god, dare you to speak up against him like this? In a language he had forbid you to ever speak again.

How dare you, going so shamefully behind his back, betraying his trust and kindness. Tarnishing his reputation and discarding the vows you had given one another.

Disobeying him like a mere foolish child of mortality and lowlife.

You whimpering got louder, his grip on your jaw hadn't lessened only tightens and you felt a small pinch of pain already. A minimal crack, cutting through the air of a silence, was heard.

He scoffed, slammed you with a force against the mirror—letting it crack in shatters, shards piercing into your skin—and with his calloused strengths—only the Vikings had—he hauled you onto the floor. The shards now digging into your skin, leaving a leak of blood underneath you.

Matthias pinned your wrist above your head. He moved your legs into a birth giving pose. Unbuckling buttons, pulling his pants and underwear down.

With predatory eyes he glanced down at you, licking over his lips. Leaning forward to your neck, his tongue danced alongside your neck all the way down to your collarbone. Kissing and sucking wet your skin—tainted and scarred but also pure as porcelain.

You are too deep into a stupor, to have the will of mind—going into a state of blank stasis—to fight against him.

A forceful kiss on your lips and when you gasped—after he gripped you hard down there—his tongue slipped into your mouth.

»You belong to me and only me min skat.«

Matthias had whispered this single sole sentence, that one specific word, on repeat into your ear. Branding your mind with it, setting a trigger.

And when Matthias had entered you—with brutal force rammed into—your stupor broke, ripping a scream so shrill from your throat.

Fear filled your face as you begun to become a sobbing mess underneath him. In your tear filled vision, all you could see was Matthias wicked grin.

Haunting you forevermore.

Christmas Eve. 1917 - Border of Sweden and Finland

You stumbled through the heavy snow, barely moving inches forward as the snow is thick and knee high.

Disoriented dizzy you felt, having lost all sense of direction—though somehow you seemed to know where to go or so you believed.

The map with the directions of where to find your friends and letter, which Tino had send you last—after a long secret exchange of written letters—had been long gone, swept away from the howling wind.

The falling snow from the sky—reminding you much of the Fairy Tale; Frau Holle—with the up picking hollering wind, starting a new episode of blizzards storm and the sinking sun—dipping the sky and world into a following pitch darkness—hindering your already impaired eyesight.

When Tino had open the door after a series of rapid knocking, he did have expected you but didn't expected you to be like this.

You had fallen to your knees, with praying hands you gazed upon at your friend. Body trembling from the frosty hollowed cold and the slow rising pain—which started to creep back in a winding whiplash.

»I beg–I bete um–premission–um er-erlaubnis zur zuflucht–sanctuary–sanctuary I pray for mei freund–bitte hilf mi–sanct–zuflucht–sanctuary is all I möch«

You spoke in a fumbling mess of words, switching between Schurlisch and Danish, mixing them together even. Lips trembling, blue like ice and bloody red at the same time.

Tino paled at your sight, chest heaving with a rising panic of anxiety. He could barely catch your frozen, lifeless form as your eyes begun to drop—a whispering help echoing over your lips one last time—before your body gave up.

»Berwald! Berwald come quickly I need help, [Name] needs help! BERWALD!«

Weeks passed and your condition of unconsciousness had neither gotten bad nor better. A countries body—might heal differently, faster even, from that of an Human—though it could only endure so much, mental and physical wise

Tino had taken it upon himself to take care of you, after the Doctor looked you over and noted everything down Tino needed to know about your wounds. Wounds so severe, it had made him vomit the first night when he inspected the injuries on you.

Patient : [Name] [Surname] - Schurland

The Patient has ;

Swollen eyes — a possible blindness or loss of vision, glasses might be needed in future.

Server broken bones

— [Dominant hand]completely shattered in bones, bones will heal over time, although not able to move anymore.

— All rips damage, caging the lungs and causing a defect in breathing, possibility of Asthma

- Right leg deformed, noticeable limp when healed — might need crutches

- Spine bend

- Jaw improper healed once and newly dislocated again — might cause difficulty of speech and a delay in it.

Heavy bleeding in one ear, perhaps even both, will cause a deafness.

A possibility of nerves damage.

Compressed Stomach.

Private parts out of use — peeing will cause pain.

Prone to get sick more often, fever waves are to happen.

Concussion — brain damage might be caused.

Further information will be added.

And this was only a list of the physical state, how you would be mentally doing afterwards was another report of its own.

»Tino, it's not your fault. We couldn't have known that it would end like this. That Matthias would act so abusing.« had Berwald once told Tino when he sat down in the kitchen to take a short break of breather.

Berwald had said it in solemn monotony, that Tino couldn't help stop himself to get angry at his husband as well.

»We couldn't know but we should have! We all knew all along how Matthias has treated [Name] over the years and all we did was watch! We're not better than him then.«

»Tino–«

»No! You listen to me! Matthias has broken [Name] and we never had attempted to help, so of course I blame myself, because if we did help and decided back then to just take him away when we vowed to leave, then it wouldn't have ended like this!«

Tino crumbled into himself, sobbing at the immense weight of regret he felt in his heart—the pressure of uncertainty of what is now happening to you in the future.

Anxiety plagued his mind, scratching at his conscience and injecting him with a burden of guilt.

It wouldn't have ended like this, in a gruesome way of pending death and uncertainty, if they just had decided to simply whisk you away—away from the person you are chained to.

1919 - Border of Sweden and Finland

When World War One had ended, Berwald could managed with pesky stubbornness of diplomacy determination and with Lukas help too—to bring Matthias to sign over the rights he had over you to Berwald.

Matthias, at this time back then, didn't seemed too concerned—upset—over his loss of you. Laughing even, his overconfidently boastful loud crackling, grinning with spark of daring excitement in his eyes.

»If you want to have him so badly, this dissertation deserter of disappointment worthlessness and of lower intelligence, you can take him for free.« Matthias had said, talking about you as if you had been nothing more than a priced possession of him—a toy he had grown tired of.

So now, hopefully for the rest of the upcoming decades and centuries which are about to come, you officially belonged to Sweden.

1950 - Border of Sweden and Finland

What Matthias had done to you, back in 1885—the breaking point of all the added up things of what has been done to you—and the years after, plus the two world wars—in which you were barely conscious to take notice of it, but your body—jerking and spasming in every way—had taken more damage from it—causing a drop in you.

Apathetic you were during the days and hysterical in the nights. Lethargic even, laying most of the time on your bedroom floor—not trusting your bed in the slightest, fearing of something unknown to happen when you sleep on it.

All you would do is staring into the nothingness of the ceiling above. Blinking and starring, nothing more.

Tino, despite being rather busy at the moment with his own country and duties towards it, took time off to keep you company—sitting down next to you, taking your hand in his—to show you that he is there for you—reading books to you.

Your favourite story you come to love to hear, had been Alice in Wonderland and the Tale of Sleeping beauty.

Berwald just as busy as Tino, did everything possible to bring you back on your feet, even when it would be just a hour of you standing and taking two steps.

It happen during the early hours, when the sun was about to rose from her slumber and enlightened the world with a new start of warm rays of light.

The feeling, slowly it crawled through your body, itched you—bringing a twitching of tingling sensation into your hollowed out form of anatomy.

You couldn't say what sort of feeling it was, only that it started a carving of something longing and unsatisfying to not wish for.

Getting from the floor, you walked downstairs and out of the house—into the open variety of landscape with its suffocating of freedom.

Freedom. You scoffed at the word itself.

What exactly is even freedom? Nothing but a mere lie, illusion of false hope and reality towards the endless cycle of cruelty living. Freedom didn't exist, never had. A fraud it was from the start—leaving more bloodshed behind than any war alone.

If they, the humans, wanted their precious freedom so desperately—they simply should have chosen death willingly.

Freedom doesn't exist—not in the form and sense they believed it to be—but in death it does.

Stopping at the lake, you gazed at its calm surface of tranquility and life giving gift. Suns rays reflecting from it, creating a glimmer of twinkling.

Water granted life but it also takes it from you.

Never had you been a good swimmer. You only knew the basic form. It wasn't a requirement for you to learn, why should you though? When all you did was to live in a bubble of solitude

Embrace life first before you step into death.

Berwald felt a immense pressure of flooding panic breaking through his stoic demeanour. Paled at the wide open front door. His hands shook tremendously, needing to clench them to get ahold of his emotion again or they might spill over.

Getting into his boots and putting his coat on, He sprinted outside without any further thought except the one; to find you quickly as possible.

There was only one option of where you had could go to, if you wanted to do what he fears.

Berwald had always been a man of few words—spoken bluntly, no need to sugarcoat the obvious and with a monotonously as if he presented a lecture—and stoic like a statue he was. He wasn't big on affection too—simple showcase; like holding hands or a short peck to the cheek, yes—otherwise he kept to himself, emotions in a locked state of constant nothing but calmness.

But once he had meet you, all those years ago—during the rough times of barbaric fear spiking conquering against other nations—his once stored feelings—jokey gotten told he was like a frozen pot, Ice prince, when it comes to such things as mere emotional feelings—which in such times could've been crucial to his life, begun to taw ever so slightly with the passing time.

So it crushed him when seeing you in this constant state of pain. Feeling just as guilty as Tino feels, because he too knows—they should have freed you sooner.

Once at the lake, Berwald didn't hesitate to take off boots and coat and dive right into the water. Swimming to the middle, the deepest part, taking a deep long breath and dived under.

Berwald grabbed your arm—floating or more like a sinking, a mix of both, so lifeless through the depths of water—pulling you closer to him and taken ahold around your waist. Swimming upwards till he breached the surface with you.

Back at the lakeshore, Berwald hived you out. Laying you down he begun with the revival measurements.

Don't crack, don't crack—a fleeting thought, reminder to keep himself together—in check—and break under the upcoming weight of emotions.

The pressure inside him rises, bubbling up and clogging his throat with a burning of choking sobs. Panic, like a flood, crashed over him—drowning him with urges of roaring screams. Don't give up, don't up—a mantra to continue with bringing you back to life.

With a gaps you jerked back into life, coughing out the water in your exhausted lungs.

Tired, eyes glazed over with rimming tears and a dizziness, you looked into blue eyes—and for a split second you thought it were Matthias, that you are back in his grasp.

Those blue eyes were a lot softer, still a glaze of ice in them, in colour compared to Matthias—which are more vibrant—and you know who it was, Berwald.

Shaky breaths are the only sounds with surrounds you in the solitude of nature. Berwald had warped you into his coat, holding you into his arms. Leaning his head down, forehead touching yours—he couldn't stop his own ragged breathings.

One, two, three and more tears started to drop, flowing like a river from his eyes as he begun to sob. The anxiety, the fear he felt when he knew you tried to end your life for final, exploded in him—bringing his emotions into a whirlwind of messiness.

Dear god. He was glad, so fucking thankfully glad—relieved—to have you back—alive. Berwald didn't wanted to thought about the possibility of what if's—if he couldn't have saved you, bringing you back to life and another new wave of anxiety pooled into his stomach.m

But you are alive and that's what matters.

/ - Stockholm, Sweden

You had attempted three more tries of suicide. All of them successfully prevented from either Berwald, Tino or Lukas. They counted the days till you tried to attempted a fourth one—a ticking bomb.

Aren't you just as cruel? Paining your loved ones, the people who care about you, with suicide—simply because you couldn't........couldn't what?

When Berwald had brought a freshly born baby home and Lukas came with Emily for another visit stay—you had a change of mood and personality.

You instantly felt attached to the baby, which you had named Erland. Taking care of him mostly all by yourself—a parental instinct taking over you.

To Lukas amusement, Emil too had gotten your attention and care treatment—which he had received from you when he once was a child—again. Emil was after all still very precious to you and he would always be your younger brother—by blood vow.

You didn't ventured back into your old, meek and submissive self from the past. You changed, growing up, into a independent strong man

A spark of joy—dimmed to the core, barely burning—life itself had returned in you, burning brightly like the sun or fire.

~~~

You might be Berwalds and Tinos husband, but Lukas had known you longer—a older brother figure to you he had become—so when you had another hysterical fit of revisiting nightmares of memories and the past, it was him who would wake you up and comfort you.

Lukas knows what he has to say to you, how to hold you, to bring you back into the here and now and calming you.

He hushed you, holding you in his arms—rocking you back and forth—while you sobbed, heartbreaking ugly loud, into his shoulder.

»It's all in the past, [Name]. He isn't gonna hurt you, not anymore. It's all okay, all okay,«

Besides how strong you had become now, you're still fragile—easily to shatter, in terms of mind.

»I want—want him gone. He should go. I hate him! Hate hate hate him!«

»I know.«

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