Chapter Text
September 10th, 1942
Somewhere in the devil's asshole
This shit is ridiculous. I hate the fact that I have to tend to these stupid idiots who just can't seem to stay healthy for more than a second. First some moron came in complaining about a twisted ankle then another came in crying about how his stomach hurt. Why everyone thinks that this is a place to go for simple easy things is beyond me. I studied real doctor shit, not stomach aches and twisted ankles.
Some jerk did come in today that made me feel rather...odd to say the least. It was unsettling how confident the asshole was. He was tall and pale. His eyes looked disgusting from a medical view. Turns out the idiot was albino. He had the looks of a demon and the voice of a bird that decided to swallow a swordfish whole. Pretty fucked up. I never really seen someone that looked like him before. I felt bad about staring but the asshole seemed to like it anyway so whatever.
The asshole had the nerve to drag ANOTHER asshole in with him. Like I wasn't busy enough! The nurses were already full of patients that needed immediate attention so I guess I had to take care of them. The second guy (Charlie, I think it was? I don't fucking know and don't care) just needed a bandage. The other dickhead looked already in bad shape and I don't think any amount of healing could fix a face like that. Let alone that voice. Was he born that way or was that some kind of freak accident? He kept on looking at me like I was supposed to do something.
Did I? Well after I collected myself I told him to stop being such a fucking baby and made him sit down so I could fix his ugly ass face. Or at least attempt to. I'm no miracle worker.
It seemed like hours went by with how much the guy talked. He seemed to be flirting but that didn't make any sense. Did he think he had a shot with me? Maybe he had a concussion or something. Yeah, that had to be it.
Hopefully this will be the last that I see of that pale devil. I think one visit from him is enough to last me the whole war.
Lovino looked at the old dried paper in his hands, the sound of it rustling as he set it on the desk in front of him snapping him back into reality. This was ages ago. A distant memory and yet it felt so close. He often thought about the pale devil named Gilbert, how the man would get himself hurt just to go visit him in the medical tent, and how the nurses would be so quick to greet him and ask what was wrong.
“Oh, you know. Nothing that Vargas can't handle.”
That voice. That voice he could never get out of his head. It took so long for Lovino to realize what was actually going on. The sneaky jerk just wanted to spend time with him. He really should have seen it coming, though. All the nurses saw it, but he himself was too blind to actually see it.
He could barely remember any of this. The only thing sparking the memory of the war were these journals. Gilbert was just a distant memory, something he wished to get back. That's why he decided to sit down and go through his journals again. He wanted to remember. Whatever happened back then messed his mind up so much he couldn't process the past events.
“Lovino, darling.” A small tender voice was heard from the doorway followed by a knock, that turning the man’s attention to his wife.
“What is it? I'm trying to...you know.” His eyes fell to the desk scattered unevenly with papers.
“Trying to remember?”
A nod came from the man who slumped back in his chair.
“Eve, this is what the counselor wants me to do. You suggested going to one and we are. If I'm going to move on, then I need to remember. Have you checked the mail?”
The woman fell silent, her hands moving from the doorway to her sides. “Nothing. I don't think anyone writes to you anymore, Lovino. This marriage is failing because you can't let go and focus on the future. Our future. Now, get up. We are going to be late for our session. Chel is already dropped off with the nanny.”
Without another word the defeated man stood up and put the loose papers in a pile. A quick glance to the clock as a final goodbye to his office for the night. Tomorrow he would read more. Tomorrow he would remember.
Later that night, tucked away in his office, did the rustling of papers fill the empty room with sounds of the past. It was only then could he manage to read in peace.
September 20, 1942
Still in the devil's asscrack but maybe more North?
Gilbert. That was his name. Gilbert Belwhatever. Something stupid and German. It seems like I am not getting rid of the jerk so easily now...he proved himself to be a good shot during training. He knows how to handle a gun which is more than what I can say. Today they asked for everyone to participate and I nearly shot the General’s tent! The damn thing was behind us too! I was the laughingstock for the rest of the week. It sucked.
Gilbert managed to cheer me up somehow. I don't know how, but he did. Jerk got me to smile. We talked for a long time and it got pretty deep. I told him about my daughter, Chel, and how I was taken away from her. He told me how he joined because he was disgusted in his country seeing what it was doing to its own people. At least the guy has his mind straight.
Anyway, the moron had the nerve to say how he'd help me become an amazing fighter and a good shot. Maybe the idiot should learn how to avoid getting shot and hurt so much. Stupid moron is going to make me start to get worried about him. I can't afford that. Not now. You can't get close to people on the battlefield. If I become friends with this guy...what will happen if he gets shot and I can't save him? What if he dies in my hands? What if...I kill my friend?
“My friend.” Lovino whispered, pulling the paper in closer to read. Well, so much for friends. Asshole doesn't even write to him. If only he had his address...maybe he could start the conversation? No. He wasn't one to reach out first. If he didn't say anything now, why would he reply? Maybe they weren't good friends. Maybe something happened that caused them to drift apart.
All he could do is keep reading and hope that he'd find answers within the words.