Chapter Text
Aching. Everything was aching.
That was the only thought bouncing around Jacob’s scrambled head, the only feeling he could hone in on. His vision was spotty, and his hearing muffled- like he had been concussed by artillery. He couldn’t quite remember where he was, or what was going on.
His body felt numb. He was faintly aware of somebody gripping his shoulders in a vice, their hold tight enough to hurt, bringing a sense of sensation, stability; something to focus on. Their mouth was moving but without any reason. It was all jumbled together, heavily accented gibberish that fell on deaf ears. He was just so tired, his legs splayed out uselessly before him on the floor.
Wait- since when he was on the floor?
God, his head hurt so much. This- this was all too much. The lights, the sound, the motion. He shut his eyes tightly. Maybe he could just go back to sleep…
jacob…JACOB!
A sharp pain blazed through his head, like a pickaxe piercing into his skull. He was frantically shaken, yanked away from the brink of what would have been a very long, sweet, everlasting sleep; thrown perilously back into the workings, back to attention. He almost saw his mother.
He widened his eyes, imploring them to just focus. Who brought him away from that? Where was he. Where was he?
The person in front of him seemed to pause for a second, blissfully quiet. Before starting again, with twice the fervor. It was an assault on his senses, jumping the border of speaking into yelling. Does it ever end?
It was frankly, kind of aggravating. He felt so faint, so tired.
All he could think of, like a mantra, like a chorus to a song. Aching, aching- aching. Ach!
Okay. Okay. No matter, it's fine. He’ll just close his eyes again. Yeah.
Another bout of frantic shaking, another bout of yelling, and he’d had enough.
“Arrête... arrête ça.” He mumbled out weakly at first, barely above a whisper. The bombardment continued. He raised his voice.
“Arrêtez... j'ai dit arrêtez!” The latter words were gritted out, rough against his tongue. His throat felt like sandpaper, dry and coarse. He wasn’t used to yelling, his volume surprising him. It was foreign. Despite his height and build, he acted small. Quieter than an empty room, and just as polite, but never as cold.
He felt a bit unsure at his outburst, but thankfully he didn’t have to insist further. The person above him seemed to get the message, their words teetering off into nothing. The silence was deafening. Jacob was starting to sweat, guilt stirring in his gut. Was he too harsh? That outburst was really out of character for him. He swore he wasn’t usually like this! Oh please!
An apology was formulating on the tip of his tongue, before the other man cut him off.
“Jakob?” The man said, measured but still loud, like he didn't know how to be any quieter. His words naturally sounded like an order. He commanded attention, and Jacob gave it in excess.
He had an accent. It curled around each stroke of his name, the B popped out until it almost sounded like a P. It was so familiar, it was so distinct…
“Karl?” He said back hesitantly, his vision deciding now was a good time to clear. The first thing he was met with was a face inches from his, eyebrows scrunched up in concern, and those inky eyes he had only caught glimpses of, now peering attentively into his. Oh father, it was him. The officer he had been admiring, the officer he had been looking up to, it was him, it was really hi-
He went weak in an instant.
Damn it!