[Rose Garden] Lieber Bruder
Title: The Rose Garden
Characters: Prussia, Germany, America, Italy
Warnings: language
Summary: Today I was awesome.
One - Two - Three
Chapter Two: Lieber Bruder
"short days ago
we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
loved and were loved"
~-~
31 March 1950
NAME: Gilbert Beilschmidt
DIAG: pseudoneurotic schizophrenia
STATUS: Transferred to B Ward on the 29th of March after significant breakthrough in therapy and continued good behavior during stay in D Ward. Still prone to arguing with other patients, although physical altercations less frequent.
~-~
April 19, 1950
Lieber Bruder:
Today, I was awesome.
But you knew that already. (Right? Right? Anyways.) You’ll be glad to know I’m back in B Ward, although I'm sure the advanced warning system already told you that much. In case you're wondering how I got ahold of pencil and paper I've got the corner bed, this time. Jones is on the other side - that kid you thought was an idiot nurse. The one who’s too normal to be in here. That one. He never fucking shuts up. 'Course, it's not like we chat about how's therapy going for you or oh, they upped your dosage how are you today or shit like that - well, not many of us here do. We don't, me and Jones.
Anyways, he’s actually pretty awesome when you get right down to it. Not as awesome as me, of course. But still awesome.
B Ward is as boring as ever. Not that I miss D or anything - god, that’s just fucking retarded - but life in the slow lane is different. It’s almost easier up there, ‘cause you can yell and scream and shit and no one gives a damn if you do or you don’t. This is harder. But I can take it. I hope
I know you probably don’t want to hear about all of this shit but Doc says to talk about whatever I want in this, so you’ve just gotta man up and deal. (Well, he said it nicely, which here means like a pansy-assed little bitch. But.
Hi, Doc. Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?)
Anyways, these letter things are supposed to be catatonic. Er, except that’s what Feliciano is. Or cathartic. Like I even care about something as awesomeless as fucking syntax errors.
I’m definitely expecting a letter back. Shit this awesome demands a reply - and like hell I’m taking hours out of my valuable, schedule-jammed week to write you and not have you write back.
- East
PS: The Italian says ciao.
~-~
25 April 1950
NAME: Gilbert Beilschmidt
DIAG: pseudoneurotic schizophrenia
STATUS: Relationship with roommate good; joking and slightly depricating banter common. Taken a liking to a pet bird. Relishes attention from staff and constantly boasts about bird's tricks and apparent intelligence. Dosage of lithium decreased slightly.
~-~
May 1, 1950
Lieber Bruder:
Today I was awesome.
Oh, and Doc says hi.
He doesn't mind, dumbass. I know he reads these ‘cause he asked first. He just wants to know what’s going on, if I’m planning to off myself or some stupid shit like that (no that’s nowhere near a possibility at this point, thank you all). We’ve still got some of our rights here. Privacy laws do apply, sometimes.
Anyways, on to more awesome things. Jones is jealous of my awesome Gilbird. He’s small and yellow and all the chicks (females, that is) that work here love him. Even that weird cook lady with the damn frying pan of fuckin’ doom (how the hell is she not a patient?) loves the little guy. I’m so awesome it’s unbearable, sometimes. You keep your dogs. I got my birdie, and I bet he gets a shitload more girls than you. (Haha. Yeah, I went there.)
Jones told me to tell you that he says hello. We were talking the other day and I mentioned you - get over it - and so he told me he's got this brother, too. He's a little younger, Matthew Williams. Says he lives in the same part of town as you, even. Go fucking figure. Anyways, he's apparently nothing at all like Jones. I hear he makes fuckin' awesome pancakes, with shitloads of maple syrup and plenty of butter and West so what if it's unhealthy you know you like it dammit
(...I'm craving pancakes now. Damn.)
Write soon. If possible, send some fucking edible food. I'll love you forever.
-East
PS: That’s Feliciano Vargas, the cathartic guy. (Catatonic. Whatever.) Expect a surprise soon.
~-~
May 20, 1950
Lieber Bruder:
Today I was awesome.
You’re very welcome for the surprise. (And I can practically smell the sarcasm. You’re improving, West.) Write to him, you dumbass. I don’t know - you like food, he likes food. It’s a start. Tell him about the amazing awesomeness of wurst and potatoes. The kid’s a fucking gourmet, so he’ll appreciate that.
I’ve been down lately. They got me switchin’ meds, too. Some new anti-biotics or some shit. Never can keep all those damn names straight. I’m not as blue as I used to be, though. Apparently that’s a good thing. I mostly just feel sorta numb, like after you went to the dentist and they pulled your wisdom teeth and you couldn’t feel me stabbing you in the cheek at all - it’s like that. Only not quite, but it's good enough for government work.
Old Fritz is as good as ever, thanks for not asking. He’s a little a lot pissed, I think, that I’m working with Doc. Guess I’d feel pretty shitty too if my only contact with anything suddenly decided that he didn’t want to talk anymore. I wonder if this is how Jones feels, poor bastard I kinda really fucking miss him you home all that shit.
I know you don't really wanna hear about all of this, but this is the fucking point of you writing me all the damn time. Please do me a favor and get over it soon.
- East
~-~
May 30, 1950
Lieber Bruder:
That last letter was not awesome.
Because the thing is, I'm not okay. I'm still totally fucking awesome (and I can still own your ass at everything even when making wurst, that little incident with the fire and the kitchen and the burning down aside, thank you) but. Apparently okay people don't go around talking to dead kings of a country that doesn't even exist anymore. Normal people don't take a gun to their head and mi
I don't get why that's so wrong, sometimes. So I have conversations with imaginary dead guys. Who even gives a fuck? At least I'm talking - unlike a certain Mr.-I'm-always-stoic-and-I've-got-a-ten-foot-pole-up-my-ass I know. So fucking what if that's not normal? Normal people just can't handle my awesomeness, is all.
fuck, West, I don't
I'm just worried about
Doc won't tell me whether I'm wrong or right there. I can guess your thoughts on that issue. He says that I gotta figure things out on my own, that this is why I'm here in the first place funny I thought it was 'cause I was out of my fucking mind remember. Which I'm not even pissed about, really, so quit working worrying yourself to death over it.
Your cooking is too good for me to be angry at you, West, so don't even consider it. You've always been just a bit slow on picking up on the fact that my sheer awesomeness doesn't allow me to be wrong.
- East
~-~
31 May 1950
NAME: Gilbert Beilschmidt
DIAG: pseudoneurotic schizophrenia
STATUS: Increased agitation. Delusions less frequent but agressive behavior more marked. One altercation with a staff member on 28th of May, but claimed self-defense. Spent two days in solitary before returning to B Ward. Remarkably compassionate towards pet bird, although very defensive of it also.
~-~
June 10, 1950
Lieber Bruder:
Don’t you dare fucking lie to me. My awesome big brotherliness can smell out a lie even from here. You are not fucking fine. You are nowhere near fuckin fine. Just because you look fine and you sound fine does not mean that you are fine. I looked fine and I sounded fine until you found me with a gun in my. Repression is bad. And this is why:
There’s this Russian guy here. (Jones really hates him ‘cause apparently he’s a commie or something but what the fuck ever this is a tangent so screw him.) He’s kinda quiet, smiles a lot. Hell, he’s practically an overgrown four year old. (A six foot six four year old. But.) So he’s hanging out in D Ward ‘cause he’s screwy, and we’re all screwed so it’s no big deal. And then one day -
He bashes an orderly’s head in with a fucking pipe.
I don’t even know where he got one, crazy Russki. Maybe he tore it out of the walls or something. I don’t have a goddamn clue. But he never said anything to anyone - we all thought he was mute for just about forever, and the docs never said anything to contradict - and he ended up bashing somebody’s head in. I’m trying to tell you to open up a little. Like hell you’re gonna end up in one of these shitholes Between you and Jones I’m clawing my way up a wall. He’s almost as bad as you, ‘cept he’s all grins and smiles and like fucking hell he means any of it. So fucking annoying.
I don’t want you to end up somewhere worse than It could be worse but it could
Fuck all West
Write back soon.
- East
~-~
20 June 1950
NAME: Gilbert Beilschmidt
DIAG: pseudoneurotic schizophrenia
STATUS: Significant increase in lithium carbonate dosage. Overall more withdrawn, although less aggressive and more pleasant when interacting. Delusions more and more frequent.
Note: Patient requests a visit from brother in near future.
~-~
July 8, 1950
Lieber Bruder:
Sorry about that. Ward privileges are pretty tight up in Disturbed - might stab someone with a pencil or something. (Kidding. Mostly.) Doc's letting me write during our sessions as long as he keeps a close eye on me and I only get ballpoint pens. Apparently this whole letter-writing operation is a bit underground in nature. He isn't so bad, sometimes.
(Don't get a big head, four-eyes.)
It wasn't anything you did on your visit - not exactly. A week ago - day after you left, actually - there was a small fire and it caused a hugeass mess. Jones went mental and started throwing shit around. Tossed his whole damn bed, I kid you not. The boy's a scrawny little thing, pokey little ribs and half the time he looks like he'd break if you poked him too hard, but he's damn strong, apparently. Funny how sickness does that. I think he was afraid of the fire.
The madhouse is a little worse lately, but it's nothing we've never seen before. The greenies are frightened out of their wits - you oughtta watch some of them squirm. It's practically a sport on D.
Feli and Jones told me to tell you thanks for bringing the wurst. We finished it all right after you left. (I'm still better.)
- East
PS: Congrats on the clean bill of health. What'd you need a physical for, anyways?
~-~
July 21, 1950
Lieber Bruder:
Today was not awesome.
Feli says you aren’t writing him anymore either. I haven’t gotten anything in weeks. Doc claims he’s as clueless as me.
I’m fucking wor Write back soon so I can yell at you about shirking on your brother-duties.
- East
~-~
28 July 1950
NAME: Gilbert Beilschmidt
DIAG: pseudoneurotic schizophrenia
STATUS: Transferred to Disturbed Ward on 2nd of July after seriously injuring self with cigarette butts. Ward priveleges revoked until further notice and entire ward on limited smoking priveleges. Seems to be concerned for safety of bird even when at most frenzied. Several near fights with other patients occured over a period of two weeks, but quieter since the end of the month. Reactions seem not to be from visit on 1st of July but to a series of episodes occurring on several wards during the first week of the month.
~-~
September 23, 1950
Lieber Bruder:
It's been two and a half months. Not awesome, West.
Write a fucking note and let me know you're alive and I might consider fogiving you.
- East
~-~
October 7, 1950
Lieber Bruder:
Doc says you've stopped your mail. I don't want to believe him.
Come on, Ludwig.
- Gilbert
~-~
20 October 1950
Gil: Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.
Ludwig
Notes
- Pseudoneurotic schizophrenia is roughly equivalent to modern-day borderline personality disorder. Coincidentally, May is Borderline Personality Disorder Awareness Month.
- The Korean War began in June 1950. On October 19, China gained permission from the Soviets and joined the war on the side of communist North Korea, turning the tables on the UN-American forces.
- Wilfred Owen's Dulce Et Decorum Est is an excellent poem. So is John McCrae's In Flanders Fields.
- July 1 is Canada Day.
Next up is Alfred again with a very gratituous helping of Matthew. And character death that isn't really character death. But it is. But not.
This is, like, 1/3 of the Lieber Bruder arc. That means you'll eventually be seeing Ludwig's letters, and Feliciano's too. Eventually.