The Wrong Bunk [Turkey]

[[x] Spain]

Why is it lately Spain only seemed to be tired?

Well, at least this time it wasn't stress.

When he finally reached the upper catwalk (wow the ladder never seemed to be so difficult to climb before) he was exhausted. After just coming back from an expedition, who could blame him? He was so tired, he didn't even bother to change. He just collapsed on the nearest bottom bunk, too tired to climb up to his own and still in full expedition gear: tight black tee-shirt, combat boots, and grey form-fitting army pants. He didn't even bother to take time to shower off the guts and blood on him; and to e honest, he really didn't care. Sleep was his first priority.

Which came pretty easy. Surprisingly easy, actually. Maybe it was due in part to being so exhausted, but it more than likely had something to do with the familiar and comforting smell of the sheets: faint traces of ink and medicine covered by the warm, heavy scent of smoke and exotic spices.

Before he knew it, Antonio was dead asleep, curled up on top of the blankets and sheets and holding whomever's bunk it was's pillow tightly to his chest.

[Turkey]

Heading up the ladder to the upper catwalk, the brunet was tired and yawned as he made his way upwards still, ready to crawl into his bunk as soon as he found it. Climbing up to the top, he reached the upper catwalk and stretched out lightly once he was on solid ground. He couldn't help but pause though as he spied someone--well, it seemed like a person--laying in his bunk! What was going on here??

The Turk walked over quietly, arching a brow when he found that it was Spain laying in his bed and tilting his head lightly as he watched the other man for a moment. He didn't want to wake up, but he was tired as well. ...The bunks weren't exactly small though. Moving around to the other side, he removed his boots and headwear, putting both away before climbing into the bunch quietly.

[[x] Spain]

Darkness. That's all that was around him. He tried to look around and see where he was, but all efforts were in vain.

Spain looked around, hoping to find something to tell him where he was, but nothing greeted him other than shadows. He lifted his hand to see if something was covering his eyes, only to have them stop short as something was around his wrists.

He was trapped.

Vicious memories snapped at his heels, biting and fighting for the first to be recalled painfully.

The excruciating pain.

The sickening pleasure.

The dark, lonely, cold nights.

The seething sensation of knives dancing across already bruised and scarred skin.

The inability to run away.

Panic welled in his chest as he thrashed about, trying desperately to free himself from the clanging iron chains around his wrists, cuffing him from behind.

He had to run.

He had to run.

He had to run.

HE HAD TO RUN-

Spain jolted up, a horrifying, bloodcurdling scream bursting from his mouth. He flailed about, eventually using one hand to cover his mouth to muffle his continuous screaming. His green eyes were painfully wide and oh god oh god oh god he started sobbing in sheer terror. Everything was caving and pressing in on him and he could still feel the heavy weights around him, pulling him down and burying him alive.

He was panicking so much, he didn't even realize he was with someone else.

[Turkey]

The first thing Sadik did when he was jolted awake by the Spaniard--he hadn't been in a deep sleep, thankfully--was reach over, pulling the smaller brunet up and close to him even if he were to begin struggling. "Spain? Spain! Spain, calm down!" His words were mostly soft as he tried to calm the Spaniard down--stop him from thrashing around and such before he accidentally fell out of the bed or something of that sort. His hold around the brunet was firm, but not constricting, not one that would easily harm the other. He just wanted to keep him in place, less he accidentally hurt Sadik or himself.

"Yer alright, Antonio. It was a bad dream--a...a really bad nightmare. Yer here up on tha catwalk. In my bunk. It's me, Sadik. Yer not dreamin' anymore... It's Sadik. Shh.. It's alright. Yer alright. No one's gonna hurt ya. Just....calm down."

[[x] Spain]

I'm captured again.

That was the first thought that came to mind when arms were put around him. He thought that he was still in his nightmare and nearly hit the person behind him, mistaking him for a demon from his past.

Thankfully, he had enough of his consciousness to not actually go through with the action.

The voice he heard didn't sound like anything that would have been in his memories or his nightmare; completely wrong accent and tone for that matter.

His once animalistic, ragged breathing calmed down and he stopped his frantic movements, slowly coming back to reality. He couldn't even say anything for a while, he just stayed put, processing everything around him to the tiniest, faintest noise. But everything was too confusing to him to figure out all on his own.

He was still quite a bit panicked, to make matters worse. "S...Sadik? Is that you...?" Antonio asked quietly to the being behind him, trying to be as submissive as possible and keeping his voice (and head) down low. He still wasn't quite sure what was reality and what was dreams, and he wasn't taking his chances if it was somehow the latter. "I... where did you say I was... if I can ask that? Everything is blurring together for me... I don't know where I am..."

[Turkey]

"Evet, it's me Antonio," he replied quietly, glad to hear the other man's voice. At least he was talking now. "Eh? What do ya mean?" The Turk frowned at this, but didn't let go of him for even a second as he explained. "Yer on tha catwalk, in my bunk fer some reason. I guess ya decided ta plop down and go ta sleep. Hehe. Ya dun't seem like yer alright though. If ya want ta go back ta sleep, I think ya should wait a bit."

He looked the other brunet over for a moment, eyes scanning the Spaniard's face briefly. "We're fightin' fer our lives--fer our peoples' lives. Yer tha groundskeeper. 'M tha medic. Yeah, I think ya should stay up fer a while..."

[[x] Spain]

The catwalk verses the brig... The other's bunk verses the wooden floor of a ship... Groundskeepers and medics verses deckhands and quartermasters...

Everything was slowly making sense to him and eventually Spain half-returned to normal. "Half-returned" as he wasn't cheerful or optimistic, but he at least knew where he was and what was going on. He turned around, lifting his head back up and rubbing his wrists lightly, noticing how he didn't have any bruising or rope burn. "Mm... I might do that..." he said quietly, running a hand through his hair, and muttering under his breath quickly so that the other might not hear him (even if he secretly wanted someone to notice): "Dios mio that was too realistic... Why did I have to have a nightmare based on that... What a cruel joke..." He kept rambling under his breath, talking mostly in Spanish after that, listing instructions for himself to prevent that happening again. Which included not sleeping when he needed it.

Not that the Turk could understand Spanish that well, or so he assumed.

When he finally remembered that yes, someone was still holding him, he looked up at him. "Ah, sorry about worrying you." He smiled weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. "And about just falling asleep on your bunk. I was so tired when I got back, I didn't even notice where I fell asleep! I'll be sure to clean this later." Trying his best to keep a smile on his face, he couldn't help but feel at least slightly guilty for pretending. He hated this, but he really didn't want Sadik to find out and subsequently worry even more.