It's a scary dream. He feels the presence of the others all around him, reaching out in what is probably supposed to be a comforting manner, but it ends up looking more like knives.
He curls up into himself, tears leaking out of his eyes. Voices try in vain to coax him out of his misshapen attempt at a sanctuary. His throat emits no words, only weak, mangled moans. He wants to protest, to say he belongs to someone else. That he made a pact, one he doesn't intend to break.
But he cannot speak.
Brother won't let him speak.
So instead he settles for sobbing, pulling his knees tighter to his chest, hoping that he can disappear into oblivion if he tugs his body in on himself enough. As usual, such hopes are in vain as the voices grow louder, coarser. He risks a look upwards, and catches a glimpse of one of their faces. The tall one, voice too innocent. Too kind. Pale hair. Lilac eyes.
He covers his ears now, tears pouring like rain. He's shaking. He can only inhale through tightly clenched teeth. Even through the density of his hands, the voices flow into his head, reverberating off his eardrums. He can't quite understand the mangled words, but he collects that there's five of them. He knows their names, but tries not to think of them. No, no no...
America. (No...)
England. (Nono...)
France. (Please!)
Canada. (Why?!?)
Russia. (STOP IT!)
Their voices blend into one, but if he tries he can pick out the individuals. He doesn't want to, but his mind does it for him. America's voice is laughing. That loud, boisterous laugh he has. It entwines around England's, who seems to be chuckling between cries of 'stand up'. France just coos what should seem like romantic phrases but come out sounding more like threats. Canada's voice is weak, barely above a whisper. Canada doesn't like to fight, but he does it for England. So he too joins in, chirping about how much fun it will be when he joins them.
Russia sings.
It's a lullaby.
It's haunting, sung in that too-sweet voice that doesn't fit that body. He can imagine those pale lips twisted into a horrifying grin.
He cries harder, full-fledged sobs escaping his tight throat. He bawls, in a way he knows his beloved would find pathetic, but his beloved isn't here. He made a pact to protect him, but that pact was broken, as of now.
And now their knives are on him, running down his arms, rubbing his back, tugging at him. Their voices are in his ear now, bartering with him the price of his alliance.
But it's not knives on him because it's strong fingers.
And it's not their voices because it's just one voice.
And there's no tugging because there's just rubbing on his arms.
And there's no cold abyss because he's sharing a warm bed.
And so he opens his eyes, because he's no longer dreaming.
"Italy... Why are you crying?"
And there's no silver locks and lilac orbs, just messy blonde hair and eyes of some shade of blue that Italy can't quite name the colour of. He wants to say cyan, but...
"Italy!"
Italy rubs the tears from his eyes, letting out a shaky sob. "B-Buongiorno..."
"Italy, what's wrong. Are you... Did you... have a nightmare?"
"Germany, I'm just... I'm fine!" He hides the sadness in his voice quite well, he thinks.
Germany begs to differ.
"Some thing's wrong, Italy. What did you dream about?"
Germany's concerned, Italy realizes. Normally he'd be yelling at him, ordering him to get out of his bed. But that attitude is missing, due to his love for his friend.
And Italy feels terrible for it.
He can't tell Germany his dream, because he knows Germany will try to figure out what caused it, and he'll find out that Italy was forced signed an armistice with the allies, and Germany will yell at him for not having enough responsibility and what happened to the Pact of Steel they made and he thought they were supposed to be friends, and he thought they were supposed to protect each other, and...
Germany snaps him from his rambling train of thought by gently shaking his shoulders. "Italy...?"
But Italy doesn't want Germany to yell at him, so he conjures up a lie. He wants to be with Germany this last night, because the armistice goes public tomorrow, and in a month he'll find himself declaring war on Germany, as much as he doesn't want to, and...
"I dreamed about Prussia!" Italy lies, "I dreamed that you and Prussia got separated and you felt really sad because you couldn't see your own brother anymore, and Russia was being mean to him, and... I started crying because Germany was sad, so...!"
"Oh."
"So I... I'm just glad things are okay in real life!"
"I see."
Italy's olive skin is covered in a coat of sweat, and Germany lets go of his shoulders. Italy uncurls himself, shaking gently.
Germany rolls over so his back to Italy, and turns off the beside lamp. "Well, if it was just nothing, then goodnight. And stop crawling into my bed while I'm asleep."
Italy manages a weak smile at the return of his beloveds usual attitude. "Yes, sir!" He says, bringing his left hand to his brow in a flimsy salute before letting it drop back down onto the mattress.
Germany reminds him, even without seeing him, to "Salute with your right hand, Italy."
Those are the last words Italy will hear him say while they are still friends, because tomorrow Germany is going to get up early and Japan is going to inform him of the armistice. And Japan will tell him that appropriate measures are to be taken, and Germany will ask him to leave, then accordingly drop his face into his hands and let out a shaky breath. And Germany will come to Italy the day after and take away his guns, and his iron cross. Italy will beg him to listen, but Germany won't say anything. Italy will cry, and Germany will leave. And so, just one month later in October, Italy will declare war on Germany.
And the German empire will slowly crumble until they surrender in April of 1945.
And even for a decade afterwards, while Germany, with his new leader, will be creating brand new ties with France and other countries, he still won't talk to Italy. Italy will paste on his usual smile and try and tough it out, but that hole in his heart will still be there.
And so, on this cool night of September 7th, Italy pulls himself a little bit closer to Germany, and closer, and closer, until he's pressed against his friend's backside. He snuggles into the warmth, and Germany unconsciously rolls over, draping one arm over Italy's waist.
Italy cries silently, wishing this night could please, please last forever.
But they ended up being tears shed in vain.
A/N:
A quickie I wrote before bed. I haven't written in ages, so this is so rusty you're going to need a tetanus shot.
Note: Fic is based off of historical events but do not reflect true intentions or personalities of any of the countries mentioned. Offense is unintended.
Obviously based on the Italian Armistice with the Allied Forces in September '43.
I like to think that Italy was forced into the armistice by Romano (Southern Italy, the Italy referred to in this story represents the northern half).
I find it weird that China is mentioned so much as an Ally when China wasn't really a part of the Allied forces.
Canada, however, was, so I included him in China's place.
Italy dreams about the separation of Germany post-WWII where the province east of the Oder-Neisse line were given to Russia. IMHO, the abolition of Prussia should have meant Prussia died, but I remember Himaruya mentioning that Prussia was forced to work for Russia under poor conditions, so I followed the canon.
Italy has foreshadowing dreams twice in the series. Once when he dreams of meeting Japan, and the other when he dreams of Germany and Japan speaking of how they won't include Italy in their next plans because he might 'betray them again', obviously referring to the armistice.
So I made Italy lie about having a dream that foreshadows future events.
/brain collapses