It was the time of WW2, and the Allied forces were gaining power quickly. The Axis Powers needed to respond- now. Unfortunately, they have Italy…
"Doitsu!" Italy screamed at the tall blond man. The man turned around. "Yes, Italy?" he sighed. "Doitsu!" Italy said again. The man, Germany, sighed deeply. "Vhat, Italy?" he asked. Italy pulled on his jacket. "Where are you going? Are you really leaving me here by myself?" Germany facepalmed. He had explained the entire thing several hours before. "Yes, Italy," he explained again. "The Allies are taking territory. I need to go take it back, and it's easier if I go alone." Italy burst into tears. "But I don't want to be alone!" he cried. Germany's hard face softened, then stiffened up again. "You have Japan here," he said. Italy gave him a pleading expression. Fortunately, he had one final trick up his sleeve. "And," he added. "You can eat pasta everyday, and vhen I get back, you can make me some pasta too." Italy let go of his jacket, and smiled. "Okay!" The country bounded away, and Germany sighed. He was childish, but at times, his devotion to things he wanted to do was unmatchable. As Germany straightened his jacket, the smell of tomato sauce and pasta drifted through the air. He felt bad for Japan; he was going to be gone for at least a week, and Italy was most likely going to cook the same thing every single night. He opened the door. "Bye, Doitsu!" Italy called, cooking the noodles. Germany smiled. "Goodbye, Italia," he said.
Three hours later, somewhere in Upper Africa…
The Allies, peaceful as always, had been in a full blown argument. Actually, England and America were arguing over the fact that America had brought hamburgers and milkshakes for them to eat- for two weeks. China and France ended up taking sides, and Canada had been forgotten, as always. "What's going on?" he asked Kumajiro. "Who are you?" the bear replied. Canada sighed. "I'm Canada," he whispered.
A rustling in the bushes silenced them, which was good, because China had pulled out his weapon. America pulled out a gun. "Step out of the bush, and I won't shoot," he commanded. A tall, blond man stood up, and fired.
A few minutes earlier...
Germany ducked behind a bush. The Allies were yelling, and he was trying to spy on them. "You git!" England was yelling. "How are we supposed to live on solely hamburgers!" America's reply made Germany lose faith in humanity. "I brought milkshakes too!"
Germany crawled deeper into the bush. He could hear a ghostly whisper, which sounded a little bit like America. Germany strained, trying to think of the nation's name. Something like...Canadia? Kandia? Germany gave up. He smushed himself deeper into the bush, and something fluttered out of his jacket. He peered at it. It was a picture of Italy, that apparently Italy himself had snuck into his pocket. Germany sighed exasperatedly. Even when he left Italy behind, he still found a way to annoy him. He looked closer. Italy had written, in very careful cursive, "Good Luck, Doitsu!" Germany half-smiled. That was sweet, something Italy would do. As he reached for the picture, his arm brushed a branch, rustling it. He whispered a curse. Italy always managed to cause trouble, no matter where he was. The Allies had fallen silent, and he heard America call, "Step out of the bush, and I won't shoot." Germany whispered another curse. He was stuck. Either he surrendered, or he was shot. Quickly, he pulled out his phone. He called Italy, then realized that would let the Aliies know who he was. With shaking fingers, he texted, "Help." The phone flashed. No Signal! Germany cursed yet again. He had one chance left. He pulled out his gun, stood up, and fired upon the Allies.
The battle, if you could call it that, didn't last long. Germany fired, and America fired back. Germany clipped America's leg with the bullet, causing the younger nation to shout. America's bullet, however, hit Germany's stomach. He fell backwards, and unconsciously groaned. He heard England already tending to America's small wound, and America screaming, "THE HERO IS HIT! CANADIA, AVENGE ME!" A small voice responded, "I'm Canada." Germany knew he was injured badly, but he also knew it wouldn't be fatal. That small positive, plus the fact that Italy may be already on the way, was what kept Germany from panicking, or giving up. He knew how badly Italy was going to freak out already; he didn't want the smaller country to totally spaz out. Slowly, his fingers weak, Germany dragged his uncooperating body across the woods. He thought the Allies were after him, but no one came. Finally, he dragged himself to his camp. Although he didn't want to pass out, he wanted to rest…. so… badly. As he closed his eyes, he vowed to wake up as soon as Italy got there. "Italy Ll be here any minute," he consoled himself as he tried to sleep.
Ten minutes before...
Italy was having a great time. He was making pasta, and his pizza was in the oven too.
Suddenly, a song began to play. It was the song he had written about Germany, and he had even made the nation's ringtone that. "Ah! It's Doitsu!" The pasta-making nation told Japan, who sat at the table, surrounded by dishes of pasta and looking ill. Italy pulled out his phone, but before he could answer the call, it ended. Italy was confused, but he shrugged and smiled. "He must've hung up or called by accident." The small country went back to making pasta. As he served another bowl to Japan, his phone buzzed. His normal smile got larger. "Doitsu must be explaining what happened!" he said happily. As he went to look at his phone, Japan threw his tenth plate of pasta under the table. He missed the German already; at least then he got some variation in his diet. He looked at Italy. Italy's eyes were wide and open, and his smile had faded. "Italy, what is the matter?" Japan asked. Italy's lip was quivering, and tears were forming at the edges of his eyes, but a stubborn, set expression was on his face. "Germany was injured," the small nation said, in a strange tone of voice. "We need to go help him."
* * *
Germany was beginning to lose hope. It had been a few hours, and no one had even come near his camp. At this point, he'd be okay with capture from the Allies, as long as they helped him. Suddenly, he heard leaves rustling, and he tensed up, making his wound hurt even more. He heard a high, soft breathing noise, and knew it was Italy. "JAPAN!" A yell echoed through the trees. "I found Doitsu's camp!" He knew it was Italy now. "Italia!" he called, and realized how weak his voice was. He heard Japan's response. "Italy, how did you run so fast? It was like you teleported here!" Germany smiled. He knew how fast Italy could run, when he put his mind up to it. The adrenaline that had been keeping him going, keeping him waiting, faded away. His vision blurred, and the last thing he saw before blacking out was two heads, a black-haired one and a russet-haired one crowding around him to help.
Japan saw Italy's expression change as soon as the German passed out. It went from relief that he had found his friend, to worry. Japan put a hand on the small nation's shoulder. Italy, understandably, jumped. Japan almost never touched another person. "Italy, it will be alright," he said. The Italian turned, and Japan saw how torn he was. The injury of his best friend had clearly shaken him. The country had run as if the entire group of Allies had been chasing him, trying to find Germany. Italy looked as if he was about to cry. "Italy, go make pasta." ordered Japan. For the first time in his life, Italy didn't look as if pasta was the best thing in the world, but he went into the kitchen. Japan got to work on the German's wounds. The bullet hole was deep, and would probably leave a scar, but it would heal. Slowly, he got to work stitching up the gash. Although he was unconscious, Germany struggled against the needle. "I'm sorry," Japan whispered. "It's for the best. As if he could hear him, Germany stopped struggling, but before Japan could get back, he heard a small gasp. He turned, and saw Italy, his eyes stretched open and his face a expression of betrayal. His mouth, normally in a smile, was in a perfect O shape. "Italy," Japan said, but Italy interrupted him. "Japan!" he said, in a betrayed tone of voice. "What did you do! You were hurting Germany, then… then… he stopped." Japan realized the problem- Italy thought Japan had injured Germany. Before he could explain, the nation sighed, whispered, "I'm gonna go to bed," and walked away.
Italy stalked up the few stairs to the bedroom. (Don't know how the place is arranged, sorry) He was so angry at the world right now. There was no one to talk to, truly, so Italy began to plan.
He paced the room for several hours, plotting and planning. Finally, when the plan was complete (Italy standards), he called his older brother. "Romano?" he said into the phone. "How would you like to take on the Allies with me?"
So... Is it good? bad? Really Great? Horrible? If you guys liked this one, I'll add another part soon! It's mostly written out, but I figured this should be my first thing to post. If no one likes it, I won't update, though...