Fifth and last part of the Monochrome series.
Warning: language, M rated
Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.
Pairing: Prussia x Germany x Italy
Note: This story was written first in the Monochrome series, so the quality might lack a bit. But it's long and I'm lazy to rewrite it.
No beta has seen it.
Historical notes in the last chapter.
Monochrome
Chapter 1
Nurnberg, 1945
The world was not a bright place. All the colours were gone leaving everything stained in the dull shades of black and white. Italy could barely remember the green of the grass or the blue of the sky anymore, everything being overshadowed by this horrible greyness heavily weighing on his soul.
No, it wasn't true. It wasn't only him, it was everyone. All the people and nations gathered in the tightly packed courtroom had the same tired and dull expression. The war was over, but the aftermath of it was just as terrible and difficult.
He lived through a lot. Being alive for as long as he was, he has seen almost everything. All the ugliness humans possessed and all the beautiful and wonderful things they could create and accomplish. He travelled the world, conquered new lands, fought in many wars. Swords, bows and arrows, guns, he grabbed all of them if he had to, if it was for his children, even though a quill and a paintbrush suited him much more. But he did it anyway because it was his duty to make sure that his people flourished. But the route humans took for the last fifty or so years scared him more than anything he could remember.
Technology was an amazing thing, but humans were too greedy and too hasty, and nations too inexperienced yet to understand all the wonders and possibilities it granted. The world developed too fast during the last century and it led to these horrible consequences. Admittedly, though, Italy couldn't remember a time in his life when there was no war, no conflict at all. It was human nature after all, and nations obeyed by either taking up arms or by expanding their diplomatic web or putting their knowledge into making their land, their world a better or a safer place for future generations. But this modern technology, these new weapons, the mass destruction they could cause was something none of them have seen before, none of them were ready for. And the inequality between nations created by these new technologies gave birth to new, drastic ideologies. And it was scary.
Time seemed to pass in slow motion in the courtroom as the jury passed its judgment.
Guilty.
Guilty.
Guilty…
Italy barely paid attention. He felt sick to his stomach and his chest clenched painfully with each sentence.
When will this finally stop? When will this bloodshed and hatred end?
The world lost its contours morphing into a grey blur and the nation wasn't sure if it was his vision giving up or his consciousness slipping. He had to force himself to focus, to keep his eyes open, and to keep awake. Not to succumb to the blissful unconsciousness. He had no right to do that, he had to witness it, just like all the other nations had to. But yet again, he was failing miserably not being able to keep the world in its shape; not being able to protect his friends.
Not being able to keep his promises.
He didn't know how much time has passed, he only woke up from his trans-like state when Romano shook his shoulder and led him to the middle of the almost empty courtroom. He obeyed, automatically following behind his brother dully noticing that only the nations have stayed behind.
It was their turn now.
Italy dreaded this hearing more than anything else in his life so far. His stomach churned unpleasantly, threatening to return that little he had to eat before.
He wanted to run.
It seemed that was the only thing he was doing lately, running from his problems and running from the world. He couldn't help it. Besides, the whole hearing was just a formality, the Allies have long decided about their fates. They just had to keep up the appearances.
Apathetic and dull faces greeted him, void of any emotions. Everyone tried to be civil, tried to keep up a calm façade, pretending that everything was alright, but it wasn't and it was so apparent that Italy wanted to laugh.
This war had no winners.
They were all battered, France and Poland especially. England who usually took up the role of the leader was barely standing on his feet, thin and weak. And the ever boisterous America was unusually quiet, his sickly pale skin and limp hair suggesting that he wasn't feeling right either. Russia on the other hand loomed ominously over the Baltic trio and Hungary who stood just a bit closer to Austria than it was necessary.
The dark haired nation despite his high regard for etiquette put his hand around Hungary's waist holding her tenderly. No one seemed to care, after all they used to be married, used to form the Austro-Hungarian Empire and connections like that were difficult to break up. Their separation after the first big war was so sudden that Italy wasn't sure if his previous carers even comprehended it fully, especially that the Mediterranean nation knew more than well that the two of them had a rather intimate relationship in the first place.
Italy felt like crying. Now big sis Hungary will be sent to Russia's house. She will be separated from the man she loved and it was all his fault. Because he was weak and he couldn't keep his promises.
Throat constricting painfully, tears gathered in his eyes.
It was all his fault.
He wanted to apologise, wanted to go there and smile and say that everything was going to be alright. But he was scared of their reaction, afraid that they might hate him for what happened. He didn't know what to do and this trepidation left him even more in tears. His vision started blurring again and he wasn't sure if he could stand on his own as the world swayed in front of his eyes.
But suddenly a warm body was there, holding him up by his arm and lending a shoulder to lean on.
Italy needed a moment to collect himself as he let his weight fall onto to the warm body next to him.
"Are you okay?" Prussia's voice was quiet and tired but surprisingly calm. His hands securely circled the older nation keeping him in place and Italy felt his heart clench at the familiar feeling of having the white haired man so close to him.
He nodded, lifting his head heavily and pulling away from the bigger body but Prussia's arms held him close. The brunette looked up surprised. Although he was scared, afraid of the pain and hatred and hurt in those red eyes, to his astonishment there was none. Prussia was looking at him, his genuinely worried and concerned expression breaking Italy's self-restraint as he buried his face in the taller man's chest drenching his shirt with tears.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered as silent sobs shook his body. "I'm so sorry, Prussia…"
"Gilbert," the man corrected him, and Italy gulped back a shocked sob, looking up at the man through tears to see a ghost of a smile on thin, white lips. "I like the name you gave me."
Italy's chest squeezed agonizingly.
"But I betrayed you," he said, his voice barely audible and breaking at times. "I betrayed you and Germany. I caused pain for all of you…"
His look jumped to Austria and Hungary for a moment but he shut his eyes feeling shame and guilt. Prussia followed his gaze, then sighed heavily.
"You did what you had to. You finished a hopeless war and no one is blaming you for that. They know it as well." The man's voice was quiet and resigned, and his calmness, despite shocking the smaller nation, was more soothing than anything else since he left Germany's side. "Besides, you talk about it as if it was only your decision, but in reality it was what your people, boss and your brother wanted as well. So don't blame yourself." Prussia put his hand on Italy's head. "I don't blame you. What you did was probably the only logical decision in that situation."
It hurt.
He thought hearing these words would ease his pain, alleviate his guilt but instead it just hurt more. He wanted it so much and he hated it because he didn't deserve forgiveness. He didn't deserve Prussia's… No, Gilbert's kindness or his tender words, yet the man was right there, holding him almost lovingly, keeping him standing straight, although Italy's legs have given up a long time ago.
And the older nation wanted to say so many things, wanted to cry loud and open like a child but instead he just pressed his face into Prussia's chest and weakly mumbled his name:
"Gilbert…"
The arms around him squeezed a bit tighter.
"There you go."
A soft cough alerted both of them and Italy snapped his head towards the noise. Romano was standing just a couple of steps away looking at them awkwardly. For a moment the Mediterranean nation thought that his brother would snap, shouting and reprimanding him for mixing with the Potato Bastards as he liked to call the Germanic brothers, but instead he just nodded his head towards Prussia in a silent greeting.
"We are starting soon," he pointed towards the middle of the room where the rest of them were gathering.
Italy disentangled himself from the taller man's arms to shakily stand on his own. He looked around the room noticing all the anxious, tired and listless expressions nations wore, but something wasn't right.
Someone was missing.
He turned to Prussia, surprise and worry lacing his voice:
"Where is Germany?"
For a moment there was no reaction but then the man's pupils dilated in shock as he awkwardly looked from him to Romano. Italy followed his gaze only to be met with his brother's slightly reddening cheeks. There was something unsettling about it.
"You didn't tell him?" Gilbert broke the silence suddenly. The taller man's accusatory voice made Italy flinch. Didn't tell him what?
"There was nothing to tell he didn't know already," Defensively, Romano crossed his arms in front of his chest, refusing to look at them.
"Nothing to tell!?" the white haired nation snapped in disbelief.
His brother's reluctance to give a clear answer and Gilbert's angry expression left Italy terrified and worried for Germany. It was scary. Why wasn't he here? Just what was going on!? Italy just had to know, so he grabbed Prussia's arm forcing the man to look at him instead of staring down Romano lividly.
"What's happening? What are you not telling me?"
The younger at first refused to look at him as well, closing his eyes instead and sighing heavily. But when he finally turned his tired gaze towards the smaller man his expression was everything but hopeful. It wasn't boding well, and slimy fear slithered over Italy's stomach threateningly.
"I-" The white haired nation couldn't finish.
A strong British accent interrupted them as England walked up to their little group with a questioning look on his face and with America following close behind.
"Excuse me, gentlemen. What seems to be the matter here?"
Italy impatiently turned towards him, latching himself to the blonde man's arm this time. He knew it was inappropriate, especially given the circumstances but he was starting to get desperate.
"Where is Germany?"
The shock on England's features was apparent as he looked incredulously from one person to another, and Italy felt irritation bubble up in his chest once more.
Why was no one saying anything!? Why were they hiding things from him!?
His breath hitched for a moment. What if it was the worst case scenario? What if Germany wasn't anymore? No, no, that's impossible! The Mediterranean nation shook his head to banish the thought. Germany was strong and although his country was broken and destroyed it still remained. It still existed. Germany had to be alive! Then why was no one telling him anything!?
Scary, almost hysterical thoughts twirled in his mind with unpleasant slowness. But his anxious internal rant was cut short, when from behind the gentlemanly nation America stepped forward impatiently with a rather annoyed and disgusted look on his face.
"What do you want from that murderer?"
Everyone in hearing distance went quiet suddenly, and Italy also gasped in surprise.
These were harsh words. Unbecoming of a nation of America's status. It was almost impossible to believe he heard that correctly. But the younger blonde stood confidently, almost cockily with no regret on his features whatsoever.
How dared he…!?
Anger took over Italy's whole being at these unjust words, the type which rarely, almost never possessed him before. But apparently it wasn't only him who got offended at this outrageous comment because Gilbert stepped forward, his form appearing just slightly more threatening than it should have been for a nation who lost the war.
"Murderer?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "That's rich coming from a country who dropped two nuclear warheads on Japan. Tell me, just how many innocent lives have you destroyed?"
Silence.
America was shocked speechless for a moment at this audacity.
"How dare you!?" His posture and tone turning even more hostile, he took a step forward, too, and Italy almost yelped frightened.
Repressed frustration, anger, pain, helplessness and fear, - he could see all of these feelings from both of them. He understood it very well. He was going through the same but these heated words scared him, for Prussia was angering the most powerful nation in the world right now.
But luckily England was there to pacify the mood, or rather make the two competitive men step down in front of his authority. The blonde might not have been the British Empire anymore but he still possessed that authoritative demeanour which left people feeling small and insignificant and right now probably that was the only thing that could stop Prussia and America.
"That's quite enough you two!" his voice boomed in the silence of the courtroom. "We all committed heinous crimes during our existence, there is no point arguing who is worst. We are all just bloody murderers here!"
Suffocating silence enveloped the room.
It was true. Undeniable. England's words carried a sort of finality that made the atmosphere even heavier.
But it worked because America turned away displeased, puffing out his cheeks like a little kid and crossed his arms in front of his chest in annoyance. Prussia also seemed to calm down as he stepped back a bit and refused to look at the blonde superpower.
England sighed and Italy sighed with him. At least one problem was solved for now, but it was far from being over yet.
He still wanted to know.
No.
He needed to know what happened to Germany.
Despite his better judgement, he pulled at the blonde man's hand demanding attention, as pleading eyes fixated on the nation mercilessly. England cleared his throat uncomfortably. He gently tried to pry the smaller nation's hands away but Italy's hold was surprisingly strong.
"Germany is rather inconvenienced right now," he said unable to meet the smaller man's gaze, giving up on freeing himself.
Italy squeezed his arm again.
"Please England, I need to know."
The blonde's dull and tired eyes flashed with empathy for a moment, and he put his hand on top of the other's head to pat him apologetically.
"I'm really sorry but I don't think it's me you should hear this from."
His voice was drained but sincere, and Italy instantly understood that he won't get out any more information from him. Not because England didn't want him to know, simply because it wasn't his responsibility, or rather he didn't had the right to explain what was going on.
He let go of the man's hand feeling numb and helpless, and the blonde slipped away from him cautiously stepping back to America's side.
Tears gathered in Italy's eyes as he looked from Romano to Prussia and back to Romano again. There was no answer, his brother refused to look his way, but Prussia sighed heavily as he rubbed his neck awkwardly.
"Germany is…" he started, "Germany is not himself right now," Prussia said finally, his features morphing into a painful frown. And from the way Gilbert's voice dropped to almost a whisper Italy knew almost immediately that the situation was bad. Really bad.
The man's eyes reflected pain and worry. The white haired nation seemed to be scared. And it scared Italy, too, because the Prussia he knew was always strong, with a bubbly personality, always ready with a plan and even if things didn't go his way, he was able to shrug it off. Italy envied this part of him because despite often coming across as a brash, unperceptive douchebag Gilbert was his pillar of strength, keeping him together when he wanted to fall apart.
And for a moment instead of the strong and confident man Prussia became, Italy saw the little child he once saved. Weakened, tired and defeated, - just like a lot of them were after this war - and he felt guilt overcome him for always relying on others, relying on the white haired man when he was probably feeling just as fragile as Italy felt.
He wanted to go there and hug him. To reassure him that he was there for him, to say everything was going to be okay, but honestly he wasn't sure if anything ever would be okay after this. But right now he also had to know what was happening to Germany. He had his hunch and if it was true the situation was more than just simply bad. Although, the possibility of being wrong existed, - he had to be certain.
"Is it the same what happened before?" He took a step closer to Gilbert.
The man's eyes flashed with anger and shame for a moment at the ugly memories. It was understandable. That day still haunted the smaller nation in his nightmares, too, and he was sure Prussia witnessed much more of those episodes than he did. He always knew Gilbert was protecting him, keeping him far away from pain and harm as much as it was possible. The pledge he once made as the Teutonic Knight and then centuries later what he reconfirmed as Prussia still lived strong within him, and Italy couldn't have been more grateful and honoured for that.
But it was his turn now. After all the failures, all the promises he broke it was his turn to protect Gilbert, and to protect Germany!
And when Prussia slightly nodded confirming his worries the only sane thought that remained in his head was that he had to save the both of them. His heart skipped a beat, and his body went numb and cold, abandoning all rationality and leaving him unnaturally calm. It didn't matter how, didn't matter how impossible it was, he had to save both Germany and Prussia.
"Where is he now?"
His voice was quiet and composed and Italy was surprised himself that he didn't burst out in tears. He didn't even feel like crying anymore, his only priority right now was finding the blonde man.
But Gilbert just shook his head.
"There is no point, you can't reason with him. He is completely consumed by his people's loss and his previous boss' insanity."
Italy didn't care. He just wanted to see Germany and to confirm the situation with his own eyes.
"Where is he?" he repeated the question, but the white haired man seemed reluctant to answer.
He grabbed Prussia's hand into his own trembling ones, weaving their fingers together and squeezed lightly encouraging, reassuring, urging the taller to answer his question.
He would save Germany for him. No matter what!
The man closed his eyes uncomfortably, but from the way his lips quivered it was obvious that he was struggling with himself, slowly yielding under Italy's piercing gaze.
"He wouldn't want you to see him like that," Prussia said finally.
Italy just clutched his hands stronger.
"Please…"
The answer was so close, Prussia could never resist him! It was an underhanded tactic but these were extreme times.
But unfortunately America had to butt in again at the worst possible of times, "Why would you even want to see him, he is totally fucked up in the head!"
Both former Axis nations turned their heads towards the insulting words. Gilbert's eyes flashed with seething anger, and Italy let a quiet curse escape his lips in his melodic native language.
Even England looked offended as he snapped at the young superpower, "America! Why do you have to be so rude? I'm sorry," he turned towards Italy this time. "Germany is kept in the prison ward, but you need special permission to go there and- Hey! No, stop!"
Italy didn't listen to him, Prussia's cold hand fell from his, and his legs carried him automatically as he broke out in a mad dash towards the blonde's location.
"Italy, wait!"
He heard people shout after him, Romano call him an idiot and Prussia grab after him and plead not to go. He heard footsteps as the nations started chasing him but he ignored everything, forcing his body, begging to run faster.
He raced through corridors and staircases trying to avoid bumping into random people and soldiers, but to his disappointment the whole building seemed to be swarmed with them. He heard guns click ominously behind his back as he sprinted away between guards but someone shouted a 'don't shoot' command. He allowed himself a relieved little sigh but never stopped running.
His side was hurting, he could barely breathe as he reached the entrance of the prison ward. The soldiers who were stationed in front of the main door at first looked at him with confusion but soon they grabbed after their weapons to stop any intruders.
However, that momentary lapse in their reaction was enough for Italy to act, as he grasped after the wrist of the man standing the nearest to him, twisting the gun out of his hand and holding the poor fellow at gunpoint as his hostage.
He didn't know where his strength came from, it had to be the adrenalin coursing through his body, making his heart beat hundred times faster than it should. And he didn't know where this bravery or rather stupidity came from either. He didn't understand his own actions, the only thing he knew was that he had to reach Germany.
"Give me the keys!" he shouted.
The gun in his hand trembled pressed up to the soldier's temple.
No one moved. The men were either too shocked or not taking him seriously enough, and Italy's bet was on the latter.
Damn it!
He couldn't stop now, he was so close to his goal! He had to get the keys and pass through the door but it was more difficult than he thought.
No, that's the problem, he didn't think this through at all, he acted instinctively and now his stupid decisions were catching up to him. That calm confidence he felt before was gone now, and the gun in his hand felt heavy and dirty.
He wanted to cry. His legs shook uncontrollably and he was ready to bolt at any time. But he forced himself to stay calm and to stay in place.
Why did he have to be such a coward? Why was the only thing he was good at running away? Why did he even think that a weak being like him could ever pull this off? He was useless! There was no way he could manage on his own!
He wanted to call for help. He needed someone next to him, someone stronger and his mind automatically supplied him with a name.
Germany.
His lips parted to call out to the man only to realise that it would be completely futile.
He remained silent.
Germany wouldn't come to save him. It was Germany who needed to be saved right now, and not him.
Italy was angry and disgusted with his own weakness. This had to stop. He promised himself he would save Germany, he promised himself he would make Prussia happy again. And he had to do it on his own! Both of them gave him so much it was time to repay their kindness.
This new determination gave him enough strength to collect himself and stop his hand from shaking. He had to move forward, there was no going back now.
He pointed the gun towards the ceiling and pulled the trigger in an attempt to scare the people around and make them take him seriously, but he ended up scaring himself as well as the bullet whizzed through the air with a loud boom. He recoiled from the noise, knees buckling underneath him but he was able to steady himself and press the gun back to the hostage's head threateningly.
"The keys! I'm not gonna say it again!"
For a moment no one moved, and the nation was afraid that his scare tactic didn't work but then someone produced a set of keys, which jingled in the air in one of the soldiers' extended hands.
Italy sighed just a tiny bit more relieved now. Finally things were going his way. It was far from being over yet but at least he was a step closer to his goal.
He made his hostage take the keys and open the door. They shuffled around awkwardly for a moment, Italy trying to balance the gun, the keys and the man in his grasp until he reached securely behind the door. Then he shoved the poor fellow out, throwing the gun away, and closing the door with a loud bang. He locked the door from the inside, although the guards probably had a spare key somewhere as well. He didn't care, he only needed a little bit of time until he could locate Germany's cell and then…
Well, he didn't know yet, but he would come up with something for sure.
He raced through the narrow corridor peeking into each cell, searching for a mop of golden-blonde hair. The rigid bars morphed into a solid greyness in front of his eyes as he whizzed between them moving forward.
Germany was nowhere to be seen.
Tears gathered in honey eyes as desperation took over again.
Why wasn't he here!? Where was he!?
At the end of the path he reached a dark adjacent corridor leading down to the solitary confinement cells. He ran down that corridor as well, peeking into each room through the small slots on the sturdy metal doors.
And finally, there he was.
In one of the dark cells, sitting in a far corner with his head hanging low, there was a mop of unruly dirty-blonde hair.
Italy's heart skipped a beat. He couldn't see his face but he still knew it was Germany.
He fumbled with the lock, trying to find the correct key but his hands were shaking too much, and the keys slipped out again and again from between his sweaty fingers.
Damn it!
He had to calm down but he couldn't stop his erratic heartbeat. Finally, after a couple of minutes of awkward and nervous searching he found the correct one and the lock opened with a loud click.
He stumbled into the room and shut the door, turning the lock again, preventing anyone from interfering. In retrospect that was probably one of the stupidest ideas he ever had, but at that moment he couldn't care less, he didn't even have the capacity to think through his actions properly.
Finally, he was here. He was in front of Germany, he found the person he was looking for and Italy allowed himself a relieved sigh as he leaned against the cool door to rest his overheated body. For a moment only his ragged breathing was disrupting the silence, escaping his lips in small white puffs.
It was chilly down here and Italy looked around in disgust noticing just how dirty, empty and cold this room was. It was unfair, no one should be kept in these conditions and he felt his blood boil in anger towards the other nations that they allowed this to happen.
No. He was too naïve.
After what Germany's people have done, it was rather fitting. The irony of the situation was like a bitter and morbid joke.
"You have some nerve to show your face here."
Italy snapped his head in Germany's direction. The voice was familiar, yet so different that he wasn't sure for a moment if it was really the man talking or if he was just hearing things.
It wasn't Germany's silky and warm baritone ordering him to train properly, or reprimanding for leaving a mess, or occasionally praising, usually for his cooking skills, with just a slightly higher pitch in his voice, all cute and embarrassed as he couldn't hide his delight from showing on his features.
Italy loved those moments, and always put an extra effort into his cooking to please the man and create something he would enjoy eating. Unfortunately, the mess he left in the kitchen afterwards put a dumper on the whole project, but he was working on that as well.
But the voice that greeted him now was nothing like that. It was harsh and strict, low and unforgiving and as Germany raised his head and Italy had a chance to see his icy, accusing eyes, cold sweat broke out on his body, leaving him shivering in the dark room.
His eyes were grey, almost black like the charred land of his people covered in colourless ash. There was no hint of that sapphire-blue sparkle that reminded him of a warm summer's night sky. Those precious gems that smiled at him fondly were gone and instead, Italy saw pasty corpses decaying on the battleground and smoke rising above the dead bodies in the deafening silence of a grey world.
This man was not the Germany he knew.
He automatically stepped back, but as he was already standing next to door anyway, the only thing he could do was to press his back to the cold metallic surface even more. Yet, even that small movement seemed to be enough for the blonde man to snap in anger as he jumped up suddenly from the corner, chains rattling with his every move as he tried to reach after Italy's neck with a mad sneer on his face.
He was stopped by the shackles just a step away from the smaller nation, who jumped and screamed in fear.
The pull of the chain seemed to bring back the blonde from his momentary madness, or at least Italy really hoped so, as he watched Germany take a step back, letting his restraints fall back heavily to the ground.
"What does a traitor like you want here?"
Italy cringed, his boyish features contorting into a painful frown.
It hurt more than he imagined. Germany's every world was a stab into his heart, but he had to steel himself. He came here for a reason and no matter how intimidating, how scary the man in front of him looked like, he had to persevere. He owed it to Prussia, he owed it to Germany and to himself.
"I came to save you," he said with a weak and small voice barely able to keep his gaze on the blonde's stone-cold eyes.
Germany looked at him for a moment with a quizzical look, then laughed out hysterically at his words, his head tilting back in an almost unnatural angle, scaring the smaller man even more.
"Save me!?" he exclaimed incredulously, lips pulling into a malicious grin. "And who's gonna save you?"
The shackles rattled again as Germany's hands stopped a few feet away from his neck. The older nation forced himself to remain calm and stay in one place but he recoiled from the threatening move and loud noise anyway. Pressing his back to the cold surface behind him even more, he gulped in fear.
He needed to calm down or he was not going to succeed. It wouldn't be easy, he was prepared for that. Well, maybe not really prepared but still, he couldn't give up now. He absolutely had to bring Germany back to his senses! No matter what!
"I don't need to be saved," Italy said with more confidence in his voice than he actually had. He could barely stand, his knees buckled underneath him but his voice was smooth and even, surprising himself as well.
"Oh, really? A weak coward like you who can only rely on others and run away doesn't need saving? Don't make me laugh!" Germany snorted, disgust and contempt disfiguring his usually handsome features, and malice dripping from his words like venomous poison. "Get out of my sight or I'll kill you!"
Italy winced at every word the blonde man spoke. Seeing the person he loved since as long as he could remember being reduced to this state wasn't easy, but what hurt the most was that Germany's every word was true. He was just a weak coward, he did rely on others and ultimately, he was a traitor. And this hurt more than anything the other could have said, because despite not being himself right now, Germany most probably did harbour these kind of unpleasant feelings towards him. How could he not after what Italy did to him?
And for a moment all what Italy wanted was, really, just to run away, just like Germany has told him to do. But he remained, rooted into his place by fear, determination and sheer stubbornness. He would not run this time. Not today!
Even if it kills him, he will see this through.
His resolve had to show on his face as well because Germany growled, displeasure and annoyance marring his features as he pulled at his restraints forcefully. The chains rattled and creaked under the brute force, the worn metal slowly giving up the fight.
And suddenly the chains snapped with an agonizing screech as broken pieces of metal ricocheted through the small cell.
Italy screamed and automatically raised his arms to shield his face from the sharp pieces flying through the air but the movement was cut short, when a strong hand gripped his throat and pinned him to the sturdy door behind. His head hit the metal so hard that for a moment the world blurred into an amorphous greyness from the searing pain.
It was difficult to breathe, the hand was squeezing mercilessly, blocking the air from entering his lungs. He tried to pry the fingers away weaving his own around Germany's wrist but it was an entirely futile attempt on his part. There was no way he could ever win against the man when it came to pure physical strength.
He flailed around when the blonde lifted him to the air, still clutching at his throat, as the icy, feral eyes made his blood freeze. Even through his hazy vision he could see the clear intent to kill, and it was more petrifying than anything else in his long life before.
"Germany… would never hurt me," Italy muttered with a weak and failing voice, squeezing out the last remaining breath from his lungs.
In all honesty, he wasn't sure anymore if Germany wouldn't hurt him. His Germany definitely wouldn't do such a thing. His Germany was indeed strong and powerful but he was a gentle person, valuing his friends and looking after them as much as he could. But this man in front of him, this stranger who wore his Germany's face was nothing like the person Italy has come to love time and time again.
This man was cold and bloodthirsty, driven by hatred and revenge, and maddened by his people's pain and loss and humiliation. And Italy knew that it was his fault, too. No matter what Prussia said, no matter what the world thought of him, no matter that ultimately he ended a losing, hopeless war, he was just a traitor and deserved every bit of Germany's hatred.
But that's exactly why he had to save the man now! He had to stop him from making any more mistakes. Because, even though Italy considered himself an awful friend and a traitor, he did not make a mistake when he decided to stop the blonde nation. He pushed Germany into the open arms of darkness and despair with his decision, but he only did that in order to stop the man and save him. And now that the war was over it was his duty to finish what he started and bring back the old Germany he wanted to protect so desperately. And he couldn't allow himself to fail now.
As the world started to fade in front of his eyes the younger brought his limp body closer to fix him with a cruel and unforgiving stare.
"Try me!" His voice was hard and cold, lips pulling into a wicked smile again.
He flung Italy into the opposite stone wall with such force that the older nation could hear his ribs crack. He connected with the ground in a loud thud, and coughed up blood as one of his hands came up to his aching throat to somehow ease the pain.
He looked up at the man standing above him through tears and blood which trickled from his forehead. Every intake of breath burnt his lungs and his head was spinning from pain, but he forced himself up to a standing position. He had to lean on the wall as his shaking legs were barely holding him up but he didn't have the luxury to be weak now. Meanwhile, his eyes never left the blonde man who was watching him with a feral glint in those stone-cold orbs.
"Do you still think I won't kill you?"
Despite every inch of his body crying in pain and fear Italy smiled, shocking himself as well at this boldness, "You're not Germany."
He didn't have time to prepare for the kick which he received as an answer and sent him flying to yet another wall, braking his arm this time. The bone yielded under the pressure with a loud and sickening snap and Italy screamed in pain as he grabbed at the injured appendage, covering his fingers with blood and curling into foetal position on the ground.
It was going really bad. Granted, he didn't have a plan when he stupidly rushed to save Germany without thinking his actions through first, but if he didn't do something soon all of this would be in vain. He wasn't afraid of dying, despite what the blonde man said it wasn't that easy to kill a nation, but his body was giving up, and he could feel his consciousness slowly slipping from under his control.
He tried to take a couple a calming breaths to clear his mind but the other's presence dangerously looming above him sent his thoughts into a panicked frenzy.
What to do? He had to act, soon! But there was nothing he could think of. Dammit, why was it so difficult!
Italy winced as Germany grabbed his hair and pulled him into a standing position. Ha was forced against the cold surface of the cell as the man's hand clutched around his throat again, squeezing the breath out of him.
Tears gathered in honey-brown eyes and he swore silently.
Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!
Why was he such a useless weakling? Why couldn't he do anything on his own?
For a moment he wished someone would come and save him but the disgust he felt rise in his stomach at these thoughts was more stifling and painful than anything Germany dished out for him so far.
"You're pathetic!" the man spat out as if reading his mind. "You can't and you never could save anyone! You can't even save yourself…"
Italy looked at him through teary eyes, determination flashing with a gold light in his irises as some of the words struck him.
Germany was right that he couldn't save himself, but Italy did save someone in the past. Long-long centuries ago, a small unwanted child whose life was barely hanging on a thread and whose existence later became an important part of his own life. His pillar of strength. Actually, no. Not only his pillar of strength. Gilbert was Germany's precious brother as well. The most important person in his life! Italy always knew that, and despite the slight ache in his chest he was content that the two most beloved people in his life were happy.
So it wasn't true that he has never saved someone because he did, and Prussia was the living proof of that. And if he did it once, he could do it again!
He will do it again!
This newly found resolve gave him enough power to collect his hazy thoughts into some kind of order.
Now he finally knew what to do, and all he needed was just a little bit of blood, a vow and enough strength to execute his plan before he lost his consciousness.
A contract. A blood-pact. A blood-oath.
It had different names but the end result was the same. With the symbolic exchange of blood and an oath one could forge an unbreakable connection bounding the participating sides on a level much more sacred than a simple hand written contract or a promise.
Humans used it since ancient times, although after the rapid spread of Christianity and the church as an institution gaining power this custom became banned, being deemed too barbaric. But Italy remembered Hungary saying once that her existence as a nation started also with a pact like that, when the forefathers of the seven tribes she travelled with cut their arms and let their blood into a chalice and exchanged oaths, thus elevating her to the rank of official nations.
The contract between nations, however, was a bit different. Grandpa Rome has told him everything about it. Back in those times when every territory, every settlement and city-state, every tribe and clan had its own personification, the life of the beings like they were, was much more difficult. They appeared within a blink of an eye and disappeared the same way, either by being conquered and their people slaughtered, or by famine, or other types of disasters. So, in order to survive one had to make sacrifices and submit to a stronger power for resources and protection.
'In exchange for your territories, I guarantee your people's survival.' In exchange for your children's loyalty, I let you keep your name.' 'In exchange for your name, I promise you a new life.'
He remembered that last one as clearly as if it happened only yesterday. After all, that was the oath he made to Prussia before he became the Teutonic Knights, when he was nothing but a new-born, tiny nation. Back then, Prussia was still a small and weak being so even the one sided vow had enough power to change his fate. Unfortunately, though, Germany was different but Italy still had to try. It didn't matter if his promise had only a slight effect, even the smallest of changes could tip the scales in his favour.
He gathered all of his remaining strength into a last desperate move. His chest hurt, one of his arms was broken and he could barely breathe but he could still kick the man in the shin.
Germany winced as Italy's boot connected with the most sensitive part of his leg and his hold loosened just a fraction. Still, it was enough for the older nation to push himself away from the wall and thrust his intact hand forward, trying to push his blood covered fingers past Germany's lips.
Time seemed to move in slow motion.
This was his chance!
His heart skipped a beat. His hand was shaking, and it seemed he forgot how to speak. He was anxious and afraid. If he screwed this up he won't have any other chances. He had to make this vow worthwhile, but he just couldn't find the words! He knew he would offer his very last breath to Germany if he needed to, so maybe that was actually all what was needed.
"To erase the darkness within your soul, I'll offer you my life, for I'm… for I'm Italy… and-"
His voice hitched as the hand around his throat squeezed again and he coughed up some more blood. He couldn't finish what he wanted to say but maybe he didn't have to. After all, he had no value to his name other than he was Grandpa Rome's descendant. He was weak and cowardly and pathetic just as Germany has told him, but he was ready to give his whole life, his whole pitiful existence to the man if it meant he could be saved.
Breathing was becoming more and more difficult as the coppery taste of blood in his mouth intensified and the world swayed before his eyes. He was losing his consciousness and he couldn't fight against it anymore. The urge to draw air into his lungs wiped his mind clear of any other thought as his hand fell down limply, leaving Germany's lips painted in a livid red colour.
The man recoiled, and his mouth opened to say something but Italy couldn't hear that anymore.
The world turned black before his eyes.
To be continued