Hello, so this is my first Gerita short story thing. It'll only be like 2 or 4 chapters.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" France stirred at the angry Englishman's voice and glanced around at his surroundings. He was in his own bedroom and relatively clothed so the Englishman's anger was not directed at him or at least he hoped.

"Please England I n-need your h-help, to get my Germany back, please this monster is not my Germany no matter what they say this isn't him. He would never do this to anyone!" France shot up and ran-slash-stumbled out of his bedroom and down a lone cold hall that gave way into a living room, where he had heard the voices come from.

"I-Italy, is that you?" France was horrified to say the least by the shorter nations appearance. He was covered head to toe in blood, some his own but most is that of his fallen men. His blue uniform is ripped to shreds to reveal a wound covered torso, most of the bullet wounds were wrapped in dirtied medical gaze, while others have scared over or have been left open. His hands are cut and chapped. His face beaten by what looked to be the butt of a gun leaving cuts, a black eye, and a broken nose in it's wake. His eyes though were the hardest to look at, they were dark and cold. Soulless, they were the eyes of a man who had seen hell and lost all hope.

"Please," his voice is thick with pain and sorrow as he pleads. "please save my Germany."

"Why," England snapped at the kneeling man, pulling out his gun and pressing it to the nation's forehead. "why should we help scum like you." He clicked the safety off his handgun and presses it harder against Italy's forehead. America watches with frightened eyes, fully expecting Italy to start crying and begging of his life. But he doesn't.

"I thought Italy was a coward." America voices, slightly confused. Italy let out a humorless chuckle.

"I am no coward, America. But when you get to my age, and you've seen as many wars and fallen empires as I have no longer have the luxury of fear or pain. You've just accepted that this is the way things are. You embrace death and hate with open arms. When you get to my age you will hate guns too, for I have lost more friends and lovers to guns then I have to time itself." He turns his eyes back to England. "Go ahead England shoot me, it won't get you very far."

"I'll say it again why should we help you?" Italy sighed and hung his head.

"If you help me save my Germany I will surrender and I will get the Germans to lay down their arms as well. God knows they're just as tired of this damn war as all of us." Italy's voice cracked as tears threatened to spill over his cheeks. "Please just help me save him." England lowered his gun.

"Fine, where is he?"

"Auswitch." Italy choked out looking down in shame, it was his fault he was there. The room goes silent, the allies looked saddened and confused. They all know the horrors of the war and the death camp, where the innocent were sent to die, but why would a notion be there? The peoples own nation be locked up in the worst of those factories of death?

"Why is Germany there?"France asked, crouching down next to the broken Italian.

"I was careless and they took him. It should've been me, I should've been the one they took in the middle of the night, while walking my god damn dogs! Not him!" Italy was in hysterics as he clung to France and sobbed into his chest. "Please help me save him I'm not strong enough to do it myself any more!" He pulls himself closer to France, to muffle his cries.

"I couldn't stop them, they took him, Germany the man I love more than anything else in the world. Help me save him and I'll surrender, please just save him. My beloved Germany." Italy's broken cries filled the uneasy silence in the room as the broken man they came from clung to France like a drowning man. France patted his head and rocked him slowly back and forth and sings.

"The blue sky can fall in on us.

And the earth can also crumble.

It matters little to me if you love me.

I don't give a damn about the whole world.

As long as love overwhelms my mornings.

As long as my body trembles under your hands.

Problems matter little to me.

My love, because you love me," (1)

"France we need to talk." England's voice cut through his sad sweet melody, France smiled bitterly but nodded and stood and followed the others out of the room.

"We should help him." France spoke as the door closed, England frowned.

"No, he is the enemy we can not help him."

"Why the hell not Iggy?" America asked, glaring at England.

"Well because- oh screw it I know you two will help him with or without us. So might as well keep you out of trouble." England scowled as he left the room to tell Italy their decision.

Please Review- Kitty

1-Édith Piaf:Hymne À L'amour