A/N: hey people!
Another serious Italy fic.
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Italy was panting slightly as he carefully walked through the ruined town.
His eyes scanned over the fallen buildings and the ruins. Pieces of stones, of metal, of human bodies, littered everywhere.
This was Germany.
Bombing after bombing. The Allied Powers refused to give up. They didn't, wouldn't, stop until Germany finally declared surrender.
He wasn't entirely sure where he was going. He didn't even know if he was in the right part of the country.
The only thing he was sure of was the gun in his hand.
Fully loaded with six bullets just to be safe.
Officially he was part of the allies now. Italy had given up and bowed down to the allies wishes.
Italy had. Not Feliciano. Italy.
He bared his teeth in a silent snarl. As if he would ever betray his friends. As if he would ever betray the man he loved.
His fingers slid along the metal of the gun. He was breathing heavily.
Months before his so called betrayal of the Axis. It had been months since he had last seen Germany. He had practically disappeared. They were at a meeting with the Allied Powers and he had gotten a call from his boss that he had to answer. He had left to go back to Germany.
And he never came back.
America was finally able to liberate those horrible disgusting concentration camps. Him and England slowly took the prisoners out of the hell and brought them back to humanity.
A week ago when America had come back from the camps he had given Italy a look of such pity he felt his own heart twist in pain.
Although he refused to answer anything that had to do with it.
So Italy followed him around hoping to get the answer.
A week ago he only had a look to guide him.
Six days ago America had been returning to his home without telling the other Allies.
Five days ago Italy finally was able to pick the locks on America's house.
Four days ago he got past the guard dogs.
Three days ago he saw Poland all skin and bones sleeping in one of Americas guest bedrooms recovering.
Two days ago he saw Germany, in the same condition as Poland, softly talking to America. He heard the words 'traitor' and 'pink triangle'.
One day ago he had returned to Europe and without saying anything to his brother or the Allies he had taken a gun from his and his brother's secret stash.
This morning he had arrived in the ruins that were now called Germany.
This afternoon he had entered this town.
And now he was searching for the man responsible for all this.
He stopped for a moment outside of a building. His eyes scanned the remaining of the sign and deemed it to be a government building of some sort.
He shrugged and entered the remains of the building.
The roof had collapsed and there was debris everywhere. He looked around before he walked to a bookcase. He pushed it on the side which revealed a passage.
He walked down the hidden staircase and paused for a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light before he continued downwards.
'You bastard.' Italy thought as he walked. 'You goddamned bastard. Everything that you have done. I hope you rot in hell.'
'I almost lost him once. I will never lose him again.' Italy's eyes narrowed. 'Never again. After today. We will never be apart. I will always be by his side. You might think what we are is sick but who are you to talk with the blood of eleven million on your hands?'
He brought his gun up as he opened the door.
And there he was. Standing with his back to the door. A woman was on the bed and by the ghostly pale look on her face she was dead. He was standing there whispering to himself.
Italy stepped forward his boots stepping loudly on the stone floor.
He turned around and looked surprised at his guest.
"You are Italy correct?" he asked.
Italy nodded as he stepped closer. He made sure the gun reflected the light.
"What do you want?" he practically snapped. "I have no time for traitors."
Italy chuckled. "No time for traitors? That is rather funny considering what you did to the very nation you are in charge of."
"Germany was a traitorous little faggot." he hissed.
Italy's face darkened and the smile slid off. He raised the run threateningly. "Don't you dare talk about Germany like that."
"I will talk of him however I want." he hissed. "Now get out of here."
Italy smirked. "I will leave the moment I am ready to."
He brought the gun up and aimed it carefully. Right in between the eyes.
He pulled the trigger.
"Now I'm ready to go."
Italy was humming as he walked across the lawn. The dogs saw him and stood for a moment growling.
All it took was a simple look at them for the dogs to whimper and retreat to the trees.
He opened the door easily. America who had heard him opening the door came there looked visibly confused.
"How…how did you get into my house?" he asked slowly.
Italy smiled. "I'm here to see Germany." he said simply.
America's eyes lingered on the front of his clothes. "Should I ask why you're covered in blood or is it best that I don't know."
"It's best that you don't know."
"And how did you know that Germany was here?"
Italy smiled once more. "I have my ways."
America sighed as he lifted his hands into the air. "I'm not going to ask. Germany is sleeping right now though."
"I can wait."
"Right. Second floor third door on the right."
Italy nodded his thanks as he walked up the staircase. He could feel America's eyes on him.
He stopped on the middle of the stairs.
"Italy?" America asked.
"What does that mean?" Italy asked him. "The pink triangle?"
America sighed. "It was given to homosexuals in the camps."
Italy nodded. "I see."
He continued up the stairs and into the room.
There Germany was sleeping almost soundly on the bed. Italy walked towards him, his footsteps muffled by the carpet. He paused for a moment to take off his blood-soaked jacket and threw it into the corner. Thankfully his white shirt was still clean.
Germany had dark bags under his eyes. His arms were over the covers and they were still too bony for his comfort. His right wrist was bare and Italy was able to make out a dark tattoo of letters and numbers on the pale skin.
Italy crouched beside Germany. He slowly ran his fingers through Germany's hair and slowly around Germany's neck and arms.
Too skinny. Too unhealthy.
Too much unlike Germany.
He would stay beside Germany until he got completely better and even then he would never leave Germany's side. Tomorrow he would make Germanys a big plate of pasta to help make him healthy again. Tomorrow he would take Germany home and take care of him.
Italy sighed as he crawled into bed beside Germany. If anything Germany was able to sense the familiar presence of Italy beside him because he turned towards Italy in his sleep and smiled slightly.
Italy hugged Germany closely, but not too tightly in case he might accidently break, and murmured to him.
"I love you Germany." Italy murmured. "I love you so much."
Believe it or not Italy isn't meant to be creepy here. Just kinda really angry and wanting revenge towards the one who had hurt Germany.
And I love, love, love serious Italy.
Anyway I hope you guys enjoyed this.
Questions? Comments? Leave them in a review.
Until next time.
This is Phoenix-Fire Power over and out.