Chapter One
"Like this, Germany?"
"No, you've got it upside-down again."
"Oh. How 'bout this?"
"Nein. It's facing the wrong way."
"Mmh," Italy whined, dropping the pistol to the ground, "Germany, guns are boring."
Germany flipped the safety on on his handgun and slipped it into its holster on his belt. "Maybe they wouldn't be so boring if you learned how to use them properly," he suggested.
"Yeah," Italy pondered, "but I have a better idea!" He bounced up on his toes and looked to his superior for permission to speak his mind.
"I'm going to regret this but... What is it?"
Italy pointed in the direction of the airplane hangars on the outskirts of Germany's property. "You should show me how to fly, Germany! I bet I could be really good at it if you taught me! I could be a fluffy waffle pilot just like you used to be!"
Germany rolled his eyes. "The term is Luftwaffe and no. You can barely use a gun. There's no way I'd trust you to fly hundreds of feet above the ground, not by yourself anyhow."
"But I wouldn't be by myself, Germany! You'd be with me! We could be a dynamic duo up in the clouds!" Italy cried.
Germany squinted up at the sky. It was clear and blue: perfect flying weather for beginners...
"No."
"PLEEEEEEASE?!"
"Nein. Not today. Tomorrow... maybe."
"Yaaay!" Italy cheered, flinging his arms around the bigger man in a tight hug. "Thank you, Germany!"
"Ugh," Germany groaned. "Get off." He tried to pry Italy off of himself to no avail. Finally, he gave in and returned the embrace. "Mmh... You can let go now..."
Italy dropped his arms. "Okay! So, tomorrow?"
"I said maybe."
"But maybe isn't no! I'm going to go tell Japan!" He skipped off, singing some little tune to himself.
Germany shook his head, watching Italy as he danced away. He bent down and picked up Italy's gun, twirling it around his fingers before sticking it firmly on his belt. He took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh, flowery scent of spring.
Springtime was always so beautiful in his country: the flowers were in bloom, the trees dripping with pink and white blossoms, the lush, green, grass vibrant with tiny violets and buttercups. He always had a soft spot for the beauty of nature and found himself sitting down with his back to one of the silver birch trees, absently whittling a piece of bark with his pocket knife.
He was surprised to catch himself smiling; he could never find many reasons to be happy lately. He was now though. If not happy, then content. He was alone and it was peaceful. That's all he really wanted at the moment.
He had almost dozed off under the shade of the tree when something soft and warm brushed up against his arm, startling him. He looked down to see a little gray tabby cat purring and playing with the blades of grass that swayed with the breeze.
"Oh," he said. "Cat. You're that cat Italy always carries around. Pookie, is it?" It took him a minute to realize that he was talking to a cat and he wasn't going to get an answer. His cheeks reddened, slightly embarrassed with himself. He turned away and went back to carving the piece of wood in his hands.
"Miao!" said the cat, batting at his sleeve.
"Geh weg," Germany returned. "I'm not your owner. Go bother Italy for a while, why don't you?"
The cat rolled over onto its back and continued to entertain itself with Germany's clothing. "Miao!"
Germany scooted away from it. "Nein. Stop it."
The cat pounced on his boot and began to chew on his shoelaces, purring and flicking its tail playfully. Germany attempted to gently push it away with his other foot but he couldn't.
"Ungh... Listen, Cat... Pookie... I understand that you're having fun but... but I'm not enjoying this and... and you should go... somewhere else..." Germany said, his face flushing. This was not his cat. It was Italy's cat.
Like he expected, the cat absolutely refused to listen to reason. "I'm serious, Cat. I'll send you to the lab if you don't quit it."
"Miao miao!" it mewed, climbing up Germany's leg and rubbing against his stomach.
Germany pushed it off of him this time. "Quit it, Cat. Can't I have any peace!? Can't I go five minutes without someone following me or tugging at my sleeve," he tore his arm out of the cat's reach. He got to his feet but the cat only wove in and out of his legs, still purring and meowing. Germany rubbed his temples and reached down, grabbing the cat by the scruff of its neck. "Listen, I didn't want to have to do this but you leave me no choice." He started to walk back towards the house, the cat still purring in his hand.
With one swift motion, the cat managed to swing its legs up and scratch its way out of Germany's grip, climbing up his sleeve and onto his shoulder. Germany grumbled something under his breath. "Fine, Cat. Stay there for all I care."
"Miao!" It licked his ear with its rough tongue.
"I hate cats."
The wind picked up, displacing a few locks of Germany's blonde hair from his usual slicked back style. The cat dug its claws into his jacket to keep from falling. It was a cold wind, an unusually cold wind carrying a very unusual scent: sunflowers. Then he saw him, marching slowly through the meadow, lead pipe dangling from his left hand. It was Russia.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Germany!" Russia greeted cheerfully, lavender eyes smiling with him.
"What are you doing here?" Germany hissed. "A death threat? A treaty? Do I owe you money or something?"
"Nothing of those sorts," Russia laughed. "I am only having a question to be asking."
"And that is?"
"How much is your land worth to you?"
"Pardon me?"
"How much is-"
"Ja, ja, I heard you. What's that supposed to mean?" Germany went a little pale. This conversation was not going in a good direction.
"I was thinking that I am needing to have land closer to other allies. I have great love for Mother Russia but she is so far... I was wondering if you could maybe give me land close to border so I could have home not so far away," said Russia.
Germany digested that. Russia wasn't being unreasonable. In fact, there was a nice plot of land relatively close to France's border that he was looking to sell. If Russia was willing to settle a price... "How much land would you need? A few kilometers?"
"Umm... I was thinking... All of it."
"WHAT!?"
"Da. All of it would be good."
"All of Germany!? You want ALL of Deutchland!?"
"Yes. And, also, I am not being able to pay you."
"So you just plan on... on TAKING it!?'
"No."
"Then what do you plan on-"
"Oh, wait. I am meaning yes."
"Well... well... well... NEIN! You can't just... just HAVE my country!"
"But why?" Russia blinked innocently.
"Where the hell am I supposed to go!?" Germany yelped, his voice cracking.
"You can stay here and become one with Mother Russia, yeah?" Russia suggested.
"NO!"
"Or you can have Siberia. No one likes Siberia. You can have it. I give it to you. For free! If, in return, you give me all of your country!" Russia rocked back and forth on his toes like a small child, beaming brightly.
"I don't think you understand what 'free' means."
"In my country we have no word for fun."
Germany was taken aback. "What? That has nothing to do with th- What?"
"Okay, so, I'll be taking your land now, yes?"
"No!"
"Please with sugars on top?"
"I said nein."
Russia frowned, suddenly looking less like a child and more like a force to be reckoned with. "If you do not give Germaniya over to me, I'm having no choice but to take it."
Germany clenched his fists. "I'd like to see you try."
Russia smirked, eyes aglow with a dangerous sort of fire. "You will." He turned and walked away, back through the meadow, scarf flowing behind him in the wind.
Germany stood, frozen in place for a while, watching Russia disappear. Slowly, his face grew redder and redder and he felt the anger rising in his chest. This was his country, his home, and no one was going to take that away from him.
He bolted back to his house and flung the door open, ignoring the cat that still clung to his shoulders for dear life. "ITALY!" he shouted.
Italy appeared in the foyer almost instantly. "I didn't do it, Germany! I promise! Just don't yell at me, okay, please? Oh! You found Pookie!" He reached out and the cat leaped from Germany's shoulders to his.
"You're not in trouble, Italy. Get ready, we're going up."
"Up?" Italy said.
"I'm teaching you to fly."
Italy's face lit up. "Really!? Oh yay! Thank you, Germany!"
"This isn't because of you. We might find ourselves in some trouble one of these days and I'd feel a lot safer if you knew how to operate a plane," Germany explained. "So let's go."
Italy saluted. "Yes sir!"
Once they were properly suited up in the leather flight uniforms that Germany had stuffed in the back of his closet, Germany lead Italy to the hangars at the far side of his property. Italy had never been inside of them before. Germany had always said it was much too dangerous and there were too many things he would have access to and, therefore, break.
It was a huge, domed building with high ceilings and a vast, concrete floor. Towards the center rested three biplanes. Germany began to go towards the smallest: a gray one with yellow stripes and matching wingtips.
"This is the Gotha Go 145," Germany explained. "She's a trainer."
"It's pretty," said Italy, skipping towards it, inspecting it from all angles. He climbed up on the wing. "Look at me, Germany!"
"Get down from there, you'll break it... or yourself," Germany warned.
"No I won't! I'm- Whoa!" he started but toppled onto the ground. "Oof."
Germany stepped over to him, poking his side with his boot. "Are you alright, Italy?" he asked, frowning.
"Yeah, I'm okay!" Italy said, grinning, and getting to his feet. "Let's go, Germany! I'm excited!" He climbed back up onto the wing.
"Now, you just fell off and now you're getting back up on there?" Germany said, rolling his eyes. "Did you learn nothing from the last time?"
Italy sat down, cross legged, looking down at Germany. "I did learn something. I learned how not to fall off!" He smiled.
Germany shook his head and extended a hand to his comrade to help him down. "You're something else, Italy," he said, sarcasm riding on his voice.
Italy took his hand and jumped back to the ground. "So which seat do I sit in?" he asked, examining each of the cockpits.
"The front," answered Germany. "You're going to be flying."
"Oh," Italy bit his lip. "Okay."
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Germany asked. "You look a little nervous."
Italy stuck out his chest. "I'm not nervous at all!" he said. "I can do this!"
A smile spread across Germany's face for a second before he caught himself. "Good. Are
you ready?"
Italy thought for a moment before nodding. "Si!"
Germany bobbed his head. "Alright then, let's start this training session," he said. He gave Italy a boost into the front cockpit before climbing into the rear one, directly behind Italy, pushing his goggles down over his eyes and starting the engine from the backup set of controls by his seat. He whistled and gave a shout and four men came running from a small office in the back of the hangar.
One of the men gripped the front propeller of the plane and spun it as hard as he could and ran out of the way as the plane started up. The other three pushed the airplane out through the open doors of the hangar.
"Okay," Germany shouted over the roaring engine once they were outside. "We're on the runway now. Pull the lever on the side there and give us some gas. We have to pick up speed if we're going to get off the ground."
"O...Okay!" Italy said, gripping the lever with shaky hands. The plane jolted forwards and started to speed down the pavement of the airstrip. "N-now what!?"
"Keep your hands on the yoke, that's like the steering wheel. There's a pedal at your feet. That's the rudder, it'll bring us up."
"Do I push it?"
"Ja! Careful now, Italy," Germany directed.
Very cautiously, Italy pressed down on the rudder pedal and the wings shifted, redirecting the air around them. The plane wobbled and began to lift off the ground. "Oh! Oh!" Italy cried, panicking slightly.
"Keep calm; you're doing fine," said Germany. He had to admit, Italy was doing a lot better than he expected in the first place. Still, however, he was glad to have his own set of controls in his cockpit, just in case Italy's nerves got the best of him.
"G-Germany?" Italy said, turning his head slightly, to glance at him out of the corner of his eye.
"Ja?"
"How do I steer this thing?"
"The yoke. You're holding onto it, right?"
"Y-yes..."
"Just turn it where you want to go."
"Where do I want to go, Germany?!"
"East. We're going to go into Poland and then loop around and come back," Germany explained. "It'll only take an hour or so."
Italy breathed a sigh. "O-okay. Am I doing okay, Germany?"
"Yeah, you're doing great," he admitted. "I'm very proud of you, Italy."
"Ve! Really, Germany!?" Italy cried, beaming.
"Yes, but don't let your guard down yet, we're barely in the air."
Italy looked around; they were already pretty high up. "But we're already higher than all the trees and houses and stuff!"
"Do you think that matters? You always have to get high enough that you can't be hit by anything from the ground, got it? We have to get a few kilometers up in the air, alright?" Germany explained.
"But... But Germany! That's so high!" Italy protested.
"If you want, I can fly for a little, until you get used to it. I have controls back here too," he offered. "If you don't think you can keep going though, we can always go back home?"
"No!" Italy said, suddenly, his shoulders tensing. "I can do it! J-just tell me where to go..."
"Okay," Germany agreed, sitting back in his seat. "If you're confident in yourself, I believe you."
Germany was surprised; as Italy took the plane up higher and they gained ground between them and their starting point, he was getting to be seriously impressed with him. In all honesty, he didn't think Italy was going to be able to handle flying by himself but he was doing a fantastic job for his first time.
He caught himself wandering in his memories of his own first flight. He remembered hearing about the Wright Brothers from America back when the airplane was first invented. Then, one day, he came home and his older brother, Prussia, had bought one of them from a British manufacturer and was trying to figure out how to get it started. It was ultimately Germany who thought to read the manual, learn how to fly it, and become the pilot of the family.
"Germany! GERMANY!" Italy's shouts shook him from his daydreaming.
"What!? What is it!?" he yelled, looking around rapidly. The first thing he noticed was the smoke coming from somewhere beneath the plane.
"The-the... I don't know what happened it..." Italy sputtered.
"The engine's overheating; we have to bring her down!" Germany cried, coming to a realization.
"W-what!?"
"If we don't find somewhere to land, we're going to go down!"
"Like... like crash!?"
"Yes, like crash! Do you see anywhere we can land!? A road, an airport, anything!?" screamed Germany.
"I... I... No!" cried Italy. All he could see on either side of him were trees, trees, and more trees. He wasn't even sure where they were now. He had kept going east until, well, until he wasn't sure which direction east was anymore.
"Schiße! Look for water then!" Germany commanded, scanning the land for a decent landing spot.
"W-water!?"
"We're going to have to make an emergency landing! Wouldn't you rather land in water instead of on something harder like, oh, I don't know, THE GROUND!?" Germany shouted.
"But, Germany, I'm not the strongest swimmer! I know that's surprising since I like the water and Venice is my most favorite place in the whole world but I really can't swim because Big Brother France never taught me because he said that I shouldn't have to know how to do anything like that because if I was successful in my romantic exploits I wouldn't need to know how to do anything besides cook and have sex but I only know how to do one of those things anyhow and I just really can't swim so GERMANY PLEASE DON'T LAND US IN WATER BECAUSE I'LL DROWN AND THEN I'LL NEVER GET TO REALIZE MY DREAM OF BECOMING A PRACTICED LOVER AND MAKE FRANCY PANTS AND GRANDPA ROME PROUD OF ME!" Italy babbled, sobbing.
"There's a lake!" Germany exclaimed as he saw the deep blue form peeking between the trees in the distance. "You have to land there, Italy! I don't care if you can't swim, you're not going to drown!"
"Germany! No! I can't! I'm scared! I can't do it!" Italy shrieked.
"ITALY, LISTEN TO ME!" Germany roared. "Take us down there, NOW! I won't let anything bad happen to you! I promise!"
"No, no, no!" Italy whimpered. "It's too scary! I... I can't!"
"Then I'll do it!" Germany took his own yoke into his hands and jerked it to the left, sharply veering them towards the lake.
Italy let out a long, loud wail of terror. "NO, GERMANY!" He screamed, clutching his yoke and tearing to the right.
"ITALY VENEZIANO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" Germany barked.
He looked back, tears streaming down his cheeks. "You don't understand, Germany! I can't!"
"I DO UNDERSTAND!" Germany shouted. "And you're NOT going to drown! I promise to keep you safe, okay!?"
"Germany...!" Italy's grip on the yoke tightened.
The plane lurched, threatening to plunge out of the air on its own.
"Italy, you have to trust me!"
"I... I trust you!" Italy bawled, turning the plane towards the lake as it started to turn down into a nosedive.
"THIS IS IT!" Germany howled as they plummeted out of the sky. The next thing he felt was the sudden impact of the Gotha Go 145 and the icy cold water of the lake with a sickening splash.