A/N: I don't even know what this is. It just came to me. I haven't written fanfiction in years, so please cut me a bit of slack. But do tell me what you think could improve, or what you liked.

Also, I do not own Hetalia in any way.

After a while, the sound of gunfire became just a nuisance in the background. Explosions were so common that dodging them was an automatic reaction. Every outfit was stained with blood, both your victims and your own. The commander's orders were followed without hesitation. Morals and standards were all thrown aside without a second thought. That was the way things had to be during a war.

Yet, there was always one thing no one could adjust to, no matter how hard they tried. The smell of death. Death leaves a powerful, rotting smell behind. When you're stuck in a town full of dead bodies, the scent is overwhelming and leaves a scar on your palette.

The smell of burning flesh and rotting corpses filled the air as Antonio walked through the streets of Rome. The Spaniard had been drafted into the military years ago and was currently on his final campaign. Unfortunately, this campaign was one of the worst. Antonio didn't know the whole of the story, yet after some sort of political scandal or broken treaty Spain had ruthlessly invaded the capital of Italy. The city was uninhabitable now that the attack was over. Antonio's job was to search for survivors and bring them back to the refugee camp just outside of town.

It was getting late and the brunet still hadn't found anyone. This was the last sweep of the night, and he was just ready to go back to camp. His mind on the food waiting for him back at camp, Antonio was startled by a sudden pounding of footsteps. His head snapped toward the direction the sound came from. Seeing a small alleyway, he pulled out his gun and ran toward it.

The soldier paused at the entrance before slowly peering around the corner. Nothing. The alleyway was small and fell into a dead end. Antonio sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he slid into the alley. It was getting dark and he just wanted to get to camp. The man almost turned out of the alley when he heard another noise. He froze before slowly turning his head around. The air around him was still and silent. There was still nothing there.

"Hello?" he called out tentatively, bringing his gun up in defense, "Who's there?"

The Spanish man received no answer. Suddenly an idea popped into his head, and he turned around and walked out of the alley. Rather than walking away, though, he stood near the entrance and continued to walk in place. After a few mock steps he ceased and leaned against the wall outside of the alley, holding his gun in one hand. He smirked when there was movement coming from the alleyway next to him, and after a moment two small boys appeared at the opening. They walked straight out, obviously not seeing Antonio.

"I knew someone was hiding in there!" Antonio laughed when he saw the children. They both quickly turned around and stared at the soldier in horror. One boy was a bit bigger than the other, obviously meaning he was older. They both had brown hair with a slight curl, though the older child's hair was a bit darker. The younger had light skin and brown eyes, while his older brother had tanned skin and green eyes.

"Where are your parents?" Antonio asked them, carefully putting his gun away so he wouldn't scare them. They both just stared at him for a moment, and then suddenly the older boy shouted something in Italian. He had an angry look on his face, so the words must not have been good. Antonio didn't know what he said. He didn't speak much Italian, while the boy's obviously didn't speak Spanish.

Antonio reached a hand out to them, and the younger one was about to reach out and grab it when the older pulled him back. They went back to staring at Antonio with fear, though the older tried to look brave for his brother.

Antonio announced, "I have an idea! Let's introduce ourselves. Then you can trust me, right? I'm Antonio." He spoke his name slowly so they could pronounce it and pointed toward himself. When he thought they understood, he pointed toward the older boy.

The brunet child looked hesitant, but finally spoke in a small voice, "Lovino." Antonio smiled at him encouragingly before pointing at the younger boy. Lovino spoke into his brother's ear and when he pulled away, the little boy exclaimed, "Feliciano!" The younger's voice was stronger than his brother's, surprising Antonio. He started to laugh, then reached out and scooped both of the boys up. Feliciano giggled when he was picked up, but Lovino struggled and made a strange growling noise deep in his throat.

"Shh. You're alright, Lovino. I know you can't understand me, but I'm not going to hurt you. I'm taking you back to my camp with me so you can eat and sleep, then tomorrow we can go to the refugee camp and find your family!"

The words didn't calm Lovino down any, but he tired of struggling shortly into their journey anyway. When they got to the soldier's camp, Antonio brought him immediately to his commanding officer. After reporting in and getting the O.K. to keep the boys there for the night, he headed back to his tent. He set them both down on his cot before opening a small box and pulling out some fresh fruit. He gave each of them a piece of fruit before eating one for himself.

By the time he was done eating, the two children were already asleep on the cot. With a laugh, Antonio stood up and wrapped them in the blanket before settling himself down on the cold, hard ground next to them.