Brothers and Promises
Author's Note: Here's another story featuring Italy during WW2, specifically the Italian Civil War, with some hints of GerIta. I do not own Hetalia. Enjoy!
Brothers and Promises
"You fucking traitor!"
The bullets clanged into the metal, sending showers of sparks down on Feliciano's head. The air was filled with the sounds of fire and the screams of dying men. Nervously, he popped up and fired back.
"What would Grandpa think, you staying loyal to that potato-loving bastard? Fighting against the good guys? AGAINST YOUR OWN BROTHER?!"
Emptying his clip at the advancing Italian Rebels, Italy could plainly see Romano, his brother screaming as he shot Royal Italian and German troops. Ducking back down, he shouted back.
"I'm fighting for the winning side! You're the one who let in America and you're the traitor, not me!"
His brother gave a laugh that was clear even across the battlefield. "That potato bastard of yours is dead. You won't stick by him after America, England, and Russia have beaten the son-of-a-bitch into a pulp!"
Italy stiffened, the verbal bullet going through him. How could Romano say that? How coul-
"Your dumbass boyfriend is losing, Feliciano! Actually, he's the perfect match for you, because he's just as weak as you!"
Italy's eyes widened in rage even as tears pooled in them. He was wrong! The Italian felt hatred bubbling up through him as he heard that damned laughing again.
No one insulted his Germany. No one! Quavering with anger, the small nation lept over the barricade, ignoring the protests of his officers as he scooped up a machine gun, its former owner lying next to it.
Calmly walking towards his brot- the traitorous scum standing before him, Feliciano's finger found the trigger and didn't let go.
Leading his troops in the advance, tears streaming down his face, Italy screamed.
"You will NOT insult Germany! He's the best nation out there, but no one wants to be nice to him, and he WILL win! WE will win!"
Firing again and again, Feliciano mowed down his own people, the Italians who had allied themselves with the allies.
The sights fell on Feliciano's little brother, and he still squeezed the trigger, determined to kill.
Only when a spray of blood flew up, when Romano gave a cry and clutched his shoulder, when his brother looked at him with those eyes; only then did Feliciano stop.
And he saw what Civil War did.
Sobbing, Italy fell to his knees, gun empty, wallowing in the blood of the rebels and Royal Troops, his people all the same.
Even as Romano started backing away, an expression of incredulity and pain on his face at his brother's rage, the call came up from the south.
"American Reinforcements are here!"
Outnumbered, the German-allied Italians retreated. An officer pulled Italy up to his feet.
"Sir, we are withdrawing to the Winter Line. We'll hold them off from there, and defeat these traitors."
Nodding, Italy followed.
On the ride back to the Division Headquarters, the broken nation asked only one question to his commanders:
"Is there a plane to Berlin?"
As soon as Germany wearily opened his door, a sobbing Italian jumped in his arms.
Quietly shushing, Ludwig carefully carried the nation upstairs, all of his problems forgotten, and laid Italy on the bed, holding him gently.
After a while, the crying subsided, and Feliciano looked up at Ludwig, who was staring at him in concern.
"I shot them."
Ludwig's eyebrows furrowed in surprise, Italy fighting? The Italian Civil War was going on, but he never would've thought Italy would be on the front lines.
His heart heavy, with foreboding, Germany asked, "Who did you shoot, Italy?"
The answer came as a whisper: "Italians."
Then came the flood.
"Germany, how can I win a civil war? Every soldier that dies on either side hurts me, Italians killing Italians, and in the end I'll lose! I almost killed my brother today; I shot him right in the shoulder!"
Even as Feliciano shuddered again, Ludwig stood him up, urgently talking.
"You have to be strong, Italy. Not just for you, but for the Axis as well. You have to keep America away from Germany long enough so I can destroy Russia, then I'll take back your country for you."
The Italian sniffed, placated. "Y-you will beat Russia, right? I mean after Stalingrad..."
"Of course we'll beat Russia, Gilbert is over there right now, beating him at Kursk. You have to be strong, Italy. For me?"
Looking at the taller country, Italy steeled himself, and nodded.
Germany's only response was to catch the country in a loving embrace, both falling back onto the bed.
Snuggling up against Ludwig, whose arms were protectivly wrapped around him, Feliciano presented his last doubt to his love.
"Germany?"
"Yes, Italy?"
"We'll win the war, right?"
"Of course we will, Italy."
"And, once we've won, we'll live together happily ever after, right?"
"Of course we will, Italy."
"Promise?"
"Pinkie-Promise."