Disclaimer: I own neither Hetalia nor the world.
Warning: Events may happen out of order, most jumps forward or back in time will be noted to lessen confusion.
xxxxx
"Germany, I'll save you~!"
The now haggard nation-man turned to face his friend. Wearily he moved, as if ever bone in his body was brittle, and liable to crack if not treated gently. Between his insane boss, the now-flagging war and keeping an eye on his allies, he'd been pushed to the brink. If it was up to him, he would have surrendered. Him. Germany. The eternal soldier. He would have knelt before the quarrelsome allies and laid his weapon down, if only to spare his people. But already, he'd lost so many. If it had been up to him, this war would have never started.
Bullets surrounded him and Italy as they took cover from an allied attack. He saw his friend's face, dopey, but caring as ever. His eyes widened in shock as he saw Italy throw the pin, as he'd done so many times.
"I-Italy! No!" He didn't have time to dive for his friend. Even the allies were shocked as bloody mist painted the blue sky.
xxxxx
"He... was a good boy." France buried his head in his hands as he slumped in his chair and rested his elbows on the tabletop. His locks, still silken, despite his troubles, fell unkempt about his head to provide a further shield. His grief cast shadows on the walls of their sunny meeting room. The ambiance felt mocking; large windows revealing a few wispy clouds sailing through the sky and a dazzling sun.
"And he'll be alright." England took a sip of tea and tried to hide his own sadness behind annoyance. "These things happen to us nation-folk. And anyway, this just means... It just means we're closer to ending this war."
Russia gave a serene smile, but didn't speak. Perhaps it was better that way, England thought. The nation'sprescence was even more unsettling now. He was more battered than the rest of them, but still kept his smile. Glancing surreptitiously at the nation's bullet-torn coat he suppressed a shudder. Cannon fodder... America was certainly right on that account.
China and America were absent, off dealing with Japan. Which was good, England didn't want to have to deal with America's reaction to Italy's violent 'death,' whether it was triumph over a 'villain', or despair. For the moment, Italy was Germany's problem. They would see what happened once he was pieced back together, whether he'd retreat for good or if he'd truck on.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to gather some intelligence." France didn't move; Russia murmured a stock farewell, still with that sickening smile on his face. England turned his back and tried not to bolt for the door.
Outside, he was immediately approached by one of his agents. "Captain Hook, any information?"
The fairy tale nodded his head and rattled off details on the Axis and Allies. No more alliances or back stabbings, as far as he could see. Agents were wearing themselves down, morale was flagging as soldiers fought through Christmas. England took it all in, none of it a surprise. What concerned him most was the emptiness in his old friend's eyes. No light of adventure; they'd all lost it.
"Thank you... Take a rest. Have that pie I baked for you?" His impassivity was crumpled by a small frown as the myth furiously waved his hands to refuse. Formalities, then Captain Hook set off.
England was left in one of those lulls that inhabited so much time in war. Really, he'd have thought he'd be used to it by now after all he'd experienced. Yet his stomach was still pricked constantly by nervousness and his heart clenched erratically. It was time for a nice cup of tea...
xxxxxx
As the door clicked softly behind England, Russia rose from his seat to be beside France. "I thought you'd be happier, you've suffered quite a lot from them." Russia's arm was draped over France's shoulders, a gesture of friendship and comfort, or a hostile one of restraint. With him it was always difficult to tell. His constant smile widened slightly, but no warmth graced his eyes. "And this is war, da?"
France raised his head. His confusion was evident, rising for one moment above his despair. Not even during the Revolution had he felt so old. Then, he had at least felt the energy of change and boiling hatred in his bones. Even as this war began, had it been so? Whatever the answer to that, it did not matter. For at the moment he was feeble and frozen, a corn husk lost autumn harvest and left for the snows. "...I would have thought... With all your people dead... You would be suffering more." And yet you smile and laugh like none of us have since we were children.
The smile melted.
"If you would excuse me... Friend." France vacated his seat and walked stiffly out of the room. Behind him, his cloak billowed in a dramatic effect America would have envied when there was time for vanity and games.
Russia dwelled in his silence. It followed him everywhere, and saw light of day even when his home was crowded. Still, he found one brief moment to savor. A moment in which he was alone, but not by events of his own doing. He found himself smiling again and finally left to go home.