A/N-To be honest this story has been rotting in my brain for at least a month ever since I was first introduced to Hetalia, last month OTL. Anyway lame prologue of sorts, I wanted to start off in the present but well the story would be pretty well not understandable without a basic outlook on this current crisis. eue Hope this story isn't too lame OTL Oh! And this story holds hints and eventual explanation of the Germany = HRE theory, yes.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia and never will.
Warnings:WWII Setting atm, Germany's defeat, implied mention of Hitler, The Allies, jumbled/confused Germany, typos(?)
Main Pairings: GerIta, Spamano, USUK, Later GiriPan
Side pairings: PruCan, DenNor, SuFin, Rochu, and many others.
Chapter 1: Prologue
The time was WWII.
And the young German nation could not help but feel utterly defeated.
The Allies had successfully infiltrated his country. His people had lost and now Germany found himself with his back against the wall. He had nothing else to throw at them. He couldn't speak, his voice was gone. Hearing was impossible, his ears refused to listen, and his eyes, they had become hollow shells of defeat, completely blind to the world. His mind stubbornly refused the need to absorb the bloodied area and his reflexes, muscles, and brain refused to protect himself from the incoming advances from the Allies. But perhaps that was for the best. Germany knew that if he were to soak in the situation he would go mad. But that wasn't even close to how horrible the situation was, because at that very moment reality had finally hit him.
He, Ludwig Beilschmidt, had failed.
Eyes roamed over his pathetically defeated frame, he could feel it. The nauseating stares of those who had defeated him. They gazed down at him, all with a mixture of different emotions. Sniveling crooks that crawled across his battered frame, insidiously caressing his swollen wounds while whispering empty words of a light punishment. They were disgusting. Those horrid mix of emotions violently slapped him across his face.
Hatred.
Disgust.
Fury.
Repulsion.
Anger.
Disdain.
Pity.
Germany took in a shaky breath of air, his bloodied chapped lips trembling slightly. Outfit torn and ruined beyond repair, arms trembling in an unfamiliar tremor of self-disgust, he had to clench his shaking fists to prevent further self-injury. His bright blond hair was disheveled, matted in sweat and blood. The crimson substance coated his face, it was not his, but it might as well have been. Germany looked down, his sight finally accepting to corporate, mournfully taking in the bloodied corpse of his late boss. He felt his throat go dry and forced himself to look away.
Yes, the blood might as well have been his.
Germany tried his hardest to ignore the bubbling rage that was currently residing at the core of his being but it was proving itself to be a rather difficult task. Especially with those damn youthful sky blue eyes that were looking down on him. The normally overbearingly, obnoxiously, loud American was being uncharacteristically quiet, he didn't need his ears to know that, but those orbs spoke in volumes of what the boy could not even begin to properly word out.
Justice.
Twisted insidiously preserved justice.
Ludwig bit back a seething remark that was desperately trying to escape his raw throat.
"You would have done the same had you been in my position!"
But who was he fooling? He played right into their trap. Glorifying his country had been Germany's own downfall and now the gates of hell were waiting for him. He lost and now he had to pay the price. But, to be honest, he wasn't boiling in rage because of his loss or because of the sinister judgmental stares that were casted down upon him. His crumbling nation, his battered body, his actions during the war, his loss and much more did not even invoke a single chord of anger in him.
Nein, he wasn't mad at that, he could care less.
Cerulean blue orbs hardened into venomous steel shards as they took in the sight of the sobbing brunette.
That verräter.
That verdammt arschloch.
There were absolutely not enough words in the damn world to accurately describe the amount of utter disdain he currently felt swelling up inside of him for the whimpering nation.
His lover.
Or should he really refer to that traitorous Italienisch in such an endearing term? It didn't matter, Ludwig was too angry to think things through, or better yet he was too hurt.
Betrayed.
Ja, that was what he felt.
Putting the general anger aside, Germany felt more betrayed than anything else. The man he had trusted, protected, and loved had betrayed him. But that was to be expected, right? The Italienisch was nothing but a coward, and of course the first damn opportunity to preserve his own worthless life he would take. Italien had done it on a number of occasions, but it was never in any serious battles, let alone serious wars.
And that thought actually hurt.
His hearing finally came back, he could finally make out the heinous words that rolled out of foreign tongues, mostly insults from America, but in the background he could make out hushed whispered sobs. A mantra that dripped out of the Italienisch's lips like pouring water. A ribbon of tears rolled down the boy's cheeks, and his body shook with each heartbreaking cry.
"Forgive me Luddy, I beg of you, please forgive me! Dio, che cosa ho fatto? Luddy ti prego perdonami. Ti amo. Ti amo. Ti amo. Luddy prego, perdonami!"
Liegt!
Germany wanted so badly to shout. To shout, to scream, to cry, he wanted to do all those things at once. But at the same time he didn't. Ludwig was a pathetic mess; Gott, he still wanted to wrap his arms around the boy's smaller frame. He wanted to kiss the sobbing Italienisch, reassure him that everything would be alright and he would protect the boy from anything and everything that ever tried to harm him.
Gott, how pathetic was he?
Feliciano Vargas.
That name spoke in so many different tones.
To others, that was the name of one of the Italienisch cowards. A useless nation that only gets in the way. But there was more than meets the eye. So Much more. Aside from Feliciano being the personification of Italy, and the grandson of great Rome, he also spoke in whispers of soothing comfort. But those were all obvious facts that any random idiot could get with simple research.
Nein, Feliciano was much more than just the personification of Italy. He was his Italienisch. The boy was special, always chipper and happy, trying his hardest not to let things let him down. Italien was moderately innocent, and rather naive. He's the kind of guy who you could not get mad at, one that you could simply not bully, and should you try to do so well he would smile innocently not understanding in return guilting you to apologize. That dumb grin was the boy's greatest aspect.
Ludwig faintly recalled the first moment he had first met the bubbly Italienisch. It had become a rather fond memory. He had been walking in the forest solemnly talking to his beloved faithful stick when out of nowhere he found a wooden crate labeled 'tomatoes' on the ground. He remembered thinking it was some kind of trap set out by his enemies, but to his pleasant surprise, not at that moment though, a strange chipper Italienisch claiming to be the 'tomato fairy' began sputtering absolute nonsense. Germany felt a ghost of a smile painting his damaged lips.
He had somehow befriended this strange nation. Learning a multitude of things as the years went by and eventually becoming more than just friends. Italien had become an important person to Germany, and vice versa. The Italienisch also had so many people who cared for him. A loving big brother, no matter how much Lovino denied it, a passionate overprotective big Spaniard brother, a french pervert of a brother, his nonno Rome, heck even Gilbert loved him as well. And of course there was himself, no one loved Feliciano more than he, Ludwig Beilschmidt did. But those feelings, those wondrous harmonious feelings of love and admiration for his lovely Italienisch were quickly dissolving into numbed out-
It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered. On this day, May 7, 1945, Germany- no, Ludwig Beilschmidt had lost everything he had ever held dear to him. Today, was the end for the great German empire. This was it, he could not keep his promise, though he didn't remember much, the overbearing feeling of becoming a great nation to forevermore give Italy the world, was gone.
Germany's bright cerulean eyes dulled further, he was tired and sleep sounded really pleasant right now. His eyes silently fluttered closed, the pain he felt was nothing more than a dull ache. And to his growing surprise it seemed as though the roaring emotions he had been forced to endure had finally numbed out. He could no longer keep his eyes open, it was too much work.
A hazy image of a sobbing girl came to his mind. The girl was murmuring, shaking her head in obvious sadness. She was beautiful. There was something eerily familiar of the little girl in the pink dress, something important. He was missing an important detail, but he couldn't really think straight at the moment. Then a soft trembling voice snapped Ludwig out of his muddled thoughts. Her words were laced with obvious pain.
"Please, don't go."
Ah, he must be hallucinating from exhaustion. Funny how his mind decides to imagine some little girl, who gave off an air of familiarity, to comfort him at the moment. Ludwig gave a bitter smile that looked more like a grimace as he found his body crumpling further down onto the ground, not even aware of the fact that he was now laying on a puddle of his late boss' blood. Ludwig could barely make out a choked plea, the voice was so pleasant so familiar, before he fell into the loving embrace of darkness.
"Ti amo! Ludwig no matter what, I will always love you. I'll fi-Dio! Luddy no!"
But then again, perhaps he had only imagined it.
A/N- Welp, end of prologue, here are the definitions of words (I hope they're right I used Google translate So I'm not sure...)
Nein-No
verräter- traitor
verdammt arschloch- damn asshole
Italienisch-Italy
Italien- Italian
Dio, che cosa ho fatto- God what have I done
ti prego perdonami- Please forgive me
Ti amo- I love you
Liegt- Lies
Mein Gott- My God
Nonno- Grandpa
NEXT CHAPTER: (Will be posted 1 week from today) Angry/Brotherly Lovi, Clingy Antonio, Spamano, Depressed Feli, a fight, and a spazzy Gilbert