Hey there! I'm back... with a creepypasta that I'm not sure about! ^^; I might give up on my Hetalia fanfiction... I don't see a point. But hey here ya go! This is a creepypasta with Germany and Italy. Enjoy!
"Mr. Germany, why?" Italy cried out as he shook on all fours upon the ground in a white night gown. Two booted feet tromped the grass in front of him, sending what Italy could not decide whether it was vibrato from the force or the fear deep in his bones.
"I had to, Italy," came a stone reply. There was a glint of metal catching in the sun as the barrel was pointed to the young Italian, helplessly whimpering.
"Go back to sleep..."
"MR. GERMANY!"
Italy bolted upright from the softness of his pillow and panted into the stale air of his room. For a moment, it seemed so dark and cold, but soon the frightening memories of his nightmare began to fade, taking with it the chill in his spine and the darkness that blanketed the walls around.
Stillness. Italy looked around slowly as he realized where he was. He sighed. Bad dream... Just a dream... Nothing like that could ever happen.
He looked around at the dimly lit walls and over to the right, the curtains drawn over his bedroom window, a tiny sliver of red light peeking at him through the slight part in the red fabrics. So it was daylight... Italy felt unnerved from the nighttime illusion in his room... The nightmare still lingered in his mind...
His dark reverie was broken and he jumped when he heard his door click open and a deep voice reached his ears.
"Italy? Vhat happened? I heard you scream..." said the ever-serious and mildly omnipotent tone of Germany from the front of the room where Italy now looked, shifting a little uncomfortably in his twisted, white bed sheets.
"A bad dream, Mr. Germany..." Italy replied softly, looking down at the bundles that were his legs. Germany approached him, holding a plate of wurst, and leaned down to his eye level, which was a great deal considering his height.
Germany wore a strange hat with some kind of eagle on it that cast a solemn shade over his blue gaze. A dark green trench-coat was draped over the shoulders of his uniform, so that nothing accept some of his legs and the center up that led to his German pendant was shown beneath.
That was Germany. The look of a man who would never give way to fear, but strike it into others with his eyes, or otherwise probe the other's true thoughts through them. That was the look he had now.
He was probing Italy's head.
"About?" Germany furrowed a brow and sat at his bed side, staring straight at Italy. The brown-haired, innocent youth opened his mouth as he prepared to say it, but on further thought of it, he shut it again and looked down once more.
"... Nothing... Nothing, Doitsu..." he said. Germany paused before nodding sternly and straightening, taking Italy by his chin and lifting it up with a slight roughness.
"Good answer..." said Germany. "Brush it off... Nozing in a dream is vorz remembering..." Germany's words struck into Italy's ears in the heavy accent that seemed to never leave one's head without difficulty. "Eat and zen go back to sleep..." he murmured, leaving the plate of wurst with Italy.
Italy was no longer surprised at this comment. Before Germany would yank him out of bed and order him to run an extra mile for the hour of training he just wasted sleeping. Surely, he had slept in?... But no. These days, Germany said the exact opposite. It was as if the last thing Italy could possibly ever do was to go outside.
Not even to train.
"Mr. Germany?" Italy uttered out. Germany's eyes flicked to the window.
"I have... business... To take care of... Remember vhat I told you Italy," his voice hardened as he turned Italy's head roughly again to face him. Italy had been following Germany's eyes to the drawn curtains. None of that... "Stay here... Go to sleep... And for goodness sake-"
"Don't open the window..." finished Italy for him in his tiny murmur that he had when he felt uncomfortable. He really wanted Germany's hand to stop vising his chin...
There was a pause before Germany nodded and his mouth twitched into a slight smile. This wasn't his normal smile though that made Italy feel proud of himself. This was a smile that sent a ghost of dread feeling through his spine like a toy to break.
"Gut..." murmured Germany before standing up and leaving.
Click.
The sound of the lock echoed into Italy's room, followed by the slow steps of his friend fading into nothing down the hall. With that, Italy's eyes trailed to his lap, where the wurst sat. Italy missed his pasta... He'd been stopped being given pasta after a while of this daily ritual.
He thought it strange. Before all this, Germany would be same-old, Herr schtick-in-the-mud Germany. And everyone else was normal too. Things were the way they were. Italy's world revolved around pasta, and he was too cheery for Germany's taste. But Germany started to change... Shift. He didn't even yell at Italy. He just spoke in low, foreboding tones, and warned Italy of things that he himself did not see the point of warning him of.
For example, the halls outside, the window. Germany started to lock his door, bring him food instead of letting Italy get it himself, and, perhaps should have been mentioned first, closed the windows, locked them, and closed the curtains over them, always telling Italy to never open them.
Once, Italy did try to open them... What he did see, he could not quite remember. But Germany was there... Germany took his shoulder. Germany told him, "Step away from zere..."
Italy's memory was a big, black blur after the last words that he wasn't sure whether he imagined up or they were just hard to recall: Go back to sleep.
Italy sighed. Well there wasn't much point in staying awake... Italy was still sleepy from waking up in between nightmarish images... and there wasn't much else to do.
So Italy pulled back his twisted, white sheets, crawled into them, lied on his back, and stared at the ceiling. Eventually, he hummed a soft lullaby to himself, his eyes heavily shutting, and his mind drifted elsewhere from reality.
Italy's window was drawn open. Only red ground could he see... no, it was stained red. The grass was drenched. Italy's muscles were immobile, save for violent shivering.
How could this be?...
The faces of the dead were shrouded in the dark, so Italy could not see them. But there was one face he could see...
There was no mistaking the blonde hair, the fair complexion, the icy gaze of blue, like water frozen into piercing glass. Smoke swirled about his features.
Italy couldn't speak. As his friend's head turned... blood stained the perfect complexion that stood above the horror...
"Go back to sleep, Italy..."
Italy's eyes snapped open and a cry split from his mouth... or at least he thought so. Maybe that was his mind tricks... He sat up abruptly and rubbed his forehead. Nightmares again? How was this possible?...
His eyes flicked over to his clock on the wall... It was another day... He kept sleeping, yet his hours of being awake were little. Italy debated whether his body clock was really this weird now.
No matter... His stomach was growling. He wanted food. The door was stagnant, and it drove Italy near mad. So he got up and tried his luck with the knob.
Rotten. Germany locked it. Italy sighed and flopped down onto his bed. Good thing he was good a drawing and had utensils... By now he would have been turned into a vegetable had it not been so.
Lo, and behold.
Click.
The lock was opened and so was the door. The familiar German form stepped inside with a plate of pasta for Italy to eat. For once in a long, long while, Italy felt a spark of delight. He felt his usual joy from before. He felt thankful to Germany.
"Mr. Germany did you make that for me?" asked Italy in happiness. Germany's eyes flicked to the window again, the corner of his mouth twitching to a scowl.
"Ja, ja, it's not a big deal..." he muttered before setting it on Italy's shelf.
The youth gladly, almost greedily snatched it up and started stuffing the heavenly Italian noodles into his mouth, licking his lips of the tomato sauce. Lord knew the last time he had pasta for supper... or lunch? He wasn't sure and right now he really didn't care.
"Grazi, Mr. Germany~!" Italy said in between huge bites. Germany's voice lowered.
"... You're velcome..."
Italy didn't like the way his voice sounded... He swallowed some pasta and blinked, looking up at Doitsu. He was incessantly staring at the shut window now. What in the world was he bothering with the window on? There was nothing to look at but red curtains!
"Germany, why must I keep my window closed?" Italy finally dared to ask. Germany's gaze hardened and he paused. Italy too paused. There was silence for a bit. Italy's hand that held the fork slowly lowered to the plate of pasta. That ghost of dread crept up his spine again...
"Mr. Germa-"
Italy did not finish. Italy was cut off by Germany's quickened movements, lunging at Italy and his hand clamping his jaw painfully. Italy's eyes were like golf balls. This... This was not Germany. Germany's eyes did not hold the usual steadfastness of a man, they held a mix of emotions. Italy could see them swimming in the irises: anger, violence, frustration, annoyance and... fear? No not possible. Not in this.
"Do. Not. Ask. Just. Do it...!" Germany hissed through gritted teeth at Italy. "Do. You. Understand?" Italy heard in a tone that was less a question and more of a demand of obedience. Italy couldn't speak so he just shakily nodded his head.
There was a moment where Italy was truly frightened. Frightened that the clamping hand on his jaw would suddenly close and crack his face, or that Germany would not see his obedience and yell at him.
But the blow did not come. The voice did not raise. Instead, the darkness in Germany's features softened into his usual complexion and he loosened his grip on Italy's face. Italy shivered, but did not move otherwise. He was like a puppy now...
Vulnerable, fearful, weak, and unable to move or cry out to its mother because its mother was the assailant. Italy nearly shrieked when Germany pulled him close to his chest and stroked his hair.
"I am here... You don't need to go out zere... I am here..." Germany said in a hush. "You have me... You vill listen to me... I care about you... Zey don't... Stay viz me here..." Italy's heart was somewhere between beating too fast and stopping. Germany's lips were right next to his ear. The whispers once again echoed and latched into his mind. Finally, Germany let go.
Italy watched as Germany paused and stood again, sighing and looking to the side. Italy had no feet. They were numb.
"... Go to sleep..." Germany said simply, as his reply for everything. His trench-coat billowed over his shoulders as he turned away, walked out the door, and disappeared into the outside.
Click.
Went the lock.
Italy shook in his bed. But surprisingly, it was not Germany's outburst that scared him...
He could swear he saw red on Germany's boots.
2:06 PM. Germany should have walked through the door by now. But, he did not. Italy was scared. Germany was not one to be late to come see Italy. It was always at 2:00 when he'd come check in on him. But today was not so. Today, Italy didn't see any sign of his... friend.
While there were plenty of nations, granted, Italy was sure Germany was the only one who'd ever see him.
Italy was not sure why.
But when all of this started, a few of the other nations did come to see him. Once, England came to him just to see if he was faring well, and Italy asked him why he was going to be locked in his room.
England's eyed had turned glassy with a nameless emotion and he'd laid a hand on Italy's shoulder.
All he said was, "Play the fool..."
From that point, Italy didn't see him. And every day that followed, one more nation stopped seeing him, until finally Germany was all that was left.
Italy was scared, and had good reason. He didn't want to be alone. He didn't want to be alone... He heard nothing inside, he didn't hear Germany's steps or the click of the lock on Italy's door.
But he heard a great deal going on outside.
He heard cries and cracking noises that assimilated thunder, but were not that at all. Italy shook beneath the sheets.
I cannot do it... I cannot open the curtains... I cannot do it... Italy repeated over and over in his head. Germany would come in and beat him senseless. He would surely. He would come. Italy would wait it out. He would come...
But he did not.
And Italy could take no more. Italy ran from his bed and in one fail swoop... he threw the red curtains open, being blinded by the scarlet sun. Or so it seemed.
Italy's eyes adjusted... and the scarlet and the sun were separate. Italy screamed and threw himself back, away from the window, his eyes wide with horror and his hands shielding himself.
The ground ran red. Grass was not green, but stained pink with blood and stank with death. Russia lay shot on the ground with multiple wounds in his body. His hand still held the rusted pipe, his one weapon of choice, loosely, in death. America's head was adorned with a bleeding, gaping hole. Both his eyes and his mouth were parted in a frozen shock just before he was shot, and his blood streaked down the tree from whence he slid down. China, dead. France, dead. England, dead. Even Japan, dead.
Italy's eyes, however, where drawn away from the bloody, living nightmare. This was not a nightmare... This was reality... Gruesome, painful reality.
Only one man stood in the death. Italy didn't want to believe who he was seeing. He wanted to punch himself, beat his head bloody on a wall, anything to prove to himself that this was just another one of his night terrors. But it was not and he knew it.
Germany slowly turned around with blood-stained clothes and his pistol in hand. His eyes gazed with dullened sadness at Italy.
Italy felt hot tears run down his cheeks as he trembled.
"Germany... why?..." he whispered. Germany said nothing. He just stood there, limply, looking at Italy. Until finally, he lifted his hand with the pistol and smiled a sorrowful smile. Italy's muscles tensed. He could feel the icy breath of cold upon his neck... And it was never going away.
Germany's mouth formed syllables through the glass of the window slowly. Italy could not hear. But Italy heard this instead.
Click.
CRACK!
The glass shattered into millions of pieces, clattering in Italy's ringing ears, stinging his eyes and cutting his flesh mercilessly as the force threw him back and landed him on the floor.
A sharp pain throbbed from Italy's gut and faded into the rest of his body. Scarlet liquid pooled around him... And his eyes blurred into black, as he formed the words Germany had said to him.
"Go back to sleep..."
Germany lowered his gun after Italy had fallen. He sighed and looked down at the body of England, who bled profusely from his chest and eye, where Germany remembered shooting him. Germany quirked a brow and walked through the bodies of all the nations he was done with. He dug in his pockets with a gloved hand, eventually pulling out some wipes. He just stared at them, before dropping them on the ground with not a care at all, and walking off.
He had no more use for those... After all... Italy would stay asleep now.
Reviews please! Thank you! :)