If you looked at the two of them you might assume that Germany was strong and Italy was weak.
Once upon a time, Germany would had told you that you were correct.
He was always saving and protecting the smaller nation during the war. If Italy called, Germany was right there. Egypt was hitting him with a stick. Germany was right there. England was going to eat him. Germany was right there. He accidentally flirted with France. Germany was right there.
Never once had the Italian done anything productive on the war front. He was never of any help. In fact, he was more like a helpless kitten that someone had pushed onto Germany as a joke not expecting the hard-hearted German to have difficulty in abandoning him…but Germany couldn't just leave him by himself, could he?
So, when Italy surrendered to the Allies, Germany wrote it off as what a helpless kitten would've done had it felt as if it was in danger.
That wasn't what hurt.
Italy had done what was best for him and Germany had no qualms with that. He did, however, feel a distinct ache in his chest when he realized that he was the danger Italy was running from.
The stoic country had squashed the feeling like a bug under his heavy boots and tried to move on.
Yet, every time he was alone he found himself wondering where protection ended and oppression began. Had he scared Italy as much as his government was starting to terrify him?
He looked back on the days that Italy had been there: the days he hadn't quite realized the evil in his actions. Why had it taken Italy's departure for him to realize?
Germany tried to ignore and forget the things he was doing and push through the war, strong and steady, like before. But, his heart was no longer in the fight. If he had to guess, he might've admitted to himself that his heart had changed sides in 1943-but he didn't have to guess, so, he pushed the though to the back of his mind.
When he surrendered in 1945, he couldn't honestly tell you that he knew where he went wrong.
Had it been before or after Italy left?
He wasn't sure anymore.
He was beaten, bruised, and defeated but in all honesty his physical injuries weren't what was dragging him down. It was the festering question open like wounds in the back of his mind from his refusal to recognize them earlier. It was the screams and losses haunting his dreams like ghosts in the smoke clouds blazed into his memory.
It was then that, for the first time in his life, Germany felt utterly helpless.
Had he ever really been strong if he fell this easily?
He couldn't tell you.
All he knew was that when Italy came back in 1947, looking just as happy as he had before the war had wiped the smile off his face, Germany felt better than he had in years and he couldn't help but think that maybe Italy had been the strong one all along.
Heeellllllllllloooooooo. Back with some GerIta. Kind of angsty kind of cute. I don't know where it really lies, but I like it. Thank for reading! I love you! Please review!
