A oneshot devised whilst on spring break. I've pretty proud of how this turned out. More notes at the end...
Hetaverse. GerIta. Hurt/Comfort. Angst.
The piercing clatter of bullets dragged Ludwig away from the carnival and to a dark place, a filthy trench choked with mud and the gore of his children. He felt their fear, their pain, their anguish as deaths like pinpricks assaulted his senses. Just the staccato drum roll of machinery stole his breath and captivated his attention, bringing with it the bittersweet flavor of blood. He inhaled sharply.
"Look, look Germany!" At his side Feliciano was flapping his arms excitedly, a child-like grin stretched easily across his face. "Look at that bear! It's huuuge!"
A quick glance at the aforementioned plush toy confirmed that the teddy bear was indeed quite large and smiling rather unnervingly at him. Ludwig nodded, looking away.
"It is."
"Will Germany win it for me? Please?"
Sighing, the blond attempted to free his arm from the other's grasp. "Why don't you win it yourself?"
Feliciano fixed his companion with a pleading look, not too unlike a dog begging for table scraps. "But it's a gun game… I'm no good at those."
"Do you really want it so badly?" He asked desperately, already caving to the Italian's pout. "I mean, where would you keep something like that, anyway?"
"I'd put it in my bed." Was the swift response, accompanied by a short giggle and a peck to the cheek. "Then, when Germany's not around, I'll have something to cuddle and remember him by!"
Ludwig's cheeks burned as he grumbled something unintelligible in the opposite direction. Fumbling briefly with his wallet, he slid the man running the booth a few bills, grudgingly accepting the fake weapon and setting it up against his cheek.
"You have to hit all ten targets in the bull's-eye." He was told. "You've got fifteen shots. Good luck, kid."
The armed nation paused to consider the irony of being called "kid" by someone as much as a century his junior, then he stared down the first target.
He is a frightened eighteen-year-old, firing his first shots from the trenches. Heart thundering in his ears, he locks eyes with an enemy soldier. His breath catches in his throat and his stomach drops even as his finger tightens on the trigger. The other man crumples, disappears from sight.
"Germany got one!" His companion cheered, pointing to the first target, cleanly shot.
Ludwig nodded. Breathing deeply, he reloaded the "rifle" as instructed, then settled back into position.
He is a newly engaged twenty-one-year-old picking his way across the battlefield. Head low and arms braced around his weapon, he hustles over rough terrain and rotting corpses. To his left, he glimpses his cousin sprawled awkwardly across the ground. Up ahead, his best friend is missing his lower half. Sucking oxygen harshly through clenched teeth, he forces himself to remember the girl in the photograph tucked up against his heart. She's waiting.
Dropping to his knee, he sets his sights on the machine gunner. Time freezes at the man catches sight of him, begins to take aim. Cold satisfaction settles like lead in his stomach as the enemy slumps forward, bleeding but dead.
"Wah! Only seven more!"
Blue eyes narrowed, squinting past chaos. Past history.
He is the father of four – three boys and his little princess – and married to an angel. He's prayed endless nights for their safety, for his sons to keep up in school, for his daughter to hold onto her dreams, for his wife to continue to love him. Now, he cedes his right to negotiate with God, steadily forcing the Allied troops down the bloodstained sand. Bullet after bullet tears through another man – another life – singing out a guilty refrain of "he was somebody else's son" "he was a husband" "he was a father like you".
Ludwig could no longer hear Feliciano's excited outbursts. He was lost in a frigid spiral of hatred, death, and fear, reliving snapshots of his children's pasts.
Two targets remained, the empty rings staring blankly past him and into his chaotic memory. They had to be blinded, to be kept from the horrible truth. He hated the shame that had covered him as entirely as the blood of the innocents.
Tears blurred his vision.
He is a field officer, salvaging his troops under heavy fire. The youngest of his men is lying to his right, sobbing and babbling for his mother. A hole the size of a fist has been blown through his chest, and it is only a matter of time. He gives the delirious boy's shoulder one final squeeze of encouragement and speeds off to locate survivors. The night grows colder as the young soldier's cries fade suddenly.
More shots ring out, and his legs fail beneath him. He pitches forward. He can taste his own blood, feel it flowing, red hot, from his wounds. Squinting, he raises his pistol and fires wildly.
A body slumps to the ground, somebody curses, wounded men are calling out, bullets whistle through the air, and the world goes still and black.
The bear was won and the two nations, and former allies, walked away from the booth hand in hand. Feliciano hugged his prize to his chest, all too aware of his companion's dark mood. He could still feel him trembling.
For a long time, they walked in silence. Seconds passed like hours, but finally Ludwig lifted his head, eyes bloodshot but dry.
"Don't lose that bear, Italy." He breathed as though he'd forgotten how. He looked so tired, aged, as he shuffled listlessly through the crowd.
"I won't." Feliciano's fingers laced with the other's and he rested his head on his shoulder. "Thank you, Germany."
So, this was my thought about nations and their children. Maybe they share a deep sort of psychological link with each other?
The first two flashbacks were centered more around WWI. The second two are more WWII.