A/N. Most of my fan-fictions are inspired by the music I listen to. ^.^
I have no idea why, but my mind forms stories based on music. Try listening to the music while reading it, maybe?
Thistle & Weeds - Mumford & Sons
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing related to Hetalia except a gripping addiction, that is all.
"GERMANY! LUDWIG!" The scream erupted from amidst the legion of soldiers. Colours blazed as ranks were divided and mowed down in the haze of bullets that followed soon after. Cloaked soldiers, enemy and comrade alike fell victim to their power as the lead tore through their bodies. They soon joined the rubble the blocked the road, stained with dark red. Yells and gunfire, filled with reckless abandon, coupled with the chorus of agonized screams and hasty commands to either retreat, or advance, advance, advance.
Each individual scream of his soldiers was a dagger to the blonde's heart, dragging him to the ground, down with the bodies of the fallen. Men of other armies lay there with his own, in death, none cared who lay beside them. In death, they were peaceful, coated in crimson blood of their own and of others. He inhaled through his nose, smelling gunpowder and the metallic, coppery scent of the blood that surrounded him. His men, other men, fell down around him as the protective walls were broken down by heavy artillery.
"Sir!" A shout alerted him to a presence as a mass appeared out of nowhere in front of him. A gunshot jerked the figure's shoulders backwards as it fired at some unseen enemy. It soon dropped to the ground where Ludwig crouched. A man of no more than eighteen lay at his feet now, coughing out his life's blood. Dull blue eyes, so much like Ludwig's stared up at the commander. A soldier of no rank.
Small, bare hands gripped the boy's abdomen tightly, red seeping between his fingers.
"You...need...to be careful...Sir," The soldier said between wet coughs that shook his entire frame. "He...almost got you."
Ludwig's eyes burned as they widened, taking in the bleeding boy before him. The soldier that had just taken a bullet for him, and was now dying, a faint smile on his dirt-streaked face. Tear tracks cut through the grime as he looked up at Ludwig.
"Did...Did I do good, Sir?" He asked, and Ludwig felt his jaw drop. He composed himself and looked down at the dying boy- a man, he corrected himself. No boy could take a bullet for his country. It took maturity. The soldier's azure eyes closed as his stuttering breath slowed.
Ludwig's hand extended to touch the soldier's stained chest.
"You did...wunderbar, soldier."
"danke, Sir" Came the faint reply.
"No," said Ludwig quietly. "Thank You,"
The soldier coughed and Ludwig sighed, it was an empty sound, like the wind that blew leaves around during autumn.
"Rest now, soldier." He muttered. "You have served your country well."
"An...Honour...Sir"
The soldier spoke no more, his breathing hitched and exhaled only once.
Ludwig retracted his hand from the cadaver as a desperate scream cut through the barrage of noise.
"LUDWIG! GERMANY! DOITSU!" His eyes snapped open (when had he closed them?) as recognition washed over him. He was on his feet in a flash.
"ITALY?" He bellowed, praying that the copper-haired nation was close enough to have heard him.
"GERMANY!" Came the reply, clear, cutting through the warfare. He was close.
"ITALY HANG ON!" Germany cried, stepping over the hero at his feet, who lay, smiling peacefully, as though, even in death, he believed there was peace for anyone in this war. "ITALY! I'M COMING!"
"DOITSUUUUU!"
Ludwig's blood ran cold as he ran towards the source of the pained cry as fast as he could, leaping over corpses and rubble, gun clutched close to his chest.
He paused as he almost tripped over another corpse, another of his men. Laying on it's back, gun discarded a foot away, eyes open and glassy. Germany swallowed as he lifted his foot from the puddle of crimson by the body's head.
He scanned the warfare for a trace of the Italian, staring through falling men and tanks, empty bullet casings hitting the road. He reacted instinctively as a scope pointed towards him, raising his rifle and shooting the man behind the gun. He closed his eyes briefly as the muted thud of a body hitting the ground sounded, louder to him because he was the cause. Was it like this for those around him? Hearing the sound of murder, louder than anything else because they were the attacker?
He caught a glimpse of dirty blue, a few feet away and sprinted without thinking. He stumbled into the mass of blue, and buried his face in a copper head. He extracted himself from the Italian.
"Doitsu!" Italy cried and Germany stood there, moth gaping.
"What are you doing here!" Germany hollered, dragging the Italian into an alleyway, swallowing bile as he stepped over corpses.
"I...I'm sorry, Ludwig!" Feliciano cried, clinging to the German's uniform. "I wanted to help because I felt horrible for deserting you...I'm sorry!"
"Mein Gott!" Germany cried, his temper surging to the surface as he held the Italian close. "What were you thinking?!"
His brow furrowed as Feliciano squeaked in pain, he pulled the Italian away.
"What's wrong with y-" Germany cut off as he noticed the growing crimson stain on the blue fabric. "I...Italy?"
Feliciano smiled grimly, tears streaming openly down his face.
"I'm sorry, Doitsu." he said, stumbling backwards as he began to fade. Germany lunged after him, reaching forwards to grab Italy's hand. He gasped as his hand went through Feliciano's hand, as though the smaller nation was made of mist. "But, we'll meet again."
"ITALY?!" Germany cried in confusion as Feliciano's body started to shimmer, dissipating from where the German had swept his arm though in an attempt to grab him.
Italy disappeared just as a faint whisper reached Germany's ears.
"Ti Amo, Doitsu."
Then he was gone. It was as if he had never been there at all. Germany stared at the spot where Feliciano had been. In his place was a small white lily. Germany watched, as though from the sidelines as his arm reached out to pick up the flower, his bloodstained hands tainting the pure petals with crimson.
"Italy..." He muttered, a frozen, sinking weight in his chest. "Italy...Feliciano...Italy..."
A voice spiraled above the sounds of a war destined to be lost.
"FELICIANO!"
Hot tears flowed down Ludwig's face as the lily fell from his calloused hand. He froze as a slight pressure was put on his back, the barrel of a rifle. He did not turn, but he did not need to to know who it was as the attacker spoke.
"Checkmate, you Nazi wanker."
He cried out in anguish as the man pulled the trigger, feeling the small projectile slash through his chest. As he fell backwards, hazy blue saw a flash of green and a white, maddened smile. The underside of a boot hovered above him, then slammed down.
Ludwig saw no more, felt no more.
"AH!" Germany cried out, sitting upright, his covers clung to his body with sweat, tears mingling with the sweat on his face as Feliciano sat up beside him.
"Ludwig?" Italy asked, concern swimming in his amber eyes. "What's wrong?"
Germany said nothing as he tore the sheets away, swinging his legs out of bed. He trudged into the bathroom and hurriedly splashed cold water on his face, he then proceeded to pat himself dry with a towel. Feliciano leaned against the doorway, a sheet wrapped around his body, eyes wide with fear.
"What happened, Doitsu?" Italy asked as the German walked past him.
"Nothing, Italien" Germany lied, and Italy was not fooled.
"Germany?" Italy nuzzled into the Aryan's chest as they clambered back into bed. "What's happened."
Ludwig sighed. "Just a nightmare, is all." He conceded.
"About?" Feli mumbled against Germany's abdomen.
"...Losing you." Germany slurred nervously, turning red. Feliciano looked up, shock written clearly on his face. He crawled up and pressed a gentle kiss to the German's lips.
"I'm right here." He said after breaking away.
"I know."
"Then," giggled Italy. "What is there to worry about?"
Germany sighed, pulling the blanket over himself and Italy.
"Nothing, I guess."
Italy hummed cheerfully. "Ti Amo, Doitsu."
"Ich leibe dich."
But the nightmare still played on in his head, sending shivers down his figure as Italy fell asleep, snoring tranquilly.
A/N. I really should put up the translations, but I don't feel like it. White Lily is the religious emblem of Italy, (Thank you Google!) Also...I LOVE Thistle & Weeds. :D
This story came to me while listening to music and trying to get to sleep. Flames will be used to roast potatoes (unless they're helpful flames) therefore making useless flames useful.
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Danke Schon und Aufwiedersehen!
~Lady Doitsu (Frau Doitsu)~