Up and down, the flames danced in front of the blonde haired man. Reds and oranges collided, and with a snap, wood burned to send the flames flaring up even higher. Smoke was drifting up and away, as the soft rustle of a breeze dancing echoed around the campsite. Above him, stars twinkled merrily in the sky, flirting with everyone who dared to look up at them. Over all, the atmosphere was calm, and if one decided to look up a those flirtatious stars, it could even be considered cheery.
The atmosphere was lost though on the blonde haired man as he stared into the depths of the fire with normally bright blue eyes. Pain was etched in those eyes tonight, though from his casual posture, one would have never been able to guess how deep the pain cut. His eyes watched the fire almost desperately, as though the man was searching for something, something that he wasn't able to find. Perhaps something that he had lost within the fire, but nobody would ever know.
Nobody could ever see him like this, with the pain so evident in his brilliant eyes. Gritting his teeth, Germany looked away from the fire now, turning his desolate gaze up to the sky, seeking solace in the twinkling of the stars. Behind him, he could hear the soft snoring of a certain auburn haired country, but he didn't pay attention to it otherwise. All that snoring was, was another background noise in the back of his mind.
Besides, he wasn't going to wake up the Italian. Not when he was like this. Pain could be concealed only for so long, before it broke through the surface. Before it threatened to consume you, before it threatened to drive you insane. It had been countless years since he had been under the rule of Hitler, but he could still hear the screaming of his people. He could still hear their cries: he could still feel their suffering.
It was like a wound that had never properly healed: festering, sore to the very touch. Oh, how he seemed strong to the world: he always had to seem strong. If he didn't seem strong, he would be letting too many people down. Besides, he was a nation, why should he even bother with these human emotions? All they caused was more pain, and if Germany had to deal with more of that…
There was no point in denying it, the blonde thought, staring at his scarred fingers now, slowly turning his hand over and over, his eyes tracing those scars, remembering vividly where they had come from. If he was forced to take on yet another task, there was no doubt that he would break under everything. How easy it was, to make it seem like he was okay. To make it seem like he was invincible: he was the great Germany after all, what could possibly be bothering him?
A shaky sigh shook the blonde now, and those impressive blue eyes that seemed overflowing with pain, slowly closed. He was the great Germany, but since when was someone not allowed to feel? They had all called him a monster, they had taken his brother from him (though thankfully he had gotten him back finally, the little devil lived in his basement at home), and it still hadn't been enough for them. They had wanted more, always more, ripping and tearing him until he could barely stand on his own.
They had only accepted him thanks to Japan and Italy, and how they had argued with the other countries, reminding them that their bosses had made them do things they didn't want to do in the past. Time had brought the tempers down, but the wounds had never healed.
With only the night as his witness, Germany allowed a single tear to escape his closed lids and trail down his face, dropping to the ground below him. Just because he was a nation, just because he was the great Germany, it didn't mean he wasn't allowed to feel. A shaky sigh escaped the large man now, though when his blue eyes opened they were void. He couldn't allow anyone to see him like this, not even Italy. That would make the smaller man cry, and once he started crying he just did not stop.
Getting to his feet, Germany stared at the fire one more, feeling an almost overwhelming urge to run away from here. To just run, and never look back, to find a place where he could be away from everyone and everything and maybe, just maybe, even away from the torments of his past. The urge swelled higher and higher, just like the flaring of a flame, and for a few heartbeats, Germany struggled with that urge.
It was the soft, almost hiccup of a sigh that came from the tent that decided it for him. Forcing his gaze away from the fire, Germany forcibly turned his back to the fire (and the screaming images and the pain within the fire), facing the tent now. He couldn't go anywhere, because there was no way Italy was able to take care of himself. The man couldn't even get dressed on his own half the time, what would he do if Germany just left one day?
Probably cry (nothing unusual), though a touch of guilt flickered in Germany at that thought. He was being a bit harsh on the Italian; he knew the other man had a good heart. He was just incredibly high maintenance, and he occasionally got sick of it all. Not that anyone could know that though: after all, Germany couldn't get sick of anything, now could he?
Shaking his head, Germany could feel his nails biting into his palms. The urge to run was back, but instead of dwelling on the thought, Germany simply unrolled his sleeping bag on the ground and crawled in, not bothering to kick off his shoes. Usually he kept the Italian company in the tent, but tonight…tonight he just needed to be alone.
He didn't trust himself.
He couldn't trust himself. Not after what had happened, what had been said and done. All he did was hurt the people around him. That was why he wasn't allowed to feel, why he wasn't allowed to show his pain. All he ever did was hurt the people he cared about.
It was for their sake that, when Germany got up the next morning, it would seem like he was perfectly fine. These moments of self-reflection, of self-hatred, never would have occurred.
The only evidence was the dark circle on the dirt, where that single tear had fallen.