People thought they were safe, that they finally made it to an era of peace. No war, no violence, nothing but complete serenity.

Oh how they were wrong, thought one country, who was currently curled up in a ball in a trench as his army and Germany's army ran out into the danger zone. He was surrounded by explosions, gunshots, wounded soldiers, and the dead. He hated this, he hated war, but a weak country like himself couldn't stop it just by himself. Sometimes, he wished that he was strong like Germany, then at least he could help, or be neutral like Switzerland-

Oh yeah, he's in the war too . . .

Unfortunately with the advancement of French and Hungarian troops closing in on them, Switzerland was thrown into the war with sweet, little Liechtenstein by his side. From what he heard, they were doing okay, but how long before they would be destroyed?

"Italy!" A familiar voice practically screamed over the gunfire.

His head shot up, revealing salty tears pouring from the pools of amber. Yes, Italy was stuck in a war he didn't want to be apart of. It wasn't like the other wars, when he met his greatest friends, or when he left the Axis powers. There was no choice in this war. You either fight or die. Some nations had already fallen, for example, his brother. The entire southern half of Italy was obliterated thanks to Britain. It was a sad day for Italy to learn of his elder brother's death, but there was nothing he could do about it. What made it all the worse was that he couldn't even find Romano's body in the wreckage so he could at least give him a proper burial.

There was another gun shot, somehow more distinct over all the others, and a body fell next to Italy. The poor frightened man screamed and scrambled to his feet. It was one of America's men. The man had tried to sneak up on Italy with his M16A2 rifle, but Germany had shot him down before he got the chance to pull down on the trigger. Speaking of Germany, he walked into Italy's line of vision.

"Ger-Germany . . ." Italy whimpered upon seeing his friend.

The blonde German limped towards his auburn headed friend, with his left arm in a sling and the other down by his side, gripping a pistol as tight as he could. He was bleeding from various wounds along his torso and several nasty bruises resided on his face, suggesting he had fought someone with fists. The other evidence that pointed to that was a broken nose with blood dripping from it.

Germany grunted, now directly in front of Italy. Instead of his usual slicked back hair, it fell in his eyes, like what they usually looked like when Italy saw him waking up in the morning whenever he snuck into his bed at night. He looked down at him with piercing blue eyes.

"Italy, what are you still doing here? You should be out on the front line!"

Italy winced at the harshness in his voice. "B-but Germany . . . I'm scared-"

"We're all scared Italy, That's why we are fighting!" Germany yelled. "We're fighting to stay alive!"

"You say that we fight to stay alive yet people are dying everyday!" Italy yelled back, his voice cracking as he went on. "Germany . . . we're all fighting this war not to stay alive! We all want to believe that Germany, but it's not true! This war started because of a stupid argument that got way out of hand! Because of that, so many countries are gone! Including my fratello and Canada and Austria and the micro nations!"

Germany sighed and softened his hard look on the meek Italian, who at this point was blubbering. "I know, Italy, I know. But that doesn't mean you should stop fighting. We need your help Italy."

He just shook his head, his body now starting to shake. Just the thought of going into that indescribable war made Italy shake in his boots. "I can't Germany. I don't want to hurt someone. There is no good or bad this time, it's just full on out war! I don't know what to do!" Italy blubbered, covering his dirty, red face with his hands. "I'm so confused Germany!"

"Italy," pleaded the German. "Just listen to me-"

"There you are, you bastard!" Someone screamed over the sounds of fighting.

Italy looked up and saw America standing above them, wearing the uniform of his army. He pointed his gun at Germany's head, glaring at him with such intensity through his cracked glasses. Sweat poured down his face, mixing with tears. America wanted revenge, and he would stop at nothing until he saw him on the ground. Dead.

"Canada's gone all because of you!" America yelled, pulling the trigger, the bullet hitting Germany in the shoulder. He shouted his pain, dropping the pistol, and falling on one knee. "He was my little brother-and you and your people killed him! He wasn't even part of the war!"

The little Italian stood in front of Germany, his arms spread out. "America, don't do this! Please! My fratello's gone, Japan and Germany are all I have left!"

The American's glare softened just slightly. He removed his finger from the trigger. "You didn't hear? Russia got him. He had Japan begging for death after the torture he put him through. Nearly all of his citizens are dead and you should know what that means."

Both Germany and Italy grew rigid. Another country was gone because of this war, and this hit close to home for both of the countries. Slowly, Italy's hands turned to fists and he put them over where his heart was. It ached, his heart ached so badly that tears began to flow down his face freely; he grit his teeth to keep in the sob. It was just all too much. The elder nation fell to the ground, all the pain was too much. Meanwhile, Germany was in shock. He just looked over at Italy, not knowing what to do. His mind was blank, which wasn't good considering there was a man with a gun pointed at his head.

America put his finger on the trigger once more and muttered "Sorry, but I can't let go."

The breath caught in Italy's throat when he felt warm liquid splatter on his back and in his hair. Despite the fear of what he might see swelling inside him, he turned around. His amber eyes widened in horror when he saw Germany lying on his back, blood pouring from the wound in his forehead. The blood was everywhere, mixing with the sweat on Germany's face, the few tears he let fall, and falling into his blonde hair. Though, if anyone looked passed all the blood, then they would see a peaceful and relaxed look on Germany's face. Italy saw this, but it wouldn't process itself in his mind. All he could think about was the crimson blood. America, in the meantime, had run off right after firing the bullet deep into Germany's head due to soldiers running over and firing at the strong country.

"Germany!" Italy let out the most soul shattering, gut wrenching scream that any of his soldiers have ever heard.

The soldiers that were nearby, whether they were going to the front line or returning because of injury or they were the ones that chased America away, stopped and looked at the sight before them. Italy, last surviving country of the former Axis powers, was kneeling by Germany's side, hugging his limp form with such a fierce grip that it seemed that if he let go, the German would just disappear. Italy's entire body racked with sobs and screams. He was alone . . . and he didn't like that.

"S-Sir," a soldier stepped forward. "We've just received news of Germany . . . the Americans bombed the Germans as some sort of retaliation for Canada. Troops are being sent in to check for any survivors but we have yet to find anyone . . ."

Italy froze in his place. A minute later, he laid Germany on the ground and stood up, slowly raising his head to look at his soldiers. Italy looked at all of them with a stern look. Any childish feature he had entering this war had vanished. For once in his life, he looked so much like his grandfather, like a grown man . . . a broken man.

"You!" Italy said to a soldier to his left. "Give me your rifle."

Without questions, he did what he was ordered and handed his superior the Beretta AR70/90. Italy took it, then went around to other soldiers, gathering other various weapons and ammo. By the time he was done, his soldiers had taken Germany away.

"Donato!" Italy yelled, his voice not as childlike as before.

One of the more experienced soldiers ran over to him. "Yes sir?"

"You're in charge while I'm gone," Italy said, not breaking eye contact with the much, much younger man. "Take care of them, please. We can't afford anymore casualties."

"Yes sir . . ." Donato muttered.

With that being said, Italy climbed his way out of the trench and ran towards the fighting. Germany and Japan . . . both of them were gone. They had gone down fighting, trying to protect their people! And Italy . . . he was a coward and he knew it. While his people ran out into war, whether it was for fighting to protect their loved ones or simply for the fact they were bored, they had more courage than Italy could ever hope for. And now, as Italy went to face the bloody battle his men were fighting, it wasn't courage that was driving him to fight. It was fear. The fear that if he didn't fight back, he would end up like Japan, Germany, Holy Roman Empire, his grandpa Rome, everyone who held dear to him. Italy didn't want this, any of it to happen.

Up ahead, the sounds of war could be heard, making Italy's heart beat faster than ever before. Yet somehow, over all the shouting and gunfire . . . he could hear one voice. They were shouting orders in an accent voice that Italy could never forget. Sure, it made him want to run back to camp and curl up into a ball again, but he couldn't. So many loved ones died around Italy, and it needed to stop. Italy, right then and there, decided he was going to end it, or at the very least, start the beginning of the end.

Italy ran into the war zone, dodging anyone who tried to strike him down. He didn't want to use his weapons on anyone, not unless it was necessary. Funny thing to say when practically everyone is out to get you. Unfortunately, Italy did have to use his rifle on many soldiers. Each time he pulled the trigger, someone died. Italy may have been a coward, but all that training he did with Germany and Japan really paid off.

He fought his way through the soldiers, getting closer to his target. England. Out of all the countries, England was probably the one with the most common sense that was still alive. Everyone else had this . . . lust, for lack of better words, to cause bloodshed but rationalized it in their minds as doing something good. Well, at least that's what Italy thought of all the madness going on.

"England!" Italy exclaimed, finally reaching him.

England, all armed, tightened his grip on the gun in his hand and aimed it at Italy's head. Italy did the same with his rifle. Soldiers, both English and Italian, stopped fighting each other to aim their guns at the countries. Each and every soldier had their fingers on the triggers and they wouldn't be hesitant to fire when needed.

"Hold your fire!" England yelled to his soldiers, getting a few surprised or outraged marks. "He is mine."

The Italians were going to fire, but Italy raised a hand to stop them. "You do the same."

England glared at Italy, any emotions he had before drained from his face but remained in his old green eyes. He was pained. A wound was in his heart and it was ripping wider as the war raged on. The wound in his heart was caused by the death of his brothers Ireland, Wales, and Sealand. Sure they all pretty much disliked him but they were still his brothers and England lost them. It was something Italy could relate to very well.

"So, you've finally jumped into the war," England breathed, not breaking eye contact with Italy. "I'm surprised you lasted this long. And the fool you are, the first one you want to kill and it's me."

"England, listen to me, please," Italy said calmly, not showing any emotion as well. It was another thing he learned while in training.

"Why on Earth would I do that? After all, it was the Axis fault that they're dead! You and Japan and Germany killed my brothers! I know they were a pain, but they were still my brothers and I loved them! Now it's just me and Scotland but he can't even leave his bed he's so weak from all this fighting! On top of all of that, you go and destroy nearly all of London!" England yelled, his eyes starting to gleam from the tears trying to escape as he pulled down his collar on his uniform slightly to show burn marks that without a doubt covered a good portion of his torso. "But now, they're dead and you're all that's left! I could end you, right here, right now!"

Italy lowered his rifle, placing it on the ground, and slowly walked towards England. The English soldiers readied their weapons in case Italy tried to do anything to their commander. But instead, he pressed his temple against the barrel of the gun.

"Then go ahead, and do it!"

England looked genuinely surprised when he looked at Italy. The Italian man was serious about what he said. If England really wanted to kill him, then he could just go right ahead and do it. It's not like there was a point to fighting anymore except to keep his citizens safe, and that was probably going to be an impossible job. Italy had lost his brother and his two greatest friends in the entire world because of the war that just started out as a petty argument. Really, it could have ended if someone had stepped in, but it escalated and now, everyone had to fight to survive.

"There's nothing left for me, England," Italy said softly, closing his eyes and reminiscing. "You killed my fratello after the Axis had killed your brother and your people. Russia tortured Japan, probably in ways I couldn't even imagine, and Germany . . . Germany was killed by America not even an hour ago. I could've stopped it, saved Germany, but I was scared. And now, I know I won't last much longer. The only reason I lived this long was because Germany protected my citizens, doing my job for me even though he had to protect his own."

Italy opened his eyes again, now pleading with the bushy browed gent. "I'm going to die soon enough, so just do it England. I'm so tired of this war . . . I want it to end, but I can't stop it."

England looked around, scanning the faces of the Italian soldiers. Some were shocked by what Italy had said, others were outraged that he would give up so quickly and just let their families die, and the rest . . . they looked so tired. Those few wanted it to end as well, whether with more bloodshed, or peace, they didn't care. They just wanted it to end.

Sighing, England looked back at Italy. He looked much older than the last time he had seen him. Italy had his eyes open, a rare occasion that must've become a usual sight when the war started. All that childishness and joy he had was gone, possibly forever.

"England . . ." Italy said in a hushed tone.

He sucked in a breath. "Strange, how I despise you, yet I pity you at the same time," and then he cocked the gun, as did the Italian soldiers who opposed the idea.

"All of you, stop!" Italy yelled. "This is my decision!"

"Yeah, one that could kill us all!" One soldier yelled with fury. "I've got a family back home! Parents, siblings, and a wife four months along!"

Italy laughed without a trace of humor and once again closed his eyes. "I'm sorry for being a coward, and England . . . thank you."

There was pain, Italy felt it for a second. A soft whimper escaped his mouth and he fell to the Earth. But then, it was gone. The sounds of war, the pain in his head, the aching in his heart, it was gone. Italy was finally at peace.

Hallo, is'a me, Gabby!

So, today I decided to go through this thing and edit it so it's at least somewhat better . . . god, now that I read this, it's a little embarrassing. Granted, I wrote this when I was like, fifteen, and all in one day so I could submit it to a fanfiction contest (Second place!) on the final day of submission.

Also, as an added bonus, I will be writing up an alternative end from the point when Italy and England meet up. So far it's coming good, but I have a lot on my plate at the moment, mainly with school and getting around to writing an English assignment, but I don't think it will take me long to put up the alternative end.

That's all for now!

Toodles~