Whoo! This is my first Hetalia fanfic... So please don't hate me if it sucks. And yes, Italy is pretty much dead the whole story, but he's still the main character. It'll make sense... Hopefully. And sorry if the little bit of Italian I have in this chapter is incorrect. I used google translate...
Anyway, enjoy~!
Angeli d'Italia
"You are currently in the threshold, and lying before you is a forked path," he explained calmly. "To the right lies your current life. Following this path will change nothing. To the left is a different world—one similar to your own, but with its differences. Someone you once knew waits at the end of this road for you." He looked down at Italy whose expression was unreadable. "Choosing this path will alter your life, and you will come to know what would have been. You must decide."
"'What…would have been?'"
"Yes." He held his hand out for Italy. "If you would like…I can give you a preview of it."
Il paradise è pieno di angeli, ma il mio è qui con me.
Heaven is filled with angels, but mine is here with me.
There was a distinct, heartbreaking sensation about the air in the room that France could not describe, but he knew where it came from. Italy was dying.
Italy's illness has begun only two months before. It had started with a huge drop in the country's economy. Most people had lost their jobs and their homes, and, because Italy's boss had done nothing about it, the people had begun to lose their hope. Italy was in bad shape then and had taken to bed to recover, but it only got worse. Italy's boss continued to ignore the problems of the people and was soon hated. He was assassinated after some time, and violence and corruption shortly followed. Germany and France tried to help, but it wasn't enough. Italy was torn apart.
France watched as Germany held tightly onto Italy's hand, probably willing the smaller country to stay, but everyone in the room knew all too well that these were Italy's last moments. France let out an almost inaudible sigh and directed his attention to Spain and Romano who were in the far corner of the room. Romano had taken ill, as well, but the support of Spain had somehow pulled him through. But even though Romano had recovered, France was almost certain the Italian wished it was him dying instead of his younger brother.
Spain held Romano in his arms as the younger country let out great, gasping sobs, muttering curses to the gods for trying to take his brother away from him. When Spain noticed France's gaze, he returned it and signaled with his eyes that he had Romano covered and that France should see how Germany was holding up.
France stood up and walked over to Germany who sat next to Italy on the bed, still holding that pale hand. "Germany…" the blonde said after a moment's hesitation, but when Germany made no sign that he even heard him, France placed a hand on his shoulder and said, "Germa—"
"It's over," Germany mumbled in his low voice that seemed even lower and heavier with grief.
"Excusez-moi?"
"…It's over…" Germany repeated, a little louder and with some effort.
"Sorry, I still can't hear you," France said, leaning closer, and Germany's shoulders began to shake.
"I said he's dead!" Germany shouted angrily, his outburst momentarily shocking France and causing Romano to run out of the room crying much harder than before.
"Perdón," Spain said quickly and ran out after Romano to calm him down.
Once Spain left, France didn't know what to say. Then again, he was sure nothing in the world could comfort Germany besides Italy coming back, but that wasn't even an option.
France took a deep breath and, slowly, began, picking each word carefully as to not upset Germany any further. "Listen, Germany… Italy is… in a better place now. …His suffering has ended. You should… be happy for him."
France chose not to say anything more, waiting for Germany to speak or to not say anything at all.
A few moments passed before Germany finally turned around to face France with an expression so heart-wrenching and different from his normal, angry expressions that France was given almost as big a shock as when Germany had shouted just minutes before. Germany's face was red, especially around his blue eyes, usually loyal in hiding his emotions, which now betrayed him and made him seem uncharacteristically vulnerable. And, in fact, he was vulnerable, and the tears behind his floodgate eyes were now flowing freely.
"…Happy?" Germany asked, his voice trembling. He wanted to be able to say that he could one day feel that emotion again, but now, he wasn't so sure. He wanted to believe that he could go back to the past, back to the days when he could say that he was happy. He wanted to have Italy back by his side forever, to see him eat pasta again, to see him flee from combat training again, to see those beautiful, golden eyes. He wanted to tell all of this to France, or to anyone for that matter, but all that came out were little sobs that didn't sound like his own—sobs that couldn't bring back Italy. His Italy. Nothing could bring Italy back, and that was that.
...Well. That's chapter one. A bit short for me, but here it is... was. I hope it was sad and not cliche.
I have surprisingly little to say. Weird, huh?
Anyway, thank you SOOO much for reading. If you've read my most recent Kingdom Hearts fic, please know that I'm just being lazy about writing it and will hopefully get around to it soon. And please review this fic! I worked hard... I'm too used to Kingdom Hearts. Thanks, everyone! =D
