This is a small story that I just came up with a while ago and am deciding to write now, so I don't lose it and can publish something. It's a bit different from what I usually write, I hope I do well. Enjoy.

"Fratellinoooo~! Lookie~! I made you a new outfit~! Please wear it~!" the obnoxious blonde older Italian bellowed as he bounded into the younger Italian's office, hauling a sparkly purple shirt and black pair of pants with him.

Luciano grumbled, running his hand through his velvet-brown, his violet eyes glancing up from his paperwork to look at the flamboyant elder Italian. The younger inwardly grimaced at the sight of the outfit the blonde carried.

"I'm very busy, Flavio, go somewhere else," Luciano barked going back to his work.

Flavio pouted, his scarlet eyes drooping, along with his stray curl, as he did as he was told, walking out of the room, closing the door behind him.

As the door clicked shut, Luciano dropped his pen. He felt his eyes water but quickly wiped away the tears. This had been happening more and more lately. When Flavio had first changed Luciano had locked himself away, not having anyone to talk to. Now it seemed that all his shock, anger and sadness was leaking out more and more. Once again he was thrown back into that awful day.

Luciano frantically looked around for his elder brother, shouting in their native language, running through the trenches, leaping over the dead and wounded Italian soldiers.

I told him we shouldn't have started this battle! Why don't any of my bosses ever listen to me?! The Italian screamed his head.

There were so many causalities. So many dead, so many injured. Usually death had no effect on Luciano. Why would it? He had caused many himself.

This time was different though. The one person he cared about could be dead. NO! Luciano screamed at himself. He wasn't going to think that. His older brother was just as strong and skilled as him, if not more. They were North and South Italia. Descendants of the great Rome. A few bad choices couldn't destroy either of them. Right?...

Night had fallen, the few unharmed soldiers stayed in the front trench, Luciano found himself in the infirmary, scanning the soldiers being treated, looking for his brother. His eyes fell on a mass of scarlet and blonde, and he run over to the bed, shoving the poor nurse away from his brother.

Tears threatened to escape his tired violet eyes, quickly noticing the bullet wound in his forehead.

"Flavio…"

Rage filled Luciano. He would find which Austro-Hungarian did this to his fratello. He was about ready to charge out to the front trench then out onto no-man's land when the realization hit him. There was no way one of those bastards could have gotten that lucky shot.

One of his own men must have misfired...

The nurse from before walked up to him, speaking in Italian. "Sir, I have some bad news about your brother."

Luciano froze turning to face her, the nurse continued to speak, "I know since you and he are countries that you won't die from something like this, but your brother will most-likely not be the same. He has a high probability of not regaining consciousness. If he does, he will have severe brain damage…"

The nurse continued to speak but Luciano couldn't hear her, all he knew is that his brother was gone…

Luciano blinked, hearing his name being called, he looked up from his paperwork to see his large blonde, scarred, German sex-toy.

"Are you alright?" Lutz asked, his usually tired eyes full of worry.

Luciano nods. Lutz sighs, knowing he won't be able to get anything out of him. Maybe later after having his little Italian screaming his name raw. That'll be his best bet, if he wants the truth.

"What do you want?" Luciano asked finally.

"Flavio wanted me to let you know that dinner is done." Lutz replied.

Luciano sighs, standing from his chair, deciding he'd done enough work for the day. As Luciano stood from his chair, he suddenly stopped, his hand finding the drawer on his desk.

Lutz watched the Italian open the drawer, taking out a picture frame and setting it on the desk. Before the German could see the photograph, Luciano took his hand and lead him from the room, lightly smiling as the thought about the black and white picture of him and his brother before World War 1. They were wearing identical uniforms, only Luciano wore a hat though. They stood side by side. Luciano held his precious knife and Flavio held a pistol.