Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Sadly, this means that I cannot own Germany, Italy, or Britian. So there.
Prologue
Italy lay on his back, eyes open. He was aware, dimly, of Germany watching him, but was too absorbed in his own thoughts to ask him why.
Earlier that day, Germany had approached him—yet again—about his lack of discipline on the fighting field. He had asked if Italy could not 'find a reason to fight.' Italy frowned slightly. Did Germany, then, have a reason to fight? And, if so, what was it? Italy's frown deepened. How could anyone have a reason to fight anyway? It was so…dangerous. Those who didn't die, in Italy's experience, came out covered with scars and full of pain. What reason could someone have to justify doing that not only to themselves but to others?
Germany's eyes seemed to bore into Italy's head, though he was sure that Germany would barely let it be noticed that he was looking at Italy. Most likely, Germany would simply glance out of the corners of his eyes. But it still bothered Italy quite a bit. Growling slightly (he felt Germany start back slightly when the growl escaped his throat) he turned so that he was facing away from the blond-haired man, punching the pillow as he did so.
'Back to the matter at hand,' Italy thought. 'Why would I fight? Whenever I do, Germany seems to have to save me. And he almost always gets hurt. I don't like that!'
The train of thought bubbled quietly for a while, and Italy realized that his eyes were wet. He was always prone to tears, but…why was he crying this time? Thinking back, he remembered how he had recalled the various times Germany had had to save him. A tear escaped and fell to Italy's pillow. Italy smiled. Was that it, then? He could not bear the thought of his…friend—yes, that was surely what he should call Germany, a friend—anyway, of his friend getting hurt?
But now he was curious again. Germany's eyes bored into his back, and Italy turned around suddenly. He had to know…why did Germany fight? So he asked, in the usual light and airy tone, as if it didn't matter to him, not really, but he couldn't keep his eyes shut, found them searching Germany's pale blue eyes.
"Why—why do I fight?" Germany repeated.
"Sì! You said that everyone had to have a reason to fight. So what's yours, Germany?" Italy queried.
Germany blushed slightly, and if they were standing (and, of course, if Italy was fully dressed), he would have looked down to the side. Italy just knew it. "I…I…fight…oh, what does it matter? I fight to protect you, Italy. Is that so hard to understand?"
Italy frowned. If Germany fought to protect Italy, then Italy made him hurt himself by not fighting.
Suddenly, he had it. The idea made his eyes light up. He would fight to keep Germany from getting hurt. And once the fighting was done, they would patch up each other's wounds like they always did.
Within moments, he was able to sleep soundly once again, arms wrapped around Germany's torso. Germany looked down at the mess of reddish-brown hair upon his chest and blushed slightly, but laid his head back and closed his eyes for sleep nonetheless.
A/N: So there you have it. Hints of romance, completely not canon, set in modern day but AU because...erm. I can't tell you. Not...not yet. Er...so...maybe...set back in World War 2.
But don't call Germany a Nazi! He just...had a really, really bad boss. Yeah, we'll go with that, K?
And historically accurate, you say? I laugh, because this most certainly will NOT be historically accurate. At ALL. So THERE.
Please don't be offended...please don't hate me...I'M SORRY!