Author's Note: Something a little different today, obvious GerIta in an interesting setting. I do not own Hetalia, reviews and criticism are appreciated. Please Enjoy!
Their Glorious Finale
Surprisingly, Italy felt no fear walking down the corridor. His steps were steady and his demeanor was calm.
Walking almost regally besides the Italian, his companion was the same. Their footsteps echoed across the stone walls, the only other noise being the occaisional jingle.
It was awkward, walking while holding hands in handcuffs, but both Italy and Germany had grasped the other's palm as soon as they were let out of their cells and refused to let go.
The guards walking in front and behind the pair showed no expression, only holding their rifles at the ready as they marched, the escort of honor on this signifigant day.
In a way, it was like a dream. The walls seemed to stretch on forever, ending in that square of light that encompassed the door. This surely couldn't be real, right? Any moment now, he would wake up from his siesta next to Germany and hen they woul-
Of course this was real. The previous weeks had proven that, hadn't they?
For the first time, Germany looked over at Italy, and perhaps sensing the distress on his face gave a tired smile; that smile only Germany could give him, that said to be calm, I'm here for you.
Seeing that smile calmed him down, and Italy thought back, to when it was revealed that today would happen.
Italy had sat nervously in the court chair, glancing over at his ally. Suddenly, the gavel smashed onto the wood, quieting the room.
"This court finds the defendant, the nation of Germany guilty on 40 million counts of crimes against humanity, and unprecedented outrage that demands the highest punishment. With the assurance that the defendant's brother will be able to take over duties as a nation, the sentence to be given is,"
"Death."
The expression on his love's face was was impassive as always, he merely bowed his head to the sentence in a nod.
Italy looked around frantically, for someone, anyone to protest this. England, France, America and Russia all sat there, their eyes and hearts hardened, accepting the sentence as just.
He could feel the tears welling up, and he let out an involuntary cry. This couldn't happen! He hadn't even told Germany how he felt yet.
The Death Sentence, that would mean that Germany...
"This court also finds the second defendant, the Italian Social Republic, formerly known as the nation of Italy, guilty on 15 million counts of crimes against humanity, as well as numerous counts of collaberating, aiding, and supporting the Nazi Regime. For this reason, the sentence to be given, is,"
"Death."
At that, for the second time in the nation's life, his mind went blank. Italy tried to think, and comprehend and tried.
And tried.
He sat there, in a daze.
Barely hearing Germany screaming at the top of his lungs to spare Italy, that Italy was innocent and did not deserve death.
Barely seeing Germany leap over the table in rage, yelling that Italy didn't deserve this, getting tackled and beaten by the guards.
Barely feeling, as he was led and Germany carried, back to their cells.
Only late that night, did the tears come, quiet sobs that wracked Italy's body. He only stopped at hearing Germany's whispers, that Germany was so sorry, and this never should have happened, and that it was alright if Italy hated him.
And that thought, of being without Germany, scared him so much that Italy immediately reached out though the bars so his hand met his love's. And gazing into Germany's eyes, he had said he would never hate his best friend.
And Germany had smiled.
Now the door was closer, and his grip on Germany's hand had tightened. Breathing had somehow become much harder in the minutes it had taken to walk down the hall.
As the first soldier reached for the metal handle, hope rose in Italy. Maybe the door would break, or the handle would be stuck or-
The door opened, and the group marched in.
Bright lights washed over the room, with white-washed walls surrounding the pair. Their guards marched into a pair of doors on the other side, leaving them to look up.
Above the other side was a glass viewing panel, and behind it Italy could see the other nations, the victorious allies. And...
His breath hitched in his throat as he saw Romano sitting there an unreadable expression on his face. Next to his brother was Germany's brother, handcuffed and guarded.
Dimly, Italy wondered if the nations and the prisoners could hear each other.
"WEST!"
His question was answered as Prussia threw himself against the glass. Tears streaming down his face, the white-haired nation smashed his handcuffs against the glass before he was dragged back.
"No, West, please no."
Looking at his brother, Germany saluted, whispering only "It's alright", before turning back to Italy.
Prussia seemed to compose himself as he saluted back, blood running down his wrists from the shackles.
Staring at his own stone-faced brother, Italy felt tears welling up again, but forced them back as he began to talk.
"Romano, please take good care of our people, ok? Make sure to take reasonable siestas, and disperse gelato correctly and...
Please don't forget me, ok?"
The Italian brothers stared at each other, for what seemed like forever to Italy, until he saw Romano's eyes soften. The new Italy nodded.
"I won't forget you, brother. Goodbye."
He felt the tears now, and quickly turned away to wipe his cheeks, when the doors at the end of the room opened.
As the squad of 12 soldiers marched in, and he saw the guns, Italy felt fear. This was it.
The cuffed hands grabbed his shoulders and spun him around, to face Germany, an urgent look on his face.
"Italy you must know, I'm so, so sorry. This is all my fault, I should have kept you out of the alliance, I should have-"
"Shush, Germany." the tears were dry now, he was focused on Germany.
"Even though it's led me here, I would go back and do it all again, and it's all because of you."
England was speaking now, talking about the crimes they had committed, and how it was nescessary for the peace and something and something.
Unfortunately, the speech was lost on the convicts, whose focus was only on each other.
"Italy, come on now, I wasn't that great of a friend, I sent your country into war!"
Italy suddenly became very nervous, and it had nothing to do with their executions.
"No, no, Germany, you don't understand. I would do everything again for you, but not as a friend."
Realization seemed to be dawning on that face, as he mustered his courage and continued talking.
"I've tried to tell you so many times but I always talked myself out of it, and I couldn't come up with a white flag for this and I'm so nervous and... and..."
Italy gulped, and wondered why England had stopped talking.
"I love you, Germany. Ti amo forever and ever."
Glancing up, he saw all the allies staring, everyone frozen.
Turning to his love, Italy could see Germany was thinking hard, his eyes furrowed in that adorable way. But the German did not move at all. Flicking his eyes at the soldiers, standing at attention, Italy sighed.
"Ve, well now I'm ready."
He managed a weak smile at England, who slowly raised his arm. "Troops, present arms!"
Germany was still there, an unreadable expression on his face as he stared at Italy.
He felt calm, yet queasy. Still staring at Germany, Italy wondered if it would hurt.
"Aim!"
Closing his eyes, Italy took a deep breath and
And in that split second, Germany lunged and grabbed Italy, pulling him into a ravenous kiss. The Italian's eyes flew open, only to close them again, melting into the powerful German. The two figures stood frozen against the white, locked in their embrace for an endless, glorious minute.
"Fire!"
They were struck down locked together, and they fell locked together.
Italy felt nothing, only peace, at the End.
He awoke in an unfamiliar house. Glancing down, Italy saw his tattered clothes had been replaced by a clean blue army uniform. Walking out of the bedroom, he saw it closely resembled Mr. Austria's House.
Wandering out the door, Italy stepped out into a lush green meadow. The white sky rolled overhead as he stooped down to smell the flowers.
Then he looked up and saw Germany.
Italy was running now, feeling weightless as he leapt into the blonde-haired man's arms.
"Ti amo, Germany."
His breath was held, waiting.
"Ich liebe dich, Italy."
Them Germany smiled, and Italy smiled, and everything was perfect, forever and ever.