There was no explaining the anger he felt at that moment, the rage of a thundering panzer force that lit his self with something far superseding the morbid delight of watching the world burn. This was a rage he could ravage, enjoy, cry with. This was a beautiful fury, a shaking passion, and his most ultimate regret. The consequences would eat at his soul, he knew, but it would at least be by his own volition. The allies might win and only god would know what the future would serve him after that, for now though, for now... This rage is his true self – maybe for this alone it is enough to forgive Italy, or maybe for this alone it is enough to destroy Italy.
It would be a good and bad thing.
A wonderful thing.
A disgusting thing.
He sat at a chair that was facing the entrance to Italy's well lived, decorated, handsome home. When he had come in everything was an organized mess, its order probably only making sense to Italy. Now everything was thoroughly broken twice; all paintings, all furniture, all the walls, everything everything every damn thing he could get his hands on he destroyed twice. Except for the chair, of course, the chair he salvaged because it did not belong to Italy but to him.
There was only one thing left to destroy.
.
There was that part in him, that one part that always felt caring for Italy, love for him, happiness for him. And that one part right now was making a bit of a fuss, but only a bit. He supposed that even that side of himself also felt betrayed.
He will later reason that not much was left for Italy to do. Maybe he was the first one to betray, he could no longer protect Italy as he had promised, could no longer deflect the punishment that should be aimed towards him. What had the small Italian known of his darker self? Left bitter and destroyed, humiliated and bullied by France, where was his anger to go if it could not be directed at those who deserved it? This madness of his since the beginning was his salvation, his self-preservation. And Italy? To be dragged into this deranged game by a boss just as crazy as his own, to keep those eyes closed around all the destruction, and to have "Germany!" by his side. Italy had not much to gain from this, but much to lose.
Now in this corner, most assuredly losing the war – with America creeping his way up the country, Russia pushing at his borders, England and some other Americans coming in from the western front, Japan tied up with even more Americans – what was Italy to do, but do what he did? Nothing left but to surrender.
Even much more later when Italy – who had either forgiven him or forgotten, or reasoned it out in his head, or blamed himself for it – and himself were taking a small break in their visit to France and came upon Normandy, where he would see the bodies of those American dead that started the end, there there there he would know why he did it. It was until that point such a mess of reasons before, half guilts and half concessions. He did it because he could not conceive that his love (something Italy will probably never hear) had left him alone.
For all of that fool's mistakes – those things were tolerable, were alright, as long as Italy in return never left. But he did.
Just as he was taking that last swig of the beer he had last left with Italy there were jangling sounds at the door. The knob turned slowly and the scraping of military issued boots echoed in his thoughts. Italy's head was ducked down as he came in, his hair came over his eyes a bit when he wrestled his key out of the doorknob. He had not yet noticed the destroyed home or his own imposing well dressed figure on the chair. Italy turned very quickly to hand up his coat and turned back to yelp when he finally noticed him.
"Ve~ Ger- Germany! What are you doing here!" Italy didn't step any closer, and fiddled with his hands in front of his stomach, a sign of nervousness.
"I have always been allowed in this home before, have I not?"
Taking a step back, "Ye-yes. But I don't think – I'm not sure you..."
He watched as Italy struggled to tell the truth, just as frightened of his presence as when they had first met many years ago. Italy finally noticed the destruction inflicted on his house. His eyes were for once fully open; big, innocent, and scared.
With a bit more conviction he said, "What happened to my home?"
"I had my men come in here and tear it apart, lest we leave something of importance the allies might use."
"So – you – you heard?" Italy was downright horrified, eyes moving everywhere.
"Ja."
He lunged at Italy, grabbing by the upper arms and throwing him to the floor. Italy screamed but quieted a bit when he punched him in the jaw. Probably more out of shock than from pain.
Holding him down he said, "Russia taught me a very important lesson in warfare; never leave anything behind for your enemy. Raze it. To the ground."
For the next three hours he raped Italy.
.
As the American troops traveled from southern Italy to the north they only came across destroyed homes, burnt villages, bombed towns, little food, devastated roads, dead civilians.
Sergeant Jones surveyed scene after scene with increased distress. He noticed a man digging up something from the ground as the lines of trucks his company and himself were riding along in passed by. He jumped out of the truck and walked up to the man, who looked tired and malnourished.
"Inglese?"
"Little." the man said with an accent.
Sergeant Jones waved it off and continued in Italian, "è successo? " ([what] happened?)
"Germans destroy," he motioned his hand towards the field and town not very far, as if to say everything, "Animali! Tutti animali!"
.
.
.
Historical notes:
-In the TV series WWII in HD an American troop sees the destruction throughout Italy after its surrender to the allies and asks a man what happened. The man answered that the Germans/Wehrmacht had destroyed everything as they retreated from Italy, ending it with "Tutti Animali" translated; "(they are) all animals."
-As the Gemans ran their way into Russian/Soviet Union territory after operation Barbarossa (ironically it is Italian for "red beard") the Russians/Red Army as they retreated made sure to burn/destroy all supplies, a tactic called "Scorched Earth". This also included destroying food supplies and maybe hospitals. Everything went. The German Army/Wehrmacht used the same tactic when the Red Army retook Russian territory and were forced to retreat.
-As the Germans retreated into northern Italy in 1944, partisan Italian factions fought them back, retaliating against German antagonism violently when the German Army/Wehrmacht started destroying towns and killing civilians along the way.
I don't condone rape. If it sounds like justification, it's 'cause Germany is trying to justify it to himself.
I wrote this because I had not seen a GermanyxItaly fic touch this subject. If you have, send me the link! I think a lot of their angst revolves around how Germany will never speak his love, or is HRE and doesn't remember Italy or something like that. That's all well and good, but the greatest tragedy of them all is the one most ignored; when Germany and Italy ended their alliance during WWII. There's much angst in there to explore! Go for it! Their relationship has hardly been as happy as it is believed.
Also, read my other APH stuff, yes? Mostly America (all America) and my OTP USxRussia!
Review? This is my first foray into GermanyxItaly, so please?