((Author's note: this one's kind of a heavy hitter... pretty much the opposite of Hetalia really… but I hope you will like it nonetheless. As always, comments, critiques and questions are always deeply appreciated.))

Part 2: Dresden

I knew the war was over in Dresden. We stood in the rubble of a destroyed city, the heat still radiating off the corpses of the gutted buildings. I could smell burned metal and plastic and the acrid scent of smoke that still hung in the air like a veil. Tears stung my eyes, the smell of death all too familiar by now. I didn't want to be here, I didn't want to see any more corpses huddled in desperate piles by the walls of their shelters, didn't want to see any more bedraggled survivors picking through the ravaged carcass of their lives. But more than anything, I didn't want to see Germany in any more pain.

Something had changed in him during the war. Far from the unstoppable force he had been in the early days, this Germany looked liked a specter of his old self as he surveyed the remains of his once great city. His normally immaculate uniform was crumpled and stained, worn through in places. It told the story of his war far better than his propaganda ever would. The battles, the strain of constant retreat had worn deep lines around his icy blue eyes, and even the steel in his gaze seemed dulled. But his posture was still straight, still determined to cling to the vestiges of his pride, even as his country burned around him. There was a darkness to him, a shame that I would catch in his eyes whenever he didn't think I could see him. He wouldn't tell me what had tarnished his cause, what had distracted him from the fields of battle, and I was too afraid to ask.

He was silent as we walked through the city, his eyes never flinching from the horror that he faced. I held tight to his hand, shaking as I matched his steps. It's sad—even as we wandered through his upended streets, I was still the one seeking comfort. His gloved hand tightened around mine, reminding me that he was still there, still reassuringly solid by my side. But he was so quiet, quieter than ever before. I never thought I'd miss his barking orders, his stern lectures, but anything would be better than this, this broken silence.

"G-Germany?" My voice cracked, choked by blood and smoke and fear and grief. He didn't seem to hear me at first and I was sure I didn't speak loud enough. But before I could try again, he stopped, his eyes fixated on the burned out shell of a building directly ahead of him. My eyes followed his and I couldn't help but shudder. I remembered this place.

"Germany, it's so beautiful! The architecture! The music! It's almost like home!"

He smiled—he still did that back then. "That is Semperoper—Dresden's opera house. The jewel of German culture," he explained, his eyes softening slightly as he rested his hand on a magnificent pillar, his touch as gentle as a lover's. I'd never seen him so affectionate towards anything; I felt in that moment as though I'd been granted a rare glance into his true self. We stood there, soaking in the warmth of the May sun, both lost to the moment that seemed to stretch and unfurl before us, he lost in his thoughts, and I lost in him.

"I thought you would appreciate something that reminded you of home," he said, shattering the pause with his usual brusque voice. He withdrew his hand and eyed me almost warily, as though waiting for my judgment. He seemed so young in that moment, a pupil seeking approval from his master. I remembered that, despite his harsh words, his overwhelming power, he was still so young, hardly more than a child compared to me.

"I love it," I replied with a smile, taking his hand in mine. His skin felt so warm against mine.

Germany seemed to take heart from my words, though he frowned and flushed and dragged me along, complaining that we were going to be late for the show. I drew closer, feeling my heart sing in that moment, we were together, we were conquerors, we were happy. We were still so naïve in those early days of the war. One day, I believed, when the guns fell silent and the war was over, he could set aside the uniform and we would come back here to listen to the music once again…

We were so naïve…

Germany's hand rested against the pillar in a sick parody of that day, his gloved hand disturbing the soot that had carpeted the stone in heavy layers. I could see the timid winter sun, peering through the door where once a grand hallway stood. I looked up, momentarily distracted by the sheer beauty of the sky; it seemed to stretch on forever in an endless blue, and the sun shined like luminescent pearl stranded in the vast blue ocean. It was breathtaking. I remember being almost disturbed, it seemed so wrong, to see such beauty overlooking such a scarred city.

"You should go back to your brother." Germany's heavy voice brought me back to earth, back to the painful reality of our situation. I didn't understand.

"Germany, my brother is with the Allies, remember?" I asked, worried that this latest attack might have affected his mind more than I realized. "I can't go back to him."

Germany sank down onto the steps of the opera house, resting his elbows on his knees as he seemed to study the patterns of debris that littered the ground before him. "Yes, you can, Italy," he said, and I could hear the frown in his voice. "Surrender to them. You are still loved, if you come to their side, even now, your punishment will be light."

I fell to my knees beside him, my hands resting on his arm, feeling the grit burrowing into the fabric of his sleeve. It's true that I hated war, that I hated death and battles and bloodshed, but I hated the thought of losing him more. I could never be his enemy, even if in name only. "No way! We made a promise, remember? We're going to stand by each other, no matter what and we'll—"

"Stop." There was no heat to his voice, and I think that scared me more than anything. My words died in my throat, and we sat there, ruined countries in a ruined city, for what seemed like an eternity. I felt his arm tremble under my fingers, and—if he'd been anyone one other than Germany, I'd say he was crying—but when he spoke again, his voice was steady.

"The Russians are marching in the east, the US and Britain are advancing on the west. Soon they will reach Berlin… and there is nothing I can do to stop it. I am out of weapons, of strategies, of men—there is nothing I can do for my country anymore," he swept his hand along heavily to indicate the ashes of Dresden. "I will lose. It is only a matter of time."

To hear those words, to hear him say it, brought tears to my eyes. To hear him admit defeat brought home the reality in a way that all the figures, all the maps could never manage. We were through.

"Then come with me," I begged, my fingers tightening around his sleeve. "We can surrender together. We'll surrender as allies, that's what allies do, yeah? We'll go down together. You don't even have to hold the white flag. I'll do that—you always said I'm a professional at giving up, right?" I chattered, hoping I could convince him. What's the point of fighting in a pointless war? No more blood, no more bombings, it could all end today.

Germany looked up at me then, with an expression that will haunt me for the rest of my life. "Oh, Italy," he replied, his voice soft. "There are things… things that will—that are coming to light… there will be no surrender for me. When they find out what my boss has done… what I…" There it was, that shame that seemed to consume him more and more with each passing day. "You do not want to tied to me when the war ends. You will not want to be my friend when this war ends." He rested his forehead on my shoulder, still trembling. "You have always been a peaceful soul, don't throw in your lot with a monster. Please, save yourself, there is still a chance for you."

I'd heard the whispers; stories of trains and walled off cities and of chimneys burning profanely in isolation. But something in me couldn't believe it. Not Germany, not him. Not my ally, my protector, my friend… I wrapped my arms around him and for once, he didn't protest.

"We made a pact," I replied, feeling the weight of him against my chest. I rested my chin on his hair, remembering another war, another blonde who'd dreamt of glory. I hadn't go with him then. And now I wasn't going to leave.

"Dummkompf!" Germany pulled away, some of the old anger leaking back into his voice. "Don't you understand anything? I'd already lost one war, and they tried to disempower me through legislature, through reparations and disarmament. They won't give me another chance. Not now." He looked back over the blackened landscape, his expression strangely calm. "They will tear me apart, split me up like the spoils of war. No one in their right mind will allow me to survive after all of this."

Panic, white and sharp and burning, pounded through my veins at his words. Another death to live through, another lost nation to mourn… Not again, not again, please God, not again! My fingers clutched at his uniform as I buried my head in his chest, sobbing as though I might break apart.

And Germany, still facing his decimated city, his lost war, and his all but certain demise at the hands of the Allies, wrapped his arms around my shoulders and comforted me.

And all around us, Dresden smoldered.

And all around us, Dresden wept.

xXx

More Author's notes: Phew… that one was tough. I chose Dresden as the backdrop to this chapter thanks to Slaughter House 5, which is a truly fantastic book if you're interested in WW2. I was captivated by the idea of the Dresden bombings as it seemed brutally unnecessary. The bombing occurred in February of 1945, even as the Allies had the Germans on the run on all fronts and it was clear that the war would end soon (it did end not 3 months later in Berlin). Everything about Dresden is controversial, from the necessity of the bombing to the number of casualties, and it is likely that we will never get concrete answers to these questions.

Also, in regards to Italy and its alliance to Germany... Technically, while Southern Italy was invaded in 1943 and eventually fought with the Allies, Northern Italy continued to be part of the Axis until the end of the war. Which I thought made for an interesting narrative considering N. Italy's persona and relationship with Germany in Hetalia… I hope I managed to pull it off to everyone's satisfaction. But in any case, you all got a history lesson with your fanfic… and who says fanfictions are a waste of time? XD If you have any questions or any other tidbits you'd like to discuss, please feel free to message me, I'm a huge history geek and it certainly beats studying for my next exam. Best of luck in all you do!