2. When the Old Ones Talk

Date Written: January 2, 2019

Date Posted: March 23, 2019

Characters: Germany, Italy, Japan

Summary: Germany is young, Italy and Japan are not.

Notes: Takes place during World War II.


"Meeting adjourned if there are no complaints."

It's one of many meetings that the Axis have, and like always, little to nothing has been done.

Sure, there were agreements and tactics that have been discussed, but really, it all gets sidetracked by Italy's antics and Japan's near apathy (his cryptic comments and evasiveness, notwithstanding). And like most meetings, after the meat of the manner has been discussed and dragged through the mud tirelessly, Germany recounts everything in a small notebook while the rest of the Axis...talked.

Germany is not shy.

But there are times when he looks at the rest of the Axis and he yearns for the easy friendship that echoes from Italy's laughter and the softness that rims Japan's dark eyes.

It is during these meetings when he realizes, that Italy and Japan talk and reminisce as millennia old Nations are wont to do.

Germany doesn't like it when he's left out of the loop, especially when surrounded by allies.

It came to mind, during those days of the Axis alliance, that both Italy and Japan were quite strange. Of course, that was to be expected, considering that they were all very different Nations. Japan, it stood to reason, was a far off land who could relate better to that stupid upstart America (who also happened to be older than Germany) than Germany himself. On the other hand, Italy shouldn't have had any excuse, but Germany had little to no contact with the brunet before the first Great War. Even then, their brief meetings didn't inform Germany of what his ally to the south really was like.

And to the Germanic Nation who didn't want a repeat of his last defeat, that was a sobering thought.

They were supposed to be allies.

Allies were supposed to respect one another, to discuss all matters pertaining to their interests. However, in order to do that, there had to be trust. Trust, he had read, was best discovered through a variety of friendly interactions and experiences. Military drills and discussion of war tactics should have been more than sufficient given their nature and contributions to the war effort. Yet, even with all textbook examples of so-called trust and friendship, Germany felt like it wasn't enough.

Prussia had laughed when Germany felt—anxious? nervous? left out?—something not worthy enough to be categorized or labelled. Regardless, Prussia tells him that maybe he is too young, too inexperienced. With only one war under his belt and the distrust of numerous Nations, the blond had more than enough work to sift through. He had bristled at the suggestion that he was too immature, too wet behind the ears to try associating with Nations who were inexplicably, unfathomably older than he.

Germany tells Prussia as such and the albino ruffles his brother's hair.

So, here they are.

All of them, the Axis, are in the middle of a meeting and Germany is tired. The campaign, the trial, the look of betrayal of conquered neighbors feels too much; they weigh on him like there's a millstone hanging around his neck. Inside of him, he can feel the thrum of his people determinedly marching to a new era. An era where Germany is the supreme, the new empire of all Nations. He can hear the cries of justice, retribution for the humiliations bestowed upon them by the dreaded Allies.

Never again, they scream.

Never again, they cry.

Never again, Germany sighs.

It is the strange, reserved Japan who notices Germany's fatigued state first. Perhaps it's because the blond has sighed too loudly. Or perhaps Germany has slumped forward instead of sitting rigidly straight. Or, perhaps, Japan doesn't notice at all. Perhaps he seeks to move outside the monotony of drills and practices. Whatever is going throughout Japan's mind, Germany does not notice.

He is too young to grasp the niceness of concern, to feel the creases that form upon the oriental's usually blank expression. Too young to realize that this show of weakness is the prime time for when the vultures pick at a carcass.

Italy takes notice.

"I'm feeling so tired today!" The auburn haired young man exclaims. He collapses onto a chair and makes a show of popping off a few of his uniform's buttons before Japan leaves. The Asian Nation leaves with hushed murmurs about the Mediterranean's lack of decency and explanations that he is merely retrieving beverages for the three of them.

Germany barely holds onto the last fraying strands of his temper before that useless Italian spins out some nonsense about coffee before Germany hauls him out of the chair. It takes no effort; the Italian is only just barely touching the floor before the German releases him by the lapels.

Annoyed, but with a hint of mischief, Italy whines, "Hey, not fair! It's much too warm in this stuffy office! Why not we stroll outside when Japan comes out with drinks?"

"No." The word is cold and biting, like the edge of a newly honed knife. There is no place for pleasantries, of words that have little substance other than the faltering banter of false two-faced lies. Germany has had enough of all this pomp and circumstance. Brevity cuts to the meat of the problem and his anger is the driving force. "Enough of this, Italien, we came here to discuss—"

"And we already have, Germania."

That is no longer a tone that Germany has been acquainted with. The young man that now stares defiantly in front of the German is someone who Germany knows he has seen before, maybe in the heat of battle—or in another lifetime. Italy was always chomping at the bit—not out of maliciousness or because he disagreed with Germany's agenda. Oh, no. Italy has stood up because he cares too much for the pleasures of life, of living day to day to the fullest.

Carpe diem, Italy remarks offhandedly.

Bullshit, Germany scoffs.

Japan, as always stands abreast them. Neither on one side nor the other.

"We have to—"

"You are tired. Your people are in the midst of a trying time." In a show of uncharacteristic behavior, the Italian steps forward in away that Germany can only discern as stern. "Rest."

And when Germany hears that command in that tone of voice from that particular Nation, he retaliates. His brother has taught him time and time again to be strong, to crush any and all opposition. The world will be yours when you show that you are worthy of it, he had said.

Worthy, Germany thinks as he reels his hand back for a disciplinary slap. This useless Nation is not.

He is beneath me.

Not worthy.

Battle ready and irritated, the German aims...but it is the Italian who attacks.

The Italian (useless, whiny, weak) merely evades the blow and twirls behind Germany before striking him clean at the back of his head. Immediately, Germany greets the floor with a grunt. Disoriented and unable to move, he can only listen to the sound of military dress shoes near his head.

(Later, Italy will tell him of the Silk Road, of the spices and the trades, and of meeting a much younger China who taught him pressure points and pretty smiles).

Germany expects a boot to the face. A mocking laugh. Derogatory slurs or whatnot.

What Germany gets is the feeling of his fellow Axis comrade sitting next to him, cross-legged and gazing down at him with a pitying expression. If Germany could see, he would have seen the eyes of the Venetian Empire, of Venice, of one of the successors of the Great Roman Empire. But Germany cannot see. He cannot see how the war is stretching their supplies too thin, of the shadows that line his face, of how the military boots don't glisten as they should.

But Germany can hear.

He can hear the sigh (of loneliness, sorrow, and of things best left forgotten). He can hear the rustle of Italy's constant fidgeting, of the palpable silence between them. And then, Italy speaks.

He speaks of times long past, in languages long forgotten. It's both a reprimand, a plea. A song, a command. Germany wants to shut him up. Germany wants to listen. In Italy's words he can hear and see empires crumbling, of Nations being born and dying in a day. He can hear plans of owning every single part of the world, can hear the death knell of all conquerors before him.

The experience is as chilling as it is humiliating.

Italy is old—older than what Germany has given him credit for. Old enough—older enough to have lived when the Great Roman Empire breathed his last. Old enough—older enough to have been the Venetian Empire, master of the Silk Road and of the trade. Italy is old—older than Germany and he knows how all wars end.

And that is how Japan finds them: Italy cross-legged and flat on the floor.

With a whoop of delight, Italy begs the Asian Nation for a mug of steaming coffee or perhaps a glass of wine. Japan obliges (cup of tea in hand), Italy is satiated (cup of coffee newly finished), and Germany allows a stroll outside.

As he walks ahead of the foreigners, he can hear them trade tales of ages gone by too quickly. Their eyes are nostalgic, they're quite calm and well-mannered.

(Germany finds himself straining not to march with precision with his boots).

Behind him, they speak.

And for the first time that morning (and after all those meetings) he listens.