Chapter 7: Italy fights?
Alfred was not the one cussing.
"Lovino, mi tomate, do you know where we are?" Antonio said, giving the land the were in a once-over before facing the Italian beside him.
The grass was just brushing up to the beach, so close that if you took one more step you would be on soft, white sand. It had just turned night, so the water was green-black and the stars were out sneaking out. Waves lapped gently and took more gray sand with them as they echoed against the coast.
Lovino did not answer. Instead, he crept around the bushes and shrubs on the other side of the grass and started climbing up a stone wall just behind. There was a long curving road just above them at the top of it, the shore ran alongside underneath it.
"Ve~ Lovino! Where are you going fratello?" Veneziano asked nervously and scurried to follow him. The whole place seemed strangely close and like home and not even a bit pleasant to him. Ludwig chased after the two Italians as they finished the climb.
"Now, Italy, I do not z'ink it is v'ise to v'ander off in who knows v'here…," he said, then made it up and over the wall himself, coming out on the road with the other nations close behind. They shortly joined them at the top, stopping to admire in horror.
It was clear now that it should have been possible to hear the distant bangs and steady whirring of treads from the shore, but the waves must have been too loud. Up close, you could hear the dull, melancholy mix of fireworks and footsteps running over gravel. There was a city before them; pitch black outlines in the dead of night. Smoke rose and sparks flung across red flashes through the sky in splatters behind them.
"Lovino," Antonio said again, more desperate and forceful. "Where are we?" his words were fast, and seemed more like Spanish because of the fact. He thought that must have been the reason Lovino wasn't answering. He started again, "Lovino-"
"Immature…" Yao mumbled, interrupting Antonio by saying, "He hears you, aru. Can you not guess what is happening here, Spain?" As if to assist his argument, another blast went off and the sky to their left lit like it had suddenly turned to morning. Matthew gasped, Ludwig not too far behind and grinding his teeth.
This kind of scenery was not new to any of them. They had stepped into a battlefield.
"Do not tell me z'is is." The German started, scornful and disbelieving. He did not intend to finish his sentence and had even grown angry. No time was left for the German to bombard the group with complaints or criticism, for without warning, Lovino's solitary figure took off, into the black outlines of crumbling buildings and the haze of smoke.
Only Matthew, Antonio, and Veneziano ran after him. Leaving behind a frenzied shout of, "What is going on!" A very good question indeed, one that implied a great many things.
What is going on with Lovino?
What are we going to do?
And most importantly,
What is going on here?
Lovino's chest felt like fire. His throat throbbed like a balloon does when you're pinching it and accidentally let only a bit of the air out. That's how breathing felt like. Labored and scorching and tight and like he was underneath that pitch-black water and would never make it out. He felt his feet moving distantly before his brain started before together words sensible.
Running through these buildings was worse than anything he could have imagined. Piles of gray rocks and white bodies were stacked on either side of the streets horrendously. To his left there was a smashed tank. It was missing part of the front and still warm.
The whole place was familiar. In the way that the place you broke your leg was. Only, it would be if that broken leg made you taste copper and not only see just blurs but feel like a blur. Numb because everything going through your mind just equates to pain and whiteness and static. Right now, his mind felt just that way.
Even so, if you were to see how Lovino ran, you could see he still had enough clarity to have a specific destination in mind.
There was a twist up a hill -
- and more dark red, black in the dark, pools.
A veer to the right past a chipped corner shop -
- as well as bullet shells and broken glass.
Finally, his feet stopped pounding, his heart, unfortunately not even attempting to try to do so. He had reached the end of the road. There was a church ahead. Half of it was gone and you could see the inside of the intricate dome on the top. A broken statue of Jesus on the cross lay with the other half of the dome and debris below. In the midst of it all was a single silhouette.
Before him was a scene that still played in his mind at every mention of the asse or guerra or Ortona.
Just at that moment, a bullet swiped through a window in the dark, and into the arms of a mother and her child.
The first time Lovino had to witness this, he was leagues more composed. This time, there was little shock and physical pain to tell him less what was before him and more of what that numbness felt like. His knees buckled. They landed hard into the stone, along with the woman's body. She was still cradling her baby.
Behind him, the trio that had barely managed to keep track of him, stood heaving just as they came around the corner.
Back with the rest of the nations, Berwald frowned. He was gazing at the sky, the stars, the residue haze from explosions, and saw the plane.
"Gr'm'n b'm'r's," he stated simply, stoically. Ivan nodded and looked into the city landscape, as if held the answers to where they were or about Lovino.
"Little Stalingrad," he whispered, to no one but himself.
"Lovi! What are you-a doing? We have to run. Dai!" Lovino ignored his brother, silently debating whether to question why or how Veneziano had the courage to follow him into something like a battlefield or still stay there weeping. Antonio was walking towards him. Matthew's head spun viciously in circles, tracing invisible patterns between and buildings and wincing. He was first to notice the bodies and the fresh inky pools surrounding them. Even in the dead of night, you could tell his face turned paler.
The circles he was making with his head turned to a sudden jerking side to side motion. He soon grew frantic and pivoted away without anyone knowing he was there, leaving behind only an inaudible, "I'm so sorry."
Veneziano had timidly accompanied Antonio at his brother's side. They had moved him out of the open, where the four bodies were out in the open and backed up against three closed sides, and inside a broken building (though, really, what building wasn't broken?). They kept shaking him and shaking him. Grabbing his shoulders and yelling over the noise of tank and gun fire. Nearby, a bullet grazed a building and sent plaster into the road across from them.
"Ve~ why is this-a is so scary! Fine fratello! I'm going to go back to Ludwig! He always knows what to do when I'm in trouble." And Veneziano was just about to break off into one of his inhuman sprints when Lovino's head shot up faster than any kind of ammo. It was the pull of the trigger on a shotgun after a heavy reload.
"What do you mean you're going back to that bastard?" he growled. While there were no lights, you could tell his eyes with red and thin, puffy from crying and slitted from glaring. Just as alarmingly he stood up. "This purgatorio was because of that no good stronzo. He can just go back to playing with machine guns and potatoes for all the fucks I give! Stay away from that bastard!" His hands fell back to his sides from their previous enraged positions.
Italy stopped and stared. "What are you saying? He has been nothing but good to us. Especially that time when I was captured. Whenever I've been in trouble I could always count on him to help! He gave me good food and pretty girls and-"
"The whole fucking world knows that!" Lovino interjected. "That alone you can't do anything without him! And to top it off, you think of nothing but to keep dragging your ass along with his messes because he helps you! Do you think I ever wanted this inferno outside." He was standing by the doorway, pointing through it, completely black against the light from outside; unreadable. Every now and then there was a booming or a glint of something moving and sharp.
Tears gathered in Veneziano's eyes, "I just wanted to help him! He's done so much of me and… when the war came I thought it could be my chance. To help him and us. I even tried to train soldiers and design cars and everything!" shifting from foot to foot, he didn't make any motion or sound to imply Lovino was right. Antonio looked on confused and not picking up on the unsaid topic of discussion.
"But you didn't think for one shitty minute how it would affect us! Me. Always dragging me below you. In this war, in the economy, even with Grandpa Rome!"
"I did it so that Germany wouldn't end up like Rome." Veneziano said delicately in defense.
For a long time, no one moved. Like they thought the war happening right outside would end if they all just kept breathing. A strained intake broke the silence and their even breathing.
"Not only do I have a good for nothing fratello who acts like a loyal cane for a filthy German bastard, but I," his voice dropped soft. "I can't even save one lousy bella." Lovino was done now, tired of this despairing and frustrated feeling the memories this war, any war, his brother, brought him. He sighed and gave up. "I'm leaving," he said plainly, and left, without another word. The Spaniard watched him leave. He left Veneziano and Antonio sliding to the ground.
Was it the nightmare playing out in front of him? Or the words from his thoughtless brother? Loving didn't know why he snapped, but it felt good and fresh. Like slamming a door and hearing it jolt off the hinges and snap into place. As satisfying as falling into a cool lake on a hot day.
If anything, he knew he no longer felt like he couldn't breathe. He felt free.
Mi tomate (Spanish) - My tomato
Fratello (Italian) - Brother
Asse or guerra or Ortona (Italian) - Axis or war or Ortona
Ge'an bo'e's(Swedish accent) - German bombers
Dai (Italian) - Come on
Purgatorio (Italian) - Purgatory
Stronzo (Italian) - Asshole
Inferno (Italian) - Hell
Cane (Italian) - Mutt
Bella (Italian) - Girl
Sorry for the lame updating and boring fillers everybody, university has been pretty hard on my schedule
Anyway, this was the first little history reaction, featuring Romano's reaction to entering another world war, as requested
If you're curious, it takes place during the Battle of Ortona (WWII), in Southern Italy
Even though it was between the Germans and the Canadians, it was on Southern Italian soil many were killed and injured on all sides. Its nickname was "Little Stalingrad" and the Canadians ended up winning, leading the Allies to take over Southern Italy and more
