Warning : angst, implicit character death, OCs

Gunslinger Girl AU-ish. This is what I had in mind about what would happen if The Five Republics get what they want. It's a terrorist organization that aims for the liberation of North Italy from South Italy. They propose the idea of Italy as a federal nation, consisting of North Italy, Center of Italy, South of Italian Peninsula, Sicily, and Sardinia.

Disclaimer : Hetalia and Gunslinger Girl belongs to Hidekaz Harumiya and Aida Yu respectively.

47. Sicily

You see him in them.

Southern Peninsula, called Southern for short (Veneziano Italy threw a fit when they called him South, so they settled on the in-between), is too skinny. His skin is tanned like the others, but he has that air of a sickly person. He laughs and he smiles, but his eyes are tired, it hurts just to see him. It makes you sad everytime you do, but you can't stop, don't want to stop.

Sardinia is cheerful just like Veneziano (Italy, you have to remind yourself with an uncharacteristic bitterness), but is a tad bit more mature. His hair is a lighter shade of brown and his eyes have the faintest tint of green in them.

Center has bipolar disorder. He's happy it rivals Veneziano one second, and the next he is trying to murder someone. He's smart three days a week and clueless for the rest. He's a spitifre in the morning and gentle in the night. Split between two, his physics can't decide what kind of person he should be.

You see him everytime you look at them, but when you look at Sicily, it's him it tears your heart open and lets it bleed inside, silently, hidden behind a smile.

Sicily is just like his other brothers. He's tan, average in height, slender, and golden-eyed.

But if it hurts to see Southern, it's shattering to see him. Sicily not only has his eyes, but also his fire. His lips and his vocabulary, his delicate face and his scowl, his slender figure and all of his postures. He calls people names and spits curses out like breathing. He kicks Sardinia just to spite him and smacks Veneziano's head out of bad mood. He's softer to Southern when no one is looking, treats Seborga like a smug big brother, and is the first to run when Center's voice drops.

But sometimes he lets his brothers drag him into their random but merry acts. Some nights when the moon is shrouded by the clouds, he sits in the crevices of the town, smokes cigarettes, and talks with a hushed voice to people in black.

He smirks instead of smiles and scoffs instead of being polite. He never does well in hand-to-hand combat but excels in handling any kind of gun.

But he answers to the name Sicily. He doesn't smile to you like he did. He calls you Spain and not your human name. He glares and shoves you away when you try to get close. He smokes like it's his lifeline and the blood doesn't bother him in the slightest. He wears the smell of gunpowder like a crown.

And he does not – you

He does not.

And he never will be.