SOY: there it is, chapter two. I'm sorry for the lack of updates lately, I've been under exams… anyway, I'll be working more now! Hope you like this! ^^
This fanfic is dedicated to Nacchan. She's not into Hetalia anymore, but this is still for her, because she's one of my motivators, and I love her so.
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Rating: R.
Chapter Warnings: angst, brother face off, war.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
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Growing to…
Chapter 02 – Armistice of blood
Italy groaned in pain, feeling another headache bubbling to life.
He had been having bouts of headache and other physical aches in the last few months, usually without warnings, twinges that had nothing to do with Germany's intensive abuse of his curl (abuse that had somewhat ceased to exist in the last few weeks, strange as it was) or with his equally intensive training, and definitely it had nothing to do with the sessions of relieving tension he had with brother France –not that he'd had any chance to meet up with him lately, nor reason to, either.
The sudden headaches had been growing more insistent lately, so Italy had ended up taking an aspirin whenever he felt one approaching, and that also helped with the other aches.
Something was wrong, but Italy had been good at pretending the opposite; being at Germany's side, even if only to train… it was ok. Even if he hadn't had a chance to go back home in so long…
Of course, together with the growing pains, Italy now had another problem –Germany was avoiding him.
It wasn't just a lack of contact (which would be enough to make Italy unhappy, of course), but also a complete lack of reactions and all in all, Germany barely looked at him, ordering him around with that strange, chocked voice he'd come to be familiar with as of late.
It hurt –to be ignored like that, pushed away roughly, avoided and evaded, especially considering the feelings the Italian harboured towards his fellow Nation… but of course, Germany didn't know that.
It was better if he didn't know, though –Italy was sure about his own determination, but the German, so aloof and strong and matter–of–fact, had never showed any indication that he could be returning his feelings; not just that, but what he'd said to France in their last meeting had been true.
Italy did not deserve Germany's love –being an artist, refusing war and battle, he was the opposite of what the blond Nation needed. They could be friends, of course, but nothing more. It was bad enough that the German had to come and save his poor, pathetic ally whenever he fought…
No. Germany wouldn't need another problem, knowing of how Italy felt for him.
Or how Italy's body trembled with pain at night, and how only Germany's presence, strong and reassuring, was the only way he could relax and finally sleep, feeling protected by slipping into the other's bed to curl at his side.
Not to mention that, since Germany had been snappish lately, burying himself in documents and paperwork, maybe he was hurting and aching as well. The war wasn't easy on either of them, just like with Japan.
Still, as no detailed information regarding real battles had ever reached them (other than boring short messages about winning or losing), Italy wasn't sure about what was exactly happening, but he was positive they would get warned if things spun out of control.
Most of their days consisted of training the troops near Ludwig's house, and they had barely crossed borders (except for Feliciano's usual trips to Francis), and Italy had not seen his brother in at least a month, if not more.
With everything piling up, and the worry that nagged at Italy's brain despite how he pushed it away, he had no intentions to make things even more tense and talk honestly to Germany. If he kept his usual attitude, everything would remain the same, and he would be able to wait for a bit more.
Just a bit more –after the war, maybe, things would be different…
Massaging his forehead, Italy gulped down another aspirin with some water.
Germany had sent a letter to his boss, requesting detailed information about the latest battles and how the war was going –and if they still needed to train these young humans– but no reply had arrived, and the answers when Germany had called him on the phone had been both vague and hesitating, demanding both of them to stay put and not move from the house.
This meant Germany had turned even more standoffish, especially with his avoiding Italy as much as he could, and Italy was truly fed off with everything; stressed and fidgety, he truly wanted out.
He missed Romano; he even missed France (which was probably worse). And of course, he missed hugging Germany. He couldn't deal with this new side of him, and he truly didn't deserve the cold shoulder.
He might suck at war, but he was good at other things.
Was none of them enough of importance to Germany?
"Ve~"
Germany wasn't even there, so he couldn't try to get answers and demand the blond Nation to explain why he was keeping distances –he'd gone to Austria's house, claiming he needed to speak with his friend, and then he'd leave for the city, to talk with his boss.
It would take him at least a day or two, and Italy had been left behind to his boredom.
Feliciano felt cheated.
"I–if Ludwig doesn't want me, I'll go back to brother, then!"
Standing up and almost swaying because of a sudden pain flaring up in his knee, Italy mustered a determined expression. If Germany ignored him, he would ignore his orders and just go see his brother.
He knew Romano would throw up a fit and probably yell at him, insulting Germany, but this way, Italy felt a bit vindictive. And he missed his older brother a lot~
With strong determination backing him up, Feliciano left Ludwig's house (locking the door and leaving enough food for the blond man's dogs not to die) and moved towards Italian borders.
Vaguely unsure with each step he took away from the mansion, Italy avoided going close to the towns and cities on the way down, simply enjoying a slow pace through the forest. The satisfaction of knowing he was doing what Germany didn't want him to chased away all his guilt.
His happy smile vanished once he finally crossed his borders.
Sudden, instantaneous, the ache reached through his body, making him kneel over.
Everything looked worn down.
Staring around him in shock, Italy couldn't but stumble through the first few towns, eyes wide, feeling out with his inner senses, trying to understand the cause of his pain, unable to understand the full entity of what he was seeing; wherever he looked at, there was only devastation. The fields were burnt, drained or dry, dead –abandoned. The towns were either emptied of humans, or desolate, sad… the few remaining villagers hid away when they noticed his uniform.
What…
Some of his people yelled viciously at him –each spiteful word like a stab through his heart, words of hatred and disgust as painful as real wounds. Some tried to attack him, and he had to run away, tears making his eyes itch; some chased him down, proudly stating to be Partisans.
He could feel it –the hatred towards German soldiers running deep among them.
It hurt.
With every step deeper into his own territories, Feliciano felt his reassurance waver, until it disappeared completely; the pain and aches that had hit him before were now back with vengeance, throbbing through him with no release, no time to breathe–
The deeper he went, the deeper it hurt.
Was this… was this his Italy?
What was happening?
His people… why were they hurting? His civilians, not just his soldiers. Why were they crying? Why were they yelling with such hatred? Germany soldiers should be protecting them, right? Weren't they happy about that?
Shivers racking through his body, Italy closed his eyes. Germany was protecting his children, right? He had to –he had promised. German soldiers were surely fighting for Italy, right?
Where were the smiles that had surrounded him during the first months of the war? The smiles Feliciano had wanted to take care of, the smiles of his people that he wanted to protect, no matter if he was weak and stupid and slow, the smiles he cherished, the smiles that promised him a peaceful future…
His children. The reason he was fighting, despite his fear and hatred for the war, because he wanted to give them peace, and a future where they could be happy and free and…
Then why was it painful? Why were they crying, and hating him and yelling?
Italy had sided with Germany for selfish, personal purposes, whilst his boss had allied with Germany's because of political views, yet Italy had always believed in Germany –the stronger man would help him, protect his children, and shield them from war… because Germany was Germany, and Italy loved him, trusted him.
Why did the air smell of defeat, or tiredness, hatred, pain –loss?
When had things gone this wrong?
He'd trusted Germany.
All he'd owned, Italy had given it to Germany. His love, his everything. To make him proud. Both as Feliciano and as the Italian Nation, he'd given him everything he was.
Italy was weak, yes –war scared him, because he had never wanted to take part in one; war meant pain and death, and Italy's artistic mind couldn't understand what good there could be in that… but he'd joined Germany, trained even despite his lack of qualities that were valuable during a war…
He'd given his trust and heart to Germany.
Had it been a mistake?
Feliciano ran.
With pain rattling through his body, the northern part of Italy ran through the forests and towns, focused on reaching his boss' office as soon as possible; he would explain –he would tell him what was going on, because he couldn't understand… how to stop this, how to–
Abruptly, Italy stopped, tripping on his weak feet and almost collapsing on the road.
In front of him, right in the outskirts of his main city, a familiar figure was waiting, standing still and silent.
They were brothers –part of the same country. Of course, Romano had felt him coming. He'd been waiting for him…
Italy felt his heart stop.
Romano… his brother was naught but a bare resemblance to how he'd been before. Tired, worn out, so thin –he hadn't been eating well, pale, but the scowl still in place, eyes darkened up in pain… the same pain that was eating Italy's body from inside out.
"L–Lovino…?" his voice was so frail, so hesitant –Italy felt almost ashamed.
Romano's eyes narrowed in disgust. He was glaring at him, but with deeper emotions, darker, a different kind of anger. Of hatred. Not entirely directed at him, yet–
"Where have you been all this time?" Lovino was hissing, and somehow it was louder than what could have been if he'd yelled instead. "With our people hurting… aching for food, for help that wasn't there… with our cities being destroyed… crumbling… where were you?"
Disoriented, as if he'd been slapped, Italy tried to make his brain work. It was hard, with his body throbbing in pain. Thinking felt sluggish.
"Lovino… what… what's happening here?"
Under the glare of his brother, he felt suddenly nothing more than a little child; as if he'd been playing a game that had quickly turned too dangerous, too deep to be a game anymore.
Guilt spread quickly through him, just as painful as the throbbing ache.
Had he left his brother alone to deal with all of this pain…?
"Lovi, are you sick?"
Passing one hand through dirty, unruly hair, Romano took a shaky sigh. "Feliciano… you… have you… have you an idea of what's been happening here? Did you have time to ever look at yourself in a mirror?" his voice took a lower, darker tone. "You're no better than me. How come you… how could you not notice, damn it!"
Hands clenched into fists –anger resurfacing again.
Feliciano backed away, looking down at his own hands with wide eyes. No, of course not –he'd broken Ludwig's mirror months before… they hadn't needed another one. He was training with Ludwig all the time, and training the others, and worrying because the German Nation was avoiding him, and it was probably normal to lose a bit of weight, a bit of strength if you had constant headaches and sickness and–
"I… I was with…"
"Dannazione! Merda! You were with that bastard! He tricked you! So you wouldn't know, wouldn't realise! He's hurting us!" Romano stepped forwards, grabbing his brother by his shoulders and keeping him still. "You were blinded by your… care for the bastard and you cannot see the truth of his actions –he's hurting our people! He's hurting his own fucking people!"
Feliciano thrashed in Lovino's arms.
"No! È una bugia! Ludwig wouldn't purposefully hurt his people! This must be… must be…"
The pain took his breath away.
"Feli" Romano closed his eyes, pained. "You were not here. You didn't see war raging through Italy. You didn't see bombs fall in my poor Napoli. You didn't see the attacks on our Rome… you didn't see how your Venezia is doing… you did not see the results of a war where your Germany wasn't there to protect us!"
Freeing himself from the other's grip, Feliciano tried to back away again.
"B–but… we're training our soldiers! Germany's boss is–"
"Germany's boss doesn't care, damnit!" Lovino punched a nearby tree, hands shaking. "I've seen the refugees! I've seen people running away from there! They're running out of pain! Betrayal!"
"If… if it's true, then… I need… I need to go tell Ludwig! He surely doesn't know… he wouldn't allow us to… he'll fix everything!" Feliciano, eyes wide, pained and confused, tried once more to step away from his brother, but Lovino pressed his back against the tree, shaking his head. "No… I cannot allow you to go back there… Feliciano, it's the end. Mussolini has been deposed. We're signing an armistice with the Allied Powers".
Cold seeped through Italia's body at those words.
No.
No!
No!
"We can't!" franticly, Feliciano tried to get free from his brother's arms, but uselessly, as despite his thinness and weakness, Lovino was holding onto him with all of his energy. "He'll think I betrayed him! He will be left alone! I can't! I have to go back to Germany! I don't agree with the armistice!"
Romano gritted his teeth. He knew Italy well, not just because they were brothers, but because they were supposed to be one. And Italy would never turn his back on someone he cared so deeply for…
Someone whom he gave all his trust.
Tied by trust, but not just that. Tied by… by…
Eyes narrowed in anger, Romano steeled his resolve.
Why couldn't he understand that? He should take care of himself –of his own brother, damn it! Not about that bastard German! Why deny the truth so much? Why…
"Feli… look at me! Look at you! This is breaking us apart… we can't keep on fighting… and we were on the wrong side, too… it's been hurting us. Hurting our people! Our children, damnit! There's no money for food or repairs, soldiers are dying… didn't you hear the news? It's falling all around us as we speak! We can't be on that end! It'll be a massacre!"
Feliciano stilled. His hands started trembling, and under Lovino's grip, his whole body quickly turned into a shivering mass.
"… but… b–but I do love you too! And my people… we are not this poor… there should be reinforcements and everything we need! His boss promised… he–"
It was Romano's turn to freeze. Slowly, he took a long, shaky breath.
"Feli… is Ludwig's boss keeping you informed? He is telling you that we're losing… right?"
Italy felt strangely light headed. Losing? They were losing? Why didn't… why didn't the Führer tell him? Germany always stated how his boss was sure of their victory… even if he wasn't passing much info to them, he was still fighting for his nation. For Germany. So he would tell his Nation if they were…
"We… we can't be losing… it is not true…"
Lovino's grip on his shoulders relaxed slightly, as the two brothers looked into each other's eyes. Feliciano felt panic slowly build inside his chest, bubbling upwards. No.
"No…" he whispered, slipping on the ground, which smelled of gunpowder and blood.
"Feliciano, the Allied Powers were let in Italy's coasts. Mafia helped them come in".
Feliciano's nails clawed at the ground.
"We've lost two more important battles, too" Lovino continued, stating numbers on numbers of deaths and wounded soldiers with emotionless voice.
Feliciano chocked back a devastated yell.
"Germany's boss is sending thousand of people in concentration camps all over the country… they're dying here of starvation and cold and…"
"No!" Feliciano looked up, and his eyes were filled with tears and shock. "Germany's boss wouldn't hurt people like this! He's our ally! He…"
Lovino allowed his body to fall on the ground, and hugged his sobbing brother close. "Feli… I'm sorry… damnit, I'm sorry…"
This was his fucking brother. This was his cheerful, light hearted brother who was hurting, and he couldn't do anything because he was hurting too. Feliciano had been far too believing, far too trustful, but the fault wasn't completely his… They were weak and had been cheated, and nothing remained now. No one would trust them, and they were of no use.
They had signed something less than an armistice, something more than a surrender.
They had signed themselves as traitors, as betrayers –switching sides at what was clearly the end of the war –when the Allies would surely win… they had just tried to protect their people, but thus making themselves unworthy of trust.
Italy had taken a step that would probably bring forth more pain and more losses, and all in all, Romano knew this had been the only option so far. Mussolini had been wrong since the start. Germany's boss, too was wrong –but in the end, Lovino and Feliciano, South and North, had been of no use.
Things would only get worse for them, and even worse for Ludwig –for Germany.
"I have to tell Ludwig! He'll fix everything! He'll stop his boss!" Feliciano pulled out of Lovino's arms, but once again his brother grabbed him and held him close. "Let me go! he needs to know! I can't betray him, Lovino! He's my friend! He's my first friend! I'm his first–"
"Feliciano" Lovino's soft tone stopped him mid–rant. "His boss doesn't love his nation. His boss only loves power. He has to be stopped, but… Ludwig can't stop him. Don't you see? He kept you away from where you could know the truth. He kept information to himself. Germany has no power to stop him anymore –only the Allied Powers can do that, now".
"But what will Ludwig think! He'll think I betrayed him! I have to go!"
"I can't let you do this, Feli" Lovino growled. "I won't let them hurt you again. I don't…" 'I don't care if Ludwig will hate you forever. As long as you're safe. As long as i can still have you at my side'.
He didn't say that, though, despite it being true. Italy needed Germany's love. Or care. Or friendship –or forgiveness. But Romano had taken upon himself to sacrifice all of that for the same of remaining alive.
It took a simple punch to make his younger brother pass out –he was far weaker than he realised, especially now that all the pain of his territory and children rushed to him at once, and Lovino clutched at the fainted body, fighting back tears of rage.
Oh, how he hated to be this small and weak.
'That's the only way out…I'm sorry, Feli'.
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SOY: also edited, also longer.
Dannazione (Italian) – Damn it
Merda (Italian) – Shit
È una bugia! (Italian) – It's a lie!