SOY: we're going back to the main storyline. Please enjoy the angst :)

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Rating: Rated M.

Chapter Warnings: mentions of WWII and such. Yeah. XD

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

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Growing to…

Chapter 03 – Soldier's soul

Germany reached Austria's house one hour later than planned (which made his eyebrow twitch in distress), as he'd needed some more time to organize through his thoughts; unfortunately, halfway through he'd developed a light headache.

It seemed that being around Italy proved to be far more difficult than he had anticipated it to be, and the piling stress was clearly bothering him.

Every time he looked at the other nation to yell at him or give him the daily training, he felt a confusing mix of feelings that left him dizzy –for someone like him, not used to that kind of emotions, it was utterly exhausting.

One of the strongest emotions was betrayal.

Maybe Italy hadn't been honest with him, not telling him about his feelings, but of course, Germany's rational mind could excuse him for that –feelings were something personal, and by the words the Italian had spoken when in presence of France, it was clear he felt ashamed of his feelings.

Of his lo–

But the betrayal he felt was more about how Italy had sought relief in France's arms –Germany had expected Italy to be more rigorous, and try to reign control of his bodily needs, not to run off to an enemy for… release.

The thought brought unwanted (yes, unwanted) mental images to Germany, and he shook his head again, trying not to think about them.

Yet, he couldn't confront the other about it –it would show Italy that Germany had followed him, making him a stalker of sorts…

It might give him ideas, and Germany didn't want that, either.

There was nothing there –his own feelings towards the Italian Nation were complicated, yes, but nowhere close to what… to what Italy had said back then.

And if… and if Germany found the Italian vaguely attracting, that meant nothing.

Something else Germany felt, and a much easier to understand emotion, was anger.

Because Italy was compromising the war by having an affair with an enemy, but even more –much to the blond man's shock– because of what Italy had said about himself.

Yes, maybe Feliciano was weak, and wimpy, and failed at anything remotely useful for war, cried far too often, failed at everything, but… Ludwig considered him his first friend, the closest thing to a family he ever had –all things considered, Gilbert as an older brother was more scary than anything else…

He was important to Ludwig first and foremost.

Besides, maybe war wasn't Italy's best point, but he was the one who knew all the routes, the shortcuts, the hiding places, the one who planned the ambushes, who knew the territories far too well, no matter how far from his home, who knew how to work with what they had.

His cooking lifted up the moral of the troops, too, and he also cheered them up with his jokes and clumsiness and instinctive friendly attitude.

Maybe he always ran away, and was a no–good person, but there were new sides of him that Germany kept discovering, and that made him think that… that… maybe it wasn't important if Italy didn't know how to fight.

He was useful in his own, strange, apparently useless way.

So why had Italy decided to keep away and hide instead of just talk to Germany? They were friends, it surely meant something… right?

'It could be because of… that time' rationalising again, Germany was good at that.

Valentine's day had been particularly vexing on his mind; the Italian had not responded well to Germany's attempts at wooing him, and it was clear that he'd pitied the German man back then… so what did change since that day? why did Italy lo… why did Italy's feelings morph into something so dangerous now?

Had Feliciano lied back then? Or maybe, he had noticed how Ludwig's feelings for him were not honest, and had reacted accordingly, retreating and refusing to acknowledge them.

If that was true, then, was it better to forget what he'd seen? Because as sure as hell Ludwig had no intentions to change his own feelings towards the Italian just because of…

Another feeling was… happiness.

Happy because Italy was not planning to betray him. Happy because his words of lo… his words of care towards Germany were real, not fake. Because Italy truly cared for him, and even if that care had overflowed into something more daring and maybe a little bit scary, Germany appreciated it.

And then, there was desire.

Desire to hold Italy in his arms –heart thumping wildly, images slithering through his mind, of doing to Italy the same things France had done, but then it would be his own hands on that body, and it would be him–

Why?

Feliciano wasn't by far the most attractive person ever. He was slightly feminine, and air–headed, and…

He wasn't a good soldier, he was jumpy and scared and silly, always smiling and doing stupid things, and bouncing and demanding hugs, and trying to run from responsibilities…

Why could that guy push him so far from how he should be? How could someone like Feliciano slide through all the carefully built walls of Ludwig's self control and reach so deeply into his heart and mind?

Proud and determinate, Germany had always fleshed himself to be a perfect soldier for his nation, for his people –pleasing his bosses, following all the orders… this was what he'd been created to be.

Did he really want Feliciano like that? Was it physical desire? Ludwig was familiar with that kind of need, as he'd his own (albeit incomplete) experiences… but… he could go without having them.

Yet this desire, this need to hold Feliciano, Italy, in his arms, kiss him, ravish that body, own it completely…

It didn't want to disappear.

Why was the desire presenting itself so desperately, so strongly, so hard to deny? Why now? What had broken down the walls of his self–control?

Was this simply Germany's mind trying to delude itself? To convince him that some feelings existed whereas there were none? He'd made himself sure of similar feelings at Valentine's day and had been wrong back then, so it meant he could be wrong again.

He could be thinking too much into things –maybe he'd only conditioned himself to feeling this need, this desire, this–

"I entered the war only to be at Ludwig's side".

It couldn't be possible. Italy surely had his own reasons for entering the war, for siding with Germany… his boss had wanted this, probably–

He'd seen a new side of Italy this time, and the image wouldn't leave him alone. He had to do something about it, but he refused to think about the implications. About what exactly his own feelings were. This wasn't something deep. He couldn't think so.

Wouldn't.

It went against everything he believed in, everything he stood for.

And yet, he needed some advice. Again. Roderich had helped him previously, so he would know what to do now… would he? The best course of action, so that he could go back and look at Feliciano in the eyes without blushing and wanting to…

Wanting to do more than allow Italy to hug him. Wanting to do more than just watch and endure Italy's endearing actions.

Make Italy unable to go to someone else.

No, he needed help. So that he could go back to being hugged without his insides twisting painfully, without his arms itching to wrap around Italy's shoulders.

So that there wouldn't be that strange fluttering in his stomach and he wouldn't want to actually hug Italy too. Or kiss him, or tell him–

Germany stopped, rubbing his forehead. His headache was growing stronger, making it hard to concentrate on… anything, really; little white spots dancing through his open eyes, and a strange desire to hum songs he never remembered having ever listened to.

Italy was making him forget there were other things, and more important than he was…

He had to stop this, and return to how he'd been before. Return his concentration on training his troops, on…

Go back to how it was before.

Straightening his back and passing his fingers through his hair, Ludwig knocked at the door of Roderich's house, trying to look normal.

For a moment, there was no reply, then the door opened to reveal a serious Austria; eyes widening at the sight of whom he had in front of him, the Austrian let out a polite cough. He definitely wasn't expecting Germany, of all people, to pop up at his house, especially after a month or so of absence and no calls nor visits.

"Ludwig" he stated, unsure of what to say.

Germany… wasn't looking fine, at all. It was clear war was taking a toll on him, physically and surely mentally… Austria knew how that felt. He looked pale, and tired, and his clothes were not in the usual pristine condition he kept them all the time.

Was had no respect nor mercy for anyone.

"Roderich… I think I need… help" Germany murmured, unsure of his words and on how to approach the subject.

Austria blinked in surprise. Well, that was unexpected.

But not unwelcome.

"So, it came down to this, huh" Roderich's hands tightened on the door's length, knuckles turning white. "I was wondering… since things kept spiralling downwards without you trying to do something… if you… I'm glad".

Ludwig stilled. What was the Austrian talking about? He was sure things with Feliciano wouldn't be this obvious to other nations, and yet here he was, with Roderich acting as if he knew…

"I thought you would just force yourself to bear the situation" Austria sighed, brushing his hair away from his face and motioning for Germany to enter. The German did so, frowning lightly, and following the older nation to the sitting room. "You see, I've always thought you would be conflicted about things, since you were brought up as a soldier, and thus would be unwilling to question your bosses about the current situation, but I'm glad you decided to talk this out with me…"

And he was glad. Roderich felt his insides twist painfully. It could be a sign. Things could still change. He felt guilty because that person controlling Germany had been one of his children once.

Maybe Germany was going to stand up and ask for help, and they could still change the course of actions. They were maybe still in time to correct those mistakes, and–

Austria turned around, a pleased and relieved smile on his lips, but stopped once he noticed Germany standing still behind him, face carefully blank, void of emotions.

"Ludwig… wasn't this what you wanted to talk about with me?" Roderich hesitantly reached out with one hand to touch the other nation's shoulder. "The state of the war? Of how it's crumbling around us… what your boss is doing, how he's only ruining what Gilbert helped build, your nation, your people hurting…?"

"Crumbling" Germany's voice was low and cold, and Roderich's hand froze in midair, quickly twitching away from him.

"Ludw…"

Deep blue eyes, furious and swirling with anger met his own.

"How can you question my boss like this?" the anger surging in Ludwig's body took over his previously confused thoughts.

No one could question the power, the authority, like this. They were just soldiers. Austria was under Germany's control, after all, they couldn't question his boss' way to conduct the war. The headache grew stronger and he took a step forwards, frown deepening.

His body was aching. He'd been hiding it, minimizing the situation, and he knew better than others that it was just temporary.

He couldn't question his own boss, because he was a soldier. He had to obey and keep his head lowered, because his boss, despite not offering explanations or news the more months rolled by, was still fighting for his nation.

Germany believed this –or at least he forced himself to believe this.

Despite the headache. Despite the pain that curled inside him every day. Despite the lack of information and orders other than 'keep training'. Despite his boss keeping him in his house, not wanting him at councils and meetings.

Despite those darkened eyes, unreadable, despite the smirk and the regulations that had far too little offered and far too much to be explained.

He would never question his boss… because then… because then the whole meaning of his upbringing would crumble. He couldn't believe otherwise.

Be proud.

Stand tall and strong and protect and serve your commander.

Fight for him and do not hesitate, do not think, do not ask yourself questions, only move in synch and accept, because it's a two–way protection.

Unity and Justice and Freedom.

If his own people couldn't fight for him, for Germany, for their nation… then… then…

His Führer knew what he was doing, and if he didn't tell his own Nation about it… it didn't matter. He wouldn't question it.

Never.

He was a soldier. Germany was a soldier. He couldn't allow himself to doubt.

"Ludwig! Listen to me…" Austria felt sudden fear pool inside his stomach. Germany's eyes were dark and deep and the emotions swirling inside them were overwhelming. There was anger, but there was also a barely restrained uncertainty, and fear… they were burning with it all, hidden under his rules and laws and need to believe in something.

This side of Ludwig… it was raw and clawing at his insides, fighting its way out, roaring –slashing at him with strength and fear, and denial.

In that moment, Roderich realised that whilst Germany had already been in wars before, they were recent. And Ludwig was, technically speaking, young. He was dealing with something sudden and unwanted, but albeit young, he was shaped with no other notion than that of the strict way of the soldier.

And a soldier couldn't waver.

Austria just knew in that moment, the truth that he had desperately tried to refuse –that Germany couldn't save himself. That he would close his eyes and follow his orders even if those orders brought him to his death. To crumble and die.

The truth hit Roderich like a sharpened blade, slicing through his thoughts and making him stumble backwards.

It was slaughter until no one would stand up anymore. Until the Führer controlled the whole world, and the whole world would be naught but ruins. No one safe, no one alive, the power centralised to a single person. Escalating to hell.

The only way out… the only way out was to oppose.

All of this was the flash of a single instant, whilst staring Germany in the eyes, and Austria felt terribly empty.

"Please, stop denying yourself the truth! Certain times… humans cannot think of what's best for their nation… they only think about power… we've seen that already, right? Check the reports! He's hiding it, but we know better! Check them, Ludwig!"

Composure gone, urgency lacing his words, Austria tried to move forwards, grabbing at Germany's arm, trying to make him see–

"Nein! You're spouting nonsense!"

His hand was slapped away –blue eyes looking down at him in almost disgust.

"Ludwig! It's still not too late! It can't be too late! You can still fight it!"

Ludwig turned around without a word, and left Roderich's house, slamming the front door with all of his strength.

Austria fell on the nearest chair, face ashen white and trembling hands, twitching in distress.

No music would ever be able to unveil the helplessness he felt as he watched Germany leave. Sometimes… sometimes he felt far too human.

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SOY: I'm sorry if this chapter was shorter than usual, but I couldn't add anything to it, even in the edit there was just a bunch of words added to it… still, if you ended up liking it, that'll be enough. Thank you, everyone!