He was at his end: he couldn't fight much longer. Breathing raggedly, Germany threw himself behind the first shelter he could find, brushing a few strands of his hair out of his eyes impatiently, slamming a new magazine into his gun. The relentless sound of gunfire was music to his ears though, and despite his obvious exhaustion, he couldn't help the grin that spread across his face for a few fleeting heartbeats. The battlefield was his element; this was the fighting he could understand. The fighting he was familiar with and could win, unlike when he tried to fight emotionally. Having regained his breath, Germany quickly peered from the bunker, quickly emptying his magazine, the bitter smell of blood and death scenting the air while the screams of the wounded and the dying mingled with the sound of gunfire to create a melody for nightmares. Reloading, Germany slammed back against the unmovable wall: this was his last clip. His soldiers couldn't fight much longer. This was going to be his last stand in this fight, but for the first time, Germany wasn't bothered by the fact he was about to be defeated.
The fact he was about to lose only proved that what he had done last night had been the right thing to do, he had done the right thing making Italy run away. Now that he was no longer an ally, he wouldn't be dragged into this war! He wasn't in any sort of danger anymore! Nodding to himself, Germany dashed out from behind his bunker, firing off a few shots as he threw himself to the ground in a different location, panting. Those few irritating strands were back in his face, but for the moment Germany paid no attention to them. He didn't have much left; it was time to go out with a bang. Reaching down, the large man picked up a sleek black grenade, firmly grasping the pin.
"They're retreating!" A voice called out all of a sudden. Tired blue eyes widening, Germany flattened himself back against the bunker, certain of a sneak attack. All around him though, his troops were echoing those words. Putting the grenade back, Germany drew in a deep breath, and quickly peered over his bunker, eyes widening when he saw the retreating backs of his enemy. Their guns had been thrown down; in fact, they seemed to be terrified of something!
What the hell was going on? He had been about to surrender, they had had victory in their grasp, what were they running from? Gritting his teeth in confusion, Germany quickly ducked back down, vigilant gaze scanning for any sort of sniper: perhaps this was some sort of ruse? To get him to drop his guard so they could take him out like a coward? A careful scan revealed no snipers though, or any other sort of hidden attack. It seemed they really were retreating for some reason! Scowling now, Germany stood up, his troops gathering around him, ready for their next order (and looking as confused as he was).
"We have gained a great victory today," Germany said, looking at their sweaty, tired faces, "and now it is time to collect our fallen comrades and go home with pride on our shoulders and experience on our backs." Nodding his head, Germany snagged another magazine from one of the younger shoulders, before turning away from them, walking into the blood stained battleground. All around him, he could see men who had lost their lives, from his side as well as his opponent's. Looking at the field of death, he couldn't help but remember that everyone was the same in death: there was no right side or wrong side. What was he looking for out here? Why wasn't he happier he had won?
Because he shouldn't have won, Germany thought with a slight nod, wiping away blood he could feel on his cheek, though he only managed to smear it further. He had gone over the battle reports several times; there had been no way he could have won. In fact, some part of him had been counting on losing, that way he could have justified his words to Italy the night before. He would have had a legitimate reason for sending him away. Now that he had won, it was as if he had done nothing more than make a giant ass out of himself. Maybe an apology was in order…
Yes. That was what he would do. He would go clean up, put on some nice clothes and a tie, get some flowers and find that pasta loving idiot. He would apologize to him, and then suggest that they go out to get something to eat now. And then he would explain why he had said those things the previous night. They would be okay, and maybe he would stop having those nightmares. Smiling ever so faintly, brushing those pesky strands away again, Germany scanned the battlegrounds with eyes filled with hope: he could fix this!
Humming some old song, a frown suddenly took over the smile. There was another soldier out there it seemed, someone from the other side. No, wait, now there were two of them! Quickly flipping his gun off of safety, Germany hid behind a tree, pressing his back against it, working to silence his breathing.
"I want to thank you, Italy, for telling me all of this," the first voice said.
"Oh it is no problem! I don't mind at all and I was glad to be able to help you! I'm not very good at helping people…at least, that is what I've been told." An achingly familiar voice responded cheerily. Eyes widening, Germany peeked out from behind the tree, forcing his hands to stop shaking. The first speaker was obviously the general. The second was…the second was…
Italy. He had betrayed him. He was giving information to the enemy! Eyes widening in horror, Germany quickly returned to being pressed against the tree, biting back the choked sound that was fighting to escape him. He had trusted Italy! He had thought the other man was his friend! And this is what happened! The second things went downhill; Italy ran to someone else and spilled everything he knew! How dare that spineless coward do this?
Eyes flashing in anger, Germany held his position until he could no longer hear the crunch of boots stepping on grass, before he detached himself from the tree. "I trusted you, Italy," he growled, "and this is how you repay my years of saving your pathetic ass time and time again." His only audience was the bodies of the fallen, and they didn't answer him. For a moment, an almost eerie silence seemed to settle over the field, before Germany promptly turned and walked off, all romantic notions gone. He didn't care anymore; he had no reason to try to make up with the red-head. The other man had made his loyalty quite clear; he would accept it and move on. No matter how hard the Italian begged to come back.
He had been so stupid, thinking he could trust anyone with his heart. Hadn't Bruder told him more than once that love was for the weak? Why hadn't he listened to him? He had been right all along! There was no point for love; all it did was screw you over! The fact he had just won this war was lost upon Germany. All he could focus on was the fact Italy had been wearing the clothes of the other side, that he had been friendly with the general! That two faced double crossing…
Abruptly turning, Germany slammed his fist into the nearest tree, shoulders shaking, tears threatening to escape him once again. That damned Italian, making him cry again. He wasn't worth the tears. He wasn't worth it! Why couldn't his worthless heart accept that the red-head wasn't worth crying over? He found that he couldn't stop those tears though any more than he could stop the sun from shinning though, no matter what he told himself. Drawing in a shaky breath, Germany closed his eyes, lightly banging his head against the trunk of the tree.
Why had he allowed himself to become so attached to the other man? When had he given Italy this much power over his emotions? Had it been when he had first smiled at the Italian when he had thought nobody had been looking? Or maybe when he had been soothing the other man from some sort of completely unreasonable nightmare, feeling like a knight in shining armor when the other had fallen asleep in his arms? Somewhere along the lines it seemed he had given his heart to the other man.
And now he had just had it thrown back in his face. Slowly pushing himself off the tree, Germany quickly scrubbed the tears away, throwing his shoulders back, eyes hardening. It seemed he had won the war, but he had lost the person he had given his heart to. Was the battle really worth it? Some voice whispered in his mind, before he forcibly gagged it and threw it into the closet.
Drawing one more shaky breath, Germany set off toward home, not allowing himself to tremble. He had always operated best on his own anyway. Now he didn't have anyone to distract him from important paperwork. He could get more done. Yes, this would be a good change. He had been getting too close to Italy; he had been goofing off for far too long. Now he would finally be able to do something other than babysit.
Unlocking his door, Germany quickly stripped out of his torn and bloody clothes, stepping in to take a quick shower, scrubbing ruthlessly at his hair. After he finished his shower, he was going to get a beer (or two) and then he was going to finish his paperwork in peace. And after he finished his paperwork, he was going to sit down with a book, and actually read without having to worry about his kitchen catching on fire. It would be wonderful and he would enjoy it. Stepping back under the water, Germany rinsed the suds from his body and out of his hair, before stepping out of the shower, turning it off. Grabbing a towel, he wrapped it around his waist and stepped out of the bathroom. Getting his clothes on, a fit of rebellion coursed through the large man, resulting on him settling on a tank top and sweats instead of his usual crisp uniform.
Leaving his hair un-slicked for the moment, Germany was in the middle of walking to his fridge for that beer when he heard the knock on his door. For a fleeting moment, his heart thudded painfully in his chest, and a blind hope that it was Italy flashed in his mind before he could regain his reason. There was no reason for it to be Italy, and if it was, he wouldn't be forgiving him. So he needed to stop these thoughts right now.
Walking over to the door (and suddenly feeling very bad about his appearance), Germany opened it; eyes widening when he saw it actually was Italy standing on his doorstep. He slammed the door shut before the other man could even say hello.
He heard a surprised sound come from outside, before his door was knocked on again. "Germany~~! I don't care if you have your hair down! I think it is really cute, actually! You look adorable in what you're wearing, please let me in!" Italy sung, and Germany could hear the smile in his voice. Scowling, Germany opened the door once more, blue eyes cold as he glared at the Italian, refusing to let him into the house. "Vee, Germany, you're in the way!" Italy protested as he ran into the large man.
"Get off of my property, you traitor," Germany growled, not caring that technically Italy hadn't betrayed him in any manner. He was sick of thinking technically, and besides, he doubted Italy even knew the difference. "I saw you with the General today. You filthy Italian, running to the person who you thought would win. How dare you spill things I told you in confidence? I can't believe yo—"
"Germany! Wait! Let me explain, please!" Italy begged, tears jumping up into his eyes. "I didn't do anything Germany! I would never do anything like that to Germany! I…I love Germany! Please don't throw me out again!" The other man begged, before grasping the side of the door with a faint gasp.
Abruptly, Germany looked over the smaller man. All of a sudden, his eyes widened, fear jumping from their depths. "Italy…you're…" For a moment, he couldn't form the sentence: all he could do was stare.
"Italy, you're bleeding." Germany whispered, unable to rip his attention away from the rapidly growing red stain.