A/N So, here's the third instilment for "A Moment of Peace"! Again, it was me and foREVerhaunting me~ Enjoy!
"Boys, I'm sending each of you to a different frontline, where our troops will lead an attack against French and the British." Italy stared at his boss in horror. Romano just 'humphed' and continued to glare into space.
"A-a-against Britain, sir?" Italy sleeked.
Mussolini smiled. "Yes. Romano, you will be heading to Nice and Veneziano, I'm sending you to Grenoble."
Italy bit his lip...oh God. "Will we be accompanied by the Germans?"
His boss shook his head. "No, it will be just us Italians." Romano 'humphed' beside him and Italy understood why. The word 'us' was funny, since he never actually fought in the battles...no...His people and representatives did.
As their boss bid them farewell, Romano stalked off to pack while Italy sighed and went to find Germany to tell him about his new assignment.
Germany, however, was not in his usual place. He was busy in Russia, making peace visits to ensure that the bigger nation would continue to stay out of the war. At the moment when Veneziano received news of his assault on Britain, Germany was busy having a lunch meeting with himself, Hitler, Stalin, and Russia himself. They discussed non-aggression rarely, instead turning to talk of western politics and sometimes movies. Overall, the lunch was going very well and Germany was feeling at ease with his war situation.
Having been told that his lover was in Russia, Italy began to panic and ran to Romano. "What should I do?"
His brother rolled his eyes. "What now?"
"Germany isn't here! I can't leave without telling him where I'm going!"
He sighed. "Maybe he doesn't want to know. Maybe that Potato-bastard left for Russia because he prefers Ivan's company to yours."
Italy bit his lip. "H-he wouldn't! He-he loves me!"
Romano rolled his eyes again. "I'm sure he does..." Seeing his little brother wasn't going to stop bugging him, he sighed. "Why not just write a letter and send it to him or something."
Italy's eyes lit up. "Vee~! Thanks fratello! That's a great idea." Italy left immediately and began writing a letter describing how scared he was and where in France he was going.
After he found a soldier who would make sure the German received the news, the Italian began packing and was ready to leave.
Upon returning home, Germany was confronted by a soldier. The soldier raised his right hand in the air with a cry of "Heil Hitler!"
"Heil Hitler," he returned, and the soldier relaxed. "What is your business with me, soldier?"
"Sir! I was told by Feliciano Vargas, representative of the country of Italy, to ensure that you received this letter." He held it out, and Germany took it.
"I see. Thank you," he dismissed. The soldier saluted him once more, and Germany recognized Italy's handwriting on the front of the letter. It was a rare occurrence for the boy to send him a letter, so he opened it immediately. It was dated for a few days ago, while he had been in Russia. The letter read:
Dear Doitsu,
I was really hoping you would be here to see me off, but you're not. I hope your enjoying you time with Russia. Please don't bring him home! He scares me. Oh, the reason I wanted to see you is that my boss has decided that Fratello and I are going to be leading troops into France. I'm scared! Britain isn't supposed to be there, but I've got this really bad feeling! Neither is France, but if he is, I could never hurt France nii-chan! I don't want to get hurt, but I can't hurt them...
I also have that weird feeling again. Like when I had that scary dream...which I had another one last night! I was waving my flag when it started dripping blood! I was so scared! And now I'm being sent to...some place in France. Romano is in Nice and I'm going to...Grenoble...I think. I really don't want to go and I really wanted to see you before I left. Romano says it's because you don't love me, but I told him he's wrong.
Well, I have to go. When I come back we can have pasta together. (Please leave Ivan in Russia) Ti Amo!
Love, Feliciano
Germany read the letter numbly, reading it over and over to try to grasp the contents. The Fuhrer sensed something was wrong, and placed his hands on Ludwig's shoulder. "Is something wrong?" he asked, being uncharacteristically kind. Germany handed him the letter, which his Fuhrer read. He didn't comment on the "ti amo", but a look of concern clouded his face. "Nein, nein," Hitler murmured, "Mussolini would not do this without consulting me first."
At Germany's silence, Hitler straightened. "Come. We are calling him immediately."
They made it back to the government building quickly, as the Fuhrer ordered the streets cleared for efficiency. Germany stayed outside for the phone call, but heard everything Hitler said. The breaking point for Germany was when Hitler yelled into the phone, "What do you mean, you sent them over? Don't you know how much of a hassle your troops are? They'll be slaughtered!" Then, Hitler cried, "YOUR REPRESENTATIVES WILL BE FIGHTING? ARE YOU MAD?"
Germany stormed in the room as Hitler hung up on Mussolini. "Go," Hitler commanded. "Try to salvage the situation. And try to save as many of the Italians as possible."
"Yes, mein fuhrer." Germany saluted him and rushed out, vowing to himself that he would be next to Italy in 24 hours or less.
His heart raced and he gasped for breath. It was mass chaos as the Italian troops ran in retreat with the two Allies armies still closing in. No matter how fast Italy ran, he couldn't get away from the carnage. All around him was death. The bright, scarlet stained his eyesight. Everything was covered in blood. He had already had fallen and ripped his right sleeve to the point where he had to rip the rest off because it kept getting caught in the trenches and getting in his way. He ran past dead Italian, French and British troops until he tripped, his legs no longer wishing to carry him. His right shoulder skidded across the uneven ground; blood immediately pooling from the torn skin. He cried in pain and stood up on shaky legs. He needed this to stop. Reaching for his white flag, he waved it as hard as his weakened state would allow. "White flag! White flag, see? I surrender! White flag! White fla-" His voice caught in his throat as his lungs began to fill with blood. The bullet had missed his heart as it tore through his body, but it had managed to puncture his lung. His eyes traveled down to his now blood soaked uniform before he gasped. He couldn't breathe. His eyes now traveled around the field for the shooter...and he found him standing 15 meters away. His acid green eyes...full of...shock? anger? confusion? Italy's legs gave out from underneath him and he fell; his head smashing into the stony ground. He tried to breathe, but only managed to gurgle the blood that was starting to trickle down his chin. He kept gasping for air that his tattered lung wouldn't take. His body shook from the pain and the blood loss. Footsteps were approaching him, but his vision was fading. The pain was too much and tears pooled from his eyes. He whimpered.
"Shit!" a British voice said next to him. more footsteps.
"Arthur! You shot him!" A French voice shouted.
"No shit!"
"Why? How could you-"
"I meant to kill him instantly! It missed!" Italy opened his eyes and stared at the two in shock. He couldn't say anything. All he could do was choke on his own blood.
"I should probably put him out of his misery." England stared down at the Italian and shrugged, lifting his gun to take aim.
"NO!" France grabbed the Englishman's arm. "Don't kill him!"
"Why the hell not? You know he's the enemy!"
"We can't!"
Shouts filled the battle field. A soldier near by ran up to the representatives. "Sirs! We need to leave! The Germans are coming!" Britain looked from the soldier and back to Italy before turning away, dragging France with him. Italy whimpered. They were going to leave him! They were going to let him suffer. A shudder passed through his body and he closed his eyes. He knew it was the end anyway. He swallowed, most of it being his own blood, and coughed. blood pooling from his open mouth. His last coherent thoughts were about how quiet the battlefield suddenly was. Did everyone leave? Was he alone? He didn't want to be alone. He wanted his Doitsu...he sniffled. He had never called him Ludwig. He wished he could call him that one time before the end...maybe after a short siesta...
Italy closed his eyes and knew no more.
"ITALY!" Germany screamed across the battlefield littered with Italian bodies. He turned to his soldiers, hysterical. "Find any survivors! Save as many as possible!" He then ran, searching each body for the one thing only Italy would have. And, although it seemed cruel, he was relieved whenever he approached a corpse and found that it was not Italy. He screamed, calling for Italy over and over again, but he never heard a reply. Whenever he happened across a living person, he would call for a medic to treat them.
Then, he turned to see a body. Its brunette hair was a mess, covering the boy's face. "Could it be...?" Germany then ran full force towards the boy.
Because that body had Italy's curl.
Italy had been trying to surrender, as proven by the white flag on the ground beside him. His right arm was rotated, suggesting dislocation or worse. The right sleeve of his uniform was gone, revealing a deep gash alongside his arm.
Germany knelt down beside Italy, taking the boy into his arms. He shook Italy gently.
"Italy! I'm here! Germany came to save you!" He cried, but Italy did not open his eyes. Germany's heart dropped when he realized that Italy wasn't breathing. He pressed two fingers into the side of Italy's neck. No pulse.
"N-nein..." he murmured, feeling his sanity plunge over the edge. he turned to the soldiers searching for survivors. "Medic! I need a medic now!" He then turned back to Italy, who's face was still in death. No, he's not dead! He can still make it! Germany brushed the hair out of Italy's face, then gently kissed the boy's forehead. "Feliciano... please, Gott, don't let me be too late!" He embraced Italy's body, and began to cry. "Hang in there, Feliciano! Don't give up on me!" Even as Italy hung limp in his arms, Germany pleaded Italy to stay with him, to please not die. The medic came, and assured Germany that since Feliciano wasn't human, he had a chance at survival. Even if he had no pulse. He watched Italy be taken away in the back of a flatbed, along with a handful of other survivors. It began to rain, and Germany's hair fell in his face as the rain became heavier.
Please, Feliciano... make it back to me alive...
Beep...beep...beep...beep...beep...the sound was oddly repetitive. Why was there beeping again? Something seemed off about it. Wasn't he on the battlefield? Or did he dream that? The more he thought about it, the more confused he became. Where was he? What happened? Where was Ludwig? Ludwig...the thought of his German lover made feel better, but only a little. His thoughts traveled to the different parts of his body. His right arm felt heavy, like something was encasing it. His lungs felt sore and his chest also had wrapping around it. But what made him smile was the warmth in his right hand. His eyes cracked open to reveal another hand intertwined with his. following the hand up, he saw none other then his love fast asleep in the chair beside him.
Germany woke to find Italy's eyes open, and jumped awake. "Italy! Thank Gott you're awake! When I found you, you weren't breathing... The doctors weren't sure if you would make it... Hitler is currently on the phone with your boss; he wasn't very happy about the invasion. And your brother never saw battle, so he and Spain are outside waiting for you to wake up." Germany knew he was babbling, but didn't care.
"Feliciano..." he hugged his lover gently, reminding himself that the boy had broken his arm and that his lungs were still weak. "I'm just so glad you're alive, Liebling..."
Italy tried to return the hug, but couldn't and whimpered. He settled for rubbing his face into the German's shoulder, taking in his sent of leather, cologne, and earth. He felt comforted, but still confused. Pulling his head back and cocking his head to the side he asked "What happened?"
"Your boss sent you to Grenoble to fight the British and French..." Germany caressed his lover's cheek. "We would never have allowed it. I came as quickly as I could. Someone shot you in the lung; you barely made it out alive." After a pause, Germany asked. "Feliciano... do you know who shot you? Did you see who did it?"
Italy blinked. He'd been shot? So...the battle had been real? "Um..." He swallowed and closed his eyes. Everything came rushing back into his conscious mind at once. It overwhelmed him, causing him to gasp. Mussolini sending him on the 'mission', the letter he wrote Germany, his dream, running, running, blood everywhere, being shot...by..."Oh Dios!" he cried and buried his head into Ludwig's shoulder.
Germany just held his lover closely. "It's alright. We don't have to talk about it. Just get better. That's your first priority." He kissed Italy's forehead, then rested his cheek on the top of Italy's head.
"H-he told me he wouldn't be there..." he whispered into the German's shoulder.
"Who? Who wouldn't be there?" Germany asked, concerned.
"R-Romano s-said the chances of seeing them there were se-second to none...but he was there...they both were...and he...he..."Italy shuddered at the memory of those acid green eyes pointing the barrel at his face, aiming for the kill...
"He? Who? Who was there?" When Germany had arrived at the battlefield, he had seen British and French soldiers alike. Who had been there that Italy's boss didn't account for?
"B-bri-" His voice caught in his throat. He was trembling and tears were streaking down his cheeks. Romano had told him that the chances of either Britain or France being at this particular battle were slim. Yes, the nations fought, but there were way too many battles for them to participate in all of them. Mussolini and Romano told him that Britain would probably be at a different battle front...they had been wrong and his instincts had been right...
Germany's blood ran cold. "Italy... was Britain there?" Italy whimpered, but said nothing. "Italy... was he there?" Slowly, Italy nodded into his lover's arm.
Germany swallowed back the bile forming in his throat. "I see." He felt the fury rising in his stomach, making his teeth grind together. It took everything in his power to remain gentle with Italy, whose fragile body still lay in his arms. "Did Britain fight in the battle?"
Again, he nodded. His breath coming in short gasps as he tried get himself as close into the German as physically possibly without damaging himself further or pulling out the assortment of tubes connected to his left arm.
Germany breathed slowly to calm himself down, and noticed that Italy was desperately clinging to him. He felt Italy pull him closer, and obliged to the nation's wish. He brought their bodies together as much as possible without hurting the boy, burying his nose in his lover's hair.
"Ich liebe dich," he whispered.
"A-anch'io t-ti amo, Ludwig. So much..."
Germany pulled away enough to kiss his lover on the lips. Then he gave Italy a small smile. "Your brother is outside. Do you want me to let him in?"
"Si..."he replied quietly returning the smile. Ludwig stood up and walked towards the door. Italy took a deep breath to calm down and wiped his eyes, before placing the fake smile back on his face to greet his fratello.
Romano was tapping his foot loudly against the ground earning him harsh looks from the staff. He ignored them. They were German after all.
"Romano, calm down." He simply glared at the Spaniard and continued nervously tapping his foot. Not that he would ever admit out loud, but he was nervous for his fratello. He felt partially responsible since he told Feliciano that Britain wouldn't be there. Was he positive that the tea-bastard did this? Hell no! Was he suspecting him? Hell fucking yes! If it turned out to be true, the potato-bastard had better get out of his fucking way, because he was going to get revenge.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his fratello's door open and the potato-bastard emerge. "Finally! What the hell took you so fucking long? You know that you can't hog my fratello all to yourself! Even if he is still asleep! Damn, Potato-bastard.."
Spain placed his hand on Romano's shoulder. "Calm down, Lovi." Romano rolled his eyes and glared at Germany.
Germany gave Romano a weary look. "He's awake."
Romano jumped to his feet, leaving Spain behind as he stomped over to Germany. "Well damn! Couldn't you have specified that already! Get out of my way!" He yelled as he pushed past the German and straight into the room. Sitting in the bed, his fratello sat there smiling up at him. "Ciao, fratello~!" Romano rolled his eyes and walked over to him. "Damn, Feli, you look like shit." He said before giving him a hug, fighting to hold back his own tears. Nothing scared him more then when news came that his troops had been attacked and that Britain and France had been present while his army in Nice hadn't gotten shit.
Italy returned the hug as best as he could, trying to keep up the happy act. He didn't want anyone to see the distress he was in due to the horrible memories that kept circling his mind. "I'm happy to see you too, Lovi~!"
His brother rolled his eyes. "Dios, you scared that shit out of me. Don't ever do that to me again!" Italy blinked, as Romano kept the hug in place. this was new...had what happened really scared his brother that much?
Germany looked to Spain, who was neutral in the war, and was glad that he was carefree as ever. The news of Britain's presence scared him... Germany himself had trouble fighting Britain. "I'll be back. I have to make a call." He stepped outside the room, knowing Romano needed time alone with his brother.
He went to the nurse's desk and asked to make a phone call. She obliged, and soon Germany heard the familiar voice over the phone.
"Moshi moshi," Japan greeted.
"Italy was sent to battle. Britain was there. And I think Britain tried to kill Italy himself."
Japan was shocked into silence for a moment, then replied, "Let's not be hasty... Is Italy all right?"
"Ja," Germany answered, "but he barely survived it. My ballistics say that the bullet found in his lung was from a British gun. And when I mention Britain to Italy, he becomes jumpy and scared."
"...Isn't that his response to everything?"
"Yes, but that's not the point!"
Japan debated for a moment in his head. "I will be there soon. Where are you?"
Germany gave him the name and city of the hospital Italy was staying in, and then got off the phone with Japan, returning to Italy's room.
So, there you go! Hope you enjoyed it! Who knows where this story will take us next?
Love, Scarlet and REV.