It was a warm day, too warm in Germany's opinion. But here he was, on his way to Italy's traveling in the heat, in his usual uniform. It had been a while since he had seen the silly redhead and he was…not worried, per say, but curious none-the-less. He'd heard rumors of Civil Unrest and wanted to help his ally in any way possible.
It wasn't that far from Germany's border to Italy's house, but despite the hot, heavy, still air, he wanted to take his time to gather his thoughts on how to approach Italy about any problems he might have.
That figure in white flashes in his minds eye, climbing to the rooftop like a monkey, slipping only when called out to. He'd overlooked the beauty of the two kills in the immediate aftermath, but they now replayed in his head.
USSR's death was a complete surprise, the flash of metal glinting through the man's chest as the figure in white pulled it out, putting it away quick enough to be climbing the wall by the time Germany turned his head. There was no sound in that kill, one moment he'd been talking with the man, the next USSR had been drawing his last breath as he sunk to the ground. The figure in white-the assassin hadn't so much as breathed-so much as rustled cloth-so much as scraped metal! The perfect kill, not noticed until it was far, far too late.
The second kill however, had been loud. This time he had seen the man in action. He jumped, not two meters in front of them, slamming the target down onto the ground. A flick of his wrist had the blade out and in the man's back before they could blink. Swift as ever, he was scrambling up the building using windowsills, shutters, random indents, ledges, anything he could get his hands on to get onto the roof and over. The assassin and his target had been silent; Italy, however, had screamed bloody murder moving quickly into hysterics. Germany had ushered him into a bar and made him drink wine until he calmed down.
That assassin had occupied his thoughts more and more recently, until the kills were etched into his memory, until he forced himself to relive every second at Italy's, examining every moment for that flash of white against the blue sky. Until he started seeing the shade where there were only clouds, in every shadowed corner, every crowded street.
Even now, when he should be thinking about how to help his ally, he found himself thinking about the assassin. That tanned skin, that red hair that so reminded him of Italy-who his thoughts should be focused on as his steps were growing closer and closer-but he was obsessed. Even now, he wonders if he'll see the white against the sky. Even now he wonders just what he'd do if he did see the man…the figure in white…the assassin.
Italy's reaction to the kill…almost seemed premature, as if Italy's screaming had been his first hint at the beautiful atrocity that had been committed, as if Italy had seen the assassin…and knew what was coming. But that wasn't possible; Italy was daft and pretty darn unobservant…right?
"Ah! Germany!" Italy calls out happily skipping up to his friend. "It's been too long! Have you been avoiding me?" He asks grinning up at the taller man.
"I thought you'd been avoiding me." Germany replies caught off guard.
"Aww! Germany missed me!" Italy crows. Germany takes a moment to examine the redhead, noticing his red eyes and the bags that sit under them.
"You look tired, Italy. Have you been sleeping?" At his comment, Italy slumps over, all cheer draining from him, and, if possible, he looks even more tired the Germany thought. "What's the matter?"
"Ah, nothing Germany…" He takes a deep breath straightening up with willpower alone. "I've just been busy is all...but it's finally lunchtime and I'm starved!" He says perking back up at the thought of pasta.
"Maybe you should get some rest instead…"
"But I haven't eaten since-well, that's not important! I…! Want PASTA!" He says, skipping off to his favorite restaurant.
Germany follows silently, eyes scanning the rooftops, drinking in every detail. Italy's ambling along in front of him and he can't help but study the graceful, light-footed gait his friend is using. It's stunning, all flow, no wasted movements, no tripping over the cobblestone. Even Germany himself scuffed his toe once or twice on uneven rock.
Italy glances back at him, catching his eye and it's like a switch has been flipped; suddenly he's face down, sprawled out on the street, and in his surprise, Germany can't stop from tripping over some flailing limb or other.
As they're separating themselves he notices the wry strength Italy has, and brief contact with his back confirms his muscles are defined. He wonders at this as Italy helps him up, apologizing profusely, promising lunch is on him.
Instead of watching out the window during lunch for his mystery assassin, he spends his time observing, really observing his long-time ally.
He's exhausted, that much is apparent. His face is slightly ashen; eyes moving at half-speed, circles under them nearly black. He's eating with a gusto that seems to take every ounce of strength he has left, as though it's been quite a long time since he'd eaten, to which he'd alluded earlier, but Germany had brushed that off as 'I haven't eaten since supper last night' which is a long time, but nothing they hadn't done before with minimal complaints.
Even now Italy's halfway humming, eyes bright…no they're glassy with fatigue, and the humming's a distraction from that thought. Germany wonders just what his friend is hiding from him. A cut on his cheek catches his attention. It's long and shallow, and too precise to be anything other than a cut from some sort of weapon and he doesn't know how he managed to miss it earlier.
"Italy…" He begins, concern tinting his voice. "Where'd you get that cut?"
"Hmm?" Italy questions looking up and absentmindedly running a hand along the scabbed line, "Oh. I must have gotten it earlier when I fell," He laughs. Germany's eyes narrow at the blatant lie. There's no way its stopped bleeding without a drop of blood to be seen, but Italy's almost done eating so he scoffs down the noodles on his plate and finishes up just as Italy gets back from paying the bill. It's only four but Germany thinks Italy needs to go to bed, and he tells him so.
"You should get some sleep." He says gruffly as they make their way to Italy's house.
"But there's so much to do! I couldn't leave Germany alone!" Italy whines fiddling with his hands.
"Don't worry. I'll entertain myself, and sleep tonight in your guest room."
"Are you sure Germany? I'm such a bad host!"
"You bought me lunch, and I'll dip into your wine cabinet, so no worries!"
"If you're sure…thank you Germany!"
"No problem, Italy…Sweet dreams."
"Good night then!" Italy says wandering into his room to get ready for bed.
Germany hears him shuffling around, changing into his pajamas probably, before he hears the bed groan and a long content sigh, then silence.
He explores the house for a while, laughing at the absurdity of the pro-Italy décor. By the time he becomes bored with his exploration, it's nearly half five and he feels it's time he break out the wine.
He sits on the couch in the living room, with a wine glass and the bottle Italy normally saves for his visits. It's a special brew, made particularly strong just for him. There's a big window directly in front of the couch that overlooks a decent portion of the city they're in. He amuses himself by looking for the figure in white, as though he's playing that Wallydo game England and America love so much, he giggles slightly at the thought. If only it were that easy.
-AC/HET-
Italy listens closely at the door. Germany's giggling indicates that he's drunk off his ass and so he doesn't feel nervous when he click his door locked and quietly opens the trap door in the floor to pull out his uniform. He changes silently, not a noise to be heard, discarding his PJs on the bed for when he returns. The window hinges have been oiled for this exact purpose so when he slides it open it doesn't even creak. He's out the window, on his horse, and down the pathway in a matter of seconds. He leaves his horse at the gate so he can continue into the city on foot.
-AC/HET-
His gaze focuses on movement and he can't believe what he's seeing! The figure in white, dashing from rooftop to rooftop, over chimneys, and clotheslines, jumping over the very streets themselves! He's on his feet before he knows what he's doing, tripping down the front steps and whistling for a horse. It quickly trots up to him and he ushers the creature into a fast gallop.
They're running downhill, towards the city, so he's rapidly losing any height advantage to finding the assassin. Luck for him, it seems the man is circling a particular building, and so that's where Germany will be headed.
The streets are silent; such a contrast from the day, there's only the occasional person drinking on their porch, or a guard keeping the peace. Even the pubs are strangely subdued…he leashes the horse at one of the pubs near his destination, before making his way up the street.
Compared to this street, the rest of the city was a riot. There isn't a whisper of air to signify something's here. Germany's boots clack against the stone and his clothes are rustling up a storm. There are two guards outside the building he's after, but a closer look reveals throwing knives in their throats, they're slumped against the wall, dead. He uses their inattention to slip into the front door unnoticed…he giggles at his joke. God he's drunk. Maybe this isn't such a good idea after all, but his feet ignore the thought, letting curiosity guide them.
He makes his way up the stairs, sure at least the target's bedchambers will be on the second floor. There's whispering at the end of the hall and he follows the sound.
"Please, please don't kill m-" There's a sudden silence and Germany's feet pick up speed. As his hand closes around the doorknob another whisper is heard.
"Anima eius et animae omnium fidelium defunctorum per Dei misericordiam requiescant in pace." Germany forces open the door and the assassin glances over quickly. His face is covered in shadows but that chin, those lips, the cheeks…and that cut! He's frozen in surprise as the assassin makes for the open window.
NO! He can't escape! He lunges forward, snagging the cape, keeping the man from leaving. It seems the assassin turns on instinct, wrist flicking out in slow motion.
Germany can see the blade…a hidden blade coming out of the wrist guard he wears, and he knows he's going to die like the others.
There's a strangled gasp, slick with surprise…slick like the blood pooling behind him, slick like his own blood will be in another second. But that's too long…the assassination is instant, he'd never see it coming, the man's too good to take much longer…but the pain never comes.
He opens his eyes-when did he close them?-to see the assassin's fist inches from his chest. The blade is gone, back in the decorative wrist guard. His own fist drops the cape, but neither man moves. He takes the moment to observe the man's outfit.
It's not pure white like he'd imagined. It actually has more gray in it than white, with plenty of red thrown in for contrast, there's a teardrop shape on the belt that holds the whole thing together. A few straps hold the cape and a bag onto his back. His eyes trail up from the crossed straps to the lapels…red, gold and white, with a second lapel that's pure white. They continue moving up until they get to that face they know so well.
"Italy." He says watching those eyes widen…no, they'd already been wide, full of shock and fear. His face seems stuck in surprise and Germany wonders what stunned him so.
Suddenly Italy's out the window and he's left in the room alone with a corpse…maybe he was the one frozen in shock.
-AC/HET-
Italy watches Germany make his way out of the house. There's only one way to fix this…
-AC/HET-
His eyes open and he groans at the light. His head's pounding and Italy's cheery demeanor isn't helping. The little Italian is drawing the curtains in the living room, letting the sunlight shine right in his face. The window just so happens to face the east.
"Wow Germany! I know you said you'd help yourself to my wine, but did you have to drink a whole bottle?" He asks shaking the empty bottle with a bemused smile.
"I…don't remember finishing the whole bottle…" He thinks aloud. Then he remembers, following the man in white, the death, Italy's face beneath the hood! His eyes widen, making his head pound worse. "You-" He's sprawled out on the couch, wine glass tipped over, a few drops staining the tabletop.
"Hmm? Wow you're really hung over, Germany. Did you black out or what? I'm sorry I'm such a bad host! Leaving you to drink alone! Driving you to the point of no return!" Italy cries melodramatically becoming chibi as tears roll down his face.
"I…don't think I did, but I don't remember much. I think I left at one point…to find that assassin." He mutters watching Italy's response.
"You shouldn't chase that man! He's dangerous!" He shudders. "That Assassino…"
"You know of him?" Germany questions squinting up at his ally.
"…He's been killing my nobles…" Italy admits softly. "He's the reason I'm not getting much sleep, my people are ready to revolt…"
"I saw him last night…"
"Really? I didn't hear you leave…you sure you weren't dreaming, Germany?"
"I thought he was you." He presses desperate, almost, for a reaction.
"Me," Italy laughs. "You're so silly! I couldn't possibly! I was here, asleep, all night! And I was with you when Mr. Rossi was killed. Can I be in two places at once?"
"I suppose not…but the fact that you're denying it logically makes me wonder…"
"And I'm just supposed to accept the fact that Germany thinks I'm a cold-blooded killer?" Italy whines wide eyes filling with tears.
"I'm sorry Italy…it's a silly thought. I must have dreamt it up…I'm afraid I'm becoming obsessed with this assassin of yours."
"Or the mystery he presents…" Italy muses, bring breakfast out, picking up the wine glass and wiping the table clean.
Later that day, Italy gets called away for a meeting with his government, leaving Germany in the house alone. At first he's bored and can't think of anything to do. Then his mind loops back to his Assassino…if it was Italy, he didn't leave his room before being on the rooftops. Germany's sure he would have noticed Italy wandering around the house before he snuck out. He can't control his curiosity, after nearly being killed last night he needs to know…or so he tells himself. He makes his way into Italy's room, looking for anything out of the ordinary. It's decorated in the tackiest Pro-Italy décor he'd ever seen. Everything is neat, for the most part. He paces over to the window pausing when the floor creaks strangely. He glances down, looking at the rug that lies in the middle of the room. Heart racing he lifts the rug aside, to see a square cut in the wood…a secret door. Germany opens it to see a chest with the teardrop shape he saw in his 'dream'…
He hears Italy whistling up the walk and quickly drops the wood down into place. He kicks the rug back over the trapdoor and rushes out of the room, to sit down on the couch putting on a bored look.
"Sorry about that, Germany!" Italy apologizes slumping on the couch next to him.
"What was it about?" He asks thoughts racing; surely Italy would know he was snooping.
"Another noble was killed last night…" Italy mumbles sadly. And suddenly it clicks. Italy doesn't want to be the assassin…
"Ah…I understand…" And Germany really does.
THE END
AN:/I hope this pleases everyone who reviewed/followed/favorited this story. It's much, much longer then the previous chapters (just over 6 pages in word! 5 front and back in my notebook!), Germany learns the truth (Thanks to Luna the Darkness Princess for the idea!) and everything is settled. I don't expect there to be another chapter…so it's officially complete. ((...Fun fact, according to FF spell check, dreamt and snuck aren't words. XD))
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