A Little Drop Of Healing: Bloodied Hands

"I don't understand . . ."

It was the third time he'd said it in the last few minutes. His blue eyes were narrowed in confusion beneath his glasses, and an unsteady hand made it's way slowly through the edges of his dirty-blond hair. The first time, he hadn't really been paying attention, which wasn't that surprising. The second time, he listened, but it didn't make sense. And this time, he just couldn't comprehend it. Couldn't wrap his mind around the idea.

"Alfred!" his boss exclaimed in exasperation, "How much clearer can I make it? If you don't do as I ask- We. Will. Lose. This. War." Each word was emphasized with a sharp rap on the desk.

Lose. That was a word that hit him, and hit him hard. He didn't want to lose, he hated the very thought. He hadn't lost to England. He hadn't lost the war within himself. Not exactly. And he hadn't lost to Germany in the first great war. He couldn't lose, wouldn't lose.

And yet . . .

What his boss was saying . . . He hadn't thought bringing those scientists back from Germany, that it would come to this. Never this. "Is . . . Is this really the only way? I mean . . . to . . . Kiku? Of all people? Wouldn't using it on Germany be-"

"It wouldn't," Truman muttered quietly. "We haven't gotten all of our men out of there, and the Jews . . . It wouldn't pick and choose it's victims, Alfred." He raised a hand before the blond could speak, silencing him with a simple wave. "And did you consider the fact that France and England are practically right next door? Francis has already been injured, and Arthur's practically on his knees from this war. All those bombings. . . It's too powerful, too unstable to use in a nation nearly surrounded by other nations."

America's eyes widened. If he used it on Germany . . . Arthur could . . . No, no matter how much he said he hated him, he didn't want that. Arthur, no matter their rivalries in the past, had raised him, carried him when he was tired, held his hand when he was scared. He wouldn't risk it. And Francis . . . Well, they made a good tag-team when it came to torturing Arthur, so he didn't mind his lecherous company that much. No, somehow, it came down to the fact that Kiku was the only choice. If they were to win, then it had to be done.

Slowly, he held out his hand, closing his eyes as Truman placed the gun against his palm. "There are two shots in here, make sure you don't miss. And it isn't necessary to kill him either. Just shoot the places I told you to, nothing more." The instructions were simple.

And yet . . . Why was his hand shaking so bad as he closed it around the gun? Why couldn't he swallow the lump of fear in his throat? It was wrong, everything in his mind screamed at him that this was wrong. America didn't fight like this, this was German tactics, this was-

"I'm sure I don't need to remind you of that scar down on your hip, do I Alfred?" Truman hissed, noticing the look on his country's face.

Alfred's hand automatically flew down to his right hip, touching the still healing scar hidden beneath his pilot jacket. It stung, and it still burned when he touched it. Burned with the bullet that had hit it, the fire of the pain that had brought him into this war in the first place. No he hadn't forgotten. And he never would. Not when it had been so uncalled for, so unprepared for. He had wanted nothing to do with this war, and on December 7th, Kiku had been the one to force him into it.

"No," he whispered finally, moving his hand away from the spot. "I don't need reminding of my own wounds. I'll do as you say."

"Good," his boss nodded towards the door, a cue for him to leave. "And Alfred, make sure you don't miss."

"Ludwig, Ludwig!" Italy called, pulling insistently on Germany's sleeve, "can't we all just go out to lunch today? It's such a nice day outside, right? And we can have pasta, and wurst and some of those yummy rice-things Kiku likes and-"

Germany covered his ally's mouth with his free hand, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Is food all you ever think about? We only just ate! And Kiku's a bit busy today as far as I know. At least, he's supposed to be busy. But since when did either of you listen to me?" "I'm listening to you right now Doitsu!" Italy chimed in, "so let's gooooo . . . Go and eat with Kiku . . ." he whined, pulling insistently at his friend's sleeve.

It was simple, it was easy, like pulling the trigger on a gun. Literally. Japan had looked so strangely surprised when Alfred had appeared in his living room. He shouldn't have been surprised at all, not after he himself had snuck up on America nearly four years ago. He'd turned around, startled, afraid as he realized what was in the gun Alfred held. The same weapon he'd seen them testing on those islands. And now it was pointed right at him.

And Alfred only thought of the scar as he squeezed the trigger the first time, and squeezed his eyes shut to match.

Kiku's white military uniform blossomed with a large crimson flower as he fell, the bullet hitting it's mark in his lower chest. But he said nothing, and made no sound. A samurai shouldn't show weakness, and should above all, never surrender. Crying out would be the same as a forfeit in this.

But Alfred made the mistake of opening his eyes, taking two steps back as he realized what he'd done. He'd never injured someone like this before. Not England, not Germany, not anyone. And now, Kiku was lying at his feet, his blood pooling out beneath him, and his dark eyes narrowed in pain and fury as he returned his gaze.

Two shots. No matter what, he was supposed to shoot twice. And he couldn't close his eyes as he raised the gun a second time, aiming for Kiku's stomach. Two shots. Two shots. It had to be two, that was the order. He must follow orders . . . Must . . .

Kiku screamed as the second burst hit him, unable to hold back the cry. It hurt, it hurt so bad. A thousand times worse than a normal bullet. And there was so much blood. He could see it on his chest, on his hands as he touched the wounds in his shock, and on the front of America's cloths, splattered across the front like dark paint. And the bleeding, it wouldn't stop. Why wouldn't it stop?

And Alfred stood there, staring down at what he'd done, backing slowly away, blinking fiercely as if with each blink, he could make the sight vanish. He dropped the gun, turning and racing out the door.

"Kiku! We've come for lunch!" Feliciano called cheerfully as he ran into the already open door. "We brought pas-" his words were cut short as Germany tugged him backwards.

"This door, you didn't open it did you," Ludwig hissed, his eyes narrowed as his mind whirled with reason's Japan's door would be wide open, pushing Italy behind him, sidestepping into the house. He could tell immediately that someone had been in here. There were scuff marks on the floor, made by shoes. You didn't wear shoes in Japan's house. And he could already taste that all too familiar tang in his mouth, long before he smelled it. The iron and the salt of blood.

Italy screamed as he saw the bloodstained room, pushing past Ludwig against the older man's protests. He pressed his hands against the wounds, sobbing and shaking his head back and forth. "No, no, no . . . Not you too. Don't die Kiku, we're family now, you can't die! I can't . . ."

Japan's eyes were glazed, and he wrapped his hands around Italy's as if to help him stop the flow of blood. "It was my fault . . ." he whispered. "I scarred him, it was revenge . . . My fault . . ."

Ludwig's eyes narrowed dangerously, "Alfred did this? Of all the Allied Powers, that hamburger eating nincompoop? I'll kill that fucker, I'll-"

"No . . . I'm done . . ." Nihon silenced him with a hard stare, "I'm done with this war, Ludwig. And if you know what's good for you, you will be too . . ."

Italy pushed a hand over Kiku's mouth, "No more talking! We have to get you some help, or you'll die Kiku!"

"I'm done . . . I'm done . . ." The dark haired man murmured beneath his friend's hand. "No more of this war . . ."


*Erhem* Marukaite chikyuu, ore America! = 3= I finally started it, after a mass wrap up of most of my other ongoing fics so I'd have time to work on this. Thank god I'm good at history tho . . . Gah. D: This is Axis Powers Hetalia after all. And I wanted to write about the one thing that bugs me in the series. The fact that besides the Revolutionary War, nothing serious is ever discussed. Most importantly, America's use of the Atomic bombs on Japan, which will be the focus of this fic.

Yes, Truman was the president that gave the order to drop the bombs during this time period. I used a gun, because Alfred obviously had to fire it. And a scar on his left hip for Pearl Harbor, though when thinking about America geo-graphically, it's probably be on his left foot. :P but if Texas is in his glasses, then Hawaii can be on his hip, so there.

I also used all the countries different names, unfortunately for u cofused fans. Lol. But here is a guide in case u were veeeerrrrryyy confused.

Italy- Feliciano (his human name)

Germany - Ludwig (his human name), Doitsu (Germany in Japanese)

Japan - Kiku (his human name), Nihon (Japan in Japanese)

America - Alfred (his human name)

England - Arthur (his human name)

France - Francis (his human name)

Sorries if u were confused, but this is how I've known them for the past few months, so I skip around on the names in my head. Gomen. And I think it sounds cooler too. *pouts* this, by the way, will be a Hetalia Yaoi fic, do not like, do not read. (M rated too if I can pull it off. :D)