A/N: Well, I decided it was time for a GerIta oneshot, so I whipped this up and decided to post it up! I hope you all enjoy it and no one is OOC... That would suck X(.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia because if I did, it would be a pure yaoi anime/manga XD.
I'm Always Here
"Bitte…!" she begged him. "Er ist nur ein Junge…! Töte mich statt! Lasst ihn gehen!"
He said nothing. He looked back at his boss, who was smiling wickedly at him. "Hurry and do it… This is what your nation wants – what you want."
He turned back to the screaming and squirming young boy in his hand. He was dirty, his face covered in dirt and mud. His ragged clothes were covered in mud and grass stains from the times he had fallen. He was too thin; his arm was easily breakable and his face was starved. The boy kicked at him, desperate to set his arm free and run to the arms of his equally filthy mother. He looked at them. There was nothing wrong with them. They were German citizens; they were just a woman and her child. Why was hunting them down like savages? Even he didn't understand it. However, he was implored to follow his boss's orders. He couldn't not do it; this was he had to do. This is what his boss wanted.
Even if he didn't want it.
He looked back at his boss, who gave him a look of irritation. "Hurry up. Just do it, for Christ's sake."His jaw tightened and once again, his eyes fixed on the little Jewish boy. He shoved him to his mother, who held onto him tightly. Then he pointed his gun straight at them. The boy began to cry and the moth glared fearfully at him.
Just as he pulled back on the trigger, the woman said in a croaky and hoarse voice, "Sie würde nicht mal der Teufel wollen."
Germany closed his eyes and his finger barely touched the trigger. He took a small breath and then looked back at her. "Ich weiß."
Then as soon as his sentence was finished, two gunshots could be heard across the field and more blood had been spilt.
Germany eyes popped open and he stared wide-eyed at the ceiling above him. He was still for a moment, trying to regain his senses. Finally, he exhaled and realized he only had a dream.
It was more like a nightmare, but maybe even more so a painful memory. How he had ever gotten such a horrible man as a boss was something he didn't want to understand. He could only be glad that part of his life was over. He had a new boss and everything was in the past.
A past that would come back to haunt him every now and now, more than sixty years later, just that one memory seemed to reoccur the most. Though the entire time period was hell, the way that woman spoke beat down at him. The frightened but cold glare that could make a Titan quiver pierced into his soul. The quivering but harsh tone in her voice echoed through his mind, refusing to stay silent. He wanted to rebel against his superior, but he had to follow him. That was his duty as a nation – to follow his boss's orders. Hitler's orders were to have the Jews murdered; Germany had to follow.
He stared at his hands. They once had been stained with blood of the lives of many, whether they were Jewish or not. He had the blood of enemies, friends on his hands. He couldn't take it back either. He rested his face into his hand, gently rubbing his eyes.
"Ve…?" Germany heard from his left. He removed his hand from his face and turned to the source of the noise. He saw the smaller man with the peculiar curl in his hair stir a bit and slowly looked up at Germany. "Ludwig…? What's wrong?"
Germany sighed. "It's nothing… Go back to sleep Feliciano." Germany pulled the covers off of himself before slowly getting out of the bed.
However, he was stopped by a small, delicate hand that wrapped around his wrist. He looked back at Italy, who looked at him with his big, childish brown eyes. "Where're you going?"
Germany gently brushed his hand away. "I'm getting up."
"But it's two-thirty."
Germany glanced at the clock and realized Italy was right. He sighed and sat back up on the bed. "So it is…" he said quietly, more so to himself than to the smaller nation. He rested against the backboard and stared up at the ceiling.
Italy sat up, revealing that he was wearing clothes, but really only his underwear and an unbuttoned t-shirt. He bit hit bottom lip and whispered, "Ludwig's been acting strange."
"What do you mean?" the other nation asked, not looking at him.
Italy frowned a bit and crawled over to Germany, straddling his waist as he did so. Germany looked at him with wide eyes and a small blush on his cheeks. "Feliciano–"
"You've been acting weird, Ludwig," he said, resting his head against the other's shoulder. "You're quiet and you don't really yell anymore. You're always by yourself, too; you hardly want to spend time with me and our friends… I don't like it."
Germany said nothing as his little lover snuggled more into his shoulder. He clumsily wrapped his arms around him and caringly rubbed his back. Italy was a child at most times. He wanted love and attention from him almost anytime they would be together. He understood that the Italian just wanted to make sure that they were really together, but he could only do so much. Still, he found it cute that someone clung onto him like this. He just wished he didn't depend on him as much as Italy did.
"Sorry," he finally said. "I've just been doing some thinking."
Italy blinked and looked up at him. "About what?"
Again, he went silent. Italy began restless, but Germany paid no attention. He went back to his nightmare, or memory. He didn't want to worry his little Italian lover about it. It was his conscience he was wrestling with. Italy did not have to worry over anything that didn't involve him.
In the end though, the German made him worried anyway. "Please Ludwig… Tell me what's wrong!"
Germany shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it… It's nothing pleasant.""But Ludwig–"
He frowned. "Italy. Just drop it." He undid his arms and pushed Italy off of him. Then he got out of the bed and walked into the bathroom, frustrated with himself more than his little lover.
Italy bit his bottom lip. Germany hadn't called him by his nation's name since they had gotten together. He knew that whatever the taller was thinking about was really bugging him. He didn't want to bother Germany, but he was merely concerned. The other nation knew he could confide to Italy whenever he wanted; he would try to console to the best of his capabilities. Italy knew he wasn't useful on the battlefield, but he was useful to Germany when it came to his problems. He got up from the bed and walked to the bathroom. He slowly opened the door and peered inside. He saw Germany standing over the sink with his shirt off, gripping the countertop tightly. On his chest, there was the Swastika burned on his flesh – the permanent reminder on what harm his former boss had caused his nation. Italy remembered the day Germany had been hurt. The nation had done it to himself. When the war had ended, he was scorned by the other nations, by their people, by his people and even by his own boss. He was the blame for what had happened, even though he didn't want any part of the bombing, the torturing, and the murdering. In almost a blind fit of despair, he took a burning candle and used the wax to make the Swastika sign on his chest. Prussia had to stop him, but his brother had already made the permanent mark on his body. Italy had come to visit him when he seemed to have finally calmed down. When he arrived though, all he could focus on was the small Swastika mark burned on the German's left pectoral, right over his heart. Germany said he couldn't remember what had happened; all he could remember was that everything was blurry and he wasn't focusing. Italy couldn't stop crying that time. He hated every war, but he hated this war the most because it made his German lover suffer so much. No one had ever wanted this war, but they couldn't defy their bosses. They had to fight. They were forced to suffer.
Italy didn't know that Germany was still hurting from this. He knew that a person could never forget something as terrible as that, but he didn't know. How much was this haunting Germany? How much was he silently hurting from his past? He slowly opened the door and it made a creaking sound. The German nation turned around and stared at his barely-clothed lover. He sighed and said, "You should go back to sleep."
The Italian walked over to the man and touched the burn. Germany flinched a bit, but the smaller man didn't pay much mind. Then, in a soft voice, he said, "Ludwig… Is it this that has bothering you so much…?" He looked up at him with big, sad, earnest eyes. "Is this why you can't sleep anymore? You can tell me anything Ludwig… I really love you, so I want to know what's bothering you." He rested against his chest. "What is it?"
Germany gave up. When Italy pleaded like this, he could only give in. It was hard for him not to. He sat on the toilet and rested his chin on his hands. He was quiet and still. Italy squirmed, waiting impatiently for him to speak. He then said, "Do you remember what my old boss made me do to the Jews?"
Italy nodded once, his squirms stopping.
"It's around that time… And I keep having a dream… about what he and I had done during that time." He waited for Italy to speak, but he never did. Germany continued. "But there was one time in particular… It wasn't in one of the camps either. We were chasing down this woman and her son… He wanted me to kill the boy." Germany looked down at his scar. Just thinking about what he had done to every single one of those innocent people made his scar feel like it was on fire. It hurt and tortured him whenever he thought about that time. It never went away.
Italy bit his bottom lip. He remembered the times when Germany was sent out to hunt down those innocent people. Germany never looked quite right when he came back from his forced hunts. Italy and Japan never asked. It wouldn't do any good.
"The mother… She kept begging me not to hurt him. She kept pleaded with me not to hurt him, to just kill her instead. I had done that so many times, but she had been the first to say 'kill me instead of him.' I was a bit shaken by it."
Italy came closer and sat on him, straddling his waist and wrapping his arms around his waist. It wasn't anything suggested. It was merely him trying to comfort his German lover. Germany hugged him back and rested his head on the Italian's shoulder. Then he continued."My boss just kept telling me to shoot him. I couldn't really focus. I only heard a mixture of sounds. My boss yelling at me, the woman begging with me, and the child screaming and crying because of me – it was a huge mixture of those three. Yet, I had to obey my boss. I let the child run to his mother and I was just going to shoot them together." Then Germany's voice dropped to a whisper. "She looked at me and glared. Then she… she told me that not even the devil would take me."
Italy hugged a bit tighter. "What happened after that?"
"I just told her I knew that already… Then I killed them both." He sighed. "I didn't know what to do at that time, Feliciano… I was just lost. For once, during that entire war, I just… I felt alone."
The bathroom filled with sobs. Italy had tears falling down his cheeks, crying for the man that didn't shed tears. Germany rubbed his hands up and down his back. It felt nice to have someone cry for him, trying to sympathize with him. Germany hugged the smaller nation tighter, holding him close to him and finding comfort in the other man's body.
Finally, Italy sobbed out in his nation's tongue, "Hai bisogno di dirmi queste cose, Ludwig ...! Non è possibile mantenere le cose come queste a te stesso ...! Io ti ascolta! Te lo prometto!"
Germany laughed dryly once. "I'm sorry... I'll tell you next time." He pulled back and stared at Italy's sobbing face. He gently wiped the tears away. "Es tut mir leid..."
Italy pressed his lips on the German's, who kissed back gently. Italy opened his mouth a bit, telling him to deep the kiss. Germany obliged and pushed in his tongue shyly. The kiss was slow, gentle; neither wanted to rush it. Their tongue gently intertwined and each tasted the inside of each other's mouths. They exchanged hot, damp breath and held each other close. Then Italy broke away and smiled. "The devil wouldn't take you, Ludwig" He hugged the German tightly. "You're too good to be with him." He kissed his temple. "And you're not alone. I'm here… I'll always be here, okay?"
Germany let a small, awkward smile escape him. "Thanks."
Italy smiled brightly. "Ve~! Io ti amo di più, Ludwig!"
Germany's cheeks reddened a bit and her nodded. "Ich liebe dich auch." Then, for once in his life, the scar on his chest didn't hurt him. It was just there, leaving the nation in peace, because he knew. He knew that Italy didn't care about what he had done. It wasn't his fault and Italy would never hate him for it. He would always be there. He would always love him.
A/N: YAY! Well, here are the translations... I'm pretty sure some things are wrong since I used Google Translator... sorry:
"Bitte…! Er ist nur ein Junge…! Töte mich statt! Lasst ihn gehen!" (Please...! He's just a boy...! Kill me instead! Let him go!)
"Sie würde nicht mal der Teufel wollen." (Not even the devil would want you.)
"Ich weiß." (I know.)
"Hai bisogno di dirmi queste cose, Ludwig ...! Non è possibile mantenere le cose come queste a te stesso ...! Io ti ascolta! Te lo prometto!" (You need to tell me these things, Ludwig...! You can't keep things like this to yourself…! I'll listen to you! I promise!)
"Es tut mir leid..." (I'm sorry)
"Ve~! Io ti amo di più, Ludwig!" (Ve~! I love you the most, Ludwig!)
"Ich liebe dich auch." (I love you too.)
Anyway, thanks for reading! Reviews are loved! :D