Hey guys hope you enjoy the first chapter! Just wanted you to know that I am not a native English speaker so if my grammar is kinda choppy and some commas are not placed correctly. I am sorry. I did my best. :) and I do not own The Hunger Games or Hetalia just the story.
Italy woke up, earlier than usual, sprawled across his unconscious best friend. Tired and sore from yesterday's training, he glanced over at the clock. The clock read 4:15; much too early, even for Germany, to be awake. Italy sighed and laid his head back onto Ludwig's chest, listening to his strong and rhythmic heartbeat. It soothed him and he might have fallen asleep if he weren't so restless.
After a few minutes Italy's eyes reopened and he turned his head back towards the clock, half expecting to see a new and more favorable time displayed on its shiny surface, praying that the time had flown by; but it hadn't; only five minutes had passed. He had about an hour until his day was supposed to begin, but Italy couldn't wait that long.
He slowly lifted himself off of the German trying not to wake him, but that morning he was dead to the world; the only sign of life being his healthy heartbeat and the slow and steady rise and fall of his chest. Italy studied his friend then; his sharp jaw line, perfect creamy colored skin, long blonde eyelashes, and his light blonde hair that reached just past his brown eyebrows, messy from a night of deep, undisturbed sleep. Italy was always surprised by how young Germany looked when his hair wasn't slicked back, and his seemingly permanent grimace was no longer plastered on his face, although they were both physically only 20 years old. Now his face looked peaceful, his lips slightly parted, and his eyes relaxed. Italy couldn't help but admire him.
Italy hopped quietly out of bed and started down the stairs, thinking about the world meeting they were supposed to attend that day. When he reached the kitchen he immediately started to boil water for pasta. He hummed his favorite song, and twirled his curl with his finger as he waited. Once the pasta was in the pot, he walked over to the living room and sat down on one of Germany's expensive reclining chairs, letting his body sink into the luxurious material.
He was about to check on the food when he heard a small gasping sound coming from the corner of the room, close to the hallway that led to more bedrooms. Italy stiffened at the sound, terrified that Germany wasn't there to check it out for him. Since Italy was already using the light from the kitchen to cook, he hadn't bothered to turn on the living room light. The corner of the room he was about to enter was dark and menacing, and he was terrified of whatever may be lurking in its depths. Shaking, he was about to call for Germany when he remembered how peaceful he looked in his slumber and decided to do it alone.
After composing himself he got up and every so slowly made his way towards the source of the noise. As he rounded the large sofa, his eyes focused on a large figure slumped in the corner. He squeaked and instantly ran behind the couch for safety although nothing pursued him. Chills ran up and down his spine as he tried to plan his next move. He turned his head and saw the light switch on the wall next to him. He was relieved. Everything seems less scary without the light on, he thought to himself. He quickly and silently flipped the light switch and made a second trip around the sofa, full of false bravery
As he made his way back he found a gruesome sight. It was not one figure but two; Austria lay unconscious against the wall and Prussia was sprawled facedown across his legs with his arms outstretched. Italy may have found this amusing on certain occasions; if they had gotten drunk and didn't make it to their assigned bedrooms, if they were playing a prank on someone, (anything really) but then Italy saw the blood. It was not a little blood, but enough to create a dark crimson pool around the nations.
Italy was frozen in place, staring in horror at the bloody heap; he prayed that it was a dream but just ended up standing there in shock. After a few moments in this incoherent state, he saw something move and realized that Prussia was still conscious; another gasp escaped his pale lips as he noticed Italy standing before him.
"I….Ita…" he breathed helplessly, grunting in pain at his wounds.
Italy quickly kneeled down and gently grasped the albino's face between his hands. He met Prussia's ruby gaze and, unable to say a word, just stuttered and gasped at the sight of the fallen knight. Tears spilled down his cheeks, and he began to sob at which point Prussia eyes grew wide and his right hand slowly moved towards Italy. He stuck out his index finger as if pointing at the young Italian, but Italy noticed that Prussia's eyes were focused on something behind him.
"Ita...ly…run." Was all Prussia could manage.
Italy turned around and found himself face to face with a gun.
Germany bolted up out of bed.
"Was!" he spat as he observed his surroundings. He was relieved when he met his own shockingly blue gaze from the mirror on the wall opposite of his bed. He had a long night with Prussia at the bar and pressed his hand against his forehead feeling the throbbing pain of his hangover. He looked down at himself and realized he was still dressed in his green cargo pants and combat boots. The rest of his uniform was lying next to him on the pillow where Italy should have been sleeping.
"Italy" he growled and looked at the clock. It read 4:33. He became enraged! He woke up at 5:30 every morning. No sooner, no later.
What could he possibly be doing at 4:30 in the morning anyway!He thought to himself before putting on his jacket, ready to put the pathetic country in a headlock. What kind of trouble is he getting himself into now? Before he could begin to zip up his coat and slick back his hair he heard it again.
"Germa—"this time his scream was cut off with a sharp gasp and Germany tensed. He knew what was happening, having been in this situation multiple times in the past and imagined America or Britain holding his Italian captive. Angered by the thought, he grabbed the gun from underneath his pillow and sprinted down the stairs.
"Italy!" Germany yelled as he made it down the stairs and into the kitchen. The pasta was bubbling over and he quickly turned the stove off before searching the room with his icy gaze. He saw nothing out of the ordinary and silently and stealthily made his way to the living room. He became worried. As much as Italy annoyed him, he truly cared for him. He couldn't bear to see him get hurt.
As he made his way around the living room something caught his eye. A small hand, dripping scarlet, hung out from behind the couch.
"Ger...man...y," came a weak gasp as the fingers twitched slightly.
"Italy!" Germany screamed as he sprinted over to aid Feliciano.
Germany felt a sharp stab of pain pierce his spine and he gasped, whirling around to meet the intruder. Before he could even make out the figure, he felt another wave of pain hit his stomach.
He reached down and felt his stomach, feeling something stuck in his skin; a dart maybe. However before he could pull it out, he heard the click of a trigger and sidestepped to the wall in order to avoid another hit. His hands came away covered with blood as he raised his weapon, making out a small figure backed in the darkest corner of the room. He pointed his gun in the direction of the assailant, but before he could pull his own trigger he was suddenly overcome by nausea. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground with a thud. He moaned with pain and thought of who could possibly be so powerful. No one in history had ever taken him down this easily, and for once in his life he was truly terrified that he wouldn't wake up. Pain radiated throughout his body and he clutched his stomach, hoping the pain would end. After a few minutes of torture, he slowly sunk into oblivion.
Hope you liked the first chapter ^^ Please review and let me know what you think!
Was(German) = What