Untitled GerIta fic part 2
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It had been eight and a half months since Italy first met Germany. In that time, Italy had picked up enough of the German language to understand the most basic of conversations. It was enough to get the gist of the gossip around the German base from where he crouched below the bars: The war was almost over.
Italy grew panicked at the news. The next time Germany opened the door, the younger Nation found himself with an armful of teary Italy, babbling worriedly. Italy didn’t know how it happened, but that afternoon was spent sitting on the floor, tracing Germany’s many wounds with careful hands and trying to act like he wasn’t breaking apart over every single one. He bandaged up what he could while chattering on about something unrelated, keeping his smile even and his hands as steady as possible.
Germany took it all with his usual stoic demeanour, but Italy imagined that somewhere deep inside Germany liked having someone who worried about him like that.
Sometimes Germany would be gone for days and come back with more and deeper wounds. Italy wouldn’t eat or sleep while waiting, keeping vigil silently and solemnly. France’s voice would ring in his ears - “He’s gone.” And Italy would shiver, pull a blanket up to his ears, and hold back the tears threatening to spill.
Germany needed someone to come back to each time. Someone untouched by the violence and bloodshed of war. Italy couldn’t be very many things, but he could be this person for Germany. Even if it was mostly a mask, Italy would put his all into making that mask as real as it could be.
He stuffed the memories of Holy Rome into the corners of his mind. He tried to forget the years spent waiting for Holy Rome, and the years spend mourning Holy Rome, and the years at Ivan’s hands. He tried to forget all of the things that he knew that Germany would never understand about him, special skills that meant Italy was competent in a way that Germany’s Italy could not be. And it became easier and easier to smile.
Then the date came around.
August 6th.
Early morning dawned. Italy watched the moon fall in the sky, and sat on the cold hard floor as the flashbacks poured in. Everything rushed back in a wave of pain and loneliness once again. Italy couldn’t smile. And Germany was off fighting yet another battle and wouldn’t be back for days.
Italy had to get out of there.
Picking the lock took a manner of seconds. Sneaking out without being seen was simple. Soon Italy was rushing westward with the swiftness of a Nation.
It took no time at all to reach his destination. Austria was already there, Hungary by his side. Prussia looked as if he had just stepped off the battlefield, covered in blood spatters and grime.
They greeted Italy with silence and solemn nods.
Italy cleared his throat. “You know,” he said hoarsely, “you don’t have to keep coming every year.” He was sure that they kept coming to keep him company.
Austria narrowed his eyes. “He meant a lot to all of us, Italy. We want to remember him, and remember all the things we learned from knowing him.”
Prussia nodded distantly, just staring at the grave at their feet. He drew Italy into a hug that lasted a few hours as they all sat in silence. Finally Hungary nudged a picnic basket with her toe. “You know, I was kind of hoping that someone would eat this.” She hinted.
There were many things different about this particular August 6th. For one, tears weren’t streaming down Italy’s cheeks. For another, Italy was a little bit hungry.
After the meal, Austria was the first to pipe up. “Italy,” he began, “the world has noticed your absence. I don’t want to intrude, but Hungary was becoming a little bit worried for your safety.”
Hungary glared lightly at Austria.
Austria continued. “And whatever you’ve been doing has obviously had an effect on you. Hungary just wants to make sure you’re all right.”
Hungary rolled her eyes at Austria.
Italy looked off into the distance and tried to figure out how to explain things. At midnight he would leave the burial ground and head back to Germany. He would lock himself back up again and go back to playing that exhausting game of pretend.
But more than anything, he did not want to be saved.
The Italian idly drew circles in the dirt as he considered what to say. Finally, he replied, “I’m someplace where I think I can... Austria, I think I can be happy.”
The group was silent for the rest of the evening. They knew better than to push.
Hours passed. Bells in the city nearby sounded out the midnight toll. Then Italy leaned over and kissed the simple gravestone, worn from centuries of the same. Prussia, on the other side, copied the motion and pressed his lips to his little brother’s headstone. Straightening up, the Italian grabbed Prussia’s hand and led him away from the gravesite.
One last hug before everyone parted, and then Italy was on his own once again.
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Trudging back to Germany took a lot longer because Italy was quite tired and exhausted. He had not slept in more than twenty-four hours and it was finally starting to wear on him.
He arrived back at the base just in time - as soon as the door closed and locked behind him, Italy could hear the camp erupting in hurried whispers. Germany was returning from battle.
He had lost. Again.
Italy pressed his achy forehead against the cool wooden door and sighed.
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As much as they try to make me forget, I can’t forget!
It takes far less time this time to learn to speak, to talk, to walk. But there’s one major difference.
Ivan broke me.
No one dares to say it, but I can see it in their eyes in the few moments I’m lucid enough to respond to the outside world.
Fratello is worried. He never worries out loud for anyone else, but he worries out loud for me.
I want to tell him I’m alright, but that needs a smile to go with it.
I’ve forgotten how to smile.
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As usual, Italy couldn’t keep his eyes open for the full thirty-six hours he wanted. And as usual, nightmares caught him in the dead of night.
It figured that Germany would check up on him at just the wrong moment. Germany always checked up on him after the blond Nation returned from battle.
Italy woke up with someone gently shaking him awake, large hands on his shoulders. His throat was sore from the strain of screaming.
“Shh, shh,” someone soothed. A scream died in Italy’s throat as he looked up into blue eyes. The same blue eyes that had closed for the last time just a few seconds ago in his nightmares!
He flung his arms around Germany’s shoulders and pressed his nose into the crook of Germany’s neck, desperately breathing in the scent of the person he had come to live for. Never mind that he was naked, never mind that Germany was still covered in sticky blood and smelled of shotgun smoke.
Neither Nation moved for a few moments. Italy barely registered that he was soaking Germany’s coat in his tears. He felt and heard Germany’s breathing and felt better.
Germany pulled away first. “What was that about, Italy?” He asked softly.
Italy tried to speak but choked instead. He struggled to get himself under control and then responded, “It’s nothing. I have a few nightmares, nothing more. It comes with living lotsa years, you know?” Then he smiled shakily, panicking internally at the thought of Germany finally discovering the brokenness inside Italy.
Germany’s eyes didn’t move from Italy’s. “Ah.” Italy couldn’t tell what Germany was thinking. He never could. It never scared him like it did right then.
Italy wiped away his tears and tried to cheer up. After all, this was a good situation. He’d never had Germany to ease him out of the nightmares before. And perhaps he’d get off with his excuse -
“Do your nightmares have anything to do with these?” - or not.
“Ve~?”
Germany held a hand over Italy’s shoulder and gently tugged at Italy’s neckline. Italy was unsure when Germany had seen his bare shoulder, but at least was thankful that was all Germany had seen.
Very few things can permanently scar a nation. Ivan knew practically every single one.
Germany gently ran a palm over the marred skin on Italy’s bare shoulder. It appeared red and raw, but had stopped hurting long ago. Now there was only a tingling sensation that Italy attributed to the fact that it was Germany touching him.
Italy pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling. His mask barely slipped at all as he gave Germany a smile. “Probably. But I don’t talk about that time, when there are so many other things to talk about, like pasta and naps and cute ladies~!”
Germany frowned. “Hmm.”
Italy would have given anything to be in Germany’s head at that moment. But he wasn’t, and he had to settle for watching Germany pull away. A flash of concern in Germany’s blue eyes was the last thing Italy saw before the younger Nation walked out of the room without so much as a farewell.
Italy sighed when he realized that Germany had been limping.
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Germany opened the door to Italy’s prison one rainy autumn morning, and Italy nearly broke down when he took in the sight.
Germany looked desperate. He looked close to the edge of despair. He looked worn out to the point of exhaustion. His clothes were dishevelled and he swayed where he stood.
Italy rushed to him and held him close, providing the support Germany needed but would never ask for.
This time, Germany shrugged him away. “Go.”
What?
No.
Italy mentally prayed he had heard wrong. “Ve, Germany?”
Germany grabbed the back of Italy’s coat and pulled him across the threshold and out into the rain. “Go. Go back to Italy. It’s over.”
Italy closed his eyes. He tried to make his fingers work, tried to grab onto Germany’s sleeve, to say or do something...
Germany growled. “The war is over.” And Germany had obviously lost.
Italy closed his eyes.
Germany’s voice had faded to a mere whisper. “Go back to your brother, Italy.”
Wait. Brother?
Italy’s brother? Romano?
Italy’s heart dropped. “Wh-what did you just say, Germany?” He prayed that he had misheard. Germany didn’t know Romano, because Italy’s fratello wouldn’t have known about Germany and kept it from him. Of course not.
Germany looked down at Italy with red-rimmed and tired eyes. “Just go home.”
Italy wrapped his arms around Germany’s waist for a brief hug. Then he pulled away and reluctantly started trudging back home in the rain, sneaking glances back every time he took a step, begging Germany with his eyes to let him stay.
But he wouldn’t push things, because he didn’t want to be a burden. Would never be a burden.
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