hetalia oneshot || the sky's sudden promise;
it's cold & rainy here in NYC; in light of my failure to be correctly productive, please enjoy some Gertalia, on me XD
title: The Sky's Sudden Promise
pairing: Germany/Italy
rating: PG
summary: WWII; Germany, Italy, and a morning on dead land.
THE SKY'S SUDDEN PROMISE
Memory and heart dissipated into a fog, a haze that settled over the earth: the refuge of hollow cries still lingering in the day. The battle was ended, the night'd been pushed out- evicted from the world of silence. It seemed like it was almost over...
Not that Italy could tell either way; he knew something was sleeping, turning in the ground, and it ran shivers up his spine. But thankfully Germany always exempted him from clean-up duty. If it could even be called something as soft as that...summer was cool and still. He sang idly to himself, didn't think of much as he sat, legs dangling off the back of the truck.
There wasn't much to do. There weren't any girls to talk to in battles; if there were, they were working, loading upset bodies onto medicine wheels, looking forward and not wanting to be bothered. Nurses, etc. Italy wondered absently if all Germany people were like that, with eyes that wouldn't look at you if they were moving onwards.
He got a few glances from soldiers passing by- charcoal eyes, hardened lines carousel around the face- but he didn't notice the resentment in them, just waved with a bright "Ciao!"
And they didn't respond because Germany yelled at them across the grounds. "Move, hurry up!"- his voice as gray and windy as the light pursuing the dark sky. They did just that, muttering acidic words that were sure to be curses, words that twisted up like vines of smoke choking out of the throat.
Nobody seemed happy. That made Italy nervous. Then again, there wasn't much reason to be happy- he himself was fightin' off the feeling of a storm undone, nervous atoms gathering in his stomach. He felt to distract himself but didn't know how.
The sky was soupy, leaking its color out of smoke- conjured up out of low intentions, metal and combustion, and morning was coming on slow and an avalanche of powder. The sky, a picture you could see too much. Trees stood up for the earth. Where dirt was spent steamtracks led, bent grass and crushed branches. The daylight barley penetrating. Gray as hate, and just as hard to see through. Nothing promising, nothing growing. Like the heat of a dream spliced by a can opener- the dead world at dawn.
Very different from the sun burning at home-
"Here."
Italy looked up, from out of his cloudy thoughts. Germany was standing in front of him, officer's cap shading his eyes coolly, expression hard. He was holding out a thermos and a small tin of food...
"Hooray!" Italy let out lazily, taking his breakfast with a tearing alacrity.
"It's not much though," Germany replied, "So eat it slowly."
"What's this? Coffee?" Italy asked, ignoring Germany and looking underneath the thermos cap.
Germany paused hesitantly...bit his lip. "...No, it's- espresso," he answered, mentally wincing at himself for having honestly just said that. Espresso in the middle of a barren battlefield, of all things. When had his priorities gotten so strange?
"Espresso!?" Italy exclaimed, his face brightening, almost pure electric. "Germany, you're the greatest! Even though you look so annoyed all the time!" Without warning he jumped at Germany, throwing his arms around him happily. Germany managed to steady Italy just in time, holding him up with his hands at his waist (the close sparks of the touch lost on both of them, either for familiarity or absence).
"Jeez! You're going to spill it!" Germany snapped, tone chiding. "Stop it! And what does my looking annoyed have to do with anything!"
"Sorry Captain!" Italy chirped, cutting his hand up to salute Germany and in the process causing them both to lose their balance again.
"It doesn't matter- just sit down," Germany sighed, pushing Italy onto the back of the truck.
And Italy once again completely ignored Germany's irritated tone, instead opting to start on his breakfast. Germany leaned against the truck, mind filled with the sudden quiet as Italy ate, as his thoughts evaded him. A nurse and a doctor carried a last-minute solider outstretched on a cot; trying to beat time. Tow far-off officers were discussing something with the gray stern movements of a ticking clock (probably the situation with the French ambulance; the nightmare of neutrality defied). But those things were too close, too ragged, so he looked back at Italy instead. Seemed to be enjoying himself- scarfing down the soldier's slop like a hungry dog.
He chewed over a bite thoughtfully, then looked toward the field with a smile. "How are we doing, by the way, Captain?"
Germany paused- how were they doing? He wasn't sure himself. He shifted his weight hesitantly. "It seems we're fine," he said. "We're pushing into the center without much resistance...logistics are a problem. And our flanks are left open as we move further.
Italy hummed a note of either agreement or understanding; then he gave the field another quick glance. "It looks okay," he said- simplicity in his smile.
"...Yeah," Germany answered- with a pause, because that was exactly what was worrying him. It all looked okay; but under this sky, sucked dry of light and lucidity, anything could be a trick. Any slip of judgement could blindside you, and then it'd all fall apart.
Italy nodded to nothing, semi-resolutely; made on of his trademark hand gestures, sweeping like a birdsong, mysterious communications. "Well, I'm fine, and you're fine," he pointed out, happy illogic.
Germany paused, considered that point; the earth was still dark as glass, but suddenly seemed exact. "That's true," he answered, eyes leveled as Italy leaned against him.
-The land before them was still dark, but there were edges of pink seeping in through the clouds; soon, color like spots dusting fast though light. Sun pink, or bomb pink- radical heat and the call to order. The camp was packing up quick, getting ready for the same old explosion, but Germany didn't feel the need to say "let's go, move quick," because the repose and silence was collecting- seemed peaceful for once. Italy's weight pressing softly on him; though they'd destroyed the color yesterday, and though their machines were careless beasts, it wouldn't matter if they were both okay.
So the sun was rising hidden. "I can't wait to go back home," Italy sang, taking a slug of his espresso.
"Hm," Germany nodded; in his mind it was a promise- I'll get you there soon enough.
His rough leather gloves, his steel bargain; and Italy with sunny Venice burning in his smile- they had time now and they had something beyond this barren earth. So long as they were together, they'd have a purpose.
ROUND 2
"So this is what we'll need," Germany said, handing the logistics man a supplies list with a hard expression across his mouth, "Review it and see if it can be done."
The man took the list, sat back in his chair and skimmed it quickly; everything on the paper was written with exact handwriting. Lots of machine support, then moving on to medical supplies- and then...food.
Germany was an intimidating sort of guy, but only to a certain extent; and this was just too funny. A feeling a quiet dread slipped across Germany's mind as he saw the man's mouth upturn in a little smirk. "...Two cases of espresso," he started to read, "Three crates of pasta. And, hm, a gelato maker." He looked up to Germany. "For the tanks?"
Germany's eye twitched in irritation. "...For the tanks," he replied.
"And what's this- tomatoes?"
"Th-that'll be all for tonight," Germany answered, frowning and turning to go out of the tent, "J-just make sure that we get that."
"Will do, Captain!" the man replied with a broad grin and a salute.
Germany lifted the canvas flap and ducked out of there as quickly as he could, feeling the insinuating smile burning onto his back. He got the sneaking suspicion that his dignity had just slipped through his hands, and also the sneaking suspicion that it had slipped through his hands and become engulfed in a sea of pasta. He bit his lip. Of all the stupid things- lately, he didn't know what he was doing.
Notes;; Yes, Germany, you win and fail at the same time :D
Anyway, this is supposed to take place during the Battle of France. Also, I know that's probably not the way officers interact with logicians, and not the way that supplies are dealt with XD humor me, I just wanted to write it.
Also, I mentioned a situation with a French ambulance- during the invasion of France Rommel's division fired at some French trucks, thinking they were enemies, but they were transporting the wounded D: whoops.
Thanks for reading! :D
title: The Sky's Sudden Promise
pairing: Germany/Italy
rating: PG
summary: WWII; Germany, Italy, and a morning on dead land.
THE SKY'S SUDDEN PROMISE
Memory and heart dissipated into a fog, a haze that settled over the earth: the refuge of hollow cries still lingering in the day. The battle was ended, the night'd been pushed out- evicted from the world of silence. It seemed like it was almost over...
Not that Italy could tell either way; he knew something was sleeping, turning in the ground, and it ran shivers up his spine. But thankfully Germany always exempted him from clean-up duty. If it could even be called something as soft as that...summer was cool and still. He sang idly to himself, didn't think of much as he sat, legs dangling off the back of the truck.
There wasn't much to do. There weren't any girls to talk to in battles; if there were, they were working, loading upset bodies onto medicine wheels, looking forward and not wanting to be bothered. Nurses, etc. Italy wondered absently if all Germany people were like that, with eyes that wouldn't look at you if they were moving onwards.
He got a few glances from soldiers passing by- charcoal eyes, hardened lines carousel around the face- but he didn't notice the resentment in them, just waved with a bright "Ciao!"
And they didn't respond because Germany yelled at them across the grounds. "Move, hurry up!"- his voice as gray and windy as the light pursuing the dark sky. They did just that, muttering acidic words that were sure to be curses, words that twisted up like vines of smoke choking out of the throat.
Nobody seemed happy. That made Italy nervous. Then again, there wasn't much reason to be happy- he himself was fightin' off the feeling of a storm undone, nervous atoms gathering in his stomach. He felt to distract himself but didn't know how.
The sky was soupy, leaking its color out of smoke- conjured up out of low intentions, metal and combustion, and morning was coming on slow and an avalanche of powder. The sky, a picture you could see too much. Trees stood up for the earth. Where dirt was spent steamtracks led, bent grass and crushed branches. The daylight barley penetrating. Gray as hate, and just as hard to see through. Nothing promising, nothing growing. Like the heat of a dream spliced by a can opener- the dead world at dawn.
Very different from the sun burning at home-
"Here."
Italy looked up, from out of his cloudy thoughts. Germany was standing in front of him, officer's cap shading his eyes coolly, expression hard. He was holding out a thermos and a small tin of food...
"Hooray!" Italy let out lazily, taking his breakfast with a tearing alacrity.
"It's not much though," Germany replied, "So eat it slowly."
"What's this? Coffee?" Italy asked, ignoring Germany and looking underneath the thermos cap.
Germany paused hesitantly...bit his lip. "...No, it's- espresso," he answered, mentally wincing at himself for having honestly just said that. Espresso in the middle of a barren battlefield, of all things. When had his priorities gotten so strange?
"Espresso!?" Italy exclaimed, his face brightening, almost pure electric. "Germany, you're the greatest! Even though you look so annoyed all the time!" Without warning he jumped at Germany, throwing his arms around him happily. Germany managed to steady Italy just in time, holding him up with his hands at his waist (the close sparks of the touch lost on both of them, either for familiarity or absence).
"Jeez! You're going to spill it!" Germany snapped, tone chiding. "Stop it! And what does my looking annoyed have to do with anything!"
"Sorry Captain!" Italy chirped, cutting his hand up to salute Germany and in the process causing them both to lose their balance again.
"It doesn't matter- just sit down," Germany sighed, pushing Italy onto the back of the truck.
And Italy once again completely ignored Germany's irritated tone, instead opting to start on his breakfast. Germany leaned against the truck, mind filled with the sudden quiet as Italy ate, as his thoughts evaded him. A nurse and a doctor carried a last-minute solider outstretched on a cot; trying to beat time. Tow far-off officers were discussing something with the gray stern movements of a ticking clock (probably the situation with the French ambulance; the nightmare of neutrality defied). But those things were too close, too ragged, so he looked back at Italy instead. Seemed to be enjoying himself- scarfing down the soldier's slop like a hungry dog.
He chewed over a bite thoughtfully, then looked toward the field with a smile. "How are we doing, by the way, Captain?"
Germany paused- how were they doing? He wasn't sure himself. He shifted his weight hesitantly. "It seems we're fine," he said. "We're pushing into the center without much resistance...logistics are a problem. And our flanks are left open as we move further.
Italy hummed a note of either agreement or understanding; then he gave the field another quick glance. "It looks okay," he said- simplicity in his smile.
"...Yeah," Germany answered- with a pause, because that was exactly what was worrying him. It all looked okay; but under this sky, sucked dry of light and lucidity, anything could be a trick. Any slip of judgement could blindside you, and then it'd all fall apart.
Italy nodded to nothing, semi-resolutely; made on of his trademark hand gestures, sweeping like a birdsong, mysterious communications. "Well, I'm fine, and you're fine," he pointed out, happy illogic.
Germany paused, considered that point; the earth was still dark as glass, but suddenly seemed exact. "That's true," he answered, eyes leveled as Italy leaned against him.
-The land before them was still dark, but there were edges of pink seeping in through the clouds; soon, color like spots dusting fast though light. Sun pink, or bomb pink- radical heat and the call to order. The camp was packing up quick, getting ready for the same old explosion, but Germany didn't feel the need to say "let's go, move quick," because the repose and silence was collecting- seemed peaceful for once. Italy's weight pressing softly on him; though they'd destroyed the color yesterday, and though their machines were careless beasts, it wouldn't matter if they were both okay.
So the sun was rising hidden. "I can't wait to go back home," Italy sang, taking a slug of his espresso.
"Hm," Germany nodded; in his mind it was a promise- I'll get you there soon enough.
His rough leather gloves, his steel bargain; and Italy with sunny Venice burning in his smile- they had time now and they had something beyond this barren earth. So long as they were together, they'd have a purpose.
ROUND 2
"So this is what we'll need," Germany said, handing the logistics man a supplies list with a hard expression across his mouth, "Review it and see if it can be done."
The man took the list, sat back in his chair and skimmed it quickly; everything on the paper was written with exact handwriting. Lots of machine support, then moving on to medical supplies- and then...food.
Germany was an intimidating sort of guy, but only to a certain extent; and this was just too funny. A feeling a quiet dread slipped across Germany's mind as he saw the man's mouth upturn in a little smirk. "...Two cases of espresso," he started to read, "Three crates of pasta. And, hm, a gelato maker." He looked up to Germany. "For the tanks?"
Germany's eye twitched in irritation. "...For the tanks," he replied.
"And what's this- tomatoes?"
"Th-that'll be all for tonight," Germany answered, frowning and turning to go out of the tent, "J-just make sure that we get that."
"Will do, Captain!" the man replied with a broad grin and a salute.
Germany lifted the canvas flap and ducked out of there as quickly as he could, feeling the insinuating smile burning onto his back. He got the sneaking suspicion that his dignity had just slipped through his hands, and also the sneaking suspicion that it had slipped through his hands and become engulfed in a sea of pasta. He bit his lip. Of all the stupid things- lately, he didn't know what he was doing.
Notes;; Yes, Germany, you win and fail at the same time :D
Anyway, this is supposed to take place during the Battle of France. Also, I know that's probably not the way officers interact with logicians, and not the way that supplies are dealt with XD humor me, I just wanted to write it.
Also, I mentioned a situation with a French ambulance- during the invasion of France Rommel's division fired at some French trucks, thinking they were enemies, but they were transporting the wounded D: whoops.
Thanks for reading! :D