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Okay, so, story time. A little while ago my best friend and I were trying out some new fandoms, and stumbled upon (drumroll) Hetalia! We immediately fell desperately in love with both the show and the clever way it's written. Thus this little ficlet was born, because who doesn't love Italy and Germany, amirite? Even this slightly emo hipster named Sam I met one time shipped them! *Folds arms.* So.
Happy Christmas to my wonderful Wally. You are truly the Matthew to my Alfred.
-=-=-=-=-
The gunfire was deafening.
Italy whimpered, dropping his fun in favour of covering his ears with his small, slender hands.
“It hurts, Germany!”
The tall blonde behind him whipped his head around, reaching to wipe the droplets of sweat off his forehead. “Keep fighting! If you put your gun down, you’re going to die.”
Though shouted, the voice was oddly matter-of-fact. Though not resigned.
Italy gave a barely audible sigh, picking up his weapon.
A sharp zing! Choked a scream out of his mouth. His gun swung loosely from his fingers, his brown eyes fixed on the blood seeping through his right sleeve.
Ludwig gave a grunt of frustration, aiming a final shot before dragging the shocked country behind a simple barricade.
“I’m sorry, Germany…I didn’t mean to, I’m not used to not surrendering-“ Italy babbled.
“Hush.” The taller nation’s voice was firm, fingers already pushing up the bloodied strip of fabric. Clear blue eyes scanned the torn flesh, relief seeping into the tensed up skin of his jaw.
“A grazing wound,” he announced, sitting back on his heels. “That was an idiotic thing to do. Hand me your pack.”
Italy gave him the little leather shoulder bag, for once silent.
The sound of gunfire echoed in the distance as Germany gently cleaned and bandaged the slender ligament.
“You’re very silent,” he observed, fastening the sterile cloth.
“I’m not very smart,” Italy replied, eyes straying to his arm, which Germany was attempting to set in a basic cast.
“No,” Ludwig agreed, a frown tugging at his mouth.
Italy stared at his now-useless gun. “I’m sorry. I don’t like hurting people.”
Germany glanced at him, trying to think of what to say. He felt frustrated trying to clumsily offer comfort; unlike Italy’s cast, his brain was a mess that he could not put into words.
“We need to get you home,” he decided finally. “Berlin can handle the first assaults for a time.”
Italy nodded, getting slowly to his feet.
The walk back was a slow and painful one, peppered with avoiding more gunfire and Italy’s painful winces when he had to run. He was too tired to go very fast, but Germany refused to go ahead.
They at last reached the house, Italy exhausted, Germany frustrated.
The smaller country still hadn’t said a word.
-=-=-=-=-
“You’re going to have to wait at least two weeks before you can even think of using a gun again, understand?” Ludwig’s face was firm as Italy sat in the big bed they shared, small face too pale for his liking. He hadn’t lost that much blood, had he?
“Please show that you understand,” he added, when Italy was, again, silent. It was the silence that worried him more than anything else, actually.
Feli’s head bent slightly, and for a moment Germany wondered if he would respond at all. Relief passed through him when a few moments later he murmured, “Okay.”
Just the one word, but it was enough.
Ludwig stood, taking his glasses off and setting them on the table. “I have to go check on my men,” he announced. “It is not my wish to leave you here, but sacrifices must be made sometimes. I’ll return in the evening.”
The little country nodded, looking oddly sad as his commander left the room. A thought struck him and he called out, “What will I do while you’re gone?!”
Germany paused in the doorway and shrugged. “You have family? You can write to them. It’s a good thing you’re right-handed.”
Italy nodded. Germany always had good ideas, and it would help him to get in the practice. He hadn’t had much opportunity to write letters after the skirmish had begun several weeks ago.
“I’ll have Munich bring you some paper and things,” Ludwig offered, privately hoping that that would be the most of Italy’s requests.
“That’s good. I’ll wait here.”
Germany gave a wry look that no one saw as he strode down the hallway. Where else was Feliciano going to go? The smaller country had a knack for getting himself into any kind of trouble around, and on top of that being a coward was not something he necessarily respected. But the whole reason he was here in the first place, in all fairness, was to help him. Mistakes and accidents were unavoidable and to be expected to a certain degree.
I suppose I should be grateful he wasn’t more badly hurt.
Munich was in the drawing room, her sturdy hands organising the myriad of books randomly shelved in the hasty move.
“Can I assist you, Captain?” She inquired briskly, pausing in her endeavours.
“Italy has been wounded and is staying in our room. He’ll be there for quite awhile and would greatly appreciate some paper and pens,” Germany informed her with factual precision. No need to mince words in front of her, after all.
She nodded grimly, setting a dusty volume of Grimm’s Fairy Tales down and moving to a mahogany desk. Her fingers rifled through the inner drawers until she finally pulled out a small stack of paper, at least ten sheets or more.
“The pens and ink are kept in the study, if you’ll excuse me.” Munich gave a slight bow and hurried out, leaving the papers in Germany’s hands.
He nodded wordlessly, thoughts straying to the men still fighting out on the outskirts. It looked like snow later, and they had limited supplies of food. Certainly not ones that could be sent out at a moment’s notice.
I hope Berlin’s faring better out there than I did. But then, it’s hardly his first time in the field. Surely no need to be concerned overmuch.
Reassuring himself with the thought, he turned to find the capable city standing behind him, holding two pens and a pot of ink.
“I hope he makes a swift recovery, sir,” she said respectfully, handing them over. “Are you in need of anything else?”
“Nothing, thank you. I’d best take my leave.”
She watched him go, even offering a slight wave as he hurried back down the hall and into the slight chill of his (their?) bedroom.
Feli was tucked up in bed, humming some aimless little tune to himself as he inspected the bandaging on his arm. He seemed a little more cheerful than before, which gave Germany an unexpected feeling of relief he hadn’t realised he’d been lacking.
“Here are the pens and things,” he offered, feeling slightly awkward.
“Oh, thank you,” Italy even offered him a sunny smile as he accepted the implements. “Will you come back home soon?”
Germany offered him a slight smile. “I’ll do my best.”
“Okay. Bye, Germany!” Italy offered him a wave. “I love you!”
The larger country flushed from his neck to the roots of his hair, mumbling an unintelligible reply as he hurried out of the room.
Once the door had closed, Italy immediately began inspecting what he had to work with. Twelve sheets of paper, two fairly standard pens, and a clean, full inkpot.
“It was nice of Germany to fetch these for me,” he murmured to himself, turning one of the pens over in his slender fingers. “Who do I write to first? There’s mama…and Romano…maybe even Japan?” His nose wrinkled as he thought it over, wondering what to do.
“Oh!” He gave a soft cry, his face breaking into a wide smile. “I know! I know! I’ll write to Germany first. Then maybe I’ll send one to the others. But he’s been the nicest to me…so I guess he deserves it. He gives me sausages and cheese when I don’t have pasta.” Mouth watering at the thought of when dinner would be, he got up and carried each of his new things one by one to the desk Germany used often for work. The history of it was etched all over in little scratches from pens being hastily set down, stains from where the ink had run, ect.
He spread out one sheet of the creamy paper, dabbing the pen he’d grabbed in the ink before letting it hover above his paper, and…
And…
What should he say?
He said things to Germany all the time; so what was there left, really, to say on paper? He sighed softly, wiping off the pen and trying again.
Dear Germany,
Thank you for not letting me die. It was very nice of you to save me and fix my arm, even though you called me an idiot.
I’m very hungry right now. I hope you’ll let me eat dinner with everyone else-it’s very lonely eating by myself. My arm is a little sore right now, but I’m sure I could manage if you helped put the food on my plate and things. You always help me with everything, anyway.
I’m very sorry for putting you to so much trouble. I really am a very silly little country; I do know that. Maybe you were right, and all this pizza I eat does rot my brain. But if it does, I’m still not going to stop.
It looks very cold outside, and I hope you’re very warm. And that Berlin is keeping everything in line and being a good commander. But not as good as you, because you’re the best. That’s one of the reasons I like being allied with you, Germany.
My arm is getting tired again, which feels funny, so I’m going to stop. Thank you again for saving me.
Love, Feli.
It wasn’t the best letter, but it was at least better than nothing. Italy folded the parchment up and put it beside all the blank sheets, tapping his hands on the table.
Time for a nap.
-=-=-=-=-
Germany didn’t get home until later that night, after everyone had had dinner. Munich told him that Italy had gone to bed, tired, and that he should as well.
“You both need to rest,” she announced, hands resting on her hips.
So Germany finished his dinner and went to do just that.
Feli was already snuggled in bed, hurt arm carefully tucked in, the little curl above his forehead bobbing as he breathed slowly. The framework creaked slightly as Ludwig climbed in, stifling a yawn.
“How was it?” The soft voice startled him out of needing to.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he apologised.
“You didn’t,” Italy promised, turning carefully to look at him. “I was only almost asleep. Was everything okay?”
“As alright as one of these skirmishes could be, I suppose,” Germany shrugged, settling in.
“That’s good.”
A few beats of silence.
“Did you write to anyone?” The taller country inquired, a sliver of blue peeking out from his barely open lids.
“Mhm.” Feli nodded enthusiastically. “But I can’t tell you about them-it’s a surprise!”
He sounded so pleased that Germany didn’t have the heart to inquire further, and he afforded him a slight smile. “I don’t like surprises much, you know.”
“Oh, but you’ll like this one,” Italy promised. “You’ll see!”
“Okay,” Ludwig agreed, breath evening out in the peaceful stillness. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Germany,” came Feli’s soft answer.
They were both asleep within five minutes.
-=-=-=-
The next few days settled into a peaceful rhythm; Germany would get up in the mornings and eat breakfast with Italy and the others, then they would bid each other Goodbye and go their separate ways. Italy to do things in the house, Germany to oversee a battle. Although he definitely seemed happier than a few days ago, even Ludwig didn’t miss the residual sad looks the little country sent him as he waved goodbye.
“He’s just lonely,” the overseer Hamburg offered lamely.
“I don’t like seeing him sad,” Germany said simply, able to at least communicate that simple wish.
“Then just come home and make him happy,” Hamburg suggested.
-=-=-=-=-
Dear Germany,
I’ve written five letters to you now. I hope you’ll be proud of me for doing something. You’ve seemed a little sad this past week…I hope I haven’t made you sad. I hate it when you’re sad. Would it help if I gave you hugs? Or pasta? Pasta always helps me…but maybe it isn’t the same for you.
Did you know that Berlin likes to cook? He’s making a cake for tonight-and I asked him to make frosting in your favourite colours. I don’t know if he’s actually going to do it, though. But maybe it’ll make you happy. You’re much nicer when you’re happy, and you make me do less exercises.
I think you’re home from fighting! I hear the door opening. I want to go see.
I love you, Germany!
Love, Feli
-=-=-=-
Germany figured it out, of course. Italy was about as subtle as wearing red to a funeral, and he was so excited the day before that anyone could see he was getting ready for something.
But he didn’t actually say anything until breakfast the next Saturday, marching up to him and handing him an envelope full of letters. Some short, some longer. There were eleven sheets of paper in all.
“They’re all for you!” Feli bounced up and down. “But I wrote one to Japan, too. That’s why there’s only eleven.”
Germany set them by his plate and couldn’t stop thinking about what they said.
-=-=-=-
Italy was playing around with the cat, Schnitzel, when Germany found him. One of the letters dangled from his hand, thumb slightly smudged from the ink.
“I never said you were an idiot,” he said bluntly.
“Huh?” Italy looked up at him, face going tomato-red when he saw him with the letter. “Oh. You read them?”
“Of course. You gave them to me,” Ludwig observed, as if this explained everything. “But I didn’t say you’re an idiot. I said that what you did was idiotic.”
“There’s a difference?” Feli looked slightly hurt.
Germany considered for a moment. “Yes.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“They were nice letters,” the blonde continued, a little awkwardly. “Thank you for writing them to me.”
“It was fun! Besides, I wanted to, because you’re really nice, and you bring me food and things and save me and things.” Italy shut his mouth upon the abrupt realisation that he was babbling again.
Germany ran his hand down the cat’s back. It purred appreciatively. “How is your arm?”
“It’s much better!” Feli chirruped. “Munich says she thinks I’ll be able to use it in just a few days.”
“That’s very good,” Ludwig praised, comfort washing over him.
“Oh.” Italy stood up suddenly. “I forgot the other part of my present!”
“What?”
He took a few steps forward, wrapping his arms around the taller country’s waist. “You haven’t been hugged in a while.”
“People don’t normally think it’s a good idea,” Germany agreed, arms settling awkwardly around his shoulders.
Italy gave his stomach a little appreciative nuzzle. “Thank you for being nice to me.”
Germany smiled slightly. “Thank you, too.”