Part I The Darkest Nights

Hetalia Fanfiction

1943

 

Germany rubbed his tired eyes. The air around him was cold and dank; it smelled of wet concrete and mildewed books. His light blonde hair and pale blue eyes faded in with the bright white light, making him look almost surreal. Besides the powerful lamp on the rotting desk the room was dark.

He groaned once more and dropped the pencil he had been using to map his armies positions with onto the desk with a dull thunk. Germany’s eyes burned from these sleepless nights. His clear blue eyes were marred by dark purple rings.

Standing abruptly Germany smashed the palms of his gloved hands into the soft, damp wood; some of it splintered and clung helplessly to the desk by thin fibers.

“Verdammt!” he roared his heavy accent echoing in the dark stone halls. Turning quickly on his heel he stormed out of the room, slamming the incredibly heavy steel door behind him with ease.

It couldn’t be over. He could still win this war! And he could do it without Italy. His heavy footsteps rang out in the hallway as Germany made his way up the concrete staircase. His broad shoulders scraped against the rough walls of the narrow passage. Turning down the twisted passages he finally reached one of the upper rooms of the bunker. Throwing open the door it crashed against the stone walls, the sound resonated like a scream and the door shivered like a terrified animal.

“Germany!” came a high pitched squeal from the cot on the far wall. “Germany! You’ve decided? You’ll surrender with me?” Italy squeaked out like an over-excited child. His face was round and glowed with health, unlike Germany’s sunken and grayed cheeks.

“Get out!” Germany snarled his eyes ablaze with cold fire, “Get out of this place!”

Italy, stared up at him, looking less like a giddy child and more like one who had heard a story with a less than happy ending. “But, Germany, everyone else has gotten so much stronger; England has really been hurting me.” Italy looked at Germany with tear filled eyes, “I’m scared.”

Germany clenched his hand into a fist, resisting the urge to reach out and slap Italy, all this talk of fear, idiotic. “Get out of my sight! I have a war to fight!” he howled.

Italy suddenly let out a heartbreaking wail and Germany shouted for the guards. “Take him away! Take him away from this place!” Suddenly the air was filled with the pounding of men’s boots and split by Italy’s wrenching screeches.

Germany bit down hard on his lower lip and tasted blood. It was too much. Italy’s screams ripped through the air once again. Germany felt his gloved hand connect sharply with Italy’s cheek and the country let out a broken yelp.

“I said get out!” Germany roared again, his soldiers gripped Italy’s arms and began to drag him whimpering out of the bunker. Italy held the side of his face that Germany had struck and wailed again, tears streaming down his face.

            “No, no, no!” Italy kicked weakly as the large soldiers dragged him down the cold passages, their eyes glimmered with pity.

            Germany did not turn to watch as his former ally was taken from this pit. Instead he leaned against the freezing concrete wall, feeling the long, thin wounds on his back blaze again with searing pain. He had reopened his scars, Italy had been right; the Allies were much stronger then when he had started this war.

            Germany still tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth but now it mixed with salty tears. He felt the painful lump in his throat boil over and suddenly he was weeping.

            “Get out of this place!” he shouted at himself, “Get out of this place! Out of this place of horrors, of fears, of lies, and murders! Leave this place!” Germany pressed himself to the stone wall, “Leave this place or you are fated to die!”

But he already knew what his fate would be, he was destined for this cold desolate place, fated for death, he would not leave this place, he would not heed his own warnings.

A hand gripped his shoulder tightly, turning he saw his elder brother, Prussia, “Bruder,” he murmured, “Are you prepared for war?”

Germany did not wipe the tears from his stained face, “Yes, bruder, I am ready.”

But the two stood silently in the darkened halls, wishing for the eagle, that Prussia had once flown proudly on his flag, to take them away from these dark nights, the darkest nights.

Drenched in rain and tears two other brothers clung to each other in the cruel lamplight far away from the wolf’s den. They knelt in rain, covered by a pure white flag, their time had come, their time to surrender.

 

Get away from this place

This dark and awful place

Though bullets do not rain in these halls

Though bombs to not shake its foundation

 

A new pain is felt

Dark as his blood

Light as the flag

Tears fall here

 

I feel my brother’s hand

Dead to the world am I

One has fallen

Another continues the war

 

Get away from this place

This dark and awful place

Take him away from this place

Take me away, on wings of the black eagle

 

Place of horrors

Place of fears

Place of lies

Place of murders

     

The Wolf’s Den

Sing, please, of the world above

Sing of lamplight and rain

Let your voice echo, sing

 

“Sing, brother, sing,”

The war screams

“Sing to me my victim

So that I may taste your blood.”

 

White flags

Stained by red blood

Concrete pit

Hides the thing within

 

Get away from this place

This dark and awful place

Cling to your brother

Raise the flag or fight the war

 

Get away from this place

This dark and awful place

Destined for this cold and desolate place

Fated for death

 

Leave this place!

 

 

1945

 

Germany exploded from the depths of the bunker and into the cold starry night. Planes hummed above him. Another set of heavy boots followed him, Prussia’s black Gestapo trench coat snapped behind him as he ran after his younger brother. The streets quaked beneath their feet.

“Prussia, keep up we need to get to the headquarters,” Germany commanded, his voice was cool and level but his heart was pounding in his ears.

Prussia couldn’t even respond he could barely get enough air into his lungs to breathe. They couldn’t be more than two blocks away now. Racing down the cobbled street, flitting in and out of lamplight the brothers ran.

Germany glared up at the bright orange lights; they should have been shut off by now, what was happening?

Suddenly pain lit his side, the wounds were opening again, Germany felt his blood leak from the gashes that Poland and Russia had left on him. The end was nearing. Almost there.

He stumbled over a loose stone, the marching could be heard, the roar of blood in Germany’s ears was deafening now. The bombs were dropping, the troops were moving. A shadow flew past the lamplight.

“Prussia!” Germany gasped. But his brother hadn’t even the time to scream. A lead pipe smashed into Prussia’s skull with a sickening crack, blood spurted from the wound and dribbled down his face, staining his silvery hair, blending with his crimson eyes.

Germany shrieked, “Bruder!” suddenly darkness exploded behind his eyes as America smashed the butt of his rifle into the back of Germany’s head and he crumpled to the cold ground. The country’s final glimpse of the world was of his beloved brother dragged into the darkness by Russia.

England stumbled up to Germany’s broken frame. Using his cane he rolled the heavy body onto its back. Pain raced up his right leg and he fell back onto the cane with a grunt.

“You did this to me, you b*****d,” England snarled placing his foot on Germany’s still breathing chest. His green eyes flashed in the bloody light, reflecting the falling bombs. He felt anger fill him to the brim and England dug the heel of his boot into Germany’s flesh.

He felt the country’s ribcage creak under his weight and a smile illuminated his face, a little more pressure and it would be over. Rid of this beast that had crippled him

“England!” France emerged from the alleys, “We are not here to kill him!”

“How can we even trust you, you frog?” England snapped back, he didn’t let up on Germany’s bloodied body, “You’re almost completely divided!”

France held back a sharp response but only dropped his head lower, blue eyes to the cold ground.

“He’s right, England,” America chimed in, “We are not here to kill him! We got what we wanted, and so has Russia,” America’s eyes were glazed; he himself was divided over what to do. But his thoughts were far away, on an island in the Pacific.

England growled and lifted his boot off of Germany, “Fine, but if he begins again, it was your call.”

America lifted his head and his gaze met England’s, “He won’t.”

England stared back at his former charge, as if America had just said something completely alien to him. He had never heard America so serious, nor so unsure of himself in his lifetime.

“We’ll take him back for questioning,” England finally said. And the night closed around them.

 

***

 

Germany awoke with a start. He sat in a chair under harsh white light. For a moment he thought he was back at his underground desk laying out the next battle plans. But then he felt the binds on his hands and feet, it hadn’t been a dream.

“Prussia,” Germany choked out his brother’s name feebly. Immediately he felt pain lace his chest and back, Germany’s clothes stuck to his flesh, wet with blood.

A loud English voice responded, “He’s awake,” and England and France emerged from opposite sides of the darkened room. England stood tall over Germany, “We’ll be questioning you for a while, and then you will have to sign a surrender, is that clear?”

Germany nodded slowly, “But first answer my questions.”

France and England exchanged glances before England said, “All right, we’ll answer them, but just a few.”

Germany did not hesitate, “Where’s my brother?” he demanded.

England answered again, “Russia took him.”

“Is he all right?”

England’s brow furrowed, “Russia isn’t one to keep dead bodies, but in truth I do not know.”

Germany glanced over the two once more, “Where has America gone?” he asked. It seemed odd that the Allies be without their unofficial head.

This time France responded, “He has more pressing matters, with your other ally, Japan.”

England flashed France a look, he had said too much, “That’s enough we must start the interrogation.”

 

***

 

America clenched the knife tight in his hand, breathing heavily he watched Japan through dirtied and cracked glasses.

“Surrender, Japan, I don’t want this!” America growled under his breath.

“Never!” Japan stood in his bloodied white uniform forcing himself to even stand. Lifting his sword slowly Japan made one last feeble attempt and ran toward America through the tall crackling grass.

America stood and watched as his enemy rushed toward him. Suddenly the sky was illuminated by hell-fire and the sword dropped from Japan’s hands. America stood stock still staring into Japan’s glazed brown eyes; his knife plunged deep into his enemy’s chest.

Japan gasped for air only to see the sky flare again as America thrust his second knife further into Japan’s stomach.

America felt the country go limp and Japan fell forward and crumpled to the ground. Blood spattered America’s glasses and leaked down his clothes.

Drawing back, America opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t form the words, he could only choke out, “I’m sorry.”

With that he turned towards his home, into the darkest nights, as tears streamed down his bloodied face.

 

Author's Note

Okay, if any of you have ever watched Hetalia, you know that it is extremely light and funny, that's why I love it so much! This however is dark and really depressing, don't worry the next chapter is better! And before I get a whole bunch of crazy messages yelling at me for having Germany slap Italy, calm down... It was 3 in the morning and I just about couldn't take it anymore, that is why this story is so f***ked up, okay? Good! I read through this about a week later and was freaked out myself that I wrote it! But it's not bad, so, yeah.... It has a happy ending don't worry! My sister was kinda upset that this chapter didn't have a happy ending so I wrote one! Any feedback/criticsm is greatly appreciated! And once again everything in this story, except for the plot, belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya!!

Reviews

[Shep]

Now this was different and unexpected. Whag an idea, what insight. I wounder though how far can you take it. I can always count on you to write a story of history and take my breath away. Very good indeed. I have really missed you.. it is so hard to find good stories like this on WC. welcome back.

[Leave me alone....]

OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG THIS IS AMAZING!!!!!!! its sooooo different from Hetalia! I got sucked into this really fast, its amazing! I'm gunna read on!