I think this might become a series. If anyone can give me ideas as to when in history any Nation would have needed faith in anything to survive, that would be good. I have a few ideas, but history is far from my strength, english is.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Hetalia rox, so hard core though!
Beta: The lovely Jackidy, once again. Thanks Luv!
Faith in Friends
Ein Feind ist unserer, und einer allein,
Schon Meißelt er Deutschlands Grabsstein
Voll Hass Sein Busen, Voll Neid und voll Pein,
Ein Feind ist unserer, und einer allein.
Nun Hebt der Frevler die Meachelnde Hand
Sein Name, du kennst ihn, ist England.
We have one and only enemy,
who digs the grave of Germany,
Its heart replete with hatred, gall and envy,
we have one and only enemy.
The villain raises his murderous hand
his name, you know it, is England.
Germany groaned as he collapsed on his cot, pulling his jacket off as he leaned against the railing. He was alone for the first time all night, Italy and Japan having retired to their tents and armies for once.
Every joint hurt. Even the ones in his fingers, and it made leading his armies a painful task. His spine was the worse, and whenever Italy jumped on him, it was a battle of wills to stay on his feet, let alone upright. He knew this pain was from two sources: the loss of his troops and the forced breeding back in the homeland. His leader thought he was making Germany stronger with a race of blue-eyed blondes, reflections of Germany's ancestor Germania, but he knew that the thinned blood-lines were weakening his people.
The Nation groaned as he arched his back like a large cat, wincing as a wound pinched. Gritting his teeth, he pulled his shirt off, stifling a groan as it pulled on the scabbing wound. He sighed as he examined the back of the shirt; the wound was still seeping, a mixture of blood and pus. The blonde hissed as he ran a hand over the wound. Auschwitz may be on Polish land, but it was under German control, so the atrocities were reflected over his shoulder blades.
As were the other death and concentration camps. A slowly healing scar on his collarbone where Plaszow was; slashes over his spine and ribs where Ponary, Babi Yar, and the other massacres had taken place. Even the ghettos were represented as deep bruises over his lower back and stomach, for the masses of humanity in areas like Krakow and Warsaw.
He didn't approve of the camps; he thought they were a horrible idea. But Out here on the front lines, fighting with England, America, Russia and the others, there was nothing that he could do to stop them.
The blonde Nation groaned deeply as he stretched his arm for the first aid kit. It was a pain to dress back wounds by his self, but he had done it before, and his pride kept him from asking the other members of his medical tent to help him out. He gritted his teeth as he pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol, anticipating the burning as he doused the wound on his shoulder blade. A strangled cry tried to force itself pasted his lips, but the proud Kraut only groaned as the burning subsided.
"Germany! Germany~! I made us some dinn-" Italy stopped as he barged into the tent, surprised at the sight of Germany's back. The little red head may not be the smartest of countries; in fact he was considered one of the dumbest. But even he recognized the signs of calamities on a Nation. Seeing the smaller Nation, Germany locked his jaw as he turned away, refusing to accept any pity from the weaker man.
Only to flinch as a small hand gently touched his shoulder. "Pass me the bandages," the Italian asked softly. "I'll fix your back for you."
"It'll just re-open by the morning."
"But it'll be more comfy for you Germany." Although weaker, the little Dago could be just as stubborn as the taller Nation. Germany simply sighed as the first bandage went over the seeping wound on his shoulder. Even if the gash re-opened again, the band of cloth was putting enough pressure on the wound to support his shoulder.
The Hun was surprised at how deft of a hand the Roman descendant had with first aid. But then again, with how often he got beaten up by the other Nations; he figured that he must have had a lot of practice patching his self up. In a matter of moments, the wounds he couldn't reach were cleaned, dried and bandaged before the young man helped Germany into an open dress shirt.
"How much longer do we need to keep fighting?" It was the soft plea of a child in a familiar tone that made Italy blink as he looked at the back of that blond head. It was familiar, as if he had watched it walking away from him before, some time in the past…
"We're losing. The Allies are getting ready to finish us off, and the SS are already abandoning their posts. Japan may have a few more months, but without us, his days are numbered as well. I don't know what the others are going to do to me this time…"
Blue eyes were closed as the taller country tried to calm his racing heart. He flinched as the smaller man threw his arms around his neck, being careful not to press against the bandaged wounds. An apple's apple bobbed as the Kraut swallowed, trembling from exhaustion and stress as he allowed the smaller Nation to hug him, soaking in the warmth.
"No matter what happens, the war could end tomorrow, they could order our countries disbanded, they could have us locked up, it doesn't matter. I'll be your friend. You're the first true friend I've ever had, and I'm going to stick by you." The little Makaronifresser, as Germany 'affectionately' called him at times, sighed as he rested his forehead on the back of Germany's head, eyes closed as he hugged his friend.
He blinked a second later as the man leaned back against him, exhaustion having taken its toll. Clean and comfortable for the first time in weeks, the Nation had simple keeled over, fast asleep in the embrace of his ally. Italy could only smile as he eased Germany down unto the cot, pulling the sheets over him. Standing, he grabbed the food he was going to share with the Hun, planning to pass it out to his own troops. Before leaving, he smiled back at the other Nation, who had unconsciously snuggled deeper into the thin sheets. "I promise. I won't let anyone take you like they did Grandpa Rome."
And with a rustling of canvas, the tent lap closed as the Italian left, letting Germany bathe in the darkness, praying and dreaming, for a miracle.