(( Hi! Welcome to my next Hetalia fanfic. I just really wanted to write another Germany and Italy story. I got this idea from a friend who wondered aloud how Ludwig took Veneciano leaving him in World War One.

This story is based off of the war and what happened, but it won't be majorly historical. It will make references and give some summary, but it's more of a story about the two. I guess it's a cross between fluff and historical. Hard for me to explain… But if I get a minor detail or two wrong, then I apologize in advance.

Anyways, let's just get started! Fanfic… Commence! ))

:::

It's so cold… Yet so warm… I'm not sure how to explain the feeling. The air is warm, yet my body feels cold. I can't quite understand why this is. The cold, hard ground I'm laying on could be taking the heat away from me. I could have a fever, making everything below my temperature feel freezing. It could be the effects of how much blood I have lost.

Or it could be a combination of all three.

I open my eyes, only to be rewarded with bright light. Oh yes, it's called the sun. The cloud cover had probably disappeared during however long I've laying here. I'm now aware of the cries of pain surrounding me, coming from those who were misfortunate enough to live through this battle.

It's so cold…

I press my fist into the bullet wound to slow down the blood loss. Or is it from shrapnel? Either way, it's a hole that is releasing something vital to me, even if I am nearly impossible to kill.

Such a laughable thought… I'm practically immortal, yet it doesn't prevent the pain. It doesn't keep me from getting hurt. If I didn't bleed out from this wound, the bullet in my leg could do it. The pieces of grenade stuck in my shoulder might stimulate the process. And the cut on my forehead wasn't making things much better. It wouldn't be the thing to do me in, unless it was infected, but it sure did sting. This is probably the worst damage that I have received in war by far.

I can't feel anything anymore…

I'm starting to lose the sensation throughout my body, except for this gripping feeling of cold.

I want someone to come… Someone… Notice that I'm here. Notice that I'm still alive… I can't call for help. My throat is so dry and clogged with dirt and dust. I can't move. Not on my own accord. There isn't a signal that I can make that will differentiate me from the masses of bodies around my area.

Please… Don't mistake me for one of the dead. Someone please come for me… Please find me…

Please… Help me… Help…

…

He ran through the battleground, now laden with the sound of defeat rather than war. Survivors were being picked up left and right, to be brought to a nearby medic or hospital. Though, there weren't many of their number. Too numerous had perished…

It was hard to run through those who needed help, and through the mess of bodies. The ground was wet, even though it hadn't rained in a week or so. It was blood that the dirt had eagerly soaked up, loosening the dry soil. He slipped up a few times, and nearly tripped, but he was able to prevent landing in the muddle. He couldn't afford to waste a minute. No, not even a second.

Pressing the helmet closer to his head while carrying a bag of medical first aid supplies, Veneciano scanned the field for the reason why he had ventured into this hell on earth. Despite the fact that he was technically no longer allied with Germany, he had to find him. He needed help.

Though, Italy was worried that he was unwelcome. Especially after everything that his boss had forced him to do. Would Germany understand? He had to have a boss who didn't follow his wishes. Even his former ally didn't understand, perhaps he would be forgiving.

The trenches… Veneciano grew closer and closer. It was one of the few remaining places to check. He quickly walked along the edge of them, looking down. He continued along like this for a few minutes, occasionally stopping to examine things closer.

Finally, he came to a stop for longer than a few seconds. Was it…

Veneciano felt his heart skip a beat as he carefully slid down into the trench. He tripped up a bit, but used a hand to keep himself from falling completely. Steadying himself, Italy dodged from stepping on a few motionless soldiers as he came to a stop beside one in particular.

"Germany… Germany…" he quietly and urgently said while lightly shaking the man's uninjured shoulder. He started to panic a bit after gaining no response. He leaned closer and demanded, "It's time to wake up now."

He was finally rewarded with the other man hesitantly opening his eyes. They were foggy an unfocused, but at least he was still alive. Veneciano couldn't help but give a relieved smile. Germany tried to say something, but no words came out.

With a worried frown, Italy went to dig into the medic bag after setting it down, reaching for the canteen. He quickened the procedure of unscrewing the cap as his patient started to fade out. As carefully and as gingerly as he could, Veneciano removed Germany's helmet, and then used one arm to lift his head. He brought the opening of the canteen to Ludwig's lips and tipped it to allow a small bit of water dribble into his mouth.

It overflowed, a small trickle escaping out of the side his mouth, as Germany didn't swallow. Finally, he gave a small shudder, and then roughly gulped down the water.

"Good, good," Italy coaxed, noticing that he was starting to come to a little more. He continued to let Ludwig drink until he turned away from the canteen. Italy replaced the cap as Germany let out a groan and his breathing turned labored.

"Stay still, okay?" Veneciano said. He went for the gauze and bandages next. He wasn't a professional, but he had enough experience from the past months to give basic treatment. At least until Germany could be carried out of here.

The cut on his forehead was already clotting, so Italy decided not to mess with that. His leg should be treated first, since Germany was already keeping a firm hold on the worst of his injuries. Veneciano scuttled over towards the man's lower half with his bag. He retrieved the basic supplies of what he would need to take care of this. Cutting away the blood-soaked fabric of Germany's pants, he inspected the piercing.

The bullet was lodged inside, and the flesh was already starting to get infected. It would have to be removed right now. With a grimace, Italy used one hand to open up the hole further while grabbing the medical pliers. Making sure that his patient wouldn't suddenly move and mess things up, he carefully went to draw out the bullet. Germany tensed up in pain while giving a gasp as Veneciano reached in and slowly plucked it out. He inspected it to see if it was still in one piece.

He heaved a sigh of relief that the bullet had not broken. He continued to take a large wad of gauze and press it firmly onto the wound. This needed to be taken care of faster. Veneciano looped a roll of bandage under Ludwig's leg, wrapped it around, then tied it over the gauze to keep it firmly in place. That rough patch-up job was finished.

Next was the large wound, then the shoulder.

Italy moved over while dragging the bag with him. He opened it so he would have it ready for whatever he would have to treat. Taking hold of Germany's fist, he tried to pry it away from the injury. He was met with a lot of resistance.

"Germany, I need to take care of this. Please let me," he informed. His patient didn't seem to hear him. Did he even know that Italy was there?

Veneciano resumed his original position beside Ludwig's head, going to gently stroke his hair with a clean hand. Germany's eyes were less than half open, as he stared into space.

Italy was hit with the sudden realization that the other was going into shock. His pupils were dilated, and his skin felt very cold and clammy to the touch. Veneciano felt his pulse on his neck, noticing that it was rapid yet weak, and his breathing getting shallow.

"No, no, no," Italy responded, lightly tapping Ludwig on the cheek. "Stay with me, okay? Germany, don't go to sleep! Wake up!"

Ludwig's eyes widened a bit, focusing on his caretaker. "I… ta… l-ly," he let out, seeming a bit confused.

"That's right! I'm here," he said with a bubble-headed smile. "I came to help you. But I can't help you if you go to sleep, okay?"

Germany just stared, but at least he was semi-aware of what was going on. Veneciano removed his own jacket to ball it up into a pillow for his patient's head. He went back to the wound in Ludwig's side, finally able to pull away the fist plugging it.

"Why…" he heard a voice distantly ask.

"We're friends, right?" Italy reminded him. "I was worried, so I snuck away to find you."

He was met with silence as he cut away a bit of the jacket and shirt to reveal the damage. It was bloodier than he had imagined. Whatever he had been hit with, it was relatively big and nasty. But there didn't seem to be any offending source among the torn up skin and muscle. Italy used some cloth from his bag and poured sterilizing medicine to soak it. With no time to spare, he pressed it onto the lesion.

He was surprised when Germany simply let out a breath. Keeping pressure on the wound with one hand, Italy used his free one to lightly slap Ludwig's cheek again a few times. He had closed his eyes at some point.

"I told you not to go to sleep," he urgently said as Germany opened his eyes again. He was a sickly pale-ish grey color now. He needed a blood transfusion as soon as possible. Fortunately, the sounds of the soldier medics were coming closer. "If you stay awake, I promise I'll make you some delicious pasta later, okay? We'll have pasta for dinner later."

While talking, he had removed the soaked cloth and replaced it with a thick wad of gauze. The shrapnel in Germany's shoulder would be a little beyond his expertise. Italy used some bandage to cover it from the air's potential to infect it, but didn't apply much pressure in fear of pressing the pieces of metal further in.

Italy had done all he could for now. He carefully reached into the larger compartment of the bag to pull out a blanket. Veneciano shook it loose, and then stood to spread it over Ludwig's injured body. Making sure his patient was fully covered, he sat back down to pull the edge up to Germany's chin.

He noticed with dismay that Germany was starting to slip into shock again. Veneciano grimaced, tapping his fingers on the other's cheek. This time, he didn't really gain a reaction. "Don't sleep… I'll keep talking to you to keep you awake, okay? Be sure to stay with me."

Ludwig looked up at him, confused, in pain, and fearful.

"I'm back, so don't worry. I'm sorry I had to leave you… My boss told me to, so I had to do what he said. But we're friends, so I came back. I didn't want to leave you yet," Veneciano babbled, saying whatever came to mind first. "I was going to wait until the war ended, but I didn't know how long that would take. I'm glad I came. Because I got to help you. Th-though… I didn't want to see you hurt…" He felt like his heart had dropped down into his stomach. "You're really strong. Stronger than a silly boy who likes pasta and pizza. So you'll pull through. Just don't give up!"

The medics had finally reached the trenches, bringing their truck. Italy stood up as they brought a stretcher down. He watched on as they lifted Germany onto it, and slowly moved to bring him out of the hole in the ground. His eyes were closed once more. This time, Veneciano didn't think they would open again.

…

…

He stared with half-lidded eyes up at the blurry ceiling in the dimly lit room. He started to become conscious enough to realize that he should probably figure out where he was. Well, for starters, there was a ceiling… and the light in the room was dim. That was a good place to begin.

Everything was relatively quiet, though sounds could be heard coming through the closed door nearby. He was closed into a room. The room had plain, white walls. And obviously, he was laying in a bed. It wasn't his own bed. And there was something sticking into the inside of his forearm. It wasn't very comfortable… It looked like an IV. He had half a mind to tear it out, but decided not to.

A hospital. That's what this place had to be. A relatively good one, judging by the conditions around him.

He heard light footsteps to his left, then a small thump. Something was being wrung out. Then, he felt a cool, wet sensation on his neck. He flinched a bit at the touch.

"Germany? …Are you awake?"

Ludwig opened his eyes a bit more to see that Veneciano was at his side, a wet washcloth in his hand. A large, dumb smile spread across the Italian's face. "You really are awake!"

This wasn't good. Germany sat up quickly, going to tear the blankets off of himself. He was instantly rewarded with the feeling that he had been stabbed in the side, and someone had grabbed his head and squeezed.

"Stop! Stop it!" Veneciano pleaded, pushing him back down onto the bed. Ludwig didn't have enough strength to resist, growing dizzy. "You're safe," Italy explained.

"U-until you t-torture m-m-me," Germany let out. He had to leave before that could happen. Italy was no longer on his side. And since Italy was here with him, it had to mean that he had been taken hostage. He was in enemy land now.

"But I would never do that! That wouldn't happen! I don't to hurt Germany," he protested. "You're safe at home."

"…Home?"

"Yes. I snuck away to find you. You are in one of your hospitals."

All this activity was sapping Ludwig's strength. He could feel himself growing weaker and weaker. Again, Veneciano resumed lightly bathing his face with the cool water, avoiding the bandages around Germany's head.

"You still have a really high fever. Go back to sleep, okay?" Italy quietly said.

Though, Germany couldn't hear him. He was already unconscious.

…

This time, Veneciano was sitting in a chair while leaning forward onto Ludwig's bed. He was using his arms as a pillow, fast asleep. Germany stared down at him, things still a bit foggy.

Now that he knew where he was, it was time to assess the situation. He could feel his leg restricted by bandages under the blankets. The wound in his side was clean and dressed, only a bit of blood soaking through the gauze to the surface. His shoulder burned a little bit, the arm attached to it in a sling.

So he was banged up pretty badly. Yet, it was comforting to know that he was safe in his own land. Though, the fact that Veneciano was by his side sort of irked him. Italy had left him a long while ago, becoming his enemy in the World War.

It had happened suddenly. When Ludwig came home, the annoying Italian wasn't there. He had disappeared. In a panic, Germany tried to find out what happened to him.

Only to hear from his boss that Veneciano had left him. He didn't know why this hurt him, but it did. His unwilling companion was gone. Not only that, but he had taken an offensive stance against Germany. He had attacked Austria-Hungary and provided soldiers in an effort against him. Though, he had never shown his face, since the few days before he had abandoned their alliance.

If anything, the fact that Italy was with him now only aggravated him. How dare he come and show his face after his betrayal? And now the Mediterranean country was in the perfect position to be held hostage.

This whole situation confused him.

"You're awake again," Italy quietly said, sitting up while rubbing at his eyes.

"Yes," Germany curtly replied.

"Thank goodness. I was so afraid… Especially after seeing you in that trench. You looked dead," Veneciano bluntly explained.

Ludwig furrowed his brow at him in puzzlement. Then, it came rushing back to him. Laying on the ground, feeling cold, being woken by a voice, pain, talking, then… warmth.

He remembered now a few strings of thoughts he felt when he had first realized that Italy was looking down at him. Germany thought he was seeing an angel that had come to take him away. He had begun to give up, but then…

He felt warm. Though he couldn't remember fully what Veneciano had been saying to him, he remembered the other guy talking to him about coming back.

"Your fever broke about an hour ago. You've been asleep for three days, except for when you woke up this morning," Veneciano continued, yanking Ludwig out of his own thoughts.

"You came… back?" Germany asked, curious for more details.

A slight look of shame spread across his company's face. "I didn't really want to leave… But my boss thought it would be the right thing to do. And even though I'm Northern Italy, I couldn't really go against what he said. So I left… before I could say goodbye…"

"You-"

"Because… if I had to say goodbye to Germany… I would probably cry," Italy explained with a hiccup, his eyes tearing up. "And I didn't want you to see me so sad. Then you would be sad…"

Ludwig didn't bother to point out that Italy had cried in front of him before. In fact, that was the first thing he had done when Germany had broken him out of that wooden tomato box. Yet… he almost understood that this was an entirely different matter.

"Are you hurt?" Ludwig asked, noticing a bandage around a bruise on the inside of his former ally's arm.

Veneciano met his gaze, then looked at what Germany was directing his attention to. "Oh, that," he let out, now distracted from what he was explaining earlier. "You lost lots of blood, so I donated mine. It hurt and I cried. But you're better now, so it's okay."

Ludwig looked a bit dumbfounded, and he noticed that an IV in his arm was hooked up to a blood transfusion bag hanging up nearby. That was… Italy's blood. And it was circulating in his veins now.

"You… are confusing," Germany sighed.

Italy only laughed at him. "We're friends. What's confusing about that?" he asked.

"Plenty of things," Ludwig quietly joked, closing his eyes. Yet again, he was feeling weak and tired.

"If you're confused, maybe you should get some more sleep," Italy suggested, gingerly stroking Germany's hair in a rather maternal way.

He sighed in return. "… Italy…"

"Yes?"

"Thank you… for saving me," he quietly said. In more ways than one.

"Don't worry, don't worry. You don't have to thank me," Veneciano replied. "Just rest, okay?"

"Alright…" Ludwig fell back into a peaceful sleep.

And when he next woke up, Italy was gone without a trace. But this time, it didn't really bother him. Germany knew that, even if it wouldn't be today, or tomorrow, or next week, Italy would be back.

That annoyance would never really leave his friend.

:::

(( That's it! I'm sorry if there are any inaccuracies in this story. I did a bit of light research into the subject, but didn't find enough things in depth. So if I did something wrong (especially in terms of medical resources of the time), I'm sorry.

I just wrote this in one big sitting without getting up. I feel accomplished, lol. Review if you get the chance! ))