For those of you who are following White who are reading this and thinking 'oh my god? Why is she writing new stories when she hasn't finished that other one yet?' I'm pretty much doing this for my own mental sake. White has taken a complete 180 from my original idea, so after each posted chapter, I have to think about what should happen next and that's not always easy. I pretty much have writers block all the time. So I write other small stories to keep the ideas going.

This idea happens to be darker.

Blood.

Oh Dio, there was blood everywhere.

It flowed like rivers and found every crevice of the once beautiful valley.

Tree bark smeared with blood.

Grass stained red.

The once aquamarine sky now a hazy orangey- purple.

The bodies.

Oh Dio, the bodies piled like mountains.

Once young, vibrant, lively men.

Now dead.

Slain across the once beautiful valley.

They died alone.

Gunshots.

Oh Dio, why did they have to be so loud?

Close by and far away.

The sound rang through the ears of the living and the dying.

Unavoidable.

That's what this war was.

That's what their bosses told them.

Fighting.

They were told to fight.

They were taught to fight.

To kill.

They were taught to kill.

They were forced to kill.

To shed blood.

.

.

.

To take lives.

Italy lied on the cold ground, dirtied by blood and body parts. The grass was no longer green and the sky was no longer blue. This place was cold and heartless. This place was once so beautiful but now it was scarred by war.

Italy coughed. His chest hurt where the bullets had hit him. A little bit of blood dripped out of his mouth. His head felt heavy and light at the same time. He lifted his head as much as he could and looked around. There were bodies everywhere.

They were all dead. That's when it hit him. He was left for dead. He had been shot, a nation had been shot, and now he had been left to die on the battle field like the rest of the Italian soldiers around him.

He felt like crying. He was scared. He was going to die. Alone on the cold battlefield. He cried for Ludwig. He cried for Romano. He was scared. He was dying, alone. No one was coming to save him. Not even Ludwig.

Ludwig had gotten angry at him the night before and threw him out. No amount of praying or crying would change that. He wouldn't come now.

Germany had seemed to tired and exhausted lately from the war, so Italy had decided to make him pasta to cheer him up. Except, Italy wasn't counting on slipping and dumping pasta all over the kitchen floor. The pasta stuck to the walls, the floors, the ceiling, and cabinets. Germany had heard the crash and cry of the particular Italian and ran to kitchen. Italy was crying on the floor and there was pasta everywhere. It all happened faster than Italy could blink. Ludwig was furious and yanked Italy off of the floor and gripped his wrist so tight that Italy thought it might break, well aware of the fact that Ludwig was capable of doing such a thing.

Then Ludwig screamed at him.

"Italien! Why? Why are you so damn USELESS? WHY CAN'T YOU DO ANYTHING RIGHT? ARE YOU EVEN REMOTELY AWARE OF THE FACT THAT THERE IS A WAR GOING ON RIGHT NOW?"

Italy cowered in fear and could feel tears burning in his eyes. "I-I…I'm s-sor…. I swear! I-I didn-"

"OF COURSE YOU DIDN'T MEAN TO! YOU NEVER MEAN TO!"

"B-but Doit-"

Germany threw Italy by his wrist into the kitchen wall. "NO! NO MORE 'DOITSU!'" The Italian whimpered on the floor as tears freely fell down his face. "Until you can do something worthwhile… I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!"

It happened so fast. Italy took off running out of Germany's house as soon as Germany had finished saying those horrible words. He couldn't even see where he was going through his tears, but he knew he had to go somewhere else. He couldn't stand knowing that Ludwig never wanted to see him again. He just couldn't take it. Not after losing the Holy Roman Empire, too. It was hard enough to bounce back after HRE had left and never returned, but now losing Germany? He felt like the weight of the world had been dropped on his heart and could feel it starting to crack, just daring to shatter into a million pieces.

His wrist hurt where Ludwig had grabbed him, already starting to bruise. His back ached where he collided with the wall. But his heart hurt the worst. He couldn't even see where he was going but he kept running. It didn't matter where he ended up. Ludwig didn't care about him.

He was all alone. Void of the love he so desperately craved.

That's when a new sort of pain vibrated through his chest. Italy stopped running and looked down at his chest.

There was blood.

Then another pain hit him.

More blood.

He looked up and realized where he was. He had run out into the battlefield. He had been shot.

The sky was a murky orange stained by distant flames. The ground was dirtied with blood, guns, and bodies. Italian bodies. His people were dying in this battle. He saw his soldiers waving the white flag, saying that they had surrendered. But the allied troops kept firing. His people were still being shot at. Couldn't they see that they had surrendered?

Then he felt another pain shoot through his chest. This time, closer to his heart. He felt his head black out for a second before he hit the ground. He could feel his blood pumping out of the bullet holes.

It hurt. And he could feel his legs slowly grow cold as he lied on the cold, wet ground.

Italy coughed. His chest hurt where the bullets had hit him. Blood dripped out of his mouth. His head felt heavy and light at the same time.

He was left for dead.

He had been shot and now he had been left to die.

He cried. He was scared. He was going to die. Alone on the cold battlefield. He cried for Ludwig. He cried for Romano. He was scared. He was dying, alone. No one was coming to save him. Not even Ludwig.

The tears fell heavily from his once beautiful chocolate brown eyes, now starting to lose vibrancy. His body felt cold. He was going to die here. Alone and unloved.

'Useless…'

He used what little strength he had left to wrap his hand around the silver cross that hung around his neck. He felt blood on it but clutched it tightly and silently whispered a prayer. Using all of his strength he asked not to die on this battlefield and blacked out.

"Sir!" One of the German soldiers ran into Ludwig's office. He was out of breath and panting.

"Ugh, What is it?" Ludwig was in a terrible mood. He didn't get enough sleep and could feel his body disagree with him. He felt horrible for how he treated Italy the night before. He didn't mean to be so mean to him but he just snapped. He was under too much pressure and all it took was something so small to make him break. And he took his anger out on Italy.

His weak little Italy.

He tried to call him after he calmed down and realized what he had done, but Romano picked up and said that Italy hadn't returned that night and threatened to kill Germany if anything happened to his fratello. Ludwig then called Japan, hoping that Italy had gone there. But Japan hadn't seen the bouncy Italian either.

None of the allied forces had called to beg Germany to come get Italy before they lost their sanity, so he could safely assume that Italy hadn't been captured. Italy was missing and he wasn't sure much longer he could take it.

"Sir! The Allied forces attacked the Italian army! We just got report that sir Italy has been shot and almost half of the troops have been killed! The Italians surrendered but the Allies aren't ceasing fire! They're killing off as many as they can, sir!"

"WHAT?" Ludwig jumped out of his chair and grabbed his hand gun and began barking orders. "I want as many troops as we can get! Eile! Tell them that we are providing back up for the Italian army!"

Ludwig ran out of his office and out onto the training fields to his troops. He may not have his Italy next to him right now, but soon, oh soon, he would. That was something he would damn well be sure of.

He split up his troops and arrived at the battlefield in minutes. What they saw was Ludwig's worst nightmare.

The nearby Italian town was in flames. The ground was covered in bodies, blood, and leftover guns. The sky was a blackish- red. His second in command wasn't lying when he said that nearly half of the Italian army was slaughtered. Most of the bodies on the ground were in Italian uniforms, give or take the occasional American or British soldier dead on the ground.

Ludwig barked orders for half of the troops to back up who were left of the Italian army, who were desperately trying to surrender as they were shot at just over the hill, and the other half to search for survivors and provide immediate medical care.

Ludwig began his search for Italy.

His blood pounded in his ears. 'I never should have thrown him out last night! He wouldn't be here if I hadn't! This is all my fault!'

Ludwig ran over body after body, only stopping to check every auburn haired Italian soldier over to make sure it wasn't his Italy.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that Ludwig had arrived at the scene of the massacre and he still hadn't found Italy. He could feel tears pouring down his cheeks but didn't care. He didn't have time to cry and for all he knew, neither did Italy. But he knew Italy was out there somewhere, he just knew it. There was no way that he was dead. Ludwig would never allow it. He regretted throwing Italy out of his house with all his life and right now. He needed to know, more than anything, that the pasta eating lover was alive.

His pasta lover.

Suddenly, Germany had strange feeling hit is head and somehow, he could see Italy. He was laying on the ground. He was alive but bleeding. But where he was wasn't far from where Ludwig was standing. Without a second though, Ludwig took off at light speed to help Italy.

Ludwig sprinted to the spot that had appeared in his mind and sure enough, on the ground was the auburn haired Italian. He was laying on his back with his signature white flag, now mostly stained with blood, draped over his heart. Germany could feel his heart crack at the sight of the normally cheerful Italian laying on the ground as if he was arranged to be taken into heaven. It took every ounce of strength for Germany not to completely break down. Ludwig would never admit it, but the one thing he hated about war was watching his friends get hurt, nation or human.

Slowly, Germany walked forward to the broken Italian. He could faintly see Italy's chest rise and fall with his shallow breaths but the sight did not calm him in the least. Germany leaned down by the Italian and pressed his fingers to the vein on Italy's neck to check his pulse. Luckily, Italy was alive. Germany left out a sigh of relief. Although it was short lived , at the sight of the amount of blood on the ground and on Italy's clothes. It was a wonder how Italy still had any colour to his face, even if Italy did seem a bit paler than Germany was used to seeing. Ludwig kneeled down beside the frail Italian and for once, was at a loss of what to do. True, he was used to having to bandage up and save Italy, and as a solider, he was required to know basic medical care, but never before had it mattered as much as this. What if he messed up? What if he was too late? What if he couldn't save Italy?

"…Italy…? Can you… hear me?" Ludwig carefully cried out, afraid that if he spoke too loud, Italy would die.

"G…G-Germania… che cosa…?" Ludwig had to fight off a sob was dangerously close when Italy tried to ask his question but was to too weak to finish. His normally bright, ember eyes were a dull greyish brown. They no longer held the shine that Germany was so used to seeing in the Italian. The faraway look that glazed Italy's eyes sent Germany's adrenaline into overdrive. He picked up the Italian as gently as possible and in light jog, so as not to cause more harm, headed back in the direction of the hummers. Praying the whole way back that Italy wouldn't die in his arms.

When Italy awoke, he noticed that where he was laying was rather bright. The bright light above him seemed almost Holy. Maybe he really had died and now he was in Heaven? Italy tried to lift his arm to call our to his Padre, but couldn't, his arm just simply wouldn't lift. It was as if there was a weight on top of his arm. Now that Italy thought about it, he could feel a weight over his stomach, too. Ever so curious, Italy attempted to sit up and investigate. Almost instantly, he became dizzy and his head crashed back into the pillow. Italy let out a pained cry as the pain filled his body from head to toe. Tears fell down his cheeks but Italy was in too much pain to do anything about it. He tried to close his eyes to make the tears stop.

Italy froze when he felt a hand brush his cheek to wipe the tears away. The hand felt familiar, slightly calloused but still somewhat soft. Italy's eyes fluttered open and was met with blue eyes staring back into his. They held sadness, worry, and fear. "Italy," Germany whispered, "are you in pain? Do you want me to give you painkillers?" Germany's tone of voice was so soft and sincere that Italy didn't even know what to say at first. He had never heard Germany sound that way before. Italy wondered if he really had died, Germany would never act like this outside of his dreams. But Germany asked again, a little more worriedly, at seeing Italy's confused face. Now Italy knew he wasn't dead or dreaming because Germany took Italy's hand in his and stroked it. It felt too good to be fake, so Italy shook his head no to the drugs.

"But Italy, you're in pain."

Italy ignored Germany's statement. "Come sono arrivato qui?" Italy's voice was cracked and faint but Germany was still able to understand him perfectly. Germany winced, "I brought you here… after I found you wounded on the battlefield. The Allied troops attacked you. I found you just in time, any longer and you would've bled out. Are you sure you're alright?" Italy nodded slowly, starting to fade out as the memories of what happened started to flood into his mind. He closed his eyes, ignoring Germany's worried cries to have him keep his eyes open. Italy allowed the darkness to take over his mind.

He could see everything, the blood, the bodies. The fear he felt was lingering in the air as he relived what had happened to him. He could smell the dead, rotting flesh of the bodies that used to be men. The sounds of gunshots going off all around him as he laid dying. In the distance, Italy could hear a rapid beeping and was brought back to reality by a hand violently shaking him. But when Italy opened his eyes, he wasn't met with Germany's bright blue eyes or his slicked back blonde hair.

When Feliciano opened his eyes, he was sort of hovering over Germany and -wait- was that Italy? Feliciano's eyes grew wide with confusion and fear as he watched Germany shake Italy's body to wake him up, but nothing happened. The incessant beeping continued to ring through the small sterile white room, but all Feliciano could hear was Germany's frantic cries.

"Italy! Please! Open your eyes! For me! No no no no no! Italy!" Germany cried desperately to make his little Italian come back to him. It was then that Italy realised that Germany was crying. The sight broke Feliciano's heart. Very rarely does Germany show any extreme emotion such as crying and now, especially the fact the he was crying over Italy, Feliciano felt sick. But at the same time, Feliciano realised he also felt…lighter? Almost empty. Feliciano raised his hand in front of his face and was shocked to see the his hand was transparent. He could see Germany crying and pleading for Italy to come back through his hand. Eyes wide and shocked, Feliciano slowly looked down at his body and saw that the rest of his body was, too, transparent. His eyesight started to become blurry as tears started to flow form Feliciano's eyes, realising now that he was having an out-of-body experience.

"Italy! Please! Don't go! I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry! I-I never meant to be so mean to you! I'm sorry! Please! God, I'll do anything! Just please! Let Feliciano live!"

Italy was brought out of his thoughts when he heard Germany say his human name-something Germany had never done before, ever. slowly opening his eyes, Italy expected to be met with very worried, cool blue eyes. But instead, he was met with the brightest white light he had ever seen, and it was only becoming brighter. As the light grew in strength, the quieter the voice that had been calling Italy back to consciousness became, until it reached the point where Italy couldn't hear anything. In a desperate attempt to make the white light go away, Italy shut his eyes as tight as he could, but the light only grew brighter.

And then, it stopped. Cautiously opening his eyes, Italy could not immediately recognise where he was. Everything was still white, but not nearly as bright as it had been. In fact, everything around him looked soft and fluffy.

If Italy didn't know any better, it looked like he was standing on a cloud…But that surely couldn't be. Trying to get an idea of his surroundings, Italy turned around slowly. The sight before him caused Italy to freeze where he stood, the pieces beginning to set in Italy's mind. Before him stood the Golden Gates of Heaven. In all their majesty, the gates lazily began to open, allowing entrance for the Italian.

Dazedly walking forward, Italy passed through the golden gates, a pleasant warm feeling filling him.

"Benvenuto, figlio mio."

And now you all hate me…. :Y

"Come sono arrivato qui?" - How did I get here?

"Benvenuto, figlio mio." - Welcome, my child

The way I see it, if you were in the hospital in a foreign country and completely out of it from an injury, you're probably going to revert back to using your own language. So that's why Feli was speaking Italian in the hospital and not English. I mean, if I was fighting on a battlefield in Germany and was injured and woke up in the hospital, I probably going to be speaking English and not german.