From what he'd learned, Germans were Nazis. Nazis hated Jews and American freedom. He wasn't sure that all Nazis believed the way Hitler did, but he was sure of one thing. The young man at the head of the Axis soldiers he now faced was fighting on the opposite side. And the American had a duty to all the Allied soldiers he was at the head of. Guns were raised, and the young German's eyes shone behind the sights of his weapon. But the American noticed a little glint reflecting off them, which could have been the sun but might very well have been a tear. And in the moment he thought that this man was not a Nazi. He was a soldier defending his country, same as him, only the German was oppressed by a tyrannical ruler.

But then the German soldier put his finger to the trigger, and the American knew that he had to shoot first if he wanted to live to defend his comrades and his country. And so, quick as a whip, he pulled the trigger.

-Hetalia-Marvel-Hetalia-Marvel-Hetalia-Marvel-Hetalia-Marvel-Hetalia-Marvel-Hetalia-

Feliciano Vargas, known to the Board of Nations as Italy, sniffled as a tear rolled from a big brown eye and down his soft cheek. He didn't have many bandages left, so he was careful to use all he had to wrap his friend's chest. He hadn't changed Germany's bandage in quite a while, and the wound was infected despite his efforts to treat it.

"Feliciano…" Ludwig Beilschmidt, otherwise known as Germany, swallowed and grimaced as the boy applied a stinging ointment to his chest. "What is our latest word from Kiku? Has he found food yet?"

"No," Italy sighed as he finished tending to his friend's wound. He wrung out a cloth over a bowl and laid it on Germany's forehead. Their blonde leader had developed a fever that reached 40° Celsius last they'd checked, and hadn't gone down from there.

"You have to eat, Feli," Germany said, overlooking his own condition. "Don't worry, I'll find you food if it's the…"

"Don't say it!" Italy cried, knowing Germany intended to finish his sentence with "last thing I do". Germany reached up and tousled his little friend's auburn hair with the one bouncy curl that stuck out stubbornly. He remembered when he first met the sensitive country during the first World War, hiding in a box of tomatoes. Germany had captured him at the time, but Italy was now his ally. Being nations, they could live hundreds, even thousands of years, and Feliciano was as much of an innocent youth now as he was then. Germany felt like a big brother to the vulnerable adolescent, and he hated to think of him being all alone.

Kiku Honda returned to the camp, his black hair damp with sweat. Japan, he was called amongst those who understood. Together, the three made the Axis powers. Germany looked up at him with raised eyebrows, and the Asian nation bowed before saying, "I have no food with me, but there is an allied camp nearby, just over a hill to the right and beyond a little grove of trees."

"Brilliant," Germany murmuring, closing his eyes, "such a stereotypical place for a camp that it is the last place I would have checked." He struggled to sit up, wincing in pain, and Italy gently pushed him back down, dabbing the sweat off his face with the cloth.

"Ve, don't hurt yourself worse, Germany," Italy begged. "I can't lose you." He curled up into a ball on the ground and slowly fell asleep at Germany's side, ready should his friend need him.

It was a cool night, and though Germany normally hated the sound of crickets, he was glad for them now because they provided some sound to what otherwise would have been a haunting silence. Japan held a flashlight and knelt beside the wounded soldier, studying his face. Ludwig was always pale, but now his skin was nearly translucent, his eyes glassy with fever. Sweat trickled down his forehead, and his breaths were shallow and labored. He was so tragically young to die.

Japan was raised to sense the mood and refrain from speaking, and now he sensed that refraining from speaking was exactly what this mood called for. He waited for Germany to say something instead, and he did. "Japan," he croaked, "take care of Italy for me."

Japan didn't want Germany to see the tears forming in his eyes, so he lowered his head. "Hai, Mister Germany." He asked if Germany needed anything, and when the blonde nation simply shook his head, he curled up like Italy and fell into an uneasy slumber, the flashlight still on and rolling to a stop by his side.

When Germany saw that both his comrades were asleep, he took the flashlight and tried to recall what Japan had said regarding the Allied camp's location. Over a hill to the right and just beyond a little grove of trees. His chest wound prevented him from being able to do the soldier's crawl, so he got on his hands and knees to try his hardest to get some food.

He took one last look at Italy and couldn't help but smile. The younger nation's skin was still soft and supple as a newborns, and he looked like a little cherubs in his sleep. Germany pushed Italy's hair out of his face and laid a hand on his brow, murmuring, "Sleep well, Feliciano. You will have food in the morning." And then, with as much strength as he could muster while injured and feverish, he crawled his way out of the Axis camp.