NOTE: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. ALL RIGHTS GO TO THE CREATOR, HIDEKAZ HIMAYURA.

The bloodstained battlefield marked the end of the Third World War. The smell of gunpowder and blood was still lingering in the dreary morning air. Everyone has fallen in the battle, even the powerful countries and their armies had been defeated. Not one country, soldier, or citizen remains…Except for the personification of the beautiful land of Northern Italy, Feliciano Vargas…

The young brunette fluttered open his amber eyes. The eyes that once held so much innocence, was now plagued by the sight of war and the cruel, harsh reality that everyone was trying to prevent him from, what he, himself tried to mask. He groaned in pain as he stood up. His right sleeve was bloodied from a gunshot wound, but the rest of him was to his own surprise, intact and unhurt. He gripped the bloodied arm with his opposite hand and stood shakily on the bloodied grass, looking around for any possible signs of life other than himself. The fogginess of the morning didn't do the least bit of good for the Italian's eyesight. "H-Hello?!" the brunette shouted hoarsely, his eyes still scanning. The only things that were in his sight were the fallen soldiers at his feet. He walked, his legs unsteady, and his eyes downcast looking at the faces of the fallen soldiers and being careful not the stumble over them. He was still looking for something that would tell him that he wasn't alone, but nothing was to be seen. Suddenly he stopped in his tracks, gasping loudly in horror. His eyes widened and quickly filled up with tears. His ally, Kiku Honda, or as Feliciano liked to call him, "Japan," was no more than a foot away from the Italian's feet, looking like a broken doll. His face was splattered with blood and his uniform no longer was white, it was now stained with vermillion. Feliciano fell to his knees, he thought he could try to shake the Japanese to get him to wake up, but as soon as the Italian put his hands on Japan's shoulders, he recoiled, tears flowing down his face. Kiku's body was ice cold and his formally soft skin felt more like a hard shell. Italy stood up again and nodded at Japan. "Y-you…did so much…you were a…great friend, Japan…" he whispered to the Japanese and kept walking. He saw many others he recognized in the same broken state as Japan, their clothes died red and their bodies sprawled. The Italian couldn't bear it and his tears seemed to be impossible to control. He looked at everyone and how they seemed so broken. How could his friends, who he always knew where stronger than he was, be overcome when he, the scrawny Italian who always surrendered, could fight and somehow survive through all of this. Feliciano saw something, or in this case someone, blocking his way of walking. He looked down and he couldn't believe his eyes. His eyes widened even more and he completely lost all of his control that he tried to keep. He sobbed and fell to the ground over this person's body and looked at the fallen solider. It was a blond man, with a few hairs in his face, but the rest was slicked back. He wore a now bloodied German cross. He was none other than Feliciano's closest friend, and even secret crush, Ludwig Beilschmidt. Otherwise known as the Republik Of Deutschland, or "Germany" for short. His face had a few critical gashes on his pale face, and his major wound was in his chest. More precisely, his heart. Feliciano sobbed into Ludwig's cold, hard shoulder, wishing with all his heart that his best friend would come back to him. "NO…You're not dead Luddy! You're NOT DEAD!" He choked out, trying to cloud that fact that Ludwig was gone. And he wasn't coming back. "You can't be…I…I need you….Ti Amo….Ti Amo Ludwig..." He whispered. Feliciano reached for the nearest gun, grasping it and closing his eyes, his index finger lightly touching the trigger and held it to his own head. "I can't take this…" He said to himself. "I can't go on without my friends…." Just as he was about to pull the trigger, to end his life of his misery, he threw the gun down and looked at Ludwig. "I can't do it…Not like this…I must go on because…the world needs me. I can still live and be happy. All I have is my memories…" He kissed the blond's forehead, "and the ones who are in my heart forever…" the Italian reached to take off Ludwig's German Cross for a keepsake. The cross was right above Ludwig's left pocket, and when Feliciano took it off, he examined it. He found a small folded up piece of paper in the back of the cross. It looked like a note. He unfolded it and it read: "Dearest Feliciano. In truth, I love you. I never really expressed it because I'm really not the type of person to express my emotions so freely as you do. You make me feel like there is another reason to smile again. After what happened in WW2, I would have thought no one could ever love someone like me, or even to say the least, befriend me. However, you did. You stayed by my side. And I want to be by yours forever. So will you be mine? I know it's a crazy thought to be in love with another man, but…I really do love you…Ich Liebe Dich. After all, I want to make up for the things that happened in the past. Something you may remember. Do you remember the small boy? The one you used to play with as a child? The one that disappeared and never came back? You still miss him don't you? I hear you talking about it sometimes to your brother. Well, I have a bit of a confession to make…I am Holy Roman Empire. I am just known as Germany, since I won my independence. And if you ever receive this note. Please, take good care of it, it may be the only thing you have left of me and-"

That's where the note stopped. Where Ludwig stopped writing. Probably to fight or to do paperwork like he usually did. Italy pinned the Iron Cross to his own shirt and held the letter to his heart. "I knew it…" he whispered, holding a hand over Ludwig's wounded chest. "I knew you would come back…" the Italian said as he continued to walk on, away from the battlefield. Away from all the hurt and violence. He was now crying in joy. Joy that he knew what he wanted to know from thousands of years and that the pain of war was finally gone. He knew he had to start a whole new life. A new beginning, all on his own.