Hetalia Oneshots (Book One)

Switzerland X Reader: War

Guuuuys! Vash is 18! THE LITTLE BABY'S SO YOUNG! YUUUUS! SUCH A CUTIE! Just so you all know, I have an unnatural love for Switzy and Poland, please stay at least 10 feet away from them at all costs! It is my personal, self appointed job, to keep them safe from harm.

By the way, Reader (you) is 16, the youngest you're aloud to join the Military. As a reservist.

***

The Military.

A job you'd never really expected to one day join... whoops, too bad for you.

Naturally, a war started right after you finished training.

And that's why you're where you are now, right in the middle of a battle field, bullets flying over your head, people dropping left and right... some your allies, and others your enemies.

You're just a medic! But you got caught in an ambush, along with the rest of your comrades.

A loud scream off to your right side makes you jump, the tears streaming down your face, freezing from the cold air.

The gunshots and cries soon die down, the only thing to be heard is eerie silence, and a few occasional whimpers of pain.

You slowly stand up, eyes wide at the scene. The ground, what had been a dusty field, is now mud, the dirt red with blood. Guns, shells and grenade pins are scattered everywhere, bodies as well.

You take a step forewards, you boots making a squishing sound in the splattered brain matter and blood.

You bite you quivering lip, hard enough to break the skin. The pain of split lip makes you wince. Yet, you still manage to ignore the blood now flooding down your chin.

Every painful step you take makes the blood-mud squish and squeak, your feet sinking an inch every stride.

Somehow, you'd injured you ankle in the gunfight, probably a minor sprain, but it still hurts like a bitch.

The next step you take, the ground sinks lower and you collapse, gore and mud smeared on your uniform. Your eyes tear up, and you pull the pistol out of your waistband. It'd be so easy to end it... right here, right now, just blow your brains out.

You lift the gun, putting the barrel in your mouth.

That's when you hear it. Somebody sobbing... rather violently.

You take the gun out of your mouth, dropping it in the mud.

Someone needs help... most likely your help.

You stumble to your feet again, whimpering at the pressure on your ankle. Follow the crying... follow the desperation...

You hobble forewards, the crying getting louder.

It's a male, you can already tell that much by the tone of the voice. Is he your allie, or enemy? At this moment... you honestly don't care if he's on 'your side' or the 'bad side'. You just want somebody, anybody... you need to see a living, breathing human right now.

Finally, you see the crying figure. He's hunched over, one dirty, mud-caked hand pressed to a wound on his side, and the other, cleaner one, is pressed against his eyes, trying to wipe away the tears.

His choppy blonde hair is one of the few things you can see. The only other, is the mostly blood soaked, filth covered uniform...

The enemies uniform.

"S-si-" Before your word is even out of your mouth, he's turned to you, gun pointed straight at your head and sobs gone. His face is still grime and tear streaked, yet his jaw is clenched and his eyes are burning.