Proceeding (A Hetalia Fanfiction)

Chapter One: Italy

Italy's

The Allies were all lined up around a small area after World War II.

Germany was in the center of the place, face down, getting whipped with a whip to pay for his many crimes during the war.

His eyes were squeezed shut, his back was streaked with reds, yellows, and even blues, and a few silent tears streaked down his face caused by the excruciating pain. The Allies watched on, doing nothing to stop it. But one of the Allies wanted to stop it.

"Why do they have to do this to Germany?" A brown haired, amber eyed man asked his older brother. He twitched his fingers, anticipating his brother's response.

His brother frowned. "Well, the idiot caused a lot of problems during the war, and now he has to pay for them."

"But why?"

"He was on the Axis powers."

"I was too."

"But you're not now."

The younger Italian brother frowned. "What about Japan? Why is only Germany getting hurt?"

"Well," his brother began, "all the Allies agree that Japan suffered enough on D-Day."

Italy pictured the horrible day in his head once again. He saw America standing over a bloodied Japan, who was kneeling over, and coughing up blood. Japan's uniform and the land around him was already covered in blood. He saw Japan collapse to the ground, and then the image was gone.

Germany got struck by the whip once again, and Italy began to have trouble keeping his tears in. He remembered all the time he spent with Japan and Germany, how nice they had been even when Italy acted stupid. He remembered their faces when he said he had to join the Allies.

After that day, he had never directly spoke to them again. Even after all the horrible and idiotic things he had done, they never really got mad. They probably never though he would notice that when Italy joined the Allies, that they avoided making attacks on Italy's land altogether. But he had noticed.

Now Italy had to watch his former best friends crumble.

*****

"My head hurts, Romano. I'm going to go outside to get some fresh air."

"Okay. Just don't get kidnapped, raped, or killed. That would mean me or someone else having to come save you, bastard. Clear?"

"Clear!" Italy saluted his brother.

North Italy wandered out of the cluttered building, wanting to go home. But he couldn't. It would be rude. China had insisted that he take Germany home after the torture. He didn't decline, but he kindly accepted. Yet, Italy wondered why.

He stretched his arms and reclined back in the old, rusted bench he had sat down on. He shifted his body, attempting to get comfortable. Finally, he relaxed in the bench in a lying-down position, curling his legs to his chest.

Then he began to think.

He thought of Germany. Poor, poor Germany. It wasn't Germany's fault; for the war, that is. All he did was follow his ruler's orders. That's all he could do, anyways. If he disobeyed, there's no telling what could happen to him.

He thought of Romano, his brother. Romano was only looking out for Feliciano. He just tended to have an odd way of showing it. The same with Romano's attitude to Spain. He was sure Romano liked Spain, he just didn't know what to do about it.

He thought of Spain. One day, he could learn how Romano really felt. But what would he do then? Did Spain feel the same?

He thought of Prussia. Prussia was gone now. Wasn't that a big enough punishment to Germany, his brother? And Italy hadn't seen Hungary since then. Was she okay? He knew she loved him the most. She, like Romano, just didn't know what to do or how to show it.

He thought of Hungary. Of Austria. Of England. America. France. Belarus. Ukraine. Canada. Sweden. Finland. All the Nordics. And all the rest.

With these thoughts filling his head, Italy drifted into a gentle sleep.