Shotguns in Their Roses (Hetalia)

Warning Bells Sound in Berlin

Germany wasn't quite sure when he first realized something had changed about the two from before. It seemed that he had just woken up one morning and they were...... different.

They were just suddenly.......... less naive. Less cowardly. Less trusting. Less docile. Less of everything he had grown to expect from the brothers.

*

"Italy, you're late! And where's Romano, isn't he supposed joining us today." Germany barked at the newly-arrived brunette. Even after WW2, the trio sometimes got together to relive this one happy part of the horrible war.

Italy looked mildly sheepish, which was an oddity on its own (I mean when was the last time he looked like he knew he did something wrong), and rubbed the back of his head. "Ve, mi dispiace Germany. Romano had to finish up an important..... project that came up." He said, being rather vague, but Germany accepted the excuse.

"Fine. But drop and give me 20, maybe eventually you'll get it into your head that you need to be punctual." He ordered, and proceeded to physically have to push the smaller man down and hold his head to make sure Italy didn't run.

A half hour later Italy and Japan finished counting off and the three began the first excercise, a light jog around the block, nothing extreme. Surprisingly enough, the Italian was actually keeping up with the other two. Germany just figured that he had more coffee then usual today.

They paused for a quick water break his patio, when Germany noticed an odd thing about Italy. Seemingly overnight, he had developed a light dusting of freckles. No, that's impossible. He thought, and, much to Italy's confusion (and joy), leaned in closer to his face to get a better look.

His face, on closer inspection, did not in fact have freckles, but had a light splattering of red droplets on his face.

Germany back peddled quickly (he nearly ran off the porch but no one needed to know that) and as he continued to stare at Italy, he noticed more and more small details.

Smudges on his hands that looked like they came from gunpowder. A small, still bleeding cut on collar bone. A rip on the hem of his pants. His hair was messier then normal. A few fresh bruises scattered around the parts of his body exposed by his slightly baggy sweat pants and tank top.

It looked like he had been in a fight.

And he had been on the winning side.

"Italy, what where you doing with Romano with before you came here?" Germany questioned, half wondering if he was hallucinating. "Oh, I was just helping him make some red sauce, ve." Italy replied innocently, giving a sweet smile.

But for some reason, for a second, the happy-go-lucky country's eyes flashed with malice and his grin seemed as dark as night. And then it was normal again.

Germany shook it off as seeing things and ushered Japan, who had disappeared as soon as Germany leaned towards the auburn haired country, and Italy back to training. After all, the likelihood of Italy having any form of bloodlust was about as good a chance as France still being a virgin.

But, the small seed of suspicion had already taken root.