I've seen your flag on a marble arch and...
Title: Love is Not a Victory March.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN OR PROFIT FROM HETALIA, THIS IS PURELY FANMADE FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES. ANY REFERENCES TO LYRICS ARE MADE WITH RECAPITULATION IN MIND.
Genre: Drama/Romance/Psychological
Pairings: (Ludwig/Feliciano), references to HRE=Germany
Rating: M for Mature
Warning: Dark, psychological, references to multiple personalities. Mature/sexual, parts may be considered non-con.
A/N: Although representing a deep, dark part of yourself in fiction seems to have disastrous consequences, especially since it can be rejected and, in turn, reject you, I find that this is something I need to do. For those who know me personally, just don't ask. For those who know what I'm talking about, sorry. For those who don't care that I have reflected my personal issues onto a character, read on and enjoy.
xXx
We stand together
We walk together
Together until death
We live together
We float together
Together until death
xXx
It is that perfect morning. The one where you wake up and the sun is seeping through the curtains, the birds sing sweetly, and the world seems much brighter since you last checked. Grey-blue orbs slowly adjusted to the world beyond his eyelids, and his hand reached up to move those few irritating strands that brushed against his forehead. He sat up, his body already mourning the loss of soft, warm sheets. He surveyed the room with one sweep of his gaze, and then let it rest on the spot beside him. His mind was still hazy and sleep-centered, but he knew something was a little off.
Once he felt his conscious clear, he was surprised to find that the Italian that normally occupied that spot was absent. He had to admit, this was both to his relief and disappointment. He found that now he didn't have anything to do except get up and get ready for the day. Throwing the covers to the side, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. The unused muscles showed a slight bit of irritation, but then rectified themselves with a long stretch.
He was normally not the one to smile, but the quiet morning was a pleasure. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch just slightly upwards. Perhaps today was going to be just as peaceful as the way it started.
He owns you.
He paused mid-stride; his steps faltering once he realized that the voice did not come from an outside source. The hairs on the back of his neck began to stand on end, and the ice-cold prickling shot up his spine to leave a slight burn in its wake. He could feel his heart rate and breathing pick up in anticipation for what would happen next, but nothing happened. He waited a few tense moments before cautiously continuing on.
Surely, he had just imagined it. He hadn't had -that- problem for quite some time. Not since the end of the world wars. He shook it off and began to walk down the hall for the bathroom to begin his morning routine. He grabbed a towel out of the closet in the hall before opening the door and closing it securely behind him. Something about the little encounter had knocked him off kilter, and suddenly staying in the house seemed a bit unnerving. He would go to the office where he would have other people around to calm him. Actually, he did have those reports to read through. He had told himself he would finish them Monday, but if he did them today he'd have some extra time. Time he would probably waste being dragged out of the office by a certain bouncy Italian.
A dull ache pressed between his brows caught his attention, and he squinted his eyes. Where had the migraine come from? He tried to shake it off, figuring he just needed to grab a cup of coffee and it would melt away, but it seemed to spread from the bridge of his nose back through his skull to just above his neck. He winced and decided he'd head for some ibuprofen once he brushed his teeth. The shower could wait until this died away a bit. The humidity would only make it worse.
He walked in front of the large mirror, grabbed his toothbrush, and would have carried on to do just as he had planned.
Except he immediately noticed that his reflection didn't.
His heart stopped for a moment. The same creeping coldness slid up his spine harshly, making him shudder violently against the assault. Panic flooded his senses; his eyes widened and locked on the bottom of the mirror, where his reflections own hands were leaning against the sink leisurely. The only problem was that his hands were in mid-air, holding onto the toothbrush and toothpaste. He refused to raise his chin and dare look into the face of his reflection.
"No." He closed his eyes and shook his head, feeling the pain shoot from one side of his skull to the other with the motion. "This isn't happening." He murmured to himself, trying to hold onto the sound of his own voice and the fact that his head hurt too much for this to be a dream. It was just a trick of the light, sometimes the shadows off of his cabinet made him jump when he walked in during the evening. He tried to reassure himself of this, so when he looked back at the man in the mirror his heart wouldn't pound out of his chest.
You can't ignore me.
Eyes snapped open without his consent, and he was face to face with himself. The things slackened in his palms, and clattered to the floor. He wanted to scream, but nothing would come out of his throat. His hand reached up and covered his mouth anyway, and he felt the pit of his stomach drop out when the mirror image stayed where it was. He took a step back, only scaring himself more when, once again, the other him didn't budge.
Icy, almost silver-blue eyes stared back at him. No matter how bright it was in the room, there was no way his were that color. They looked cold and menacing, not like the normal medium gray-blue he normally saw when he looked in the mirror. The person he was watching had their shoulders hunched forward as they leaned on the sink, a feral grin quirking up his lips into something that resembled a dangerous animal that knew it had it's prey cornered.
Long moments passed, moments where Ludwig was sure his heart would stop beating from the pain and pace that it had manifested. His brain could come up with no solution; only incapacitating fear that kept him rooted to the floor and stopped him from running out of the room in panic.
Now that I have your attention, Ludwig. The mouth before him moved, but the snarl was right beside his ear, and he jumped and looked to his side, only finding nothing. His eyes returned to the reflection, where the other him was laughing. Hollow chuckles filling his ears until he wanted to put his palms over them in an attempt to stop the sound from getting in.
You've been hiding from something, haven't you? The sinister tone asked, as if feigning compassion. I will not tolerate this anymore, you know. I will not be owned by another country any longer. You will take over.
"What are you talking about?" He gasped out, feeling his voice tremble under the weight of forming words. He didn't know who this man was, or what topic he had in mind. As if tuned into his inner dialogue, the face twisted into an unimpressed look. A scowl that made Ludwig feel so much fear when he saw it, that he wasn't sure how much more he could handle.
Don't play stupid, Ludwig, I know that insignificant fool hasn't rubbed off on you enough to stop rational thought. Think hard... The refection stopped and straightened, as if coming to some sort of unseen conclusion. Or maybe this will help.
The image before him distorted and he saw the clothing on the icy-blonde change. At first it almost seemed like from an old movie, where everything was grainy and grayscale. Then the image sharpened, and color came flooding back so quickly that the pain in his skull intensified to a higher magnitude. It was enough to make his eyes begin watering. Still, pain or not, he couldn't deny the crisp green uniform. Nor could he deny the blood-red band around the upper arm. His throat ran dry.
Germany from World War Two. The other word he could have used to describe the uniform stopped from forming, like a curse word too vulgar to say. It was the part of him that brought back horrifying memories of blood, carnage, and darkness. The part of him that had ended, thankfully, when he sat in that dark, dank, cell at the final days of war. The darkness that had slithered away once he was able to surrender.
Images flooded before his senses, of a day when he had finally been released from his mental prison. For years the human part of him had been slipping away, locked behind a cage of silence. He could only watch as he murdered, betrayed, injured, and massacred races and people he had once trusted and cared for. The image of blood splattering from a knife through someone's palm, successfully pinning the appendage to a wall raced into his view. Then another of his boot making swift contact with the side of someone's skull who was decked out in a uniform of blue and red. A scream when glasses fell askew and someone lay clawing at their throat for air.
The final image was of sitting in a prison cell, allied forces all standing outside yelling against one small voice before silence. Then the door opened to let light seep into the darkness, and a small frame was swallowed into the shadows before the door closed behind them. The clanging of metal doors being opened with a single key was heard, and then gentle footsteps walking purposefully towards him.
"Are you okay now?" The small, comforting voice had spoken. In that instant, Ludwig had broken free, finally resurfacing from the suffocating darkness of his mind. All it took was one simple voice of a friend, who had then wiped all remnants of the shadow from his body when he had knelt down and touched his forehead with his, warm tanned hands caressing the side of his face as the tears gushed out.
"Feliciano…"
DON'T SAY THAT NAME!
The image abruptly ended, and he was now staring into the man in the mirror, pulsating darkness where the rest of the bathroom behind him should have been in the reflection. War Germany's eyes were nearly white now, and his expression was contorted in rage.
Of course, Italy had been the one to dispel this before; the other side of him must harbor such hatred for the smaller nation. From the looks of it, Ludwig was able to piece together that this had something to do with Italy and his involvement in Germany's life. Otherwise he would not be getting this reaction. Feeling himself grow the tiniest bit more confident, he straightened out and licked his lips to get rid of the dryness there. The first thing he thought of once the initial panic was over was he should find out what this 'other him' wanted. The next step would be trying to find out how to get rid of him. From the track record thus far a visit from the brunette would probably suffice.
Always the same, aren't you? Back in control, War Germany simply smirked. You are the weakest man alive. You think you are so strong? I WAS STRONG! He thundered suddenly, causing Germany to jump. You are like those precious dogs you keep, running as soon as he opens his mouth. I will not stand for it any longer. You will take him.
Germany shook his head slowly, finally realizing what the other version meant. "No, that will not happen."
He had to admit that sounded much more positive than he felt. He couldn't deny the fact that his palms were clammy, and his breath was quivering. He just had to ignore it.
The laughter started again, making him wince. It did not have the same effect as last time, and he felt more in control now when the other man spoke. His conscious was beginning to clear, what could a remnant of anger do to the man he was now? He wouldn't need Feliciano in order to fight this off; he just needed to gain control of his feelings. This person, this part of him, it was not who he was. He could beat it down, he had lived peacefully since then and he would still do so.
Confident, aren't we? He continued to chuckle, as if his laugher still hadn't worked its way out of his system. Tell me Ludwig; aren't you tired of chasing him around? Tired of your 'feelings' taking a second to your duty as an ally? Tired of not having an ounce of control when he holds both reins? I can feel it, and you cannot fight me when you know I am right. I will fester, and bleed, and ache until you finally assert the one part that will break his ultimate control over you.
"You're wrong!" He yelled back, angry at the smug look on the other's face. He didn't feel that way at all! Sure he had been annoyed with running to his aid in the past, but he cared about Feliciano now. He would let his feelings go if it meant he could keep the friendship he had. He would never destroy that all because of one fleeting display of raw emotion. He would keep his physical attraction at bay until the world exploded if it meant he wouldn't scare Italy away.
That's right; don't let him win! Don't do this to him!
The other voice brought with it a way of comfort and intense sadness. He was temporarily taken aback by the softer, calm voice and wondered for a moment if it was something HE had thought. One look at the Germany in the mirror shot down his idea, when he crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.
Oh, I see. Once your little Italia is threatened now you appear? He growled, and instantly Ludwig knew he wasn't the one his reflection was talking to. The icy eyes were staring beyond him, to someone else. HE felt the headache spread further, down his spine to his arms. He could hardly concentrate on what either voice was saying. You think he will listen to YOU, the man who still holds the love of his beloved Italy under lock and key? I wonder what he would do if he knew the truth.
Germany, you can't let this happen.
No, no, Holy Roman Empire. I think I shall stop you before you damage the situation further.
Please! Don't do this-
Darkness.
"I had someone I loved very much."
Italy with his eyes downcast, he pushes his hair back from his face with a sad smile. Germany has never seen him look so serious. In that instant, the flash of a young blonde clothed in black appears. Blood dripping from his dead lips, skin an ashen gray, and he knows. He knows that is a part of him, a part of him that has long since dissolved along with all memories.
"I said I'd wait for them… But they never came back…"
Smothering.
You won't win against a part of you that has already died. Do you see my point of view now? Your love will eat you alive; you can't win. He will continue to hold on to someone who exists within you, can you live with that? Even if you tell him, it is not you he will love. It is not you he will see. It is not you he will touch.
Crack.
Don't hurt him. It will gain you nothing. If you want him to love you, this isn't the way!
Pain, so much pain. It felt like his heart was decaying from the inside. He screams wordlessly, clawing at his chest. He has to get it out; it's killing him. He can't breathe, the weight is pressing down on his lungs. Tears stream down his cheeks as he tries to stop the ache. He can't do this anymore. There is a picture of a smiling Feliciano. Whose heart will always belong to a part of him, but not to the person he is right now. It's all types of twisted.
But he won't love you, so why don't you take what you want? If you can't get him to be yours the emotional way, then at least you can take him in another manner. He won't stop you; he's too weak. Take what is yours. After all the pain, all the suffering, you deserve this.
Shatter.
XxX
Because behind the gray clouds
The lights waits, there's no way back
XxX
A/N: No, I didn't have an evil Nazi-side. Hello Drama, my best friend, how have YOU been?