Separate Pulses

I: Fear

//AN: sooooo this is a pretty depressing little idea that I whipped up (excuse the weird formatting) It recounts the events of WW2s aftermath, centering around the pairings Italy and Germany, and America and Japan [so of course, Hiroshima and the results of Nazism] Some sensitive topics are mentioned, please do not read if you are upset easily.//

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January 27, 1945
Liberation of Auschwitz
International Holocaust Remembrance Day.

It's on this day, that the Second World War has begun to peel over, slowly coming to an end. It's lasting effects still deep, filling the air, mixed with the smoke of fallen innocents.
To Ludwig Bielschmidt, they'd been nothing but mere imperfections. Something to be blotted out, removed in order for Germany's purification. However he'd been wrong...very wrong.

It was only when he realized the significance of a number, something he'd placed on many things times and people. Something he held with no significance.

Oh but a number has so much significance.

6 million.

11 million.

The German would indeed feel the pain. Scars and ridicule. So much in fact, that when he locked eyes with his Italian counterpart, receiving a cold response mixed with tears and fear....he knew he deserved it. The present fear residing in Felicano's eyes that he'd seen in so many. Soldiers, mothers, children, pianists, artists, lawyers, Jews, people of all kinds. The single term summarized it; Fear.
It pained Ludwig's heart more than he let up. He'd grown up taught to be a veritable enemy, someone yes indeed, feared. Alas now however the fear had grown too much, too strong. His boss was dead, his country in ruins, his people shunned. And the Italian who had once devotedly stood by his side, now instead looked at him like the others.
With fear.
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It took Ludwig time, the supposedly invincible soldier having to bite back tremors as he reached for the phone. The sound of Feli's chipper voice on the other line made him shudder, the German managing the smallest noise before the Italian could sense something was wrong. Heart pounding, the small figure made his way to Berlin. At the sight of the country of Germany, a country he'd so enjoyed visiting, the Italian's breath caught in his throat, all too recent memories bubbling up. And the sight of the weakened blonde, sitting at his desk sternly only brought up more. He could see something in his eyes as he approached. The room felt cold to Feli as he slowly stepped in, the German in front of him barely able to make eye contact before trying to mumble what explanation he could.

But was there really an explanation...? For genocide, for murder, for such sheer corruption?

While the two might not have known it, in that time they shared extremely similar thoughts.

After his explanation, Ludwig still couldn't look at the Italian, his heart snapping as the man before him managed in a whimper.
"Ludwig....I don't understand...if..you only like blonde haired and blue eyed people...d-do you not like me..? Is that why you stopped talking to me...?"

Hearing Italy's tears creeping into his voice made Ludwig shudder. He desperately wanted to open his mouth, to cry, to scream, to deny the Nazism that had had such a tight rip on his people. But the man knew the truth. It had gripped him. And by the time he realized it was wrong....

...it was far too late.

December 7, 1941
Pearl Harbor Bombing

It's on this day, that Alfred F. Jones halts in place. His eyes widen, the pain small then immense. Blood dribbles down his chin, his blue eyes wide as a scream protrudes from his lips.

At the same time, his once friend and companion, Kiku Honda, finds himself holding his breath, eyeing the clock on the wall and counting.

Impact.

He would've objected had his pride not overtaken his love, at least that's what he tells himself.

The man can't bring himself to eat, knowing that as he does, his friend now lies in the hospital. The wound would be somewhat minor yes..
..but it's what lies beneath it that stung most.

Alfred's immediate response is revenge. Anger, hurt, betrayal. Such love cannot exist, clearly it didn't.

Love is patient
Love is kind
Love is not---

Bullshit.

His anger boils. He can't bring himself to look at the small man, his old friend, who too can't bare to make eye contact. Both are cowardly in their own way.

Alfred's anger is finally released on 1945, at 8:16 a.m. Japanese time.

As the Enola Gay drops the world's first atomic bomb, Kiku Honda releases an ear splitting scream.