Fourth part of the Monochrome series.

Warning: language, M rated

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

Pairing: Prussia x Germany

No beta has seen it.

Historical notes on the bottom of the last chapter.

Iron Cross

Chapter 1

During 1914

The sound of heavy combat boots clinking together as a tall figure straightened rigidly, readying himself to give a report was louder in the small office than expected.

The soldier was young. And unexpectedly eager.

"Herr Oberst!"

Prussia looked up from his paperwork, red eyes skimming over the person in front of him with amused mirth.

"Rührt Euch!"

Hands joined behind a broad back, right foot moving a step to the side to take up a more comfortable position.

The young man was a breath of fresh air in this shitty gunpowder infested stale and grey environment. His posture was unflinching. Uniform immaculate. Golden blonde hair cut short and slicked back, blue eyes fixated somewhere on the wall behind Prussia, waiting for the next order patiently.

Germany was the personification of a perfect soldier.

A bittersweet feeling gripped at Prussia's heart as he watched the proud figure standing in front of him. His little brother wasn't that little anymore. The boy he raised for over a century was now a young man, and he never felt so old before.

The blonde was completely devoted to his post, too. And as much as the older nation enjoyed watching him pursue this military career, he wished his younger brother was less official when they were in private.

Prussia sighed.

Oh well, if Germany wanted to play this game he would play along.

"Report?"

"Sir!"

Rustling sound filled the little room and a neat stack of papers was handed over. Prussia flicked through it quickly before putting it aside, adding another layer to the pile of reports he had to read properly.

Work was piling up, and he mentally groaned at the prospect of yet another night spent in this stuffy and uncomfortable as hell office.

This modern war sucked. Royally.

In the old times, they only had to wait for the scouts to report back. Then after some strategising it was time to act. No paperwork. No signatures and permissions. No bureaucracy. Just pure fight, where men clashed against men in a battle of physical strength and skill, amongst the symphony of clangouring steel and euphoric shouts, while the sickly sweet scent of blood and testosterone filled the air.

Prussia almost groaned from pleasure at the thought.

But this war was nothing like that, and the older man missed those simpler times.

He missed the thrill of the fight, too. But to his dismay he was given a high enough rank to keep him cooped up in this small office doing paperwork instead. At first he thought it was overprotectiveness. His boss didn't want him to get hurt, not like a nation of his status was easily harmed. But then the realisation dawned on him. His brazen behaviour on the battlefield and his 'archaic' values were not welcome on the front lines.

Prussia frowned. Well, sure this new style of war wasn't his cup of tea but it's not like he couldn't adapt. However, he was still a great strategist. An awesome one, if he could say so himself. So the top brass decided to chain him to an office desk.

Well, fuck.

He hated it. But orders were orders. There was no way going around it.

"Is that all?"

Germany stiffened.

"Yes, sir!"

There was some hesitation in his voice. The answer came just a moment later than it used to. Other officers wouldn't have noticed that. But Prussia knew instantly that there was something else.

He leaned back in his chair, giving the younger man an unconvinced stare. If Germany kept silent about it, it was either irrelevant to the report or something personal. Either way the man wanted to know.

"There's something else, isn't there?"

"Sir?"

"You know, you don't have to be so official with me." The man said, crossing his legs under the desk and waiting for the inevitable reaction this comment triggered. Every single time.

It was getting annoying. As much as he understood that Germany wanted to take this seriously, he was going overboard. So typical of him. He either did something with full devotion or didn't do it at all. It was admirable, but right now it just added to the older nation's general irritation.

"But, sir-"

"Oh, please!" Prussia threw his hands in the air then dramatically collapsed onto the table. "At least when we are in private! Or do you hate your big Brother that much?"

Germany winced at this theatrical whining, but his posture relaxed anyway.

"You're incorrigible."

Prussia perked up. The smug grin plastered on his face could have driven anyone crazy.

"Well, as long as I get what I want…"

Germany regarded him with a distasteful look, but didn't comment on it as he pulled a chair closer and sat down as well.

Fixing his crumpled uniform Prussia lifted himself back into a sitting position, too.

"So, what happened?"

The heavy sigh that followed made him grateful that he pressed on. Something strange was going on. Something that made the usually composed Germany troubled. And he didn't like it.

"While I was out there, I met another nation…"

A white eyebrow rose curiously.

Ah, that would explain things.

Honestly, the man had difficulties imagining that anyone could affect Germany that much even if they were a nation. Normally the boy would report anything. It wasn't the first time the blonde was sent spying on others. So unless it was France sexually harassing him, he couldn't imagine a reason for Germany to keep quiet.

Prussia froze for a moment. He had to shake his head free of all the unpleasant images his mind provided him with.

What if it was exactly that?

No, definitely not. It couldn't be. Germany was strong enough to protect himself, besides, that wine guzzling bastard might have been a pervert, but he would never force himself onto anyone.

But what if…

Absently picking up a pen and twirling it between his fingers, the white haired man leaned forward suspicion raising its ugly head within his chest.

"Was it France?"

"No. Italy."

The pen snapped.

The room suddenly got much colder.

Ink spilled all over the documents and Prussia's fingers, and the man cursed loudly as he tried to save the paperwork, his uniform and save face. Losing his composure like that was totally unacceptable. Not awesome at all!

But this was entirely unexpected.

"Are you okay, Brother?" Germany jumped up instantly, helping him to clean up the mess.

Soon everything was under control and Prussia could sit back again. Trying to calm his nerves, he exhaled deeply.

No, he was not fucking okay.

The last time he has seen Italy was forty-five years ago in Rome. He helped the boy regain his territories, just as he promised, but since then-…

No. Since Germany became more than just a brother he couldn't face the older nation.

Germany… Holy Rome…

Prussia's ink stained fingers twisted into his military jacket nervously.

They were not the same, but the self-loathing at his betrayal he felt every time he thought about his benefactor was real.

He stole Holy Rome from Italy. Gave him a new name. A new existence. Sure, initially he hoped that the boy would regain his memories, but after a while he was rather glad it didn't happen. He didn't want it to happen! And after everything what Italy did for him, he felt guilty. He was such an ungrateful brat!

And exactly because of that he kept his distance. And selfishly kept Germany away from the smaller nation, too. If they met, who knew what would happen.

Would Italy recognise him? Would Germany regain his memories? It was plausible. And Prussia was scared of hurting Italy, but even more scared of losing his only family.

His brother. His lover. His other half.

"So, you met Italy? And…?" His heart hammered like crazy, yet the question was rather calm, cautious.

Germany took a deep breath, and Prussia did the same.

"I've never met someone so annoying in my life!" The younger exclaimed.

"What?"

The question tore from Prussia's chest like the breath he didn't even notice he was holding back.

What a surprise!

"Is this guy for real!? Does he understand what war is!?" The frustrated outburst made the older recoil in shock as he watched the blonde grab at his hair irately. "Is that puny little nation seriously the descendant of Great Rome?"

Puny?

"What happened? Did he say anything?"

Germany gave a disdainful wave.

"Blabbered something about tomatoes and fairies."

Blabbered? Fairies?

Was the blonde really talking about Italy? Was he not mistaken perhaps? Because he just couldn't believe it.

Sure, Italy's appearance was rather effeminate but puny was such a harsh word. He wasn't physically strong, but he was graceful and beautiful like those renaissance paintings he loved so much. He had a unique aura, the soldiers – not only his but Prussia's as well – always calmed down when he was around. And yes, he tended to be childish on occasions, but the white haired nation couldn't remember him blabbering.

Were Prussia's memories deceiving him, the long years sweetening the image he had in his head, or did something happen to change the smaller man so much?

Anyway, his fears seemed to be unwarranted, and – although he wasn't exactly relieved – he felt somewhat easier.

"You should keep yourself away from him." Well, it never hurt to be careful. "Although he was part of our Alliance I doubt he would join our side."

Or at least Prussia really hoped so. There was no need for Germany to spend too much time with the brunette, but in case they allied it would be unavoidable. Besides, he heard rumours that the Allies offered a rather sweet deal to him. If Italy had any common sense and a bit of tactical foresight, - which he had, Prussia knew from experience – then there was no reason for him not to accept the offer.

"Join our side?" Germany snorted. "That would be shooting ourselves in the foot."

The comment made Prussia grin.

But he quickly composed himself, and leaned forward. Resting his elbows on the table, and intertwining his fingers he fixed Germany with a warning.

"Is that what you think? I'm telling you that boy is dangerous."

This has worked out better than he thought. If he could just make Germany avoid the Mediterranean nation completely, everything would be fine.

"Seriously? That kid?"

The disbelieving tone made Prussia frown. Despite everything he had a bad feeling. Something ominous was hanging in the air. Or was it just paranoia? God, he was getting old!

He shook his head dismissively fitting the younger with a stern look.

"Just keep yourself away from him."

At some point between 1920-30s

Italy's new boss was a rather eccentric man. But then again, Germany's boss was pretty eccentric, too. It was strange how these two even became friends, although Prussia couldn't not notice the slight aloof, - or maybe reserved was a better term, he wasn't sure - body posture the Italian leader displayed throughout the whole meeting.

What he feared the most, happened.

Aside from losing the war, which was a big hit to his ego and a substantial blow to the wellbeing of his and Germany's children, what he personally feared the most was sitting across the room snoozing peacefully, chestnut coloured curl swishing gently in the soft draft blowing through the open window.

Fuck dammit!

The only 'positive' aspect of the situation was that Germany seemed just as much irritated at the prospect of working with the Mediterranean nation closer as he was. Although their reasons were entirely different.

Yet, the most annoying thing was the fact that despite all of his fears, Prussia was rather excited to see his benefactor after so many years.

In spite of all the political turmoil that was going on at his house, Italy seemed to be doing well. His cuteness wasn't fading either. It wasn't that child-like cuteness that Prussia remembered from centuries ago, but it was still… Ah!

Prussia sighed and turned his gaze away from the sleeping form.

It still made him want to protect the boy. Just like the very first moment they met.

Crap.

This whole thing was giving him a headache.

Not enough that he had way more important things to worry about, he was forced to take part in this stupid meeting, which wasn't even anything official. It was just a friendly tea between their leaders! Sure, everything happened in hopes that from now on their relationship could become a bit closer, but Prussia just couldn't see why was their presence as nations needed as well?

He wanted to get away. Besides, being so close to Italy made him feel strange.

Luckily, the meeting ended rather quickly, and he could go back to his office finish his much hated paperwork.

Tsk! Ridiculous! He would choose shitty paperwork just to be away from Italy… So not awesome. But right now everything seemed to be a better idea than being close to the little nation. It felt too unsettling. Really, he needed to calm his nerves and his jumbled thoughts, and doing paperwork seemed to be the best option.

Almost immediately Prussia managed to immerse himself in work, soothed by the rustling paper and monotone scraping of a pen against the white sheets. But barely an hour has passed when a soft knock on his office door alerted him again.

He looked up confused, not expecting anyone at this time, as the door slowly opened and a pair of honey-gold orbs looked back at him warily.

Prussia gasped.

"Your Holiness…!" The man jumped up from his seat shocked. "What are you doing here?"

Italy flinched. He looked around the corridor hurriedly before slipping inside the room and closing the door behind himself.

He exhaled relieved.

"Please, don't call me like that."

Prussia mentally slapped himself.

Fuck!

No one was meant to know! It was their secret! How could he forget?

"I'm sorry. You just surprised me."

Italy smiled at him sheepishly before pushing himself away from the door and took a couple of steps closer.

"No it's okay," he said. "I'm sorry, too. I came uninvited."

The instinctive, first reaction was to run. As the young looking nation came closer and closer every fibre in Prussia's body screamed at him and protested for being trapped. He came here to get away from Italy. So now what? How to escape?

But the smaller nation looked troubled. The white haired man couldn't really put a finger on this strange feeling, but the other seemed uneasy. Despite the smile on his face Italy seemed to be nervous.

It was worrying. No matter what, Prussia swore to protect him. Even if the current situation didn't make him happy, that he wished he could keep the brunette away from Germany, that he was afraid of the possibility that they could recognise each other… He just couldn't stand that morose look on the other's pretty face.

Something was bothering Italy, and he couldn't imagine what it could be. Unless… Unless it was Germany.

The temperature suddenly dropped in the room.

What if he knew? What if he came here for an explanation? To call him out on his actions? His lies?

Dammit!

Prussia closed his eyes, and swallowed the lump in his throat.

There was no other way around it! If he wanted to know, he had to ask. Finding out why the Mediterranean nation has come was the only option.

He sighed heavily and defeated, and motioned for the other to take a seat.

"How can I help you?"

Ruby eyes fixated on the smaller frame, searching for any hint. For any sign that could explain this sudden visit. But there was none.

Italy shuffled closer, sitting down rather awkwardly, his posture rigid as if he was afraid of something. There was no real eye contact either, aside from a few anxious glances. If anything, this strange behaviour put Prussia even more on edge.

Just what was going on?

"Is there something bothering you?" he asked, sitting down behind his desk as well.

Italy flinched once more.

One hand coming up to nervously comb through his auburn locks, he looked at the taller man for a moment before averting his gaze again.

"Ah, no… It's just-, I mean-" He was lost. Prussia didn't know what to do.

"Italy?"

"Are- Are you angry?" The little nation managed finally.

Cheeks rosy from embarrassment, fidgeting with the hem of his shirtsleeve, it was not the question that Prussia expected.

And he was dumbfounded into silence for a moment because if anyone had the right to be angry it was Italy.

"Why would you think that?" Being confused was an understatement. Prussia genuinely didn't know what to think anymore.

"You looked irritated during the whole meeting." The smaller man said quietly. "Is it because of the previous war? We were on opposing sides. I would understand if you didn't trust me…"

Was this for real? Was this seriously the reason Italy came to see him?

The white haired nation felt stupid and relieved at the same time. Ah, just what kind of idiot was he? Although, he couldn't decide which one of them was the bigger one right now. Him for fearing Italy, or Italy for sweating at such trivial matters.

He was struggling with laughter, the corner of his mouth involuntarily pulling to a grin. He had to take a couple of calming breaths while hiding the smirk that seemed to be plastered onto his face before he was able to properly respond.

"I'm not angry," he said relaxing into his chair. "The Allies offered you a good deal, and it's our obligation to keep our children's best interest in mind. So don't worry. I just have a lot of work to do. That's all."

"So, you don't mind if I come and visit you and Germany?" The little nation's huge honey-gold orbs shined with relief and hope. He looked like the young child Prussia once played with in the gardens of the Lateran Palace. And he just couldn't say no. Besides, it seemed there was nothing to worry about.

"If that's what you want."

The boyish features lit up with happiness.

"Yay!" Small hands clasped together. "I was really worried that you were angry at me. But I'm glad that you're not." Italy smiled, and Prussia melted at the sight almost immediately. "But I don't think Germany likes me too much." The smaller man continued suddenly.

"Does it bother you?"

Tilting his head to the side, Italy shrugged.

"A bit?" It was more of a question than a statement. "My boss wants to have good relations. And I'd like to be friends, too. After all, he is your little brother."

Somehow that didn't sit right with the white haired man, but Italy seemed completely honest, so he let it go. Besides, his secret was safe. They didn't recognize each other. And the little nation was his saviour and benefactor, he owed him his existence, and anyway, Prussia always liked Italy.

Everything would be okay. There was no need to worry. And Germany could benefit from having friends and allies aside from Prussia, too.

Maybe having Italy in their lives wasn't that bad after all.

Early 1930s

It wasn't easy.

When Germany first told him that Italy was a blabbering fool he didn't want to believe it. Even now, he still had his doubts. Now and then the Mediterranean nation had moments which reminded Prussia of old times, but really, he was a menace.

He didn't just stir up their lives, he completely and utterly fucking destroyed the peace and order of their normal routine. And thanks to his bubbly and childish personality it was impossible to be really angry.

Prussia wasn't sure if it was coincidental or Italy was actually playing on that either. The glint in those honey-gold irises was, for the lack of better word, disturbingly suspicious sometimes.

Granted, Germany took the brunt of it. The blonde spent a ridiculous amount of time with the small man, mainly because Italy seemed to be glued to him.

At first, Prussia was worried about it, but after observing them a few times from afar he realised that there was nothing to worry about. Italy was just clingy and overfriendly, and the more Germany pushed him away, the harder the little nation tried to get closer. Sometimes it seemed he was doing it just to spite the blonde, but Prussia doubted that Italy had the capacity to be mean to anyone. It was difficult to decide if his tenacious forwardness and total disrespect of personal space was because of his boss, or because he genuinely wanted to become friends. Prussia suspected both.

Stepping out from under the hot shower and drying himself, the white haired man sighed exhausted. The tiles were cold against his overheated skin, and he dressed quickly into his sleeping clothes, wanting nothing more than the soft warmth of his bed.

It was another hard day. And just the thought of having to deal with Italy's mayhem tomorrow, too, was making him feel tired.

Although, he had to admit, there were moments he enjoyed immensely. Watching Germany get flustered each time the brunette did something what he didn't know how to respond to provided Prussia with morbid fun. And Italy dragged him along, too, to every football game and meal, - which did include breakfast, second breakfast, lunch, afternoon snack, and sometimes two dinners – but Prussia never minded that because spending time with his brother and Italy was rather pleasant. And Italy's food was nice.

Of course, he did feel lonely sometimes. One, because due to Italy's presence Germany was too busy to spend quality time with him. He had needs too, dammit! Although, Prussia assumed that as long as the younger returned to his side, looking for salvation in his arms, there was nothing to worry about.

And the other reason he felt lonely was, well… He was expecting Italy to spend some more time with him, given their shared past. But maybe that was the reason why the smaller nation kept his distance. There were things no one was supposed to know, and Prussia often made the mistake of calling the other the Holy See. However, he was never left out completely, and really he didn't have the time nor the energy to run around babysitting his two companions, anyway.

Trotting through the cool corridor towards the bedroom the house seemed oddly quiet. No sound of anything braking, no childish whining, no angry shouts. This strange peace was suspicious. Prussia felt a chill run down his spine, although he couldn't tell if it was a bad omen or just the draft.

Italy was staying at their place for the duration of his visit, which luckily ended in a couple of days. Good thing that Italy didn't visit that often. Doing this every day would be pure torture.

Especially that Prussia had a lot of things on his mind. The situation in Europe wasn't exactly rosy after the big war. There were things he had to reconsider and change, and his boss was a demanding prick too… Damn.

Too many things to do.

Combing through his damp hair irately the man halted in front of his bedroom door. He should probably do some paperwork before he goes to bed. He really had to. But…

His fingers twisted around the cold doorknob, as the huge stack of documents flashed in his mind.

Fuck it! He was tired and deserved some good sleep.

The door creaked open, and Prussia almost jumped in shock, as he stepped inside the well-lit room. Almost, because nations old like him didn't get scared easily.

But there was another person inside, - who to his dismay was not Germany - sitting in the middle of his bed. Clad only in a loose top and boxers, Italy was hugging his legs while resting his chin on masterfully crafted, almost feminine knees.

There was a dejected frown on his face, which didn't seem to disappear even after Prussia shut the door behind himself with a loud click, alerting the smaller man to his presence.

"Your Holy-" The boyish features contorted even more and Prussia immediately stopped. "Italy. What are you doing here?"

The miserable puppy-like look in those golden orbs made the man worried. But the moment he stepped closer Italy averted his gaze and puffed out his cheeks like a little kid.

"Germany shouted at me." Came the pouty complaint. "And he kicked me out of his room."

Oh. So that happened. That would explain why was the house so quiet.

It wasn't really surprising either, but there was no way that he'd ever admit that.

"Did you try to sneak into his bed again?"

When Italy groaned as a response Prussia had to suppress a giggle. And the brunette looked really upset about it, too, even though it wasn't the first time it happened. Really, it was so easy to read him.

Taking a seat next to the other, the bed bounced underneath them.

"You should just leave him alone." Prussia advised patting him on the head. "He has a lot of work to do."

But to his surprise, his hand was swatted away.

"That's exactly why I'm doing it." Italy whined dramatically. His eyes reflected annoyance, and he threw himself over the fluffy pillows, pressing one to his chest in anger. "How can he not see it?"

The open displeasure on the other's features, the clear irritation in the usually childish voice… It made no sense. Suddenly it was so out of place that the taller nation didn't know how to react.

Prussia's breath hitched for a moment as he tried to comprehend the words.

Wait, what?

And then it him. Hard. Like a sack of potatoes falling on his head.

"Is this all just an act? You're doing this on purpose?"

The look he received in exchange spoke for itself, and he cracked.

The laughter that erupted from within him, filling the whole room, rolled off of his chest like heavy stones. It was liberating.

No fucking way!

He couldn't remember the last time he felt like this. The sheer absurdity of the situation was just too hilarious, and he couldn't contain it.

Falling back to the bed as well, he rolled onto his side. His frame shook, and tears gathered in crimson eyes which he had to wipe off with the back of his hand.

Italy regarded him with a rather unamused look but refrained from saying anything.

"I knew you were a sly fox."

The little nation puffed out his cheeks again.

"I'm no sly fox," he said offended. "And it's not an act. I hate wars and all of this serious stuff. I much rather play with you and Germany. Especially that the two of you workaholics don't know when to take a break."

A genuinely upset Italy was a rare sight. Something to take seriously. The look on his face screamed at Prussia 'how can you not understand it' and 'I'm doing this all for you', and the taller man was crumbling under the weight of those eyes. It was like sinking in a pool of molten gold.

He shook his head to clear the swirling thoughts in his head, and turned towards the other ruffling his hair apologetically.

"Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. But there's no need for you to worry about us."

"But there is!" The poor pillow got squished even more. "You work so much that you skip meals. I have to drag you out of that office to eat. It's not healthy." Long, dark lashes cast shadows over trembling eyes. Italy didn't look up, his sight was fixated on an imaginary spot on the bedding. With cheeks turning rosy – whether from embarrassment or from something else, Prussia didn't know – he looked like a blushing maiden. "At least you make sure to catch some sleep. But Germany completely neglects taking care of himself. So, if I come to visit, I want to make sure that you guys relax a bit."

Ah!

Cute and pure.

Those were the only terms suitable to describe him. Flushed skin, petite frame, hugging the pillow close to his chest protectively… The urge to draw the small body into a strong hug was overwhelming.

Turning on his back, Prussia awkwardly scratched his head.

Crap!

Italy was messing with his mind again. Why was this making him feel guilty?

Oh, yes!

Because he was the one meant to do the protecting yet the little nation completely fooled him. How unawesome! But deep within his chest this gushy feeling was spreading, too, like warm and sweet treacle. With happy laziness enveloping his tired and heavy body the goofy smile pulling at his lips was unstoppable.

In his own silly way Italy was taking care of them. He should have noticed that earlier. Italy might have looked and acted young with his happy-go-lucky attitude, but he was not stupid. Prussia had to remind himself again and again that this childish little nation he swore to protect was almost twice as old as he was. And that's a lot considering he had more than seven centuries worth of history behind his back already, too.

Time was unforgiving. Lately, the years piled up on his shoulders were acting up. Making themselves known, leaving his body tired and aching here and there. Prussia was getting old. He could feel it in his bones, but whenever Italy showed up with his inexhaustible vitality it rubbed off on him as well. It was a wonder that after so long the older man still retained his boyish charm.

And Prussia was glad and honoured that he could experience this charm, this positivity, endless life energy from such close proximity. That it was shared with him willingly. Even if it was a humongous pain in the ass sometimes.

Lying so close to each other a soft breath tickled his bare shoulder. He looked at the other again. Italy's half lidded orbs seemed to be shining like some kind of fiery gems. He was dozing off, blinking slowly, as thick, black eyelashes caressed his still slightly pink cheeks.

Switching the lights off, pulling him closer and throwing the duvet over the both of them was a spur of the moment thing. The little nation 'oomphed' and looked up surprised, roused by the sudden movement but there was nothing Prussia could say.

"You hate sleeping alone, don't you?" Was his only explanation. "You can stay here tonight."

Italy remained silent, but he pressed himself closer hugging a muscular arm to his chest instead the abused pillow like a plush toy.

Such an honest display of affections was embarrassing. Prussia wrote it off to sleepiness, but he'd be lying if he said that it didn't feel good. Germany could be cute sometimes, too. Very much so. But it wasn't this pure, childish innocence that Italy possessed. And as much as Prussia loved Germany, – because he loved him deeply and dearly, no questions asked – he was fond of the little nation, too. Although he wished Italy would stop sleeping in the blonde's bed. It made him jealous, despite knowing that there was really nothing to worry about. He was a possessive creature after all.

"Say, why do you hate it?"

"Hm?"

"Why do you hate sleeping alone?"

Tired eyes tried to focus, fogged over with a promise of a languorous dream. Italy blinked, but he couldn't keep his eyes open and nuzzled instead the shoulder he was using as a pillow.

"I was born in the Mediterranean. I get cold easily." The whispered words tickled white skin. "And I don't like being alone in the dark. It's scary and lonely. Really lonely…"

The voice drifted away giving place to even breathing. Italy fell asleep leaving Prussia in the dark room alone with his thoughts.

What the…?

Did he just make one of the biggest mistakes of his life? Lonely and dark nights was something he could tell all sorts of tales about. Before Germany became part of his life that was all he could remember.

Drawing the thin body just a tiny bit closer, Prussia sighed defeated. There was no way he could be angry or jealous anymore. They were all longing for connections, for a family, for that special person, just like humans did. And the one who was meant to be the most special for Italy became his light in the darkness instead.

That horrible feeling of guilt came back again. Like seaweeds gripping and strangling, pulling down towards the suffocating depths of the cold and dark sea. There was no escape.

Help. Defend. Heal.

For centuries that was his motto.

That's what he pledged to the Holy See. That's what he pledged to Italy. Yet he was failing again and again and again, while his benefactor was giving not only him but Germany, too, everything he could. In his own way, after so many centuries, Italy was still taking care of him. Of them.

And Prussia wanted to repay him. If it meant letting a rampaging storm in the form of the little capricious nation into their lives, he was happy to pay the price.

After all, there was nothing the awesome Prussia couldn't deal with.

1933

It was an accident. There was no one to blame. They all knew that. But the sinking feeling in his stomach, the dreadful fear gripping his heart, the rage boiling in his chest was unstoppable.

Because Italy wasn't moving.

And despite being responsible for what happened just as much, his first reaction was to blame Germany.

When he stormed into his brother's office just a while ago, crumpling that day's newspaper between his fingers he didn't expect the bubbly ball of energy to be there. The smaller nation shrieked and jumped up as Prussia kicked the door in, surprising the tall nation as well, but the man quickly shoved his presence to the back of his mind. He had more important matters now to deal with.

Prussia never felt so betrayed in his life. And never felt so angry either. After everything he had done, after everything they went through together… What Germany did was unacceptable!

First the coup against his government and now this! He had no proof that Germany was involved but just the fact that that deranged boss of his was taking over power was enough to suspect him.

And Prussia was fucking furious!

How could Germany set the Reichstag on fire?! How could he let that happen?

How!?

The situation of their people was becoming dire lately and drastic changes were needed, but to go this far?

They were meant to be brothers, he thought sourly. Germany should have asked! Should have consulted him! So why was this the only way!? Did Germany not trust him?

That single thought pushed the white haired man on the brink of despair. It wasn't right. Something bad was happening with his brother and Prussia felt helpless, frustrated and betrayed.

And when he chucked down the newspaper on Germany's desk expecting an apology, demanding an explanation and got only a bored look as a response, all the unpleasant feelings bottled up inside him exploded, oozing out venomously like poison.

They shouted and threw insults at each other that Prussia never thought would leave either of their mouths. At that moment every word was meant to hurt. Germany called him old, and archaic and a dead weight. Doing nothing just holding him back. And Prussia in exchange called him an ungrateful, selfish brat, who was too inexperienced and stupid to govern on his own.

They never fought like that. And it scared him because it wasn't just a misunderstanding between brothers. A simple family argument.

This was serious.

The anger reflecting in Germany's sapphire blue eyes was present in his ruby ones as well. And Prussia was terrified of his own feelings and behaviour because something really horrifying was going on that he didn't understand and couldn't stop.

He didn't think rationally when he grabbed at the blonde's shirt wanting to shake some sense into him. And Germany was just as much irrational when he shoved him away.

Italy screamed and tried to stop them but he was ignored on both parts.

After that everything happened so fast.

Amongst the cacophony of their own voices all that Prussia could remember was a fist aimed at his face. It was impossible to dodge. He clenched his teeth instinctively expecting the pain but it never came. Instead he felt a strong shove, knocking out the breath from his chest. Falling backwards, his eyes dilated in shock as his field of vision was invaded by a flurry of auburn hair just for it to disappear in the next moment, as an iron fist descended and Italy was sent flying against a wooden chair, breaking it completely as he tumbled to the floor unconsciously.

The silence that followed was stifling.

Bile rose in his throat.

A minute has passed. Two. And then the realisation dawned on them: Italy hasn't moved yet.

The fear that gripped Prussia's heart was something he never experienced before. Not even the fear of losing Germany was as strong as this. As fatal as this.

And Germany looked just as mortified. His fist was still raised in the air but it was shaking. His shocked gaze jumped between the unmoving body and his hand trying to figure out how did this happen. But there was no answer. His lips trembled. Mind shutting down, the hand fell limply next to his body.

"I didn't-… He got in the way… It wasn't my fault…" he muttered blankly.

Yes.

Prussia agreed.

It was an accident, after all, but knowing that didn't help.

And when blood started pooling around the brunette's head, the older nation saw red as well.

The hatred he felt towards himself was only overshadowed by the hatred he felt towards Germany. If not for his stupid actions… If not for his provocation… Nothing of this would have happened!

He charged at the blonde instinctively. This time his fingers curled into a tight fist ready for a hit. Germany recoiled from the sudden movement, and losing his balance plopped on the floor looking in daze at his older brother's raging form. He didn't move, too shaken to comprehend what was going on.

"You-!" Prussia's hand drew back, but the punch never reached his goal.

"Stop it!"

He froze at the familiar voice, but he couldn't have moved anyway as Italy's thin arms circled around his waist in a surprisingly strong fashion. Just how the hell did he get there so fast was beyond comprehension. "Both of you, stop it! You can't hurt each other. Brothers shouldn't fight." Italy's voice was muffled and strained as he buried his face in Prussia's clothes.

The small body was shaking. Blood stained the blue uniform dripping from the chestnut tresses, and pitiful sobs filled the otherwise quiet room.

Italy looked broken. And it was their fault.

Germany's fault.

The suffocating fog-like rage that roiled inside Prussia at the sight of the crying nation clouded his mind. His fist that was still raised in the air moved once more.

"Let me go!"

Italy only clung to him even stronger.

"I can't do that!"

"Italy!"

"You owe Holy Rome your life!"

His stomach made a double flip before sinking like lead with the rest of his internal organs lower than his feet.

Time seemed to stop.

Prussia froze, the name mercilessly echoing in his head. It's been more than a century since anyone uttered this name. More than a century since he heard it aloud. And more than a century since Italy spoke of it. Of him.

The gravity of the situation slowly started sinking in.

Italy knew.

"Since when-?"

"Always," came the quiet reply. "Since the very beginning." Prussia's legs wobbled like jelly and he sunk to the floor ungracefully. Italy sunk with him, for whatever reason refusing to let go. "So please, don't fight…"

It felt unreal. Like a hazy dream or a nightmare. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be -…

Breathing was difficult. He wondered if maybe Italy's arms held on to him too tight, crushing his lungs, but the other's effeminate physique could have never allow it. Especially not in the state he was in right now.

Prussia's head was spinning, frantic thoughts leaving him nauseous and covered in cold sweat that trickled down his neck, making his shirt stick to his back with sickly, unpleasant stickiness. The warmth of Italy's shaking breath seeping through the material of his clothes caused chills run up his spine.

What now?

Italy knew. He knew it all along, but never said anything. What did all this mean? Just what the goddamn hell was he meant to do!?

He blinked confused and lost at what to do, like a fish out of water. And then his gaze fell on Germany.

It was all his fault.

"B-brother?" Germany's voice was shaky.

"Get lost!"

The harshly barked order left no room for protest.

The blonde held his eyes captive for a moment, but soon he hanged his head in anger and left the small office hurriedly. As if being in the others' presence was too irritating and painful.

Heavy footsteps fading away, Prussia felt bad and ashamed. The more rational part of his brain screamed at him for being unfair, for treating Germany too strictly. After all, he was just as much to blame! But the little trembling nation glued to his chest right now scared him enough to ignore all kinds of rationality.

He had to do something. He wanted to do something. To stop the shaking, stop the tears, stop the pitiful, agonizing sobs that ripped at his chest with iron claws of shame and remorse.

His thoughts whirled and buzzed unpleasantly. There was so many things he wanted to say and ask but his tongue felt like dry parchment in his mouth.

He gulped heavily.

"I-"

"You don't have to say anything," Italy cut him off immediately, whispering and hugging the bigger body stronger than before. "It doesn't matter."

As if woken from a trans, Prussia's arms finally weaved themselves around the small form. The touch uncertain first, but when he wasn't pushed away the hands held on to the lithe frame with clear protectiveness.

"I'm so sor-"

"Don't apologise!" The tone cutting him off was almost as strict and harsh as his was before. "Germany is Germany and not Holy Rome. I accepted it a long time ago. And you did a brilliant job raising him. So don't ever apologise for this."

The words were mercilessly liberating. And disgustingly understanding. And as much as he wanted to hear it, Prussia wished Italy was more angry. This calm acceptance only made him feel an even deeper guilt.

But, he guessed, he deserved it after all.

Immersed in his bleak thoughts his deft fingers numbly combed through the other's hair until they touched something hot and sticky.

"Show me your wounds."

The Mediterranean nation winced shaking his head.

"I'm fine." His weak protest was promptly ignored. Blood stained fingers examined the hidden cuts and bruises on his scalp with expertise and efficiency. "No, really I'm-"

All kinds of resistance on Italy's part was futile, Prussia didn't let him wriggle out from his grasp, despite the other's best efforts.

"Look at me."

The order came as a surprise, and Italy stilled allowing the taller man to sneak his hands onto plump cheeks and lift the auburn head up.

The characteristic curl was nowhere to be seen, plastered to the side of Italy's face instead by all the blood. The pretty boyish features were dirty and messy, and his lip was busted, blooming in different shades of greens, blues and purples.

But Prussia's heart really skipped a beat when instead the honey-gold irises two ashen pearls looked back at him blindly.

Breath left his chest with a tremble barely swallowing down that painful noise that wanted to escape. Prussia didn't whine. And certainly didn't cry. And he didn't regret things either. Well, sometimes he did, but not really. After all, this was all Germany's fault anyway. But there was no way he could stop, deny the self-loathing, the repulsion he felt towards himself at that moment. He wanted to punch himself. To crawl into a hole and die. Because even death had to be better than seeing those lovely, gem-like orbs that always smiled this ghostly and lifeless.

Fuck!

His eyes blurred and he had to blink back that prickling sensation that sneakily attacked when he was at his weakest.

"Your eyes…"

"It's nothing!" Italy shook the white hands off his face and nuzzled Prussia's chest instead. "It gets like this when I'm stressed. Sorry to worry you. I'll be just fine in a moment or so. Just let me rest a bit."

Worry?

No, Italy was wrong. It should be him apologising for putting the brunette through this ordeal in the first place.

He shouldn't have lashed out like that against Germany, even though his anger was sort of justified. Germany was still very young, he should have been more understanding. More like a big brother.

Dammit!

He screwed up royally. And on top of that got Italy involved as well!

Drawing the older nation into his lap, he leaned against the office desk, allowing Italy to rest comfortably within his embrace. Thank God the sobs have died down, because Prussia didn't know if he could take any more of this gut-wrenching feeling.

As selfish as it was – because he didn't deserve to feel relief – he needed to calm his nerves as well. But Italy's small puffs of breath were evening out, and his frantic heartbeat that thudded against Prussia's chest as a constant reminder, quieted down, too.

The hand that subconsciously massaged the small back so far combed through the sticky tresses again.

"I want to take you to the infirmary and clean the wounds. Do you think you are ready to move?"

The raspy voice was foreign to his ears. Prussia cursed silently.

He had to pull himself together. Italy needed him right now. He had to be able to protect and take care of him. Just like he promised all those years ago. This pathetic and weak person was only in the way!

But Italy either didn't care or was too much in pain to notice his shaky constitution, as he nodded silently. Either way, Prussia reached underneath the smaller man's knees with one of his hands while circling the shoulders with the other, and lifted the brunette up.

Thin arms waved around a pale neck, and before long strong smell of antiseptic filled the air and Italy was gently lowered onto one of the empty beds in the otherwise deserted sickbay.

Prussia made a quick work of disinfecting and patching up all the lacerations and bruises. To his great relief, even though it looked rather bad, the wounds were already healing. The superhuman rate of nation's recovery always amazed him. No matter how badly they got cut, stabbed, poisoned, burned, beaten… Ah, the list was too fucking long and he didn't want to remember; as long as it didn't affect them as nations, they healed fast. Only wars, territorial changes, disasters and events that affected them as the personifications of their lands and children left substantial damage on their bodies. Sometimes even for decades to come.

But an injury was still an injury, and they bled just like any other human being.

"How are your eyes?"

Italy's lashes fluttered first, squinting as if the light was hurting, but slowly his eyes opened, looking up at Prussia with pools of amber and gold solace. The white haired man sighed. Heavily and painfully, but just a tad more relieved that the colour he preserved in his memories for over half a millennium was back in its rightful place.

"It's still a bit blurry." Italy blinked looking around the room experimentally. "But it's gonna be fine."

"I'll take you home. You should go to bed and rest."

Voice less rickety this time, Prussia nodded to himself.

It was okay. Italy would be just fine. Sleep will solve everything.

But as he was cleaning away all the bloodied cotton pads and putting away the first aid box he used before, his hands refused to follow command. Actually his whole body was shaking.

Shit.

He refrained from cursing out loud, but the temptation was strong. The state of his nerves was absolutely ridiculous! And he clutched at his fingers with frustration and anger, because why the hell was his body so uncooperative throughout the whole of this nightmarish situation, and betraying him on every single fucking step?

So unbecoming of an awesome nation of his status. To let Italy affect him so much. To let Germany's idiotic stunt throw him off balance like that… Unacceptable!

He has gotten soft. A couple of centuries ago he wouldn't have let anyone do this to him. He was the White-Fucking-Demon of Europe, and other nations trembled in front of his strength and greatness.

But now… Now he wasn't sure if he was a nation at all anymore. With all the shit that happened… With Germany's boss taking over… His sovereignty was questionable. And that disturbing, nagging feeling that felt like someone was trying to crush his stomach, seemed to be foretelling something. Something that Prussia didn't want to, and didn't even had the mental capacity to think about right now.

His frayed nerves and brain only managed to come up with the next step so far: taking Italy home and making sure he sleeps properly. Probably he'd have to stay with him until the little menace falls asleep, too, but Prussia really didn't mind that actually.

He needed a good sleep himself. And if he wanted to be as far away from Germany as it was possible – which seemed like the best fucking idea he had in years – Italy's room was the best option. After what happened the blonde wouldn't come near it. Or at least Prussia really hoped so. Because right now he couldn't deal with it. And even though he knew that what he did was just delusional procrastination, belaying the inevitable, his conscience told him, - no, demanded! – that he'd stay by Italy's side.

Besides, he had a lot of thinking to do. He didn't want to rush it. He has already screwed up enough.

To be continued