Part Two

Germany

He hurt all over. It wasn't the first morning he had woken up feeling like this, nor would it be the last. The injuries he sustained, during, and especially after, the war were just so bad, and they weren't healing fast- like normal injuries sustained by countries. He supposed it was probably because the actual people of the nation weren't recovering either. That damn wall, it was the cause of it. He breathed in deeply and then back out, painfully. His chest hurt more than anything else, the aches, the pains, and the bruises would all fade in time, but he knew he would have that scar on his chest forever.

No matter how bad all of that was, no matter how awful the pain got, he never really felt sorry for his situation. He knew, deep down, that it wasn't really his fault, that he had no choice. Every country does what their boss tells them to do- every nation out there had caused horrible things, deaths, war- no one was exempt from it. That fact didn't stop the guilt, the horrible, gut wrenching guilt. He never really stopped thinking about it, but he wished he could. Bad, but very recent, memories flooded him through the day, and nightmares haunted him all through the night; every night, and sometimes he would remember them all day- reliving them over and over again.

He deserved everything he got. He would take the pain dealt to him and live with it. He didn't really care what happened to him. His people however, were an entirely different story. Them, and the two most important people in life, they had been who suffered most from his mistakes and that was what really ate at him. The worst of it was Italy and Prussia. Italy, who he had bogged down into this war with him and Prussia too, who was now not even really a country anymore. He didn't want to think about it, but he did, because he knew it was all his fault. He had no words to describe how bad he felt about everything- but the pain was a start.

He sighed, resolved to roll over and go back to sleep. He hadn't moved off the couch in the basement for days. He had come home after everything had been decided and collapsed. He still wasn't sure how long he had been there. Some of it he knew, he had been unconscious for. Most of it was sleeping though- he was really too weak to do much else. His life had become a seemingly unending circle of waking and sleeping, nightmares and the reliving of bad memories, and pain, always the pain. The only good thing in all of it, was that Italy, thank gott, had managed to get out of the war before it really got bad and therefore he had escaped the worst of the punishment and was safe, or at least as good as he could be.

It was how it needed to be. He should be the one to take the fault, the blame. Hell, even if it were the other way around and Italy had actually done something wrong, he would take that too. Anything to make sure the ones he loved came to no harm, ever. As he lay there thinking, he realized something. This morning, and he did know it was morning, since sunlight was leaking in though one of the high windows in the basement; this morning was different. He had woken up calmly. Usually, he woke up either in a dead panic or a cold sweat, coming out of the most vicious of a recent series of nightmares.

This morning, he had just woken up; in fact he couldn't remember any nightmares from the night before at all. He had the vague recollection of something, something pleasant though, instead of horrible. Something he had the strongest feeling had to do with Italy. He half shrugged, a fiery pain stabbed his chest, and he winced. He fully rolled over and noticed briefly that his pillow was really warm. He let it go and fully closed his eyes, hoping to get a few more hours of actually good sleep, for once.

Then, suddenly, he heard a sigh and felt the pillow below him…move. His eyes flew open and he sat up in an instant, a plethora of body parts responded with pain at the movement. He turned and looked over; and there, asleep on his couch, under where he had been sleeping, was Italy. He was so confused. What was Italy doing in his house?! Followed quickly by the confusion was panic. His heart raced painfully, and he ran his hand through his hair, nervously. There would be hell to pay for this he knew it. He couldn't comprehend the trouble this would bring down upon them. There wasn't much more they could do to hurt him, but Italy…Italy was a different matter altogether.

He looked over at Italy, thinking frantically what he should do. Sunlight from the window just barely illuminated Italy's sleeping face, so peaceful and happy. As he sat there, slowly the memories from the night before came to him. Italy showing up, and him agreeing to let Italy stay, despite everything. Now it was morning and there was no denying it. The Allies would be looking for Italy and here, at his house, would be the first place they would look, and when they found the two of them…well, he didn't want to think about it. Italy had to go.

He reached over and gently tapped Italy. Italy's bright amber eyes moved and then opened, meeting the icy stare of Germany's. They looked at each other for a fraction of a second. Italy smiled hugely, and to Germany it almost made it seem like the room got brighter. He hadn't realized how much it hurt to be apart. "Buon Giorno," Italy said and stretched. Germany gave him a small smile back, almost letting himself believe this was like any other morning that they had shared. He would get up and make breakfast- eggs and sausages- and they could do whatever they wanted. It could be like…like before.

Then like a bucket of cold water, reality crashed down and Germany frowned. Italy gave him a quizzical look.

"What's wrong?" Italy asked quietly.

"Do you really have to ask?" Germany responded with a sigh. Italy looked down at his hands, and frowned too. Then, Italy looked up, as if a thought had just occurred to him. "Please, please, don't tell me to leave you. I don't want to go back to them. I want to be here with you. I feel safe with you here, please, don't make me leave." He said, panic rising in is voice. Germany sighed, painfully, and was about to respond, when Italy interrupted him. "Just let me stay, I bet they won't even notice if I'm gone!" He said, hopefully.

Germany didn't want this, sending Italy away was the last thing he wanted to do, he wanted them to be together. He knew, however, he couldn't be selfish like that. Italy had to go back to the Allies because he would be safe from harm and away from the punishment he was suffering.

"Nein, you have to go back. Soon. I can't let you do this for me … I won't let you be dragged down with me." Germany had just barely finished speaking when Italy put his hands in Germany's and looked him in the eye, a very serious, but also very scared look on his face. "It's not for you! It's for me! I…I need you! You have no idea how hard it is for me to be away from you!" Italy was moving himself towards as full state of panic. "I can't sleep! I get scared and there isn't anybody to run to, nobody to turn to! Everything has gone wrong for me, I can't do anything right! I just…I just… I just can't be alone-without you- anymore. I won't do it."

Italy finished and stood up, pacing around the room. "I can't. I'm not strong like you are. I need you." He said quietly, coming to a stop and staring down at Germany. Germany looked back up and him and sighed. They were both silent and the tiniest sound could have been heard.

Germany felt another stab of pain travel through his chest, but he ignored it and looked at Italy. He was so conflicted and confused. He just didn't know what to do. Then, a small sound reached Germany's ears and he stiffened.

"What is it?" Italy whispered, not having heard the noise, but afraid to break the silence. Germany didn't answer. He did, however, recognize the sound. It was a car door. He kept listening as another set of sounds reached them; the sound of footsteps, then his front door opening and finally a voice.

"This place looks like shit. I really don't think that he's here." Germany's heart stopped. It was America's voice.

Germany moved entirely on instinct. He stood up, and despite the pain in his chest that threatened to make him collapse, he stayed standing. He pushed Italy behind him. It would only take a minute before they came down here. His mind racing, he went through his options; there were really only two: give up, or fight. He did not want to face either one. He knew he was in no condition to do much of anything, and at first he wanted to just give up, he would take no more pain, no more suffering, and besides, did he really want to put Italy through that? The hard separation that would inevitably follow him losing?

No, he didn't… he didn't want any of this. He just didn't know what to do about it. He wanted to protect Italy, but he knew he probably couldn't, he wanted to stay with Italy, but he knew that he didn't deserve to; the way the Allies would see it was that Italy being here was what Germany wanted, not something Italy had done himself. After all that had happened, could he even find the strength to do something? He just didn't know, and as the footsteps got closer, he was running out of time to decide.

Italy had recognized the voice too, and was scared. He hid behind Germany and a soft whimper he had been trying to hold back escaped. Germany turned around and looked at him. In an instant, it all became clear to Germany. The words Italy had said only moments before came back to him, "It's not for you! It's for me! I need you…" Him fighting, it wasn't for him, or even for Italy, it was for them… together. If he went down protecting that… so be it. He was done giving up- honestly the amount he had done of that lately was more than enough. In this he would be firm, strong; a wave of pain threatened to take him down, he straightened; he would be… if he could.

Germany listened intently as they went from room to room; the difference would be made on how many of the Allies had actually shown up to find Italy. He knew America was one, and that, he hoped, would mean Russia wasn't there, since the two of them were at odds… to say the least. Thank Gott, he thought; that meant the biggest challenge would be America. He concentrated and was able to make out the rhythms of three sets of feet. He wished they would say something, but unfortunately, for the time being they remained oddly silent as they searched.

After what felt like an eternity but was only a minute or two, Germany heard the sound he had been dreading. The door to the basement opening.

"Well, I guess we should check down here, I'm not sure if Italy is even here, but hell, we haven't even been able find Germany."

"And we know he's here." Germany identified the voices in a heartbeat, Britain and then France. Now that he knew exactly who was in his house, unfortunately, it was too late. He painfully held his breath as they came down the stairs and into the room.

They all stopped at the bottom step and for a moment, everything was silent as they all looked at each other. None of the Allies looked particularly well off either. America and Britain only had minor injuries, but France looked worse off then either of them. No where near as bad as Germany, but definitely not good. That wasn't surprising; they had all just come out of a war. Nobody had been left unscathed.

Britain sighed and looked at Germany.

"I don't suppose we can just ask for Italy back and avoid violence, can we? I really am sick of all the fighting." He said hopefully.

"You can avoid fighting, if you'd just leave us alone. We get it, we lost, war's over. We're not going to start anything." Germany replied.

"Just give Italy back! You couldn't just leave him alone, could you? Look how hard this is for him! You two aren't in an alliance anymore and you need to accept that!" France interjected angrily.

"You think this was me? No, Italy came here of his own free will. Nothing in his surrender says he can't!" Germany was ready to get this over with, fight or no fight. He wasn't even sure he could stay standing much longer, much less fight three of the Allies. He hated this, feeling weak. He hated that he wasn't going to be able to protect Italy. He frowned. He was going to try, nonetheless.

"We aren't going to be able to resolve this shit civilly are we?" asked America, as he stepped forward. Germany tensed, "Looks like not." he replied.

In a flash, America was across the room and swinging at him, he ducked and pulled back, hoping to catch America off balance, but no such luck, America dodged and Germany moved back a step, Italy still behind him. Italy whimpered again and tried to move away from the fight, but his path was blocked by France. America and Germany kept fighting, unaware, both landing hits and taking hits, but neither giving ground or going down.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be. Just come with us, it's not so bad is it?" France pleaded with Italy.

"No. I'm staying here. With Germany. I don't care what it's like with you guys, I want to be here. Just let me stay, please, France, nothing bad will happen." Italy looked down and back up, pleadingly. "Please don't take me away." France bit his lip unhappily. He hated doing this; Italy was like a little brother to him. No matter how much he hated Germany, he didn't want Italy to be unhappy.

"We have to do what needs to be done." France turned around at the sound of Britain's voice. Britain's face was hard and set he came up to Italy and took him by the arm. "Italy, it's time to go." France nodded and grabbed Italy's other arm, and they began dragging Italy towards the stairs.

Italy fought with all he had. He was not leaving! He squirmed and wriggled and kicked out, but it was no use. They had him and they were not going to let go. Italy started to panic. He couldn't stand to be separated from Germany like this. Hot, angry tears began streaming down his face as they neared the stairs.

"Germany! Germany! GERMANY!" He screamed, distressed.

Germany turned, Italy's cries distracting him from the fight, and in that split second, America caught him off guard and landed a solid punch to his jaw. He dropped like a rock. "NO!" Italy screamed, fighting even harder.

"If I were you, and I knew what was good for me, I would just stay down. You fucking bastard." America leaned down and said to Germany maliciously. He turned to leave, and then turned back and finally, almost as and afterthought he viciously kicked Germany in the stomach before turning towards the stairs.

A new wave of agony left Germany writing in pain on the ground. He knew his jaw was bleeding and his stomach felt like he had been run over by a truck. He just wasn't able to cope with the blows that had landed on him in his extremely weakened state, not to mention the scar on his chest had flared in pain from the moment the fight had started and he was only just now starting to feel the full effects of that. The scar was an angry red on the side that was divided and hurt more than it had since the wound had been inflicted.

"Germany! Help! Don't let them take me!" Italy's cries from upstairs reached Germany's ears. He barely heard them through the pain. With America's help, it had been easy for the Allies to get Italy up the stairs and towards the door. "GERMANY!" Italy's last desperate cry finally bit through the daze of Germany's pain and Germany sat straight up, almost not even feeling the pain.

He would not let them take Italy. That was all he could think of. Anything else, the pain would be in and that would be the end of it. He stood, shaking and went towards the stairs with surprising speed. He would need to be fast to catch them. He rushed up the stairs, ignoring the agony that flooded him with each step. He came to the top only to see them out in the driveway. Italy was still struggling, refusing to give up, even as they tried to force him into the car. He had stopped screaming for help, but tears still rolled down his face as he fought. It was a short struggle and soon Italy and the rest of them were in the car.

Germany rushed to the door, and wrenched it open. He was about to go out towards the driveway when it revved and started moving towards the street. Italy had stopped fighting and instead had his head down, crying, and now tears of sadness, rather than anger streamed down his face. He looked up and caught sight of Germany at the door as the car pulled into the road. His eyes opened wide and he frantically rolled the window down. "GERMANY!" He screamed, as if there was something Germany could do to stop the car and save him.

It was too late though, and the car pulled away, leaving that scream hanging in the air. Germany held tight to the door frame, he wasn't sure how he was even standing at this point. "ITALY!" He shouted, but by then the car was gone. He breathed heavily and the full weight of the world seemed to settle on his shoulders. A sharp pain flared in his chest and he collapsed, right there in the doorway.

Italy's last screamed still echoed in his head… "GERMANY!"

"Italy…" he whispered and everything went black.