Inferiority Complex

Summary: An inferiority complex is a lack of self- worth, a doubt and uncertainty, and feelings of not measuring up to society's standards. 'I'm stupid,' he thought sadly. 'I'll never be as good as him,' he thought bitterly. 'I wish I wasn't so useless,' he watched as the other patched up his minuscule wounds. 'I wish I wasn't so inferior,' They thought in unison.

No matter what anyone said or did, Feliciano always seemed to move past it easily. He would get right back up when someone pushed him down, both physically and emotionally. And so, putting him down was only a minor offense to most. What most people didn't realize, was that he was fragile. Truly and utterly fragile. The whole definition and nine yards. Yet he was also deceitful. Not in the way of being conniving or sinful, but in the way of he didn't want anyone to know his pain, therefore he hid it from others.

What everyone didn't know, because Feliciano hid it so damn well, was that Feliciano may or may not be- "Italy! You are skipping out on training again, dammit!" Germany snarled as he pulled the Italian out of his bed roughly. "Wah! I'm sorry, Germany! Please don't hate me! I didn't mean to oversleep! But I was having a nice dream about pasta and..." And so he went on for a while. Germany would never know that he had actually had a nightmare where everyone he cared for told him all his flaws (again) and how much they hated him. Then they killed him, ridding the world of his vile existence.

"Italy! I do not care for your petty excuses! And- for the love of God, put on some damn clothes!" Germany flushed darkly as he quickly whipped his body around to face away from the Italian. His body was just as disgusting as some of the other nations and people told him. Maybe he really should wear clothes to sleep, just in case someone came in unexpectedly. It would be better for everyone's eyes.

"Ve~ Okay, Germany. If I put on some clothes, you won't be angry at me anymore, right?" He asked hopefully, already beginning to pull on his clothes, almost stumbling over a few times since he had just been "awoken." He was wearing a simple shirt and shorts as his uniform was washing. "Nein! I will still be angry at you because you have once again wasted time and missed some of training." Germany scowled at the wall, the flush finally starting to go down. He was stupid for even thinking that Germany would forgive him just like that. Completely and utterly idiotic. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid-

"Ve~ Not even a little bit?" Italy asked hopefully again. "...Not even a little bit." Germany huffed after a moment. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to miss some of training, but the dream was just too good for me to wake up! Please don't be mad at me! I'm sorry!" Italy apologized again as he tackled Germany in a hug. "What the- Italy! What have I told you about unexpectedly hugging me?! Or anyone, for that matter?!" Germany growled as he pried the apologetic Italian off of him. His touch was obviously repulsive. Disgusting. Vile. Italy-Feliciano was obviously repulsive. Disgusting. Vile. Gross-

"Now, since you have made us so late, you will not be eating breakfast as we have to run, seeing as I left Japan on his own to find you." Germany scowled as he grabbed the arm of the Italian and began marching them down the stairs. "Ve~ I'm sorry, Germany. But no breakfast? It's the most important meal of the day! Other than lunch, since I eat pasta for lunch, of course. Please, Germany?~" Italy begged as he was pulled roughly down the stairs. "Nein!" The German snapped irritably as the Italian went quiet, lest he make Germany hate him more than he obviously already did. Germany was right, though. He shouldn't eat any more. He's fat enough as it is. It was probably a good thing he didn't eat dinner last night, either.

"Now, where are your boots?" Germany scowled as he looked around for them. In his haste and anger, he didn't have enough time to look around when he ran inside to get the Italian. "Ve~ They're on the side of my front door." Italy murmured so quietly that Germany had to strain to hear. The quietness was odd, but Germany brushed it off. As the German reached the front door, he spotted the boots. "Good. Now, put them on." Germany commanded the smaller man (-child.) Italy complied silently as he sat down and pulled them on.

Germany frowned slightly. Perhaps he was too harsh...? No. If he were any other commanding officer, Italy would have been hurt and disciplined severely. But...was he okay? Italy struggled with the laces for a moment before looking up at Germany. Italy smiled up at him cheerfully, deleting the thoughts that perhaps Italy wasn't okay, "-" Germany cut the Italian off without even letting him begin. "Nein. Tie your own shoes." Germany said, more calm than he was before. Uncertainty showed in Italy's expression for a moment before he nodded slightly. "Okay," he smiled determinedly, beginning to try to tie his shoe laces.

The key word here is "try." Germany began growing frustrated as Italy tried and failed again to tie his shoes. Just as he was about to say something he might regret later, Italy managed to tie his shoes. It was shitty as hell, but it would work. (The OCD was knocking him on the head with this one. To tie Italy's shoes correctly, or not to tie Italy's shoes correctly? That is the question.)

"Ve~ Is this okay, Germany?" The man-child asked him hopefully as he looked up at him for approval. "...It will work, I suppose." He reluctantly said before pulling Italy up to his feet again. Italy's tie was crappy. Everything about Italy was crappy. He was crappy. Crappy. Crappy. Cra-

"Since you missed the morning jog, you will have to run all the way to the training ground." Germany frowned at the Italian. "B-but-" "No buts. I will be running with you, but you are not to speak and are to simply run. Understood?" Germany asked strictly as Italy nodded quickly and saluted (with the wrong hand,) determined not to let his commanding officer down. Besides, Germany was right, anyway, he could lose some pounds doing this cardio. Maybe then he wouldn't be as fat and disgusting. Maybe. Hopefully.

"Wrong hand, Italy." Germany sighed. Italy immediately changed hands. "Sorry, sir!..." "...Well, what are you standing around for?!" Germany exploded, "Begin running!" He snapped as Italy looked unsure for a moment. "Sorry!" He squeaked and began running, though not as fast as Germany had seen he could be. "Faster, Italy!" Germany growled from behind the Italian. Italy immediately picked up the speed, though not to the amount that Germany was pleased with.

'Maybe I should have tried to get back to sleep after I had my nightmare. I'm so stupid. I shouldn't have stayed up. Now, I'm more tired than usual and am slower than usual. Now, Germany thinks I'm just being lazy. I'm stupid.' He thought sadly, but kept running, with Germany keeping his word and running beside him, looking mildly annoyed still. He annoyed the German. He annoyed everyone. He was annoying. Annoying. Annoying. Annoying...

Germany sighed suddenly as he noticed Italy's shoes had untied themselves and the laces were just running behind the Italian. Just as he was about to say something, they arrived to their destination. He immediately closed his mouth. It wasn't his responsibility to tell the smaller nation. Italy would figure it out for himself, then tie his own damn shoes...Sooner or later.

He noticed Japan's eyes immediately flit down to the Italian's untied shoes and shook his head at him, silently telling him to let Italy figure it out for himself. Japan nodded discreetly in response. "Ve~ What are we going to do now, Germany?" Italy panted and looked so flushed and delicious and just so downright fuckable that- "We are going to begin doing some simple drills." Germany answered, and, with that, they began training.

...

'Italy-kun still hasn't seen that his shoes are untied.' Japan observed mentally when they were halfway through the second to last drill. 'He doesn't look as energetic as usual. Actually, he looks very tired behind the happiness that he usually shows.' Japan realized, then looked over at Germany from the corner of his eyes to see if he had noticed anything.

Nothing. The German looked completely and utterly blank, albeit also a bit annoyed at the Italian. "Ve~ When are we going to be done?" The Italian looked hopefully at the German, feeling completely spent. "Soon." The German's response was curt and the Italian was lucky that his ugly eyes were always closed (purposely.) If they weren't, everyone would be able to see the hurt and pain in them.

"We have just finished our second to last drill, I believe, Italy-san." Japan politely answered the Italian in Germany's place. "Ja, Japan is right," Germany nodded. "Yay~ Pasta soon then!" His old self cheered before he realized that he couldn't. He was still too fat. He needed to lose just a little more...Just a little.

"Nein, Italy," the German shook his head, "As punishment for this morning, you will not be having any pasta for dinner. Besides, it is unhealthy." By this, he meant that Italy was unhealthy. He was fat and unhealthy and gross. He meant this, Italy was sure. "But, Germany, I haven't eaten all day! I'll starve to death without pasta! Besides, what else is there to eat? Your yucky sausages, that's what." He pouted, because, really, that's what was expected of him.

"Well, if you do not want to eat "my yucky sausages," then you may be going to bed hungry." Germany said simply. He "knew" that Italy wouldn't go to bed hungry, so he would eat the German's sausages. (By God, that sounded way too perverted.)

"No! Germany, don't let me go to bed hungry! I'll die of starvation!" Italy flailed as Germany merely rolled his eyes before commanding them to begin the next drill. It was the stereotypical drill you would expect. Tires, check. Fence to climb over, check. Barbed wire to go under, check. Kiddy pool full of electric eels, nope. He wasn't that bad.

Italy was even more sluggish than this morning, Germany observed with a scowl as he ran behind the Italian, though he couldn't really blame him that much, considering that the "simple drills" weren't really all that simple. Even Japan and he were way past tiring.

'He has yet to notice that his shoes are untied.' Germany thought with a sigh. What if the fool tripped right before the barbed wire? Knowing the Italian, he just might. Therefore, Germany opened his mouth to stop the Italian and tie his shoe for him. Just as he began, however, Italy did just as he expected, although not in front of the barbed wire, thankfully and fortunately enough. He tripped and fell.

The German sighed as he halted beside the Italian. The corner of the Italian's eyes built up with tears and the German nearly snorted before he saw the blood on the Italian's hands and leg. His heart jumped to his throat for a moment as he quickly looked over and around the Italian. "Italy! Where did the blood come from?" He unintentionally barked harshly. The Italian jolted slightly and turned his slightly pained expression over to him.

"V-Ve." His "ve" was unusually flat. "I'm s-sorry. I th-think I landed on something sharp. I hurt my hands when I tried to stop my fall and my leg got cut by something. I d-don't kn-know what it is, though." Italy sounded tearful and pain-ridden. He was a truly pathetic sight, Germany must think. Germany did think it. Everyone thought it. He was pathetic. Pathetic...

By this time, Japan had run over to see what happened once he realized that the German wasn't yelling at the Italian to get up, and thus realizing that something was wrong. "Are you alright, Italy-san?" He asked in his usual emotionless voice, though he was, in fact, rather worried. "I-" the Italian's teary voice began, only to be cut off by Germany.

"Japan, would you search for what Italy hurt himself on? Also, Italy, can you get up on your own really quick?" Germany asked of the two as they both nodded, though one sniffled while he did. Italy shakily stood up from where he had fallen in the mud and turned his upset gaze on Germany. Germany wordlessly wrapped an arm around Italy's waist as both their hearts paused for a moment. 'He's oddly skinny for all the food he consumes.' Germany suddenly realized, then shrugged it off as he guided the Italian back into the house.

'Oh, God, he can feel how fat I am, can't he? And I'm so dirty from falling in the mud. God, God, God.' Italy chanted in his mind in a panic. Germany looked down to the Italian's leg where he got cut by something. His eyes narrowed calculatingly on it and realized that it was most likely a rogue piece of barbed wire. Germany was immediately annoyed and angry at his subordinates who set up the course. They weren't careful enough, and, as a result, Italy got hurt.

He set the small, unusually quiet Italian upright on the couch. "Stay here while I go get the First Aid Kit." He growled at the Italian unintentionally, furious at his subordinates for this mistake. The Italian's head lowered slightly as he whimpered. He made Germany annoyed and angry at his clumsiness. Germany's eyes softened immediately. 'It's not your fault.' He wanted to whisper. 'It'll be okay. I'm sorry for my subordinates' mistake. I'm sorry, Feliciano.' And the name would roll so deliciously from his tongue as he hugged the Italian and comforted him, then bandaged him up.

Instead, the German merely walked into the bathroom to the First Aid Kit. He walked out after finding it and began with the Italian's delicate, feminine hands. They were an artist's hands, and Germany just knew that it was wrong to even think about making the Italian do anything that would harm those beautiful hands. But he had to, even if he didn't want to. Which he didn't. He just didn't want the Italian to experience any more of the hardship of war as unprepared as he was, though he knew Italy had seen and experienced more war than he himself. Something had to make him so peace-loving and timid.

After he finished cleaning out the hand wounds, making the unusually quiet man-child flinch at the pain, he bandaged his friend's hands carefully. 'I wish I wasn't so useless.' Italy watched as the other patched up his minuscule wounds. Japan, who had walked in a few moments before, watched quietly. He held a long piece of barbed wire in his hands; Germany was right.

Germany then looked at his still bleeding leg. His leg had landed on most of the barbed wire, and though it wasn't too serious, it still caused the petite Italian pain. He repeated the process of cleaning the leg and then bandaging it. "Alright, Italy," Germany said as he finished, then straightened up. "You'll be perfectly fine and with your healing ability, will be good as new by tomorrow." Germany attempted a small smile, but it came out as a grimace.

"Ve~ Okay, thank you, Germany!" Italy beamed up at Germany with a sweet smile. "U-Um, you are welcome." The addressed nation coughed with a light blush. "I have to go talk with some subordinates of mine. You may come if you like, Japan, but Italy, you must stay here. Would you like some help to your room, Italy?" Germany asked as Italy shook his head. "No, thanks, ve~ I think I'll just watch some TV here." Italy flashed a wide grind to the large blond. Germany wanted to get away from Italy, and was angry that Italy had gone and gotten himself hurt like a fucking dumbass. Italy just knew it.

"Alright, Italy. Are you coming, Japan?" He asked his other ally. "Yes, I believe I will come with you." Japan nodded before turning to Italy as the German began walking out. "We will be back soon, Italy-san. Please do not harm yourself further." Japan nodded to him once before walking after Germany. Japan wanted to get away from him, too. They both hated him. He was imperfect. Disgusting. Fat. Ugly. Stupid. Useless. He was so much more than that, too. He was- Oh, God, he was- He wished he wasn't-

'I wish I wasn't so inferior.' He thought at the same time as a certain someone.