Welcome, all, to my frightening little NaNoWriMo project! :D

Setting: Either the very near future or last winter when this recession was just getting started. Take your pick. Suggestions for filling this in are welcome.

Just as a warning, I'm still in the process of writing this so It is very subject to change. I may have to delete and rewrite entire scenes as I go in order to prevent writer's block, so if that'll bother you you might want to wait for november to be over before you start reading his. heh.

Other warnings include: language, angst, shounen-ai, implied sex, and general Hetalia style insanity,

Please review! It'll help me finish this little monster faster. (currently going at a rate of about 1000 words a day, including what gets deleted later)

He didn't know where he was, didn't know why everything looked bigger and brighter than it should, but the world was warm and familiar and green in a way it had not been since forever. He couldn't help but feel comforted in this place.

"Italy," the only person he'd ever really loved was calling his name. His mind moved like mush, trying to tell him that there was something wrong here but for the life of him he couldn't imagine what. Italy smiled and waved that person over, watching the sun glint blindingly off blond hair. "Italy," the boy repeated once he was much closer, a bit out of breath. His voice sounded strained, as though he were upset about something. Italy twisted his hands in his apron—why was he wearing an apron?—but didn't drop his smile. He owed it to that person to smile always.

"Is something wrong?" He asked tentatively, needing to make sure the one he loved was alright, and wondering just why he felt so desperate to do so. Blue eyes stared into his own, frozen and dead in a way that terrified him. He choked back the strange urge to cry and reached out—were his hands smaller than usual?—for that person. Why did his heart suddenly hurt so much?

"Join me, Italy."His breath froze in his chest upon hearing those words. He wanted to say a hundred different things at once, couldn't remember why this decision was so hard. Hadn't Grandpa Rome told him over and over again he shouldn't? He'd always obeyed Grandpa Rome before. And besides, he didn't want to see those blue eyes full of pain like Grandpa's were. Maybe it was selfish, but he didn't think he could stand to see that person hurt.

"I can't." The words came out reluctantly, hindered by an unbidden sob as he stepped away—what are you saying, you idiot!—but he didn't understand why. "I promised Grandpa I wouldn't…" The one he loved didn't get angry like he should have, merely sighed and turned away. He didn't ask for a reason or beg Italy to change his mind like he usually might, and that hurt him more than it should have. "Wait!" he shouted, not knowing the reason why he felt so very frantic, or the origin of the tears streaming down his face. "Don't leave me." He sounded pathetic as he reached out for that person's shoulder, didn't know why he should act this way. Didn't this kind of proposal and subsequent refusal happen all the time?

"It's too late." His voice sounded strange and when the blond turned around Italy understood why. He could do nothing but watch as that beautiful face was marred bruise by bruise, blood seeping from a fatal wound in the chest. "You've had your chance." He was horrified as he watched more and more wounds open, blood trickling down until everything was red, red. He thought he would be suffocated by it. The one he loved finally fell to the ground and Italy was immediately by his side, working to see through the haze of tears and the crimson that was trying to blind him.

"Why are you crying?"Austria's voice floated to him through the madness. Italy whirled around to see the aristocrat standing there, arms folded, as unruffled as he ever was. His head reeled with confusion, didn't know why Austria wouldn't be able to see the child-nation dying in front of him.

"Help!" he sobbed, hugging the barely breathing body as close as the laws of physics would allow. Austria simply frowned and gave him a look that made him feel like the he couldn't possibly be any more stupid. "He's going to die!" he shouted as it became apparent Austria planned to do nothing. He didn't understand!

"Shouldn't you be glad?" Austria sent him the sneer he usually reserved for those he was at war with, and Italy felt a part of himself die seeing the one who had raised him look like that. "You're the one who killed him, after all."

"What?! No! I…" The world was turning red, edges of his vision burning black as he tried to remember how to breathe. The person he loved was dying in his arms and there was nothing he could do.

"If only…" the fragile form in his arms coughed and immediately Italy's attention was on him and only him. He was praying, begging God to let this please come out ok. "If only you had joined me, maybe I would have been strong enough to…" Italy felt his eyes grow wide, each beat of his heart more painful than the last.

"See," Austria's tone was full of more venom than it had ever been before, accusing him, hating him. More and more of his friends and were appearing as the seconds ticked by—Hungary, Romano, Japan—all of them glaring at him with hate filled eyes. "You killed him!" they all shouted as one, and Italy felt something inside himself shatter.

"No…. I…. I only wanted to keep him safe!" he screamed back, scanning every face for even one sympathetic look, but he found none. "That's—that's all I ever wanted."Italy sobbed as he buried his face in blond hair, his world echoing with the sound of that person's labored breaths. Each one took longer than the last and he knew—God this wasn't fair. Why was this happening?—that the boy in his embrace wasn't long for this world. He would give anything to make that truth a lie.

"Italy?" Blue eyes were looking up at him, a stark contrast against the red that covered everything else. That gaze looked confused and full of pain. It was all Italy could do to keep breathing.

"Yes?" He choked, hardly able to hear over the thoughts racing through his mind. He didn't know how to deal with this, couldn't face even the idea of the one he loved dying. He could scarcely begin to fathom what that meant.

"I've always loved you."The pain in his heart increased tenfold. His mind was left stuttering in the agony and he didn't even have the presence of mind to reply. He could only stare in horror at the trickle of red slipping out from behind pale lips. "So why…?" There was no condemnation in those eyes as they faded away, but Italy had never felt more to blame. The blond became lighter and lighter in his grasp, body growing less substantial until there was nothing left—as if he had never even been there at all. Italy kept staring until the world came back into focus, but once it did he could do nothing but cry out.

His hands were covered in blood.

Italy woke to the sound of his own screaming. He jerked awake, fought with his blankets in an attempt to sit up as quickly as possible. He felt like he was suffocating, breath coming to him in short gasps as he tried to find his sanity again. His hand shook as he tried to wipe away the lingering tears, whole body shuttering with exhaustion and emotional pain. It had been the same dream again, he mused despondently as he tried to force his emotions to obey. The same nightmare that had been plaguing him for over a week. He'd had similar dreams every once in a while; the death of… of that person wasn't something he'd been able to handle very well. But it had never been as bad as this.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, ignored the ache that simple action caused, sat there and just tried to breathe for a moment. He didn't know if he could keep going like this. The dreams only seemed to be getting more vivid every night and Italy was finding it harder and harder to get out of bed every morning with the sounds of his friends' condemnation still ringing in his ears. He buried his face in his hands and worked to put the memories back where they belonged, hiding them behind a wall of repression. He couldn't bear to think about this anymore or he was going to go mad.

The cell phone rang shrilly from its place at Italy's bedside and to his shell-shocked mind it almost sounded like an anguished scream. He just about jumped out of his skin at first, had to sit there staring at it as it rang for a few moments before he could make his way out of the nightmares again. It wasn't until the third ring that he realized he should probably answer it.

"Hello?" His voice didn't sound like it should—was a little too rough to be explained by the last night's screaming alone, and lacked his usual happy-go-lucky front.

"Feliciano? Is that you?" Ah. Lovino. The younger brother threaded his fingers though his hair and tried to force his mask back into place. The last thing he needed was a worried Lovino tearing across Europe and seeing him like this. His older brother deserved to be happy, and how could he if Feliciano was dragging him back home all the time just because of a couple nightmares? No, much better to keep Lovino in the dark.

"Lovi!" he shouted as best he was able, wincing as his head pounded. He hadn't noticed the ache before in the wake of everything else, but his high-volume façade made it all too obvious. "How's Spain?" There was a pause a bit more prolonged than usual and Feliciano wondered vaguely if something had happened between his brother and Antonio.

"Spain is… fine" the other nation actually avoided insulting his admirer for once. Despite his hellish morning, Feliciano couldn't help the smile that ghosted his lips. Something was definitely going on. He could hear the happiness in his brother's tone, and he couldn't help but share in that bliss. This was why he needed to get used to living alone… Lovino deserved to be able to stay in Spain with the one he loved. "But I didn't call to talk about the tomato bastard," somehow when Lovino said it, it sounded more like an endearment than an offense. "I called to make sure you were ok." Ah. He'd been afraid of that.

"What are you talking about Lovi?" He half-sang, grimacing as his voice wavered. He was beginning to feel the chill-heat of fever creep down his spine, but he wasn't about to admit that to his older brother. He'd had enough trouble trying to convince Romano that it would be alright to leave. "I'm just fine on my own." There was a derisive snort on the other end of the line, the kind that told Feliciano just what his brother thought of that statement. He refused to admit to himself that scorn hurt.

"You never have been before, Feliciano. You're always running off to stay with your friends rather than be alone." He knew the words were not meant to wound, but he couldn't deny the pain he felt upon hearing them. He knew he had an issue with being alone, was always looking for someone to fill the void that… that the one he loved had left behind. Because when he was alone the only things he had to think about were his own failures.

"I…" He felt at a loss for words. He knew he wasn't ok with this, knew he couldn't possibly handle the long silences and the empty rooms. But what could he do? He couldn't go to any of his friends. They were all tied up with the recent crisis, didn't have time for him anymore. No one seemed to have time for him anymore. Now his brother had found someone else to spend his time with, and even Germany… Pain twisted in his stomach at the thought of the way the blond had been ignoring him lately and he made the mistake of whimpering aloud.

"Feliciano…?" Lovino sounded really worried now and he knew he had to do something before Spain was short one guest.

"I'm fine." He tried to sound reassuring, but he was too busy trying to keep the tears at bay to be truly convincing. There was no way he could have fooled his brother with such a weak attempt. He would have been in trouble had Spain not chosen that moment to do something lewd.

"God help me Antonio, I will end you!" His brother shouted without moving the phone away, Spain's chuckles drifting to him strangely over the airwaves. Feliciano nearly doubled over in pain at the sudden increase in volume and only just managed to keep himself from crying out. He supposed he should be glad for Spain's timely distraction, but he would have appreciated it more if it had been a little quieter. "Anyway, I was just going to say that I've got a few…things… I need to…." Was that… was Lovino actually flustered? Feliciano had to laugh in spite of the tears still threatening to fall. "Oh, shut up. Why the hell was I worried about you anyway!?" Lovino huffed. "I'm going to be here longer than I thought. So don't do anything stupid, idioto." Ah. So it began. He knew the day would come when Lovino finally figured out where he belonged. His older brother would come back home less and less until eventually…

"Aw, you're trying to take care of me." He sang into the phone; it was the best way to hide the wavering of his voice. He could feel himself getting weaker and he didn't know if he could keep up this act for much longer. He had to get Lovino off the line. And the best way to do that was to make him angry. "I'll be just fine without you, Mamma."

"What the hell?!" Really, did his brother always have to shout? "That's it, Feliciano. See if I care about you ever again. I have better things to be doing than—"

"Like Antonio?" he drawled out the last word, knowing that the jibe would send Lovino over the edge. If he was lucky, his brother might not call for another week or so. He must have been loud enough for Spain to hear, or Lovino had him on speaker phone because for a while all he could hear was the tan nation's joyous laughter.

"Che cosa?! How did you…I—I never….! Wha…? ARG!" That would never get old, Feliciano quickly decided. He'd have to embarrass his brother on a much more frequent basis once he felt better. "That's it! I'm never calling you again!" and with that, he could finally put the phone down.
With no one to see his mask fall, he could take a few seconds to breathe. The nightmare sat mostly forgotten at the back of his mind but now he had a problem of a different sort. It had been cemented. Lovino was finally leaving him, and he didn't know what to do. Despite his assurances, he didn't know how to live alone.

Italy sighed as he flipped the phone closed and dropped it back onto the bedside table. His entire body hurt, headache had only seemed to get worse in the time he'd been awake, and he felt exhausted from that night of nightmares. He didn't know why he felt so awful. Recessions usually didn't hit him as hard as this, but he supposed it had been a particularly bad one. And it wasn't like he'd been taking care of himself very well. He lay back against the pillows stacked on his bed and curled up for warmth. The dreams had woken him up much too early. It was his policy to never leave bed until at least nine o'clock, and one he had been breaking far too often lately. He just wanted to go back to sleep and dream the days away until this mess was over. Maybe people would have time for him then. Italy closed his eyes and let himself relax, eager to return to unconscious bliss.

"I always loved you" The voice echoed to him from the edge of dreams and Italy bolted awake. He stood as quickly as he was able, swaying as the room swerved beneath him. He couldn't do this. Illness be damned, he didn't think he'd be able to stand even one more moment alone in this room with his sanity intact. Resting was out of the question when nightmares like that stubbornly refused to leave him alone.

He pulled his clothes on, wincing with every movement of his head as the world shifted and turned, but he managed. He might have been weak when it came to wars, but he was more than capable of holding his own against a stupid cold. He'd worked through worse recessions than this one. He probably should have been working right now too, except that his current boss didn't trust him with any of the important stuff. Italy didn't blame him. He knew he was pretty useless most of the time. Only half of that was a mask.

It took a bit longer than usual to make his way down to the kitchen. He was running on automatic, mind going completely blank every once in a while so that he had to constantly remind himself what it was he was trying to do. He blacked out somewhere in between brushing his teeth and walking down the stairs and before he knew it he was curled up on the kitchen floor, forehead pressed to the cool surface, without knowing how he'd gotten there. Italy groaned once he realized where he was, forced himself back on to his feet to make his way over to the drawer with the medicine in it. He was going to be completely useless all day unless he could beat the pain and the fever that were clouding his mind.

He fiddled with the cap on the ibuprofen, fought with it for almost five minutes before the tiny capsules finally spilled out. The dazed nation managed to catch a few, but most just fell on the floor. Italy stood there staring at them for some time before moving sluggishly to the sink, pouring himself some water, and swallowing whatever he had clenched in his fist at the moment. Probably not the smartest idea, but Italy just wanted the aching and the memories and the way the room was spinning to stop.

Feliciano dropped the glass into the sink, didn't care when it cracked at the rough treatment. He supposed he should eat something, but even the thought of his beloved pasta only turned his stomach. Maybe that was a problem; he hadn't been eating much since Lovino left. What was the point? For him, food was largely about sharing it with those you cared about and there wasn't exactly anyone around. Besides, what with the recession on he wasn't sure he could stomach much more than some soup anyway. And he was much too tired right now to think about putting that much effort into cooking.

Instead he dragged himself into the living room, fell onto the couch, and reached for the remote. He would wait for the medicine to kick in, and then he would figure out what to do with himself for the rest of the day. But if he had to sit around in silence with nothing but the demons of his own mind to torment him he was going to scream. Italy flipped on the TV, turned it up just loud enough that he couldn't hear his own thoughts, and settled down to wait.

"Lovino?" Spain looked on in confusion as his lover hung up the phone. The Italian had gone immediately from angry to worried, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

"Something's wrong." Romano had the same look he usually did when he was taking care of "family business." He may have acted stupid half the time, but Spain knew he wasn't really. He was capable of being much more serious and perceptive than he let on. Antonio just wished for Lovino's sake that he didn't have to be. He hated to see that face frown. It made him want to hold the Italian in his arms and protect him from everything, like he had so many years ago.

"What is it?" he coaxed as he pulled the brunette back down to the pillows and his embrace. It truly said something that Romano allowed himself to be led. Not a month ago he would never have allowed Spain to hold him like this.

"My idiot brother." He muttered, curling himself around the one he loved for comfort. Spain took one look into those eyes and melted, just as he always did. Dios mio he loved this man. "He's hurting, and I don't know why." He didn't doubt Romano for a second, but he was a little confused. He'd heard Feliciano from here during that phone call—neither Italian was ever very quiet—and he hadn't sounded very hurt.

"What makes you think—"

"He answered the phone." It was a strange reason to be suspicious. Usually, people got worried when the opposite was true. His confusion must have been written on his face because Romano went on to say, "It is barely five in the morning. Feliciano never gets out of bed this early. Not even if his phone is ringing." Spain had to agree with the younger Italian brother in that respect. Waking up this early in the morning was practically a sin.

"Why did you call this early if you thought he wouldn't answer?"

"I needed to leave a message. I suspected we wouldn't have time later." Antonio grimaced at the reminder that they actually had to work today. He really didn't feel like moving just yet, but the plane left soon and they really did have to get ready…he pulled Romano closer.

"Maybe he had work to do today too?" he suggested, knowing how his lover would worry until he figured out this little mystery. The brunette's expression didn't change.

"He'd been crying." That threw Spain off a little. The thought of Feliciano crying, real tears and not one of those silly waterfall displays, was so foreign that he couldn't wrap his mind around it. "I could hear it. He thinks he can fool me, but I always know." Spain combed his fingers through soft hair and tried to calm his Italian down. Romano was really upset at the thought of his brother hurting, even if he acted like he didn't care half the time.

"I'm sure he'll be okay," Antonio suggested, trying to lessen the pain he could see in Lovino's eyes. "Maybe it was something stupid, like he burnt breakfast or something." His attempt to cool Romano off seemed to be having the opposite effect. All it got him was a thwack in the arm.

"Look, I know my brother, alright? He shouldn't have been awake, he shouldn't have been crying and acting like everything was ok, and he shouldn't have been home at all!"

"I'm not following you, Lovi." He rubbed down the smooth skin of his lover's back as he spoke, working all the tense muscles beneath his palms. Romano became a boneless mass against his chest, but his eyes were no less worried. "Why is it a bad thing if he's at home? I thought you hated his friends." The man in his arms sighed.

"As much as I don't like those dolts, they're better for him than being alone." Romano's grumbling was barely audible but after decades upon decades of living with him, Spain was able to understand it easily enough. "Feliciano can't stand being by himself. He's never really been alone for a long period of time in his whole life. But now…He hasn't left the house in a week."

"You called his cell, didn't you? How do you know he hasn't left?" Romano scoffed

"Like he'd actually remember to bring his cell phone with him. Damn thing doesn't do anything but sit next to his bed all day." Spain sighed, trying to think of some way to help. Lovino wasn't going to budge on this one.

"Perhaps it would be best to call a few of Feliciano's friends and have them look in on him?" He would offer to fly to Italy himself, but this meeting was really important for the both of them and they needed to be there. Romano sighed before burying his face in Spain's chest.

"Yeah… you're right," he grumbled sullenly, upset at the prospect of asking those he disliked for help. Antonio smiled down at the lithe body pressed against his own and kissed the crown of Lovino's head.

"Come on, best to get moving then. We have a flight to catch."

He woke very early, as he always did. But this time, he was sorely tempted to just go back to sleep. The light coming in through the blinds hurt his eyes something awful, and the strange position he found himself in hadn't exactly been comfortable all night.

"We-est," Something annoying was poking him in the forehead. He decided to ignore it in favor of covering his head with his arms and trying to go back to sleep. "West!" the voice was insistent, but it was also painful. Germany decided to stick to his guns, gave an unhappy groan, and didn't budge. The surface he was somewhat laying on was not comfortable, but he'd be damned if he was moving anywhere when he felt like this. He was going to be staying right where he was, thank you very much.

Or at least, that had been his plan. Until his brother decided to pour a cup of ice water down his shirt.

"Scheiße!" The usually cool-headed nation swore as he stood, ice cubes scattering across the room to the tune of Gilbert's laughter. There wasn't really much he could do about that at the moment though. His head was not happy with such sudden movement, and was protesting as loudly as possible. "Ugh," he groaned as he fell back into the wooden chair that had apparently served as his bed last night, ignored the small puddle of drool on the table where his mouth had been.

"Good morning, West." Prussia was beaming down at him, oddly chipper at this early hour. Germany suspected it had something to do with his current state of misery. Freaking sadistic is what that idiot was.

"I will get you back for this." He growled as he cradled his head, kept his eyes tightly closed. Gilbert just laughed and laughed until he felt like his head was rattling with the sound.

"You have a phone call, brother dear." Ludwig glared ineffectively out at the world from beneath the shadow of his arm. Belatedly, he noticed the small device in the silver haired nation's hand. He snatched it with a fumbling, inelegant motion that set Gilbert off on another of his giggle-fests.

"'lo?" he grunted, trying to ignore the brother who was now laughing madly as he searched through the cabinets for something. Honestly. If they weren't technically the same country right now, he would have gone to war with Prussia for this.

"Germany?" Austria's sharp tones greeted him and the blond frowned in confusion. Why would Austria be calling him first thing in the morning?

"Hmm?" It wasn't a very elegant response, to be sure. But he didn't think it warranted Gilbert's cackling reaction.

"Are you alright?" Austria actually sounded worried.

"Wonderful." He was sure that the older nation could hear the liberal amount of sarcasm dripping from every syllable. And he still hadn't figured out why the hell Austria was calling him this early in the first place.

"Germany, I hope you have not forgotten our meeting today?" Ludwig glared at the empty air and cursed his stupid decision to drink all that beer last night. The meeting, right. That meant his plane was leaving in—he squinted at his watch—an hour and a half.

Scheiße indeed.

"No, I didn't forget." He lied as he pulled himself up off the table and tried valiantly to ignore the snickering of his older brother. Gilbert was kind enough to hand him a glass of something with a handful of Tylenol, and Germany took it gratefully. Even if whatever the red substance in the cup was, was quite possibly one of the most disgusting things he'd ever drunk in his life. He pinched his nose as he downed the stuff, holding the phone a bit away from himself so that Austria wouldn't be able to hear him gulping it down.

"Good. Switzerland mentioned something about a drinking party last night, so I was worried." Ah, so that was why he was getting this early morning wake-up call. That traitor. They were drinking buddies whenever there was a recession, had been for a while. "I… Seriously, though. You don't sound well. Are you sure you're ok, Germany?" Austria sounded truly concerned and Ludwig had to wonder why. Every once in a while the aristocratic nation got all… parental like this. It always confused him when it happened, but he always had to give into that tone.

"It's just the recession," he murmured, feeling embarrassed. He couldn't help it if economic depressions made him a little, well… depressed. Most nations got colds. He and a few others like Switzerland didn't. They just got thrown into a workaholic slump until things started looking better again. Hence the drinking.

"Ah. I see." Austria sounded somewhat sympathetic. Come to think of it, he hadn't heard Austria sniffling lately. Perhaps the music-loving nation really did understand.

"Did you need anything else?" He was growing impatient with this conversation. It was vaguely uncomfortable, he wasn't used to having people try to take care of him, and he was running late besides.

"No. I assume I will see you later this morning?"

"Of course." Germany was already walking, as quickly as he was able in his hindered state, toward the shower. He smelled like beer. Lots and lots of beer. He didn't think Austria would particularly appreciate it if he showed up smelling of alcohol and wearing the same rumpled clothing as yesterday.

"Then we will speak of this when you arrive. Goodbye, Germany."

"Auf Wiedersehen." He flipped the phone closed just as he got to the bathroom, placed it on the side of the sink and set to work peeling off his nasty clothing. The hot water felt heavenly on his skin as he stepped into the shower. He could feel the drops relaxing his every muscle; the Tylenol seemed to be kicking in and he could actually think again for the first time that morning.

He really had drunk way too much last night. He didn't really remember much of the evening after the forth stein or so, let alone how he'd managed to get home. Germany had to admit he was a little ashamed of himself. He wasn't usually so prone to excess. It was just that with visions of the past haunting him like this, he didn't know what else to do. He didn't really have anyone he could talk to about this. Well… he supposed that was a lie. Italy had always been a source of comfort to him through the years they'd been friends. But he didn't dare burden the happy-go-lucky nation with these heavy thoughts. Many were memories of the Second World War, watching as those in control of him blamed and tortured whoever was convenient. It was an effective policy as far as politics went, but Gott it had hurt—the Jews and others killed were German; as German as the ones who so fervently hunted them down. He still berated himself for not doing more to put a stop to that. He wasn't quite sure what would happen if he said any of this to Italy. He suspected it might just lead to Feliciano hating him as much as he hated himself. And he—he wouldn't be able to bear that. So he'd been avoiding the nation. At least until this mess was sorted out and his thoughts were under his control again.

"Hey." Germany jumped about a foot in the air when the shower curtain pulled back to reveal his brother's face. "I almost forgot to tell you, you had another call this morn—"

"What the hell!?" He may not have been a prude, but that didn't mean he was used to people randomly barging into his shower.

"What?" Prussia had the nerve to look completely innocent, hid the smirk he wanted to display quite well under befuddlement. "What are you so upset about?"

"Gilbert, I am taking a shower in case you hadn't noticed." He ground out, secretly thankful for the reprieve from his own thoughts. It was getting to the point where he would rather have his mind fogged up with the hangover than have to worry about everything.

"So? It's nothing I haven't seen before." Germany opened his mouth to protest but his brother beat him to it. "I helped you with your bath when you were little, you know. You were so cute!" He resisted the urge to remind the idiot that they hadn't known each other until Germany was already too old to need any help with his bath, because the implications of that statement were more than a little disturbing.

"Thanks for that. That's really what I wanted to think about right now." He grumbled, yanking the curtain out of his brother's hand and closing the shower once more. Prussia just laughed.

"Besides, my five meters is much more awesome than—"

"Don't really want to hear about it!" The headache that had swiftly been retreating was coming back thanks to Prussia's interference. Germany scrubbed harder and wondered why the hell his brother was so infuriating. He glanced at the shadow on the shower curtain. It hadn't budged. "Is there a reason for you to be standing in here while I shower or have you just been hanging out too much with France lately?"

"Hey! I'm not a pervert like that egotistical—"

"A reason, please, Gilbert."

"Right," Prussia sighed, sounding like Germany had sucked all of the fun out of the world. "Romano called while you were asleep." Ludwig groaned and resisted the urge to hit his head against the wall of the shower. That was the last thing he needed right now—the older Italian's whining was not something he particularly wanted to hear while hung over. "Only reason I woke up this early, the jerk. Why do you have your cell volume up so high anyway?"

"What did he want?" he sighed, only half-way listening. He was taking too much time with this shower. He needed to be on his way to the airport by now.

"I didn't answer it." Prussia sounded positively horrified at the thought. Germany had to laugh. Of all things for his brother to be afraid of… maybe he'd slip this information to Romano at the next meeting. "But in the message he said—"

"Why were you going through my messages?!"

"Well it might have been important!" He highly doubted that. "And I didn't think you particularly wanted me waking you up at five thirty in the morning so that you could do it yourself." Wow, did that mean Gilbert had actually done something considerate for once? Perish the thought. "He wanted to know if you'd heard from Italy lately."

The question sent a pang of worry and self-contempt through his heart. No, he hadn't seen Italy since the financial crisis began. He'd gotten a few calls in the beginning, but what with his thoughts taking the direction they were… he hadn't particularly wanted to see his best friend. Eventually the calls stopped coming, and to be honest, he hadn't even noticed. There'd been too much else to think about. But if Romano were desperate enough to be calling him… something was wrong.

"I'll call him back later," he murmured as he turned the faucet off. There wasn't time to dwell on it at the moment. He had to be leaving about now. "Now can you please leave so I can get dressed?" Gilbert's cackles filled the room for what had to be the hundredth time that morning, but he was finally left in peace. He wondered; if he severely maimed Prussia, would it count as civil war?