Note: Phew, finally got the last chapter done. Thanks again to everyone who reviewed and favorited and alerted, you all made me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Warning: High levels of cheese. Not recommended for the lactose-intolerant.

The silence was unbearable. It surrounded Germany, crushed in on him like a suffocating blanket. The ticking of the clock only emphasized the quiet, punctuating it with regular, sharp clicks that echoed through the empty house. Normally Germany would have welcomed the silence as freedom from distractions to do his work, but not this. It was all wrong.

How could Italy do such a thing to himself? How could anyone? Of course, just about every nation had inflicted harm upon itself at some point, and had the scars to prove it, but those situations were… different. They were because of war, or self-defense, or – Germany flinched slightly at the memories – following orders. This was just… wrong. Italy wasn't at war; there was nothing he had to defend himself against. The rest of the world would have found out if he had been given orders to do anything like that. When the governments became involved, secrets didn't stay hidden among the nations for long.

Germany groaned in frustration, massaging his temples. He shouldn't be thinking of this. He should be working. But he couldn't. He couldn't focus on the words before him.

He felt sick to his stomach, unable to shake the feeling that it was his fault. That he was to blame for this. All of it.

He should have paid more attention to Italy. He would have been able to tell that something was wrong, something was off. He would have been able to help.

He shouldn't have pushed Italy away when the other tried to be friends. He shouldn't have yelled so often in impatience. He should have been more open. Then Italy would have felt comfortable enough to talk to him.

It wasn't like he had any real friends, anyway. Acquaintances, yes. Allies, yes. But no friends. Sure, Japan seemed friendly enough, but Germany really could never tell what he thought about anything. America tried to be friends, but their personalities just seemed completely incompatible. That, and America seemed to have no tact whatsoever. Italy…

…turned away from him, refusing to speak, refusing to even make eye contact. Spoke to him in a venom-laced voice that defied his happy-go-lucky expression. Snapped at him abruptly before slamming down the telephone again…

…Italy, apparently, no longer considered him a friend.

Germany wished that it wasn't true. He still thought of Italy as a friend, but thoughts like that were useless if they weren't returned. He wanted to help Italy, but he couldn't do anything if Italy wanted to have nothing to do with him.

Maybe this was all planned, some sort of punishment from an omnipotent being. Maybe he was still being punished for the World Wars; there were certainly times when he felt that he deserved it still. Times that he felt that he didn't deserve a friend like Italy. Maybe he was right. Or maybe Italy was never really his friend…

The front door slammed open. "Westen!" Prussia shouted. Germany was thankful for the interruption.

"Was?" He called back, half-hoping that his brother would try to talk him into going somewhere, doing something. Even if anything Prussia tried to talk him into would probably lead to both of them getting into serious trouble. He needed something, anything, to distract him from his thoughts. Something to keep him from thinking about Italy.

Prussia didn't answer immediately. Germany listened to his footsteps, loud and even, approaching the office, and looked back at the papers. He had to at least make it look like he'd been working. "You two need to talk," Prussia said, from the doorway. Germany looked up.

And froze.

Italy stood in the doorway, fists clenched, staring at the floor, Prussia's hand against his back as a subtle deterrent from leaving. Italy, refusing to meet his eyes but being stopped from turning away, from leaving. Italy, who still looked like he wished he could be anywhere but here, in Germany's presence.

There was a long period of silence, none of the nations wanting to be the first to break it. The clock kept ticking. Germany stared at Italy. Italy stared at the floor, at the wall. Prussia hesitated, and then left the room. Germany wished he hadn't.

Italy chewed on his lip for a moment. "Why?" He asked, his voice cracking. Germany realized that he'd been crying. He looked away.

"I could be asking the same question."

"You don't understand." Barely a whisper.

Germany looked down at his work, meaningless words printed on white paper. "You're right…" he agreed. The two fell silent again.

"But I want to."

Italy looked up in surprise, soon fading to suspicion. "Why would you care?" He snapped.

Germany hesitated, certain that saying the wrong thing would only make things worse. Italy took his silence as a lack of an answer.

"That's what I thought." He turned to leave. "You don't."

"I never said that," Germany said. Italy stopped, his back to the other nation.

"Ve… you didn't have to. It's obvious enough."

"Italy…"

"Don't you dare try to lie to me!" Italy shouted, turning back to face Germany. He drew in a shaky breath before continuing at a more normal volume. "Just don't. We both know that you think I'm useless."

"Italy–"

"Shut up! You don't care about me; you just want to make yourself look good!"

"Stop that!" Germany roared, finally losing his patience. Italy flinched back instinctively. A tense silence settled between the two of them. Germany pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to calm down a bit before speaking again. "Don't… go putting words in my mouth like that."

Italy opened his mouth to say something, but Germany held up a hand. "Please, let me talk," he said. Italy closed his mouth with a scowl. "I know… I probably haven't been the best person to you…" The brunette scoffed slightly, but didn't interrupt. "But I have never considered you useless."

"Useless, weak; same thing," Italy mumbled.

"It is not," Germany said, quietly. Italy gave him a suspicious look. Germany looked down for a moment before continuing, "And… military weakness isn't necessarily a bad thing. The world would probably be a lot better if more people realized that."

Italy said nothing, just continued to stare. Germany sighed. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had to do something, had to help. He'd probably just make a mess of it. It probably wouldn't work at all.

But still, he mused, it's worth a try.