Just because there was only the slimmest chance of winning the battle in the morning, Germany was sitting at his desk, eyes roaming over document after document. Each time he read it though, a deeper and deeper despair seemed to settle deep within in his ragged soul. There were just too many troops: they didn't stand a chance.

Drawing in a defeated sigh, Germany set down the confidential document he had been attempting to read for the past five minutes, staring blankly down at his desk, watching as his fingers twined together. This was a hopeless fight, but he couldn't run from it. That would make him a coward. He refused to be seen as a coward. He was strong, he was strong!

Strength though…abruptly his mind turned toward the red headed Italian who lived with him these days. The one who was happier to fly the white flag and make pasta rather than prove to the world his country was something worth remembering. What was he doing, dragging the Italian into another battle? He could lose him in a fight, especially if Italy couldn't outrun the people! Was he trying to get the sweet red head killed?

Horror glinted in the blue depths of Germany's eyes now, and he brought a hand up to smooth his slicked back blonde hair in a distressed manner. What was he doing? He couldn't live with himself if the Italian died! Especially if it was his fault…if he killed Italy because he was too proud to retreat…he wouldn't be able to deal with that. It would only prove to him that he was nothing more than a monster.

Drawing in a shaky breath, Germany gave a slight shudder, unable to get the image of a cold and lifeless Italy out of his head. Holding his head in his hands, Germany slowly shook his head, fingers gripping his hair desperately. No…there was no way that could happen. He had to protect Italy from that. He had to…

He had to drive him away.

The thought was like a lead ball falling into the pit of his stomach. Already he could see the tears (oh he hated those tears) that would stream down Italy's normally sunny face. He would hurt the other man so much, driving him away. He couldn't even tell him why he was doing it. It would confuse the other man, and because of that, Germany felt absolutely horrible. If he had just avoided this fight, he wouldn't be hurting the person he cared about so much.

Maybe it was better off this way though… a thought whispered in the back of his mind. Straightening his stance, Germany blinked rapidly, hands dropping from his hair, and back onto his neatly organized desk. It hurt to think that, but as he stared at the door, he couldn't help but find himself nodding slowly. He knew that he was a monstrous being, all the other countries (aside from Japan and Italy anyway) had made that point very clear to him. He only hurt the ones he loved in the end, which was why he worked so hard all the time. He couldn't let himself get attached to anyone.

And if he drove Italy away, then he would never be able to hurt the red head again. Italy would be free to…to find a new lover. Oh Gott, those words seemed to rip his already fragile heart into shreds, but he couldn't help but see the wisdom in those words. Italy had kept himself chained to Germany for too long, staying beside him through thick and thin. He had never left…Germany had never given him a chance. Drawing in a deep breath, Germany straightened his shoulders now, eyes hardening. He wouldn't be the death of Italy, he wouldn't carry that blood on his hands too. He would hurt the other man, badly, but he would set him free. It didn't matter what would happen to him, Italy would be free, and safe.

Glancing at the clock, Germany let out a soft curse, quickly turning his attention back to the papers in front of him. He had spent too much time dallying in his own thoughts, now he was never going to catch up! Quickly picking up a document he had read and reread several times today, he scanned it with an effectiveness that spoke of many wars past. Germany focused on the papers, refusing to allow his mind to dwell on what he had decided.

"Germany! You should stop working so hard and come play with me! You've been in here forever! Oh, I know, we can go for a walk! Walks are fun and they let you see all sorts of fun things! Come on Germany, take a walk with me, we could even go out to eat!" The rapid voice was the only warning Germany had, before he found Italy settled contently in his lap, looking up at him with that continuously happy expression, just about vibrating with excitement. There was such warmth in those eyes, such happiness…Germany felt like he was going to be sick.

Closing his eyes, counting to ten before he responded, Germany opened those (now cold) blue eyes of his once again, staring down at the Italian, a scowl overtaking his expression. "No, Italy. I don't want to go for a walk with you, and I am not going to play with you," Germany growled, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, though his heart was aching to agree with Italy and actually get out of the office. "I don't want to go get something to eat with you either. I have more important things to do than go out and satisfy your whims. I am in the middle of a battle." Each word was very clear, his tone clipped, as though he was angry with the red head.

"Oh! I'll just make something then! Pasta and Wurst!" Italy said happily, though his expression wasn't as bright as it had been. He seemed to be confused, especially with why Germany wasn't hugging him. "I mean, I don't see how you can eat that disgusting Wurst, but you like it so I'll make sure to cook it for you with pasta! Since pasta is a staple of life!" Italy concluded, bobbing his head excitedly.

"No, Italy," Germany snapped out, unable to handle that confused look. "You can't do anything for me. Don't you understand," This was going to hurt the both of them, but for the sheer sake of keeping Italy safe, Germany continued, "the reason I won't be able to win this battle is because of you. All you ever do is run away and cook pasta, you're a worthless ally. I've put up with it for too long and now I'm telling you to get out. I can't deal with you any longer. I run around saving your butt from every little thing, and I'm done. We're over, Italy." Germany growled, forcing himself to meet the other man's eyes.

For a few moments, there was only the tick of a clock on the wall to break the silence, as Italy stared at him with wide, pain filled eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. Not the tears that he always cried: these were real tears. Tears that were filled with an anguish that couldn't be expressed in words, sending silent daggers into Germany's heart, shattering what had been left of it. "I-I'm sorry Germany!" Italy abruptly sobbed, scampering off of Germany's lap, bolting toward the door. "I never meant to burden you I just wanted to make you happy and make you pasta and be your best friend and person you could rely upon emotionally but it seems I failed and I'm worthless! I'm so sorry Germany! I'm sorry!" Italy sobbed as he ran out the door, fleeing from the man he had given his heart to.

Staring at the now open door, Germany heard the slam of his front door shutting. For a moment, it seemed all he could do was stare at where the Italian had been, those innocent words ringing in his ears. It became clear to him then, that Italy didn't care if he won or lost his battles. That all he had wanted was to be with Germany, to be his friend, to be his lover. Nothing else mattered…and Germany had just thrown all of that away on some absurd notion that he would be keeping Italy safe by sending him away.

What the hell had he been thinking? Feeling the unfamiliar bite of tears threatening to overflow his eyes, Germany carefully sat down the papers he had been holding, making a slightly choked sound. Italy was upset and running now, there was no clue where the man would go. What sort of trouble he would get himself in. It seemed even when he was trying to keep the other man safe, he just sent him into even deeper peril. As long as Italy was alive though, that would make everything worth it. At least, that was what Germany told himself, trying to give reason to his mind.

Slowly, he sat his head down on his desk, not caring about the documents that had been so important minutes ago. Hot tears were streaming down his cheeks now, his shoulders shaking slightly. "This was for the better. It is for his good. He's safer now. He won't be killed because of me now. He'll be okay," Germany whispered in a rather broken tone, as his fingers dug into the papers surrounding him.

He wasn't sure how long it was before the hot tears stopped falling down his face and a curious numb feeling enveloped him. For a moment, he considered looking up at the time, but before he could even raise his head, darkness overtook him, as much needed sleep claimed Germany. Even sleep though, refused to provide solace for the large man, as images of dead and dying Italy filled his mind.

All the dreams were different, but there was one thing in them, that seemed to be the main theme…

No matter how hard he ran, or how hard he fought, he was always too late.