A/N: I'm sorry my darlings for the short chapter. I promise the next one will make up for it. This is more of a filler chapter for it has nothing to do with the story. We're going to take a reprieve and look into the lives of our favorite two Germans and Italians. I wonder what they're up to?

Love,

C.Q.

Chapter 6: ?

"Germany! Germany! Germany! Germany!"

"Was1?! What is it? What do you want Italy? Verdammt2! Can't you see that I'm busy", Germany yelled at the Italian, slammed his pen down sharply on the desk.

"Hi!" And with that one simple statement Italy took off out of the room, leaving a dust trail in his wake.

There were a few moments of silence as Germany stared at the spot Italy once stood, his jaw slackened and tensed up a few times before a ticked off vein appeared at the side of his head. A stretched out growl left him that quickly grew into a yell of irritation,

"Gott verdammt noch mal! Kann ich nicht ein paar Momente der Stille hier in der Gegend?3", he slammed a large fist down on his desk, "Ich schwöre, es ist wie ein Tollhaus!4"

He stood above his desk huffing for a few moments, irritated irk marks were etched into his skin. Only Italy could do this to him. Why the hell he called that man his friend he never knew but –

Ludwig sat down, a realization hit upon him; one that he hadn't thought about in a long time. He sighed a placed his head in his hands.

He didn't have any friends. The Italian seemed to be the only one and Germany had not given any thought into the fact that Italy basically forced the friendship upon him. He didn't ask for it, all Italy had been to him when they first met was his prisoner. And even after Italy became his prisoner, he still had a sunny disposition that made Germany question whether the Italian was mentally fit.

At the time, the only word that Ludwig had to go on was "capture-bonding", where the captive would show empathy or treat their captors nicely. It was a psychological phenomenon that he knew all too much about, much to his chagrin. Now, they had a coined term for it, Stockholm syndrome, named after Stockholm, Sweden.

Germany couldn't stand that at the time the Italian wouldn't leave him alone. When he sang the song about Germany that was the straw that broke the camel's back. He packed Italy up nicely and shipped him off back to his home. Yet, like a boomerang, he came back, just as pitiful as ever with the ever able capability to piss the German off.

Then, during World War II, Italy claimed to be Germany's ally. The shit hit the fan. A lot of things happened, Italy became his "friend" and ally, and he seemed to know everything to do to keep Germany on edge all the time. To list a few: throwing the pin on the grenade instead of the grenade (to which he stuck in his mouth), surrendering all the time, sleeping on the job, eating pasta, paying attention to cats more than training, bothering him with late night phone calls, sneaking into Germany's bed at night . . .the list goes on and on.

But regardless of all these things Germany had come to adore the mental nation, for his kind loving and carefree demeanor always seemed to brighten every room.

Maybe the little Italian did mean something to him.

"Gah, Germany! Help! Please! It's stuck again! Romano, he – he owie! No get it out!"

The door to his room slammed open, revealing a distressed Italy and a pissed off Romano. Romano stalked into the room dragging Italy by his arm. Their two curls were tangled once again. And yet again Italy's distressed calls made it sound more like an innuendo than anything.

Germany stared at the two with an exasperated look. His head fell to his desk with a loud thud.

"Why? Why did I get up today? Surely I could have stayed in bed? Right? I mean it only is a Saturday", his words couldn't be made out by anyone in the room.

"West! What are you mumbling over there? You know the first sign of insanity is mumbling", his obnoxious brother, Prussia leaned against the door to his room, red eyes gleaming at the scene of the two Italians.

"Gil", he grumbled raising up, "I lost my sanity when I decided to let you live with me. I believe talking to myself is a step down from insanity at the moment."

"Please, how could you be insane for wanting to live with the awesome me? I mean, come on, I'm awesome."

"Gilbert, halt die Klappe5", Ludwig muttered, rubbing his temples gently.

"Hey! Potato fucker, aren't you going to help us out", Romano impatiently taped his foot, waiting for the German to get up.

He merely looked at the two Italians, fed up with everything today,

"How did you two end up that way?"

"Idiota, over there knocked us into one another as were fighting over the remote. Damn wurst loving, Kraut" Romano said this motioning to Prussia across the way, who smirked and plopped down on Germany's bed.

"Germany! Ve~! Please help me! It hurts really, really badly", Italy had tears stream down his eyes, giving the German a pleading look.

Ludwig, sighed and looked to Gilbert, he lay on his bed looking through one of his personal magazines. Germany picked up a book and threw it at the Prussian. The book slammed into his temple harshly before he turned to glare at his younger brother,

"How dare you hit the awesome me! I can't believe –"

"Gilbert, shut up. I didn't hit you, the book did. Now, untangle those two", Germany's tired voice was actuated by his head resting on his hand.

"What, why", Gilbert screeched incredulously.

Groans left Ludwig as he went over to boot kick the Prussian out of his bed and onto the floor,

"Because I said so and also because you caused this mess now fix it. Now, leave me be, I have lots of work to do."

Gilbert grumbled when he got up from the floor, brushing off his black slacks and violet shirt. He was the older brother, yet West bossed him around an awful lot. No one had the right to boss around the awesome, Prussia!

He rolled up the magazine he had been looking at and shoved it into his back pocket, before walking over to Germany's desk. He opened drawers and moved papers, unknowingly ticking Germany off.

"The hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm looking for something! What does it look like? Ah, here they are", Prussia rose up from the bottom drawer brandishing a pair of long, shiny scissors. His gleaming, crimson eyes, peered over at the two Italians who looked at him curiously. A small dark chuckle left him as he turned to approach the two.

"Come here and I'll help you two out."

"Hey what do you think you're doing? Potato fucker, are you listening to me", Romano started backing out of the room, Italy one step behind him at a time.

Gilbert drew nearer and his features twisted up into a sadistic smirk,

"It'll only take a second."

"Get away from me! Germany! Help, don't let him touch me", Italy yelled as he backed into the door frame.

Romano promptly grabbed Feli's arm and drug him out of the room with Gilbert nipping on their heels. Shouts and screams rattled the house for nearly twenty minutes as the three covered every room in the place.

Ludwig only took out three Tylenols before moving to his soft bed to try and get some sleep over the noise, dreaming of tomatoes, birdies, and pasta.

1: "Was" is German for "What"

2:"Verdammt" German for "Damn"

3: "God damn it all! Can I not get a few moments of silence around here?"

4: "I swear it is like a mad house!"

5: "Gilbert, shut up."