I don't own Hetalia.

Germany ducked as a pen flew past his head, glancing at his brother, who, strangely enough, wasn't wearing his usual self-satisfied smirk. "…Business." He finally said.

"Ja. I'm wondering why I have to stay in the basement."

Germany sighed. He should have known it wasn't anything important. "Gilbert, you have to stay in the basement because Italy's usually in the guest room." Prussia opened his mouth to protest, but Germany pressed on. "And you can't switch because Italy's afraid of the basement."

"I wasn't going to say that." Prussia huffed. "I was going to say that I could have the guest room if you would just admit that Italy ends up in your bed every night." He finished triumphantly.

Germany narrowed his eyes. "Why the hell would I let Italy sleep in my bed?" He hissed, ignoring the heat rising in his face."

Prussia rolled his eyes, looking incredibly juvenile. "Geez, bruder, you're the descendent of Germania, who kicked Rome's ass and caused his decline. You should be man enough to-" He stopped, realizing that not only was he talking very loudly (what else is new?), but no was else was talking, and everyone's attention was directed at them.

The entire room was silent for all of five seconds. Then Romano screeched and flew at Germany. Everyone else lost interest and went back to what they'd been doing, which was mainly fighting as well. Romano broke from Span's hold, charging towards the fuel of his fire. He kicked at Germany's boots and pounded his fists on his side, fluidly swearing in Italian. Germany barely noticed, for one, the other nation wasn't very strong. Then there was Italy.

Italy, who was staring at him, his mouth open in shock. Italy, his first and only friend, if you didn't count Herr Stick (he was finding that most people didn't). Italy, who had a look on his face that might be called fear. He walked cautiously to his friend, the other Italian following to continue his weak attacks. "I-Italy…" He started.

Italy slowly took a few steps backwards, shaking his head.

"…Feliciano." He tried.

Italy turned on his heel and ran from the room, just as everyone stopped talking again. They all looked at Germany. The only sound was Romano's huffing and snarling; Spain had finally managed to pull him off of Germany. Germany glanced at all the countries watching him expectantly, decided that he didn't care, and ran after Italy.

~Hetalia!~

Italy stumbled out the front door, tears clogging his vision. He briefly wondered where he was going, before realizing it didn't matter. He kept running.

Germany. Germany, Germany. He couldn't even form a complete thought. All he knew was that he was running. Running, from what? Monsters, a mocking voice in the back of his head said.

"Italien!" A real voiced snapped him back into reality. He was in a forest. No, no, he didn't want to see him! He didn't want to talk to him. He didn't want to be seen.

~Hetalia!~

"It-" Germany stopped. Italy was clinging to a low hanging tree branch, his legs flailing wildly, his feet occasionally scratching at the tree's trunk. Germany watched as he slowly wore out his stamina, eventually going limp and letting go of the branch to sink down to the base of the tree, his face buried in his knees.

"Italy?"

"G-go… awaaay…" He choked out.

Germany ignored him and sat down, putting a hand on the Italian's shaking shoulder. "I… Stop crying." The sentence came out wrong, sharp and demanding. Verdammt, he wasn't good at comforting people! Spain was, should he get him? He shot down the idea almost immediately. He had to do this on his own.

"…Italy, we are not our grandfathers."

Italy lifted his head. "Germania is Italian for Germany. And… and I've heard you look like him." He spoke in a slightly accusatory tone.

"Regardless. Nations make mistakes, you know that. But," he continued, his voice rising a bit, "that is neither here nor there. That was not my mistake."

The next thing he knew, Italy was clinging to him like his life depended on it. "But… he killed my Nonno." The other whispered into his shirt.

"…I'm sorry…" Germany inwardly cursed his lack of tact. "… Es tut mir leid. Sie sind für mich sehr wichtig, und ich würde nie versuchen, Sie zu verletzen. Wir werden immer Freunde sein."

Italy suddenly giggled, catching Germany off guard.

"…Was?"

"German sounds funny." He said with a wobbly smile.

Germany shook his head, marveling at the Italian's childish nature. It was actually rather… endearing (He would not even in his own head, say "cute").

He stood, offering his hand to Italy. "Let's go back to the meeting. We have, um… business to discuss with Preußen."

Ugh. I always feel a lot less confident about these when I publish them.

Es tut mir leid. Sie sind für mich sehr wichtig, und ich würde nie versuchen, Sie zu verletzen. Wir werden immer Freunde sein= I'm sorry. You are very important to me, and I would never try to hurt you. We will always be friends

EDIT: Ohhh my god what is this! People recognize me! People think I'm a good writer! Ah! You guys are awesome, all, um... 4...?... of you...?...

Well, well. It seems that I am easy to please. But seriously, THANK YOU! I feel so loved!