Alright, this is my first ever Hetalia story ever, and also my first one that's kind of sad. So I hope you enjoy!

~Emily Believes xox

Germany was a rather young nation compared to all the others. Though he had definitely suffered through his fair share of wars, he didn't necessarily have the whole "country wisdom" that the more older nations shared. It was rather bothersome, as they could seemingly communicate silently about something he desperately wanted to know about. He had finally decided that it would come to him when it necessary. Though, on that day, he wished it had come a bit sooner.

Germany slowly walked up to a tombstone that was behind the house that now just belonged to Romano, though he was hardly there. He couldn't bear to be in the house full of his deceased brother's paintings. The sun was setting, shining it's last bits of light on the perfectly shaped rock. It took all of Germany's strength to simply approach the tombstone. Tears beginning to form at the corners of his eyes, he read the words carved ever so carefully into the tombstone, words that he had read many times before.

R.I.P.

North Italy

a.k.a. Feliciano Vargas

"Blessed are the pure in heart

for they will see God."

That day, those chain of events... they were forever etched into his mind. He could, much to his woe, recall it very clearly. It was when all the nations discovered who the true personification of the Italian Republic was.

The World Meeting was about to begin, and no one had seen the Italy brothers. Though both of them weren't exactly the keenest on being on time, they were never this late before. Even whatever-his-name-was had gotten there before them! Germany, the host country of the meeting, was getting tired of hearing France and England bicker, so he was about to start the meeting early (despite the missing Italians), when he heard the door slam open. All conversations had abruptly stopped, for everyone had turned their heads to see the just-in-time Italy brothers.

Something seemed off, however. Romano didn't look as pissed off as usual. Hell, he actually looked worried, which caught many nations off guard; he was never one to clearly display his emotions. As for Italy, he looked like it took all his energy to drift tiredly behind his brother. The two sat beside each other in their designated seats with Italian flags on them, Romano beside India and Italy beside Japan.

"Italy-kun, are feeling alright?" Japan asked, murmuring of other nations starting around him. "You look pale."

Italy lifted his head, rubbing his eyes. He didn't open them, as usual, but instead just faced towards Japan. "Ve~, I'm fine! Just tired…" He yawned, giving a slight cough afterwards. "I -" yawn "- just need a siesta…"

It was so strange. Italy was always so lively at meetings, even when he didn't need to be. Taxes weren't that exciting, after all. He didn't even need to travel that far to get there! There were many other jetlagged nations who had a reason to be tired. Then there was Romano, who was notably not arguing with anyone for whatever reason. He was too busy giving at Italy worried glances that carried a hint of something else… sadness.

Despite his concerns, Germany had started the meeting. Slowly, nations seemed to forget the out-of-character Italians as they got caught up in heated conversations, most of them completely irrelevant to economics and world issues. Italy, who at this point would already be out of his seat and talking to Germany, was sitting in his seat, clutching his arm to his stomach. It was normal for him to have stomach cramps every once and a while, but this was different. It was a sickening feeling; the feeling of emptiness.

Or, rather, it was the feeling of actual sickness, because just seconds later Italy had jumped out of his chair and ran over to the trash can, vomiting whatever was left in his stomach from breakfast. Even when there was nothing left for him to throw up, he still sat, leaning over the trash can, breathing heavily. When he opened his eyes (or tried to, at least), his vision had blurred drastically, and just as quickly as he ran over to the trash can he passed out.

Germany and Romano were the first to notice this. "Italy!" Germany exclaimed, catching the attention of many nations as he bolted over to the unconscious Italian. He was quickly followed Romano and many other nations, while others chose to watch from afar.

Germany frantically searched under Italy's jaw for his pulse, sighing in relief once he knew his heart was still beating. He looked at the other nations, most of which were giving the German sympathetic looks. He didn't know why, either. Italy was just sick, wasn't he…?

Then again, if a nation were to ever get sick, it would never be something this distrastic. Even England's seemingly constant cases of the common cold never got worse than being bedridden for a few does for a fever and runny nose.

Romano knew something like this would happen eventually, ever since the Italian Unification, actually. He just didn't which one would die, or how long it would take. For all these years, he had always assumed that he would be the one to go, considering his young brother was the one everyone called "Italy." His little brother being so ill threw him off, making him worry that the events of the mid-1800s were finally starting to take effect.

When Italy finally came to, he found himself on Germany's couch. What was going on? He felt so miserable the last few hours, and he didn't know why. He was fine yesterday! He raised his hand to his forehead, gently rubbing his right temple as he opening his eyes. His vision had cleared, and luckily it had, for he noticed that he could see through his hand.

He immediately sat up, despite his piercing headache. "Uwaauaah! Germany! Germany! What's going on?!" he exclaimed, hoping that his best friend was in earshot. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw many people running into the living room, all of them simply just adding to his headache. He saw Germany, who had his hair down from waiting in unnerving impatience; Prussia, looking extremely concerned after having heard the story of what was happening; Japan, whose usually neutral face was twisted into a frown; France, his oldest brother who he had never seen more sorrowful; Spain, striking him a look of pity. Lastly, there was Romano, his fratello who often refused to acknowledge him. He saw tears in his eyes, and not ones of anger. No, his fratello was crying tears of genuine mourning, clinging onto Spain like a child.

He repeated himself in asking what was going on, seeing the transparentness spread. The six others exchanged glances, and Japan was the one to give a short, blunt answer,

"Italy-kun… you're dying."

Italy's mouth hung open agape as he began to lose feeling in his hands. "D-Dying?" he repeated. He looked down to see his hands and feet were slowly starting to disappear.

Germany watched in utter horror as he watched Italy start to fade out of existence. Every time a transparent part of Italy's body vanished, he felt his chest tighten. No one spoke. No one spoke for a while, and surprisingly the one to break the silence was the nearly-gone Italian.

"I'm going to see Grandpa Rome," he said softly, a small smile on his face. "And-And Holy Rome!" His smile grew slightly wider. He was accepting death.

At that, Prussia opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again. It was too late. He simply just looked from his younger brother to the smiling Italian. For a second, he was glad the Italian was smiling; it would be the last thing he saw on that cute face.

Prussia did love Italy, the smallest bit, enough to try and ask him out once. But once he heard about Germany's feelings, he quickly subsided his own to help his young brother understand his own. He couldn't imagine what he must have been feeling, knowing all about his relationship with Italy, even the parts that Germany himself didn't know.

Italy, now merely a head and torso, smiled at the six in the room, but once he saw their heartbroken expressions his smile faded. "Ve~! Don't be sad! I'll be in Heaven! I can visit, can't I? Didn't you say Grandpa Rome did that once, Germany?"

Germany only gave a slight nod. Italy's words seemed to give the sorrowful nations (and ex-nation) the slightest bit of hope, even France and Japan, whose beliefs were more secular. Next thing they knew, Italy had shouted "Ciao~!" and was completely gone.

It was the last time Germany saw him.

Nothing after that felt normal. It didn't feel right to not have Italy wake up beside him in bed, or suddenly barge into his house without even saying he was coming over. It didn't feel right to know Romano was the only personification of Italy, or not have Romano call him "potato bastard" every time he saw him. It didn't feel right to not see that curl, or that smile, or those amber eyes.

Nothing felt right without Italy.

Germany stared at the tombstone, tears silently rolling down his cheeks. Every memory he had with the Italian flooded his mind, causing him to choke back a sob. He would give anything, anything to see him again. Just for a while…

But it wasn't so. He gave the tombstone one last tearful look, muttering the words, "C-Ciao, Italy... Ich liebe dich" and turned on his heel to leave.

He didn't even notice the spirit of the dead Italian that had been watching him mourn the entire time. "Ti amo, Germany."