Shit goes down once and a while. You have two options: 1. Let it take you alive and and drown you in fear. Or 2. learn the lesson and move ahead. Changing your ways can be a difficult task, but it could also be beneficial. Ending life, what a stupid mistake. I should have never done that. Look at the sadness... Sadness. Wait, are they faking it? My God! Why is he here? And them? They never were there for me before! So why now?

A few days ago...

Italy sat in the bathroom; door locked. His hand moved over his wrist in a rhythmic action. Scarlet trails moved down his arm and to the floor. What a mess. Always made a mess. Always had to clean it up before Romano came over or Germany or... anyone. If they bothered to care to come see him.

There was a doorbell that rang through the house. Italy froze with fear. His head slowly turned to the bathroom door. Nobody was supposed to be over...

Romano stood outside his brother's house. What was taking him so long? He rang the doorbell and knocked again.

Italy quickly got up and fumbled with the door lock. As soon as he got it open, he shouted.

"J-just a minute!"

Romano stood impatiently at the door. There was a yell on the other side and he couldn't make it out. He looked over to his right. He saw the rock and picked it up. Underneath was a key. He pulled it out and found the keyhole under the mailbox, which would then drop the actual house key into his hand. He unlocked the house and stepped in.

"Italy!"

Italy quickly moved around the bathroom. Wiping up the scarlet liquid on the floor and stripping down. He heard Romano's familiar footsteps on the stairs.

"Shit, hurry up you damn bastard!"

"Italy?"

"I'm about to get in the shower."

Romano stopped at the door, opened it, and looked at Italy. Italy stood with his back to him, he was fully naked. His arms outstretched in front of him in hopes to hide the scars.

Romano watched as Italy climbed into the shower and then shut the door and headed to Italy's room.

Italy stood in the hot steam. The water burning his fresh cuts. He had just started doing this in the past week. He couldn't take much more of the pain and now, he had released it and it felt amazing on his pale skin.

He walked into his bedroom after his shower, a towel around his waist. Romano was sitting on his bed with a manga in hand. He peeked out from over it and looked at his twin.

"Where'd you get the bruises from?'

Italy stopped and looked at his brother with a confused look.

"What do you mean?"

"Those bruises on your legs?"

Italy looked down at his legs. He knew this view from the beginning of the week. He had started beating his own legs in a fury. Then he found new friend, the knife...

"I fell down the stairs..."

Italy headed over to the closet and pulled out a shirt and slipped it on. Romano watched his brother with curiosity.

"If only he knew..."

Romano set the manga down, and tossed his legs over the edge of the bed. Italy came out of his closet and stared at his brother. He now wore a long-sleeved shirt with dark jeans.

"Italy, we need to talk."

Italy watched him for a few minutes and then sat down next to his brother.

"I'm sorry about last night. I shouldn't have yelled again."

"It's fine. I deserved it."

"No you didn't. I was just being a huge jackass."

"It's fine, really."

Romano watched his brother. Italy stared back into Romano's sorrowful eyes.

"Alright..."

"So what did you need?"

"I came over to apologize and to see if..."

Romano looked away, carefully choosing the right words.

"What is it?"

"Has Germany stopped by?"

Italy was taken back. Not only because he didn't call Germany a potato bastard, but because he asked such a question. Him and Germany were done. They had been done a while back. Germany had broke up with Italy because of country issues. Italy had loved him with everything he had. He gave him the world. But, he recently found out things. Things such as Germany in a relationship with Belgium. This had started the fury, the hatred, the cutting.

"No."

"Oh, le mie scuse..."

Italy got up and left the room. His brother waited a few minutes and then followed. He found his counterpart in the kitchen.

"Are you staying for lunch?"

"No, Spain wants me back... Will you be alright?"

Italy paused, water running out of the faucet into a big pot he never intended to use.

"Si."

Romano walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. Italy turned his head and looked at him.

"I'll be back over later tonight, si?"

"Si."

Romano lingered a few seconds more and then left. Italy stared at the now over flowing pot. His lips went into a small devilish smile. He turned off the faucet, dried his hands and pulled out the butchers knife. His feet carried him to the living room. His hands set the long knife down on the coffee table and then stripped him.

At first he was unsure what he was doing, but then he knew as the knife lingered in front of him, pointing at him, accusing him. He slowly brought it towards him, no, his heart. His mind snapped awake and forced his hands to put it down. His breath was heavy.

"Alcohol..."

He went to the kitchen, grabbed a wine glass and the secret wine bottle he had hidden. Italy brought them back to the coffee table in the living room. He set the glass down and opened the bottle. His pale hands hesitated before he just tipped his head back and started drinking from the bottle. His body went numb after and hour or so and by then, he was weeping.

His bony fingers found the knife again. They raised it shakily to his chest again. Before he brought the knife to him, he laughed like a maniac on a killing spree. The smile of the burdened.

"He made a damn mess of the place..."

"You could tell it was going to happen eventually, couldn't you?"

"Shut the hell up! He wouldn't do that! He was a great leader! Although... I wonder what pushed him to do it..."

"If everyone could please find their seats."

The funeral proceeded. Romano and Spain front row. Romano crying into Spain's shoulder.

Romano. Crying.

"Ve, Romano why are you crying?"

A shaky hand reached out to the Italian. It went through his shoulder. The white hand pulled back. His face was sunken in with paleness and desperation. His t-shirt was stained with a dark substance not even he could get wrong. After being in a war, you would know what it smells like.

"Ro-Romano, who's funeral is this?"

His innocent, brown eyes went up to the alter. His legs carried him the rest of the way. In the casket laid a small, fragile Italian.

"Th-that's me!"

Italy wailed. Everyone in the room went silent. He turned around as the memories came back to him. Everyone was staring at the casket.

"Can you see me?"

Silence.

"Say something!"

"May his soul rest in peace..."

Italy turned around just in time to see the shadow of the casket cover his own sullen face. He looked back out at the church. The whole world was there. The allies sat one side the church, the axis on the other, and everyone else in between.

"Someone, say something!"

Italy felt something go through him, he looked down and saw his own casket. He watched it go a few feet, then followed.

Everyone watched the casket be lowered down into the ground. Italy scanned the rest of the group. He had gone to the nations that showed emotion and talked to them.

Now, the casket was in the ground. Everyone maid a sign of the cross and they started to leave in groups.

After an hour, Romano and Germany were left. Spain had taken Belgium back to his house in hopes to leave the two alone with Italy.

Italy stood across from them.

"I had no idea... If I did, I would've stayed..."

"Deine Idee. It's all over and done with..."

Romano scrunched his eyes shut and started to cry again. He fell to his knees, face covered, and sobbed. Germany patted him on the back.

"You idiot! You stupid bastard!"

Italy walked over his grave and stood in front of Germany.

"I hate you! You broke my heart and now you can't even shed a tear? What are you even doing here then? Like the rest of the world! They never cared for me before, so what were they doing here? Tell me!"

The wind blew hard. Germany pulled his coat closer around him and put a hand on Romano's shoulder.

"I'll be waiting in the car for you... Come when you're ready."

"Why are you walking away? You damn bastard!"

Italy stared until Germany got into the car. Angry tears spilled down his cheeks. That was the first he had seen of him since they broke up...

Romano stood and wiped his tears away. Italy looked at him, saddened.

"You fool, now look what you did to me... You made me cry, in front of everyone."

A small, melancholy smile touched Romano's lips.

"Now I have to run this country by myself... Thanks..."

Italy watched his brother walk towards the car. He went after him.

"Romano! I'm sorry! It was him! That idiot who was standing by you, who couldn't shed a single tear!"

Romano opened the drivers door and climbed in. Right before he shut the door, Italy caught a glimpse of Germany. Why would he be crying? He didn't before... Astonished, he took a deep breath and went inside the car as Romano started it up.

"I loved him so much, I left him to help his economy..."

Italy felt the rest of the car go through him as brother and his lover drove away. The wind played with his hair and his clothes. Numb, he walked back over to his grave and sat down in front of it. He sat silent for a moment, before he covered his face and sobbed.