Upon escaping the mansion, England has moved into America's Alaskan home, Canada and sometimes even Russia looking after England when America cannot. England's older siblings visit regularly, as do Norway and Romania, all attempting healing spells, but so far none have prevailed. China has taken a long holiday with Japan, Korea and the rest of their siblings. France and Prussia have all but moved into Spain's house, Romano repeatedly complaining about the noise. Little has changed in Germany's house, aside from three factors. One; Prussia has pretty much moved out, but he had spent most of his time in the basement on his blog, so his absence is only noticed when only half the food is eaten and only half the beer is drunk. Two; Italy often wakes up screaming. Germany now insists that Italy sleeps beside him, as opposed to Italy sneaking into his bed on some nights, and comforts him as he cries and rambles in a mixture of English, Italian, Japanese and German. Three; they have removed every ticking clock from the house.

Removing the clocks was a task in itself. After mass-producing clocks for France at the end of the First World War, Germany's house was full of clocks. Unsynchronised ticking and ringing used to fill the house, each one slightly off from the rest, perfectly orchestrated so the house would never be truly silent, every fraction of time filled with ticking and chiming, a constant, never-ending song of ticking and whirring.

The house is dark. The house is silent.

Italy sits bolt upright and screams, sleep-blinded eyes snapped open. Germany grabs him, pulling him into a tight hug, shouting in a mixture of German, English and Italian, silly little phrases of comfort trying vainly to be heard over the screams of terror.

Eventually Italy's screaming quietens to choking sobs, Italy's fingers roaming Germany's face and body, checking for injuries, "You're okay?"

"Ja."

"And everyone else?"

"They're okay, Feliciano. You did it; you saved us all."

Italy smiles sadly. "I did, didn't I?"

And he clings to Germany even tighter, settling himself back into his tormented dream world. Germany lays him back down, letting Italy cuddle into him, not even trying to imagine the horrors flitting through the Italian's mind, his face, flinching and twitching in his nightmare-filled sleep, illuminated by the red light of an electric clock.


I'll leave their escaping method up to you. I don't actually have a theory of my own, so...

I don't own Hetalia or HetaOni
-Laurel Silver