Chapter One: Denial

Italy stares, his face remaining in the same shocked expression as when he first saw it happen. There was a moment when he thought the world had frozen as his beloved blonde suddenly paused, blood spurting out behind him. The Italian could barely breath, except to whisper "Germany...?" Then the world swung back into motion and the blonde man fell backwards, hitting the ground with a dull thud. And then Italy felt his breath come back as he screamed his name again.

"Germany! Germany!" he yells, running over. He couldn't bring himself to imagine what the damage was. Why would anyone do this to Germany? He crouches by the taller man, "Germany, are you ok? Germany, do you need a doctor? Germany, please talk to me, I'm scared...Germany...?" His voice drops to a whisper. "Germany..." His eyes open, and widen involuntarily. The blood was beginning to stain the ground - where was the wound? Italy looks over his friends body desperately.

The chest. A single bullet through the chest. Italy bites his lip, trembling nervously. Shaking, he backs away. He wasn't prepared to deal with this. He knew what death was - any idiot knew what it was. But that didn't mean the nation was able to handle it. That was always Germany's thing. It was Germany who handled the mature stuff, the stuff that the Italian had no hope of coming to terms with or dealing with.

He let out a stifled cry, and sobs. "Germany! Don't do this to me!" he yells suddenly, "I hate you! I hate you and your sausages and...and...I hate you!" Then the Italian falls to his knees and cries until the bullets stop flying and a shorter dark haired man comes over. "Itary-san, what's going on?" He knew instantly from the way his name was pronounced that it was Japan, a fellow Axis member. Italy looks up, his eyes red and puffy from crying.

Japan looks at him, then glances down at the blood stained blonde, lying flat on his back. "Oh..." There's a moment of stunned silence, and then Italy sobs, "he can't be dead. He just can't be..." The Italian forces a smile, but it's broken and so clearly forced that even the stoic Japanese man felt like crying. "Maybe...Maybe if we get him to a doctor...?" There was pleading in his voice. "We can get him to a doctor, right, Japan?"

Now his voice was hopeful, but Japan's eyes simply wandered to the bleeding blonde. He was unsure whether to play along and take Germany to a doctor, or to try and convince the younger man that Germany was indeed dead. Japan sighs, then kneels down to feel Germany's wrist. Amazingly, there was still a pulse - weak, barely there, but it was there. "We have to," he says, "I'rr carr for a ceasefire. In the mean time, get Germany to safety, it's very important."

Italy nods, and somehow manages to pick the taller, heavier male off the ground, half carrying, half dragging, him back to the nearest place where they could get medical help. It turned out to be run by China. Italy wasn't keen on China dealing with Germany, but he needed Germany to be ok. "Help," he says, and China blinks. The moment he sees the injured blonde, limp and lifeless, he nods, understanding instantly. "Of course, aru," he says, "I'll go get a doctor, aru..."

Italy crouches by the blonde, never leaving his side, even when the doctors ask. "Leave him be, aru," says China anxiously, "just focus on Germany." Sure, China didn't agree with what Germany had done...and he didn't particularly like him either, but he couldn't just let a fellow country die. And he hated seeing Italy in such despair. He sighs, and follows Italy, Germany and the doctors out of the room.

Japan hurried to the medical centre. He usually avoided China, but he would made an exception right now because his fellow Axis members needed him. At the very least, he knew Italy would if anything happened to Germany. Japan shudders. The thought was unthinkable - Germany was too strong to die, he was certain. And yet...who really knew...? When he got to the place, Italy and Germany were nowhere to be seen.

However, he could see China sitting down on a chair, looking distressed. "China-san." The elder nation looked up, his head jerking up as if it had been held on a spring for too long. "Oh...Japan. Ni hao..." Japan frowns. China's voice was hollow and wounded. "How is Germany?" He now feared the worst, if China was like this. Hell, if China was acting like this, how would Italy be acting...? China sighs.

"...It's not looking good, aru," he confesses, "the bullet only narrowly avoided his heart...but it's still got a high chance of being fatal..." Japan looks down at the ground. He should have known. "...Itary-san's a moron," he mumbles, "he shourd have brought Germany-san here straight away..." China looks up at him. "...If your best friend was bleeding to death, aru..." says China softly, surprising Japan just a little, "...what would your reaction have been...?"

Japan goes silent. He didn't really have a best friend, and yet...he knew in his heart that if someone he cared about was in Germany's situation, he would have handled it no better than Italy had.

Meanwhile, Italy was clutching Germany's hand so hard that the blonde's blood circulation was probably being cut off. Not that it made much difference. He wasn't an idiot...well...he was...but he knew Germany's situation was bad. The doctors didn't say much to him, except occasionally in hurried Chinese that Italy had no hope of understanding. The Italian eventually fell asleep, still holding his beloved blonde's hand.

The next couple of days were harsh for him. He refused to leave Germany's side, so China and Japan found themselves bringing him food and water. Italy would wake up holding Germany's hand, and fall asleep with his head resting on the man's chest. The weak rise and fall of Germany's chest was growing slower, though, and Japan and China were unsurprised when it finally stopped one night whilst Italy slept.

"...He's rearry dead," whispers Japan hoarsely. "I can't believe it, aru," murmurs China, "...Italy's going to be distraught..." Japan nods slowly. They left the two nations together for their last night together. Germany looked peaceful in death, his face relaxed and soft, his cold hand cupped over Italy's. And Italy slept, cradling Germany softly, unaware of the knowledge that awaited him when he awoke.

Because how could the Italian even imagine Germany dying...? No, the German had promised to be his best friend, forever, to be there and look after him. He had promised to always watch over Italy, and Italy would always hold him to that promise. Germany could never leave him. "Ti amo, Germany," he murmurs in his sleep.

He didn't realise at that point, that the blonde would never be able to tell him the same thing in return.

A/N I'm so sad...I cried writing this...hope it was just me...I don't want to upset anyone. Heh...I warn you, another four chapters to go, it might get quite bad for poor Italy. *sniffs* Sorry, Italy...