A/N: SPOILER ALERT

This fanfic is based off the newly released Hetalia theatrical film, " Paint It White". Since the movie was just released in Japan last summer it has not yet been dubbed, or even subtitled-my friend and I watched it online in plain Japanese, but although we understood little of the actual language the story was easy to follow and the movie itself was amazing beyond words. It is somewhat more serious than the typical style of the anime, but still incorporates the insane and goofy comedic side that makes the series so loveable. I definitely reccomend it to any Hetalia fan. This fic takes place after the end of the film, mainly it's just my take on Germany's thoughts about everything that went down on the island during the final battle against the Picts. Most references are taken directly from the movie, though the bits about the melding of memories was my own interpretation, as was the part about the countries "conjuring" up illusions of their homelands to try and impress the Picts (this actually happened, but the entire time they were still on the Picts ship, so I decided the scenes they presented were being artificially produced by the Powers themselves.) Anyway, enough long-winded explanations that make little sense in the first place. I wrote this in a noisy chaotic classroom halfway through the day, but hopefully you'll enjoy it! Reviews are welcome.

If there was one profound truth that the day's events had presented, it was that a near-death experience could really put things into perspective. Germany couldn't deny this, any more than he could ignore the sharp pains that raced through his body with even the slightest movement. The room he sat in now was draped in soft darkness :a strangely welcoming place after being blinded by the eerie foreign glow of the Picts.

Those goddamned Picts.

They were safe now, all gathered together in a small area of Sealand's fort. There were proper bedrooms onboard, but no one was particularly eager to be left by themselves. They had watched each other fall to what they were sure was death, and in that death they had each felt so alone that it was only instinct now to stay together. They lay curled up on the floor, huddled beneath blankets, curled against one another like young animals. Through the dim atmosphere Germany could just make out each person's familiar shape, turned foreign by their limp hair and tattered clothing. They certainly didn't look like ethreal, spiritual beings. If anything, they looked like drowned, beaten piles of rags. If only the others could see them.

Germany glanced down at the figure that occupied his arms. Italy's face was partially hidden against his chest, one arm wrapped around Germany's neck while the other hand clutched at the sleeve of a sleeping Japan. Germany swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat. Only a short hour ago, Italy had been the absolute picture of hysteria. The moment they had all climbed aboard the fort and were well on their way to the mainland, the instant that the concept of safety became a solid reality, Italy started bawling. It happened so suddenly that the others were startled senseless. Italy had thrown himself at Germany, clinging to him with suffocating force, choking back frantic sobs. For a moment the others had watched silently-dumbfounded-until Italy began crying for the other countries as well. Exactly what he was saying no one was sure, his face was still burried in Germany's shirt, but they seemed to get the general idea. Soundlessly they moved to hug him as well. Italy clutched at each one of them, clinging to their clothes while still hanging onto Germany, sobbing and mumbling " died, died, scared, scared, scared," over and over again. Germany was at the center of the group. He felt the others press in around him, felt their arms tighten around each other and their beating hearts, and as the Nations stood there together, they realized that they were alive. They were drained of every ounce of energy in their bodies, their bones felt like they'd been wailed on by a sledgehammer, and their faces were so caked with dirt that they were barely recognizeable. But. They were alive.

" Bloody hell," England said at length, muttering into China's shoulder. He laughed. " That was some show back there. You prats should have seen your faces."

Everyone smiled weakly and nodded. Exhaustion had quickly begun to take hold-the running,the fighting, and the emotional stress finally took its toll. And that wasn't even counting the conjurings, useless as they had been, they had taken an enourmous amount of strength to accomplish. The others fell easily into sleep, together, warm , safe.

Germany did not sleep.

He was not that brave. He feared that if he let his mind go he would return to the shoreline, to the Picts that surrounded hin, to the sight of Italy crying helplessly in the bushes. He was afraid he would see England get blasted in the chest, Russia's scarf flying out behind him as he fell to the ground after a blow to the back. America's legs giving way. France being trampled. China trying in vain to shield himself with a pot. And all the while there was Italy, crying and crying, calling their names and shaking his head disbelievingly, refusing to run from their sides. Italy. Feliciano. Hetalia.

Hetalia.

Oh, goddamnit.

Sleep or wakefulness made no difference, the images were there in his mind. There was no way to erase them, the experience had been too traumatic. The pain had been one thing: excruciating, devestating, more horrific than anything he had ever felt before. But Italy's tearstained face, the Nations lying on the ground gasping for air...that had been so much worse.

And then there had been the visions.

For as long as he could, Germany had clung to the sight of Italy's face, praying, begging with anyone or anything who might be listening that for once Italy would come to his senses and move. Run away. Get out. Worse than the pain of the Picts draining his lifeforce was the moment when his eyes ceased to work, when the last clear thought in his mind was how much he loved Italy. How unbelievably much he loved him, and now all was lost.

Everyone was lost...

He had promised to protect him, and now there was nothing he could do.

Germany's world was painted white.

Against a blinding canvas, he remembered seeing his curly-headed best friend, his silver-haired younger brother. He was standing in soft grass by a river, he was hugging someone close, he was lying under a tomato crate in the middle of a forest with a frantic young country blubbering above him. The scenes began to shift, and mold together, other memories began to flood in. Memories belonging to the other trapped Nations poured in, merging with his own until he no longer knew who he was. He was kneeling in the mud with the rain pouring down on his head. He was staring out a window, choking back tears. He was sitting in thick, sweet smelling grass, playing with toy soldiers. He was gazing up into cherry blossom trees. There were flowers, and mountains, there was snow, and sunshine, there was everything and everyone inside of him and he was everything and he felt as if his soul was about to explode. And then, from somewhere at the center of it all, he heard a voice. An idiotically happy, cheerful voice, ringing through the confusion and the torment. " Germany's coming back, he's coming back!"

He opened his eyes. Red and blue and a smiling face.A cat, a marker, a laugh. So many colors. Germany's world had been anything but white.

Shaking his head, he burried his face in Italy's hair and closed his eyes. Nearby in the darkness he heard the others mumbling in their sleep, their breathing soft and even. They were alive because of the creature in his arms. It was a fact no one had ever expected to face, but it was the truth. Italy had saved them all. Germany hugged his country closer against him, smiling in spite of himself as Italy mumbled "ve" a few times in his dreams.

" Good, yes, you're right about that," Germany muttered, as his eyes began to close. " It's a damn good thing you were there, Hetalia. Thank goodness you were there...thank goodness..."

Italy smiled in his sleep, clutching Germany's collar like a blanket.

" Thank you."