Chapter 1
Eyes bright like sapphires flew open as America woke in a cold sweat. The monsters still haunted his dreams, sometimes. They plagued him when he was awake too, but at least then, he knew they weren't real (Tony nearly gave him a heart attack). Harsh breaths in the dead of night scared him, until he felt the push and pull of air in his lungs, reminding him just who those harsh breaths belonged to. Memories of his escape came flooding back, if an escape it could be called. In the dead of the night, when he was alone, it was okay to call the 'escape' what he and Italy both knew it was. A rescue neither of them had wanted.
England used all of his life, and the lives of their friends, excluding the already deceased Canada, to send him and Italy back. Back to before he'd ever told America about the House where they were fated to be slaughtered like animals. That house where heroes died.
Three Weeks Earlier
A strangled weeping drew his attention to Italy. While a crying Italy was not something he'd never seen before, this Italy looked exhausted. Only a few seconds before Italy had seemed so excited about some rumor he'd heard.
America shrugged, and tried to place a comforting hand on the brunette's head, but Italy shrieked, jumping back as though his touch had burned him.
"Italy?" America said, growing alarmed. "What's wrong? Is this about what you wanted to-"
"NO!" The word burst forth in a consistent stream of hysterical babble. It was difficult to tell where one refusal ended and another began, but in the end, it simply sounded like a terrible, horrified wail.
Still unsure of the correct course, but determined not to let the nation cry without some form of aid, America reached out and pulled Italy into an embrace. Maybe the nation had been an enemy once, as had most nations at some time, but, right now, he was just someone who needed his help. Italy was his friend.
Almost immediately after being pulled into the hug, Italy's words dissolved into simple, shaking sobs.
And then Germany walked in.
"Vat the Fuhrer did you do to Italy?"
"Oh my" England said, gleeful. "America seems to have spent more than a minute with Italy, and it's driven the poor boy to tears."
The fact that they automatically assumed Italy's tears were due to his callousness was a little annoying. Then again, even America was surprised Italy's distress seemed to have nothing to do with him.
He never meant to make people cry. He just sort of talked and then they burst into tears. In his defense, once England or Canada started with the water works, he usually tried to make it up to them, and if that just made things worse...
America panicked. "This had nothing to do with me, I swear. I don't know why he's crying."
Still sniffling, Italy stepped away from America, desperately trying to wipe his tears.
He said in a trembling voice, gaining strength as he spoke, "Thank you, England. I'm glad you're all right." The green-eyed Englishman, and self-proclaimed gentleman, rocked back on his heels, buffeted by a strong, and entirely imagined, wind. Germany pinched himself to make sure he was real.
"Germany, are Prussia, Japan, France, Russia, China, Spain, Romano…" Italy paused, frowned in deep thought, then continued, "and Canada all right?"
"Well, yes, Italy, but why wouldn't they be?"
"And why did you bloody thank me?" England shouted, his blood pressure rising. "Is this some sort of Axis trick?"
Italy snorted, to the surprise of everyone in the room. "Axis? The Axis has been disbanded for decades. If I actually wanted to trick you, I wouldn't set you up for my elaborate evil scheme by thanking you. Why alert you to my super evil plan for no reason?"
A smile, forced and painful, painted Italy's features even as he talked down to England, the nation he had always seemed to fear more than any other.
Startled by Italy's sudden change in attitude, England looked to his former charge for some sort of explanation, but the boy seemed to be frowning in consternation.
As the whole situation seemed to be spiraling out of control, England opened his second sight to see traces of his magic around both America and Italy. There was a strong barrier of his making in America's mind that seemed to be blocking off some of his memories. However, England didn't remember ever making such a barrier. America's own mental force seemed to be slamming against the barrier, but it wasn't even cracking it. How foolish. If America needed help, he should have just asked.
England, determined to help his charge, stepped past the still railing German nation, and made to step past Italy too, before the Italian frantically grabbed his arm.
Eyes wide with panic, Italy said, "England, that barrier is there for a reason. If you take it down, it will only hurt America."
"Let go of me, you wanker! I'm the United bloody Kingdom, and I will not be treated with such disrespect!"
Italy tightened his grip, as Germany moved to restrain him, "I'm as old as you are. Listen to someone else for once in your life and DON'T TOUCH HIM!" With a jerk, Germany pulled Italy off of England, just as England swept a hand over America's forehead. Blue eyes, wide, confused, and frightened, locked with Italy's amber ones. The face of the younger nation grew very pale, but England didn't seem to notice.
In a low growl, Italy said to Germany, who was still restraining him, "Let. Go."
"Italy, vat's gotten into you all of the sudden? Vat's the matter?"
"I'll tell you in a second, but-"
He cut himself off when he heard England start, "I'm sorry, America, but-"
"Don't!" Italy cried, but it was already too late. The barrier in the young nation's head broke completely, allowing all the memories it had been protecting the nation from to come rushing forth, too fast and too many for him to handle.
His knees buckled, leading to Italy elbowing Germany in the ribs with a savageness the German had always wished for in his ally, in an attempt to make it to the nation before he could hit the ground, but, while the strong arms did release him, it was England who caught his former charge.
"America? Are you all right? What's wrong?" He turned to Italy, tears in his eyes. "What did I do? What have I done to him, Italy?"
Was this the same England who had saved them at the cost of his life? At the cost of everyone's life? He seemed so small and pitiful now, and Italy found himself wondering how he had ever feared him. There were so many memories in his head, full of death and despair, he doubted he could even remember why or how he had feared him if he tried.
"Ve~ You gave him back his memories. Remember the last time he smiled, England. Was it bright? Earnest? Happy? It was, right? Remember that time when he smiles again, because I can guarantee it's going to be a very long time before he can smile at anyone without teetering on the edge of tears, and I want you to know the difference. The difference in his smile is what you did to him." To Italy's surprise, he didn't sound bitter or angry as he spoke, just tired and sad.
The effect his words had on England weren't exactly positive, Italy noted, as he watched the deceptively young face bite back a cry. "What have I made him remember?"
Italy paused for a second, gave the slightly older nation an evaluating look, then let out a sigh. The others would be arriving any second now, and he really didn't feel like smiling or explaining why he didn't feel like smiling. Especially not to the awesome Prussia. Then again, he couldn't just let America wake up alone. Even surrounded by the former Axis and his Allies, Italy was sure he would wake up alone if he wasn't there. "You made him remember how much it hurts to be protected by those he loves." Yeah, that seemed about right. That was the most painful thing about being in that House. For America, the most painful thing wasn't risking his own life, but watching others risk their lives for him. In that aspect, America was very similar to him. Being protected was painful.
There was a brief silence, before America seemed to stir in England's arms. Unfocused blue eyes stared up at them, swiveled around to England's face, then focused. Relief colored his features, though not enough to keep him from looking like an American ghost. If only there had been a mirror in that room.
England quickly found himself enveloped in the large arms of his young ally. It was a hard, desperate hug. Whenever England would visit America after leaving him alone for a long period of time, America would hug him like this. Whenever America, young and small, would beg him not to leave, he would hug him like this. It's been so long since he'd last felt America's embrace, he'd forgotten how warm it was, forgotten how much he'd missed it.
"Damn it, Arthur!" America cried, unnerving everyone once more. "I thought you and Mattie'd died again! Don't scare me like that."
"Alfred." Perhaps now wasn't the best time, but Italy knew he'd figure it out on his own eventually. Regardless of popular opinion, the young nation wasn't slow. "That's not Arthur. He doesn't know who Mattie is. England used the life force of the others and himself to send us back, just like he said he would."
It wasn't something the other nations had been expecting to hear. England still wanted to believe Italy had somehow tricked or scared America. After all, Italy seemed fine now.
"Pull yourself together" Germany began to say, but Italy and England sent him a potent glare that threatened swift retribution if he dared continue.
Trembling, America said, "T-this isn't England?"
"I course I am, you git!"
"I never said he wasn't England." Italy added, irritation spilling over into his tone. "The nation you're looking at right now is the one who raised you, but he's not the one who saved us."
Maybe Italy hadn't been clear enough. There weren't many delicate ways to put 'Everyone you know and love is dead, but not really'. America threw Texas from his face, held up two fingers, and asked England, "How many fingers am I holding up?"
England sighed at what he perceived as America's melodrama. "Really now, such a stupid question."
"Please answer." America pleaded, fingers shaking. He looked young and terrified.
With a considerably softer tone, England replied, "Two. I'm not blind, America."
Just then, Canada, France, China, Japan, and Russia showed up for the meeting. Not wanting to be seen cradling his former charge, England hastily shoved him out of his lap, though he did regret it a bit. Pushing him had been more of a reflex developed over a century of semi-antagonistic relations, than an actual decision on his part.
"England" Canada took stock of the situation, then said, his voice dangerously low, "Why is my brother crying?"
"He's not! I mean, he is, but it's not my fault. Well, it is, but-" Canada continued to approach England, a menacing aura hanging around both himself and his polar bear, Kumajirou. A few days from now, England would swear up and down he heard a growl... The bear may have been growling, too. "Look, there was this barrier, that I made, and it was blocking his memories, but I didn't realize it was blocking bad memories-"
"I told him not to break it." Italy interjected.
"Yes, well, thanks for nothing, Italy. As you can see, Canada, it was an accident. A harmless mistake-"
The two continued to argue as America struggled to his feet. It was like watching the leaning Tower of Pisa trying to right itself. "I'm too damn tall." He grumbled.
Just as he was about to fall, Italy and Germany caught him under the arms.
"Easy there." Germany said, "I don't know vat you and Italy vent through, but you look like crap." It was true. America looked little stronger then a leaf in a storm. His skin was ashen, eyes feverish, limbs still trembled, and most of his weight was being shifted to his left leg. In the last loop, one of the monster's had chomped on America's foot. By the time they managed to free him, all the bones had been severed, leaving only a few strings of flesh and sinew to keep it from falling off entirely.
"Look at your foot, America." Italy grunted. Honestly, he'd spent so much time carrying injured nations back at that House, he thought he'd be used to it by now. "It's not injured or gone, or whatever it is you're remembering. Walk on your own two feet."
"I think I might pass out if I do that, Italy." America replied.
"Russia's here now. You can't afford to look so weak in front of us." The rest of the newly arrived nations were also beginning to crowd, some more concerned then others.
"Why, Amerique, why do you look so sick? Did mon cher England cook for you? You should know by know not to ingest his abominable creations."
Russia added. "Yeah, you look a little under the weather. Maybe you should become one with me? It'll give you more time to recover if I'm running your nation." Russia's childlike face wasn't enough to fool anyone in the room. While it wasn't an unusual offer, the words were practically a threat to someone who couldn't fight back. Even the post-Cold War, slightly less insane Russia wasn't someone it was wise to be unguarded with.
France restrained England, who protested violently against the manhandling, China just sat down at his seat, rather unconcerned with the proceedings, and Canada glared daggers at the larger nation.
They all knew Russia hadn't meant it as a joke.
"Hahaha, why are you all getting so upset. England, I'm fine. Canada, please don't eat Russia. You two are really important to me and I-" America cut himself off when he noticed the other nations gaping at him. "Italy, I think I need to go… anywhere but here."
"You got it." Italy said, then he made good on his word as he started to half-drag/half-carry America towards the door. If he could just get him to the relative safety and tranquility of Italy, he was sure America would recover in no time. Well, he would recover physically. Mental recovery would take much more than a few days of rest and some pasta. Could he even still make pasta? Ah well, he'd get someone else to make it if he couldn't stomach the scent anymore.
At the door, Italy asked Germany to let him carry America the rest of the way. It wasn't like Italy to want to do something on his own, Germany thought, but then Italy said, "You wanted me to be this way, right? Independent. Less smiles and more sternness. Now that I'm exactly the way you wanted me to be, I'm telling you I no longer need your assistance. I can do this on my own, so please stay here and continue the meeting."
The German's face seemed to crumple, it made him look younger. Once, Italy would have cried at the sight. Now, he was used to it. Hurting him happened often in the loops, especially the more recent ones. What must it have been like for the German to turn around all those times, ready to comfort his little Italy, only to find a completely different Italian seemed to have replaced him in the split second he looked away.
"Italy!" Japan cried. "That was too harsh."
England said, "Why do you get to take him? I could take of him."
The two shared a glance before America vehemently shook his head, and Italy answered, "Two idiots cannot be trusted to take care of each other."
"WHAT?! SAY THAT AGAIN TO MY BLOODY FACE, YOU NASTY BLIGHTER!"
Canada added, "I'm his brother, and I'm not an idiot. I should be the one to take him home."
The nations had forgotten how implacable Italy could be. There was a time when he had defended his young land, a time when he was strong. What none of them realized was: That time had not yet past.
"I am prepared to go to war with any nation who tries to harm or possess America while he is under my protection. He is coming home with me, where he will have time to recover. As soon that's happened, I'll bring him back home. Any more objections?"
England opened his mouth, so Italy quickly added, "Does anyone, besides England, have an objection?"
"Don't ignore me!"
America heard the indignant shout as though it were coming from the other end of a very long tunnel.
It was good, comforting even, to hear England so upset. His harsh words hid nothing. He wasn't despairing or trying to act like everything was okay. It was just the normal, abrasive, fun to tease England. America wasn't focusing very well, but he was pretty sure France was doing his best to keep England restrained and to touch his rear. Ha! Good ol' France. In the House, everyone had shown new, brave sides of themselves, but America preferred the perverted and cowardly France over the brave dead one. There was a part of him that wanted to believe he could still be the world's hero, but, deep down, he knew he could barely save himself. If it wasn't for Italy and Germany, he'd still be a broken, gibbering mess on the ground.
Italy glanced up at America, and said, "We're getting out of here." In his mind, Italy forswore tomatoes, pasta, and all arts. Germany had once said those things had made him weak, and, with the minor exception of all the times he was, he was never wrong. Italy was just about ready to hoist the tall American into his arms, when Russia, his perpetual smile looking slightly more smug than usual, asked, "Say, America, before you go, can you tell me what happened in 1776? My memory is so bad these days."
Pasta! This was why Italy had wanted so badly to leave. The rapid influx of memories often left a nation feeling confused, and the oldest memories were always the first to be forgotten. There wasn't enough time to run, and even if he did run with Alfred now, Arthur would sense something was wrong and then chase him down to the ends of the Earth.
"Dunno." America stated, he was smiling when he said those words, so he couldn't have known that he had just honestly and cheerfully said something very sad.
England, France, and Canada looked to Italy as though someone had poisoned all of their tomatoes, set fire to all of their paintings, and then murdered their pet cat. It was the same look they wore when anything awful happened to America, or to each other, in the House, and he had never wanted to see it again.
Furious, Italy turned on Russia, "Fuck you, Russia! You're a bully and an asshole, and the biggest mystery in the entire world is: You can't figure out that's the reason no one wants to be friends with you. Who in their right mind would want to be friends with you?"
It came out harsher than Italy had meant it too. The Russia in the House had sacrificed his life to protect his fellow nations, but Italy couldn't imagine that Ivan and this Ivan were the same. The nations had stayed in that house, reliving the same experience, for so long, he was sure they had grown, changed somehow. He had. America had.
This Russia hadn't.
Ivan had always been secretive and scary, but he'd also been a valuable ally, and Italy had, for the first time in his entire life, considered considering him for the consideration of someone who might one day maybe have the potential to be a good friend… to Romano.
"Kolkolkolkolkolkol."
And on that note, Italy hoisted America into his arms, ignoring his protests, then ran for his home country like the devil himself was on his heels.
You know what they say about the more things change…
A/N: Hi. If you're reading this, thank you so much^^ I hope you liked it. Now, I'm sure most of you noticed that Italy's being a bit of a jerk. He's gone through at least a hundred loops worth of quality time with his friends, he'd have to be a saint if he didn't lose his patience at some point. If you have any suggestions or critique, please let me know. Also, my Sherlock/Avengers/Who fic is officially on hold, thanks to Hetalia taking over my life... yay?
Prussia: Why did you not mention the awesome Prussia? You mentioned West, but not the Great ME?!
Author: You're mentioned...
Prussia: Like once. You think one sentence can possibly contain all of my greatness?
Author: You keep this up, and I'm going to steal your catchphrase.
Prussia: You-
Author: I'm awesome;3
