A/N: In this chapter, it mentions the death of nations. I don't think there's any real consensus on how this works, so here's the theory I used for this story: When a healthy nation (as in, not economically stable, has little political unrest, etc.) is killed, they return as children without memories.Little weird, I know, but I thought that was the best way to do it. If you have a problem with this, please let me know.
Enjoy! (Hopefully)
Chapter One
He'd stayed there a long time. The sun had begun to dip behind the horizon, bathing the park in a warm orange light.
He did not look towards the sunset, though. He looked towards the night, watching as stars began to appear. He felt the warmth leave as the sun descended, but he still stayed.
His honey brown eyes widened at the sound of footsteps approaching, but he couldn't leave. He knew this. And so he closed his eyes.
"Italy?"
Earlier That Day
"Germany?"
Italy crept down the stairs of his friend's house, a nervous smile on his face.
His voice echoed through the house, no response greeting him.
It wasn't that odd, though. Germany was always working, and more often than not he'd avoid his noisy, distracting friend.
Deciding he was alone in the house, Italy moved to the kitchen, planning on sneaking a bit of last night's pasta for breakfast.
Germany was always so stubborn about pasta not being a breakfast food. Perhaps he had a point, since not even most Italians ate pasta for breakfast, but really, what was the harm in it?
A small sound attracted his attention. It sounded as if someone was ripping something. Fabric, probably. Perhaps Germany had finally found the logic in Italy's white flags.
Suddenly feeling sick, Italy noticed small red droplets scattered across the floor.
"Germany?"
A small bang came from one of the rooms in response.
"Are... are you OK?" Italy walked forward.
No response.
Italy came to the door. His hand reached forward, desperately attempting to turn it.
Locked.
"Germany!"
A cry echoed through the door.
"Germany!"
He began to bang on the door hopelessly, pounding away in desperation as a scream resounded.
Tears began to drip to the floor, forming a small puddle. Italy sunk into it, hands pressed against the wood.
A shot echoed through the house.
Italy sucked in a breath.
The screams stopped.
"No..."
"No..."
"Germany!"
"No! No!"
"Germany!"
He heard someone walk to the door. Not Germany. Germany never walked like that.
He had to move. He had to get up, and run.
He couldn't.
And so he stayed.
The footsteps passed.
He heard a door open and close within the room.
The lock clicked, and Italy spared not a moment.
Wrestling open the door, he barged into the room.
"Germany!"
His eyes focused on the body in front of him.
No...
No...
Italy fell to his knees, pants wet with blood and tears, and stared at the horror that lay before him.
And then he moved. Germany moved. He was alive.
And Italy felt only worse.
"Germany...?" Italy crawled forward, eyes dripping, and clutched Germany's larger hand in his own.
"It's... okay... Italy."
No it's not! Italy wanted to scream at him, instead opting to grasp Germany's hand tighter.
"Who... why..." Italy tried to speak, but his words came in sobs.
"Who did this, Germany?"
For a moment Italy thought he would get no response. But slowly, painfully, Germany formed the words.
"Your brother."
Italy's world crumbled.
"What? Germany? Germany!"
But he was gone. And Italy was alone.
"Please... Germany, he couldn't... he wouldn't..."
He did.
Italy pressed himself against the body, curling up just like he would at night, when Germany would protect him from nightmares.
Italy cried.
The car stopped, and Italy exited.
He was lucky Spain lived close to him.
Everyone was lucky. Because this helped everyone.
Even Romano. It wasn't like Romano could really die. He'd simply lose his memories and return as a child.
It had happened before.
It wan't killing. It was revival.
And never once did he think of the fact that this Romano, the one he loved, would be dead. And he would never come back.
Italy didn't bother knocking, instead opting to simply walk in. Spain never did keep his door locked.
Spain entered, eyes widening.
"Italy? Is that... are you okay? You're bleeding...um..." Spain, rather flustered, moved to help.
"Where's Romano?" Italy's eyes flickered over to Spain coldly, disguising how sick he felt inside.
"Uh, he's just in the kitchen, but Italy... you really need to go to a hospital or something.. I mean, where did all that- Hey! Italy!"
Italy ignored Spain. He had to focus.
In
Out
In
Out
Why was breathing so difficult?
He moved forward and his eyes rested upon his brother.
"Romano."
In
Out
In
Out
"Veneziano? What are you doing here bastar-"
Romano froze, eyes widening as he noticed the blood.
"How-"
He never got to finish that sentence.
In
Out
"Romano!"
Spain hurtled past him, falling to his knees next to Romano.
"Oh my god, Romano..."
Spain placed his ear against Romano's chest.
"Please... Romano..."
Italy turned. He couldn't watch this.
In
Out
He fled before Spain had even noticed his presence.
In
Out
In...
In...
Why couldn't he breathe?
Sobs escaped his throat as he finally collapsed, hands digging into the dirt.
He retched, vomiting the meager contents of his stomach onto the ground.
Rolling away, Italy curled up into a small ball, burying his head in his hands. His bloodstained hands.
What had he done? His brother was dead. He killed him- in front of Spain.
Romano was dead. Germany was dead.
And now nothing was left.
Currently
"Italy?"
Italy felt his heart seize up at the sound of that voice.
No...
"Italy!"
It couldn't be...
He felt strong, familiar hands turn him around. He kept his eyes squeezed shut.
"Italy, please..."
No...
"Italy, look at me."
He opened his eyes.
The hospital's waiting room was cold, and Spain found himself shivering in his seat. The woman next to him cast him a worried glance, but she remained silent.
Spain caught himself glaring at her and sighed. What was he doing? That old lady hadn't done anything to him. Hating her simply for looking was something Romano would do, not him. Of course, people had been acting a bit out of character recently. Just a bit.
He glanced towards the hallway again, waiting for the nurse to call. He didn't want to think about the reason Romano was in here. He didn't want to think about how his heart stopped at the sound of the shot. Most of all, though, he didn't want to think about Veneziano.
The look on his face still haunted Spain. He hadn't looked... angry. He'd looked...
"Mr. Carriedo?"
Spain practically jumped up, eager to leave his dark thoughts behind.
"How is he?"
The nurse paused a moment.
"How about you walk with me a moment, sir?"
And Spain stopped breathing.
When Italy had finally turned to face him, his chestnut eyes filled with tears, Germany expected to be hugged. He expected Italy to grab onto him, and for Germany to have to comfort his stricken friend until he calmed.
He did not expect Italy to jump away and point a gun at his face.
"No! Sei Morto!Non puoi stare qui!"
Germany stood there a moment, trying to process not only the Italian words yelled at him, but also the scene before him: Italy, practically covered in blood, standing before him, holding a gun in an almost professional manner.
He did not know the exact words Italy had said, but he knew he was being threatened. Though the concept of Italy threatening him was hard to grasp, the cowardly nation was still the one with the gun.
And so, he raised his hands, slowly, all the while searching his friend's face for some sort of reaction.
"Italy..."
What should he say? What could he say?
But Italy solved the problem for him.
"You can't be here." It was deadpan, as if he was simply stating the time of day.
Germany took a small step forward.
"Italy, I... do not know what had happened to..."
Why were words failing him now of all times? He took a deep breath. He could do this. Italy was his friend. He could deal with this.
"Italy, we can work this out, yes? Please just... calm down."
The country in question hesitated, gun lowering a moment.
"...Germany?"
And Germany breathed.
The gun dropped; he barely had enough time to catch the smaller nation.
Spain was quiet, uncharacteristically so. He tried to listen as the polite woman spoke, but her soft voice went unheeded.
"Is he okay?" He cut her off, and she gave him a rather miffed look. But then she sighed.
"Yes, Mr. Carriedo, he is fine. The bullet didn't pierce anything we can't fix. He will be fine. It will just take several weeks."
Several weeks. He almost laughed, finding the whole situation extremely funny suddenly, giddy from the realization that Romano was, indeed, fine. It would only take a couple days for Romano to heal- he was a healthy nation.
The woman gave a small smile of her own at his glee before turning more serious.
"How did he get his wound?"
Spain froze at the question, mind churning to find some adequate lie.
"He...uh... he was being mugged! And I got there right af- I mean during it. So they didn't take his wallet or anything, and I could get him here quickly."
The nurse raised a thin eyebrow, eyes disbelieving. The nation was almost offended. That was a pretty good explanation- he even accounted for the whole wallet thing!
However she didn't say anything on it, writing on her clipboard.
"Hey," he said, interrupting again. "When can I, you know, see him?"
"In about an hour," she said. "We like to give the patients some time to rest in between surgery and visitors."
"Okay, so I'll just..."
She nodded, and Spain moved to return to his seat.
He stopped, however, at the sight of a rather large blond, sitting stiffly in a seat far too small for him.
"Germany?"
The blond's head snapped up, eyes focusing on the other nation. His brow crinkled in confusion.
"Spain? What are you doing here?"
Spain wasn't that surprised to see Germany there; something must have happened to Veneziano. Not surprising, given his previous state."I'm here for Romano... I guess you're here for the other Italy?"
"Yes, how did you know? What happened to Romano?"
Spain blinked in surprise. "Wait, what? You don't know?"
"How would I?" Germany said, exasperated.
Spain felt like slapping himself. He never alerted the other nations.
"He got shot... "
Before Germany could ask by whom, Spain continued. "What happened to Veneziano?"
Germany's eyes darkened, sitting up straighter. "He fainted."
"That's it?" Somehow, given the situation, he doubted that.
The blond nation pinched the bridge of his nose. "He tried to shoot me and then passed out."
It took Spain a moment to process that. "Wait- he tried to shoot you too?"
What was going on?
"Too?" Germany asked, looked up at him. "Did he try to shoot you?"
Spain just looked at him. Something clicked, and Germany felt sick.
"He shot Romano." It wasn't a question, but Spain answered anyway.
"Yes..."
"Why?" The desperation in Germany's voice made Spain jump.
He sighed, wishing he could give a better answer. "I don't know. He didn't say anything... just walked in and shot him. He say anything to you?"
Germany nodded slowly. "Yes, though I don't know what. It was in Italian."
"Do you remember what it was?" Spain didn't know Italian very well, but he could probably understand enough to get them started.
Germany shook his head, however. "No, I don't."
They lapsed into silence.
"I should call the other nations," Germany said. Spain just nodded, not knowing what to say.
Germany practically threw himself against the wall as soon as he left the room.
Oh god...
Nothing made sense. When Italy had tried to shoot him, it was out of fear, not...
"He didn't say anything... just walked in and shot him."
He didn't understand. And he probably wouldn't until his... friend... woke. Yes, he was still his friend. It didn't matter what had happened. It changed nothing.
So Germany collected himself, dialing the numbers on the phone and giving the same message: "Italy's ill, and Romano's been shot. Yes, they're both okay."
He didn't explain how. He didn't want to.
He'd called Japan first, who, despite his general stance of polite apathy, sounded troubled at the news. Hungary was horrified, and Germany's brother even managed to avoid joking. In general, everyone offered their condolences.
He'd also called for an emergency world meeting. It would be in two weeks.
They would fix this.
"Germany!"
He sighed as Spain called him. He didn't want to deal with this now.
"Yes? What is it?"
Spain looked at him, a weak smile on his face. "Veneziano woke up. You can go see him."
Germany wished he could feel more excited.
When Italy awoke, he felt sick. Bright lights blinded him, and a machine beeped beside him.
His wide eyes took in the room around him. Hospital.
And it all came flooding back.
"Oh god, Germany..."
Tears leaked from his eyes.
"Romano..."
He began to shake, squeezing his eyes shut.
He couldn't fix this. Everything was just so...
So...
Wrong
It couldn't be fixed. Germany wouldn't remember him. Romano wouldn't remember him. Spain would hate him.
Who was left?
Just him. Just poor, little Italy.
He didn't want to remember this. But he had to. For Germany, for Romano, for Holy Rome and all the other nations gone before. He had to remember them. He couldn't just let their memories die.
"Italy."
The beeping sped dramatically as Italy looked up.
Blue eyes, blond hair.
Germany.
He wanted to laugh, or cry. To smile like normal and declare the whole thing a dream.
Instead he just stared.
Germany regarded him like a wounded animal, movements slow as he carefully sat on the bed.
"Are you alright?" It was a simple question, to be expected. To Italy, however, it was ironic.
"Are you?" Italy said.
Germany seemed to struggle with himself.
"Yes."
Italy smiled softly, eyes still watery. "What happened?"
Germany's eyes lingered on his a moment before responding. "I do not know the full story," he admitted slowly.
He paused before continuing, and Italy imagined that he was deciding between blunt honesty and lies. "I found you in a park in Spain, covered in blood. You pointed a gun at me, insisting that I could not be there. You then passed out and I took you to this hospital. There I found Spain, who said that you... that you shot your brother."
Blunt honesty it was.
Italy felt his heart sink, and his eyes began to water.
Germany quickly reassured him. "He is alright. He will make a full recovery."
Italy was never so thankful for his poor skill in weaponry.
"Do you... remember anything?" Germany asked.
He remembered everything.
"Yes..." Italy said no more, hoping he would leave it.
"I..." Germany ran a hand through his hair, straightening it.
"Could you tell me?" Germany sounded desperate almost. He needed to know. Italy understood.
So he explained, skimming over the morning as much as possible.
Italy watched his friend's face for any sign of emotion.
"I see."
The smaller nation turned from him, tears filling his eyes. He didn't want Germany to go into technicalities. He didn't want him to explain that no, he was not dead. Italy knew this. He just wanted, just once, for Germany to-
He felt strong arms wrap around him, and Italy went rigid.
"Ge-Germany?"
He got no response, but he didn't need one.
And so, he buried his head into Germany's neck. And he cried.
Fin.
This idea's been nagging me for a while, so I've finally breathed life into this story.
Whether or not it was worth it is up to you.
It's unbetaed, so please excuse any minor errors. If there's a big one, let me know and I'll fix it. I read it over, but I often miss things!
Oh, and England comes later. Next chapter he'll be there, and the chapter after it will be almost all about him. Chapter 4 and on, I have no idea.
No deliberate pairings, by the way. You can interpret things however you want since there's enough friendship in here for you to turn it into your pairing. Just know that I actually don't ship anything (GASP) and am more of a friendship person, so don't expect any specifically romantic moments. Still though, like I said, feel free to interpret it as yaoi if you want to. Or don't: completely up to you.
Same with reviewing. Feel free to review, negative or positive. It's your choice.