Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia
Warning List: permanent nation deaths, violence and mental torture. Will include other peripheral pairings.
Italy wandered down the pavement, humming to himself in an effort to keep his thoughts from clouding his mind. He would never have planned to walk to the hotel alone, there was nothing worse than loneliness in his opinion, but Romano had stormed off half an hour earlier, declaring that he was not going to hear another word mentioned about Germany.
Surely he couldn't help it if he was nervous about seeing him? Their last meeting had not gone as Italy had planned, with Romano dragging him away as soon as the conference had finished, declaring that Stockholm was too cold for him to stay a minute longer than mandated.
At least the weather was nicer in Madrid and Romano would be less inclined to leave; he enjoyed arguing with Spain even more than with Italy so he was bound to keep himself occupied. It was the best opportunity Italy had been given for years and he was not going to waste it, even arriving two days before the conference to show how eager he was to learn.
He finished his ice-cream and dropped it into the nearest rubbish bin, sighing loudly. He looked around quickly to see if any of the citizens had heard him and, despondent, continued towards the hotel. He would have to sigh louder next time so that someone wanted to converse with him.
He placed a hand into his jacket and pulled out his phone, scrolling through his most dialled numbers and debating who to call when it rang of its own accord. He accepted the call without even noticing who it was, "hello?"
"Italy?"
"Germany! I was just thinking about you!"
"Spain has just rung me; he said Romano and you are in Madrid already?"
"We came early so that..."
"Did you remember to book additional accommodation? Spain's budget was only able to provide one night for each delegate."
"I remembered."
"Good. We'll see you at the hotel later; Prussia and I have already checked in." Germany ended the phone call before Italy could say he was looking forward to spending time with them.
Italy put the phone away again, his tarnished mood had worsened further; Germany obviously thought him so incompetent that he would forget that three was a larger number than one and end up on the streets. Though it was good news that Germany was there already and Prussia was always kind enough to him. He would be able to talk to people sooner than he had expected!
He mulled the conversation over and over in his mind; Germany had agreed to talk to him outside of official business and that was more than he had hoped for but there were things he couldn't say with Prussia there. He considered calling France and suggesting he take Spain and Prussia out drinking but if that happened then Romano would insist on staying with him and, if it was hard to have a conversation with Germany while Prussia was there it would be even harder with Romano sitting next to them.
He was still deep in thought twenty minutes later when he saw the hotel and he shook his head to clear them away, smiling as broadly as he could. He began to cross the road, only to see it start to fade. He blinked and gasped, the road and the buildings had all disappeared, being replaced with trees. He heard a car horn and looked around, not understanding where it had come from when he felt himself yanked from his feet and landed hard on the ground; although he was still standing exactly where he had been.
"Italy! What do you think you're doing?" Germany's disembodied voice came from nowhere and he tried to turn his body to see where he was. Even though he was sure he could feel his limbs twisting he remained rooted to the spot. He tried harder and heard Germany cry out in pain, and felt his arms pinned to his sides by much stronger ones.
He suddenly found himself facing in the opposite direction, looking deep into the forest. He wondered momentarily how he had turned around without realising it when the sight of a familiar person cleared the thought from his mind, "Prussia!"
"No, it's Germany. Italy, look at me, what is going on?"
Prussia wandered over to him and handed him a scroll of parchment without speaking. Italy saw his hands turning it over and over and, feeling unnerved by the fact that he couldn't stop them doing so, he looked towards Prussia and almost sobbed.
Prussia barely resembled himself; the glint in his eyes was still there, though rather subdued, his clothing was filthy and it was evident that he had undergone a severe beating. Italy tried to reach out to touch a large cut along Prussia's cheek but found that his arms were both somehow still glued to his sides and turning over the parchment, "what happened to you?"
Prussia did not seem to hear him but the invisible Germany did, "nothing, I'm fine. Are you hurt?"
"I meant Prussia."
"Prussia isn't here Italy," one of the arms released him and he felt a hand placed against his forehead. He shivered at the unexpected touch and scolded himself for reacting, Germany was obviously just checking for a fever.
Prussia pointed at Italy's hands and began speaking, though Italy couldn't hear anything. He tried to lip-read but Prussia kept looking over his shoulder and his task was made even more difficult by the fact that he kept nodding his head unexpectedly which threw his vision off each time. He decided to look at the parchment instead; willing himself to open it, mimicking the hand gestures repeatedly.
"Do you need any help?" He didn't recognise the new voice but knew it was Germany replying.
"He needs his medication; my brother has it, he should be somewhere in the hotel reception. He has white hair and red eyes, you can't miss him."
He was about to object to Germany saying he needed medication when his hands finally opened the parchment. He focused his mind instantly, only being able to note the scrawled first line of 'troops advancing on the South-West border' before his eyes were raised upwards, Prussia cupping his face in one of his badly scarred hands. His smile had lost all of its malice and Italy was able to clearly lip-read the words, 'I'm sorry,' before his sight faded dark.
When Italy opened his eyes the world was right again; the hotel was in front of him and the forest had gone. He sagged in relief and wondered for a moment what he was leaning against before he heard someone's worried tones.
"West! What's going on? Someone ran in and said my brother needed me..." Prussia's voice trailed off and he laughed, "aren't you being a bit public?"
Italy felt his seat straighten and Germany's reply was curt, "he's been hurt." With a start Italy realised what he was leaning against and strained to get out of Germany's vice-like grip, "Italy, calm down."
"I'm fine now, let me up!" Germany released him at once and Italy stood, dusting his suit back into place and looking at the ground.
"What happened?"
"I don't know; he was crossing the road and then he just froze. I barely managed to pull him out of the way before a car hit him. Then he started calling out for you."
Italy felt Prussia prod him in the shoulder and he looked up at him; seeing the Prussia he remembered rather than the one from the forest. He was so pleased to see him without the cuts that he flung his arms around him, hearing Prussia laugh, "he obviously missed me!"
"Obviously. I'll be in the hotel, make sure he doesn't wander into traffic again." Looking over Prussia's shoulder, Italy could see Germany walk away from them without glancing backwards and he removed himself from the hug, feeling guilty.
"Come on, I'll get you a drink." A hand on his shoulder steered him into the hotel and through to the bar which was filling up quickly with people finishing work. He was pushed lightly into a chair near a corner and Prussia disappeared, returning after a minute with two beers. "Drink up!"
Italy sipped some of the beer, secretly wishing that it was wine but not wanting to upset Prussia by stating so. He let his mind wander while Prussia talked about his blog and he kept thinking about the forest. It had to have been some form of hallucination, though it had felt entirely real at the time. Prussia was here though, and unharmed so it surely couldn't have been real. He was jolted back to the present when Prussia slammed his empty glass onto the table, "where's your other half?"
"Who?"
"Romano," Italy cursed internally, of course he was talking about Romano.
"I don't know. He said he didn't want to walk with me because I kept talking about Germany," he remembered who he was talking to and picked up a coaster, studying it intently and trying to recover, "he gets bored when I talk about the Euro-crisis."
"Sure, Euro-crisis," Prussia sounded greatly amused and Italy expected him to mock but he mercifully didn't, talking instead about how boring it was when Germany refused to pay attention to him because he kept going over economic reports. After several minutes of complaining Prussia stood up to fetch more drinks, pausing just before he left, "though, of course, there are safer ways of trying the damsel in distress routine than stopping in the middle of the road."
Italy sighed as he left; he had tried to plan everything to make a good impression and he had come across looking entirely helpless and hopeless. Someone sitting down next to him woke him from his stupor and he smiled weakly at Romano's presence.
"Spain!" Romano groaned as Prussia jumped up and down near the bar, waving to get Spain's attention, "over here, I'll buy you a drink!"
"Make him buy me one as well and I don't want beer!"
"I'll ask him for wine. Italy?"
"Yes please." Spain headed towards the bar and Italy turned towards Romano, "did anything strange happen to you earlier?"
"What sort of strange thing?"
Italy wasn't entirely sure how to phrase it. He didn't want to call it a hallucination in case Romano laughed at him, "a vision?"
"Vision? Are you psychic now?"
"No," he shook his head vehemently, it was probably the wrong choice of words, "did your eyesight go funny?"
"Not at all, how drunk are you?"
"I'm not drunk," Prussia and Spain returned, setting down the drinks, "I'll talk to you about it later."
"You bastard, I didn't want a beer! Why does Veneziano have wine and not me?"
"He asked nicely."
"You weren't even here!"
"He always asks nicely."
Romano bristled at this statement, "I asked nicely as well."
"Of course you did. Enjoy your beer." Italy was worried that Romano would throw the drink on the ground out of spite when Spain diffused the situation by swapping drinks with him.
Italy tried to enjoy his drink as he listened to Spain and Prussia catching up but his heart wasn't in it; Germany was angry with him and Romano had apparently not suffered the same strange occurrence. He had no idea how to broach the subject later without sounding insane and he tried to put the thought to the back of his mind; perhaps he didn't need to talk about it, it could have been a reaction to the stress of nearly being run over and, of course, it had only happened once.