Pain.

All he felt was pain.

A pain so unimaginably horrible, that it ate away at his very soul and mind.

But the pain itself wasn't so bad. Knowing that Germany, his own best friend, was causing it, was so much worse.

The year was 1943, and Northern Italy was under occupation by Germany.

Germany held onto his heartland, the North of the country, with an iron fist.

As Italy lay in a cot in some military hospital, he could feel the battles raging across his divided nation, searing scars into his skin.

In his mind's eye, he watched as thousands of his soldiers, now fighting for the Allies, charged Germany's Gustav Line. He watched Germany himself, his eyes filled with bloodlust, pull the trigger on his machine gun. He watched as his men fell, as if before a scythe.

For all of the power, unity, and freedom the Allies provided, they could do nothing about the agony that rippled through Italy's limbs. For all the bombs they dropped on Mont Cassino, for all the men they landed at Anzio, for all the tanks they drove towards Rome, they could not ease his suffering.

Italy whimpered, his sweaty fingers digging into the bedsheets. Out of nowhere, a hand grasped his.

"R-romano?"

Romano sat by his hospital bed, angry tears streaming down his face. Italy gripped his brother's hand in gratitude.

Romano muttered something unintelligible.

"Ve... S-speak up... I can't... hear..."

"I'LL KILL HIM!" Romano roared. "I'LL FUCKING KILL THAT BASTARD!"

Italy squeezed his hand. "R-romano... Don't get mad... He's not... thinking..."

Romano choked back a sob. "H-how can you say that? How can you be so damn calm about this shit? He's killing you! He's fucking killing you!"

Italy smiled sadly. "He's still... my best friend... even if... he hates me..."

Romano stood up and left. He was fed up with his little brother ad his stupid willingness to forgive.

He left behind a broken nation, a nation that was still trying to hold onto one coherent thought through the abyss his mind had descended into during these months of torture.

He tried to hold onto the warm memory of him, Japan, and Germany relaxing on their deserted island together.

But before long, the memory was again replaced by something much more potent.

Pain.