A/N: There are so many things that can be done to these characters so they suffer. They can be placed in danger, forced to forget each other, driven insane, driven mute, and they can be hidden from sight. Imagine if someone you love suddenly couldn't see or hear you anymore. Wouldn't that be awful?

...

Italy's soft brown hair rested over his knuckles as he cradled his head in his arms. His limbs and lids felt too heavy to lift, like there was some great weight sitting on them, an elephant, maybe. It wasn't unusual for one of the nations, especially Italy, to fall asleep during a G8 meeting, so the meeting went on around him, even as France protested that if Italy could get away with sleeping during a meeting, then they should all be allowed to sleep during a meeting.

This seemed to prompt a crackling cough and a heavy sigh from the flushed and sweating nation.

It was August 6th, 2014.

Normally, Italy always felt a little under the weather on the anniversary of Holy Rome's dissolution, but that day, he looked as though his economy were in ruins and his crime rate had sky rocketed. He was at least three shades too pale and there were violet bags under his sunken eyes.

Even as Germany tried to direct the course of the meeting's conversation towards the economy, he couldn't help but sneak concerned glances at the sleeping Italian. Japan, too, kept surreptitiously glancing his way.

That's so sweet, how your friends worry about you.

Italy forced his body to stiffen when he heard the mocking voice in his head. Japan noticed and called out to him, but Italy refused to move.

What do you want? He thought back at the voice.

He could almost feel the sweet smelling breath tickle his ear as a voice that sounded like him, yet that didn't sound anything like him, replied, I want what I always want. Revenge. Blood. War.

You can't have that. I won't allow it.

Suddenly, Italy felt as though his blood had turned to ice in his veins.

And what can you do to stop me?

At that, Italy growled out loud, startling the other nations into halting their halfhearted conversation so they could stare at his prone form.

"Italy?" Germany asked, his tone equal parts curiosity, concern, and wariness.

In his mind's eye, Italy could see the other him. All nations have parts to them that they like to keep under the surface, especially during peacetime. Still, Italy was weakened, both physically and mentally. That must have allowed his dark thoughts to temporarily manifest as a separate entity.

I'm a nation, he thought. And I'm not leaving my people to some lunatic who can't even paint a picture. I have no intention of letting you replace me as North Italy. Not now and not ever. Get that through your head and leave me alone.

The snarl is his head informed him that he'd hit a nerve. Good.

A wet cough wracked his chest. Soft pats on his back told him that Japan was watching out for him, causing his cold insides to rush with the warmth of gratitude.

I can force you, the voice said. I can make your life so miserable that you'll be begging for me to take it over.

Well, that didn't sound promising. Almost immediately, a pounding like the sound of war drums began to overwhelm his thoughts.

"Italy?"

That was Germany. Next thing Italy felt was a large hand on his shoulder, he could tell by the gentle yet firm grip that it was also Germany.

"Ve?" Italy forced his head upright as he tried to quiet the drums in his head and the roiling in his stomach.

All meeting long Germany had been trying to bury the worry in him that was beginning to reach panic, but when he saw Italy look at him with amber eyes that showed no recognition, that widened in fear and pain, something broke.

Because Italy could not see Germany.

Jumping to his feet, Italy hissed aloud, "What did you do? Where's Germany?"

The grip on his shoulder turned to iron but he couldn't see any hand attached to it.

Just by not seeing Germany, it felt as though a part of his soul had been sawed out of him. There was an actual, physical hurt in his chest that was screaming for his attention even as his eyes threatened tears.

The others at the table reacted by turning, stunned, on Italy. Prussia leapt out of his corner chair and ran to Italy's side, "Italy, look!" He pointed to a spot on the wall. "Germany is right there. He hasn't gone anywhere."

Want me to bring him back? Or I could take more. The voice in his head laughed, a hollow sound that thrummed in his skull. Maybe I should make it so you can't see or hear your brother next?

America turned to England, "Can't you help him?"

"I can't help him if I don't even know what's wrong with him."

"West!" Prussia yelled as the grip on Italy's shoulder became almost painfully tight and the others stared at something Italy couldn't see with a mixture of shock and pity in their eyes. "Calm down! We'll get this figured out."

It was almost too much. Italy couldn't see Germany. It was like he'd lost him, and some part of him was whispering that he'd probably never see the German again… unless he let Luciano, that dark part of him, seize control of Northern Italy… But that would never happen.

Finally, Italy snapped, "England!" It was so unusual that all motion ceased, and even the hand on his shoulder seemed to relax somewhat as Italy fought the tears that stung his eyes and the raw feeling in his throat. "I, North Italy, propose that I be withdrawn from the G8 and that my brother take my place as Italy's representative."

"What?" Several nations squawked, even the usually imperturbable Russia seemed to have had his interest peaked by Italy's unexpected declaration.

What?

"For what reason do you propose this, Italy?" England asked, his voice calm, green eyes clear and searching.

America balked. "England, surely you can't be serious-" England cut him off with a sharp glance, for which Italy was grateful. Again, the grip on his shoulder was too hard, and Prussia kept on sending concerned glances just over Italy's head, so he guessed Germany wasn't very pleased. In fact, though Italy couldn't see or hear it, Germany was furiously shouting his name.

"I am no longer fit to represent Italy. My mind has been compromised." With that, he turned to leave, but the grip held him in place.

Italy craned his neck so he could glance at the spot where Prussia and Japan kept on looking, but all he could see was nothing, and the nothing was enough to make him want to cry and scream until his throat was cracked and bleeding. Then he'd curl into a ball and spend at least two centuries waiting for his body to dissolve.

There was a crackle of tension in the air as Italy tried again. The grip held him still.

"Germany," The voice was low, it was Prussia's, "You have to let him go." Instead of loosening, the grip became so unbearable that Italy nearly cried out, a few stray tears leaked from his eyes.

Prussia rushed forward, grappling with some invisible force Italy couldn't see, until Italy fled from the room, leaving all his allies and friends in shock.

Romano and Spain were working on the tomato garden when Italy came running up, panting, choking, and ashen. He was drenched in a cold and clammy sweat that weighed down his hair so the fringe nearly shielded his eyes. His cheeks were streaked with dirt and tears.

Instantly, Romano's protective instincts went into overdrive. "Veneziano, what's wrong? What happened to you?" Spain didn't know a lot of Italian, since Romano always slipped into either Spanish or English when they spoke together, but he knew enough to get the gist.

Instead of replying, Italy's knees wobbled, giving out, and he broke into sobs like they'd never heard before. At least, not from him. Men who'd had their legs broken sometimes wailed with that much pain. Men who'd been permanently marked with a heated brand sometimes wailed with that much pain. It was the pain of someone who'd had their heart ripped out and their life wiped from existence. Someone who, despite all that, was still breathing.

When Romano ran to embrace his brother, Veneziano surprised them all, and pushed him away, "Don't touch me!"

Hurt evident on his face, Romano momentarily pulled back as Italy struggled into a standing position, and then ran into the house.

Spain held Romano back when he tried to go after him, since even Veneziano could have times when he wanted to be alone. It wasn't long before another figure came running up to their doorstep.

Seeing him, Romano snarled,"What did you do to my brother, you potato-eating bastard?"

Italy curled up on his twin-sized bed and brushed the damp hair away from his eyes. Other than the bed, a side table, and a lamp, his room was completely barren. It didn't strike him how barren his room was until he had nothing to distract him from the images that flashed whenever he closed his lids.

He buried his head into his knees as he'd considered how he'd pretty much begged for his dissolution on the anniversary of Holy Rome's dissolution. Hopefully, France understood that Holy Rome had nothing to do with his decision.

Si. That was all me.

Italy heard the groan he made before he'd even realized it was his. Above Italy's head, a version of him with crimson eyes and a slight smile playing about his lips hovered. Everything was going perfectly, after all. He'd isolated Italy from the German, his brother, and from all of the allies, leaving him nothing but despair and misery for company.

Just let me take over. I'll make the pain go away.

He tried to shut him out by thinking of memories with Germany- training, meals, baths… all those times when he snuck into his bed, but all that led to was him opening his eyes to see that Germany was gone and the knowledge that he may never see him again.

All at once, it seemed like he was taking too little air into his lungs. Dizziness marred his thoughts until the voice in his head hissed and spat. It couldn't corrupt Italy if he was unconscious.

Then the door burst open like it'd been hit like a hurricane wind. It startled Italy out of his despair-induced stupor and nearly sent him leaping towards the ceiling, especially since there didn't appear to be anything or anyone standing in his doorway.

Suddenly, he felt as though his chest were being constricted by two, strong arms and he made the connection. If Germany was the only nation he couldn't see anymore, and the voice in his head had so far said nothing about taking away anyone else, then the only nation who could possibly be in his room… was Germany.

A weight fell on Italy's shoulder that was just about heavy enough to be Germany's head. The smell of beer and wurst and sweat and something salty Italy didn't think he could place wafted through the air.

Eyes unfocused, Italy tried to hold the spot in the air where his arms couldn't seem to pass. He couldn't feel cloth, flesh, or hair, but some deeper part of him knew that he was holding Germany, and that Germany was crying, and that made Italy quake with anger. Because how dare some voice in his head do something that had hurt his friend?

Have you made your decision? I hope it's the correct one. I'd hate to make you lose anymore friends or family members today.

Yes.

He had.

Get out of my head.

Italy imagined that he could see Luciano hovering on the dark edges of his consciousness, and then he imagined a wave of knives crashing down on him. Pain exploded behind his lids as he tried to fight back, but Italy just pushed harder, he forced that wave down with nothing but his will and his pain and his anger. On August 6th, he'd lost someone very precious to him. That wasn't going to happen again.

In Italy's mind, the knives turned from steel to glass and they shattered, filling his entire mindscape with deadly points. Beneath those points, Luciano squirmed and shifted, looking for a dark spot or a pocket or a shadow where he could hide, but Italy wouldn't let him.

Yes, it'd hurt when Rome had been taken from him.

Yes, it'd hurt when France had taken Holy Rome away from him.

And yes, he'd hurt when Germany had invaded him during the last World War, but that didn't mean he was going to bury his head in the sand and hide. The Italian people were his people, and the pain was his to bear. No one had any right to take that from him.

There was a shriek that nearly rent Italy's mind in two as the projectiles pierced the other him's incorporeal body, and then the light behind his eyes dimmed. A chasm seemed to open up beneath Italy. It seemed intent on pulling him into the darkness, and Italy could feel his body become light, as though he were disappearing, but two hands, two large and calloused hands appeared to pull him away from the chasm.

"Italy!"

Someone was calling him, someone needed him, so Italy couldn't leave yet. Instead, he gripped the two hands and let them lead him back into the light.

Germany nearly had a heart attack when Italy slumped, collapsing in his arms. He'd tried calling out to him, shaking, yelling, but nothing had seemed to wake him, and then, suddenly, Italy's breathing became less labored and the color rushed back into his cheeks.

"Is he all right?" Spain asked from the doorway. Behind Spain was Romano, who almost looked like he was going to be sick from all the stress of worrying about his little brother.

"He's better now, I think." Germany croaked, his voice still hadn't fully recovered from all the shouting and running he'd been doing in the last few hours. Italy's eyes fluttered like butterfly wings as Germany moved to sweep his bangs away from his forehead. Germany froze. At first, Italy's eyes were searching and unfocused, as they had been before, and the ground seemed to lurch beneath his feet.

Then Italy swiveled his head to better look at him, his eyes focused, and he smiled the same smile that Germany saw and loved and didn't know how he would live without, " Ve~ Germany, I'm back."

Germany did not scrub his eyes, nor did he shudder, nor did he wrap his arms around Italy and hug him until the little Italian complained for air. Actually, he did all of those things. His heart swelled and burst into song when Italy hugged him back.

"I thought I'd lost you, Italy." He choked out, too emotional to even care how emotional he sounded. "I was so helpless."

That wasn't true at all, Italy thought. He'd helped more than he knew.

When Italy and Germany stepped out of the house, they were surprised to find every nation from the G8 sitting on Italy's front lawn. They sat up once they saw Italy was all right. Once again, Italy felt tears beginning to threaten as Germany wrapped one arm around his shoulders, but this time, they were happy tears.

"So, Italy" England started. "Do you still want to be dissolved?" America bopped him upside the head, but it was too late. Romano had heard, and boy did he look threatening.

"Now, fratello" Italy tried as he backed away and Germany looked on with an amused smirk and eyes that said, 'You deserve everything he does to you for even thinking of dissolving, you idiot' "That was taken out of context. What I said was that you should take over as the only representative of Italy."

America added, "Nope. He totally asked us to dissolve him." Whose side was he on, anyway?

"Veneziano" Romano growled, a dark cloud on his brow. "How dare you try to dissolve and leave me alone with that happy idiota?" He gestured furiously towards a slightly bemused Spain.

Italy blinked and nearly stumbled over his own two feet. That was the problem?

How was that even a problem? He loved Spain.

"Kesese! Go get 'em, Italy's brother!" Inwardly, Italy allowed himself another groan. Not Prussia, too. Why did everyone seem to want to see him beaten up?

"Why do you all care so much?" He found himself asking as he ducked one of Romano's punches. The question just seemed to infuriate his brother further.

England snorted. "Shouldn't that be obvious? We care about you not asking for help when you should have, and we care about you asking us to dissolve you, and we care about you running away instead of telling what was wrong, because we care about you, you Italian pain in the arse."

After that, Romano managed to land a punch, but since all of his friends were there, Italy couldn't bring himself to mind too much.