A/N: DS here, be nice, this is my first Hetalia story ever. Ignore spelling mistakes. This story will have about 3 to maybe 4 chapters. This is subject to change at any given time.

~DS

WARNINGS: Deathfic, cussing

"G-Germany, are you sure you don't want anything tonight? Anything to eat?" Italy asked innocently. He had came over for the evening after being idiotic enough to find out what the 'Grudge' was. Yet, Japan had let him find out.

"Ja, I am sure."

Germany rested his head down onto his folded arms resting on the table he sat at. Earlier- what a minute ago?- Germany complained about having a headache. Suddenly, Germany got up and headed to bed, at 6 o'clock?

Italy became worried, more than he already had. Germany previously turned down his favourite foods, and now going to sleep about three hours early? Italy shook his head, he was probably going to bed early because they were going to train tomorrow. It was strange he was already tired... just a few minutes ago, after a surprise visit from Russia, he was fine and even a bit energetic. He then quickly became...sick?

"Italien, I am going to bed now. And don't you dare sleep in my bed tonight like you have a habit of!" He sighed. The lights clicked off in the hallway, leaving Italy all alone.

Frantically looking each way, Italy dashed down the hall.

Miss Grudgy lady will get me! Germany won't mind..even if he said so, he never does anything about it. Italy thought. If it was so much of a nuisance of him in his bed, Germany would of slept elsewhere.

When he entered the room, he immediately skittered over to the bed, not daring to look at the room's many corners. In one quick motion, Italy slid into bed next to Germany. The darkness was consuming, at least to Italy it was. He shivered and ducked his head under the covers, letting his eyes peek out from underneath. Germany was still next to him, wait, no he was...twitching? That was odd, why would he be twitching? Before Italy could avert all his attention to Germany, all of his attention was dragged to a slight movement in the corner. Italy squeezed his eyes shut and kept them that way. He was so caught up in his thoughts, he never noticed Germany's rapid, shallow breathing.

Italy woke up with a yawn. A quick glance at the clock told him it was 8:08pm. It was later, but average for Italy. He blinked a few times and started to rollover. It seems he lasted a whole night without Miss Grudge Lady killing him. He stopped half-way over. Germany was still in bed. He didn't get up for training? He didn't bother getting Italy up? How strange, that was very odd. Italy nudged Germany a bit; he didn't move at all.

Italy poked his cheeks that were tinted pink. Italy poked him a few more times; his skin was cold to the touch. That was even stranger, Italy shook his head noting those two facts. Why would his skin be pink when he was cold?

Italy smiled briefly. He was up once again before Germany! It'd happened only a few times before. Italy's smile diminshed.

I hope he is okay. He doesn't seem well, and he didn't seem well last night either. Is he sick? Italy thought to himself. After a few minutes of staring, something just didn't seem right.

"Germany? Germany? Isn't it time to wake up?" Italy said. He poked him a few more times. "Germany? I-isn't it time for training?"

Or PASSED time for training...

Italy's mind formed an idea of its own. Germany never sleeps in, so if he did, it would be deliberate. In that case, he must be kidding! It's a joke... a prank! Yes, that was it! Italy smiled, confident that he had figured out the situation. Suddenly something dawned upon Italy; Germany hardly joked, let alone pull any type of prank. Sure it was somewhat unerving for Germany to do something out of the ordinary, but then again with Germany there's no telling what he might do or say.

Italy shrugged, brushing away the thoughts that had wormed into his mind. He just grinned, somewhat satisfied from figuring out Germany's plan. He buried his head into a pillow, took one last glance at Germany, yawned and muttered something about pasta as he drifted back to sleep. After all, who doesn't love going back to bed at noon?

'Italy?' A voice drifted above his head. There was nothing for miles; the world was all black. 'Italy, I'm back. You said you'd wait for me.'

The voice sounded familiar. Similiar to one he had heard before. Who was that? He couldn't place a name, though it was right there on the tip of his tongue. Something wasn't right about the voice, and where was it coming from? It sounded hollow, flat, monotone and yet it sounded sad. 'Itaaaaly? Where have you been? Why did you allow me to leave like that? And after all, I'd never come back.'

A loud clang pierced the air. It was the sound of wood hitting a concrete floor. The noise originated behind him, requiring him to turn around to see what it was. If anything could bring back a memory, why was it always the oddest of things?

It was a push broom. Italy took a step back, shivering despite the warmth of the place. There was a single illuminating light hovering above the broom. At closer inspection, the broom was not average. Yes, it did have a bit of grime on it, which seemed to be because of its assumed old-age. Yet, between slight cracks in the wood and in the bristles at the end, crimson was visible. The wood was stained with the color at some spots as if it was soaked. The color dripped off onto the floor. A tiny puddle had formed, but it wasn't only that. Along the floor, a trail of red crawled off into the darkness.

The light bobbed a bit. It started to follow the trail of what now could be assumed was blood. Italy was hesitant to follow the anomolous light. He would have stayed and took his chances with the darkness if the voice didn't come back.

'Come.' That was all Italy needed before darting off after the light.

His foot landed in a little puddle, splashing the liquid up onto his boot. He lifted his foot up and shook it in a vain attempt to get it off. He wasn't just shivering now, he was trembling. He continued to trek after the light, never taking his eyes off the increasingly thicker trail of blood. He stopped when his eyes met something new in his path.

A black cladded mass lay in a large puddle of the blood. The stuff was everywhere here. A large hat rested at one end of the mass. It didn't take long to realize that it was a person before Italy. He bent down to pull away clothe off his face until the person's identity was obvious to him. Holy...Holy Roman Empire? His eyes shot from one thing to another and back again. It was him, the same hair sticking out from under his hat, the same cloak he had always wore, and that only meant that broom was-

'Holy Rom-' Italy cut himself off. His old, no, ancient friend never moved. It seemed that the rumours were true, like everyone at home thought, he was...dead.

Italy felt tears brim his eyes when something made him scream. The little light that had floated about distinguished, leaving Italy in an abyss. The air felt heavy and as if he had been submerged in water. The light came back to life, now stationarily still. It lowered closer to the ground. Italy followed it with his eyes until it stopped.

Something was different. Something was obviously different. The little mass was gone, in its place was a taller, larger form. The cloak no longer was part of the person's outfit, it seemed that it was now much larger and draped over the body, allowing only a hand, the feet, and the person's head to stick out.

It looked like Holy Rome had grown to near six feet tall! The cap was larger, just a bit though, and rested where it completely covered his face. This person also had blonde hair, but styled different. Despite all the blood in his hair, Italy couldn't help but think it looked exactly like-

Italy shook his head furiously and in a quick motion, snatched up the hat. The site under it was a heart attack.

'You aren't a'Holy Ro-R-R' Italy studdered to a stop halfway into his sentence. It was true, Holy Roman Empire no longer was resting on the floor. In his place was an all-too-familiar face, one he did not want to see.

'G-Ge-Germany?' Italy managed to say. Germany's face was speckled with blood, the same went for his hair. He too now laid in a dark pool of crimson. Italy hoped it wasn't his, but the site seemed to kill his hopes.

Italy dropped to his knees and held out his hand to touch him, to get him up. His tears ran freely now.

'No! NOOO!' He screamed, piercing the darkness with a deafening echo.

Italy woke up abruptly, crying profusely. He rolled over and buried his head into Germany's chest. Wiping off his tears into the blanket, he continued to cry. His hands slid around his friend's body for comfort.

To Italy's dismay, no arms surrounded him to do just that.

Italy took Germany's arm with a death grip and shook it. In a nearly undecipherable jumble of words he explained his dream. He didn't pause after everything he said, causing them to become single words. "Itwasallblackand therewasabroom! Blood! Therewasblood, someoneIknewwasthere. Youtoo! G-G-Germany! You...DIED!' He started shaking Germany's arm. "IT WAS HORRIBLE! Please wake up! Get up, this isn't funny anymore; it never was!' Italy screeched.

He reached up and grabbed Germany's shoulders, shaking them too. Receiving no response, he shook harder. When Italy wanted too, he could be forceful.

"GERMANY!" The image from the dream flashed in his head again. "No! GET UP!"

Italy stopped for a moment, releasing his grip on the nation. He stared intently at his face, slowly leaning over towards it. His hand went up to Germany's face, his index finder bent behind his thumb and the rest of the finders pointing up. Italy paused, placing his hand by his nose.

FLICK...FLICK...FLICKFLICK.

Italy waited impatietly for a response. In a burst of anger that Italy let build up inside him, he slapped the person below him across his face. Italy panted trying to hold back tears, holding his hand up again for another slap. Halfway up, he stopped.

There was no sense in denying it anymore, something was very, very, VERY wrong.

Italy inhaled sharply; his lungs burning with the sudden intake of air. He had made up his mind, now or never, he was going to call someone for help. With one last glance at Germany's motionless body, he got up from the bed, huddled himself in a blanket and trudged to the phone. He frantically dialed Romano's number; the phone trembling in his hands. After two rings, Romano picked up.

"What is it Italy, why are you calling from Germany's phone!" Romano's voice barked over the speaker.

Italy cringed at his brother's tone, but responded, "It's-s Ger-ermany... He won't wa-ake up-p!" Italy's voice hitched at the last word; tears welling into his eyes. Romano chuckled lightly over the phone.

"Brother, I'm sure he's fine, possibly too much beer; he's probably just hungover"! Romano snickered, amused.

"That's just it Romano...he didn't eat or drink anything the night before!" Italy's voice was shrill. Romano sputtered in disbelief.

"What! How could he not eat or drink anything?" Romano asked shocked.

Italy hicccuped between oncoming sobs, "He denied all his favourite foods! I only assumed he trained too hard or he was pulling a prank! But Germany doesn't play pranks!" Romano furrowed his brow and mulled over his brother's words.

"Italy... I need you to look at Germany, tell me what you see." Romano said gravely; his voice strangely flat, devoid of any emotion or mirth he had once felt a few moments ago. Italy shook his head and sniffled into the phone, "I can't Romano, I just can't!"

"Italy do it now! For your sake and his." Romano demanded. Italy gurgled sadly and walked to the bedroom. Tears sprang to his eyes; swallowing thickly, he grabbed the sheet that covered Germany's head.

"Romano... please." He whispered into the speaker. Romano bit into his lip and through a teeth-clenched frown, he muttered, "Italy, do it, whatever you see, whatever happens... tell me." Italy choked back a sob and pulled the sheet back an inch or two; Germany still laid on his back, remaining motionless. Italy scrunched his eyes closed and fully uncovered him. His blond hair was matted and disheveled, his face and body were flushed dark pink. One arm listlessly slid off of the bed, dangling.

"Romano, do I?" Italy asked once more. After hearing an annoyed sigh on the other side, he thought with a safe bet Romano's answer was yes, "Ok, well. He-he's pink, I mean his skin is dark pink. His hair is messy and stringy, almost like when you get out of the shower and don't dry it. He's warm-but-cold at the same time and very still! He won't move, and didn't respond to pain. Romano, my chest is starting to hurt...Romano?" Italy had just noticed a sad fact: Romano had hung up on him. After he had seemed highly concerned, he must not have cared after all.

Italy laid down the phone and sank to the floor near the bed. Re-wrapping the blanket around him, he dipped his head down. Now, there was just Germany and an Italy-cocoon in the room. No more than ten minutes had gone by when Italy was startled out of his blanket cocoon by a loud slam. The front door was being knocked on harshly... by foot. Italy leaped up to open the door, only to stop when dizziness erupted. When his head cleared, he took off for the door. It was Romano at the door, you could tell before opening it, yelling insults at the door. Italy needed to unlock it.

"Romano, the door is unlocked now!" Italy yelled, fearing for the door's safety. The noise stopped and the door opened slowly. "I thought you didn't care!"

"I didn't care?"

"Si, after all, you hung up." Italy replied sadly. Italy looking depressed can depress anyone.

"No, I hung up because I left the house the moment you started to say my name when you described..." He didn't finish, decided he was wasting time. Italy lead him to the bedroom.

Italy was very hesitant at first to continue any farther into the room, yet managed to get as far as the dresser. Romano examined Germany while Italy kept distance. Romano sighed heavily and shuddered; he looked up at Italy and frowned. He shook his head, frowning. Italy sniffled and felt a tightening in his chest.

"Romano what is it?" Italy asked shakily. Romano looked sadly and stood straight up at Italy.

No matter what he could do, there was no way of lying to Italy, and Romano knew it. If there was anyway to, he probably would, but he didn't have the heart to lie to Italy. Italy looked him in the eyes, frightened, worried eyes. He trudged forward to Romano.

"When is he going to wake up? How will we get him up? Is he ok?" Italy asked sincerely. Romano's forlorn expression explained everything at those words.

Taking a deep breath, he reached out and took Italy's shoulder, making him look at him directly in the eyes, "I'm very sorry, he's never going to wake up."

"WHAT?! Yo-you are lying! You never liked him anyway! NO!" Italy violently ripped his brother's hand off his shoulder. He darted over to Germany's side, grabbing his friend's dangling arm. He couldn't be dead, his dream couldn't have come true. They were nations! Countries! How could they die? His world started to spin a bit.

Romano lunged for his distraught brother. Who, even under the circumstances, was starting to piss him off. Why? It was the fact Italy was being overdramatic. He pulled the smaller man away from the bed. The action resulted in his brother immediately hugging him. Italy cries escalated into quiet sobs, while burrowing his face into his older brother's shoulder. Romano could just stand there and let Italy cling. Figuring there was nothing else he could do, Romano lightly wrapped his arms around his brother to comfort him. Everything is going to be fine, he reassured Italy in his head.

Yet, to Italy it was far from fine. He could no longer tell if he was crying from denial, or because the pain in his chest had intensified. His heart raced, slowed, and sped up again. The room was dancing now, or through the tears it looked like it did. The dizziness returned, making him feel sick and wobbly-legged. Italy's death-grip hug slackened, alowing him to slowly descend to the floor. One hand slid away from Romano and went to clawing at his chest. Italy's face paled, his mouth agape, and eyes fitfully wide.

A sharp pain burned in Italy's chest; Italy whimpered weakily, his lips quivering. Lines of black etched across Italy's sight as Romano's face became blurred.

"Italy, what is it, Italy!" Romano asked frantically, trying to heave Italy up to his feet, but he remained slumped to the floor.

Italy slid to the floor, legs wide and arms limp. His eyes glazed over. Romano rushed down to his side and propped up his head in his lap. Italy gurgled between hushed croaks, "My chest... fratello... my chest"! Italy jolted in pain; Romano held him down and held him upright.
"What is it Italy; please tell me!" Romano shook his brother frantically. Then Italy raised a trembling hand to his chest as his eyes widened in fear; his entire body went limp. Romano pressed two fingers to his brother's thin neck, no pulse. He did the same for his wrist, the same response. Romano pressed down on his brother's chest; trying desperately to get Italy's heart beating again. Italy's eyes rolled backward as he mouth lolled open. Romano pounded on Italy's chest, checked his pulse again, and repeated.

"Don't do this brother, don't do this!" He smacked Italy's cheek, shook his limp hand and pushed down on his chest again. Tears splattered on Italy's pale face from Romano's darkened eyes. Romano buried his face into Italy's shoulder and wept.

His brother couldn't do this to him! He needed to get help somehow. He could call for help. Relunctantly leaving Italy laying on the floor, he stood up to find the phone. When he had found it, he quickly started to dial. Who was he supposed to dial?! Without realizing it, he dialed Spain's number. It rung, and rung, and rung. When Romano got voicemail, he slammed to phone down onto the table. This couldn't be happening!

He dived onto his knees and grabbed Italy's shoulders. "WAKE UP NOW, DAMMIT!" He shook in anger, and stood up yelling. He flipped around to face the bed where Germany's body still lay.

Romano pointed an accusing finger at him, "This is all your fault, Potato-Bastard! You killed him, my brother, you killed him, dammit! Fuck you! I never liked you, you always was between me and my brother and now-," He growled as tears started to brim in his eyes, "FUCK YOU! I HOPE YOU ROT IN HELL!"
_

DS: I'm so sadistic. Please review, I'm lonely with nothing to talk to in this place.