Warning: Character death...

With that said, on with the story.

A breeze stirred the white hair, red eyes scanning the landscape. Where are you, West? You and Italia. It wasn't at all like his younger brother to disappear for two days without telling anyone. This worried the awesomeness of the Prussia Empire.

He stepped forward, all silent except for the fall of his own footsteps on the dried leaves alongside the trees. It didn't seem as though a soul was there besides him.

And then he saw them.

"West!"

Two Days Earlier

Blood. Blood soaks into the olive green uniform, some of it mine, some of it not. Actually, most of it is not mine. I lay crumpled on my side on the blood soaked ground, knowing just from the feeling of it that my right leg is broken. But that is the least of our troubles. I know that I would survive and so my main concern is the man crumpled at my side. The one whose blood soaks the front of my uniform.

"Italy…" I speak softly, although I don't expect an answer. I don't get one either.

Reaching for my friend and ally's hand, I search for a pulse and feel a faint flutter. So he is still alive, but for how long? I have to get him out of here, before it is too late. But I am not sure how to do it.

I push myself up on one elbow, although with the movement comes the sound of a bullet, which whips over my head. So the Allies, or at least one of them are still there. Getting out of here is going to be interesting, if I can even move to begin with. But what other choice do I have?

Carefully, I pull Italy towards me, holding the nation against me. It is hard to tell exactly how badly Italy is injured, but there are multiple shots to the chest and stomach, all of which are still bleeding. I wish that I could have taken care of him better, that I could have saved him. I tried, as soon as I heard the shots, to grab him and pull him over but as soon as I tried to do that and started rushing towards him, my leg caught in a deep hole that I'd failed to notice. Of course it would be when it's most important that I got my foot stuck in a hole and could do nothing but watch the other fall.

But there isn't time to think about it and I push the thoughts from my mind, focus. The area around us is mostly flat, a wooded area on the left, the place where the shots are coming from. It is a good place, I can't tell who is there no matter how many times I search the trees for some clue.

As I try to stand, the injured leg refuses to support me. I continue to hold Italy against me with one arm, while I use the other to push myself up, despite the pain. I can live with pain, so long as I can get Italy someplace safe. When I finally get up, I stand with all my weight on one foot, preparing to try and take the other to safety. But no sooner have I done that when another shot rings out and I hear the bullet hit Italy's flesh, before I feel it enter my chest, lodging within me. I feel myself falling, try to catch myself but hit the ground hard, before everything goes black….

"Where are we going Germany?" Gilbert Beilschmidt, more commonly known as Prussia, watched Italy stare up at his younger sibling, eagerly awaiting an answer.

During the war, they were all busy, fighting the Allied Powers. At first, it had been going well, but then the tide had turned, causing them to only have to work harder. And Germany had been working harder then any of them. Prussia wondered if his brother would even remember how to smile. Before the war, he'd been serious and hard-working, and the war only seemed to take it another step forward. His brother was now serious and grim with the constant loses.

"We're going to find the enemy," he heard his brother say, "And drive them away from here."

"We're going to fight?" Italy asked, even though the reason for leaving was quite clear. Of course they were going to fight.

Before Germany could answer, Italy turned and rushing past Prussia to another room of the house, coming back with the two white flags he'd made for them. "We're going to need these then!"

Germany shook his head, not taking the flag that was held out towards him, the one with his name. "No, we're not going to surrender, Italy."

Still Italy was holding out the flag towards him and Germany wanted to leave. "Fine," he said, taking the cloth and shoving it into his pocket. "Let's go, Italy."

"You're going to take the awesomeness?" he heard as he turned towards the door, Italy by his side. "Right, West?"

He looked back at his older brother, who hadn't moved. "Nein, Gilbert. We'll be fine. I'll see you in a day."

For a moment Germany paused, watching his brother before he turned and was gone. Prussia crossed his arms over his chest as the door closed behind them.

…. A hand… It's touching my shoulder although all is fuzzy and I can't think straight. Where am I?

"West? West can you hear me?"

I know that voice… It's Gilbert. And then everything comes folding back to me and my eyes fly open, only to be greeted by my brother's face directly in front of me. "G-Gilbert," I say, staring at him.

"West," he says simply, looking at me for a moment. "So you'll be fine will you? You certainly look fine to me."

Briefly I remember what I told him when Italy and I were leaving… Italy… I turn my head towards where the other nation lays. "Italy…" I say softly. Please let him be alright.

Gilbert follows my gaze, bends over Italy for a moment before shaking his head. "He's gone."

"Nein!" I don't want to believe it. I can't believe it. The bubbly Italian who is always hanging over me, mass producing white flags, wanting to bring pasta along with us everywhere we go… He's a handful, but he is also my friend, the first friend I've really had.

"He's gone, West." Gilbert's says, his hands moving under me as he lifts me into his arms, like he used to do when I was younger. "Let's get you out of here."

I don't want to go. "Nein!" I say, "Take Italy."

"He's dead," Gilbert says, but he doesn't understand.

"We can't just leave him there."

Gilbert shakes his head, and starts to walk away from the spot where Italy and I fell. I want to protest, but I don't say anything else either, just let him carry me away.

As the days passed, Prussia felt his worry for his younger brother growing. Germany's physical wounds were healing, but there was something different about him. When he'd healed well enough to walk, Prussia found him in the kitchen, staring at a box of pasta. He was about to say something, but stopped himself, not wanting to upset his brother. "West?"

Germany looked up towards his brother. "Hello, Gilbert."

"What are you doing?" Prussia asked, slowly approaching him.

"Remembering…."

When I close my eyes, I can see him, hear his voice calling my name. Everything I see reminds me of him, especially pasta. It isn't my favorite food, I much prefer to eat wurst, but I have found myself eating pasta sometimes, and remembering how Italy would always try to bring it everywhere and make it every chance he had.

"West…"

In my thoughts, I almost forgot my brother was there and I turn my head, met his eyes. "I went back for him," Gilbert says, "He's buried here…"

He rests his hand on my shoulder. "I'll take you too him."

I allow my brother to lead me outside, the box of pasta still in my hand, to a spot under a tree where he has rested a large stone. There is no marks on the stone, no message, nothing. But it is where Italy lays.

Kneeling beside the stone, I place the box of pasta beside it, bow my head. "Italy…" I whisper softly, "I'll never forget you."

"You see," Gilbert said, "Because of my awesomeness, I went back for him after I'd seen to you!"

Gilbert hasn't changed and for a moment, it feels normal but then I look down at the stone again. We will move on, and continued to fight, maybe to win, maybe to lose. I have a feeling it's going to be the later. But the world is never going to be the same, ever again.