"Do you have a patient in this building named Feliciano Vargas?"

The doctor looked up at the intruder with a face which bore very little concern, in stark contrast to this newcomer who quite frankly looked both furious and terrified at the same time.

He turned on his computer and searched the hospital database.

"Yes, we do," he said. "Admitted eight days ago with injuries concurrent with-"

"I don't want you to skip over anything or try to put it in layman's terms," said the intruder, sitting in the chair on the other side of the doctor's desk. "I want. To know. Everything."

This was new. His authority had never been challenged like this before.

"I'm very sorry," he said, "but I'm afraid-"

"Forget your Hippocratic oath and rules of patient confidentiality," said the intruder, slapping down an ID card on the desk. "Just for the moment. I need to know what happened to him. Please."

The doctor examined the identification critically. It was not only genuine, but of such high authority that he could never hope to decline. He only hoped that nobody was watching who could report him.

"Very well," he said with a sigh, and pulled up the report on Vargas, F.

"At 8:16am on the day of April 4th, Feliciano Vargas (aged 20 yrs., 172cm) was admitted to this hospital," he read. "He arrived via ambulance under the escort of two males of a similar age claiming to be friends of the patient, who were in turn accompanying a fourth man who had suffered severe contusions to the cranium and several facial fractures, including a greenstick fracture to the mandible and the loss of an incisor and a premolar which proved unable to replace. This man, insisting that he was the elder brother of the patient, was treated for the aforementioned wounds and due to the statements given by the accompanying parties is now in hospital custody until such a time that he is healthy enough to be turned over to the police."

He glanced up at the intruder.

"I see," he said. "Please continue."

The doctor nodded and looked back at his computer screen.

"Mr Vargas was admitted to the ER and immediately underwent emergency surgery," he continued. "He bore a wound to the abdomen 13.4cm deep, concurrent with reports that he had been stabbed with a kitchen knife, which had fortunately avoided most of his vital internal organs. He had lost over 2 litres of blood and was in danger of cardiac arrest, requiring 3 transfusions before he stabilised. He had also suffered multiple fractured ribs, a greenstick fracture to the sternum, cranium, two vertebrae and the left humerus and simple fractures to both radii and the right tibia and fibula. This is all concurrent with reports that he was thrown down a set of stairs and landed on a solid concrete surface. He had also suffered severe sexual trauma, received several hours prior to the aforementioned injuries and evidenced by -"

"That's all I needed to know," said the intruder, and he stood up and picked up his ID card. "Can you tell me which ward he is in?"

"He isn't," said the doctor. "He's been placed in the ICU and has been in a coma since the day he was admitted, but it's nothing short of a miracle that he's even alive. It disturbs me to inform you that our DNA tests have proven that the one responsible for the sexual trauma was the man who was claiming to be Mr Vargas' 'fratello'."

The intruder paused, disgust flashing across his features.

"He claims to have been deeply intoxicated at the time."

And his expression changed from disgust to blankness, which the doctor suspected was a mask for his fury.

"Thank you for the information," he said.

"As far as I'm concerned, this conversation never took place," said the doctor.

The intruder made for the door.

"Just one question," said the doctor just before he left. "Why did you request this information in the first place? Are you a close friend or related to Mr Vargas in any way?"

The intruder looked back at him, his two-toned golden eyes glinting with pride.

"Of course," he said. "I'm his big brother."

"Wait, I-I think he's waking up!"

Pain was no stranger to Italy, but he had never experienced it in his entire body before. It was in his arms, his leg, his head, his chest, his back and most prominently in his stomach. If this was the afterlife then he'd been screwed over like never before.

Funny. Apparently the afterlife smelled of hospital disinfectant.

As consciousness trickled back into his mind, he became aware of many other strange sensations along with the pain and smell of antiseptic. There was the sound of beeping – a rhythmic beep, beep, beep which kept in tune with his heartbeat – and a rather uncomfortable feeling in his nose as though a tube had been inserted into it and led right down his windpipe.

And there was light. Bright light. It burned his eyes unpleasantly.

The only pleasant thing was the warmth in his left hand. It felt as though somebody was holding it gently and rubbing over his fingers with their thumb, perhaps an attempt at comfort.

Slowly, afraid of what he might see, he opened his eyes and blinked the world into focus.

The first thing he saw was white. A white ceiling. A white light over his head. White venetian blinds in the window before him, through which several silhouettes were visible, and he could feel their gaze upon him. Then he noticed the walls, which were also white, but carried with them a slight blue tint. There were two bags hanging on a rod of metal over his head: one filled with a clear liquid, the other containing a maroon substance which was quite plainly blood. Both were connected to tubes which ran down and into his arm, which was wrapped liberally in bandages. He couldn't see the bandages or the tubes where they connected with his arm, but he could feel them. They were uncomfortable. And that beeping was beginning to get on his nerves.

He saw fingers reach up and brush his hair aside, and followed the arm with his eyes until he saw their owner.

"Bonjour, Italy," said France in a soft voice.

"Hello, old chap," said England, who was seated next to him. "Nice to see you're awake. I must say, you gave us all quite a fright."

"All of us were so worried," France added. "We were afraid you were never going to awaken! Do you feel alright?"

Italy moistened his lips. They were dry as a bone.

"Why are you guys here?" he muttered hoarsely. His chest hurt too much for him to breathe enough to speak any louder.

"Italy, your call gave me the fright of my life," France confessed. "The mere thought of you dying is something I could never conceive of, let alone being on your own, and you sounded like you were in so much pain and fear!"

He wanted to nod. But he couldn't. It was too painful to lift his head.

"As for me," said England, "I'm only here because Frogface here blackmailed me into coming along with several others who I wish would stop spying on us!"

At his yell, the silhouettes quickly disappeared from the observation window.

"Romano," Italy whispered, "is he-"

"He's here in police custody," England told him. "Germany gave him quite a thorough beating once he found out what he had done to you. Don't worry; he's going to pay dearly for what happened."

"Please don't be too hard on him," said Italy. "He was drunk, he didn't-"

"THAT'S NO EXCUSE!" France shouted as he leapt to his feet, but he heavily collapsed into his chair just as quickly as he was still unable to sustain his weight on his right leg.

"Fool," England muttered under his breath.

"It's no excuse," the other man repeated. "Love should never be forced on anybody! And that kind of love… and on his little brother no less… I am truly sorry that I could not have reached you sooner."

"You idiot," England chided him, "you didn't know what was going on until he was already in this sorry state!" To Italy he added "No offence."

"Nngh- none taken," Italy groaned weakly, trying and failing to ignore the pain. "Di-did you mention Germany?"

"Oui, he's just there," said France, pointing at the opposite side of the room.

Italy leaned as far to the right as he could without putting himself in even more agony than he was already experiencing. There he saw Germany, half slumped, half curled up on a chair with his eyes softly closed and a long deep blue coat draped over his shoulders like a blanket. Dark circles around his eyes indicated that this may have been the first time he had slept in several days, and they were also swollen and red as though he had been crying.

"The stupid kraut's barely moved since you came in," England explained. "He's refused to eat and this is the first time he's slept in over a week. I daresay he'll be relieved to see that you're finally back in the land of the living."

As Italy watched, Germany shuffled slightly and rested his head on his hand, heaving a sigh through his nostrils. Italy found himself wondering if he had bought a blue coat specifically for him to see: it was his favourite colour, after all. And he wouldn't put it past Germany to do something like that. He looked back over at France and England.

"I'm glad you guys are here," he told them as he tried to smile. "Ve~ I really don't want to be alone right now."

"Excuse me?"

The trio all turned to a nurse who was standing in the doorway.

"I'm very sorry," she said, "but I'm afraid the patient needs his rest, so I'll have to ask you to leave now."

"Well, there goes that plan," said England as he and France got up (France remembered his crutch this time) and made for the door. The nurse had apparently not noticed Germany or had grown used to his presence.

"Mademoiselle," France said to her, "if you should desire a little company later tonight-"

She pushed him in the back and left, closing the door behind her.

Italy stared at the ceiling.

He wanted to sleep. He really wanted to be able to close his eyes and be able to drift off into dreamland, but he was incredibly frightened. Would he ever be able to sleep again without remembering that horrible night when he had been unable to breathe properly or move without his elder brother slapping him in the face and shouting at him to keep still?

And he had screamed. He had screamed the house down. Romano had stuffed a balled-up pair of socks into his mouth in an attempt to keep him quiet, but all that had done was muffle his howls of terror and agony. He had silently prayed for somebody – anybody – to come to his rescue, but it was useless. He was useless.

Hadn't he promised himself that he would become stronger?

He blinked, wondering if it would be a serviceable replacement for sleep, and several tears rolled down his cheeks and dripped into his pillow.

"It's okay, Italy."

He almost choked. Hadn't he been asleep?

Presumably sensing that he was unable to move, Germany entered his field of vision. His sapphire eyes were filled with more sympathy and guilt than there should have existed in the world.

"Germany," Italy choked, "I'm so glad you're here."

"Of course I am," Germany replied. "You should know by now that I would never leave you if you were injured or in danger."

Italy tried to smile, but a sob wracked his body with pain and only made the tears flow faster.

"I'm sorry that I could not reach you sooner," said Germany.

He reached back and took the blue coat from where he had left it on the chair he had occupied, then draped it over Italy's upper body for extra warmth and comfort.

"You're so kind," Italy sighed. "Grazie."

"It's nothing," said Germany, and he fell to his knees. "I only wish I could have prevented you from being hurt in the first place."

Italy closed his eyes, wishing that the larger man's presence could take the pain away.

"Germany," he moaned quietly, "it hurts."

"What hurts?" asked Germany. "Italy, where is your pain?"

"Everywhere," said Italy. "My arms… my leg… my back… my chest… my head… it all hurts and the morphine doesn't do anything."

He tried to look at Germany.

"Hold me," he muttered. "Hold me, Germany."

The blonde hair and blue eyes came back into his field of vision.

"I can't," he said. "Not without causing you pain. I'm so sorry."

Cradling Italy's face in one hand, he leaned down and kissed him softly on the nose.

"It's okay to cry," he whispered. "I'm not going to leave you. I'm never going to leave your side."

He was safe. He was alive. Nothing could ever hurt him when Germany was with him.

Italy wept.

It was now half-past one in the morning and the hospital was almost completely dark, but not so dark that Germany couldn't see where he was going. So after making sure that Italy was safely and peacefully asleep, he left him alone and decided to secretly take advantage of the showers in the staff locker rooms.

The hot water was refreshing and calming and warmed his entire body to the core. It felt good to be able to shower without the scars on his back causing his torso to seize up or his elder brother stealing his clothes and towels.

He wondered if Italy had ever experienced the same thing, but with his arm. The wounds were almost the same, after all. Just smaller.

It had been like something out of a nightmare. He didn't know what he had expected when he opened that door, but it was all he could do to keep breathing when he saw the man he loved lying unmoving in a pool of blood at the foot of the stairs. In that moment, he felt as though his world had come to an end. And when he got down there, cradled that broken body, felt a weak and erratic pulse…

He had needed a fresh shirt. The one he wore on that horrible morning had gained a large bloodstain on the front. He'd burned it the very moment he got the chance.

What he wanted, more than anything, was to put Romano through a hell equal to that Italy had suffered. From what he could gather, Romano was the one who emerged the least damaged from the Atlantis incident. He had been locked in a cell on his own and left to starve or freeze (neither of which were likely to happen) whereas Japan had his face sliced open and appeared to now have gained claustrophobia, France was rendered unable to walk without assistance, England was used as a human autograph book, China's experiences left him with an acute fear of darkness and Russia and America seemed to have developed inferiority complexes.

Germany had been played with. Lied to. Manipulated. Made to believe that he was going to be murdered and that Italy had died in a terrible fashion.

To think: that had almost happened a little over a week ago.

After pulling on a fresh set of clothes, he left the locker rooms while rubbing his hair with a towel and started to make his way back to the ICU.

When he got to Italy's room, he froze.

Then he carefully peered through blinds over the observation window.

There were people in there. Two of them. He could hear their voices, quiet but audible, and they sounded like either teenagers or young adults. A young man and a young woman. The girl – who bore pink hair and dark green eyes – was kneeling next to Italy's bed, examining him critically, while the boy – who had dark hair and a long white jacket – stood over her and watched. He was mostly turned away and any features that may have been visible were obscured by the blinds.

Hoping he wouldn't be seen, Germany carefully parted the blinds with a pair of fingers.

"This is bad," said the girl. "With injuries like this, it's amazing that he's not long dead. I hope you're gonna pay me well for this."

"Don't worry," the boy replied, "I have more than enough to tide you over."

Wait a minute. Only one person had that voice.

Kid?!

Germany looked closer. It could be expected that he hadn't noticed at first: the three white stripes which defined the young reaper were on the left side of his head, therefore facing away. Now that he checked again, those two-toned golden eyes were unmistakable.

"Can you fix him?" he asked.

"Where would you start?!" the girl demanded, moodily but quietly. "I mean, look at him! There's his head, his arms, his leg, his back, his ribs, his… I don't know if I have enough power for this!"

"You'll be fine," Kid said calmly. "You're a witch, aren't you?"

Germany did a double-take. That young girl was a witch? But she was so young and…

"I want him to be able to walk out of here tomorrow morning," said Kid in a half-commanding, half-pleading tone. "I know that this may feel like I'm taking advantage of your abilities, but-"

"It's fine," said the girl. "I'll do what I can. I'm pretty sure Ox would do the same for me."

"Thank you, Kim," said Kid, and he sat down in the chair that Germany had been using, rubbing his forehead in exasperation.

The girl, whose name was apparently Kim, gently placed her hands on Italy's body and muttered a series of odd words in some indiscernible dialect. Whatever she said, it caused her hands to glow, and she ran them up and down the sleeping man's blanketed form. Germany considered rushing in there and stopping whatever was going on, but it didn't appear to be hurting Italy in any way. In fact, judging by what the two of them had been saying, it was probably doing the opposite.

Kid glanced over at the window and Germany ducked out of sight, worried that he had been caught out, but neither of the two teenagers seemed to be doing anything about him. He assumed that he was still safely hidden.

The girl took her hands away.

"I've fixed his leg, spine and ribs," she said, "so he should be able to walk without difficulty. I also took care of his skull so he'd be able to sleep without the fear of a brain haemorrhage, along with the worst of the damage in his arms."

Kid stood up.

"Thank you," he said. "Seriously, thank you."

"No problem," said Kim. "So long as you can pay up."

The young reaper rolled his eyes and pulled out a handful of notes, which the girl took and pocketed with a faint smile.

"Thanks," she said. "I think I'm gonna go home now: I've had enough of Europe to last me a lifetime."

Germany hurriedly dived out of sight as she left.

When he looked through the window again, he saw that Kid was still there, kneeling on the floor, leaning on the bed and looking at Italy's peaceful face. He didn't seem to have noticed that he was being watched.

"You can come in."

He froze.

But-but he hadn't even glanced at the window. Not even once! Well, maybe once, but-

"Don't pretend you're not there, Germany," he said. "I'd recognise your soul wavelength anywhere. I knew you would be in this place somewhere, I never expected anything different."

Oh well. He was caught. There wasn't any point in trying to hide anymore.

He entered the room as quietly as he could and sat down on the opposite side of the bed from Kid, sharing in his concerned examination of Italy's face. He reached forward and gently stroked the sleeping man's cheek.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes. There wasn't really very much they could say.

"Do you know what happened?" asked Kid. "The doctor told me about his injuries, but not much about how he received them."

Germany took his hand away from Italy's face.

"I am not too certain," he said. "From what I could tell – from what he told me – his brother was massively drunk and after arriving home, he… took advantage of him. In a manner which I know that even France found disgusting. Italy told me this when he called me early in the morning a little over a week ago. I could tell from the tone of his voice that he was more frightened than he had ever been in his entire life. I told him that I was going to come and fetch him because I did not want him in that house with his elder brother for one moment longer, but when I got there…"

"He was already in this state."

"Ja."

"And how did that happen?"

Germany took a deep breath.

"Romano had stabbed him with a kitchen knife and pushed him down the stairs into their basement," he explained. "He was still washing the knife when I arrived. By the time he finally revealed to me where Italy was, he was hanging on the edge of death. I have no shame in confessing that I had not been so frightened since the Atlantis incident."

Kid stood up abruptly.

"Where is he?" he demanded. "Where is Romano?"

The large man looked up at him incredulously.

"Could you not sense his soul wavelength?" he asked bitterly.

"I want you to tell me yourself," said Kid in a dangerously calm tone. "I want you to tell me so that I can track him down and tear his asymmetrical face to pieces and pull his soul out of his body with my bare hands-"

"No need," said Germany. "It's thanks to me that he has two black eyes, a broken nose, a broken jaw and a pair of missing teeth. Had France not intervened, I am certain I would have beaten him to death."

He bowed his head in shame.

"You have grown considerably taller since last I saw you," he commented to change the subject. "From what I can tell, you now appear to be only a little shorter than Italy."

Luckily, Kid seemed to understand that there wasn't anything he needed to do concerning Romano. He sank down into the chair behind him with an exasperated sigh.

"I feel so useless," he said. "I should have been able to do something to prevent this."

"How do you think I feel?" asked Germany.

They sat there for a few moments more. Italy's eyelids twitched and he snuffled in his sleep, but thankfully he didn't wake up.

"Who was that girl?" Germany asked after a short while. "The one who was with you. What was she doing to Italy?"

"Kim Diehl is a student at the DWMA who we discovered a few months ago is a witch," Kid explained. "Father and many of the teachers were worried that she was dangerous, but it transpired that she doesn't possess the destructive powers that most witches have. Her field is regeneration, and she was involved a mission in Russia recently, so I managed to convince her to come here and heal Italy somewhat. For a fee, of course."

Germany smiled in gratitude.

"He told me earlier that he was in pain," he said. "Morphine does not appear to have an effect on us nations. I am glad that you could find a way to help him when I could not, Kid. Thank you."

Kid smiled in return.

"I only wish I could do more," he said. "He's my little brother, after all."

He got up and straightened his jacket.

"I should go," he stated. "Father will begin to grow suspicious or worried if I'm gone for too long."

He paused when he reached the door.

"Is there something you're not telling me?" he asked. "Forgive me for intruding, but your wavelength feels a little different to when I sensed it during the Atlantis incident."

Germany stood up too, grateful that this had been brought up.

"Can we please do this in the corridor?" he requested. "I do not wish to risk awakening Italy."

Kid nodded and Germany followed him out of Italy's room.

Once outside, the tall man held his arm out in front of him, closed his eyes, and after a moment's concentration, the business end of a shining weapon replaced his arm from the elbow downwards.

The young reaper's reaction was more toned down than the Italy brother's had been. Both had leapt back and stared in shock, but Kid just looked at it as though only partly interested. His eyes widened briefly, but that was it. Germany was secretly relieved at how well he was taking it.

"Well," he said, "You couldn't have transformed both arms, could you? Then again, I can't say I'm completely shocked."

Germany didn't say anything, waiting for Kid to continue.

"When you're a meister, you have to learn not to judge by appearances," he said. "There are many students in Father's academy who you would never guess slew evil humans for their assignments. Some make it more obvious, but are so audacious in their operations that you would never guess how competent they really are. Tell me, were you born over or under 800 years ago?"

"What does that have to do with this?" asked Germany, who had every right to be confused.

"The first records of demon weapons date back to eight centuries ago," Kid explained. "If you were born over 800 years ago, then it should be impossible for you to have acquired weapon blood."

Germany paused, looking from his blade to the pale face of the Grim Reaper.

"Acquired blood…?" he said.

"Do you know something?" asked Kid.

"I'm not sure," said Germany. "You say 'acquired blood'. Would a transfusion not count as acquiring blood?"

Kid was suddenly thoughtful.

"Technically that's true," he said. "Maybe it's possible for those who don't have weapon powers to gain them by receiving the blood of a weapon, but… I'll have to do a little research. Is that alright with you?"

Germany nodded. He lowered his arm, which transformed back into its everyday shape in a flash of deep orange light.

"In any case," said Kid as he walked away, "it was pleasant chatting with you."

"The same to you."

With that, he departed.

When Germany re-entered Italy's room, he saw that the smaller man was twitching and writhing violently on his bed, whimpering and moaning in what could have been fear, but it was next to impossible to tell.

He was having a nightmare.

The Aryan immediately ran to his side, pulled him into a sitting position (more thankful than ever for young Ms Diehl's abilities) and hugged his shivering body, rubbing his shoulders and trying to comfort him.

They sat like that for a while. Eventually, Italy's body fell limp as the nightmare ended, and Germany lowered him back down onto his mattress.

He remembered all the times that Italy had climbed into bed with him after having a nightmare, and how annoyed he had been with every passing occurrence of this phenomenon, but if that was what Italy having a nightmare was like, he suddenly understood why he wouldn't want to be alone.

If Germany had his way, he would never be alone again.

"I told you," he whispered to the now softly sleeping man, "and I shall tell you again to be clear: I will never, ever leave your side, mein liebe. This much I can promise you."

And as gently as he could, he planted a soft kiss on Italy's unmoving lips.

I know Kid's fun when he's obsessing over symmetry, but I personally like it when it only gets a passing mention and we see that there's more to him than OCD alone. I mean, I know he's a total nutcase when it comes to symmetry and all, but then again, that's not the only part of his personality. He's also a great fighter and cares for his friends a lot.

It was interesting to write for Kim, since she's not really a 'major' character in Soul Eater and I've never written for her before. Plus anyone familiar with the manga will probably have noticed that yes, Kid does grow a lot taller. In the earlier chapters he only comes up to his father's waist (and boy, does Prof. Stein TOWER over him) but towards the end, he comes up to Lord Death's shoulder. And Lord Death is pretty damn tall. That's no small feat (unlike the small feet that many characters seem to possess in the latest chapters).

Please note that the story won't always be this dark. It will get lighter… hopefully. And Italy will most likely get better. I don't think I can make any promises this early. PS it's my personal headcanon that you can get weapon powers via a blood transfusion (it only makes sense – after all, the gene is carried in the blood, right?) and that Italy's favourite colour is blue (maybe it was France's coat from WW2).

Apologies to Soul Eater readers if I gave away any spoilers.

Please reviewy-view-view.