January 7th, 2050
Feliciano Vargas, North Italy
My hands shook violently as I attempted to drain the pasta. I felt sick. For once in my life, pasta was the last thing I wanted. I don't even know why I'm making it. I pursed my lips together and looked at the bunched up string of noodles, fresh and uneaten. My hands were still shaking, beads of sweat were starting to form at my hairline, and I felt like I was going to vomit. I felt like my insides were flipping inside out and in different directions.
I dropped the pasta strainer, the noodles splattering all over the floor and ran out of the kitchen, my head pounding and my knees buckling. I collapsed on the couch and started to shudder violently. I'm getting sick again. It's been happening a lot lately; Germany usually comes and takes care of me.
I groaned and let my arm rest lazily over my eyes. Where was Germany? I really need him right now.
No. I promised myself I wouldn't bother him. He's been distressed with the whole England thing. Speaking of which, I'm really angry with England as well! Out of all the places in Europe he's damaged, he's messed mine up the most. I don't understand why he and big brother France had to fight a majority of the war on my soil.
What did I ever do to them? They're the reason why I'm so sick. And I will never get better until England pays back his debts! And that will never happen because he's a big stupid meanie-head! I never thought that I could ever dislike a nation as much as I do now. To add to that, Romano isn't feeling well either, but thankfully, he is nowhere near as bad as I am, as his area wasn't as damaged as mine was.
And what happens when he never EVER pays off the debts he owes me? I can't go on being like this forever. Everything will get worse than it already is and I'll…I'll….
No, I'm not going to think about that.
But…but…at all the world meetings…it's so bad! I don't like it one bit! Everyone is fighting and shouting. I wish everybody would just get along like we used to. Okay, we never actually all got along that well, but this is just really bad. It's not supposed to be like this! Maybe…maybe we can all just get through this. We survived both World Wars and we're all still friends. Russia and America threatened to destroy each other in their Cold War and they ended up all right.
A wave of nausea overtook me once again and I gagged. I squeezed my eyes shut and wished for my pain to go away. Some days, the sickness is manageable. I could do normal every day things. I can attend meetings, hang out with Germany (and Japan, sometimes), and make pasta! But other times, I can't even move. My strength is withered even more with the destruction of my country.
It makes me think of the fall of Grandpa Rome all over again.
The streets are ruined, buildings are destroyed, hungry and unemployed people…and I can't do anything to help them! I don't have enough pasta to feed all of them. Big brother France is really sorry and has given me some money and supplies. But it's not enough. What I really need is for England to pay for the hurt he has inflicted upon me and my people. If this continues, I don't even think Germany can help me anymore.
Through my embittered thoughts and uncontrollable shaking, I heard the click and creak of my door as it opened. The heavy footfalls made me realize that Germany was here. My heart swelled with relief that he was here. He was the only one who could actually make me feel better, after all. I mean it when I say that he really is my best friend.
"Italy! Vhere are you?" Germany's grating voice boomed. He sounded irritated. Then again, that's how he always sounded. But it's okay! I learned to get used to it.
I couldn't respond. I knew that if I attempted to yell back, my voice would either crack or I'd throw up. So I kept my lips pursed and my eyes squeezed shut, my body still convulsing with shivers. I heard his heavy footfalls approach the living room.
"If you don't answer me, I'm going to make you run twenty la-ITALY!"
I knew that he was now in the living room, looking at my helpless body curled up on the couch.
I opened my eyes and attempted to turn my head to look at him, but my vision was hazy and my head started to pound with movement, so I stopped midway, gritting my teeth violently.
"You look terrible!" Germany exclaimed, his voice thick with concern.
"V-Veh…I-I don't f-feel g-good..." I managed to choke out, despite my insanely parched throat. I kept my eyes closed and I attempted to control my shivering in front of Germany as to not scare him too much, but it didn't work.
I heard Germany's heavy sigh before a gentle, yet calloused hand found its way to my forehead. My body seemed to calm under the touch and my shivering was reduced to light shudders.
"You're really varm. I'll go get some medicine," Germany said with a soft, yet determined voice. He sounded extremely worn out. I felt really bad. I can't count how many times he has had to take care of me because I've been extremely ill. There were even times where he had to stay by my side for two days straight. He really is a great friend.
I felt his hand leave my forehead and heard his footsteps head toward the kitchen.
A few minutes later I heard the sound of his heavy footfalls approaching the couch once again. His hand rested on my cheek gently as he carefully turned my head so that I was facing upwards. I felt a cold wet towel being placed carefully across my forehead and I squeaked slightly out of surprise. I cringed as I felt the water drops spill down the sides of my head and into my hairline.
"Open your mouth, Italy," Germany said in a low voice.
I cringed. I didn't want to take the medicine! It tastes like England's scones mixed with rotten tomatoes.
"Open your mouth, dammit! And stop squirming," Germany demanded again, his voice constrained with irritation. I flinched and decided to oblige. He was already stressed out enough without me being sick all the time.
I felt the slimy liquid invade my mouth. I gagged, but I clamped my mouth shut and managed to swallow the abominable stuff. The extremely bittersweet stuff slithered down my throat and my nausea seemed to heighten with the crap now in my stomach.
A second later, I felt a cold glass being tipped against my lips and the taste of cold pear juice washed away the revolting taste of the medicine and immediately soothed my parched throat and the unpleasant gurgling of my stomach. My shuddering and pounding of my head subsided as I felt my breaths return to normal.
I exhaled loudly and opened my eyes. My body still felt extremely weak, but I no longer felt extremely sick. I turned my head slightly to look at Germany, careful as to not cause the cold rag on my forehead to slip off.
The blonde man looked exhausted and distressed, yet his blue eyes were locked on me with worry. I smiled at him in response. He is such a good friend. Ever since World War I, he's always looked after me. There was a period of time after World War II ended where he and I didn't get along to well, but he was still always there to save me and protect me. He may act all tough and unsentimental but I know that Germany is a big fluffy panda bear for real life.
"Are you feeling better?" he asked.
"Yes," I responded. "Thank you, Germany."
His tense shoulders visibly slackened, but he pinched the bridge of his nose in distress and said, closing his eyes, "You still sound really veak. I think I vill stay here for a vhile…"
"Veh, are you sure? You look really tired…" I remarked.
"Don't vorry about me, Italy. You're the one who's sick."
I huffed. "I'm sorry that you have to see me like this. Veh, I can't even make you pasta!"
Germany's lips twitched into a smile, but then he faltered once again. "I'm so sorry that it had to be you, Italy. You don't deserve this and that damn English bastard von't even pay for vhat he's done."
"You sound like Romano," I teased.
Germany chose to ignore this remark as he continued in an ominous tone, "Things are just getting vorse. Nobody is cooperating anymore and nobody knows vhat to do. And you have the vorst of the damages and I-"
He halted and closed his mouth. His expression was twisted in pain as he shook his head.
"What?" I asked.
"I-It's nothing," he responded gruffly.
"Germany…"
The blonde man closed his eyes and sighed, his face contorted with pain. I hated seeing him look so defeated. It made my insides clench and crumble. He finally spoke in a voice filled with…was that fear?
"…I'm scared that I'll lose you. You seem to be getting vorse every time and I don't know vhat I vould do if you..." he faltered, unable to finish his sentence. His cheeks were slightly pink and his eyes were fixated on his fingers.
My heart swelled as I reached out and grabbed his hand, causing the German man to freeze and look down at our intertwined hands.
"Veh, Ludwig," I said, using his human name. "Don't worry about me. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere."
He didn't look convinced for a moment, but after a few seconds, his face flickered and he relaxed. He looked at me straight in the face and smiled.
"I know," he almost whispered.
His voice caused unfamiliar shivers to travel down my spine. The look on his face was…different. He has never looked at me that way before. Yet, for some reason, I can't help but see some similarities there…those intense blue eyes that shimmered, that small almost innocent smile, that look of pure sincerity…
He almost looked exactly like Hol-
I shook my head as a lump formed in my throat.
No. It's just wishful thinking. He was gone. Big brother France killed him a long time ago.
I shook my head slightly before feeling as if a huge load of bricks were tugging at my eyes. Exhaustion wracked my body so suddenly that I was actually surprised. Veh, must be that medicine that Germany shoved down my throat. I yawned and felt my body float slightly as my eyes drooped shut.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
I felt a gentle hand gently stroke away strands of my hair from my eyes.
"Rest now, Feliciano." His voice was still set in that gentle tone that I wasn't quite used to. I actually found that I liked it. Especially when he addressed me by my human name. He doesn't do that often.
I squeezed his hand gently in return before feeling myself slip away into dreamless sleep.
My eyes fluttered open. They stung slightly and I squinted. I was staring at my white ceiling above me. I attempted to sit up, but found that I didn't have the strength to do so.
I then realized that I was holding somebody's hand. I turned my head to see a sleeping Germany, his hand still placed in mine and his head on my torso, his usually sleek blonde hair ruffled and disorganized. I couldn't help but chuckle slightly at the sight of him asleep.
The usual stern frown was completely absent, leaving nothing but an innocent almost child-like expression on his smooth face.
He looked so care-free.
Aww, he's so cute. I just want to snuggle with him.
But, I don't think that Germany would be too pleased to wake up and find me snuggling with him.
I carefully untangled my hand from his grip and placed my hand on my head, finding that the wet towel that Germany had placed had been removed.
I certainly felt a lot better. Almost normal. Except for the fact that I still felt extremely weak.
Maybe if I just rested here for a little while longer, I could get up soon. I would just have to be careful not to wake Germany when I moved. He's really scary when he's woken up!
My stomach grumbled loudly and I realized how hungry I was. Awww, if only I could move, I could go to the kitchen and make some pasta. I sighed loudly and stared at the ceiling blankly, letting my mind wander.
How am I going to handle this? I can't be sick forever. No…I WON'T be sick forever. Eventually, if this keeps going, I will…I will…
No. I don't want to fall like Grandpa Rome, or Hol-
I shook my head violently and looked away from the ceiling to stare at a sleeping Germany again. The weight of his head left a warm spot on my torso. He looked really uncomfortable!
I attempted to sit up again, and found that I could. I gently moved Germany's head as I got to my feet so that he was leaning against the couch. He grunted slightly from the shift, but he didn't wake up. I felt extremely light headed and unstable as I stood on my two feet, but after I closed my eyes for a second and took a few deep breaths, I felt fine. Still a bit sore and weak, but generally fine.
My stomach growled again. Time for pasta!
No wait… I turned my head to look back at Germany, who looked absolutely pitiful, leaning against the couch. I can't just leave him like that!
I sighed and walked over to the sleeping German.
I don't know how successful this is going to be, but I might as well try.
I placed my hands under his arms, bent my elbows, and with all my strength, heaved him upwards. I panted and my knees buckled under his weight.
Dannazione! He is heavy!
"Stop touching me you French bastard!" Germany uttered in a low growl before he hung his head limply and started to breath evenly again. I chuckled slightly.
Finally, I managed to get him on the couch. He lay there limply, his face still untroubled and smooth. I couldn't help but just stare at him. He must be really tired to look so careless in his slumber. He was usually a light sleeper who woke up at the crack of dawn to train. And when he WAS sleeping, he still had that angry scowl on his face.
I turned my back on him and walked upstairs to grab a spare blanket from my closet. I bundled it in my arms and walked back downstairs and to the couch. I laid it gently across Germany's body, careful not to cover his face.
There. Now I can make my pasta!
I turned around to head toward the kitchen again when there was a knock at my door.
Veh, who could it be?
I sighed. I guess the pasta would have to wait a few more minutes.
I made my way to the front door, hoping that I didn't look to bad. I opened the door only to see England standing there, a fierce look of determination present on his face. His green eyes were flashing and his blonde hair looked even more disheveled than ever.
I immediately stiffened and an unfamiliar feeling of anger shot through me. I don't normally feel anger. I leave that to Romano. I like to be nice to everybody!
But not this time.
I let myself glare at the Island Nation. He just stared back at me.
Here in front of me was the insufferable man who had made me sick, who had hurt my land and people.
"Veh, what do you want?" I spat.
England looked slightly taken aback by my outburst, but he quickly recovered. That's when I realized that he looked…desperate.
Despite his façade of determination, his green eyes were bleak and his face was hiding pain and fear. No! No! I don't like this! Not at all. How can I be mad at him when he's in so much pain? I can never turn down someone who is in pain!
"I need to talk to you," he remarked in a fierce voice. I realized that his voice cracked and judging by his extremely pale skin and circles under his eyes, he was probably sick as well.
Well, no wonder. Almost every nation has been trying to invade him as of late. No doubt destroying as much of his hand as they could reach.
I sighed and let my anger dissolve. I nodded and ushered him in.
England stepped over the threshold, avoiding my eyes. I led him into the living room, where the couch was still occupied by an unmoving Germany.
England's gaze fixed on the sleeping Aryan and a small shadow of a smirk crossed his face. "He looks rather peaceful when he's sleeping, doesn't he?"
"Si," I responded half-heartedly.
We were silent for a few moments before I decided to speak again, getting a bit impatient.
"Why do you need to speak with me?"
England sighed and looked down at his feet, a look of pain crossing his face. He closed his eyes for a moment, before saying in a low voice, "I know that this is not the time to ask you for a favor. Especially after everything I've done to you…but, I need your help."
I stared at him.
He needs my help? He has the nerve to ask me for his help? How can I offer him my help when he has weakened me so much?
But I didn't say a word. I just looked at how defeated he looked, how his usual pompous manner has disappeared, only to be replaced with an aura of complete dread.
"If you agree to help me, I will do everything in my power to help you rebuild your country. In fact, I will tell Russia to send some food and other supplies to the people here. And when I have raised enough money, I will use some of it to pay for the damages I have caused."
Was he…was he offering to help me? To support my people and help provide for them? To fix the damages so that I won't be sick anymore? How can I reject an offer like that?
But… why me? Why can't he offer to help the other nations? It would solve this whole dilemma and he wouldn't be hurting himself anymore.
"Why me? Why not everyone else?" I asked in a quiet voice.
"I can't! I just can't, Italy! I'll never be able to fulfill all of their needs. I know that I brought this upon myself, but the costs would cause me to go completely bankrupt even if I were well off. Russia and the Baltics are doing everything they can for me, but they have their own countries to provide for as well. It doesn't help that every damn nation is so persistent to invade my territory and destroy everything they could get their hands on! I have no choice! I need more help!"
England looked like he was on the verge of tears. He was shaking and his face was tormented. I felt really bad. But what can I offer him? Why would he seek out my help? I'm just as damaged as he is. If it weren't for Germany….
"Veh, I have nothing to offer you. I'm just as sick as you are," I responded.
England shook his head violently, his face set in irritation. "I'm not asking you for monetary support. I'm asking for you to side with me in this, to help me do what I need to do. You see…I need to annex America."
Dead silence.
No way.
Merda!
How can he just decide to conquer a fellow nation like that? Especially one like America?
"England…." I started uneasily.
He's crazy! America is NOT going to let this happen. He was very persistent with winning his independence from England a long time ago, and he won. America will be very angry when he hears that England is trying to take him back under his clutches.
Plus, does England even have the strength to take a vast country like America by force? America was healthy and untouched. On the contrary, England was a wreck.
"I have no choice. I need to make him my colony again. There is no way I can pay off the debts. I know that it sounds mad, but I am willing to do anything to rebuild my country. If we plan this out, I think that we can succeed. I don't want a full out war, but I at this point, I am willing to resort to it. I've got Russia already assembling his army, and…and…everybody's terrified of him anyways. Plus, with some training, I can get some of the African nations to contribute as well…I've also got the Middle East on my side already…I just need a few willing European nations to contribute. I know that I've caused a lot of damage to you and your brother, but you two are the only ones who haven't tried invading my country. And if you agree, you have my word that I will pay for the damages I have caused. In fact, I will give you some of the money I have now to you and your brother."
He looked delirious. Desperate. Defeated. Sick.
I couldn't believe this. Yes, I wanted my country to be rebuilt and the offer was extremely tempting. With a little extra boost of money and the other countries allied with England donating Romano and I supplies, we would definitely be able to find our strength a repair Italy.
But something bothered me.
How can England so willingly invade America? Weren't the two extremely close? I know that the two aren't always on the best of terms, but I always had this feeling that there was something intimately special between them. I knew that England raised America and that the he was torn up over losing him. I knew that America liked to taunt him, but if something ever happened to England, America would be devastated.
It's like if I decided to invade Germany. It would be the ultimate betrayal.
Am I wrong about it all?
"How can you do this to him?" I whispered. "America…I thought that you…"
England looked down and I could see the tear travel down his cheek.
His shoulders were shaking; I knew that this was tearing him inside and out.
"I-I have no choice. He's the only one who can save me."
"Veh, can't you just ask him for help?" I asked.
He shook his head. "It wouldn't be enough."
"But, what if his resistance is too great?"
His face went blank and his eyes became extremely cold. I shivered slightly at his stiff demeanor. He looked at me straight in the eyes and answered in a low voice…
"Then I will have to kill him."
I closed my eyes and sighed.
How can I agree to this? This doesn't feel right at all.
But…But…if I don't take the opportunity to help MY own country, then I may not get another chance. If I don't get another chance, I will die. I will become sicker and sicker and my nation will collapse. Just like Grandpa Rome. What will happen then? What will happen to Romano? Will he die too?
I clenched my fists before opening my eyes, putting barriers between my own morals and my duty.
I will follow Machiavelli's advice. He did come from my country after all.
"Veh, I accept."