A/N: We are in one of Italy's memories. Let me assure you, this whole thing will turn out to be a cheesy, fluffy mess. Oh, and some slight RoChu~
Italy stepped carefully through the halls of the house, or mansion more accurately. Oh, that cursed mansion.
He was panting slightly, his hands trembling, and his journal under his arm. Italy couldn't see himself in a mirror, but he was sure he was paper-white. A haze of memories started going through his mind.
Hadn't he been knocked out? The small nation remembered coming to in the library, all alone. He winced as he remembered who they had lost previously. Last thing he remembered was being attacked by the Thing along with France and Prussia. He was limping a bit, but other than that the auburn-haired man couldn't find any other injuries on himself. As for France and Prussia…
Don't think about that. It never got easier. In all the time loops, every time someone was lost the pain came back, fresh and new and unchanging.
Now Italy was following the sounds of battle he had heard previously. He approached the room near to the room that by the entrance to the basement.
Suddenly the door opened. Italy was prepared to fight the Thing, even though he couldn't fight and the Thing would probably mock him as usual. But to his surprise (and some form of relief) what emerged from the room was Russia.
Even though relief fell upon Italy, he still felt a flash of fear when looking at Russia. Normally when the violet-eyed nation smiled it scared the living daylights out of Italy, but he realized that Russia was actually much scarier when he wasn't smiling, and wearing the bitter, angry expression he had now.
Russia's long tan coat was stained darkly, but not nearly as bad as the pipe that he clenched in one hand. Italy averted his eyes, trembling. "R-Russia! Did you kill the Thing?" The auburn-haired man tried to look over Russia's shoulder into the room, to see if any of the others were coming out.
He was startled when a surprisingly gentle hand laid itself on his arm and slowly turned him away from the room. "I do not think you want to see what's in that room, Italy," Russia said, his voice low as he glanced furtively back at the room.
"You mean…you mean…" Italy knew exactly what the Russian man meant. There was no one left. Struggling for some scrap of hope, Italy asked, "You killed the Thing, right?'
Russia fingered his pipe. "Yes. It is dead. But, England and Canada were with me…" And they didn't make back, Italy finished the sentence in his mind. "But we have nothing to worry about for now, da?"
"Yes…" Italy glanced down at his journal. He would have to go back in time. He was going have to smile the same smiles, cry the same tears, bleed and scream and fight.
Italy looked up at Russia. "You're tired," he guessed.
"I'm tired," Russia agreed. "But probably not nearly as tired as you. You should rest before you go back in time again."
"I don't think that matters," Italy replied. But he sank down against the wall. "I didn't even fight. Aren't you tired, Russia?"
"No, it is best I am still standing, because if the Thing comes again, I will be doing the fighting, da?" Italy pressed his diary to his chest. Outside of the mansion, he probably would've been scared that Russia had some ulterior motive.
But he thought deeper about the Russian man. Being in the mansion for who knows how many time loops had given him ample time to learn more about every nation in there. Russia, intimidating as he obviously was, made no secret that he cared about the others in there (whether so that they would all survive to become one with Mother Russia, it remains to be seen) and genuinely tried to protect them.
And more memories resurfaced to Italy on how they would all spend time together in the safe house Germany had built. China would normally take over cooking (with France distracting Britain from getting anywhere near anything) and Russia would wander over and start teasing the small Asian nation. China would flame red and shoo Russia away.
But there was always a small smile on his face, and whenever China thought nobody was looking he would truly smile. This was no particular loop in Italy's mind, just a recurring memory.
Taking a look another look at Russia, Italy thought about how lonely it would be to be so strong and powerful yet unable to protect that. In the end, the pipe and superior physical strength had won a battle. Their owner had lost much more.
It was almost like Russia had been reading Italy's thoughts- a very creepy but not hard to imagine idea- because he looked over and smiled. Not the smile that would freak Italy out and make him wave a white flag like no tomorrow, but a real, kind one.
Did they exchange human names in this loop? Was he Ivan or Russia? Italy decided it didn't matter. "Grazie, Russia,"
"Безопасные путешествия." And just like that, Italy was sure some things were not in vain.