Chapter 2: Sobering up

"Hey hey! What can I do for you? Anything to drink?"

Oh, great.

Germany's bad mood was practically dripping down him. Today they had put on some strange, freaky, annoying music, and this evening that enthusiastic guy named Alfred worked as the bartender. Not a good combination.

. "A..." A beer, he had wanted to say. But a beer was a drink for celebrating. Or going out. A drink to enjoy, at any rate. "A red wine, please", he said.

"Oho, a wine? Any special one?"

"Yes."

Germany drank wine, sometimes. His own ones, some dry, some mild. But today he'd toss down that sweet rich stuff Italy made.

Mr. Jones, not able to do much about his broody customer, gave him his drink and actively moved on to the next one.

Germany took a gulp. He coughed.

Sweet. Heavy.

But good.

Like how that guy was always just too much, but he was always just too sweet, too. Damn it. He felt bad about Italy.

He was so – so annoying.

Seeing life as a game. Like playing, not able to manage his own economy, not his safety, not even to organise one single event. He was not one bit earnest, not even eager about anything. Just chatting, smiling, relishing, and never, never was he able to shut up and let him, Germany, enjoy silence.

And then, he called for help, again and again. Was he that boy's nurse?! Surely not!

Not only Italy. Germany felt like everything was getting to be too much for him.

I love work. I do love it. But right now, it's increasing more and more.

The wine had already tasted good when Germany had drunk the first glass, but it continued to taste better and better.

I would like to stop. Or to have everyone listen to me. Once, at least. Why don't they do what I say? I think before speaking, damn it.

No idea how to solve that crisis. Everyone says something different. France's got some ideas. Same with the others. We're trying to do this together, but nothing works! What to do...*

Germany let out a heavy sigh.

Where will this lead? I can't even encourage myself anymore.

And he – he's always cheerful. Well, he can be! Does he stew over solving financial problems intertwined that complicated? Of course he does not!

Somehow, Germany was jealous.

Not really. Not really. Just – wish I could be as relaxed as him sometimes. Not that I'd want to be him, hell no!

Italy acting stupid again.

Annoying, maybe. But, on the other hand, Italy was just – lovable. Cheerful. Vivacious. Always able to feel affection. He spread his simple happiness. It was like Italy was not able to hate anyone. He could be quite temperamental, sure, but never did you see him scowl. He would just burst into your private thoughts, into your bad mood, not caring at all if you liked it or not, and he was able to make you smile. Just like that. Even though you did not want to.

And, also, it was not like Italy did not work. It was just – just -

It had not been Italy's fault that everything was so demanding.

Verdammt, verdammt. I'm not able to solve that crisis; I'm not even able to show him that I want to be a friend.

He'd eat one whole pannettone every day if he could erase that sad look from Italy's eyes again.

My fault. Ah... It's not like I'd hate pannettone. They're just too sweet and... whatever... What did I want to say...? Think... Germany grabbed his forehead. I can't think straight anymore... Not good. I should be going.

He really felt like getting drunk now, but getting drunk only on wine was not a good idea. Additionally, Germany knew his behavior was becoming stupid.

He'd better go now.

Germany had some trouble standing up since his view was blurring. He somehow managed to stumble out of the bar. Standing in the opened door, in the light falling onto the street he saw some dainty snow, mixed with rain. On his cheeks, Germany could feel that the air had become less glacial. It was thawing. For the last time of the year, some warm wind had come down from the Alps. From further down in the South. From Italy's place.

Germany sighed heavily, put his cap on his head, and unsteadily headed home. That dark red wine stuff had been too much, it seemed.

The moment he heard some noise in the hallway, Italy jumped up. "Germany?"

He pushed the door open.

Out there in the dusky hall Germany stood. He supported himself against the whitewashed wall. He was taking off his shoes. And, strange to say, seemed to have problems doing that.

He did not really react to Italy standing in the opened door of the living room.

"Um, hello", Italy said, a little timidly. "You're back… Didn't you say that's not good for the wall?"

"Mmmh…" Germany muttered something.

What was going on?

Anyway, Italy couldn't contain himself anymore. "Were were you?! Germany, it's almost midnight! You usually never return that late!"

"You leave me alone!"

Italy swallowed disappointedly. "Well, I'm… sorry for making you mad earlier" he apologized. But with Germany, something was wrong. He spoke slowly, and somehow… "Germany? Are you drunk?"

Italy reached for the light switch.

Germany winced and covered his eyes with one arm. Reacting much slower than usually. "Italy!" he protested somehow distracted. His cheeks had an unnatural red colour. And he was pale.

And simply drunk. Approaching Germany, Italy could smell the reek of cigarettes and alcohol and many people in a room. "Er, um…" It wasn't like Italy didn't know how to deal with a drunken person. He just wasn't sure how to deal with a drunken Germany. "Where were you?" he asked again, hoping for a sober answer.

"Drinking…" Silence. No further explanation. Germany stood there and gazed into the room, like he'd forgotten why he was there.

"I… see." Italy tentatively patted the bigger man's shoulder. "Why were you drinking?" he asked gingerly but curiously. And concerned, too. Germany avoided his eyes.

"You… You don't undershtand." His accent had gotten a lot stronger. Italy had to lean forward in order to understand his mumbling talk, and smelled the wine. "Ssere are all of you. Ssere is China, and Rushia wits his petrol. And sse Union…" Germany made an unsteady expressing everything and nothing gesture with his right hand. "And I'm working and trying and paying… I should look after myself too… Just a little burn out, you undershtand?"

"Oh, um, I did not know." It was odd to talk reasonably with a drunken person. Especially because serious talk was not Italy's strength. And Germany even didn't seem to really listen to what Italy was saying. "Poor you" he added. It seemed like a good comment. "Um, maybe you should go to bed and tomorrow we'll talk…" Italy proposed. "I'll take you to your bedroom and then you can sleep." Since there was no one else to take the initiative, Italy put his arm around Germany's back and tugged him.

Now, Germany was reacting. Unsteadily and not quite successfully, but he somehow managed to shake Italy off for a moment. "No, I want to explain… Ssere is - always you. Always you. Annoying."

Italy flinched, hurt. "But I…"

"And I can't even keep you to my side." Germany was silent for a moment. "You undershtand me?" He blinked at Italy.

The latter held his breath for a moment, without noticing it. "I – I think I do" he said. "Now, erm, you better go to bed now." A lot more gently than before, Italy took Germany's arm and took him to his room.

"You better only take your jacket off. And right, you don't sleep with dirty trousers…Take those off, too."

Germany nodded, did as Italy said, and flopped himself onto the bed, letting out a small groan as his head met the mattress.

Italy thought hard. "Well, I'll make something to eat. If you want to avoid a hangover, you better drink some water and eat something helpful now."

Germany mumbled something sounding not too happy, turning around and crawled under his warm winter covers.

"Germany! You need to wake up!"

Since the tall nation did still not react, Italy simply took the wet facecloth he had prepared and dashed it against Germany's face.

"Uuuh, whaat…?" Germany pushed the wet thing on his face aside.

"I've prepared some food for you."

Italy took a chair, sat down next to his still half sleeping companion's bed and put the tray he had prepared on his knees. "Sit up and first of all, drink something! I'm preparing some coffee. That's how I cure hangovers most times. But before that, drink some water." He persistently held his big glass of water out to Germany.

The young man gave up and groaningly sat up. Without any comment, he drank the water, gave the glass back, and immediately crawled back under his cover. "That's enough."

"It's not. Here is some food."

Germany moaned. „Leave me alone!" He turned his head away.

Oh no.

This was Germany's beloved one hundred percent effective sobering up dish, and he had not only cured himself with that, but also poor Italy once. He deserved this.

Rollmops. Rolled pickled herring. Italy made a face. He had carefully cut the soft fish meat and the pickled cucumber into cubes but he voluntarily did without eating some as well. "Eat it now." The boy pressed some to the German's lips.

The blonde nation pulled a face like he wanted to cry and then obediently opened his mouth and swallowed the herring-pickle-mix.

After Italy happily made Germany eat everything he had prepared, under Germany's weak protest, it seemed to help. The blonde had become less pale and looked a lot more like a human being now.

"Vee, you're looking better now. Here's a cold washcloth."

The drunken nation accepted it without any objection.

Italy became accustomed to being the one saying what was going to be done. By now, he was rather confident with the situation. "Well, now you better sleep again. I'll make your coffee."

"Thanks…"

Italy contentedly turned towards the door.

"Italy…"

Italy turned around again. "Hm? Yes?"

Some cold water drops from the facecloth streamed down Germany's forehead and into his eyes. He blinked them away, looking at his slender companion. "Italy… You are really awesome." His voice was still fuzzy, but clearer than before. He smiled a crooked smile, the words coming out of his mouth, one after another, like he absolutely wanted Italy to understand what he wanted to tell him. "Your cuisine – it's good. You can cook. You can flirt. And no matter what, you can make everything charming. You would build the cheesiest car, but you will make it so elegant on the outside that everyone will want to drive it, even if it is crappy." Was that supposed to be a compliment? "You could wear an old potato pouch and know how to make it look great on you. You are an artist." Germany lifted his hand to his aching forehead and realized the wet cloth was there. "I just wanted to tell you." He dropped his hand again.

Italy felt something gently warm his heart. He smiled a wide smile. "Thanks, Germany."

"Mmh. I mean-" Germany stared at the ceiling and fell silent again.

Italy silently closed the door of the bedroom.

For curing a hangover, Italy preferred cold coffee and lemon juice. While the aromatic scent of freshly brewed coffee spread in the room, Italy wreaked havoc in Germany's kitchen cupboards until he found the lemon squeezer. He had become tired by now, and nearly let the squeezer fall two times. Man, I should go to sleep, too… I'll cool the coffee down. Germany can drink it in the morning. Then I'll ask him if I could stay for Christmas. That's a good idea, actually. Italy's glance met an opened cupboard. You could tell it had been tidied up again, but obviously not every piece of cutlery was in its right place anymore. Or maybe…Well, whatever. Italy decided to stay optimistic.

"Germany?" Italy whispered.

Germany snored softly and seemed somehow dished.

Italy padded into the room, barefooted as he was, and cast a glance at Germany.

While asleep, he seemed so calm. And even vulnerable. The Italian nation smiled slightly. You surely could not call the tall, ripped nation cute. But he was likeable, somehow.

If he had been awake, Germany surely would have protested. But he was asleep, and therefore defenseless. Italy affectionately plonked on his friend and hugged him tightly.

Germany scowled lightly, shifted a little and a deep breath escaped his mouth. But he did not wake up. Italy smiled contentedly, and huddled his chin against the German's shoulder. It was comfortable enough, and Germany's body was warm.

All this warmth around him made Italy fall asleep very quickly.

Some soft snowflakes brushed the windowpane, as if they wanted to caress the two nations sleeping so close, and give them small icy kisses.

*Reference to the financial crisis and a short period when there was a fuss about some decisions and newspapers in every country were like: WE are the ones to be right and disadvataged here! Currently, the European Union tries to solve the crisis, or at least to do something. Germany was the country to propose a policy of cutbacks. Some other countries who were confronted like "Hey guys, give up the life you're used to have and saaave a lot :)" did not react very happily on this, of course. In Germany, people reacted like "What the heck, we are paying all these billion aid packages nonstop, aren't we!" and as in whole Europe, people's daily life is getting more expensive. (I know from a British couple and some newspaper articles in French and from people and newspapers in Germany, also reporting media reaction in Greece. ;-))

Words:

verdammt: darn, damned

A/N:

Next chapter will be fluffy. ;-) I think.

By the way, I found a beta reader. :-) She'll correct the story.