There would be no grave. Never. Neither for Romano nor for Prussia. There will never be because there was no bodies to bury. Germany wondered if his memories would start fading away at some point too. There was no grave for them to cry onto and he had hoped this would be enough to make all the pain disappear.

Where had he been when his brother was dying? Where had he been when Prussia needed him the most? He should have been there, he should have been there to hold his hand.

He had not.

At least, if he is staying at France's or Spain's he could have called to say so. That's what Germany had thought the day he woke up in an empty house, a house that would forever be empty from now on. He would blame himself for not growing worried at the very moment he had realized Prussia was not where he was supposed to be, sleeping and snoring loudly in his room. He had not thought much of it because it was not the first time Prussia had vanished into thin air for a night. He would blame himself nonetheless. Maybe if he had started worrying a little earlier he could have been there to hold him tight one last time.

He hadn't reflected so much on it. He had done the laundry, had done some cleaning like he always did, every day of every week, and as the hours were passing, as Prussia had yet to come home, he had started polishing harder and harder. And harder. And harder. He had forced himself to wait until the very last moment before calling France first, Spain second. He had forced himself to wait for hours and hours. Prussia hated it when he was "babysitting" him, as he would say. So, he had waited. Until the sun started to set into the horizon.

He had called France first, Spain second, Italy third. And that's when he had known. And that's when Italy had known. Both older brothers would never come back home.

They say every person has a different way of dealing with grief. Germany hadn't shed a single tears. He wished he had, but he simply couldn't, not the first time he had come to the realization and never after. He had spent the whole night standing up in the center of his living room, staring at nothing, gaze lost in the abyss, asking himself where he had been? Every day of every year, he had been here. Every day of every year, but not the day that mattered the most.

"The death of Italy Romano and the Kingdom of Prussia." That is what England announced the following day. Still no tear. What the hell was wrong with him? He felt so dead inside, so hurt, so... empty, why couldn't he cry? Just a single tear. A single tear, if only God would accord him that.

Germany looked up from the pen he had been staring at ever since he had first sat down on his assigned chair. Spain was not here, so he set his eyes briefly on France, looking blankly at the table in front of his eyes. He saw England sitting down beside him once the announcement was made, saw him take Francis' hand, holding it tight. Not a word was said. America was the next to stand up, ready to continue on with things that were supposed to be discussed in those cases. Things no one wanted to discuss. But he never got to open his mouth that Italy's cries came covering the silence. France had lost a friend. A really good friend. Spain had lost two friends, one he had grown up with, the other he had raised. Italy had lost a brother. He had lost a brother. And he had taken his hand because Italy needed it, because he needed it. Because even though he couldn't cry, he could feel the pain, the unbearable pain that would probably never leave. Because no one could really understand, if not the two of them.

Maybe some countries would think he was strong for not following suit, breaking into tears. He was not and he had only hoped he would be able to echo Italy's loud cries of despair. He did not shed a single tear. And he would hate himself forever for that.


What time was it when Prussia waved at his two best friends, parting ways after an agitated night? 2 o'clock at least, 4 at most. Did it really matter? Not at that exact moment. Later, when people would start to investigate, maybe it would. But, for now on, Prussia simply waved, his large infamous smile never leaving his lips. He couldn't know, at this moment, that it would be the last time he would see them. He couldn't know, at this very moment, that he would never make it out of this narrow alley he had chosen to follow.

Prussia stopped in his tracks, clenched a fist to his heart when he first felt it. The twisted feeling. He knew what it was right away because he had waited so long for this to happen. He knew what it was right away and he felt the panic rising in his chest.

He was dying.

He resumed his walk, his steps speeding up.

Eventually, he was dying. After years and years waiting for his own disappearance, after eventually convincing himself that he was going to survive, he was dying.

If only he would be able to make it home. If only he could reach someone. He would not, he could perfectly see it. Nevertheless, he continued on walking, always. And this goddamn never ending alley. His strength was escaping his body quickly, way too quickly. He could feel himself falling any moment soon. Why did he even go partying? He regretted it now. Oh, if only he had known. Why did he go out? Why did he have to go out? Why was he alone in here? Where were his friends, where was his brother, where was everyone? They were there and he was here. They were there and he was dying.

This never ending alley. Prussia could feel his steps slowing down again and again, despite his own will. He was dying and there was no one behind him to take his hand as he was disappearing into the abyss. No one to tell him everything would be alright. His steps slowed down ever so quickly until he was forced to stop in his never-ending race. He looked straight ahead, a glint of hope in his eyes as he prayed to catch the glimpse of someone, anyone in the far horizon. Country, citizen, a stray cat, he would have taken anyone. When it did not come, he felt onto his knees, hair obstructing his sight. He could feel the tears starting to run down his cheeks. He was here and he was dying. Alone, so very alone. Like he always thought he would.


So, guys, this is the end. At least... for now (ah, little teasing!)

I didn't plan on continuing this story which, for me, was just some kind of oneshot with a bonus perspective. But, just the other night, I got an idea for a possible sequel (yes, I know, even though everyone is dead) If I ever publish it (which I most probably will, I wouldn't be talking to you about it otherwise), it will be a new story for people to have the possibility to separate the two if they want so.

Anyway! I just wanted you, people that were possibly interested in this little twoshot, to know that this is not the end! I have no idea when this will be out, though, maybe a week, maybe a month, maybe more, I (sadly) have no planning. And so that you know what to expect, it will still be Itacest with side-Germany, no GerIta incoming.

This being said, sorry for the unusually long author note! That's all for me!

~Asctera