Germany blinked and opened his eyes. His body was limp and numb. He could feel nothing. Upon glancing about, he realised he was slumped against the crux of a wall, in a dark, damp alley way. Experimentally, the man rose to his feet and combed a hand through the thick mass of slick blonde hair. Well, I guess I made it. But where the hell am I, he thought, craning his head in all directions to try and gain some sense of location. It looks kind of like the alley I saw Italy and East in. Shcizer, but they could be anywhere by now. I have to find them before Italy wipes his memory! What if I'm too late? No! I have to try! Germany took off down the alley way, a dark sensation of doubt growing in his stomach.
"Where did you say this place is, Prussia?" Italy asked as the two men walked side by side down the high street.
"Please, don't call me that in public. That's not my name anymore, Italy. I have adopted 'Gilbert' as much as you will learn to adopt 'Feliciano'. We're not countries anymore. And yes, this place isn't that far from here. Just keep going straight." Silence descended upon the two men. Italy's mind began to fill with guilt and conflict. Was this right? Could he truly bring himself to wipe his memory of everything he'd ever known? He would forget all the places he used to know. All the faces he used to know. And he'd live his life, forgetting about his best and only true friend, who he deserted and left to suffer alone. No! Maybe it was better this way. By starting again, he wouldn't have to be weighed down by the loathsome guilt that dragged his heart to the floor.
Germany emerged at the foot of a backstreet, out of breath and red in the face. He looked both ways before pressing on, turning left decidedly. Please let me be not be too late.
"This is it." Prussia announced. He turned to the boy who stood gazing absently at the shop sign. "C'mon. What are you waiting for? Go in already! It doesn't look cool to just hang about outside." Italy turned to Prussia and nodded, following him inside the shop. He glanced wistfully over his shoulder as the door shut slowly behind him. That's the last time I'll ever see sunlight with my old memory. "Hey!" The boy looked up. Prussia stood at the counter where a shady figure in glasses stood, a cigar resting between his lips. Thick waves of smoke blurred Italy's vision of the man's features. He stepped tentatively forward, gripping the lapels of his jacket. This was a mistake. He shouldn't be here. The men talked in low, inaudible voices, a small smile playing on Prussia's face. The man nodded, stealing a glance at Italy, before disappearing round a corner. Prussia turned back to face the boy. "He's gone to find the mix."
Germany found himself at the bottom of the high street. Where the hell was Prussia's house! He remembered what it looked like but there were no houses around here that looked even remotely similar to that of his brother's. He continued to sprint down the road never the less, in hope of finding some invaluable clue as to Italy's whereabouts.
Meanwhile, Britain hastened down the road to Germany and (late) Italy's house. His head pounded with worry. Germany hadn't attended the meeting that morning and Germany never misses a meeting. Even after Italy's death, he still came to every single one. The thought that something awful might have happened began to fill his whole body with terror. And it would be all his fault. He was the one who swapped Germany and Italy's body in the first place, which made Italy self conscious and kill himself. Then, he was the one who told Germany the consequences of a nation dying, planting God knows what kind of ideas in the man's head. With all these spiralling thoughts, Britain barely noticed he had made it all the way to the front door of the house. He swallowed and composed himself before rapping on the door. No response.
"Germany? Are you home?" he called. Nothing. Maybe he's just out. The man stood back and squinted. "Hang on a second." He paused for a moment. From where he stood, he could make out the glow of a light from inside the house. Someone was still inside. With a somewhat regained sense of hope, Britain knocked on the door again, louder and more agitated this time. "Germany, why won't you open up! It's me, Britain! Please! I just want to talk to you-is everything alright in there!" Silence. Shit. Something must have happened. In panic, Britain drew away from the house, clutching at the roots of his hair and turned back, sprinting out of the front garden.
"I believe this is the concoction the young man requires." the shady man returned, holding out a black, dusty glass bottle, no taller than the man's palm. Prussia smiled and took the bottle graciously, handing it to Italy. Italy twisted the rubber cork off of the glass and held out the beaker with a trembling hand.
"Feliciano," he began. "I'll give you a moment to yourself. I won't crowd you. I'll just be outside." Prussia smiled and as he passed, grabbed Italy's hand to shake it. In a low, whispered voice he told Italy "You were a good boy. Foolish but loyal. I can only hope the man you become can mirror that." And with that, he left the shop and rested against the shop window. Italy bit his lip and composed himself.
Germany continued to run. He longer tried to keep track of where he was. His concern had grown too strong to rationalise anymore. He had to stop Italy from wiping his memory at all costs. He staggered tirelessly through the streets, weaving recklessly in and out of other passers-by. A hand suddenly grabbed at his jacket from behind. The man whipped round and gasped sharply.
"East?!"
"West?!"
"What the hell are you doing here!" they both shouted. Germany suddenly grabbed Prussia's lapels and looked him wildly in the eye.
"Italy! Where the hell is Italy!"
"I-inside! But East you're too-" Germany didn't even stop to hear what his brother had to say. He burst through the doors to find Italy holding a black bottle to his lips.
"ITALY NO!" He cried. The boy suddenly lunged forward, dropping the bottle. He twisted his body round, his face growing pale at the sight of Germany, before suddenly flopping to the floor. "Italy!" Germany rushed to the boy's side. Italy lay half conscious, black liquid trickling from his mouth. He looked to Germany in despair.
"Why did you come here, Germany?" he said weakly. "Why did you kill yourself to be here?" The boy spoke, barely audible, tears flowing from his eyes. Germany lifted the boy's small frame and embraced him tightly.
"Because you're my friend, Italy! And I couldn't let you suffer like this!"
"You're too late. I've already swallowed some of the liquid. I can feel some of my m-memory...fading." The boy's amber eyes rolled back lifelessly. Germany shook the boy firmly by the shoulders.
"Stay with me Italy! Don't forget who you are! You are the strongest country I know! The most caring! The most understanding! The most selfless! Please! Don't forget! Don't forget!" Germany's words seemed warp and distort around the boy as he found himself lapsing into unconsciousness.
"Everyone!" Britain shouted, slamming his fists down on the board table. "This is an emergency. Something's happened to Germany! We have to go and find out what's the matter. I fear...I fear its bad." The man scanned the room. All of the allies and Japan, the last remaining axis member, nodded and rose from their seats.
End of Chapter 4
A/N: Nearly done! One more and I think everything should be wrapped up! Will Britain and the rest of the nations be able to save Germany and Italy? Will Italy be able to recover all his memories? Find out soon!