Germany paced the gray linoleum hallway of the hospital, back and forth, trying to calm himself with deep breaths. His face was about the same color as the white walls, or as his brother's hair, who was watching him pace back and forth from against the wall with a combination of agitation and worry. Germany would look up whenever he heard even the slightest sound, his eyes fixed on the door he kept passing. Then he'd shut his eyes, still quickly pacing, beginning to rub his temples.

"West," Prussia said, after his brother had passed by about twelve times. "West, you can sit down you know. Pacing isn't going to do anything." There was no answer as Germany passed him again, forcing himself to breathe evenly. "West, seriously, you're freaking me out a little bit," Prussia said louder. Germany still didn't answer, passing by once more. "Come on West, just sit the hell down. You're gonna make me puke."

The door opened. Suddenly Germany froze and sprinted to the doctor walking out. "Doctor, doctor, is he alright, is he even conscious, if he is how is he feeling, if he isn't why hasn't he woken up, is he going to recover, is he going to die, mein gott, PLEASE TELL ME HE'S NOT GOING TO DIE!" By this time, he was shaking the poor, terrified doctor by the shoulders and shouting at the top of his lungs.

Prussia stood up and calmly pushed his brother away from the doctor. "Sorry about that," he said, scowling at Germany. "My brother is a schwachkopf. So how is Ita—Feliciano doing," he amended at the last second, realizing he'd probably get a pretty weird look if he called him 'Italy'. "Is he ok?"

The doctor glanced nervously from Prussia to Germany. "Err, w-well h-he's, um, Mr.…" he began to stammer and looked down at his clipboard, "M-Mr. Vargas is, well…h-he has a mild concussion…other than that, he appears alright, but with head trauma you can never really be completely sure until he wakes up." He looked back up nervously. "How exactly did this happen again?"

"Yes, Ludwig," Prussia muttered slowly, turning toward the blond with a suspicious look, "how did our good friend Feliciano get a concussion?"

Germany swallowed slightly.

Flashback mode:

"Ve~ Germany, what's this thingy do?"

"Italy, put that rocket launcher down!"

"Ok, what does this button—?"

BOOM

"He tripped," Germany muttered, suddenly very interested in his shoes.

Prussia sighed. "Right, sure," he muttered, obviously not believing him. He turned back toward the doctor. "So we're allowed to go and check up on him then, right?"

The doctor frowned. "Well, I'm really not supposed to allow nonfamily members into the room—"

"So we're allowed to go and check up on him, right?" Germany growled slowly through clenched teeth, glaring threateningly from next to his brother.

The doctor made some sort of a squeak and nodded quickly before sprinting away.

Prussia laughed a little. "Scheisse, West, I think that guy almost wet himself." Germany ignored him and slipped into the room, Prussia close behind him.

Italy was sound asleep in the bed on the other side of the room, his forehead wrapped tightly in bandages. Next to him were a heart monitor and an IV. Germany clenched his teeth, a wave of guilt washing over him like a tsunami. He walked over and stared down at his friend. "When do you think he'll wake up?" He asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Prussia shrugged, sitting himself down on a nearby chair. "Just put some pasta on his bedside table," he replied. "I'm sure he'll wake up and devour it within seconds."

Germany nodded and ran out of the room. He came back a while later with a large steaming bowl of pasta. He walked over and bent down next to Italy's bed. "Hey Italy," he said softly. "Italy, wake up." Italy didn't so much as move. "Italy," he pressed again, "look, I bought you some pasta." Italy still didn't wake up. Germany held the pasta under Italy's nose. "Come on, Italy, you love pasta," he said desperately, shaking Italy's arm with his free hand. "Italy," he tried again. He was met with a long silence, the beeping of the heart monitor the only sound.

"F*** IT, YOU IDIOTIC LITTLE SCHWEINEHUND, JUST WAKE UP AND EAT THE DAMN PASTA!"

Prussia jumped up and dragged his brother backwards, who'd been attempting to shove the pasta down Italy's throat while shaking him violently. "He's unconscious you moron!" He yelled. "Are you trying to kill him?" Germany just glared at him. Prussia rolled his eyes and shoved him onto the chair. "For god's sake, calm down. I'm sure he'll be awake by tomorrow."

Germany looked over at Italy. "Right. Sure."

"Don't worry, West. Your awesome bruder knows what he's talking about."

Germany sighed and leaned back.

(The next day)

"…"

"…"

"…he's not waking up."

"Well, yeah, I can see that, West."

"…"

"…"

"Is he going to wake up, you think?"

"Yeah, of course he will! Come on, West, has your amazingly awesome older bruder ever been wrong before?"

"…"

"…ok, don't answer that…"

"…"

"Hey, West, you ever seen Sleeping Beauty?"

*smack*

(The day after that)

"Damn it, you f***ing potato bastard, what the hell did you do to my fratello?"

"Guten Morgen, Romano."

"Shut up! What the hell did you do to him? Wait, have you been here all night? DID YOU VIOLATE MY BROTHER WHILE HE WAS ASLEEP? YOU SICK BASTARD!"

"Romano, put that pocket knife away! We're in a hospital!"

(…and the day after that…)

"Ohayō. Is Italy-kun awake?"

"No."

"Oh."

"…"

"…"

"…Hey, Germany-san, have you ever seen Sleeping Beauty?"

"…"

(…eventually…)

Germany sat in a chair, staring blankly ahead. He had dark circles under his dull blue eyes, likely since he hadn't really slept properly for at least four days. He also hadn't left the hospital in that time. There had been a few security guard there to try and make him leave, but…well…I'll skip the gruesome details and leave it at 'that didn't work'.

Prussia strode in, with some hospital food and a cup of coffee, both of which he hated, but he could find anything better to eat. Gilbird sat on his head, looking as exhausted as Prussia. "West," he mumbled sleepily, "can we go home? He's not going to drop dead the moment we leave." He sat down. "Come on, I'm sick of eating…" he trailed off, sending a disgusted look toward the food on his lap, "…this…" he finished. Germany didn't hear him. Prussia snapped his fingers in Germany's face a few times. "West!"

"I didn't do it!" Germany yelped, snapping out of whatever he'd been thinking about. "The handcuffs are possessed!"

Prussia sighed, too tired to try and decipher that statement. "Um, sure." He watched his brother for a few minutes, noting how pale he was. He was as pale as…well…Prussia. After about a minute, Prussia reached into his pocket and pulled out some money. "Hey West, you need to go outside. Go buy me a beer or something." Germany glanced sleepily up at him. Prussia smiled. "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him. Just go…go get sunlight or something…" He patted his brother's shoulder.

Germany nodded sleepily. "I'll go buy a beer," he replied. He got up and slowly walked out.

Prussia sat there for a while. He started drumming his fingers idly against the chair. He tried a bite of the stale food then gagged slightly. For some reason, he thought of England.

He glanced over at Italy, who hadn't moved at all since he'd been there. He hoped the little guy would be alright…he took a sip of coffee, coughed, and suddenly felt an intense urge to kill America.

"…unnh…"

Prussia froze, coffee still clutched in his hand. He looked up, his eyes the size of large red dinner plates. W…Was that…?

Italy shifted slightly, opening one eye a crack, then flinched and shut it again. "…oww…" he groaned slightly. Then he sat up, forcing his eyes open, oblivious to the Prussian now gaping at him. "What the…?" He mumbled dizzily, blinking.

Prussia began to smile. Italy was awake! Sure, Germany was going to strangle Prussia within an inch of his life for somehow managing to make him leave right before Italy woke up, but who the hell cared! Italy was awake!

Italy looked around, finally noticing Prussia staring at him from the nearby chair. "Um…guten tag," he said.

Prussia smiled even wider, laughing slightly. He always thought it was so…cute…? Funny…? …well, he just loved it when Italy tried to say something in German. Hell, he even got it right that time.

"Bonjurno," Prussia replied, not caring that he was saying it wrong. "How're you feeling?"

Italy gave him a blank stare.

…wait…stare? Prussia blinked a few times. Italy was staring at him. Italy was staring at him…and his eyes were open. Only halfway, but still, Prussia didn't even realize they could open. Weird…

"Where am I?" Italy asked groggily.

"You're in the hospital," Prussia replied, putting his coffee down on the chair next to him. "You've been unconscious for four days. You had a concussion. Personally, I think West did something, but whatever. I think Romano kicked his ass enough though, so I won't have to later."

"What…?" Italy mumbled, looking even more confused. "What are you talking about?"

Prussia laughed again. They way Italy was mumbling, he kind of sounded like he had a German accent. "Well, it doesn't matter. You're awake, so that's that." He shrugged and turned to grab his coffe again.

Italy sighed. "Um, ok," he replied. He glanced around, flinching when the light hit his eyes. "Ugh," he muttered. "Mein gott, my head hurts."

Prussia paused, looking over toward Italy. He stared at him for a moment. "Um…you can, uh, stop doing that now…" he said slowly.

"Doing what?" Italy asked.

"Um, well, talking in German," Prussia replied, suddenly feeling uneasy. "You can, um, stop now."

Italy blinked a few times. "What the hell are you talking about?" He asked blankly. Then he flinched again, grabbing his head. "Scheisse," he muttered. "Hey bruder, you have any beer on you? Or wurst or something?"

Prussia blinked a few times. Oh…shit…

"H-Hey, uh, l-listen…" Prussia stammered slowly, wide eyed, "I-I was…um…w…what's your…your full name? I just want to make sure…that you're ok s-since you have a concussion and all…"

Italy rolled his eyes. "Um, alright, I guess. My full name is the Federal Republic of Germany."

There was a long silence.

"What?" Italy asked, looking confused again.

Prussia just stared.

Oh. Shit.