Chapter Seven — World's End Dancehall
...
"Since we're waitin' an' all, mind if I read the book?" America asked.
America and Italy were sitting in a small room with the air conditioning blasting to its max. The lights were too bright and the old running Coke machine by the wall gave a dull hum with its peeling red paper. The table was small in front of him and it felt more like an interrogation room than a waiting room.
Two days and still "progress was being made."
"Sure! It's right...! I left it in the car..." Italy said.
America pouted and leaned down in his chair. He brightened up immediately. "I'll just go an' get it!" Italy's eyes followed America's standing up figure.
"You can't just leave me here! These guys are scary and bough! Can't we just wait here?"
"Hmm," America pretended to think, "nope. It'll be real quick, don't you worry."
"What am I going to do?"
America offered a coloring book, asked around the office if anyone had one, and in the end Italy was stuck to be bored for a good fifteen minutes alone.
"Sorry, dude. I don't got anythin' to entertain ya with, but you'll be fine! I'll be back quick."
"Okay..."
America nodded happily and left to go somewhere in those glossy, white walls.
Italy placed his palm on his cheek and tilted his head to see the ticking clock on the wall. He squinted at the wall at the black analog clock that was placed too high up and had a glare from the lighting. Three in the afternoon already? His eyes were getting droopy...
"America?"
Just his luck. He opened his eyes lazily and looked up at the smiling man with too many papers in his thick hands. "He's not here," Italy responded back yawning.
The man nodded and backed out of the for before coming back in. "You're Italy, right? The real deal? The guy with the Renaissance and stuff?"
Italy smiled amused. "That's me."
The man flashed a smile. "Cool. Hey, could you give these to America when he comes back?"
"Oh, what are they? Confidential stuff?" Italy asked as he felt the cold folder be slid into his hand.
The man shrugged. "I guess. I don't really know. I'm just the messenger, ya know?"
Italy smiled, and the man left just as swiftly he had entered. Italy looked down at the folder and felt this fingers possessed to flip the bland material.
CONFIDENTIAL
OPERATION PANACEA
DATE ISSUED: JULY 23 1992
PRIME SUSPECT: LECHMANN, JULIANA —
"ITALY! DUDE!"
Italy jumped violently shutting the folder. "AH! Don't hurt me!"
America shook his head aggressively. "No, we have a problem MUCH bigger than that! The journal is missin'!"
"What!" Italy said feeling cold dread at America's panicked face. America's eyes furrowed, his mouth shifting to a tiny little tilt enough to be confused as regret.
America walked over to Italy and slammed the journal on the table startling Italy once more with wide eyes.
"Jus' kiddin'!" America said with his childish glee and too perfect teeth in a smile. Italy let out a breathy sigh of relief he didn't know he was holding back and brushed the journal's cover gently. It was there. It was real, it was so, so real.
"Thank goodness," Italy mumbled. America ignored Italy and sat down sliding the thick set of papers by Italy his way. "Sorry, sorry. Couldn't resist. I don't like bein' all down and stuff, ya know?"
Italy smiled and chuckled a bit. Who America was trying to make laugh was a question he did not ask (it was an obvious answer). Are the results in?" Italy asked getting up to see the files by America's shoulder.
"I didn't think they would get 'em in so quick, but look at that! The whole shabang right here."
"So quick!" Italy said in awe. "That would have taken my government weeks."
"Well," America scratched his head, "it didn't take that long actually."
"You did say the F.B.I. is quick — "
"No, that ain't what I meant. This was too quick."
"What do you mean?" Italy asked not understanding why America was flipping through the stapled papers so quickly.
America didn't respond until he landed on a blank page. Age, sex, height, eye color, hair color — all the descriptions for a suspect blank. Holger Amster.
"Ya see this?" He slid the paper to Italy.
"Ahh, no? There's nothing here, right? That's what I'm supposed to see?"
America nodded and flipped through more curly, and neat handwritten notes within pristine boxes, and landed on a paper with a blurred Polaroid photo.
"Take a look at that."
Italy looked at America for a moment then at the blurred photo. It was just a sign. A unmemorable sign, a blurred and static picture. Italy had to squint to see the bolded and thick lettering, the style being very much of a past not so long ago. The sixties?
"What does that say?" Italy finally asked after staring at the picture until his eyes couldn't focus on one thing anymore.
"Now showing: Jar of Fireflies. Show opening: 6:30 pm. Price of admission: $1.00."
"I don't get it," Italy said handing the picture to America.
"Jar of Fireflies. Not a real well-known movie. And guess what. The main character just coincidentally had to be Holger Amster."
"So...Holger Amster isn't real?"
America leaned back in exasperation. "No. No, he ain't. He ain't real and is only a character. Agh. All that work for nothing!"
Italy stayed quiet as America sat up straight again and flipped through more pages of red highlights and complicated words.
"America, do you think it could be a clue? Some kind of weird sign we're not seeing?"
America sighed. "I don' think so, Italy. I've got all the info of the folks involved in making the movie, but none of them check through. Nothin' wrong with 'em. At least I think."
"What about the movie itself?"
"The movie itself," America repeated under his breath as he stopped to think mid flip of a paper, "I don' think so."
"What's the movie about?" Italy pressed.
"Oh! That's what you wanted to know. It's about this guy, Holger, who has schizophrenia. This is the sixties right, the asylums are real creepy and shit, so he tries to hide his mental illness. That's kinda hard since his 'friend'," America made air quotes around the word friend, "is tryin' to encourage him to make it big and get out of the small ole town he's in. This guy's real smart, but ya know. England crazy."
"His 'friend', a real lively guy named Artemis, keeps trying to egg Holger to get out of his town and do something with his skill and smarts. BUT! Holger has a wife and kid right? He can't just go leavin' 'em —"
"Are the wife and kids real?" Italy asked.
"That's the weird thing. You don' really know. It ain't answered in the movie. One of those 'decide for yourself' kind of things. But anyways, this 'friend' won't stop buggin' him about this, while in the meantime Holger has to not look crazy so he can keep his job and things. His family tries to help him, but it's no good. Holger gives in to his 'friend' and tries to make it big."
"Basically, he goes and tries to make the American dream happen, gets totally fucked, his family back home don't welcome his back, his friend was actually a hallucination but he really liked his friend and can't handle him being not real, his daughter gets him a trip to the looney bin, he stays in recovery for months not knowing what's real or not and gets real violent and crazy, his family gets a letter addressed to Holger asking permission to use his discoveries and ideas — a lot of money and fame for this — while he's in the asylum. The wife doesn't know what to do, and so she asks Holger's brother to forge the signature and takes the money and bounces. Holger tries to get better at the thought of his family and finds his wife and daughter gone with the letter sitting in the kitchen."
"The movie ends with Holger coming back from the asylum excited to see his family after so long and finds them gone with a new family in the house. His friend comes back and lays a hand on his shoulder to tell him it's okay, and he just lets it happen, but he knows he's ain't real or ever will be," America paused, "It's really sad now that I explain it, wow."
Italy's heart ached. "That's so sad... Why are your movies so depressing?"
"I don't know! I just don't see how any of this got to do with Germany," America said feeling bad that he made Italy sad again.
Italy nodded silently and looked to the side to collect his thoughts. "Um, America, how did you find out about this movie?"
America grinned. "You won't believe this, but the director of the movie was inspired to make this movie from his author friend from Germany. And just guess who that friend was~?"
"Who?"
"Udo Hofmann. He was a German soldier in World War Two but really liked writing. He was inspired to make the story from a popular horror rumor slash truth he heard going on in one of the concentration camps, can't remember which one, but of course couldn't publish his work. His friend stole his work and came here to publish it. It didn't make it that big, but this has to mean something!"
"What was the rumor?"
"Apparently, there was this soldier that would never stop screaming. Day in and out, he would get tortured, tested, and interrogated, but his voice would never give out. It would crack, scream until hoarse. Weeks on weeks, he would cry, sing in sadness, and call out for someone one knew of," America leaned forward and whispered, "Some even said that he was a mourning spirit and as morbid as it was, it was a sign of hope of sorts."
"Wow," Italy breathed out. America shivered. "I dunno 'bout you, but that just creeps me out. What if it really was a ghost, dude?"
Italy shivered as well, feeling the tingle travel through his spine and to the base of his neck. "Why is it called Jar of Fireflies?" asked Italy after a moment.
America looked at him strangely, as if his question didn't match into the conversation. "I dunno...I mean, the lil' girl liked to collect fireflies but it's only shown around two times in the movie. In the beginnin' and the endin'."
"Oh." And Italy kept it at that.
"Now, don't get all depressed on me Italy. This is a good thing! We finally have a lead — a really good lead too," America said trying to cheer Italy up.
"I guess so."
America continued. "So I couldn't get Gernot for questioning 'cuz that means dealing with Germany's government and all that shit, so —"
"Prussia would have let you, though," Italy said. America looked at Italy surprised. He looked skeptical. "That would've taken too long. 'Sides, I think Prussia is kinda sore from the time I dyed his bird thingy pink and called it a chicken nugget..."
Italy patted America's shoulder in sympathy.
America pointed to the page in front of them. "The Schwartz family is scattered all over the place, it's a real common last name, so it was kinda hard to find anythin'. Everyone was lookin' suspicious. But we did find some relatives an' check this."
Italy looked.
LECHMANN, JULIANA, ELLIOTT
STATUS: CITIZEN
DATE OF CITIZENSHIP: MAY 20 1989
SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER: 035-28-2115
ADDRESS: 4190 WINDING WAY
CITY: LINCOLN
ZIP: 02903
BIRTHDATE: MAY 18 1970
BIRTHPLACE: FRANKFURT, GERMANY
ETHNICITY: GERMAN
RACE: CAUCASIAN
HEIGHT: 5'6 9 (167 CM)
EYES: BLUE
HAIR: BROWN
Italy's breath hitched.
"Quite a charmer, aren't you?"
"Elliot?"
America beamed, not noticing Italy's hesitation. Italy looked at the dead eyes staring back at him. A small square picture, her angular face framed by a thick border of white — a stained white — that displayed her rosy cheeks and disinterest. Elliot. God, when did the world become so small?
"Yeah. Elliot Lechmann. How more German ya can get, right? She has ties back to the Schwartz and Hoffman family."
"How?"
America showed Italy her medical records.
There were a lot of blanks as her roots are deeply embedded in Germany, but somewhere down the tree, the director's family produced a smiling child named Elliot. And through some extensive interviewing of drowsy voices through the phone of lands across the state, the unwilling girl was found through members of blood she did not know of. America, Italy thought, was not a fool skin-deep.
"Wow, this is so great! This is amazing, America!" Italy said hugging America in joy. America patted Italy's head.
"Don' mention it. Ya do know what we're fixin' to do now, right?" America asked with a wide smile as Italy let go.
"Eat Dip-n-dots for all the hard work again?" Italy chirped happily.
"Hell yeah! Darn it, don't distract me with my weakness Italy," America complained, "But no. We're gonna go to this little lady named Elliot."
"Ellie. She goes by Ellie."
"Huh?"
Italy realized his mistake and made a quick excuse. "She looks like an Ellie. Elliot is too stuffy."
"I guess." America stood up. "Come on."
Italy swiped the journal and huddled it to his chest as he ran after America's determined gait out the door. "Wait up! Wait up for me!"
...
Jar of Fireflies. $1.00 as the cost...I would have loved to have gone with you, Germany. I would have gone across the blue and made sure your tears were from happiness — not from quotes that hit too close to home — and held your warm hand to make you smile. I think that's all I've wanted. Why do I always realize things once it's too late?
...
"Austria?"
The keys on the piano smashed down violently, the abrupt sound echoing through the walls and hallway.
"What is it?" Austria asked pushing his glasses up to see the brown-haired woman.
"Well hello to you too," Hungary said with a smile on her lips. Austria flushed a bit at his rude behavior and instead rose from his seat to walk over to the woman looking out his large window. He peered in the same direction as Hungary and saw nothing.
"Hungary?"
Hungary snapped out of her daze and looked back at Austria's concerned face. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking about something."
Austria raised a brow. "And that would be?"
"Don't worry about it," Hungary waved his concern away.
"Did you come here to discuss something?" Austria inquired politely.
Hungary looked at Austria and felt herself sigh. Still, so many years and things do not change. Running water, filmography, artificial fragrances, televisions, medicines, yet that old piano does not. Playing the same tune for centuries.
"I do actually, I came here to talk to you about Germany."
"Germany? Don't tell me you're going to try to find him on your own."
Austria wasn't a bad husband, Hungary mused as he moved closer to her. The people were, she decided.
"Do you doubt me?" She teased.
"No. That's why I'm worried." Austria spoke honestly, not looking ashamed as he would have five hundred years ago.
"Well, I would love to go drag cute, stupid little Germany back to Italy, but my government won't let me." Hungary went from sweet to a passionate venom.
"Mine won't either. Quite annoying really."
"Right? Well, that's not going to stop me anyway," Hungary shrugged and turned around and started walking away. Austria trailed right after her.
Hungary made it to the kitchen and immediately went to make herself some tea. Austria sat down by the window he forgot to close, the sun rays beaming innocently through the small kitchen. It was silent as Hungary prepared the two tea.
"Do you not have an electric kettle?" She asked rummaging for one.
"No, it's not necessary."
"You frugal bastard."
"I will have you know —!"
Hungary hummed a happy tune as she ignored him, her long dress swaying as her thin fingers reached to the cabinets she knew too well despite not visiting often.
Austria saw her flowing curly hair and decided it wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth it to think of the things they used to have that could still be present. Love was not everlasting after all, it was not solid.
Hungary waited by the boiling water impatient and Austria couldn't help but chuckle.
Hungary tilted and turned her head back confused, but Austria kept chuckling sadly. Hungary rolled her eyes and turned around to hide the smile on her face as well. Eventually, the water is boiled and the tea prepared. She sat his cup first on the table then hers. He thanked her and she said you're welcome.
They sip in a comfortable silence and Austria felt the tea run sweetly down his throat. She still knew how to prepare his tea. All the meticulous details he no longer cared so much about.
"I don't want this to be awkward."
Austria sat his tea down with a clank and bored his eyes to Hungary's determined face. When has he ever truly denied her?
"I wasn't aware this felt awkward to you. I didn't feel like this is awkward."
Hungary looked down. "Not right now but later," she said softly.
Now Austria was interested. "And why's that?"
Hungary sipped her tea and hissed. "Damn, this is blasting hot! How do you drink this so nonchalantly?"
"Practice. I can't really tell the difference anymore," he replied with amusement.
Hungary shook her head and pushed the tea away to let it cool a bit. "Just promise me you won't freak out later on, okay?"
"Freak out? What are you trying to say?" Austria questioned worriedly. She was acting more serious than usual, but he supposed her attitude was from the dire situation in Europe at the moment.
"I think I know where Germany is."
Austria choked on his tea. "What! Why haven't you —?!"
"I told you to not freak out, it's just a theory anyway — oh my god, are you okay?" Hungary rushed out of her seat to slap his back to make Austria's face less red.
"I-I'm fine now. I'm fine now — you can stop hitting me — I'm not choking anymore!"
Hungary stopped patting him, and let out a relieved sigh. "Don't scare me like that!" she said as she walked back to her seat.
"As I was saying, I think I know where Germany is — nothing solid, though! I just have this feeling."
"And why didn't you share at the world meeting?"
"Because. I just. I didn't feel like it needed to be shared with the world."
Austria felt warmth in his heart. But she can still share with me, Austria thought happily.
"I suppose that's fair. What's this theory you have?"
"I think Prussia is lying and hiding Germany so he can take over. Dead nation status and all."
Austria waited for Hungary to say, "just kidding!", because that's theory was...very radical.
"You're joking right?"
"No, hear me out! Okay, we both know Prussia is an asshole, right? He's a total ass, and —"
"But he wouldn't do that to Germany."
"Not on purpose no. I never said this was an unwilling action by Germany."
Austria stopped midway from tipping the teacup into his mouth. "So you think Germany wanted this?"
Hungary leaned forward. "Think about it. Germany has been depressed for what, half of this century? Prussia comes back somehow alive, and Prussia wants to feel useful again. Germany is sad, Prussia wants to be something again so why not just give up? Germany doesn't have a lot going against him anyway."
Austria looked completely flabbergasted. Nothing of this sort ever happened! Not even the worst off nations willingly gave up nation status.
"You do remember what we are, right? We are our people, just as our people are we. As...plausible that theory may be, Germany's people would never agree to 'Prussia's' rule."
Hungary's face became even more excited. "But that's where you're wrong. Prussia doesn't have people anymore. Officially at least. We don't really know how he's still alive, right? He should be dead, right? But he's not! Somehow, the cultural tie is still there even though the identification of Prussian has vanished, leaving..."
Austria's eyes widened. "Germans...Eastern Germans but Germans."
Hungary nodded. "That's right. Prussians won't go by Prussians anymore but as Germans. The cultural difference will be so dramatic that Prussia will be able to cling onto life. Take the Italy brothers. Why can't it happen to the German brothers?"
Austria sat his tea down and pushed it away. "Italy is a special case. Prussia is a lot of things, but he would not just blatantly replace Germany."
Hungary looked at Austria with pity for not understanding. "You're not getting it. Germany wants this. Wouldn't that be great Roderich? To disappear from the world we never asked to exist into and continue living with no worry? Germany...he could actually live. Live as a human yet never be it. Sounds like a dream."
Austria felt his tongue go dry. No... Germany wouldn't do that...
"Hungary," he swallowed, "Erzsébet, you're basically telling me Germany committed suicide."
Hungary stirred her cooled tea with sad, lachrymose eyes. "I know."
And suddenly Austria knew why Hungary chose him. Austria sighed.
"This is, to put it bluntly, the worst theory I have ever heard."
Hungary stopped swirling.
"As much as I would like to believe that Prussia is that narrow-minded, you and I know that is not true. He is...complex. I don't know what goes on his head, but I know domination is not in there. Germany is too valuable to him. Prussia would not just leave him depressed on his own to take over a government he wants no part of. Also, Germany would never agree to this. It would damage his pride too largely and despite being depressed, would not give up his duties. It is not in his nature."
"That was what we thought in the thirties as well, but look what happened," Hungary shot back.
A shadow grew into Austria's face. "Hungary —"
"No, don't avoid it, Austria. Forty-seven years, it's only been forty-seven years, Austria."
That number sent a cold wave down Austria's spine. Only forty-seven years and...
"Just what exactly are you trying to say?" he whispered.
Hungary reached out across the table and took Austria's pale hands into her own. "Think about this Austria, Germany goes missing. Prussia doesn't come to any world meetings except the last one. He gives the journal to the world. Italy keeps it and the meeting is dismissed. Italy might find Germany. What will that leave?"
Austria didn't answer. He didn't know.
"Everything we've been trying to hide will finally unravel. Prussia's thrown will finally be abdicated," Hungary said with a bitter smile.
"You mean that," Austria's breath hitched, "Italy will finally figure it out?"
Hungary rubbed his knuckles. "It was inevitable."
"It will crush him — no Hungary, don't make him go through this," Austria pleaded. But Hungary looked as calm as ever, her eyes serene with agony as well.
"The land of Germania. It"s forever cursed, isn't it?"
...
"Do you have to call your brother right now?"
"I miss him! I want to talk to him," Italy said determined to find a pay phone.
"But he's always grouchy, how can you stand him?"
"I ask Spain that all the time too. But he's nice America. A different kind of nice."
America took these words into consideration. "Like I am to England?"
Italy nodded his head rapidly. "Exactly! Except we're not sexual. That's for Big Brother Spain!"
"T.M.I. But I guess you guys are pretty close despite being so polar. Follow me and don' get lost, 'kay?"
"Okay! You walk so fast, hold on!"
America maneuvered through people (people that walked way too fast, Italy thought) swiftly and eventually ended up at a long row of black pay phones by a wall. Women and men alike aligned themselves to insert the currency to hear a voice on the other side. A woman shushed her toddler as she jabbed the loose buttons, smiling when America and Italy stood right next to her. America flashed her a quick smiled and stood behind Italy, and reached into his jacket pocket. The peeling, laminated sticker glared underneath the lights and Italy wondered as to why there were so many bolded words on the paper.
"We're here. Here, I got some quarters for ya. This should last ya 'bout twenty minutes so try to get to the point quick. I'll be at Burger King so don't move from this spot! Kay?" America said.
"Okie dokie America," Italy said as he felt the quarters hit his palm.
"You know how to work this, right?"
"Yep!"
"Cool. I'll be back."
Italy inserted the coins slowly, hearing the metal clink and fall as it went into the small sliver, to the black payphone with large buttons. The people at the airport buzzed behind him, and he felt America's presence gone. He picked up the phone and followed the instructions for international calls. He tapped his foot and bit his lip hoping Romano was home or willing to pick up his landline.
"Hallo?"
That was not Romano.
"Austria? What are you doing in Romano's house? Romano is dating Spain silly."
Austria made an offended noise. "I want no part in Romano's love life! And you called me, you idiot. I am at home with. I am alone."
"I called you? I'm pretty sure I called Romano. I would have remembered. Wait, did I? Oh no, I need to call Romano because I miss him and not you — not that I don't like you. I do —"
"Try to get to the point — achoo! Ah, excuse me, that was — achoo!"
"Are you getting sick?" Italy asked worriedly.
"No, I'm not — achoo! I think some kind of idiot just entered my country without keeping his mouth shut."
"Are you dying? I don't want you to die," Italy said clinging to the black phone tighter.
Austria sighed. "No, I am not dying. Some person just crossed my border by foot is all and apparently will not shut up about my name either."
"But I thought we could only sense countries?"
Austria dismissed his confusion with a wave of his hand. "It was probably just Hungary. She was over a while ago."
"Oh. Hi, Hungary! Wait, She's gone. Tell her hi the next she comes over. She loves to come over to your place after all."
"I-I don't know what you're talking about," Austria responded back.
"I have to go then. America's going to come back soon, and I still need to call Romano so I'm going to have hang up on you. Ciao Austria!"
"Goodbye, Italy."
...
"Why did you say I was gone?"
Austria jumped as he set his old phone down. He whipped his head around to see Hungary confused with brown, paper bags close to her chest.
"Hungary? You're still here?" Austria asked surprised.
"Yes? I went to get some groceries. Your fridge was empty except for that cheese I threw out," Hungary responded with a head tilt.
"So that means you were...then, who was that just now?"
...
"So how was your brother? A grump as always?" America's accent was less noticeable as the plane flew higher up north.
"I accidentally called Austria and couldn't call Romano. I wasted your quarters America, I'm sorry," Italy said regretfully from the window seat.
America stopped mid-sip of his Sprite. "You coulda just asked me for some more. I wouldn't have minded."
"No, it's fine. I'll just call him when we land or something." Italy looked out the window. "I don't think Romano really cares if I call or not."
America slid down in his seat. He had a headache and Italy was barely keeping his eyes open. America was about close his eyes as well, but Italy's soft voice made him open them slightly once more.
"Hey, America."
America hummed to show he was listening.
"What if Germany was kidnapped? Or abducted?"
America was about to assure Italy that of course, that wasn't the case but halted once he realized that he had never thought of that possibility. All this time he had assumed that Germany was just out playing hooky and hiding off on some uncharted island. He had assumed Germany was fine because it was Germany.
"Come on, you know better than anyone else that Germany wouldn't let himself be abducted."
"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I was being silly." Italy didn't take his eyes off of the window. America bit his lip not liking how quickly the mood shifted.
"Hey, Italy," America said making Italy turn his head. "We'll find Germany. It's not a might, we will. So don't worry 'kay? Germany's a good dude, I bet he's fine."
But how was Italy supposed to respond that Germany wasn't since he was gone?
"I hope so. I really miss him."
"You know, I kinda do too." This interested Italy. America saw Italy perk in attention and continued. "The meetings just aren't the same, ya know? Sure, he was always anal about speech length and who sits next to who, but...it wasn't a world meeting without it. He brought order to the chaos and now it's just depressing."
"I thought you didn't like rules?"
America laughed a bit. "I can't say I don't like 'em, I just don't like following them all the time. You gotta know when to cut loose, you know?" America grinned, "Plus, it's always funny how red Germany can get before he blows."
"Germany does get annoyed easily," Italy agreed.
"No kidding! Sometimes, when he gets so annoyed, he'll run his hands through his hair, and the gel will come out and I swear that he looks exactly like The —"
"..."
"..."
"Like?"
America laughed forcefully, the sound brittle in his own chest. "Oh, nothing! Nothing to worry about Italy dude!"
Italy eyed him confused. "Okay?"
"I was just gonna say he does that hair gel thing and looks like, ah, um, a model. Yeah! A model. Just bam! Instant, um, you know." America wanted to punch himself in the face.
Italy's cheeks flushed a deep color before he could help it. Italy did always tell Germany that he looked better with his fringe down, but Germany didn't care about looks. (The times when Germany did look in the mirror, his eyes lingering faintly for too long, not enough to be considered vanity, but an awed expression of what stared back at him.) Germany always did tell Italy he felt rather plain despite Italy's reassurances.
America watched Italy squirm and looked dazed and wondered if he broke the smaller nation with a revelation every other country knew of. "Hey, Italy. You okay?"
Italy didn't respond, his haze in assumptions in worries. Suddenly he stopped squirming and sat still. Very, very, still.
"Do a lot of people think that Germany's a model?"
"Well, yeah. The dude's muscles are practically see through when he wears suits, which is the only time I ever really see him, or anyone. He's really tall. He's got a really defined jawline and just has the look, you know? Oh, and a nice nose. Very important!" America didn't notice Italy shrink within the leather seat as he counted the reasons off on his fingers.
"Oh. You sure like Germany," Italy commented with a side-eye.
"I can admire good genetics," America said with a shrug.
Italy then kept his eyes trained to the never changing sky. Clouds, clouds, they are through clouds full of white and blue.
Italy looked back at America and smiled the best smile he could. America smiled back and turned his head around once he heard the snack cart come around with large, plastic bags to throw away the cans of soda that littered America's tray.
Italy fixed his gaze back into the small rounded window and for once hated the color blue.
...
"America, hey, wake up. Hey, wake up."
America felt himself being prodded and swatted the hand away. "Go 'way...'M sleepin', 'Ngland..."
"It's not England, It's me. You need to see this!"
America blearily woke up, his eyes severely blurry and unfocused. He yawned and stretched his legs, looking like a sloth. He took off his glasses and wiped them from the condensation of his breath, the cloth rubbing lazily onto Texas. He placed them back on his nose and looked to his right.
"I thought you would want to read the journal with me," Italy said as he looked down to the beige paper.
America's face lit up. "Oh man, I don't think I've even had a good look at this. How far are ya?"
"I haven't read anything new," Italy replied back antsy to begin.
"Here, I'll hold it."
Italy didn't move.
"Come on, it's not like I'm going to run away with it."
Italy still didn't budge.
"This isn't going to be like meeting room, I swear. Just trust me, okay?"
"Okay," Italy said reluctantly as he gently handed the journal to America.
Italy could see America's excitement; the journal more of a toy to him than an artifact. America started reading aloud quietly enough for them to hear, but not enough to disturb the other passengers.
"02. December 1919
The war is over. It's finally over. It's finally over.
Italy has left, although grudgingly. He hugged me and cried as he left to go to France and the others. America doesn't seem to like me. That's fine, I don't like him either."
"Not like was putting it lightly," America commented out of habit.
"I don't know how I should feel about this war ending. A part of me is amazed that an ending could even be achieved. It is shocking, yet a part of me doesn't feel a thing, my mind still in the sky alone. The Great War it is called. The war to end all war...
Versailles. It is beautiful. Walking down the Hall of Mirrors along with Brother, Austria, and Hungary to meet England and France made me feel childish. Every other nation looked grim — relieved, melancholic. Not curious like I. What a beauty Versailles is. Clean, tall, archaic, luxurious. Its architecture is stunning. Rich history ingrained into its golden walls. What lies. Where is your Sun now France?
I can trust you journal, right? Brother doesn't seem to understand so maybe you will.
I want a ballroom. I want a large, ornate ballroom — one with a giant chandelier and too many candles so a blushing maiden's dress will catch on fire, and then laugh daintily with a drink in her hand as she bursts into flames.
I want a room full of people, all dressed up in their best clothes happy and warm. The men will stumble for a lady's courtesy and the women will smile amused, all too ready for a laugh not fueled by forced amusement. Music, dancing, happiness, the hands of time never stopping. I long to take an alluring, blurry face with unladylike short hair and ask for a dance, the woman's smiling face smudged by the time I reopen my eyes. I want it so bad it makes me ache.
I told brother I want to dance. As we exited, Brother muttering angrily and desperately wishing to kick an angel statue, I saw an entrance to an old ballroom. I told him I wanted to dance. I asked him why he never taught me how to dance — the other countries know.
He looked at me and asked me why I was thinking about something as stupid as dancing. I didn't need to know, he told me. It was a useless skill, he said. I asked him why he knows, then. He smiled amused at something and ruffled my hair. He sighed and looked strangely pleased. 'Please don't change,' he said to me.
I told him I wouldn't and Brother stopped that weird, stomp-walk of his."
Italy had his eyes closed and was listening closely to America's voice — how it varied when he read things he did not like, how it got more excited when he was reading new information that amused him, how it flowed to a beat. Italy opened his America's voice suddenly stopped.
He turned his head in question. He looked down at America's large hands clutching onto the covers tight — no care, no grace, no consideration! "Why did you stop? Is that it?" Italy asked wondering why the entry was so short this time.
"Ah, no. We have a problem, my dude."
"Wha —?"
And suddenly the journal was thrusted into Italy's face.
"Look."
Italy took the journal and set it to eye level and quickly read over the words America just did. He flipped the page and saw a page torn out from the spine. The rip was not subtle, oh no. The page rip was jagged and torn out to make small, sharp little shark teeth resemblances. It was not a flimsy tear, an accident like America's bumbling hands in the meeting room, but a deliberate act of defilement. A good four pages were gone.
Italy took a quick deep breath in before he could help it. "W-Who did this?" Italy rubbing his thumb over the dull edges of the torn out paper.
"I don't know man. It wasn't me! It wasn't me, see? Ripped out so don't go all mafia on me."
"I know it wasn't you."
"Okay good because you can get real possessive and stuff so."
Italy looked at the last word before the page abruptly cut off. The words before that were scribbled out so darkly and heavily that not a word could be made out. Italy could see the faint shape of numbers underneath and he hated Germany's cleverness at the moment. Because with those numbers scribbled on top of the words, deciphering the sentences were made almost impossible. 09 13091919 0920011225...0114141525054...1309192001110...0605051...121 —
"But the one thing I wish the most is for —"
It cuts off there, and Italy wanted to scream.
America took the journal back before Italy could freak out even further. He flipped some pages, Italy not missing the way America not so discreetly scanned the pages like a sponge before flipping quickly enough to be considered searching. He kept flipping, and Italy watched on confused as his turning became more rapid.
"What are you doing?"
"Looking for the rest," he answered with certainty in his words.
"... Hey wait, I don't think there's going to be more. Something must have happened to it. It's an old book. America. America —"
"It has to be here!" America's shout gained the attention of the whole first class sector, and Italy cowered away from the glares of beady eyes and wrinkled scowls.
"Maybe you just, just dropped one. Please don't get all mad and scary," Italy said as America's form became increasingly more impatient. It struck Italy dry at how unfazed America was flipping through brown stains of blood and scorch marks with his calloused thumbs. As if the pages were some kind of historical document to analyze A,B,C,D,E from a multiple choice test.
"America," Italy began trying to sound like he meant something for once that wasn't pasta or women, or whatever else Europe thought of him as.
"I found it," America breathed out amazed at himself as well. "I found it!" America's eyes twinkled as his finger pointed to the very page that continued with a darker black smudge. It was a fragile, ghost-like page that was somehow salvaged from America's incident back In New York City.
Italy stared shocked as well and couldn't help the creeping smile rising on the apples of his cheeks. He didn't need to say anything for America to immediately launch into his rhythmic reading voice.
"I shouldn't have ripped those pages out from a fit of rage. Everything is so expensive as it is.
I'm back to poverty. Back to planting and never seeing the seed grow. It's all so tiring it makes me wonder what I was excited for. The German Empire. I used to believe I didn't deserve such a title. Only people like Brother, England, and France had to right to say such words, but I see how wrong I was.
No one deserves such a title. No one is great. No one is almighty and maybe my beloved God isn't either. I actually laugh at my first entry. Prussia? The devil? No, no. The ability to extrude flames at the convenience of a trigger, kill in the night with no wound from just a toxic inhale is the sign of a true devil. Yet, we call them 'war heroes'. Defying gravity, creating machines of destruction for mass murder and calling the genocide a 'victory' is surely not proof enough.
I do not regret creating what I did. War was upon me, so I responded. I do not know why the Allies looked upon me so shocked."
"Oh, I don't know, maybe because you had fucking tanks and airplanes?" America said sarcastically.
Italy did not like America's agitated air. He seemed almost jealous.
"I suppose all that time bored and lonely paid off as England and France had to rush off and steal my inventions. Not so lucky are we Austria and Hungary, we lost.
And now those gluttonous pigs are sitting at the table signing papers, claiming what is there's when nothing is ours. Yugoslavia, I sincerely hope you will make it out okay."
"Yeah, not the smartest move they did. It sure bit them in the ass later, hah!" America spoke as if he had no part in the separation of the frowned upon south-eastern European neighbors. As if he did not sign with the heavy, metallic pen the lives of thousands of people who do not understand — never understood why, just why it always had to be them. God, it seemed, sat upon a throne made of cold leather.
"I cannot complain much. I'm still here aren't I? Brother is here, I am here. Austria and Hungary are here, and it pains me to see Hungary and Austria be separated the way they had to be. I am green, but even I can see that there is something else there other than political interest. Hungary left smiling with shaking lips, but I wonder if she would either frown or cry in the mirror, if at all.
I feel strangely calm. I am too tired to be angry or bitter like Brother. I hear whispers, the same voices thinking they're discreet, of pity and aggravation towards me. Some offering me pity for being so young and having to enter 'the worst war of all time', and others sneering at me for simply being me,"
The writing becomes sloppy and rushed.
"I have to go now. France and his coo-coo clocks."
"That's it."
Italy sat and let the words truly set in. He didn't have much time as America started speaking again.
"Are all his entries this deep?"
"Yes?"
America hummed and flipped back to the previous entry, scanning the paper to see if Italy's word held true. America whistled. "You weren't kidding, all of these are like this. I would've never guessed."
"Why is that?"
America shrugged. "I dunno, I didn't see him being the deep type."
"I didn't either. He never told me this stuff," Italy said as America handed the journal back to him.
"Oh yeah? I woulda thought you knew most of this stuff," America remarked surprised.
Italy wanted to question America how close he thought he was to Germany. He was there at the world meetings. He was there to see how easily he was brushed off by Germany with the promises of later and eventually. America should know.
"Well, that was interesting. This, plus the girl, just has to tell us where Germany is."
"Hey, hey. Did you see something weird in the journal? A clue or something?" Italy asked.
America thought, his mind reeling with memories that even Germany didn't have. "I don't think so, I didn't see anything suspicious. Why? Did you see something?"
"No, it's just that Germany's really smart, and I thought...maybe he was writing in a weird code or something. I guess I was wrong."
America took the journal and looked through the entry as he spoke. "Lemme see. I don't think so, everything was pretty straightforward from the looks of it. I don't know much about him though so I can't say much. You on the other hand."
Italy looked at America confused. "What about me?"
America rolled his eyes. "Sure, you don't know. Really funny, Italy," America said lightly. America saw Italy clutch onto his cross in genuine confusion and muttered, "Oh, shit. You don't know."
"What don't I know? What does everyone know?" Italy asked desperately.
"Nothing! Nothing! You don't know so it must not be true, so just forget I said anything, okay?" America gesticulated wildly to keep away the approaching Italy. Italy grasped onto America's Bomber jacket, feeling the old cracks of leather through his fingertips as he clutched lightly to America's elbow to make him stop flailing.
"Please, America. If you know something about Germany, please tell me," Italy said softly with complete seriousness. America saw Italy's eyes and for the first time, America realized that Italy hasn't been keeping his eyes shut. Those same aged, amber eyes boring into his.
America's eyes softened. "Okay, Italy. I guess I can tell you, but don't take offense to this okay? I just heard this through the grapevine, so I didn't know if it was true but everyone always kinda just assumed, and you guys made it hard to not just make it fact so it was really surprising to hear that Germany just up and disappeared. Conspiracies have been floating around, some really stupid and some other pretty good, but apparently, some countries think that you, ah. How should I put this? Got a little jealous to put it in simple terms."
Italy's face spoke enough for him as a response.
"Yeah, I know. Of course, you wouldn't do that! You wouldn't go all yandere and hide Germany away because of a squabble, but you know. It's been almost a week and a half since the meeting and the countries are talking. Oh, wait. You don't even know what I'm talking about! Dur," America chuckled, "Apparently everyone thinks this is either, A: a bad breakup and too over dramatic. B: a real threat and Germany has been abducted or something like that. C: Prussia is secretly evil and wants to take over because of again, jealousy. But everyone likes the relationship one better."
"People think that me and, and Germany are dating?" Italy's face tinted a bit before it fading away and returning to its neutral color of paleness. Italy looked pensive and decided that it was a valid assumption.
America nodded. "Yup. We kinda just assumed that you guys had a thing for a long time, and, you know. You being all clingy didn't help much."
America leaned closer. "What we did find weird is that Germany would get this flash in his eyes, as if he were physically pained to be around you back in the sixties. It smoothened out over time and we just guessed things were great in Pleasantville once again. We kinda figured that you guys were cool cucumbers in public, cuddles in the dark kind of relationship."
Relationship. Relationship. Relationship. America said it. The one word that made Italy so confused, the same word that made him look down and despise the buzzing in his ears.
"N-No. Germany and I were never a thing," Italy paused, "At least, I don't think so."
America raised a brow. "You don't know? How does that work?"
America had to understand that Germany and the book are one of the same. You read it, but never truly understand despite the blunt words. The cover, smooth but with ridges and indents. Germany had a deep voice, yet it spoke words that didn't hold much value.
"I-I don't know! Apparently, me and Germany are dating?"
"So you are! Russia owes me twenty bucks!"
Italy immediately denied it. "No, no! We aren't! We aren't dating!"
"But you just said you are?"
"I was confused! I-I never said we were like that."
"So you are?"
"Are what?"
"Sure?"
"Yes."
"You just said you weren't dating him!" America exclaimed with knitted brows.
"I'm not! I thought you meant that I was sure about not dating Germany!" Italy said back hurriedly.
"But. But," America faltered, "Do you want to?"
Italy froze. He sat rigid in his blue seat.
"Hey, man, don't start crying. Italy? Are ya listening? Oh shit."
Italy didn't realize his eyes once again betrayed him with those useless tears. He dabbed his cheek and saw the infamous water droplet. His jaw felt painfully tight, and Italy wanted to grind his teeth to make the pain go away. Italy sighed and wiped his eyes. "I'm okay, I don't know what got over me," Italy said shakily.
"Naw, it's okay. Germany means a lot to you, doesn't he?"
And maybe that's the problem, Italy thought. Maybe if he didn't have a heart that opened so quickly he wouldn't have to always be this way.
"Yeah...He means a lot to me..."
Italy sniffed, and America decided that it wasn't a good time to comment any further. He had said enough. America instead slid down his seat and puffed a breath out, a wisp of hair from his fringe flying up before falling down.
"This is your captain speaking to report that we will be arriving in Lincoln, Rhode Island in about thirty minutes. Please keep seatbelts fastened until instructed to do so. Thank you for choosing Delta Air Lines as your flight today and enjoy your stay."
The mic was then cut off and the flight attendants rolled their carts out like a well-oiled machine. The children in the back were finally getting restless, and America looked relieved.
They didn't speak to each other for some time, the silence not necessarily awkward or oppressive, simply understood. Italy decided to talk once he stepped out on the shaky iron plate to the terminal. Italy breathed in the air that is Rhode Island and saw America appreciate it as well. How something once so new can become dull so fast was amazing to Italy.
A cool wind passed them both. The sun was shy in the horizon, some tourists already taking pictures with their blocky, gray cameras.
Italy and America walked into the terminal, the sound of luggage and chattering humans echoing through the black funnel. It accompanied them as their soft footsteps padded through the walls. The building was warm, and Italy felt America stop. He stopped as well and turned around.
"It's been awhile since I've been to little Rhody. The first to declare independence, the last to ratify. Ah, good old Rhode Island."
Italy tilted his head, his bags blocking his vision of America's melancholic stance slightly. "If there is a place we will get answers, it's going to be Rhode Island," America said with his hands in his jacket pockets.
Italy smiled. "Yeah?"
America nodded eagerly. "Yeah. Come on. This isn't going to solve on its own."
No. No, it will not, but with America standing by the window, people speaking with the same accent as he, Italy could have sworn he saw a flicker of doubt.
But maybe that was just Italy.
...
Where is your Sun now, France? — Germany was alluding to King Louis XIV, The Sun King, as literally everything in France revolved around this guy during this time. Louis XIV was really quite an interesting absolute monarch.
Dip-N-Dots as America's Weakness — It wouldn't be the nineties without a Dip-n-Dots reference.
...
I was sick this week and skidded up a hill in a thunderstorm with two cars behind me today. How I am alive, I don't know ._.
Okay, you guys know what I'm going to say next. Thanks for reading and leave a review if you liked. Thank you so much to those who are still reading and liking as well! Your support really does mean a lot ^^