Hey there, faithful readers. If you're wondering, what you're looking at is an update. I know, they're pretty unfamiliar, but that's because you haven't seen one in a long ass time. I'm sorry about that btw. Time flies when you're avoiding your responsibilities. Not that I consider this a responsibility. It's more like a sacred duty. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it, and as always, it would be much appreciated if you jotted a few opinions down and sent em my way. Til next time x


The next morning, Germany woke up in a bed that was not his own, still in the clothes he had been wearing the previous day. As he looked around the faintly familiar room, confused and bleary eyed, he realised he had no recollection of going to bed. He tried to work out where he was, but a general haziness had taken hold of him, making his progress through even the most basic thought processes slow and ungainly. There was a dull ache at the back of his head, and as he slowly pushed himself up, it throbbed and grew into a full-fledged headache. As he moved, so did the world, spinning and shaking in a way that no world had any right to do. Nausea reared its ugly head, and his attempts to get up suddenly became desperate and shaky as he struggled to get to a bathroom before he vomited. He settled for a bin that had been placed near the edge of the bed, probably for that very purpose.

After he'd finished, he stayed kneeled on the floor in front of the bin for several minutes, scared to move in case he set the world off spinning again. He noticed, as he clung to the edge of the bin with both hands, that one of his hands was bandaged at the knuckle, and ached a little when he moved it. Eh. On his list of concerns, a bust hand was pretty far down. He took a few deep breaths, and tried to get his bearings.
"Where the fuck am I?" He tried to ask, not in a state of panic, but rather bewilderment. He was dressed, so he knew he hadn't slept with anyone else (or, thank God, been "hired" by anyone else) but he also had the worst hangover he'd ever had, so at some point he must have gone out to get drunk, and apparently gotten so shitfaced that some other nation had had to take him in for the night. Ugh. Wunderbar. He'd been hoping that he'd be able to keep the events of the past week on a strictly need-to-know basis, but he'd probably done something so fucked up and ridiculous when he'd been drunk last night, that he'd left his reputation in tatters. There probably there wasn't a single nation alive that didn't know about it. Hell, maybe the dead ones knew too. He groaned and crawled back into the bed that he had forgotten was not his own, and curled up into a ball under the covers, resolving to never speak to another living thing as long as he lived, even when the combination of a horrendous headache and fierce hunger pangs became unbearable. He hadn't even been aware that there was enough beer in the world to make him feel this sick; he was so used to drinking it by the barrel.

There was a knock at the door and he groaned aloud. Noises were quite unnecessary. He said something garbled that vaguely resembled the words come and in, but refused to stick his head out.
"Germany?" He heard Italy ask, thankfully in a whisper. And then he realised where he was. Italy's bedroom, a room he had previously never been in. He didn't think Italy had ever been in here either. So he made it back from the pub fine, or... Oh, of course! He hadn't gone out last night to drink; he'd been too ashamed to risk bumping into anyone who had been his clients, so he'd gotten wasted on all that vodka Italy had bought. He remembered being surprised at how little time had passed since Belarus had been at his house. It felt like eons ago. Then... how did he get here?
"Ja?" He asked, finally pulling the cover off his head and sitting up. Italy was stood in front of him like a god damn angel, holding a tray full of breakfast supplies and hot coffee and water and – oh mein Gott, was that paracetamol? And surprisingly he was being so blissfully quiet, not asking any awkward questions about the previous night, which alone he could kiss him for. Italy held it out, silently offering, and Germany grabbed at it greedily.
"Danke, danke, danke," Germany repeated every other breath, as he fumbled with the aspirin box and finally managed to swallow some. Italy just sat at the foot of the bed and stayed quiet as Germany swallowed the pills and ate.
"So, how did I end up in here?" Germany finally asked, breaking the silence as he put the tray to one side and got out of bed.
"Well, I came home last night and I found you on the floor crying, and you were pretty drunk, and I don't know if you remember but before I got there, you'd smashed some stuff. And you told me everything that happened with Japan, and I tried to make you go to bed, and you hugged me and said that was a good idea, and you went upstairs, and then you asked why I always sleep in your bed, and you wanted to know what was wrong with mine, and then you were asking if you could try my bed out, so I let you in here, and you passed out before I could get you out." Italy grinned as his friend feeling like himself again. Germany cringed, utterly mortified at how Italy, who had for so long looked up to him, had seen him last night. Well, at least he hadn't hurt Italy like he had America. As annoying as the guy was, he wouldn't want to seriously injure him while drunk.
"I'm sorry about that. Last night was not a great night; I didn't really react well... so where did you sleep?" Germany asked.
"It's okay, I slept in here, with you," Italy shrugged as if it was totally normal, "You, uh, before you passed out you got all affectionate and it was really very cute, and I didn't think you wanted me to leave."
"Oh, I see. So, I didn't do anything bad? Aside from the smashing stuff. Oh, if I broke anything of yours, I will pay for it, I promise. I just. I've never gotten that drunk before, I just didn't know what to think, and if we slept in the same bed... Ich weiss nicht." Germany began to ramble, unlike him.
"No, you were fine. Nicer than usual actually. You hugged me a lot and patted my hair curl. And if you're worried you tried to sleep with me, you didn't." Italy told him, Germany sighing with relief as he heard. He thanked Italy again, and then finally vacated his room, telling his friend that he was going to get a shower.

It was as he was standing under the cold jet of water, washing America's dried blood out of his hair, that the full situation hit him. He realised that he wasn't merely dealing with a hangover or an argument. Japan had actually left him the previous day. He had broken America's nose, and with it, he had probably broken his alliance with America. Probably his alliance with England as well, seeing as England and America did everything together these days. And Russia. Christ, he had made a powerful, scary enemy in Russia. What had he been thinking?! He could never win a fight with Russia, physical or otherwise! He was lucky America had held him back, otherwise, who knows. He'd probably be in the hospital. His eyes stung and he let out a sob. Almost every single aspect of his life was in ruins, and the worst part was, he couldn't really blame anyone else for it. Sure, he could blame Russia for lying to him, but it was how he'd reacted that had really ruined everything, and that was all down to him. One by one, an aching frustration, a burning anger with himself, and last a unquenchable hopelessness filled him, until finally, in the wet naked solace of the shower, Germany fell apart.


Almost an hour later, he finally emerged from the shower, and fled to his room before Italy had a chance to talk to him. He locked himself in, trying to work out some kind of plan to fix everything, because that was what he did. He made plans, he strategized, and he didn't let anything stop him, not even the Treaty of Versailles. But the longer he thought about it, the more he became convinced that there was nothing he could do. Nothing he could do to apologise to Japan, or America for that matter, nothing he could do to stop the entire world finding out about the bet, and nothing he could do to stop his life spiralling out of control. In the end, he settled for making a doctor's appointment, cleaning up the mess he'd made the day before, and trying to spend some time with the one friend he had left. But when he went to look for Italy, he was gone.


"Did Germany send you?" was the first thing that Japan asked when Italy showed up. He was so suspicious of Italy, he didn't let him in; they just stood at the door, Japan ready to slam it in Italy's face if he turned out to have ulterior motives.
"No, he was too busy rocking back and forth and crying in the shower for that. I just wanted to come and talk to my friend."
"I see... Germany was really crying?" Japan asked, a little shocked. He'd always thought of Germany as someone stoic and strong, and just someone who could just handle things.
"Si! It was kind of hard to ignore actually, he was being really loud, even though I think he thought that the shower sounds would cover it up but they didn't. It was kind of sad, I've never seen my Germany like that before... He's really broken up about it." Italy informed Japan, nodding earnestly as he did so. In truth, he had had to strain to hear what was going on, and he really had no way of proving that Germany had been rocking, but he thought the worse Japan thought it was, the more he'd feel bad about it. He didn't seem to realise the kind of pathetic light he was painting Germany in.
"Why are you telling me all this?" Japan asked, after a few seconds of staring at the emotional brown-haired man. Italy blinked. He hadn't expected Japan to be this apathetic.
"Because... Because I know how you feel, like Germany cheated on you, right? But he honestly thought he had to do it, and he hated it, really. He wanted to kill America for getting him into it! And he was embarrassed about it! He tried really hard to keep it from me, with all this sneaking around and yelling at me for asking questions, even more yelling at me than he usually does, because he didn't want anyone knowing."
"Italy, please stop. I'm not angry at him. And I'm not jealous. I just. I do not see him in the same way anymore. Honestly, it is not just the prostitution. Maybe, if he had told me right from the beginning..."
"I think he just wanted to be able to tell you in person." For some reason, Italy didn't seem to be able to stop trying to defend Germany. He was friends with Japan too, and logically, he knew that what Germany had expected him to deal with was insane, by anyone's standards, yet in his mind, it was Japan who was in the wrong.
"And in front of America and Russia? Why did he do that, anyway? I would have preferred it to have been just us." Japan lamented. Sure, America was a friend, a quite close friend at that, but to discover all these mortifying things in front of Russia, a nation he had no desire to be anywhere near even when he wasn't discovering his boyfriend had become a prostitute behind his back? It made things much worse.
"I think they were there for support?" Italy guessed, pretty much at a loss. He hadn't even known that they were there.
"He does not even like Russia." Japan argued, before spitting out, with all the disgust his tiny body could muster up, "And he kissed me before he told me!" Japan shuddered as he thought of where Germany's mouth may have been earlier that week. France, America, England... He really should not have asked Germany who he'd been with. Little scenarios kept playing in his head over and over, all these different nations fooling around with Germany, and it was disgusting, and wrong, and really not something he wanted his brain to assault him with. Needless to say, he'd brushed his teeth a lot since the day before.
"That is bad." Italy murmured, seemingly more to himself than to Japan. Japan sighed at him. Of course he would downplay the one thing Japan was really bothered by.
"Is that all you wanted to say?" Normally he loved spending time with his Italian friend, but they usually didn't spend time together under such uncomfortable circumstances. It looked like Italy had already decided whose side he was on, and in all honesty Japan wasn't too surprised, but he didn't really want to talk about what happened with him. Italy shuffled, not wanting to admit that that was all he'd come to say, but finally nodded. Japan glowered.
"Goodbye Italy."


"Uh hi, Germany? I guess either you're not in huh, because obviously after what happened last night if you were in, you'd pick up the phone and talk to me, because we have a lot to talk about."

America's voice on his answering machine broke the silence that Germany had been stewing in since he'd gotten out of the shower and found Italy departed. However, it did not penetrate the hungover haze that had settled back on Germany's consciousness after he had finished struggling through the tasks he'd appointed himself and he had just collapsed on the sofa. The orotund sound just washed over him, and he made no attempt to understand what America had said.

"What I mean is, you broke my fucking nose!"

The sound suddenly got louder and sharper, and Germany whined in response.

"Which, I don't know if you know, was totally awesome! I mean, you broke my nose with one fucking head butt! It was impressive! Can you teach me that? Is there a trick to it, or do you just have to use a lot of force? I tried it on Canada earlier, and he just started crying, so I know I'm doing something wrong."

The sound became even louder, but also bright and cheery and downright irritating. But it was more preferable to the sterner sound that there had been before.

"Uh. Anyway. It's broken, but it's going to be fine, I went to the hospital and they're gonna sort everything. So, I bet you're glad you know that now. Your hero is totally A-okay! Laters!"

The sound suddenly stopped, and Germany was in silence again.

After what seemed like an eon, he finally pushed himself up off the sofa, staggered across the floor on legs that were not used to the inactivity they'd been receiving, and pressed play on the machine. Once he had properly listened to the message, he realised that his list of problems wasn't half as long as he had initially thought it was. And now he had his head clear, he wanted to keep it that way. Once again, he began to assign himself tasks to complete around the house, and slowly began to feel more like himself than he had all week.


When Italy got back later that night, he found the house in a much better state than he had found it in the previous night. The previous night, there had been overturned furniture, Germany's smashed possessions littered the floor, and there had been incredibly unsettling blood splatters on the carpets and walls. That night however, everything was as it should be.
"Germany?" He called into the dark house, but there wasn't a response. He made his way into the kitchen, hoping to find either Germany or a cooked meal, but instead found a very large stack of empty glass bottles on the counter. There was a bin bag on the floor that was absolutely full to the brim with the same kind of glass bottles, and another full bin bag that was too tightly tied for Italy to look inside, but from the way it clinked when he moved it... Fantastico. Germany had been drinking again. It looked as if he had drunk the entire, hundred-bottle-strong supply of vodka.

Aside from the bin bags, however, the kitchen looked pristine and unused. Italy sighed. Germany hadn't eaten anything that day either. Or made anything for Italy. Annoyance at Germany turned to worry, and Italy hoped to god his friend was okay. It was strange, him being the responsible one in the relationship for once, and Italy didn't know how to react to it. He was so used to Germany looking after him, he'd begun to depend on him, and he could scarcely care for himself, let alone another whole person, who at that moment was going through some kind of alcohol fuelled breakdown. Which was probably why he panicked and started crying as he searched the house for his friend.
"Germany?! Are you dead?" He sobbed as he looked in the downstairs rooms, a slight paranoia setting in that made him need to re-check rooms he had already been in. Slowly, he made his way upstairs, having to cling to the bannister to make it to the top. He called Germany's name again and again. He wasn't really sure what he was expecting. A Germany who was not in the house? An awake Germany who was ignoring him? An unconscious Germany? A dead-by-choking-on-his-own-vomit Germany? The last image made Italy's whole body shake with the force of his sobbing. He finally found Germany in his room, in his bed. His eyes were closed, and he wasn't moving. How was he not moving?! He had been making so much noise, calling Germany's name, how could Germany be asleep? Italy grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him furiously, screaming as he did.
"GERMANYGERMANYAREYOUDEADPLEASEDON'TBEDEADIFYOUDIEDIDON'TKNOWWHATI'DDOI'DPROBABLYHAVETOGOLIVEWITHFRANCE!AHHIDON'TWANTTOLIVEWITHFRANCEANDHISLIBIDOHAVEYOUSEEN THETHINGSHEDOESWITHHISORANGEJUICE?IHAVEGERMANYIHAVE!GERMANYGERMANYPLEASEDON'TBEDEADPLEAAASSEEE!" Italy screamed at breakneck speed, like a man being torture, jolting Germany awake and making him cry out.
"Italy, what's wrong?" He gasped, his heart pounding at the shock of being wrenched out of his slumber by a hysterical Italy.
"I SAW THE BOTTLES AND I THOUGHT YOU'D DRANK YOURSELF TO DEATH!" Italy wailed, tears now streaming down his face with no sign of stopping. Germany clamped a hand down on his jabbering mouth, finally silencing him. Italy looked up at him, his wide eyes bloodshot and watery.
"Italy please, quiet and listen. I...I wanted to drink, but I didn't want to scare you like I did last night again. And I knew if I started, I'd go overboard. So I poured it all away. The vodka went down the drain. Alright? Now stop crying." Germany ordered. Italy still trembled and whimpered, seemingly unable to control his crying. Germany sighed, and his breath tickled Italy's nose. It wasn't sharp and sour, and it smelled nothing like vodka. What Germany had said sunk in as the truth. Still, even after he stopped crying, and he got his breathing back under control, Italy couldn't stop shaking. Germany was beginning to get annoyed, and he was tempted to just lock Italy out of his room, but for some reason he couldn't. He remembered earlier that day, when he had craved Italy's presence, his stupid remarks, and his adorable naivety. He had actually wanted Italy around earlier, and he wasn't there. Why should he push him away now he was? He took a moment to consider, to think about what he was doing, and whether what he was about to do was a good idea, then shrugged, and did something he'd never done before. He invited Italy into his bed. It wasn't much, really, when you considered that Italy was going to get into that bed in the end anyway. All he did was shuffle to the side to make room for Italy, and make a little hand gesture to indicate that Italy should get in, but Italy acted thrilled. He calmed immediatly, stripped down to his pink vest top and boxers, and leapt into Germany's bed.
"Night Ita-" Germany made a strangled sound mid-word as Italy hugged him. Germany froze, unsure whether to return the hug or to tell Italy not to push his luck and detach himself from the embrace. Ordinarily, he would have pushed Italy away instantly, but then again, ordinarily Italy would have known better than to hug him. It was just the hellish week he'd been having. That was his excuse for melting into the hug, closing his eyes and falling asleep with his arms wrapped around perhaps his only friend.