This is a song by seventh day slumber that remains very dear to me for unknown reasons. I guess I've always loved songs like this. If you want to kow another song similar to this, look up 'The Real Me' by Natalia Grant. Beautiful song! Another song I believe portrays this chapter is 'Caroline' by the same artist, but I thought issing pages would be a better title for this particular chapter.

This chapter turned out a lot different than when I first thought about it. There are a whole lot more characters in it, originally it would just be our main 3 over here, Romano, Italy, and Germany. Now it contains not only these fellows but Japan, Spain, and Russia make an appearance. What was I thinking? I guess I remembered that I put this little thing under the humour and historical fiction (which is soly because that's what the anime itself was) and it turned out way funnier than originally planned. Don't you love it when characters decide their own story? That's when you can write them the truest, when you can literally hear them telling you what to write, when you don't have a plan but 'just go with it'.

The song I listened to the most while writing this was 'Please Remember Me' by Tim Mcgraw. If you feel like listening to it, by all means do so. Its beautiful. I love country music, its so... much more... heartfelt than today's American poop. I mean pop. Or do I? Anyways, not here to rant about music. Just like to say I've really appreciated the support I've gotten for this story, and I remind you guys that the first one to comment on the newest chapter or suggests the best new song for the chapter 'Spare an Angel'.

Long author's note is long. Enjoy!

Romano wished he could bandage more than her arm. He growled. This had happened every time something bad had happened to his dear little sister. As hard as he tried, he could never rescue her every time. The only one who could was the reason she needed to be saved, now. At least the other countries believed him at the conference when he said that Italy had simply caught a cold. No one would be coming around for a while. His sister would slowly mend.

He wished he could have faith in that statement, but his hope was wearing thin. When he first found her at home, looking tired, he felt relief. When she told him she wouldn't talk to Germany again, he felt joy and a sense of triumph. Unfortunately, these emotions were short-lived as time passed, and he noticed she was crying. It was then he knew just how badly it hurt.

Now he wasn't so sure. He could honestly say he had no idea what Italy was thinking. As the days past, she stopped crying in the daylight. As the weeks past, he never heard her cry at night. This was great, right? She was getting over her grief and she would be just fine. At the same time, something told him that something was just… not right with Italy. On the outside she was happy, she was fine, but there was something he could barely detect, something just under the surface, that told him otherwise. Italy was a good liar, but she was his sister. There were some things he just knew.

Speaking of his sister, there she was, wearing a dress. He turned to her and tried to ignore the mark on her arm that had scarred about a week after she left the hospital.

"Romano! Wanna come play football with me?" she asked, holding up a soccer ball.

"In a dress?" he asked.

"I can't find my shorts…" she whined. He rolled his eyes. Italy was extremely disorganized.

"Idiot. You probably left them on the floor. Honestly, you're worse than Prussia." He rolled his eyes at Spain's idiot friend. "Just wear your boxers. They cover enough." Romano said. Italy nodded, and went back into the room they shared.

Ten euros says she'll ask me where her boxers are. He thought.

"Fratello, where are my boxers?"

"In the drawer next to the bed, stupid!" He yelled, and walked outside with the soccer ball to warm up. There was definitely something wrong with Italy. Her smile was just… unnatural. It was fake, plastered onto her face like a painting. Romano paused. That was it! That was what was wrong! She hadn't painted, hadn't doodled, and had hardly done anything on paper, ever since… she told the truth.

There was no easier way to read her than to look at her drawings.

"Italy! Change of plans!" he declared. Italy popped out, holding the top of her dress over her chest, wearing only her boxers. "We're going to draw." Italy looked shocked at first, and then nodded. She walked back inside and put her dress back on. When she came back, she had her sketchbook with her.

"We can't draw for long, Romano, remember?" she said. "Russia's coming over later." Italy pointed out, and he groaned.

"I know he thinks you're sick and all, but does he really have to try to be 'friends', as China explained?" Romano sighed, and looked out the door nervously. He definitely was not looking forward to Russia's visit. (Not that he looked forward to anyone's visits, don't get the wrong idea!) Russia just scared the crapola out of him. He didn't know why Italy would be so calm about that.

Or was she lying about that, too?

"He's just trying to be nice…" she sighed, and looked at her dress, then at her arm. "I'm going to put a jacket on." She said.

"Yeah, you have-" There was loud rumbling, as if a tank was coming towards them. Romano cursed as he looked outside and saw Russia's tank pulling into their driveway. Italy came back out again, wearing a thick jacket. All former calmness was gone. Her face had paled to a sickly shade, and she ran back to hide behind the couch. Romano cursed again and scrambled beside her as loud knocking on the door echoed through the room.

"Here I am yay!" Russia called out. Romano roughly pushed Italy towards the door, and she grabbed anything that might protect her from the giant nation. Unfortunately, the only thing in arm's length was a blanket, which she swiftly wrapped around herself before she quickly opened the door. The last time they'd left Russia outside, he'd simply broken down the door. Romano didn't want to fix it again.

"Hi Italy." Russia said, enveloping the room with his massive proportions as he ducked into the door. Italy stood there, trembling in terror. Romano would have come to her rescue, but there was a fine line to what he would do for his sister. To stand up to Russia would be crossing that line. Russia put his hand on Italy's head, and she all but collapsed then and there.

"Italy, you don't look so good! You shouldn't be running around, you're not healthy!" Healthy enough, that is, to aid him in taking over the world… or simply to be friends. Russia 'guided' Italy to the couch, which basically meant he picked her up and plopped her there, and wrapped the blanket around her.

"You'll need more than one blanket, Italy! What has your brother been doing to you?" Russia frowned, looking like a pouting child. He rushed around, ransacking the house. Romano decided to forever forget the moment that Russia found girl clothes in Italy's closet. (It was lucky that Russia was too busy on his quest to really question why Italy had girl's clothes.) He came back with an armload of them… and promptly plopped them on Italy.

"I heard from your brother that you were sick with a cold, and when I heard that one of my friends was sick, I couldn't help but feel sad! Colds are common in Russia, so I know exactly how to treat it!" Italy felt a whimper rise in her throat. It sounded like he was just going to feed her chicken noodle soup. As… awkward as that would be, worse things had happened to her over the past week-and-a-half. Unfortunately, this was not to be, and for the next hour, Russia let her drink his vodka. By 'Russia let her drink it', Romano basically watched his sister drown in it.

Later…

"Romano, he was honestly trying to be nice…"Italy whimpered after she complained about the light shutting up.

"He was trying to become one with you!"

~:.:~^~:.:~

She built a glass wall, and every day she covered it with her fingerprints. Every day her hand would press against the glass, to reach out a hand to the outside world. Every day she would draw it back inside, a little sadder when she felt the lack of warmth. Every day the wall would get a little blurrier as she ran her hand along the barrier between her and the rest of the world, until she could hardly be seen. Locked from outside by a heart-shaped padlock, the smile would grow just a little dimmer… every day.

That smile that shone like sunlight was now frozen. It was plastered on. She painted it with the expertise of someone who had met pain before, and was still naïve about just how destructive it was. The smile was fake as the actress who wore it, and meant nothing, and what an actress she was. When lies are prolonged, one learns to believe them. So were they still lies?

True Love burns the brightest, but the brightest flames leave the deepest scars.

"I'm fine." Who could believe the phrase when the sweet smile that normally accompanied it was now like a piece of salmiakki in taste? The bright eyes that stared into your own and felt like someone sitting by a warm, crackling fire were now cold as a blizzard. The voice that could melt the hardest of hearts was now a stone in itself. Everything about her was not fine. She was not fine at all.

But no one bothered to correct her.

The one thing she wanted.

Tell her she was wrong.

She wasn't wrong, she really was fine.

No.

She missed Germany. She remembered every time she breathed that he was gone. She'd run her hands over bare arms and finger the scars left behind. Maybe it was better this way. All he'd ever done was hurt her after all, why should she miss him with the intensity that she did? Sometimes she wished she could simply forget him and move on.

But, she would move on. She would recover from this. She had to; she was a nation, not a simple person. Surely it would take more than this to bring her down on her knees in such pain? She had to believe she would recover. She had to believe she was fine. Whether it was lies or whether it was truth, it did not matter. It had to be believed.

The days kept passing. Every time she saw the sun rise, saw it fall, like a great empire that had gotten caught in a time lapse, she would draw a little deeper behind the glass. The days seemed blurry, like the fingerprints on the glass. Eventually, she could simply not feel life at all. Oh yes, she could pretend and lie to her brother about her state, but what was real could not be changed. She became apathetic, because it was the only way to not feel the pain. It was not feeling anything.

At least she had memories, good memories, to look back on. It wasn't all bad, being with him, the ever-faithful girl who just didn't know how to tell the truth. She could still remember when she first met him, staying in his home, being his friend for the first time. Her most precious memory she'd given away. It was that tomato ring, that precious tomato ring that proved just how much he loved her. She hoped he had memories of her.

"Please remember me kindly." She said aloud, and felt surprised to hear her own voice as she watched the moonlight crawl across the floor. She got up and looked outside, and felt tears coming to her eyes. She allowed them to come as she fell to her knees, repeating the words over and over. Someday she'd be okay. Today would not be that day.

~:.:~^~:.:~

"Italy! I'm going to make some pasta today!" Romano had been trying to be cheerful lately. Maybe it would shock me into reality again. Romano knew he needed to do something for the day, after all. It had been exactly a year since Germany had chosen to 'propose' to me. Today was Valentine's Day, Buon San Valentino, in Italian. It was our best day of the year…

But not today.

I put on my best smile as I walked into the room, but Romano could just barely detect the lie underneath the skin.

"Okay!" I tried to say with as much enthusiasm as possible. I loved pasta, right? It was food, and to stay alive, I needed food, but it just wasn't the same any more. It just seemed more like eating some kind of England's food or something. It wasn't that Romano was a bad chef. My taste buds had changed, or rather… had become obsolete.

"Italy…" Romano's spatula dropped to the ground as he turned to me, trembling. I wondered if I'd done anything to upset him. No, I couldn't have him mad at me too! I couldn't bear it… He ran out of the room. I picked up the spatula and turned off the stove as he left the house. I looked longingly at the other car, Incendio. I didn't want to be alone today, I couldn't be alone, but who could I go to?

The idea hit me. I could still go to Japan's, right? He never said he hated me. I wanted to know, anyways. Although he'd probably hate me for the rest of his life, it would just be another scar to add to my body. Another proof of how terrible lying could be. My decision made, I walked outside, got in the car, and put on my seatbelt. I was definitely going to Japan's…

The drive took me what seemed to be a very short time. It felt like only a few minutes when I arrived at that humble, beautiful home of my last close friend. A wave of fear hit me, and I found myself imagining I was at Germany's door again. I could open that door, embrace him, and take care of him during those headaches… No, I was at Japan's house. I couldn't think of Germany. I raised my hand to knock on the door, but Japan's seemingly telepathic abilities never cease to amaze me. He opened the door, and didn't seem the least bit surprised to see me.

I looked into his deep brown, almost black eyes. I could find no accusation in them, and I felt surprised. Why was Japan not angry with me like Germany was that I'd lied to him for so long? I fidgeted with my hands, feeling uncomfortable and confused. I couldn't meet his honest eyes. He was the kind one, the honest one, not me. I stared at his chest, having nowhere else to look, and felt my eyes drawn to the smile on his face. Why was he smiling? Confused, I found myself staring.

"Italy. I'm glad you're here." If words could possibly have any physical reaction on me, it would be that my entire body locked up in shock, and I felt some preconceived relief. He was glad that I was here? That was always a good sign when people ask others what they feel about something horrible they'd done. He beckoned me inside, and I snuggled under the kotatsu table, where I munched on something called 'Pocky'. Whatever it was, it was delicious. Japan was sitting across from me, sipping his tea.

"Italy." He said, catching my attention. "I know why you're here." Japan said, glancing at the scar on my arm. I turned away as a burst of fear and grief washed over me. I bit my lip so I wouldn't cry in front of Japan, but tears escaped anyways. Japan was going to reject me as well, wasn't he? My hands found each other and clenched, hugging each other fiercely as I looked down at Japan's shoes. I was waiting for judgment.

What I got I never expected. His next words shook me to the core. It was exactly what I never knew I wanted. What I never knew I needed came from my close friend, Japan… who knew exactly how to heal me.

"You know what you did was wrong." He paused, sipping his hot tea. I nodded. Yes, and I regretted it immensely. "And you bravely sought to change it." Wait, what was that? How was I brave? It was the most cowardly thing I'd ever done, lying to everyone because I was afraid of love and being loved... "You told the truth after so long… and though I do not like the fact you lied. You did tell the truth… so… Italy, I forgive you."

The sense of relief overcame me. I fell to my knees as a powerful emotion washed over me, but I wasn't scared. It was like I'd been drenched in acid, I could feel myself slowly die, and Japan just pulled me out. Although there was still pain, that crushing grief, the terrible fear, the whispers of the Great Liar himself, it ended right there on Japan's floor. I smiled genuinely for the first time in weeks that Valentine's Day, that beautiful February 14th, and I cried, but not with sadness.

Have you ever felt so happy you wanted to cry? The one time you don't mind feeling the tears fall down your face. You smile and laugh and feel better than you'd ever thought you could feel. Just when you thought you couldn't be happy again, a kind word from someone can break through the darkness clutching your heart and shed light on a dying soul, revitalizing it to a shining gemstone, precious and sacred. I was crying with joy on Japan's floor, and then I knew exactly what I wanted…

I wanted Germany to forgive me, too.

~:.:~^~:.:~

Although Romano would never admit it, the moment his sister came into the room, he'd felt fear creep up on him, and hoped his suspicions were wrong. He listened to her quiet feet on their kitchen floor and he announced he was making her favorite thing. If she was with him at all, she'd be happy. He was making it extra delicious, too! On the outside, she looked fine, beautiful, like perfectly sculpted clay, but on the inside, it was darkness.

Her honey eyes had lost their perfect light. He could just barely detect the pain that smothered that light like a basket over a candle. Was the light still there, just hidden? Or was it extinguished in its entirety? He was about to find out.

Terror. That's what he felt when he heard her voice. The fake cheerfulness almost hid her away; she hid her pain like ripping it from the book. She was a good actress; He was her brother. He could tell she wasn't what she seemed. His spatula dropped in shock when he heard her voice. His last hope was gone… That light had been hidden so deeply, choked by grief… She lost her light in her self-imprisonment.

So he ran. He couldn't handle this on his own anymore. He couldn't bear to see his sister in this shadowed reflection of the once bright country. It was as if the sun had turned into the moon, a place of warmth and life and pure, undefiled light had turned into a cold representation of death, forced to glow in spite of its wounds. Romano dashed outside, and took a look at that note treasuring the smiley face on a song she liked. Why did he feel like it was so important? She was finally a serious country…

But she was no longer who she was. She was hidden behind that fingerprinted glass until he couldn't see her anymore. She hardly ate anymore. She hardly slept anymore. There was only one person he could ask for advice, the only other person that had a radiance of sunlight. He couldn't bear to see his sister fade away. There was nothing he could do to bring her back.

All he could do was ask the priests to pray she wouldn't fade away completely, because he had no hope left. There was nothing he could do for her.

Perhaps, however, his friend Spain could shine on her, make her smile again. He'd always done it before, right? As much as the stupid tomato boss annoyed him, he was desperate. Spain had a way about him that just made people want to smile. If he couldn't help Italy, no one could. That was exactly why he was heading over to his former boss' house on Valentine's Day.

He hoped Spain didn't get the wrong idea…

He was greeted almost as soon as he pulled into the driveway.

"Romano! It's been so long since I saw you! You never come over anymore!" he complained, practically pulling the southern half of Italy out of the car. "I have some fried green tomatoes in the oven! Come in!" And so, without so much of a 'hi, boss', Romano was dragged inside the house. (He was cursing as colorfully as Spain's clothes.)

The brunette man straightened his red tie over his white shirt and handed the plate of tomatoes over to the reluctant country. He wasn't here to eat, dannazione! He sighed as he ate them. Sure, they were delicious, but…

"What is it?" Spain asked. Romano was uncomfortable with meeting the man's green eyes, and instead stared at the tomatoes that shared the shade.

"Italy." Romano said reluctantly.

"Is this about the fight she had with Germany?" Spain asked.

"H-how do you know?" Romano gasped, spitting the tomato in shock, and blushed scarlet in embarrassment when it got all over Spain's clean brown pants. Instead of getting angry, Spain just laughed.

"You look like a tomato~" he said, and left to get a towel. He did end up changing pants before he came back to Romano, however. Romano cursed at him, scowling vividly. He was a country, not a food! Spain sat back down, and Romano refrained from eating any more tomatoes until Spain was finished.

"To answer your question, I heard it from my friend Prussia." Spain said. "He heard it all from the basement. When he came up, he found Germany collapsed, blood on the wall, and Italy was gone. He guessed what had happened. It must have been a nasty fight…" Spain said sadly.

"It was! dannazione!" Romano burst out. "And now she's all wacked up, and she won't eat, and she won't sleep, and it's like… her light went out." Romano shouted. To be honest, he was terrified. "And I'm scared because I can't bring her back." He admitted.

"Romano…" Spain started when he saw tears concealed in Romano's eyes. Romano blinked rapidly. He didn't cry! He was the strong brother. Romano figured he already knew about Italy from Prussia. It was a miracle the annoying albino wasn't allowed at the world conference (as he wasn't really a country), or everyone would know by now.

"What is it, bastardo?" Romano growled.

"I believe I know exactly how to make your sister feel better." Spain said.

"What is it?" Romano's eyes lit up. There was a way to fix his sister.

"Well, it's something only Germany can do…" Spain started awkwardly. Romano reached for the phone to call his mafia. He could convince that patata bastardo to do anything once his mafia was through with him! Spain watched him with a grimace. Romano glared at him.

"What?" Romano growled.

"It's not something that can be forced… It has to come from the heart." Spain said. "Germany has to forgive Italy." He said.

"H-How in inferno am I gonna do that?" Romano burst out, jumping up so quickly that the tomatoes flew… and hit Spain's pants… again. Spain calmly went to change clothes… again, and came back to give him the answer with another joke about his beet-red face resembling that of a confused vegetable. (Or was it a fruit?)

"Never fear, my little tomato, because in these situations, all we need is a good, cheesy plan. And who is better than a good friend of mine to help in our master plan? Besides, he enjoys meddling in foreign affairs. He does it all the time." Spain picked up his phone.

"You don't mean…" Romano's eyes widened as Spain put sunglasses on.

"We're going to call America."

And a The Who song could be heard all around Spain and Southern Italy.

~:.:~^~:.:~

"Fratello! I know what I want now!" I yelled to my brother as I ran to greet him. I didn't care who else was in the car. I wanted my brother. Japan had driven me home earlier, and I couldn't wait until he returned. He'd know what to do; my brother would have a plan! I must have hugged him too hard, because he ended up on the ground.

"What is it?" he growled, pushing me off.

"We already know mi pequeña Italia." Spain said as he got out of the car.

"No! No you don't! I don't want food… Japan… he said what I wanted…" I felt tears coming to my eyes and I wiped them away roughly. I had to tell them! All I wanted was forgiveness! That was all I wanted, after all! It had been what I was seeking so desperately from him for so long… Germany… Spain hugged me tightly, allowing Romano to get up.

"Forgiveness, that's what it is, isn't it?" Spain asked. I gasped, and nodded. So they did know! Romano must have gone to Spain for advice… He really did care!

"We have a plan to get it back for you, sorella." Romano said, and opened the door for the last person in the car. My heart skipped a beat. Was it Germany? I didn't have time to be disappointed when someone practically jumped out of the car, already speaking a hundred miles an hour. It was like meeting my former self.

What was America doing here?

"I still can't believe you let him work on our plan." Romano growled.

"Hey! The hero, who will be known as 'Doctor Love' for the remainder of this epic plan, is totally qualified! I wrote the notebook, didn't I?" America shot back. He did have a point. Didn't he also write Titanic, too? I hoped we weren't getting on any boats…

"A-America…" I gasped as he shook my hand.

"Nice to see you again, Italy." He bowed in an exaggerated fashion. "So I heard you were having some boyfriend troubles?"

"Hey, -!" Romano smacked him across the face, and turned to me. "You dropped this. Go look it up. America, Spain and I have some talking to do." Romano waved me away, and I looked down at the note. It was the song I wrote down earlier. I nodded and walked into our workroom. The rarely-used computer had to be over 5 years old. I turned on the old system and typed in the song into YouTube. As I let the lyrics wash over me, I heard America tramp into the room near the end of the last chorus.

"Italy!" he yelled. I jumped out of my seat and crashed into the floor. He scared me so badly that I could only stare at him, shocked.

"W-what is it?" I asked, managing to get myself up.

"I've got a plan!" This could either be really good or really bad. I stared at him from behind the desk.

"Can you sing well?" America asked me. Caught off guard by the sudden question, I didn't know how to answer. I guess it depended on who was listening, so I sung a little Italian for him. He must have liked it, because he broke out in a grin. (Then again, this didn't mean anything. He also liked Rebecca Black.)

"I'm going to call one of my buddies, and we're going to pull of the best plan in history!" America exclaimed, and that week, I practiced. With every day I felt more scared. Could America's plan really work?

I was scared to find out.