Chapter 2: The Question

Germany ignored the mutters of the people in the corridor as he steered Italy out of the building and toward the car. "Watch the steps." He said quietly as they descended the stairs to the building.

"Germany!" He heard.

Germany turned his head to see Japan sprinting down the steps, his usually composed self rushing toward the two of them. "I will sit in the back with Italy."

The concern Japan he had for Italy touched Germany's heart, but he found that he could not smile at Japan's thoughtfulness. "Of course."

He steered Italy toward the back seat of the car, opening the door. Italy bent over and sat down without prompting, apparently needing the seat. He stood perfectly still as Germany leaned over and buckled him in. He looked at Italy as he finished, noticing the tears trapped in his long lashes. He could scarcely believe this was the same man slamming France against the wall several minutes ago. He stood, realizing that even leaving Italy in the backseat as he drove them all to his house felt like too much separation. Before he closed the door, he put his hand on Italy's shoulder and squeezed slightly. While this display of affection would have normally delighted Italy, Germany found that the only response that he got was that Italy closed his eyes. He let go, shutting the door.

He sat in the driver's seat and buckled in, finding that Japan sat in the middle seat, his and Italy's legs touching. He started the car and turned on the AC. He pulled into the traffic, hoping that the drive to Italy would be relatively short. Travel for countries have always been odd. No one has ever really been able to understand it, and since it is illegal to do experiments on national personifications, no experimentation has been done. Travel usually depended on the mood of the traveler and the bond the traveler had with the destination, among other things. There were many variables. As Germany encountered the coast of America, a paved road extended over the ocean. The occasional wave lapped over the fresh pavement, but it was completely safe. As he started to drive over the ocean, he peered back into the rearview mirror.

Japan, who was usually so opposed to touch, appeared to have been making an exception as he slung an arm around Italy's slumped shoulders. Germany was slightly relieved to see that Italy had responded to the touch, leaning into Japan's side. Japan's uncharacteristically worried eyes contacted Germany's in the mirror, and they both shared a confused gaze. A mutual question of "What happened back there?" Germany returned his eyes onto the road, pondering that very question. What was that all about? This Holy Rome, guy… he had heard of him. He knew who he was, and he knew that he was a formidable enemy before he fell. Of course, all this occurred before Germany was even unified, so it all happened before he was even alive. His mind's eye watched as Italy slammed France against that wall, his usually friendly eyes glowing with rare malice. He swore he could hear the echo of Italy's voice as he shouted that he loved Holy Rome. He was a child and he died.

He remembered the desperate anger. The desolate sorrow. So much had happened in a span of a minute. So many new questions that were unanswered, and likely would remain that way. His memory flashed back to that same Valentine's day where Germany's feelings for Italy planted themselves. He remembered the desperate question if Italy had ever had a previous love. He remembered Italy's reluctant answer that he did. Another boy.

Of course. Germany's grip tightened on the steering wheel. How could he never have asked? Why didn't he ever ask? That was a think friends talked about. And yet he never brought it up. Maybe it was because he has never been a fan of heart-to-heart talks. Or maybe, he thought. You were jealous. He pushed away this thought as the scenery around him started to look familiar. In the distance, he could see Italy's house. Glancing down at the clock, Germany noticed he had been driving for about ten minutes. He looked back up as the new pavement of the magic rode blended into the old asphalt of Italy's driveway.

Italy's house had always been beautiful, Grey brick, white window trimming, with black Spanish tile covering the roof. A gorgeous garden splaying out from the front of the house to the end of the driveway, filled with fruit trees and flowers. He parked the car at the front steps and unbuckled his seatbelt. As he stepped out of the car, he was hit with pure sunlight. Its light and heat contrasted to America's overcast weather that under any other circumstances, it would have distracted him. However, his focus was honed on the people in the back seat. As he rounded the front of the car with the intent of opening the back door, it was opened by Italy. Without casting a glance back, he walked up the steps and unlocked the door to his home.

Germany exchanged a concerned glance with Japan as he stepped out of the car. They knew that whenever Italy had guests over, he slipped into what seemed to be the ideal host. Courteous, considerate, always chatting up his guests about pleasant topics. For him to have left them behind in the car was extraordinarily out of character for him.

"Does he want us to leave?" Japan asked.

Germany considered this. Their cars were in Italy's garage, so it was entirely possible. As he was about to answer that he didn't know, Italy opened the door to his house and stepped inside. He left it open. Germany hummed. "I don't think so." He looked over at his friend, a silent agreement passing between them before they joined Italy in his beautiful house.

Germany shed his coat the moment he stepped over the door, shutting the door behind him. He looked around the room, about to step off the welcome mat to search for Italy when he noticed that Japan toed off his shoes. He did the same, following Japan through the entrance hall.

Germany had always liked Italy's house. It was cozier than his own, but less orderly. It was a spacious open floor plan, so it was easy to find him. As they left the entrance hall, the cream walls covered in fine paintings, the space opened into a living space that combined the kitchen, dining room, and living room. Germany's concentrated frown loosened as he saw Italy sitting on the couch.

He was hovering on the edge of the cushion, his shoulders bent as his elbows rested on his knees. His long, graceful fingers were folded together in his lap. That unruly curl on his head had loosened into a loose slump. It almost lay flat. Germany stepped forward, at a loss of what to do. "It-"

Japan held up an open palm, his kind gaze seeming to pierce Germany. He padded forward, his black socks muffling his steps on the hardwood floor. Without a word, he sat next to Italy. After the slightest pause, he splayed his open hand between Italy's shoulder blades and leaned forward slightly. "Italy," he began, his voice barely audible. "Let's get you to bed, okay?"

Italy nodded, staying quiet for a moment before his shoulders sunk even further. A shattered sob pierced through the air, giving way to horrid, tortured crying. He curled into himself, the heels of his palms digging into his eyes.

"Oh, Italy." Japan said, pulling him into a rare hug. "Come with me." They stood up, Italy appearing to almost lean on Japan entirely as Japan steered him around the couch.

Germany stepped forward. "Let me-"

"-I've got it." Japan interrupted, not unkindly. "How about you make us something to eat, and I will get Italy ready for bed."

It was only around two in the afternoon. Germany knew this, but he also knew that didn't matter. He heard Italy try to muffle his sobs and realized that whatever had taken place, it shook Italy to his very core. He needed rest. However, knowing that he could not help Italy directly was a hard pill to swallow, even if he didn't know what he could do if Japan had allowed him to try. So, he did all he could do. He nodded. "Okay."

Japan gave him a nod of thanks as he led Italy out of the living room, and down the hallway to the bedrooms.

Germany stood for a moment as Italy's crying faded. He needed to collect his thoughts. Well, dinner. Something to eat. He could do that. He shed his suit jacket as he padded into the kitchen area. He had faith in his ability to navigate Italy's kitchen, as it was about the only place in the entire house that was always completely organized. As he tried to find an apron, he noticed a piece of paper stuck to the fridge with a magnet in the shape of a slice of pizza. He pulled it out from underneath the magnet. Baked Eggplant Parmesan. It looked relatively simple. He set the recipe on the counter, continuing his search for an apron. After a few more minutes passed, he gave up his search in favor of just taking off his tie and unbuttoning the top button. Rolling up his sleeves, he sighed.

He searched the kitchen for ingredients, not surprised at all to find an abundance of cheese in the fridge. If Italy had any weaknesses, it was cheese and pasta. How that man stayed so thin was a wonder to Germany. He did some more meal prep, his mind echoing the same thoughts and questions he had earlier in the car. He searched the depths of his mind for any more clues or memories that could help him piece together what happened earlier today. But he came up empty.

"Germany." A quiet voice said behind him.

Germany jumped, unusually frightened by the sudden interruption. He peered over his shoulder. "Oh. Japan."

"Can I help?" Japan asked. Germany noticed that Japan looked unusually tired.

"No but thank you."

"I was hoping you would say that." Japan admitted with a slight smile, sitting on a barstool on the other side of the counter.

There was a slight pause as Germany preheated the oven. "Is Italy okay?"

Japan ran a hand through his hair and gave a slight sigh. "No, but he is in bed in his pajamas."

Germany didn't really know what to say. "Oh."

"If you had seen him…" Japan continued, resting his arms on the counter. "When we got to his room, he stopped crying and he was numb again. He didn't say a word. He needed me to help him get dressed, everything." Japan's cheeks colored slightly as he said this, but he was otherwise composed. "It is so unlike him."

Germany nodded in agreement as he searched for a spice cabinet. "Yes… not as unlike him as how he was at the meeting, though."

Japan stilled. He looked almost afraid as he waited for Germany to continue. "Yes."

"I have never seen him angry. I've never thought about it before, but I have only seen him frustrated at worst."

Japan nodded. "Yes."

"Why was he like that?" He asked, finally finding what he needed.

There was a pause. Germany was getting real sick of long, empty pauses.

"It's… not my place to tell you, I don't think." Japan finally answered.

Germany set the spices on the counter and leaned against it, folding his hands out in front of him. "I… understand. It's irritating, but I understand." He stood up again, frustratedly brushing back his bangs away from his forehead. The hair kept falling over his eyebrows from the lack of gel and it was starting to bother him. "But there is still something I don't understand. Why wouldn't you let me help Italy?"

Japan raised an eyebrow in a silent question.

"Don't think I didn't notice."

Japan sighed through his nose, his eyes settling on the bottles of spices. "… I don't think I can tell you that, either. But trust me when I say I wish I could, Germany. I know this is hard for you, especially given how you feel about Italy."

"I-"

"Please." Japan interrupted. "It's okay. I have known for a while. Since World War Two, right?"

Germany could feel his cheeks and ears turn red. "This isn't really… I mean…"

Japan raised his eyebrow again.

Germany sighed. "If I am truly honest, I wish I could help him. But I don't know how. And it's hard to know when people won't tell me a damn thing." Germany finished, aggravated at this moment of vulnerability.

Japan raised a fist to his lips and leaned against it, thinking. "That's remarkably honest of you, Germany. I know neither of us like talking about…"

"… feelings," Germany finished, muttering it like it was a curse word.

"Yes, but I feel that we are close. I appreciate you confiding in me about this." Japan said.

Germany chose not to reply, rinsing off his hands in the sink.

"The best way you can help Italy is to be with him." Japan added. "Stay near him. Help him."

"Well how do I do that?" Germany asked, frustration darkening his tone once again. "Every time I try, I don't know what to do!"

Japan gazed up at him, his brown eyes boring into Germany's icy blue ones.

Germany was slightly uncomfortable with this, but he refused to look away. "What is it?" He asked finally.

Japan blinked. "Sometimes I forget how young you really are. Not even a hundred and fifty years old…"

Germany frowned, wondering how that was relevant.

"It doesn't matter." Japan continued, picking up on Germany's thoughts. "When I say, 'stay near him', just help him. Cook. Clean. Help him get dressed and get on with his day. But whatever you do, don't ask him. This is something he must tell you when he is ready."

Germany nodded, silence ensuing as he dipped the slices of eggplant into scrambled egg. It was not uncomfortable, it was the type of silence where all the participants in conversation were in deep thought. The silence was shattered, however, as Germany's phone started buzzing on the counter by the stove. Germany wiped his fingers off on a paper towel before crossing the kitchen. Picking up his phone, he glared at France's name on the screen. Without a second thought, he dismissed the call. Whatever France did to hurt Italy, Germany was not interested in his explanations. Diplomatic as he was, he had no problem letting France know, either. He set his phone back on the counter, just turning to Japan to tell him when Japan's phone rang.

Japan withdrew it out of his back pocket.

"France?" Germany asked.

Japan glanced at the phone and nodded. He slid his finger across the screen, ignoring Germany's pointed glare as he answered the call. "This is Japan," he paused. "It is fine. It's not like you knew he would react like he did. I trust the presentation went well…? Good."

Germany determinedly ignored the tinny sound of France's voice coming from the speaker as he turned back to the eggplant.

"He will be. It was quite a shock, but give it some time and he will be okay."

Germany glared at the phone. France killed someone close to Italy, then had the nerve to ask if he was okay?

Japan's brow furrowed slightly. "Of course he isn't picking up the phone, you know what he just found out… yes, I understand… well it surprised me too, but how do you react to finding that out?" There was another moment of silence and Japan straightened. "Perhaps… I know. But I… okay, I will. Goodbye, France. I hope your nose heals soon." He hung up the phone.

"Well?" Germany asked tersely.

"France wanted to know if Italy was okay. He apologized for interrupting the meeting, he was worried because Italy wasn't picking up the phone… he was surprised at how Italy attacked him. His nose really hurt, he said."

Germany gave a satisfied hum.

"And… he asked for updates on how Italy is doing."

Germany finished laying out the eggplant slices in a baking pan. "Well he won't get them from me."

Japan nodded. "I expected so."

"Will you give them to him?"

"Yes." Seeing Germany's look, he explained himself. "I know this is confusing, but this is much more complicated than you probably think it is. France… he has a side to the story too."

Germany grunted, pushing the baking pan into the oven. "It doesn't excuse what he did."

Japan frowned, looking slightly aggravated. "How can you decide until you know the whole story?"

"He knew Italy cared for him," Germany answered as he put down the oven mitts. "And he killed him."

"Again, there is a full story you don't know."

"He killed a child!" Germany grunted, keeping his voice low for Italy's sake.

"And how many have we killed, Germany?" Japan answered, his voice dreadfully calm, but deceivingly simple. Behind his eyes was a turmoil of emotion. "How many people have we killed for the sake of power?"

Germany froze, his heart stopping in his chest as he stared down at the kitchen tile. God, that thought tormented him constantly. How much blood was on his hands? Whether people from his country or from others, it was a guilt that settled itself on his shoulders constantly. "Don't ask that." He said, his reply barely audible.

"I wouldn't say it if it were not true." Japan said, looking like he dreaded the answer as much as Germany. "We both have killed so many people. I do not even want to think about how many children. But we have done the same as France. Are we bad people?"

Germany thought for a moment. "No." Even then he wasn't sure.

"Exactly. We made mistakes. There were some times when we could not help it. How do you know that France is any different?"

Germany couldn't think of anything to say. "This is why I don't talk about feelings."

"I am sorry, Germany." Japan said, truly looking it.

Germany couldn't think of anything to say. Either way, he didn't want to carry on this damn conversation. He was already so, so tired.

"I have to make a call to my boss. I need to ask if I can stay for a while and help take care of Italy."

Germany nodded, picking up his phone and thanking whatever deity was up there for a change of subject. "I should probably do the same." He selected his boss' number and waited.

A brief phone call later, and he got the permission he needed. The only requirement was that he keep up with his paperwork, and that he be there by next Monday. That gave Germany six days. However, Japan did not appear so lucky.

"I can stay overnight. But I have to be home by tomorrow afternoon."

"You would have to leave first thing tomorrow morning." Germany said. "To accommodate for the international road."

Japan nodded. "There is really not much I can do in that time."

"Perhaps. We'll see how Italy is later tonight."

Japan nodded in agreement, though he still looked unsatisfied.

Germany finished cooking, the two of them discussing how America presented Japan's presentation according to France. Apparently he did well, but after the event during lunch no one seemed to be paying attention. "I have never understood America," Germany said. "He seems to never work hard. And yet…"

"He is incredibly powerful." Japan finished. "It is the stuff he cares about that he works so hard on. It seems that as far as he is concerned, whatever he does not care about should be left alone, but present issues and things that interest him always get his full effort."

Germany nodded, finishing the salad. "Yes… sometimes I wonder how the two of you are friends. You're both so different."

Japan shrugged. "I feel the same way sometimes. But you could say the same about the three of us, don't you think?"

"Ja." Germany offered, pulling the parmesan out of the oven and slicing it. "Help yourself to dinner, I will take Italy his." His gaze landed on the wine rack in the corner before deciding that a glass of water would probably be a better option.

Japan paused, considering Germany's proposition. "Good luck. Remember: be there for him, but don't ask him about what happened."

Germany nodded, walking back to Italy's room. It was the only door in the hallway that was shut all the way. In the days where the three of them would frequently sleep in the same house, it was an annoying habit of Italy's that he would never shut the door all the way. Germany turned the knob and opened the door, finding that the lights were turned off. A window was left open, allowing moonlight to spill into the room. He quietly walked in, wondering if Italy was asleep. As he got closer, though, he noticed that Italy's eyes were wide open. "Italy," he said softly.

Italy looked over at him.

Germany was taken aback by his eyes. Whenever they were fully open, they were sparkling with happiness and a lust for life. But now they were empty and lackluster. Like windows clouded with dust. "I made you something to eat."

Italy looked past Germany's waist at the wall behind him. "I'm not hungry."

Germany paused for a moment, wondering what to do. He remembered what Japan said: Just help him. Cook. Clean. Help him get dressed and get on with his day. Making him eat counted as helping him get on with his day, right? "Italy, you have to eat something."

Italy didn't move his head as his eyes found Germany's again. He took a long, slow breath and turned on his back to sit up against the headboard. "My head is pounding." He said, sounding as if he only just woke up. Given the tiredness of his expression, though, Germany suspected he hadn't slept a wink since they got home.

"I brought you a glass of water." He offered, handing it to Italy.

Without a word, Italy took a long drag out of the glass.

"I also made that eggplant recipe that was on the fridge."

Italy looked over at the plate in Germany's hands as if he only just realized it was there. "I was supposed to make that. I'm sorry." His voice was flat.

"It's okay." Germany said, offering him the plate.

Italy took it, but he made no attempt to eat anything.

"You have to eat that."

Italy looked back up at Germany before glancing away like the eye contact burned him. He offered no reply.

"I am not leaving until you eat at least half of that."

Italy cut away a sheepish bite and ate it.

"Good." Germany said, not knowing what to do. He remembered how Italy leaned into Japan earlier and stretched his hand out to put on his shoulder.

"Please, don't." Italy said, sounding as if he were on the verge of tears again.

Germany blinked, taken aback. Italy had never refused physical contact before.

"I'm sorry, but I just…" As if searching for something to do, he took another bite of the parmesan.

"No, you're okay." So many more questions were floating around Germany's head. But, remembering what Japan said, he asked nothing. He glanced down at the plate and saw that at least a fourth of the parmesan was gone. "I…"

Italy shifted his weight.

"Do you… do you need me to stay with you tonight? Here in your room?" Be there for Italy. That was what Japan had said. For whatever reason, Italy loved sharing a bed. That would help, right? "I was going to stay over at your house anyway, but-"

"No, it's okay." Italy looked over for a moment and smiled, but the smile was stretched awkwardly over his teeth. It looked unnatural. Forced. "I'm sure a good night's sleep will get me better in no time."

What do you say to that? What do you say to an outright lie? By sheer stroke of luck, a memory came to mind. He remembered when he was still a young country. Perhaps even in his first year of existence. He was physically around eight years old, but people were expecting so much of him. He had a boss that was piling work on top of him like he was an adult man instead of a child. And whenever he went to meetings with other countries, they looked at him as if they expected him to do something incredible for no good reason at all. To an eight-year-old boy, that was a lot of pressure to contend with.

He remembered that one day he was just fed up with it. He remembered holeing himself up in his room and doing paperwork through a film of tears. He remembered Gilbert opening the door and coming in and sitting on his bed. He looked pretty stressed these days. He remembered that Gilbert asked what was wrong and that Germany had snapped at him that he was very focused, so could he please leave him alone. He remembered the words that started a flood of tears and got him to feel like maybe things would be okay after all. Prussia had leaned forward and said: "Look, Ludwig, I know you're upset. I know you're frustrated and scared, and you may want everything to be fine. But never act like it is already. I'm your older brother, and I care about you far too much to let you do that. Okay?" It was a rare moment of emotional honesty between the two. Their bond was forever changed from then on. From then on, it finally felt like Gilbert was Ludwig's brother.

Germany sighed, looking down at the covers of the bed. "Italy, I know you're mad. And confused. And very, very sad." He paused and licked his lips. "You may… want everyone to think you're okay. I know what it is to not want anyone to know how you feel. But don't act like nothing is wrong. I'm your friend, and I… I care far too much for you to shut yourself in." He looked back up at Italy, desperately hoping to get through to him. "Do you understand?"

Italy looked at him, and he didn't turn away. His eyes were swimming with tears. "I- yes. I do." He cleared his throat. "I know you're confused too. I've never really told you about this. But… it's very, very complicated." Italy looked at Germany with a perplexed expression that slightly unnerved him. "I… I promise I'll tell you later. When we're ready."

Germany frowned. When we're ready? As in the both of them, not just Italy?

"But… it will take me a little bit." Italy looked away again, pushing his plate in front of his crossed legs and letting his hands curl in his lap. "You have to understand… I found out that someone I think of as family killed someone I loved… I have no idea how to feel about that."

Germany nodded. He knew that was probably extremely difficult to work through. However, he still felt confused. That explained nothing about how Italy was acting toward him.

"And I slammed him against the wall. And I punched him. And said horrible, awful things." Italy said, his frown deepening. "And I'm not even sorry. It's just… too much."

There was another moment of silence as the two tried to think of something, anything they could say. "Japan is staying overnight." Germany offered. "He has to leave first thing in the morning, but… if you will have me, I have permission to stay here until Monday."

Italy nodded, still looking down at his lap. "That's very kind. You two are good friends. But I think I need to be alone for a little bit. Thank you for the dinner."

Germany felt a pang, realizing this was a dismissal. He stood. As he leaned forward to grab the plate from in front of Italy, he felt the strongest and strangest urge to kiss the top of his head and tell him that everything would be okay. He chided himself as he turned away. Italy was still upset about his first love's death, and here he was having these thoughts… as he went through the doorway, he stopped and turned around. "Goodnight, Italy. Sleep well."

But Italy was already laying down, and he had pulled his covers underneath his chin. Whether he was asleep or awake, he didn't respond. Germany reluctantly turned away and shut the door behind him.