"You!" Germany shouted, but in a voice that was eerily not Germany's – it was too high. "You-you murderer!" He pointed at France with a trembling finger.
Germany grabbed onto the oven handle, beginning to sweat. Everyone stopped chopping vegetables or chatting and turned to him; concern, fear or confusion written plainly on their faces.
"Are you alright?" France answered, setting down his knife.
"You tried to kill me! Of course I'm not alright!" said the voice of not-Germany. Italy and Prussia moved quickly to help him.
Germany now began to mutter incomprehensibly. Prussia took his arm and Italy rubbed his back soothingly, gently moving him towards the living room couch. They laid him down and he seemed to be knocked out.
"Sorry, everyone, Germany's still not himself!" Prussia waved his arms around in a reassuring fashion, but unfortunately his friends did not seem terribly reassured. He walked over to his friends, where France stood, still looking upset.
"I am sorry to have agitated him so," France said, turning back to the carrots. Prussia thumped him on the back. "Hey, no sweat. Maybe he's still upset about WWII or something unawesome like that."
Italy came up and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Can I go get some medicine or something for him?" There was a slight tremor in his voice. Prussia turned around and his voice softened slightly.
"There isn't really anything we can do for Germany," he said. "The doctor would've said so otherwise. He just needs to rest and relax, and it'll all be fine."
"I-I'm really worried about him, though…" Italy looked like he might be on the verge of tears.
"If it makes you feel any better, you could pick up some painkillers at the pharmacy down the street. He might have a headache when he gets up." Prussia gave him a one-armed hug.
"You're not even a little teensy bit worried?"
Prussia released him from his embrace and sighed. "I really think he'll be just fine. There's just…well, there are things he can't quite remember, and he needs some time to himself to think them over."
Italy opened his mouth as if to say something else, then nodded and said, quietly, "I'll go get something." He walked across the kitchen and out the front door.
Prussia sighed again. He'd almost told Italy the whole truth right there. One voice in his head said, why not? You can't tell Germany yet, but you could tell him.
But the other voice said, no. He's worried enough already. What reason does Italy have to even believe you?
It was chilling how much that voice sounded like Germany's, so Prussia decided to listen to it. Turning from the joyful party, he wandered to the living room to check on his brother.
He'd never been so tired in his life. He'd slept well the night before, but all Prussia wanted to do now was collapse into the plush chair and sleep some more. His thoughts spun in horrible circles, each time having a gruesome end for someone involved. He was so absorbed in these thoughts that he walked right into Germany, and his brother made a soft oof sound.
"Shit, sorry."
"'S all right." Germany, while seemingly back to normal, sounded like he had a hangover. He pushed himself into a sitting position. "What did I say to France again?"
"You called him a murderer," Prussia said. "He's cool, though. Your brain was probably just thinking about a world war."
"Um…when I was little, did France attack?"
"Uh," Prussia stopped. "Maybe? I don't really remember."
Germany furrowed his brow. "Can I ask you something else?"
"Sure, shoot."
Germany chewed on his lip. "This is really embarrassing, but I guess I would like – I mean, I could've – well, if I was drunk or something…"
Prussia grinned. He loved embarrassing stories. "Come on, don't leave me hanging!"
"Okay." Germany took a deep breath. "I dreamed that-," but he was cut off by a hacking cough coming from Prussia.
A now-familiar sense of panic came over his mind. It felt like he was being suffocated by his own body and he needed to get free, to get out, but he couldn't stop coughing and he wanted it all just to end.
"Brother, have you caught the flu? You've been coughing a lot. Here, I'll get the dinner and you go have a rest." Germany stood up and ushered him towards his room. Prussia protested but his cough was too bad to form words, and besides, he was really tired.
Prussia's coughs subsided as he settled into his bed, Gilbird fluttering down to lay beside him on his pillow.
"I'll get you some water and cough syrup." Germany turned as if to go, but then said, "Oh, one more question."
"Who's the Holy Roman Empire?"
Italy sat outside on the front stairs of Germany's house, shaking. He wanted so badly to help, but he just felt useless. He couldn't stop thinking about Holy Rome, couldn't stop thinking about Germany, and wanted to cry.
There was someone he could talk to, though. That was the agreement, after all – he would go to him if he had a problem. "That's the least a hero can do!" He'd said. "You've been a real help, Italy." He pulled out his phone with sweaty palms.
"America?"
"Huh? What's wrong?"
"I need that help you promised."
A/N: None of you have quite gotten the last chapter's question right, but it's making another appearance here, so why not leave a review and make another guess?
Another question: What do you think Italy helped the other member of the oblivious duo with? (What could Italy actually be good at?) Italy and America have some detective work to do next chapter. Stay tuned!