"Some help? Huh – oh yeah, now I remember!" America's sleepy drawl rumbled through the phone. Italy could practically see the dawning of realization on his face. "Sorry. I was just waking up, and I'm no good until I've had my coffee. What can I do for ya?"

"I just – I need somebody to talk to," Italy said, trying desperately to compose himself, "and Lovino probably won't help because it's about Germany, and Prussia is being weird and Hungary doesn't know I'm really s-scared," Italy tried to think of other people who could help him, but he realized none of them would actually care.

America's voice softened. "Hey, now. Calm down and tell me what your problem is."

Italy took a few deep breaths and swallowed the tears threatening to fall again. "Um, so, ever since Germany was in the hospital-,"

"Oh yeah! I think somebody told me about that! Is he okay?" A pause. "Uh, so go on."

It all came out in a jumbled mess. "Ever since he was in the hospital, he gets weird sometimes, like he spaces out randomly. Prussia is really evasive like he doesn't want to talk about it or do anything, but Germany can't remember anything from when he was little so I'm really worried and I want to help but I can't…" As he spoke, the wheels began to turn in his brain. Suddenly, his problem was making more sense.

America was quiet for a while. "It sounds like somebody's got the right piece to this puzzle," he said, "but they're not sharing it."

"You think somebody's not telling me something?"

"I think Prussia's got some answers. Wonder why he's hiding them, though…"

It did make sense. Prussia's nervous shuffling of feet, the general attempt to end any conversations having to do with Germany's memories…

"What do you think I should do, though? Prussia is usually nice to me and I don't want to make him angry or anything!"

"Well, you've got mafia, right?" America said. "Joking, joking. Why don't you just try asking him for the truth?"

"I tried that before. It didn't really work out…"

"Now that you've got the hero on your side, I'm sure he'll listen to you! Hey – idea! What if I flew into Germany, ASAP, and we have a little conversation with Mr. Awesome. I can just tell my work it's for some peace treaty we need to work out."

"But why would you even need a peace treaty, and wouldn't they -?"

"Glad you think it's a great idea too! Hold on, I'm getting dressed."

Italy shook his head, but smiled nonetheless. He certainly didn't like facing people on his own, but maybe it'd be easier with a friend.

"Calling my boss now, so I gotta go. I'll be here by tomorrow morning at the latest!" The line went dead.

Italy slid his cell phone back into his pocket and sighed. He didn't really feel like being at a party, but he did feel a little bit better, though talking to Prussia did sit at the back of mind uncomfortably.

He contented himself with thinking of him and America's "agreement". He liked saying that word in his head. It sounded important, and it was nice to be needed by someone.

It had started as a simple email:

Alfred F. Jones:

Re: help plz!

need romantic advice. i would ask france but hes kind of creepy about this stuff? ur supposed to be a romantic country right? can u help me?

thx italy!

Hero

Italy had responded with an Okay! I'll try! and exactly two minutes after he sent his email his phone rang.

America discussed a certain person who was under no circumstances to be mentioned to anyone or anything unless Italy wanted to be thrown off the Empire State Building, which he absolutely did not and was happy to promise in the affirmative. He gave America some somewhat obvious and easy to execute ideas to win over Person X, and America decided he was completely indebted to Italy for this small favor. Throughout all this, they'd become good friends.

Italy got to his feet and prepared to go back inside, feeling more cheerful already.

At that moment, the front door flew open and a rosy-cheeked Germany appeared. Italy perked up.

"Hi Germany! Are you feeling better? Is dinner ready yet? I'm-,"

"Italy," he said. "Prussia's bad. He's not responding. I think he might be really sick." The familiar tremor of fear in his voice now made an appearance in Germany's.

"C-can you come to the hospital with me?"

Only then did Italy notice the limp figure draped over Germany's back. It was without a doubt Prussia, but almost translucent with pallor. He looked…ghostly.

A/N: Sorry for such a short chapter! Next one will be longer, promise. Feel free to guess at America's secret love.