They got in Germany's car and for once in his life, Italy was permitted to drive. Germany draped Prussia's unconscious body across the backseat and then climbed up front, stealing fearful glances back at his brother. Italy shoved the keys into the ignition – forget the speed limit, getting Prussia to the hospital was clearly more important.

The car flew through street after street, barely slowing to make a turn. Italy glanced over at Germany, who was still watching Prussia. He slammed on the brakes at a red light, causing the car to lurch forward alarmingly, then finally spoke.

"It'll be okay."

"He's been getting sick so easily lately," Germany said. "Just little things – colds and stomach flu. I – I checked over the territory that used to be his but there's nothing..." here he stopped, blinking rapidly and swallowing.

Italy reached for Germany's hand over the glovebox. It was large and calloused, but at the same time because it was Germany's hand, it didn't really matter how it felt.

"He'll be okay. We'll do everything we can for him." There was, of course, the unspoken question of why, why a strong and healthy country would suddenly have started to succumbing to little sicknesses, but Italy simply let go of the wheel to find a tissue to give to Germany before the light turned green again.

Italy fumbled with the radio for a while, eventually finding Vivaldi's winter concerto, than going back to holding Germany's hand.

"Better?" Italy asked after he had calmed down a little.

"Yes, thanks. I like this song a lot."

"Me too! It's not very happy but it sounds really cool. I wish I could play the violin just so I could play that."

"Yes. Could you please, uh, drive with both hands on the wheel." Italy reluctantly removed his hand from Germany's and focused on driving the streets of Munich.

Prussia made a desperate attempt to open his eyes. He could see Germany and Italy driving the car. When had they even gotten in? They were holding hands, though. Heh, that was nice. Prussia tried to smile slightly, but it was too difficult and he slipped into a hazy state of dreaming again.

When he awoke again, or thought he did, he saw Germania looking down on him. What the hell was going on? Grandpa gave him a small but gentle smile.

"I am sorry they had to take you." He said. His lips did not move as he spoke.

Who's they? Prussia wondered, but he dismissed it as irrelevant.

"It'll be over soon. You really were kept around a long time." Germania shook his head, wearing his sad smile. "Rome and I…well, whoever's in charge around here certainly wasn't feeling merciful when they took us."

He felt a stab of cold fear as Germania faded. It was beginning to dawn on Prussia what he was talking about.

Italy had never imagined that he would have to visit a hospital twice in the same week. He helped carry Prussia inside the front doors. Some paramedics gestured at them and called in German, and Italy steeled himself for the worst. Fortunately, the people just brought them a stretcher and helped them settle Prussia into it, helping them to carry him away.

Italy and Germany sat down in the lobby with the red-upholstered chairs. Germany sighed.

"The visions are getting worse," Germany said quietly. "There is so much blood…and everyone calls me 'Holy Rome'."

Italy's brain short-circuited. "They call you what?"

"Holy Rome. I believe it was once a nation comprised-," he had to stop because Italy had grabbed onto his arms. His eyes were wide and wet.

"Holy Rome. Holy Rome. I did hear that right, didn't I?"

And suddenly, Germany's face melted into a gentle smile. "Italy!" He began to move closer and closer. A bright red flush flared across Italy's cheeks. And then…and then…

"Stop. Stop, just…" Italy pushed his face away, and suddenly Germany was back in the fluorescently lit lobby, far too close to Italy's face.

Italy let out a strangled sob. "Why? Why are you doing this to me? I'm going crazy. I'm hearing his voice again. God, I'm going crazy." Italy clutched his head. "Leave me alone!"

Before he knew what he was doing he was running, running away from Germany and the forgotten promise of a kiss.

But it was all wrong, and now he'd ruined everything forever. It was all his fault. He let himself cry until his throat was hoarse from sobbing and hugged his knees to his chest. He hoped with all his heart this was a dream; that he'd wake up and this horrible week would never have happened.

When his sobs became sniffles, he finally noticed his phone ringing in his pocket. The caller ID read America.

"Italy. I'm on the ground. Be at the be-lsh-whats house in ten."

Uh-oh, Italy had forgotten about this complication. "America, um, we're going to have to change our plans, uh, Prussia's actually in the hospital and I messed up so could you please wait?"

There was a long pause. "You've been crying again."

Italy said nothing.

"I'm coming to the goddamn hospital then. If those stupid krauts make you cry one more time, there's gonna be trouble. Hero's honor." America had his scary voice on, so Italy just swallowed a few times and tried to make an affirmative squeak.

He stood up and dusted himself off. Strength. He could overcome his fears. He wiped a hand rapidly over his face, then set off for the hospital. He could still set things right.

Prussia woke up in a white bed. There was an angry voice outside; a familiar one.

Who did it belong to, again? Hungary. The name hit him like a bolt of lightning. Yeah, that was it. The name brought up a strange longing in his heart and tears to his eyes, but he couldn't lift a hand to wipe them. There was a crashing sound, then her voice again, stronger this time. He could feel more tears running down his cheeks.

And she hugged him, for the first time in as long as he could remember.

A/N: Summer's coming to an end and so is this fic! Thanks to everyone who has been with this story every step it took :)