Italy had finally stopped laughing. He sighed happily, remembering what happened that next day.

Germany was staring at the country that was humming as he made pasta, concerned when he came over so late in the day, not even one call for rescue. "Hey, Italy..."

"Yes~?" Italy responded, turning slightly.

"...Is everything alright?"

Italy turned all the way around, his now shoulder length hair spreading around in an umbrella. "Of course Germany!"

Germany, however, noticed how his hair had changed.

Now, with countries, there are only two changes that happen to them physically; growing and shrinking. Growing countries grow taller, or their hair grows longer. Little changes.

But these changes only happen if countries change in size.

"Italy...Did your country grow in size?"

Italy froze, his smile still in place.

After a few seconds, Italy said, "Why do you think, Germany?" Italy walked closer. "Is it because I'm tall enough to greet you as is my customs? Or, maybe, it's the annoying way that my hair seems to fall on my shoulders?"

Germany was unaffected by these statements.

On the outside.

Inside, though, he was in turmoil, wondering if Canada or Sealand brought this about. What happened to his friend?

"Or maybe..."

Germany was pulled out of his thoughts, only then noticing that Italy was sneering in his face.

"Maybe it's the fact that you're worried that I'm stronger than you. Is that it? Afraid to be apart of my collection? How weak, Germany!"

Germany now outwardly expressed how disturbed he was in the way he was now panicked. "Italy, vat has gotten into you, you Dumm kopf! Collection? Stronger? Vat ze hell?"

Italy nodded. "You're right. You're my friend, Germany!" Italy leaped at Germany for a hug. "You should join me, Sealand and Canada!" He looked up, looking though Germany. "What do you say, Germany?"

"I think you've gone verrückt!"

Italy pulled away. "Ah. That's your choice. I thought you were better than Austria and Hungary. Seems I was wrong." He turned to the stove, grabbing a clever. He dragged it lightly over his palm. He then turned to a defensive Germany.

"Oh, Germany!" Italy said, shocked. "I thought we'd decided that I'd have you dissolve into me! I mean..." Italy paused, waving the large knife around carelessly. "You didn't want to rule on your own...So, you'd become on with me!"

"I never decided zat!" Germany shouted, a frown making his face look more angular, however his tiny pupils made him look like a wild animal in the middle of "fight or flight."

"Oh? What did you decide?" Italy asked happily, creeping closer as Germany inched towards the door.

"I'm not going to have anyzing to do vith you, Italy!"

Italy laughed, freezing Germany. "Wrong answer~!"

Italy ran forward, swing the meat clever forward. Germany ducked, narrowly missing a slit throat. He then rolled away, landing on his feet, and standing to run into the hall.

Italy, however, after so many years of running away, was much faster. He struck again, digging the blade into Germany's back.

Germany fell, hissing at the stinging. He could feel it when the knife was dislodged from a rib bone - even hear it groan. It almost made him sick.

Germany flipped himself over to see a wildly smiling Italy.

Said country knelt down, the knife dripping with blood. "Aw, Germany! Red flatters you! Let's cover you with blush, ve~?"

Italy pulled up, quickly bringing the knife down.

But instead of hitting skull or neck, he hit arm muscles. Germany had crossed his arms at the last second.

"Oh."

Italy alternated to the other arm. "Let's see how long you hold up, shall we?"

"One!

"How impressive, Germany – two! – You seem to have a higher tolerance – three! – for pain than I – four! – originally thought!"

Italy and Germany sat in the hall for a good 10 hours before Italy finally stopped with one last slice to the arms. They were both a bloody mess.

"Three hundred and sixty five!"

Germany was about to faint from blood loss.

"Wow! You're still awake! Perfect. Now, will you become one with me...Ha! Like you have a choice."

And that day, Germany was taken captive by his only friend.

Italy could still see the red. It was everywhere he looked, even now. He was sure that the blood bath that day ruined his mind.

Maybe Germany was right. Maybe he had gone mad.