Italy limped into his home and collapsed on his couch, sighing deeply. I need a siesta... He thought, exhausted.

He kicked off a boot and gingerly peeled the other off his injured foot. He removed all other articles of clothing and grabbed a blanket off his floor, too lazy to go into his bedroom. He snuggled into the couch and cocooned himself in the blanket, finally falling asleep in a comfortable little wad.

"Germany?" All Italy could see was blood, blood everywhere. "Germany! GERMANY!"

A cruel voice came from behind him, "You should have given up when you had the chance."

Italy began to cry, "Germany, get up! Get up please!"

"If you would have just surrendered this wouldn't have happened. You should have known you were going to lose either way."

"PLEASE! PLEASE GERMANY! GET UP!"

The voice got closer, "This is your fault, Italy."

"GERMANY!"

"Too late now." The voice whispered into his ear, "Germany's dead."

Italy awoke in a heap on the floor, breathing so heavily he was almost dizzy. He crawled out from the blankets, as they'd suddenly become too hot, and huddled up into a little ball.

"Germany..." He muttered, nervously rubbing his arms in an attempt to calm himself down, "I need to see Germany."

Italy grabbed a shirt and put it on, standing up a little too quickly on his hurt foot. "Gah!" He yelled, falling over.

Oh right...shoes, pants. Germany would get mad if I forgot pants again.

Italy pulled on the rest of his clothes, and limped as fast as humanly possible out the door, no longer caring on Germany's current mood. He just had to see him, to see if he's okay.

Italy burst in through Germany's door, tripping face first onto the rug.

"Was sie Hell? Italy?" Germany looked a little startled.

Italy carefully stood, panting. "You...dead...dream...bad..." He spoke quickly between heavy breaths, and then lunged in for a hug, "But you're...okay!"

"Get off!" Germany demanded, "Was about a bad dream?"

Italy released obediently released Germany, smiling, "Ve, nothing! Everything's fine now!"

"Okay, if you say it's fine." Germany's eyebrows furrowed, "Though I don't see why'd you'd run all the way down here if it was nothing."

Italy shrugged and laughed, "I guess I just really wanted to see you."

Germany shrugged, sighing for lack of anything else to say.

"So you feeling better?" Italy asked, hoping that Germany's mood had heighten a little since his departure.

"Nien." Germany muttered, looking thoughtfully out the window, "In fact I feel a little worse."

Italy's face dropped, "Oh...why?"

Germany was quiet for a little while, "Kind of because a bad dream, but it was nothing."

"You sure?"

Germany nodded, "Ja, ja. I'll be okay, just give me a little while."

I wonder what Germany's dream was about...I don't think he's want to talk about it though. I really don't want to talk about mine. If I ask him about his, he'll probably make me tell to be fair.

"Okay!" Italy said, cheerily. "While I'm over, you want me to cook some dinner?"

"No, I've already eaten." Germany lied in an attempt to avoid a kitchen mess ending in the consumption of a dish he'd become insanely tired of.

Italy smiled, "Okay then! See you tomorrow!"

Germany tried to crack a faint smile, but it flopped into a slightly less intense frown, "Ja, see you tomorrow."

Italy waved and shut the door behind him, happiest he's been all day. He's okay! Everything's okay!

For some reason, though, underneath his happiness Italy still felt scared. The dream had just felt too real to let him rest his mind that easily. But how long will everything be okay for?