I can't do this..

The thought invaded his mind moments after opening the door. He had decided he was going to do the right thing. He was going to ask Romano to join him in surrender. Now that it was time to say something, though, he wasn't sure.

His brother's voice came out softer than the younger Italian had anticipated, "What's wrong? You've been gone all day."

Italy sniffled as he thought of what to say. Tell him! You decided to tell him, remember? You two are surrendering! So tell him! He began to speak, but quickly silenced himself, second guessing the words about to pass through his lips. I...can't do it. I don't want Germany to hate me. Japan either...they'd hate me. Germany especially. I can't do it, I can't.

It was pathetic how flawed the poor Italian's logic had become at this point. His first problem was assuming that something he'd seen in a dream would most definitely happen, though his dreams did have a strange tendency to be true to a certain degree. Second, he assumed that this dream could be prevented if he surrendered, so Germany wouldn't have to die for him. There were plenty other ways someone could die in a war, after all. Third, and probably his most flawed thinking yet, he assumed that his death would be just as effective as a surrender in saving everyone, and easier for him because he wouldn't have to live with being hated by the man he loved most in the world. Italy just kept jumping to conclusions.

Just stall...stall until you've decided for sure what you're going to do...

"Nothing's wrong...I was just..." He failed to come up with an excuse for why he'd been gone the whole day. Italy was a horrible liar when he actually tried.

Romano gave a expression shifting slowly from worry to anger, "Why don't you ever tell me what's wrong? Stop lying to me and tell me what happened!"

"No, nothing's wrong! I'm fine, nothing happened!" He said, shaking his head quickly. Please stop asking, I don't want to tell you!

"Tell me now, Veneziano!"

Now or never...you need to decide now. What are you going to do? What are you going to do? Come on, think, think! You could tell him and end this, maybe things would go back to normal someday if you surrender, maybe things would be okay, eventually...

"I'm just a little worried about a battle tomorrow..." He was shocked at his own words, he'd honestly meant to bring up the topic of an armistice.

He looked up at his unconvinced brother, now giving him an expectant look, "And?"

A second chance? "N-nothing, that's all." He threw that second chance out the window. You're weak...you can't do it. You deserve to die because you're weak! He kept beating himself up in his own mind with his own words. I can't do anything right...at least this way the only person that would know I did something wrong would be me. If I surrender it would be the other way around...

After a long, tense silence Romano spoke nicer than usual, whereas Italy would have expected him to yell, "Please tell me the truth. I just want to help you out, here."

Italy's mind had given out long ago, he hadn't eaten all day, he'd been wandering around for hours, he was planning on going on a suicide mission, and all he honestly wanted to do was collapse on the floor in a sobbing heap and pass out. He was sick of the questions and sick of the all the thinking about what to do. He wouldn't change his mind now, he was too tired to. He stopped caring somewhere in the time between walking in the door and then. He just wanted everything done with. The world had thoroughly crushed him and his spirit.

"I just...I don't want to talk about it...or anything. I want to go to bed."

The way Romano looked at him worried Italy a little...it made him feel like hid older brother could read his thoughts.

Romano broke eye contact and looked down as he spoke, "Okay...just go to bed." Italy let out a deep breath of relief. "But...don't worry about that battle tomorrow...I've got it taken care of."

That threw a wrench in the younger Italian's plan, what did he mean by 'taken care of?' Were they not going to fight? What were they going to do? "Wait, what? How?"

Romano looked up at him, suddenly looking just as weary, "Just...don't worry about it right now, okay? Get some rest."

Is he saying we aren't going? I have to go. He needs to know that I have to go. "But no, I need to go to that battle. You have no idea...it's really important." Did he say to much?

Romano was shocked and confused, "Wait, why? I thought you'd be happy about that!"

"No, I really need to go...okay?" Italy stammered. There was no way he'd reconsider yet again.

Romano shook his head sadly and looked at his brother as if he was already on his death bed. "What happened to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're...different. You're so..." Romano stared at him blankly as he searched for the right word to sum up his younger brother's changed demeanor, "Sad."

Italy didn't think he was that different. Yeah, he felt more sad for sure, but he really had no idea it was that obvious. It only registered as a change in his overall mood, not his whole personality. "I'm the same as I always am."

"No you're not..."

"I'm fine, really. Same old Veneziano I always was!"

"Lately...you've been changing." Romano said, his expression pained for the loss of his usually cheerful brother. Even though Italy irritated him often, he didn't want to see his brother lose what made him a far better person than Romano thought he could ever be. His positivity.

Italy became even more distraught, hearing how obvious it was that he was quickly becoming more and more disheartened. "I'm sorry, I didn't know I was being so...different." No...I'm sorry that I'm burdening you with it.

"No, don't be sorry. Just tell me why you're becoming less...you."

Italy didn't know what to say, he knew why, but at the same time he didn't know why. He knew it was because this war was wearing on him more than anything ever had in his life, but he couldn't understand why it was effecting him so much. He was usually able to forget about things and shrug them off, easily.

"I'm not...I don't...know."

Romano's lips tightened as if he was fighting back more questions, "Okay, just...just go to bed."

"But what about the battle?" Italy still hadn't let go of the previous conversation.

"We'll talk about it in the morning, okay? We have a lot to talk about then..."

What does he mean? I'm going no matter what he says. There's no way I'm changing my mind again. I'm sick of thinking, I'm sick of listening, and I'm sick of answering questions! Italy walked passed the couch and down the hallway before his mind go the chance to snap like a twig. God knows just one more thing and he'd go insane. He swung the door to his room open weakly, and then threw it shut in a fit of rage. Finally, he collapsed on his bed, muffling uncontrollable sobs into a pillow. A whole rainbow of emotions had just passed threw him like lethal bullets, leaving raw, painful wounds in their wake. Little wounds all engrained in his heart.

He cried himself to sleep that night for what he believed would be the last time.