Italy had been up since four in the morning just cleaning. Cleaning so much his fingers ached. He'd never cleaned so much in his life, even when he had lived with Austria, Hungary, and Holy Rome. Honestly Italy didn't even know if his brother would even care, but it was the best thing he could think of, since Romano never really expressed much of a like for anything. He complained about how messy the house got sometimes, and would often scold Italy for not doing anything about it, even though Romano could just as easily clean it, too. They were both pretty lazy. Italy had decided that the first thing he'd do that day would be to try and eliminate all things that Romano could complain about. That way, maybe if there was nothing for Romano to get mad at, he'd realize that Italy didn't hate him. The younger Italian didn't really get why Romano would think that. He knew he had hurt Romano's feelings by saying that Germany was his favorite person in the world, but that didn't by any means mean that Italy hated his brother.

Regardless, Italy was going to make up for it. Starting with cleaning. He threw the duster he'd been fiddling with to the floor and sighed. That had been the last of it, he'd finally finished the house. To the best of his abilities, anyway.

Italy's gaze wandered to the clock, "Ve, only nine? It feels like I've been cleaning for years."

He walked out the door and out to the tomato garden Romano had planted with the aid of Spain. "I really need to hurry if I want to get to Germany's before he hears anything bad."

Italy began weeding the garden as fast as humanly possible, occasionally pulling out an actual tomato plant here and there. When they didn't have fruit growing on them, it was hard to tell what was weeds and what wasn't. After finishing the garden Italy carefully cradled the little tomato plant carcasses and ran to the meadow to hide the incriminating evidence of what he'd done. He jumped over the short fence and carried them a little ways out into the field, now blotted with dozens of colors from the blooming flowers. Italy gently rested them in the long grass to hide them from Romano. If he knew that Italy had uprooted some of his plants...well, it would be a bad day in the Vargas household; and a violent one at that.

For some reason Italy felt obligated to say a few words on behalf of the plants he'd accidentally killed, "Ve...sorry, Romano's tomato plants...you were always so good at growing tomatoes and stuff, and it's a shame that I had to accidentally murder you because I thought you were weeds. Ve, can you accidentally murder something? Oh, I don't know. Anyway, may you forever live happily in tomato plant heaven. I think that exists, since plants are living things, right? So they go to heaven, too, I think. So, rest in peace, ve...ciao!"

Italy turned and hopped the fence, heading back into his house. He brushed the lightly caked dirt off the knees of his pants before entering the small country home. He smiled brightly as he pushed through the door and entered the kitchen. He was finally going to get to do something he enjoyed. Cooking.

After making pasta (it's good for any meal, really.) Italy set the food out on the table and went up to Romano's room to wake him up. This was the dangerous part. First that Italian knocked on his brother's door. No response. To Italy that meant it was safe to come in. He creaked the door open and poked his head between the frame and the door to spot his brother, who'd rolled off the bed in his sleep. "Psst, fratello..." Italy whispered. Romano didn't stir.

The younger Italian decided he would have no choice but to wake Romano a little more violently. Italy hated waking up his brother. He was a heavy sleeper, and a vicious country to deal with when he finally did come to. Italy cautiously walked up to Romano and poked his face, "Psst, fratello I made us pasta for breakfast...fratello!"

Still no response. Italy crushed his eyes shut and sighed, bracing for the bomb that would go off when his brother did awake. He began to shake Romano, this time speaking in his regular tone, "Come on, please wake up! I went through all this trouble to make you breakfast! Come on, wake up fratello!"

Romano snorted. Italy finally became sick of playing it safe and started shaking his brother crazily, yelling, "WAKE UP! I MADE YOU BREAKFAST, WAKE UP FRATELLO!"

Even then, even after all that Romano still hadn't woken up. Italy was just about to give up when and idea struck him, if it worked, Romano would probably kill him, but Italy really wanted Romano to wake up and eat before his food got cold. He leaned down and whispered in the older Italian's ear, "Romano...big brother Spain's here, he says he wants to marry you."

"WHAT THE FUCK!" Romano's head shot up off the ground instantly, "WHAT THE FUCK, YOU BETTER BE LYING TO ME, VENEZIANO, OR I FUCKING SWEAR TO GOD, I WILL KILL BOTH OF YOU! AND HOW THE HELL DID I GET ON THE FLOOR? OH LIKE THAT FUCKING MATTERS! IF THAT GOD DAMN SPAINIARD IS IN OUR HOUSE I SUGGEST YOU GET HIM THE FUCK OUT OF HERE BEFORE I COME DOWNSTAIRS AND BEAT HIS ASS!"

"Calm down, fratello! It's okay! He's not here and he's not going to marry you! I just said that to wake you up! Come on, I made you breakfast!"

"What the Hell, Veneziano? What kind of way is that to fucking wake someone up! And I still pissed at you, get the Hell out of here!"

"I'm sorry, but I just cleaned the whole house and weeded the garden, and I even made you pasta for breakfast! I wanted to show you that I don't hate you, I really really don't! I promise!"

Romano's glare didn't subside, but he actually spoke kindly, "I know you don't hate me, okay! I might have overreacted a little..." Then something seemed to dawn on him, "Wait! Did you just say you weeded my garden!" His head looked about ready to explode.

Italy answered hesitantly, "Ve...yes..."

"THERE BETTER BE EXACTLY TWENTY THREE TOMATO PLANTS IN THAT GARDEN LIKE THERE ALWAYS WAS WHEN I GET OUT THERE! YOU UNDERSTAND ME!"

"Ve, will nineteen work?"

"NINETEEN? YOU UPROOTED FOUR OF MY PLANTS!"

Italy didn't need to see Romano to know what was going to happen next. He turned and bolted for the door. He had expected something like this to happen after waking up his brother.

"GET THE FUCK BACK HERE SO I CAN KILL YOU!"

Multiple thumps and a yell betrayed that his brother had tripped down the stairs. In the Italian's house that was such a common occurrence neither even bothered checking in the other was okay anymore.

Italy bolted out the door and popped into the car, quickly slamming the door behind him. He watched Romano fume as he ran out to the car, naked as that was how the two Italian's always slept, and started pounding on the front of the vehicle. Italy turned the keys that he always left in the ignition and peeled out, watching his brother fume in the gravel driveway.

The car sped away and Italy let out a sigh of relief. Romano would be okay, Italy knew that that was how it would go. He'd probably go inside, see how clean it was, eat the pasta, and be happy. He wouldn't let Italy know he had made him happy, but oh well. That was just the way his brother was, and Italy had to deal with it. Also, he'd mentioned that he knew Italy didn't hate him, so things had worked out better than anticipated in the first place.

Now all he had to do was hope that Germany hadn't found out about the armistice yet. He tried to think of what the German did every morning.

He usually gets up at seven if I don't have training, and then he drinks coffee while reading the newspaper, and I don't think they'd put it in the newspaper since it hasn't been publicly announced yet, as far as I know. It wouldn't be on his regular radio either, but he never listens to that unless I ask him anyway. But when does he listen to his fancy military radio thingy? One of the most important things and I can't even remember it! He'd definitely hear about the armistice on that if someone doesn't tell him in person first. Usually people don't start telling him things until noon, though. Usually they're too busy doing other stuff. Unless this news is so important someone would put off work to inform him...oh I really hope that's not the case. He really really has to hear this from me.

Italy just continued driving, worriedly. A few storm clouds loomed threateningly ahead, their dark indigo hue staining the flawless blue sky around them. The sky that just so happened to be the exact same color as Germany's eyes. Italy smiled, trying to reassure himself. Everything will be fine, don't worry. You just need to talk to him. Don't start freaking out again, the second you start freaking out is the second everything will go wrong.

He was still worried behind that smile though, and every time he thought of what could go wrong the breathing behind that smile would quicken.

Don't worry, don't worry, don't worry. You don't need to worry about it.

Italy released the fake smile with a deep, shuddering sigh. "I hope this works."

xxxxx

Rain was coming down heavily and lightning scorched across the sky as Italy slammed the door of his car. He'd arrived at Germany's pretty quickly, thanks to being a country. Italy still didn't have much idea of how that worked, but it didn't matter. He ran from the car to the door, anxiously drumming his fingers on his pants as warm rain drenched him. It was the beginning of September, and yet it was still warm and stormy like Summer usually is. He tentatively raised a fist to the door to knock, but he was surprised to find that, just before his knuckles meet the wood, it had swung open to reveal a familiar face.

A very very unhappy familiar face.

"Ciao, Germany?" It wasn't intended to be a question until it fell out of Italy's mouth.

The German's gaze narrowed, "What the Hell are you doing here?"

Oh please don't tell me he already knows, "I need to talk to you about something..."

The entire time Germany's tone was stern and controlled. "I have no interest in talking to traitors."

All the blood drained from Italy's face. Oh God, he knows, oh God he knows, why? Why, just when I thought maybe things would work out.

"Now get the fuck out of my country."

Italy's heart shattered right there on the front step, "Oh please, just let me talk to you! You weren't supposed to know yet! I was supposed to tell you! Oh God, why can't anything in my life go right?" The last question was to himself.

"You want to know why?" Germany took a step out of his door, leaning down close to Italy's face, "Because you're a worthless, cowardly, lying, excuse for a nation. I'll be damned if I ever let you talk to me again. Do you know what you've done to me?" Italy thought he saw a tear glitter on one of Germany's lower lids, he began shouting, "DO YOU!"

Italy backed down, jamming his eyes shut, Nothing was supposed to go this way! "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" He cried, loudly. Germany just looked away with an expression of pure disgrace and hate.

"I can't believe you did this...I can't believe you. You've betrayed me."

Oh please don't say that! I know what I've done! Please stop reminding me! "No! No, I never meant to! I was trying to do what was best!"

Germany whipped around at Italy suddenly, grabbing him by the collar and screaming into his face. "WHAT WAS BEST FOR WHO! THE ALLIES!"

Italy looked into Germany's eyes and where he used to see the color of the sky he only found those dark indigo storm clouds overhead reflected back in them. His voice came out quiet, trying to get Germany to understand, "No...no, for everyone."

Germany looked away and released him, causing Italy to stumble backwards off the front step onto the German's walkway. Italy watched as the blond nation clenched his fists so hard he seemed to be shaking.

"Germany?" Italy asked again, hoping that he'd understand. Hoping Germany would just think about it for a second.

"Go away." His voice was so soft, and yet the most terrifying thing Italy had ever heard in his whole life.

No, I need to convince him. I might have ruined everything for now, but this could still work if he just listened... "Germany, it's okay, just because I surrendered it doesn't mean-"

"GO!" The sudden outburst startled Italy, causing him to fall backwards into a puddle of mud.

"I was trying to save you!" Italy confessed through the tears and rain and mud.

Germany glared at him with so much hate Italy just wanted to die right then and there. Just die and float away to heaven. If he was even good enough for that.

"You can't save me. You can't save anyone. You will always be useless, and I was a fool to think otherwise."

Italy attempted standing up out of the mud as he spoke, "P-please...please Germany I-"

Italy was cut off as he felt something forcefully hit him square in the face, he heard the loudest crack in his life, louder than thunder, originate from his nose. He was too stunned to even cry, until he looked up to see what had hit him. Germany's fist was still outstretched to the point where it had made contact with the Italian's face. The German's eyes were now practically aflame with pure hatred.

Italy gathered a few shaky breaths, trying to put together what had just happened, He hit me, oh God he punched me and it feels like he broke my nose. Oh God, oh my God he hates me so much. And I deserve it. Italy heart felt like it was being torn into millions of pieces as sobs erupted from his chest, I deserve everything, every punishment in the world!

He felt a crack in his side as Germany's steel toes boots rammed into his ribcage full force, Italy cried out louder in pain. "I'M SO SORRY!" He screamed through the physical and mental anguish. An other kick came, this time to his head, knocking it so violently sideways Italy thought his neck might have broken.

"SHUT UP YOU LITTLE SHIT!" Germany screamed, as he knelt down next to Italy and pulled him up out of the mud by the collar.

"Please, please Germany, just kill me! PLEASE! I can't live with you hating me like this, and everything hurts, I'd rather be dead! I'm so sorry! Please, please just kill me!"

Germany glared straight into Italy's eyes and then down at what was around the Italian's neck. The iron cross pendant dangled there, helplessly; It showed that Italy, no matter what side he was on, still put Germany before anyone else. It was the necklace he had received after the Pact of Steel. After making a promise. A promise that Italy had just broken. Germany grabbed the pendant and tore it off the Italian's neck, snapping the chain easily. It felt like he'd torn out all the broken pieces of Italy's heart in one swift yank.

He then flung Italy into the concrete walkway as if he were a rag doll. "Like I would waste my time killing you. Someone as pathetic as you doesn't even deserve death." And with that, the only thing in the world Italy loved more than life, spat on him. "Now get the fuck out of my country."

He turned and slammed his front door with so much force the whole house seemed to shake. Italy began hyperventilating through screams of panic and heartbreak. His head hurt from being kicked and he could no longer think totally straight. Oh God, he hates me so much, this wasn't supposed to happen! Everything hurts, everything hurts, so so bad. I deserve to feel like this. I don't deserve to die and go to heaven. I'm so stupid and weak and all I deserve is to lay around like a broken toy for the rest of my life. I'll be of just as much use as I ever was before.

Italy tried standing so he could do as Germany said and leave the country, but moving caused him pain so intense it was like he was being lit on fire. He knew he had some broken ribs, and he was pretty sure his nose was broken as well. Every time he tried moving his head the world spun around. He probably had a concussion.

He tried again, this time making it halfway up before falling over and letting out a scream so loud and powerful it hurt his own eardrums. What am I going to do? I need help...but no one can help me now. The only country I know within helping distance is the one that did this to me. Italy's uncontrollable sobbing continued, he'd never felt so much pain in his life. Everything he had was broken, his body, his heart, his spirit. Germany had smashed all of it, and Italy honestly believed that he deserved it.

"WHY!" He screamed, looking up at those damn storm clouds as lightning flashed angrily across the sky.

"OH GOD, WHY CAN'T I JUST DO SOMETHING RIGHT?" He continued yelling. He wondered if Germany would hear him from inside the house. He then realized that even if the German could he wouldn't care.

Italy managed to push through his pain enough to army crawl to the car. Getting in said car was the most painful ordeal of his life, but he managed after many minutes of pure torture and screaming. Thankfully the rain had stopped and the sky was once again flawless blue by then. At least he wouldn't have to drive with broken bones and a concussion through a storm.

Even just sitting up hurt. Italy turned the keys in the ignition and took one last look at the house through his fuzzy, tear soaked vision. His gaze rested on the window, and it seemed to waver in and out of focus. He could swear that between the curtains he saw one eye the same exact color as the sky after the storm.

Author's note: Oh God, this one actually physically hurt me to write. Sympathy pains. Sorry it's so long, but I wanted to load up the beginning with a cute tomato funeral and a little humor to make up for the major sadness at the end here. This story's almost over, and sad to say I don't think it's going to end on a very happy note since all we have left of this is Germany's point of view on this situation.

But there's always the sequel to look forward to when it comes to happy notes! The sequel starts out a bit depressing, as well, but it is all worth it for the eventual fluff and happiness.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter and don't hate me for abusing poor little Feli! I honestly didn't want to, but historically, after his surrender, Italy got the shit beat out of him by Germany. Not to mention Italians started going into concentration camps, as well. I figured that getting beat by Germany was the only real way to represent what had happened between to two countries.

P.S. Reviews are always helpful, whether they be positive or negative. :D