Chapter Eleven
Germany and Italy remained as they were, closed off to the world, in what felt like a trance. Although Germany was enjoying himself a bit more than Italy; his lips were cold and tasted like tinfoil. All the same, both were flying high, ignoring the thumping sound that resonated somewhere far away.
Crash! "Um, dudes?"
They jumped apart, startled by America and Romano, who had just broken down the door. "Sorry," America muttered.
"Feliciano," Romano began. "What were y- ouch!" America, in order to shut him up, had smacked him on the head. He nodded at Germany and Italy, grabbed Romano by the mane, and half dragged him out of the room.
Italy turned back to face Germany, unsure of what to do next. "You're safe," Germany assured him. "I'll be right back."
"Okay," Italy said.
Germany slipped away from the window and went around to the front gate, running as though his feet, and the rest of him, were lighter than air. Soon enough, he'd arrived at the room, knowing it by Romano and America, who were standing guard outside.
"Come on, Italy," Germany said. "We still have a job to do."
America returned the axe and tore off a leg from an end table nearby. It would do. Silently, the four of them wandered the halls, looking for France and his infamous hats. Hall after hall they turned, looking in doors, but finding no one. Finally, America spoke.
"Dudes, I think we're lost."
"Ja, America, you're probably right," said Germany.
"France might find us before we find him," America warned as they turned a corner.
"Oui, I think I might." Just as they rounded the corner, they were met by none other than France.
Italy spun on his heels to run away, and was faced by Prussia and Spain, both heavily bandaged, but menacing nonetheless.
America sighed with frustration. "Germany?" he said, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.
Germany, somehow understanding what America wanted, nodded and turned around.
It was over in less than a minute. Germany ran forward, first kicking Spain in the nose and knocking Prussia out with the flat of his axe. America beat France savagely with the table leg, punching him in his vital regions just before he passed out. Spain stood up and America clubbed him with the table leg.
Reluctantly, America pulled the hat off of France's head, then squeezed his eyes tight and removed the second hat. Eyes still closed, he kicked France to lie on his stomach. He opened his eyes.
"I guess that's that," Germany said.
"Should we go back to the wizard?" asked America.
"I guess so."
"Alright, then. What should we do with these?" America held up the hats.
"No way are they going in with the food." Germany said.
A noise from behind startled them. They turned around to see France standing up, his back facing them. America held the hats behind his back. After a moment of staggering, France turned around and charged them. They would've braced themselves, but everyone was too disgustedly distracted by France's limp manhood to do anything. America almost began to laugh at the size, but France's tackling him cut him off. America tried to get him off, but France felt like a fleshy mass of wine and cheese, and he simply wasn't budging. Something warm and solid poked America's thigh.
"Ugh!" he shouted. He squirmed back, putting one hand out to Germany for support. He slipped, accidentally hitting Germany in the stomach, popping his torso open. A scone fell out.
In a brief moment, something clicked. His mind racing, America snatched up the scone and grabbed a fistful of France's hair. France's mouth gaped for only a second before he noticed the scone in America's hand. He tried quickly to shut his mouth, but he was a second too late.
"Down the hatch!" America growled.
Whether by choking, or because the scone was just that terrible, France fell to the floor in defeat. Although shaken, no one was really surprised.
Standing up, America dusted himself off, momentarily confused by a warm, wet spot on his pants. He decided to ignore it. He picked the hats back up and addressed the others.
"Looks like it's time to go," he said. The others didn't nod, nor did they say anything, but everyone felt the same way. They felt the relief, the pride and the satisfied fatigue of a difficult job well done.
America tried not to speak too much on the way back. It was difficult, but somehow he was able to listen and watch more than talk. There was no longer any need for watches, but Germany, out of habit, still stayed awake a while longer than the others. Sometimes, Italy was able to stay awake longer than Romano and America and would wait until they fell asleep before he got up and sat next to Germany. In hushed voices, they would talk until they fell asleep.
"We're almost at the wizard's Germany," said Italy one night. "It looks like we'll be back there tomorrow."
"Ja, it would seem so," whispered Germany.
"Finally, Romano gets his courage, America gets a brain, and you get a heart."
Germany sighed contentedly, but didn't say anything.
"I'll be going home," Italy said drowsily.
Germany started slightly as he realized what Italy was saying.
"Italy…" he began.
"Hmm?" Italy was quickly falling asleep.
"Nein, it was nothing." Germany watched as Italy curled up on the ground, snoring only slightly as he slowly fell into a deep sleep.
"Guten nacht," he whispered, patting Italy's shoulder and pushing a stray hair out of his face.
Despite not having any sleep the night before, Germany was wide awake in the morning. He woke the others, and they were in no small hurry to get to the wizard's house.
It didn't take long to get there. If they were running before, they were sprinting when the house was in sight. Clinging tightly to the hats, America threw the door open, almost breaking it, and ran in.
They gasped and panted in the foyer, trying to regain their breath, when the sound of a door slamming above interrupted them. They looked up, and it was evident which door had closed; it was the one atop the stairs, the one which they'd gone through to see the wizard the first time. Forgetting about catching their breath, they raced up the stairs, down the hall, and into the wizard's quarters.
The tapestries on the far wall swayed, despite there being no wind in the room. But the travelers were far too excited to notice.
"Wizard dude!" America called out. "We got the hats, bro!"
The rabbit once again appeared on the pedestal, although much faster and certainly less grand than before.
"Both of them? And you were sure to punch him in the balls?"
"Yes, sir!" Italy happily cried with a salute.
"Very well then. Please place them in front of the pedestal here." The rabbit gestured to the ground in front of it. America spryly walked forward, placing them as directed.
"We did what we had to do. Can I have my brain now?" America felt like he was a little kid again, asking for dessert when he had eaten all of his dinner. His face turned hot, but he collected his nerve again. "And can my friends have what they asked for?" he gestured to the others with his gloved thumb.
"There's no need for me to give you anything," the rabbit answered. "Please be on your way."
Everyone gasped in shock. "What?" shouted Italy. "But- but you promised! You promised!" Italy stammered, trying to collect his thoughts while the others tensed in anger.
"Be on your way," the rabbit repeated.
America took a few steps back, his initial plan being to grab Germany's axe and destroy something, but something caught his eye. He looked again. The tapestry had once more swayed. America looked around for windows, but there were none, and they had closed the door behind them, so it was impossible for there to be a draft. As he approached the moving curtain, he heard Italy behind him, still insisting.
"How can you call yourself a great wizard if you're just a liar? You put us through all that and you didn't even hold up your end of the bargain!"
"Yeah," growled Romano. "There are people from my place who don't react so kindly to that."
"I'm sorry but there's nothing I can do for you," the rabbit said. America, now standing right in front of the curtain, gasped. He had heard two voices just speak, with maybe a millisecond's delay between words. Needing no further provocation, he pulled the curtain back.
"I thought it was you," America said with a mildly annoyed little smile. "How've you been, Britain dude?"
"I've been alright. Yourself?" Britain answered.
"What? Britain?" the others shouted.
"That's correct," Britain answered, stepping around America. He was wearing the same mint-green robe, but the hood was down and the sleeves rolled up.
"What up with the dress?" America asked with a chuckle.
Britain glared, but didn't answer.
"More importantly," Germany said, "why haven't you kept your promise?"
"I already told you; there's nothing more I can do for you," Britain explained.
"You haven't done anything," Italy said.
"Well, no. You've done it for yourself."
"How the hell does that work?" asked Romano.
"Look at yourself," Britain explained. "You've gone from coward to courageous. Didn't you help save Germany when your brother was in trouble?"
"I wasn't being brave," Romano protested. "I was still scared."
"You did the right thing in spite of your fear. That's what courage is."
Romano went silent, and slowly realized he was right. Not knowing what else to say, he simply smiled.
"And you, Germany. You've had a heart the whole time."
"What?" Germany asked.
"You're ferocious in battle, no doubt," Britain said. "but all is fair in love and war, and both require equal amounts of heart. You may be metal, but you're certainly not some emotionless robot. Besides, what good would it do to give you a heart when you'd simply give it to someone else?"
Germany looked at the floor as Britain chuckled.
"America."
America looked at Britain, who was smiling at him. It was a smile of pride, as if looking at a great accomplishment.
"Britain?"
"You're stupid," he said simply.
"Hey!"
"You've had a fine brain in your head the whole time, but you chose to ignore it. Remember to contemplate your actions carefully, before you do them. This is what is called wisdom."
America nodded.
"What about me?" Italy asked.
"Yes, Italy, I can take you home, but the spell only works one way. You will most likely not be able to come back. Are you sure you want to go anyway?"
Italy nodded, then turned to face the others. "What will you guys do?" he asked.
"I think I'll teach the Sealands to play baseball," America said. "They'll like that."
"I'm going to go back to that castle," Romano resolved. "Spain and Prussia will most likely be planning something, and I'm going to stop it before it starts."
"And you, Germany?" Italy asked.
"I'm going to miss you," he answered, saying nothing more. A pink mist materialized behind them, and Hungary once again appeared out of it.
"Don't worry," she said. "They'll all be fine." Italy nodded and turned back to Britain.
"Ready?" he asked.
Italy nodded, unable to speak.
"Close your eyes and take a deep breath."
Italy obeyed.
"Now think of your home, and shout at the top of your lungs the first word that comes to mind."
Italy focused his thoughts, held tightly onto Pooky, and took another deep breath.
"PASTA!"
"Hey, hey, take it easy!" shouted Romano.
Italy looked around. He was back in his bedroom, under the covers of his own bed, with Romano standing next to him. Disoriented, he jolted his gaze back and forth, trying to remember exactly what happened. Something tickled his temple. He reached for it, and found it had been a loose thread from a damp cloth on his forehead.
"You've been out for a while," Romano said casually, removing the cloth and dipping it in fresh water. "I accidentally put the wrong kind of mushroom on the pizza we had last night. Let's be more careful about that."
Romano left the room, closing the door behind him. Italy sat up and looked in the direction of his nightstand, where his cellphone lay. He picked it up and punched in a number.
"Hey, Germany?" he said. "Wait 'till I tell you about a crazy dream I had."
The End