Why must I be so allergic to editing? .-. Feel free to point out any errors! Spelling, grammar, or anything else you feel needs to be addressed! I don't own Hetalia. I only have one more death planned ;~; Anyone got any good ideas?

Chapter 7

Said the fly to the spider

Italy was heartbroken to say the least, hunched over in his chair pulled close to the table, the pasta Germany had attempted to make quickly cooling. Not only was he murdering nations, but he was also causing them to kill each other! And they thought it was over. Everyone thought they were safe. France was dead, not at Italy's hand, but at England's. It was almost worse than Italy killing the French nation himself, because he had turned a nation into a murderer. France had been completely innocent, but in a sick way, this was good for Italy. France was the only one alive who had known, and now he was dead. Problem solving.

The presence in Italy seemed only too willing to relinquish control for the time being, leading the nations on to think that it was over. It would all serve to break them even more when the murders started again. It had been two weeks since then, and Italy was still just as broken as he had been since the start of the whole thing, and it didn't slip past Germany. The stoic nation had really been putting in an effort to cheer the Italian up despite his own emotional distress, but Italy wasn't having any of it. Things were slowly starting to slip back into a comfortable routine, and the presence didn't even need to remind Italy not to confess, who would believe him by this point anyways?

"Italy?" Germany prompted, sitting across the small table. Had he asked a question?

"Hm?" Italy yawned, lifting his head and feigning exhaustion, or rather using the exhaustion he did feel to cover up his guilt. It was always guilt with Italy.

Germany sighed "You weren't listening to me, were you?" His tone wasn't accusing, just tired.

Italy shook his head slowly, in a sad, wistful way, like he wished he could listen "I'm sorry, Germany..."

"Do you still think France wasn't the killer?" The question seemed so sudden and off-topic that it brought Italy up short.

It took a long moment for him to reply "I don't know..." He pronounced each word carefully, as if he might mess them up.

"The killings have stopped." It was a definitive fact, but it hung in the air like a question.

The guilt Italy felt in that moment "I—Yeah, they have" He agreed, lowering his head slightly, his chin tilting downwards.

"But you still don't think that he did it, do you?" And that wasn't a question, although it tilted up at the end like it was one.

"No." There was nothing more to say. Italy knew that France wasn't the killer.

"You've figured something out, haven't you?" Again with the questions that weren't questions, but to this one Italy had nothing to say. Nothing to make him understand.

Italy hadn't had to figure anything out: he knew that he was the killer. Italy had come to accept that there was nothing he could about it anymore. His hands were bloody, and the stains refused to leave no matter how many times he washed his hands. Not literally of course, if his hands really were covered in blood, someone would have noticed. But Italy could see the stains, as fresh as when he had first spilt blood over them.

"But you won't tell me." Germany seemed to understand that Italy had no plans of divulging anything, not anymore.

There were no words left in Italy's parched mouth, no energy left in his worn body to lift a finger. There hadn't been either left for a long time. Everything was empty. Italy looked up at Germany, eyes open and observing. He reached up a hand and let the backs of his fingers brush against the German's cheek. It was one of the most painful things in world, watching Germany flinch, and the blush that Italy's fingers left on his skin.

"Maybe it was France" Lies, it was always with the lies "There's no way for us to ever know until there's another murder. If there isn't we can assume, but if there is, we'll know we were wrong." Italy already knew they were wrong, it wasn't a matter of whether or not the killings started again, because Italy knew they would.

"You sound like you think they will." Germany searched Italy's gaze, but the once lively eyes that were so rarely seen were dull with exhaustion and mourning.

Italy shrugged "They might, they might not," He tried to sound indecisive, but it came out pitiful "At the same time, I hope France was the murderer, and I don't." Italy explained softly. It was the truth- not the full truth, but it was a start.

"I know, Italy." He sighed faintly, a breathy sound that hung in the air for a long moment "I'm sorry"

What did Germany have to apologize for? It was absurd that the German be the one apologizing, when it was Italy who had hurt so many.

"Why?" Italy stared up at his friend, his face blank and lifeless, but tense, as though he was suppressing emotion.

"You've lost as much as anyone and no one deserves it less than you." His words were more scalding than any rebuke.

How was Italy supposed to respond? Was there anything he could respond? He averted his gaze, staring at the wall behind Germany, feeling his eyes prick with unshed tears. He bit his bottom lip to keep them from spilling over. Did Germany know just how much of lie he was telling to himself? Longing welled in his chest, because he wished he could believe Germany's words. But no one deserved to lose everything more than Italy.

"None of us deserved to lose anything." Italy whispered, not voicing his disagreement, but not lying either.

"But the killer is dead now. It was surely France." Germany's eyes were pleading, begging for Italy to agree with him.

"That doesn't bring back the dead." Italy stared at the table, sniffing in a pitiful attempt to keep himself from crying "They'll always be dead."

Germany's face crumpled, probably thinking of everyone he'd lost since it all began "Nothing can bring them back, but we can settle for justice."

"If he was the killer, he deserved much worse than merciful shot to the head" Italy's tone was bitter and downcast "A monster deserves a monster's death" Italy could barely stand the truth of his own words; he deserved a monster's death.

"He got to feel the terror his victims felt." Germany effectively ended the conversation as he swept up the dishes and Italy's uneaten food.

Italy's bottom lip trembled "Maybe he felt that terror everyday" He sniffed softly to himself "Maybe the spider was more afraid of the fly all along"

And just a little bit. He began to understand.

Hope you enjoyed reading! Though it felt a bit like a filler chapter cx Oh, and before I forget: I realized that I haven't thanked the people you have favorited, followed, and reviewed! Thanks so much guys, you keep a lazy writer motivated :D