Note: Second to last chapter, guys. I'm sorry I'm cutting this off so soon, but that's the way it goes, I guess. Many thanks to everyone who reviewed/favorited/alert-ed. They were enough of guilt trips to make me keep writing. Oh, and I still don't own Hetalia.
Life moved on. Russia hadn't done anything to contact Italy since the meeting. Italy somehow managed to convince Romano that nothing was wrong, a task made easier by the fact that his brother cared more about Spain than family. Most of the other nations had never noticed in the first place. There were only two loose ends left.
Germany was growing bolder in his attempts to wrangle some sort of explanation from Italy. He would call at least once every day, although he would back off for several hours whenever Italy hung up on him. He could take a hint.
The other problem was Prussia. As far as Italy could tell, Germany had either told the albino ex-nation part of what had happened, or Italy had simply not held himself together well enough during that phone call that now seemed so long ago. Either way, Prussia was added to the group of people who knew that something wasn't right with Italy – a small group, yes, but still far too large. And Prussia's ways of getting answers were a bit more… straightforward than Germany's. It was getting to the point where he would just corner Italy and not let him get away until he got a decent answer.
There was a knock on the door as that last idea came to Italy, almost as if it were on cue. Italy hesitated, debating whether or not to answer it. It could have been Germany, going to bother him again. It could have been his brother, yelling at him about something. It could have been some random human needing help with something.
The internal debate turned out to be for naught. Before Italy could decide whether or not to answer the door, it was kicked down. "Hey, Feli!"
Italy blanched. Despite the cheerful tone and the use of the familiar nickname, it was far too obvious that Prussia was not happy. "W-what is it, Prussia?" On the bright side, it wasn't too difficult to pretend to be his normal, clueless, terrified, (weak) self. Prussia scowled.
"Stop that." He said bluntly, walking into Italy's house without bothering to put the door back into place. He grabbed the smaller nation by the elbow and dragged him into the kitchen, sitting down at the table. "You're going to tell me what's going on, right?" It wasn't a question.
Italy frowned, his cheerful-idiot act slipping. It didn't matter anymore. Prussia clearly knew that something was wrong. And it was just as clear that he wasn't planning to leave unless he got an answer that satisfied him. All the same… "Nothing's going on," Italy said quietly, sounding defeated.
Prussia scowled. "You and I both know that's a load of shit," he pointed out, blunt as he ever was. When Italy turned away, the albino hit the table in frustration. "Look, Feli," he continued, sounding more exasperated than anything. "I promised West that I'd figure out what was up with you."
Normally, Italy would have immediately responded to the mention of Germany. He would have looked up, smiled, asked how Germany was doing.
Italy said nothing. If any change in expression showed, it was nothing more than a slight frown, gone in less than a second.
Prussia sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was never really that good at the whole talking-to-people thing, especially not when it involved emotions. Most of the time he was too awesome to deal with other peoples' issues, but the downside was that he was always out of practice when something hit close to home. "West's really upset, you know," he tried.
Whatever reaction Prussia expected from that, it wasn't the one he got. Italy snorted slightly, as if trying to restrain a laugh. "Ve… Of course he is," the brunette said quietly, with a wry smile. "And you're here because you're worried about him?"
"He's family," Prussia replied cautiously. He had never heard that tone from Italy before. It was dangerously calm, and reminded him too much of the time he spent with Russia. "I've already lost my father and one brother. He's all I have left."
"You're worried about him because he's worried about me?" Prussia had no response to that. Italy had not asked a question as much as stated a fact, and they both knew it. Italy seemed to focus all of his attention on the grain of the wooden table. "He shouldn't be worried about me," the short brunette said mildly.
"Why is he, then?" Prussia asked. Germany hadn't actually said anything specific about the entire situation, after all. All the albino knew was that his little brother was worried sick, and it had something to do with Italy, and that Italy was acting a bit strange lately.
Italy smiled, distant and sad. "I really don't know," he lied. "He shouldn't worry about me. I'm - " He stopped, somehow unable to keep talking, keep lying. "He shouldn't worry about me."
"But he is."
"He shouldn't!" Italy snapped, suddenly standing up to yell at Prussia and repeating himself for the fourth time.. "It's none of his business! It's not his business, and it isn't yours, either!" He inhaled shakily, and kept yelling. "At least everyone else was smart enough to write it off as me being silly or something like that when I was acting a bit off during the meeting! Even when Lovino noticed, he stopped asking me about it after a bit. But no, you couldn't back off. And neither could Germany! He just had to go off and keep worrying and get everyone's attention, didn't he? It's not his problem. It's not anyone's problem. He should never have found out!" Italy froze, realizing the last sentence that came out of his mouth. His fists were clenched so tightly on the table that his knuckles were completely white, and he started to shake. Seconds later, he was back in his chair, covering his face in a futile attempt to muffle his sobs.
Prussia was stunned, having absolutely no idea what to do in the face of Italy's sudden fury and subsequent breakdown. For several minutes, the only sounds in the kitchen were Italy crying and a clock ticking from somewhere in the room. Finally, Prussia spoke. "Found out what?"
Italy replied with a muffled, half-choked curse in his own tongue.
Prussia persisted. "What did West find out, Feli?"
Italy's sobs ceased for long enough for him to say "D-don't call me that."
"Answer the question."
"…No."
"Why not?"
Silence greeted this, punctuated by an occasional sniffle from Italy and the ticking clock.
"You know you can tell me if it's something political," Prussia pointed out. After a slight hesitation, he added in a more bitter tone, "It's not like I actually have any influence anymore."
Italy still didn't reply, choosing instead to look up at the wall.
Prussia sighed. "And if it's personal…" The albino hesitated for a moment, trying to think of a way to get some sort of explanation from the Italian. "I can be a lot more understanding than I let on, you know?"
"No."
"What?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"Try me," Prussia challenged.
Italy continued to stare at the wall for a few moments before turning to face Prussia. He couldn't see any anger in the albino's eyes, or deception. There was just… concern. And a bit of fear. Prussia… was afraid of him?
No, it couldn't be. Prussia must have been afraid of what he might tell him. Somehow, that was worse. Italy sighed, resignedly. "Ve… there's no way… to really say it…" Prussia remained silent, and the brunette pushed on. "Germany… he…"
"What did West do?"
Italy bit his lower lip in an attempt to not start crying again. After a few stammered half-sentences and jumbled syllables, he gave up trying to use words. Unable to think of any other way to explain it, he only rolled up one of his shirt sleeves and held his arm out to Prussia, exposing the scars to the albino.
Prussia said nothing, but gently pulled Italy's arm toward him. He wasn't stupid. He knew what those scars were, what they meant. "…How long?" He finally asked.
"I don't know."
The two of them stayed silent for several moments. In a sudden fit of self-consciousness, Italy yanked his arm back and rolled the sleeve back down. Again, Prussia broke the silence, this time with a hesitant "Why?"
It took a while for Italy to come up with a coherent answer. He couldn't really put the whole jumble of emotions that drove him to that point in words. He couldn't really explain how horrible, how demeaning it was for everyone to think of him as some random idiot with no significance in anything. "Ve… I… just have to get away sometimes…"
Prussia nodded. He did understand the need to get away, even if he couldn't comprehend the level at which Italy had tried to do so. After all, he'd spent most of World War II and the subsequent fifty or so years completely intoxicated, just so he wouldn't have to deal with the reality. But… Prussia frowned. "But your people…"
"You think I don't know that?" Italy asked with an entirely humorless laugh. "You have no idea how much I hate myself for that. Killing my… my children just because I'm too weak to handle my own issues."
"Italy…" Prussia trailed off, before continuing. "I'm not the one you should be talking to about this." He tried to ignore the way Italy's fists suddenly clenched, enough for his knuckles to turn white. "Come on," he said. "You need to talk to West."
