A/N: Aaaangst...

Plus some broken GerIta - this pairing will be rather prevalent in the next few chapters to the end. (I love them~)

Chapter 3

Ludwig hadn't spoken since Arthur and Francis had left, the air behind them filled with noxious clouds of painful history. For a long time, his brother and his best friend stared silently at him, not knowing what could be said to ease his discomfort. The three of them didn't move so much as a muscle until Feliciano finally spoke up.

"Does Germany want to come to my house for dinner?" he asked warily, as though expecting some explosively negative response. "You're both invited, really."

Gilbert shook his head. "Nah, you kids have fun. I've got to go talk to a few people, tie down some loose ends, y'know?"

"Oh, okay."

Rising to his feet, he patted his younger brother awkwardly on the back. "I'll catch you later, West."

Then it was just him and Feliciano, separated only by the broad span of the conference table. Well aware that he would be unable to speak for quite some time, Ludwig dropped his gaze to his own scarred knuckles. How had he missed the knotty, white flesh that curled across his thick digits like coils of barbed wire? Though he didn't have the resolve to look, he rationalized that there were similar marks on other parts of his body: the remnants of lost battles and dying citizens. Gripping tightly at the table before him, he fought back the urge to vomit. His boss, Der Fuhrer, had been a madman and he, Das Vaterland, had been unable to read the signs before it was too late.

"Well?"

"I apologize," he murmured, not lifting his eyes to the Italian. "What was the question again?"

"Dinner, Germany. Did you want to…?" Feliciano trailed off, then stood with a look of pure determination on his face. "You're coming to my house for dinner tonight, Germany. Get up and get your things."

Nodding, the blond found that he didn't have the will to argue.

The sound of the front door being pulled open drew the cook's attention, the shuffle of footsteps holding it.

"Veneziano? Grab the mail, would yo-?" Turning away from the dinner he was preparing, Lovino was confronted with the sight of a bashful-looking Feliciano and the ever-present German threat. He snorted, "You again, potato head? If you're gonna spend so much time with my brother, why not get your balls in order and just propose already?"

"Excuse me?" Half out of curiosity and half out of irritation masked with civility, Ludwig asked, shifting his stance to a defensive one.

The younger Italian broke in nervously, "Um, Germany's… Germany's not well today, Fratello."

"No?" Upon closer inspection, a hint of suppressed bloodlust could be detected his otherwise weary, cerulean gaze. There was something unyielding about his straight-backed posture that reminded one of a much more militant era. The brunet flinched back. "N-Nazi…"

"That's all he can remember." Feliciano murmured, speaking with a low, mournful tone that sent shivers down his brother's spine. "Germany thinks he's gone forward in time, but he really just hit his head and…"

Fists raised and face flushed, Lovino approached the blond. He sputtered, breathless with anger, until he managed to force out the words, "Get out of our house now."

"Fratello, please!"

"No!" He dragged the nation down to his eyelevel by the collar of his dress shirt. "Look at me, you bastard, and promise me to stay the fuck away from my brother! We suffered enough because of your stupid damn war, and we don't want any more part in this!"

Ludwig blinked slowly, trying to comprehend the rapid Italian. "A-any more part in what?"

"You!" The older brunet shoved him back with all his strength, then took up the wooden spoon he had been using previously to stir the sauce that now sat forgotten on the stove. "I swear, I'll kill you before I let you hurt my brother again!"

"Again?"

Feliciano froze. Rich, honey-colored eyes darted nervously between his lover and his brother as his words died on his tongue. "P-please…"

"Idiot! Do you really think he'll just forget all of this? He was crazy then, Veneziano, and he's crazy again now. Look at him, at his eyes. Do you really think that this is the look of a sane man?"

"But I… it's Germany…"

Backing carefully away from the Italians in the kitchen, Ludwig held up his hands in a show of surrender and peace. "I don't understand all of this, but if I'm making you uncomfortable, I can leave-"

"Don't!" The cry was desperate as the younger Vargas grabbed up the German's pale hand in his. "Please don't go, Germany, I want to help you."

"I'm leaving. This is disgusting." Making a nasty retching noise, Lovino whirled on his heel. At the door, he paused, then, addressing Feliciano, he added with his eyes glinting darkly, "Don't try to be forgiven by doing this, idiot. You left him before because it was the right choice."

Then the door slammed shut before either of the remaining two nations could string together the words of a response.

The German would have been hard pressed to have not noticed the way his (former) ally's hands shook as he set the table, but Feliciano refused any of his offers to help. Guilt seemed to be written across his sickly pale face, but he had smiled nonetheless in an attempt to put his guest at ease.

"I've got it, Germany. You just sit there and relax."

Even though he knew the Italian to be a kind and gracious host, the blond nation got the feeling that there was something more to Feliciano's strange behavior than he was fully grasping. Something that possibly had to do with the outcome of the war he didn't recall. Ludwig's lips tightened, and he curtly thanked the cheerful brunet for the steaming pasta that was set before him.

"We're friends, aren't we?" he whispered, slender fingers toying with a fork that would normally be twisting enthusiastically though the sauce-dampened noodles. Glancing up at the German across the table, Feliciano squirmed beneath his own shame. "I mean… do you remember our being friends?"

Ludwig frowned. "We, eh, we just signed an alliance together."

"The Pact of Steel." The name slipped from his lips in a single, painful exhale. The taller nation nodded.

"You were afraid I would forget our-"

"Our friendship."

A smile almost found its way to the German's face. "Yes."

"I… I really do care about you, Germany." He beamed in a manner he hoped was convincing enough. Then, prodding nervously at the food on his plate, he added, "In fact, I love you more than anyone else on the planet…"

"I care for you, also." Ludwig blushed, not meeting his friend's eyes. "But, Italy, I want you to tell me something."

"Of course, anything for Germany-"

"How were our relations affected by the war?"

Feliciano sucked in his breath harshly, finding himself met with the very question he had hoped his partner would never ask. Gaze weighted and falling to the side, he murmured, "You won't hate me, will you?"

"I'm not entirely certain that I could even if I tried." the blond replied quickly, not even pausing to think. There was another small grin tempting his stern mouth, one that lessened the chaotic look in his pale eyes. The Italian's heart sank even lower.

"I…" Tongue both fumbling to form the words and choking him, he struggled. "There was…"

"Italy?"

"M-my children were dying, and I-I was tired, and I…" Salty tear tracks traced their way down his cheeks as he shuddered. "I ab…"

"You abandoned me?" Ludwig guessed correctly, expression becoming closed and icy once more. Feliciano could only nod weakly, already prepared to flinch back in case of a blow.

It never came.

"Thank you for the meal, Italy." The German got to his feet, carefully taking the linen napkin from his lap and replacing it on the table. Then, with only a moment of hesitation, he turned and left.