A bird trilled above Italy's head as he made his way towards the German POW camp. Apparently, there were three guys of national importance he needed to release, and he needed to have them released by the German officials without being caught, killed, maimed, or anything else that might impede his ability to bring the three prisoners. According to Carlino's Intel, he was looking for a Frenchman, and an Englishman, and an American.

If those prisoners were who he suspected they were, and he really hoped they weren't, it'd be getting them all out without having them start a fight or blowing his cover that would be the hardest part, not, say, avoiding bullets.

The camp's security consisted of eight snipers, a perimeter of barbed wire, and one sentry who stood watch at the gate. It was up to him to catch the frauds and the grieving friends and family members who yearned to take back their loved ones. Rumors in the Italian resistance whispered about women in these prisons who were thrown to German soldiers like so much bloodied meat to a hungry dog. This was a fate that often awaited the women who spoke who acted against the wishes of the Fascist government.

The Occupation demanded food from the Italians, often more than they could spare, which was why another major part of the resistance consisted of stealing and distributing food. If Italy's uniform and military mien weren't explicitly needed for this situation, and if his little brother, Carlino, hadn't pleaded with him, he'd be out trying to steal food for the plantations and refugees right now.

Still, not everything about this assignment was terrible. With any luck, he'd get to kill people this time. It'd been at least a year since he'd so much as drawn his blades on a breathing target, and he was starting to feel a little rusty in that department.

The sentry gave Italy a calculative glance, which was natural, considering the dry, stiffness of the nation's uniform and his dark tan. Both suggested he was outside often without proper supplies or shelter.

Instead of fidgeting, Italy gave the sentry an impatient snort, "My name is Felicano Vargas. I'm here as a representative of the Fascist Party. My superiors have ordered me to collect three prisoners- an American, a Frenchman, and an Englishman."

The sentry flipped through the papers on his desk. "We have received no prior notice of a prisoner transfer."

"This is your notice. The Fascist Party wishes to use these three prisoners as collateral against their respective nations. You could call my superiors to confirm the transfer, though I doubt they'd appreciate you wasting their time. I certainly don't appreciate you wasting mine. In fact, before I leave, be sure to give me your name, rank, and the name and rank of your closest superior."

Blanching, the sentry replied, "I don't believe that will be necessary, Sir." They saluted each other as Italy walked cooly past the gate. When he was entirely free of the sentry, the Italian nation allowed himself the small, smug smile he'd been suppressing. Really, that had just been too easy.

Haggard men in tattered rags dragged their hands and feet as their German wardens yelled abuse and practiced it. The hungry eyes and welts were enough to make anyone's blood boil, but Italy kept his face blank. A new diary had more to say than the expression on his face did to anyone who laid eyes on it. Still, the German soldiers guarding the cells glanced at him with curiosity and wariness until he flashed his identification. Technically, he was listed as a deserter, but they wouldn't find that out until he was well on his way with three prisoners and a dinner to look forward to.

They moved aside, revealing gray cells to match the gray skin of their prisoners, gray soil on the ground, gray gate at their perimeter, and gray corpses and bones at the foot of their hill.

A sense of relief seemed to come over any soldier who heard that the American, Frenchman, and Englishman were being transferred. This was because, no matter how much they were beaten, they were never obedient and they never shut up. This became blindingly clear once Italy came within fifteen feet of their cells.

A high voice with an English accent was shouting, "Well, at least my women know what a shower is!"

"That's a vicious lie and you know it!" came the disgruntled reply of a Frenchman. "There's no way your women know what a shower is."

"Oh, God" One of the German guards outside groaned. "Just take them already." At this, the two nations looked up to see Italy standing a few feet back in the shadows. Their eyes showed recognition, but their mouths said nothing. The silence itself was suspicious, but the guards didn't seem to notice anything amiss, so there wasn't really a need for them to start arguing again.

Dark circles around their eyes and dark bruises on their skin shone in the dim lighting. Whatever argument they'd been having, it's purpose had likely been to keep their spirits up. To keep them unbroken.

Moving on to the next cell, Italy saw something that shocked him so much he couldn't help but growl a little. America was beaten to a much more extreme extent than the other two. It was possible he'd spoken and fought in order to keep most of the negative attention to himself.

That seemed very like him.

What was unusual about the scene was the woman, bound and gagged, in his cell. She was no older than nineteen. Long, chestnut tresses ran down her exposed back, terrified honey colored eyes trembled, she was skin and bones and fear in a tattered brown dress.

Seeing his expression, America whispered, "They wanted me to rape her, Italy. I refused, they beat me, and then they tried to get me to rape her again. Rinse and repeat. What I'm saying is- Get us out of here."

It was impossible. He'd already said he'd be taking three prisoners out. There was no way- Without thinking, he found himself unlocking the cell so he could undo the binds around her hands and feet.

Shushing her as he spoke, he uttered assurances in Italian that he was not going to harm, he was going to undo the dirty gag around her mouth, as long as she didn't scream. The second she was free, she babbled, huddling into his uniform, "Vuole mangiare me."

Looking thoroughly bewildered, America asked what she'd just said.

With a similarly bemused expression, Italy replied, "She says you want to eat her."

"Oh… is that all?"

"All? America, that's a lot. I can get you a hamburger later, but don't you think cannibalism is a little-" The American nation rocked on his butt.

"Eat her? What? I tried to undo her gag with my mouth." Another brilliant idea that could not possibly misconstrued by a terrified young girl. "Tell her I don't want to eat her." America wiggled his bound hands. "And then do me."

Italy nodded, hiding a smile as he did. " Non vuole mangiare voi."

Continuing in Italian, the women replied, her voice raspy from lack of use, "But he always looks so hungry." Wide eyed, America continued to watch the exchange without comprehending.

"That's because he's always hungry."

"For women?"

Solemnly, Italy replied, "For burgers." The woman snorted. A measuring look was directed at the blond nation, who looked to be the very picture of innocence.

"How is he not fat?"

The Italian nation openly grinned at this, though he knew he was starting to take too much time. "Oh, give him a century or so and-"Her bemused expression alerted him to the mistake he'd made. Without meaning to, he switched to English. "I mean, not a hundred years. There's no way he'd still be alive a hundred from now, unless he was the representation of the nation or something, right? But he's totally not that so…" A furious blush heated up his cheeks, especially after France and America started laughing, and England began teasing him about his inexperience with girls.

It wasn't his fault. He represented young soldiers, not flirts. And guys who date unicorns and fairies should so not talk.

The noise attracted the German soldiers, so Italy quickly snarled, "Shut up and get out." Taking out his knife, he cut the binds around America's arms, then he unlocked the cell France and England were trapped together in. The girl crawled out of her cell, looking up at him with hope.

There were two ways Italy could get her out of that camp. If he left her there, she be forced on other prisoners or given to soldiers, so leaving her was not an option. First, he could fight his way out, depending on their immortal bodies to keep them safe from the bullets that would inevitably come their way, but that would leave her vulnerable. The chances of getting her out alive were to slim to use that plan as anything other than a last resort. Second, he could talk his way out.

When Italy exited the prison, the guards immediately questioned him as to why he had four prisoners instead of three. "She is for me." The Italian bluntly explained.

"That's not how it works here, Sir."

"Ve~ But you have so many" the words made him sick, "surely you can spare one. After all, this will give you one less mouth to feed."

The girl was very beautiful, but the thought of an extra mouthful was as tempting, if not more, than the sight of her flesh.

In the end, all four of them were able to walk out unscathed, and Italy didn't get to stab anyone.