Based on my drabble The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning from the story The World, Piece By Piece, which had been based upon a roleplay between SpeakingThroughWrittenWords and Dancing Feather. Warning: Utilizes both country and Human names. Also contains written accents so if you do not like such things just do not bother reading. Thank you.
When Germany snapped, Italy was the first to know. Italy just did not understand why he had not noticed it sooner. Why he had not been able to stop what occurred. Germany had become more quiet, less receiving, but Italy had just thought there was another rough patch. It could not be something so bad as... so bad as...
"Italy," Germany said. He stood at the other end of the room, gloved fists clenched and held at his sides. "Vill you become one vith me?"
Italy stared at him in love, with horror, and realized something which had somehow escaped him for so long. It was just those simple words, but he knew what they meant. And they way they were said, there was no one who could say them as such, not one except...
Italy began crying.
"But I won't leave you Germany. Not this time. I won't leave you, ever, ever, ever..."
Germany's arms wrapped around him. Italy looked up and saw his eyes. They were struggling to keep sight of what was in front of him. Struggling in a loosing fight, where now he saw another reality.
"I von't let you leave me," Germany whispered into his ear, his grip tightening. Italy sobbed into his chest.
Germany was the Holy Roman Empire.
Thinking about it, Italy had never asked Germany how he was as a child, though he had told Germany many tales of himself. Never mentioning Empire though. Italy could not bare to speak of the boy he had been so in love with, not to the person he had fallen so hard for.
Germany was Germany some of the time. Tired, uncertain... listening to his boss with a certain resignation. Germany seemed to try keeping his distance from Italy. Italy would not let him. Not that it was possible. Italy lived here now, with him. Italy was keeping an eye on him. Italy would say anything he could think of to keep Germany here. Different work, take a break, kissing him... anything he could think of to keep Germany's madness from exceeding the borders.
And Germany would give up to him, give in to him.
But then Germany was Holy Roman Empire for the rest of the time. A child still. Eager to do the right thing, impulsive, certain... believing he would win this time. After all, Italy was with him this time. His Italy. He would not want Italy anywhere but in the same room with him while they were at home. But when he wanted to leave, to accomplish his boss's goals, nothing Italy could do would stop him.
Germany was too strong. And Germany did not... could not comprehend Italy's fear.
So Italy smiled. Italy went along with it. When Germany was there. When Germany was gone, Italy called the other countries. So they could defend themselves.
"Italy? What is wrong?"
And he told him.
"Don't worry. We will stop him."
"But don't – don't..."
"We will help him. The best we can. Don't worry, Feli–"
And the line went dead.
Later that day, Germany told Italy (in a voice so dead) that Austria had joined them. Italy had been too shocked to pretend to be okay with it.
"Veneziano, you get out of there right now!"
North Italy gasped, turning to see his brother. "Romano! You shouldn't be here! If Germany sees you..."
"Leave him!" Romano pleaded. "Damn it! I know what you feel for him, but this... you can't do this! He's not the guy you fell in love with anymore!"
"No," Italy shivered. He's the man I fell in love with twice.
"Vhat are you doing?"
"Germany, no!" Italy screamed.
"Let Feliciano go!" Romano shouted.
His brother had been so brave.
Countries were easily added to the list. Italy could not recall when Germany had managed to undermine so many of them. Italy could not imagine that Germany was capable of this.
"Why did you ally with him?" Italy asked America. America looked at him for a while, then grinned.
The grin was so drawn, so forced, it did not look like America. America looked like he was falling apart on the inside. America looked so thin. America reminded him of Germany.
"He allied with me," America told him. Italy began screaming and hitting him. It did no good. Germany came and pulled him away from America.
America had not been hurt by the encounter.
"There is still hope," England told them. England was trying to keep himself together. Someone had to. Italy had wanted to lean on Austria, but Austria (when not doing as he had been told by Germany) was busy caring for Hungary.
Hungary did not look right, so bloodied.
England was so torn. Everyone else was so ready to blame Germany for America, when they all knew by now they had to blame America for Germany.
But they had to get rid of them both.
"Eat them out from the inside," France laughed softly. "I have a plan."
Italy left before he could know what it was. Not that it helped.
America easily lived through that plan and Germany was obligated to rip apart the one who tried to kill the younger nation.
Italy cried. To Spain. Not that Spain needed his pain. Romano told them both, in a voice so weak it did not sound like him, to grow up and get over it.
"Leave me, Italy," Germany would whisper to him at night, curling up so tight around a pillow. So tight Italy almost thought Germany was trying to suffocate himself. "I can't stop, I can't stop..."
"No," Italy wrapped his arms about him. "But I'll stay all the same."
He was not going to make the same mistake as last time.
"Your boss will realize his mistake soon, right? Then things will be all right. We'll go back to normal."
Germany did not believe him. Italy had to.
"I... I think... things will get better soon," Lichtenstein told him. Italy was inclined to believe it, now that she was involved. Switzerland was screaming murder in his country still untouched by Germany and America.
Switzerland was no longer neutral. And that was all Russia, China, and Japan needed to get in.
That was all Germany needed to declare he did not need America anymore. And America had been so much more weaker, so much more desperate than anyone had known.
"Get out of the way Italy!" England snarled. Italy stood there, watching the gun trained on him, feeling detached.
"Don't hurt him, don't hurt him..." Italy rasped, wondering what he was doing.
"After what he did to America?" England shrieked. "After... after France?"
Italy cried. England shot him.
And woke up.
The ceiling was beige. Italy did not recognize it instantly. Nor did he recognize the sunlight coming through the window. It seemed so strange, the sun. Italy had become so used to night, so used to the basement, the back room, their room where the blinds were stuck closed...
"Veneziano?" came Spain's voice. Italy looked over to see him walking in. Spain looked concerned. Then a smile (Italy had not seen it in so long) appeared on his face. "You're awake!" Spain said cheerfully. "Romano will be so glad to hear it... all he does now is gripe about you."
"Spain?" Italy questioned, trying to remember how he had gotten here. Trying to remember things in general. His head felt fuzzy. "What happened?"
The smile left Spain's face. "It's... things have been fixed," he seemed to struggle with the words. "The conquering army has been... defeated."
It took a few moments for Italy to remember the conquering army had been Germany.
"And Ludwig?" Italy sat up, feeling a twinge in his shoulder, but not quite comprehending it. "What happened to Ludwig, Antonio? Where is he?"
Spain faltered in responding. Because of that, Italy did not need to hear the response.
He began screaming.
The rain fit his mood perfectly. Why was it always that rain fit the mood, but not the situation? He would give anything for the rain clouds to leave, so that it would not be so hard to carry the body he held to the door.
He wanted to scream, but did not. He understood America now. Being the top world power in such a world required a damper put on what he truly wanted to do. And there he had just thought America was actually so clueless all the time. How ridiculous. How shallow of him.
It took Austria a bit to answer the door. Not that he had been able to keep track of the passage of time.
"You?" Austria questioned. He extended the blond in his arms to the taller man. "Is this...?"
"Can I trust you to take care of him?" he questioned. His voice was low, because he could not bear to speak louder. Austria, despite the mess the other was in, despite the mud and blood, grabbed who he was carrying and held him close.
"Of course," Austria nodded, already using his fine clothing to stem some of the child's bleeding that he had not been able to. "Is this really... him?"
He did not answer. He turned and left.