Well… I know it's been a while, but I did want to update this story. Especially since people are still interested in it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter.
I don't own Hetalia!end/AN/
He'd had to eat in the kitchen, though maybe he shouldn't've been surprised. Germany hadn't even looked at him as he barked at him to stay in there and eat.
However, he had gotten the sympathetic look of Austria, who seemed to have materialized from nowhere to eat dinner; it was the sort of look one had to know the person to know it was sympathetic, though. And Italy had known Austria for a number of years, that was for certain.
At least he was allowed to eat; Italy had been half-afraid he wouldn't be allowed, with how angry Germany had been with him during his stay.
Had he stabbed him in the back? He didn't like to think so. It had been time he left, and he had to do what was best for himself and his brother, didn't Germany know? It was too dangerous, too bloody and bitter to fight anymore. Romano could only have lasted so long, he was sure, and he couldn't be positive of his own survival.
But maybe that was what Germany didn't understand; maybe he thought people should fight to the death, even if the issue didn't matter to them. Why couldn't he understand that this was his war, not Italy's?
Italy chewed on his potatoes, standing at the kitchen counter. If he could talk to Austria, maybe he would be able to convince Germany to let him go, and not annex him and his brother. Austria had always been reasonable, at least compared to Germany now. He would be able to bend that iron will, Italy was sure.
Or maybe not so sure; it seemed things had changed so massively, it was hard to take in. But he would try it, and Austria would remember how they had lived together and how he had taught him how to behave.
The last bit of potato went down Italy's throat, and he stared at his plate. Any time now, they would be done. Germany did not have a lot of time for meals these days; he did not dilly-dally around the table. And if he was gone, then Prussia and Austria would only stick around so long.
The clink of dishes from the dining room alerted him to their moving about, and he hastily moved his own to the sink. Prussia was unpredictable; hell, Germany was unpredictable. He did not want to provoke any attacks of any kind.
The four Germanic countries filed into the kitchen, each bearing their own dishes. Not a glance was given to him, except for a sneer from Prussia. It was as though he couldn't stand to let Italy think he'd get blessed relief from the hazing.
Germany spoke, startling Italy and breaking the silence. "Wash the dishes; then I must speak with you in my office."
Italy's head bobbed up and down, and his skinny hands plunged into the sink, intending to scrape off the dishes. It would take too short a time, he was sure, and he would have to face his invader soon enough. The thought gave him chills.
"Oops!" It was sinister, but the cutlery gashing Italy's hand was far more so.
"Ah, oh, oh, oh…" It stung, as Italy clutched his hand, desperately trying not to make too much noise. Who knew what would happen to him, in this uncertain little world?
Prussia shrugged, stating, "You should have been looking out! You wouldn't have gotten cut then."
He wanted to cry out, as his eyes began to sting, and he scrubbed at them with the inside of his elbow. He was startled when a large hand grabbed his wrist, and twisted the limb out of his grip.
"I'll have to clean this," came the grumble, as Germany pulled him away and towards the counter. The thick pads on his fingers dug in, his other hand reaching for a first aid kit.
It was sort of bittersweet to think about; the first aid kit was there specifically for Italy. He'd had one too many mishaps at Germany's house, and so the nation had set it up, explaining everything inside it. And even though Italy understood basic first aid, he let him. Because there were things far more important than proving you know something.
It stung as Germany applied the antiseptic, but Italy didn't mind. He was being looked after, like before, and he could pretend, just for the moment, that things were normal. That Germany wasn't avoiding his gaze, staring mechanically at his hand.
"Can't keep yourself safe for a moment…" the German muttered, finishing swabbing the area, and then wrapping it with gauze. "You'll be useless this way."
"I can still grab things…" Italy said tentatively, trying to somehow make this work. He clenched his fist, wincing but determined to prove it to Germany. They had to make up some time, didn't they?
The scary silence followed, as Germany brooded, before he turned away without an answer. It seemed it didn't matter what Italy said; he was going to continue his plans regardless.
Prussia gave a small snicker, but was silenced with a look from Germany. He grumbled something about 'someone' not having a sense of humor, but to Italy's relief, he moved on, not bothering him anymore. He must have had things more important to do.
Austria reached out, awkwardly patting Italy on the shoulder. "It will get better; Germany's a good country, and he's got a good plan. You'll see."
And Italy had to wonder if he would.
/AN/ Well, I wasn't sure if I would ever update this story! It has been a crazy, crazy school year, but since it's finally over, and I haven't gotten a job yet (cross your fingers), I've had more time to write. So I figured I would put more time into my other stories besides Savage.