Just a little gift for my baby sister, Noah, who's a huge fan of the APH (Crack?) pairing, AmericaxItaly (affectionately, AmerIta)~

Warning: Character death, Shounen Ai (Boy*Boy)


Now... it's 4:06 AM wherever in the world I may be, which only one person on here should know... so I'mna go to bed... This'll be up on DA later today...

Feliciano gripped at the wall a bit, his head hurting and his world spinning around him. He was used to Alcohol, certainly; he was famous for his wine! But vodka, rum and whiskey… completely different… He groaned a bit, leaning against the bricks of an alleyway, rain pelting down on him and soaking his t-shirt and jeans through. He rested his forehead against the cold, wet bricks and sobbed, thinking of Germany, his Germany, His Ludwig.

When Francis had told him Germany was dead, he'd stared up at him for a moment before smiling.

"Veh~! Big Brother Francis, don't be silly~! Germany's just at war right now; he'll be back soon~!"

France had found a momentary smile at the blissful ignorance and endearing optimism before tears welled up in his usually happy sapphire eyes. He'd held Italy in an embrace for a few moments. Then he'd walked over to Scotland, who smiled softly and held him close, gently kissing the tears away.

The realization had hit later that day when he'd seen Prussia without Gilbird and with a frown on his face.

"V-veh… Gilbert… He's… he's really gone, isn't he…?"

Prussia had looked up at him, giving a very small smile through the tears that threatened to fall from his blood red eyes. He'd murmured something like 'Oh, Feli…' before wrapping the little Italian in a hug and sobbing into his shoulder. Feliciano had hugged him back, tears welling up in his eyes as he thought about it.

The most comfort had come from Egypt, surprisingly.

Feliciano had run out of the Meeting crying as Austria had mentioned his many ties with Germany, reminding him of his best friend. Egypt had followed him, gently hugging the slightly taller nation, and murmuring soft words of comfort in his own native language.

"H-He's gone, Gupta… He's really gone… I-I'll never see him again… I-I miss him…"

Egypt had gently brushed his tears away, smiling softly with an 'I know'. Italy had held him close sobbing into his shoulder as the elder nation comforted him as his own mother had done to him many times. Italy found this so calming that he was eventually not crying anymore. Egypt had smiled, softly brushing his cheek with a small 'Better now?' Italy had returned the smile.

"Si… Grazie, Gupta…"

He sobbed harder, sliding down to his knees and hugging himself tightly, wishing he was warm and comfortable and safe at home… or in strong arms that moved the slightest bit awkwardly, or wrapped in a warm military jacket…

Wait… like… the jacket wrapped around his shoulders now…?

Feliciano blinked a bit, gazing drunkenly at the jacket on his body. It was too big for him, obviously, but it was warm. He pulled the wool interior closer to his lightly clad body. It smelled like morning coffee and fresh cut grass, and the smallest hint of cigarette smoke.

"Feliciano…" A gentle voice began. "What're you doing to yourself…?" The named boy turned to gaze at a soaked America, clad in nothing more than a thin t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. Italy gazed at him tiredly.

"I-I don't kn'w… veh… but it felt good at th' t'me…" He murmured, still sobbing. America frowned a bit at him. "Now… it j'st h'rts… 'nd I'm tired… 'nd a little h'ngry…" The blonde sighed.

"Well, okay then, I'll take you home…" He held out a hand, which Italy took after a few attempts. America pulled him up, only to have the smaller man's legs give out. He fell forward against America's strong chest, giggling a bit drunkenly as the taller man's little 'Oof!' struck him as funny. Such a small nation like himself… He just found it funny.

America frowned a bit at him. "Can you even walk, Feliciano?" The smaller man nodded,

"S-si… I c'n walk…" He announced, stumbling forward a bit before thumping against a wall. "J'st not on my own…" America gave a small sigh, looking up at the crying sky before back at the little Italian. His arms moved just a bit awkwardly, one tucking behind his back;

"I guess I'll carry you, then…" He murmured, hooking his other arm beneath Feliciano's knees and lifting him effortlessly into his arms. The little Italian smelled like a bar… But even through that, he could smell fresh strawberries and homemade pasta. It was almost like how, lately, he could smell tea through Canada's maple and vice-versa for England.

Italy curled into the strong American, feeling muscles shift slightly as he effortlessly carried his half-asleep load. 'Lui è molto forte ...' He allowed himself to think, gently tugging at America's wet shirt with a pout. He nuzzled into the blonde's chest tiredly.

"…I'm s'rry, Alfred…" He murmured.

"Hmm? Sorry for what?" The other asked softly, holding him a bit better. Italy suddenly felt so safe and warm in those strong arms.

"F'r causing you this tr'ble…" He replied. America gave a little smile.

"It's no trouble…" He murmured back.

Italy gave a little sigh as he curled closer to the body; closer to the warm skin that masked his muscles. He gently touched the muscles through the thin shirt. The American didn't smell like Germany; He smelled like Burger King, and Green Mountain coffee, and New Hampshire Maple Syrup. He smelled nice, though…

America shivered a bit from the cold, wet rain. He finally arrived at the hotel, carrying the sopping wet Italy up to his room. He gently took his jacket and turned to leave. A small hand gripped at his shirt.

"Alfred…" a little voice began. "… Rimani con me stanotte…?" America turned to Italy.

"No, Italia ... sei ubriaco." He reminded. Italy pouted.

"Non ho detto 'dormire con me'…" He murmured. "Resta con me…" America frowned a bit, especially when small tears appeared in Italy's eyes.

"... Perché?" He murmured. Italy looked down a bit nervously.

"…Perché sei forte…" He murmured.

"Che cosa ...?" America asked.

"Tu sei forte ... come Germania." He replied, looking up. "…Mi manca Germania, Alfred..." America smiled a bit, draping his jacket back over Italy's shoulders.

"…Torno subito, Italia." Italy nodded, gently releasing him as he slipped his soaked clothing off. He pulled the American's jacket tighter around him kept it on, though the rest of him was au natural; the inside was so soft and warm… America returned a few minutes later, tossing a towel on Italy's head. "Best dry off…" Italy peeked out from under the towel, running it through his hair.

"Grazie…" He murmured, watching the other change his clothes. First came the shirt; he could see those muscles ripple ever so subtly as he moved. The moisture on his skin mixed with the dim lighting in the room made his tanned skin glow almost gold. He bit his lip a bit, glancing down with a drunk blush as he dried his hair. He could see Alfred's shorts and underwear fall to the ground, and he didn't even dare look up. He turned his head away, blushing darker as he inhaled the comforting scent that lingered on the taller man's jacket.

America turned to him a minute later, placing his wet clothes in a bag and placing them by the door. He'd opted for a pair of light blue pyjama pants with no shirt; he figured this wouldn't be a problem since Italy always slept in the nude anyway. He gazed at the blushing Italian, clad in nothing but his old bomber jacket. He looked rather cute as he inhaled the scent in the woollen lining.

He smiled a bit, "Ready for bed, Italia?" He asked softly, brushing some stray hairs from Italy's eyes. Italy looked up at him, almost shivering from the way the man's Italian name rolled off his tongue.

"Si…" He murmured, crawling into the bed and under the sheets. America gently took the towel from his head and tossed it into a hamper, turning off the lights. He crawled into the bed with Italy, under the warm sheets. He removed Texas from his face and placed them on the nightstand. He was a bit surprised when the smaller man cuddled into his chest, gently nuzzling the base of his neck.

"…You're just like him…" He murmured.


"You're strong… just like Germany…" Italy explained, hugging him. "…I-I miss him, Alfred…" He whispered, warm tears dropping to America's taut skin.

"I know, Italy…"



"Please… call me Italia…" America nodded.

"Okay… Italia." He murmured with a little smile, wrapping his arms around Italy's waist. "I know you miss him…" Italy looked up at him.

"You have blonde hair… and blue eyes just like him… but you aren't the same…" He murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

"I know… we aren't the same person, Italia…" He murmured gently. Italy gently ran his fingertips over toned muscles, enjoying the feel of the soft skin on his.

"I know, America…" He whispered back. Alfred shivered a bit at the soft touches. "And you never will be…" America listened to him, biting his lip a bit as the tip of Italy's nose rested against his Adam's apple. The smaller man inhaled a bit. "Different hair, different eyes, different scent… Different muscles… yet both so strong and dominating…" He closed his eyes, curling closer to the American.

"Italy… Italia…" America murmured, gently tracing designs on Italy's hip. The man gave a little twitch in response. "…You're attracted to strength… aren't you?"


America softly pulled away from him, arms keeping a firm hold on his waist. He slowly leaned forward, capturing Italy's soft lips in a tender kiss. The other gasped a bit, returning the kiss happily. The blonde pulled back a few moments later.

"… Am I strong enough for you…?" Italy nodded a bit, curling into him happily.

"Of course you are, Alfred…" Alfred nodded with a smile.

"Good." He murmured, holding Italy close. "… I love holding you like this already…" He murmured… "So close in my arms… It makes me feel like you're safe… protected… like I don't have to worry about you…"

"…Buona notte, Alfred ..." He murmured happily, smiling.

"Buona note, Italia…"


"Right. My little Feli~"

Italy found himself pulled flush against America's strong body.

Francis' arms were comforting… Gilbert's were warm and welcoming. Gupta's were tender, and Ludwig's had been awkward…

But Alfred's arms were strong, yet tender and caring. And very safe and protective. He was the gentle beast; capable of breaking him without a second thought. He treated him, however, as if he were made of the most breakable glass.

Even if Germany's death had left his heart damaged, cracked and incomplete… Alfred's hands could easily smooth over those cracks and fill in those holes; make him feel complete.

Of course, nobody could ever make him forget. But Alfred… Alfred could at least make it easier to live with the memories-good and bad.

And maybe lend him some strength along the way.

Term bank:

Italian (Thanks so much to DancingMoony for corrections~!):

Lui è molto forte-'He is very strong'

Rimani con me stanotte- 'Stay with me tonight'

No, Italia ... sei ubriaco- 'No, Italy… You are drunk'

Non ho detto 'dormire con me'-' I did not say 'Sleep with me''

Resta con me – 'Stay with me'

... Perché?- '…Why?'

…Perché sei forte…-'… Because you are strong…'

Che cosa...?- 'What…?'

Tu sei forte ... come Germania.- 'You are strong… like Germany.'

Mi manca Germania, Alfred...-'…I miss Germany, Alfred…'

Torno subito, Italia.- '…I'll be back, Italy.'

Grazie…- 'Thank you…'

Si- 'Yes'

Hope you enjoyed~ Reviews are love, and flames help kindle the fire in which I bake my Pocky~!

-Sincerely yours, StrawberryPockyStix~