July, 2012

"Hey West, are you going or not?" Prussia asked from the couch, not bothering to take his eyes off from the TV screen, his thumbs moving rapidly over the PS3 controller buttons.

"Aww, FUCK!" The albino burst out, having the sudden urge to hurl the controller straight at the damn screen. "Those fucking zombies are fucking with my awesomeness!"

Germany's eye twitched in irritation, his fingers tightening around the beer bottle. He didn't want to answer Prussia's question. He was still unsure if he wanted to actually go or not. The thought filled him with such violent conflicting emotions, that he had no choice but to bring out the alcohol. But it wasn't really helping. And neither was Prussia.

"Hey, earth to West! Are you going tonight or not?" Prussia asked again, shifting his position on the couch to look back at his brother. The albino laughed at the blonde's distressed appearance. "Kesesese, West, don't pop a vein."

"Ack! Mein Gott, Prussia! Vhy don't YOU just go by yourself?" Germany spat, before taking another swig of alcohol.

Prussia's smile became bitter. "Technically, I wouldn't be allowed, since I'm not a nation anymore. The only way I could go is if you accompanied me…which is total un-awesome bullshit."

Germany stared hard at his brother, feeling an unpleasant lurch in his stomach. What was this? Pity? He stared at his brother's glinting red eyes, and sighed. He remembered that day, that day that his older brother was stripped of his nationhood. Germany was surprised that his Prussia even survived it. That day was painful for everyone. The war was lost, the damage was great, the scars were deep. And Prussia was on the brink of death, fading away. The blonde nation had honestly thought that all was over, that his brother would cease to exist.

But he survived. Germany didn't question the reason, but he was thankful, nonetheless. He couldn't afford to lose anybody else he cared about.

However, even though Prussia had survived, it took years of healing for both of them to become the nations that they are today. And since 1945, Prussia hasn't seen any other nations, apart from Germany. So the blonde couldn't blame his brother for wanting to go to this "reunion" that was being held by Austria.

Yet, Germany had omens of his own. He wasn't sure if he could handle going to this. Not if there was a chance that he would see…

Germany squeezed his eyes shut. Sixty nine years.

It's been sixty nine years since he betrayed him.

Sixty nine years since he last saw him.

He would never forget it. The gunshots, the blood, the screams, the destruction, the debris…

He saw it all crumbling to the ground. His love's nation…tattered.

All because of Germany, himself.

And then he remembered seeing Italy for the last time. That look of despair and devastation, shock at the betrayal as the Italian fell to his knees, sobbing and bleeding. Germany remembered looking at him, wanting desperately to just break with him. But he couldn't. He had to keep his cold militant façade. He was at war. And he was doing his duty as a country.

Yes. Treachery. Cold torture. Disgusting betrayal. Broken love.

Germany could see it. He remembered how dead Italy looked when the blonde nation raised the gun and pointed it straight at Italy's head, the soldiers marching, scrambling, fighting around them as the Germany fought to demilitarize North Italy.

"G-Germany…." He had whimpered, his voice hoarse, broken.

Germany remembered squeezing his eyes shut, and before he could second guess himself, he pulled the trigger.

Being a nation, the shot didn't kill Italy, but it won Germany the control of North Italy. They had successfully gotten it for themselves, despite the fact that there was a growing resistance movement, and that the allies had Romano in their grip.

Then…he remembered. On October 13th of that year, Italy…his Feliciano, declared war on Germany.

And it was all hell from there.

Painful. Death. Scars. Blood.

It's been sixty nine years since he betrayed Italy, and sixty seven years since he lost the war.

Now, it's 2012, and Germany is better. His relationship with the other nations have mostly healed. Even his diplomatic relations with the country Italy have been restored.

But that doesn't mean anything. He might have good diplomatic relations with the nation itself, but he hasn't seen Feliciano since that day. In fact, he's the only one he hasn't seen since that day. And Germany, as much as it hurts, doesn't blame him. Who, in their right mind, would forgive him after all of that? After professing unconditional love and promises, and then ripping it away with bloody betrayal?

And now, Germany faced the prospect of seeing him again. For the first time in sixty nine years.

According to Austria, everyone had confirmed their expected attendance, everyone except for Germany. The blonde nation originally wasn't planning to go. In all honesty, he was scared. Scared to death of facing Italy.

But Prussia was persistent, and Germany felt guilty about denying his ex-nation of a brother the luxury of not seeing the others after so long.

Germany gritted his teeth and took another swig from the bottle. He knew he would probably regret this later.

"Fine. Ve'll go. I-I'll call Austria and let him know," Germany said with a sigh.

Prussia's lips curled up. "Kesesese. This oughta be fun. And West, if I were you, I'd stop drinking. I don't think the un-awesome aristocratic rich bastard would appreciate you showing up to his humble abode drunk of your ass."

Germany set the beer down and grinded his teeth together, his heart pumping in his chest and his stomach twirling around unpleasantly. He couldn't believe this…he was actually going. Actually going to see Italy…

Prussia must've seen the look on his younger brother's face, for his expression immediately softened as an understanding filled him. "Hey, West…"

Germany looked up. "Ja?"

"It's going to be fine. Italy was always one to forgive and forget, right?" the albino asked.

The blonde nation got to his feet with another sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose lightly, closing his eyes and saying, "I'm going to call Austria."

Prussia sighed as he watched his brother go.

Even years later, the scars are still raw.

XX

Germany walked toward Austria's house shakily, his heart pounding against his chest and his breathing coming out in shallow pants. He had chosen to wear something somewhat formal for the occasion, as he was showing up to Austria's house after all. Prussia hadn't even bothered. His albino brother wore a T-shirt, some ripped trousers, and some dirty converse that Germany was sure he had thrown out a month ago.

Prussia had claimed that if he was going to see everyone again, he wanted them to understand that just because his nationhood had been stripped away from him doesn't mean that his "awesomeness" had been tainted.

It was around five, and the summer sky was starting to fade from a light blue to a lavender color. The air was warm and comforting, with just a slight breeze. Germany tried his best to keep his eyes on the front door. He didn't want to let his eyes travel around the property, in fear that it would trigger painful memories. He knew that the very gate had had walked through both times he had betrayed Italy was only a few feet away behind a grove of trees.

"Kesesese, I can't wait to see their faces when they see my awesomeness again!" Prussia exclaimed. Germany couldn't help but smile slightly at this. His brother was really excited. His stomach suddenly clenched at the thought of what it would've been like if Prussia hadn't pulled through, if he had successfully faded away.

Germany knocked on the door. He could already hear music and chatter from the interior of the house. He held his breath as his nervousness grew with each passing second. Only moments away from seeing Italy again…and he had no clue what was going to happen.

Would Italy attempt to talk to him? Ignore him? Yell at him? Make up with him?

Finally the door opened, and there stood Austria, looking as aristocratic and stuffy as ever with his stern "I'm better than you are" expression, and his prim posture.

"Ahh, Germany, I see you're here with…" Austria trailed off as his eyes trailed over Prussia.

Austria's eyes widen at the sight of the albino, who was smirking at him. The blonde nation could've sworn that he even saw a hint of…joy?

"Miss me, rich boy?" Prussia asked, cocking his head slightly to the left.

Austria stood there, just gaping at him. "I-I…"

"Roderich? Who is it?" came a female's voice from behind Austria. Just then, Hungary approached, her long brown hair trailing down her shoulders with the usual pink flower pinned to the side. She smiled at the sight of Germany.

"Oh, hi Germany!" she greeted cheerily, but then she spotted Prussia.

The albino nation rose his hand up in greeting. "Your precious Roderich has just been smacked up the ass with my un-ending awesomeness."

Hungary's eyes widened as well, and a strange plethora of emotions passed over her face, ranging from extremely pissed off, to overjoyed, to just confused…

"B-But I-I y-you…d-dead….a-and…" she stuttered.

Germany inwardly groaned. He sort of forgot to mention to the others that Prussia was still alive. Everyone thought that he had died shortly after his nationhood had been stripped from him. But it wasn't entirely Germany's fault!

Prussia had needed healing. He didn't want to see anybody for the longest time. He stayed cooped up in Germany's house, submissive and cold. Not until around two years ago did he start being his usual self again.

"Contrary to popular belief, I didn't die. I'm too awesome to die!" Prussia exclaimed.

Then, the strangest thing happened.

Hungary burst out into tears. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. Prussia's eyes widened in shock.

"Whoah…whoah there, I didn't know you hated me that much…"

"No, you idiot!" Austria exclaimed, trying to fight tears of his own, but failing miserably. "She's crying because…because she…"

"Whoah, rich boy, you're crying too?" Prussia asked with a smile.

Germany felt slightly awkward standing here, watching his brother's reunion with his two closest friends-slash-enemies. He never understood his relationship with those two.

"Um…I-I'll just go inside then…" Germany said, walking past Austria and Hungary, who were both now crying as they looked at the mischievously beaming Prussia.

The house looked as it always had before, only with a few up-to-date electronics and appliances. Such as that huge ass plasma screen television in the living room. The living room was milling with various nations as they talked, drank, and ate. Germany saw that Spain was providing background guitar music.

"Dude, look! It's Germany!" America exclaimed, waving enthusiastically at him. Germany waved back a bit awkwardly, already feeling out of place. He was never one for social events. He scanned the room, looking for any sign of a smaller nation with a copper curl.

But there was no sign of him.

Italy wasn't here. Yet.

Germany wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or upset.

The blonde nation made his way across the room to the long table that had been laid out. It was covered with assorted food and dishes from every country. However, he did not see pasta. His stomach turned slightly and he grabbed a bottle of beer from the cooler before turning away and making his way to the opposite wall. He leaned against it awkwardly, drinking from the bottle.

He now saw that everyone was gaping at Prussia, who had officially entered the house, with both Austria and Hungary on either side of him. The two latter nations were slightly puffy eyed, but Germany was sure he had never seen Austria give that such a genuine in a long time.

A few moments passed as Prussia was bombarded with questions and hugs and greetings. The blonde nation smiled. Yes. Even if his brother is a dummkopf, Germany still liked to see him happy. He was actually glad to see that he was back to normal.

Then, there was another loud knock on the door. Austria excused himself to answer it.

Before Germany could make another move, they arrived.

Romano came in first, carrying a huge homemade pizza in his hands. He looked as moody as ever as he glared at everyone around the room. Germany gulped when he saw the older Italian. He hadn't see him since the nineteen forties either.

But it was nothing compared to what came next.

Trailing behind him was none other than the copper curled nation.

Italy Veneziano.

Feliciano Vargas.

Germany felt as if someone had taken his lungs, and stuffed them down his throat. He was breathless when he caught sight of the Italian.

Sixty nine years.

Sixty nine years of no contact. Absolutely none. Not even a glance.

And here he was. Only across the room.

And he was as beautiful as ever.

Germany almost smiled at the sight of Italy in modern day clothing. He was so used to seeing the nation in his military uniform.

Italy's brown hair was as tousled as ever, with that single flyaway curl. He had a bright jovial smile on his face, and his brown eyes shimmered brilliantly. In his hands, he carried a huge bowl of…pasta.

Germany started to shake again. He couldn't stop staring at him. He was breathtaking. He was perfect. After so many years of heartbreak and dreaming and regrets…

There he was.

Then, suddenly, Italy looked up, and his eyes met Germany's. The blonde nation felt a jolt of electricity travel down his spine at the eye contact, and he quickly looked away. No…he couldn't handle this right now.

Germany pushed himself off the wall shakily, swigged the rest of his beer, and started to rush toward the cooler again for another one. His movements were jerky and frantic. His heart was going to jump out of his throat. The air was hot…way to hot.

He grabbed another beer, opened it shakily, and started to chug it.

Then, he looked over his shoulder with slight hesitation to see that Italy was now talking with Spain, the two of them laughing as if nothing mattered. Spain had his arm wrapped around Romano's waist, who was glaring at the floor, his face as red as a tomato.

Germany quickly turned away and gave a shaky sigh. This was going to be a long night.

The blonde nation did his best to avoid even looking at Italy. He even attempted to talk to different nations, before going back to the cooler and grabbing beer after beer after beer.

Germany felt ashamed at his actions. This was ridiculous. He was being weak. He was being a coward.

He couldn't even look at Italy properly without having a panic attack.

"Germany-san…"

Germany nearly choked on his beer in panic. Japan merely stared at him with that calm expression of his as the blonde nation recovered, clearing his throat.

"Um-uh…hi Japan..."

"I couldn't herp but read the atmosphere and I am sensing great discomfort from you," he said calmly.

Germany gulped. "Um…"

"I'm arso sensing it from Itary-san as well," he continued.

Germany's breath hitched. Italy was uneasy? He sure as hell didn't seem like it. He seemed to be having the time of his life, laughing and socializing with other nations…

"Vell…that's…um…" Germany stumbled over his words, unsure of what to do or what to say.

"Ahhh….you know Itary-san is staring at you, right?" Japan stated, a slight smirk appearing on his serene face.

Germany started to sweat. He struggled to control his breathing as he turned his head to look in Italy's direction. Indeed, the Italian had been looking at Germany with wide brown eyes, but had quickly looked away once the blonde's eyes met his.

Germany's stomach fluttered as he quickly looked back at Japan. The damn Asian nation had a hint of a smirk present on his face. The blonde nation felt himself blush violently as he looked down at his feet, grinding his teeth.

"Forgive me for intruding, Germany-san, but I berieve that he wants to talk to you," Japan said. The blonde looked down at the Italian with wide, incredulous eyes. Why would Italy want to talk to him? After mercilessly betraying and inflicting so much damage on his citizens, and then not associating with the Italian for sixty nine years?

"N-Nein. He vouldn't v-vant to talk vith me," Germany stuttered out, feeling his heart twist slightly. It would be too good to be true...the thought that Italy would want to have anything to do with him at this point. That declaration of war shortly after the invasion was message enough.

Japan was silent for a moment, staring at the blonde nation with his deep dark eyes, as if he were contemplating upon something of deep importance. Germany started to feel a bit uncomfortable at the Asian's gaze.

Finally, Japan tore his gaze away and said in his usual subtle manner, "I disagree. I am certain that he desires to speak with you."

Then, Germany saw Japan's lips curl up in a smile as the Asian's eyes darted over Germany's shoulder.

"Excuse me, Germany-san, I have some business to attend to," he said, before walking past the blonde nation. Germany watched as the Japan walked up to a laid-back Greece, who smiled at the sight of the Asian.

Germany rolled his eyes. Of course Japan would abandon him to go to Greece.

With that thought aside, Germany turned around to steal another glance at Italy, but to his surprise, the nation was nowhere in sight. With a sharp intake of breath, his eyes flittered around the room. Everyone was still here, even Romano, who was talking to (more like yelling) at an ever-smiling Spain.

Germany started to feel uneasy. He took another look around, and scoffed in disgust as he saw France trying to grope Prussia (nothing new there). Other than that, there was really no sign of the Italian. The blonde nation gulped and took a swig from his beer. He considered asking Romano if he knew where his brother was, but he stopped himself, realizing that that was an absolutely awful idea.

If Italy was still angry at him, then Romano sure as hell wanted him dead.

Nobody seemed to pay Germany any mind as he slipped his way out of the living room and to the front door. He didn't even know what he was trying to do, or why he wanted to look for Italy, but he didn't bother to stop himself.

The sky was now completely dark, with little dots of stars appearing, twinkling merrily. The air was still warm, and the scent of fresh trees filled Germany's nostrils. He closed the door behind him, blocking the sound of the chatter and music that came from within the house.

Germany found himself walking down the steps. He knew where he wanted to go. He knew…that for some reason, Italy was there as well.

The old arched gateway.

It made so much sense.

Germany's heart started to quicken once again as he made his way past the grove of trees.

He kept moving his limbs forward, his mind swirling with various images of Italy…

His Feliciano.

The Italian who wasn't even his anymore.

And then, Germany saw it. The archway. Tall, stone, ancient looking. Smothered in old painful memories, both lucid and illusive. It looked strangely beautiful under the moonlight, with its strange shadows cascading over the ground.

But what really took Germany's breath away was the Italian with the copper curl, standing there, facing the gate, his silhouette illuminated by the bright white light.

The crickets chirped endlessly, blending into the general silence of the night. Germany held his breath, his limbs starting to tremble.

Something about Italy was all too familiar, yet different. And Germany can see that the nation had grown up. He had faced painful hardships, emotional instability, and destruction. Like Germany, the Italian was still trying to heal. And the healing process has taken its toll on all the nations.

Germany wasn't sure if he should walk forward, or back away. Wasn't sure if he wanted to confront his fears, or shy away.

However, he didn't have to make that decision.

"Ve, Germany, I know you're there."

Germany gasped. The Italian's voice sounded the same as it usually did. It made the blonde's heart ache. Nevertheless, the German walked forward carefully, allowing himself to stand side by side with the Italian, a considerable amount of space between them.

The two didn't say anything. They didn't move. Afraid that one single movement would shatter the momentary peace between them.

Germany stole a side glance at Italy. His large brown eyes were swirling amber, illuminated by the steady stream of moonlight, which bathed his face in a breathtaking light. He saw that the there was a sad expression on the Italian's face. But not a hysterical sadness, not the kind that leads to uncontrollable crying.

No. It was a calm, mature sadness. A sadness that reflected past grievances. Deep incurable scars.

Germany gritted his teeth and averted his eyes, his skin tingling and his heart pounding in his ears.

"It's been a long time, si?"

Italy's voice broke Germany out of his thoughts.

"Mmm," the blonde agreed with a curt nod of his head. The two continued to stare forward, taking in the archway that haunted both of their dreams.

They were here now.

Germany never thought that this day would come.

But it has.

He is alone with Italy again.

Germany glanced at Italy again, but this time, his eyes caught something.

A long thick red scar that travelled down the side of Italy's neck, and down past the collar of his shirt. Germany remembered.

He remembered that day, sixty nine years ago. He remembered the blood that seeped from Italy's neck. Germany knew that the scar extended all the way down his chest, to his abdomen.

It broke Germany's sense of calm. His heart wrenched, and his eyes stung. The blonde started to blink back tears as he clenched his fists.

How could Italy ever forgive him for this?

Anyone willing to forgive him, after he had confessed, and made love to Italy, left him at the gate, and then waged war on him a few days later, only to avoid confrontation with him for sixty-nine years…that would be a fucking miracle.

And too much for Germany to ask.

Way too much.

So Germany let the tears spill. He was a disgusting person. He was absolutely vile. Putrid. Absolutely unforgivable.

Italy's eyes widened at the sight of Germany's face.

"Ve, Germany…"

"I-Italy…I…" Germany choked out. What was he going to say? He couldn't just apologize. That would be absolutely meaningless, no matter how heartfelt it was. How could he ever justify himself? The pain ripped apart at him.

Germany had thought that after years and years of healing, he would have forgotten. He wouldn't feel that pain again.

But no. This pain was worse than anything he had felt in a long time. It was as if he were reliving it all again. Like he was reliving being killed by France as Holy Roman Empire, like he was reliving leaving Italy for the second time, like he was reliving pulling the trigger on his love…

Unforgivable.

"Germany."

Italy's voice was so soft, so tender, so gentle, so sincere…

Then, Germany felt Italy's hand slip into his.

And the blonde nation felt it again.

He was human.

They were human.

Ludwig and Feliciano.

And the time has come for the two to officially see the sun again.