Waiting to Death

Prologue

Italy sat in the padded cell, his arms bound by a strait jacket, thinking about how he got there. The memories were blurry, even though less than a week had passed since it happened. It was almost as if he wasn't himself when he did it. Italy was snapped out of the few scenes from it he was playing over in his head when his door opened. Germany walked into the cell, causing Italy to remember all of it. After all, Germany was the cause of it.

Italy had been captured by England yet again. He had been interrogated. He wanted to know where Germany and Japan were, and why they weren't at their homes. Italy didn't want to betray his friends, but when a gun was pointed at his head, he explained everything. Once he was done talking, England took him into another room and handcuffed him to the table. He then left the room to call his allies and tell them the story.

"Hi Italy," Germany said, sitting down next to Italy almost timidly. He wasn't going to admit it anytime soon, but he was scared of the Italian now. Italy didn't answer, and after a minute or so, Germany began talking again. "Look, I'm sorry for not coming to get you. If I had known, I would've come." Italy said nothing, though he wanted to do many things. He wanted to scream at Germany for not saving him. He wanted to attack the German, and he would've by now if it weren't for his strait jacket. He wanted to cry and be held by his friend, like all the other times Italy had been scared. But he did none of those things. He simply sat, unmoving, unblinking, staring into the wall across from him.

Nearly two hours had passed since England had locked Italy in the room, and said Italian was on the verge of panic. Where was Germany? Had he forgotten about him? Maybe he was tired of having to save Italy every other day. Maybe he was glad the Italian boy was gone. Italy sat, his eyes puffy from his crying fit earlier. He wanted Germany there. He wanted to be let go. He wanted to go home. After overhearing bits of England's phone conversation with America and the others, it was clear what his fate was. They had decided he needed to put to death. It was there, waiting for his execution, that Italy decided something. He had been acting like a child this whole time. Maybe if he hadn't had the mind of a kid, he wouldn't have gotten himself into this mess in the first place. He decided it was his own fault that if he hadn't been acting like a child, he wouldn't be sitting, handcuffed to a table waiting to be killed by the allies. Maybe he would be able to survive if he stopped acting like a helpless child, a baby with a man's body. That was when something in his mind snapped, or perhaps, something clicked.

"Italy, I'm so sorry." Germany said, holding his head in his hands. "I didn't want anything like this to happen. I should've known." Again, Italy did nothing; he just kept staring into the padded wall. He didn't want to talk, especially not to the man sitting next to him.

Italy looked down at his cuffed hands, trying to figure out a way to get out of them. He tried pulling his hands out, pulling the cuffs off of the table, he even tried flipping the table over, which failed miserably. He was about to give up when he discovered that in his struggles, he had loosened one of the bolts that was keeping his hands on the table. It took a while, but he managed to get the bolt completely out. He slid the chain between the cuffs under the gap between the table and the loop keeping the chain from coming off of it. The door was locked from the outside, though, thanks to an incident from childhood where he was accidentally locked in a closet, he managed to get out of the room in less than five minutes. After wandering around for a few minutes, Italy found the keys to his handcuffs hanging on the wall. Once he had them off, he set off to find England. They needed to have a word.

"I don't get how you can stand it in here. I think I'd go crazy spending one night in here." Germany chuckled and looked over at Italy. "Italy, are you still in there?" Germany sighed and gave up on talking for a minute.

Blood. It was everywhere. It was in the cup of tea England was drinking, it was all over the walls, it covered the freshly cleaned carpet, and it covered Italy. He was panting, looking down at England, who lay dead below him. The look of shock plastered on the corpses face made Italy laugh, but why it did, the brown-haired nation wasn't sure. He got up and walked out of England's home, knowing where he was going next. It wasn't long before he reached Germany's house. He waited a minute before his 'friend' opened the door.

"Italy! What are you…how did…is that your blood?" Germany stuttered, not able to process what was standing on his front porch.

"I was at England's house. He kidnapped me, but you didn't come to get me. You don't have to worry, though. I took care of him for you." Italy said, smiling.

"Italy," Germany whispered, his face full of concern. That was when they heard sirens from down the street. The blond nation met Italy's eyes before closing the door, retreating back into his house.

"Dudes, that's him!" the unmistakable voice of America shouted. Four men in white coats walked up to Italy, telling him that he needed to go to an asylum. They told him it would help "heal his unstable mind." Italy wasn't going to go willingly, though. When the men tried to get him to come with them, the country ended up giving one of the men a broken nose and gave another a nice bruise on the cheek. They ended up having to drag him screaming into the van, the Allies watching silently. As soon as they got to the asylum, the man with the broken nose was sent off to see a doctor while some of the other men in white coats put Italy in a strait jacket and locked him in his cell. That is why Italy is there now.

"God Italy, I'm so sorry." Germany said for the umpteenth time.

"Stop apologizing," Italy whispered. His voice was horse and sad. It sounded nothing like the voice everyone put with little happy-go-lucky Italy.

"Italy," Germany whispered back. He sounded like he was about to cry. He was the reason Italy was in here, and he wasn't allowed to apologize.

"It's your fault I'm in here, you know." Italy said in his dead voice.

"I know, and I'm sorry." Germany replied, not meeting the Italians eyes.

"Stop apologizing!" Italy shouted, causing his door to open.

"Mr. Beilschmidt, I think it'd be best if you leave now." The guard who was just outside of the cell ordered. Germany took one last look at Italy before getting up.

"It's your fault. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be in here. Maybe if you weren't so concerned about yourself, you could've gotten me. You created this monster! I hope you're happy!" Italy shouted to Germany, earning a threat from the guard. Italy didn't care. They could threaten him all he wanted. He kept shouting at Germany until he heard the footsteps of his friend disappear. It was then that he allowed himself to cry. He brought his head down to the floor and sobbed hysterically. It took at least ten minutes for him to calm down. Once he was done crying, he whispered to the floor.

"I'm sorry, Germany."

AN: SO this is a snapped!Italy thing I started and uploaded to DeviantArt last year and I figured, hey! I like this story so why don't I put it on FF? This is gonna have more than one chapter so...yeah.

And to the people waiting for the next chapter of In Love With Cupid: have I already given up and abandoned it? No! Do I plan to abandon it? No! Am I simply taking a break from it until I get inspiration for the next chapter? Yes! Stay patient, young grasshoppers.