Got depressed, wrote angsty GerIta I guess. I just felt like writing something sort of dark.

The crumbling ceiling of the building seemed to match what he felt right now. Everything was in pieces or ashes, burned and bombed to dust. Everything hurt and seemed to have holes. The sky, now a dark grey color, seemed to fit his situation, and his heart. It was broken and cracked; grey in every sense. There was no light, no color. There was only grey and black. He saw the depth of eternity as it should be; alone and scary dark. He could barely move now. Why did he want to anyway? What he wanted, what he worked for, this entire exhausting war was gone. They locked him away and out of sight, keeping him from the world. He would be hurt and bleeding, and most likely in the same place he was. There would always be no color without him. He brought sunshine to his life. He brought his happiness wherever he went. He brought back memories that would normally hurt him, and he would bring the only comfort he was used to. It was all gone now.

They wanted him to suffer. They had a right to anyway, right? They won the war, he lost. Even though he took different sides, he was put back into the ranks of those defeated. He didn't like pain, no one did, but he was put to suffer for his early war crimes. Even Japan suffered so much. He was forced to deal with the fallout of the atomic bombs dropped on his place. He hoped he wasn't too radiated by them.

The switch over to the other side was a shot to the heart at most. He abandoned everything when time came to finally say 'I can't do this any longer, my country will not survive like this'. His brother was happy to see him sign away his happiness. His new allies were glad for it too. His own, soon-to-be enemies though looked at him in disbelief and hurt. He looked most hurt of all.

Germany's face will be forever imprinted in his mind. That day, when he announced his leave from the Axis, Germany looked like he would cry. Everything they did together, everything thy bled and cried and loved together was taken from them. He didn't want to do it, he never wanted to leave his friends, but his country was suffering from the civil divide. The March on Rome held heavy in his heart. The Armistice was signed and all attacks against England, America, any of the Anglo-American troops were ordered to be ceased. Any from the Axis, or more accordingly the Nazi party, were to be reacted to. He never thought he would one day have to fight Germany. He didn't like it. He tried to run from it, back to Germany. He really did, but look where that took him.

This was where it took him. Flat on his back, looking up at the sky as the war dwindled down to nothing. He lost. He lost Germany, he lost Japan, he lost Prussia, and he probably lost his own brother. He lost everyone. Austria, Hungary, Bulgaria, every single one of his friends and allies. They were all gone. No amount of tears or wishing would fix his mistake. Even now, as he watched smoke rise up in the grey sky and planes drone overhead, he couldn't stop tears from falling. Everything was lost. He should be thanking someone that his country, even though battered and bloodied and bruised, still stood.

He slowly picked himself up, only able to sit up. He looked around the little brick house he found himself in. What had fallen form the roof now littered the floor, bricks too heavy for the floor to hold gone to the lower story, leaving holes and chips of wood and brick in its wake. Furniture and anything decorative was either burned or charred to black. Even a little rag doll, crushed under a brick, was burnt. One button eye was torn away, and its legs ripped away. Slowly, he stretched his arm until he could get hold of the doll and pulled it out of its trap. The doll was entirely torn up. The poor girl's toy must have been through so much just to be abandoned for nothing. He found himself sobbing into the doll, pressing the burnt toy to his chest. He felt sad for the girl who had lost the little rag doll. She must be worried for the toy.

He looked at it again, pushing a finger into the hole where a button eye once was. The doll was half-blind, but it was in his hands, safe for now. It had scars, it had wounds, but it was still in relatively one piece. Even without one leg and an eye, it still looked good. The dress was burnt, crispy at the edges, but it was still cute. He slowly stood up, looking up at the sky as it rumbled with anger. He kept hold of the little doll, and looked into the sky until the rain started to fall. He tucked the doll quietly into his chest, crossing his arms to keep it there, and started to walk out of the abandoned home.

The world still was grey as he walked through the streets, people trying to pick up the pieces in this little destroyed town. Men made slow work of moving piles of rubble from the remaining parts of homes and businesses. Children clung to their mothers as they watched from make-shift shelters. The women tried to help clean up as well, helping out wherever they could. Some spoke as they worked in Italian, though some people were unable to speak of the horror now over. Some children looked his way as he walked passed. He let his arms fall to his sides, the doll clenched in his right hand. The small kids looked at him for a moment's notice before retreating back to their families.

As he left the little town and found himself in pure landscape, he looked at the doll with both hands around it. It had blonde yarn hair, making the doll long like she had ringlet curls everywhere. She had no mouth, but the button eye seemed to express sadness at that moment. Maybe when it had two eyes it looked happy. He smiled weakly at the doll and pressed it to his chest again. He was going to take it home.

The trek back home did not take long, but it hurt him. He had to see places in ruin form the fighting, and then bodies. So many bodies. Fires and buildings destroyed. Swastika's burning as the Nazi party fell out of power and the Allies took control of Germany. East being taking care of by Russia, West by England and America, and maybe France. He didn't remember. He did remember that one of his militia picked him up as he patrolled through ha town, offering to take him back to his house. As the man dropped him off and drove on, he couldn't stop thinking about the past. Even as he solemnly opened his front door and walked into nothing but dust and emptiness, he couldn't stop seeing the past. He looked at his living room and saw Germany reading or watching TV with him. He could see Japan too reading manga. Everything he walked into or past had an imprint in his memory. Eventually, he sat himself in his room, staring at the pictures still lying on his dresser.

One of them was the Axis and close friends. Germany, Himself, Japan, Prussia, Hungary, Austria, even Bulgaria in the background with Romania. Romano was in it too, scowling. The only other frame was him and Germany. It was one of the only pictures he had of Germany smiling. Italy reluctantly set his new little doll next to the picture of Germany smiling, and then turned the Axis group picture face down. He didn't want to be reminded of everyone he knew leaving.

"If only….things could be so easily fixed…"

He petted the doll's head. It was calm for now, until lightning strung across the sky, bringing loud thunder. He stood there silent for long moments, eyes wide as thunder continued to pound in his ears like endless drums. As the night progressed, he curled up in a ball on the floor, a blanket wrapped around him to keep him from seeing the flashes of lightning. As he cried out in fear, he found himself whispering for Germany. He would not come at his please now, not ever.

He cried himself to sleep at the realization that he wouldn't see Germany for a long time.

-*I remember you said 'Don't leave me here alone'*-

When morning light came, Italy didn't feel like leaving the confines of his blanket or the floor. He felt like he belonged here with the dust and dirt; abandoned filth for the earth to slowly destroy. He had his heart ripped from him, why did it matter anyway? He was picking himself up off the ground anyway. He slowly set the blanket off him and shrugged off his clothes, setting the bloodied and dirtied things on the ground. He walked to his closet mirror and stared at the hollow reflection that was him. Face shallow and dark, cuts marring his face. One long one ran along the edge of his jaw, another under his left eye. His forehead was cut open as well. His chest was littered with them as well, still darkened with dried blood. He ran a hand down his chest, picking at the scabbing cuts as they passed his fingertips. He dropped his hands to his sides again, and turned so he could see his back. Cuts and bruises lined his shoulders.

He would have to clean up to get them to start healing right. He dropped his eyes, thinking back to the times that Germany would help him. He let the tears fall as he tugged his underwear off and went to clean up in his bathroom, pulling is first aid kit out of its hiding spot in his closer. He immediately set out his bindings and a cloth for any blood. He also pulled a small bottle of Neosporin just in case he needed it. He set it on the bathroom counter and started getting his bath ready. The water quickly warmed up and the clean porcelain tub filled up. He slipped himself into the water, lowering himself until his nose and eyes were the only things not submerged. He took in the soft smell of strawberries coming from the soap he had put in. It reminded hi, like everything else, of Germany. He slowly surfaced and started to lather away the crusty, dark scabs on his wounds. They stung as they were ripped open to the air and the water, but he needed to actually clean them.

Fifteen minutes later, he was up on the counter, tightening his binds over his left arm. He grabbed for a connecter and taped in on, securing the last one he needed. He grabbed for his blood-soaked cloth and tossed it in the trashcan. Reluctantly, he walked out of the bathroom rubbing at his arms, unsure on what to do now. He quickly threw on a pair of black shorts and a green tank top before making his way downstairs, looking around at the cobwebs and dust clinging to everything. The feel of the house, the look of everything, it didn't feel right at all.

He quickly wiped away the dust on his TV. The black screen acted as another mirror for him. His cuts were bandaged up and covered but he still looked like a shell of himself. He looked away and stood in the middle of the room, surveying everything. It looked like home, but it felt nothing like home. His legs gave up under him, letting him fall hard to his knees. Once again, he found himself crying out woes. He curled up into himself, yelling out in frustration. The house stayed silent and dead, letting his cries go unanswered.

"Germany…."

He let himself fall on to his side, curled up in the fetal position, clutching his empty neck. He wanted to hold his Iron Cross, it comforted him when Germany couldn't but it was gone like his friends. The Allies took it from him. They ripped it from his neck and smashed it in front of him. He knew then it was a lost cause trying to fight. He cried out again.

"Germany!"

He opened his eyes, his mind playing trick on him. Germany was next to him, holding his hands and trying to pry them away from his neck. He watched as Germany's face fell, tears falling down. He let his neck go and reached out for Germany, only to hit his floor and watch as his mirage vanished. He retracted his hand and curled up into himself again, softly crying out until he fell asleep there.

"I want Germany back home…."

-*Hold on to this lullaby*-

He woke up drowsily, looking around with lazy intent. He knew he was on the floor. He wanted to stay on the floor, it seemed to like him. You can stay that the floor was his only friend now. It didn't want him mentally hurt, it didn't want him to leave his best friend and secret crush. It didn't want to hurt him. All it did was take his crap, and then offered some solace for him. He walked all over it and it still stayed there and took it. Even the analogy hurt him as he thought about it. He walked his middle and index fingers like a man across it.

"I made a mistake didn't I floor? When it was signed, I sold my soul to a demon. I slowly lost everything I treasured. MY freedom, my troops, my friends…..Germany was the most heartbroken, did you know?

"When I first walked in to tell him, it was already all over the news. When I walked in he looked up from his work and looked like he was going to cry. I had made my best friend cry. I have never witnessed him cry, he was that collected on his emotions, but when he heard I would be leaving for the sake of my country…it broke his heart. I didn't even get to explain myself. He simply hugged me close, and…..and we stood there for the longest time.

"His boss never made him a monster. His boss couldn't change him. Hitler wanted to bring Germany up strong, but his methods were twisted. Right cause, wrong path to accomplish sort of thing, but even through it, Germany stayed the same. He still was the same Germany, still training when he could, not wasting a moment's breath, tying my shoes. Even though he was cursed to wear that symbol, he kept himself the same. He still cared and loved me. I still think that up to that day, he held his feelings to me behind a closed door. Even after the Valentine's Day fiasco, he still kept it behind a closed door. We did say goodbye. He whispered it in my ear and let him do the same. We left after that, and we cried out our frustrations as we went separate ways.

"I still think he tried to grab me and tell me to think about staying. I don't know, though I fought being with the Allies. I would disappear and try to get to Germany. I tried so hard to see him again, to tell him I don't care about them, I want to come back but…the Allies were fast.

"I haven't seen him since our goodbye. Japan neither. I hope….I-I h-hope…"

He broke down again, pressing his cheek down to the floor. It listened to him at least. It did not answer him. It wouldn't but in some way he was grateful he was talking it out with an inanimate object. What would a person say about this?

"There is nothing they could say….." Italy whispered to his thoughts, keeping his sobs back and just crying in silence. "No one could say anything because they're not Germany or me."

He lay on the ground for a while, not noticing that the sun was coming up, and that he spent the night sleeping away in his dusty living room floor. He did not care, because he was talking everything out with his friend.

"I didn't just lose Germany and Japan though…..I lost all my friends, my allies, when I switched over. Prussia….he was taken by Russia after the war ended, if I'm thinking right. The….Berlin Wall was erected and divided Germany. Heh…..makes me think about Germany more now. I still wonder if he's locked up by the Axis, facing solidarity for his punishment, or working his ass off with half of his strength gone. Prussia was always East Germany, you know. I also wonder how Prussia's surviving at Russia's house. I hope Russia hasn't done something horrible to him.

"There were so many friends I made. There was always Hungary and Austria. They've been there for me since my childhood. They got me through life, and Hungary made it so interesting and fun. I can't forget Austria's face when he found out I was actually a boy after so many years of gender confusion. Of course, Hungary was glad my balls dropped finally….."

He grew silent as his mind wandered into the past. He was still waiting…..

"I still am waiting for Holy Roman Empire to come home. I never got to say 'Welcome Home'. I guess I never will s-say it t-to G-G-Germanyy…."

His crying grew harder, his body curling defensively to the sorrowful attack to his head. He hated this, he so much hated it! Why couldn't things be simpler? Why couldn't he just have his life back? Everything was taken from him! Everything he held sacred, everything he held dear and lively to him, it was ripped away like he was a defenseless child. His life was led by the path put forward by his bosses, and now they drove him into a hole with no bottom.

"Veneziano?"

He curled up tighter, letting a hiccup shake free of him. What was his fratello doing here now? A shadow casted over him, and he looked up at his bruised brother. Romano kneeled down to him and soon sat down.

"Why are you are the floor?" he asked. Italy loosened his curled up position. He tapped his fingers on the floor.

"Because it listens to me, it's a friend. It's been nice and listened. I told it about Germany…."

"Why the hell do you still think kindly of that bastard?"

"Because he's my friend!"

"He fucked up!" his brother challenged. Italy was up in Romano's face faster than both of them thought possible.

"GERMANY DID NOT! Hitler did, his boss did! He thought he was helping his country by doing the things he done, but he was wrong! He used dark methods, and thought he was doing the right thing! His vision was twisted by his hopes! Germany in no way fucked up because it is in all of our duties to follow our bosses no matter what! He did what he was told and now is paying the price somewhere I can never see him! I miss him fratello, can't you understand that?!

"Do you know how I said goodbye to him when the Armistice was signed? All we did was cry into each other and whispered our goodbyes. I am the only person that has ever since him cry, and it was over the fact that I would be leaving him and the Axis! Do you not understand how important he is to me!?"

Romano stayed silent, his eyes widened at him. Like Italy expected, he didn't know what to say because no one would ever actually understand. All Italy could do was stand where he was and shake in sorrow and anger. Romano would never understand. He was going to shout at his brother again when Romano pulled him into a hug, and made a sound that signaled that he smiled.

"You idiot. Stop crying, please? I…..I could try and talk to them. You're my brother, and I've watched you for a long time be alone and cold. Do you know why I hated him? Because I was scared for you. I thought it was going to be a repeat of….of that small blond boy again. I was so scared that he would break your heart again by leaving. I guess I was right, but he didn't leave on his own. I never really hated him. I understand your love for him.

"Promise me that you'll stop crying and talking to the floor and I'll see if I can get Germany back where he belongs, si?"

Italy sobbed into his brother's shoulder. Romano petted the back of his head softly, letting his brother crying everything out. He even found himself crying with him. Italy whimpered off the ends of his tears, and looked his brother in the eye.

"Y-you never…."

"I was scared for you. I never hated his guts, but I wanted to make sure he didn't hurt you. Will you please…stop crying?"

"Si, I-I will. Just….please try to bring him home….."

"I made a deal, remember? I wouldn't hurt you anymore then I already have"

-*Come morning light, you and I will be safe and sound*-

Italy looked out to the sprawling town down a ways. Things were slowly rebuilding themselves, and his head seemed just a bit clearer. His country has been slowly but surely rebuilding that had been broken, and replacing that had been lost. People were collecting themselves and standing up on their feet despite the ruin that lay around them. He was doing the same. He was picking at his fruit that had come to life.

It has been four weeks since he talked to Romano and had a little light to look forward to. His brother really was going to try and get Germany back where he was needed. He really did hope that his brother could do it. The time between then and now was weird and dead, in all honesty.

The first two weeks he didn't know what to do. It was still dark and empty and despairing. He still felt like the world betrayed him. He spent a lot of his time those weeks just sitting around or laying in his bed, seeing mirage Germany and hearing his voice speak to him. The mirage helped him keep himself out of the darkest parts of his depression, and not once did he go lay on the floor and just speak out his thoughts, though he had to admit, just talking things out to things helped a bit. When things didn't respond, he could just tell them what he thought, and he felt better when he got things off his chest. He did cry a bit, yes, but it was a step toward recovery, mid you. You can't recover without shedding a few tears.

In the most recent weeks, he was getting up and doing something, trying to bring the house into an orderly shape. He cleaned away all the dust and dirt, and make It look shiny and spotless. He even went out and bought new furniture to do away with the darkness. He did keep a few things, but the rest he gave back to his people. They needed it more than he did. He cleaned out his kitchen and bought food and cooking materials, restocked it all. He was an Italian. He took his food seriously and with pride! An Italian with no kitchen was no Italian at all! It looked good and shiny too. He even started renovations on the outside and the garden. He had even got the entire outside freshly painted. He was able to hire a few relieved soldiers, who were happy to help him, repaint the house and make everything look better. The job took five days but the payoff was good. He couldn't pay them but they were glad to do it for free.

Now he was focusing on his garden, adjusting his lime vines to make sure none of them were getting old. He gently picked a fresh lime from its home and placed it in the basket at his feet. He moved one vine and then another, picking at a fresh lime and smelling it. It smelled ripe and placed it in the basket. He picked the wooden thing up and moved over to his strawberries, lifting the leaves up to see if anything had gotten to them. He knew that some bugs got to his flowers, but so far nothing but the occasional annoying squirrel got to his fruits and herbs. He pawed at the ground for the fresh strawberries and set them in with his bounty that almost looked like a cornucopia. He was almost done with his garden. Now all he had left was the flowers up front.

As he walked up the side of his house toward his flower beds, he thought he could hear a car engine turn off. He started to run toward the front, his fruits and herbs bouncing with him in their resting places, and when he got to the side gate and entered the front, his breath went away.

Romano was smiling as he exited the black car. He looked like he was coming from a meeting, suit and tie in all. He looked at him and his smile seemed to grow. He walked over to the passenger side door just as it opened, and a head full of blond hair came into view. Slowly but surely, the man stepped into view and smiled at him.

"Italia…."

Germany was home.

His basket was dropped without another thought as he ran at Germany, tears freeing themselves. He ran as fast as he could, crying out Germany's name. Germany even started his way toward him, and they met in the middle, Germany spinning Italy around for a moment. Italy didn't care that his feet hurt as he stood as tall as he could to wrap his arms around Germany's neck, or that Germany shook like he was freezing cold. He was here, he was home. He was with him again, and he was alive.

"Germany….you're…y-you're….."

"I'm here….It's okay….."

Romano watched as the two simply hugged out everything. He got his brother what he wanted, and now he knew he didn't need to worry. He could trust in the potato bastard a bit more now, he guessed. When he did get to see Germany, he was just as a wreck emotionally as Italy. Both needed each other. Both were in such grey and dark worlds that they were killing themselves without seeing each other. He guessed that they were meant to be together. He didn't know how, but he felt okay with it now.

"You're welcome Veneziano. I'll let you two catch up" he called out at them. Feli looked over Germany's shoulder and nodded at him.

"Romano" Romano looked over to Germany.

"Thank you"

"No problem potato bastard. Don't mess with the trust I've given you"

Romano quickly got into his car and drove off, leaving the two of them to, as Romano said it, 'catch up'. They stayed for a bit in the driveway, just enjoying the feel of each other in their arms. It was bliss, and slowly, color seemed to come back into their lives. As a silent agreement passed between them, and a silent promise, they pressed their foreheads together, smiling genuinely for the first time in a long time.

"Welcome home Germany…thank you for coming back"

"I wish I came sooner. I'm glad to be back…"

"Germany…when we did separate…did you…"

Italy's question was lost to the wind as Germany sealed the short distance between them and kissed him. It was a soft, almost scared kiss. As Germany started to back away, Italy pulled him closer for another one, this one deeper and meaningful. It said to the both 'I knew it'.

The world slowly faded away from its last shades of grey and back into colors. They drew away but kept themselves close.

"Welcome back home again…." Italy whispered one last time before tugging Germany into the house. The fruits of his gardening labor were forgotten for now. They need not fret though. Sooner or later, Italy will come rushing out to gather them back up and inside. He needed to cook something for his Germany now that he was back, right? He quickly came back up, rounded up the spilled harvest and brought in, starting to cook with Germany. It really was nice now with Germany back, Italy thought as he cooked.

"Germany….are you doing okay?" Italy asked, looking over at Germany.

"I guess. The Berlin Wall put a large scar in my back and I feel weaker but I'm holding together. Plus I'm here…..with you"

"Ve?"

Germany was blushing ear to ear, turned away from Italy. Italy giggled and hopped around the side of him, pecking his cheek and putting them both in red blushes.

"You're cute when you get flustered" Italy murmured. "And relax. You aren't leaving right?"

Germany sighed and gave in, nudging into Italy's side.

"No, I'm not leaving. I'll update America on the situation, get him to work with this. I don't want to leave anytime soon"