Here I Am

Chapter 6

Germany was getting tired of repeating the same story over and over again. He and Japan had invited any country who would listen to try and help find Italy. So far the only one who seemed to be helpful was Britain. He said he recognized Luther's name from somewhere, and was helping research possible leads as to where he lived, and through that, where Italy was. Hopefully.

"Italy could be being held somewhere completely different." Britain brought up at one point.

"Ja, I know! I'm not a dummkoph. But this is the best lead we have, so keep looking into it." Germany retorted. Britain didn't seem entirely happy about Germany's sharp response, but he kept his opinions to himself for once and kept looking.

After Germany kept badgering Britain and Japan about their progress -- since they said he couldn't really help with anything -- for the remaining half of the day, he decided to leave the house for a while to get some fresh air before the sun set.

The German kept a brisk pace through the streets of town and stayed silent even when a few random strangers addressed him. He didn't care to asses why, because he didn't care. All he cared about was finding Italy. His friend. He convinced himself that was all it was, but he couldn't completely deny the feeling in his gut that told him otherwise. Attempting to push the thoughts away for the time being, he focused on walking. 

Once he got to the spot he wanted to be, he sat down and rested his arms on his knees. The place where himself and Italy had first become friends, and the last place he saw Italy before he was taken. It had only been a few days, but it felt so much longer. Seconds felt like hours, minutes felt like days, hours like weeks, and days like an eternity. He worried about Italy. He knew that nations couldn't die, they could only fade. Which usually took time, and a lot of it. Despite knowing that Italy couldn't be dead, he couldn't help but imagine all the horrible things that could be happening. 

Those images brought something unexpected: tears. The German sniffled, and rose a hand to wipe at his itchy nose, and when his hand swept briefly across his cheek, he found it to be wet. No one was around, so why hold back? So, Germany began to sob. He buried his head in his hands and just cried, the only sound he could hear over the crying was... Well, nothing.

"Germany?" A familiar Italian voice whispered. Germany froze, looking up from his hands. He saw Italy sitting right beside him, staring at him with worry in his eyes. 

"I-Italy...?" Germany whispered, holding out his hand as if to see if he was real. "Here I am, Germany." Italy whispered. But as soon as his fingers made contact with Italy's arm, in the blink of an eye the image changed. Italy was still there, but now Italy was covered in blood and sobbing. "Germany!" He shouted, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Germany, h-help me!" 

Germany flailed backwards, but couldn't find the power in his legs to stand. His eyes stung from his tears now, and he couldn't take his eyes off Italy's bloody frame. Italy tilted his head up and screamed, screaming as loud as he could. The sound tore at Germany's eardrums, but mostly his heart. He covered his ears, squinting his eyes shut, shouting to try and be heard over Italy's screaming: "I'm sorry, Italy! I'm sorry! This is my fault!" 

Silence.

When Germany opened his eyes, Italy wasn't there. He was just sitting there, the only warmth being from his tears. He swallowed, slowly surveying his surroundings. Nothing. He'd just imagined it. But he was sure he had verbally replied to the figment of his imagination. 

He shook his head, standing up. He didn't want to linger there any longer than he had to. He thought it might help him, or maybe just give him the chance to be alone, but it had given him no peace of mind. Knowing this, he made his way back to his house in silence.

Once he got there, he heard that America had joined Britain and Japan. They were in the midst of a discussion when Germany stopped at the outside of the door and listened.

"... odd that this person looks like Germany?" America was saying. "Why isn't he here? Where does he keep going? He could have been lying about what happened that night and he's just keeping Italy for himself."

"You don't rearry believe that do you?" Japan asked, and Germany had to strain a bit to hear his quiet voice. "This has been hard on Germany. He wourd never do something like this."

"I'm just saying it seems oddly suspicious. Besides-" America abruptly stopped talking as soon as Germany grabbed the door handle and opened the door. When Germany stepped in, the three nations were staring at him in awkward silence. 

"Any luck?" He asked flatly. 

Britain shrugged. "We're narrowing it down, but nothing to act off of yet."

"And why are you here, exactly?" Germany said slowly, his glare boring into the American's eyes. 

"To help find Italy. Why else?"

"Why do you care what happens to him?"

"I'll save him. I'll be the hero. You'll see." America smiled.

Germany scowled. "Of course that's why you're here, arschloch." Before America could reply, Germany stomped off to his room. Once he was inside, he slammed the door behind him, throwing his coat onto the chair for his desk. He ran his hands through his hair, sitting down on his bed. He realized that he hadn't stopped in the kitchen to get something to eat, but he wasn't going to go back out there tonight. No, he'd just skip dinner.

With that idea planted firmly in his head, he undressed and climbed under his covers. The blankets brought no warmth to him, the pillow not bringing a pinch of comfort. He knew, the only thing that would bring him comfort again, was finding his little Italian. His little pasta loving Italian. The Italian that didn't like to run laps, who liked to sleep in, who got scared so easily, but always came to Germany to feel secure. 

Italy had trusted Germany. 

And he'd let him down.