Chapter Text
"I get mean when I'm nervous, like a bad dog."
Germany
The sky outside was a warm and picture-perfect colour, as if someone spilled orange juice on a blank canvas. Officers on duty chattered amongst themselves, exchanging small talk usually about what they were planning to have for dinner once they got home. The noisy talk about useless topics tended to infuriate Germany, who was in his personal office with the window open, reading some reports. But he wasn't in the mood to care. He felt like he was forgetting something really important that was going to happen today, but it was probably nothing. His old-fashioned, wooden desk held an abhorrently large amount of papers that looked like they could topple at the slightest gust of wind. The country sat at his desk, somewhat relaxed for once while flipping through and checking the reports for the day. And one caught his eye.
Germany gripped the crumpling piece of paper with his gloved hands. He adjusted his glasses, squinting his working eye and hoping he read that wrong, but no. The country let out a shaky breath, hoping it would soothe his anger, if only a little. He was really annoyed now. This was going to mess with so many plans, it wasn't even funny (not that it was funny in the first place). Germany stood up, his swivel chair rolling back at the sudden movement. With the report firmly in hand, the German left his office with quite a few words to spit, though he was probably only going to say a few with who he was going to talk to.
Whether this was a good idea or not, Germany was too irritated to care. Perhaps it was the fact that one of his plans got messed up, again, but he was not about to just sit and let it happen. He absolutely hated that he was not informed of this a day or two in advance at the very least.
Germany paused for a moment, before continuing his speed-walk. It would probably be fine, thought his tired and currently-emotionally-driven brain. A bead of sweat trickled down his spine. It would probably be fine ..
-
A few minutes, a polite knock and a few more seconds later, Germany creaked the door open to find his leader with a crazed smile on his face, as if he was a kid who got what he wanted for Christmas from Santa. The country's eye twitched. Of course he would be absolutely ecstatic now that he finally did the one thing he'd been wanting to do since the start.
The room was bland, like the kind of room one might see being used by your run-of-the-mill office worker. The walls were a boring white that could make any person crazy with enough time, and the only light was from a nearby window, making the room glow a warmer yellow. Portraits of famous old leaders and watercolour landscapes decorated the higher parts of the walls, as if allowing the previous leaders to judge the room's inhabitants, look upon the current Führer, watch the land they used to preside over.
The German chancellor was wearing the same black military garb as Germany, though with more fancy accessories and without the cap that adorned Germany's head. He turned towards the sound of the door opening.
"<Hello, My Country. What brings you here?>" he asked, his tone showing that he knew full well why the country barged into his office. Germany responded, showing the somewhat crumpled report of what happened on the Eastern front. "<What is this?>" The country walked over, not caring about how rude he was being at the moment, and basically shoved the report in his leader's face. His Führer glanced over the paper before letting out a light chuckle. "<Oh, so this is what it's about, hmm?>" He raised his gaze, meeting the country's mismatched eyes. The country twitched a raised eyebrow, cowering too lightly to notice. "<It's just an invasion. We've already planned it all out, remember?>"
Germany wanted to smack his leader and surrender, but the former would get him in trouble and the latter would damage his pride, so he just furrowed his eyebrows in response. Neatly folding and tucking the report away, he faced the other. "<We planned to invade later. It's too early, and it's not like we managed to take the British Isles yet,>" he pointed out, exasperated. His Führer spread his hands, as if he was going to shrug. "<It's only a matter of time before Britain surrenders. It wouldn't hurt to start a little early,>" the man stated, a confident grin plastered on his face. The country wanted to face-palm at the sheer confidence he held, as if something wasn't going to go terribly wrong like things always did when it came to war. Just like what happened over twenty years ago ..
Germany internally shook his head. That war was over, and this war was now really just beginning. He shouldn't dwell on the past when he had the present and future to worry about. Plus, it wasn't like he could change the outcome of that event, now that it has become a thing of the past. So with a internal smack to reality, Germany went back to focusing on the matter at hand.
The German chancellor's eyes sharpened, making the country in front of him unconsciously straighten up. "<Don't be going around ridiculing me on what I can and can't do. I'm the leader of this country, am I not? So one more word about how supposedly bad my choices were and you'll regret it.>"
Suddenly, Germany's back felt slick with sweat. His body became stiff as he stared at his leader, feigning a lack of interest. He was not, in fact, apathetic towards those words. With the way he was wording things, it almost felt as if he was threatening to ..
No .. please, not again ..
Germany couldn't move. It felt like the darkness was swallowing him whole. Where had the walls adorned with paintings go? His heartbeat quickened, blood rushing every which way. He never pleaded, even in his head. Yet here he was.
Badump, badump, badump-
It was like all the oxygen in the room had disappeared. His breathing became erratic. His nerves were ice-cold, making him tremble like the string of a guitar after it's been plucked. He absentmindedly balled his fists, nails almost digging through the white gloves. The pain woke him up, if only for a moment.
He was having an episode. In front of his Führer, too. It seemed his previous thoughts were wrong- he was most definitely not fine.
The panicked country reverted his saucer-like eyes to normal, but was still very much shocked. His vision blurred, focused, and spiraled, but the country kept his eyes neutral through sheer willpower. The quick, loud breaths quieted and slowed, even if it felt like he had to hold his breath every time he breathed in so that he would have enough oxygen to survive. His fingers were hidden by the desk, so he could thankfully let them tremble all he wanted. The walls felt suffocating, but he let himself be suffocated for the purpose of appearing perfectly fine. Even if he couldn't see the portraits, it felt like they were judging his stupidly embarrassing reaction, as if they couldn't believe some words so small could trigger a country, of all 'people'. With a wavering breath that Germany forced to sound normal and not like he was having an episode, he said, "<Apologies, Führer. I spoke out of line.>"
While Germany never liked complying to others, he was not in his right mind to care. Anything else would be a death wish, and personally, he liked living. His episode was by no means over, though he certainly wished it was. It was like nothing else existed at the moment, besides him, the desk and his leader. The man in question gave a smile, nodding. "<Good. Now leave.>" It wasn't the kind of smile one would give to a stranger after helping them, or the polite business smile most officials wore. It was the smile of a predator who had just finished eating their prey. Germany had to avert his gaze to prevent spiraling further.
The door was .. towards the left, right?
The country turned, keeping every bit of his body from trembling while staring into the dark void of where he assumed was the door. He had learned very early on that if he stared long enough, it would eventually turn back to normal for a bit. And sure enough, he could spot the familiar round doorknob and rectangular frame. With his usual large strides, Germany quickly made it to the door without making it seem like he was in a rush to get out. That would be considered rude, and an offense. With a twist from his hand, the door creaked open and the country left, closing the door quietly behind him. He was not fully out yet, though. He needed to be somewhere secluded, and safe. At least until it was all over. And the best place for that was either the lavatory or his bedroom, both of which were secluded enough with the latter not allowing anyone but himself inside. The nearest restroom was too far, however, and his bedroom was closer.
All Germany had to do was get to his bedroom and wait it out. But things were easier said than done. Germany's ears buzzed, as if he was listening to TV static, so it wasn't like he could listen for any potential people around him. Meaning he had to keep his relaxed demeanor as he casually freaked out on the inside.
Isn't this just wonderful?, the country thought sarcastically. Sarcastic thoughts were something Germany found himself thinking a lot, whether that just be him or his body trying to lighten the mood. It didn't help, but he was worried about other matters. The country stepped forward until he could just barely see the yellowish-brown colour that was painted on all the walls of the hallways. With a sigh of relief, he dropped his hand but kept a few fingers touching the wall. With a guide to make sure he wouldn't smack into another wall, Germany walked to the right, his left hand running against the wall lightly.
Stay calm, stay calm. You're almost there. Just two more doors, a left turn, and you're safe. It'll only take a minute or so.
He had to physically fight his body from curling up right then and there. Adrenaline was doing most of the work at this point, meaning Germany didn't have much time before he would collapse of exhaustion due to having to keep his appearance neutral while spiraling down a rabbit hole of what feels like no return. He could barely take a step, yet he had to if he wanted to retain his pride as a powerful and unwavering country.
If only he wasn't so dramatic, as the little voice in the back of his head liked to call him. He hated that voice, but it wasn't that he thought otherwise.
His people could have flaws. They could act weak and cry and plead. But he couldn't. He was the confident, powerful country. Confident countries don't cower. Powerful countries don't cry, or surrender. For the sake of the German race getting the power they deserve, he must be a great country without flaws.
Germany's breathing was (not forcefully) slowly down into a more healthy rate, which usually meant that it would all be over in half an hour, at the latest. That was somewhat reassuring, he supposed. He continued stumbling through the darkness until he heard a voice.
"[Germany? Is that you?]"
That sweet, silky, Italian voice. There was no mistaking it. Germany knew, despite what sounded like a bee constantly buzzing in his ear, that the owner of the voice was right in front of him. He straightened, blinked a few times, and focused with all his might. His palms were sticky with sweat by the time he could fully make out the figure in front of him.
I knew it.
Stark white hair befitting of an angel with green and red highlights scattered about. A long face with softened features and an upturned mouth. Round eyes that were red on the left eye and green on the right, both practically sparkling. The grey Italian military uniform, with a few minor adjustments to suit his taste because he was just like that. White gloves, similar to Germany's, was something he hadn't noticed on his person before. But it was definitely still the one and only Italian country, in the flesh, in front of him. He frowned slightly.
So this was the thing he forgot about earlier.
The German really didn't want to deal with the Italian at the moment, but he already acknowledged him, so it wasn't like he could back out. If Italy was here, then his leader was most likely here as well. As if Germany didn't have enough to worry about, with him attempting to hide his still-ongoing panic attack. The sight of Italy was really not making it better.
Italy's previously excited look withered into one of slight worry. The bright smile twitched, as if it didn't know if it was allowed here anymore. "[Germany? Are you okay?]" he warily asked. He reached his hand out to touch the other's face, pausing when his fingers were an inch away. The other in question eyed Italy's fingers as if they were a bomb that was about to blow. "[Uhm, may I-]"
"[Shut up. Out of my way,]" Germany responded with in a thick German accent, slapping the Italian's hand from his face with much more force than he had originally intended. Italy flinched, stepping towards the wall to the right. His bright eyes averted their gaze downwards, and the Italian hunched forward. Germany was well aware of how he was sounding, but one, he was talking to Italy, who never got angry, and two, he was really not in the mood to care. And maybe he was going a bit too delusional at the moment.
Squinting, Germany managed to make his way to his room, lock the door, close the blinds and collapse on his bed. The emotions and feelings he had desperately kept back to appear normal gushed out like water from a broken dam.
He trembled, his breath hitched. Everything around him, which he had previously focused hard on so he wouldn't bump into anything, had submitted into the darkness that was slowly enveloping him. His heart felt like it was pumping out of his chest, about to burst at any moment. Germany almost considered letting it burst and letting him pass on in the light comfort of his room. But the chancellor wouldn't be happy if he died.
And he couldn't upset him again. Not after he recklessly yelled at him like that.
-
.. Get up ..
The German country rubbed his blurred eyes, and suddenly, it was thirty years ago and he was back in the trenches. His vision was swimming with memories he did not want to remember. It was like he was back in the cramped bedchambers, if one could even call them that, with the unimaginable stench blaring his nostrils. He could almost feel the crusty bedsheets scratching at his palms. Disgusting.
.. The front lines need you ..
Germany was not about to go back out there. His eyes could just barely focus on one of the soldiers already in uniform in front of him. The uniform was dark with blood, the pockets filled to the brim with presumably weapons and first aid supplies. Germany's hand shuffled through the thin excuse of a blanket, checking and feeling for everything he could while his vision was still adjusting at the pace of a snail. He could feel the hard mattress, the flimsy sheets, the stuffy uniform, even.
.. Are you ditching your own country? ..
Germany's eye could focus, relatively speaking, and he noticed something. It was something that often made him question his own sanity, if he had any after being in war for most of his life. Creases formed on his forehead immediately, as he knew what was going on now.
The soldier's face was blurred, meaning this wasn't real.
..
.. You should have died like the rest of us.
-
The country opened his eyes.
He was in his room. It was the same old room.
The reddish-brown curtains revealed a sliver of darkness, indicating that the sun had fallen already. The walls were still their neutral grey, which Italy constantly pointed out as being 'too plain' and 'dreary', even if the colour was perfectly fine. The doors were still double triple locked, as they always had to be for the sole purpose of repelling assassins. The mattress was still soft, like a cloud of cotton candy or a blanket of snow. The blanket was still warm and comforting, as if sitting next to a fire in the middle of the forest, watching as the glowing flames illuminated the haunting trees around to create a safe haven of light around itself. The pillow was still drenched, which was exactly how he remembered it not long after he collapsed into his bed.
He forced himself to sit upright, leaning against the wall behind him. Germany was, he quickly realized, no longer trembling. His hands were still gloved, albeit less neatly, and were as still as the hands of a sniper. The German country could feel streaks on his cheeks, but they were no longer wet and salty. And best of all- his heart was beating at an almost scarily normal pace. Meaning ..
Germany breathed a large sigh of relief, now that he could.
It was over.
And he felt disgusting.
The country shuffled out of his bed. His legs were jelly at first, and he almost fell, but his iron grip on the nightstand nearby managed to save him from a painful greeting with the thin, yellow rug beneath him. It was a bright bit of colour that starkly contrasted the grey tones of the rest of his room, but he didn't necessarily mind. He wobbled his way to the washroom, which was connected to his room and his room only. The ordeal took a good five minutes, much to his embarrassment, when it could've taken half a minute under normal circumstances. The door groaned open for him, and he stepped inside. The first thing he saw was the unadorned, square mirror above the porcelain sink.
Yikes. He looked like a young teenager who had just woken up from a 12 hour sleep after being dumped by his first lover at a party the night before. His dark hair was disheveled, sticking up in various different directions. His eyebags were worse than before, which was a bit concerning considering how his eyebags previously looked large enough to carry groceries. His left eye was still as droopy and dull as usual, whereas his right eye ..
..
..
It was the same as well, Germany supposed.
A splash of cold water and some nitpicky tidying-up later, the German country was back to his usual self, appearance wise. He checked the time, casually calculating the fact that he'd been off-duty for half an hour. Half an hour wasn't nearly as short as he wished, but it was better than usual. And in the time it took for him to get himself dressed acceptable enough to leave his room and not feel disgusted, the German had looked back upon the reason why he was in his situation.
Ah, the perks of good memory.
Germany wanted to internally slap himself. He was an idiot. He knew that something like this could very well happen, and yet he did it anyways. It always happened like that, and he absolutely despised how he never really learned. It was always those stupid waves of irritation, those stupid bouts of anger, and those stupid floods of emotions that drowned his common sense. He hated how he got angry, but he was never good enough to stop the words, the actions, from spilling. And it never left him, unlike everything he held dear. How lovely.
Just as Germany was about to go back to his office and catch up on the worked he missed due to his tantrum, he remembered something that made him pale. And he rarely got nervous enough for one to physically see it on his face.
He remembered that admittedly attractive face that twisted in emotions on a certain someone he ran into a half hour ago. He remembered how they easily shuffled off to the side when he rudely commanded, and how they shrunk at the slight raise of his voice.
He remembered, decades ago, the look on their face during a battle. Never did he want to be opposing it, for he feared death as any mortal did, if he could be considered one.
He remembered, a few years ago, the words of, at the time, his country's newest chancellor. The idea he'd concocted. The results if he failed.
His brain reflexively thought of all the 'what-ifs' it could think of. And he concluded that he was, in fact, a really stupid idiot.
I may have doomed the plan with this, he thought, the sweat on his back increasing enough for him to feel like he just ran a marathon. If he didn't apologize or do anything, he may have just shot himself in the foot. And the heart.
And so, Germany carefully concocted a plan in his head while leaving to search for the Italian country.