Copper Curl Part VII

Sleep was impossible. Each toss and turn and shift in position made discomfort increase. Germany's eyes stung whenever he opened or closed them. His breathing was heavy and his heart pounded in his ears. And the short periods where he would doze off, he was plagued with disconnected images and memories of a little girl with a copper curl, of a broken promise, of a kiss…of Italy…

And now he knew. They weren't someone else's memories being passed down to him. They were his. All this time, Germany has been recovering from major long term amnesia. His name wasn't even Germany for Christ's sake. He was really…he was…

He was the Holy Roman Empire.

He always had been. And World War I was not the first time he had been introduced to Italy.

The thoughts played over and over again in his head. He couldn't handle this. Germany thought that if he had figured out what the hell was going on, he would be at peace and things would go back to normal. But no. He wasn't expecting this.

And how was he going to break the news to Italy? How would his friend react? Would he embrace the truth? Would he reject it? Would he faint? Cry? Yell?

Would he even believe him?

What if he loses his friendship forever?

Germany's chest constricted violently at the thought. He knew that he wouldn't be able to handle that. Losing Italy as a friend would be like…like…he didn't even know the right words to describe how it would feel.

Obviously, it would hurt. Alot. The thought alone made him cringe. Even though the Italian had a tendency to slack off, take siestas at inappropriate times, crawl into his bed at night, rant on about pasta, wave the white flag, cry an unhealthy amount, and displayed useless military skills…Germany couldn't imagine his present life without any of that.

Italy truly is his best friend.

And now he's a lot more to Germany than just that.

The blonde nation didn't know how he would actually be able to talk to Italy. They had training tomorrow. No doubt that it will be awkward. Especially after the strange occurrence at Italy's house yesterday, along with the added addition of Germany being told that he is the Holy Roman Empire.

Japan is going to have an atmosphere sensing explosion.

Germany sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm himself down. After much tossing and turning, he finally fell into an uneasy sleep.

That night, he dreamt. He dreamt that he was surrounded by blowing green grass. The sky above him was a bright baby blue and the fluffy clouds hovered over the earth. His black cape whipped around his ankles and his hat shielded his eyes from the rays of sun.

He had his hand outstretched toward a small girl wearing a maid's dress and a white apron. Her brown hair was tied back in a white head piece, exposing only her thick bangs and one distinct copper curl that swirled off the side of her head. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were squinted with long lashes that seemed to stick out.

"Become part of the New Roman Empire, Italy…" he heard himself say.

ACK!

Germany shot up from his bed with a bewildered yell. After a few moments of breathing in and out to calm himself down, he ran his hand through his messy blonde hair and let out a frustrated groan. This was going to be harder than he thought. And that dream…

Oh, what the hell. It was probably a memory.

Germany grunted angrily, but he still felt a bit shaken up. That dream had caused his skin to become all hot, and he knew that his face was flushed. His heart was pounding against his chest and he had a strong desire to go see Italy and…and…

What did he want to do?

Germany shook his head and forced himself out of bed. His head hurt and he felt a bit groggy. He cursed his brother for showing up last night and telling him some huge news, while conveniently in possession of alcohol.

At least it vasn't vodka…

After freshening up a bit, Germany pushed his hair back and dressed himself in his military clothes. He glanced at his clock and saw that he had about twenty minutes until training started. Not that it really mattered at this point…Italy always showed up late unless he was spending the night at Germany's.

After a quick breakfast, Germany headed over to the meadow by the woods that stood in front of the large church. The sun was out today, but it wasn't too hot. Good for training, at least. As Germany walked, he thought about everything.

He was Holy Rome. He had almost died and then became Germany. He had a romantic relationship with Italy as a child. Italy still hasn't gotten over what happened, and he thinks that Holy Rome is dead. And he had made a promise to Italy…yes. He promised that he would come back. After the war was over, he said that he'd return.

In a way, he did come back. But does it really count?

Germany had a feeling that Italy still holds on to that promise with every fiber of his being. And it hurts to think that.

When he had reached his destination, he saw Japan waiting there patiently for him. Italy hadn't shown up yet. Just as expected.

Germany breathed a sigh of relief. Japan was staring at him with curious eyes and Germany inwardly flinched. The Asian nation definitely did unnerve him a bit, especially with his highly accurate "mood-sensing."

"Um…right…now ve just have to vait for Italy…" Germany stated awkwardly, his shoulders tightened and his voice strained. He jerkily scratched the back of his neck and stood there.

A few minutes passed in unbearable silence. Then another few minutes. Then ten…then fifteen….

Germany started to get worried. Italy should definitely be here by now. His eye twitched and he clenched his fists in aggravation. He shouldn't be worrying this much! Knowing Italy, he probably slept in or got caught up making pasta…

But something in Germany's gut told him that something was wrong. And he didn't like it.

"Vhere the fuck is he?" Germany finally snapped, restlessly tapping his foot. He grinded his teeth together.

"Maybe Itary-san is sick?" Japan suggested in that calm voice of his. Germany just sighed angrily and pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't like this feeling…something was wrong…

"Fine. Ve'll just start. Ten perimeter loops," Germany stated.

Italy didn't show up at all, which lead for a rather quiet and uneventful training session. Japan did what he was told without question and generally kept his mouth shut. Germany would usually find this kind of obedience to be beneficial, but he actually found it to be quiet boring. He actually missed the Italian's constant wailing and complaining and rants about pasta. The thought made him depressed.

Not only that, but he was really worried. It's common for Italy to show up late to practice or fall asleep, but he always showed up no matter what.

Germany wiped the sweat from his forehead and frowned. Maybe he ought to go over to Italy's house…just to see if he was alright. Maybe he is sick.

Dammit. If he was sick, Germany knew that it wouldn't be the best time to tell him that he was his long lost love. Speaking of which, what would happen from there?

If he told Italy that he was his supposedly "dead boyfriend" or whatever he's considered, then…wouldn't that also be painfully awkward? Would they pick up where they left off?

Germany gritted his teeth in confusion as his face burned.

After training ended, Germany headed back home to freshen up. He took a shower and put on some fresh clothes.

He decided that he would just show up at Italy's house to make sure he was okay. It would at least put his mind at ease. He won't tell him about the whole Holy Rome ordeal…not yet anyway. If Italy was truly sick, then it would be best to withhold the information until a better time.

The sun was high in the sky by the time Germany started to head to Italy's house. The scent of fresh grass filled his nostrils and he couldn't help but let his shoulders relax a little bit. He tried to contain his overactive thoughts by breathing in and out slowly and telling himself that it was fine, that Italy was okay and that he didn't have to tell him anything…at least not yet.

He finally reached Italy's house. He frowned to see that all the usually open and bright windows were dark with curtains drawn over them. The house looked…desolate. Germany felt a strong uneasiness creep in his stomach and he gulped.

He hesitantly made his way to the front porch and gave the door a light knock.

"I-Italy? Are you there?"

No response. Germany knocked again.

"If you are, please open up…"

Still no response.

Germany felt his unease heighten. An irrational irritation swept through him and he cursed under his breath.

He pounded louder on the door, starting to lose his resolve. "Italy! Open this door right now!"

He frantically grasped the handle and to his surprise, the door opened. Germany gasped. Did Italy forget to lock the door? What was going on? Germany always taught him to lock the door during times like these.

Germany peered in to the hallway to see that it was absolutely dark and still. He knew that he'd feel guilty about this later, but he couldn't help it. He slipped into the house and closed the door behind him.

There was something extremely wrong here.

He forced himself to walk down the hallway. Everything was absolutely silent save for the creaking noises Germany's feet were making against the wooden floors. He swallowed again, finding that his throat was dry.

"I-Italy…" he called out weakly.

What if something happened to him?

An icy sensation swept over Germany, but he quickly pushed it away.

No. Italy is fine.

He reached the living room. He recoiled at what he saw.

The couch was overturned with some of the white stuffing spilling out onto the floor. The lamps were both on the ground shattered, and ripped pieces of paper…pictures maybe…were littered all over the floor. The table was turned on its side with its legs broken and the walls were stained with…was that blood?

Germany felt bile rise to his throat. What the fuck happened here? He shakily made his way across the living room, breathing heavily.

He needed to find Italy…

Germany turned around and burst into the kitchen with lightning speed. The sight before him here was even worse.

Broken shards of plate lay all over the floor. All of the cabinet doors were opened…or ripped off their hinges and various food items were scattered everywhere. A pile of empty beer cans and wine bottles lay here and there and the scent of alcohol stung Germany's nostrils.

However, the wooden table was still standing, and there was Italy, lying face down on the table, his hand limply grasping a beer can. He was absolutely still.

Dammit. Germany raced toward the Italian, tripping over a few scattered items on the floor. He hesitantly poked the Italian, only to receive no response.

"Italy! ITALY!" He yelled, panic seizing him. He was about to check for the nation's pulse, but Italy stirred slightly with a groan. Germany breathed a sigh of relief, but he didn't let his guard down. He eyed the pile of empty bottles and cans wearily. How much did Italy drink?

He knew from personal experience that the Italian had awful alcohol tolerance, so Germany always went with Italy when he went drinking to make sure he didn't get out of hand. Usually, when Italy got drunk, he got extremely ridiculous and goofy…but when he drank to the point where he got sick…he turned…unpleasant to say the least.

Italy wearily lifted his head and looked up at the blonde nation. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen…as if he had been crying. His hair was disheveled and his skin was pasty white.

To say it kindly, he looked like absolute shit.

"Italy…"

The Italian recoiled clumsily, as if he were disgusted by the thought of Germany touching him.

"Veh, D-don't touch me!" He choked out, his voice groggy and his words a bit slurred.

He was somewhat sober. That must mean he drank all last night, passed out, and now he was experiencing an awful hang over.

But Germany was still surprised by Italy's bitter tone.

"Italy…" he repeated.

But Italy cut him off. "Y-You promised m-me…"

Germany felt as if he were punched in the stomach. Shit….this wasn't supposed to happen. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Italy continued, "Veh, Y-you really should l-learn to keep y-your windows shut…"

Then it dawned on Germany. Italy had heard everything. He had foolishly left the window open the night that Prussia told him that he was Holy Rome. And Italy, being Italy, probably snuck to his house and night and overheard the conversation.

Germany didn't know what to say…so he didn't say anything. He just stood there, feeling his limbs start to shake.

Italy let out a small laugh that seemed to turn into a choked sob. "I-I never really g-gave up on y-you, you know…e-even though Austria and e-everyone else told me he was d-dead…but no. He probably l-lied to me as well, didn't he?"

Germany spoke, "I-I didn't kn-know…"

But Italy shook his head frantically. "N-No…No. No! I-I don't c-care!"

The Italian shot up from his seat, swaying on the spot. He grabbed the table to support himself and Germany had the immediate instinct to reach out and grab him, but he stifled it. He was sure that Italy wouldn't want that right now.

"I d-don't care if y-you're actually h-him. You're G-Germany! You're n-not Holy Rome! You-"

Italy took another deep breath, a look of panic, anger, and pain present on his face.

"You don't know anything. I-I don't c-care if you l-lost all your memories. The r-real Holy Rome is d-dead and h-he can't be re-replaced! N-not by you…not by anybody…" Italy broke off into a helpless heap of sobs.

Germany's heart felt like it had been ripped out of his chest and stomped on. So this is how Italy would take it. He would reject him. He would be in denial. He would be pissed off beyond belief. But that wasn't the thing that hurt the most. The thing that really hit home was seeing Italy so…so broken…so defeated.

"Italy…" Germany started again, reaching out hesitantly, feeling as if his throat was closing up. But Italy recoiled once again, glaring at him through angry tears.

"You're not him! You're n-not Holy Rome!"

"Okay, Italy…"

"You're Germany!"

"I am…"

"Get out!"

"W-What?" Germany choked, taking a few steps back. He felt numb as he stared at Italy's furious face.

"I said get out," Italy repeated, advancing on Germany.

The blonde nation had never seen his Italian friend act this way before. Never in a million years did he think he'd ever see him act like this. This couldn't be real…

"But I…" Germany choked out.

"I-I didn't ask for this. All I w-wanted was for y-you to c-come back…but I don't want it anymore. I d-don't want any of it…" Italy sobbed, his voice growing weaker and weaker. Germany watched blankly as his friend fell to his knees on the floor.

Germany realized that even though he looked so defeated, so awful, so sick…Italy was still the most beautiful person Germany had ever seen.

It didn't make it any easier.

"J-Just leave. Please," Italy whimpered.

Germany stared at him for a few more seconds before turning around and bolting out of the house. Alcohol sounded extremely good right now. Even vodka from Russia.