Every night you toss and turn.

You think I'm a rock once I'm asleep, but most nights I'm a light sleeper, and the movement wakes me up.

I watch you for a while. Sometimes you settle back down and everything's okay.

Other times, you start whispering silently, but I hear it.

"Ita-chan." You'll say.

I want to wake you up, tell you about the past you've forgotten, but it just never seems right.

So instead, I stroke your hair and wait for you to go back to sleep.

When it first happened, I asked your brother.

His reaction confirmed my suspicions.

He made me swear never to tell you, and never to tell anyone else. I nodded.

This is one secret they'll never take from me, no matter what pain I go through.

It's hard to start conversations sometimes.

You'll do something that reminds me of the old you so much, I start to laugh, and I want to say Remember when...?

But I stop the words before they come, and you always notice the small frown that forms on my face afterwards.

You can tell it's troubling me, whatever I'm holding back, and you don't press me for the answer.

Which makes me want to tell you even more.

One night, I'm sleeping when suddenly you scream.

I sit up in a second, and turn.

"Deutschland! Deutschland! Wake up!" I shout, trying to wake you.

You keep screaming, turning away from me, and eventually your scream fades into a whimper. You're still asleep, but now you're curled up into a ball.

I go downstairs and pick up the phone, starting to dial your brother's number, and then stop. All he'll tell me to do is keep quiet about it.

I sit in silence, wondering who to call.

Maybe Japan could come up with something to help keep your nightmares away, but I don't want to call him for you without your permission.

I finally settle on calling no one, and simply sit and wait, watching the sun rise.

You're surprised to see me up and about when you wake up a few hours later.

"Italia, you're awake early today."

"Yeah."

You go over to the fridge, pulling out some wurst. "Something happen last night?"

I pause. "Nightmare."

"Ah. I had one of those as well."

"What was it about?" I ask, perhaps a little too eagerly.

"I can't remember exactly. I think I saw someone die."

That was you I want to scream You dreamed of when you died, when you were no longer Holy Rome, but something else.

I say nothing though, returning my attention to my breakfast.

You notice my silence.

I'm avoiding you, and you know it. I don't know why my feet won't allow me to visit your house, but every time I draw near, I turn away.

Romano's mad over something. I don't even deign to listen. It's not important anyhow.

I don't know how much longer I can keep this secret from you. You're the only person I want to tell. I just want you to know the truth, and I want to be able to say that you did come back, and that you did keep all your promises to me.

I call your brother. He scares me a bit sometimes, but I'm tired of hiding everything.

He listens and sighs. "I know it's hard, Italia. Just hold out a little longer."

Prussia's disappeared. You call me and countless other Nations to search for him. You even call Russia.

There's fear in the air. After all these years of struggling by, has he...

We don't find him.

The sun sets and we have to go back to your house. You're struggling to even speak. Japan tries to calm you down so you can get some sleep. But you don't stop. Only when I finally grab your hand and drag you to your bed do you allow your exhaustion to show. You fall asleep the instant your head hits the pillow.

I stroke your hair. I want to talk, tell you the secret I've been hiding since the beginning of the second world war.

Instead I whisper Goodnight, Deutschland and curl up next to you.

We find him, weak, disoriented, but alive.

A few days later, we know he's recovering when he wakes up, looks down at himself in the hospital bed, and says "Well, this is unawesome."

I try to go back to my house, but I'm afraid of leaving you while you sit there, watching over him like a hawk.

One night while you're asleep, I wake up to your brother shaking my arm.

"I'm dying, Italia." He tells me.

"No, you're not dying, Prussia. We all need you. He needs you most of all!"

He shakes his head. "People don't think of themselves as 'East Germans' anymore. My empire has crumbled. Prussia is gone, Italia."

You stir in your sleep for a moment, and we fall silent.

"I don't know how long I have, whether it'll be days, months, or a few years, but I am dying, and there's nothing that can be done."

I'm crying silently. I don't want this to happen.

"You have to promise me one thing, Italia."

I nod.

"Tell him when I'm gone. You have to tell him who he is."

I'm surprised. "But we've had to keep it a secret all these years..."

"Once I'm gone, it won't matter anymore. But you have to wait until I'm gone, got it?"

I nod. "I understand, Prussia."

He smiles. "Good. Now, Italia, I'm asking you to go home. Go home, eat some tomatoes, and sleep. I'll call you sometime soon."

I nod and leave.

In truth, he never did call. He never got the chance.

I think he knew that once I promised to tell the world the truth, he had no more reasons to cling to life.

It was only two days later I got the call. You were barely able to speak. England had to take the phone away from you and give me the news.

We planned an excellent funeral, as befit him. Gilbird sat on your shoulder, silent.

He was buried like a king, at the spot where he was born, as all Nations should be.

Everyone was there. Russia, America, Canada, England, France, Austria and Hungary, the list goes on and on.

You look like you've just taken a grenade to the face. You're silent one moment, and the next you can't stop crying. He was the one that raised you. He took care of you.

He's kept you alive.

And now, he's gone.

We get you home, and the first thing you do is get as drunk as you can. You don't even notice when you run out of beer and Russia hands you his vodka. You just keep drinking, until you've passed out.

America helps me get you to bed, hauling you up the stairs like you weigh no more than a rag doll. I follow behind, nervous about letting you sleep alone after what's happened.

We tuck you under the covers, and while you're asleep, we begin to make arrangements so you won't be left alone for a single moment over the next few months. I end up being on the list for more than half the time, but that's okay with me. Even though he hates your guts, Romano even signs up for a few shifts. Japan promises to come over a lot as well, and I know he'll help me keep you alive.

I wonder when I should tell you the truth.

It's been two months.

You struggle to get out of bed in the morning.

Your boss gets angry now. But I understand how you feel. You just want it to all disappear.

I know that feeling.

It's how I felt when Austria told me you were dead.

Finally, you find the strength to accompany me to his grave.

We stand there, staring at the stone, cold and hard.

You start to speak. "Italia, I want you to..."

I turn to listen, but your words fail you and you go silent.

I take a deep breath. It's time you know.

"Deutschland, do you have many memories of when you were young?"

You pause, and then shake your head. "No. Bruder said I got injured, and that was why I couldn't remember much. But there are bits and pieces I remember. I fought some wars, I was in love with a girl. Before I went off to battle at one point, she gave me a broom, and then we kissed. That's my best memory."

I nod. "What Prussia said about your injury is true. It's why you can't remember. But part of it is just because you're forgotten your name."

You look at me, confused. "What do you mean? I've always been named Deutschland."

I shake my head. "No, you weren't. You once called yourself 'Holy Roman Empire'."

In an instant, I see your body tense and freeze. You suddenly squeeze your eyes shut, and your hands ball up into fists.

"Don't fight it anymore, Holy Rome. Let the memories come back, please!" I shout.

You start to fall, but catch yourself, and I grab your hand. "Deutschland, Holy Rome, please! It's okay. No one will hurt you now! I promise no one will hurt you now! All the people that wanted to hurt you, who tried to kill you, don't care anymore! You can live here now! Prussia saved you! Your bruder saved you!"

Finally, your shaking stops, and you open our eyes, looking at me. And in a moment, I see the same boy that once asked me to teach him how to draw, to bring him a towel, who gave me his own food, even if I didn't like it.

The one who kissed me on the lips before he left for battle.

You stare at me for a moment, and then your other hand, the one I'm not holding, reaches out to touch my face. You look so confused.

Finally you speak. "Italia?"

I smile. "Yes. It's me, Holy Rome."

You suddenly pull me close, and in a moment, all the feelings I've felt for you all these years are expressed. I'd never known how to tell you before.

You tilt up my head, and then your lips are crashing down on mine. I cling close to you.

"I've missed you." I whisper when our lips part.

You nod, and a smile the likes of which I've never seen crosses your face.

"I've missed you too, Italia."

Over the next few weeks, you swing between me calling you Deutschland, and me calling you Holy Rome, as your past and your present combine within your mind.

I try to do whatever I can to help the process, and in the end, I just borrow a lot of Austria's piano music and play it constantly. That seems the help the most.

Well, that and a few other things.

You hold me close, I doodle in my sketchbooks, and you try to draw things you see. We dance to the music as it plays. We cook standing near each other, and I make you the dishes you used to eat, even though I don't like them at all.

And each night, before we crawl into bed, we kiss.

I don't mind that it's all you're comfortable with right now. I've had years to adjust to the fact that the boy I once loved is now the man I greatly admire, who protects me from any and all harm.

For you, it's much harder. I was the maid you loved in your past life, and now I'm the man who's just kind of useless at everything, but you look out for me anyhow.

One night, I go up into your attic. You told me you hadn't sorted through anything in years, and I'm curious as to what you have up there.

In one of the deepest corners, I find a box that says For West on it.

I bring it downstairs. You recognize the handwriting and the nickname. Only your brother ever called you West.

We open in, and inside it we find so many things.

Your old diaries and military journals.

A sketchbook.

A painting of a rabbit.

A black hat, accompanied by the rest of your uniform.

And then, underneath that, a small push broom.

It's all the things you had as Holy Rome. All the things he kept hidden from you.

You hold them close, and I take your hand. "Deutschland?"

"I... I never thought I'd see these things again, Italia."

I nod, and then, by impulse, I lean in for a kiss. You don't push me away.

Instead, we continue to kiss.

Soon enough, it's become deeper. More passionate. I'm not sure what to do.

But you seem to know. You pick me up, and carry me upstairs. We get to your bedroom, and I know that I like the feeling of you holding me in your arms.

You set me down on the bed, and flip off the lights, but this isn't our usual goodnight, because you come right back and press your lips against mine again.

I reach a hand up, running it through your hair. "Ti amo, Deutschland." I say once our lips finally part for a moment.

You smile, and respond. "Ich liebe dich, Italia."

And later on, our naked bodies pressed together, with you over me and in me, I say it over and over and over.

"Ti amo, ti amo, ti amo!"

And you respond.

"Ich liebe dich!"

You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you say that, Deutschland.

Translations

Deutschland - Germany
Italia - Italy
Bruder - Brother
Ti amo - I love you (Italian)
Ich liebe dich - I love you (German)