War's Edge

The Return

Germany felt his heart hammering in his chest. He had never felt quite as much fear as he had in the moment he saw America stand after what appeared to be an excessively high voltage. The American seemed to have gone into a frenzy, threatening everyone with his pistol. Belarus (accidentally?) broke America's nose while trying to restrain him, but she didn't stop him. His crazy strength kept breaking the things he tried to grab to steady himself.

But what really made him freeze was the death glare he got from America.

"You fucking kraut! I know what you did! I'll kill you for it! I'll shoot you right between your eyes!" All in German.

Germany didn't doubt that promise. A part of him feared this man so much, but why? America was (relatively) peaceful, or... at the very least, he hadn't done anything to the American. He had no easy oil the American would want, nor had he done anything wrong recently. Was he still thinking about that time? A dark time when Germany wasn't himself—a time when he was desperate to revive himself?

Still, the cold fear that gripped him made his mind race for some sort of answer. He had been feeling that gripping fear for a while now, and it had only spiked when he saw or thought of America. He wracked his brain for an answer, but he was unable to come up with anything that could explain this strange scenario. Besides, since when did America speak German? He thought it was very clear that America would play by his own rules, stick to his own variation of English, and cling to his own measuring system.

That is the least of my worries.

North Italy's soft hands curled around his own, concern clear on his face. He lifted one hand to press it to Germany's forehead.

"D-Doitsu? Are you-a feeling well?"

Germany was quite shaken. He still felt the pure fear coursing through his veins, but Italy made him forget.

"Ja. I am fine," he sighed, forcing himself to relax.

He knew America was dealing with something, but it still hurt to be reminded of the past. He worked his ass off at every opportunity to move past that time. He knew he made mistakes. He knew he allowed things to get out of hand. God, he knew what he had done.

"We should-a take a break," Italy suggested with a half-smile, beaming up at Germany as if he was perfect.

"Ja," was all he could really respond with.

Italy skipped around, telling everyone that they had a lunch break and rambling about what he would eat. Germany plopped into a seat and held his face in his hands, pushing his glasses up. Japan rather politely pulled up a chair and sat down with a neutral expression.

"Itary is worrying about you, and so am I. How are you feering, Germany?" Japan questioned.

Afraid. Fear for his life. Acceptance; he deserved whatever became of him. The same constant feelings of terror and self-hatred.

"Yeah! Don't be-a sad, Germany! I-a made lunch!" Italy piped up, leaning his head on Germany's shoulder.

A hint of a smile appeared on Germany's face. He waited until the embarrassing smile disappeared and lifted his head.

"If I am being honest, I have been feeling zhis... fear... for a vhile. It is for no reason, but I can't help but feel afraid," he explained.

"Hmm. That is very strange," Japan agreed. "It is very rikery that you are just stressed."

"Or a spooky ghost~!" Italy exclaimed.

"Nein, it is probably just stress. I vill get over it," Germany decided, rubbing his eyes.