Don't Go

13

France was staring at his rippling reflection in the lake, admiring his own looks. "Je suis très beau!" He announced, performing a perfect pirouette as he watched his reflection dance in the water. Then, another figure appeared in the reflection, behind him, his tall bulky figure startling him as France tumbled into the water in a big splash.

Germany waited until France swum up, head appearing out of the water, clinging onto the bank as he pulled himself back up. Spitting out water, his fingers combed through his hair as he cried, "Non! My beautiful hair is wet!"

Germany was anything but patient. "France," he growled, dark blue eyes glaring at him. He pulled France up by his shirt that was dripping in water still, his feet kicking in the air. "Tell me what you did at the Battle of Austerlitz."

He gulped. "Can't you put me down, first?"

He let go, as France stumbled onto the ground, staggering back up as he looked at Germany, who was looming over him.

"You... you are much bigger than you were before!" France replied nervously. "Perhaps you should thank me!"

His eyes were darkening and rage was turning his cheeks blotchy red. "Do I look like I'm thanking you? Tell me who I was before... or this is war."

"I beat you before," France warned him, "you wouldn't want to do that."

"I am much better than I was before," Germany answered, pulling out a grenade in his hand and displaying it fearlessly for France. "I'll pull the pin and it'll blow you to pieces. Tell me now."

"If you do that," France said, finding it hard to take his eyes off the grenade, "Italy will never forgive you. Italy likes me, and he'll hate you if you kill me."

"Why would I care what Italy thinks of me?" Germany said. "And he is hardly the type to hate others."

"You care about Italy enough."

It was the truth. Germany had seen Italy when he had first woke up... was it possible that he had known Italy long before? "Who was I to Italy?" Germany demanded. "TELL ME!!!"

France backed away in complete fear. Germany's rage terrified him, and he nearly slipped back into the lake from his haste to get away. However, Germany stepped even closer to him, and France tried to look away, the grenade in his hand. "Why don't you ask Italy?" He begged, expression pained and guilt-ridden.

"He doesn't know who I was," Germany said darkly. "But he thinks I killed Holy Rome."

Something dark flashed over France's face and his eyes were taunting. A small smile flashed on his face before he smothered it, so Germany told himself he was imagining it. "Because you did."

Germany backed away, eyes still staring at France. "Why?" He asked, now fully believing that this was the truth. "How?"

"Since you came... Holy Rome was no more..." France explained quietly, a little relieved that Germany was no longer so close to him with that grenade. He stuffed it back into his pocket and sat down on the ground, unable to keep himself up. France combed through his hair again, feeling how sticky and wet it was and groaned. "I'm going to go back and take a shower now."

Germany did not stop France from leaving as he stared into his own reflection in the lake. Why on earth did Hungary defend me? He wondered, feeling a little bitter and ashamed of himself. He was the cause of Italy's suffering. Not only did I kill him, but I also took his possessions? I should probably return them to Italy, before I say goodbye.

He had to say goodbye, because Italy would only suffer with him around. Not only Italy, but the others who had known him from before. Perhaps France had every reason to try to kill him, to protect Italy.