Who Is Italy? Prt 6

Germany snarled outright at Italy's words, not letting them sink in. he couldn't stand the thought that his brother was out there in pain, where he couldn't find him.

Italy just sneered, and tossed something at England, walking upstairs.

Immediately the object is pressed against his eye, but Germany still can't figure out what it is, mainly because it won't stop shimmering.

Before long, Italy was back, this time with four bowls of pasta, the bizarre fork-things already stuck in the food.

He placed a bowl in each of their hands, and sneered again, pulling Germany's arm down so he could feed himself. Without being asked, he answered their questions.

"Now eat up, I wouldn't want you losing your strength. You should save it for all the fun we're going to have tomorrow," and with that, they were alone in the darkness again.

America was the first to react, sitting up and acting like he was just waking up. He turned to England, and looked like he was going to say something, but he didn't. His mouth moved like he was talking, minus his tongue, of course, but no sound came out.

Realization came to England, as he caught a glimpse of the stitches running down his throat, and he made an awkward croaking sound, "Wh-What did he do?" he stammered, mainly to himself.

America on the other hand, glared at England, as if he was bringing up a sore topic. Then he seemed to notice the shimmering object on England's missing eye, and mouthed three more syllables. He looked down, and absently started eating the pasta.

"Be careful, zhe forks are very sharp, unt it is very easy to cut yourself vith zhem," Germany started to say, and America nodded at him, giving an exaggerated thumbs-up so he knew he understood.

With that, Germany struggled to force some of the pasta into his own mouth, trying not to wince when he accidentally deepened the wounds, or started gouging new ones in his cheeks. The others did the same.

Just like last time, the flavor of the pasta was intertwined with the metallic taste of blood, but at the same time, they seemed to be the same flavor. This was a little confusing, and Germany didn't know if that was because he was tired, and all of a sudden he seemed very tired, although it could also be because of the drugs that were running through his body.

After a few minutes of forcing down the pasta, Germany happened to look over and see America struggling a bit,

"Are you alright America?" he asked,

Shaking his head, America started turning blue, and Germany realized he was choking on some food. Unsure of what to do, he called out to England, who then turned to the choking nation, and immediately panicked, and

He coughed out a chunk of pasta onto the floor, and mouthed three syllables at them.

Germany wondered what that could mean, but realized the problem was probably that something had gone down his throat that he couldn't swallow, and he didn't have the tongue to stop it.

"I think I understand," he found himself saying, "You probably need to put small enough zhings you can swallow whole in your mouzh," Just as he realized how insensitive that was and was about to offer an apology, America nodded and pushed his bowl aside as if he was full.

Germany himself was only able to stomach a few more bites before he gave in and let the bowl drop to the floor.

Japan left his own food untouched, and after helping America, England seemed to have passed out on his own hard metal bed.

Germany continued dangling painfully, unsure of what to do. He wished he had some words of wisdom to share with them, but he had none. He wished he could tell them that it wasn't so bad, but in truth he was finding it hard to think of something worse. So instead he remained silent, doing his best to not seem as broken as he felt.