Here I Am

Chapter 7

"All I asked was for you to keep it down." A familiar Italian voice complained. He paused whatever he was watching -- it looked okay enough from the pause screen, but knowing Luci, it was probably filled with gore and sex -- and turned to face Luther as he walked into the room. 

Luther had locked little Feli in the stone room -- which was located a few hallway turns in the basement, and he hadn't restrained him because he knew he was too weak from pain and just weak in general, to do anything to free himself -- and was just walking into the kitchen. "I know. I don't think you would have done it either, though." He opened a cabinet and glared over at Luci. "You ate my chips!"

Luciano grumbled in response. "You're not me, and of course I did. I said I would, so I did. How does that surprise y-- Hey!" He suddenly shouted as the empty chip bag was thrown at him. He held up an arm in defense, but once the bag fell, he grabbed it, and marched towards Luther. The German laughed. "Oooo, Luci's mad." He taunted. 

The Italian was on him before he knew it. He had thrown the bag in Luther's face, which he easily swatted, but it was just a distraction. The Italian hooked a foot around Luther's ankle and pulled, causing the blonde to fall. Luther hit the ground with a thud, drawing a knife from his boot. Once Luciano was on top of him, straddling his waist, with a dagger at his throat, Luther already had his knife at his stomach. Luther arched a brow, "Call it a draw, pipsqueak?" 

"Sure. Would you like another scar on your face to commemorate your victory?" Luciano replied sarcastically, narrowing his eyes. "Well, if you insist." Luther purred, abruptly grabbing Luci's wrist -- the one with the dagger of course -- with his free hand, twisting it, and rolling over. The only cost being a small prick on his neck. Now their positions were reversed, except Luther had dropped his weapon in order to use both hands to keep Luci pinned to the tile floor. "You never did top well, Luci." 

"Bastard." Luciano cursed, struggling against his grip. The German was larger in build and was always stronger than the Italian. Luci's height never helped him, either. "Surrender, and I'll let go." Luther said, leaning down to where their faces were inches apart. Luciano lifted his head and bit Luther's nose, causing him to recoil and give the Italian the advantage he needed. He was able to free one of his arms and punch Luther in the jaw, and taking advantage of the second weak point provided, he was able to stand and kick Luther's side. He didn't fall but, while trying to stand, did stagger. 

"Stop being a baby and let me watch my shows, will you?" Luciano complained, and before Luther could respond or draw out their wrestling anymore, he walked back to the couch. 

Luther stood, picking up his weapon and storing it back where it belonged, before searching the cabinets for something to eat. Once he had eaten something quick, he left to his room where he would stay for the remainder of the night. 

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Italy spent most of his time when he was alone in that room in the corner.

The stuffy room had eventually gotten a nice breeze of cold air. At first, Italy welcomed it, but when the whole room began to chill, he began to shiver. He figured this could only mean that night had fallen, and tried to conserve body heat. He knew finding his shirt might be of some use to keeping a little warm. 

So, that's what he started doing. He began looking for his shirt, but there wasn't many places to look. The room was small and basic, with the only piece of furniture the wooden chair in the middle of the room. The door that Luther had came and left from -- locked, since he checked -- which he thought to be the only door, was only accompanied by one other door. The color almost matched the wall, so it wasn't a surprise that he'd missed it among the pain in confusion. But all it contained was a toilet and a sink. No shower.

Curling up in one of the corners, Italy tried to keep as little bare skin touching the walls as possible. The walls were colder than the room temperature itself. He wrapped his arms around his small, wounded, frame. The blood was mostly dry, so it didn't bring much warmth. He pulled his knees to his chest and buried his head in his knees. Hunger clawed at his stomach like a beast trapped inside was desperate to get out. 

And amidst all the pain, all he could think about was Germany.

The Italian nation could feel nothing but ambivalent feelings towards Germany. He was confused, oh so confused. At one hand, he knew that Germany would be searching for him. That soon, he would be out of this place, away from Luther, and be convinced that everything Luther had said was a lie. That Germany... That Germany loved him. Italy smiled to himself at that thought, but it quickly faded when he thought of the emotion conflicting with that one.

That Luther's words held truth to them. That Italy wasn't wanted. That Italy was just a puppet, a tool, and a pathetic weakling. He wondered if he was condemned to this horrid room forever, and that he would fade as a country. Eventually. Would he have to endure this torment until then? Would he never see the people that he thought loved him ever again? Would Germany ever be there for him again?

Did he want to know the answers? 

A tremor passed through him as a breeze of colder air passed through the room, and he clenched his teeth as if it would help him stay warm. He sniffled, trying not to cry, but eventually gave in to the tears. He wanted to leave this place, and he wanted to run home to Germany. To the big strong nation that would always protect him. 

With all these thoughts in his head, he didn't find sleep for a long time. The only reason he did fall asleep was because of pain and exhaustion. His sleep filled with dreams and nightmares alike.