A/N: This is an idea that's been stuck in my head for several days. I have an idea for a series of oneshots, and I say oneshots because there'd be too much time jumping for it to be a cumulative story, but in all it'd be a rather angsty set of oneshots.

Summary: He wasn't a hero, he was a big brother. No matter what anyone said.

Genre: Angst/Tragedy/Family/Friendship

Pairings: There's only one actual pairing, and it's Spamano obviously.

Warnings: A bit of yaoi at the end, OCs, character death

World: Futuristic canon-verse (nations)

Important Note: I haaaaate making canon characters be the villains, so the villains in here are OCs.

Yes, well... enjoy?

SS Out~

No one expected World War Three. And truly this was the first ever true World War. Every country who had any type of military was involved... even Switzerland took a side.

It was the entire world versus three young volcanic island countries.

It was 2052 when Sibolna popped up, followed by her sisters Shilona and Seloka in 2084 and 2107, respectively. The three of them were beautiful; they had dark skin and long flowing black hair. Sibolna had eyes the colour of the ocean, Shilona had eyes the colour of grass, and Seloka had eyes the colour of honey. No one expected any of the beauties to be as vicious, cruel, and utterly powerful as they turned out to be.

In 2204, Sibolna and her sisters declared war on the Italy brothers, pulling Germany, Prussia, Spain, and France into it through alliances. Then, after a nasty attack on France, England had declared war in the name of Great Britain instead of all of the United Kingdom, but all of his brothers followed suit anyway. Of course this pulled Canada into the war, who even in the twenty-third century was dedicated to his former mentor, and the United States followed.

And so the story goes, by the time 2220 came, World War Three was in full swing with the entire world, every country that had yet to be conquered, fighting against the three female nations.

They were so strong, it was hard to believe it wasn't all a nightmare.

For the elder Italy brother, though, the nightmare hadn't even really started yet. So far in the war, he hadn't been let out into the battle field to help. Spain would tell him it was too dangerous, he'd get hurt or worse! Germany said both he and Veneziano were too weak, but still let Veneziano out onto the battlefield. England simply said he didn't know how to fight well enough to go into battle, and, ever the froggy pervert bastard he was, France flat-out said he was too selfish to be on the field.

Romano knew they were all right... but the ones that really got to him weren't any of those.

Mi tomate, be serious for once, you're not nearly strong enough to fight!

I'm sorry, lad, but the simple fact is that we don't need you out there.

Vhy vould ve need you? Ve have dein Bruder!

Face it, Romano, you're too weak, dude. You can't be the hero.

I agree with America-san. I aporogize, Romano, but you aren't very reriable...

Those words had plagued him the entire war.

Then, finally, in March of 2267, the final battle came. At the time they didn't know it'd be the final battle, but it was.

It was also the first time Romano was able to convince them to let him fight, alongside Spain, Germany, and Veneziano.

They had been hesitant... so hesitant... and hundreds of years later, Spain still regretted it.

What happened March 22nd, 2267?

It was raining heavily on the field. Nations littered the ground, including Sibolna's younger sisters. They had fallen, unconscious, laying in a muddy puddle of their own blood.

Only one nation still stood, a smirk marring her beautiful face and twisting it hideously. She walked around. "You know, I 'ad 'oped you freaks would give me more of ah fight," she laughed, her accent lilting on every word. "Looks like I win."

Romano lifted his head, teeth clenched. He watched as Sibolna approached Italy Veneziano, and his fists tightened in the bloody mud.

All ve need is your Bruder. Ve don't need you.

He watched as Sibolna grabbed Veneziano's soft, auburn locks in her hand and yanked him up into a kneeling position. "It's funny, all I wanted was you and your brother... and now I have the whole world!" Sibolna laughed. She dropped the sword she had been using for close range and pulled an automatic handgun out of her pocket.

Don't be silly, mi tomate! She uses close range weapons as well, so I should too. What? Of course you don't understand, Roma~ Don't worry about it, you'll never have to fight her yourself.

Beside Romano, Spain lay, half unconscious due to the severity of his own wounds. No one could move to save Veneziano. Germany was right beside Vene, if he moved he was dead... Japan was nearly unconscious and China was almost gutted, barely hanging on to life as it was. Russia- even Russia had fallen to Sibolna. No one knew how. It just happened. The Russian nation was completely unconscious.

Everyone else was in much the same situation. Romano grimaced, feeling a horrible pain in his chest and abdomen. Breathing was getting harder and harder. He was sure something had hit his lung.

"Why was everyone so desperate to save you two anyway?" Sibolna laughed, her back to the useless older brother. There was a flash of lightning, and the resulting thunder accented her cruel laughter. "You're both so useless."

Romano knew his gun was empty, and so was Spain's. If they weren't, he'd have already shot that bitch... but nations don't die that easily, it'd take several bullets through the brain- or even the heart- to kill them. Especially Sibolna, who had gotten away with only a few shots to non-lethal places.

"So, Itiriyu," she mocked in her native language, "how does it feel to lose to the amazing me? I am pretty damn amazing..."

She was monologuing. Romano felt like screaming at her. Everyone knew you didn't monologue until after your prey was dead and you won the war.

"...and now you'll all have to die by my hand, all because everyone got involved in our business..."

Romano's eyes fell on Spain's axe, the one from his pirate days. It was Spain's close range weapon, he'd held it in one hand while holding a gun in the other. It was half buried in mud and covered in blood, though it was Spain's own and Seloka's.

The southern half of Italy's eyes trailed back to the monologuing Sibolna. Then back to the axe.

You're not a hero. Face it, Romano, you'll never be a hero.

No, he thought suddenly, clenching his teeth. I'm not a hero. But I am a big brother... and fuck all if some new country bitch is going to kill my little brother!

Adrenaline rushed through him, and, completely ignoring the pain screaming at every movement he made, he started pulling himself to his knees.

That's my brother. I won't let you have him. I'm his brother. You can't have him.

He repeated this in his mind like a mantra and grasped the hilt of Spain's axe.

More lightning flashed.

That's my brother. I won't let you have him. I'm his brother. You can't have him.

Romano's eyes wandered to Spain, who was looking at him with wide eyes. He put his fingers to his lips, to say 'be quiet', and gripped the heavy axe with both hands and stood up.

His breath hitched and, drawing in a breath, he held it. She'd hear his raspy breathing coming closer.

Other nations watched him with their eyes, surprised. Romano, despite the pain, concentrated on walking. He felt a hand grab at his ankle, trying to stop him, but the grip was weak and he easily shook it off.

That's my brother. I won't let you have him. I'm his brother. You can't have him.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the field and her voice was ringing loudly with the thunder. Her victory speech, with only the lightning and thunder trying to warn her she had not yet won.

But she wasn't listening.

That's my brother. I won't let you have him. I'm his brother. You can't have him.

Romano's torn lungs were burning. He needed to breathe, but he had to wait just a few more seconds.

He walked carefully, so the mud didn't squelch beneath his ripped and bloodied boots, until he was right behind her. Then he lifted the axe.

That's my brother. I won't let you have him. I'm his brother. You can't have him.

The lightning that flashed behind him, her final warning, didn't deter him. But... She saw his shadow. She immediately dropped Veneziano and whirled around, lifting the automatic handgun and shooting right at his heart, hoping the force of the bullets would knock him away...

But it was already too late. Spain's axe, wielded by South Italy, cut right through her shoulder and down through her chest, through her heart, as though her bones didn't even exist. The elder nation didn't release the axe, and he stared right into Sibolna's shocked eyes.

Romano knew he was going to die. But he needed to hold on, just for a little longer.

As Sibolna opened her mouth, as though to scream, she started disappearing into dust, flying away on the wind. Romano smirked, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"Looks like I win."

It was mumbled so quietly, only Sibolna and Veneziano should have been able to hear it over the sound of the rain. But, instead, it carried over the entire battlefield, and every conscious nation heard those words, the words that ended the war.

A flash of lightning, a crash of thunder, and then... Sibolna was gone. The Italian dropped the axe to the blood-covered ground and collapsed into the mud himself. He was only half a nation; he was South Italy, not Italy. He couldn't take as much as Spain could... the six or seven bullets to his heart was too much for his body to handle. Romano wasn't an idiot; he knew he was disappearing.

Suddenly, a strangled cry filled the air and Veneziano was at his side, crying. "Romano!" he cried out, trying to stop the bleeding. "Romano, why did you do that?!" Vene wasn't an idiot either. He knew his brother was dying. He knew his brother was dead.

"What? And... and let her... kill you and... the entire world?" Romano panted, pain clear in his voice. "I couldn't let... let her... kill you, Vene... I'm your big brother..."

"I don't care, now you're going to die!" Veneziano cried, almost hysterical.

"I would have... died either way, Vene.. Veneziano," Romano pointed out. Before Veneziano could respond, someone else dropped down at his side. Germany had helped Spain walk over. Romano almost wished he hadn't; Spain looked terrified.

"Roma!" Spain looked at Romano's eyes. Then he noticed Romano looked a little...

"Romano!" Veneziano cried, noticing his brother was slowly starting to disappear. "Romano, don't leave! Please!"

"Shut up, I woul... I wouldn't if I h.. had a fucking choice..." Romano coughed out. He had things to say, he needed to hold on just a little longer... "Vene, t-take c-care of... of our people... Potato bastard!" he coughed. "G-Germany..." he said quietly, the first time he had ever, in the hundred of years he'd known him, called the younger nation by his real name. "Take c-care of my brother, dammit... or else I'll... I'll come back and... haunt your stupid potato ass... g-got it?" Germany nodded slowly, feeling a bit numb. He never imagined Romano of all people dying. It had never once crossed his mind that, in this war, it would be Romano, not Veneziano, dying.

Romano turned his eyes on Spain. It was the last thing he wanted to say. He struggled into a sitting position, aware that he was disappearing and the laws of physics would no longer apply soon. "Y-you, tomato b.. bastard," he gasped out in pain. "You're blind, you know th-that, r-right?" Spain stared at him, really upset. "I... Th-thank you... a-and..." Romano grabbed the front of Spain's shirt and pulled him into a quick, chaste kiss, ignoring the blood on their lips and the fact that he himself was disappearing. "T-ti amo... Spagna..."

"Dude..." a voice reached his ears, and he clenched his quickly disappearing fists. "You sure proved me wrong... you are a hero..."

"I'm not a hero," he growled. "I'm just a brother..."

And then Romano was gone, leaving behind only a devastated Spaniard, a sobbing younger brother, and the stunned expressions of the entire world.

Veneziano reached towards the sky, where he could still see Romano's ashes flying away in the unnatural wind, undeterred by the rain. "Fratello!" he cried. "Come back! Romano!" His voice choked with sobs. "Romano! Please don't leave me! Romano!"

As Germany hugged the sobbing, screaming Italian, Spain stared wide-eyed at the mud and blood, the only proof now that Romano, his tomate, had ever been there on that field.

The war was over, and yet, there was no celebration. No cheers and hugs, no kisses from lovers and loved ones.

The war was over... but instead of celebrating, the whole world mourned.