Genre: Angst & Tragedy

Pairings: None, hint of Spain&Romano

Summary: It's been 20 long years, and the idea of returning back to Italy is frightening. Just thinking about the past back in Italy is traumatizing. But Romano bears it all and reunites with his brother, only to find that his place is no longer needed, no longer there.

Warnings: Unbeta-ed. Probably some grammar and spelling mistakes too that I didn't notice.

Smother

A tragic songfic

April 13, 20XX

No—Romano was not fidgeting, and he most definitely was not sweating to the point that his palms were clammy and slick with perspiration. No. No. That is not what was happening. In fact, he was not on an airplane at 4AM one Thursday morning to catch the first flight to Italy. Yes, he certainly was NOT doing all those things mentioned above. He was still delusional from the drugs he took that last Sunday. It was the high, hallucinations, his mind playing tricks on him. Afterall, he spent four months coming up with excuses after excuses to avoid this inevitable journey. Journey back home.

Home.

That was such a nostalgic term. One that Romano has never used to refer to anything as, not even his shack back up at Canada, secluded by tall buildings, old architectures, and mazes of back street alleyways. Home was where tragedy was. Home was where everything started. And Romano would be damned if he let himself sink into the past again. After years and years of rehabilitation when he had that first reminisce, he was not looking forward to another psychoanalysis. No one needs to understand him, he doesn't need to understand himself. All he needs to know is to not think about such things, a stupid past that fucked him all up in places that he's shoved in the back of his mind and heart, into every dark crevice where no one, and he means no one, can touch, feel, or know about. Every dark hour spent just thinking about the past makes him want to retch, in hopes that those dark contents will spill their way out of his body and never be known, seen, or remembered by him and anyone else. Those wretched memories.

April 14, 20XX

It isn't until noon the next day that he arrives at sunnyside Venice and somehow Romano's overwhelmed by everything. Maybe it's because he hasn't been back in years and the changes that have taken place are starting to resonate his past memories of the place.

Romano drops his luggage, squatting down and holding his head like a cornered kitten as he mumbles obscenities about stupid pasts and stupid Feliciano. After what seems like an entirety and curious stares from passerbys, Romano lifts his head, resting his chin on his propped up knees and inhales deeply. His eyes close and he simply sits there for awhile before gathering his bearings and sending glares, that would send the Pope weeping his underpants, at any onlookers. Just like how he always does after an episode, he shoves the experience into a dark corner in his haunted mind to forget and never remember about.

Grabbing his luggage, Romano continues on his trek towards his destination. After lugging around a huge suitcase for some three hours and cursing every damned tourist that dared to bump into him, Romano arrived. His hazel eyes glimpse at the house before him briefly before lowering, and he gulps. Sneaking a slight peek again at the delicate, yellow house again sends Romano through a vortex of memories he's tried so hard to forget. Gasping inaudibly, he turns his gaze back to his shoes and shuts his eyes tight. So tight that some wetness spills from his eyes that most likely resembles unshed tears. With clenched fists, jaw, eyes, Romano barges through the fence surrounding the quaint house and marches up to the front door that is spotlessly white and bright. Knocking rather loudly than he intended to, Romano lifts his head to stare at the door. His eyes slowly trail towards the mailbox to the right, glued to the wall, with letters inscribed 'Vargas.'

Romano snorts at that, finding that somehow amusing with his current circumstances. The door opens and Romano turns, angry words ready to spill from his lips. However, upon seeing a tall brunette—with the most earthy eyes he's ever seen—Romano goes speechless. The brunette also goes quiet and even seems a bit surprised. Somehow those anxious feelings that he was feeling, on the plane before it departed, emerge again and this time it isn't even about confronting Feliciano but some stranger that is hot, sexy, and beautiful.

The stranger seems to snap out of his stupor before Romano and greets him with wide, dazzling smile that sends Romano's heart into cardiac arrest. Blushing deeply from having such a radiant smile directed at him, Romano turns around and decides to leave. Somehow he can't even think coherently. Perhaps he was still affected by those drugs, or Feliciano gave him the wrong address, or he knocked on the wrong house because… Because…

'There is no way that such a hot Spanish man lives in that house!'

Rushing quickly towards his only exit, ready to bolt it as soon as he rounds the bend of the gate, Romano stumbles—just like how he always does because he's such a stupid fuckin' klutz like that—and his arms, hands, scramble for purchase, anything to stabilize his idiocy and save himself from looking like a fool in front of the Spaniard that's probably still staring at him from behind.

A hand reaches out to steady him, one clasping Romano's hand in theirs as their other placates itself on his hips to hold him upright. Such intimate contact sends Romano reeling back and falling backwards now, however his back meets the chest of someone warm, taunt, and strong. Romano blushes deeply again, somehow aware that it's the Spaniard man from earlier.

"Easy there, amigo. You ok?"

His voice is deep, manly, and overwhelmingly turning on Romano. With arms wrapped around his waist to steady him, Romano can't help but blush even deeper and tilt his head down to avoid being seen in such a embarrassing state.

"I think you're crowding him, mon ami." A second voice responded, sounding suspiciously French—and how Romano hated French people, not as much as wicked Germans though.

"Ve~~ Toni, didn't you say you'd get the door…?" A familiar voice filters in, and Romano can't help but snap his head up and crane his neck around the Spaniard man to look for that familiar figure. The one that brought him here in the first place.

Feliciano is taller than he thought. His hair is longer than he'd imagined. His eyes a lighter shade, skin a darker shade, hair browner, figure skinnier, and somehow everything he'd thought about in the last 20 years seem to fly out of the window, all logic dispersed. Feliciano was obviously no longer the 4 year old he remembered, but still… Somehow the differences were so significant and Romano wondered if maybe he was mistaking this unknown male for his brother.

"Ve… Who is that?"

Yeah, he wasn't his little brother. Most definitely not. Even if they had similarities, there was no way his brother would not know who was. Resigning himself, Romano pulls away from the embrace of the Spaniard and picks up his luggage, resuming his trek out of there with head bent down, bitter feelings swirling.

The three continue to talk as Romano makes his way towards the gate with heavy steps.

"No idea. Maybe he's got the wrong house." The Frenchman answered, shrugging his shoulder indigently.

"I don't know… But I was a bit surprised. He looked a lot like you, Feli." The Spaniard replied, scratching the back of his head as he held a thoughtful look.

Somehow Feliciano's expression changes quickly from, confusion to horrified excitement. The Italian drops his spatula he was holding up and runs, runs incredibly fast towards the retreating figure.

"Fratello~~~" Feliciano beams, as he launches himself at Romano, sending both of them crashing.

Shocked by the sudden contact, Romano shoves the person perched on top of him and turns to glare fiercely at the person that dared push him down. His glare falters though, upon seeing that familiar, idiotic smile.

"Tch. Took you long enough to notice…" Romano states, casting his head downwards to hide his blush and blooming smile.

Upon acknowledgement, Feliciano envelops his brother in a hug, looping his arms under Romano's arms and around his torso.

"Ve~~~ It's been so long!" Feliciano exclaims, his hug turning fierce and breathtaking.

Romano bears with it, because somehow, this hug is so comforting and heartwarming that is almost sends him into an overflowing fit of flooding dams.

"Unn… It has… It has…" Romano murmurs, returning the hug by placing his hand lightly on his brother's shoulder.

April 18, 20XX

Over the past few days, four to be exact, Romano has slowly adjusted himself to the routine of his brother's. The four other people that live with Feliciano weren't the best, however, Romano realized.

Francis, the annoying, perverted Frenchman that had groped him that first time, is an annoying pest. He is always flirting and touching his brother in inappropriate places and times, how his brother does not notice is beyond him! The pervert is apparently a distant relative of theirs—to Romano's disgust—that came to live here because of rising tuition. Such a lie. It made Romano wonder why the hell that pervert is still here even after having graduated already.

Gilbert, the loud-mouthed albino that did not know the word 'SHUT-UP.' The idiot was so loud that you could hear him even from the street across the house. He's always drinking beer and leaving a mess behind to clean. Such a dirty slob. How can his brother put up with such a person?!

Ludwig, the damned idiot's brother and his brother's lover?! Romano wanted to throw-up when Feliciano told him that the two of them had already… Already… Dio mio, his brother made him related to Germans. GERMANS! A horror that he'll have to live with for the rest of his life! Not to mention, the potato bastard has nothing but fuckin' muscle that's disgusting and creepy. He'll crush his brother without anyone knowing! Such an uptight bastard too, always acting like a stick is shoved up his ass! Why does is brother have such poor taste?

Antonio, the hot, sexy, beautiful, Spaniard that embraced him that day. Buon Dio, he was such a work of art, physically! The bastard is such a dimwit, an airhead, an oblivious fool! Sometimes Romano wonders if he's talking to a 5 year old, because really, that dumbass' knowledge in grasping the flow of conversation was below that on a newborn! Did Antonio happen to go dense like that because of his brother?

The house was always rowdy and noisy, but Feliciano seemed to have no problem with that, much to the annoyance of Romano. Though he was also in a relationship, his idiotic brother had no qualms about the other occupants in the house touching him intimately. The potato bastard, on the other hand, seemed quite uncomfortable and surprisingly irritated when anyone but himself touched Feliciano. Even Antonio was overly affectionate with his brother. Not that he minded! That idiota could touch his brother all he want, he had to control over dictating who he was suppose to touch—not that he would want the Spaniard to touch him!

Nor was he envious of his brother. But sometimes when everyone would be in the living room talking and watching television and Feliciano suddenly gets up to make dinner… The whole crowd would follow him into the kitchen like a bunch of eager children—or hungry sharks from Romano's point of view—and cling to him as well as his every command. Romano would remain in the living room with Ludwig, just watching the interaction from his position on the couch, until Ludwig gathers enough courage and abruptly stands to fend off the men from his lover. Even then, Romano would still stay glued to his position. Too afraid to approach his brother's circle and too afraid to ever do anything.

It's not like he could help anyways. Cooking was never his forte, except for the prepping because Romano liked to think he diced as well as those professionals—plus his previous bedmate had commented on it, saying something along the lines of how delicate and smooth he made cooking seem. But Romano wasn't cooking that morning, at least not in his terms, because cooking was when—

'When everyone comes together to make a meal filled with hard work and love.' A feminine voice echoed, sounding strangely familiar and warm, full of love and care.

Romano curled his legs into his chest from the eerie, yet nostalgic voice, slamming his forehead into his knees as the echo of her voice ringed in his head, bringing forth an uncomfortable ache in his head and chest. Wheezing and rocking himself gently back and forth as he clutched himself, Romano closed his eyes as the rom began to spin and voices began to fill the room. Dio, it was the drugs again… But he hadn't taken any since that night before his departure here…?

Fuckin' hallucinations again. They always went away though, no worries. So long as he kept sane and rocking himself back and forth, they always quelled down to nothing but soft whispers here and there.

Forgetting where he currently was, Romano began to mumble gibberish as his swaying escalated. It almost seemed as if he would totter over the edge of the cou—

CRASH!

Gilbert looked up from his inspection of the cabbage upon hearing a loud noise from the living room. Looking at the other occupants in the kitchen, they all seemed occupied with their task and oblivious to the crashing sound.

"Oh well,' he thought, maybe he was imagining things like his brother always said.

Romano sat up, clutching the side of his head with his free hand as the other used the coffee table as leverage to lift himself into a sitting position. The throbbing was intense, having smacked the side of his head against the living room table HARD. Although the voices stopped, his head was hurting even more than before. The ringing even got louder, bordering on a high-pitch scream that left his ears bleeding.

Clutching his injured head, Romano stood slowly, unsteadily swaying as the room spun even more. Inhaling deeply and slowly as he simply stood there, Romano removed his hand to inspect it for any blood. None. Feeling somewhat relieved he wasn't bleeding mercilessly on his brother's floor, Romano slowly made his way in the opposite direction of where everyone was. Approaching the stairs, Romano slowly ascended up the flights as he gripped the railing to stabilize himself. Once he reached the top, he leaned on the wall and slid down it. His breathing was irregular and frantic, like the times when he was withdrawing. Blinking fiercely, Romano gulped in as much air as possible to get his burning lungs and racing heart to calm. Unable to do so, Romano clutched at his chest, fisting his shirt and crinkling it in the process.

'Fuckin' piece of shit, heart…'

Attempting to stand again, Romano's hands scrambled for purchase on the wall to help him onto his feet. Now upright, he made his way albeit slowly to his room. Once inside—and safe from unwanted attention—Romano fell forth onto his knees as he keeled forward, the injured part of his head supporting his entire weight as his hands clutched at where his throbbing heart was.

The pain was unbearable. It was a burning, aching, stinging kind of pain that alternated between the three whenever it pleased. When burning Romano felt as if his entire body was on fire to the point of incinerating to ashes. When it was aching, the tears would flow continuously from his eyes as if he was swallowed by some unknown grief. And when it was stinging, it would itch all over and Romano would find one of his hands unclenching to claw at his chest, throat, face or anywhere to attempt to ease the overwhelming pain. It was a continuous cycle until his throat grew parched, heart returned steady, eyes stopped dilating, and pain dispersed all together to a sweet, soft, aching that was almost tranquil in a sense.

Rolling over, Romano attempted to catch his breath as he stretched his arms forward to inspect any injuries. Although he was severely shaking, Romano deemed himself safe now from the hallucinations, unexplained pain, and himself. It was difficult getting through those episodes years ago, but now Romano can safely assume that he's conquered them instead of being conquered by them.

'This episode was different than all his other ones though.' Romano thought, his eyes boring holes into the ceiling—but it was just the aftermath of his episode, seeing dark splotches or random patterns whenever he blinked.

Perhaps it was because he came back, home. Although a few things did change, the majority of the house remained the same from how it was 20 years ago. His room was obviously re-decorated to wipe his existence, but everything else was preserved as much as possible.

'Probably Feli's doing…' Romano snorted as an after-thought.

Read&Review.

It's a one-shot in two chapters. If you haven't listened to the song, you should—Smother by Daughter. It's a very bittersweet song and I just loved it so much that I wrote an fanfic about it with my OTP. ;}