I've got some pocky... that's about it.
ooooooooo
A few days before Christmas, 1945 found the eldest of the Italy brothers relaxing before the fire in the sitting room of the house he shared with his brother in Rome.
Though perhaps relaxing was the wrong word for it. Around the fire with him were his old boss, Spain, his brother's old boss Austria and his wife, Hungary. Romano was frankly not entirely happy with the company that they had for Christmas but since the end of the second war they and all of their fellow idiots had fought against each other they had all personally decided that they would never all hurt each like that again, no matter what their bosses said. Very few of the European nations had escaped unscathed and every one of the four around the fire were nursing recent wounds and scars.
Romano stared unseeingly into his spiced wine. A short distance away in their bedroom his brother was asleep. The north of Italy had suffered a lot towards the end of the war and Veneziano hadn't been in good shape. He was much better now, months later, but he still spent far more time sleeping than he would if he were healthy. Romano's fingers tightened on his glass. While his brother's physical health wasn't a hundred percent yet it was his mental health that worried Romano.
He'd learned very quickly that thinking too much about the one who'd made his brother like this only lead to rage he had trouble controlling and left him standing with his fists clenched impotently and a number of things in the room broken.
Around him Spain, Austria and Hungary exchanged significant glances that the Italian completely missed. Romano took a moody sip of his wine before putting it down distractedly. Hungary gave Spain a meaningful look and backed it up with narrowed eyes that suggested pain should he not do what she wanted. Spain smiled thinly and took a deep breath.
"Romano?" he began, "Talk to us, please."
Romano shook his head, "Don't. Just don't."
Spain shook his own head in response; "The three of us probably know the two of you better than anyone else. We understand the two of you best."
Dark eyes narrowed, "Don't tell me you understand us. No one can. We're unique, remember? None of the rest of you are one, unified nation in two parts. None of the rest of you have had the lives we've had."
"Romano…" Spain whispered.
The Italian turned away and stared at a painting on the wall. His brother's, from centuries ago. Veneziano may have always been an easily conquered ditz but he really was exceptionally talented. One of the things that had contributed to the gulf that had sat between them for so long.
Hungary narrowed her eyes again and Austria raised his eyebrows a little, inching ever so slightly away from her.
"Romano!" she snapped, "You will stop feeling sorry for yourself, this instant!"
Romano stared at her in disbelief for a moment before he began to scowl, "I'll feel however I want to feel."
"Which is how?" she asked scornfully, "Do you even know exactly how you feel?"
He blinked slowly, struck when he realised that couldn't easily answer her.
She nodded, "I thought as much," her expression softened slightly, "You're angry. More than anything, you're angry and you're not altogether sure why."
"I know what is currently infuriating me," he said darkly, scooping up his wine again.
"You're angry that he won't talk to you about it," Austria said calmly, ignoring the glare Romano sent him, "You're angry that the two of you aren't as close as you should be. You're angry that he wasn't strong enough to protect himself and that you weren't there to protect him. You're angry because even if you had been there you wouldn't have been strong enough to protect yourself, let alone him."
Austria paused a moment and drank a bit of his wine while Romano stared into his own, glaring at the reflection the dark liquid showed him.
"You're angry because the two have never really known each other, never really been given the opportunity. The two of you remained in the form of tiny children for centuries after everyone else your age, and a number of others younger than you, grew up and attained adult forms. You were repeatedly kicked around, bullied and conquered by the rest of us. As such you spent centuries apart and developed distinct and different personalities. You're angry because, while you love your brother, you don't really know or understand him and you're afraid that you never will."
Romano clenched his right hand to stop it trembling as he brought it down to rest on his leg, "That's- I- I will protect him, even from himself. He's such an idiot, he needs a keeper or he'll run around getting himself into all kinds of trouble."
"I don't question your love for him, Romano," Austria countered, "No one is questioning that. The problem here is that he needs to talk about what happened at the end of the war and he needs to do it with you. But while you're like this he's not going to bring it up."
"He's my brother," Romano insisted, "My other half. He knows he can always talk to me about anything."
"No he can't," Hungary said, almost tiredly, "He is far more perceptive than anyone gives him credit for. He may not consciously see it, but he understands on a deeper level, that trying to have that conversation with you will not go anywhere."
Spain put a hand and Romano's arm, "You know the rules, Romano, you know he had no choice."
Romano tensed immediately and tried to throw off the hand but the grip had suddenly turned to iron. He carefully set down his glass before he lost control, "Don't start. Not this."
Spain all but slammed down his own glass, "Dammit, Romano, this is exactly what we're talking about! You can't take it when someone even hints at bringing up the topic! Don't tell us you're capable of being there for him when it comes to this."
"We are complex entities," Austria mused into the silence that had followed Spain's words, "Our characters are ostensibly representations of the typical characters of our people but we have our own personal traits, our own thoughts and feelings," he rubbed the bridge of his nose, "But when it comes down to it, if our bosses tells us to do something we will do it. We can try and reason with them but if they will not hear it we have no choice," he smiled a little, "When Maria-Theresa decided to ally with France and I couldn't talk her out of it… well, I dreaded the idea of having anything to do with that pervy weirdo. But she told me to."
Romano scowled, "You loved Maria-Theresa, we all know that."
"And we all known he had no love whatsoever for his boss," Hungary said, "But a boss is a boss and we obey them. No question about it. Veneziano knows that, he's hurting but he doesn't blame him, he never would."
"He's an idiot who's incapable of thinking badly about anyone," Romano said tightly, "He'd forgive anyone anything and then let them walk all over him! He needs someone to protect him."
"He's very young," Hungary broached quietly and they all knew exactly what she meant, "Compared to the rest of us. We all know he has a long history behind him but he doesn't remember it. In his current form he's not even a century old. The ability to offer even the slightest bit of resistance to our bosses is something we learn over time. Time he hasn't had. He does love Veneziano."
Romano felt himself trembling with barely suppressed fury, "No."
"Romano…" Spain looked at him with fathomless dark eyes.
Romano shook his head, "No. He didn't even look sorry. How can he love my brother if he didn't even look sorry about what he did to him?"
"He's not one for outward displays of emotion," Spain said heavily, "He doesn't communicate his feelings well. And he closes off completely around those hostile towards him, which you always have been."
No one spoke for a while and awkward silence reigned.
"Have you seen America recently?" Austria said in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.
A new layer of awkwardness descended on the small group. This was not a topic broached lightly.
"He didn't think it was entirely necessary to drop them. He said that beforehand but was shot down. No one had known quite what the damage would be like. How could they have?" Austria looked faintly sick as he continued, "He and England have actually stopped fighting now, their hearts just aren't in it. The last I heard he hadn't eaten any hamburgers since it happened, in fact he's barely eaten at all. I honestly can't imagine him going for more than five minutes without eating."
"Russia told me a few days ago that China has spent every moment since it happened with his little brother, regardless of their being on opposites in the war," Hungary whispered, her voice shaking ever so slightly, "He won't die, of course, but apparently he's in so much pain he spends most of his time in a fevered delirium."
Romano swallowed. His brother had been in a bad way, but at least he'd been spared the fate Japan was enduring.
"Apparently," she continued in that same strained little voice, "Whenever he's been lucid he's always said that he doesn't blame America for it. He knows he had no choice."
"Sometimes," Romano said quietly, staring into the fire, "I wonder what it would be like to be like the people. To be subject only to my own wishes and desires. To be free to tell anyone I wanted to shut up, piss off and leave me the hell alone."
"We've all wondered that," Spain sighed, "Some of us more than others. But it can't be. We are what we are and we have to make the best of it."
Austria smiled a little bitterly, "We all told ourselves we wouldn't ever embark on another war like this again. We convinced ourselves, and each other that we really had a say in it. Deep down we all know we don't. We can tell ourselves whatever we like, but if tomorrow our bosses all told us to fight each other again…" he looked pensive, "The people would probably rise up against it. No one wants more war. That might give us enough support to be able to defy. But I don't like my chances. Or anyone else's."
"The cruellest thing of all," Hungary said, grasping Austria's hand for support, "Is that while we may not have free will, we have thoughts and feelings, wishes and dreams enough to desire it." She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve self-consciously, "So we enjoy what we have while we can, dreading the day when we'll be forced to destroy it."
Romano scowled at nothing for some time while the other three just waited sombrely. Eventually he got up, throwing Spain's hand from his arm as he did so.
He moved haltingly to the wall and stared at the same painting he'd been looking at before. The brush strokes, fine and perfect were familiar to him. Next to something like this his own work was like a pale imitation. His brother couldn't be strong or particularly smart or indeed sensible, but when it came to the arts he was a genius with phenomenal talent. Romano pulled his gaze back from the fine details and looked instead at the subject of the painting. A small herd of tiny children all wearing white played together in a garden. Any one of them would immediately recognise the nations of Europe when they were small. Too small to hurt each other. His eyes automatically sought out the two, almost identical figures just right of the centre of the group. They held hands; the one with the slightly lighter hair had a dreamy smile on his tiny face while the other looked away, a hint of a blush on his face, as if embarrassed or chagrined to admit that he was fond of the other. Japan had referred to him as a tsundere once. After he'd explained the term Romano had realised how right he was. He sighed.
Footsteps sounded right behind him but he didn't turn. Spain placed gentle hands on his shoulders. Romano put his right hand over the one resting on his left shoulder.
"I'm going to go talk to my brother," he said quietly, disentangling himself from Spain and heading through the door that lead to their bedroom.
ooooooooo
*sigh* I suppose I'll go watch some anime now. Sometimes I think I need a life. But then I remember. Anime kicks arse.
Reviews would be appreciated and may inspire me to finish the other Hetalia story I'm writing.