A/N: Based upon a role-play I did with a good friend of mine, so apologies for any possible OOC-ness. Hope you enjoy!
Italy called out from the front door as he adjusted the satchel Japan had given him for his last birthday, "Fratello! I'm going out to town to get some pasta! See you later!" Italy waited to hear his brother's reply before shutting the door and making his way down the path to the town. He wasn't lying. Not really. He probably would end up getting some pasta after visiting the post office. Probably.
Italy sighed. By the time his friends got those letters, they'd have heard the news anyway. It wasn't like he was trying to deceive anyone. Wasn't he allowed to have secrets? Everyone had some, it wasn't shameful. Yet even so, guilt festered in Italy's gut at the thought that…
Well, anyway. It's not like it will be a secret much longer. He shook his head a little, his gravity-defying curl bouncing at the movement and continued down the gritty path.
"Fine, like I care fratello!" Romano shouted back, listening for the closing snap of the front door.
'Finally,' he thought. 'Now I can use his hair straighteners,'
Romano heaved himself off of the sofa and turned off the TV. Knowing his brother's mess of a bedroom, he could be looking for the straighteners for a while. He walked up the stairs, down the hall and into Italy's bedroom, pushing the door open easily (Italy never locked it, the idiota). One look at the room told him he would be there for a very long while. It was slightly less messy than his own room but at least his room was an organised mess – he could always find what he was looking for almost immediately (at least, in Romano's case). Italy's room… let's just say, not even Italy knew where everything was.
Mountains of clothes were stacked on chairs and on patches of floor, so much so that it resembled a rather complicated maze. It's not that there wasn't a wardrobe or chest of drawers – there was, they were both either full or forgotten about. His bed wasn't what you call 'made' but it was fairly clean apart from the pens, pencils and sketchbooks strewn across it. The desk was drowning in stacks of paper, a small laptop and lamp nestled between the two skyscrapers of white, both turned off to conserve power. A few bookshelves lined the wall, crammed with books about Italy, Germany, Japan and other countries along with fiction books of every genre bar horror (the Woman in Black was the newest arrival in the 'Scary Books' box under the stairs). What was left of the floor and wall space was taken up by shelves full of trinkets and souvenirs and boxes of small memories from as far back as a hundred years ago as the bigger stuff went into either the attic or the storeroom.
Romano sighed. One of the boxes must contain the hair straighteners. Romano refused to own a pair himself, insisting that owning them would make him a prissy, teenage girl but that didn't stop him from borrowing Italy's, hating the way his hair tended to curl upwards in high humidity. After rooting around in 3 of the numerous boxes dotted about the room, Romano was almost ready to give up. Looking around, he decided to check the desk drawers before throwing in the towel. Who knows? His fratello might use them more than he thought.
Crossing the room, he pulled open the top drawer. Just some broken pencils and scraps of paper. He tried the next one. Similarly filled. The last drawer was locked so there was no point trying that one. Romano collapsed into the desk chair, huffing out a frustrated breath. Now what? Just then, he noticed a bit of paper poking out of the closed lid of his brother's laptop. Curiosity pricked, Romano glanced around as if expecting Italy to suddenly bounce out the shadows. Satisfied, Romano slid the piece of paper out and realised it was actually an envelope – a letter, addressed to him.
Italia Romano
Romano frowned. Why did Italy (for it was most certainly his brother's handwriting) write a letter to him? If he had to tell him something, he could just say it couldn't he? What was the problem? Unless… A sense of dread filled Romano's stomach, as he ripped open the envelope with slightly trembling fingers. Unfolding the piece of paper, he read through the contents.
[Translated from Italian]
My dearest brother, Romano,
If you are reading this, then you must now be Italy. Full Italy. Congratulations! What an honour! But that also means that, I must not be there right now. You have taken over the North from me and I have died. Please don't be sad, brother. I knew this was going to happen months ago. Venice, the city I'm named after, is sinking. You are named after the capital. It was inevitable. I think Grandpa always meant for you to be the heir. And you always wanted to have more control over Italy. So you should be happy! Now you both have what you wanted.
Romano choked back a sob, "No, Italy, no, this isn't what I wanted…" He continued to read.
I know you must be sad. But please don't mourn for me. Ever since our reunification, we expected that one of our days were numbered. And it was mine. I know everyone expected it to be you. Even yourself. But, that is not the case. It will always be me. For as long as there are two Italy's I will always be the one disappear. So don't be sad, brother. You couldn't do anything.
I had a good life. And I hope to have an even better afterlife! One filled with the same love and hope and friendship I had in life. I couldn't have asked for a better one. Thank you for being my brother, Romano. I love you! See you again, one day.
Your loving brother,
Italy Veneziano.
"No…" Romano's tears dripped onto the paper before it fell from his shaking hands. "NO!" Romano screamed, shoving all the papers off the desk in unrestrained anger. He had to remind himself that Italy was still alive – he could feel the slight tug within himself that was the bond he shared with brother. Italy was alive but for how much longer? He wouldn't, couldn't let his brother die, he just couldn't. He was his brother per l'amor di Dio he didn't deserve to die, he deserved to live long and happily with his bunnies and his paints. But what could he do? Preventing someone from dying would take some serious black magic shi-
Wait. Black magic. Romano ripped his phone out of his pocket and punched the keys faster than he would have thought possible. He knew exactly who to call, "Pick up, pick up god damn it…"
England was interrupted from his fascinating book by a phone call from his mobile. He frowned when he saw who was calling but answered none-the-less,
"Romano?"
"Oh good Arthur right can I ask you a question?"
"Why are you calling me all of a sudden?"
"Shut up and let me ask the fucking questions!"
England rolled his eyes, used to Romano's attitude by now, "Alright, alright. Go ahead."
"I know it's not possible to stop someone from dying if their death is decided and a fixed point in time but I was wondering can you get someone else to die in their place like switch places?"
England blinked, "Okay… Once more… And slow down."
England could hear Romano sigh before he repeated his questions, slower. He sat back in his armchair and mentally went through what he knew, "I'm assuming we're talking about nations dying, yes?"
"Yes," Romano replied, a certain degree of annoyance seeping into his voice.
"Hmmmm… Well, if it's a fixed point in time there's nothing we can do that won't upset the balance of nature…"
"Please just answer the question, can you switch places?" Romano gritted out.
England grimaced in thought, searching his memories for any information on the subject, "A nation can't just take another nation's place, as they are two different nations… Even if you factor in the lost magic… So, no, I don't think two different nations can switch."
"What if they were a part of the same country? What then?"
"The same country?" England put down his book, reaching instead for his spell book and leafing through the pages for the passage about mortality. "Two nations for one country, siblings… Like me and my brothers for example?"
"Ummm, something like that…" Romano sounded uncertain, but England was too wrapped up in reading the passage he needed, to notice.
"Yes, I believe that could work. The sibling would have to be extremely close though, North and South of the country. North Korea and South Korea or you and Veneziano…"A thought just occurred to England, "Romano… Why did you ask me this?"
"Don't ask questions just answer mine! Tell me how it's done." Impatience was evident in Romano's tone.
"Um." England flipped a page, looking for any reference to a possible answer. "I'm not entirely sure. It's never been done as far as I know and if it has it's never been recorded. But, in theory, if the bond is strong enough one sibling sacrificing their life for another should do it. Suicide, in other words…" England frowned deeply, shutting his spell book carefully, "Romano. Is everything alright?"
"Everything is fine," Romano insisted, his forced cheeriness obvious. "Thanks for your help England."
"Er. No problem." England replied, awkwardly, not wanting to pry into what Romano might be worried about.
"Goodbye England… Oh, one more thing," Romano added, as if the thought had only just occurred to him.
"Yes?" England placed his spell book on the table beside him.
"Keep an eye on Italy."
"Why?" England suddenly grew uneasy, the course of the conversation running through his mind. "Romano what are you going to do?"
"Just keep an eye on me fratello stupid tea bastard!" Frustration leaked into Romano's voice, making it crack slightly.
"Romano you better not be about to do what I think you are!" England internally cursed. He'd been so blind! Too caught up in the desire to inform people on magic, too caught up in the desire to be the teacher once again that he completely ignored the reason why Romano would want to know. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
"Goodbye Arthur."
"Romano wait-!"
But it was too late. He'd hung up. "Damn!" England cursed, running a hand through his already messy, blonde hair. What to do, what to do? It wasn't likely Romano would listen to him, he barely knew the boy. And besides, if he was about to do what England thought he was, Romano probably wouldn't even look at his phone. Who was closest then? Who'd be able to get to Romano the fastest? England searched through his phone for Veneziano's number, quickly texting him once he'd located it. He could only hope Italy would get to Romano in time.
Romano hung up, trying to regulate his breathing into something that resembled control, "Okay. Suicide. I can do that. Easy." His shaking hands revealed his inner fear.
Italy Veneziano swung the bag of pasta from his hand as he skipped home happily. A sudden vibrate and alert had him taking his phone out of his pocket, "Ve?" He read the text in confusion,
'Romano's about to do something very stupid I strongly recommend you stop him unless you want one less Italian around. I'm sorry, Veneziano'
His eyes widened and Italy began to run.
Romano dug through his brother's wardrobe, finding what he was looking for quickly. A hand gun. His fratello had never liked them, but Romano had insisted he keep one just in case anything ever happened to him and he couldn't run away fast enough. Romano checked the gun was loaded with no expression, his breathing calm.
Italy was almost home, he had one street to clear, just one. "Hold on, fratello, I'm coming!" he gasped out between his pounding feet and the searing stitch in his abdomen. Please, please don't let him be too late. Dio al di sopra, don't let him be too late.
Romano walked to his brother's desk, taking out a scrap of paper and a pen from one of the drawers. He scrawled a note and placed it on the laptop, addressing it to his brother. He then stands in the middle of the room and presses the gun to his temple. He looked around and sighed. It was a little selfish that he had to do it here – staining his brother's bedroom floor with his blood wasn't exactly the best move. But he didn't think he'd be able to walk out of the room and still have the courage to… He sighed again, whispering into the empty room, "It was never meant to be you, Feli, you have too much to lose… We all have, I suppose." He clicked the safety off.
Italy was on the path to his home. He was here! Finally! He stood on the doorstep for a moment, trying to catch his breath and fit his keys in the lock. They hardly ever locked it but he had to check. It was, thankfully, unlocked.
Romano squeezed his eyes shut as his hands shook violently. He couldn't do it, oh dio he couldn't do it. No, he had to, he had to, for Venziano, for his brother, his fratello. His heart beat wildly in his chest, as if trying to fit another thousand years' worth of beats into a few seconds.
Italy slammed open the front door and shouted for his brother, "Fratello! Fratello where are you?! I'm home, fratello, I'm home!" He hears no reply and dread fills his chest. Was he not loud enough? Some of their doors were quite thick… "Fr-fratello..?
"For you… fratello…" Romano pulled the trigger and fell, the bullet smashing through his skull and killing him instantly.
Italy heard the gunshot and felt an unfamiliar snap of an invisible bond, "No…" He walked up stairs to his room and pushed the door open, staring at the sight before him with watery eyes, "NO…" This couldn't be happening, this couldn't be happening! He sank to his knees beside the broken form of his brother, "Fratello? Fratello you have to wake up now. This isn't funny, fratello, wake up now please. Please? Fratello please you're scaring me. Romano you have to wake up! Why won't you wake up?!" The tears poured down his face as he shook his brother, despite the pooling blood at his temple, "Why…?"
A piece of paper on his desk suddenly caught Italy's eye. He crossed the room and picked it up, "What's this?"
[Translated from Italian]
Brother, it was never meant to be you. You have way too much to live for. Grandpa did mean for you to be heir, don't you dare think otherwise. So many people love you and adore you while so little love and adore me. It would make sense for you to die while I lived, it wouldn't be fair nor right. So, I'm giving you a second chance, Feli. You better not fuck it up, I'll be very angry if you do! I'll come back to haunt you every single day if you do, is that what you want?!
I love you, brother, don't be sad I did this. I did it so you can live but don't you dare think this is your fault! It was my choice, my decision. Goodbye, Feliciano.
Love Lovino
Italy Romano the former Southern half of Italy
P.S: Please tell Antonio that I'm sorry. I love you both.
The tears came faster no, realising that Romano must have found the letter. The letter he wasn't supposed to see yet. Not until after… "No… No, Romano, how could you have done this…" Even as he said it, Italy knew that what his brother had said was right, what he had done had worked. He could feel the strength an entire country of his people gave him, could feel their conflicting personalities and opinions. And then there was a new part. The Southern part, who's culture was different with different opinions, a darker past and a different kind of strength that came with survival. This was what he had to live for. To be the heir his grandfather could be proud of. To stay alive for the people he loved and who loved him. And for the people who loved his brother. This was his second chance and, while he didn't want it, he had to make the most of it. It was what his brother died for.
Italy stood up with a fresh determination. He would have to inform everyone. Organise a funeral. Meet with the people of South Italy. There was so much to do. He would mourn, oh yes, he would mourn. But not right now, not yet. He couldn't go to pieces at the moment.
"Don't worry fratello… I'll make you proud…"
He picked up his brother (an easier task with his new strength) and placed him on the bed. He kissed his forehead, "Buona notte, fratello. Sogni d'oro." He closed the door on the past and took a step towards his future. His second chance.
Fine.
Translations:
Me/ fratello = My/ brother
Idiota = Idiot
Italia Romano/Veneziano = Italy Romano/Veneziano. Italy and Romano's full country names.
Per l'amor di Dio = For God's sake
Dio al di sopra = God above
Oh dio = Oh God
Buona notte, fratello. Sogni d'oro. = Goodnight, brother. Sweet dreams.