Meh, this always makes me sad when I reread it. ; O ;
If you think they're out of character, whatever. I don't care. I think they're in character considering the history of the oneshot.

Edit;
Gah, so many spelling mistakes. D: Sorry about that. They should be fixed now.

A flicker of the finger would end it all. A clench of a knuckle would be the fatal blow. A twitch of a muscle would forshadow death. A blink of an eye and the eyelid wouldn't reopen.
So many ways to say the obvious, so many ways to say the same thing.

-
Romano scoffed lightly at the gun pressed to his forhead as he stared into the eyes of his younger sibling who had a sharpened knife pressed into his neck. Oh how often this situation occurred in their household, one threatening the other in an effort to save the other, even know both the Italian's knew that neither of them would do anything to the other. It was always in the kitchen too, the most filthy, scummy, disgusting part of the house. Where it was possible for mold to grow on what mold shouldn't grow on, everything covered in a filmy dust that smelled like no tomorrow. Yet somehow, the two Italian's had lived in such a house for two, going on three years.

"Put down the gun idiot."
"Put away the knife. Ve."

The two brothers stared each other down daring the other two end this stupid argument. One with the flick of the wrist, the other with a twitch of a finger, they both could end each others lives within the next instants. Both of their faces were so uncharactly unemotional, that one might mistake the two for statues if it wasn't for the elder Italian's trembling and the younger Italian's small swaying motion. However to both their dislike, their eyes betrayed both of their emotions. Lovino's, bloodshot amber with a dead like stare, yet they were glassy from unshed tears. Feliciano's an equally glassy amber, but instead contradicted by a dark, uncaring look in the depths of his pupils. They both had their own not-so-secret secrets they refused to admit to each other, no matter how dark both were or how obvious the secrets were to one anther. The newly cleaned and full syringe and medical band in Romano's free hand told his side of the story, and the leather get up and riding crop that Feli had in hand told his.

Their situations were so different, yet so alike at the same time.

Romano hated Feli for what he did on those streets, what he did to put that cash in his pocket, what he did for whoever happened to have the right amount of cash. It sickened him, made him want to shove Feli's face into a pot of boiling holy water and bring back his innocent, annoying, pasta loving brother he had always grown up with. The one he had always wanted to be like since he could never live up to everyone's elses standards. How eveyone always chose his younger brother over him, it flashed back to so many painful memories that Romano just wanted to end this arguement so he could hide away in the corner of his room and escape from all this sadness and pain with the ticket to happiness in the syringe. But there was no way he could do anything to hurt Feliciano. The elder Italian, as much as he hated being the second fiddle to him, just wanted his brother back, and not this unemotional bondage slave who brought the money home so they could eat. Even if they actually only ate very little.

Like wise, Feliciano absolutely despised what Lovino had become, some lifeless drug addict living past his time. How he'd come home and swipe what ever left over money was on the table and go off to buy whatever he could. Whether it be crack, heroin, meth, or just the simple joint of pot, he would always come home with something and hoard away in his room to use it all in one night. How he had not overdosed by now was nothing short of a miracle, although it was more a curse now. His brother was to the point where he needed something everyday just to stop trembling constantly, which he was doing currently, making the knife slowly, but surely dig through the younger Italian's own pale flesh. Feli hated how Romano knew what he was getting into when he started, like he wanted to see if it would kill him like it did everybody else. It made the younger Italian want to sit down and sob on the inside, begging him to stop. But he had stopped that long ago, and wasn't going to revert out of his statue like stance, pressing the gun into his brother's forehead, until something was accomplished.

"Get this fucking gun out of my face Feliciano." Lovino snapped coldy, challenging his brother as his bloodshot eyes stared into the other's dull ones. The younger sibling didn't even flinch.

"Get that damn knife out of my neck Lovino." He snapped back, returning the challenging stare, already knowing that neither of them would actually give in until the other did. The swear felt like poison on Feli's tongue, his innocent ways still playing their part, punishing him for saying something as bad as 'damn', when his brother was always one to say something three times as worse.

"Fucking make me." Lovino hissed, gripping into the handle of the blade.

"Lovi.." Feli's voice had softened, and Romano glared back at the sound of his old nickname.

"Lovi nothing. Get that gun out of my face you skank." The amount of venom in the elder Italian's voice, he might as well have slapped his brother with a crowbar.

"Not until I break that needle you good for nothing drug addict." The bitterness in Feli's wasn't as severe as his brother's, but bitter enough to equal a smack back.

"Puttana." The younger Italian bit his lip at the word, forcing his knees to not buckle and send him pitifully crashing to the floor sobbing. There was always worse words for his 'profession' then his brother's.

It hadn't always been like this for the two of them. Most of the time, Feli would hit the streets, come home and shower, then go to bed without a word to Lovino. Lovino would swipe the cash, hit the streets, and hole up in his room til the next morning, where they may have had the chance to say hello to one another during breakfast. And it had been different even before that. Before that one mafiatic incident, because of that one hold up, because of that one mistake, their lives came crashing down around them. Soon enough, there wasn't enough money for food, and the elder Italian was swiping every dollar off the street he could find. It was only natural Feli look out for his brother and get a second job to help keep food in the fridge. Even if that second job made Romano hate him even more than he ever had in his life. It made no difference as long as they were alive. But that made another question rise in their minds.

Did they really want to be alive now?

"Y-You-" The stuttering was Romano's chance to take control of the situation and insult his brother even further.
"Slut. Prostitute. Sleeze bag-"

"Stop it Lovino, you worthless piece of trash." Feli shouted, as an attempt of self defence as his vision fogged over with unshed tears. Even though anger boiled down in the pit of his stomach, he still could not muster enough anger to actually say anything insulting as 'shit', his language was now going to stay clean no matter how ugly it got. His finger so desperately wanting to curl around the trigger, yet at the same time, not wanting to. The younger sibling stood their in a turmoil of emotion, trying to figure out what he wanted to do.

"Or what Puttana?" Romano hissed, narrowing his bloodshot eyes, making him look like some kind of demon. Feliciano mearly closed his eyes and let out a shuddering sigh as he let free the tears in his eyes, which rushed down his cheeks instantly.

"Nostro Padre Santo, Noi te preghiamo di guarire la famiglia di Vargas..*"

"...S-stop." Romano's trembling worsened and his eyes widened showing off more of that forever red stained cornea, and the knife was drifting so dangerously close to the younger Italian's jugular vein, yet the younger sibling continued on without flinching in the slightest.

"Aiuti noi a fare la tua volontà...*" He whispered, staring down at Romano with dull, glassy eyes. The prayer had gone down to a whisper as his throat began to close off from the combination of the knife and his own emotions.

"D-Damn it Feliciano! I don't want to hear this! S-Stop!" Dignity was no longer important to the elder Italian now. He couldn't bare to hear the words of the prayer they used to say so long ago. The one that Grandpa Rome had taught him to teach Feli. It made his heart want to burst to hear his sibling recite it so perfectly, despite the lives they currently held. It was like someone had dunked his head in a bucket of ice water, the way his blood in his head suddenly ran cold with guilt, shame, and and a just plain ugly feeling washing over him.

"Noi te preghiamo per tuo amore, per tue benedizioni, per tua salvezza...*"

There was no response from Lovino now, just the desperate, red eyed Italian biting his lip trying to hold back sobs. The water works had already begun to erupt from him, and the frustration in his mind grew as his brother continued the prayer.

That stupid prayer they had made so many times as kids. The one thing that Anotonio had said he didn't need to everspeak in Spanish. The one thing that he and Feli had always managed to do together until the last three fucked up years of their lives. He felt the warm blood from his brother's neck flow between his fingers as the knife dug in deeper. But the younger Italian's voice stayed strong, even at the whisper.

"Io te li prego nel nome di Tuo Figlio..*"

Romano's sobs filled the room and he dropped the syringe in his hand, and clenching into Feli's shirt, his knees buckled and sent both of them down to the floor. The butcher's knife, still in Romano's hands, found it's way horizontally across his sibling's neck and he pressed down as hard as he could until he feel a heavy lead bullet rip through his chest and the bang emit from under him. Lovino let out a gag as his airway was cut off, and that indescribable feeling of his insides begining to stop working, his blood pooling on top of his brother's chest. Despite the fact that both the Italians were now coughing up blood and on the verge of death, they managed to finished the prayer together.

"Eterno, Noi te ringraziamo.*"

The corpses lay on top of each other, growing cold and grey as blood continued to spill from their bodies. Feliciano's neck, seeped and sprayed blood onto the already dirty ceramic tile as Lovino's head smashed down into the butcher knife, wedging it further between the younger sibling's vertebrae. Romano's mouth dripped the crimson liquid onto the knife's handle and the shot in his chest pooling ontop of Feliciano's chest and down to the floor, where it mixed with Feli's own pool of blood. It was the sibling's eyes however, that didn't fit the horrible scene in that kitchen. Romano's amber eyes, although currently bloodshot, were half closed in a loving manner as they stared lifelessly down at his brother. Feli's, half closed in the same sort of contentment, stared back up at the elder Italian's.

It was like a bittersweet twist to their ugly demise.

Translations-

Puttana = Whore

[ Translations for the Prayer ]
* Our Heavenly Father, We pray that you would heal the Vargas family
**Help us to do your will..
***We pray for your love, your blessings, your salvation.
**** I pray this to you In the name of your son...
***** Lord, We thank you.