A/N - Ah, wouldn't it be nice to watch fanfiction as a movie? I only say this because me writing a fight scene... well, maybe they shouldn't happen. Lol.

Enjoy and please review!


Italy crept to the large double doors. With a moment's hesitation, he listened. It seemed the meeting had started off well, Germany was the sole muffled voice he heard. His hands were shaky, the doorknobs cold, and his ankle was throbbing. His heart was racing, and Romano was still not there.

When you see your brother again, you are to listen to him like you would for me. Do you understand?

I do, Nonno.

No matter what was happening down below, Italy obeyed. He opened the doors.

The crisp, echoing gunshot hung in the air.


"Was that a gun?"

"Oh, Feliciano, you're finally here."

"Where's Lovino?"

"Did anyone else hear that?"

Italy wobbled into the room from the doorway. Deep, shaky breath. He will be here shortly, he will be here shortly, he will be here shortly. "... I didn't mean it…" he whispered.

"Mean what?" France asked, coming to his side to help him stand.

WHY ARE YOU LYING, YOU IDIOT. YOU'RE SUCH A LIAR. YOUR BROTHER IS DEAD. HE'S DEAD AND IT'S YOUR FAULT. DID YOU NOT HEAR THE GUN? LOVINO IS DEAD, DEAD, DEAD.

He will be here shortly.

"... Feli? What didn't you mean?" France continued, sparing a glance to the others. Slowly, they inched to the two empty seats that belonged to the brothers.

"L-Lovi, I… I told him I- that I hated… h-him and now… And they-! … And he expects me to wait here… He doesn't want us to do anything..." Italy sucked in a breath. The look of alarm on the others' faces broke his heart, but France's calm expression kept him from kicking and screaming to help Romano.

"If he doesn't want us to do anything, then alright."

Spain stood and helped Italy settle down in Romano's chair beside him, coming to crouch beside him. His green eyes were lively and comforting, the hand on his shoulder warm. France was cuffing the fabric of his pants, cold fingertips tracing over his ankle with glowing Water.

And then Italy wondered why he hadn't thought of that. He was a WaterBender, for God's sake, he could have done what France was doing right at that moment ever since it first happened and maybe he would be at his brother's side helping him. Italy was wondering why he hadn't thought of a lot of things. But now he was worried because everyone was just waiting with bated breath for Romano to safely make his appearance.

Suddenly, all Italy knew was that Romano's safety was asking for too much.


Romano very well held his breath.

Blood stained a portion of his body, dripping off his chin from where it streamed from his temple. His green gaze, half-lidded and giving a nasty gleam, watched the man in black.


"There, are you calm?" Spain dared asked, his voice comforting and Italy had to admit it held a fatherly ring to it. A half cup of hot chocolate sat snug on a saucer before him. His ankle only held a fading sting.

Italy didn't answer for a moment. His chest was tight, his throat housed a thousand cotton balls.

"Yes," he whispered.


It was in a flash that Romano leapt up, his legs swinging out and knocking the man to the side. He pinned him to the wall, Romano's forearm pressed against his neck.

"I let you have your fun," he spat, but fell backwards at the fist flying his way. He flipped over, shooting out another swing of his legs. With the collapse of the man, Romano went in for a few hits, only retreating to balance on the railing of the stairs minutes later.

They traveled upwards in a violent fashion, Romano simply dodging every punch and kick and grab. He had to tire whoever this was out.

And he didn't really care who it was.

Just let me have mine.


"... Then answer me this. If in the right position, you're more stubborn than Lovi. What made you leave him behind?" Spain asked.

Italy felt too small for the chair, held tightly with his ankles crossed and his hands in his lap. What did make me leave him behind? "... I don't know…" he whispered. His lips were chapping, his fingers played with a piece of thread on the cuff of his sleeve. He felt numb and empty. Lovi was so calm...

"If you think about it, it's like he got you to believe he could handle it." England said, from a few seats away. He had his chin resting on the palm of his hand. "He hoped you would believe what he said like you always do."

Italy gulped, his eyes stinging. He was tired of crying. He didn't want to do it any more. "W-why would he-?"

"He's your big brother," England continued. "He would do anything to keep you safe."

I remember now. How could I forget?

He promised me that. He promised me a lot of things.


The wall was cool against his neck, his shoulder blades bruising and his pounding head pounding even more.

Now he really couldn't breathe.

The hands were too warm around his neck, his feet couldn't touch the ground.

The hands were too warm around his neck.

The hands were too warm around his neck.

The hands were too warm around his neck.

Romano choked on the beginning of a smirk he didn't want on his face, wriggling and writhing more to inch his hands forward the best he could. The heat of his Fire ignited his fingertips, the sparks warming his sweaty, blood-splattered hands as he grasped what he was searching for.

And then the man was dead.


"Are we sure we should be going about this situation like this? What if Lovino is in more trouble than assumed and needs help?" Japan spoke up, taking note of Italy taking a cautious sip of the cold hot chocolate. It almost spilt when his words hit the air.

It was the looks that Italy tried to ignore. That was what they were all thinking. No matter how much they tried to deny it and believe that Romano could absolutely handle it.

Germany parted his lips to speak. Italy's spine tingled, simply imagining what it could be that he would say. Then what should our plan be? was probably it. The doors flew open.

His drink really did spill then.


Romano held himself tall against the one door. Holding the handle was hurting his hand, blood dripped from his chin.

"Lovino!" sputtered several Nations, racing forward to help him. England and Canada each took an arm around their shoulders, guiding him to whatever free chair was the closest. And Italy was running across the room for him, a new ocean of tears pooling in his longing amber eyes. He was held back by Prussia and Spain, where he collapsed to frustratedly cry in their grasp.

Romano forced himself to ignore his brother's pleas as both France and England went to work on his battered body with their glowing Water that numbed his mind. He had questions just like the rest of them, and with a tired glance to his brother, knew only he had the answers.

When the bullet was carefully removed, it took several agonizing minutes for the headwound to close to a thin line. Any other scrapes and cuts were healed as well.

Italy finally came to his side, though not much had changed except for his wailing dying down to a whimper. A tight embrace, and he burrowed his face against Romano's shoulder.

"I didn't mean it, fratello, I really didn't mean it…"

It took Romano a moment to remember what his brother regretted.

I hate you so much right now.

He had almost missed it, but it rang in his ears as a light whisper from where he had stood on the landing in the staircase. He had his forearm pinned to the man's neck, held him to the wall, with the muzzle of the handgun barely brushing his dark hair. Through his racing heartbeat and jumbled thoughts, he had heard what his brother had said.

He licked his lips, bit gently on the inside of his cheek. "... We can talk about that after I change my clothes. The blood is still wet and it's disgusting as hell. Okay, Feli?" he finally stated, accepting the change of clothes America handed him with his free hand. Where the hell they came from, Romano honestly didn't care. But at least it made Italy smile, and then a breath of laughter passed his lips. His cold little hands stopped grasping Romano's coat, and seemed to give him a light push to hurry up and go, get changed, and come back as soon as you can so your silly younger brother doesn't have a heart attack.

Come back and settle down, enjoy a cup of hot chocolate with me.

Let me hug you. Let Toni kiss you. We love you. You're alive.

Romano came back. He was adorned in a dress-shirt, the color was fitting for his tired eyes, and a vest as dark as the pants he wore.

Italy embraced him in a hug that didn't feel anything like the others they had.