Chapter 2

"Hey, Italy. I saw Antonio's car parked outside, is he here?"

Feliciano turned towards the albino man, a blue patterned teapot grasped in his left hand.

"Yes, he's upstairs with Romano. Poor Big Brother has fallen ill. He almost collapsed earlier; I'm worried about him, but I know Spain will take good care of him" he told the Prussian, not paying attention to what he was doing.

"Feliciano, be careful!" Ludwig exclaimed, sliding the cup and saucer underneath the spout in the nick of time.

"Huh? Oh! I'm so sorry!" the Italian apologized sincerely, wiping the excess drops off the table with the sleeve of his shirt.

Germany opened his mouth to say something else, but closed it a spilt second later.

"Ja, it's fine. Just don't burn yourself!" he nagged, sounding much like a concerned mother.

"Yes sir!" Italy saluted the man, much like how he used to in World War Two. "I'm sorry I don't have any beer for you, though…" he said, pouring the tea into a second cup.

Germany, however, waved off the apology.

"It's fine," he said.

"I still would've liked beer," Gilbert grumbled quietly, yelping when his bruder elbowed him harshly in the ribs.

"So, ah, what type of tea is this, you say?" he chuckled nervously, throwing a glare his brother, who easily returned it while gingerly rubbing his newest bruise.

A smile beamed upon Feli's face.

"Ve~ Kiku gave it to me! Do you remember Germany? The kind he used to make all the time when he lived with us?"

'Oh, Green Tea,' the German realized, "Ja. I remember."

Truth be told, he wasn't always that fond of tea in general, but he could put up with it for Italy's sake. The boy had already done his best to keep everything clean and tidy (he didn't know about the smashed plates and pottery) for him and his brother's arrival. Forcing a smile, he gently took a hold of the fragile tea cup, bringing the rim to his lips and inhaling the bittersweet, exotic scent.

His brother, however, did not even bother to conceal his disappointment.

"Uh, thanks but no thanks. I'm not in the mood."

Instead of taking the offered cup, Gilbert stood and stretched, shaking out his bed-headed snow white hair. Taking a stride to the stairs, he glanced back at the other two and announced, "I'm going to see what Antonio's doing. See you later."

Italy opened his mouth to advise against going near Romano and Spain at the moment, but Prussia was already up the stairs. With a whimper, he dearly hoped that his brother was in a better mood or tired enough to let the albino near without blowing up like an activate grenade.

Chances of that happening were slimmer than winning the lottery, but stranger things have happened before.

Leaning back in his seat, he took a sip of his tea while stealing a stare at the other man beside him. Ludwig was turned away from the Italian, looking towards the spot his brother had been moments before, muttering something that sounded vaguely like "Arschloch" and "…no common sense!..".

Shifting back to his cup, he watched the small dark flecks of tea leaf float about in the murky brown water. Steam tickled his face, and another sip made his insides warm with delight. A small plip hit the pane of the window behind the couch, and within minutes the sky had darkened to a stony gray, a drizzle of rain falling lightly outside. The pattering sound made his head fuzz, blurring thoughts and mixing emotions into one feeling. Fidgeting slightly, he suppressed a yawn as to not break the rare silence that fallen between the two nations sitting in the living room. Setting his cup on the coffee table, he shifted back to point where he was lying comfortably against the soft fabric of the three-person sofa.

Tilting his head to the right, cheek pressed against the cushioning, he saw Ludwig leaning back with his eyes closed, lips parted ever-so-slightly, chest rising and falling with every soft breath.

Blinking, he noticed for the first time the dark shadows under the man's eyes, the crease marks on his forehead, and the tensing of his muscles. He exhausted; it was crystal clear he hadn't been getting any sleep in the last little while.

A sigh blew past Italy's lips.

Poor Ludwig had been overworking himself again.

Reaching over, he gentle ruffled the German man's surprisingly soft hair, the light blonde locks falling out of their slicked-back formation. A kind smile on his lips, he edged closer to the normally uptight man. Slowly, his eyelids drooped like tired puppy ears and his head fell gracefully yet perfectly onto Germany's shoulder.

The sound of the rain, and Germany's own soft breathing, gently lulled him into a comforting sleep.

Striding down the dimly lit hallway, Gilbert took little note of the many different works of art hanging on either side of him; paintings to delicately designed tapestry, art from the renaissance to the turn of the century era. He had to admit, the Italian brothers may not be the finest fighters, but they had excellent tastes in art. Not to mention excellent skills in art as well (especially Feliciano).

That boy could paint a horse and make it come to life all with a single stroke of the brush.

Heh, maybe he should ask Italy to paint him someday; a life–sized portrait of the awesome himself was very much needed.

Then again, West would more likely shoot him in the face than let the innocent copper-haired Italian paint a full nude picture of his brother. Ah younger siblings always had to spoil everything, didn't they?

Standing outside the oak door of the room belonging to the worse tempered brother, he balled a fist to knock, but instead let the hand fall back down. A soft voice floated through the polished wood, low and baritone. It sang a tune of unfamiliar melody and lyrics. The beautiful noise made his heart hammer fast in his chest.

His breath hitched in astonishment.

The sonorous baritone rose swiftly to an alto. From what his ears could perceive, a lullaby of sorts was being sung. But he had never known Romano to have such a thrilling, serenading voice (quite frank, he had distinguished it at best as rough, annoying, and just plain un-awesome!).

Ah well. Perhaps he could admit just this once that he was wrong (and mind you, ONLY this once).

Pressing sweat covered palms against the cool surface, he gentle pushed open the unlocked door. His eyes widened.

The room was dark aside from the small lamp, gently letting off a golden light from upon the nightstand. The single window's curtains were drawn tightly, blocking the view but not the soft pitter-patters of fresh raindrops hitting the glass. It became apparent that the eldest Vargas brother was completely out of it.

Clothes were scattered all over the floor, stains from things he considered left unmentioned seeping through the fabric. A small ball of furry matter lay curled up atop one pile, and only when did he approach did it hiss so violently. Swearing silently at the foul cat, Gilbert tried to drag his feet away from the many used tissues lying absolutely everywhere (how the hell did that one get up on the ceiling?).

"Man, that's really gross…even I don't do that" he muttered, wincing at the one piece of toilet paper attached to his foot.

Glancing up, his eyes quickly fell upon the bed lying against the wall next to the lamp. Snuggled beneath the fluffy covers, Romano laid still and quiet. Prussia nearly had a cardiac arrest from the mere shock; never before had he seen the man so silent and so motionless. Sitting bedside on a wooden chair, Antonio tenderly stroked the sweaty locks, a warming expression radiating his face. But it was the sound pouring out of him that made the albino man's heart quiver in enthralment.

Prussia blinked in astonishment, swaying with the tempo of the beautiful ballad. It was like a spell, enchanting him into a hazy trance. So passionate were the words, so tenderly sung and said. The Spaniard gave no notice that someone else had intruded the space shared between him and his former charge, he kept on serenading. Gilbert wouldn't have it any other way; he only wanted to listen and fall deeper into the haze.

Then it all stopped; the songbird fell quiet.

Eyes fluttered open.

Gilbert's mouth tugged into a frown; why had Antonio stopped singing?

Glancing up, he saw Antonio gazing kindly at Romano. He watched the young man stir slightly, a tiny groan escaping past his rose-coloured lips. With the utmost care, he leaned over to gently caress the flesh of his cheek. A sonorous look flicked over him for a brief moment, but Prussia wondered it he just imagined it.

Spain trailed a finger down the bridge of Lovino's nose. The latter shivered slightly, his face falling in a mix of discomfort and vulnerability. He choked out a whimper, curling up in strange fear. Or was it loneliness? It was hard to tell…

Antonio reached out a hand, and upon feeling the man's sun-tanned touch, South Italy ebbed a sigh of relief. Comforted that someone was there with him, that he wasn't alone, his expression shifted. It became one of peace, contentment and bliss.

So much like the one his brother wore, only more… serene.

In the midst of the moment, Antonio bent forward, and placed a soft, soothing kiss upon his heated forehead. Then, pulling back, he heaved a weary sigh and turned to see his albino friend standing close by, in the middle of imitating a goldfish. Puzzled, Spain put a hand to his chin.

Why would Prussia be so shocked at seeing him kiss Romano? It wasn't like he hadn't seen him do it before (okay, maybe he hadn't and he was mixing up Gilbert for Francis, but still…).

"Where in the hell did you learn to sing like that?"
Breaking out his thoughts, the Spaniard raised an eyebrow.

"Hm?"

"Seriously…when did you figure out how to use your voice like that?"

"Oh that?" Spain replied with a merry little laugh, "It's nothing..."

"Bullsh*t! Did you hear yourself? That was amazing! Where did you learn that?"

"Uhh…Well…"

"Tell me, c'mon!"

"It was…" Spain blushed an apple's shade, "…Roderich taught me. When I was married to him…"

Prussia sputtered.

"W-WHAT?" he all but screamed.

Pulling a look of terror, Spain leapt to his feet and race over to slap a hand over the offending man's mouth. Casting a look back, he exhaled in relief when all Romano did was yawn and roll over. Removing his hand, he threw a glare of annoyance at Gilbert, the latter returning it while rubbing his sore jaw.

"What-"

Spain shushed him.

"Quiet! Don't wake him, he needs to rest!"

Prussia was only left to roll his eyes as the other strode over to the fallen chair upon the floor.

'Yeah, 'cause we all know what a sweetheart Romano is half the time' he though sarcastically. "No need to worry Tonio, I wouldn't so much as dream of waking him up. I value my sanity very much, thank you."

Setting the chair upright, Antonio resumed his seat without as much as a glimmer of notice towards his friend's bitter comment.

"Hm…" he frowned slightly.

"Something wrong?" the albino asked, treading carefully in case his words happened to provoke the Spaniard even more.

Spain, realizing Prussia had noticed his discomfort, quickly feigned a friendly smile.

"Ah? No, nothing's wrong!" he added, a little too hastily for the other's liking.

However, Gilbert realized he wasn't going to get anything else out of the olive-toned man, and therefore remained silent. Looking down, he instead observed the soft expression planted upon Romano's face. Quite honestly, it made him feel rather uneasy; he'd become so accustomed to the sour scowl the Latin man normally wore.

Spain caught him starring and laughed lightly.

"My friend, you look like a child at carnival; surprised and astonished."

"Yeah, and you would too, if you were looking at that!"

He pointed to Lovino.

"Ah, I see your point, maybe" Antonio raised his hands and shook his head. "But then again, I'm more familiar to his smiles then you are" he added.

'He smiles…? Really…?" the Prussian thought in disbelief.

Sometimes, he very much questioned the inner working of Spain's mind alongside his sanity. But watching the man lovingly stroke Romano's hair, soothing and gentle with every touch, he couldn't help feel that he knew nothing at all.

"He's like an angel…" Spain murmured, brushing back a few stray bangs.

Gilbert snorted.

"Only when he sleeps!" he retorted, tranquil lost. "Are you going to come downstairs?"

His friend shook his head.

"I'm going to stay up here with Romano. He…shouldn't be left alone right now…"

'Something's bothering him; it's so obvious. However, I don't think I'll be getting anything out of him anytime soon.'

He stretched.

"I'm going to go see what mein bruder is doing. I'll come round later."

Spain nodded in reply, not bothering to look up.

Gilbert pivoted on his heel and left the room in an odd silence, gentle closing the door behind him. Normally, he would've just stomped right out, loud and brass as usual. But this is Romano they were talking about, and though he loved riling up people, he tended to avoid messing with the older Italian brother in most scenarios, for certain reasons too. But even now, he, like Spain, began to feel a little uneasy. Lovino seemed really out of it for such a small cold.

It appeared rather unnerving, yet he put it behind him as nothing to worry about; the man was simply tried, that's all.

Shaking his head, he climbed down the wooden staircase, hand trailing down the side of the chestnut banner.

The soft pitter patter of falling rain slowly pulled him from sleep. He groaned softly, reaching up to run a hand down his face. He paused, fingering the short bangs of blonde now caught between his fingers. Had his hair fallen out of its normal slicked-back formation?

Removing his palm, he left the locks fall back against his face and heaved a sigh. He realized he had fallen asleep in Italy's home, on his couch. Completely by accident, yet he still silently chided himself for being so utter rude. He hoped he hadn't upset boy; he couldn't see the Italian nation anywhere.

An almost invisible snore beside him turned his thoughts around, as he looked to see the object of previous thought right next to him, half-slouching with his head leaning upon Germany's shoulder. His chest rose and fell with each parted breath, a small "Ve~" escaping occasionally from his mouth.

Ludwig allowed himself the rare opportunity to watch the other sleep, as disturbing as it sounded.

He'd been used to the Latin man sharing his bed (often in the nude, much to his displeasure) and invading his personal space through the years of World War Two. Thinking back, he generally noted how time had past since then. The world was constantly changing, new replacing old, traditions left behind in the dust of the past as new interest took over the world.

Not like that was a completely bad thing.

He absentmindedly stared out the window.

With everything in a constant turn, sometime it amazed him how they were even able to adapt to the never-ending change around them. Sometimes, he wondered if they would ever become lost in the cycle. What would happen then?

He shook his head, clearing the thought away.

Turning his attention instead to the youth next to him, he studied the peaceful expression on Feli's face. Truthfully, he sometimes envied the boy; so innocent, so cheerful, carefree, and sweet-natured to the core. A gentle soul, he believed himself more of a lover than a fighter.

Of course, that reaction had caused much annoyance during the war, where the boy had proven himself to be a bigger pain in the ass than sitting on a bloated porcupine.

But Germany figured there wasn't much one could do about that; he'd already tried once and that was more than enough.

He shifted slightly in his seat, his back steadily growing stiff from remaining in one position for a few, and in return, Ital y mewled tiredly and snuggled a little closer. Pulling up his leg, he curled into Germany's side in such a way he was half lying, half slouching on the sofa. His fingers blindly danced across the other man's baby blue dress shirt (which had gone very nicely with his eyes, the Italian had complimented earlier), took a hold of fabric, and subconsciously buried his face in the cotton. Ludwig watched without making so much as a sound or peep of protest, no even when Feli started inhaling deeply and sighing shortly after.

By mere observation, it was discovered that certain smells seemed to calm the Latin boy when he was asleep or alone. Years ago, it wasn't unusual for Ludwig to wake up in the middle of the night to find Italy in his bed (once again, stark naked), latched on to the blonde, and nuzzling his nightshirt like a child would its blanket or bear.

Of course, at first he'd been remotely (meaning completely) disturbed and uncomfortable with the situation; wouldn't you if you sudden woke up to find, per say, your business partner or new ally right beside you and invading personal space? But in any case, after "studying" (hereby meaning "forced to sit and endure") the behaviour for a while, he'd finally come to the realization that it was more over for a sense of comfort, safety, and security rather than for pure affection.

His focus began to wane, and soon enough a sense of familiar drowsiness began to befall over him. Resting his head upon the back of the couch, he lazily let his eyelids droop close. Slowly, he sank into a hazy sleep.

"Well, well, isn't that just precious?"

Startled, Ludwig jumped slightly at the loud, obnoxious voice, accidentally jerking Italy off of him. The Latin nation woke with a start, confusion marred with sleep and alarm plastered over his face. He squeaked, falling off the couch with a loud thump.

Germany blinked once before glancing over at the Italian now lying in a stupor on the floor.

"Wha-?" he managed to say, still drunken from drowsiness.

Then he remembered and recognized the voice, thus turning to send an agitated glare at his wayward brother.

The white-haired albino smirked in response, jumping the last few steps of stairs. Striding with pride (and arrogance, the other noted dully), he reached the couch, took one look at his brother's mused hair, and sniggered. Germany scowled, blue eyes narrowing dangerously as Prussia leaned against the sofa arm.

"What, pray tell, bruder, do you find so amusing?" he hissed.

The other stared incredulously.

"H-Have you looked in a mirror?" he choked out after a hesitant pause, trying hard to stifle the giggles.

Rolling his eyes, Ludwig said nothing but merely watched his brother collapse under a heavy fit of laughter. In between the chortles, he caught onto words like "ridiculous" and something he for sure thought sounded like "you look like caterpillar brows". The temptation to smack his bruder round the head was extremely strong.

And throughout all this, Italy still remained lying on his back upon the floor.

It took about five minutes and the sudden appearance of Gino and Sebora to bring him back to reality. Blinking, he felt his cat's sand paper-like tongue raking across his cheek and the small weight upon his chest. Sitting up, the feline falling into his lap, he glanced up to come face to face with his brother.

"Ah…are you okay, Feli?" the micro-nation asked, somewhat concerned as to why his sibling was lying on the living room carpet in a stupor.

"Hm? Oh…Si! I am fine, no need to worry!" the fratello replied, sending a cheery grin at the younger boy. "I only fell down, that's all".

Brushing off his pants, he took a gander at the two Germans arguing close by, obvious to the slight tugging sensation of Gino pawing at his curl. Ludwig has risen from his seat and currently held his older brother in a tight headlock. The albino man spewed out insults and profanities in a number of different languages (Italy caught wind of some Spanish here and there), squirming about in his bruder's tight grip like a worm in a bird's beak. Germany grunted once or twice, but otherwise made no acknowledgement towards Gilbert or his childish tantrum.

"Italia, do you mind if we take this outside for a few minutes? I need to sort something out with my dear bruder…"

The last two words came out strained and more menacing than the copper-haired nation would like to admit. However, he knew from the stressing look on the taller blonde's face that this was something needed to be done, and thus gave a short nod in agreement.

Taking a hold of his brother's arm, Ludwig hoisted the other man up, stomped over to the door, yanked it open and dragged Prussia outside into the rain. Italy watched them from the window, wincing as the "brother-to-brother" talk became a full out brawl on his front lawn. Sebora sat beside him on the couch and warily glanced at the ensuing fight outside.

"Umm…should I go get the first aid kit?" he asked nervously.

Italy turned to him for a second, before switching back to the window with a nod.

"In a bit" he answered.

The next fifteen minutes were spent either observing Prussia and Germany attempt to punch each knock the lights out of one another, teasing Gino into playing with a loose string of thread on the couch, partaking in friendly chat, or doodling on the corner of the day's newspaper (Romano was going to wallop him later).

The lock clicked and the front door swung open to admit a tired, slightly battered and bruised Germany, dragging an equally beaten-up but knocked out Gilbert like a rag doll.

Italy turned to Sebora.

"Now you can get the first aid kit".

"Ve~ Are you sure you don't want another ice pack, Gilbert?" Feliciano asked, for the umpteenth time, swirling a bubbling pot on the stove. He flicked in a pinch of salt, listening to the exasperated and slightly frustrated man sigh from behind.

"For the last time, no! I just want to lie here and soak in my misery, if you don't mind!' the albino snapped, earning himself a swat to the back of the head.

"Ow! Dammit West!" he yelped, grasping his bruised scalp.

Sitting across from him in an armchair, Germany growled in an almost feral manner.

."Watch your mouth! Have some manners, youArschloch!" he snarled, pale knuckles slowing turning whiter as he tightly clenched the arms of the chair.

"Watch yours, dumkoff.." his brother muttered, too low for the other hear.

After the duo retreated back into Italy's home, the Lation nation had sent his younger brother to fetch their first-aid kit, while he gently guided the two older men to the couch (Prussia) and an over-stuffed armchair (Germany). Neither spoke a word nor made a sound for the next five minutes, choosing instead to listen to the Feli's quiet mumbling (what he was saying exactly, they did not know). The other boy, Sebora, returned with a small white case, and together he and Italy began patching up the two Germans. Once or twice, Ludwig would wince from the disinfectant being applied to his cuts and bruises (damn, that stuff was strong; he hadn't expected it to string so fierce), but Italy's hands were gentle and swift to lessen the pain.

Strange how someone so clumsy and ignorant could be so skilled and adapt with handling medicine.

The man shook his head; life was full of surprises, sometimes.

Their injuries dressed and treated, the two older nations had leaned back into their seats while Feli and his brother cleaned up the mess. Ludwig had offered to help, but the Latin nations refused, insisting that he rest for a while. He would have, but seeing Italy regain his klutzy attribute when handling the bottles and bandages made his nerves peek.

Putting away the first-aid kit, and fetching the albino nation an ice pack (literally a bag of ice cubes), Italy set about preparing a dinner of wurst and pasta (why was Germany not surprised?). Since then, he'd been bustling about the kitchen, gathering ingredients and cooking, occasionally (every other minute) questioning if the two were comfortable or needed anything.

He didn't voice it, but what Germany really needed was a sledge hammer and a pair of ear plugs. Prussia was grinding into his nerves with constant complaining then snappy attitudes towards an innocent offer.

Though he had to agree, Italy really needed to stop badgering the man every other moment; it would do everyone a load of good and shut the ex-nation up for a well-desired five minutes or so.

He rested his head back against the chair, shut his eyes, and tried to drown out the noise around him.

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen Italy was in the midst of adding a bit of basil to the sauce when the sound of footstep drew him from his concentration. Head turning, he glanced at the stairs to see Spain coming down with an unreadable expression. The moment he realized someone was watching him, he snapped out of it and put on his normal look of ignorant contentment.

"Do you have a bucket?" he asked casually, leaning against the railing while peering at the Italian with curious eyes.

Italy blinked, a little surprised by the sudden request.

"Um…In the broom closet, I think" he replied, not exactly certain if they even had a pail to begin with. "Why?"

Taking a stride through the hall, Spain threw over his shoulder, "Romano threw up. I may also need a mop, if that's alright with you."

From the living room, the sound of gagging arose.

"Ew!"

Ignoring the remark, Antonio rummaged through the small broom cupboard located directly under the stairs. He muttered something to himself once or twice, too faint to be heard by the others. Finally, he managed to successfully pull a small, but efficient metal bucket from underneath the many piles of junk and cleaning supplies. Quietly closing the door, he walked back around to the stair, climbing the steps with a word of thanks.

"Now Lovi won't have to ruin the floor!" he practically sang.

From up stair, the sound of ruffling could be heard followed by a loud and hoarse scream of, "Shut up!"

Confusion still written all over, Feli returned to his cooking to see the sauce boiling with a simmer. Turning down the heat, he resumed shredding the leaves of basil and threw them into the pot. He stirred slowly, humming to himself as the aroma of herbs settled in the air. A tickling sensation ghosted across his skin, and absentmindedly he scratched Gino behind the ears. The cat purred softly, to the extent where he realized it was the only thing he could hear. Silence had befallen the house.

Creeping to the kitchen door, he peaked around the wooden frame into the living room. Still sitting in the plush armchair, Ludwig had once again fallen asleep, his head drooping lazily against the back. On the couch, in the same predicament, Gilbert laid spread eagle and openmouthed (Italy thought he saw a trail of drool dribbling from the corner), faint but audible snores echoing from his throat. Unwilling to wake the poor fellows, Feli snuck back into the kitchen like a mouse. Leaning against the counter, a sigh escaped his lips, fluttering a few short copper bangs.

'I hope the rain lets up…' he mused, warily glancing outside; it was pouring still, thick puddle of water and mud laden all over the front lawn. 'Romano's gonna be mad…there goes the newly grass…'

He let the silence over take him, shutting his eyes as a slow sense of tranquil befell his being.

Then a loud, shrill ringing snapped him out of thought and nearly soaring through the roof with a cardiac arrest. Clutching his chest as panic and shock and fear whirled around inside, his eyes darted back and forth in a terrified haste. Gino, who had been lounging on the granite countertop, had been terribly frightened by the ensuing noise; now he clung to his owner's arm, hissing and spitting in frenzy.

Italy didn't notice the pain of claws digging into his skin, too preoccupied with locating the source that damn ringing. Finally, he came upon the small egg timer innocently resting by the stove, and scrambled to switch it off. Fumbling with butter fingers, he uncharacteristically cursed once when he once more missed the minuscule button place oh-so-conveniently on the bottom.

A second later, however, the deafening sound was cut off and silence once again ebbed its way into the house like a ghost. Removing his reddened finger from the annoying little stopper, Feliciano breathed a sigh of relief. He swallowed fearfully and strained his ears to listen, incase, by accident, he'd woken the other two in the next room.

Nothing, aside a sleepy grunt from Ludwig.

He exhaled the tight breath he didn't know he was holding, all but sliding down onto the floor with a palm over his calming heart. Returning to the stove, he turned it off with a simple turn of a knob and reached for an overly large pot sitting on the corner. With a grunt he hoisted it up, marveling at the intense weight, and carried it over to the sink. Wiping his brow, he rummaged through the bottom cupboard drawers, yanking out a strainer from underneath a rather misshaped bowl and skillet pan.

Setting it into the sink, he once more made to lift the heavy pot of noodles, but his arms began shaking and aching like old bones. He bit back a whine, gave up, and huffed and puffed as though he'd run a marathon.

"Need a hand?"

Yelping, and nearly losing his balance, the Latin nation whirled around to Prussia smirking from the doorway, casually leaning against the frame with crossed arms.

Italy blinked.

"Veeee~ Don't scare me like that!" he chided, or at least tried to.

Italy was never good at scolding in an annoyed fashion. He left that job to Romano most of the time.

Prussia merely shrugged and waved his comment off like a buzzing fly, tilting his head to the side to get a glance at the silver pot sitting bloated on the countertop. He stifled the snicker arising in his throat, remembering the sight of Feli trying to carry the thing. True, he shouldn't laugh, yet the whole scene was just too damn funny not to let at least one chortle slip.

"Do my awesome-me-senses hear a beckon of help?" he mused in mock thought, with even a hand-on-chin pose to match.

"Veee~ I didn't beckon though…or say anything at all…" Italy replied in confusion.

Gilbert resisted the desirable temptation to face palm at the naïve mind of the Italian nation.

"No, I meant…do you need help with that?" he emphasized, pointing at the pot.

Feli followed his finger before sudden realization set in.

"Oh! I get it…ah, si! I could use another 'hand'" he beamed like a light, whirling around and falling back into routine, Prussia trailing close behind.

"Could you put the pasta into the strainer?" he asked, taking the sauce off the stove with a careful, mitted hand.

"Yeah," the other answered with a grunt. "Damn, what do you have in here?" he exclaimed.

The albino slowly emptied the noodles into the large strainer sitting in the sink, wincing. Damn, this thing was heavy! How the hell had Feliciano managed to bring over there in the first place without breaking an arm or two, or throwing out his back? He shook his head, feeling his own limbs shake. The last noodle slid slowly from the metal vessel, almost as if mocking him in some certain way. He glared as it landed in with the others, his patience worn thin like his strength. Then he sighed, sliding the now lightweight pot back onto the counter.

He wasn't as strong as he used to be and now was one of few times he was reminded.

True, he was basically East Germany now, but he still felt out of place sometimes; he was still, and always would be, Prussia.

That would not change, even if his name did (which he ignored and dismissed, thank you very much).

"Veee~…"

He blinked out of thought, Italy standing inches away from his face.

"You look tired, are you okay, Gilbert?"

"Nah, I'm fine…just a little out of shape."

Popping his back with a groan, he scratched the back of his head. Glancing around the entire kitchen, he noted, "Anything else you need help with, Feliciano?"

"Hm? No, I'm good! Ve~ Grazie for offering, though!"

A nod of the head was given in reply, as the albino stepped out of the kitchen, leaving the Italian man to bustle about.

Dinner was uneventful that night, aside from the fact that Gilbert found it mildly amusing to flick bits of wurst at the four cats lingering around the table, all of whom ended up crowding round the man's chair with loud mewls and purrs. Gilbert chuckled but Germany frowned upon his behavior with a stern eye, the latter of which went vaguely unnoticed. Gilbird made no noise at all, choosing to observe quietly from his master's head instead at the cats below. One might assume he was mocking the animals in a taunting fashion.

Neither Romano nor Spain made an appearance to the table. While this made the brother worry, he reassured himself that Antonio would take care of him as best he could. It worked before, so it wouldn't be any different this time around, right?

Scrubbing away at the dishes (he'd learned from living with Austria during his childhood), he couldn't help but feel a spot of nagging worry gnaw at his brain. Most of the time, nations only got sick when their economy was suffering. There were exceptions (like a cold or flu on the very rare occasion, meaning once a year at least), but normally they weren't affected as much by such, and took shorter time to heal. But Romano, by the sound of it, was having a rough time dealing with his at the moment. This confused his brother.

Almost in light of the moment, the sound of footsteps reached his ears, growing closer each passing second. Yet he did not turn round, keeping his focus on the task at hand. Placing another plate onto the drying rack, he nearly squealed as a pair of arms came down on either side of him. Trapped, he swallowed nervously feeling the intruder's hot breath on the nape of his neck. Hot air traveled up his skin to his ear, words whispered in a silky, cooing tone.

"Feli~...Would you happen to have a bout of lemons in your possession?"

The Italian blinked in a moment of stupor, red in the face from the assumptions of what he'd imagined - feared - would've happened.

"Um…there are some in the pantry…ve…" he mumbled, wincing as his delicate curl rubbed along the fabric of Antonio's shirt.

A sigh of relief escaped his lips as the other moved away, leaving him alone to his chores once more. He wiped the last cup clean, glancing back as Spain passed by with two swollen lemons clutched in each hand. The man noticed the younger staring at him, and grinned sheepishly in return.

"Eh…I find that lemons help with nausea, so I figured I would try it on Romano. I don't think you're actually supposed to eat them...just smell them" he scratched the back of his head, sending a wary look to the sour citrus fruits. "Plus I think Romano would be very grumpy about tasting a lemon…"

Shrugging, he proceeded back upstairs, not a second before another member of the household wandered into the still-warm kitchen. Sicily, dressed for bed, toddled about with an out-of-place air of worry. Her eyes scanned over every surface, every object, searching for something she could not find. A pout clouded her face, lower lip bit in anticipation, hands fidgeting nervously.

Italy's mouth formed a frown of confusion. He couldn't fonder why or what exactly could be bother little sorella, when something sparked in his brain.

Her soccer ball; had she misplaced it?

That appeared to be the case, when the older nation asked the girl, who merely nodded in silence and continued with her mission of finding the lost item. Italy looked around for the black and white ball, but like her, found nothing but was meant to be in the room. A sigh of defeat echoing off the walls, Feliciano reached down and scooped up the girl into his arms, trying to calm her down.

"It didn't walk off by itself… It will turn up, don't cry ~ve" he soothed, oblivious to the "I-don't-need-your-damn-sympathy" look on his sister's face.

She shook her head, but nonetheless curled into his embrace. It was nice knowing that at least he cared. She knew obviously that it was around, but it just irked her that it had gotten lost in the first place. Well, who wouldn't be irked at loosing a precious treasure or anything in general?

It was strange; because she was sure she'd left it on the back porch in the first place…

Footsteps approach the pair, coming down from the west hall. The door creaked, and Sebora poked his head through a second later. Spotting them standing by the counter, he sauntered over in curiosity and relief.

"There she is! I was-a looking all over for you!" he scolded lightly, neither better nor worse than Feliciano's.

Honestly, sometimes she swore Romano was the only one good at doing that and his was like standing in front of a freight train.

Italy leveled his gaze with the youngest of the brothers, head tilted to the side.

"Huh?"

"I went to-a put her to bed, but she ran-a away from me!" he protested, looking slightly put off.

"Ah. We were just looking for the soccer ball. Have you seen it?"

Sebora blinked.

"Um… no, I haven't… not since this morning…"

"Hm. Maybe's it's outside?"

His brother suddenly shuddered.

"I hope not" he exclaimed, creating a confused expression on Italy's face.

"Ve~?" was the only response.

"You remember that thing that's-a been hanging around town recently? Taking off with-a children and attacking people?" the other questioned, "Apparently, it's been spotted around here this afternoon; actually, no more than-a few hours ago since it was last seen!"

The older frowned. That creature was around here? He felt a shiver run down his spine. They may be nations, but even so that – whatever it was- thing was still a hazard. He couldn't even imagine what would happen if they crossed paths.

Feli glanced down at the girl nodding off in his arms, then back at his brother.

"Ve~ You go get some rest. I'll put her to bed."

The other nodded in thanks, the boy's own eyelids starting to droop. Stifling a yawn, he turned and trudged towards the stairs, followed a moment later by Feli. Sicily had lost the battle to stay awake, currently resting her head on Italy's shoulder.

After bidding Sebora good night, the older Italian carried his sister to her own room, mindful to prevent from accidentally waking her up.

The yellow sunshine room was dark and quiet, random toys and books scattered about on the floor. There were also some other loose papers poking out from a couple of folders stationed about on a table in the corner. Italy tore his eyes away; he'd rather not know. Gently, he set the young girl in the bed beside the window, drawing to covers up to her chin. He watched her for a few moments, before standing and stretching out his taunt muscles with a groan.

Yawning briefly, he rubbed away at his eyes.

It was late; he needed sleep.

With one last glance into the room, he closed the door without a peep and carefully tried to edge quietly down the hall.

A moment later a yell echoed by a loud crash was heard, as Italy tripped over air and collided with the wood of his brother's bedroom door.

Running his fingers through the strawberry smelling dark copper locks, Antonio heaved a sigh of exhaustion. Romano had seen no relief of recovery in anyway for the last few hours since he was bed ridden. Actually, if all was the same, it was almost apparent that he was getting worse as the night dragged on.

In all truth, Spain was worried.

The lemons had helped a slight bit in keeping his stomach contents down (how he even had anything left in him was still a mystery to the man). Yet even so, his fever had risen high and to the point where steam was just about to rise from his very pores.

Readjusting the ice-cold cloth on the Italian's forehead, he watched in anxiety as the man breath heavily, uneven and troubled in his sleep. As if every breath was a struggle to contain and exhale. He chewed his lower lip, helpless as to what to do. He was even half considering calling an ambulance; this was not normal, he was certain of it.

"Not just a cold, is it?"

Blinking, he glanced to the albino sitting in a second chair by the bed. A sigh of defeat echoed across the room.

"No" he admitted, dropping heavily into his seat, "I don't think so."

He rubbed the back of his head in a weary fashion.

"At first I thought it was, but now…"

He trailed off with a saddened glance to the Italian. Prussia frowned, brow furrowed in concentration. He knew something was up with the Spaniard. Was this what bothered him so aggravatingly? Truth be told, however, it was troubling the albino himself as well. If this wasn't a cold – if in fact it indeed wasn't – then what the hell was plaguing Romano so?

He mused, but no reason nor explanation arose or came by.

He shook his head as the object of conversation groaned softy in his sleep.

Whatever the case, he had a nagging hunch that something dreadfully horrible was inching closer and closer to unveiling.

No good was going to come out of this.

The storm steadily carried on through out the night, winds howling softly, raining spearing down in thick seas, as the earth and sky shook with the ever mighty thunder and striking lightening. Curled up in bed, the sheets lazily thrown over his slumbering form, Feliciano took no notice of the racket and ravaging weather occurring outside his bedroom window. His chest rose and fell with each even breath, face composed of peace and child-like innocence. Clothes from the day lay scattered at the foot of the mattress, where Gino lay comfortable upon the ruffled shirt and pants in a makeshift nest.

Though his owner did snooze, the tabby remained watchful and nocturnal, eyes fixated on the glass window pane, pupils dilating from the unexpected flash of loose wild electricity and plasma. Water trickled down the side, but when thunder boomed, a low shadow seemed to crawl across the bed. Gino hissed, but alas it was only a spare branch of oak whipping past in the wind.

He shifted nervously on the cotton, paws folded underneath his body.

Yet all the same, his master still snored away.

Suddenly he perked upright, head turned towards the door as the sound of hasty approaching footsteps neared. Ear twitching, he chirped a short mew of question as the youngest brother of the litter came bolting into the room. The boy paid no head, making a fast beeline towards Italy. The latter merely snorted sleepily, turning on his back.

It was only when the other shook him did he wake.

Standing over him was an obviously panicking Sebora, green eyes dilated in worry and fear. Confused, the Latin nation sat up with a grunt, rubbing the sleep from his own eyes.

"Ve~? Sebora? What are you doing? Why are you not in bed?" he inquired, voice hazy and tired.

"Sicily is gone!"

He paused from scratching his hair, his brother's words sinking in with a cold dread.

"What?" he exclaimed, uncertain whether or not to believe what he had just heard.

The other swallowed nervously, trembling.

"I-I was o-on my-a way to t-the bathroom… and I-I passed by her room-a…" he took a steady breath "Her door was open…I-I peaked inside, and she wasn't her bed…she wasn't the room at all…"

Italy frowned, curl bouncing slightly.

Why would Sicily be out of bed at this time of night? He could fonder a few ideas, the bathroom or quenching thirst to name a few.

Yet when he mentioned this to the other, Sebora had shaken his head with a worried sigh.

""I checked," he confirmed, "She wasn't in the bathroom, either. Nor did I see her coming back. I check all over upstairs, and still-a nothing. It's like she vanished into thin air! But then, it started getting colder, coming from downstairs. I-I went to check if a window was left a jar… and the door to the kitchen was wide open! What's more, Sicily's shoes…were gone. I-I think she may have wandered outside!"

Feli stared at his brother, the boy before him shaking like a leaf in the wind. This wasn't good… no, not very good at all…

If what Sebora said was true… then…

"I-I didn't know what else to do… Big Brother is sick, and I don't know Mr. Germany or Mr. Prussia very well… and Antonio was preoccupied with Lovi to pay me any heed of attention…"

"Ve~…" Italy nodded, understanding the other's reasons.

He couldn't go to Spain or their older brother, considering the circumstances, nor could he approach their guests, being unfamiliar with each. Therefore, he last option was to go to Veneziano.

Clambering out of bed, he hurried along down the hall, being mindful at the same time of the other household members. Though this may be a dire (and terrifying) situation, he did not want to bother Germany or anyone else at the moment. Truly, he was terrified to the bone, but dammit, this was his sister. She was his responsibility (Romano would snort and complain that he had no partake in her care), even if she was more so Romano's than his.

Tightening the belt of his pants (he'd grabbed a random pair off the floor in his haste; he slept stark naked practically all the time), he slowed to halt when the sight of the backdoor came into view. Like Sebora had said, it was wide open and letting a daft of cold night air into the house. Just as well, his sorella's boots were missing, along with her coat. Thinking for a slender moment, he reached upon a hook on the nearby wall for his jacket, while his brother came up beside him.

"See? I told you…" he whimpered softly, throwing a worried glance at Feliciano, "Brother, what if she's out there right now? In the woods? And that thing… what if…what if…ah…"

He trembled, unable to finish his sentence. The poor kid looked ready to have a nervous breakdown. The sound of a zipper caught his attention, and in alarm he whipped around at his brother. The older did up his coat, fumbled for his boots, hastily grabbing a flashlight from the table centered off to the side.

"W-What are you doing?"

Italy looked at Sebora, nervousness reflected in both pairs of eyes.

"I'm going to go look for her. She can't have wandered far. Stay here" he commanded, much to the disbelief of his brother.

"What? But that beast… that creature is still out there!"

"So is our sister. We can't just leave her out there alone. Stay here, and don't follow me. I'll be back soon."

With that, he stepped out onto the back porch, flashlight clicked on, ready to traverse into the thick forest behind their house. Yet no more than two steps he had taken before the boy called out.

"Please…be careful!"

He nodded, giving him once last glance before sprinting off into the woods, leaving a fretting brother alone in the doorway.