Spirit ran a hand through his damp hair.

"I shouldn't be here," he sighed in exasperation. "My Maka must be terrified of the storm; I should be at home comforting her."

"Your daughter," said Kid in response, "didn't she turn fourteen recently?"

The Death Scythe shot him a glare of reproach.

"And hasn't she become a scythe meister with the intention of creating a scythe even better than you are?" asked the teenage reaper. "Father has told me that she appears to be naturally talented in combat. It seems to me that a person like that isn't very likely to be frightened of something like a storm."

"It's the thought that counts!" Spirit insisted angrily. "She'll always be my little Maka!"

Kid tried to say something else, but winced and gripped his now-bandaged arm.

"You sure you're alright?" asked the older weapon. "You don't look so good."

"Not quite," said Kid. "Could you…?"

Spirit rolled his eyes. A small scythe blade sprouted out of the back of his forearm, and Kid used it to cut the other sleeve off his pyjama shirt. He may have looked a little untidy, but at least his symmetry was restored (aside from the bandage around his arm, of course).

"Thank you," he said gratefully.

"No problem," said Spirit. "You gonna be okay? You look like you lost quite a lot of blood."

"It's nothing, really," Kid insisted. "I'll be fine. I don't think I'll be getting any more sleep tonight, though."

"I'm not surprised," said Spirit. "If something like that happened to me, I'd be afraid to even close my eyes again, and god forbid, if somebody tried to hurt my Maka…"

'Please try to think about something other than your daughter,' Kid thought.

"Well, if you're sure," Spirit said, "have a good night. And be thankful I stopped that nutjob from sewing his initials into your arm."

Kid looked over at the doctor who had seen to his wounds – he was standing near the front door, cleaning his glasses on his lab coat and smoking a cigarette – who nodded in acknowledgment and turned to leave, disappearing into the downpour outside. Spirit moved to follow in his wake, but paused and stood back for the cleaning crew which had been mopping up the mess in the entrance hall.

He paused again once he was outside.

"Hey Kid!" he yelled, pointing to one side. "You might wanna check that guy out! He doesn't look too good either!"

Then, with a final wave, he too faded into the rainfall.

'Who was he talking about?' thought Kid as he approached the door to hazard a look. 'Liz and Patty are still inside, so… crap. What's that little idiot doing to himself now?'

It wasn't quite as he had feared. In fact, it wasn't like anything he had been expecting at all.

Italy was standing out in the rain, face turned towards the black clouds, allowing the freezing water to saturate his skin and hair and soak his clothes through and through. He wasn't moving very much: Kid had to squint and look very closely just to make sure that he was still breathing. And his expression, if you could even call it that, was completely blank. He wasn't worried, frightened or even close to angry which was what Kid had expected over everything else. For the first time since they'd met, there wasn't a single bit of emotion on his face.

"Italy!" Kid shouted. "Italy, what are you doing?"

There was no reply. As far as the young reaper could tell, Italy hadn't even heard him.

"What are you doing out in the rain?" Kid asked. "Don't you know you'll make yourself ill if you stay out there too long?"

Still nothing.

Kid felt two familiar presences beside him.

"What the hell is he doing?" asked Liz.

"Standing."

"I can see that, Patty!"

"Why is he just standing out in the rain?"

"He must be in shock," Kid deduced. "He told me he's never killed anyone before, so I'm not surprised if what just happened was rather traumatic for him. It doesn't explain why he's out there."

He took an umbrella from a stand next to the door and stepped out into the storm. The rain thudded so heavily onto the thin fabric that he was worried it might fracture and drench him, but it managed to hold out at least until he got it over the head of the statuesque nation.

"Italy, what are you doing?" he asked. "Look at you, you're drenched!"

Italy still refrained from speaking. He turned to look at Kid, who noticed that his face was now free from blood spatter, and his expression remained completely blank.

Perhaps this was because he didn't know what to think or feel. He didn't know whether to be frightened in case he was attacked again or frightened of himself because of what he had done. Maybe he was waiting to be told what to think or do or feel because he didn't know how to decide for himself, and considering the events of the past couple of hours, he was probably afraid that deciding for himself would lead to somebody else getting hurt or killed.

He raised a hand to his head and rubbed it, then fell rather heavily onto Kid's shoulder (the left, thank goodness). As Kid helped him get back into the house, he realised something else:

"Italy, have we changed your bandages lately?"

Italy managed to shake his head.

"Well, why didn't you mention it sooner?" Kid demanded, although he wasn't expecting an answer. Upon entering the house, he pushed the door closed with his foot and shot his partners a desperate look. It seemed there had been a lot of desperation in their household recently.

"Kid?" said Liz. "Italy, what's- is something wrong?"

"I don't know," said Kid, "but it's very likely. Liz, I need you to go to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. There should be some bandages in there as well as a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Patty, I need you to grab some towels. Also I'd appreciate it if one of you could get me a pair of scissors. Bring them to the main dining room, understand?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Got it!"

While the girls ran away in search of the requested supplies, Kid pulled the staggering Italy through the house to the dining room, occasionally muttering encouragements along the lines of 'not far to go now' and 'almost there' which were mostly lies, but Kid wanted to get the man off his shoulder so that he could regain some symmetry. When they eventually did reach the room they were headed for, Italy fell so heavily into the nearest chair that Kid feared it would break.

He looked down and saw that he would probably spend the rest of the night clearing up the trailing puddle which the nation had left through his house.

"Italy," he said, "I need you to take off your hoodie."

The nation nodded and obediently pulled off the soaking hooded sweater, leaving it in a big soggy heap on the table. Good. He obviously didn't want to cause any trouble.

"You should look away," Kid instructed. "Chances are this isn't going to be pretty."

While he moved up the sleeve to expose the top of the bandage, Italy turned and started to pay very close attention to the opposite wall. He seemed almost adamant at communicating with Kid as little as possible.

"I'm sorry I shouted at you," he said. "I know now, I-I should have known better than to make you feel any worse than you already were, especially after something like that. And I can tell from those bruises on your neck that he tried to strangle you, is that correct?"

It was strange how he spoke as if he was expecting a reply. There wasn't one.

"You should know that if that was the case, you were perfectly justified in defending yourself. Those men were ruthless. If you hadn't killed the one that attacked you, he would definitely have killed you. Ideally, you should not have made such a mess, but considering how you must have been panicking…"

He trailed off, realising that he was no help, just as his partners returned.

"We got the stuff you asked for, Kid!" said Patty. "That alcohol stuff stinks: I hope you're not gonna drink it."

"It's safe to say that due to recent events I am NEVER going to drink again," Kid replied, putting extra emphasis on the 'never' aspect.

"You better not," Liz said threateningly. "It's bad enough that you're an OCD nutcase, we don't need you being a drunk as well."

Kid scowled at the 'OCD nutcase' but quickly decided that there were more important matters at hand. He took the scissors, carefully inserted them between the bandage and Italy's skin and started to cut the gauze away from the man's arm, lain palm down on the table. He winced a little, but didn't cry or yelp in pain. Kid found himself wishing he would: maybe because he wanted another excuse to apologise.

He took a deep breath and removed the bandages from Italy's lower arm.

Liz and Patty's eyes widened in shock, and Kid had to keep himself from turning away, at the sight of three massive gashes which each ran at least halfway around Italy's arm. They were obviously not closed, and appeared a little yellow or green towards the edges. That Italy had even remained conscious without passing out from pain was an absolute miracle.

"Oh god," Liz swore.

"So nasty," Patty whispered.

"It's just as I feared," said Kid. "The wounds are infected. It's not too serious, but we should most likely change the dressings daily from now on. I can't believe we didn't do this earlier. I'm sorry, Italy."

There was no reply, and Italy refused to move or say a word as Kid removed the bandages on his upper arm, exposing three more almost identical gashes. It was clear that if Italy were to raise his arm, as if he were trying to protect himself, they would form three neat if fractured lines running across the limb where the kishin had struck him. They weren't bleeding, but they were weeping somewhat disgustingly, and Kid hoped that he could get this done quickly before it made too much of a mess on his table.

"That's what the kishin did to him?" asked Patty. "Poor baby."

She hugged Italy around the waist in an attempt to comfort him, but he still didn't respond. Not even when Kid started to clean his wounds: it surely must have been painful to feel the disinfectant trickling down into his bare flesh. It was as though he wasn't even on this planet anymore, like a whole alternative universe had been created with Italy as its soul inhabitant.

Minutes passed in utter, crushing silence. Kid tried to be as gentle as he could in cleaning Italy's nightmarish wounds, but it presented difficulty because he was also trying to do it as quickly as he could so that he could cover up the mess. Italy, with Patty still wrapped around his waist, didn't move at all beyond occasionally clenching and unclenching his fists, his current method by which he was dealing with the stinging pain of the alcoholic disinfectant. Liz could only sit and watch the unnerving spectacle.

"Liz, Patty, I have to know," said Kid while he was busy. "Those men, the ones who invaded the house… did they…"

"No," said Liz. "They pointed guns in our faces and told us we'd die if we tried to escape, but it didn't go any further than that. If it had, Italy wouldn't have been the only one who-"

Considering that Italy was literally right there, she stopped talking rather abruptly.

He began to relax as Kid started to wind the fresh bandage around his arm, and as soon as the amateur medical care was finished he stood up and walked away, still in his almost catatonic state. The weapons and meister faintly heard his door open and close, and all of them guessed correctly that they weren't going to see him for the rest of this horrible night.

"Shit," Kid swore, burying his face in his hand, "what the hell have I done?"

"What have you done?" asked Liz in faux-confusion.

She whacked her meister hard upside the head that he hit the surface of the table hard enough to put a dent in the woodwork.

"You freaked him out, that's what you did!" she yelled, jumping to her feet. "Yeah, we both heard you screaming at him, so don't look as us like you don't know what we're talking about!"

"You knew he was freaked out, didn't you?" Patty demanded furiously. "You could see that he was completely horrified, but that didn't stop you, did it? You just HAD to go a little bit further and make sure he was broken! Absolutely, positively BROKEN!"

"Okay, I understand!" Kid shouted back. "I messed up! I get that now! It's just- he's been getting on my nerves for the past couple of days, and then when he asked if that man who attacked him was dead, when the answer should have been a plain as day, I just- I never thought that anybody could say anything so mind-numbingly stupid! You-you understand, don't you?"

His eyes were pleading for empathy and compassion, but it was obvious that neither of the girls were going to give him any.

He was going to have to deal with this on his own.

Bam bam bam bam.

"Italy?" said Kid. "I need to change your bandages, so I'm coming in, alright?"

Still no answer. It had been like that for quite a while now. Ever since that dreadful night, everyone had been trying to move on, but Italy…

Kid placed the bowl he had been holding on the floor and opened the door.

Just as he had been for the past few days, Italy was curled up in his bed, naked save for the quilt wrapped around his body. He was tightly hugging his pillow, face buried deep into the cushioned surface, not even moving except for the gentle rise and fall of his bare chest as he breathed.

Kid picked up the steaming bowl.

"Italy, it's been over a week," he said, noting that if he had his way the number of days would be one week exactly, "and you haven't left your room for anything other than using the bathroom. You have to eat something even if you don't want to. Surely you must be hungry?"

If Italy had noticed his presence, he was very good at hiding it.

"I made you some pasta," said Kid. "I haven't had much practise so it probably wouldn't be the best you've ever tasted, but you'll be glad to know I arranged it symmetrically before it got cold. It's still hot if you want it."

The man's ears had twitched upon the mention of pasta, but that was it.

Carrying the bowl in one hand and a roll of fresh bandages in the other, Kid entered the room and closed the door with his foot. He placed the bowl on the bedside table and sat down on the bed.

"Come on," he ushered.

Italy sat upright; keeping his eyes closed like they usually were, he held out his left arm for redressing. This had become the ritual over the past eight days. Kid would go in, change the man's bandages and then leave again. He still had yet to say a single word to anybody or reply to questions beyond a nod or shake of his head, and even though he often came out to use the bathroom, the bandage changing was the only person-to-person interaction he had.

Kid slowly unwound the bandages, revealing the wounds beneath.

Thanks to his efforts with the disinfectant, they were now free of all greenness and it looked as though the skin was finally starting to close. It still looked very painful and uncomfortable, but the Italian lad had ceased all wincing when the new bandages were put on and the old were removed. Perhaps he had grown used to the pain.

Silence once again weighed heavily in the air as Kid laid the used bandages by his side and bound the fresh gauze around the outstretched limb.

"There," he said when he was done. "You'd better eat your pasta before..."

He stopped talking because something else had caught his attention.

As it turned out, Italy hadn't been burying his face into the pillow: instead there was a thin book standing in the way. Many of the pages, viewed from the side, were crinkled under the pressure of pencil lead.

"Excuse me," said Kid, reaching for it, "may I…?"

Italy nodded, still remaining silent.

Kid didn't know what he had been expecting when he picked up that book. Maybe a few childish sketches and scribbles, perhaps of farm animals which resembled bubbles or a cat and a dog or two – exactly what you'd expect from a person of Italy's mindset and personality – but what awaited him were some of the most amazing and lovingly drawn portraits he had ever seen in his life.

'He did all this with pencils?' he found himself thinking. 'How many more surprises does this man have up his sleeves?'

"Italy," he said as he flicked through the pages, "these are amazing. Admittedly some of them are rather lacking in the symmetry department, but why didn't you tell me you were such a good artist?"

Italy shifted from where he had been, hugging his pillow again, and gave Kid a rather incriminating glare.

"Would you have believed me?" he asked.

Well… no. Kid had expected that a childish person would produce childish artwork. More to the point, Italy had just spoken for the first time in over a week. This was definitely good progress.

The first portrait, unsurprisingly, was of Germany. Every last slicked back hair had been picked out in remarkable detail, every tiny eyelash, even the glints in his sky coloured eyes had been marked and elaborated upon. Even though the man was only a drawing, he looked as though his expression could change from that faint smile at any moment. Like it could graduate into a full-blown grin of joy or devolve into a disapproving frown.

The next was a rather emotionless-looking man who looked only a little younger than Italy, but considering that it was quite plainly another nation, there was a chance that he was actually considerably older. His hair was black, shining blue in the non-existent light, and cut short. His eyes were oddly blank and of such a deep shade of brown that they were almost black.

The inscription at the bottom, in loving cursive, was 'Japan'.

All of the portraits were along the same lines, and quite a few of them were not what Kid had been expecting. America, rather than the greasy Southern-looking cowboy he had thought it would be, was instead an enthusiastic looking youth with dusty-coloured hair, a crescent-shaped cowlick sticking up on the right side of his face, and winking blue eyes behind thinly framed glasses. England could have been a stuffy looking bigwig with a monocle and top hat, but was actually a young man with messy straw-coloured hair, forest green eyes and alarmingly thick eyebrows which bent inwards as he smiled cockily out of the page.

He didn't know what he had been expecting of France, but what he got was a winking man with deep blue eyes, long wavy blonde hair and a rough coating of stubble on his chin (and imprints at the top of the page as though someone had written PERVERT ALERT and then rubbed it out). Russia gave him the creeps, which was surprising for such an innocent looking young man: pale hair, violet eyes and a scarf, along with imprints on his hair as though someone had drawn little devils horns and erased them. China looked surprisingly boyish for someone who must have been in his mid-thousands, brown eyes still bright with near-adolescence, hair tied into a loose ponytail.

Kid didn't recognise the last one. He bore a striking resemblance to Italy, but there were several obvious differences: his eyes were paler and closer to hazel, his hair and skin tone were darker and the curl which plagued the young reaper's mind was protruding from his forehead and sprouted to the right. He glowered angrily out of the paper as though he wanted to punch something.

'Amazing,' Kid thought. 'I'm worried about being punched by a picture which doesn't even have hands.'

"I've never heard of a country called Romano," he pointed out.

"There isn't one," Italy replied. "He's my big brother, Italy Romano. The south. I'm the north, Italy Veneziano."

'Good God,' Kid thought morbidly, 'there's TWO?!'

He closed the book and placed it on the floor.

"Italy," he said quietly, "if you're trying to use your silence to punish me for how I shouted at you, then I want you to know I don't blame you. I-I think you'll agree that everything was out of line that night. I should have allowed my frustration to show a little sooner, rather than just letting it built up until it spewed out like that. The fact is, you needed a friend and you needed one badly, and hell knows I wasn't the right one."

Tears were glistening in Italy's eyes.

"If you wish to hit me, you're welcome to it," said Kid. "Just do it neatly."

He closed his eyes and waited.

Any second now. Any second he was going to feel a fist pound into his face, then another in his stomach, and it would continue like that until his strength was wasted and he was struggling to breathe, and he wouldn't resist because it was exactly what he deserved…

…so naturally he was rather surprised when Italy threw his arms around him and started sobbing into his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry!" he wept. "I'm s-so sorry about everything! If-if I really make you that mad, then I can change, I-I swear it, but I-I don't… I-I'm just- I'm so scared of myself, Kid! I- I just- I never thought my fear could-could ever drive me to kill somebody! A man is dead because of me! And I hate it when people have to die, especially when-when I know there's something th-that I could've… could've done… I hate it… so much…"

"In a sense, I am Death," Kid pointed out. "Does that mean you hate me too?"

"N-No!" cried Italy in shock. "No, I-I wouldn't- I couldn't- you're my friend, I- I couldn't hate you, why did- you've been so-so nice to me and I-"

"Death is just another part of life," said Kid, placing a comforting hand on the wretched man's back (even though it was probably cold as hell). "If there was no such thing as death, our planet would be overcrowded and that would just make one big mess. It's better to just accept it as inevitability rather than try to fight it. If there is an opportunity for a soul to be saved – a soul which is pure and has remained on the path of a human – then yes, you should try to do everything in your power to prevent its demise. But if a soul has strayed from the path of a human and started down the path of a demon, as that man who attacked you had, then taking their life is a mercy. It's why Father founded the DWMA."

Italy paused in his crying, waiting for Kid to continue.

"'A sound soul'," the boy recited, "'dwells within a sound mind and a sound body'. That's the way it always has been, that's the way it always is and that's the way it always shall be. You may not like it, but that's how it works."

He stood up, picked up the old bandages and headed towards the door.

"You can come out any time you like," he said. "Liz and Patty are worried about you, you know. They'll be glad to see you're alright."

And the last thing he saw as the door was closing was Italy reaching for the still steaming bowl.

"-you can Phone a Friend or Ask the Audience-"

"-Wheel! Of! Fortu-"

"-oh Jeff, I love you too, but-"

"-larus, is now offering 200 million rubles in exchange for any information which could lead to the whereabouts of her missing elder brother-"

"-I don't care! I'd rather sink than call Brad for help-"

"Anything interesting on?" asked Liz, who was busy coating her nails in crimson varnish.

"Sure," said Patty, "if you're interested in crap."

She turned the TV off as Kid entered the room.

"How's he doing?" asked the elder of the two sisters.

"He's started talking again," said Kid. "I think that could be taken as a good sign. Also he appeared rather interested in the pasta that I- hang on, what's so funny?"

Both of the girls had started sniggering.

"I'm sorry!" Liz giggled. "It's just that- just that the thought of someone like you making pasta-"

At the second mention of the magic word, she and Patty fell about laughing. Even Kid let out a small chuckle: he had to admit that the concept of a person of his unique lineage and… questionable personality cooking something like pasta was somewhat ridiculous.

They were still laughing as Italy emerged, dressed in relatively plain clothes and faintly smiling in a rather nervous fashion.

"Italy!" cried Patty, and she leapt up and tackl- hugged him again. "Italy! Italy! You're okay! I'm so glad you're okay! Are you okay?"

"Ve~ I think so," said Italy, and Kid was relieved to hear the return of his verbal tic. "Grazie for the pasta, Kid."

And there it was, and Liz and Patty burst once more into reels of laughter. Italy gave Kid a questioning look, and the young reaper just shrugged in a surprisingly nonchalant fashion.

"Now girls," he said, "are you ready to go?"

"Mm-hm."

"Yeah!"

"Wait," said Italy, confused. "What's going on?"

"I think I forgot to tell you," said Kid. "I received a briefing this morning. The girls and I have a mission – we have to investigate reports of supernatural disturbances in central Europe. Father fears it might prove too dangerous for a student of the academy, so-"

"So you're leaving?" asked Italy, fear returning to his voice. "You're going to leave me here all by myself?"

How could Kid explain this without making it sound like he was abandoning Italy? The poor guy was just starting to recover. His mission had to come first – he couldn't just stand back while innocent people's lives were probably in danger – but at the same time, he just looked so wretched. Kid had never seen such an emotionally damaged person, let alone one who was only capable of defending himself in the most crucial of moments, and only when it was certain that no-one was coming to his aid.

And right now he was kneeling on the floor, clutching at the bottom of Kid's suit jacket and staring up at him with those innocent eyes…

"I'm sorry," he said. "I have to. It won't take long if everything goes according to plan. You'll be okay if you stay here alone, won't you? You were last time."

"But it's different this time!" Italy objected. "This time you're going all the way to the other side of the world and what if you take ages or don't come back or get hurt or what if I get attacked again and-"

"You'll be fine," Kid interrupted. "You probably don't realise it, Italy, but you are a lot stronger than you look. You managed to completely annihilate that man who was trying to kill you, and you managed to floor me with a single punch, so I think you'll-"

"Wait, when did THAT happen?" said Liz.

"I'll tell you on the way, alright?" said Kid, more than a little embarrassed. He knelt down so that he could be on the same level as Italy.

"I know you don't like this," he said, "and truth be told, I don't either, because I was planning on spending the afternoon making sure all of my picture frames are parallel to the floor. But we won't take that long, and I'll make sure we come back. Okay?"

Italy bowed his head.

"Okay," he sighed.

"Good," said Kid as he stood up. "Come along then, girls. The sooner we leave the sooner we get back."

He turned to leave.

"Ve~ Kid?" said Italy when they had almost reached the front door.

"Yes, what is it now?"

"Can I… that is, I mean… well… um, you see… I was just wondering if…"

"I don't have all day, you know."

"Well, um… I was just wondering, after you left and you'd made pasta for me, and it was really nice, by the way-"

"Your point?"

Italy shrank back a little at Kid's tone.

"Would it be okay… if I called you… big brother?"

…

Wow.

Okay.

Didn't see that one coming.

Three pairs of eyes trained their attention on the teenage reaper, all patiently waiting for an answer, while Kid thought over what to do or say.

Big… big brother?

Well… mentally, Italy was quite clearly a lot younger than Kid, but Kid was physically younger than Italy, and he had been more or less dependent on him for the past couple of weeks, but if Italy looked up to him as a big brother…

He took a deep breath, and for a moment Italy was worried he was about to start yelling at him again.

No, wait, was he smiling?

"Yes," he said. "Yes you may."

"OH MY GOD NO WAAAY!" Italy screamed, jumping up and down on the spot. "THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU COMEHERESOICANGIVEYOUAHUG COMEHERESOICANGIVEYOUAHUG HUG!"

He threw his arms around Kid and clutched him so tightly that the poor boy could barely breathe.

"There's something you don't see every day," Liz commented as Patty rolled around on the floor laughing helplessly.

Big brother.

Big brother!

Big brother!

Kid had said yes! He'd said yes to being Italy's big brother, even though Italy was kinda older than him! He finally had a big brother who wouldn't try to touch him in bad places and make him feel uncomfortable or try to make him their underling or strangle him and beat him up for trying to be friendly with Germany-

Italy froze in his celebration.

Where had he seen it again…?

Oh yes. On the first floor, right side of the house, there was a telephone. It looked like it hadn't been used much – possibly because it only required one hand to use and if Kid used it his symmetry would be off.

But what if there was no answer?

Then he would just leave a message, of course. Leave a message and let him know that he was alright.

Italy picked up the receiver, dialled the number and waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Then the sounds of ringing ended, to be replaced by:

"Guten morgen-"

"GERMANY!" Italy cried ecstatically.

"-you have reached the residence of Ludwig Beilschmidt. Leave a message after the tone and ONLY AFTER THE TONE HAS FINISHED!"

*beep*

Germany… wasn't there?

"Germany, are you there?" asked Italy. "It's me! It's Italy! I know you're probably worried about me since it's been nearly two weeks and all, but I just want you to know that I'm okay! And I got a new big brother! Well, he's not really my big brother because he's a Grim Reaper and it's a really long story about that…"

He trailed off.

Surely, if Germany was there, he would have answered by now, wouldn't he? Wouldn't he?

"Germany?" Italy said quietly. "Germany, are you there?"

Still nothing.

Hands trembling, Italy placed the receiver down.

He wasn't there. Germany wasn't there.

Still, that didn't mean everyone else was gone, did it?

He picked the receiver back up and dialled another number, and waited for the ringing to finish.

"This is the residence of Lovino Vargas, who can't be fucked picking up right now. Leave a goddamn message, what do you think I want you to do, you stupid bastard?"

*beep*

"Romano?" Italy said. "Romano, it's me! It's your fratello! Can you hear me? I was thinking you might be worried about me, so I…"

"Romano?"

Nothing.

So he ended the call and decided to try someone else.

And after that, someone else.

"Your Ladyship!"

She sat up, examining her new body. Somewhere, somebody would be missing their sister or daughter, but she didn't care. It contained her soul. It was her body now.

The twenty-odd men bowed before her, not daring to look into her eyes.

"Your Ladyship," one of them said, "we pray that you appreciate your new body. How do you feel?"

She flexed her fingers.

"Bored."

Cheesy chapter name is cheesy, but it seemed appropriate, okay?

To tell the truth, I don't see Italy and Kid having a relationship which isn't at least partly fraternal. If they were brothers in an alternate universe or something, there's no doubt in my mind that Kid would be the elder one if only because of Italy's mental state and/or lack of maturity. I would be lying if I said it had nothing to do with the fact that they are both dubbed by Todd Haberkorn (who is awesome BTW).

Also, I included a few little easter eggs in the scene where Patty is channel surfing. See if you can work them out. I think I should also mention that the next chapter will feel very familiar to those of you who have an appreciation for the horror genre...

Huānyíng pínglùn.