Chapter Ten

Romano took a deep breath and stared at his body in the mirror, forcing his eyes to look over each pale scar. He had tried to count them at least thrice since it happened, but there were too many. It had taken three weeks for all his wounds to heal, and though his mental state had improved a bit since that time, his PTSD remained, and it didn't show any signs of relenting soon.

Not long after he had been rescued, Germany had called Spain and informed them what had happened. Apparently, there were other universes with personified nations similar to them, and one of the worlds had gotten too close to theirs. Feliciano's counterpart, Luciano, had used this opportunity to take over his body. Whereas Spain was elated to hear that it wasn't actually Feliciano who had tortured Lovino, Romano was wary. How could he not be? England had supposedly figured all this out, and he'd sooner kiss France than play along with that stupid hallucinating moron's antics. Not to mention that the things Italy had said had been so like him….

A knock on his door startled Romano back to reality and he hurriedly threw on a pair of pants and a t-shirt. He didn't want Spain to see that he was staring at his scars again, he worried about him enough as is, and it was always worse when he caught him looking at them.

"I'm coming in, Lovi." Spain called out softly. He had been so gentle toward him in the past three weeks, especially when he spoke. Romano was rather touched by it, but, as usual, made no effort to tell him.

Spain opened the door, bearing his ever-present smile, and walked over to hug him. Romano returned the embrace, wanting a hug too badly to be stubborn and reject it.

Spain pulled away after a moment, looking at him concernedly with his beautiful green eyes. "We can wait longer, if you want. You don't have to see him today."

Romano shook his head firmly. He wanted to back out of this so badly, but he knew he couldn't run forever. He would have to face his brother again sometime.

"Are you sure?"

Romano nodded. It was a lot easier to agree to things with gestures than it was with words, he had discovered. Though it was liberating, it was far from worth the price.

Spain nodded and kissed his forehead, making him blush faintly. "They'll be here within the hour. If you start to feel another panic attack coming or want them to leave, don't hesitate to tell me, all right?"

Romano nodded again, stepping forward and hugging him tightly. He had become less reluctant to reciprocate affection toward the Spaniard in the past few weeks, telling himself that it was for his sake, adamantly denying that it was more for his own, even though they both knew that wasn't true.

Italy bounced his leg anxiously as Germany pulled into Spain's driveway, more nervous to see Romano again than excited. What if he hated him…?

"Feliciano," Germany shut off the car and looked at him empathetically, "everything's going to be fine, all right?"

"But what if-"

Germany shook his head, interrupting him. "Feli, it'll be okay. I promise."
Italy nodded and lurched forward, hugging him tightly for a moment before getting out of the car, clasping his shaking hands nervously as they walked to the front door.

Spain opened it before they had a chance to knock, grinning, albeit a little sadly, when he saw Italy.

"It's so good to see you again, mi amigo!" He hugged him briefly, stepping aside to let them in. "Lovi's in the living room."

Italy nodded, walking inside and nervously waiting for Spain to lead the way there. He knew the house quite well by now and could very well have gone there himself, but he wasn't exactly eager to see how Romano would react, and wanted to delay as much as possible.

Germany placed a hand on his shoulder to comfort him, Italy hardly noticing the gesture. Spain shut the door and walked toward the living room, and very hesitantly, he followed, Ludwig right behind him.

Romano was sitting on the couch, his knees pulled up to his chest and his gaze fixated on the floor. His hazel eyes were devoid of the fervor that had always burned in them, they lacked the same exuberance they had always borne, and it broke Italy's heart. He was a lot thinner than he was when he saw him last, and his hair was unkempt and longer than he liked to keep it. His usual scowl was gone, replaced by a numb, vacant expression.

But worse than any of that was Romano's skin, on which there were scars everywhere. Some long and some short, some prominent and some faint, some thick and some thin, some curved and some straight. They were all different, not one looking identical to another. They had only one thing in common. Italy's gaze fell and stared down at his palms. They had all been put there by his hands.

Feliciano gasped softly and Lovino looked up, flinching and tightening his grip around his legs the moment they met eyes. His expression was a mixture between anxiety and distrust, and it made Italy's eyes brim with tears of devastation. There was a scar on the right side of Romano's cheek, one that they all knew would never fade. When a nation hurt another nation, the scars never disappeared, no matter how much time passed.

"Lovino…." He murmured, walking toward him slowly, not wanting to make his fear any worse. When he was about a yard away, Romano shrank back, his eyes full of panic. Italy stopped and stumbled backward, shocked and hurt by his reaction.

"He's still a little shaken." Spain explained, his voice sad.

Italy nodded, sitting in the chair furthest from his brother. Romano relaxed a little, clearly relieved to have him less near.

"H-how have you been, fratello?" Italy asked quietly, looking up at him and swallowing the lump of tears in his throat. Romano looked away, staying silent.

"Lovino?" he prompted gently.

"Did Germany not tell you…?" Spain said, glancing at the blonde nation.

Ludwig shook his head. "I couldn't bring myself to."
"Tell me what?" Italy asked fearfully.

Spain turned to face him, his expression grim. "His throat was injured quite badly."

"What?" He whispered.

"He won't ever speak again, Feli." Spain answered quietly.

That was it. What composure Italy had left broke at hearing those words. His brother, who had already been through so much, had to endure two weeks of utter hell, and now this? It was too much.

Spain and Germany hurried over to comfort him, but he didn't listen. Their words would change nothing. Even though he hadn't been in control of his body, it had still done such horrible things to Romano, and now he was too traumatized to so much as look at him without flinching. Even worse than that, he had lost his voice, the thing Italy knew he depended on the most.

It wasn't until Germany and Spain stopped that Italy looked up. Through his blurred eyes, he saw Romano standing in front of the chair he sat in, his expression strained. As much as he wanted to, Feliciano made no move to hug him, remembering what Spain said about him being shaken up. He didn't want to make anything worse than it already was.

Before he could speak, Romano practically shoved a notepad in his hands, revealing a sentence written in sloppily elegant handwriting. 'Stop crying, damn it.'

Italy opened his mouth to reply, but was hugged by Lovino before he could speak. His arms were hesitant and loose around him, as if he wasn't entirely sure that he wouldn't jump up and strike him like a snake. It wasn't the same as their embraces usually were, but it was a hug nonetheless, and for that, Feliciano was immensely grateful. After all that Romano had been through, it was a miracle that he was willing to look at him, much less touch him.

The embrace had been brief and slightly tense, and Lovino had returned to his spot on the couch directly afterward, but it was better than any hug Italy had ever received before.

It was almost a decade before Romano moved back into the house he used to share with Italy, and even longer before he finally was able to start trusting his brother again. Even though several years had passed since the horrible memories that still plagued his nightmares had been made, Romano would be lying if he said he was fully recovered. He still had panic attacks and would, on very rare occasions, spend a few nights at Spain's house to escape his terror on the rare instances when it returned.

Though it was still a long road until full recovery, Lovino was getting a little better each day, and to Antonio and Feliciano, that's all that mattered.

A/N: The ending's a little abrupt, I know, but I hope you liked it nonetheless! (: This fic was SO much fun to write, and I hope you all had half as fun reading it as I did writing it! Thank you to all who reviewed and followed/favorited, I appreciate it very much! :D

(Oh, and I apologize profusely; I said this would be out a few days after chapter nine, but I completely forgot to update until now! Again, I'm sorry, and I hope it was worth the wait!)