Yes, I'm back, sorry for the long wait. Exams are now over and I can get back to doing what I love! We have a whole week off, so there's nothing else to do but write and play piano... Anyway! On with the story!

Warning: Romano - because the guy has issues. Get ready for the feels.

"Grandpa, what are you doing here?" said Italy Veneziano, his eyes wide open.

Grandpa Rome grinned idiotically. "What, I can't see my two grandsons?"

"Th-th-that's not the point! You're . . . You're supposed to be—dead!"

Rome frowned. "Well, that wasn't nice."

"He has a point," said Lovino. "Unless some bastard drugged us and we're seeing things. Or, I'm still in my coma, and I'm dreaming all of this. This has got to be a dream if you're here . . ."

"Hold on. You were in a what?"

"Fratello, that wouldn't make sense. I'm here and I know that I'm not sleeping."

"Boys," said Rome, splaying his hands out. "Come on. It's really me. Can't you tell? Do you not see the magnificence in front of you?"

Commence round two of silence. This practically consisted of the Italies staring at Rome, while the old empire smiled like a fool and displayed his epic (not) beautifully-sculpted-by-the-gods muscles. As a matter of fact, since Rome pretty much lost his entire empire, he slimmed down quite a bit.

Romano's jaw hung open. "You sound like the albino bastard."

Rome leaned forward. "The who? Sorry, my memory's a little fuzzy."

"Grandpa." Tears clung to Feliciano's eyes. "Grandpa, you're really here?"

He didn't care about the logic behind this miracle. He was so happy to see his grandfather again. Feliciano never questioned how this was all true, and he never dared to ask—he feared that just speaking it aloud would wipe his grandpa out of his life again.

Lovino could see how Rome's sudden existence affected his brother. It only reminded him of why this was. Rome had hurt them in the past, and he had hurt Feliciano the most. It was because of him that Feliciano even had a reason to cry now. His protective sibling instincts on overdrive, he instantly loathed whoever dared inflict such suffering on his brother.

"Yes, Ita. I'm here."

Those simple words transported Feliciano back to the past, when he was his young self, sitting in Rome's lap and hearing his stories. He didn't want to let go of that memory. He wanted Rome to stay forever.

"Why the hell are you here?" said Romano, snapping him out of his reverie.

"Eh?"

"I said: Why. Are. You. Here."

"Why am I here?" Rome appeared genuinely confused. He looked off to the side for clarification. "Yes, why am I here? Hmm . . ."

"You fucking nutter." Lovino glared at his grandfather. "If you really are who you say you are, then why the fuck did you leave us?"

"Eh?"

Lovino slammed his hand down on the table. "Say that one more time, and I'll—"

Feliciano lay a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down, fratello. Let's just hear him out, si?"

"Tch."

"Where have you been all this time, Grandpa?" said Feliciano. "If you weren't dead, then when you went to war . . ."

"When I was defeated, I lost my country. But that doesn't necessarily mean I lost my indentity," said Rome. "There's a good reason for that. You see, since you two are alive, so am I. As long as you two continue to exist as Italy, I'll be immortal, as well. When Germania defeated me, there was this moment of complete darkness. I don't know how long it had been when I suddenly woke up in a field and the war was over."

"Please," said Lovino, scoffing. "That shit only happens in fairy tales."

"I'm serious, Roma!" Rome sighed. After a thousand years, clearly not everything had changed. Romano was still the same as back then. "Afterwards, I spent my days singing and entertaining the people. I travelled around the country, learned new culture and met interesting faces."

"And you never thought to visit us once during that time?" questioned Feliciano.

"Well, it's not like I had a choice . . ."

"Huh?"

Rome laughed, batting his hand. "Oh, no! Never mind me! Just an old man and his ramblings!"

That sort of slip-up didn't escape Lovino, though.

"Cut the crap already," he said. "You can't expect to go missing for a thousand fucking years and then show up in the 21st Century and suddenly go, 'Hey, look, guys! I'm actually alive! Let's celebrate.' Fuck no." Lovino pointed into the distance. "If you think we're just going to accept this fucked up shit, you might as well walk back to that field you woke up from and die again."

Rome tilted his head to the side. "Are you holding something against me, Roma?"

"No, because I thought bullshitting you would be fun." Lovino rolled his eyes. "What do you think, moron?"

"And what on earth have a done to you?"

"Oh, you don't know? Let me show you—"

"Ve, fratello. Questo è sufficiente."

Romano ignored his brother's pleas. He towered over Rome, his fists clenched.

"What I want to know," he growled dangerously, "is where the hell you've been when we needed you. If you were alive, why didn't you fucking show up when we needed you?!"

Rome blinked. "Roma, this is hardly the place to start something, isn't it? And you look pale. Do you feel all right?"

Lovino's eyebrow twitched. He raised his right hand, still tightly clenched. Veneziano noticed this and immediately moved to do something. He knew his brother, and he knew that if he didn't step in, Lovino would act on violence without a second thought. Feliciano pulled out a white flag and stuck it between them.

"But you'll explain, right?" Feliciano blurted. "You'll tell us why you're here, Grandpa?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure."

Feliciano nodded incentively. "Okay, now, sit down, fratello. Let's just listen to what Grandpa has to say, si?"

Lovino lowered himself back into his seat. Behind his rage, he hadn't realized he stood up. He sunk lower into his seat as he finally noticed the amount of stares he was attracting. It was already strange that they were speaking in a dead language.

For now, they needed answers. In order to obtain such answers, he had to suck up his contempt and tolerate the urge to punch the bastard's face in. Afterwards, when all would have been said and done, he could proceed to take his pent up anger out on him.

"Grandpa," said Feliciano, "you said you could help us."

"Oh! I did . . . ?"

"Yes. What did you mean by that?"

Rome scratched his cheek obliviously. Then he seemed to remember. "Ah! Do you two remember Pompeii?"

Feliciano looked to Lovino. Lovino didn't respond, although the confusion on his face said it all. Feliciano decided to answer for the both of them.

"What about Pompeii?"

There was a pause as Rome revisited his memory again. "Hm, okay. Right. Pompeii is going to happen again."

Cue silence number three.

"I guess I better explain, huh?"

Madrid, Spain

Antonio unlocked the door to his apartment and hit the showers first. It had been a long day at work, and he needed some time to himself.

Just imagine—he came home from a supernatural alien invasion and his boss immediately expected him to hand in the paperwork by tomorrow morning. Honestly. He nearly died once and his boss wanted him back at work? Nations never had a break and the only thing they were rewarded at the end of the year was Christmas holiday and New Year's celebration with the family.

Other than that, it was work, work, work, all year, ten hours a day.

Ever since the attack on the hotel, no one had been the same. There was a heavy, dark air everyone sported, including him. From dawn to dusk it was running all over the place, trying to get documents sorted out, international relations to strengthen; Antonio never really considered the consequences of what happened that day.

Now he knew. It wasn't only the workload that increased because of the invasion; he had to cover for missing countries. One of which was his brother, Portugal. The only thing he was capable of doing on his own was to help manage Portugal's government. Finding him, however, was an entire matter on its own.

It was a fruitless effort. Other nations have tried. They tried and searched and came up with nothing. In the end the missing stayed missing, and it would be a long time before any of them were found. Spain suggested gathering some resources to find Portugal, but his boss wouldn't hear of it. So he didn't try.

The first time he visited his apartment again, it had been in the same state of disarray as he left it: the furniture destroyed, the bookshelf toppled over, the books ripped and the pots of flowers shattered. The Frost Man he fought had left remains scattered on the carpet as well as some various . . . gooey substances.

He spent the next few days replacing the furniture and the books that had been destroyed. They were ancient, priceless tomes that weren't easily come by, especially in this century.

At least he still had his big chair, which was surprisingly untouched compared to everything else.

Antonio wandered into the room and took a second mental picture of it. Now the room was much cleaner and tidier, though it felt sort of empty. His pirate sword had fallen down.

He replaced it on to the wall, carefully positioning it parallel to his battleaxe from the conquistador days. While doing so, he accidentally knocked down a picture frame, shattering the glass front. He stepped back to avoid the spew of glass and realized which picture frame he destroyed.

"Sorry," he apologized to no one in particular. He flipped the picture frame over and the photo in it slipped out, fluttering to the ground next to his foot.

Usually Romano was often found frowning, but this photo was the evidence of him genuinely smiling. That was the only time in his life that Antonio had successfully gotten him to smile—and then proceeded to take a picture of them both. Lovino didn't smile after that. And Antonio ended up with a concussion.

The picture frame had been weak to begin with. The first time it cracked he didn't replace it. The next time he accidentally stepped on it, breaking the surface further, he didn't replace it. He couldn't bring himself to replace it. It reminded him too much of . . .

He picked away at the glass and lifted the photo up.

Just Lovino's face reminded him of what happened that night in the alleyway. The words they exchanged . . .

He had thoroughly accepted Lovino's fate. He knew there was no turning back. When Lovino had turned out all right and not dead, God chose that moment to take a knife and painfully etch the words into his mind:

It was me. I nearly killed him.

Spain crumpled up the photo and launched it violently at the wall. Antonio seated himself into the armchair with his head buried in his hands, his gaze harsh as he glared at the floorboards.

In the alleyway, he knew that the truth would hurt him so he subconsciously prepared himself before that happened. If Romano had died, he didn't want to experience the emotional torture that followed it. Anything but that.

So he gave up. He gave up and walked away, and he was so ashamed. So ashamed he couldn't even look at Lovino's face, or stay with him until his last moments. He left, because he was a coward.

It's not fair. If the Frost Men never showed up, this wouldn't have happened. We never would have had a reason to fight.

It was incredibly immature of him to think like that, but so what? What if it sounded selfish? He'd never gotten the chance to be selfish. Why couldn't he choose to do things for himself instead of towards the good of the world? Shouldn't a nation be given their own freedom of choice once in a while, as any human would have been given the same privilege? Weren't they people, too?

After a while of seething, Antonio sauntered over to the photo and picked it up, smoothing the crinkles over. He held the picture to his chest with a face of absolute turmoil.

Abandoning his feelings may have spared him the emotional torment, but the act had hurt Lovino even more. How was he supposed to face the Italian now? Now when the evidence of his mistake was alive—alive enough to glare in his face?

But there was no way he could hate Lovino. They'd been through so much together.

That one week he spent taking care of Lovino hadn't been for the fact he cared about his well-being. Honestly, he didn't know what it was. The reasons were beyond complicated to put into words.

Antonio didn't know whether it was out of some sense of duty, or just for the sake of Lovino not suing his ass when he did wake up. After all, he pretty much sent the Italian to his death.

But one thing he was certain of: Lovino was someone he cared for, and he wasn't going to abandon his henchman, no matter the reason.

He had to apologize. Lovino was unconsciousness and it wasn't going to be him that apologized first. Antonio tucked the photo into his pocket and grabbed his car keys. It was a long drive to Italy.

Outside, the sun had already set, mirroring the night that they'd discovered him, unconscious and comatose, right in this very living room.

". . . and that's pretty much it! If we don't stop their next advance, we'll die!"

Feliciano did most of the speechlessness. Lovino just sat with his arms crossed, mentally shouting Catholic curses at Rome.

"Grandpa," said Italy slowly, "how do you know they'll attack again?"

"Because they will."

"Why Pompeii?"

"They did it once already, didn't they? They won't hesitate to do it again. Although, if you factor in their intelligence, they'll probably use the next eruption as a cover for something much bigger."

Lovino finally spoke up, "That's not what Feli meant, bastard. He asked how you knew. How is it you can feel this coming when we're the representations of Italy?"

"Pompeii was a part of Rome once," said Ancient Rome. "It's only natural I feel more connected to it than you, si?"

"And you're asking us to stop them for some sort of revenge?"

"Truthfully I disappeared because of their interference, not my fight with Germania. I could've handled him if it hadn't been for their intrusion. I will not tolerate them taking Rome a second time. You two must stop them before they do rise again."

"Is that what happened to Ancient Greece?" said Feliciano.

"It happened to Germania, as well. It may sound like a scary thought, but these 'Frost Men' are sad creatures. They've been subjugated to their own insanity for thousands of years—perhaps longer than that. They're every bit as victims as we are."

"So . . . you didn't intentionally leave us?"

"No! Why would you ever think that? Do you really think the mighty Rome could be killed off? I think not! So, Ita, what were the two of you talking about before I interrupted?"

Feliciano showed him the laptop and played back the news video. Ancient Rome tended to sidetrack himself a lot. He forgot facts he mentioned earlier and he became easily distracted by pretty women. Nothing really had changed these millennia. Because of this, Rome never worried about the future or cared about its consequences. He was carefree as he spoke about the world's imminent doom.

This didn't sit right with Lovino. Feliciano was still as oblivious as usual; he was much too absorbed with Rome being alive to care about the truth.

In summary of Rome's explanation, he had decided to visit them now because of an oncoming disaster brought by Mt. Vesuvius, the same volcano that had caused the Pompeii/Herculaneum disaster in 79 AD. The last eruption had been in 1944, but Rome insisted that the next eruption would be on a much deadlier scale.

As well as being marked the most famous eruption in the ancient world, Mt. Vesuvius had been one of the most well-concealed truths in mankind's history: it had all been orchestrated by the Frost Men.

The eruption eventually would lead to Ancient Rome to their downfall, although not technically obvious at that time. In addition to this, a second eruption was imminent and Rome was asking them to stop it.

The question was how. How were they going to stop an entire race of supernatural creatures with only two nation personifications, of whom were probably last on the list of potential saviours of humankind?

Laughter interrupted his thoughts. Romano watched his brother's exchanges with Rome. He didn't like how comfortable the both of them were getting with each other. He didn't have the heart to stop them, but it all felt sort of surreal to him, like he was still sleeping and experiencing a dream. Adding that to Rome's sudden disappearance and selfishness without saying goodbye, Lovino found himself sporting a deep hatred for the man.

Rome ruffled his hair. "Aren't you going to say something, Roma? It's kind of lonely with just Ita and me speaking with each other~!"

How could he be so relaxed about all of this?!

Lovino glanced away, embarrassed for being caught staring. "I have nothing to say to you, bastard."

Rome raised a hurt eyebrow. "B-b-but . . . what happened to you?! I remember when you were such a sweet child~ Aren't you happy to see me?"

"Tsk, happy. Right. You ask what happened with me? I grew up, that's what happened."

Tense silence.

Feliciano began warningly, "Fratello . . ."

"Last time we saw each other," said Rome, "we were on good terms! Weren't we? Roma, please say something?"

"Shut up," Lovino said.

"Roma!"

"Fratello, be nice. We haven't seen Grandpa in such a long time. He's not dead after all, and all you can say or do is be rude to him? I thought you were better than this."

"Stop lying," Lovino muttered. "I know that Grandpa Bastard visited you."

Feliciano blinked in confusion. "Ve? He did? I thought that was just a dream!"

"Yeah, well . . . he didn't bother visiting me." Lovino fixed his grandfather with a flat look. "Gee. Thanks a bunch, gramps."

"Is that what this is about?" Rome wondered. "Roma, if you just told me, maybe I could—"

"No, I don't really care about that. There is so much I want to say to you, bastard. And I don't think I can properly express it all through words."

"Fratello! We're in a public place, for God's sake!"

Screw that. He was tired of holding it in. It was about damn time someone listened to him for a change.

"Before you went off to die, you never said a word to either of us. Not a goodbye, not even a messenger to tell us goodbye on your behalf. Nooo. You just abandoned us to fend for ourselves. And now that I'm all grown up, I finally realize what you really meant back then, what with all those fancy words you said to me. And I'll even admit that it worked. You actually brought my hopes up."

"Roma, what I said was the truth!"

"Shut up. Just because you explained your reasons to me doesn't mean I forgave you. You think I would so easily let it go after all the crap you put us through?! 'Are you holding something against me?' What do you think?! You ignored me for a good portion of my life and completely neglected my existence. Then you marched off to war, leaving Feli all the goddamned work to do himself, and now you have the nerve to show up, in this era?!"

"Roma! You cannot talk to me in this way. I am your elder!"

"You're not in the position to tell me what to do anymore!" Lovino snapped. "Your excuses cannot mask the past. Sure, you gave Feliciano the more important duties. Someone would think of it as an honour. But do you realize how much you hurt him?! He cried so much over you that he wasn't the same anymore! And yet, despite everything, he continued to take your place and do everything you would have done if you were still around—while being a fucking child!"

Feliciano lowered himself into his seat, ve'ing sadly. He didn't like family fighting with each other. There was a certain truth in his brother's words, but even still, Rome didn't have a choice at that time: it was either go to war and protect your family or die along with them.

He covered his ears. Romano was a natural pessimist—it was easy for him to pick out misfortune in one's life. Feliciano just wished that he'd learn to view the good side of things, instead of resorting to the dark thoughts he often veered toward. Despite his words, their life had actually been a happy one. Rome was a responsible enough guardian, and there was no major familial struggle between them.

"Sure, you gave me the mission of protecting him as well as your inheritance," Lovino continued, "but after you disappeared, I realized that there was no self-fulfillment in what I did. I still lost the inheritance, and I still lost Feli. My own brother, you jackass! Do you understand me?! Everything I accomplished through blood, sweat, and tears came out worthless in the end!"

Rome was dumbstruck. He shook his head in denial. "That's not true. You know that's not true."

"How would you know? Things didn't get better, no matter how hard we tried! It was always do this or do that; we never had a choice to do what we wanted or we risked punishment from the higher-ups! We had always been stuck on the bottom of the food chain as fucking maids!"

"It was the same thing for other nations, Roma. You don't have to be selfish," countered Rome.

Lovino shook his head, as if tired of explaining his feelings, which he wasn't very good at to begin with. "Everything we accomplished had been for you! But did you understand that?! Everything we'd been building up, learning, striving for—is so that we could be of use to you! So tell me what use we are to a DEAD MAN!"

"But it got better, didn't it?" Rome continued innocently.

"Better?" Lovino narrowed his eyes. "Better? Tell me what part of this is better! What the fuck makes you think the end of the world is better?"

"And how is that my fault?"

"Th-things could have been better if you were around. Better than this. At least—" Romano clawed at his hair and growled in frustration. "Dammit! Why can't you fucking understand?"

"Maybe if you explain with a bit more detail—"

"I'm this close—" Lovino held a hair's breadth between his fingers and showed it to Rome's face. "I'm this close, bastard, before I—"

"Fratello, Grandpa, please don't fight anymore," pleaded Feliciano, close to tears. "This is all a misunderstanding. Let's sort this out through a calm chat, si?"

Lovino wasn't listening. Neither was Rome. You could tell the former empire was getting riled up.

"Remember I told you that I loved the both of you?" said Rome, unusually calm. "I meant it. I would have never intentionally placed the both of you in danger."

"Shut up! All you ever said were mere pretty words. They meant nothing. You never answered my questions outright, and you always kept secrets from us . . . !"

Rome just sat with an emotionless expression on his face, accepting all the merciless accusations flying his way. Meanwhile, Lovino continued to list off reasons for another good minute.

"I could tell you were trying to veer away from telling me the truth," he concluded, shaking with fury. "And you know what? I completely fell for your bullshit!"

"That's enough, fratello!" Feliciano interjected heatedly, a rare sight for the usually harmless Italian. He was tired of the anger and hate; it made him sick. It was about time he took charge. "I ought to wash your mouth out with soup. You can't speak to Grandpa this way!"

Both Rome and Romano had frozen with a stunned expression on their faces. Suddenly Lovino nodded.

"You're right," he said. "I'll sum up my points for you in a few short words, then." He leaned forward, his palms faced down on the table. "Everything you ever said to me was total BS. Ciao, jerkface."

Romano stood and stormed into the streets, slamming the gate behind him. The nearby civilians turned their heads and watched him trail away. No doubt they heard the entire argument.

Feliciano slumped forward, the conversation clearly taking a strain on his mentality. He tried to explain. "Please don't mind him. He's . . . emotionally stable as of late. Before he woke up, he was having nightmares—"

"What do you mean he woke up?" Rome blurted, having forgotten he asked the question already.

"He was in a coma for three weeks. When he woke up, he seemed fine to me. I don't know where all that hatred came from, but—"

"Three weeks? Whatever for?"

Feliciano furrowed his eyebrows and asked once more, "Grandpa, could you tell me why you're here?"

Rome blinked. "Why I'm here?"

"Yes."

"Why . . . I don't know, really. I just thought of visiting you."

"Yes, but why now? You had every chance of thinking of coming to visit us before today."

"Er . . ." Rome couldn't find any words to say. "I don't know?"

Typical Rome. So he just happened to wander to the same café on the same day, at the same time? Veneziano even had to admit that his grandfather's actions were a little shady, as if he was holding more back than he was telling them. His response to Lovino's words was too apathetic. His general reaction to meeting them was too casual. Now he was playing innocent?

Feliciano sat back and stirred his coffee. "I'm . . . sorry about fratello. He shouldn't have said those things—it was completely out of line. I can tell he misses you too. I can feel it. But you can't expect him to be reasonable, especially after his near-death experience. Whatever he was dreaming about must have hit him hard . . . I'm imagining it's about you."

"Me? Why was he dreaming about me?"

"I don't really understand it either, but sometimes I would get glimpses of his dreams myself, when I'm sleeping. I see your face in it all the time."

"Whaaat? No!"

"Yes. Fratello has abandonment issues that he tries to hide—although not always effective. He might not think I realize it, but I know he feels inferior compared to myself, while being protective of me, which is rather contradictory, isn't it? He's tearing himself apart between two sides that can't win."

"But I've always—" Rome stopped himself. "I've always paid attention to him. Haven't I?"

Feliciano gazed at his grandfather in disappointment. "Not enough. Even I have thought what he believed in once upon a time. And I hated it. Why would I think such things of my own grandfather? That's what I often asked myself. When I met Ludwig and Kiku, all that resentment vanished. They showed me what was important, the friendship that company brings." He flashed a brief smile. "I was happy."

"But your brother wasn't."

"No. He wasn't." Feliciano frowned, the expression offset on his usually pleasant face. "He's always been a different story—an enigma, almost. But I wouldn't say that because he's my brother. Grudges don't evaporate so easily for him. He's only ever had Spain, so he doesn't understand companionship very well."

Rome's heart sank. Had he really inflicted so much suffering on his grandchildren? Even sweet Feliciano cursed his disappearance for a good period of time.

"So what do we do?" he wanted to know.

"Give him time. He'll come back to us. For now, we'll have to wait for him."

. . . You probably hate me, don't you? I know, I know. I was having a hard time with this chapter because I didn't know how to express the feelings everyone had, and it's even harder when you're writing a tsundere's dialogue. It's been a difficult time, all right? For all of us.

Romano is kind of out of sync with his emotions and angry towards Rome. Italy's trying to balance both sides out, but he's not helping much since no one can win this way. Spain's part is self-explanatory. Rome will always be Rome - clueless and light-hearted.

The part I really look forward to writing is Germany's story (partly because the Awesome Prussia helps delivers it xD). I think his personal conflict is very human and it's nice to tap further into his friendship with Italy and Japan. Sadly, I won't be able to get to his part until later in the story. T-T Damn you, plot!