Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
Warning: This is crack, of the purest sort.
I've had a ...long...week. So I needed a little break, and, well, I wanted to thank you guys for...well, being so awesome and sweet and helpful and...really, you have no idea how much you, all of you, yes, even you lurkers (don't worry, I don't demand reviews, I'm just glad you're enjoying the story), well...anyway, I wanted to do something to show my appreciation, and since I got an overwhelming amount of PMs and reviews asking for America in a collar, well...
This is what came out when I let my brain go and my fingers do the work. If it's not your kind of thing, feel free to skip this chapter- it won't have much bearing on future chapters, to the best of my knowledge. It is, as the title says, an 'interlude'. 'Brain candy', as my mother would say.
I hope you enjoy it. Try not to take it too seriously- remember, it's basically cotton candy in word form.
Bon appetit!
A knock on the door woke the nation from his slumber. He sat up, blinking, surprised to see the bright Italian sunlight spilling over his sheets. He'd slept this late? He was usually up before dawn. The sound of the door opening and closing downstairs reminded him why he'd woken in the first place, and he stumbled out of bed, wiping his face with a hand. It felt like he'd barely slept at all, dammit.
"Ve~, Romano~!" His brother's voice floated up from downstairs. "Romano, are you up~? I'm home!"
"'M up, I'm up, bastard." He called back, grabbing his shorts from the floor and trying to determine which end of them was up. Slipping them on, he snagged his shirt and exited the room, tugging it over his head as he went. "Make me breakfast, dammit."
"Mm, I will, but first let me put away these packages." His brother agreed amiably. "You'll never believe what I found, Romano~!"
"Yeah, I'm sure I won't." Romano sighed, running his hands through his hair to straighten it as he descended the stairs. His brother sometimes tended to come home with things that Romano, at least, felt were a bit frivolous or useless and completely unnecessary.
Like Germany.
There was a scratching sound at the front door, and Feliciano dropped his packages on the coffee table, hurrying back towards it. "Oh no! I forgot!" Reaching the door, he flung it open to reveal Germany waiting stoically on the doorstep. "Waaa~, Ludwig! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to leave you outside! Poor boy," He exclaimed, reaching up to ruffle pale blond hair, scratching his ears in apology. Germany shook his head to settle his hair back in place, the tags on his studded collar jingling with the movement. "Come on, come in!" Feliciano said, stepping back to let the tall blond in. "Go sit on the couch while I get breakfast ready." Nuzzling the Italian in thanks, Germany trotted inside, his boots clicking on the hardwood floor as he made his way to the couch.
"You know I don't want that mutt on the couch, Feliciano." Romano complained. "He'll get his filth all over it."
"Ludwig's not filthy!" Feliciano threw his arms around the German's neck, "I just gave him a bath. Besides, you let your puppy on the couch."
"That's different." Romano defended, crossing his arms with a blush. "Alfredo's way better than your beast. That dog is dangerous." He added, pointing an accusing finger at the blond staring at him from the couch.
"Sure Ludwig's a little scary sometimes," Feliciano defended in turn, chin resting on Germany's shoulder. "but he's a good dog! He looks out for me."
"And if it wasn't for that, I would have had him put down a long time ago." Romano muttered, huffing slightly. "I still say we should have him neutered."
"Nooo!" Wailed his brother, pulling Ludwig close as the German laid his ears back and growled.
"D-don't you growl at me, mutt!" Romano blustered, backing up a few paces.
"Don't fight!" Feliciano scolded them both, petting the pointed, furry ears that sat atop Germany's head soothingly.
"Cheh." Romano shifted, looking around. "Where is that idiot, anyway?" After all, food had been mentioned, and the blond with the bottomless stomach was nowhere in sight.
"Ah, he slipped outside when Ludwig and I went out this morning." Feliciano said apologetically, and Germany's ears twitched guiltily.
Romano slapped a hand to his forehead. "Feliciano, you know what happens when you let him outside unsupervised."
"Ve~ I'm sorry~, it's just, he looked so sad to be left behind and he gave us that look where he sort of droops and his eyes get really big and -"
"Yeah, yeah, I know." Romano interrupted, waving off their excuses. "Dammit, I'd better go find him before-"
"Romannnooo~!" An excited voice from outside the door was their only warning before it slammed open, America hurtling through it, a golden dynamo. "Romano, look what I found!"
Romano turned, dreading what he was about to see. Sure enough, America was proudly dragging a missile behind him, trying to figure out how to fit the whole thing through the door. He was having trouble getting the nose through the doorway without the fins catching on the stair rail outside.
Again, Romano's palm met his forehead. He counted to ten. It didn't help. "Alfredo." He ground out, and the American paused to smile widely at him, one pointed, silk-furred ear standing at attention (the other slightly floppy one doing its best to follow suit), golden tail wagging slowly.
"Hm?" He asked.
Romano sighed, rubbing his temple. "What did I tell you about..." he gestured frustratedly at the missile, "this sort of thing?"
"Um..." America's head cocked, ears twitching back as he thought for a moment. "Make sure it's disarmed before-"
"The other thing, dammit."
"Oh!' America's ears perked again and he grinned, tail wagging madly. "No weapons of mass destruction in the house!"
"That's right. So why the hell did you think dragging it in here was a good idea, idiot? Get it outside! Out!"
"Aw but, I wanted you to see-"
"Outside." Romano ordered.
"I told you he wouldn't like it." Germany commented idly from where he sat, chin resting on the back of the couch.
"You don't like it?" America asked his Italian, both ears and tail drooping as his blue eyes went wide and sad.
"I, I like it just fine, idiot." Romano answered, unable to stay mad in the face of... that face. Shooting Germany a dirty look over his shoulder, he added. "J-just, not in the house, okay?"
"Okay!" And just like that, the blond was happy again. "Hey Ludwig, want to come help me bury this? Then I want to show you these plans I've been working on for a new type of 'plane. You'll love it, it's awesome!"
"Alright." The German answered, leaving the couch to follow the American out the door. "It's a nice missile." He commented, examining the fuselage. "Where'd you find it?"
"I dug it up somewhere." The other answered idly. "Hey, we should totally bury this in Artie's yard!"
"That's an idea." Germany responded, his own tail wagging slightly as he helped guide the missile out of the doorway. "Or better yet, we can bury it in his flowerbed."
"Oooh, his prized dahlias? Great idea! He's gonna flip."
"We can watch from the top of my brother's doghouse in the next yard." There was the hint of a grin in Germany's voice.
"Awesome!"
"Hey! Be back in time for breakfast, bastards! And if you're going to that jerk Kirkland's place you make sure you stay away from his damn poodle, Alfredo. He's a bad influence, dammit." Romano yelled after the two as they left the yard, tails waving eagerly.
"Don't worry, Ludwig will keep them out of trouble." Feliciano reassured him from where he was unloading his shopping bags. "Anyway, I got something for you, Romano! Well, you and Alfredo."
"I told you dammit, we're not going to wear matching underw- wait, what is that?" The elder Italian asked as his brother emptied a bag of brightly-colored collars onto the table.
"I just grabbed one of everything in Alfredo's size, ve~. Since you won't come to the store." His brother added, slightly chastizing. Romano frowned, sitting on the couch and lifting a red collar covered in rhinestones from the pile.
"Rhinestones, bastard? You could have at least eliminated the tacky ones, dammit." He complained as he flung the offending article over his shoulder, where it landed neatly in the wastebasket. He sifted quickly through the pile, removing anything leopard-spotted, striped, neon or covered in sparkly things, shoving them back into the bag, grumbling as he did so. "You're a goddamned artist, idiot. You're supposed to have better taste than this."
"Ve~, well, since you're being so stubborn about putting a collar on him, I thought maybe if I grabbed everything you'd finally find one you liked." Feliciano pouted, settling down next to his brother. "Here, how about this one? This would look good on him!" He leaned forward to snag one from the pile, lifting it for his brother's inspection.
"Ehhh..." Romano took the spiked black leather collar from his brother's outstretched hand, trying to imagine it on Alfredo. "Well..."
"It kind of matches Ludwig's and Gilbert's studded ones. Just, more spiky." Feliciano observed.
"You're not selling me on this." Romano responded dryly, dropping it back onto the pile. "Besides, knowing the idiot he'd find some way to impale himself on his own spikes."
"Ve~, chain?" His brother displayed a circle of thick silver chain dangling between his fingertips.
"He'll choke to death."
"The harness?"
"He'll get tangled up in it!"
"The safety collar, ve~."
"He'll slip it five minutes after we put it on, dammit."
"You've got to choose something, Romano!" Feliciano said in exasperation, throwing up his hands. "If you don't get a collar on him, then someone else is going to pick him up and take him home, and then where will you be?"
"I will. Besides, idiot, it hasn't even been that long since he followed me home." Romano defended, hunching over and fingering the tangled mess on the table. Then he blinked, and brushed aside some of the top of the pile to pull a thick leather one from the bottom, brows raised in surprise. "Where the hell did you find a collar set with bullets?" He asked, nonplussed. Hm. Alfredo might like this one, actually. Still...
"There were a lot of collars." Feliciano explained, pleased that his brother was finally showing an interest. "Do you like it? It does sort of suit him, don't you think?"
"Maybe..." Romano agreed reluctantly, setting it aside from the others. "I'll keep it as a backup, I guess. But..."
"Romano..." His brother sighed, shaking his head. "Don't you want Alfredo? He's such a nice puppy! And he really likes you. And he gets along with Ludwig and me. And I like knowing you have someone around the house to keep you company and look out for you."
"I don't need looking after, dammit." Romano frowned, sliding down to lean against the back of the couch, arms crossing defensively. "And I...well...some of these are okay, but I want to get a collar for him myself. Something special." He sort of already had one in mind, in fact, but he didn't want to come out with it until he was sure. Really sure.
The younger Italian pursed his lips. "Alright. But don't take too long." He cautioned, loading the rest of the collars back into the bag. "You never know what might happen. What if he gets lost? If someone finds him, they won't know where to return him! And he's such a sweet puppy, people are going to want to try and lure him away if they think he's available. Ludwig and I will help you look out for him, but you know he tends to rush into things sometimes, and we can't always be there."
"I don't need your help, dammit." Romano muttered. "I can take care of him just fine."
"Then put a collar on him, brother~." Feliciano smiled and stood, leaning down to kiss his brother's temple. "I'm going to go make breakfast now. Is there anything in particular you want to eat?"
"Anything you make is fine. Just make sure you make enough for-"
"Mm, I'll make extra for Alfredo." His brother agreed, nodding.
"Nothing with potatoes in it, though."
"Potatoes are very filling, Romano! And Ludwig likes them."
"Cheh, that doesn't mean we have to eat the damn things. Besides, I don't want Alfredo growing up like that mutt." Romano frowned at the thought, helping his brother carry carry the bags into the foyer.
"Ve~, you know he's got a lot of German blood in him, though." Feliciano commented. "Alot of people do. Let's leave these here and we can put them away later." He added, dropping his burden at the bottom of the stairs.
"Ugh, don't remind me." Romano responded, dropping the bags where Feliciano indicated. "That Germania asshole sure got around."
"So did Grandpa Rome." Feliciano grinned and winked at his brother, who snorted, but didn't disagree. "Do you want to have espresso while you wait for breakfast?"
"Mm, alright. But I'll make it."
"Okay~!"
They retired to the kitchen, where Romano sat at the table with his espresso while Feliciano bustled around, chattering happily as he cooked. Occasionally Romano would help out when Feliciano needed a hand, but for the most part he just relaxed and enjoyed his brother's endless prattle, and the sounds and smells of good food in the process of preparation. If Alfredo would hurry up and come back from harassing the neighbors, this morning would be perfect (he wasn't too worried about what Arthur Kirkland might do to the pair- the man talked a big game, but had a soft spot for Alfredo, since the ravenous pup was the only one who could stomach his cooking).
A loud thump at the door interrupted their quiet (well, relatively, not counting Feliciano's chatter) morning. "Ve~, that must be the boys. It's good timing, breakfast is almost ready." Feliciano said, looking up from whatever he was stirring on the stove. "Can you let them in please, Romano? I can't leave this right now."
"Mm." Romano acquiesced, slipping out of his seat and heading for the door. He opened it, and was surprised to see Germany leaning against the doorframe, arms wrapped around his stomach, looking green and ill. "What the hell happened to you, bastard?"
"C-c-" Germany tried to respond, and cut off with a groan, ears plastered flat against his skull.
"Oi! Feli! Something's wrong with your mutt!" The Italian called over his shoulder. "Not that I care," he added disinterestedly, as his brother exited the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron and looking concerned. "I just don't want him ruining the entryway."
"Ve~, Ludwig? Ludwig!" The younger exclaimed upon seeing his German's sorry state. "What happened?"
"He..." Germany panted, and swallowed thickly. "He pulled his cooking on us."
Feliciano gasped, horrified, and Romano couldn't help wincing at the thought, for all that he wasn't too fond of Germany. "My poor baby!" Feliciano cried, throwing his arms around Germany's neck in a comforting hug. He pulled back after a second to fuss over the blond, checking to make sure there wasn't too much damage done. "Come on, Ludwig. Come into the kitchen and we'll get you something to wash the taste out of your mouth."
Germany whimpered, groaning, "Mein gott, the taste is everywhere. It's, it's," He shuddered, "I'll taste it in my nightmares."
"Shhh, come on," Feliciano soothed, leading the ailing pup into the kitchens, and Romano followed. "it's okay, we'll get you some nice beer and I'll get the wurst out and it'll be alright, alright?" Germany nodded, sitting heavily into a chair, resting his head on the table. Feliciano grabbed a bottle from the fridge and opened it, offering it to the German, who grabbed it desperately, guzzling it like it was his only hope for salvation.
"You brought beer into this house?" Romano asked disgustedly.
"Mhmm, it's good for him, and he likes it." Feliciano answered, absorbed in petting Germany, trying to ease his discomfort.
"Cheh. I don't see why he can't drink wine like a civilized person. Or why you have to keep it in our fridge, dammit." Romano complained, crossing his arms.
"I keep it next to the twenty-four pack of soda, Romano~." Feliciano said sweetly. Romano blushed.
"Th-that's different! That's, just, it's a treat. For when he's really good." He defended, eyes sliding off to the side (or when he's thirsty, or when he wants one, or just because he's so cute when he's happy, he didn't admit to himself). Then he blinked. "Wait. Where's Alfredo?"
"Gnh." Germany swallowed the last of the beer and took a deep breath. "He's still there. He liked it." He shuddered again, ears flattening, and Feliciano patted him on the head before retrieving another beer from the fridge, as well as a package of wurst, which Germany tore into with equal desperation.
"Ugh." Romano wrinkled his nose. "Now he's going to have indigestion all afternoon. This is all your fault, dammit."
"It's not Ludwig's fault," Feliciano argued, "Alfredo suggested they go to Mister Kirkland's in the first place. And besides, he needs to learn not to eat everything he's given, Romano."
"He just does that 'cause he was a stray for so long!" Romano said. "He had to eat whatever he could get, dammit. He'll learn better in time."
"Mm, but you shouldn't blame it on Ludwig, Romano. Alfredo doesn't really listen to anyone but you, anyway."
"Cheh." Romano sighed. "I'd better go find the idiot before any permanent damage is done."
"That collar's on the table if you've changed your mind~." His brother remarked absently, stroking Germany's hair.
"Feliciano." Romano said warningly as he left the kitchen. "Don't push it, dammit. I'll do it when I'm ready."
"Ve~, breakfast will be on the table in fifteen minutes." His brother called after him, letting the subject drop. "We'll have your places ready for you."
"Your brother is going to collar Alfredo?" He heard Germany ask interestedly as he left, slamming the door behind him. Why was everyone so damn interested in his and Alfredo's relationship? It was no-one's business but theirs, dammit.
He found America still at England's place, eating biscuits from a plate the British man held, with every sign of enjoyment. "Alfredo!" He called, and the American turned.
"Hi Romano!" He grinned, tail wagging. "Artie's been feeding me cookies!"
"Biscuits, boy. And it's 'Arthur'. Or 'Mister Kirkland'." England corrected stiffly. "And I'm rather glad you like them." He added, a little more warmly. "You're welcome to have as many as you wish."
"Thank you!" America grabbed a handful of biscuits from the plate, to England's pleasure.
"Stop trying to poison him, dammit." Romano growled at England, seizing America's arm and dragging him away from the dangerous substance and the man who held it. "That food of yours should be banned under international treaty."
"Well, I never." England sniffed, deeply offended. "I'll have you know he quite likes my cooking, thank-you. Some people just have no taste. Or manners." He added, nose in the air.
"You're one to talk, bastard." Romano muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes as he led America back towards home. America looked back and shouted,
"Thanks Artie! I'll see you later!"
"Arthur. And it's my pleasure, boy. You're welcome back anytime to sample more." England called back, returning to his own house with the now-empty plate and a pleased smile.
"You shouldn't eat that garbage, Alfredo." Romano scolded, taking the cookies from America's hands and tossing them into a convenient bush. America watched them go sadly.
"Aww, I was eating those." He protested. "They were okay! They almost tasted like real food this time."
"Ugh, you're going to get yourself killed eating junk like that."
"No way! It's not as good as your cooking, but it's totally mostly edible. I had like, three plates full and I'm okay!"
Romano glanced at him warily. Three plates? He counted down the seconds, waiting for the inevitable...
Suddenly, America's ears flattened against his head, and he whimpered. "I don't feel so good." He moaned. Romano sighed, tugging him off to the gutter, removing his glasses and holding his hair back as the blond knelt to empty his stomach into the rain sewer.
"Better, idiot?" He asked after a while, when the heaving seemed to have stopped. America's tail waved weakly.
"Mm, a bit. I'm okay." He smiled, still a little pale. Romano finger-combed golden blond hair, and slipped America's glasses back on his nose.
"Let's go home, then. Feliciano's got breakfast ready."
America shook his head and stood, color returning to his face. "That's good. I'm starting to get hungry again. You didn't cook?" He asked, fixing Romano with a look that wasn't quite disappointment, but still made Romano's stomach twist with something a little like guilt.
"N-no. Not breakfast. B-but, I'll make you some treats later. Maybe." He said, eyes sliding off to the side. America beamed, nuzzling his cheek.
"Yay! You make the best treats. Can they be shaped like rockets?"
"Get off of me, bastard. You reek." Romano complained, tweaking a soft ear halfheartedly. "And why the hell would they be shaped like rockets?"
"'Cause rockets are awesome!" America answered readily, huffing into his hand to smell his breath, and wrinkling his nose. Ew, he did reek. Oh well, he shrugged. He could fix that when they got back.
"We'll see, idiot. No promises, though. Wait, didn't you bury that missile in the brow-bastard's flowerbed? Why was he feeding you cookies?"
"Oh, well, we didn't get to bury it in his garden. We were going to, but then Ludwig's brother asked if he could have it for a trick he was going to play on Roderich, and Ludwig said it was okay as long as we removed the warhead, so we ended up just burying the warhead instead, but that's a lot smaller so I don't think he noticed yet."
"Ha, the mutt's brother's playing a prank on Miss Elizabeta's precious pussy-boy? She's going to kill him. Chop him to little bitty mutt-bastard peices and fry him up in that pan of hers." Romano snickered. "If that sissy bastard Roderich doesn't scratch the moron's eyes out first."
"Is that why he's always all scratched up?" America asked curiously, head cocked. "I thought it was 'cause he's always hanging out with Antonio."
"Nah, Antonio doesn't scratch much anymore. Not since he got over his territorial phase." Romano explained, waving dismissively.
"Interesting. We saw him sleeping in a tree at that nice blonde lady's house on the way, and I was going to wake him up to say hi, but Ludwig said cats don't like to have their siestas interrupted, so I didn't. Did you know that cats don't like to be woken up? They sleep alot!"
"Mhm, that's right. So keep your nose out of their business while they sleep if you don't want to get scratched up, bastard."
"Okay, I'll try and remember." America nodded, then his ears perked up. "Yay, we're home!" He bounced around Romano excitedly as the Italian opened the door, and followed him to the kitchen, tail waving eagerly. "Hi Romano's brother! Hey Ludwig! Why'd you go? There was lots of cookies!" He greeted the blond at the table as he pulled a chair out for Romano, who blushed but sat without comment.
"Don't remind me." Germany groaned, ears twitching back.
"Ve~, welcome back, you two." Feliciano smiled cheerfully, untying his apron and seating himself. "You're just in time. I just finished filling everyone's plates."
"Great, I'm starving. And I kinda need to get this taste out of my mouth." America admitted, sitting down and digging in eagerly.
"Tell me about it." Germany sighed in agreement, reaching for his beer.
After breakfast they retired to the veranda, full and sated, sprawling across the lounge sofa and chairs. The early afternoon sun was warm, and they soaked it up in silent contentment, Italians sipping their wine and Germany his beer, enjoying the clear blue skies and the camellias blooming in the arbour above them. America opted instead to toy idly with a rubber hamburger, as he, too, enjoyed the quiet of the moment. The occasional thump of his tail against a chair leg or squeak of his toy were the only sounds in the still afternoon air.
After a while he wriggled over to Romano, settling his head against the Italian's shoulder to whine, "I'm thirsty."
"You know where the soda is, bastard." Romano responded absently, stroking a soft furry ear.
"I can have a soda? Yay!" He squirmed happily, nuzzling Romano's ear in thanks before trotting inside the house. About ten minutes later (just when Romano was starting to wonder if he'd gotten lost on the way to the kitchen- or more likely, was devouring everything inside the 'fridge) he came back out, grinning excitedly. "Hey, Romano! I found this awesome ammo belt just sitting on the table! Look!" He leaned over the back of the sofa the others sat on, dangling the bullet-set collar for their inspection. "It's really small though. I tried it on but it doesn't fit. Can you make it bigger?"
"Uh," Romano swallowed, glancing at his brother, who gave him a significant look. "That's... not a belt, bastard."
"It isn't?" America asked, lifting it up to inspect it curiously. "What is it, then? It's kind of big for a bracelet."
"It's not a bracelet, either. It's, it's a collar." Romano answered, flushing awkwardly. He was keenly aware of Feliciano and Germany watching with interest.
"Oh. Is it for Ludwig then?" America asked, holding it out for the German, who glanced sidelong at his own Italian.
"Uh." Was all Romano could say.
"How come Ludwig and Gilbert and Francis and the others have collars, but I don't?" America wondered innocently, cocking his head in confusion. Germany cleared his throat.
"Ve~, I think Ludwig and I will go inside for a while." Feliciano said, laying a hand on Germany's arm and smiling gently. "You two have some things to discuss."
"We do?" The American watched them go, puzzled, and turned to Romano, who flushed and hunched slightly, shoulders drawing up. "Did I say something wrong?"
"N-no," Romano answered slowly. He took a deep breath and shifted, squaring his shoulders. "A-alfredo, come here for a minute." He patted the cushion next to him, and America climbed over the back of the sofa to settle down facing him, legs crossed, still holding the collar. Romano took it from his hands, and focused on it, running his fingers over the leather as he spoke. "Alfredo," he started, "do you know what a collar is for?"
"Um," The American's ears twitched, and he tilted his head. "It's like a belt, for your neck. Like your ties."
Romano shook his head. "Not exactly, no. Y-you see," he shifted again, searching for the words to describe it, "a collar is...well, a collar is, uh...a sort of symbol." He glanced up to see if America was following. The blond was listening attentively, brows furrowed.
"Like the 'sex symbols' Franci-"
"No." Romano interrupted, flushing deeper. "Don't listen to anything that perverted bastard says. It's not like that. It's, um, it's..." He exhaled through his nose, rubbing his face in frustration. "Dammit."
"Romano?"
The Italian decided to try a different approach. "Alfredo." He began again, shifting on the couch to face him, reaching up to fondle a floppy golden ear. "Why did you follow me home? The first time."
America's eyes slid to the side and he blushed. "Well..." He began, hesitantly, "Um, well, I saw you, and," he paused, blushing harder, "you looked really... and, um..." his pointed ear twitched embarrassedly, "and then you talked to me and you were really nice and interesting and, and," he sat up and grinned, "And so I came home with you!" he finished, tail beating against the cushions.
"...Alright." Romano said after a moment, realizing that was the best he was going to get right now. "How long-" he stopped, biting his lip.
"Twenty-two inches." America said helpfully.
"W-what?" Romano blinked at him, thrown.
"My tail." America explained. "It's twenty-two inches. An inch-and-a-half longer than Ludwig's. Gilbert says his used to be way longer, but then part of it got bitten off when-"
"That's not- Why would I care how long your tail is?" Romano asked, brows furrowed, "And why were you measuring your tails, anyway? No, wait, that's not important." He shook his head.
"'Cause the collar doesn't go on my tail." America nodded.
"...Something like that. Look, bastard. A collar is...well, a collar is...it's like a committment. It is a committment. It's, uh...sort of a promise. That, well...when, when someone puts a collar on you- and you accept it- they're taking responsibility for you. And, you for them. It's mutual. It's, like a promise. That you'll be together, and take care of each other. Um."
America tilted his head thoughtfully. "So kind of like we do?"
Roman flushed, toying with the collar in his hands. "Yes, sort of, but. Permanently. Like, as long as you live."
America nodded. "And you can't take it off?"
"You can," Romano said hesitantly, "but, even if you take the collar off, t-the... promise is still there. You ...b-belong to them. And they belong to you. It's...you...well, the collar is mostly to let anyone else know that you're taken. So people see that you belong to someone. That you're not...available."
"Okay." America said. "So, do you wear a collar too? Your brother doesn't."
"No." Romano shook his head. "You're right, Feliciano doesn't wear a collar. But you've seen the tags on the mutt's collar, haven't you? Feliciano's name is on the tags. That's how it works. So when people see the bastard, they can see that he's taken, and the tags let them know he's my idiot brother's. Understand?"
"Mm, I think so." America nodded. "So, you want to make that promise with me? Is that why you have the collar?"
"Uh, well, Feliciano got this collar." Romano confessed, twisting it in his hands. "I, uh,"
"You don't want to collar me, then?"
"No, I, I do. Maybe. I don't know." Romano shifted, rubbing his face.
America leaned against the back of the sofa, laying an arm across the top of it. "You're not sure?"
"I'm...well, I do. It's just..." He sighed, leaning back against the sofa as well, "it's a permanent thing, Alfredo. It's forever. And you're very young. If we did this- if I put a collar on you, and you accepted it- it would be forever, you know? Just you and me. Nobody else, ever, for either of us. And, well, I'm okay with that, but...would you be? What if you meet someone else? What if you don't want this in a few months, or years, or...whenever. We have our whole lives ahead of us, and you're so...young! What if, what if," He stopped as America leaned down to nuzzle him, wrapping his arms around Romano's shoulders, and burying his face in the Italian's neck.
"Don't talk like that." He said, soothingly. "Don't talk like I'm going to leave any minute. I'm here, and I'm staying here. As long as you'll have me. Yes, okay, I'm young. But that doesn't mean I'm stupid, or, or," his brows furrowed as he searched for words, "flighty. I know what I want, and when I make a decision I stick with it."
America pulled back, levelling Romano with a serious look, suddenly seeming more the adult he would soon become than the awkward adolescent he still was, or the child he so briefly had been. "We have our whole lives ahead of us, yes. But I followed you home because I knew I wanted you to be a part of mine."
Romano looked down at the collar he still held. "B-but, what if you find someone else you like better? I'm not-"
"There might be other people I like, but you'll always be the one I want. You're...you're you, Romano. You're a part of my life, and when I think of the future, I can't imagine it without you in it. I don't want a life without you in it."
"But, are you sure?" Romano insisted, glancing up.
"Romano, look at me." America cupped the Italian's face, bringing his chin up. "I don't need a collar or anything else to tell me that we'll be together. Whether or not you put one on me, I'm going to stay with you. Always. I think what you have to ask yourself is; what do you want?"
"You. You, bastard." Romano answered fervently, looking into America's eyes, searching. Then his shoulders relaxed, and his face cleared. "You mean that, don't you? You really do."
"Yep." said America, leaning down to nuzzle his cheek. "I really do."
"Alright." Nodding, Romano reached up to run a hand through blond hair. He exhaled, and smiled.
America tilted his head, and smiled back. "Collar?" he asked, ears perking.
"Mm. But not this one." Romano tossed it aside, and America watched it drop, surprised.
"Not that one?"
"Nope. I have one in mind for you, bastard."
"You do?"
"Yep. Go and wait in the living room." Romano directed, standing up and straightening the wrinkles from his slacks. "I'll meet you there."
"'Kay!" The blond answered cheerfully, climbing over the back of the couch and bounding into the house.
Going to his bedroom, Romano opened the top drawer of his dresser, pulling out an old, worn, metal box. He carried it downstairs, holding it carefully in both hands. As he entered the living room, three sets of eyes fell upon him; America's from where he stood next to the coffee table, and his brother's and Germany's from where they lounged on the couch. Once he saw the box, however, Feliciano sat bolt upright, eyes widening.
"That's- you're giving him Grandpa Rome's...?" He breathed, awed. Germany sat upright as well, ears flicking forward in fascination.
"It's mine to give." Romano answered defensively, holding the box close to his chest. "Do you have a problem with it, bastard?"
"No! No." Feliciano answered hastily, waving his hands. "I just thought you'd never give that to anyone. It's..." He glanced between his brother and America, and smiled, gently. "I think it's a good idea, brother."
Romano nodded, lowering the box again. Something inside him relaxed- if Feliciano had had any objections, he wouldn't have gone through with it. Grandpa Rome's legacy might be his birthright as the eldest, but he would never use it in a way that his brother didn't support. Feliciano's approval meant more to him than he'd ever admit.
Placing the box on the tabletop, he knelt, lifting the lid, revealing an old, thick leather collar- worn soft with use, and scarred from battle, but clearly strong, sturdy, with an iron clasp to fasten it. Reverentially, Romano lifted it from the box in both hands. He frowned, making a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat, and his brother tilted his head, concerned.
"Romano? Is something wrong?"
"It's just..." Romano glanced up at his brother, and back down at the collar. "I forgot how heavy it was."
"Ve~." They examined the collar thoughtfully for a moment, and shared a look. "He is very strong..."
"He is..." Agreed Romano, and they turned to regard America, who was watching silently. Romano glanced back at his brother, and shrugged. "If anyone can carry it, he can."
"Mm." His brother nodded, agreeing.
Taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, Romano faced America, stepping close and lifting the collar. "'Fredo. Do you accept this collar, and me, and everything that comes with it? Do you understand what it means? For both of us?"
"I do." America answered steadily, lifting his chin.
"You're sure?"
"Yes, Romano. I'm sure."
Romano nodded, eyes flickering. "I'm, I'm going to put it on you, now."
America lifted his chin slightly, watching him. Romano lifted the collar, hands trembling, and slowly slipped it around America's neck. Germany and Feliciano watched intently, leaning forward in their seats, holding their breath.
Before fastening the clasp, Romano paused- what if it was too much for Alfredo? What if it was too heavy? What if it would make him- like Rome? He glanced up at the blond, searching his face for any indication that something might be wrong.
For a moment, America looked back at him, steadily, and then to Romano's alarm he blinked rapidly, eyes unfocused. Romano's brows furrowed in concern, and he was just about to ask what was wrong when America's eyes crossed, and he sneezed violently. Then he sniffed, and grinned, tail waving.
"Sorry. Had some fur in my nose, or something."
"Cheh." Huffed Romano, fighting a laugh as relief bubbled up inside. "You could suck the drama out of anything, bastard." He complained fondly, fastening the clasp as his mouth curled up in a smile.
America's grin widened, and his tail waved faster. Romano smiled back, reaching up to cup his cheek, fondle his ear. "Now you're mine, bastard."
"Already was." America answered, nuzzling his cheek.
"Ve~, welcome to the family!" Feliciano exclaimed happily, coming over to hug them both, kissing both of their cheeks. "Congratulations! I'm so happy for you~. Both of you! "
"Congratulations." Germany said, leaning in to sniff America's new collar. "It smells interesting. How does it feel?"
"Soft." America answered, tilting his head this way and that as he explored the sensation of the collar around his neck. "The clasp is a little cold, but- ow!"
Shit. Thought Romano, alarmed. "W-what's wrong? Is it too heavy? Are you hurt?"
"No, it's just," America answered, face screwing up as he dug two fingers under his collar, searching, "there's something poking me...here, got it!" he announced, pulling a small, cream-colored cylinder out from under it. "Huh. Here." He handed it to Romano, who examined it.
"Why was there a cigarette under your Grandfather's collar?" Germany asked, his voice faintly disapproving.
"It's not a cigarette, it's a scroll, dumbass." Romano answered, frowning down at it.
"Ve~, has that always been there?" Feliciano asked, leaning over his brother's shoulder.
"I've never seen it before." Romano said, turning it over. "I don't see how I could have missed it."
"Well, open it, see what it says." His brother urged.
"It probably doesn't say anything, idiot. Most likely that bastard Rome just left it there and forgot about it." Romano said, unrolling the scroll. As it turned out, however, there was writing inside. Frowning, Romano read:
Do you like the present Grandpa got you? Isn't he nice?
Grandpa's so happy his boys have such good
companions to take care of them. Doesn't my
collar look good on him? Don't be too surprised
if he outgrows it. With you by his side, he's sure
to grow into quite a man!
Don't say Grandpa never did anything for you!
P.S. Don't worry- it would have happened
eventually. Grandpa just...hurried things along
a little. My grandbabies are so cute when they
sleep! ~~
"Well?" Prompted Feliciano. "What does it say?"
Romano looked up to see the others watching him expectantly. Blushing, he crumpled it up, growling, "Nothing, dammit. It doesn't say anything."
"Ve~, oh well." His brother sighed, shrugging, and looked around. "Let's go to the kitchen. I'll make something extra-special to celebrate!"
"Yay!" America cheered as the group exited the room. "Is it hamburgers?"
Feliciano wrinkled his nose. "No. I said something special."
"Like wurst." Explained Germany. Feliciano sighed.
"Ve~, sometimes I worry about you two."
"Romano? Are you coming?" America looked over his shoulder to where Romano trailed behind, staring at the crumpled note in his hands. Looking up, Romano nodded, slipping it into his pocket.
"Yeah, bastard. I'm coming."
"Good." America smiled, and came back to walk beside him, taking his hand. "We'll go together, then. Always."
"Sap." Romano snorted, lacing his fingers through the blond's.
"Mm." America agreed amiably, leaning down to nuzzle his temple. "But I'm your sap. And you're mine."
"Always." Romano agreed in turn, stopping to face the other, reaching up to cup his face. "Forever's a long time, bastard." He murmured, stroking the blond's cheekbone with his thumb. "I hope you're ready for that."
America smiled softly, leaning down to press his forehead to Romano's, eyes shining. "We'll just have to take it a little bit at a time. But forever doesn't seem like such a scary prospect when I have you by my side. As long as we go through it together."
"Sap." Romano muttered, blushing deeply, leaning up, as their eyes started to close, and-
Romano woke up, sitting bolt upright in his bed with a gasp, blankets pooling around his waist. Whipping the helmet off his head he stared, wide-eyed and unseeing, blushing deeply, brows furrowed in confusion. "What the fu-
AN: *cough*
Yes, that's how it ends. If you think the characters are...slightly out of character, remember- it's Romano's dream. Subconscious. Everything in there's intentional.
Except the spelling/grammatical errors. I edited it four times, and FFnet refused to save the changes I made. So I gave it one last once-over and left it. I'll try and fix it when I get back, but it might be a couple days. Please bear with me. Ah- I won't be able to reply to reviews until a bit late, since I'll probably be at a family function for most of the weekend. I'll try to get to it as soon as I get back!
Omake:
Feliciano's eyes opened, and he blinked, slowly. He lifted his head to stare at the nation sleeping next to him. Aw, Germany had been so cute with puppy ears. He grinned to himself, reaching across the blond to rifle through the drawer in the bedside table, pulling out several items. Finally finding what he'd been looking for, he prodded Germany awake. The German groaned, shaking his head to clear it, and lifted both hands to pat the top of his head carefully.
"Hn." He grunted. What a strange dream. Obviously he'd had too much wurst before bed.
"Ve~, Gerrrmannny~." Feliciano sang, leaning against his chest. "I had the most wonderful dream." He grinned, displaying his find for Germany's inspection.
Germany looked at the studded collar dangling from the Italian's fingertips, and at the grin the other wore, and his own lips twitched up in response. Well, he was certainly awake now.
Might as well make the most of it.
Omake II:
America blinked drowsily, half asleep. He didn't entirely remember what he'd been dreaming, but he knew it had been a good dream. Oh well. He turned over, pulling the covers up over his head, and as he drifted off his last coherent thought was: Those cookies Romano made were really good. I wonder if I could get him to make s'more. Maybe...rocket-shaped.
