Spain stood outside the Italians' house, feeling conflicted. Romano might need help with his stuff, so I should go help… Or maybe he doesn't need help and he'll yell at me… Deciding that it didn't really matter if Romano got mad - he's so cute when he turns red like a tomato!- he pushed open the front door and entered to make his way to the South Italian's room. At least, that was his intention until he heard what sounded like North Italy's voice, too soft to make out the words but with a hint of a threat. Driven by curiosity, he started toward it, then hesitated. He couldn't have said why, but something was wrong with this entire situation.

Maybe it was Veneziano's sudden lack of adoration for his brother, and how the friendly Italian had been acting oddly recently, especially with kicking his brother out, as Romano told him.

Maybe it was the hostile silence that the house had, compared to its normal cheerful atmosphere.

Or maybe instinct told him that his Lovi was in danger.

Whatever the reason, he felt that it would be prudent to not go defenseless. Recalling that Romano had a machine gun hidden in his closet from his mafia days, he rushed to the closet to retrieve it before heading quietly to where he heard the voice.

"Buonanotte, bastardo~" he heard a singsong voice say - it couldn't possibly be Feli!

Fearing he would be too late, he gave up all attempts at stealth and ran until he was met by the scene of Germany sprawled out in the hall in front of a bathroom, Italy crumpled on the floor in the bathroom and someone who looked just like Italy, albeit with a change of clothes, pinning Romano to the wall with a knife to his throat. Rage flooded through him as he raised the weapon.

"Step away from Lovino," he coldly demanded.

The Veneziano look-alike spun to face him, but kept the knife pressed to Romano's neck. "Oh, is he your little boy-toy? Too bad, I don't think I will."

"Spain!" Romano choked out, eyes wide. "How-" He got no further before the other man's attention was on him and he froze.

"Step away or I will shoot," Spain thundered, flames of fury in his eyes.

"Think you can kill me before I kill him?" the stranger replied. Romano cried out in pain as his blood beaded onto the blade.

"No, but you'll still be dead."

Evidently he made his seriousness clear; he barely had time to duck before the knife flew through the place where his head had been, and the strange Italian was gone as soon as he raised his head. He turned to see what happened to the knife and it had disappeared as well. He would have wondered about that if he didn't have more pressing issues to worry about at the moment.

"Roma-toma!" Spain rushed to the Italian as he sank to his knees, hyperventilating, with tears rolling down his face.

"S-Spagna… I… I nearly died..." Romano whispered. That was the last intelligible thing Spain could get out of him for a while; he sobbed into the Spaniard's shoulder for a full twenty minutes.

What do you do for someone who's in shock? Spain wondered.

(~_~;)

Italy's eyes widened in fear as his captor strode into the room. Luciano, his second player, or so he called himself, liked "games", but he was never one to play nice.

"Buon pomeriggio!" he smiled menacingly. "What shall we do today? I think we should play the knife game, don't you?"

"P-please...per favore...no…" Veneziano whimpered in terror.

Ignoring Feliciano's pleas, Luciano pulled out his knife, grabbed Feli's hand, spread the fingers on the table in front of him, and started stabbing the table between the fingers. "Oh, I have all my fingers, the knife goes chop chop chop, if I miss the spaces in between my fingers will come off," he sang.

Feliciano didn't dare pull his hand away; he had learned from experience that although the second player could play the game at great speed without even nicking a finger, he wasn't as merciful if his "plaything" didn't want to cooperate.

"And if I hit my fingers, the blood will soon come out, but all the same I play this game 'cause that's what it's all about," Luciano continued, a smile on his face as he sped up the motion of the knife.

Feliciano barely kept himself from crying out as the blade sliced the skin on the side of one of his fingers, but Luciano caught his whimper and smirked, "Are we having fun yet?"

Italy wouldn't remember the dream when he awoke; he never did, although the reason was something more than simple forgetfulness. That didn't matter; right then, nothing was real but the man and the knife that tormented him.

A/N: Merry Christmas. Romano isn't dead. Italy isn't dead either. Spain apparently got the ability to read the mood. Germany… Well, that remains to be seen.

VivaAmerica here! Happy Holidays everyone! As themusicalcat often says, I didn't do much in the way of editing.

Peace of mind, Viva. You've said it yourself, have you not?

*chuckles* Tis true. Show your love and leave a review…. And pray for these poor nations…

Oh, and go check out Viva's story Christmas Kisses! It's adorable! And my story Tis the Season to be Italian…? is much more lighthearted than this. Can't go depressing people on Christmas, now, can I? Don't answer that.

*whispers* A Christmas Carol…

… Anyway, have a happy holiday season~! Arrivederci until next time!