Hi guys.

Headed out to Clossalcon tomorrow~ I'm sooo excited! XD If you're gonna be there, you should drop me a line and let me know. I'll prolly cosplay Ranma(female), Finland, and Elena from FFVIIAC. :3

Anyway, enough nerd gushing and on to the story.

The "battle" this chapter makes reference to is the outbreak of hostility against Austria in August of 1717. Spain sent a fleet and managed to overtake the whole island of Sardinia in just a few months. Probably not as dramatic as it is in my headcannon, but Antonio strikes me as someone who appreciates good theatrics. XD

Not sure I'm happy with this chappy... Lemme know what you think.

3 all of you~

He would never admit it to anyone, but Spain's letter was probably the only thing that kept him sane for the next few months. No matter how angry or frightened or lonely he got, at least he had that fragment of Antonio. He'd crumpled it up and tried to dispose of it, stuffed it in so many different paranoid hiding places that it was almost completely illegible, but somehow he'd never succeeded in getting rid of it. The mere sight of that stupidly lavish spider-scrawl was enough to make him remember Antonio's dumb laugh, or the green of his eyes, or the smell of his clothes, and he'd forget everything until the outside world saw fit to shake him out of it. Sometimes it was comforting, but sometimes it hurt so much to miss someone like that that he wanted to cry. (But he didn't, because he wasn't that pathetic, damn it. It was dust in his eye.) He hated that he could be so dependent on one person that he got teary-eyed over goddamn handwriting, but somehow he needed this. He needed to feel close, even if it was a lie. He needed to believe that Antonio really did love him, that he really would come. He was willing to concede his pride on that one point.

The only thing he worried about as much as or more than Spain was his baby brother. Feli took forever to get better after his little fainting stint. And even when he was "better" he wasn't completely so. Venice's war had been stretching him thin, and not even Austria's support against the Turks seemed to help. Still, if it had been just that, he might have been okay; there was more to Northern Italy than Venice, after all. Venice was perhaps the core of Feliciano's nationhood, but cultures changed and wars were lost and territory passed hands. The Italian brothers knew that better than most. So even if Feli lost this war, he should have been well enough. Maybe a little worse for wear, but some of his other states were actually doing quite well. Instead, his hidden worries and anguish ate at him from within and made him even weaker. He'd exhausted his physical body to the limit with his idiotic decision to go wandering in the cold, and the war and his emotional distress weren't letting him recover.

Hungary had tended him through the worst of it—sitting by the bedside at night and making sure that his fever never got too high and that blasted doctor hadn't bled him too much, spoon feeding him old get-well broth remedies he hadn't seen her take the time to cook. She was the exact picture of what Romano thought a mother might be… It made Romano feel like a failure in comparison. He couldn't look after his little brother like she could. He was clumsy in his attempts to help, almost more than usual because his earnestness made him nervous. Hungary eventually got tired of his bumbling, and started sending him out of the room instead of asking him to go find this or that, and even took to asking Austria for help instead. Much to Romano's surprise, the musical nation was more than happy to do as she asked. He even started picking up some of the neglected chores, without being asked.

Even if he hated Austria and Hungary for keeping him here, he couldn't deny that they cared very much for his fratello. They were more Feli's family than he could ever be. All he had to tie him to his brother was the gut feeling that Feli was his. He just knew. He knew Feliciano like he knew Sicily and Naples—they were Italy. They were the same. They needed each other.

Except maybe they didn't, because Feli had Hungary to mother him and Austria to watch out for him in that strange, reticent way. Romano had nothing to do but watch them all care about each other until he thought he might be sick from it. He spent his nights staring up at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of Elizaveta and Feli breathing not ten feet away and wondering why he felt so very alone.

Eventually, the fever went away, and Hungary could go back to her own room at night. The time Feli spent lucid and awake gradually lengthened, his voice less and less broken. Finally, one morning well into spring, Romano woke up to a whirlwind of smiles, excitement, and awkward limbs begging him to come downstairs and help make pasta for breakfast. As if he hadn't just spent the better part of a season laid up in bed. As if he hadn't worried Romano within an inch of his life, or turned the whole household upside down trying to get him better. When Roderich and Elizaveta found them in the kitchen, there was a brief pause where their relief was almost palpable. Then Hungary was back to scolding them away from the stove and Roderich stormed off to his piano, and it seemed like the only person who remembered anything had ever been wrong at all was Romano. It made him feel sick and uneasy—like he was trapped in some kind of illusion, waiting for it all to fall away.

Time kept ticking. The war with Turkey got harder. He knew, not because anyone had bothered to tell him, but because there were days when Austria was too tired to play any music. Because Hungary started picking up the slack and ordering everyone around again. Because there were moments when Feliciano's smile would fall. He would wince and all the air would rush out of him at once, like he'd been hit in the stomach. Romano rushed to his side if he ever saw it happen, because he was pathetic and because Feli was all he had left. He would rub his little brother's shaking back until the spell passed, and wait out the few seconds it took for Feliciano to get himself back under control. Then he kept right on doing whatever it was he'd been focused on before—laundry or scrubbing or slacking—and Romano had to flee from that same, sunny, fake smile before it made him nauseous.

All the while, the Holy Roman Empire's revelations weighed down on him. Had he made the right choice, keeping all of it a secret? Feli seemed determined to pine after his beloved empire; he was going to mourn that loss forever, no matter what Romano said. Ludwig's plan might only wind up hurting him in the end. If Feliciano was so torn up over the Empire's absence, how much would he grieve when the fool finally disappeared for good? Wasn't it cruel to keep them apart now? Wouldn't it be better to let him have even a little time with the person he cared about before the end?

He started working up the courage to break his word and tell his brother everything, but then he'd catch Feli crying in the dark, and get so terrified and furious that he couldn't do it. Terrified, because he remembered the way it felt to hold his fratellino, passed out and shivering, in his arms and think for one horrifying eternity of a second that he was going to die. Feli had almost killed his foolish self trying to escape his loneliness, and he'd already had a century to try to recover. How could Romano possibly risk putting him through such a thing twice? All of that fear led inevitably to anger, because it was all so confusing and he didn't want to have to make decisions that put his little brother's happiness on the line. He didn't know enough—wasn't wise enough. He resented the Empire and Feli and all of them for putting this on his shoulders, even if they didn't know they'd done it. Why had it all fallen to him to fix? Weren't Elizaveta and Roderich trying to pose as some kind of parents? He hated that they acted like some fairy-tale family all the time, but they couldn't help Feliciano where it really mattered. He hated that Feliciano was being so pathetic, pining over anyone like this in the first place. He wished the Empire would hurry up and fall already just so that he wouldn't have to worry about the right thing to do any more, and then he caught himself thinking it and hated himself for it, because wouldn't that hurt Feli the most of all…?

He didn't know any of the answers. He just wanted that bastard to hurry up and save him already.

Life marched steadily into the heat of summer, and still nothing seemed to change. Romano's days passed more slowly than ever before. He had nothing to do but watch and wait—bored out of his mind, on edge for every second of it, just praying that something would happen to push the balance of power.

Hungary still tried to give him chores periodically, but he thought she might just be realizing he was completely useless at everything domestic. Finally. It had certainly taken her long enough. He was just starting to question her intelligence. She'd only just discovered in three years what Spain had figured out in less than one; it was a lot less trouble for everyone involved to keep Romano as far from all cleaning implements as possible.

Austria didn't often have anything to do with him, if he could help it at all. He never consulted Romano on any decisions regarding Sardinia or Naples, and although that angered him, he couldn't say he hadn't already expected it. Their little impromptu heart-to-heart after Romano's visit to the Empire (which still pissed him off every time he thought about it) was the most conversation he'd ever gotten out of Austria.

Feliciano was the only one in that house who actually sought him out, but he found himself hiding from his brother more often than not. He couldn't stand to watch the way his brother tried to cover all his problems with a smile. There was something so horridly wrong about every ditzy "ve," every eye-closing grin… It was just this feeling Romano had, twisting painfully somewhere near his stomach every time their eyes met. The more his brother smiled and dithered about as if nothing were the matter, the more uneasy he felt. He could see the tears at the edges of Feliciano's façade—the ever-so-light shadows below his eyes, the tired sway in his step. Seeing Feli like that, stumbling with more than his usual clumsiness about the house, trying to do the chores Romano couldn't… It hurt. He wanted to fix it, but he didn't know how, so instead of facing it or confronting Feli, he slipped into the comfortable mask of anger he'd built for himself. He growled, and groused, and tried to avoid his brother like the coward he really was inside. Those stupid, fake smiles made him feel guilty. And that made him resentful, which made him say things he didn't mean, which led to Feli crying at night, and that…. Surely it was just best for everyone if he avoided all of that? He was hiding from his brother, fully embracing this philosophy on the day that the haze finally cleared and the world seemed to start moving once more.

"Fratello?" Feli's voice cut through the dust of the attic and shook Romano from his thoughts. He looked frantically about himself, but there was no way to escape without alerting the intruder to his presence. He stuffed the stupid letter he may or may not have been reading for the millionth time, back behind the fabric of his waistband and prayed that maybe Feli would just keep looking elsewhere. He was hunkering down behind his barricade of priceless Austrian junk, preparing to hold his breath for as long as possible… and then he heard a sniffle. Romano froze.

Well… it was kind of dusty in here, after all. Feli had probably stirred some up when he came in. It wasn't like he was actually crying or anything. Still, he was listening for any sign that something might be wrong, his body poised to move just in case—"…Fratello?" And did that voice seem to quaver? Romano heard some shuffling—an odd sliding sound that might have been Feli dropping to the floor. Then, ever so quietly, the teeniest, tiniest whimper.
It was enough to break Lovino's foolish heart.

"Oi, I'm over here, dork." He griped, doing his best to stop unseen tears. He even crawled out from the shelter of his self-made wall, inching closer to the huddled mess by the door. Merda… this was worse than he'd thought. "…Feli?" He tried after a few more minutes of silence. Feliciano hadn't budged, but his thin shoulders shook. Romano's panic was raising ever higher in his throat. "Feli, what's wrong?" another minute shiver.

"Nothing," He mumbled, and the word meant about as much as the dust that covered the floor. "I'm just tired from being so hot all day."He picked his head up from its position at his knees to look at Romano properly; it was streaked with half-wiped tears. This wasn't right. He was used to Feli crying over stupid, small things, but this…

"Why are you lying to me?" He meant to sound stern, but somehow he wound up sounding close to tears himself. Maybe that couldn't be helped. He was supposed to be the one to keep Feli safe; he was the older brother. He was supposed to fight off foreign threats and suitors alike, and keep Feli from crying at all costs but… he'd always been too weak, and maybe Feli had never let him get close enough for that in the first place. Even now, the idiot was pushing him away…He was an emotional cocktail of frustration, anger and worry. He didn't know how to deal with any of this on his own.

"I'm not lying, it's true. Wah~ It's so hot, Roma!" Lovino had to admit, he was a good actor. He probably could have fooled anyone else into thinking that this was one of his usual, crybaby-breakdowns, but the alarm bells were ringing in Romano's head. He didn't know what about it was so wrong, or what reason Feli would have to hide anything from him in the first place. And that just made him more paranoid.

"Whatever," he grouched, but scooted closer to his baby brother all the same, until their shoulders were just pressing together—a wordless attempt at comfort. "Why are people here such wimps? It's really not even warm." Feli sniffled again and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. If Austria had seen he'd have been immediately smacked for undignified behavior.

"It is too," he whined, but he curled closer toward Romano all the same. "It's so hot I think I might just die." Romano flinched at the words—had to laugh to cover the way his heart clenched at the thought of Feli dying. He knew the dork hadn't meant it that way, but it wasn't so long ago that he'd thought the worst. He didn't want to even joke about such a thing.

"You northern-types wouldn't last one day in Andalucía," he grumbled once his heart had stopped seizing in his chest. It probably wasn't smart to bring up Spain at a time like this, when he was feeling so tired and harried, but the words had come unbidden.

Feli didn't say anything for a long time. Slowly, his weak smile slipped off, and he let his chin rest on his bent knees. "You know, this attic is probably twice as hot as any other room in the house."

"Yeah…" Romano granted, not sure where this was going. So what if he wanted to be somewhere warm? He'd gotten used to it after…

"But you want to hide here?"

"Shut up, I wasn't hiding!" he lied, his face pink with embarrassment. Feli could probably see through it with ease; their strange connection worked both ways. He wasn't sure why he bothered with the act except that it was a reflex by now.

"It's ok, Roma," That voice was tired, and fraught with childish sorrow again. "You just want to be some place that reminds you of him, right?" Romano jerked as if he'd been shot. For a few moments, it was all he could do to stare at his little brother, wide eyed and frantic. That… that was something he hadn't even been willing to admit to himself yet; he hadn't wanted to know he'd fallen so pathetically far. Then the truth of their situation set in, and he slumped back into his rightful place at Feli's side.

"Maybe," he mumbled, so full of longing that he wanted to cry. So what if it was true? Maybe summer made him think of Spain. So what if he liked the heat of this place, where he could close his eyes and pretend he was home. Maybe the summer reminded him of olive groves, or the days spent sweating beneath sheet-shaded streets. Maybe if he just dreamed hard enough, he could see tan skin and dark, dust-brown hair and—Come inside, Lovi. You'll really look like a tomato if you fall asleep in the sun like that!

"I thought that might be it." Feliciano's voice shattered the dream world he'd drifted into, cutting into the echoing sound of Antonio's stupid laugh. He almost could have hated his brother for it, before he woke up and remembered reality again. "It's kinda like that for me too. I like painting because it reminds me of Grandpa." Feli's nostalgic, bitter-sweet smile hurt to look at, so Romano simply turned away. "And I even kind of like doing chores, because it makes me think of…" The name went unsaid, but Romano knew exactly who his brother was talking about. The Empire of fools himself.

"It's not the same!" He shouted without really thinking. He rejected the idea that his precious Spain and that blasted Holy Roman Empire could be comparable in any way, even if only in their absence. He had to believe they were different, or he just might lose himself to despair. Spain was definitely, definitely going to come for him. He couldn't let himself believe otherwise. Antonio was going to come in, axe bared, and cut down everything in his path to take Romano back. But that brat of an Empire was never coming back for….

Oh.

"Hm. Probably not." Feli's voice rang hollow. The knife of guilt twisted itself firmly into the pit of Romano's stomach at the sound. "You've actually got a chance of seeing big brother Spain again, right? I'm the only one who's just dreaming."

"Feli, that's not—"

"I'm not that stupid, Romano," he interrupted. He didn't sound angry or even upset. Romano almost wished he would, because anything had to be better than this cold, resigned version of his little brother. It was just so wrong that it made him feel sick. "I know he's not coming back. Just like Grandpa. Just like you, whenever Spain finally takes you back." Romano had to wince. What could he say in protest? Hadn't he been praying all this time for Spain to come get him so he wouldn't have to worry about Feli anymore?

"No, it won't be like that with me," he gritted, not even sure what he was saying. Feliciano laughed in answer, but it was a haunting, shattered sound.

"Of course! Maybe you'll visit me every few years, right?" He'd never heard his little brother try for sarcasm before, but he'd always assumed it was sound completely out of place. He was right. Romano floundered, his brain working overtime to try and find some way to make this right.

"I…"

"Don't worry, Roma. I don't think I could blame you. If Holy Rome actually wanted me there, I'd leave in a heartbeat." And wasn't that just part of the problem? Because that idiot Empire actually did want Feli around, but he was too terrified of the possible consequences to reach for him.

"Feli, I think…" Romano wished desperately that he was strong enough to tell the truth. In the face of his brother's hurt, the plans they'd cooked up seemed suddenly idiotic. "I think that's…" But what was he supposed to say? How could he tell Feli that the Holy Roman Empire simply loved him too much to see him again? Worse, how was he going to explain that idiot's suspicions about the remainder of his lifetime? He was frozen with nauseating apprehension.

"Look, I'm okay with it, really." Feli smiled like an angel and lied through his teeth. "But… until you go away too, could you at least not hide from me anymore?" Romano felt suddenly as if he'd been kicked in the chest. He had hoped his dorky little brother would be too busy with his chores and his "family" to notice, but he should have known that to Feli he was transparent as glass. What if he'd only made it worse, trying to spare his brother's feelings…?

"…sorry." He grumbled, hating himself for the hurt he'd caused. He couldn't meet Feli's liquid-brown eyes.

"Thanks Roma. I don't know what I did to make you mad, but I can try really hard not to do it again. It's just… It gets kind of lonely, you know?" The younger representation of Italy was leaning against Romano's shoulder now, his words muttered against the fabric of Romano's shirt.

That was it. He couldn't bear to lie any longer. Consequences be damned, he couldn't look at Feli's heart-broken face even one moment more and still live with himself.

"Feliciano, the Empire—" And then something happened to make him forget his trouble and his brother's heart completely. War. Romano nearly choked on his own tongue as the first hints of battle pervaded his senses. He was blind-sided by the sudden vision of clashing steel—the sickening, heart-racing sense of an invading army somewhere in his land. That feeling flooded him until his very sense of self had drowned. He sat wide-eyed and wordless in the wake—oblivious to Feli's worried prodding while the echoes of shouting soldiers pounded in his skull.

As a rule, Romano hated war. It felt horrible and foreign. All the other countries liked to fight their stupid battles on his land. He was left devastated and ill every time even though he hadn't even wanted to fight in the first place. He didn't understand how nations like Prussia or that blasted Empire could so eagerly jump into the fray, even if they were fighting mostly on foreign soil. Surely they didn't like feeling like there was something breathing down the back of their neck—like something unknown and horrible was on the horizon. They couldn't possibly enjoy the tiny pin-pricks of pain that came with every soldier's death. And yes, people died every day, but not like this. This was different, because it was just… wrong somehow. Every death left a dull ache behind it, a hollow, tiny hole in Roma's heart. He couldn't take that kind of pain. He wasn't strong enough for battle.

But this time, when he felt that nameless tension settle over him, the shiver that pervaded him was not one of fear, nor even of revulsion. He welcomed it this time. He wanted it. He could almost see the battlefield if he tried—the ships sweeping in to Sardinia and taking it with ease, that idiot Antonio standing at the prow of the biggest frigate and directing the charge… He knew that's what was happening. And for the first time in his life, he was actually happy to welcome the beginnings of war. He felt alive—like his blood was singing in his veins. Like all the built up tension from this endless waiting for something to happen had finally left him. He was relieved and excited and worried all at once and he wasn't sure what to do with all of it. He just—

"Lovino!" He came back to himself some measureless time later, his left cheek stinging and Feli's hand still hovering near his face. Even so, it took him a full minute to put two and two together and realize that Feliciano had actually slapped him.

"Ow! Che cosa diavolo era quello? That hurt, you…!" He paused to look at his little brother, really look at him, and froze. Those big, brown eyes were full of tears, lip trembling.

"I… You… and I thought you weren't breathing and you wouldn't answer me e io non sapevo cosa stava succedendo. Cosa è successo? Tutto bene? Ti sei fatto male? E—e—io non voglio essere di nuovo solo!" Feli launched himself at Romano's chest as he rambled, nearly tackling him to the floor of the attic, completely senseless and frantic.

"Whoa! Feli, calm down, I'm fine!" His head was still swimming, but Lovino knew he had to placate his brother somehow. He knew he should try to be comforting, maybe just return Feli's awkward embrace or something but he didn't know what to do with his arms. "It was just…" He didn't know how to say it; his excitement successfully quelled as he saw the full extent of his brother's hysteria.

"You scared me. I don't want you to go away yet." Romano's gut wrenched. He'd never really given much thought as to how much Feli would miss him. He'd been too excited about seeing Spain again to care, but this… "Wh—what was that, anyway?" He didn't know how to answer. This was the thing he'd been waiting for for so long. This was what he'd dreamed of. What he needed. He should just tell Feli that Spain had started moving, that the war had begun. He should tell Feli that Spain was going to plow through every barrier, and take him home no matter what. He should say that it was only a matter of time before he got the thing he wanted most, and Feliciano was left behind with no one.

…

"It… it was nothing." Feli caught the lie, but he nodded and pretended to believe for Romano's sake. And Romano couldn't do anything but sit quietly in his brother's grasp and try to ignore the stomach-turning sensation of his whole world turning upside down.

Translations:
I don't speak Italian so I'm well aware that these are BOUND to be incorrect. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE CORRECT ME.

Che cosa diavolo era quello?-What the hell was that?

e io non sapevo ...di nuovo solo (Feli's rant)- and I didn't know what was happening. What happened? Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself? and—and—I don't want to be alone again!