The Great Prussia never cried with tears; Ludwig learned that when he was very young. But when he was finally left with just his little baby brother and his anger had run its course, Gilbert would go through the other physical motions, shuddering and gasping and clutching the only person in the world he trusted so well close to his chest. But apparently Ludwig wasn't the only one Gilbert really trusted anymore, and apparently it wasn't new, because contact-phobic Romano was dealing better than Ludwig himself usually did if the rapid diminishing of Gilbert's harsh breaths was anything to go by. He strained his ears to listen, momentarily confused as to why he could not understand- then he realised that Romano wasn't speaking Italian at all but French, of all things.

'That's it, calm down...stop breathing so hard, how unawesome would it be if you passed out and we had to take you to the hospital because you hyperventilated? Che...you big idiot...don't you know your brother wouldn't let you go so easily? You're still here...'

Ludwig swallowed. He'd thought before how their friendship might have been based, he'd told himself that even the Great Prussia couldn't be without any fear of fading, but he'd never seen his brother break down like this before- not since Friedrich died. He looked up and found Romano staring at him, his eyes glowing green like a cat's, but his hands never paused in their grounding movements and Gilbert seemed unaware that he'd woken up.

'Relax,' Romano soothed, his tanned fingers a deep contrast in Gilbert's silver hair and his arm a dark band across the pale, muscled back. When had his shirt come off, anyway? Come to think of it, where was Romano's? 'If you go, so do I, and I'm not fucking leaving my tomato garden for Feliciano and your brother to turn into a damn potato farm, ok? I'm not going anywhere, so you're not going anywhere. Oi, cabbagehead, take off your shirt and c'mere.'

It took Ludwig a moment to realise that these words were in English and directed at him. Gilbert had tensed in the silence, but miraculously not moved away to spring up with an armour of pride and bravado, so Ludwig decided the best way of preserving the fragile trust of the moment was to do whatever the dominating Italian said. He unbuttoned his shirt and cast it aside along with his black vest, ruffling his sleep-loosened hair, and moved closer to the odd pair.

'You can't feel so lonely when you're warm, can you?' Romano murmured quietly, and the way he said it sounded more like he was speaking from experience than asking a question. 'There's no mistaking someone's heat or weight for a dream.'

And Ludwig thought he was starting to understand. Crawling forward, he carefully- trying not to crush the smallest of their trio at the bottom of the pile- lay his considerable, heavily-muscled bulk over his brother's back, resting his cheek on one pale shoulder as Romano shifted to run his hands up and down Gilbert's arms where they wrapped around the Italian's middle. Ludwig sighed into the warm skin, the reassuring thud thud-d thud-d thud-d of Gilbert's heart beating just below his own.

'Anyone who wants to take you away will have to come through me. Even death,' he muttered, and he allowed his protective thoughts to include a certain dark half-nation even as his arms carefully bypassed the volatile man to encircle only his quieting brother, holding him tightly under his strong chest. They lay like that for a long while, the birds slowly growing in cheer and the tv switching over to a strangely surreal advert for something with Lukas Podolski in a police uniform and then to another infomercial, this time with a suspiciously happy man and a contraption to clean carpets. Or feed cats, or both at once. None of them spoke until the paling light had crept halfway up the west wall.

'This is so gay,' Gilbert muttered into the tanned chest that served as his pillow.

Romano snorted.

'Don't you try complaining, shorty, you started it,' Gilbert added, though he didn't lift his head, and it only seemed to make Romano try harder to hold back a laugh. Picking up on Ludwig's curiosity Gilbert craned his neck to peer up at the Italian's reddening face, still without rising. 'What's with you? You look like you're about to burst into giggles. Are you? Let me get a camera first, Tonio would probably give me all of Barcelona for a video of that.'

Romano's willpower gave out and he burst into bright laughter, pushing ineffectually at Gilbert's shoulders. 'Stop talking, goddammit! Your fucking beard tickles!'

Gilbert smirked wickedly, turning his face to look up at his brother and show off his thick silvery stubble. 'Whaddya think, West? A little payback for all that name-calling?'

Ludwig propped himself up on one arm to rub the other hand over his own blond chin. 'I don't know,' he said doubtfully, though any doubt was feigned. Anything that put that mischievous, oh-so-Prussia smile back on Gilbert's face was ok in his book. 'He did make us dinner.'

'And dessert!' Romano put in quickly, looking decidedly nervous. He squirmed a little as if trying to escape but with the combined heft of both solidly-built German brothers, his effort was in vain.

'Truuue,' Gilbert mused, his gaze far away as though he were seriously considering the matter. But then his eyes snapped back to Romano like a wolf eyeing his prey. 'Not enough, though. Go!'

Romano shrieked like a girl as he was tackled and roughly dragged to the floor, fingers digging into his sides and under his knees. He begged in nearly every language Ludwig knew and a few he didn't for the tickling to stop, laughing to the point of tears, and Ludwig was surprised to find that he and Gilbert weren't far behind.

'Kesesesesese! Bow down to the awesome ruler of the universe and I'll let you go!'

Romano howled as Ludwig found a sensitive spot under his arm. 'Never, potato bastards!'

Gilbert laughed raucously and they drove back in.

/

'You know,' Romano muttered as he lay limp and breathless on the rug, 'that was even gayer than sleeping on the same couch.'

Gilbert kicked him halfheartedly, also sprawled in exhaustion on the floor. 'Fuck off, runt.'

'Fuck you, cunt.'

'Bitch.'

'Potato head.'

'Tomato sucker.'

'Tomato fucker- hey, is that how your eyes got like that?'

'Kesesese-ow! Westen, you kicked me!'

Ludwig rolled his eyes as he knotted his tie. 'That barely qualified as a tap. Get up, the sink is full of dishes.'

Gilbert blinked at him. 'So?'

'So, I made dinner, he's got to go to work, that means you're stuck with dish duty, dumbass,' Romano scoffed, nudging Gilbert's leg with his foot. He got clumsily to his feet and stretched. 'And hurry up, I wanna leave soon.'

'But you have to make me breakfast and lunch first!'

Romano stared. 'Who says?'

'The Awesome Prussia!'

'No.'

'Romanoooo,' Gilbert whinged. 'You promised last night!'

'I don't think I did.'

'Well, as good as.' Gilbert flopped onto his side. And onto Ludwig's newly shined shoes. 'You're such a bitch.'

'A busy bitch.'

'How can you be busy?' Gilbert asked incredulously. 'You never work, you just sit around all day going 'Waaah, fucking shit, someone fucking bring me a goddamn tomato, where's my fucking coffee! Oh no, I've been awake for two whole fucking goddamn hours, time to fucking sleep-''

'Alright, alright! I'll stay and cook you food!' Romano groaned.

'What, can't take the heat anymore?' Gilbert smirked.

'You wouldn't know what hot is anymore, the only girls you ever see are online-'

'And you should try it sometime yourself, they probably beat those scary beefy bears you call women in Italy- Ludwig, he kicked me!'

'He kicked me first!'

'That was like, ten minutes ago, you can't tattle on me for that now!'

Ludwig grabbed his keys, strode resolutely from the house, and climbed into his car. He dropped his head into his hands. 'How, in the name of God, did I invite my older bruder's friend for dinner, and wake up with two children?'

Many thanks to those of you following this story. I'll try not to leave it so long...hope you're still enjoying where it's going!