Utopia, Safe and Sound, Paradise, Youth of the Nation, Requiem for a Tower, Stand My Ground, that song that sounds like a mandolin (by Sentive), Empty, Pale, Somewhere.

Tiny bit of humour this time around, because I thought we needed it.

Recovery

The Italian House

Austria was still in Bern, but unlike most of the other nations from the UN force he was not lingering around the hospital. On the one hand he simply had no stomach for waiting by Hungary's side watching Prussia go on in his way taking care of her. On the other, he didn't feel comfortable abandoning the host nation with no one but his little sister to look after him. It had been like this for almost three days.

There was no kind way to describe what Switzerland was going through. The burns and dismemberment were only the beginning of his troubles, and Austria saw it as his obligation as a nation to do what little he could to ease his suffering. Unfortunately, aside from ordering the few members of Switzerland's household staff to prepare his room and keep their master (an anachronistic term, but one Austria himself was still fond of) in a steady supply of fresh bedding and clean clothes, there was relatively little he could do. At least he was able to spare Liechtenstein the grisly task of holding Switzerland's hair back when he became ill, which was exceedingly often as his body performed the strangest purge Austria had ever seen.

Because really, how often did one vomit shards of glass, broken gears, and minute hands?

"Swiss clocks..." Hush now, talking only made it worse. "That thing... used Swiss clocks-!"

It was like a terrible strain of stomach flu, the kind that left Switzerland weak and trembling. Austria watched him spit blood into the plastic bucket kept precisely for this purpose by the bed, then carefully rinse his mouth out with water and spit that out as well.

"Your fever is going down."

"My knee..." Switzerland was crippled, but he was far too proud to accept any help rolling from his side onto his back again on the bed. Austria simply watched him struggle to move, wondering again why the blonde insisted on laying on his burns, but it was not worth it to argue with the Neutral state.

"You remember it's only temporary." Switzerland had been injured in the explosion, not crippled in spirit, and he'd already grown back almost two inches of the obliterated limb. The problem for him now was that joins were always unnecessarily painful.

"Well it feels like hell..." Yes, that was Austria's point.

"Do you want me to call your sister back in?"

"No..." The way Switzerland held his eyes closed, his red fingers groping at the blankets, meant his stomach still hadn't settled down yet. This was all very tiring, but Austria simply returned to his seat and placed one elbow on the arm rest, hooking one knee over the other and observing in case he was needed again. "...Thanks."

"You're welcome." For a few moments there was only the sound of Switzerland breathing heavily, trying to control what he had described as terrible nausea ripping apart his insides along with the pain that kept making him faint. However, once that began to calm down, the other nation seemed in the mood to talk a little.

"Is she still crying?"

"I believe so. Would you like me to go check on her?" Switzerland seemed to consider this for a moment, his green eyes only half-open under the uneven fall of his dark blonde hair. The fact that he didn't pipe up with an immediate refusal was indicative both of his increasing exhaustion, and his deep concern over Miss Liechtenstein.

"She should be upstairs. I think-" Austria watched his neighbour abruptly pause, sitting up carefully in case it was a sign of another heaving nightmare, but Switzerland made a sweeping gesture to say that this was not the case. But he was thinking very hard, and then closed his eyes again with a soft swear. Curious.

"Is something the matter?"

"Yes. Ugh... I forgot..." Well, was it something Austria could take care of? "I think so. He should still be there." He?

"Mister Switzerland?" A knock on the bedroom door prompted Austria to stand up and tug his suit jacket back in order. He'd arranged for fresh clothes to be delivered to Switzerland's house for him and had taken the time to clean up and rest after all of the excitement. Answering the door, Austria found himself facing Switzerland's housekeeper. "Ah, Mister Austria. I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but there's someone at the door."

Switzerland groaned quietly on the bed and Austria again checked to make sure it wasn't because he was sick. The Confederation had one hand up over his eyes and, even at from across the room, Austria heard him swear again. It wasn't like him to be so vulgar.

"Did this person give a name?" Austria asked.

"The, uh," The woman seemed highly unsure of herself, but Austria hoped she would be quick about what she had to say. "He... He called himself the Republic of... San Marino?"

...Austria needed a moment to process that information. He also needed to take a good, hard look at Switzerland, and as soon as his host pulled the bedsheets up over his face like he could hide in them, Austria knew that there was a serious problem.

"Yes. Please tell him I'll be right down."

Ten minutes later...

"Switzerland."

Silence.

"Switzerland, San Marino says he's looking for the Vatican City State."

No response.

"According to him, he's been missing for nearly a week."

A subtle shift under the blankets.

Finally, a voice:

"Austria."

"Yes?"

"I think I'm going to hell."

Yes. Yes Austria thought that too.

Romano could smell coffee. That was what woke him up.

He was confused though, because he woke up in a bed that he couldn't remember climbing into. There was also a heavy weight on his arm, a weight that had caused his right arm to fall asleep. He could hear rain tapping on the window and heard it running through the gutters outside. Faintly, over the smell of roasted coffee beans Romano could catch the diluted scent of blood, and when he opened his eyes he found himself laying with his nose buried in his brother's auburn hair.

Veneziano's head was resting on Romano's arm just below the shoulder, his other one crossed over his brother's chest where the younger Italian was sound asleep. Still pale, still dreaming without expression. Romano didn't know how he'd climbed into bed, especially since he'd been on the opposite side of the mattress before, but the stale bedding was pulled up under his arm and tucked around him, and he was comfortable enough to know that he'd been like this for some time.

Checking his brother's throat with his free hand, there was a heartbeat. Closing his eyes, Romano could hear his brother breathing...

"...When did you buy a shirt that colour?" Mumbling the question as if it would wake up the nation next to him, Romano finally saw what he'd dressed his brother in the night before. An ugly mustard-yellow tee-shirt with white edges, it was a terrible colour on him and made his hair look violently red. No wonder Veneziano had left it behind in his winter residence...

For himself, Romano wasn't wearing his camouflage anymore. Flexing his toes slightly, someone had taken off his boots and belt too. His pants were probably still bloody, but the outer jacket was gone and had taken most of the blood anyways. He was laying in the black tee he'd worn under the combat gear.

Footsteps in the hall. The sound made him open his eyes again where he hadn't moved his face from the side of his brother's head. He wasn't tired enough to sleep, but he didn't want to move either... When he saw who it was making the noise, well, he sort of wished he'd pretended he was asleep again.

"Do you always shoot the locks off peoples' doors?" Veneziano's honey brown eyes looked down at him in disdain, but Vatican's voice was old and dry enough that the similarities were minute- lower too, pitched down so he sounded more like Romano than his little brother. The Micro-nation's thin grey hair was freshly combed across his scalp, Romano could tell that much even from where he was laying down, and Vatican's curl was almost invisible where it was hovering next to his head. The cleric wasn't dressed in the red choir robes that he'd had in Naples though, he was wearing a more casual black cassock with red piping, his heavy silver cross still hanging around his neck. His rosary was strangely absent from his hip.

But if he was here then that meant Switzerland had let him go... that was a good sign...

Vatican's face looked a little bit older than Romano remembered, a few extra creases lining the dry skin around his puckered lips and sunken eyes, but in his hands he was holding one small cup of coffee on a little saucer. South Italy chose to watch the cup rather than the Holy See's eyes as the serving was offered to him, and he carefully disentangled himself from his brother. He regretted it as soon as his arm started to tingle with the restored blood, but sat up and quietly took the coffee.

Small portion, incredibly strong, the cappuccino brew was more bitter than Veneziano would have liked, but Romano preferred the overpowering flavour... until he got that burnt aftertaste. Damn it, Papa! Vatican left without acknowledging Romano's harsh look, and he could hear him busying with something in the kitchen while he was out. There were voices, but it sounded more like background noise than actual conversation. Was it a radio...?

When he returned Vatican didn't sit down on the bed, but now was when Romano noticed the chair the older nation must have brought into the room at some point while he slept. He didn't drink his coffee either, but Romano chose to let himself become absorbed in the hot drink in his hands. The older nation filled the silence for him.

"...You really brought him back." He had... but not without help. "How bad is it?"

"I should be asking you." Romano shot the words back in the wrong tone of voice. Vatican didn't even twitch, he just crossed one leg over the other in his seat and stared at the sleeping nation laying between them.

"Then it's bad." Finally, the Holy See took a sip of his drink, lips pinching at the strength as he seemed disappointed. Damned bastard, he didn't even know how to make coffee the way he liked it! "I've walked to Saint Mark's twice since I arrived and have kept the radio going in the other room. The shootings in Turin have sparked fear in the region, and there have been two abductions of foreign visitors near Florence. This storm also isn't doing Venice any favours." Of course it wasn't, at Vatican's words a cascade of thunder rolled overhead, rattling the window panes across the dark room. Somewhere the sun was shining, but the clock on the wall told him the morning rays weren't having any effect on the city.

"Siena?" Because Romano had to ask.

"Hotel arson. It's wreaking havoc with the local authorities." And probably foreign relations too.

Romano wished he was surprised to hear this, but it made sense: Veneziano's body had been abused, but his mind had been absolutely-

"What about you?" Huh?

"What about me?" he repeated, swallowing more of the coffee. "I'm fine, all I have to worry about is making sure our economy doesn't collapse with all of this. The last thing either of us needs is a cold." But if Romano had much more of this 'coffee' without food he'd make himself sick anyways, the more he drank the more he realized just how bad a cup Vatican actually made. Setting the cup down on the small table next to his side of the bed, Romano dropped his hands into his lap and looked over at the older nation. The guy really should never have been allowed in a kitchen...

"I've been here for a day and a half." Shit, that wasn't what Romano wanted to hear. Closing his eyes, he brought one hand up and rubbed along his cheek and jaw, grumbling under his breath as he felt the long stubble that had taken over the bottom half of his face. It was at least three days' worth...

"San Marino expected you to be in Rome." Hmph. "We parted ways because I told him you'd said Venice and we weren't sure which it would be."

"Venice. I never said anything about Rome but that bastard never listens anyways." Irritated, Romano folded his arms crossly over his chest and scowled. "I'm impressed he even remembered where I told him to find you." He'd told San Marino to check Vatican's house in Rome before doing anything stupid, but if they'd met up and then argued about where to go then it sounded like Switzerland had been a dick- as expected.

"Just the same, he and Seborga are staying at the house in Rome." And that explained why this place had been locked up when he got here. He'd barely been thinking of it at the time, but now that Romano had calmed down he was surprised it was Vatican bringing him coffee and not one of the other Micro-nations. His brothers were annoying, but they weren't completely useless.

"Are they coming here?"

"Do you want them to?" That was a difficult question, and Romano's answer was just to lean back on the headboard over his pillow. After a moment or two, he answered with what he had.

"I want them to handle things in Rome for me." Which was a risky venture. Seborga was a part of Italy but he was also just a tiny village in the north west. He only represented that small-town, peaceful, law-abiding way of life that you could forget when you wandered into too many of their country's big cities.

San Marino was a bit better in that regard; he was actually his own nation, he had a decent sized population, a stable economy, his own taxes and elections and all of that... but while San Marino understood internal policy, neither of them had any grasp of international relations. UN membership, Council of Europe- whatever, Romano's older brother was surrounded by Italy on all sides, and if the last four hundred years meant anything then San Marino liked living all alone on his mountain. He went to fewer World Summits than Romano himself did, so putting that guy in Rome just... ugh...

"If those bastards want to help then they'll do their part in Rome and let me take care of him here. I don't want to hear anything about the capitol, not one peep until he's better." If he absolutely had to then Romano would rather send Vatican than go himself. So long as the economy was alright he was going to stay right here where he was needed.

"Mm... does that include talks about the war?" What war? "The one you almost started...? With Switzerland?"

"Chigi! Don't give me that crap. That Swiss bastard wouldn't start a war over an air-strike he should have ordered weeks ago." And if it had already been at least two days, probably more, since the event then there obviously wasn't going to be a counter-strike. The original air-strike would be a scandal, it probably still was on some level and would stand out as a black mark on their record together, but it wasn't something an actual war would break out over. Italy had sort-of-maybe-yes broken the law, but he was willing to apologize, hand over a couple nice trade settlements to Switzerland and been done with it. The Vatican City had probably found himself under house-arrest for a few days as a precaution, but now that seemed to be settled. War had been the worst of the worst case scenarios.

"Is that what you'll tell him?" Who? That Swiss ba-? "No. Him." Vatican was looking at the bed, he was looking at Veneziano...

Romano's mood fell. He felt his temper burn itself out like an old lamp, leaving him cold despite the blankets.

"I'll tell him whatever he wants to hear." Even with them talking right over his head, all Veneziano'd managed to do was breathe in and out. No pauses or yawns, no stretching or scratching, he didn't even curl a hand or roll his shoulder to move. His face was so pale, that ugly yellow shirt washing the health right out of his scruffy face...

Silence. It stretched for several moments. Vatican's fingers pinched the silver crucifix hanging over his chest while Romano watched his brother breathe, counting. Finally, the Micro-nation took a breath and made to stand.

"I'll let you rest-"

"No." Romano had been thinking for a little bit, so he took Vatican's break in the silence as his chance. "Stay with him." Pulling aside the covers, Romano swung his legs around and stood up, feeling the room spin and the cool wooden floors leach the warmth through his socks. The apartment was cold.

"Are you sure?" Of course he was sure, he wouldn't hand over Veneziano's care to just anybody. "Where are you going?" Romano took a seat on the bed again after grabbing his boots, stuffing his foot inside one and quickly binding up the laces.

"There any food here?"

"Flour, but there's nothing but water and coffee beans to mix it with anymore." Vatican had probably been living off of- actually, Romano didn't want to think about it. If Veneziano wasn't in Rome with him or Berlin with that Potato-eater, then he could be found in Venice. He wouldn't stock perishables in a flat he was only in for a few months of the year. They both knew that filling your kitchen with fresh ingredients was the best way to reconnect with a city anyways.

"Then I'm gonna go get food." He didn't ask why Vatican hadn't stocked the kitchen, with the two of them passed out the answer seemed obvious. Romano could remember how his father had reacted to everything going wrong with him before they'd figured out what the hell was happening to Veneziano. It took a lot to shake a Micro-nation like Vatican, but he'd started coming apart almost he had during the Reformation. Romano knew they'd treated each other differently after they understood what was going on at the mansion; how that had led to military plans and holy blessings and a side of the Holy See that South Italy hadn't seen in a long, long time...

So, with all of that together, he didn't want to think of what their father had been doing for two days while the brothers had been dead to the world. He wouldn't even acknowledge the mad shaking in Vatican's hands where he was still holding his cross.

"You're going out in this weather?" Lightning flashed at just the right time to enforce Vatican's point, and Romano sent a dirty look back at him. Being sentimental wasn't going to get them anywhere right now. "No one is selling anything today."

"Well then what're we gonna do? Drink your shit coffee?" He finished with his other boot and stood up, hastily checking his camouflage-patterned pants before deciding there wasn't enough blood on them to worry. He quickly went over to Veneziano's closet and opened it, hoping to find something other than mothballs to wear. There was no way he could get the blood out of his uniform...

He found a jacket from the nineteenth century. Sentimental, but fucking useless.

"Your uniform is clean." Huh? Vatican was carefully covering his mouth with his coffee cup as Romano looked at him, the cardinal's eyes focused on the sleeping Nation. "It's hanging over the radiator, it should be dry." Vatican had washed it for him? Since when did this guy do laundry?

Leaving the closet behind, all he'd been able to find was another jacket that looked like Veneziano hadn't worn it since the nineteen-ninties. It would have fit, but it would have looked stupid with its dated cut and obvious dust collection. Wandering around the room to the coiled pipes that made up the heater, sure enough, the camouflage tunic he'd fallen asleep in was hanging over it, warm and dry.

"Romano." He pulled on the uniform jacket awkwardly, rolling down the sleeves a little. "Do his friends know where he is?" Uh...

Running his hands through his hair trying to tidy it up a little, if Romano hadn't been about to head out into a downpour he probably would have considered cleaning up first. There was no point in showering twice so he'd save the hot water for when he got back. The umbrella he'd seen was left behind in the closet as he shut the door; with the wind outside the thing would just break or fall into the canals. He shrugged a little at the question, then finally answered.

"I didn't tell them, and I don't know if he's ever brought anybody here." But maybe he had, it was none of Romano's business one way or the other but Veneziano was the type to keep his friends close no matter where he went. "The best bet would be Kraut-breath or Japan, and Austria was in charge of him for a long time too." So him or Hungary might know where the flat was. It didn't really matter either way to Romano. "Why? It's not like we're hiding him. I just want him here. He's always been Venezia." Romano's black beret was resting on the foot of the bed where he'd been sleeping, and he snatched that up quickly as he moved across the room, headed for the door.

"So if any of them show up, I should just let them in?"

"Chigi, they'll let themselves in. There's no lock on the door, remember?" Vatican didn't laugh, he didn't even move in his chair after Romano passed him. He just sat there, holding his coffee and staring at the bed. "If anyone shows up, tell them they can clean up that mess by the front door, or the in bathroom."

"I already took care of that." Then- wait, he had? "The washroom was appalling, it looked like you'd performed some sort of surgery when I arrived. I was going to do the outside next and spare his neighbours."

"Yeah, well..." Say it. He had to say it. "Well... thanks." The word didn't get him much of a response, but at least Vatican gave him a quick look out the corner of his eye. "But you stay in here until I get back. I don't want him waking up alone."

"He won't." ... "He won't be alone." Or he just wouldn't- "Lovino, you woke up and that means he will wake up. And when he does, like you, he will not be alone." When had Vatican learned his human name anyways..? Not even Veneziano-

"You aren't asking me to pray." It struck Romano as a very rude thing to point out but the words came before he could stop them. Right now wasn't the time for him to go throwing Vatican's help back in the Micro-nation's face. "This whole time, even when we met in Naples. Usually that's all you do; you get on our asses about not praying enough, not going to mass enough, not-"

"Lovino." What? "I have found you passed out on your knees twice since all of this began." Vatican's voice was appropriately sharp. Romano didn't find himself upset at the tone used on him, he just wanted to hear what the other Nation had to say. "If God wants me to pray then I will pray, if he wants me to act then I will act. If I thought you were doing anything except what you must then I would say as much, so listen to me when I say this." He hadn't stood up yet, and he turned his head only enough that Romano could see his face in profile. Vatican knew how to project his voice even when locked in such a passive stance.

"I am hungry, as are you. And when your brother wakes up he will be even hungrier. There is no food in this apartment, and even if there was between the two of us you are the only one who can cook a decent meal." Vatican... "Now go and do not get lost in the rain or fall into the canals. I will not come looking for you if you take too long."

No, because someone had to stay here with Veneziano, someone had to keep praying over him. For the first time since he'd woken up Romano noticed the rosary Vatican had wound around his brother's hand to pray on. He saw the bible resting on the floor where Romano himself had passed out praying several nights before, and there was a cross his bother didn't own standing on the night table by his brother's head, probably borrowed from the cathedral across the water...

"While you're gone I will call Rome, and when you get back I will clean up that filthy mess in the stairwell. Now go." Alright. Yes, he could do that. Veneziano would be safe here, Seborga and San Marino would handle things in Rome, and Vatican wouldn't let all his prayers over them both go to waste now...

"Chigi! Don't boss me around, damn it!" The least Romano could do was go and find the food to keep his family's strength up.

There were two scenes I could have picked up and tagged to the beginning or end of this chapter. One was San Marino actually collecting Vatican from the room Switzerland locked him in at the end of Final Loop, and the other was Romano interacting with a Venetian shop-keeper while picking up groceries and stuff. Neither scene was bad, but they feel out of place here.

Vatican snippet was already uploaded once to Tumblr with the usual tag "HetaOni: Recovery". The shopping episode might go up too, but there's a reason I cut it from here (it's a wee bit slow/monotonous).

Don't forget to review! Please? Maybe? It doesn't have to be particularly meaningful or clever you know, just something to prove you read the whole thing without quitting on me half-way down? Please?

-Repost, September 18, 2012