Stereo Hearts, Whole Playlist, Message for the Queen.

AN removed.

Final Loop

Those Axis Power Guys

Soaked and miserable by the time he made it back through the rain, Romano was starving and not looking forward to having to cook his own meal. But he'd do it, he'd rather be tired than let Vatican poison him trying to make a sandwich.

Slipping through the large exterior doors and catching his breath for a moment, he started up the stairs: this building was old and there was no elevator. To make things even better, Romano immediately groaned as a pair of loud Italian voices reached him from one of the upper levels. A man and a woman were shouting in the stairwell, but their words weren't directed at one another? He didn't need this right now, damn it.

"That radio running all day and night! Hoodlums dragging blood up the stairs and shooting guns at night!"

"You should be ashamed, the smell of it! And for waiting so long before cleaning it up!"

"We should call the police again, and this time-!"

Romano reached the third floor with his burdens and stopped when he saw the third floor occupants. A furious-sounding man in his ironed shirtsleeves and his shorter wife with a hysterical voice and rapid hand-gestures. Neither of them noticed him come up though, because they were too busy shouting at the short, flustered Asian man standing dumb-struck with a scrub-brush in hand and a bucket of soapy water set up behind him.

Romano was sure he'd never seen Japan look so embarrassed or uncomfortable before, but as much as he wanted to loudly demand to know just what the fuck the other nation was doing here, he wanted the shouting to stop first.

"So!" If anyone was gonna be loud it was gonna be Romano, damn it. "You make a habit of harassing all your neighbours then?" That got everyone's attention, including Japan's as the eastern nation just made uncomfortable sounds that didn't really mean anything.

"Who...?" Yes, look deeply into Romano's eyes, Citizen. Realize how badly you feel about causing a fuss when South Italy has had a very long fucking month. Now apologize and get the fuck back into your house, or off to work, or where ever the hell else you have to be today!

"Look, I can smell the bleach from over here." With their attention on him and his swears silently spent, Romano cut right to the chase. "He's cleaning it up just fine. I had to shoot the door because I didn't have a key, now there's no lock so I don't have to do it again." Anywhere else in the world, Romano knew, he'd be getting himself into a shouting match right now. Being a nation took care of all of that: Japan had probably been ten times more polite and courteous and in return he'd been attacked by two scared Italians. "Just go take siesta or something, jeeze."

But because he was Italy, Romano's approach worked just fine. The people were scared, anxious, and looking for something to stabilize them. Having him there to order them around was that kind of touch-stone, it wasn't as effective as it would have been if Veneziano had cleared the matter up, but it still worked. They'd trust him, they'd understand him, and more importantly: they'd listen. Veneziano's neighbours looked at Romano and then down at their shoes, and then quietly retreated back into their flat without another words. He heard them lock the door afterwards, but dismissed it. He was too fucking tired for this shit.

"Ah... arigato, Romano-san..." Which left him alone with Japan. The other nation was dressed casually in blue jeans, a black tee shirt and grey sweater jacket, but his sleeves were up and the rubber gloves on his hands were red along the fingers. He gave his thanks awkwardly in Japanese and Romano scoffed at him as he walked up, ignoring the exhausted look in the Japanese man's eyes.

"I thought you fucking spoke Italian?" He put the words bluntly in English.

"I-I understand it very well, but to speak..." What, he couldn't remember what to say when he was being yelled at? "I've visited North Italy many times, but I've never..." Well Japan's people had been pretty fucking hostile after the war too, if he remembered right...

Romano didn't say that. He should have, but he just went up the stairs and expected Japan to either go back to cleaning or fo-

Holy fu-

"WHERE THE FUCK IS THE DOOR!-?" Back to Italian, because WHERE THE FUCK WAS THE DOOR?

Romano almost dropped the bags he was carrying, one foot on the fourth floor and the other still on the steps behind him. The smell of bleach was strong but not as bad as it could have been- the blood stained walls had been washed clean, and an abandoned mop was standing in the corner. But the door. The doors.

He was staring straight into Veneziano's flat, there was no door, no gate, no door- where the fuck did the fucking door go!-?

"Ah, Germany said-" KRAUT-BREATH WAS HERE TOO? "H-He left?" AND TOOK THE DOOR? WHO DID THAT? "To replace... it...?"

"Well where the fuck is my brother!-?" Not about to be reasoned with, he changed the subject and stormed inside, noting that someone had taken the sheet off Veneziano's long wooden dining table before Romano left the groceries there for the time being. The rest of the covered furniture had also been moved to the side and there was the faint smell of some kind of chemical cleaner in the air- not as strong as the bleach that had cleaned the staircase, but someone had obviously mopped the kitchen and living room.

Veneziano's flat was a simple four-corner layout: there was the front door that opened immediately onto the long dining and living room, tall windows flanking a patio door to Romano's right as he stormed inside- the balcony was on the west side of the building. There was another door on the north wall- the wall he'd just walked through -that led back into Veneziano's office for when he brought work from Rome to Venice. To Romano's left, the east side of the flat, there was a short hall and access to a small powder room and closet. The kitchen and living room hadn't always been one chamber, but Veneziano had knocked out the wall between the two once open-living came in style and central-heating made it easier to keep the place livable. Romano could remember helping him install the bar counter that formally separated the two spaces: a brick base with a pale wood surface perfect for cooking and serving.

Moving south from the front door, deeper into the flat past the kitchen, and there was a door to the left that led to Veneziano's studio. It was the room with wide windows to the south and east so even in winter it was always filled with light for whatever projects he was working on. If you avoided that door you found yourself in a hallway that turned west again. The main bathroom was here, then Veneziano's bedroom was at the end of the hall.

The door was closed, Romano didn't bother knocking before he stormed straight inside, Japan's feet padding quietly after him.

"Oi! Are you up yet, you bastard?" Pissed off, he held on to that anger as he spoke, eyes closed as he shoved the door open. He wanted to hear an answer, damn it, not see one. He wanted to hear a stupid 'Ve~' or have Vatican snap at him for being rude, he wanted to hear the bedsheets rustling as the sound of his voice bothered the moron he'd carried halfway across southern Europe.

Instead Romano heard silence, and he opened his eyes to see Vatican sitting in his chair with his head down, that bible open between his hands. He just stared at the Micro-nation's back and didn't say anything else, found himself pursing his lips tightly and pinching them between his teeth to keep them together- to keep from speaking. His hand was still resting on the doorknob and Romano found himself gripping it tightly.

It was hard to breathe. He just swallowed his words and avoided looking at the bed, backing out with as much purpose as he'd barged in with. Romano found himself in the hall looking straight at Japan and the eastern country's face was surprisingly open for once, his mask poorly in place over the sadness and concern.

Romano just wanted to smack him. He just wanted to blame him for leaving his brother behind.

"Call that potato-bastard and tell him that if he wants to eat, he better pick up more eggs on his way back here." Romano'd only expected to cook for three over the next few days, not five. "And make sure he brings me a fucking door!"

Pushing past Japan, the smaller nation didn't say anything. He looked like he wanted to, but he clearly thought better of it and stepped out of Romano's way. The Italian was almost at the end of the hall before he heard Japan mention something about finishing the stairs.

Fine. Whatever.

"You too?-!" Romano couldn't believe this, he'd planned for three, prepared for five, but when the German bastard showed up he had that dopey bastard Spain with him and that made six! "Fuck! You Axis Powers are like roaches!"

"Hey, that's mean, Roma~ You wanted me to join the war, didn't you?" Spain's voice was whiny and bright, which was irritating because Romano didn't want the bastard to be so stupid right now. But that thought just made him even angrier, because if the Tomato bastard started looking at him the same sorry way Japan kept looking at him then Romano was going to kick all of the stupid bastards out of his house!

"Is he..?" Germany's question was for Japan, not Romano. The shortest Axis Nation just quietly shook his head however, disappointing Germany and apparently sucking some of the life out of the brute. After Spain's comment none of them really tried talking to Romano; the blonde one looked at him, but the Italian harshly turned his back and poured a fresh cup of coffee for the Holy See, the Micro-nation was still holed up in the bedroom.

Germany and Japan had arrived in Venice with Spain, they'd met him by accident at the train station but that hadn't stopped them from coming as a group, and getting lost along the way as that idiot Spain told it. Since then, Japan had been cleaning and Spain had opted to follow Kraut-breath off to find a new door in the off-chance that their paths might cross with Romano's.

Pissed off, Romano rinsed off cups, plates, and several sets of cutlery while the polenta cooked in a large pot. He'd brewed fresh (good) coffee with the old beans his brother had stowed in a cupboard, fried eggplant and eggs, and sliced tomatoes as he applauded himself for ordering more staple ingredients while he was out- there was almost no sugar left, but there was bread-dough resting with a cloth over it when the surprise guests came in.

"Fucking eat." Was all he had to say to his 'guests'. Romano picked up Vatican's coffee and left the room.

"Have you eaten?" Was the first thing Vatican said to him, the next was a simple thank you for the coffee.

"No." And Veneziano hadn't moved. Romano was exhausted just looking at him.

"You're still soaking wet from the rain." Whatever, Romano's economy was doing just fine and a little rain wouldn't change that. "But his is in danger, go clean up and eat something." No. "Roma-"

"I just..." Just what? Just what did he want? Romano was standing next to the bed now, having wandered away from Vatican's chair and looking down at the pale, expressionless face below him. Shit, they looked a lot alike. Romano was always trying to deny it, but they both had Grandpa Rome's nose and their lips were shaped the same way Vatican's were- with a fuller bottom lip than top. Someone, probably Vatican, had given him a shave while Romano was out so he looked cleaner, but Veneziano's lips were always supposed to be quirked up in a smile the way Romano's were always drawn a little in a frown or scowl. Seeing his brother with nothing but scars on his face just wasn't right...

What did Romano want? He wanted him to wake up, he wanted this to stop, he wanted everything to go back to normal. He just-

"I just want to be near him."

Quiet for a few moments, only the sound of cutlery clicking against ceramic plates in the other room, maybe the low murmur of voices. Nothing loud, it hardly carried all the way in here over the dialled down voice of the radio. Romano slid his hand into Veneziano's, weaving his fingers between his brother's limp ones. Behind him, Vatican let out a breath through his nose- not quite a sigh but not strong enough to scold, and stood up. The chair squeaked against the floor and Romano felt the edge of the seat bump against the back of his knees.

"Then sit." ... He did. He kept his grip on his brother though, leaning down with his elbows on his knees and his hands wrapped around Veneziano's fingers and wrist, toying with the resin beads of the rosary coiled around his arm. At least he was breathing, Romano should have hoped for more than that, but...

He felt something heavy settle around his shoulders. Surprised, Romano found himself wrapped in a blanket- something Vatican had just pulled out of the closet.

"I'll bring you a plate." ...

... Say it.

"Thanks."

Romano ate in the bedroom and didn't say anything when Spain joined him, alright with having a warm hand on his shoulder the whole time. Apparently Germany and Japan were setting the furniture in order, dusting and moving tables, setting up chairs, and washing the windows so they could see the rain dumping down outside. Romano really didn't care, but he did agree that Veneziano would feel better seeing his house looking lived-in than all wrapped up in sheets and plastic.

The new door was delivered by a pair of men who looked like twigs next to the potato-bastard. Romano only saw them because after he cleaned up he traded places with Japan so his brother wasn't left alone. He was in the middle of preparing their lunch when a new steel door and a gate to replace the old one were both dropped off.

A few lines of Grandpa Rome's old song came to mind as the German and the Spaniard settled down and got to work hanging the massive door. The Kraut made perfect sense of the instructions written specifically to bug the ever-living crap out any normal person, whereas Spain got fed up and just doodled over the pages whenever Germany stopped giving him direct instructions. Over on his end, while they worked on the door Romano ran the raw pasta through his brother's old hand-crank sheeter several times, flattening the yellow dough until it could be cut, filled with cheese and rolled up for cannelloni.

The dish was time-consuming and detail oriented. He had to get the blend of cheese and spinach right- which required prepping and cooking the leafy greens first. He had to make sure the sauce didn't reduce too far, find and wash all of the deep dishes before he could prep those and actually start forming the pasta. Romano chased away Japan whenever the eastern nation came too close, and he gave Vatican a dirty glare when he was asked if there weren't simpler meals Romano could make instead.

"What the hell else am I supposed to do?" Was his blunt reply.

Yelling at Veneziano didn't have any effect on him, nor did shaking him or slapping him or splashing his face with cold water. He was completely unresponsive, and while Germany and Spain finished hanging the new door (Kraut finally explaining to him that the gun had damaged more than just the lock, so they couldn't have just installed a new one because the internal something-or-other was blah-blah-blah) and they were all exposed to the sound of Veneziano's radio giving constant reports about what was going on across the nation.

Cooking was... a distraction. It took long enough for him to assemble everything that Romano ended up slicing the bread he'd made earlier and letting the others eat that with cheese and cured meats for lunch, the pasta would be their dinner. While he was doing that the phone in Veneziano's office started ringing, and Romano ignored it.

Cooking was technical. You couldn't just slap-stick your way through a complicated recipe with so many different components. But if you over-thought it you'd ruin the dish, so you had to keep your head out of it just enough to use your actual senses: taste the filling, smell the sauce, listen as you stirred the pot, feel the texture of the dough. It was difficult and required constant attention, so he didn't answer the phone when it went off again: he didn't want to talk to Seborga yet.

If Romano was cooking, and if he glanced up and saw his brother's furniture all dusted and polished and set up in the flat just the way Veneziano liked it... And if Romano was too absorbed in what he was doing to really hear what Veneziano's friends were talking about... And if he only saw Vatican briefly and when he did the Micro-nation just looked annoyed at the commotion in the house... then Romano could, just maybe, pretend that nothing was wrong.

He wished Rome would stop calling. Shutting the office door only had so much impact.

"That smells amazing..." Prepared, assembled, baked and served. Japan snapped a picture of the pasta while Romano set out more dishes, finally clearing away the remains of lunch and desperate to sit down with some wine after all that work. The rain absolutely refused to let up outside, and they were all aware of how dark the world was growing beyond the clean windows. All day none of them had really noticed the sun, but now that it was gone the loss was obvious.

Bah, that sounded like a metaphor for something, Romano didn't want to think about it. When Veneziano's land-line went off for the third time the only other sound was the radio giving an update: a bomb had just exploded in the Milano underground. Three long, frantic rings from the telephone hanging on the kitchen wall answered that report, then it went silent.

"Where's that Potato-bastard?" Spain was in Veneziano's office making a call on his cell and Japan and Vatican had deferred their theological debate when Romano pulled the bubbling dish out of the oven so it could rest and be admired by the other two. Japan knew how to cook just fine, just not with these ingredients, and Vatican knew he had to be damned appreciative before Romano would let him so much as taste the sauce.

They all wisely ignored his response to the phone.

"Right here." Ah... shit. The look on the Potato-bastard's face told Romano what little he needed to know. Germany's wide potato-shaped face was stressed and upset, his blue eyes tense with red rims as he didn't meet Romano's gaze. North Italy still wasn't...

"You gonna eat or not?" Romano said sharply, turning his attention back to the food and quickly breaking the cheesy crust that had formed over the top. Someone else was going to have to buy more food if these bastards were gonna stay here all night and tomorrow too. Romano wasn't going out again, not in that fucking rain. He dished five plates before Germany found his voice and spoke up.

"May I take some to him?" Huh? "He..." And then lost his words again, leaving Romano paused with the last few hot cannelloni rolls waiting to go on the plate in his hand. When he looked at the taller nation again, Germany's pain was poorly concealed and he was standing awkwardly, one hand up and hanging from the iron cross Romano hadn't noticed before. Germany wasn't dressed as casually as Spain's hoodie or Japan's jeans, but the dark green army jacket and khaki pants weren't the same strict uniform he'd worn during the fighting either. The cross was hanging from a chain and must have been tucked under his shirt earlier, but now he was holding it tight and rubbing his thumb over the black iron.

"Maybe... the smell?" Japan tried to fill the silence while Spain made his return and looked down at the plate Romano had already dished for him. Vatican's expression was hidden while the Oriental one seemed oddly hopeful, but before Romano could snap at either one for an explanation, Germany finished.

"He loves your food, he's always going on about it." He-? Veneziano never liked- "I just thought it might help, but perhaps I was just being foolish." He...

"You're all assholes." Vatican presented Romano with another plate as he swore and broke up the final portion. The Micro-nation then turned to kneel in front of the open cupboard in the kitchen's bar, peering in at the assortment of wines Veneziano kept there. Romano probably could have used a drink, something cheap, but he'd made a mess of the kitchen, and there was his brother to look after, and then-

"We'll take it." Huh? Romano felt the last plate rise right out of his hand as Japan took the two half-portions and scurried off, Germany following on his heels back toward the bedroom.

"Sit." Vatican was in front of him before Romano could try following the two former Axis powers, the grey-haired nation actually cutting him off back and forth as he tried stepping around him. Damn it!

"I'm not hungry."

"Sit. Down." Frustration, that tension in the back of his neck that hitched his shoulders up and made Romano just want to growl back at the Micro-nation. The wine was open on the counter and Vatican was pointing directly at the table where a plate of the food Romano had just made was sitting, an empty wine-glass next to it. Behind him, he heard water running and dishes clattering as Spain stacked all the bowls and pans Romano had dirtied for washing, of all things whistling over the sound of the radio.

Grumbling about how they were all bastards who should fucking eat the food he'd fucking made before it got fucking cold... Romano let Vatican shadow him over to the table. He didn't want to sit down, and he swore softly as he was nudged into one of the wooden chairs and felt all the strength leach out of his body. His feet turned to lead weights and his knees were useless, and his spine just wanted to coil up like a rope and drop him to the floor. His shoulders slumped down as Romano unwillingly acknowledged how he'd been on his feet literally since he'd woken up. There had been that brief break when Vatican sat him down to eat breakfast and then shower, but after that...

"Assholes." Vatican poured him a glass of Veneziano's dark red wine. He may have had no idea how to bake bread or brew coffee, but Vatican's pallet for wines was not to be questioned. Spain joined them without finishing the washing, but he chirped something about hugging him into submission if Romano tried touching the dishes in the sink again.

"And after you're finished..." Vatican said, taking neat little bites out of his pasta as the three of them sat there, listening to the quiet drone of the radio and the rain tapping the windows. "You're going to call Rome."

"I am not."

"Tomorrow then."

"No." Those bastards in Rome just wanted to harass them and squawk about where Veneziano was and when he would start fixing all the shit going on across the country. He trusted Vatican to have passed on what he'd said about not wanting to deal with them. "Besides, you guys aren't even gonna be here that long, why would I go back to work already?" Chewing his food like it had insulted him and ought to be punished, Romano drank his wine and told himself the warm feeling in his belly wasn't making him even more tired. But Spain's green eyes came up when he made the comment, the Tomato-bastard giggling stupidly before he threaded his fingers under his chin and grinned at him, looking stupid all the while.

"You think Germany is leaving, Roma? Are you crazy?" No, just hopeful, damn it. "I spoke to Prussia before I came here and he was already convinced his brother wouldn't really go back to Berlin. Unless their boss calls him directly, I think you're as good as stuck with us." Romano almost flung a piece of his dinner at Spain's teasing face, almost, but his food was too fucking good for that.

He growled as he ate the offending morsel instead, understanding why the German Chancellor wasn't going to push unless it was necessary. When nations began feeling distressed as people, it could sometimes, but not always, backlash on the population. Usually it went the other way, in fact the opposite almost never happened, but depending on how much the other nations had told their bosses then the situation in Italy was clearly unorthodox. Romano couldn't remember too many other incidents when something like this had happened, but any nation that ever saw a civil war invariably suffered the effects of compounding trauma: droughts, floods, famines, diseases and accidents galore.

The Italian famines and the return of the plague during the Thirty Year's War had not been coincidence. Violence and arson were new, but given the circumstances...

"Well there's only one bed here and I'm not sharing with you jerks." Sleeping next Veneziano was fine, they were brothers and they did it all the time, but there was no room for Spain or Germany and Romano wasn't going to let Japan or Vatican crawl into bed with him- hell no!

"There's a floor, there're couches." Spain answered, not missing a beat as he poured himself some of the wine Vatican had opened. The Iberian nation gave a cheeky grin after sampling the bitter red- as if he knew anything about wine! "You know me, Romano, I can sleep anywhere!"

"I plan to stay at the Cathedral." Vatican cut in. "It has already been arranged."

Bastards.

"Poor Romano, you should just accept it." Accept what, you jerk? Romano gave Spain a dirty glare over the edge of his wine-glass, watching the Spaniard enjoy the last few bites of his dinner before he continued. "A lot of nations now owe everything to your brother, and we all know how badly we failed him in the end." Spain had only been caught in the mansion once, why was he-? "You were the only one who thought of going back there while the rest of us had the Journal and didn't even consider it."

"Yeah well you can feel bad at home then," Romano snapped, "I don't have the time to play host."

"You're so cute!Butno one's asking you to do that." Spain stood up smoothly, scooping up his plate and Vatican's empty one before he swept off to the kitchen, talking back over his shoulder. "You're already so stressed you're going as red as a Tomato, but your brother's still asleep. How will you handle him all on your own with all these new problems?"

"I... I'll figure something out!"

"Ve~ You sound just like Rome." Vatican's bitter, quiet words just helped sour Romano's mood a bit more, and he finished his wine and pasta with a firm grunt towards the Micro-nation. Why was he bringing Grandpa into this? "There is nothing to figure out. You have resources, use them. Your brothers are working in Rome like you asked, but it's your capitol, not theirs, and you said you would help if they called."

He knew that, damn it. He'd just expected those idiots to do better on the first day.

"You already asked for our help once, Roma!" Spain sang from the sink, cleaning up their dishes now as well as all the different pans and trays he'd left so they could eat. He wasn't looking over at the table, but the Spaniard picked his voice up high enough that it was easy to hear. "What's the harm in admitting you need a bit more?"

"I did no such thing, bastard, I never asked the UN for help." That had all been Switzerland's doing, and thank God it hadn't been to start a war. Russia was the only Nation he'd called, when Romano had a minute he'd have to thank him for taking sides; he only knew the dirty side of politics, but at least it had worked.

"That doesn't mean you didn't need it." Vatican insisted, "Switzerland had every reason to turn on you but instead he decided to help you in the end, and despite his questionable methods, he succeeded." Questionable with regards to locking up a certain Enclave in Rome... Vatican topped off his wine without saying as much and Romano tried to push aside the politics. His head felt stuffed full of enough things that he didn't need international relations to get involved and drag him further down.

And why was it still so chilly in the apartment? Didn't these bastards know where the furnace was? They could stand to turn it on, damn it.

"There is no sense in being so stubborn," and Vatican was still talking... "You should be thankful that your would-be enemies prefer to remain your friends."

'Don't lecture me, old man...' Romano could feel his teeth grinding together as Vatican prattled on, careful not to bite the thin glass as he brought the wine back up for another sip.

"Arigatou gozaimashita, Romano-san." Arigawhatthefuck? Glancing over at the sound of Japan's voice, the soft-spoken nation was just stepping back into the living room, two empty plates in his hands which he calmly left with Spain before making his way over to the table. It was weird watching Japan bow to him, his hands held at his sides, brown eyes closed and a very faint smile on his pale round face. What was he looking so pleased about?

Had he-?

"Did anything happen?" Spain shut off the water once more and was the one to ask the question, Romano setting his wine-glass down quickly and half-rising out of his chair before Vatican held up a hand to keep him down. He wanted to argue, but instead Romano was treated with the bitter sense of disappointment as Japan completed his bow only to shake his head slowly in Spain's direction.

Meaning no, the food had not caused any kind of change in Veneziano...

"But..." So why was the Asian power still smiling? It wasn't a big grin and he didn't look especially cheerful, but Japan looked at him again and that small turn of his lips was still resting comfortably on his face. "But the atmosphere was changed. I know we are all worried, but I think that things will turn out alright now. He should be through the worst of it soon."

"While I'd prefer to be hopeful, what makes you so sure?" Vatican had turned in his chair enough to see Japan behind him, Romano's relative holding his wine-glass in one hand and swirling the contents lazily. But Japan, true to form, only smiled a little bit more as he answered.

"Because I remember what Italy said to Germany and I just before we escaped." Oh? And what had that been? "He said, 'I think this story will have a happy ending.' He said many other things too, but a happy ending is what I remember most." Happy endings...

"You bastards make no sense sometimes... " Romano was full and he was exhausted, he swallowed the last of his wine and held up a hand to stop Vatican from pouring any more for him. The Spaniard in the kitchen was drying off the dishes he'd just washed, a stupid grin on his face as he looked over at where Romano's head was resting on his hand now.

"You should sleep, Romano." Idiot.

He'd been asleep for at least two fucking days, but now he was too tired to say as much. Romano closed his eyes and lowered his head onto his arms after his plate was taken away, completely prepared to fall asleep exactly where he was. He could barely even hear the radio anymore, so he sincerely hoped that he only heard the name "Florence" because they'd won their last football match.

Romano was half-way into a dream about the World Cup by the time he heard muffled voices speaking someplace far, far away. A warm, heavy hand came down on his shoulder and Romano was jostled slightly, whoever it was not leaving him alone until Romano picked his head up. Spain again, damn that guy. So annoying.

"C'mon, your papa says its bedtime." Romano blinked and then kept his eyes open, hoping the green was sharp enough to show Spain just what he thought of that statement.

"Don't... say shit like that..." The bastard... Romano heard that annoying laugh and then felt Spain grab his arm and swing it over his shoulders, forcing Romano to stand up. His legs felt like pieces of driftwood, they wouldn't hold him up properly, but at least it didn't get to the point where he had to be carried to bed. He half-walked through the apartment and kept Spain from seizing the opportunity to hoist him up like a kid again.

There were some voices, some talking. But Romano couldn't really hear what was said. He cared, just not enough to keep himself awake.

In the bedroom, someone turned down the blankets and Romano was allowed to drop onto the mattress. It was a pain to fight with his boots and get them off, but he managed it without help. He sank into the bed and someone else wound up pulling the blankets back up over him as Romano refused to open his eyes. He had the strength to squirm across the mattress and wrap his arms around the only other person in the room who mattered, but after that...

After that it was just warmth and his brother. What else was there to know?

AN Removed

-Reposted September 18, 2012.