Whole Playlist, Spirit Within, Toy Soldiers.

Alfred. Alfred Alfred Alfred. I'm putting this here at the top because Al's character in the next few chapters is going to piss off his fans. But no.

No. No. No.

This is not a fic where he's an ass so he can be an ass and everybody needs a villain so he's the villain- no. I read a bunch of headcanons and re-watched/played several chapters of HetaOni before going this route with him, so no. And the reactions from other characters aren't going to follow the typical "Oh I always knew you were a villain!" No. He's not the villain. There will be tension, but as far as I'm concerned there's no "villain" in this story.

So no.

Recovery

North American Rift

Canada held off for as long as he could, but only two weeks after returning to Ottawa he issued a travel advisory to his people regarding North Italy. After another week and another series of shootings and amateur bombings, he ordered his offices in Rome to put pressure on ex-pats and tourists to return home as soon as possible.

"There must be something we can do for them." Technically America and Canada were both on leave from their government duties, but for some reason that didn't stop them from discussing work. With September creeping by and bringing cooler weather with it, the brothers were walking together down Canada's side of the Saint Lawrence River. Ontario gravel crunched under their feet while New York state hovered in the distance across the water, Canada holding a red coffee mug in his hand while his twin carried a similar one embossed with a green crest.

"Rome hasn't released any official statements, so until they do it's out of our hands." America was right, but Canada still didn't like hearing it. Sipping his coffee as a brisk wind came rolling off the water, the northern twin stuck his free hand down into his jacket pocket, waiting for the cold to pass.

"I hate putting alerts on them, you know what this'll do to their economy..." Most people tended to visit Italy during the summer months, so at least they'd salvaged their high season before all of this had broken out. But still, in a word: it sucked.

"Well that's Europe for you: shitty economies all around." Canada blinked at his brother's statement, glancing over at America as his twin drank his coffee and stared out across the grey water.

"You don't sound too upset," Canada remarked.

"I'm not surprised, if that's what you mean." No, it wasn't what he meant. He meant America didn't seem upset. Expecting backlash and being upset by it were two different things. "Look, it's Europe, the EU will figure something out for Italy just like they did with Greece and Portugal." But this wasn't an economic bubble or trouble with the Euro, it was civil unrest that no two political analysts in or outside the nation could figure out a cause for. Separatists, nationalists, xenophobes, communists, neo-fascists, mafia- it was supposed to be South Italy who had issues with gangs subverting the laws and interfering with policies, not the North...

"Are you... really getting into that kind of mood again?" Canada asked, hesitant to broach the subject.

"What mood?"

Canada sipped his coffee so he didn't have to answer right away, cautious of the sharp tone America directed at him.

"An Isolationist mood." He mumbled, hoping the plastic would cover the sound.

"Shit." Before America could say it, Canada was already thinking it: he should have kept his mouth shut. His brother stormed three steps ahead of him and the Canadian stopped walking, mentally preparing himself for when America spun around and glared at him. "Don't start with this crap, Matt. Just because I don't think Europe's the shit like you do doesn't mean-"

"Al, that's not what I meant." Dragging out the 'L' in his brother's human name to try and calm him down, Canada lifted his free hand in a calming gesture. "You just seem agitated, that's all."

"Agitated," America repeated, not letting up with the glare. "The fuck does that mean?"

"Please don't make me define it." As disappointed as he was with his brother's fierce reaction, Canada wasn't terribly surprised. "Look, if you don't wanna talk about it then lets just-"

"No." America turned and started walking away, leaving Canada to follow him. He'd been like this, touchy, irritable, and flighty, for weeks. He'd been this way ever since they'd come home and America had been forced to sit down and accept that yes, he had flown his plane straight into the ground in the closing minutes of their operation in Switzerland. "Just fuck you." He'd been so upset by it, so inflamed, so completely and irrationally pissed off that Canada hadn't even been able to mention England's involvement: America had convinced himself that Canada had shot him down instead of bothering to hear a word about the Englishman.

It wasn't a malicious shooting of course, but that was still the official story and the only one America was willing to accept. There was a report at the Pentagon detailing how Lt. Colonel Matthew Williams of the Canadian Armed Forces had shot the flagging F-16 fighter out of the air to keep it from crashing within the no-fly zone around the complex. That was how America rationalized his survival too: he'd survived because he was a Nation and he'd ejected just fine, if a little too late to remain conscious during his impromptu landing.

Canada could have forced the truth down his brother's throat, but at the moment there was no point. If he tried bringing up England in even the most tangential way then America would fly off the handle at him, not unlike how he'd reacted to the name "Italy" for weeks before Romano and Switzerland had called them into action. Canada could only read his brother so well before it all became a blur of wounded pride and sheer intolerance for the world across the Atlantic. He couldn't exactly blame him either: Canada was hesitant to make plans to visit Europe again, he'd rather go anywhere else or just stay home than consider it yet.

Maybe in the new year. Maybe later.

Maybe once he actually heard something from London or Rome...

"I'm sorry." No he wasn't, but you didn't grow up next to America without learning that it was better to just humble yourself rather than stick it out with him sometimes.

"And you should be." Even when he had to be an ass about it... "I'm supposed to be able to trust you, y'know?"

"Are you saying you don't?" Where was this coming from? Canada couldn't help but bristle a bit at the comment, he didn't like hearing things like that.

"I'm saying I worry sometimes." What? Why? "Nevermind." America just kept walking, in fact he even picked up his pace a little.

"Al!"

"I said never-fucking-mind!"

What... What the hell?

Prussia was in Berlin by the time September turned into October, checking in with his Boss before calling up his brother's cell to figure out what exactly was going on with Italy. It wasn't like West to stay out of the office for this long, so watching him spend a month outside of their borders was something for East to worry about.

"Asleep? Still?" Carrying his dinner into the living room (West wasn't there to make him eat at the table!) Prussia dropped onto his brother's couch with a can of beer under his arm and flicked the TV on with the remote, settling his food in his lap. He muted the voices on the screen and paid attention to the phone. He'd been on the phone all day in his brother's office, but this call felt more important than the rest.

"We just don't know what's wrong..." Well that was a pretty un-awesome thing for West to say, but Prussia didn't point that out. It was a rhetorical 'we don't know', not a literal one. "Have you heard anything from Rome?"

"Except for comments on a train-jacking near where you guys are, no, nothing." Although the school-shooting last week had been disturbing. The first few incidents hadn't been enough to make international news, but with the violence becoming more and more senseless in Italy it was beginning to generate an unhealthy amount of hype. "How's Romano holding up?"

He heard West take a long, rough breath on the other end of the line, a sign that his brother was probably looking around the apartment to make sure the Italian wasn't within ear-shot. Prussia cracked his beer open waiting for him to finish his check, and when he spoke up again West's voice was quiet.

"It's killing him."

"Cosa Nostra?" Economic numbers were buzzing by on the screen, Prussia only watching them with half an eye since they were following oil prices in the near east, not financial issues in the Euro-zone.

"I've no idea. The only one he talks to is Vatican- even Spain's been getting the cold shoulder." Prussia stopped with a mouthful of beer and frowned at that, swallowing hard before answer.

"Is Spain around? Can I talk to him?" Prussia was going to be headed down there in a few days anyways, but it wouldn't hurt to touch base with his friend first.

"He's out getting groceries."

"Uh... Isn't Venice, like, sinking?" The TV wasn't showing it but Prussia had seen the pictures already. Weeks of constant rain pouring down on the city were forcing the water levels to rise. No one seemed to be panicking about it, but when you thought your neighbour might be the next psycho gunman you stopped worrying about the weather.

"The water's high, but they've seen worse. It's still below the walk-ways." Yeah, but if the Aqua Alta or whatever that Venetian funky-tide-thing was called... "That only lasts for a few hours, East. I've seen it myself." Yeah, well...

"It's one thing when you've got Italy standing there joking with you about it." He said, careful not to tread too heavily on the subject. "But if that water starts rising you should be prepared to move him."

"Romano won't hear of it."

"Well y'know what maybe Romano should-" woah, hold up, "hey, hey you guys have a radio going there, right?"

"Uh, yes?"

"Dude, West, put on an International channel."

"What?"

"BBC, EUX, anything, just do it." BBC would be West's best bet, that was who the news broadcaster on Prussia's screen was sourcing as he quickly hit the volume on his TV so he could hear instead of just read what was going on. Through the line he heard his brother moving through the apartment in Venice, and his voice telling Japan to change the radio. The broadcasts didn't sync up exactly, but-

"...Wikileaks?"

"All the way, bro." There it was in big bold letters scrolling across the screen:

Canadian government condemns White House meddling; says affairs in Moscow are none of Washington's business.

"If you're going to spy on me, America, at least have the decency not to let me catch you!"

"Catch me? I'm the one who caught you-"

Canada threw up his hands in outrage, yelling over his brother's accusations about consorting with Russia and- oh who the hell even knew! He hadn't been this mad at America since NAFTA- no! Something worse! Having his brother tap his personal communications and track what his offices were doing while Canada himself was still on leave was just- just no!

"Caught me what, America? Caught me making dinner plans with Russia? Terrible communist dinner plans where we go dutch? Da, Comrade! In Soviet Canada everyone pays for own meal!" This was humiliating, this conversation was embarrassing and Canada just wanted to storm out of America's house with all the gusto he'd burst in with. Usually his nerve ran out before he actually made it over his brother's thresh-hold, but not tonight! "Fuck you, Al!"

"Was the Cold war just a joke to you!"

"Is the Cold war not over for you?" Canada shouted back, but not hard enough to make his brother sit down where he was standing, scowling over his desk at him. "For God's sake, Alfred, he's hosting the 2014 games, I hosted the 2010, we're both on a leave of absence and I'm going to visit China in two weeks anyways!" He was going to be in Asia, he was already getting back to work and he had planned stops in both Seoul and Beijing for trade talks. Having Russia schedule the same talks at the same time, yes, was a planned move, but did it warrant spying on him? No!

"Just calm down, will you?"

"My foreign affairs are none of your business!"

"I said shut up!" He almost bit his tongue just because of the volume his brother used, the sound of it hitting him almost like a blow. "You live on my continent, you survive off my influence, you sleep at night because I keep you safe," America's voice was low and strong, building like thunder as something frightening sparked in his eyes. His shoulders were hitched up like he was getting ready to lunge across the desk like an animal, and Canada was too stunned by what he was hearing to mimic or flee from it. "That means you report to me when you go off consorting with-"

"No." Too stunned to leave but not to speak, Canada didn't scream the word back at America, he just said it and let it hang between them. "No, I do not report to you, America." He couldn't believe this, he couldn't believe what he'd just heard and what he was about to- "I don't need your permission and I don't care about your approval. My travel plans are my business, my economic plans are my business, and my foreign relations are all my business. Isolate yourself all you want, brother, but don't try locking me in with you."

What happened to being humble?

What happened to just sticking it out?

What had Canada just done?

"...Get out."

"I was just leaving."

What was going on?

October wasn't even half gone, but Remembrance Day in Europe was still coming around much too soon for China's liking. He was seated in the long meeting room where himself, Canada, Korea, and Russia had been discussing business. The Beijing conference centre where they had scheduled the meeting was tastefully decorated, modern in design, and proudly built for such a small, but powerful, group of nations.

His guests were gone now, of course, and a staff member was clearing away the coffee cups Russia and Canada had sipped from, a fresh pot of hot tea now resting at China's elbow. He let the woman pour him some of the brew, his fingers woven under his chin as he just stared at the wall, not seeing much as the only other nation still with him shifted and made a funny noise.

"You okay?" Hong Kong asked, encouraging China to shake his head a little and get the cobwebs out of his old brain. "I thought the meeting went well..."

"It did," China answered, pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket as the staffer poured Hong Kong a portion of tea before silently leaving. He offered a smoke to his little brother but it was waved off, China lighting his own and inhaling slowly. He tried not smoking in front of guests, but Hong Kong was his city again so he didn't consider it a breach of conduct.

"So... Are you gonna tell me?" He was thinking about it, but China wasn't sure yet. Things had changed after the mansion, but they were changing back. He had a better relationship with England's former lease, but they weren't as closely integrated yet as China might have liked. Hong Kong still had those great big eyebrows... "What's wrong?"

"America is behaving oddly." There, he'd said it. It was better for China to get it out of the way. Besides, Hong Kong was one of America's friends, Canada's too, and England's for that matter. "If he knows how friendly his brother is getting with Russia he should have been here to watch them."

"But this meeting had nothing to do with him..." True, but it had barely had anything to do with Hong Kong either. And besides:

"Has that ever stopped him?" Not on the world stage, not since the fifties. "Like I said, he's acting strange. We were all stressed after our escape, but I don't think he's getting any better."

"Do you think Canada can help him?" China shook his head, tapping ash off his cigarette before taking another drag, filling his lungs with industrial fumes and corrosive chemicals.

Sometimes, when the new world started running too fast, China missed opium.

But opium made him think of England. His thoughts kept heading back in that direction...

"No. America and his brother have always had a clear balance of power. Whenever America tries to control him Canada pushes back, and when Canada starts to fight America backs off." Whether it resulted in Canada hurrying to England for help, or jumping into World Wars to prove himself, or staying out of foreign conflicts just to prove that he could, relations between Ottawa and Washington usually only shifted between warm and cool: but they seemed to be headed in the latter direction right now.

"Is it really that bad if America isn't meddling?" Hong Kong didn't sound convinced. He usually didn't give away too much with his words, but he was tired after the meeting and this conversation was upsetting him- however much he didn't want to admit it.

"Italy's still in trouble," China answered cryptically, ignoring the uncomfortable pinch in his gut when he said it. "Anyone acting out of character is bad." America was blowing off UN meetings and, according to China's sources, NATO hadn't heard from him in weeks... "He might be threatening to isolate himself."

"Impossible." The super-power shrugged at the statement. "China, the world isn't what it was in the nineteenth century, or the mid twentieth; he can't just ignore Europe all of a sudden." America would find himself in messy affairs like Iraq if he did, but that only proved he'd done this before. He'd gone against the world, or at least carried on without it, "and- wait, you do mean isolation from Europe, right? He can't cut Asia out of things, his economy-"

"Calm down, aru." Tapping out his cigarette, China picked up his tea for a sip. He felt calmer with the hot ceramic piece wrapped up in his fingers, tapping one foot under the table and watching the door again. "No, he's not trying to cut ties with us. His consumers would revolt, he'd rather chew off his own arm than go that far." But... "But it's an election year for him too."

"Please stop changing the subject..." He wasn't, China was just jumping across points rather than ploughing straight through them in order.

"His elections are never fun, you know that." Actually a lot of the time they were hilarious, until they just started getting sad and scary... And this year America had the memories of the mansion to deal with, it wasn't the usual mantra of struggling economy and domestic issues and military conquests. "Disturbed nations elect disturbed governments," and America had a lot to be upset about. China still wasn't used to having to call Venice just to get in touch with Japan; it was wearing down on him waiting for brighter news from Europe...

"Are you heading home?" Hong Kong asked the question as China stood up, the elder nation setting his cup back down next to the teapot, nodding as he gathered up the few files left over from the meeting.

"Your remembrance day is coming up soon, isn't it?" Not for another three weeks, but it was a full seven days sooner in Italy: they chose to remember on the fourth, not the eleventh. "I'm going to Venice."

"Venice?" Hong Kong hadn't expected that, he rarely gave things away on his blank face, but the shorter nation even let his big bushy brows rise up his smooth forehead. "I thought you'd say Rome."

"Rome will come after." The city hardly made a difference to China: Europe was Europe and Italy was Italy. "Keep an eye on America while I'm gone, but don't do anything to set him off. As you said, he's backing away from Europe, not Asia."

And until he could figure out what was going on and how best to approach the situation, China wanted it to stay that way.

It was still storming in Venice, but damn it, they needed him back in Rome...

"You'll call me."

"If anything changes, it's the first thing I'll do."

"If anything changes. I don't care if he just yawns or rolls over, you fucking call me."

"I will." It wasn't a request, this wasn't something Germany could just take lightly, he was serious- "Romano."

"What?" Romano was doing up his jacket and Prussia was standing in the kitchen washing the dishes from their breakfast- he'd joined them in the weeks since they'd holed themselves up in the apartment, relieving Spain who had hurried back to Madrid just before October ended.

Vatican was at the cathedral again and Japan was watching over Veneziano, because not once, in over a month and a half, had North Italy so much as twitched in his sleep while his people tore one another apart. Romano still shared the bed with his brother at night, staying close to make sure the North didn't suddenly stop breathing or wake up alone. But he just hadn't woken up, and now Romano had to leave...

Damn Seborga for sounding so damn serious over the phone. If the twerp had just blubbered and cried then Romano could have just ignored him and hung up, but to hear him actually get his shit together and shout at South Italy had been a whole other level of persuasion. If he hadn't felt so defeated from speaking to Seborga, Romano wouldn't have put up with listening to Germany right now:

"Romano, if I was going back to Berlin I would be making the same demands." Well Germany didn't have to go back to fucking Berlin, because his boss knew how to handle things without West Germany following him around all day! "I know we don't get along, but the person Ita- Veneziano will need to see most when he wakes up is you. If you think I'm going to hurt him just to spite you then-"

Then what? Romano was waiting for the rest of that sentence, watching Germany wrestle with himself like the big oaf hadn't thought through the entire threat before speaking. He didn't know what his own face was doing but Romano kept his breaths short and shallow, ignoring the burning around his eyes and telling himself he wasn't feeling flushed at all, it was just his imagination.

"Then... you're wrong." And that was probably the best answer Germany could have given him. Taking a deep breath, Romano lifted one hand and pointed at the blonde in front of him, a warning in his eyes as he kept his emotions in check.

"If he wakes up and you're not there, you bastard..."

"I will be."

"You'd better." He'd damn well better. "And you fucking-"

"-call you, yes, I will. Now go." Yes, go. Romano had to go. He turned and put his hand on the new door, ready to step out and... and he... damn it...

"He..." Damn it, damn it, damn it, Romano had to leave. "He has a fever." The last thing Veneziano needed, he had. He had a god-damned fever, he was getting sick on top of everything else. His little brother was sick and now Romano had to turn his back on him and go to work? "Keep an eye on it... please..."

Prussia shut the water off in the kitchen. Romano could practically feel them both watching him before the older German quickly left the room to find Japan. Germany himself didn't say anything though, not for a few moments, and Romano kept his eyes closed, reaching up to quickly brush away the frustrated tears that were clinging to his eyelashes. This couldn't be happening.

"How long has he...?"

"I don't know..." He hadn't felt it when he climbed into bed last night, but he'd been so tired again... He'd been putting all of his energy into trying to manage affairs in Rome from Veneziano's home office here, but it wasn't working. Last night all he'd known was that Veneziano wasn't awake and that his brother was still breathing, and that was all he'd really noticed: that and he was warm, so nice and so warm. It wasn't until Romano woke up that he realized just how hot his brother was, his skin so dry but burning up at the same time. Nothing else had changed about him, but he was so sick...

"I'll fix it." Romano blurted the words out, made himself speak because crying wasn't going to do them any fucking good. "I'm going to Rome and I'm going to fix it, and then I'm coming straight back here!" No fucking crying! Man up! Shoulders back, head straight, he'd sort out this whole fucking mess in Rome and then he'd come back here and get his lazy-ass little brother out of bed! "So you fucking call me if anything changes here, Kraut-breath!"

Hand on the doorknob, twist and pull to open it up. Romano didn't care if his voice filtered down the stairwell, he wanted to make sure the dumb blonde behind him heard what he had to say!

"I... I will..." Good!

"You fucking better! I'm leaving!" And he meant it this time, because if Romano didn't leave now he'd end up tearing back through the apartment and finding his little brother again. He'd done it three times already this morning; twice pretending he'd forgotten something and then again just to say good-bye. He wasn't going to do it again, and as Romano stepped out of the flat he made sure to slam the heavy-duty door behind him. He was satisfied with the boom that echoed down the dark stairs, the sound hiding his footsteps as he ran down the first flight, skipping stairs and holding the rail to keep himself from tumbling down and hurting himself.

"Woah!"

But it also meant he almost ran straight into Vatican who was climbing back up to the apartment. The Micro-nation caught him with one hand before the both of them could go tumbling down to the second floor, Vatican muttering something close to a swear under his breath before Romano completely understood what had happened.

The stairwell was spinning... It was twisty and the stones were old, and in some places the plaster and concrete had worn away so it wasn't perfectly even, but...

"Romano?" But the stairs were really, really spinning...

Vatican wasn't pushing him but Romano still found himself with his back against the wall, his knees slowly lowering him down to the floor. Shit... He had to get out of here... He had to get to Rome and sort all of this shit out... Vatican was quiet but the world was ringing loudly in his ears.

Had to get out of here, had to leave, had to get to Rome. He had to abandon his little brother so he could help his little brother but he had to get to Rome before he could help he-

"...How long have you had this fever?" Vatican's palm was pressed against his forehead, brushing Romano's dark bangs away from his eyes before the South reached up and buried his face in his own hands. Shit... Shit... no fucking crying... He couldn't show up in Rome if he was crying...

"Sh-shut up, you bastard..." Romano was flushed because he was stressed, Romano felt dizzy because this city stank of sewer water, Romano was weak-kneed because he kept running around doing shit for his brother... "I... I'm not sick." Veneziano was sick, Veneziano was the one in trouble. Why was that bastard always the one in danger?

"..." Was that all Vatican had to say? Shit, Romano had to go, he was gonna miss his train and he did not want to walk from Venice to-

"Take this." Take what? Romano looked up and... An umbrella? It was nothing special: long and black with a hook for a handle. Rain was still dripping off the wooden tip, heavy beads of water clinging to the black nylon.

Romano took the umbrella and then felt Vatican get a grip on his elbow, the younger nation resisting slightly until he thought better of it: he did need a bit of help standing up... The stairwell spun again, but his world was stabilized when Romano found himself looking at Vatican's hard brown eyes. His wrinkled, age-worn face looked as unruffled as ever, his perpetual grimace fixed in place as he watched Romano regain his balance. Vatican's fingers strayed to the silver crucifix hanging from its familiar place around his neck, Romano watching with a curious fascination.

He hadn't done it since he was very young, but, compulsively, Romano reached for the hanging signifier. He curled his finger around it and drew the silver up against his lips for a reverent kiss, touching it to his forehead before he let it fall again. Vatican's answer was to rest one hand on top of Romano's head, a silent blessing rather than a formal one.

"Please keep praying for him, Papa." The only change in Vatican's face was one grey brow rising over the other, his expression curious. Romano didn't take the words back.

"The world is praying for him, Lovino." And again, where the hell had Vatican heard his human name? "I reserve mine for the rest of Italy." He- he what? The rest of-? But that was...

"Fuck... these stupid tears..." Romano was not crying, and he was not sick.

"Go." He was going, damn it! "If you need help, you call us." He... he would.

And he left.

I SAID NO I'M NOT DESTROYING HIS CHARACTER I PROMISE. But welcome to my sub-plot, because I couldn't write all 12 HetaOni characters into one plot this time around, so we get two.