Starvation, Breath of Life, This is Where I Fall, Lift Me Up, Stronger than Ever, Frozen Heart and Death of Parents, Eden, Decision of the Loved.

I can see the eeeeend of this story! It is a beautiful sight! However, it's also a lot of chapters, and where I'm currently working with 17 and the end of 19 I'm only comfortably, say, 2/3rds of the way through? It's give-or-take in some places but I'm still plowing ahead. All is good (except 17, because Spain you suck...)

Now have a happy chapter :3

Title was originally "First" Response but then I realized Italy kinda took that role last chapter...

Recovery

Second Response

"I want every available unit there, in Italy, within the next twenty-four hours."

"Excuse me?"

"And set up a public relief fund- whatever the British people give the government will match!"

"Absolutely not!"

England grunted and stood a little straighter, gripping his cane so he wasn't tempted to place his fingers around the Prime Minister's neck and squeeze until the little human did what he said. The upright man on the couch was irritated with being woken up in the middle of the night by his nation barging into the house, but England was determined to get the wheels turning now, not later.

So he'd woken up the Prime Minister's household. And so help him he'd wake up the Royal Family too if he had to. In fact he fully intended to stop by Windsor Castle before going anywhere else.

"Now listen here," Oh, England did not like being spoken to like a simpleton. And he didn't like having his Prime Minister stand up and usher him into a seat the nation refused to take, he walked around the chair instead of sinking down into it. "I know you've been feeling a bit off since September, and I've been patient waiting for you to get back on your feet."

'Back on my feet? Wait until I box your ears, then we'll see who can walk a straight-'

"But you can't come in here making wild demands. I understand that there's a situation in Italy, but you can't act as if we suddenly owe them everythi-"

"Well we do!" England shouted, and the Prime Minister scoffed.

"Nonsense." England just wanted to throttle the man. Usually they got on so well but right now- "An appropriate response plan is being drafted tonight, something the tax payers can afford, and tomorrow-"

"Tonight!"

"Tomorrow." How patronizing. How humiliating to carry on like a child and be shut down like a child. "Really now, what's gotten into you? Sit down."

"I would prefer to stand."

"And I would rather you sit. England." Curse the man for sounding reasonable. England had one hand holding the back of the chair, aware of how defensive he suddenly felt, watching but refusing to obey his boss as the man gestured for him to take the seat. Again, he refused.

"At least tell me what's going on." No. "You haven't answered a single question about last summer, or what all of that UN nonsense was back in September." Of course he hadn't... "I thought sending you to Venice for a few days would clear your mind, but instead you were gone for nearly two weeks."

"That was unintentional." England really had meant to come home after only a few days in the Italian city. At least he'd kept in touch with London. "But this is important-"

"You're right, it is important. Now sit down so we can discuss this." England did not want to sit. "I thought you said magic like yours couldn't effect entire nations." Oh no...

"It can't."

"Then what's going on?" England wanted to rebuke the man and shut down the topic, but he found himself struggling with the concept instead. Oh dear... "I don't need to quote the geology journals to you, anyone who knows anything about what happened last night knows that-"

"I know how the science works." The nation interrupted, but he didn't know where to take his statement after that. "But what you're asking for... the explanation you want-"

"Give it to me, England, or I swear you personally will never set foot off this island again."

Since coming home in September England had been, at best, vague about everything. They couldn't afford to have their human leaders see the nations as a liability rather than a strength. To be locked up in towers or prisons was suffocating; England had run away from his own kings in the past, and America had faked names, and Spain had acted like a stowaway on ships. The age of Democracy had heralded a new era where nations and their people worked together, and the governments were finally able to listen to the will of both masters and servants.

So how could he tell his Prime Minister, the man whose authority came from a Queen selected by God and Country to rule accordingly, that because one Italian citizen had been tormented, the entire northern half of the Republic was collapsing? The western nations would find themselves in chains and cybernetic prisons before it was time for tea...

"Sir, do you..." Oh, he hadn't called one of his bosses 'sir' in such a long time. England cleared his throat nervously, hating himself for it as he tugged on his tie and shifted his weight over his feet and cane. "Do you believe in the Divine Right of Kings?"

"What?" The British Prime Minister looked stumped, maybe even a little disgusted. "Have you been speaking to the Prince again? No, of course not. Divine Right has its place but not on any throne."

"Good." He answered, aware that his voice was faint. But it wasn't because he didn't know what else to say. On the contrary; England could finally feel the words bubbling up inside of him. The frustration was working its way through the discomfort and fear, and when the nation looked up at its leader again, England spoke: "Then you understand that no one in the Italian government, or any member of the Swiss administration, has had anything to do with these events over the last few months."

It wasn't a question, but it wasn't quite a statement either. He simply said it, and he watched the man in shirtsleeves sit there and give him a bizarre, confused kind of look.

"Well, those riots in Italy-"

"Were not born from the government. Do you understand this?"

"I..." It was an uncomfortable pledge, but England refused to bend and he kept his eyes focused squarely on the little man. "I suppose. Yes. You're right. It's not as if they were protesting anything the government had actually done." England nodded, and he let his voice rise a bit more, struggling to keep it low and calm.

"Then that's all you need to know concerning the why of the situation." Why this was happening, why the chaos, why England and so many other nations had journeyed to Venice for two weeks and done nothing of real, solid, political value while they were there. England kept staring and he reached deep down inside of himself as he formed words and spoke again. He wasn't looking for magic.

"But in the wake of this tragedy, if you still think that we don't owe it to North Italy to provide them with everything we've got, then you're wrong. And if you still think that nations like myself can't die, then respectfully, sir, you need to open up a history book and take a good, long look at what's inside." England wasn't looking for magic, he didn't want spells and chanting, or incantations and glowing lights. He was interested in something else, something warm and thick, a heavy kind of power sleeping within the walls of his chest, one he hadn't really needed since the Age of Democracy had dawned, since the final bombs of the Second World War had quieted down in the night...

"North Italy saved my life," Even if he'd wanted to, the British Prime Minister could not look away from England as he spoke. This was real power. "He saved my people, he saved my culture, and my laws, and my heroes, and my traditions, and my monuments." This was the power every nation had over every citizen. It varied in strength depending on the constitution and the situation, but England was damned good with both his power and his words.

"He saved me, and I will protect him," The English were damned good with their words! "And you will never dare to ask why, or how, or by what means you as a leader of one of the most powerful nations on this planet should be imposed upon to save the lives of your fellow man!"

He was Arthur Kirkland, he was the nation of England; the former British Empire; the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland; a member of the European Union, the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, and the Council of Europe. Head of the British Commonwealth, one of only five nations with a permanent seat on the United Nations Security Council, England was one of the most powerful nations on Earth.

"We will send everything we have to North Italy." And he would use that power to make sure his tiny, temporary human master did what he said.

"Of course we will." The man blinked slowly before he found his voice, snapping out of a light daze and scowling before shaking his head in frustration. "Honestly, why would you even bring up something so basic? Get a move on, you can do a lot more than just stand there."

So with him out of the way, England bowed his head and went to go speak with his Queen.

He didn't need his cane.

"I hear one more report of shit-heads attacking immigrants and I'll put a bullet in their fucking brains!" Italy was not going to put up with this shit! One more riot and he'd go to Pisa and shut it down himself!

There was so much to do, arguably too much to handle. Restoring power, controlling industrial leaks and fires, and dealing with major infrastructure damage were the biggest problems right now. Teams of civilian and military engineers were being put together and supplemented by foreign aid, professionals who were either crossing borders on their own or coming with their nations for help pouring in from everywhere. Allocating resources, shipping supplies, communicating across international lines and organizing evacuations were all happening on the ground and high above in Rome. Italy was the one hurting in all of this, but like Japan a year before, Italy was taking the lead now.

He should have been losing his god-damned mind, but instead he was standing here getting shit done.

Wide-spread telecommunications were down: cables and electrical wires were fried across the nation. It would take several days to reconnect the masses inside the cities, nevermind the rural areas, but Seborga's friend Ladonia was coding like a freak in cyberspace and international resources were being spent on getting things back online. National and international networks were patching together feeds and links and databases to paint a picture of the Italian crisis zones, helping them visualize what was going on outside.

With this kind of help Italy could keep his head and focus on what his people and body were both telling him. It helped that he could just stand in the centre of the converted office in Florence's downtown quarter and soak up everything. It was a government complex in one of the hardest hit parts of the city, and with its close proximity to a nearby hospital and fire-hall, it made sense to transform it into a local command centre. Florence itself was actually on the other side of the Apennines, so it hadn't been ripped apart like Milan or Verona, but there had still been several days of chaos in the wake of the disaster.

To be honest there was still panic. Re-establishing electricity in buildings like this had been extremely important, back-up generators from Rome powering the screens and computers in front of Italy as he stood there in the centre. He could hear what was being said around him, it was uncanny, his attention neatly divided between the humans running around and the screens flashing and filling up with information. The hardware had been set up on a cluster of desks and shelves someone had put together as a display. Boxes of data were hovering around an image of the nation's geography on a blue back-drop. Red marks indicated reports of violence, yellow for serious fires, purple for sanitation nightmares, and a bunch of other colours for a bunch of other problems.

The sad thing was that, aside from a handful of reports of people getting scared in the night or tiny groups going to town in commercial districts, looting and rioting had more or less dropped off the map after the quake. It had been three nights ago, and Italy didn't know whether to be proud or pissed off with his people.

The Mafia had already made contact with him too, right before he'd reached his office this morning and then left again for the military compound where everything was being coordinated. Fucking crime lords and their fucking ideals. Seemed somebody's god-father had a heart of black gold and it didn't matter what answer Italy gave them: the people were already accepting mafia aid, mob money, expensive protection, and seedy opportunities to escape or even benefit from the chaos. It was disgusting, but it was a problem he couldn't spare the time or resources right now to work on shutting down. If it kept people from panicking or killing one another, then he had to let it go.

He'd regret it later, but for now the blood money flowed.

"Patch me in with those guys in San Marino. I want an update, damn it!" Military and civilian personnel were working at stations around him, establishing connections and coordinating relief efforts. There were flags on maps pinned and strung up between desks, each one showing the locations of various camps foreigners had set up in a number of Italy's cities. French, American, Swiss, Austrian, Canadian, British, Slovenian, Spanish, Portuguese and plenty of others all dotted those maps, and they all meant aid.

Germany was mixed up in there too.

Not because Italy wanted them there, but-

"Marino, where the fuck are you!"

"Right where I'm supposed to be, little brother." Ass. There was no screen for San Marino's face, just his voice filtering into Italy's headset. He sounded breathless and ill, but he was as pleasant as ever. "Before you ask, I'm feeling better. What about Seborga?"

"Shut up about him, he's fine." Doing remarkably well too. He was too far away from the epicentre to stay down for very long, and he'd reported no deaths. "Have you seen him?" There was no point in clarifying who Italy meant.

"Beg all you want, if I find Veneziano first I'm keeping him as close as I can. I'm not sending him over the mountains to visit you up north."

If he found him, which meant no, he hadn't yet.

"Keep me informed."

"No need, you'll call again."

ASS.

The room's chatter was cut off behind him just as Italy terminated the connection with his brother. Folding his arms stiffly, he tried focusing on the information speeding by him, hoping to lose himself in the data. He heard an awkward gait and the scuff of a cane over the talking, so that meant he was about to see either England or-

"Tell me something," or Switzerland, someone Italy hadn't spoken to face-to-face in months.

"What?"

"Why do you think the people are so calm?" Italy turned when he heard that, giving the blonde a harsh stare where Switzerland's green eyes were high, watching the screens and scrolling totals. He was dressed for military action, as he always was, but the cane bellied the presence of the blue UN helmet under his arm.

"You call this calm?" Italy demanded, not sure why he didn't toss a swear in there for effect.

"Compared to last month, yes." Switzerland's leg still ended too soon, something that no doubt threw the humans who saw him. Most of it was there, but he had no shoe on to hide the fact that most his ankle ended in a rounded stump. It was hard to regenerate limbs, but it was worse when your economic partner wasn't doing very well. "You were suffering with school shootings and random rioters, now you've got communities setting up temporary camps and strangers risking their lives to save one another."

"My brother is unstable, but that doesn't make him suicidal." Italy snapped, refusing to have this conversation right now. He rejected the cold dread in his gut, the gnawing pain of something he was convinced of but unable to acknowledge. Three days and no one had seen him... "Veneziano's people were confused, now they've got a goal: stay alive and rebuild."

"I heard singing on my way over here." Singing? "On the streets, people are singing the national anthem."

"So?" Was that supposed to be a bad thing?

"Where are you sending the evacuees?"

"Shit, Switzerland stop changing the subject."

"I'm not, it's a simple question." It was not simple, nothing right now was simple. "Where are you sending them?"

"I'm not sending them anywhere." Italy snapped, but then he twisted his shoulders uncomfortably, keeping his arms folded before he let out a heavy breath. This was hard, he wasn't used to this. So many people asking him questions, so much power and responsibility suddenly thrust in his hands... His brother was so much better at this; he was always so comfortable just telling their people what to do when they were confused. He kept his head better, now Italy was struggling to keep his above the water.

And Switzerland, for some fucking reason, was being patient with him.

"The sick and the injured are being transported south." Italy grunted. "Mostly to Rome, but other cities too." Families were being kept together as well as they could, and it was imperative that children separated from their parents weren't taken out of their cities or communes until relatives of any kind could be found to take them in. "We're trying not to disturb the populations, the damage is worse in the East than West."

The fires in Bologna weren't completely under control yet, but they were better than before. Milan had been hit hard, but it was coming down to engineering mistakes now instead of just God's wrath. Turin wasn't fine, but they hadn't been levelled like Verona. Northern cities weren't built to handle southern problems like earthquakes, so the shattered glass and toppled structures were the result of out-dated designs and the comfortable belief that the buildings would never experience that kind of stress. Most of the newer towers were actually still standing, but old quarters had been reduced to rubble. As for cities like Venice...

"It was unnatural." Italy turned and stared. Switzerland was looking at the screens in front of them, his uniform pressed and clean while the blue helmet he had was blazoned with the symbol of the Red Cross. But Italy stared, because that was the stupidest thing his neighbour could have said, and Switzerland knew it. It was in his eyes when he glanced back at the Italian and scoffed. "Earthquakes don't travel the way this one did. It shouldn't have been able to reach-"

"Get out." Not... get out of the country. Just the room. Get out of the room and don't talk to him right now. Italy couldn't make himself take his eyes off the other nation, but Switzerland's face didn't visibly change with the dismissal either. "I don'twant to hear about it."

"You do know I'mthe Red Cross." It wasn't a threat. Italy had no idea how he was so sure of it, but he was. "I'm in the north and the south right now, helping. And what happened was unnatural."

"I know that."

"Do you?" What the hell was he getting at? Stupid mercenary cheese-eater. It took a lot of gall for him to make a statement like that and then meet Italy's eyes so boldly. "Because your people keep telling mine that they don't know why the North had to suffer like this. They keep asking why the earthquake didn't strike the South instead, because they know how to handle it better than the injured and the sick who are being transported down." He knew that, damn it. They were his people, Italy knew what they were thinking about! "So you need to understand that this wasn't your fault, because your people need their pride right now, not your guilt."

"Don't talk to me about guilt." It was hard to make the words come out as anything more than a whisper, but the two of them were watching each other now so he knew Switzerland understood him. "I don't blame you for what happened, I should, but I don't. So, Switzerland, if you-"

"Vash." Huh? The other nation turned his attention back towards the screens after boldly interrupting him like that, leaning heavily on the cane he was using in lieu of his missing foot. "Until this is over, I believe that any conversation dealing with why this happened should be conducted on a first-name basis." What? "Unless you disapprove?"

Wait, was this Switzerland's nervous face? He'd never seen it before. Italy had never had to deal with him like this, that had always been someone else's job. He knew how to talk to Malta and Tunisia and Cyprus and nations like that, but south and central Europe had never been his-

Well now they were.

"Vash?"

"Zwingli, yes." Way to go making everything awkward, Swiss bastard. Italy found himself fidgeting with his arms crossed over his chest, barely listening to the chatter still going on around them. "But if you use it then I expect to be able to call you by your name in return." It was worded like a demand, but just like his earlier comment about being the Red Cross, Italy knew it wasn't a statement he had to be worried about. Human names weren't given out lightly, hell, they weren't given out at all.

"You mean Lovino Vargas?" The name the Vatican City had picked up without telling him how or where, but that everyone else had probably heard thanks to that damned journal. Where had that book gone in the chaos anyways?

"Yes, that one. It's easier."

"Easier than what?" Italy asked and then realized he didn't want to hear the answer, but it was too late. Switzerland was too blunt to hesitate when asked an uncomfortable question.

"Than trying to figure out if you're still South Italy, or the entire Italian Republic." Oh... "Unless you can tell me?"

Italy opened his mouth, then he stopped. He took a deep breath, then he held it. He turned to look over the heads of the people around him, trying to pick out the ones who were his and the ones who were not, but the only distinctions he could feel out right away were the French and the German and the Swiss nationals scattered around between desks and stations. His mouth was dry and he tried swallowing hard, almost coughing his way around the words jammed in his throat. He tried to speak again and he failed.

"What happens if you find him?" He refused to think of Switzerland as being 'kind' by pushing through the awkward silence with another question. Had he not just said he didn't want to talk about this?

"Take him to Rome and give him everything he needs to get better." But direct questions had easy answers.

"What happens if you can't find him?" Even that one.

"Keep doing what I'm doing, and get my people back on their feet."

Sorry did I say happy I meant at least I'm not picking on them.

I'm not sure why these chapters suddenly got so much shorter, I hate being inconsistent but these middling chapters have been very very annoying in that regard. Any issues? This chapter feels short, it shouldn't feel this short, I swear there was content in here and it will be very important later, I promise!

For now, and until next week, please review? Review! Review! School is kicking my ass! I have ALL THE THINGS due this week! Revieeeeeew! I love silly gushing, and I love questions too, I might even answer some of them over PM if they aren't dangerously spoilerish, just, please?

Get me to 60, guys! See you next Sunday!