Shattered, This is Where I Fall, Starvation, Payphone, Lily and Severus, Snape's Demise, See What I've Become.

Hey guys! I finished chapter 21 on Saturday and am a good way through 22, so I'm gonna take the opportunity now to renege on that bit about being almost done. This fic'll hit the 30s I'm sure.

While you read this I'm just going to sit here and hiss at Spain, because this chapter took way, way too damn long to finish. Stupid Spain. Bad Spain. Go away, Spain.

Recovery

Raise Your Voice

Warm.

It was the first thing he could feel. He was warm.

Need.

It was the second thing he could feel. He was still in need.

It was painful- not the warmth, the warmth was nice. But the need hurt. It was a twisting, powerful pain in his gut that wouldn't let go. Even when he slowly rolled over onto his side in the warmth, the twisting and tightening kept getting worse.

Hunger that wasn't his hunger, confusion that wasn't his confusion. He could feel himself- his arms, his legs, his chest, his neck, his head, his hands. But he could feel something else, something more than him: his roads, his streets, his markets, his rivers, his schools, his dams, his libraries, his town halls, his parks, his trains.

He could taste ration packets and filtered water. He could feel the cold damp creeping through tarp enclosures. He could hear the groan and roar of construction equipment. And he knew the deep, crippling, agonizing pain in his gut from frustration burning out of control, all the loss and grief of something more than him, embodied by him, represented by him.

And it hurt.

But the hand didn't hurt. He flinched but it didn't hurt, so he stayed curled up on his side with his eyes shut. His head and shoulders were propped up on the soft, and the warm was draped over and around him, keeping him safe. The hand moved back over his cheek and brushed down through his hair, leaving him before it came back again. The hand didn't hurt. It didn't take away his pain, but it didn't add to it.

Safe.

It was the third thing he could feel. He felt safe.

His eyes didn't open until something soft touched his forehead, something he wasn't sure of, because his mind stopped thinking about the feeling. He could smell something, something that made him breathe deeply, trying to understand what it was. Familiar, he could smell something very, very familiar.

Safe familiar. Warm familiar.

Cut grass and cold, slick pebbles. Water had a scent, not sterile in a glass but sparkling under the golden sun. Curing cheese and the faint hint of basil, he could smell the cool breath of the wind curling over a high, rolling hill.

Seborga.

The soft touch kissed him again and he opened his eyes this time, not a lot, just enough to see the dusty brown of the warm wrapped around his body. He could sense the height of the bed (warm, comfortable), was aware of the light from the window (not high, not barred), and felt the gentle… um… the soft- wait.

What was that? Comforting. Warm. Soft. Familiar. Not Seborga.

Yes, Seborga.

No, not Seborga. Seborga didn't make sounds like that. Didn't purr like that.

Purr?

The cat.

What cat?

"Gino stop." The cat Seborga whispered too, the brown thing that moved over the blue bedding in front of him before he felt the gentle touch a third time. A five-toed paw tapped his forehead, a subtle mew breaking through the deep thrum of the feline's purr. "Let him sleep."

The paw was brushed away by fingers, Seborga's sleeve carrying those fresh, familiar, comfortable scents and all the memories that came with them. He waited for the hand to brush over his face and hair again, not sure why that seemed like a good thing, but when it didn't come he wondered why not. From across the bed and hidden behind the grey body of the cat, he felt the mattress shift and the other person sighed.

Moving his hand as far as he dared, he was surprised when his fingers found something so warm and so inexplicably soft. But the cat responded, and he heard another soft mew before the small animal was standing and turning around on its small space near the head of the bed, petting its own head and then pushing its back into his hand. He barely had to do anything, silky hairs slipping under his fingers and palm, warmth brushing back and forth, again and again over his skin. It was nice…

"Ah, sorry… did we wake you?" Wake him? Maybe, but it was alright… The cat turned again, purring loudly, and he wasn't quite ready for when the pet bumped its nose right against his. Wet and slightly cool, there was something dusty and familiar about the scent of warm fur and the feeling of that constant, rumbling sound.

The cat was grey and brown, the patches of white along its belly a little off-putting, but the animal just nuzzled him again and again, tail swishing until the cat seemed satisfied and curled up under his chin with its rump pressed to his chest. His arm wound itself slowly around the tiny warm body, the cat's nose touching his wrist and then craning around looking for his chin to bump and nuzzle. It was a hello, a how-are-you, an I-love-you, and a pet-me-more all in one.

He smiled. And he stiffened when the hand gently brushed back over his hair again, but he could smell the familiar things and he heard the soft, familiar voice, and he set his head back down on the soft and familiar warmth.

The walls were not white, and the floor he couldn't see. The cat was making noise so it wasn't completely silent, and the light was tinged with yellow and orange, not glaring with florescence.

He didn't know where he was anymore, and he couldn't remember the name of the someone whose hand touched his face again, but he was warm and he was safe, and all the need and the pain and fear could wait. It could just wait.

It could just wait for this good dream to end.

Reintroducing San Marino to their brother was the same slow, anxious process it had been with the other two. At first Veneziano was scared and the Micro-nation had to be coached on how to approach and be patient with him, but after a careful hour of him coming and going from the upstairs bedroom, Veneziano reached out to touch him.

That was the benchmark, the goal anyone who wanted to be near Veneziano had to aim for. If he tried to touch someone's face, or their hand, or look them in the eye, then it was their fucking responsibility to do what he wanted and be patient about it.

That was why America wasn't allowed to leave, not even when Spain showed up the next day from the hotel Romano had put him in. He didn't mind that the tomato bastard was there, in fact it was good for someone a bit further outside the family to come see Veneziano, but when Spain set his sights on America, Romano got between them.

"Why is he here?" South Italy pushed the Spanish nation into the den, nearly tripping over the blankets America had been sleeping on while using their couch as a bed. Spain was still stretching his neck trying to peer around Romano and get another look at the super power hunched over the kitchen table, but the shorter country wasn't going to let him. It pissed him off when Spain placed both hands on his hips and stared down at him, like of all things he was going to lecture Romano on who he let stay in his own god-damned house. "France told me everything about what happened in Venice. If he's causing you trouble then-"

"He's here because I said so." Romano interrupted, irritated that Spain thought he didn't know how to kick a bum off his couch. "He's my guest."

"Well maybe he should be the one in the hotel, not me." Spain said the words in such a bitter way that Romano was convinced he'd heard him wrong. Since when did he sound bitter? Since when did he scowl like that? Why the hell was he scowling?

"Shit, Spain, if we were in Naples then there'd be enough rooms, but you can't-"

"I'm not talking about space, Romano, I'm talking about safety." Don't fucking interrup- "It would be safer for America to stay in a hotel. I don't mind staying there too, but you shouldn't keep him here."

"Why the fuck not?" Challenging him in his house, Spain was challenging Romano in the middle of his fucking-

"Because it's dangerous!" Spain urged, and Romano felt his shoulders begin to hurt from holding them so stiffly. He could feel his nails biting into his palms too. "He's completely unstable and you're nuts if you let him stay here another hour. Now that Ita's back you should just put America on a plane and-"

"Get lost," Romano snapped, biting his tongue just to keep from adding anything right away. It hurt, but it didn't work. "No, don't argue, come back when I'm not pissed at you." Because this, right here? This was pissing him off. "I told you he's my guest, now either shut up or go away."

"No." No? "Romano I'm serious."

"So am I. We're not arguing about this." And Romano was going to get some fucking respect. He'd understood it when people had come barging into his house when he'd been sick, or in the chaos of trying to address what the fuck had happened up north, but this was going too far. "Spain."

"Do you have any idea what he was like in Venice?" Spain pushed, wired and pissing all over Romano's fraying temper.

"A fist-fight, big deal." He'd had the rest explained to him by the Holy See, all of it coming to light long after Romano had passed the point of getting mad or caring all that much. "Neither of us were even there so just shut up about it."

"And let you fall back into trouble again? Forget it!"

"What?" He didn't know how to take that rebuttal, and when Spain advanced on him with a dark scowl and a wagging finger, Romano swallowed the fury that shot up his throat.

"Every time I turn around, something new and terrible starts happening around you two." Spain lectured, like they were back in the eighteenth century. Romano just wanted to punch him but Spain kept going:

"For months now you've been nothing but bad dreams, riots, financial collapse and natural disasters!" He said it like Italy had done it on purpose! "I let you go home alone last summer after we thought everything was done, and then without telling me you started giving ultimatums to the rest of Europe!" Rest of Euro- Switzerland was not all of Europe! "You think that after watching you play with your army like it's just a big joke," JOKE? "-and work yourself into the ground that I'm going to just let you harbour an international thug in your brother's house? Are you insane?"

"It's not your fucking decision!" And it was Romano's house too!

"Well it should be!" Spain never got mad, and yet here he was, shouting and getting- "I'm not going to save you again, Romano! Not if you keep taking these risks when you're already making a mess of everything!"

"What the hell?"

"Don't act like you don't know!" No, Romano knew, he just- "My boss is breathing down my neck for results and you won't give a straight answer about any of the help I've already given you! Where is the stimulus I gave you? Where are the exports I'm buying from you? Where are the Italian professionals I gave work and study visas to?"

"Spain-"

"And don't get me going on all the banking shit you've started! Foreclosures, business audits, government cuts, and NATO- of all things! NATO! You think you can just drop everything and ignore the world just because you-!"

"We have more important shit to deal with than fucking Afghanistan!" Romano boomed back, sharp, hot humiliation stinging him when he said the words, his cheeks flushing at the simple mention of that failed war and Italian retreat. He'd had to do it!

"Well what about me!" Spain roared, and Romano inched back to get away from the foreign sound. When Spain stepped forward with a hand raised and followed him, the Italian shrank back even further- "If you think you can just dismiss me like this then you're dead wrong! This isn't just about you and your brother and it never was! Do you have any idea how much the rest of us have given up just so you-!"

"Italy, wait-!"

Romano heard America, but he saw his brother first. He took one more step back for distance and in that moment Veneziano was between him and Spain, his back to Romano and his arms spread to either side, body-blocking the other nation from trying to close the gap again. The shouting stopped immediately.

Why was he down here? How had he taken the stairs alone? Romano's heart was slamming against his ribs and he could barely distinguish it from the footsteps tumbling down the stairs. He knew America was behind him and his brothers probably were too, but Veneziano wasn't moving, and Spain seemed awe-struck by the sight of him. Just the fact that the bastard was staring like that convinced Romano that no matter what, the tomato bastard had to go.

Veneziano really was a sight though, his hair was still too long, and too red as far as Romano was concerned- something was missing. He wasn't standing straight either; his body hunched over slightly, shoulders raised and both elbows bent, one foot resting back like he was getting ready to lunge if necessary. He was cleaner than he'd been yesterday and his body was consumed by grey sweatpants, socks, and a hooded sweatshirt, but Romano could see the way his brother's hands were twisted like claws, and whatever his face looked like it was giving Spain a long, shocked pause.

"…Italy," Romano wanted to be the one to speak first but Spain took the opportunity instead. He brought both hands up slowly, palms out, and Romano wanted to hiss at him for trying to smile right now, hating the stupid chuckle the tomato bastard conjured up. "Ah, no, it's not what you think." Or really? He didn't know which one to focus on, but when Spain started reaching forward with one hand, gesturing to Romano himself, the casual airs he was putting on were insulting. "But Romano and I have some serious business to discuss, so-"

Slap!

Veneziano reacted so quickly that Spain flinched back after having his hand smacked down, the Iberian stepping away as a long, feral growl pulled everyone's attention briefly down to the floor. Romano couldn't remember the last time their dopey housecat had growled at someone. He couldn't remember the last time Gino's brown ears had been slanted back against his skull, or when he'd puffed up every inch of fur so the animal looked twice as big as it was supposed to, but it didn't matter.

"Spain, you should leave." It didn't matter, because Veneziano's familiar was reacting even worse than Veneziano himself, and Romano was at his limit. "If you don't want to help anymore then don't, just get out."

"Romano-"

"How dare you desecrate this house?" Papa's voice was a low, grave sound behind them, sinister and brimming a kind of barely-concealed hate. Romano just wanted to reach out and touch his brother, but Spain hadn't even been that bold and he'd been struck down for a simple gesture. "You've done enough damage, Spain."

"I'm trying to help!"

"By upsetting him!" It meant something for Seborga to step up and say something. Romano's youngest brother appeared next to Veneziano and quickly reached out for his hand. He jerked violently when Seborga tried touching him, but the Micro-nation persisted until his fingers were wrapped around Veneziano's curled ones. Romano watched Spain purse his lips tightly, arming himself with insults and threats if the taller nation dared to take a verbal swipe at the Principality.

"Romano, stop them." Spain urged instead, and Romano clenched his jaws at the thinly veiled order. "This is a mistake, I'm here to-!"

Veneziano rushed him. He didn't charge like a bull or even touch the other man, but in two firm strides he crowded him and sent Spain tumbling back almost into the wall. The room exploded with shouting voices and Romano couldn't think fast enough to stop himself from screaming at the Spaniard to get the fuck away from his little brothers! Both of them!

"I was a knight of God!" Seborga never shouted, but he broke away from Veneziano and was hissing and spitting in furious Latin. "Don't you even pretend you can come in here and-"

"Money? You want to talk money?" San Marino muscled his way past Romano, and Spain finally got it together enough to start moving away from them and head for the front door. With three micro-nations there to hiss at and harass him Spain didn't look back, and although Romano watched him he quickly spun back around to look at Veneziano instead.

"Veneziano." Watching his brother stand like that was difficult. He was shaking, visibly trembling with his back still turned on Romano, still facing the wall where Spain had been before running away. The sound of the front swinging open and then slamming shut caused him to sharply bend over and nurse his side, one hand slipping down his hip and rubbing it like he was in pain. The voices were still going outside, but it was quiet between the walls now, Romano didn't even know if he should speak.

"Sit down, you fool, I can't believe you just came down here and did that." But he had to speak, and actually he could believe it. His brother's shoulders were bent down heavily now, Veneziano dropping his head for a moment before shaking it. Why? What was he refusing?

"Veneziano-"

His brother took a breath and Romano watched him straighten and suddenly turn around. The act alone was unexpected, but his face was something else. It wasn't the scars, or the long hair, or the pale complexion than struck him, it was the harsh, accusing look his brother was trying to wear before Veneziano's face seemed to crack. His entire body gave a small jolt when their eyes met, and Romano watched half-mustered judgement crumble in Veneziano's beaten brown eyes, the firm set of his thin lips breaking apart as the strength he'd started forming drained right out of his limbs.

"Woah! Calm down, calm…" Veneziano started to fold and Romano jumped to catch him, breaking the unspoken rule of letting their brother reach out first. He didn't scream or pull away though, staring up at him without words as Romano hooked his arms under his shoulders. He felt Veneziano reaching out and grasping at his shirt, pulling weakly on his arms before the older brother pushed them both down onto the couch. He sat down heavily and Veneziano was right there next to him, in front of him, still staring and beginning to pant and gasp frantically. Cold hands grasped his face and Romano tried to hush the tears that welled up and dripped down his brother's cheeks.

"It's me," Romano whispered. "Look, little brother, it's really me, I promise." He'd wanted to wait, damn it. He'd wanted Veneziano to be calm when this happened, after he'd gained some of his strength back, after he was comfortable being around the rest of their family again. Not like this, he hadn't wanted to dump another jarring, confusing change on his brother's head this soon.

"I… I don't…" He pulled Veneziano's hands up from his cheeks and let his brother's fingers sweep over his lips and brush by his eyes. Romano let him touch his hair and, when his touch strayed down under his chin, he diligently tilted his head back a little. There was no scar across his throat, but would that just convince his brother or confuse him? "I don't…"

Oh god, his voice…

Romano closed his eyes and felt his throat tighten, looking at his brother again when he felt rough fingertips brushing against his eyelashes. Veneziano wouldn't stop shaking and he was crying so much harder than Romano, but his mouth was open around the husky, broken words he was trying to say:

"I don't understa-and…" His voice cracked in the middle and all the music that was supposed to follow his words was drowned out by the coarse, unkind rasp of his breaths. He left his mouth hanging open after he spoke, his jaw hinged in place but just jerking back and forth like he didn't know what to do with it. Romano hadn't heard him speak in so long, and if he hadn't just watched it happen he wouldn't have been able to connect that sorry sound to the person he was supposed to be holding.

"Neither do I," he admitted softly, horrified and heartbroken, "but you're safe here, I promise." He was safe, he was home, and things were going to start getting better now. Romano stroked his brother's face with one hand and it hurt when Veneziano flinched at the soft gesture, but his brother looked so scared at the same time that he couldn't just leave him alone. He hadn't been this frightened and beaten since the end of the world wars, and even those scars hadn't been cut as deep as these…

"Veneziano," he flinched again and Romano slowly pulled his hand away, his other arm still under his brother's shoulder. Veneziano was leaning hard on his side, slowly extending one leg and rubbing his hip again with his hand. He closed his eyes and looked away, Romano's attention falling to the inflamed joint. "What's wrong? Show me." Veneziano shook his head and Romano held his breath for a moment, looking for patience.

"Are you hurt?" he asked softly, but Veneziano just kept shaking his head. "Come closer." Another rough shake, this time with the red strands of his hair catching on the tear tracks. He started struggling to take his weight off Romano's arm and the older brother took another sharp, painful breath.

"Feliciano, please…"

His brother flinched again and placed a hand between them on Romano's chest. Veneziano pushed with it and Romano felt his heart shatter, the muscle breaking down until it was just a bag of broken glass throbbing behind his ribs. Veneziano pushed harder, and Romano slowly pulled away, scooting back across the cushion and sitting there in silence. He watched his brother wrap both arms around himself and slowly double-over, shaking and crying without letting him help.

He was in so much pain…

"I'm sorry…" Romano'd wanted to wait. He hadn't wanted Veneziano to see him yet. It just confused him. It only hurt him even more… "I'm sorry…" After all of the dreams and hundreds of loops, so many stolen faces and polluted memories-

"I c-ca-an't…"

Romano had wanted to wait…

Keep telling myself I should write a Canada scene right here, but I keep not wanting to actually do it. So I'm not gonna. But NO! I haven't forgotten about the rest of the cast. It's just taking a lot of time to come around to them because my pacing sucks.

See you guys next week! Comment on what you read? Maybe?