Am I Not Human?, Uninstall English Version, HetaOni OST, Shattered, Utopia, Aurora, See What I've Become.

Second longest chapter here you go!

Recovery

Trigger

More than pain and more than fear, it was the constant sting of need.

Need that should have been going away, and yet wasn't. Need that should have given way to aid and comfort, but it wouldn't.

He could feel himself slowly beginning to hate the need, because he was beginning, slowly, to give up the fear of it.

Just keep those faces away, he'd thought. Just focus on the food and the water and the shelter and the voices he knew and the faces he never saw, and the need would go away. Just stay safe and warm and protected and quiet and it would all just go far, far away, but it hadn't. The need wouldn't leave, and the need kept feeding the pain.

He could feel himself, slowly, beginning to hate the pain.

"Breathe, just breathe through it…"

He could feel himself, slowly, beginning to hate having all of this around him. The hurting and the worrying, the complete dependence and the way he knew, just knew, that if he were left alone the way he sometimes wanted, the dream would end and he'd be right back where he'd started. But if he had to stay with them, if he had to keep Seborga from going home or keep Vatican in their house, then he would end up causing more harm than good.

He'd figured this dream out, finally, so at last he understood it. He was being made to choose: cling to dependence or wake up alone. Suffer with the hate and the need or wake up to the fear and the pain. He was never going to win this battle, there wasn't enough hate to give him strength or pain to make him stay. Someone else would have to make the move for him, someone would have to be the trigger to wake him up this time, he couldn't do it himself.

If only it was a mystery trying to figure out who would be the one to set it off. How long could he keep hiding like this before one or the other barged in to destroy him?

"Here, rinse." Seborga handed him a glass of warm water, and he just couldn't tell him that the retching and heaving weren't coming from nausea, it was just the effect on this body from need and pain colliding. His brother ran one hand back through his hair again, and he felt his sore body cooperate and sink down to the bathroom floor so he could rest on his knees.

Swish and spit, because he just couldn't think of a way to signal for 'cold' without using the same sign Seborga already knew for it. This was one of the problems he just kept having. A language of signs wouldn't help him, so he refused to develop one no matter how frustrated and downright annoyed he knew Seborga kept getting.

He was good with languages, he'd always been good with codes and constructions. He could build a vocabulary of gestures and symbols if he wanted to, but he was completely against the idea.

It was the same way how he was perfectly capable of holding a pen and scrawling a few words, even if his penmanship had deteriorated from lack of use, but he wouldn't do it.

He just wouldn't do it.

"Are you okay?" No, but he didn't bother shaking his head, there was enough wrong that he never gave the answer anyone wanted. Standing carefully with Seborga there to help him, he wiped his mouth off on his wrist slowly and heard the toilet start up with a roar. He was tired again… "I'll go call and say you can't come."

No, and this time he reached out to snag Seborga's sleeve when his brother tried to turn and leave. It wasn't rhetorical this time, his brother had only made a statement but he disagreed with it. They were going.

"Do you feel ill again?" No, he wanted Seborga to know not to make that call. He watched the way his green eyes focused and then darkened a little, a tense little puff of air escaping through his full lips before he shook his strawberry blonde head quickly. "Are you sure? You don't look well, we can go tomorrow."

Today. He wouldn't feel any better tomorrow, he wouldn't get away from the need or the pain or the anger if he didn't do something soon. He had to do something.

He had to be honest with himself though, every time it came to opening a door or stepping across a threshold, he had to prepare himself for what was about to happen. He had to be completely prepared, as soon as he began to shift his weight and swing forward, for the dream to end and reality to come crashing down on him. He'd stopped fearing when he passed through doorways inside the house, which he knew was a dangerous lull to fall into, but he couldn't hold onto the fear anymore. It was exhausting, and it obliterated what little energy he had when he tried to maintain it. If it all ended when he moved from the den to the kitchen, or the hall to his bedroom, then he doubted he would even be afraid: he'd only feel sad.

Going outside was not the same thing, not yet. He had finally managed it when Romano left the last time, because he expected every time to be the last time. Even if Romano always told him how long he would be gone for and when he would be back, he struggled to believe him. He had to say goodbye to Romano every time, because although he knew how long, he just couldn't accept everything he was told. He trusted his brother to be sincere and mean what he said, but he couldn't just blindly believe that everything Romano said would come true…

He didn't fear for San Marino, Vatican, or Seborga the same way, but they weren't victims. They'd never been targets, they wouldn't be hurt or attacked like that, he couldn't conceive of it. But Romano? There was a target painted on his back and explosives wired through his clothes. He couldn't handle thinking about Romano being anyplace where he couldn't try and keep him safe.

But he also couldn't keep him in the house, this dream didn't work like that.

Seborga didn't approve of them leaving. Maybe it was a subconscious warning that this was a mistake, that this would be the time that everything fell apart. The dream would end and he'd be back where he'd started, and it would all have been for nothing, over and over again in a cycle of neverending dreams. So he buttoned up his jacket and carefully tied his own shoes, picking up the stress ball his family wanted him to use to exercise his stiff and sore left hand. He squeezed it tight in his hand and let the pain lance up his arm to his elbow. It wasn't even a real pain anymore, really just a bone-deep ache that sank into the flesh and wouldn't let go.

He just squeezed and he squeezed and he waited for Seborga to pen a note to papa telling him where they'd be if he came by the house before they returned. He watched him clip a piece of tape and brush his thumb over the clear adhesive to stick it and the letter to the mirror hanging in the hall, and he-

Sound, noise, an echoing tone over and over again-

-a bell, a distant chime, a terrible ringing from nowhere and everywhere and-

-this was it, the end; the collapse of the dream the swing of the pendulum the blood on the walls and the contract and the floor slanting down and down into an unseen dark with white florescent lights and everything so perfectly, perfectly, perfectly cold, and-

And he screamed.

Seborga couldn't believe this. He just could not comprehend this moment.

"I could actually kill you right now."

"I-Is he alright?"

"Does he look alright? Get out!" Seborga just- he couldn't- These idiots!

"W-We're sorry, but-"

"Out!"

He bellowed the word back over his shoulder, but Seborga couldn't take his hands off his brother right now, if he did he'd throttle at least one of the Micro-nations scrambling to get out of the house. It was bad enough they'd rung the doorbell, but at Veneziano's scream they'd just barged right inside!

"Veneziano- Veneziano look at me." The bell had shattered his composure, it had tilted his entire world to the point where everything keeled over with a great big crash. He was better about the phones, and knocking on doors, and even little dings from the computer were tolerable, but he heard the doorbell so rarely that- "Breathe, breathe deeply now, you're okay, I'm right here." Having the door burst open was something else completely.

He couldn't take shocks like that, and this one had sent him stumbling back until he hit the stairs where he was still sprawled. His eyes were wide and terror-struck, as blind to Seborga's face as he was deaf to his voice. He hadn't reacted to something like this in weeks, he'd been doing so well and-

And those idiots just had to barge in and ruin everything!

"Please calm down, please, please, look at me…" He'd heard Sealand's voice and seen Hutt River's indigo cape, so those two were dead as soon as he could… just… "Look at me…" Make it stop… "You're staring through me, no. Stop it…" Come back.

Seborga had both hands holding his brother's face, Veneziano's brown eyes staring right through him like he didn't even know he was there. His rigid fingers were locked around Seborga's wrists. He was struggling to breathe and there were tears glossing his eyes. He was a terrifying world away with no sign that he was coming back…

"Please… Feliciano please…" Touching their foreheads together, he could feel the trembles and shakes so strongly now. Seborga was completely aware of the pain in his brother's gut that kept stopping him from calming down, and he just wanted to fix it, but how?

"I want my brother back…" he whispered, closing his eyes and trying to hush the terrified gasps. Veneziano was trying to rock himself, but it wasn't working. "We're both tired, Feliciano. I know you're so, so tired… but just come back." He was never going to be the same again, and that was okay. He'd changed after Holy Rome had died in France's wars, he'd changed after unifying with Romano, he'd changed after the Great War, and after the Depression, and after the Second Great War, and after the Economic Miracle. He'd changed again and again and again, they all had. Nations changed, and that was okay. "Just stay here…"

Come back…

"-'salla-"

What?

A breathless sound, something he barely heard through the gasps and strangled whimpers. Opening his eyes again, Seborga found his brother still watching him blindly, his tears slipping free and streaking down his face.

"Salla?" He repeated quietly, his mind spinning. Sahara? Allah? What was he- No, Veneziano shook his head, his teeth clenched behind his stretched lips, and he waited to see if his brother would, maybe, say something else. "Feliciano…"

Veneziano sucked in a breath, choking on it as he pulled the air into his lungs and then pushed it out, his throat closing awkwardly around the sounds. He blinked repeatedly and his teeth gnashed at the still air between them.

"I-It's all a- a-" Breathe, breathe, oh how he just wanted to hush him and make him calm down first, but if Veneziano was calm then he wouldn't speak… "-a dream…"

Seborga sat there for a moment, they both did. What was he supposed to say to something like that? A dream? What was? Did he mean this? Did he think all of this was just another long, terrible illusion? What was that kind of confession supposed to mean: a dream?

His brother pulled his hands away and wrapped his arms around himself tightly, gritting his teeth as he was assaulted by pain all over again. It wasn't right for him to keep feeling this way, the heaviest work was done now; he shouldn't still have been crippled like this. Seborga refused to let go of him, but when Veneziano bowed his head sharply the younger brother pressed his face down into his sibling's auburn hair. His mind was spinning, but instead of staring blankly at the steps leading up, he closed his eyes and spoke in a hushed whisper:

"Tell me my name." He placed a kiss in Veneziano's coarse hair and waited. He weathered through the sound of his gasps and painful groans, his hands still fixed to the sides of his head so he could hold him close without actually holding him. "My name, brother, say it to me."

"Se…" His voice was rough with disuse, calloused like the hands he'd brought home with him after months of harsh labour. "S-Sebo-"

"Not that name," Seborga hushed, kissing his forehead this time and listening carefully to the shuddered breaths. He didn't want his nation name; not the Principality of Seborga, not a district in the former Republic of Genoa. He didn't want the names of the monks who had found him or the title "Castrum Sepulcri" Papa and Holy Rome had given him. "What's my name, Feliciano? You know the last one is Vargas, so tell me my name…"

Silence answered him, but it was struggling, painful quiet punctuated by more gasps and harsh breaths. He just wanted to wrap his arms around his brother, but he knew better, and he placed their heads cheek-to-cheek so Veneziano could rock his aching body back and forth on the step, trying to mitigate the damage assaulting his core.

"Se…" Try again, keep trying, Veneziano, he'd make the connection if he- "Se… Seba- a- sti-?"

"Sebastiano?" A good guess, he kissed his brother's cheek and winced when Veneziano violently jerked away. He let go so he didn't feel like he was being fixed in place, and the first thing his brother did was search for eye contact. Seborga tried to smile, and then he shook his head. "Try again."

He was pale again, teeth clenched and left arm pulled tight against his body with the right wrapped around to protect it. The fear was choking him, but his eyes just kept moving over the younger brother's face, taking in every little detail. He looked at the dull grey-green paint on the walls and down to the almost blue wood floors beneath Seborga's knees, soaking in the colours before he stitched his lips closed and opened his throat around a weak nasal sound:

"Mm…" He was already starting with the wrong letter, but Seborga let him try, hands on his brother's arms and rubbing gently trying to help. "Ma…" He just had to breathe… "Mar-arce-" he gasped again to fight through the pain, "-cello…?" Marcello was a very nice name.

"If this is your dream, Feliciano, then you can guess my name, right?" But only if it was a dream. If human names were so easy to guess then it wouldn't have taken a contract with the devil to bring twelve of them to light. They could sit here together for hours and his brother wouldn't be able to just 'guess' the answer, but if it were a dream, it would come quickly.

"Gio-ovanni."

This was not a dream.

"Gia-Giacomo." No. "Marco." Try again.

And again and again, because his voice became a little stronger every time he made himself use it. It was still husky and dry, still broken and stiff, but it was his voice, and Seborga's ears swallowed the sound like precious water in a silent desert. He knew what he was doing, and when he saw the irritation sting his brother's face under the fading cloud of pain, he knew he was making the right choice.

"Do you give up?" Veneziano's stern look, wet eyes glaring and scarred lips pursed, told him no. "You never quit, Feliciano." But… Just with the way he kept searching like that, kept staring and refused to look away again… Seborga did his best to keep smiling as he voiced a painful question: "Do you… really hate everything this much?"

Why wouldn't he? He was a shadow now, a shell. It was alright for nations to change, but this was too much change, and there was no way to say it was worth it either. His smile was harder to keep up just thinking about it, his eyes… That stern look on Veneziano's face faded slowly, almost like he was surprised.

"I don't… know how to make you believe this is real." Was he afraid to wake up, or was he struggling to get out? "You have every reason to be upset. None of this was fair, no one deserved what happened." But how did you fix something after it was over? Romano was trying, he was pouring every bit of himself into anything that would make the pain go away. "I just… I know it's not enough to say we're trying, but-"

His throat was starting to tighten and there was a heavy thickness running down from his tongue, choking him, drowning the words. He was staring at Veneziano's chest instead of looking at his eyes anymore, still scared to let go of him but worried now that if he kept touching him, he'd make things worse. There was this horrible kind of hurt building in his chest, squeezing his lungs and causing a rough burn to prick his eyes. His brother didn't think any of this was real anymore, he was so hurt he'd rather it all just be a dream.

He felt a warm touch on his face and looked up, surprised by the callouses that brushed against his cheek. He was kneeling on the floor and Veneziano had lowered himself so he was sitting on the bottom step in front of him, feet on the floor and knees up high because his legs were too long to sit comfortably. He was crying again and it made the pain in Seborga's chest squeeze tighter, trying to choke him.

"I'm sorry- nothing bad happened to me." And yet here he was, sitting here feeling so miserable and upset. "I shouldn't be sad, I'm sorry," but he was, and he was hurting because if he could be mistaken for a mere figment then that meant he wasn't helping. "I… I think my friends are still outside," he had to choke on the words before he got them out, but between tears and shame at least he didn't have to watch his brother's face anymore. The Micro-nation's withdrew his hands down into his own lap so he would stop touching him. "I'll go get rid of them, at least I can-"

He was about to pull away when he felt himself being drawn in, his balance slipping before he realized, too late to stop, that he was abruptly much closer to his brother than he'd been allowed to come in months. He wasn't even sure if they were really Veneziano's arms around him or not, because it'd been so long since he felt them tangled behind his back, and then they started squeezing him so close he could barely move, nevermind breathe, so he stopped trying to do either.

"It- hurts." He clapped his arms around his brother and just held on, because it was a hug, he was being held. For the first time since that sun-drenched summer day with the tall grass and the cool water, he was being held.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-" He buried his face in his brother's shoulder, hands gripping his back as the rough weave of the olive jacket scratched his eyes. He felt his words falling apart and just let the broken noises pour into the shaking, pain-wracked body in front of him. He didn't know how to help, he didn't know how to fix it, he didn't-

"S-Stop the pain-" How? How? He knew they'd been about to go to Romano's office today, maybe that was supposed to be a step in the right direction, but they couldn't leave now. He couldn't take Veneziano outside like this, he could barely imaging taking himself out of doors. He just felt Veneziano cup the back of his head in one hand and hold him so unbearably close, and the way he made it feel so safe just killed Seborga a little bit more inside: he was making his older, tortured brother protect him instead of the other way around.

"I want to help you- I'll do anything, please, I-"

"I want to- to stay…"

Although he was without a doubt their fearless leader, a nation born in the middle of a ferocious war, Sealand had to admit that he wasn't the oldest member of their Micro-nation team. But he was still the leader, and despite Molossia's complaining and Kugelmudgel's silent staring and Wy's absolute refusal to even come along with them to Rome, he's convinced Hutt River and Ladonia that this was without a doubt too important to put off.

Sitting on the stone steps outside Italy's house for an hour had since killed most of his enthusiasm…

"It might be best if we leave." Hutt River suggested slowly, plucking invisible lint off his royal purple cape. The whole thing was bundled up around his arm to keep it off the ground where he was sitting two steps below Sealand.

"…Wanna apologize." Kudgelmudgel murmured, his pale lavender braids knotted behind his head while he tapped slowly on Ladonia's laptop, scrolling carelessly through something. His red hat was tucked down over his ears a little bit, his yellow winter jacket hanging around his knees while the computer was balanced on the railing leading up to the townhouse.

Sealand kept his chin in his hands, elbows on his knees while his jeans and sweater kept him safe from the slight nip in the air. He didn't know why Hutt was wearing such a thick scarf and heavy jacket, but the sandy-haired blonde had interrupted his summer to come here so maybe that had something to do with it.

"I just sent him another e-mail, and I don't think his phone's on…" Ladonia's voice crackled through his computer, his bag sitting at Kudgelmudgel's feet since he didn't seem interested in popping out of the machine to sulk with the rest of them. "Do you think he's that mad at us?"

"Mad doesn't cut it." Molossia was stalking back and forth along the sidewalk, dragging on a cigarette as he pulled his black jacket closer around him. "He's pissed. We should've just sent him a damned card."

"For once, I think I agree." Hutt sighed, tilting his head back against the cold metal railing behind him and glancing up at Sealand. "I've never heard him shout like that." Seborga usually just smiled at silly things, especially if they annoyed him. Sealand had never heard him raise his voice in anger before, but…

"I think we should still wait though." He said simply, picking his face up off his hands and sitting up straight. "Yes he was upset, but how often do things like this happen?" They couldn't just walk away! Standing up in a rush as he felt the group's energy sinking to an all-time low, Sealand clenched his hands and brought them up smartly to his sides. He was their leader for a reason!

"Come on, everyone! He's opened his own national bank! That just doesn't happen every day, and if he's already announced his secession plans then-"

"My what?" Sealand nearly jumped clear out of his skin at the voice, covering his mouth after a most unmanly sound erupted from his throat. His ears started burning, he could feel them, but before he could compose himself Hutt was standing again and Molossia was crushing his cigarette into the pavement. With a yelp and a click Ladonia was shut up inside his laptop again, the Micro-nation's assembling as their fearless leader spun around.

"Seborga!" He looked- pale? Not sick pale, but too pale for normal. He was still much taller than Sealand, and instead of wearing his usual green golf shirt, he had a black turtleneck on to protect himself from the mild Italian winter. Maybe that was why he looked so washed out? His hair was much redder than Sealand remembered, and it had only been a few months so-

Scowling. Why was he scowling? Seborga didn't-

"I told you- I told all of you, not to come here to Rome. What was the first thing I said to you?"

"Wait, why are you looking at me!" Sealand shrieked, his eyes snapping away from the scowl when he saw someone moving behind Seborga, but then his attention was whipped right back by his friend storming over the threshold with his fists clenched at his side.

"Fearless leader, Sealand!" Seborga's accent was really really strong when he was- "So this is what I get for trusting my friends? You come where you're not wanted, and not invited, and-" Sealand stumbled heavily down the steps, nearly losing himself falling backwards until Hutt was there to scoop him up and set him back neatly on his feet. The urge to dive behind the taller nation was almost too much!

"We understand you're upset-" Hutt cut in, but Seborga shot him down with a sharp gesture and stinging words.

"You be quiet: after him you're the one I hold responsible." Hutt stiffened up straight like a rod, and Sealand found himself losing his voice quickly as the tension kept building and building, Kudgelmudgel shuffling back with Ladonia's laptop and backpack in his hands.

"Well I never-"

"Shut up, Hutt." Molossia broke in, huffing and setting a heavy hand on Sealand's head before he could say anything. "You too, shorty. Seborga," up in front of the door, the taller nation pinched his lips and rolled his shoulders back slightly, folding his arms to show how upset he still was behind his scowl. "We're sorry, okay? Italy, we apologize." Italy..?

Rallying his courage, Sealand shuffled back into view again and watched Seborga's angry façade melt. He turned a little to look behind him, and a pale hand carefully reached out and convinced him to unfold his arms so he could hold onto it. He moved like an old man over the threshold and didn't go anywhere once it was done, but Sealand felt a very heavy sadness settle over him as North Italy showed his scarred face in the daylight.

He'd heard about it, but this wilted presence was so much worse in person than what Seborga had described over the phone. Lunch seemed even further out of the question now than it had before when Seborga'd made them sit outside like that.

"Since when have you been so tactful?" Hutt River whispered, running one hand back through his semi-curly hair before looking back up at the steps. Sealand was wondering the same thing, but Molossia's eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses and Seborga and his brother seemed caught up in something under the entryway. He couldn't hear if Italy was saying anything, but their friend was speaking in gentle Italian for a moment before Italy shook his head and Seborga looked back down. He pointed with two fingers to his own eyes and then down at Molossia.

"You're sunglasses are making him nervous, can you remove them?" What a funny thing to ask for.

But Molossia just pulled them off. He didn't even make a fuss or complain about it, something Sealand had never seen before, but today was just all full of surprises, wasn't it? Wy was going to be so jealous she'd missed all of this!

"There," Sealand, Seborga and Wy had all agreed for some time that Molossia's meanness was directly related to those sunglasses. England had probably cursed them at some point to turn him into a nasty cad, but once they were off he seemed far less threatening and a lot less abrasive. "Now are you gonna let me explain why we came here?"

"You said something about secession…" Was North Italy able to keep standing like this? He looked like he was leaning on Seborga a little for support, which was bad, almost as bad as Seborga tossing the words out like a question.

"You… don't know?" Kudgelmudgel never spoke up very loudly, his voice was as soft now as it ever was. He was making more noise drumming his fingers over Ladonia's laptop than he did when he actually used words. "Did you forget?"

"You don't just forget something like that," Hutt scolded, but it was gentle and Sealand felt concern starting to nip at him. He wanted to say something, but Hutt beat him to it with his funny accent: "When was the last time you spoke to your boss?"

The brothers both looked surprised, or maybe confused was a better word, and then turned to look at one another. They didn't seem to know what to say to that, and it was Seborga who sort of half shrugged and then looked back down at the rest of them.

"A few weeks, perhaps? The President has been busy travelling so he-"

"No, not his boss!" Sealand piped up, eager to point out that they were all standing out here in the wind when there were probably couches and chairs waiting for them just inside. But they couldn't invite themselves in again; they'd done that once and been locked out here as punishment… "Yours, Seborga. When was the last time you spoke to your Prince?"

"My..?" They were looking at each other again, but North Italy broke eye contact first, lowering his gaze slowly like he'd thought of something. He carefully lifted one hand up to touch his own right side, and Seborga watched him before the Micro-nation suddenly went stiff and sucked in a sharp breath.

"Seborga?"

"No- no, it can't be something I did…" They were still holding hands and when Seborga tried to twist away, Italy held on and raised his other hand to touch and try and calm his brother down. Sealand felt the sweet news they'd been bringing curdle into sour anxiety, because not only was Seborga confused, now he looked scared. "Molossia what's happening?"

Oh, sure, ask Molossia. It wasn't like Sealand was their leader or anything.

"According to Hong Kong, you submitted an application for your own bank last week." And they didn't mean a new branch of one of Italy's banks, since that would never have even shown up on Hong Kong's financial radar to begin with, but a legitimate, independent bank. Things like that took an incredible amount of capital to start, especially since Seborga wasn't opening a private company, he was establishing a national bank. "We went looking for you at your house to congratulate you, and that's when we found out you've got something else planned in the next few days." And they all knew what it was, but were they supposed to say it in front of Italy?

"Planned what?" Seborga's voice sounded so faint that Sealand really couldn't believe he was lying to them. The thought had briefly crossed his mind; Seborga was old, he knew how to lie, he'd survived as a very small piece of territory for a very long time, and that often required playing larger neighbours against each other. Between all the violence and natural disasters, it was terrible but it would have made sense for him to turn on North Italy.

But was that really happening? He looked like a breeze could come by and knock him over, and Sealand recognized now that it wasn't North Italy clinging to him for support, it was the Micro-nation clenching their hands together so hard their arms were shaking.

"I'm not planning anything. I haven't been home in months, I can't even remember the last conversation I had with my boss." Could someone like them afford to be so negligent? "Stop it with the suspense already, just tell me what you heard."

Sealand looked back at Molossia because he'd apparently been selected as speaker for today, but without his sunglasses on the black-haired nation was suddenly wearing a very vulnerable expression. He had such soft green eyes, and they just looked so sad.

"We heard that there's going to be a referendum on Monday, and if it passes you're going to officially secede from Italy." Seborga… He took a breath and all of the sudden looked like he was about to scream. "There're plans for your own bank, a police force, probably your own schools-"

"I'm fifteen kilometers and three-hundred people-" He wheezed the words out, barely holding enough air in his lungs to stand straight. Italy was right there to place a hand on his chest, moving it to his shoulder where he rubbed back and forth trying to steady the Micro-nation.

Secession was not the same thing as independence. Secession meant an end to Italian taxes and laws, no more citizenship or public programs. Seceding meant he'd take his people out of the system completely and become his own complete nation. Seceding meant openly challenging the Italian government, something Italy's human masters would have to address directly, not passively and with a blind eye the way they had for years.

"Your prince has claimed more." Kudgelmudgel practically whispered the words, and Seborga was so dumbstruck Italy didn't even look at him in confusion, just concern. "More land, I mean. More people." Sealand didn't have it in him to reveal that the referendum included almost ten times what the Prince of Seborga traditionally claimed for the Micro-nation. It wouldn't just be the town of Seborga breaking away, but several other tiny villages, sections of the Italian motorway, and Sealand couldn't think up the map clearly enough to figure out if the nearby city of San Reno would be effected too.

"I'm not leaving the Republic." Seborga said the words in a breath and then turned straight to this brother, practically ignoring the rest of them with that terrified look on his face. His eyes were wide and he really was pale now, his voice trembling as he spoke. "I'm not. I swore to Romano I wasn't going to leave, and I meant it, and I still mean it, Veneziano I'm not leaving you!" Somewhere in there Seborga slipped into Italian, and if it wasn't Italian exactly then it was close enough that Sealand had to struggle to pick out most of the words. North Italy was just quickly nodding his head though, showing how much he understood as he eased both his hands up and down in the air trying to communicate calm.

"Can humans just make a decision like that without consulting us?" Hutt whispered his question in a low voice, turning his head to look at Molossia while Sealand remained tight between the two of them. "He has no idea, this-"

"They can in a war." Sealand murmured, because he knew the answer, because he'd been born in a war zone. "If the human is strong enough then they can make any decision they want." But normally they didn't, because normally they couldn't. Kings and Bishops didn't really have the wide-spread power they once had, there were too many checks and balances and parliaments and councils in their way now, but those could be brought down with or without the nation's consent.

"I asked for my name and my prince and you both let me do that! I'm not betraying you now! I swear I meant everything I-"

"Shh, shhhh…" North Italy wasn't speaking, but he touched Seborga's face as the Micro-nation lost his composure. There was so much worry pulling on his scarred lips and dark eyes that Sealand had to look away again. He didn't see how North Italy managed it, but he got Seborga to turn around and hurry back into the house, he probably even told him to go call his boss.

It left the five of them standing there in awkward silence. When Sealand looked up again Seborga's older brother was watching them all very carefully. It was like he didn't know what to do about their presence, because he didn't quite trust them.

"Can we come in, please?" Kudgelmudgel whispered, Ladonia's laptop held tight against his chest with the ginger's backpack sitting over his shoulders. "We had to come, we didn't know what was happening. He's our friend." They'd wanted to congratulate him, not frighten him away and cause a scene like this. They'd thought North Italy had agreed to let Seborga have more freedom, or to recognize him as a fully independent state instead of just a pseudo-state hovering around inside his borders.

This was supposed to have been fun.

Hutt stood up straight and slowly walked up to the steps again, ascending them gracefully before coming to a full stop in front of North Italy where he was still standing in the doorway. It was very, very rare for any of them to deal directly with nations other than the ones whose territory they were born from, but Hutt seemed confident as he cleared his throat softly and spoke.

"I am the Principality of Hutt River, and I formally request your permission to help look after my friend, the Principality of Seborga." Oh…

The silence was long and tense, but it wasn't until Hutt lifted his eyes from where they'd been pinned on Italy's shoulder that the larger, stronger nation pursed his lips and actually seemed to consider the request. He wasn't blocking the door, but it was his house, and he was standing half over the threshold without inviting them in or telling them to leave.

Finally North Italy took a breath, but instead of speaking he just gave a slow nod and gestured with one hand for Hutt to step inside. The tall Micro-nation was barely out of sight before Kudgelmudgel ran up the steps and stopped in exactly the same place in front of Italy.

"Former Republic of Kudgelmudgel," he said softly, but quickly. His German accent got in the way a little bit and made Italy tense up slightly, but he didn't react. "Um, what he said, because he's my friend." Another pause, although not as long this time, and North Italy nodded again. Kudgelmudgel made to step in and then stopped himself, quickly holding the laptop out in both hands for the host nation to see.

"Ladonia too, can he come?" North Italy just looked confused now, waving his hand to get Kudgelmudgel inside.

Sealand didn't know why his feet felt so heavy, but Molossia made it up the steps before he could even fathom moving forward. He heard the land-locked nation struggle to get past the "I am-" part of introducing himself, but then North Italy cut him off with one dry, raspy breath:

"American?" Molossia did have an American accent, but Sealand felt ice-cold as Molossia stood there gaping like a fish. America had been such a big jerk to the world lately, would North Italy bar him just because of the association?

Clearly not, because without even taking his name or letting Molossia ask permission, he nodded again and dropped his eyes so he didn't have to watch the fourth Micro-nation enter his house.

Sealand couldn't walk. He felt like he was anchored to the concrete sidewalk as surely as he was bolted to the sea floor. North Italy just stood there without saying anything, maybe he was waiting for Sealand to start moving, but he just couldn't make himself climb those three little steps to get up to the door. Sealand didn't know what he intended to say when he opened his mouth, but Italy was watching him cautiously.

"M-My name is…" Sealand, Sealand, Sealand. He was- "Peter- Peter Kirkland, sir."

The audacity of his own words made him want to crumble into the ocean and fade away forever. He didn't even have the presence of mind left to slap a hand over his mouth and nose to shut himself up. Italy was looking at him, but he had no idea what that expression on his face was supposed to mean. Was he mad? Surprised? Confused? Was Sealand going to be booted so far out of Italy he'd miss the North Atlantic completely and wind up visiting Iceland?

"Y-You…" Oh no, he was still talking so shut up, shut up, just shut up! "You rescued my brother-" he couldn't believe he was saying this he was not supposed to be saying this! "Please- please let me help yours…?"

Sealand had never seen Italy angry. He didn't think anyone had, really, he couldn't imagine anyone who could cause that kind of reaction in him. Italy was the laughing nation, the happy nation, the lazy and cowardly and fun-loving nation. It was like how Seborga never got mad at anything, except North Italy took that care-free nature even further to the point where he never even sniped back or made a clever comment about anything.

Sealand had never seen either of them make a fist before, or clench their teeth before, or get so angry they had to close their eyes to keep their composure before. He'd been worried enough by Seborga doing it, but when North Italy bowed his head and stood stock-still trying not to move one way or the other under the doorway, he felt like he'd just traipsed across a very dangerous line.

North Italy pulled a long, hissing breath in through his teeth and forced his left hand to uncurl slowly. He let that arm swing across his body and then sweep slowly inside the house, a gesture for Sealand to come inside and join the others. He kept his head down, he kept his eyes closed, he kept rigid and focused, and when Sealand took too long to accept his permission the scar-faced nation turned on his heel and marched straight inside.

He left the door open like a black gate leading out of the cold and into the anxious environment inside. With him gone it then took every ounce of fearless leadership Sealand had to mount those steps and follow.

When he walked inside Sealand understood that they'd each accepted North Italy's condition: if anything bad happened to his brother, it was going to come down on them all.

-.-

And, um, that's not exactly how I thought this would go but at least we're keeping to the plot this time. Sebubu is too precious for this world, and this whole chapter is why.

Review! I'll see you guys next week!