Business of Paper Stars, Brotherhood, False King, Final Judgement, Sin and Restitution, Archangel, Fatal Fury, Velocitron.

THIS CHAPTER.

Recovery

Gas Leak

"Tell me what you mean when you say you're dreaming."

It wasn't a question he expected his brother to ask him, especially after a very long night of trying not to drink too much. Of course, despite the effort they'd only ended up with two empty wine-bottles on their living room floor. They were passing a third bottle back and forth to one another, himself reclined back on their couch with that hated tie undone around his neck, Romano sitting on the floor next to him with his head tilted back, waiting for the wine to make its rounds.

Their crime lord had escaped today, or yesterday depending on the time, and within the next forty-eight hours Romano would have the final word from the EU about their financial needs. Good wine was meant to go with good food, but he just tilted the bottle back and swallowed a mouthful of the dry red before handing it back over his brother's shoulder.

"It means dreaming." Romano wanted him to speak more, but that wasn't exactly new. He'd wanted him to speak since he'd come home so many months ago, and although he still didn't want to answer him most of the time, he could feel himself sinking into the habit.

"Cut the shit, Veneziano." Give the bottle back, Romano. "How do you know you're dreaming?" Because he wasn't drunk yet now give it.

Taking the wine back for another turn, he glanced down when he heard a low rumble and saw Romano's hand stroking Gino's white fur. They hadn't turned on any lights after coming home, just one on in the kitchen so Romano could find the wine and bring it back out. They'd had glasses, but those were abandoned on the coffee table, so between the cat and the wine neither one of them was going to get up soon.

"Fine, how many dreams have you had then?" Stop… "No, I'm serious." Well don't be. "I'll let Gino sleep in your hat again, just watch me." Then he'd just make Romano take his uniform to the drycleaner's again. "You mean you'll take it yourself, bastard." Uh, no- "We can do this all night or you can just answer me. If this is a dream, what was the one before it?"

He didn't ask what was waiting for him if the dream ended. He couldn't tell if it was because his brother knew the answer, or the dream wouldn't acknowledge itself as false. The one with the letters had been like that: the endless winter of 1944, the dream with only secret codes and messages between Fascist North and Allied South. Only codes and secrets until the firing squad outside his window marched an Italian man with chestnut hair, hateful eyes, and a wicked black tongue out into the snow. They made him stand in the white powder and wait to be shot right in front of him…

"Grandpa." He slurred the answer, clawing his way out of the memory and taking solace in the exhausted way the wine in his tired system was making him toasty warm under his clothes. Warm, not cold, they were in Rome, not Salo, and it was spring, not eternal winter…

His coat and jacket were lost somewhere and the cushions holding his body snug felt re-stuffed and new. He was going to fall asleep like this, maybe, a momentary darkness before he came back to the dream. Years and years ago, decades, centuries even, he might have found the layers of his consciousness fascinating, now they were protection. He would rather dream a dream about dreaming, than relive a dream about dying.

"What about grandpa?"

"He was the dream before this one…" Grandpa Rome's Empire, with its towering forums and mighty army, the cheering of the crowds and the rose petals and olive laurels in the golden heat… A hundred days and nights of running as a child through the ancient streets he hadn't seen built, protected by strong arms and sequestered from those strange faces. Even Romano had been kept away from him then, not even Vatican or Helena, Gaul or Carthage, Egypt or Byzantium had shown their faces when he'd thought to ask about them. Cyprus, Phoenicia, no one from that ancient time…

"How did it end?" He tasted their modern wine again and found it too strong and heavy, thinking only of the rougher, sharper sting of Roman drink. "Veneziano…?"

"He fell asleep." Romano didn't ask for the bottle back, and he didn't know if he should finish what was left or put the red aside. "Germania… he ended it under the olive tree." The final day when Grandpa's heart had stopped, and he'd been wrapped up and sobbing in his brother's arms so he couldn't see what happened next. He'd been so confused and comforted by having his brother there where he hadn't been before, clinging to him and screaming as someone he thought he knew strode through the fading red light with the glinting edge of a silver blade in his hand.

Feliciano had cried so hard into Lovino's chest and shoulder that he hadn't even known the monster had crept up on them instead. He hadn't seen the knife rip and tear through his brother's body, he'd just felt the hot blood washing over him before his grandfather's warm sun was transformed into cold, blinding florescent light…

"Answer me one more question, Veneziano." No… "If it's a dream, and you know it… Then why haven't you woken up?" He opened his eyes again in the dark, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for his eyes to catch the faint light shining in from the kitchen. He wanted to stay in the dark for a bit longer, sometimes it was the closest he could get to comfort.

"…Why do you think I'm so afraid?"

"Just who is Alfred F. Jones?" This was what the American President wanted to know, and that was why he was speaking to the respective heads of the Federal Bureau of Investigation and the Central Intelligence Agency. "What kind of conspiracy is this that one boy's input is going to be enough to sway deals with this nation's biggest trading partner? I want answers, gentlemen."

"Mr. President, Alfred F. Jones is… complicated." Bullshit, it was some lefty conspiracy is what it sounded like. Where were the good, sensible heads in Washington? Why did the executive agent in front of him from the FBI look so uncomfortable? Tugging on his tie, only grudgingly making eye-contact, it was all unsettling.

"This isn't a thriller, gentlemen." Irritated, the President tossed his pen down on his desk in the oval office, milky morning light pouring in through the windows behind him. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that two critical government organizations have nothing to tell me about this?"

"Mr. President we expect you to understand that you've rejected everything we've told you."

"And what's that, exactly? A bit of mystic hoopla along with a few blurry photographs and a signature like his grandfather's! Are you insane?" Personifications, avatars, angels- by God he's had enough of the Left and its media sources twisting doctrines they have no right discussing. Angels in the White House, these men should have their mouths washed out with soap. "This reeks of a conspiracy, and you honestly expect me to believe that everyone else on the World Stage is in on it?"

"Mr. President, we have clearly reached an impasse," the FBI agent stated, tenting his fingers in front of him where he was sitting back in his chair, pretending he didn't have to sit up straight for the Commander and Chief of the American Military. "I can tell you this much: you are within your rights outlined by the Declaration of Independence to remove and temporarily bar Mr. Jones from entering the White House, or from dabbling with international affairs regardless of our allies' wishes." The contempt in that statement was astounding, the President could practically hear the man huffing away with 'but you're a damned fool if you don't believe this hog-wash I'm feeding you'. There was nothing worse in the world than being taken for a complete and utter imbecile.

"Why do you two believe him? Because obviously you do, otherwise-"

"If I may speak out of turn, Mr. President?" No he could not, said the President, only to be interrupted: "The CIA's only concern with this issue is that Mr. Jones not be made into an enemy of your administration, something this fascination of yours is turning heads about. Regardless of whether you believe what anyone has to say on the matter, sir, you're playing with fire by hounding him."

"And where exactly is this fire burning, gentlemen?" Because he didn't feel compelled to use the term politely anymore, not if he was going to be mocked like this in his own office. "Between March and that report last week from Ottawa I haven't heard a word from him." But he'd been searching, asking questions, making inquiries, and most importantly: coming up with nothing that wasn't just more fanciful lies and bizarre half-baked schemes. People had seen this man shot, blown up, and run over by all kinds of things: clearly this nation needed psychiatric help.

The FBI director looked to his counterpart, and the administrative head of the CIA was pursing his lip in a way that suggested, although it disgusted the President to his core, that he was contemplating just not answering.

"We know where Mr. Jones is, Mr. President." Good.

"Then bring him back here to Washington: that's an executive order from the President of the United States."

"For what purpose, sir?" Embodiment of the state, immortal man-child who'd shaken hands with Washington himself, preposterous! It was right there in the Declaration that the President represented the nation!

"To tear down these idols Washington has built for itself. This man is disturbing global trade and the economic prosperity of this country: so if you think I'm afraid of a twenty-year-old boy, gentlemen, then bring me Alfred F. Jones."

And that would be the end of that.

"You knew." Japan regretted telling Prussia. He regretted it more than he could say, but it still wasn't as much as what Miss Hungary was feeling. "You knew!"

"Prussia wait-" she was sitting on a dining room chair that had been brought into the salon for this discussion. They were in her house, not Germany or Prussia's domain, because when Japan had tried to call the former nation he'd happily invited Japan up to Budapest.

"You knew and you didn't fucking tell me! You knew this whole time!" And now Prussia was on his feet, marching back and forth across the red rug, stomping like a beast with his red eyes on the woman. Japan had thought he would be the one to come under fire for saying it, for suggesting it, for admitting he didn't know if Spain was telling the truth or not. But Miss Hungary was there to hear him say it and her guilty reaction just- "You just sat there and you watched everything happen- you didn't fucking do anything! You didn't tell me, you didn't say one fucking word!"

"Prussia I couldn't!"

"Bullshit!"

"No, it's the truth!" but Miss Hungary was not the kind of woman to simply be yelled at and weep, especially not in her own house. She was on her feet with a hand raised against the man she'd professed to love, and Japan not only wished he could vanish into the upholstery, he wished he'd never come and sprung this on them. "You weren't there, you didn't see what he's become!"

"And whose fault is that!"

"Not mine!" Hungary did not shriek or scream, she had a strong voice and it practically shook the house when she boomed it back at him. Japan was on his feet in an instant, but Prussia somehow had the conviction to not even flinch in the face of it, so completely lost in his anger that he just snarled at the female nation as she took her turn with him:

"If you want to blame someone, choose his brothers!" Wait- "All they do is encourage it! He doesn't leave the house, they won't force him to speak, they spend hours just trying to understand these nonsense gestures and hand-movements! I haven't been allowed to go back since December because they keep him locked up and 'safe' so nothing can upset him!" What? No, why would Italy's family even consider-?

"So why the fuck didn't you say anything?"

"Because you-" Hungary was strong, but all of this was painful. She pulled her bottom lip up between her teeth and bit it carefully, the anger fading slightly as her face grew tighter at the memory. "You didn't see him," she said slowly, but her voice was hard. "You don't know how different he is. I thought I could reach out to him because the older brother wasn't around, and I tried-" Prussia was immediately skeptical, scowling and giving a huff without unclenching his fists. "I really did, and I don't care if you believe me because it's true! But- but then he just…"

Her eyes went blank for a moment, lost in a memory as she grasped for the words, finding and piecing them together very slowly.

"He crossed out your names." What..? "They were written down and he just erased everyone like they didn't matter to him. And then he gave me such a chilling look whenever I tried saying anything about it."

"Italy would never do that." Prussia stated, and Japan agreed, he had to.

"He's not Italy anymore…"

The first thing Spain heard back from Japan in months was a simple text message that had arrived sometime in the early evening after he got home, but didn't read until the next morning. It worried him:

I've made a terrible mistake.

Try as he might to call him, Spain couldn't get Japan's phone to connect or have the Asian nation respond to the messages he sent back.

When he tried calling Germany, the younger nation responded blandly to a question about the last time he'd spoken to Japan.

"In Kyoto last month, what are you bothering me about? I'm in Paris." Oh, nevermind then.

Spain hung up and sat worrying his bottom lip as the morning light brightened the sky outside his window. He knew was happening tomorrow, and now Japan's mistake suddenly felt like one of his.

"We each took the same vow, Hungary!" Austria was beyond outraged, he couldn't contain himself anymore or find any alternative way to conduct himself. "We all did! We swore at the feet of the Vatican city himself to keep this secret between ourselves and protect-!"

"They already knew, Austria!" Morning was moving into afternoon over Budapest as Hungary spun and screamed back at him, her face livid and her long dark hair braided and wrapped around her clenched hand. He was still wearing the remarkably casual clothes he only suffered with for long train rides, but despite the exhaustion of travelling from Vienna to Budapest in a night, Austria just wanted to storm out of the house and return home. "What did you expect me to do, lie to their faces and let Germany go into that meeting tomorrow completely blind?"

"The decision has already been made for Italy, emotional blackmail will not make the numbers change and you had no right!" Germany's heart was a fragile thing, but there was no reason to assume North and South Italy were planning anything to upset him! Who would that benefit? Who was spreading these awful lies?

"Enough! Both of you shut up!" Austria pointed a hand at the horrible woman in front of him but closed his mouth, clenching his teeth until they started to hurt as Switzerland stood up between them. The neutral state was red-faced and furious, but somehow handling his rage better than either of them. It was embarrassing to be put in his place by a nation whose temper was infamously short, but Austria swallowed his angry words and Hungary kept her teeth bared and furious eyes on him.

"Hungary, when did Prussia and Japan leave, and where are they heading?"

"Paris, and they left last night." Yester-!? Why had she made them come here then! This was all a terrible waste of time! If they wanted to fix any of this then they should have gone straight to Paris, or even Rome! "I called you here to keep you out of the way, Austria! You're heartless in these matters and staying out of things I the best-"

"I'm honourable." He hissed back, hands grasping for something to hold and twist, or maybe slam and break, he was so angry he wouldn't even trust himself to touch a piano right now, nevermind play one. "I don't go out of my way to spite hard-working nations who have only made simple requests of me while everything else falls to pieces!"

"One more word, Austria, and I swear-!"

"I said enough!" Switzerland shouted again, cutting through the ringing building in Austria's ears as the blonde wrapped a hand around his arm and started pulling. "Austria we're leaving. Good bye, Hungary."

"Where are you going?" Indeed, what was Switzerland doing? Austria followed him but he wasn't impressed when the shorter nation whipped open the coat closet for the light spring jackets they'd worn here. Austria's was passed to him and the shorter blond was pulling his windbreaker on with tense hands.

"You're going to Paris." Switzerland was speaking to Austria, and if he didn't know any better he'd say he was flat-out ignoring Hungary. "I'm going to Rome. Do whatever you can to keep an eye on Germany and the others, for their own good, in case Prussia tries contacting them. Break the news to them slowly if you have to, just not all at once like he will if given half a chance." God this was looking terrible…

"And now who's meddling!" Hungary shouted, storming after them both as Switzerland zipped up his windbreaker and sent a sharp glare her way.

"I'm Switzerland and I don't meddle, Hungary: I protect. Austria lets go."

France was getting a headache from going over all of these numbers, but more importantly he was growing annoyed with the little device buzzing on the table next to them. Looking up from the scattered portfolio, he finally addressed the issue.

"Germany? Is something wrong with your phone?" The younger blonde across the desk from him grunted something, clearly more frustrated than France himself. He regarded the device one more time before finally pressing his thumb against the screen, silencing the awful thing and placing it back down without fuss.

"Prussia. Again."

"We can take a break from this if you would like to answer him." England suggested, looking miserable from the third side of the table as he picked his head up off his wrists. He had been reading in what France thought was a terribly uncomfortable position for the last hour, and there were red marks pressed into his skin from the backs of his hands.

France was, in his own way, hoping for exactly that: a break. These numbers were difficult and on the whole rather upsetting. The decision had already been made and the meeting would happen tomorrow in Rome, but the three of them were still working with financial records, estimates, break-downs and reports trying to prepare themselves for it. They would need to go in armed to the teeth in order to get their way against Italy, because without an insurmountable wall of facts, the emotional component would be too much.

France himself still couldn't shake off the harsh sting of betrayal, or the guilt of it. But no matter how wrong it felt on the human level, for nations there was no such thing as one for all and all for one. They could not drag the entire Union into economic ruin just for the sake of one nation. England was already making preparations to help Italy move from the European Union on to the World Bank: perhaps the funds at that ultimate level of finance would have the power to help.

"I told him not to call me while I was here." Germany stated shortly, still not looking up from the papers in front of him as he circled something in red and placed it in a pile for ordering later. "I told him I do not want to speak to anyone until after this issue is put to rest." He was so firm with that tone and that pen, France quietly swallowed the suggestion he'd been brewing about going for lunch in another hour. They would order in, or perhaps skip the meal all together depending on his guests' condition.

"Of course…" So France quietly checked his own phone when he felt it vibrating in his pocket. It concerned him when he saw Prussia's name and flag flash over the screen, but with one hesitant look at the stern young nation across from him, the host decided against answering. He would text him later, or perhaps call. Instead he slid the electronic away and looked to England with a simple request:

"Do you have those interest rates from the banking sector?"

The next message Spain received that afternoon was from Prussia, and it terrified him:

If you're not in Rome to stop me: I'm burning his city to the ground.

Spain had never booked a plane ticket so fast in his entire life. He'd swim to Italy if he had to.

PRUSSIA KNOWS.

It took Romano several minutes spent just staring through a mild hangover and the sunlight in his office to understand what those words meant. The fact that Switzerland sent it in German didn't help his cognitive abilities either, but he sat there and forced his brain to translate the simple, alarming message.

And as soon as he did, it paralyzed him.

'What if it had been you instead of him?' Months and months ago Spain had tried to ask him what it would have meant if South Italy had been the one who needed the North to hide and protect him. Romano had told him Germany's anger wouldn't matter, that he could handle being hated, that he was strong enough for a scorned lover and cheated friend. But now he turned Spain's question on its head: what if instead of North Italy, it had been the Federal Republic of Germany?

In that world, what would Romano do if it had been Prussia hiding his own little brother?

I can't protect you anymore. -R.

Nothing good. He'd do absolutely nothing good. Romano hands were shaking just trying to punch the letters into an e-mail, firing it off to his brother's office before he quickly stood up and heard the light ding from his phone. Spain's number this time- why?

I'm sorry.

No he wasn't.

Don't give him that bullshit right now, there was no way he-

"Mr. Italy," the voice of the woman who worked at the front desk in his office spoke through the intercom sitting next to his computer. Romano was already standing and shuffling papers into something resembling a neat pile, sunglasses in hand and telling himself there was no way Switzerland would wait between finding out about this and then telling him. "The Representatives of Japan and the former German Democratic Republic are-" He slammed his finger down over the button.

"Let them in."

Japan too? Some warning, Switzerland. He wanted to ask how, but Spain's apology already told him. Another message from Switzerland said something about planes before Romano slid the device into his jacket pocket. His mind was spinning as he stuffed an empty coffee mug in his desk drawer and made sure there was one package of documents sitting out properly to show he'd been interrupted.

He didn't have time to fucking stage his office, glancing up once just to make sure the curtains were open over his window and allowed the sunlight to pour in and reflect off the white walls. Romano grabbed a random file off the stack of papers and snapped it open in his hand, standing just behind his desk when he heard the door click open.

Don't look up, don't fidget, don't tense up or gasp or hold your breath. He could do this, he just wasn't allowed to panic or lose his head.

"The meeting isn't until tomorrow." He said smoothly, and he made sure he sounded annoyed.

"This isn't about money."

Romano glanced up slowly, and what he saw was open concern and apprehension on Japan's pale face while his dark eyes shifted back and forth between the two taller nations. Romano didn't want to think about why he looked so wary and unsure when he was supposed to be one of the hardest countries to read.

"Look at me, Italy."

He's been getting there, but fine. He looked and he saw nothing that surprised him in the hard line of Prussia's clenched jaw, his white skin burned with a flush over his cheeks that made him seem splotchy and ill-tempered like a child. His red eyes were wide with madness, like he was trying to look through the Italian and figure out what he wanted to know without actually having to ask. Romano didn't know why, but it felt so much easier to keep his own cool when he saw just how violently Prussia was clinging to his.

"Take a seat, gentlemen." And please, God, don't let Romano faint…

Most hated chapter of this entire series, because I killed so much AMAZING content to get it together.

But it's done! And 33 is not, but I got about 1000 words done on that on Friday and I don't think I'll have to do any retroactive editing here to this part. This is a risk you take when I update as I complete chapters (my reserve has officially run dry!), but I may be forced to back-edit small details here and there from now until the end of the story. I'll be sure to flag those changes as I make them (if I make them) and knowing me they'll probably be fairly small details like time and date markers.

Leave a review below, and I'll see you next Sunday!