Evey Reborn, Requiem for a Tower, Fatal Fury, Archangel, Memories, Brotherhood, World So Cold, Vengeance, Vanity, Safe and Sound, None Can Die, Tristan, The Game Has Changed.

Double update? Eek! No! I barely got this one done on time! Working on 34 as we speak!

I'm really really really mad at myself, because I think I hit Prussia with the villain stick. This is one of those chapters that I'm very likely going to go back and re-write at some point before finishing the story, because this is new text that hasn't had time to sit and settle into place. Minor edits to Rossi's speech-tags.

Recovery

Romano Must Die

"Mr. North Italy?" Mm? He still wasn't used to being called that on a regular basis again, but he was just going to have to get over it as he looked up from the computer screen in front of him. It took him a moment to recognize the young woman who usually worked at the desk outside Romano's office, but the worried look she wore registered immediately.

She was holding a file folder in one hand and seemed hesitant to step all the way in to his office. It wasn't him the human was afraid of: he and Romano were in and out of one another's way all day, constantly crossing paths and frequently sending their staff back and forth for little things and fact checking.

"I'm sorry, these just arrived at Mr. South Italy's office. He's busy now but they were flagged by your Swiss counterpart." Switzerland…?

"Thank you." Taking the paper portfolio from her, the human quickly nodded with a smile and ducked out of the room, her shoes clicking on the stone floors as she vanished down the corridor back to her post.

The paper itself was nothing special, but the crest inside was the Swiss coat of arms and beneath that was a flight manifesto, the faxed photocopy bearing Austria's signature. He read several of the names and noticed nothing except that they sounded confused in origin: Germanic, Latin, Arabic, it was too much of a hassle to go through it meticulously. The last page was an e-mail that could have been forged, but the other signatures weren't and Austria's German was as difficult to read as it had been in the 17th century…

To my associate the Swiss Republic,

Miss Hungary was untruthful: they are not in Paris. As the enclosed document shows I fear they left for Rome several hours ahead of us. Please make haste and inform Italy as soon as you receive this message of the events which have transpired. Do whatever you can to convince him that Ja-

Ding. An alert from the computer pulled his eyes off the page for a split-second, and a habitual check over both shoulders and all corners of the bright, if slightly cluttered, office confirmed that he was still safe and alone. Touching the mouse next to him he quickly wheeled the device over and clicked the new e-mail, a slight pain building in his wrist that he ignored in favour of making his left hand perform a task it wasn't comfortable with.

Romano's name was sitting in his inbox and he opened it with a quick click, confused by the single line of text until he actually recognized what it said:

I can't protect you anymore. –R

No. No why would he-?

Pain lanced from his hip up straight under his shoulder as he made himself stand too quickly, gnashing his teeth in frustration with his body's protests as he pulled Austria's e-mail out of the folder and told himself he was only taking the cane in case he fell. The last few meandering lines read:

Do whatever you can to convince him that Japan and Prussia both know of North Italy's paralyzed condition, and that they may already be within the city of Rome. I cannot yet confirm if the Euro-crisis council has been informed but I will have confirmation shortly. I will CC Italy with any information I obtain and forward it to you promptly. Please proceed with haste and caution, Vash, as the situation is already remarkably out of control.

My sincerest regards,

He stopped reading and was already running. The dream would not end like this.

Awful, the only word for it: awful, and awful, and awful. Everything from Miss Hungary's house until here, until now. He couldn't come up with another name or word for it, his language was elaborate and expressive but there just was no single, solitary word for this moment right in front of him.

"Sit down, gentlemen." Italy spoke the words and Japan didn't know how to regard him. Here he stood to blame for the furious nation next to him, at fault for the way Prussia stormed across the sun-lit office with his teeth bare and hands in fists at his sides screaming violence.

What was he supposed to do? Join Prussia? Get between them? Say something? He was an old, old nation, but Japan had no answers for himself. He had seen wars start over smaller issues, he had seen diplomacy triumph over greater obstacles, but all of those had involved nations. What were they supposed to do when all they had to stand on were raw, weak, human emotions?

To be less than yourself and still be expected to act like "yourself", what did that mean?

"Tell me what the hell is going on here." Prussia hissed.

"Sit down-"

"NO!" He boomed, and Japan didn't quake but he felt himself tensing up even more than before, his nails slowly starting to bite into his palms. "You're not controlling this situation, so wipe that fucking sneer off your face and answer me!"

"If I'm not in control, then what are you so upset about?" Italy had been changing himself, modulating his vocabulary, refining his countenance, training himself to be better with the things he'd always hated. Japan had seen changes like his many, many times before, but where were the alterations in Rome to match? Didn't a different skillset require a change in government? Why was a nation who normally flushed up and screamed standing there with such a critical, but still strangely defensive frown on his face? The file in Romano's hand looked like it was wavering, but he snapped it shut before Japan could properly get a read on it.

"Don't play fucking word-games with me, you're shit at it and we both know!"

"Know what?"

WHAM. Japan shouted something but he couldn't beat Prussia's fist, Italy blinking once in shock before the blow connected and sent the other nation reeling, one hand flying to his face to cover his cheek and jaw while the other clawed at the desk behind him looking for something to hold. The papers went sliding across the floor and scattered everywhere, and Japan was torn between rushing into things and staying exactly where he was.

Prussia swooped forward and grabbed the other nation by the throat, snarling something before putting his weight behind slamming the Italian's back into the tall shelves behind the desk. It was excessive and Italy had one hand wrapped around Prussia's wrist, his eyes wide open as his legs kicked wildly and he swore through the pressure at his throat.

"Get your hands off-"

"Don't fucking lie to me!"

It was going too far, they didn't need this kind of force to-

Italy's body lurched as he powered his knee up, Prussia gagging on a hot breath and letting go of him before the smaller nation powered his own fist around to punch straight against the blonde's temple. Nations could hit much harder than humans and Prussia slammed his side into the corner of the desk, jarring the heavy wood before catching himself on the edge without hitting the floor.

"Coward-"

"Get out!" Italy barked, snapping his white jacket straight with both hands before dragging his thumb over his bottom lip, wiping the blood away from his tongue. "If all you're here for is a fist-fight, Prussia, then-"

"I'm here to stop whatever the hell you're planning to do to my brother!" That- that was why they- "I have nations across Europe all telling me the same thing and you-!"

"Get out!"

Prussia lunged again.

In every dream, Romano died.

Every dream, Romano died.

Romano always died in every dream.

Every single time he closed his eyes to escape the blood and the light and the cold and the quiet, every time he fled from the knife and the laugh and those mirror-ball eyes, he woke up to a world where his older brother died.

Romano shouldn't die because he was a nation? It didn't matter. The dream master didn't care.

Sometimes he wasn't a nation at all: sometimes he was human. Sometimes it was Lovino who died, and he always died. And he always did it over and over and over again always in his arms.

Always in his arms.

Always covered in blood.

Always dead.

Always.

Always.

Romano always died.

"General?"

He wasn't ready for a fight, he hadn't been in one for so long that having one come at him unprovoked and wild left his wheels spinning. His body seized up when it was supposed to move, and his mouth tried to speak when he was supposed to just breathe.

So he saw Prussia, but instead of getting out of the way Romano stood his ground, losing his breath as he was tackled. He felt his feet slip off the tile floor before hot pain screamed down his shoulder and back from the metal edge of a filing cabinet, and then they both hit the floor. There was no room to grapple before his vision exploded with red again, his head snapping to the side as he choked on thin blood and felt Prussia's weight crushing his chest.

"Prussia!" Somewhere out of sight he heard Japan's voice, but Romano was too busy pushing his arm up against the shelves looking for anything that would help him. His fingers caught on the edge of a large box while his other hand was up and pressing back against the blonde's face, his heart hammering before he heard himself crying out in pain. "Prussia this is not what we came for, let him go!"

The arm he was defending with was grabbed and twisted, his shoulder following and bending his spine the wrong way while the Prussian remained straddled over his waist and crushing him. He felt his other hand slip from its weak hold without helping him, slamming his elbow on the stone floor as he tried coping with the grip around his wrist and upper arm, begging his shoulder to put itself back in place.

Romano dropped his head and swore, breaths and blood hissing through his teeth as his mouth was overcome by the copper film.

"Play games with me and I'll give you something to scream about, Italienne."

"Fuck yo- aagh!" His arm- his arm! Pain moved like a knife up from his elbow to his shoulder, slicing through the thick muscle down to the bone as the limb was forced further out of place and held like that, Japan's yammering buzzing away behind them.

"I said enough! How are you going to explain this to everyone? Prussia we made a pact now let him go!"

"We made a pact and he fucking broke it!" Romano's arm would break if he didn't- "If you think I'm gonna go easy on the nation who wants to fuck with and break my little brother then-!"

"Germany has nothing to do with this! GetOFF!"

The other two went quiet and for a moment. Romano felt the tension just barely ease off his arm, the pain in his shoulder fading just a little as he tried to flex his fingers slowly, a painful twitch running through the muscles. He tried rolling his twisted body a little more, spat blood on the floor from his swelling jaw, and then-

"Give me your side-arm."

"With all due respe-" NO! Do not question, just obey! "No sir!"

And now he was angry. Now he was furious because it was easier to rage than crumble in the face of the fear. It was easier to stand still and glare with white fury than it was to scream and run from the collapsing dream. His Captain had never failed him and now he stood here in defiance!

"I won't give you a weapon when you're like this, North Italy." Who had told him that? Why had he been told? It hadn't been something for him to know he never should have been allowed to know- "Your brother told me now please stop! What's going on?"

No answer for him, he couldn't waste his time or breath on it as he stormed down the hall again, listening for the footsteps that followed him. He didn't like being followed but it was better this way, he didn't like the white light pouring in from the tall windows that they passed, but he could hear the noise of the city beyond the walls and that had to content him. He expected the details to begin to blur and fade away, he was waiting for everything to collapse into one hallway with one destination and one brutal outcome.

But it didn't work like that. He looked around corners he didn't turn down and he saw them lead where they were supposed to. He passed people and he saw their faces, recognized their features. He heard voices and understood what they were saying, and when the same woman from a few minutes before came rushing back down the hall towards them, he heard her footsteps first and recognized her clothes and hair before she came to an abrupt halt.

Others noticed her too, because she looked terrified.

"Please hurry!" He didn't stop walking and as soon as he was within two paces of her Romano's secretary quickly turned and started hurrying back the way she'd come. He heard the Captain lengthening his strides behind him until he came abreast with him, but he was too focused on listening to the woman speak: "They locked the door from the inside. I didn't think anything of it when they started shouting, but then the sounds all changed and-!"

"When?" How long had they been here? When had they arrived?

"Almost fifteen minutes. I know we aren't supposed to call security when it's between nations so I came back to find-"

"Call security." He didn't know what good the order would do, but he couldn't just not say it. He held his breath and forced his legs to carry him up a shallow flight of stairs, taking them two at a time despite the hand he felt reaching for his arm in case he wavered. He didn't want help. "Call them now."

"Yes sir!" She ducked away from them down another hall as they passed the corner, stepping into a different office to look for a phone. The two of them continued on and he put the pain in his side out of mind, holding his cane in one hand and not letting the other wrap around his gut to try pressing down on the throbbing ache.

Romano's office had once been "their" office: a small series of rooms with space for secretaries and staff to shuffle in and out without running into one another, it had two small private spaces in the back connected by a door for the two halves of Italy, with tall windows that filled the work-spaces with plenty of natural light. His old office was turning into a storage room now, and the plaques on the walls were both gone and replaced with one by Romano's door that held his formal nation name. One name outside one office for one Italy.

"Stand back, sir." The fear was nagging him when they reached those doors, it was forcing itself up to the surface and that's why he stopped instead of pushing forward. The anger was there but it didn't burn him to keep moving and ignore the human's request. He could hear voices on the other side of those doors, low, masculine voices that he hadn't heard in a very long time, voices he'd never wanted to hear again if he was honest with himself. He could feel the fear leaching the warmth out of his arms and causing his lungs to shake and rattle in his chest, and it took every ounce of will he had to keep from unhooking his cane from over his elbow so he could lean on it for strength.

Then it changed. The voices went quiet and the Captain had his hand on the doorknob, that gun he'd refused to surrender still holstered but covered by his other hand. He was just about to force the lock- to shoot it open if he had to, and then everything changed.

He heard Romano scream and everything just changed.

It was a noise in his head it was the light in his eyes. It was the way the pain melted away into something else and his world tilted and twisted on such an angel that he expected everything to crack and collapse with the force. He was moving and he didn't know where, couldn't see anything or plan what he was doing. He stopped thinking, stopped feeling, couldn't focus or comprehend: there was nothing to understand, there was just that sound. It was that sound that changed everything, because in that moment he woke up.

Feliciano woke up with a black cane in his hands and Kiku Honda bleeding at his feet. Bleeding but not dead, alive and awake and staring up at him with one hand on his split scalp, his back against Romano's desk and black eyes filled with some kind of horror.

Horror?

He was scared.

Scared.

"You have no right-" Scared, Kiku Honda was scared of him. Kiku Honda was looking up in fear at him. Japan was afraid of him. "No -damned- right!"

He was in his office, his building, his city, his capital. Within his borders, uninvited, unwanted: assaulting his brother, upsetting his people- how dare he show something he had no right to feel!

Japan did not know fear. Japan did not know pain. Japan did not understand hate he had no right to-

"Up! I said get up!" His captain's voice, because the human was yelling at the nation he hadn't seen yet and would attack if given half a chance. "Get off of him or I'll shoot, that's a promise!"

"Then shoot him!" Feliciano roared, his world still spinning and his lungs clenched tight around the words he wasn't saying, the things he couldn't phrase without ripping himself apart. Feliciano couldn't see through the light, but he could smell the blood. His eyes were filled with white and shadows, everything so overexposed and washed out he felt blinded by the brilliance. His stomach was knots and he knew he was going to scream, he could feel it building, felt it shaking all the way down in his pelvis because there was no way to contain what was happening.

"I- Ital-?" NO!

His eyes were burning and his arms were shaking, his hands clenched so hard around the steel body of the cane that he couldn't let it go. He was holding it upside-down, the hooked end down by his ankles until he heard that name in that voice and it set his world on fire.

He brought the cane's handle around so fast and hard with both arms that he wanted to see blood. He wanted more than the satisfying crack of steel on skin, the way Japan's head snapped sideways wasn't enough and his shocked cry wasn't good enough. He fell to his side and he stayed down, and so help him if he moved Feliciano would beat him to death.

"You watched." He hissed. "You stood and you watched: don't speak!" Watched Romano die. He'd watched and he'd done nothing and so help him Feliciano would rip him apart piece by piece if it meant teaching this world what that meant. The world: not a dream.

This was not a dream.

He would have woken up if this was a dream. He would have opened his eyes to the bright light and the white piano, to the cold air and the far away footsteps. He would have woken up in the music room for the he-didn't-know-how-many'th time and it all would have begun again. But this was not a dream.

Romano would be dead if this was a dream, and if he was dead then he would wake up: he would have woken up.

This was not a dream.

This was not a dream it was real it was happening it was the world it was reality it was his reward for everything!

Reward for the pain, and the fear, and the hate-

"Up! You're under arrest!"

"Stay down, or I'll kill you myself." He could hear footsteps running over one another, arriving out of sync as he kept his attention focused down on Japan. He refused to break eye-contact with someone who had no right to look at him in such a sorry, pleading way. "Lock them both up."

"You can't legally-"

"Don't you dare quote laws with his blood on your hands!" Diplomatic immunity hadn't protected Japan from his attacks, and it wouldn't help the German scum standing with a gun pointed at him either. Feliciano felt men in uniforms moving past him as Japan was grabbed and lifted to his feet, the shorter nation flinching from their touch and shying away from him by several wavering steps. He stopped watching them, staring at the floor where he'd been lying and telling himself not to scream again.

The details were coming back, they were shining through the static buzzing in his skull: the scratches on the cane's body, the weight of his blue uniform over his shoulders and wrapped around his torso. Somewhere below out the window a loud engine roared down the street, and now someone far behind him was asking what was going on.

Nothing was crashing to an end, his eyes were burning from the need to blink or weep: they weren't about to flutter open in a cold white room with silence and florescent light. There was heat in the sun shining through the windows, there was dirt on the floor against the edge of the desk. This was real, all real, because he wasn't dreaming anymore.

Japan stammered his name again, Prussia cussed at him for an explanation, but he just turned and dropped the cane with a loud clatter to the floor. He walked around the desk as the Captain and another human took Prussia by the arms and forced him to walk with them, his order about their arrest repeating itself several times in different voices.

"Get out, everyone out." Out, take them away, no one was allowed to stay behind.

"Veneziano-" No one except his brother, who was on his knees and braced on one hand, head hanging where he'd just started picking himself up. One of their security personnel tried touching him, but Feliciano caught the man's arm and pushed it away.

"Out." He repeated, watching how Romano was shaking and trying to hide it, his white jacket rumpled and pulled half-off his shoulders. He was holding his right arm out, his fingers limp and darker than they should have been. He dabbed at his face a few times with his other sleeve and the cuff came back bloody, matching the wet stain on the floor next to the dented steel filing cabinet.

Romano wasn't ready to stand, and that was okay because he wasn't ready to speak yet either. His throat was starting to hurt, his eyes still burning as he blinked several times and felt himself starting to tilt forward, losing his balance. He pinched his lips shut between his teeth and took another half-step forward, waiting for the last of the voices and the scuffling feet to go away until the office doors clicked shut behind them.

"Romano-"

"I didn't know they were coming." His voice sounded sorry, like he had something to apologize for… "I got a message from Switzerland, but they were already here." This wasn't Romano's fault.

"Look at me?" His world wasn't spinning quite so fast anymore, but it was still tilted, still pulled off balance so it was actually easier for him to get down on one knee than to remain standing. When Romano didn't look at him he reached out with one hand, letting his fingertips touch the back of his brother's neck- he could feel the sweat from the fight and how hot he was under the collar, the tremors still shaking him thanks to the adrenaline and pain. "It… it's my fault."

"Don't say stupid shit!" With his outburst Romano finally made eye-contact, glaring at him with green eyes and a face that was too shaken to frighten him off. There was blood drying under his nose and the right side of his face was going purple, his lip swollen on the left side. He looked terrible, and it made the bad feelings get worse. "I should have called security as soon as I knew who it was, I don't know why I didn't, and this- agh, I can't believe I-"

His brother winced once, and then he did it again, his body folding over itself as he wrapped his arm around his chest and held himself under his right arm, groaning softly. He started shaking again and that, honestly, was more frightening than his anger or his bruises.

"I-Is it broken?" Prussia had broken his arm. Prussia had come in here and broken-

"Dislocated, I think it- ah!" No, stop! Stop moving, don't try to fix it just-

"I'll call a doctor." He would, he'd make himself stand up and find the phone.

"No just- pop it back in?" What? "It's not broken, just help me." No, he didn't want to. Popping it back in would just hurt more. "And then it'll fucking stop hurting. A doctor will just do the same thing- Veneziano I lost a fight but I'm not a wimp!"

"No, but maybe I am…" Romano looked at him again, mouth open and brows slanted and lots of angry things bubbling up for him to say- but then instead of saying it, he swallowed the mean words and clenched his teeth instead. It looked like he was fighting for every inch, but Feliciano honestly didn't know if his brother wanted to stay angry, or to hide it as his expression slowly softened.

"Please help me." Oh God he couldn't refuse now… But he couldn't stop his hands from shaking either as he moved around behind his brother. Feliciano placed one hand on his back, the other barely touching Romano's shoulder before he hissed from the pain. They both knew what this kind of injury was like, and some part of him that wasn't falling apart told him he was over-reacting and that it was better to deal with this as soon as possible, but that didn't make it any easier.

"On three: one."

"Two-" Push!

"Aaaaah!" It wasn't the same sound as before: it wasn't that world ending scream, not something fueled as much by fear as by pain. The sound Romano made this time was frustrated and hurting, but the fear was gone, and he wasn't angry. He was loud but it was over in the time it took his body to shift and lock up under his pressing hands. It was a nauseous feeling, he could practically hear the bones shifting before Romano regained control of his arm, snapping his elbow closed and pinning the limb against his body. His brother ducked his head again and released a slow, shuddering breath, and it was just too much after what he'd already gone through.

"I'm sorry…" Feliciano whispered, because he meant it and this was too much. Romano shouldn't have had to put up with things like this, he should have been better protected, he should have been kept safe. "I'm sorry- I'm sorry I should have come sooner, or put my office closer, I'm sorry-"

"Your office should be on the other side of that door." It should, Romano was right, he couldn't even remember why he was in another building to begin with, he- "But I won't let assholes like that barge in and hurt you, either."

Romano slowly shuffled on his knees and turned around. He was dabbing at the blood on his face again, most of it dry now as he winced a little every time he brushed his fingers too close to his nose. His bruises were getting darker and the swelling was getting worse, and that made all the hurt and angry things he was feeling kick a little bit harder to get out. He could feel the tears starting to leak from his eyes and knew he was starting to take deeper breaths, but he couldn't calm down or make it stop. Romano looked so sorry, and that just fed the guilt.

"I can handle this, Veneziano. It, it was scary and it hurt, but it's better if they come after me than-"

"I won't let them!" No, they'd had this discussion before and he knew he'd agreed then, but this was different, it was all completely different. Romano's expression changed from something calm to something shocked, but that didn't change what he finally had to say: "Just because that Thing hurt me doesn't mean they get to hurt you! It doesn't work that way and I won't let it!"

"Vene-"

"No!" He'd never said it before, he'd never mentioned it, never been explicit because it was like the devil: if he mentioned the dream master then that would just call its attention to him. But this wasn't a dream and he had no reason to fear that anymore, because this had never happened in any dream. His consciousness couldn't handle seeing it and keep living in any fantasy he or the Monster had ever concocted: he couldn't watch Romano bleed. After the only loop his brother had suffered in, the only time he'd bled out and died in that dark library between the book-cases, he couldn't handle watching him bleed.

He'd woken up too many times still covered in that blood… He didn't care how many times he'd cried about it, he didn't care that that was what was happening again right now, none of that mattered. None of the dreams meant anything anymore.

"I'm awake…" He was Feliciano Vargas, he was the man who'd escaped across time instead of back to the beginning again. He'd let North Italy die in a cursed house and then broken his friends out with a gun and black magic. He'd stayed behind with the monster and he'd been tortured, something he'd feared might happen but hadn't known for sure, something that had happened and he hadn't been able to stop it or get away.

He'd lost himself in dreams until finally one of them ended with gunfire and explosions under a blustery grey sky. He'd lost himself again and he'd woken up to screams and crumbled debris. He'd lost himself again and hadn't known his family was around him until someone tried taking them away. He hadn't known that any of this was real until the impossible was in front of him and it meant he had to be a body standing in space because a figment trapped in a dream would have collapsed and fled to any reality to escape it.

He would have rather gone back to Holy Rome than watched his brother die again…

So when he wrapped his arms around his other half he refused to let him go. Feliciano Vargas who had regained his place as the representative of North Italy would not let his brother the South go. He knew Romano's shoulders and back were hurting, he knew his entire body was hurting, that he was bruised and had bled and was sweaty and tired and upset, but he wouldn't let him go. The last time he'd let go he'd had to watch blood squirt from a slash across Romano's throat, because the last time he'd been close enough to bury his face in his brother's arms and hide all the tears against his skin he'd been torn away and damaged like everything else.

"Tell me I'm awake-" He had to plead, he couldn't make it a request or a laugh, he couldn't find one shred of joy as he clung to his brother's back and felt himself sobbing so hard it made his whole tired, worn-out, poisoned body hurt. "Tell me, please just say it-" They never argued with him about it, they didn't want to upset him: Romano didn't want to lose his temper, Vatican didn't know how to talk him through it, Seborga looked haunted and hurt, San Marino changed the subject every time. "Tell me it's over."

"It's over-" Romano gasped, and it might have been the first breath he took with his arms wrapped so tight around him, but he felt his brother reach around and clasp his body tight, crossing his arms over his back and squeezing the tears right out of him. "Oh my God: it's over, Feliciano it's over…"

"Tell me it's dead."

"It's dead, I promise." Romano's hands just kept clawing at his back, looking for a fold in his clothes or the bend of his shoulders to hold on to. "They cut that creature to pieces and they burned it."

"That house-" Romano was kissing him and the tears would not stop.

"Rubble." He whispered, not pulling back but kissing his cheek again and again, one hand stroking his head and brushing back his hair. "Rubble Switzerland dragged and dumped into a deep, fast-moving river: a river that won't dry up in summer, so the clean water will always run over it. And he burned every blade of grass, chopped down every tree, toppled all the pillars: he salted the ground and Papa cursed it: it's gone."

"I'm awake…"

"You got up before me this morning."

He had one more question but he couldn't ask it. He wanted to hear the answer but if he did it would be a lie, or it would be a truth that would hurt too much and leave him too tired after too much hurt and pain and-

"You're safe now." So Romano breathed the words instead, he skipped the part where Feliciano had to ask and he just answered without hesitating. He was holding him so tight the tears were starting to come from pain, but neither one of them would let go, they just couldn't. "You're safe. That thing will never come near you again; it will never hurt you again. The only things we have left to worry about now are human issues: just the things we were born to deal with, and we can do that." He closed his eyes and just let Romano keep talking, leaning all of his weight into him and letting his brother sooth him with strong arms and warm words. He was rocking them both back and forth, and it didn't feel weak to feel good… it wasn't wrong to feel safe.

"We can do this… You're home and we're going to help each other, alright?"

"I-l won't let them hurt you!" He sobbed again, his face hot and wet where he was still gasping down into Romano's shoulder. "I won't! I won't- It's my turn and I won't let anyone-"

"Shh, it's okay…"

"No!"

"Shh…" And another kiss touched his face, but it didn't feel like being told to shut up or stop talking. It felt like comfort and strength and all the little things he'd needed for so long but had been too scared to take. Romano's hand brushed back through his hair again and he just kept his head down, making himself take slower, deeper breaths as he gently started to relax his arms. It was starting to hurt to keep them so tense, and he knew it was hurting his brother to be squeezed like that.

"Come on, help me up…" They pulled apart slowly, and it was hard for either one to offer too much help to the other. Romano was still shaking from his assault, and Feli- and Veneziano was still weak from everything else. But eventually they were standing, and Romano touched his bruised face again with one hand, wincing as he looked around the messy, damaged office upset by the fighting. He started answering questions Veneziano'd forgotten he wanted to ask.

"Spain told them." So that was what Austria's e-mail had meant… "I don't think Germany knows, so we can't let Prussia go until after the meeting tomorrow…"

"Austria is with the council members." Germany, England, France. "Switzerland is on his way here to see you."

"I need to change…" He needed to ice his bruises too. "Yeah, I'll do that, I just..." Romano closed his eyes for a moment in a slow blink, leaning over a little until he caught himself with one hand on the shelf next to them. Veneziano was there to help steady him, one hand on his arm and the other under his shoulder to make sure he didn't fall.

"We'll be okay?" He asked softly, because it was hard not to be a little afraid. Romano just smiled and made himself open one eye again, his beaten face still bloody and his teeth stained red when he tried to speak.

"We're gonna be just fine, little brother, I promise."

Part of America really wanted to just keep hiding in South Italy for a few more weeks, at least until the final decision on the European Union's Bail-Out was announced for the nation, but he had to leave.

His President had managed to personally offend every Italian-American of Southern origin, regardless of when their families had actually passed from Romano's care and into his or where they'd actually originated. Calling illegal Mexican immigrants "this century's Sicilians" and letting those words willingly conflate with gang violence and organized crime was, as far as America was concerned, a one-way ticket out of Italy. He'd much rather bow out of Italy's house with his tail between his legs than let Romano turn on his television and come storming down to Naples to throw his ass out the door.

He'd travelled light to Italy and he left with barely more than he'd come with. A bottle of olive-oil he didn't import, a few books he'd bought to patch up his Italian, a couple trinkets and then just his clothes, laptop and phone. He felt like a guilty child heading home with a bad report card, not a proud nation returning to his people to right the wrongs and fight the good fight. The plane ride was long and miserable, not even chatting to the young American couple seated next to him did much to brighten his spirits.

Not when they mentioned student riots in Kentucky or the way unemployment was creeping up point by point in Massachusetts. Four Congressmen had already resigned in the last three months to protest blunders and foul comments from the White House, but the people he spoke to only knew this because he worked for a small political news website, independent of the corporate papers or broadcasters.

"Name a station and I guarantee they aren't talking about it, but punch the Congressmen's names into a search engine and you'll find everything you ever cared to know." It was becoming steadily more about proactively searching for your own news. It really felt like there was no way to trust what was flashing on the screen or blaring across the airways anymore… "Here, I'll write their names down for you again."

"Thanks, guy, I appreciate it." And he really did, it just really hurt to have to hear all of this.

But it didn't hurt as much as going through customs to get back into his own administrative domain. Airports had that funny way of making a nation feel a little off-kilter. You weren't really in your realm, but you weren't in somebody else's either, and without his special government pass he had to stand in line just like everyone else. He had to give over the blue slip of paper with that bottle of olive oil declared on it, then hand over his passport for a quick scan.

The computer made a noise and the customs agent pressed a few buttons. The man in the security uniform didn't look upset or confused so America just waited patiently, exhausted from the long flight and longing to just get on the road home to his New York apartment. It would be a bit of a drive, but there was a rental car waiting and- why did the computer keep making that beeping sound?

"Dude, is there a problem?" He wanted his passport back, it was a human instinct to take back what was his, but the officer was holding it tight in one hand, worrying his bottom lip a little as he stared at whatever was on the screen. He took two breaths and suddenly looked and felt uncomfortable.

"Sir?" Hm? "Mr. America?" The human behind the plexiglass said his name quietly and then glanced around over his shoulder, looking for something before his eyes quickly locked on him again. America wanted to turn and look, but instead he watched the man mouth 'Run!' under his breath?

"My passport-" He grunted, and then he felt a firm hand come down on his shoulder, its mate wrapped around his arm just above his wrist. The custom's officer looked back down at his keyboard and didn't say anything. America wanted to ask what was happening, but he couldn't. He could have broken away because even if the human tried to put a hold on him, he was stronger.

He just didn't.

"Welcome home, Mister Jones." And he didn't understand why this was happening. He was America: he couldn't be treated like this. "If you'll just come this way please? And leave the bag: there's someone who needs to speak with you immediately."

"Do you know who I am?" He was staring at that passport, the one a second CIA agent collected from the man in the booth.

"We know exactly who and what you are, sir." Alright, so long as they got that part straight then he didn't mind turning around until he made eye-contact with the strong-armed, grizzly-faced special agent who was trying to smile his way through an arrest.

"Then get your hands off of me, and take me to my Commander and Chief."

I keep re-reading it and I don't… think I did a good job with Feli's dream issue? It's so hard to use the crazy character to explain what it was that drove him insane, like it's something I really didn't think through very well and I have had no way to sensibly fix or change it since like chapter 18.

I would recommend re-reading chapters where Feli thought about or dealt with dreams "Safe and Sound", "Trigger", "Jagged Little Moments", this one etc, because some of you are really clever and are quite good at guessing at what I'm thinking. But on the other hand this series is almost 300k words long and one of my flaws is an author is never knowing when to tell instead of just showing what the confused character is barely seeing.

Give it a re-read and please, PLEASE, leave some feedback? If you're confused, which I expect most people probably are, please let me know so I can come in and fix it here and answer questions properly. With the tight schedule I've given myself to finish this story I can't guarantee I can slot another conversation about sleep and dreams comfortably into things. Maybe I can, but as of tonight I'm still working through the start of chapter 34, so I just don't know yet.

So please review, and I'll try to see you guys again on Sunday with another chapter!