Whole Playlist, From Within, The World Is Not Enough, Skyfall, Unfinished Life, Vengeance, Not Nice, None Can Die, No Turning Back, Epica.

Aaaaaagh, two weeks to produce a chapter that's twice as long as normal! I kept going on about "done by 35", and yet I still have too much content. As a means of getting this thing done faster I'm going to keep the chapter length closer to what you see here, between 8-10k, and hopefully hopefully hopefully finish without cutting off plots and throwing far too much character development away (lookin' at you, Alfred).

Special thanks to Kitchen for proofreading for me again. I finished Romano's speech this time, yay!

Recovery

Twelve-Hundred Pages

Switzerland arrived late that afternoon and was shocked to see him answer the door. Frankly, Veneziano found it liberating to hear the doorbell again and for once not have to panic. He was awake, and now that the crisis was coming to an end he could finally think of something beyond the pain.

"You… you look a lot better. I'm glad." And Switzerland looked awkward standing outside their front door when he answered the bell. "But you look worried: I'm too late aren't I?"

"Please come inside. Have you had dinner?" Of course they'd come home after what had happened at work: his brother needed to clean up and let someone take care of the mess in his office, and Veneziano had needed to go someplace calm so he could think through what was happening. He had to put the dreams and the monsters out of his mind right now, he had to think about what their boss was going to tell Japan and Germany's bosses about holding two nations in custody.

Japan and Prussia were not sitting in holding cells somewhere in Rome, his Captain had interpreted the orders much differently and instead their so-called "friends" had been placed under house arrest. They were being kept comfortably at the Presidential residence and held under constant surveillance. Both of them would be released tomorrow after the meeting with France and the others. They hadn't discussed it very much yet, but Veneziano was still holding his breath hoping Romano would let him talk to Japan instead of making him face… him.

"That idiot!" Was the first thing Switzerland said when he saw Romano sitting at their kitchen table with a bag of ice held against his face. What was confusing was the way the blonde spun around to look at him quickly before flashing back to Romano, his expression unreadable before he gestured back at him with one hand. "Can I shout in front of him? Is that okay?"

"Uuh…" They shared a look around Switzerland's head and Romano just let his hand flop back and forth dismissively. He was sitting in front of several scattered portfolios and documents, working from home trying to iron out the financial business he'd been prepping for tomorrow. "Do what you want, he's fine." Well, he'd certainly never liked shouting but-

"That short-tempered brat!" Switzerland fired off again, "I don't know what the hell Japan was thinking, letting Prussia know first and not talking to anyone else! Of all the stupid things to do- couldn't he have at least gone to fucking Canada, or maybe even you? Someone without a temper, or who knew what the fuck was going on!"

"Okay, how do you know about this?" Romano closed his eyes, his words slurred by the way the ice had numbed the side of his face trying to bring the swelling down. He looked exhausted while Veneziano hovered right by their guest, watching both of them closely in case this was too much for him right now. Romano had been through a lot today, and today wasn't over yet.

"Hungary called Austria and I to Budapest and broke the news there-" Hungary? "And then she lied to us about where they were going!" Maybe Switzerland should sit down, in fact Veneziano insisted and then turned to go make some coffee- although maybe tea would have been better for the agitated blonde. "I only came here as a precaution, Austria was supposed to deal with things in Paris!"

"Even if Germany knows, it won't change anything." He stopped with his hand on the faucet, and he knew as soon as he glanced in Romano's direction that- "Don't give me that face! Germany's not some kid who's gonna walk away from helping us just because I didn't tell him about you sooner. For one, it's fucking good-sense to help us out, and two: you're not fucking dead anymore!"

"If you keep yelling your jaw will swell again." It was better than having this argument again, although with Romano's condition they hadn't really argued so much as just gone back and forth several times on the issue. If Germany knew, then could he really trust him not to act the way Prussia had? But if he didn't then how could Veneziano just walk into the meeting and take part like nothing had happened? They weren't here yet, the delegates would arrive tomorrow morning for the meetings in the afternoon, but they still hadn't decided what to do…

Veneziano just looked back down at the coffee pot in his hands, filling it again with water before carrying it back over to the machine. He couldn't see Switzerland's reaction as he started measuring and prepping for the different steps, but he heard their guest take a quiet breath.

"… How long can you two keep going without this Bail-Out?"

"Why?" Romano was quick on that point. "It's been well over a year since we started this process. I know everything was thrown off by the earthquake, but-"

"Italy, please just answer the question." They were both Italy, but Romano was the one handling the politics now. He was the one the rest of the world would see first from this point on because the balance between them had shifted.

"Not long." Things were different, and Veneziano was okay with that. "His infrastructure is still shot and our industries are in distress. Why? You're not part of the union."

"No, but I'm part of the World Bank." They were all part of that organization though, it was nothing to say- "And I know that England has already submitted an application on your behalf for an assessment."

Veneziano stopped fussing over the coffee and placed his hands on the counter in front of the machine, staring up through the window looking out into the shared courtyard that stylized the former villa. He had to just stand there for a moment and process what he'd just heard, the same way Romano stayed quiet and didn't say anything. They were both thinking it, but he waited for his older brother to speak up first.

"The World Bank… exists for the elimination of poverty." That was right, if Veneziano thought hard enough he could remember back to the founding of the bank, so there was no way to rationalize this. "Even if we fall into a revolution, the World Bank can't help us."

"England seems to think it can." Or he thought nothing else would. But they wouldn't need the World Bank if the European Union was willing to-

"Veneziano's the one who applied to the EU for aid in the first place," Romano pointed out, saving him the effort of saying it himself. "This effort came long before what happened last year, or last November, there is no way-"

"Italy: if Europe and the World Bank won't help you, how long do you have to find a new sponsor?" Oh no, he could feel it bubbling up again: not exactly anger, but nothing good either, something hot that unsettled his stomach. Veneziano walked back over to the table where his brother had thrown down his pen and was holding his forehead in his hands to avoid touching his tender face. He watched how Switzerland was leaning over in his seat trying to speak calmly, and as uncomfortable as the anger boiling up in his gut was, he touched Romano's shoulder and tried to speak:

"Alfred?" Romano's head shot up at the name, but he had his eyes pinched closed and his skin was flushed with something Veneziano didn't recognize. His brother took a deep breath and gasped his next words.

"America's President will veto anything that takes one American dollar out of their domestic economy." He was struggling with himself and shook his head, but he didn't pull away from Veneziano's hand. "If he could build a wall along the Atlantic then he'd do it. Alfred's been hiding here for two months just trying to stay away from him." Yes, he knew about-

"What?" Romano brought his wrist up over his mouth, holding his other hand up to stop Switzerland from asking any more questions.

"America was here, but he went home yesterday so it's not worth bringing up. I only know part of what's going on with Washington: he didn't wanna talk about it." Switzerland didn't look convinced by any of this, but Veneziano didn't hold that unease against him. It bothered him to hear, or even to not hear what was going on with America. Someone as strong and wealthy as him should have been able to at least talk about what his boss was planning for the future. The world had been directly influenced by him for nearly a century, and over the last two decades America had dominated nearly every discussion he'd taken even half-measures to get involved with.

It was one thing for North Italy to cede control of their international affairs to his brother. Their arrangement was mutually beneficial, it was defensive, it gave them both a way of continuing to cope and move on with taking care of their domestic problems.

It was something else for the loudest voice on the world stage to choke and cut himself off. It was frightening whenever a powerful empire stopped eroding and began to actively collapse around you. Was that what all of this was?

"That doesn't change the fact that you need help, and after Europe America is your best bet." Romano was already shaking his head again at the suggestion, but this time Veneziano was able to come up with something to contribute:

"We've had an offer." An offer outside of Europe, and maybe it hadn't been sincere at the time, but there was still a chance for them. Looking down at his brother again, he knew Romano wouldn't want to discuss this in front of Switzerland, but it was important. "You said he wanted to make a deal."

"I don't trust him," Romano's voice was soft, but he said the words quickly, whispering them past his fingers. "I trust our friends in the EU."

The table went very quiet. Veneziano didn't want to say too much in front of Switzerland, Romano didn't want to hear anymore misgivings, and Switzerland probably didn't know whether he should get involved and crack the issue wide open.

"I…" All of that just made the silence uncomfortable, so when Switzerland decided to break it for them the brothers just looked up quietly. The stress of travel and politics made him look washed out at their kitchen table, the coffee forgotten and Switzerland's phone turning itself over and over again under his palm. "I think I should go call Austria. He'll probably want to be given a seat at your meeting tomorrow, but I'm not sure."

"That depends on what the others know." Romano answered quietly. He was rubbing his forehead and looking down at the paperwork scattered in front of him, and Veneziano still hadn't moved his hand off his brother's back. "And what we decide." Which meant having to discuss something Veneziano still didn't want to talk about…

"I'll go call Austria."

Switzerland left.

Veneziano sat down.

Spain was anxious and fidgeting to get through customs and make his way into Rome properly. He hadn't been able to charter a private flight from his own territory here to Italy, and getting a seat on the commercial jet-liner had put him a day behind all the chaos he knew was unfolding in Rome.

Japan had finally contacted him last night, but he'd only had a few moments to tell Spain what had happened before the connection was terminated. Of all people, Japan had gone toPrussia, and the rest had just been for Spain to figure out on his own. It was all bad though, there was no way he could tell himself otherwise, and instead of running to France or Germany he'd known he was better off coming to find Japan. If everyone who knew could gather in one place, then it would make it easier for them to break things down and explain it to those who didn't.

This was the kind of situation he'd been so worried about preventing, but he was barely through security before he heard a low tone pulsing through the air. The arrival bay was crowded, multiple languages calling out and mixing together as families and associates met and mingled in the decorated space. Spain only had his laptop bag and one wheeling suitcase with him, flipping back and forth through the documents in his hand looking for the nearest taxi exit.

When a man in a security vest stepped in front of him, the Kingdom of Spain tried to scoot around him. When another officer appeared he stopped short, confused by the lack of hostility around him but the very obvious attention.

"Mister Carriedo?" When he heard a name no human beyond his borders was supposed to know, Spain swallowed hard and let his suitcase stand straight, turning slowly with his eyes on the ceiling until he found a black camera resting between the ceiling panels.

Between cameras, flight manifestos, and flags on passports and digital documents, it only made sense.

"Which Vargas wants to see me?" But it still hurt knowing Lovino would flag his identity and stop him like this.

"The younger, sir." And then the hurting got worse.

They'd known it would be difficult.

"And what is this, exactly?"

They'd known it would be painful.

"That is our final decision as the European Union."

They had known for the last two weeks running up to this meeting what it would be an agonizing experience, one that would drag their collective names through the ethical mud, but it had to be done. This was the only way they could move forward as a functioning political body.

"This's at least a thousand pages."

"One thousand two hundred and forty eight, I believe?" England didn't want to ask Germany for the number, or to check if his guess was on the mark. In fact, he didn't even want to be caught looking across the table at the younger nation any more than he wanted to keep sitting here under the scrutinizing eye of the eldest one in front of them.

As little as one year ago Italy Romano had hardly been someone any of them would have considered intimidating. Now everything was different, and as the Republic of Italy thumbed the heavy stack of pages in front of him, England wanted to run away.

"Spoil it for me." Italy stated. He was sitting at the head of the boardroom table, his flag standing in a post directly behind him next to the dark blue of the European Union. The French, Germany, British and Austrian flags were standing in the four corners of the closed off, airless chamber deep in the bowels of an Italian administrative building. England couldn't even remember where they were in Rome exactly, because it didn't matter.

Italy was dressed up in a flawless white suit that, regardless of his political reality as the weakest nation here, kept reminding England of exactly whose house this was. His skin was a little dark around his jaw but it wasn't something England could spend much time examining, not with all of this tension in the air. His dark hair hadn't added anymore greys to it since they'd last seen each other a few weeks ago in London, and his green eyes didn't seem quite as sleepless, but now he was rubbing his upper lip with one dark finger and it was giving England hives.

He knew. He knew he knew he knew, either he'd known when the four of them arrived that morning, or he'd put it together right now at the sight of the documentation. Italy knew.

"Spoil what?" Italy knew and England didn't understand why Germany was dragging this out.

"The ending." Why did Germany want to make them sit in this awful room and go through this conversation piece by piece? Why couldn't they have announced it openly that the EU couldn't finance the Italian government? Why couldn't they have been brief about it, gotten it out of the way quickly in a corner of the hall before coming in here? Why did Germany want to do it this way? "I'll read it, but unless you want to sit here and watch me go through it you might want to answer the question."

England needed air, he could feel himself getting hot under the collar and it was taking centuries of proper training and behaviour to keep his hands from creeping up to his tie to loosen it. To his left, Austria was silent and staring at the table, across from him were France and Germany, and the latter was the one their host was addressing.

Germany had aged over the last year, just not as much as Italy. While the southerner had darkened and toughened up Germany's face had slowly begun to shed what remained of his full cheeks and the final dredges of baby fat around his jaw and throat. He hadn't dried up the way Italy's weather-worn and sun-cured skin had. Instead, Germany sat at the table now with an incredible hardness that seemed just as impenetrable from the outside as it was unshakable on the inside. His economy had slowed and was under stress, but it was still keeping him healthier than his counterpart: no age spots or grey hairs, no wrinkles around the eyes or creasing his lips. He seemed even larger and stronger now than he'd ever been before, like the deep green panels of his suit could barely contain him.

"What did you need twelve hundred pages to say?" Italy was blunt, but his voice was tame.

"No." Germany's was hostile, and England just wanted to take a deep breath so he could calm down. They only had to get over this one obstacle and then- "Our answer is a resounding no, and your government should not concern itself with submitting a second application at any point in the foreseeable future."

Oh-

"That's not quite what we discussed." France broke in quickly, leaning forward in his seat so he could be seen around Germany's wide shoulder. England's eye flashed between France and Italy, and he understood that Germany was still holding the host-nation's gaze and refused to surrender it. "The refusal stands, but-"

"-as long as you continue to mismanage your resources, any financial investment in your domain is guaranteed to fail." England felt his hackles rise as Germany put the issue bluntly, a chilling sensation running back and forth over his shoulders and sliding up under his hair.

"Mismanage." England's suit jacket felt like it was tightening around him for no reason as Italy repeated the word, and he just stared straight at Germany from across the table. Yes, that was exactly their reason for refusing to invest, but that was not how he should have said it! "Mistakes have been made, but I've been explicit throughout these negotiations about where and what the problems are." England's heart was beating too hard in his chest, not too fast, just too hard. "I've held open correspondences with each of you, and-"

"And despite our best advice-" Oh, Germany, stop- "-you have consistently dragged your situation from one sorry state to the next, and now have the audacity to expect others to pick you up and carry you to safety."

"Better I keep dragging on than just give up." Italy's green eyes were open and staring as if the rest of them weren't even there, one hand still frozen on the documentation in front of him, his body strangely relaxed in his seat. He spoke without raising his voice, but England mentally filled in the 'you piece of shit' that was supposed to go at the end.

He found France staring at him for a moment, but before they could communicate anything across the gap Germany was already making things worse:

"Who's to say you haven't?" England held his breath, forming the words he wanted to say in his mind and- "Your own reports raise suspicions about corruption here in Rome. If you can't even keep your capital clean then why should we assume you're even interested in stopping them?"

"That's uncalled for!" England found his voice and stood up with it, absolutely refusing to let this discussion go any further. "We all know there are issues with security in Rome and holes in the bureaucracy, but to go so far when we have so much to get through today I-!"

"No, I think we're done." Italy interrupted this time, frozen in the same position as before, the pad of his thumb stroking the corner of the refusal package. He spoke in such a low tone that England had to stop just to make sure it was really him. It took a moment to recognize that Italy was taking slower, deeper breaths than someone who could be at ease, and that he absolutely refused to blink, but Italy was still calm in front of them. "Unless you'd like to repeat yourself, Germany?"

Calm being a relative term.

"I'll go one further-"

"And I won't hear of it!" France made a grab for Germany's shoulder and England was biting his tongue in Italy's direction, anger licking at him as he realized he didn't know who to focus on: they were both being hostile.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" France was speaking quickly and under his breath, but he was just as wound up as England and it was too easy to hear him hissing through his own language. "I know you said you didn't want to come here but picking a fight is unacceptable!"

"Italy," So England picked up the slack so they couldn't all just listen to France's lecture. He had to wait for their host to actually look up at him, but then used honesty to make sure the eye-contact didn't break: "We cannot, honestly, afford the aid you require after the damage you sustained last November, and the parts we can afford can't be trusted in your government's hands right now."

"But-" Oh, and England threw that 'but' out quickly, watching Italy regard him with a neutral face and clear eyes that- "But none of us are about to forget the deep personal debt we all still owe you." Even if it had been his brother who had suffered directly for them, that Italy's death had become this Italy's burden. Everything their combined ignorance had caused had ultimately fallen on one nation's shoulders, so even if they couldn't give him the impossible they could still help.

"Sit down, England." Italy spoke slowly, obviously thinking about the words before he used them and gestured with one hand for him to take his seat again. When Italy's eyes slid past England for a moment, it was strange. "Austria, do they know?"

England had nearly forgotten that Austria was even in the room. His presence over the last few days had been confusing at best: he wouldn't say why he'd appeared in such a hurry from Vienna and had little to contribute to their business beyond acting as another pair of eyes and hands to compile the documents. He'd vanished repeatedly to make extended phone-calls that he wouldn't explain to anybody, and had been keeping a close eye on everyone else's correspondences. Now Austria cleared his throat softly from his place further down the table, and he seemed wary of speaking.

"No." Wait, what didn't they know? "I am as mystified by this as you are, as well as disappointed."

"I'm not mystified." Austria was rebuked and England took another closer look at their host, the chatter across the table dying down as France and Germany silently latched onto the new topic. Italy sat up in his chair and then laced his fingers together, resting his elbows on the table before allowing his hands to rest down on the dark wood. "But thank you for keeping your word. Switzerland is through those doors if you would like to speak with him."

"Why it Switzerland here?" Germany asked what the rest of them, save Austria, were thinking. With a slow scuffle of feet the uninvited nation slowly stood up, Austria nodding briefly to the table and doing so again respectfully in Italy's direction. Italy didn't answer the question until the door clicked shut behind Austria's back, and even Germany held his tongue waiting for the silence to break.

"Switzerland is here because he warned me not to rely you." England didn't know if that sounded like a lie or a perfect summation of Switzerland's views on Europe. "Austria just left because this is going to be awkward enough and I don't need to make him sit through it: I already trust him, and Switzerland can explain things to him better than I can."

"Explain what things?" France sounded hesitant, and when Italy looked straight at him without fidgeting or exposing any nerves, it felt like a warning. Italy took a slow, deep breath and then spoke:

"New legislation to deal with our internal corruption has been in the drafting and planning stages for the last four months." Four months? That put plans as far back as February- "Starting tomorrow, those new laws will be presented to our government for consideration." 'Our' Government?

Italy took another breath, but he didn't pause before looking up and meeting all three of them firmly in the eye one after the other. His voice wasn't quiet anymore.

"What I am about to say is completely off the record, and I am only saying it because I share a border with two of you and we all have extended economic ties." England was starting to find it hard to breathe… "If our administration fails to adopt these new regulations in a timely matter, if at all thanks to our suspicions of corruption-" The way Italy locked eyes with Germany could have peeled paint off a wall. "Then that, combined with my failure to secure economic aid will bring down the government."

"You…" England didn't like the quiver in his throat and swallowed quickly, giving it another go when he knew he could actually manage both the words and a smile. "You mean a vote of non-confidence, yes? Or an impeachment?" Italy was just saying he'd call a new election and change his Head of State. That was all any of this meant so- so why did he have such a vacant look in his eyes when England caught his gaze? He didn't even try to smile or scowl at him, he was just blank.

"So this is your solution?" Germany hissed, and neither France or England tried to stop him this time. "Instead of fixing anything, you really are just going to quit?"

"I made a deal with my brother and I failed to keep my end of it, so now we do it his way." England didn't have to look at the others, he could hear the speechless questions and they only grew louder as Italy stood up and wrapped his hands around the brick-like binder sitting in front of him. "I'm not giving up anything you didn't just spend twelve hundred pages saying we can't count on."

"Stop pluralizing!" France choked, and while England felt his ears start ringing he saw Germany clenching his teeth and grinding them together. We? Our? Us? What was he talking about?

"Why?" Italy asked, as if it wasn't such a damning thing to admit. He hefted the paperwork up under his arm and then reached for something at his wrist. It took him a moment to unhook whatever it was inside the cuff, but then he pulled out a black length of wire and a tiny little… transmitter? It- that was a microphone!

"You recorded this off the record conversation?" England knew his voice went shrill, but he didn't bring it down as Italy just left the plastic and wire on the table like it was nothing.

"He needed to hear what you had to say, but he didn't want to just show up at the table." He? Italy was up and moving around the table, walking straight for the door as he spoke quickly and without looking at any of them. "You can either go meet him at the south wing exit with Prussia and Japan, or you can leave the way you came in through the main doors on the east side." It was too much information and now England's stomach was clenching and hurting terribly in his gut. Italy was not saying what this sounded like…

"Why is Prussia here?" Germany stumbled over the question, England's head was spinning and he didn't know if he could stomach asking why Japan had come to Rome along with Switzerland and Austria.

Germany's question stopped Italy with his hand on the door, but not for long. He dropped his head only for a moment, sucking in a deep breath before looking up again and speaking.

"Because where you used words, he used violence." Why did Italy have to give such a cryptic answer? "So let me be clear about one thing, Germany. If you ever suspect, or allude, or out-right accuse me of consorting the Mafia or any other criminal organization operating within my borders or internationally ever again: I will have you personally barred from entering the city of Rome, and I will use my brother to keep you out." Oh god no…

"His ghost doesn't have that kind of strength." Germany was whispering, his volume lost as England looked at him and saw the way all of that uncompromising strength was beginning to rapidly wither inside of him. He wasn't looking older per-say, just smaller. When Italy looked back over his shoulder, England brought a hand up over his mouth and just held himself like that.

"Who said anything about ghosts?" How… How dare Romano stand there and say something like that without even pretending to care that he was hurting them? "The south exit, he's already there so don't keep him waiting."

The door swung open and South Italy swept out. England just stared through the open doorframe, and after a moment he identified the harsh wheezing noise as coming from France.

Looking across the table at one of his closest friends, France's blonde head was bowed, the unopened portfolio he'd brought with him trapped under his wrist. He was raking his fingernails back and forth over the thick paper, rocking back and forth slightly in his seat, and by the time England stood up and started hurrying around the table to reach him France looked up and spoke.

"What did we just do?" France was gasping, his blue eyes touched with red where he was struggling not to shed tears. He looked up at England as he set a hand on his trembling shoulder, but then locked his jaws and turned to look at Germany. "You! What the hell did you convince us to do?"

"France, stop." England had let Germany and South Italy turn on one another, but he got his hands on both of France's shoulders and forced him to turn around again, digging his fingers into the thick blue wool making up his suit. "Stop! Whatever you say now you'll regret later, so just-"

"Regret? Regret!" Germany wasn't saying anything, he was staring dumbfounded at the table and was no closer to picking himself up than he had been before South Italy's final statement. France on the other hand was wide-eyed and starting to shake from rage and hysteria. "I'll tell you what I regret- I regret listening to you, Germany! This entire time! Every god-damned meeting since December and you're the one we've let control everything!"

"Yes, but stop now!" France's chair didn't have wheels or a pivot, which was good because it meant England could kneel down and stop him from getting up by keeping both hands on him. "Germany, go- I said wake up!"

It was obvious that Germany wasn't ready to move yet, but he tilted his head up just a bit before losing his will again. England didn't want to drag him to his feet when he already had France to deal with, so while the Frenchman started swearing at him and fighting to get up, England kept talking:

"Go and see him! Go now: you can find your way there without us- and call Prussia while you're at it this is probably what he wanted to talk to you about. Germany go!"

"Yes, go and explain how you've been so bitter about his death that you decided his brother should-"

"Shut up, France!" Their conversation had already been recorded, and this wasn't something South Italy could damned-well lie about without expecting some sort of dangerous backlash. North Italy had been on the receiving end of that transmission, and when France started forcing his way up to his feet England chanced a nervous look back at the discarded wires and battery still sitting on the table: Germany was staring at it.

"This changes everything, but only because it shouldn't!" France shouted again, and England braced his legs before shoving the other nation back down into his chair, standing over him now and glaring down as he tried to get them all to maintain one scrap for their dignity. "If he's not dead then it means everything we decided-"

"It means we were lied to, now stop!" Germany was standing up now, finally, but England kept his voice directed at France and refused to back down in the face of uncharacteristic and frightening tears.

France's face was a mess of angry red and sick white skin, his lips thin and grey as his fingers started grasping and England found their hands wrapped up together tightly. He was wearing such a painful expression on his face now, lips stretched down around his teeth and breaths hacking and shaking his shoulders. He could only meet England's eyes for a moment before dropping his wet blue gaze to his own lap, and England felt Germany's presence whisper past them before they were left alone in the meeting room.

"Francis, look at me." France just shook his head and England worked one hand free, watching the other man clasp the remaining one between both palms, fingers woven tightly through his. England reached for Germany's vacant seat and dragged it across the stone floor until it was right next to France, sitting down and bringing himself to France's level. "Francis."

"I'm tired…" France whispered, head down and blonde hair falling in a tangled curtain. England pulled a small white handkerchief from his breast pocket, leaning in on his own to touch the soft cotton to France's tear-stained cheek. "So damned tired…"

"I can see that."

"No, no Arthur you don't understand…" France didn't let his voice rise; it was just heavy breaths moving past his lips as he leaned into the soft touch. England half-expected him to take over drying the tears on his own, but when France just kept that tight hold on his hand England realized the other blonde was still trembling too hard to let go. Dragging his fingers across the pale yellow curtain, England gathered up the long strands and tucked them behind France's ear. "I… I'm so tired of pretending."

"Pretending what?" He asked, watching France slowly let go of his hand and reach up to touch his own face. He ignored the handkerchief when England offered it, rubbing his cheeks slowly and ending up pinching his nose, with his palm covering part of his mouth. England just placed his hand on France's back and waited, feeling the way he sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, like he could hide the words behind the soft hiss of air.

"That everything's okay…" France let go of him completely and brought both hands up over his face, fingertips pressed down onto his eyes as he doubled over in his seat, shaking his head slowly. England held his arm and kept his other hand on France's back, scooting his chair closer until they knocked together and their knees were touching. "For Canada, for you, and Spain, and Germany, I- I'm so, so…"

"Francis…" They hadn't seen Canada or Spain for several long weeks, and the last time he could think of Canada needing France's help was all the way back… ten months ago, in August, in Bern.

"I want to cry." France brought his head up and it was clear that he already was, the tear-tracks were fresh and his eyes were leaking more just while England watched him, the smile he tried forcing on his lips was painful. "I am the Fifth French Republic, but I just want you to call me that name and let me weep." The smile started to break apart. It started in his crying eyes and broke down with a twitch in his cheek, and then one by one his straight white teeth vanished behind trembling lips and France dropped his head down again into his hands. "I'm sorry- just go without me."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Italy's waiting-"

"I don't want to see him, Francis-" Ah-! "Or rather, I don't think he wants to see us…" Adjusting his hold on France's arm, he made sure the other blonde could feel his fingers through the fine wool. He worked his hand down until he was holding France's wrist, trying to make him look up as the hand on his back reached around to tug on his shoulder. "Come on, let's go."

"Go where?" France looked up at him and started wiping away his tears again. It was a vain effort, but he kept at it as England forced them both up to their feet. Once France was standing England actually found himself doubting whether he'd even be able to walk all the way to the east exit. Unasked and probably unwanted, he started straightening France's collar and pulling relentlessly on his tie and sleeves trying to fix his strangled appearance.

"Someplace where you can stop acting like a child, and just cry like a man."

Romano was still walking. He wasn't heading anywhere anymore, he was just walking.

If he stopped moving then he didn't know what would happen, but it probably wouldn't be pretty. If he showed up in front of his brother any more upset than he already was, it would just end badly. He owed it to Veneziano not to upset his little brother for no god-damned reason, especially not today of all days.

He'd been listening in on the meeting so he knew all the important details, now Romano just had to keep walking so he didn't break down into fucking sobs or start screaming out everything he was feeling.

And what was he feeling exactly? How about hurt, betrayed, insulted, and just a little too far beyond outraged to keep himself from wanting to drop to the floor and wail?

It felt like he'd been stabbed. He'd been doing alright up until that one point, that single moment, but as soon as Germany made that kind of statement, Romano'd known he had to leave. If he'd stayed in there a moment longer he would have either thrown them all out or just burst into stupid fucking tears, because he couldn't handle hearing something like that, not from another nation.

A nation working with criminals? With the mafia? Like he was just opening the door for them and inviting them in for tea! Did Germany think he was taking kick-backs? Some kind of personal bonus on the side when any nation knew that all people like them needed was a shelter, some food and easy access to their population?

And then England getting mad about his tone, not what he'd actually said…

Romano was choked up and dizzy, and just thinking about it like this made the heat in his skin even worse. His throat felt tight, eyes blurring as he passed repeatedly through pools of sunlight and walked by members of staff and the visiting public. He was wandering further from the closed off administrative wing, the opposite direction from his brother and the departing delegates. Romano was not going to let himself break down into screams, but when he felt his emotions overflowing and people started parting to get out of his line of sight, he knew being in public wouldn't help him right now.

If he screamed in public then Veneziano would find out about it, and Romano knew his brother's condition well enough to understand that he just couldn't take that kind of stress on top of today. He'd already feel angry and betrayed by the EU's decision, but the North had kept quiet for this long for a reason: they had to know if they could really count on Europe, they had to know what the reality of their situation really was. If the rest of the continent couldn't help them because they could not afford to help them, then both halves of Italy had already agreed last night that they didn't need to make the rest of the union feel like absolute failures because the two of them suddenly raised the stakes at the eleventh hour.

Now Romano had deviated from the plan, because after the meeting today he had planned to take the other three to Veneziano. And even if they'd been rejected as Switzerland had warned, they had hoped to just sit down, explain everything, and get the crying and the tears out of the way before they could hunker down and just figure something out.

Romano had thrown that version out the window, and as he swiped his card at a security door and fled down the next corridor, he had one hand up over his mouth and nose trying to control his own reaction.

Because to sit in that room and be called corrupt.

Not just his administration.

Not just his industries.

But he himself: he, South Italy, a criminal.

To be openly accused him of helping, not just allowing them to-

Romano closed his eyes and saw his youngest brother unconscious on a hospital bed, head and body all taped up with gauze. Seborga still couldn't see properly out one eye-

He found himself going up a flight of stairs and grabbed the railing next to him, stopping mid-step when he thought about that cane Veneziano had to use because the pain of the infestation was crippling him.

And they thought he was helping that..?

"Mr. Italy?"

They thought he was hurting his own family? Turning against his brothers on purpose just to watch them suffer? If Veneziano had actually died then what they were accusing him of was tantamount to digging up the grave just to throw the bones through store windows. They wanted to belittle and reject every ounce of hard work he'd put into keeping this country in-tact since the day his little brother failed to come back from an afternoon hike with his friends.

"Is something wrong?"

That was what it all came down to then, wasn't it? That he'd taken Veneziano's job from him, that he'd tried to fill in and take over for someone who had vanished twice and couldn't carry the political burden for him anymore.

He wasn't his little brother. He wasn't the first choice for the job. He wasn't good enough to get anything done.

So he was as much the problem as the criminals opening fire on his family.

"Sir, are you alright?" Whose voice was that? Alright? Did he look fucking alright? He was trapped on a flight of stairs in his own god-damned building and he knew if he took one step up or down he'd fall. If Romano so much as loosened his grip on the banister he might as well just throw himself from a balcony and hope he broke every bone when he hit the floor. "Please say something!"

A hand took the heavy portfolio away from him, and an arm moved around his shoulders to hold him and give support. He knew without looking up or trying to see through the tears that it was Veneziano's Captain- the one they'd decided to promote to a Major as soon as the ink dried on the paperwork. He expected the human to pull him down, but instead South Italy found himself being coaxed and pushed up the last two steps to reach the next platform.

The door in front of them was propped open and it led to another corridor identical to the one he'd just sped down. There was sunlight reflecting off the same milky white stone and plaster of the rest of the complex, but the human didn't make him walk after that: he wanted an answer.

Romano felt the scream building in his lungs but he choked his way through words instead, looking up without enough shame to wipe away his own tears. He could barely see the human's face, but he was reminded again that, as ironic as it seemed, this man did not have a hero's face.

"Leave Rome." He groaned, and by God he meant it. "Leave, go home, and don't you fucking come back until you know exactly what you want out of your life."

"Sir-?"

"To have a wife and ten kids, to breed dogs for a living, to become a fucking millionaire: I don't give a shit, just decide!" Decide, because by God this nation could not wait ten years to train and mature a future leader: they needed a human right now who could do the job. Destiny didn't have shit to do with it, opportunity was all a master needed. "My brother and I can favour you all we want, but only you can fucking make it happen so stop wasting our time: make your peace now so I can act."

The human balked, and Romano knew his tears were spilling faster and faster as he waited for the pilot to find his voice.

"Sir, I don't understand-"

"I know you don't, because you're human!" And now came the scream, and as much as he wanted to stay hunched over and small South Italy felt himself rising to his full height instead: "You're human! You're tiny and you're brief, but you're one of the most powerful creatures in this world! One human like you holds more power in your weak, fragile little body than I will ever know in a millennium!" Romano was screaming and he heard his voice beating against the stone walls, slamming into the windows and shattering against the glass.

"You think people like me are strong because we don't die? Because if you pulled out that gun and shot me, I would just get back up? You think I'm wise because I saw the fall of Rome and have watched the rise of every great nation since? If you think like that then you're wrong- because I had nothing to do with any of it! I am a Nation- you are human!"

There was no heat in his gut, no magic coursing through him. He wasn't manipulating: he was speaking. South Italy had never been the most articulate nation; he had never been the celebrated bard or the master painter. His Empire had never risen and he had never been a God, but he was a Nation, and no one could change what that meant:

"Look at me!" The human was looking: he was standing there and staring at him, dumb-struck and confounded as the Nation gripped the clothes over his own heart, pulling on them as if he could tear them off his back. "I am potential- but that's all I am! I represent the potential of the sixty-four million people who make up the Italian Republic: I am their potential to manufacture, and produce, and live, but that's it! I represent: I don't control!" But did this human even understand what that meant?

"I need a master!" If he didn't then Romano would tell him: "I need someone with sweat on his brow and blood on his hands. With a hammer over one shoulder and a gun in the other, I need a master who will dig up the roots, strip all the branches, and burn every family tree the Godfathers have planted in my flesh!" Families that were like a cancer growing out of his bones, tough and heavy- so heavy that there were days he could barely walk, and the pain they caused was so old he barely noticed it anymore. But now his brothers were feeling it too, and Romano couldn't keep telling himself he could fix it on his own without help.

"I don't care who does it, I don't care who rises up- I just need it and I need it now!" He needed change, he needed action: he needed a master who wanted to tear down and rebuild him from the ground up. Italy needed a human who wanted a solution more than he wanted his next breath, someone who didn't care how many political bridges they burned along the way so long as they arrived at salvation.

But the human had to want it just as much as the nation because North and South Italy were like any other set of countries: they could pine and want and hope for better, but the decision wasn't theirs. They were a dam getting ready to burst, and only human hands could guide all that power and energy once the water overflowed and came spilling down.

"We won't die if they get their hands on us." Romano felt his voice falling and realized his eyes were dry now: probably puffy and red, but there were tight tracks running down his cheeks where the tears had dried on his angry skin. "But I need you to leave Rome, and I need you to fucking decide what it is you want most out of this life."

"You want me to help so you're taking my job away?" At least the son of a bitch had a back-bone but-!

"I'm telling you to get the fuck out of Rome and go home!" Brief, weak, short-sighted little shit! Romano wasn't talking about his job! "And I'm telling you not to come back until you know what you and your generation want! I can't make you into something you aren't so leave! Now!" The human jumped back and Romano wondered, quietly under all the seething rage and desperation, what his kind looked like through human eyes.

"If you're meant to be anything more than a follower then you won't fucking need me to tell you what to do! But that-!"

"Sir-?" Romano noticed and then thrust a hand out at the thick binder the human was carrying for him. He saw his own arm shaking as he made himself remember what he'd gone through before getting it, but along with the shame came the outrage that was propping him up inside. The human stopped trying to say anything and just looked down at the EU crest in front of him, holding the heavy thing between two hands now before he curiously cracked the binding to look at the first few pages. Romano hated the sight of it, but God help him if he didn't cling to how the human seemed less baffled by having something tangible in his arms.

"That is twelve-hundred pages of everything that's wrong with me internally." Corruption, and damage, and dishonesty, and- "Now I need a master who will fix all of that…"

"Can one man do this alone, sir?" Dishonesty, and incompetence, and deception, and weakness… Romano felt his strength wilting again and the impossible weight latched onto his bones was dragging him down. His shoulders slumped and he let his eyes fall to the floor, not sure where his feet were taking him until he felt the small of his back hit the wall behind him, one hand grasping for the banister at the top of the stairs to keep him upright.

He was so frustrated and so tired that when he looked up again, South Italy still didn't care that he was beginning to cry again. He made himself smile and he didn't know where he found the will for it.

"All I need…" All Italy really, desperately needed… "Is for one man to try."

Sad Author Note: because I'm going to be doubling the chapter length, I'm also announcing now that updates will be every SECOND Sunday. I've secured a part-time job that's keeping me extra-busy as the Christmas Season creeps closer, plus continuing preparations for my big move to Japan in mid-January. Lots of stuff going on, but I'm still working on this.

I will see you guys again on the 3rd of November, not the 27th of October. Please leave a review below and promise to have a safe and happy Halloween!