Well this is the actual REAL chapter three. Uhm...it's about to get really angsty. And btdubs there is a slight USUK moment especially for Clindy-Windy-Kins. Happy Reading! R&R!

"Romano, I don't think I can take it anymore! I know it's him, I know it!" Italy shook his head and sipped from the wine glass that was obviously not his first drink. His tanned skin glowed pink from alcohol and frustration. "Why doesn't he know it?" Italy sniffled ready to burst into tears.

"One- How much of this shit did you drink?" Romano inspected the bottle on the oak table and gasped. "This is the best fucking shit in the goddamn house; why the fuck did you drink it all? And two- that potato bastard may never remember. It may not even be him." Although truthfully Romano DID believe that Germany was his older brothers lost love, he would never say it aloud. "Besides I will not have you sulking on your ass around the house. I'm tired of fucking asking that tomato bastard for favors."

"I can't go back. I can't. I can't stand to go back there. I-I..." Italy dissolved into tears, his shoulders rocking. Every day when Italy woke up beside Germany he hoped (prayed) that his blonde friend would wake up and say 'Italy I remember that I loved you, and that you loved me back, so now I'm back and I'll never stop loving you.' But everyday it was the same. Germany woke more or less irritated at his surprise bedmate and kept moving. It was driving Italy to madness.

Romano hated to see his brother cry but even more he hated that that Germanic potato bastard was the reason.

"Fuck. Listen…..Fuck. Listen to me. I know you're upset because you shitty Prince Charming never came back from fighting with that tea-bastard, and I know that mother-fucking Kraut looks like him, but that's no excuse go mope all the damn time. " Romano sighed and poured himself a glass of the wine. He HATED to see his brother so worked up but leaning on Spain was beginning to get stressful and it was a total blow to the younger Italians pride to be so dependent on his old boss. "You don't have to go back to the damn potato bastard's house, but you ARE not acting like a fucking kicked puppy for the rest of forever."

Italy's crying had been reduced to sniffles and hiccups but his face still bore evidence to the recent outburst.

"Why did he leave? He promised…He promised…" Romano saw his brother down the rest of his wine glass and attempt to take another but Romano gripped his wrist and took the bottle himself.

"Like hell are you going to drink the rest of the nicest shit in this house. Go to bed your drunk."

"I can't take this anymore. Romano…I can't….."

Romano was good at hiding. He was good at keeping quiet and gathering information. However the stereotypes may be, Romano had a bad-ass mafia that he trained himself, so he knew a trick or two. So when he walked downstairs to his and his brother's shared villa and heard Italy and Spain talking, he took this opportunity to spy. Romano glanced (stared) at Spain's chocolate locks spilling about his head in a messy just-out-of-bed way, but his eyes were wide and alert and- surprised? Italy was looking down at his coffee cup as if Venus would jump from the bottom of the porcelain dish.

"Italy…No- why…I can't believe this! You can't not after this long. What about-"

"How am I supposed to explain these freakish storms to my boss? He's already suspicious it's only a matter of time until…It would have happened anyway. Either way this doesn't concern you."

Romano frowned. Yes there had been some unusual rainstorm activity, a few short droughts and some talk of electrical storms but nothing to warrant panic. Had their boss called?

"Bullshit Italy. You asked me to relay the message so yeah it does concern me. You just can't…." Italy cut him off again.

"Please Spain…Do it for me."

Romano turned the corner and saw Spain running a hand through after-morning hair. Damn he could be so fucking sexy sometimes.

"Just answer my question…"

"I'm tired Big Brother I want to go to-"

"Does Feliciano want this?"

There was a sharp intake of breath as all (the seen and unseen) pondered the weight of the question. Italy paused and placed his coffee on the table. He looked like he was about to cry again. Like hell was Romano going to sit on the sidelines while that tomato-bastard made Italy even more depressed that he was. But was the younger Italian took a step forward, Italy spoke.

"I-I-…..I am a country first."

Spain shrugged and grabbed Italy's hand. Romano felt a small surge of anger but bit his tongue. This was more important than getting a few curses in. Being the leader of the Mafia taught his how to be angry, but it also taught him timing.

"One day, you might not be Italy. You might just be Feliciano." He kissed the smaller male gently on the head. Romano grimaced, feeling his patience run thin. "Sometimes it's okay to think about what he wants. You're more than a boot, little one. Sometimes your heart means more than your land. That's why I had to give Romano back. He needed to be independent and I loved him regardless of the few gold coins that would have gone in my pocket. That's what Antonio wanted. Now if you can tell me that Italy AND Feliciano want this…..I'll do it."

Romano blushed at Spain's casual confession of love, and as much as he didn't (did) want to return the sediment he needed to try to piece together what was going on.

"Yes. Please. My heart can't take this anymore."

"I'm halfway there." Romano heard Spain begin to walk toward the door. "Tell your brother that it's been a while. He's welcome anytime."

When Romano heard the door slam he finally walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"What the hell just happened? Why the fuck was that tomato bastard here?"

"I had to ask for a favor."

"What type of favor?"

"ENGLAND TURN ON THE TV! LIKE NOW!" The British gentleman held the phone away from his face and grimaced. It was almost tea time and Louis Armstrong was playing and the last thing England wanted to was turn on some insincere media instead of the genuine feelings blaring through his phonograph speakers.

"America you don't have to talk so-"

"No time for an etiquette lesson. Turn on the damn television. I swear it's going to blow your tea-drinking ass." America had on his 'I'm-not-fucking-kidding-do-what-i-say-or-i-will-fucking-hit-you-with-a-bald-eagle-and-shove-fireworks-up-your-ass' voice.

England walked to his living room sure that this was just another alien spotting or new video game or horror movie premier. He turned to the nearest news station in which a handsome news anchor was finish a story about a missing dog being returned to a family.

"What does this half to do with….? Oh my days….."

'Breaking News! The German- Italian alliance has been broken! At approximately six o'clock this morning the leaders of both countries and the countries themselves met at a conference hall in Berlin to finalize the whole agreement. The two men agree that for economic purposes and political freedom this should….'

England was no longer listening to the dapper young woman reporting the story, instead looking at the picture Italy's and Germany's bosses shaking hands and smiling diplomatically. In a stark contrast, Germany was staring at the hands confused. He looked rushed, his blonde hair slightly askew and he seemed to be leaning on his brother for support. Prussia's face read that he was acceptant of the decision, worried about his brother, and slightly confused. Italy stood about 10 feet away and it took England a few minutes to recognize him. His blue uniform hung off his shoulders, he had obviously lost weigh. His eyes were blank, unfeeling, unseeing. The brunette seemed to be the only one on the small stage who had a concrete grasp on the situation. England almost dropped the phone in surprise, this was DEFINITLEY not something he saw coming.

"Iggy…Germany has had like 3 major storms since then. It's knocked out the power in three cities."

England was too caught up in the severity in the situation to acknowledge America's pet name. 3 storms…. Germany rarely lost his temper enough to cause that much of a weather disturbance. To say this was strange would be an understatement.

"My god…Why did the alliance end? What happened?" England paced the room. Did this have anything to do with the conversation he had had with Germany a month ago? Oh God what in the bloody hell was going on?

"It was pretty much a unanimous decision. Except it seems that Germany doesn't know what the hell is going on. I called because I thought you might know. I always kinda thought that Germany would be happy to be rid of his little Italian boy. Do you think that they were…?"

"Seeing each other, broke up, and then destroyed a alliance that has lasted almost a hundred years? I highly doubt it. Germany isn't that type of man and even Italy has some type of decorum when it comes to his boss being involved." England ran a hand through his sandy hair and exhaled loudly. God this was too much to take in without a small glass of chardonnay, or a much larger glass of whiskey.

"Well whatever happened we'll find out at the next meeting." America's speech began to muffle and England couldn't help but become a little irritated.

"America really it is disgusting how you STILL talk with your mouth full of food. Are you three years old?"

"Only when I'm talking to you Iggy. Speakin' of alliances, how 'bout you come down to Miami and we'll make one of our own." Whatever food America had been quickly discarded or swallowed and whatever blood was left in England's brain drained south.

"You bloody-wanker." England's half-hearted insult made America smile and the British man could hear the smile through the telephone.

"I'll be in London in 20 minutes."

"You need to get him under control." Germany's boss paced across the living room, his beefy hands linked behind his back. Prussia mused to himself as he replaced the man's hands with large chunks of wurst. Although it was enough to make him chuckle (and slightly hungry) it could not mask his growing irritation.

"Well, maybe if you hadn't dropped such a fuckin' bomb on my bruder he wouldn't be so upset. Why the hell would you not talk to West about this?"

The chubby man stopped his walking and glared at the albino man.

"You are no longer a country. You are nothing more than an impudent man, leaning on you much more powerful brother. I don't have to explain anything to you." Prussia bit his tongue so hard blood began to pour into his mouth. The copper taste of the crimson liquid made Prussia grimace. Had it been anyone else Prussia would have showed them the strength he had at one point. Rage colored his pale face and he was equally angry that he couldn't hide his emotions well.

"You are not Prussia you are Gilbert. And as far as your brother goes he is a nation, NOT a person. I can make decisions without his consent." The stout man growled the words, and then stormed toward the door. The wind whipped outside as lightning struck the clouds like a drummer would strike a timpani. Germany's boss turned around and glared at the Prussia, murder in his gaze.

"Calm. Him. Down. You demonic cretin. I expect the weather to be back to normal before he sends the country into a national panic." With that he slammed the door and shuffled out, wrestling against the storm winds.

'Damn, when did a boss get to be such a bitch? That son of a bitch better be glad I care about West enough not to kick that mother fuckin' Neo-Nazi ass of his.' Prussia sat down heavily on the couch and rested his head in his hands. He breathed heavily and felt a small twinge of guilt begin to build in his chest. Yes, three days ago (was it really only three?) Spain had come to his saying that Italy wanted to break the alliance. And YES Prussia told Germany like his green-eyed friend requested but he didn't know things would go this downhill this quickly. It wasn't even a fucking DAY before Germany had to go to Berlin to break an alliance he didn't even know was going to be broken. Even for West that had been too much. If Prussia knew why that pasta-loving idiot wanted to leave his awesome bruder maybe he could convince Germany to come out of his room, or at least come out of his room before a hurricane the country.

As Prussia walked upstairs his conscious began to scream at him "YOU DO KNOW WHY. YOU DO KNOW WHY. YOU DO KNOW WHY. YOU DO KNOW WHY."

Prussia dropped his head again. He DID know why.

But ignorance, real or fake, was bliss.

So yeah. So many Feels. R&R