Brother Dearest (Italia Veneziano)

[Deleted]

It had been on Romano's mind for quite some time that maybe, just maybe, he was losing it. The manor was getting the better of him. But then, wasn't that inevitable? Whenever Romano waged war on anything, he was always the first to give in, always the losing party. He could never see anything through to the end, giving up when things got too hard. And things were definitely getting very, very hard. But even though he was ready to call it quits, the manor seemed to have very different plans. It wasn't about to quit tormenting him just because he waved a white flag around. It wasn't going to call off its little beasts because Romano had surrendered, calling a truce. It was a cruel being; it showed no mercy. It was as though Romano's fear only made it hungrier, all the more immersed in the hunt.

And here I am, comparing a building to a wild animal, Romano thought bitterly to himself. He really was losing his mind, wasn't he? But who wouldn't if they were suddenly thrown into a place like this? He had neither slept nor eaten since his arrival, and he felt just about ready to collapse. He had gone from a peaceful life in his country to a place where there was no solace or rest. He really was being hunted, and the hunter seemed intent on making the chase as prolonged and suspenseful as possible. It was suffocating. Not just because of the stuffy indoors (although he did wonder, when was the last time he had seen the sky, or breathed fresh air?), but because he felt like he was always being watched. He was a mouse trapped in a lion's cage. He needed to get out, desperately so.

And so that was how he found himself here, in the courtyard. He had stumbled on it quite by accident, and as soon as the cool breeze hit his face, he had been so sure that he had found escape…but no. Even here, the building loomed overhead in all directions, mocking him and reminding him that he was trapped, and he would remain for as long as the manor wished.

Watching, always watching… So odd. Out here, his paranoia seemed to increase. Every window felt like a pair of eyes were peering out at him. Every breeze seemed to carry the whispers of a thousand spectators:

Look at him, so lost and vulnerable. Where is he running off to? Does he really think he can hide?

Running again. It was all he could do when the whole world was after him. He fled to an enclosed area, and with a shaky smirk, shut the creaky gate behind him.

"Think you can get me through iron bars, bastard?" he scoffed, flipping the bird at…well, nobody. But he made a point to look the mansion right in the hypothetical eyes as he did so. His smile (if it ever was a smile in the first place) slid off his face. What was he doing? He felt lightheaded, his fingers becoming numb as he entwined him in his hair and tugged at the tangled strands. It was colder out here than he had realized initially, but he didn't care. He fell to his knees, landing hard on the stone trail paved there.

"Let me out!" he roared, his breath coming out in clouds that fogged up his vision. "What do you want from me? I'll give you anything, just let me out!" He wasn't sure who he was talking to, but there had to be someone. If no one was there, he wouldn't have this eery feeling that's been haunting him since his arrival.

[Italia Veneziano]

Slam!

The sound echoed throughout the courtyard, scattering ghosts like skittish animals. Veneziano looked away from the grave he'd been examining, towards the source of the disturbance. "Ve, what was that...?" He asked himself, rising to his "feet". No one living came out here, it was too exposed to the forces of the Manor. So why had he heard the door slam like that? Did someone really exit the "safety" of indoors, to brave the dangers of the ghosts' haunting ground? [He quietly giggled to himself about the unintentional pun.] Curiosity drove him away from his fruitless search, away from the expansive graveyard. Then again, the spirit hadn't seen any of the ghosts try to attack the living inhabitants of the manor, so maybe the courtyard /was/ safer. Either way, he was curious--was it actually a person, or had the wind simply caught hold of the door and threw it against the wall like a bratty child?

A flash of darkness dashed by, almost hidden amidst the various glows of the ghost not immediately sent away by the sudden influx of sound. A blink of surprise and the blur was gone, bypassing the entrance to the graveyard. It was a person, that Veneziano was sure of. Who it was, though, he wasn't sure--just that the silhouette seemed familiar. He gave chase, working through the crowds with difficulty. The man had no such problems, passing through spirits as if they weren't there. "W-Wait, slow down!" He called, voice caught in the wind and thrown back in his face without reaching his intended target. Ghosts stood in his way, and eventually the spirit took to shoving his kin aside in order to keep moving forward. "Ve, move!" He pleaded, making sure not to trip over a child as he hurried along. He had to catch up, had to see why he had the need to see in the first place.

Eventually the clog of traffic before the graveyard cleared, a waist-high fence appearing amidst the mist. The man appeared with the fence, middle finger in the air like a salute to the Manor. That green-eyed gaze wasn't on him, instead glaring at the walls surrounding them on all sides. "Think you can get me though iron bars, bastard?" That gruff voice uttered those words like a challenge, though to Veneziano or something he couldn't see, he didn't know. It sent a shiver down his spine in a way he hadn't expected, the tingle of recognition tugging at his consciousness like a needy hand. Remember, it demanded him, He used to talk to you like that, don't you remember? And the suit, that god-awful suit was out of style, so why was he still wearing it? You told him not to, that he should choose something that fit him better. You know that, so why don't you remember it?

Quite frankly, he didn't know why he couldn't remember, but that wasn't important. What was important was catching up. Passing through the bars with ease, Veneziano opened his mouth to speak to the other, catch his attention. The ugly-suited man had lost his bravado quickly enough, something passing through his mind that paled a tan complexion and sent him straight to his knees. The ghost floated to a stop, blinking in surprise as that brown-haired head--was that a curl springing from between clenching fingers?--tilted towards the heavens and the other started screaming. "Let me out!" He shouted, agitation and fear coloring the words and sending another, less pleasant shiver down the ghost's spine. "What do you want from me?! I'll give you anything, just let me out!"

Once the echo of that shout had long faded, still Veneziano couldn't bring himself to speak up, or step closer. His burning urge to catch up, his curiosity telling him to see who this newcomer was, vanished like a fire doused in earth. Now that he saw that tan face, so similar to his own but different in its sharper curves and higher cheekbones, he really didn't want to approach. Something deep in his chest rejected this presence, saying that he couldn't dare let the man see him, that the sight of the spirit would hurt this already frightened man even more. At the same time, though, he also couldn't bring himself to leave. The brunette was scared, and it hurt to leave him shaking and pale upon the dirt like this. That ache felt like a stone in his chest, freezing him from the inside. He clenched the front of his ragged shirt in one hand, an attempt at comfort as his left hand wrapped tightly into the fabric of his pants. After a lifetime of silent argument, he lost to that pain and finally floated just a step closer. "...V-Ve, but you're the one who shut yourself in here," he said hesitantly, words quiet and tone far from comfortable, "so why do you want out already? It's not like you locked yourself in, you can just step over and open the gate and go back inside."

[Deleted]

Romano felt that he might be sick. His stomach twisted, all the stress and worry turning it upside down. Tears pricked his eyes as the sobs rose to his throat. He let out a hiccup as he let his arms slip from his hair. With nothing else to grab, he gripped his arms, digging nails into the flesh. If he squeezed hard enough, maybe the pain would be enough to pull him out of there. He would wake up at home, safe in his bed, Feliciano snoring softly by his side…

A chill swept over his body, the cold nipping at his nose, which at this point was dripping snot.

"V-ve, but you're the one who shut yourself in here…"

Romano froze. That voice…!

"…so why do you want out already? It's not like you locked yourself in, you can just step over and open the gate and go back inside."

How had he missed him? He would have noticed a person, especially one so familiar as this one! He could feel his spirits lifting, closing his eyes as he listened to that comforting voice, the very voice that had calmed him in his most frantic moments, the voice he always pretended annoyed him even though it was one of the very few that could sooth his anger…

"F-Feliciano…" he sighed shakily, shivering more from relief than cold or fear. "Where have you been, ya little shit? I've been worried sick!" Every word was heavy and raspy as he struggled to keep his crying a secret. While most of his worry had been directed toward himself, he would be lying if he said his dear fratello never came to mind. Ever slowly, he stood up and turned so he could see his brother's face. Ah, thank God it's him! Even though his vision was blurry from the tears, he would recognize that face anywhere.

"I meant 'let me out of this mansion,' idiot." He slowly gained control over his voice, harsh words hiding his care for the other. He swiped at his cheeks with the back of his hand in an effort to dry them, and his gaze traveled downward as he examined Veneziano's outfit. It was in rags, and the boy looked so pale…

"The hell's up with that costume, Fratello?" he spat in disgust, vaguely motioning to all of it. "You look like a ghost." It only took a fraction of a second before he realized he could see through Veneziano; he could make out the clearly defined climbing plants on the broken birdbath behind him. Not only that, but his brother was floating. Romano's face blanched, and he took two steps back before bumping into the gate he had shut moments earlier. It rattled, trembling nearly as much as the South Italian himself.

Smoke and mirrors, Romano tried to convince himself. It's some kind of trick. The potato bastard and asian egghead must have put him up to it! He found the courage to try and approach the Veneziano-shaped illusion, all the while scanning the perimeter for some kind of hologram projector.

"O-oi! Cut it out, Fratello!" he demanded, albeit a little shakily. "Enough with the tricks. This isn't funny! Come on; now that we're together, we'll find a way out of here. We'll track down Antonio, and then we'll…we'll…" And then what? He didn't know. Didn't he just abandon all hope of escape? But I have Veneziano with me now. It's different! But no matter how many times he lied to himself, he knew it was no different. He would have Veneziano to keep him company, but he would still be trapped here forever. But…at least I won't be alone.

He could feel his throat tightening, his tears threatening to return. But still, he forced a shaky smile, looking around for where Veneziano was hiding and generating this false specter before him. He wanted to touch him. Maybe not hug him, but at least feel his warmth once again. "Okay, Feliciano. You can come out now. Enough with the ghost thing; I'm not buying it."

[Italia Veneziano]

Confusion swirled through his mind at this mixed reaction from the man before him, only growing more pronounced as the pain in his chest intensified. Fratello, that word alone sent a shiver down his spine, snippets of scenes flashing before his eyes. This same man, a black barreled gun clenched in his hand as he slammed through a wooden door. A small brunette with a stray curl bobbing from his forehead, wearing a small pink dress and bawling his little eyes out. Laughing, crying, fighting, protecting, memories of just Romano, his brother, whirled through his mind like a tornado, leaving nothing but the carnage of an overstimulated mind behind. Veneziano hadn't known that spirits could get light-headed, but apparently they could. The loss of concentration made him flicker between corporeal and intangible, hands clenching all the tighter. The ghost didn't dare raise his hand and reach out for his brother; his touch would only scare Romano away. A phantom pain throbbed in his upper arm at the thought, where a bullet had pierced him what felt like a lifetime ago. Technically speaking, it had been a lifetime ago. That thought made it hard to swallow down the little, hysterical giggle threatening to burst from his lungs.

He hadn't been able to save his brother then, but maybe dying had helped Romano; he couldn't help but think this to himself as he stared into rich green eyes. Thankfully, he didn't see the sick light of insanity in that gaze. Yes, his brother was in his right mind, and without a weapon to hurt himself with should he begin to panic--which he could very well do, the ghost realized. That stark relief fled faster than receding flood-waters once he recognized the look on his brother's face; horror, and a bit of disbelief, colored that tan skin deathly white. That was exactly the sight he hadn't wanted to see, even before this onslaught of memories had seized his mind. That was the sight making his chest hurt like the ice of Antarctica had settled there. Immediately he forced himself to the ground, feet solid enough to stir up a bit of dust. It took all of his concentration to stay relatively corporeal like this, calling up a vicious ache to his temples."V-Ve, don't look at me like that, per favore," he pleaded, unconsciously taking a step closer to his fleeing brother. "My costume is all torn up, that's all. I-I'm not dressed up like a ghost. I-I..." The Italian's voice drifted off, hesitation choking his words into submission. How could he explain this to his brother without worrying him? Just the sight of him had Romano recoiling, back against steel bars and hands grasping for either an anchor or a weapon.

His heart ached all the more as Romano spoke up. "O-Oi, cut it out, fratello! Enough with the tricks, this isn't funny!" The older Italian's voice shook almost as much as Veneziano's hands. Did he really think that Veneziano would play such a mean joke on him? If the situation wasn't so tense, he would probably be insulted. [Part of him was insulted, but the rest of him was just sad, upset that Romano didn't even trust him enough to be above a joke like this.] "Come on; now that we're together, we'll find a way out of here. We'll track down Antonio, and then we'll…we'll…"

"...Ve, w-we won't be doing anything, Vino," Veneziano replied quietly, shaking his head. Now that he was firmly on the ground, he made no more move towards his brother. He didn't back away once Romano began to approach instead. It was impossible to look the ghost in the eye, though, once Romano pinned that damnable smile on his face. It hurt far too much to see the shaky, tearful expression. His gaze settled firmly on the ground, kicking up dirt between his bare, ghostly toes. Absently spying the toe of his brother's shoes as they approached, amber eyes focused on the filth marring black leather so he didn't have to stare at watery green eyes any longer. "F-Fratellone, stop looking around like that," he whispered, biting his lip to keep it from trembling. "I-I can't come out, Vino, because I'm right here. But you need to go back inside, ve. It's not safe out here--you're gonna get hurt." Get hurt like Veneziano had, or worse--like he had been that made Lovino kill himself in the first place.

[Deleted]

Romano noticed the way that the dirt was disturbed as the illusion touched the ground. He could feel the doubt flicker in his mind, but he quickly crushed that notion. It was all part of the trick. There was no way that this…this thing could be his baby brother. He knew Veneziano. He may not have been the strongest, or the bravest, but he was resilient, stickier than gum on the bottom of his shoe, and every bit as hard to get rid of. Romano should know; he's tried. But as many times as he's pushed Veneziano away…the boy always comes back. Sometimes injured, sometimes in tears, but always in one piece. It had never occurred to Romano even once that one day, his brother might not come back. Or at least, not come back like this.

Giving up looking for a projector, Romano focused his attention on the spirit before him. His steps were drawn and hesitant, but he had to get a closer look at the image that claimed to be his brother.

"…Ve, w-we won't be doing anything, Vino."

Romano suddenly drew back, as though someone splashed icy water on his face. His (admittedly very fake) smile twisted into more of a grimace, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "Wh-wha…?" The specter had looked away, wispy hair shielding his eyes. But since the real Veneziano was not here, Romano had already decided to treat the spirit as such. He drew closer, ducking his head lower to try and get a glance at those eyes…those amber eyes he had known for as long as he could remember. He had seen every possible emotion reflected in those eyes. If this is a trick…it's a pretty damn convincing one. He could almost swear the apparition was crying. It was so much like Veneziano, Romano could feel his own tears threatening to spill over.

"F-Fratellone, stop looking around like that." The illusion's voice was breaking, and when he bit his lip, there was no doubt that he was crying. "I-I can't come out, Vino, because I'm right here…"

"NO." The rest of Veneziano's warning was lost in Romano's sudden outburst. He wasn't quite sure why he had started shouting, or why he could feel wet tracks being traced on his cheeks. Maybe seeing so much emotion on the visage of his brother had struck a nerve, or perhaps he was just unable to hold it back any longer. Regardless of the reason, he was furious that he couldn't control his own feelings, and angrily tried to crush the sobs that rose to his throat. "You're not right there, because you're not real!" The phrase was childish to begin with, but the immaturity was intensified with the slight pout in tone coupled with his own weeping. "You're just my imagination playing tricks on me, or this fucking mansion playing tricks on me! There's no way in hell you're real!" That had to be it, right? The mansion loved to play tricks. It wanted Romano to go insane, and he supposed that it finally succeeded if he was seeing his brother as a ghost. But his real brother wasn't a ghost, surely not! If that were so, then…then…

"You're lying…" Romano concluded, calming down enough to look the phantom in the eye. "You have to be lying. Because if you were telling the truth, that would mean Feliciano…" He swallowed hard, not wanting to finish the sentence. "It would mean I was too late. You'd be gone forever, and I…" Romano gripped at his jacket over his heart, wrinkling the fabric as he tried to relieve the twisting sensation inside him. If his brother were dead, it would be all his fault. Romano was the oldest, so it was his responsibility to make sure he and Veneziano both made it out alive. If this hallucination really was his brother's disembodied spirit, Romano would have failed as the older brother.

Or failed more than I usually do.

It was with much horror that Romano realized that in all those years he had spent with Veneziano, very rarely had he ever shown his brother kindness. Was it too late to atone for every wrong he had done? He couldn't – no, he wouldn't believe it! "What was the last thing I ever said to you?" His eyes were no longer looking at Veneziano, but through him; a very easy task considering the circumstances. His voice was hallow, vacant. He was afraid of the answer. Putting down his annoying little brother had become such a normal part of life that he had long since stopped noticing he even did it. What if his last words had been especially hurtful? Had he told his brother he hated him? What if he had actually wished, out loud for all to hear, that Feliciano would get himself killed? Had he actually had a hand in his brother's death, not by mere carelessness, but apathetic malice?

He looked at the ghost helplessly. Not once in his life did he think he would ever desperately hope to be delusional. Not once since entering the manor did he think he would wish the person before him was anything but someone he knew and loved. "You're not Feliciano, right? Please…please tell you you are not Feliciano…"

[Italia Veneziano]

It was hard to stay silent through Lovino's tirade, simply watching as his brother's agitation crumbled into fear and pain. Veneziano longed to clench his eyes shut, turn away and cover his ears until that pleading voice fell silent and he was alone again. The spirit wanted his memories back, but not like this. Not coupled with the sight of his brother shaking with suppressed sobs, shining tears reflecting his own unearthly glow to highlight pale cheeks. This was too much. Silver tears gathered in his eyes, though he refused to let them fall without a fight. He lifted a hand to brush them away, swallowing thickly. This wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. He thought gaining his memories would make him feel better, not worse.

"You're lying," Lovino murmured, green eyes trying to catch sight of amber, a feat which the spirit refused to allow, backing away a step and keeping his gaze firmly rooted on the ground. "You have to be lying. Because if you were telling the truth, that would mean Feliciano..." It would mean I was dead, he desperately wanted to shout. It hurt to tell Lovino the truth, but why couldn't he? Why shouldn't Lovino know that his brother was dead? It wasn't fair that he would have to deny his own existence just to soothe the elder Italian's nerves. But when he opened his mouth to speak, Lovino cut him off again. "It would mean I was too late. You'd be gone forever, and I..."

...Lovino would be alone. Whatever words the spirit had, died in his throat, leaving an ashen taste upon his tongue. Enough of his choppy memory had returned to remind Veneziano of his brother's fear of abandonment; his fear of being alone. It had started with Nonno Roma, and even a few millenia did little to vanquish the agitation his brother felt being left behind, for any reason. There had to be other nations for Lovino to gather up with in this wretched place, Veneziano was sure, but this was undeniably different. They were more than just brothers--together, they were Italy, like Ludwig had said ages upon ages past. Lovino was the south, and he was the north--two pieces to make a whole. They were never truly alone in life, but now...

His chest hurt.

"You're not Feliciano, right? Please..." Despondent amber eyes finally lifted up to stare into scared green, losing the battle keeping his own tears at bay. They slid down his cheeks in silver streams, fluttering out of existence once they dripped from his jaw. "Please tell me you are not Feliciano."

"I-I..." The spirit finally faded away, incorporeal once more. If being see-through helped his brother buy the lie, then all the better. It took too much effort to stay solid, anyway. "...No, I'm not your brother. I-I'm just your...imagination, playing tricks on you." He sniffled, staring pleadingly at Lovino. "B-But I still think like he does, a-and it's not safe out here! Per favore, Vino, you need to go back inside, b-before you get hurt!"

[Deleted]

Romano was filled with grim satisfaction when the specter began to disappear as soon as he made his request. It was as though the mere recognition of it as an illusion could chase it away, reduce it to nothing more than a memory. It wasn't real, merely a dream. Romano could make it disappear if he so desired. But…I don't know if I want it to disappear, he decided, gazing upon his brother's tear-stained face, a face that more likely than not mirrored his own. Now that he knew this was only a figment of his imagination – a fact that was only reinforced by the vision's affirmation – he was overcome once again with a feeling of loneliness. He missed his brother's face, his voice, apparently enough to create such a believable hallucination. Could he really stand to let his brother, real or not, slip right through his fingertips?

"Don't leave me," he said suddenly, probably sounding irrelevant out of the context of his mind. It was a simple request, anchoring what he believed to be a dream deep in his imagination. He was afraid. If this was anything like a dream, it could slip away just dwelling too much on its fictionality.

"I knew you weren't real," he said after a pause, firmly, triumphantly. "Feliciano couldn't be dead. I would have known if he was dead." He had stopped crying, but he made no move to wipe the tears from his face, opting instead to smile in relief. "If he died, I would have felt it. He's my other half, you know." He almost laughed in spite of himself, telling his imagination things he already knew. The two of them had always shared a special bond. They may not have been twins, but it could certainly seem like it from time to time. When one was in trouble, the other always seemed to know, regardless of how many miles were between them or how well they were getting along at the time. And when the two were alone, sometimes not a word needed be said between them to assure they knew exactly what was on the other's mind. That was all part of being two halves of a whole. If Veneziano had died without Romano knowing, there would be more than one reason to mourn. Could the manor's restrictions on their powers also dilute the relationship between them? That thought in itself terrified Romano, and only intensified his desire to find his brother.

"…it's not safe out here!"

The words snapped Romano out of his thoughts, drawing a weak laugh from his lips. "What, and it's safe in there?" He jerked his thumb at the accursed building. "I came out here because it wasn't safe, and now you're telling me it was safer back there?" There was a flickering doubt if this ghost could really be Romano's imagination. Surely his own mind would know his motives! Unless this was his mind's way of saying nowhere was safe in this place. "I guess…" he trailed off, turning to look at the rusted gate behind him, "…I guess even wrought iron can't protect me here." He looked to the ghost before him, eyes wide with uncertainty. "Then where am I supposed to go?" he asked, not really expecting an answer from a hallucination. It wouldn't know anything Romano didn't, after all. But he was desperate, and taking suggestions from a dream that looked like his brother didn't seem like a completely bad idea.

[Italia Veneziano]

If Veneziano were alive, he was fairly sure the pain in his chest would've made him sick by now.

"I knew you weren't real," Lovino gloated, a smile growing across his face despite the painful sting he shot into the spirit--neither the first nor the last thing the nation's hurt him with, but this ache could compete with the ache in his arm and a memory of betrayal and a death not his own. "Feliciano couldn't be dead. I would have known if he was dead."

But I am dead, he wanted to scream, to step over and shake the man until he understood, until he would stop smiling like that because it's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair! Stop talking! Stop assuming things that aren't true just because you don't want to! Just listen to me, please! Why can't you be strong for me? Why do I have to pretend, to act like a figment of your imagination when I'm staring you in the face? I exist, I'm right here, why can't you get your head out of your ass long enough to understand?! I had to swallow down the truth and deal with the fact you died, what makes Lovino so special that he gets to keep his fantasies? I sat there and tried to stop you, had to hold your corpse and take care of your remains--I don't even remember how I died but I am dead but everyone I run into, everyone who can see me pretends I'm not real.

Why do I have to be the strong one?

Slim fingers clutched at the side of his head, pain evident on his face even as he hid behind his bangs. It was so hard to stand here, dealing with this man who shared his face. Even harder to follow through with his decision. He didn't want to fight, to hurt this being, his brother, his friend, his other half, but denying his own existence, everything he'd seen upon realizing his own death, was a fight itself. Even dead, existing in a world that wasn't made for spirits like himself, it was only normal to want to simply be. This existence was unnatural but it was his own, something he shouldn't have to take away and deny simply because a voice in his head and twisted, hazy images told him to. Down in the bottom of his heart, beneath the sorrow and the pain and the reluctant acceptance, a deep, bitter resentment bubbled like burning oil. It wanted to burn into full-out anger, to renix his words and lash out and prove to this pathetic existence that the world didn't revolve around him. Show Lovino that he wasn't such an all-seeing being that he would know when his brother left his world and rejoined it as the unholy dead, and show the wrath born when he's slighted so callously.

And yet...

Tears burned at the corners of his eyes, froze his cheeks as they fell. Per favore, you can't hurt him. Not again. Even as he planned all these thoughts, these painful retaliations against his brother, there simply wasn't enough will to go through with them. This voice, so similar to his own but different in every fundamental way, was too strong, too compelling. War raged between wish and want, practicality and compassion. It hurt too much, because no matter what he did, Veneziano couldn't win. Either he hurt Lovino with the truth, or he hurt himself with the lie. That acidic hole in his soul would eat away at him either way. Why should he, how could he want to create more strife when there's pain in every scenario?

When Veneziano finally looked up, hand lowering to brush his bangs aside, there was a small, bitter smile on his face, stained with tears.

"...S-Si, that's exactly what I'm telling you," he murmured, seeing no point in being loud now that he finally had Lovino's attention. He wasn't sure he could force himself any louder anyway, not without screaming everything churning just beneath his breaking facade. "There's nowhere to hide out here--in the house, there are rooms to barricade in, food to eat, nooks and crannies to hide in, but out here, ve? There's nothing but a run-down church, a garden, and a grave-yard. There's nowhere you can go, fratello." His eyes, almost colorless in appearance like the rest of him, strayed away from the living Italian to gaze around the garden. "You can feel eyes on you everywhere out here, can't you? If you'd just pay attention, you'd realize how cold it is, how uncomfortable you are, ve. You need to go back inside, even if it's not safe in there it's safer than out here."

Don't end up like me.

[Deleted]

Romano watched as Veneziano hovered in a silence that seemed to drag on, sucking the very breath from Romano's lips as he waited for a response. The ghost was obviously at odds with himself, though Romano couldn't say why. All the southern Italian knew was that the sad creature with the face of his brother was hurting. It was plain in his face, wrenched in an expression of anguish. Even knowing it wasn't real, it pulled at Romano's heartstrings. Veneziano wasn't supposed to look so somber. Even when Romano would insult him, he never looked this…this heartbroken. Goddammit, can't I imagine him a little brighter? Suddenly, the specter grabbed his head, which hung so low Romano could no longer see his face. He was shaking, though, that much was plain – and Romano could swear he saw ethereal tears dripping before they faded away like mist in the wind. Romano's heart sunk just a little.

Imagination or not, it pained him to see his brother like this. He wanted nothing more than to cup Veneziano's face in his hands, to wipe away the tears and tell him that it was okay, that they would be all right. But he couldn't. He never could comfort his brother when he wanted to, and he never wanted to comfort his brother when he could. Doesn't mean I can't try… Romano thought, his smile disappearing as soon as Veneziano's appeared. It was all so fake, even for a vision. Yet, in some odd way, this made the familiar face feel so much more genuine. Was it possible to fake a fake smile? The ghost mumbled so quietly it was hard for Romano to hear him, inciting the older brother to come closer to hear him better.

"There's nowhere to hide out here…"

"No…I…I suppose there isn't…" Romano said as he looked around. "But there are no dead ends either. Do you have any idea how easy it is to get cornered in there?" He hated to argue with his crying brother, but the thought of going back was so unappealing. Back within walls, growling and snapping and knocking in the hallways… some find hiding a means of survival. For Romano, it was more like a prison. He didn't want to be cornered by a threat; he wanted to flee from it.

"You can feel eyes on you everywhere out here, can't you?" The phantom continued to fade, but his eyes still remained, however faint. Romano's green gaze kept locked on amber, even as the younger brother tore his away.

"Only yours…" he admitted, eyebrows furrowing as the breeze dispersed the wispy phantom, clearly ignoring his request to remain.

"If you'd just pay attention, you'd realize how cold it is, how uncomfortable you are, ve. You need to go back inside, even if it's not safe in there, it's safer than out here."

"Feliciano, I don't care about any of that shit!" Romano exclaimed, shaking his head slightly as he drew ever closer to the spirit that was his brother. "Yeah, it's cold," his breath came out in puffs of vapor as he spoke, as if to prove the point, "but Feliciano, I've been wanting to hear your voice for so long…I don't even care that you're not real, you're here." He lifted a shaky hand. He wanted so desperately to touch his brother. If he could imagine his appearance, why couldn't he imagine his touch as well? "You want me to go inside? Fine. But only if you come with me." He didn't want this dream to end. "Just stay with me until I find the real Feliciano. I just need to keep hearing his voice…I just need to see his face. That's all I need." His hand extended to reach for his little brother's. "Until I can touch him again…until I can hold him in my arms and know he is safe…you will stay with me, won't you?"

His hand was hovering just over Veneziano's, waiting for the other to make contact. He couldn't be alone again. Not now, not ever. He needed his brother beside him…but if he couldn't have the real thing, a daydream will do.

[Italia Veneziano]

You won't find the real Feliciano, though. He's dead.

As much as Veneziano was Veneziano, the ghost of this Feliciano Vargas and with some of his hazy memories in his head, the spirit wasn't Feliciano. He knew that. He was real, he existed, and he was Veneziano but he was not Feliciano. He wasn't the happy, bubbly boy who liked taking naps and playing with cats that he'd been told about. Not the one that narrated these images and scenes playing through his mind in shitty home movies. He was a different person, as much as he was the one everyone kept searching for.

It was heart-rending, though, the bittersweet relief filling him at Lovino's words. "I've been wanting to hear your voice for so long...I don't even care that you're not real, you're here," he said. "You will stay with me, won't you?" Please stay with me. I want you here. You matter to me. I love you.

I love Feliciano more.

That sickly bright smile twisted; real in its bittersweet cheer and pained relief, so unbelievably fake for the fact it contradicted the underlying and unequivocal truth that is a smile. He was a replacement. In a way, that made sense. He was a spirit; ethereal in nature and existence unnatural. A living shade of what was once living, the darkness to Feliciano's light. A replacement for the being lost to these people. A copy with a mind of its own; and as much as he wants his feelings to matter, can he really expect anyone but him to care? A copy, nothing more.

But Lovino wanted him around anyway.

The spirit lifted his hand and wrapped his fingers around Lovino's. His touch was firm, solid, but more than just cold. Slim, almost invisible fingers clawed away the warmth of his brother's skin, sapped the color from those fingers until they were left pale and trembling. "But you should care that I'm not r-real, ve," he whispered, leaning in close. "If you need me around, then you'll forget all about the little brother you're looking for. You're strong enough that I don't need to be here." His smile lightened just a bit, amber eyes softening. "...but I'm happy that you'd want me to stay, Lovi." Ghostly lips grazed over the soft skin of Lovino's cheek, a shock of mind-numbing cold stealing away a moment's heat and leaving a pale reminder. Veneziano was gone.

I love you, big brother.

[Deleted]

Romano could feel him. He had expected his hand would feel something, but it all the same, it was so sudden, so shocking. Undeniably, Romano could feel ghostly fingers curled around his own. There was something there. He blinked several times, eyes trying to focus on the quickly disappearing form before him. But no matter how hard he tried, the specter was too far gone. A brief glimpse of an outline was all he could manage should he be lucky enough, but where his sight failed him, his hand told more than he could ask for. Something had a hold of him, and it was not imagined– and whatever it was, it was colder than ice. His fingers were so cold it burned, but he refused to pull back his hand and hide it away to warm up in his pockets. How could he? He was finally feeling something! Rather, he tightened his grip. He would not let go.

Not this time. The cold crawled up his arm until his whole body was quivering from the chill emanating from the spirit he clung to. I've let you go too many times before. I won't let it happen again…Feliciano. It couldn't be anyone else. Whatever was holding him, it had to be him. Not physically, perhaps, but spiritually. Maybe it was really his brother's disembodied spirit. Maybe somewhere in this hellhole, Veneziano was just thinking so hard about his brother and vice versa that they had somehow managed to forge a connection between them. He wouldn't think about it, no, not now. It hurt to dwell on the possibilities. But one thing Romano did accept, and embrace rather whole-heartedly, was that the hand he was holding – because, yes, there was definitely a hand there – was his brother's. Veneziano is here.

But this hallucination was saying he wasn't.

"…you should care that I'm not real…" The words drifted by his ears, so quietly they could easily have been nothing more than the breeze blowing through the garden. Considering the lips that uttered them could not be seen, Romano was half-tempted to believe they were. Should he? Should he care that the one source of comfort, of consolation in this hellish place wasn't real? If only for a brief moment he wasn't scared or upset or lonely, should he really care that it was only because of a fleeting daydream? Maybe he should. He was losing it, it was becoming more obvious the more time he spent here. But even if he should, he still wouldn't. If hiding behind imagined encounters would offer an escape from the terror, he would grab it, holding onto it as tightly as he was holding his brother's hand. Even though it hurts, he thought, his hand trembling so much he wondered if his joints would simply snap. He wouldn't feel it anyway; his hands were completely numb from the cold.

"If you need me around, then you'll forget all about the little brother you're looking for." Forget about Veneziano?

"Bullshit!" he spat, disgusted at the very notion. "How can I forget about you? Feliciano, you're my fucking brother, goddammit! I need…" He needed something to hold on to, to remind him when he was ready to call it quits that there was a little brother somewhere who needed him, that he couldn't give up just because things got hard. It seemed ridiculous, to need an imaginary cheerleader to inspire him to keep going, but the fact of the matter was – quite contrary to the words with no voice –

"I'm not strong enough! I'll never be strong enough! Feliciano, you've always been the stronger one, and we both know it!" He was raising his voice, though he didn't know why. Maybe now that the spirit no longer had ears, he felt he needed to shout in order to be heard. Nevertheless, he continued to grow louder as he spoke. "You've always been better than me at everything. I'm not worth the sh-shit I stepped in this morning. When life pushes you down, you bounce right b-back up like it didn't even phase you– I just lie there until someone b-bails me out. I know we're b-both two ha-halves of the s-same country-y, b-but real-ly, Feliciano, out-t of the t-two of us, who's r-really r-runn-ing th-things? There's-s a d-damn good r-rea-son p-people call y-you 'Italy' instead of 'Veneziano' wh-while I'm onl-ly labeled as 'Romano' or 'Italy's brother'!" Romano paused, both to catch his breath and to fully realize what it was he was saying. He was shaking from the very pit of his being, his words broken and stomach hurting from the cold-induced convulsions that plagued his body, his knees buckling from both the chills and the emotion that overtook him as he so desperately clung to that which was disappearing. "I'm being selfish. I admit it. But Feliciano, I do need you! I can't do this on my own…I can't do anything on my own!!!"

"…I'm happy that you'd want me to stay, Lovi."

The words were accompanied with an icy kiss, and Romano could swear he felt the tears on his cheek freeze solid. All at once, the cold started to leave him. The hand he had grasped so tightly was disappearing. Veneziano was disappearing. No. No. No, no, no, no, no! His fingers slid through thin air, his hand curling into a tight fist. His legs finally betrayed him, and he fell to his knees. No, no, no, no…

"NO!!!!" Squeezing his hand tighter, his fingernails dug into his palm in a futile attempt to catch what had just literally slipped between his fingers. He couldn't describe the feeling of emptiness he felt. It was like he had lost the most important thing in the world to him, but there was no proof it was even there in the first place. But Veneziano was there, wasn't he? Romano felt him! He had to have been there. And now he wasn't. Had he finally found his brother, only to let him go so easily?

"Feliciano? Feliciano!" he begged, he pleaded. "FELICIANO!!! GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!!!! DAMMIT, I NEED YOU!!!!" Maybe there was someone to see the tears fall freely from his eyes. Maybe there was someone to hear his distressed cries. But there sure as hell was no reply as his sobs took over his voice. "I fucking need you, dammit…"

You're talking to yourself, he thought silently, holding himself and trying to regain warmth that had left him. There's no one there. There was never anyone there. He turned to the haunting building that loomed overhead. He needed to find him again. Whether it was another phantom, or Feliciano alive and well, he needed to find him again. Forcing himself to his feet once more, he took a few shaky steps to the gate. It was a moment's work to open it once more, a loud creak protesting the first step of his newfound quest.

I need you, Feliciano. More than you could ever know.

And goddammit, I'm gonna find you if it's the last thing I do.