ASlightly AU-ish, becuase it doesn't fit with the Chibitalia timeline. I hope you enjoy!
"Feliciano, Feliciano don't cry… Grandpa just… has to go away for a little while. Your big brother Lovino will be with you, hm? Don't cry my little Feliciano… my little Veneziano… Grandpa will always take care of you, no matter how far away he is. It's only for a little while… hush now…"
One of Rome's aides ushers the younger Vargas brother out as the old man goes back to reclining on his pallet. Lovino can see the man's laboured breathing from where he stands, huddled in the doorway. It scares him a little to see the man who could do everything reduced to such a state, even if Lovino has been witness to most of his decline.
"Come here, Lovino…"
Rome says it without looking at him. The crumbling empire's eyes are closed, and his face is pained, but there is that ever-present smile on his face, even if it does look a bit stiff. Lovino obeys his grandfather and shuffles to the edge of the pallet. Rome clasps the young boy's small and pudgy hand in his own.
"Lovino… I know I'm putting a lot on your shoulders, but-"
The man on the pallet coughs, briefly squeezing his oldest grandson's hand almost painfully tight. Lovino grits his teeth, but doesn't cry out. He knows what is coming next, and he needs to show Rome that he can be strong.
"I need you… to protect your little brother," Rome finally rasps, wiping a bit of what looks like blood in the dim light off of his lips, "Can you do that for me?"
"Of course, grandpa."
"I always knew you could."
Rome exhales, long and shaky, and Lovino worries that it might be the death rattle he's heard so much about, but the empire has not fallen quite yet and he draws another breath.
"You… are my namesake, Romano," he says, using Lovino's proper name, "You stand… to inherit… the south of Italy… your brother, the north. Keep yourselves… safe… until you can control that land. It won't be easy… but…"
"I know, grandpa," Lovino murmurs, smoothing his grandfather's hair away from his damp brow. It is a small, insignificant comfort, but it is all Lovino can do right now. He wishes he were bigger, stronger. Maybe, if he had been, he could have helped Rome. He could have helped, and the empire wouldn't have fallen so far…
"Ah, Romano, you're crying…"
"I am not!"
His red cheeks, soaked with tears, however, betray him. He tries to hold back, to be a man, but his efforts only come out as a broken sob. He is pulled onto the pallet and into Rome's lap as if he were only a toddler incapable of controlling himself, like Feliciano. Large hands rub his back soothingly until he cries himself out and slumps against his grandfather's chest.
"Be brave, my boy…"
Lovino reluctantly drifts off to the sound of his grandfather's sluggishly beating heart.
Before he even opens his eyes, Romano knows that something is wrong. There is a strange odor in the air- like the smell of sickness that had clung to Rome, but so many times worse. The room is completely silent, and the air seems to press down on the young boy with the heavy solemnity of a tomb. He sits up and feels a cold weight slide off of his back. Opening his eyes, he sees Rome. The empire's eyes are closed, and there is a strange cast to his usually tan skin that cannot even be explained by sickness.
"Grandpa?"
Rome does not stir, makes no sign that he's even heard his grandson's soft inquiry.
"Grandpa?" Lovino tries again, louder. He shakes Rome's shoulder, but quickly pulls his hand away. Rome's skin is as cold as the stone pillars flanking his temples. Lovino has let him slip away, without even properly saying goodbye.
"D-dammnit…" he sniffles quietly. The curse is strong on his tongue, but does not quiet convey what he means. It will do for now.
This is all his fault. If he had been stronger, if he could have stopped crying, he wouldn't have fallen asleep, and he could have comforted his grandfather in his last moments, instead of the other way around. If he had been strong enough, Rome wouldn't have even fallen. He is a failure, useless, unfit to inherit the great state of Rome. He feels like such a useless child, but when he catches sight of his reflection in Rome's polished shield, Lovino realizes that he is a child.
Why then, was the world left to him?
Feliciano is sobbing into his brother's chest, unable to watch as the men bring torches to Rome's funereal pyre. Lovino forces himself to watch, even as the smoke and ash make his eyes sting and his nose run. He has sworn that he will do this without crying. To cry would be weak.
Weakness killed his grandfather.
He hates weakness.
It is only the smell of the fallen empire's burning flesh that keeps Lovino from chastising his baby brother. He is sure that if he opens his mouth, he'll vomit, so he presses his soft lips into a thin line and pulls Feliciano closer, hoping that he can muffle the sounds of the younger boy's cries until he wears himself out. Tomorrow he will start teaching Feliciano how to suppress everything but the strongest, most masculine feelings. Tomorrow marks the start of a great nation.
'It's strange to be back on Earth after all this time,' Rome thinks, 'Even the land has changed.'
He imagines that he will get lost in this maze of streets, built a thousand years after his death, but somehow, the ancient nation finds himself exactly where he needs to be. Perhaps he just has an impeccable sense of direction, or maybe it's something like those migratory birds. Rome laughs and easily opens the door that is supposed to keep out intruders, he know that isn't the reason.
Like calls to like.
Lovino is sleeping peacefully, sprawled out over the entire bed, kicking his poor Spanish bed mate to the floor. The southern Italian's mouth is open and he's snoring faintly. Rome smoothers a loud "Aww~!". Barely.
He reaches out to stroke his grandson's mussed hair. Everyone who knew the empire says Feliciano resembles Rome more than Lovino, but Rome thinks they couldn't be more wrong. A little lacking in the muscles department, maybe, and that scowl that hints itself over Lovino's features doesn't really put grandfather and grandson in the 'carbon-copy' category, but it's close enough.
"I've been keeping tabs on you, you know," Rome says, his voice husky with affection and just a trace of bitterness, "It's ok, my little Romano. I don't mind that you and Feliciano aren't the same as me. I'm glad, actually. I fell because I was weak, yes, but that was because I got arrogant and spread myself too thin. My bosses were corrupt. It wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could do, and it was my time to leave. You'd have stayed little forever if I hadn't."
Lovino's mouth twitches. He's nearly frowning, but Rome strokes his cheek, and the nation's mouth goes slack again.
"I only wished I could have stayed as you grew up. I missed you so…"
Rome's voice cracks audibly and Lovino's eyes slide open, still shaded heavily with sleep.
"...grandpa…?"
The fallen empire smiles sadly and ducks down to kiss his grandson's forehead.
"You're dreaming again, Romano. Go back to sleep, now…"
Before Rome has even finished his sentence, Lovino has slid back into the land of dreams. Rome hopes that they are pleasant dreams, full of food and sun, and good wine and pretty serving girls and Antonio. He turns to leave, but pauses at the doorway. He boys certainly weren't empires, nothing close to it, but as far as he could tell, they had both found more happiness in weakness than he ever had in all his centuries of blood and violence.
"I'm so proud of you."
A/N: I do believe that this is my longest oneshot to date. I guess all I needed was the new Alice in Wonderland soundtrack ('Only a Dream' was the track I listened to repeatedly while writing this) and sometime to think about my ailing grandmother. It's also my first time writing so much Romano. Let me know what you think in a review!