"… and that is what our bosses have decided. There will be no opposition on our part, or consequences will be administered."

An incredibly drained, broken voice spoke out over the near silence of the meeting room. The blank faces of many nations stared up at England, whose expression was just as existent, though the rigidity in his clinched fists betrayed his attempt to cover up his observable distress. Other nations chose to stare at anything but the blond man; papers, the ceiling, their hands, a lone spider creeping along the oddly shaped table... Someone coughed, another fought with everything they had to choke back the tears that were forming in their eyes.

"I would advise..." England began once more, his throat constricting with every syllable, "...for everyone to return home. Make no attempt to see those who have been chosen for this... this reconstruction. It will only make the process worse." A wail broke out near the back of the room, quickly followed by grunts and quiet humming attempting to pacify the tears of the blond Nordic. The Englishman sighed, closing his eyes. "The chosen ones have already been notified of their... duties." He gagged on the word, swiftly bringing his hand up to his mouth to prevent anymore sounds of grief but his effort failed, and a choppy cry strangled itself in his throat. America rose from his seat beside England, his face taut and detached.

"As you may, or may not have noticed, there are many countries who are not here at this meeting." He spoke, lacking the usual glee that normally accented his words. Many of the nations glanced around, taking in just how empty it was compared to the mass numbers of a normal gathering, before turning their attention back to the American with confused expressions plastered on their faces.

"But Mr. America, wouldn't they need to know this information as well?" Lithuania asked, a slight panic behind his words as he noticed Latvia and Poland were absent. Other countries murmured words in agreement, while some chose to remain silent.

"They have already been informed of the reconstruction plan." His face darkened, completely blank despite the caring touch to England's back, and his voice resounded with suppressed anger and sorrow as he continued his speech. "The nations who are not here are the ones chosen for reconstruction." Gasps, howls and shouts filled the air in the large room as the last words fell off America's tongue.

"No! Nonononononono! Not him...! Not Romania!"

"Bel...Belgium's going to... my god..."

"I had...a feeling this was the reason they were gone... I'm sorry I couldn't help you more... Hungary..."

"...Norway... so that's why..."

"NO!" A strangled cry resounded above all the others. "You fuckers, what the hell is wrong with you!" Silence overtook the room at Romano's howl, his face contorted into a hellish mixture of fury, disbelief and misery, and his cheeks burned scarlet as tears gushed down them. "How the FUCK can you let this happen!"

"It was our superiors' decisions. We can do nothing abou-"

"THE FUCK YOU CAN'T!" Romano screeched, tremors racking his entire body to the point where he had to place his arms on the table to hold himself up, but even then, he still was on the brink of collapsing into a crumpled mess. "We... We have to do something! We just can't let them di-"

"Romano." England's word came out only as a mere growl, but the ferocity and tenderness twisting through it was enough to shut the Italian up. Damn his fear of that tea sucking bastard. "If...if we don't allow this reconstruction to occur... they will go through more pain than any of us could ever imagine. They will die as their people die... rot as their country decomposes... It will be slow... as the fibres of their existence are ripped from their bodies, thread by thread. Do you want them to suffer like that? Do you not remember what pain Rome went through as his empire collapsed?"

"N-n-no.. but..."

"There is no negotiation in this, Romano." It was Germany this time, his eyes closed but still radiating the grief that matched the Italian's. "This plan... it will lessen their pain. I know you don't like this idea... And neither do we, but it's necessary to save lives." His voice reflected the aura hovering over the room, only intensified by the curtains giving it a muddy glow to everything. Just like a blood bath... and the blood stained their hands for allowing the slaughter of so many countries... so many innocent people who were just like them. They felt pain, both physical and emotional, they lived normal lives many, many days of the year, and they had relationships... family they had to leave behind, all because of some stupid little bullshit war.

Yet, deep inside Romano knew that they were glad it wasn't them who had to fade away, though... he couldn't help but wish that it was South Italy that had to die instead of... him. God dammit, he couldn't even bring himself to think of the bastard's name without a breakdown, and he did exactly that, all over the table. Nobody came over to comfort him. They all remained in their seats, refusing to seek or give any kind of condolences to those they didn't admire, choosing to wallow in their pain, or that of their loved one, knowing that this was just part of being a nation, whether they liked it or not. Romano certainly did not like it at all.

Russia lightly chuckled to himself, his hands neatly folded on the table. "I don't think it's all too horrible, Mr. Romano." He smiled, all sugary and innocently with this head slightly cocked to the side. The Italian jumped up, a tear-filled glare warping the flesh of his face.

"And why the fuck would this not be horrible, you communist fuck! What the hell is wrong with that motherfucking head of yours! This is people's lives we are talking about, not some damn toy that you can toss out when you get bored of the fucking thing!" Romano roared, his muscles tensing in preparation of leaping over the table to throttle the much larger bastard, and even the concrete hands of the potato licking freak, now clinching his shoulders, wouldn't save the Russian from his wrath.

Russia grinned, malice twisted eyes cracking to stare at the Italian. "I'm looking forward to imaging how everyone's going to beg for their lives~" Too bad he wasn't closer to Romano, for if he was, his face probably wouldn't hurt as much as it did right after the last flick of his tongue. Sweden, though he still terrified the shit out of Romano, had just made it on his list of badass nations as his fist slammed into the Russian's nose, sending him flying out of his chair, blood oozing from his nostrils. Oh, Romano just loved the crunch as that bastard's nose crumbled under the knuckles of the furious Nordic, whose eyes were wild and enraged, much, much more fearsome than anyone, save Denmark and a few others, had ever seen.

"Berwald, Berwald stop!" Finland bawled, holding Sweden by his stomach in an attempt to pull him back to his seat. Somehow, he succeeded in gently tugging the Swedish man back down, though his glares were still like daggers at the now cackling Russian. Momentarily, his eyes softened as he glanced down at the Finnish man gripping his coat, and tenderly hauled him into his lap to properly wrap his arms around the smaller nation. Sweden cooed to Finland, attempting to calm his wails. "I just want this to stop…" he managed to painfully whisper after a while, hardly loud enough to be heard despite the silence of the room.

"Shhh... T'no. 't w'll be ok'y."

"Ahahahaha~ Da, da, everything will be okay...but~" Russia chortled, one of his cheeks still rigid against the floor, but he was still able to lock his lavender orbs upon Finland; A blood splattered sneer stretched itself across his lips. "You won't be here for much longer, Finlyandiya. Better weep while you still can~" Everything ranging from shocked glances and grieving stares fixed themselves on the small Nordic man, who merely sniffled and nuzzled his face into Sweden's chest. His lids drooped, swollen and red from the tears.

"Finland… You mean… you too?" Denmark croaked, horror etched into every crevice of his face, and it only deepened as Finland gingerly nodded 'yes'. Romano faintly, but just barely, noticed the strength waning from Finland's fingers, though he attempted to keep them latched around Sweden's neck with everything he had. Dread bubbled up in the Italian's chest, swirling, and fucking around with his breathing, making each shallow gasp unbearably painful, while at the same time, forming a haze that permeated his brain, numbing everything around him. Finland muttered something all of the other nations, but hell if Romano could understand him, for he could only hear his heart droning away in his ears like some kind of beat that only demons could dance to.

The next thing he knew, Finland's hands had dropped to his side as he lay limp in Sweden's arms. Iceland and Denmark froze, unable to choke out any sort of sounds, though Sweden…. Oh Sweden… He clutched Finland closer to his body, trembling so hard from tears; Romano could've sworn he felt the table under his fingers shake, but the howls that breached the muffled ears of the Italian… He had never heard anything quite like it… So deep… and aching, like a wailing grizzly, crying for a vanished loved-one only to find their remains in some dirty, bloody cave out in the middle of fucking nowhere. He couldn't take this shit anymore… he had to go… Without a word, or a second glance at the Nordics, Romano left, hardly hearing the concerned, but defiantly not wanted, groan of Germany, questioning what he was doing. He turned for only a moment, casting a scowl at the blond, and then ran… as fast as he could.

Romano had no idea where he was going. Signs, people, buildings, landscapes; they all blurred into one single blob to the Italian's eyes, each colour a slight different shade of brown and grey, even as those hues morphed to golden browns, emeralds, and the occasional red splotch he failed to differentiate them from the next thing that shot across his line of vision. His legs carried him through the streets, and though they ached something horrible, he refused to stop. Romano had to get... had to see... He had to...

"Merda!" He screamed as he tripped on one of the' loose' cobblestones leading up to a rather oversized house. Sniffing, before lifting himself up off of the ground, he picked at the stone with his foot, remembering how many times he had asked that bastard to fix it only to get a reply like oh~ that stone isn't loose, I just checked! or You're just so cute! And no, for your information, Romano didn't just happened to trip at the same exact spot every time he passed it, that damn stone was loose. A squirrel must've broken it right before he arrived and fixed it as soon as he complained to his former caretaker. There was no way an Italian man, such as himself, could be so clumsy. Scowling, he glared up at the house, realizing for the first time that day... that this would be... No. Don't think about that, dammit. Everything is going to be okay...Air gushed into his lungs, but was quickly exhaled as he made his way to the front door and knocked once.

Silence met his warning of entry, and fear welled up in Romano's chest. This never happened at the tomato bastard's house, especially to the Italian. Spain, that bastard, had some uncanny way of knowing whenever Romano was in his country, and would always remain in his home like some kind of little puppy, awaiting his arrival before pouncing on him at the first knock... That's all it ever took. Just one. He frowned, lowering his hand to the doorknob, only to find it was unlocked... also strange. The Spaniard did believe in having a house open to everyone, but, thankfully due to his earlier years, he still had some strange paranoia about certain masked men coming in and stealing away his precious treasures, and as such, kept his doors locked. The knob easily twisted in his hands, allowing him to enter the home.

Every light in the house was off, every window blocked off by the tawny curtains, and it absolutely terrified Romano. "¿Quién es?"A voice, stern but still quiet, sounded off to his right. He was barely able to make out a lone figure perched on the loveseat, though he could clearly imagine a pair of emerald eyes straining to see the guest at the entrance of his home.

"It's me bastard." He responded, gingerly closing the door behind him. "Why didn't you get up to answer the door, huh?" Spain weakly laughed, sending a jolt of alarm down Romano's spine. He recognised that stupid noise, more than anything else in the world. The tomato bastard was in pain... and a lot of it at that, but the dumbass... damn him.

"Ah~ I'm sorry, Lovanito. Please, come over to me."

Romano scowled, crossing his arms. "Pff. Get your ass up and come to me, fucker."

Spain's voice stopped purring in his throat, choosing instead to sigh as he stared down at the hands resting on his blanket covered lap. "Lovino, I... Please, just..." he paused, blinking several times before glancing back up to the Italian. "Please come and sit by me... just for a little while." That look, so desperate and pleading; Romano's heart ached more and more every second he stared into the broken eyes of Spain, but sure as hell didn't want him to know that. He huffed, hoisting himself off the wall and shuffled over to the older nation while presenting him with his usual pouty glare. Spain's emerald orbs lingered on his own olive ones, though they lacked the lustre that Romano greatly admired, even in this darkness that seemed to smother everything. Hell, Romano could barely make out the details of the other nation's face, but he didn't need to... he never had to clearly see Spain to know it was him.

Soft fingers entangled themselves in the hem of Romano's jacket, attempting to pull him down. "What's wrong with you, dammit? Since when do you try to drag me down instead of leaping up and crushing my body with one of your fucking hugs?" He growled, but still allowed the older man to position him in the small space beside him. Their shoulders touched, along with their thighs, but for once, Romano refrained from pushing Spain away and spewing out profanities. A pained smiled crossed his lips, though his eyes remained as dark as the room. Romano's brows furrowed. "You're hiding something. What is it?"

"Lovi... Your lip is bleeding." Spain murmured, reaching up in an attempt to wipe away the blood that had dripped down Romano's chin, but his hand was only swatted away.

"Stop trying to change the subject. What the hell are you hiding?"

"Lovi, I-"

"Answer me Spain!"

Spain stared down at his lap once more, his brows scrunched up in a way Romano never wanted to see ever again. He knew the Spanish nation absolutely hated it when he used his country name, though that was the only other thing Romano ever used to refer to him besides bastard, dumbass or any related word, but he usually brushed it off... yet, this time it seemed to break something inside the Spaniard.

"Romano.." he whispered, ignoring the pained twitch in the Italian's fingers. "They've started... the reconstruction." Tears burned at Romano's eyes, threatening to burst from their prison at any moment. Those bastards were supposed to wait a few days before initiating this stupid plan, but... then he remembered the unfortunate Nordic nation... Those fuckers lied to their own countries. "Although, I don't know if I should be thankful or irritated that they didn't start in Madrid." He chuckled, returning his gaze to his sweet little Italian, reaching up to wipe away a stray tear with his thumb. "However, with you here... In my last moments, I'm glad... blissful that they did, but I... I won't be able to move from this spot on my own, you see... I... can't move my legs, mi amor. So please, just stay with me, even if it's for my own selfish reasons."

The other tears finally broke free from their confinements. How could that bastard just sit there and smile about his country literally being torn, piece by piece from his body? Romano couldn't even begin to fathom it. Their bosses, the bastards they were, didn't even care if they were physically hurting a living, breathing person, taking away their will, their voice, and their lives, and all for what? Just to save the world, or was it their own hides they were worried about? Well fuck them. Fuck them all.

"Why are you smiling, bastard?" Romano coughed out, completely ignoring the hand caressing his cheek and neck.

"Because you're here, Lovino, and that alone makes me happier than anything else. You were told to keep away from the selected nations, yet here you are." Spain hummed, combing his fingers through the messy locks of brown hair that perched themselves on Romano's skull. The Italian leaned into his strokes, seeking comfort in the familiar touch before breaking into a wail, and standing up. He stepped away from the centre of the loveseat, more to the edge of its arm, his teeth biting into his palms in an attempt to hush his howling, though it did little; Romano still hiccupped, and coughed through his tears, drenching his hands with moisture and screeches. Secretly, he wanted Spain to hold him, coddle him as he did when he was a mere underling of the nation, but his fucking ego wouldn't allow such a thing. Damn that pride of his.

A tiny shriek left his lips when he felt a pair of arms tug him down back on the couch. Spain held him close to his body, though their positioning was rather awkward and a tab painful, on Spain's part at least. Somehow, Spain had managed to use his arms to drag himself across the couch, but his legs were left twisted, and tangled in the blanket resting on them, and when he pulled Romano down, his back was tightly pressed against the rear of the cushions in an attempt to give the smaller man as much room as possible. Romano snivelled as Spain nuzzled his face into the crook of the Italian's neck. "No llores, mi amor. Por favor." He left burning kisses on the underside of Romano's jaw, and the smaller man could still feel the lips of the other man grow colder with every touch.

"Dammit, bastard."He grumbled, pulling away from Spain long enough to position the dying nation's head on the arm of the couch. Scooting down the length of the sofa, he reached down to Spain's legs, much at the dismay of the older man, and nearly gagged at the sensation under his fingers. It was as if the Spaniard's muscles had melted, while still trapped beneath his flesh. So this is what it's like... to have parts of your land torn from you. No wonder many nations isolated themselves from the rest of the world when they lost land... It was horrid, and this... this wasn't natural. Romano shuttered as he gently lifted Spain's legs onto the couch, feeling the once warm, firm muscles slither like ice-cold ooze under his touch. "You're getting cold." Romano sneered.

"You could warm me up, Lovi." Spain suggested, his smile a cross between something that fuck-face France would constantly wear around his possible victims, and that of complete hopeful innocence. Romano rolled his eyes.

"You're such a pervert, Antonio." The Italian growled, but nonetheless, proceeded to crawl over Spain and lay on him... To keep him warm of course. Almost instantly, Spain wrapped his arms around the smaller man, pulling him close enough to place a kiss on his cheek.

"You said my name~" he whispered, leaving chaste kisses all over Romano's face, which burned a faint red.

"Whoop-de-fucking-doo. Now stop kissing me." He grumbled back, shifting slightly so his weight would mostly be on his side and Spain's left arm instead of his chest, but his head remained nestled in the crook of Spain's neck; his left leg stayed sprawled across Spain's.

"Oh, but Lovi~ You've never called me by my human name before! This is a special moment~" Spain giggled, using his other arm to tug the blanket, which he kept folded on the back of the couch, over them. Romano remained silent, allowing Spain to revel in such inadequate things, despite his current situation. Dying, in Romano's mind, wasn't any kind of 'special moment' at all.

A peaceful hush overtook the two, Spain listening to Romano's breathing and occasional sniff while the Italian drew lazy shapes on the older man's buttoned shirt, directly over his heart. "Antonio..." He finally whispered, tucking his hand in the dip of Spain's neck, only to continue stroke the skin with this thumb. Damn, he was getting cold.

"Yes, my love?"

"Do... do you think... there is some way for you to stay?" One of Spain's brows rose.

"What do you mean?"

Romano fidgeted, keeping his gaze into Spain's throat. "I mean... when pota-... Prussia lost all of his land, he still was able to keep a physical body. Can that happen... with you?" Spain chuckled, pressing his lips on the flesh directly below Romano's eye.

"No, mi amor, I cannot do that."

"But-"

"Lovi, after World War II, Gilbert was turned into East Germany, and when Germany was unified, he remained, much like how you and Feliciano did after your unification." His voice was soft, matching the strokes of his fingers along Romano's shoulder. "I can't really understand how it all worked out, but it just won't be the same with the reconstruction. Merging regions and completely eliminating and rebuilding them from the ground up with new names and people... just aren't the same, and you know that."

Romano whimpered, attempting to bury his nose even deeper into Spain's neck. "I don't want you to leave, bastard." He had so many things he still wanted to do with the Spanish idiot, so many things he wanted to tell him but could never bring himself to do them. I'm just a coward. A damn coward, not even able to tell him... how...

"I'll never leave you Lovi. I promise, and do you know why?" Spain breathily chuckled, pushing Romano so he was once more sprawled across his chest, his face a mere inch away from the blushing Italian's. "Te amo, Lovino." Romano scowled as the Spaniard ran his fingers through his hair, careful to avoid that annoying curl.

"You say that to everyone, fucker."

Spain smiled, leaning his head up far enough to lay a kiss upon Romano's lips. His breath hitched in this throat at the touch, his body ridged for a few moments before completely relaxing in Spain's arms. They parted, Spain searching for something in Romano's eyes, though the Italian had an idea of what it was... After all of these years...after all the denial on both of their parts, it finally came down to this...in Spain's final moments. Romano didn't say a word. Instead, he allowed his head to dip back down, kissing the Spaniard with the frustration, impatience and passion that had accumulated over the decades. Chuckling, Spain coaxed Romano into opening his mouth and deepened their kiss, letting out soft sighs every time their tongues tangled with each other. It was...perfect...

Soon enough, Romano had to break away from the Spaniard, sitting up and straddling him, the blanket slipping off his shoulders. Normally, such a position would cause the Italian to go into a fit of curses and head butts, yet he refrained from doing so, deciding to gently gaze at the man below him. "Antonio... I..I" he stuttered, sounds jumping from his lips without any sort of comprehensible meaning behind them. Spain weakly sighed, running his hands up both of Romano's thighs, lingering on his hips before reaching up to take the smaller, lighter hands in his. He squeezed his fingers, smiling as he did so.

"You don't need to say it, Lovino. I know...Tesoro…mio." Spain's eyes slowly slid closed, and his fingers became limp in Romano's hands, slipping from his hold.

"A-a-a-ntonio! ANTONIO!" He screeched, clutching at his own mouth with his nails, inadvertently reopening the cut on his lip. "No! Not yet! You're not supposed to die now, dammit!" Tears melded with the blood dripping off his chin, only to fall and leave pinkish spots along Spain's shirt. "You promised! You fucking promised you wouldn't leave me!" Romano collapsed, his face pressed tightly against Spain's cheek, though now it was bitter. He wailed, and howled; his entire body aching and twitching with pain as he drenched the Spaniard's couch and skin with his tears. "Please... God, Buddha, Allah, that British bastard, who the fuck ever...please just give him back to me. I don't care if he can't walk, or if it will cost me part of my land, please..." Romano pleaded, tightening his fingers into the collar of Spain's shirt. "Please, it's the only thing I want...He's the only one I've ever had. I'll do anything for him...go anywhere for him. Bring him back... please. I...I wish he never died. That he would be with me for the rest of my life... alive... and healthy. Please..." For hours on end, Romano continued to bawl, eventually crying himself into a deep slumber.

He dreamed... that he was alone in a pure white room, though he couldn't see where the walls met the floor nor could he tell how far away they were from where he was standing. Solitude...it was blissful. Romano took a step forward, admiring the way his shoes clicked against the floor and echoed into the pearly void. No pain, no feelings, nothing. Just white, and blank, much like the current state of his mind. He sighed, rubbing his face with his hand, allowing his fingers to linger on his lips as his eyes darted from space to space.

It was as if he was lost on a new canvas, before a painter defiled it with his mark, and he grinned, thinking of all the ways he could make it beautiful. It would be bright; a flawless blue mixed with a single point of gold floating high above luscious greens and the occasional tan streak. There would be a few trees here and there, thousands of carnations and lilies growing in their shade and along the stream that flowed through the field. Peaceful...warless; Perfect in the eyes of the Italian. He wanted to live in a world like that... but not alone... no. Taking in a breath, Romano sighed again, allowing his hands to flop by his side. The overwhelming whiteness of everything was getting to him, making his eyes water with its luminosity.

Romano tingled, thrown from his dream as a breeze washed over his skin. He frowned, remembering that he was originally inside when he passed out so wind was out of the question... along with the brightness that pierced his lids. He never turned the lights on, so it should still be dark in that room, and he was lying on his back... on something hard and prickly; not the Spaniard, of course, unless he somehow turned into a porcupine when he died. That was absurd. So where the hell was he? After letting out a grumble, he decided that it would be for the best if he just opened up his eyes to see where the hell he was, but what he was met with as he did so made his heart nearly leap into his throat. A pair of emerald orbs, slightly covered by a lock of brown curls, pierced his own, and an oh so innocent smile rested below them; lips curling up to reveal pearly teeth as he saw the Italian stare back at him.

Now if only that face wasn't two inches away from Romano's...