Work Text:
Prumano Rape Prompt
Sun-darkened hands trembled violently on the steering wheel of a sleek Italian car. Messy auburn hair hung, sweat-dampened, over hazel eyes. Tracks of tears streamed down cheeks without relenting.
Romano bit back the cries of anguish that wanted to break free from him. He couldn't let them out. The tears were bad enough. Instead of letting out a noise, he bit his lower lip hard until it was close to splitting.
He was already weak enough. Weak and scared shitless. The last thing he wanted was the verbal proof of his own frailty coming from his mouth.
What kind of nation let – THAT – happen to them? Any other nation would have been able to stop the-
Romano dislodged his own thoughts by shaking his head.
No, he just wasn't going to think about it. He wasn't going to tell anybody.
He just had a few more miles to drive and he'd be safe.
Taking a deep breath, Romano got out of the car and went into the small late-night cafe. He glared at everybody around himself, doubting, paranoid, as he made his way into the bathroom.
It was small and sort of dirty, but it was blessedly a single room and not full of stalls. He'd been in this place before, so he knew what to expect.
He ran the cold water and splashed it over his face. The mirror in front of him reflected back eyes that were blood-shot, puffy from tears.
Shit.
He dampened a wad of paper towels and made them ice cold. Then he rested them over his eyes and hoped the puffiness would go away.
Nobody could know. Nobody.
Eventually, he deemed his face to be as close to normal as he would get. The bloodshot eyes could be explained away with the excuse of overworking.
Romano ran back to his car, not even listening to the cafe workers who asked if he was alright. He stumbled into his car and peeled out onto the road. He didn't stop until he was in front of the one house he was after. The one place that he needed to be with every part of his being.
Only barely remembering to take the keys out of the ignition, Romano dashed up the front steps and tried the doorknob.
Locked.
Which of course made sense because it was the middle of the night.
So he pounded on the glossy white painted wooden door with all of his strength. He looked behind himself when he heard the pounding of a late-night joggers sneakers on the pavement.
He smacked the door with a fist and the open palm of his hand, panicked and wanting to cry out for help. He kept his shouts swallowed in his throat.
When his hand fell down to hit once more, it hit the firm chest of a tall blond.
“It's two am,” grumbled Germany, glaring down with sleepy but nevertheless sharp eyes.
Romano didn't answer that statement about the time. He didn't even really think about it.
All he did was ask, “Is Prussia here?”
“Ja, but why are you-”
“Great, thanks,” mumbled Romano, sliding by Germany and headed for the stairs in the kitchen which led to the basement.
Germany blinked several times before he realized two things.
Number one: Romano had ignored everything he had said.
Number two: Romano had not only thanked him, but hadn't called him a potato-bastard even once.
Germany decided that he must he dreaming and went back upstairs to go to sleep.
Romano, meanwhile, slunk into the rather large basement room that Prussia called his own. It was lit up dimly in a bright blueish sheen that was coming from a computer monitor. Having dated Prussia for a good many years by that point, Romano didn't have to see the computer screen to know that a video game was probably being played. It was called, 'Orecraft' or 'Blockcraft', or something like that. Romano couldn't really focus when Prussia told him about his games.
He would normally grumble for Prussia to pay attention to him. Romano didn't do that then. He just continued into the room in a frightened daze.
#
Prussia was playing Minecraft. He never had before because he thought that it was probably lame. However he'd been mistaken. There was plenty of fighting and exploring to be done. Tonnes of land to conquer in the name of the great Prussia.
Currently, he was fighting a huge-ass boss called an Ender Dragon. It was swooping down and trying to attack him. Trying being the key word, since nobody could hurt the awesome Prussia, even the video game version. He'd even made a skin for his character so he'd look just as awesome as Prussia himself.
In his room, behind him, Prussia heard the door open. It was probably just West needing to tell him something.
“Yeah, gimme a second West. Let me kick this dragon's ass and then you can tell me what you want,” said Prussia, not even turning around.
He stopped paying attention to the other person in the room, his bruder, and beat the boss. As soon as it dropped a giant, blocky looking egg, Prussia saved and exited the game.
Giving a satisfied sigh, he turned around to see a lump under the blankets on his bed. Raising a brow, he began to get confused.
Germany wouldn't hide under his blankets. The only person who would was busy in his half of Italy with some kind of business that he wouldn't bother explaining.
“France? Is that you? Look, buddy, I'm with Romano. You know I have been for several years now. I'm not into infidelity,” said Prussia, heading over to his bed with a few swift steps and added as an after thought, “Also, Romano would probably slice off my testicles if he saw you naked in my bed. Besides, aren't you finally dating-”
The words died in his throat when he pulled back the blankets and saw his curled up boyfriend. Romano looked like shit. Exhausted and yet not sleeping.
He was shivering.
“Oh. Heh, well you could have told me you wanted to bask in my awesome presence,” said Prussia.
Despite his gloating words, which came out more from sheer habit than anything else even if they were still true, he grabbed another blanket out of his closet to drape over his clearly cold partner.
Normally, that sort of statement would cause Romano to break out into yelling or some sort of caustic retort. Hell, the fact that Romano hadn't commented on the fact that Prussia had thought he may have been France was a bit weird. Or a lot weird in fact.
Still, Romano sometimes got into a mood for maybe an hour or less where he would be nice to Prussia for a while. So really, Prussia wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Instead, he began to take off his shirt and Romano's eyes went wider than it seemed possible and his pupils dilated.
“N-no. K-keep your shirt on,” cried Romano, his words stuttering and his body trembling far more violently.
Prussia blinked several times before he nodded and shimmied into the bed, fully clothed.
“Hey, are you alright?” asked Prussia, reaching out to place a hand on Romano's shoulder, hearing the Italian's breathing slow down.
This was really freaking Prussia out, but he refused to show it. Romano never acted this way. He thought of calling Veneziano but thought better of it. At least for now. Whatever was going on had clearly made Romano wish to be in specific company.
Prussia's.
Romano nodded and whispered, “I'm just tired and don't want to have sex right now.”
“Well, I guess it's nice of you to tell me for once instead of punching the closest part of me that you can find. Not that I can't handle it. I just look less awesome when I'm covered in bruises,” chuckled Prussia.
He was serious. Romano's hits and punches didn't hurt Prussia at all. Prussia had lived hundreds of years, fighting in wars and battles for most of that time.
Romano didn't say anything, just cuddled into Prussia. So close that almost every part of their bodies were touching, save for their hips. Prussia ran his hand over Romano's soft hair. If anybody were to ask Prussia if he were a hopelessly romantic cuddler, he'd have denied it vehemently, and then punched them for good measure.
That didn't change the fact that Prussia fell asleep happily that night with his partner in his arms, petting Romano's skin gently.
And hoped that Romano would be back to normal in the morning.
#
When Prussia woke up, he stretched deliciously. He loved waking up next to his fiery little Italian. Even though, in the mornings, Romano's face would be slack and absolutely adorable with maybe a tiny line of drool on his face. His limbs would be star-fished all over the bed.
Not that morning.
Romano had, at some point in the night, curled into a ball and had his face scrunched up in agitation.
Hmmm, Prussia wanted Romano to have a good start to his day. A good morning for Romano meant a good day for Prussia. So he slipped on some track pants and plodded upstairs to make some breakfast for Romano to eat in bed.
No, he wasn't whipped. Not at all.
It was just that a happy boyfriend was a good thing.
That's what he told himself anyway.
“Guten Morgen Bruder,” said Germany, already at the stove, “Must you walk around without a shirt?”
Prussia noted that the time was seven in the morning. It was a weekend, which explained why Germany was still in the house and not at the office.
“Yep. Just coming up to get food for me and Romano,” said Prussia, scratching his belly and yawning.
“Hmmm,” said Germany, flipping a fried egg.
Prussia got out a tray and put on a couple of mugs for coffee. As much as Romano bitched about the way that they, meaning Germans, made coffee, the Italian couldn't start his day without it.
“Ja?” said Prussia idly when he realized that his brother had something to say.
“So Romano is actually here?”
“He is. Why would you think he wasn't?”
Germany puts his hands on his hips, spatula sticking out, “I thought that I had dreamt answering the door. Romano was almost pleasant to me.”
“That's not so weird. He's pleasant to you on Christmas and on Sundays before he goes to mass,” said Prussia, even though he was distinctly aware that it was neither of those days.
“This wasn't just the fact that he didn't insult me. He thanked me,” said Germany, shaking his head.
That made Prussia whip his head to stare at his brother, who had resumed food preparation.
Romano didn't thank people. Not using words at least.
Add in all of his boyfriend's weird behaviour the night previous and it was enough to concern Prussia.
He quickly got the rest of the food together and on plates and jogged downstairs.
The blankets had been shoved back and the shower was on in the small adjoining bathroom. Setting down the tray of food, Prussia walked slowed.
Usually Romano wouldn't ever shower until he had coffee in his system, at the very least.
Prussia moved quietly to the bathroom door and slid it open.
It hadn't been locked, which was another abnormality. The room was somewhat small, only having a sink, toilet and standing shower stall. It was only the basement bathroom after all. The thing had only been put in when Romano had complained about going upstairs to shower and do his business where, 'the potato bastard,' could see him at any point in time.
So because of the smallness of the room, the door knocked a pile of clothes off of the sink. Prussia was about to pass them by when he saw a sight that made him freeze in his tracks.
Romano's underwear, his white boxer briefs, had a large streak of dark, dried, as well as fresh blood in them. With his face paling even further than it already was, Prussia looked up and, even through the frosted glass of the door, he could see streaks of dripping blood moving down Romano's tanned legs. There was more crimson near Romano's-
"Mein Gott," whispered Prussia, trying to be quiet but failing.
Romano jumped and his eyes were wide as he spun around, relaxing marginally when he saw who it was.
"P-Please-" stuttered Romano, crossing his arms over his chest and slinking back against the tiled wall.
Taking a deep breath, Prussia knew he had to be calm. He to speak carefully and gently, even though all he wanted was to have the weight of a sword in his hand once more. Prussia wanted to find who had done this to his partner and end their life.
That, however, couldn't happen yet. He needed to comfort Romano first.
"Liebling," said Prussia, taking a step forward, "I won't hurt you."
Romano's whole body shivered and he looked to the ground.
"I'll be right back, okay?" said Prussia, who went out to the closet and grabbed a couple of wash-cloths.
When he went in, Romano was standing back up and just standing under the spray of hot water. Prussia moved in slow and turned down the heat a tad, so it was less scalding. Then he placed his hand on Romano's shoulder.
"I'd like to wash you, if you'd let me," said Prussia, trying to smile but probably failing.
He must have done something right, because Romano nodded and added, in a softer tone than he'd probably ever used in his life, "Just keep your pants on."
"Sure," said Prussia, stepping into the stall.
Any of the discomfort of wearing clothing into the shower was forgotten as he squirted a blob of soap onto the cloth he'd fetched and began to tenderly rub it over Romano's still shaking body. Every now and then. as he cleaned, he pressed a kiss on Romano's forehead or his cheeks.
When he got Romano to turn around, Prussia was even more gentle with his legs. Before he made contact with Romano's ass, even though Prussia had touched and fucked it hundreds of times, he asked, "May I?"
Romano nodded once more.
Prussia rinsed all of the soap out of the cloth, just in case, and oh so carefully spread Romano's cheeks. He heard a sharp intake of breath and knew why immediately. The entire area was a mess that made Prussia want to do more than kill. He wanted to torture. He'd done it in his centuries long past and he knew that he was good at it.
Torture wouldn't be good enough for the fucker who'd done this to his boyfriend.
Yet what he said was nothing. He touched gingerly, very aware of the hisses and whimpers Romano let out. Once every inch of skin was clean, Prussia stood and turned Romano around. He drew the Italian into his arms and hugged him tight.
He didn't know what to say and he didn't think anything would be good enough. What could you say to somebody who had been-
Prussia didn't even want to think that word. It would make his blood-lust rise.
He needed to keep focus.
So he turned off the shower and grabbed the fresh towel that Romano had the presence of mind to grab before he got into the bathroom. He dried the smaller man off and then wrapped him up. Romano was standing still and letting Prussia minister to him, hardly doing more than blinking.
It was shock. Possibly because Prussia had found him out?
Prussia didn't know, but ushered his boyfriend out into the bedroom. Once there, he picked out some of the sleep clothes that Romano kept around. He assumed that the Italian would not want to leave the room for a while.
He didn't blame him.
Romano sluggishly put on the offered clothing and dropped the towel on the ground. The two of them then crawled into bed, ignoring the food that was now left to be cold.
It was then, that Romano dove at Prussia and began to sob into his chest.
He cried for over an hour before he fell back asleep.
#
It wasn't until the next evening that Prussia could get Romano to eat anything more than nibbles of his food. He'd finally succeeded in getting an entire meal into his boyfriend by ordering out from the finest Italian restaurant in Berlin. He'd asked Germany to pick it up. His bruder had been hesitant at first, but eventually agreed because it wasn't often that Prussia was so deadly serious about anything.
"Would you like me to call your bruder?" asked Prussia, leaning back against the bed frame and patting his full stomach.
Romano frantically shook his head. He'd gone into some kind silence. Prussia honestly didn't know much about victims of trauma and how to help one recover. He was sure that he wasn't the best to do so. But he didn't want to do anything that would make Romano uncomfortable.
Unless Romano wasn't recovering in any way.
"He wasn't involved in..." suggested Prussia, not really believing the words himself, but needing to be sure.
Romano looked over at Prussia and gave the most disgusted scowl that he'd seen in a while. Prussia shrugged but inwardly smirked. That smirk may be progress.
"Okay. Just making sure."
Looking back down at his own lap, Romano began to pick the fluff off of the blanket that they were under. He made a small heap of the tiny bits.
Prussia, never really able to keep his mouth shut for too long, blurted, "Who then?"
Romano thinned his lips and shook his head.
Prussia steepled his fingers over his stomach and heaved a sigh that sounded foreign coming from his mouth. He couldn't handle not knowing.
"Just, tell me whether or not it was a nation," asked Prussia, reaching out and grabbed a hold of Romano's hand.
Letting free the lower lip that he had been biting, Romano looked over at Prussia and murmured, "It wasn't a nation. Okay bastard?"
Prussia wouldn't deny that he was a strategist no matter what the situation. So even though he loathed what was going on at the moment, he couldn't help but analyze the information.
Romano's attacker not being a nation had it's perks and drawbacks.
On one hand, when a nation does something to another nation in a non-political context, retribution could be taken freely without the consequences of war or human law enforcement getting involved. However that was not to stop nations who were allied to the attacker from helping out. So the fact that a nation didn’t hurt Romano would prevent a giant brawl.
Not that Prussia would mind. He really wanted to kill a lot of things at the moment.
However since it had obviously been a human, Prussia's revenge would possibly get noticed by the cops of whatever nation the scum was in. The nation of said people could be persuaded to cover things up and keep Prussia from getting into trouble. However then Prussia would have to explain what had happened to Romano.
He knew, for a fact, that his lover did not want what happened to get out.
Still, Prussia didn't belong in this time of justice by a court of law no matter what crime had been committed and to whom. In his time, if a nation personification was wronged, they could seek retribution in whatever way they wanted. Humans feared them.
And that was exactly what he fully intended to do this time as well. Prussia intended to make sure that no human would hurt his lover again.
#
“No! I won't do it,” huffed Romano, hating the tremble in his voice as he sat on the end of Prussia's bed, hands clenching the blanket underneath him.
“You've been in here for a week. You've hardly moved from the bed,” said Prussia, standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.
Romano shifted out his lower lip in a frustrated pout, “So? I don't see a problem with that.”
“I'm not asking much,” said Prussia.
“Too bad. I'll stay in this bed for the rest of my life if I have to,” announced Romano, flopping onto his back on the bed.
Feet pounding on the floor, Prussia stormed over to Romano and said, “I'm picking you up now.”
Snarling, Romano grabbed onto the blanket as hard as he could. Prussia had made the bed so tight that it was bound to stay put. Of course, that was only wishful thinking as Romano, held by the hips, was dragged back, kicking and yelling, “Put me down you bastard. I don't want to. Lemme go!”
Prussia grunted as Romano's heel met his upper thigh, “Not a chance. You need to take steps to recover and if I have to drag you then I will.”
The basement door, already ajar, was kicked open the rest of the way with Prussia's foot and the two of them tromped up the stairs. Romano screamed and hollered the entire way, kicking and punching every inch of Prussia's body that he could reach.
Before long, however, the light of the sunny upstairs hit Romano's widened eyes and he was set down on his feet. Romano stood in the kitchen, the tiles cool against his bare feet. There was nobody in the room except for himself and Prussia. On the dining table that was in the room attached to the kitchen was set an array of coffees and desserts.
Romano held the blanket closer to himself and jutted out his trembling lower lip.
He didn't want to be upstairs. He didn't want to be anywhere but Prussia's basement for the rest of his life.
“I'll be here the whole time. I won't leave your side for a second,” said Prussia, putting his hand on Romano's lower back and nudging him towards the food, “You just need to take baby steps, alright?”
Leaning closer to Prussia, but not relinquishing his hold on the quilt, Romano let himself be lead to the table and sat down. When he looked over all of the food, he realized that it was all Italian and made by hand. There were canolis, bruttiboni, a crostata, a panna cotta that smelled as if it were made with rum, and some tiramisu. The coffee was very clearly not made by Prussia, but was still served in white mugs. The foam was shaped into a Stella d'italia*.
After taking a bite of a canoli, Romano narrowed his eyes and growled, “So where the hell is he, huh?”
Prussia looked off to the side and gave one of his cackling laughs in just such a way that Romano knew meant that he was nervous as fuck, “Who? Wow this pie is good.”
A soft and barely audible, “Veh!” floated over from the large, walk-in pantry.
“It's a fucking crostata, bastard and I'm talking about my idiota brother who obviously made all of this!”
Just as Prussia was about to open his mouth, probably to go into more denials, the pantry door slammed open. Romano jumped a foot into the air and shook as Veneziano charged him, wrapping his arms around his neck.
“Fratello! I was so worried about you. I kept calling and calling Prussia and then Germany to see if they knew where you where and Germany said you were with Prussia but Prussia wouldn't say anything and then after I asked him for the twentieth time he said that you wanted to be alone and that something happened but he refuses to say what and I was so scared because you weren't at home and didn't tell me where you were and you always tell me where you are going even if it is just to come here,” blurted Veneziano, somehow getting it all out in one breath.
The potato-bastard stepped out of the pantry as well, looking quite uncomfortable, though he almost always looked that way anyway.
“Well you don't have to worry, I'm fine,” said Romano, still shaking from being so suddenly latched onto, which was stupid because he'd been surprise hugged by his stupid little brother for centuries.
“Then why did Prussia have to drag you up here kicking and screaming? Also, you kinda smell, have you not been showering. That's not like you,” said Veneziano.
So Romano may have only showered that first morning he got here. He didn't need to explain himself to anybody.
“If I say I'm fine then I'm fine,” grumbled Romano, but not trying to break free of his brother's embrace.
“Please tell me what happened,” begged Veneziano, making his eyes widen and become shiny with incoming tears.
Looking away sharply, Romano snarled, “I told you that I'm fine! So stop asking. Please.”
While he had started to speak harshly, his words quickly lowered to an eventual whisper. His lower lip trembled and he broke out of his brother's grasp, crashing his body against Prussia's own. He restrained his sobs but couldn't stop the hot tears that streaked down his face.
Why couldn't he just forget everything that happened? Why did he have to be so weak?
Then he heard Veneziano softly whisper, “It was the mafia, wasn't it?”
He stiffened before he could do anything to stop himself. Prussia growled low.
Veneziano rested a hand on Romano's back and rubbed, “What did they do to you?”
Romano shook his head, “I don't want to think about it.”
Placing a single kiss onto Romano's forehead, Prussia turned the Southern Italian around and back into Veneziano's embrace.
“B-bastard? Where are you going?”
Prussia stopped in the doorway, hand on the wooden frame and said, “To make sure that this doesn't happen again.”
The potato-bastard pinched the bridge of his nose and said, “I'll follow him.”
#
“What exactly are you planning on doing Bruder?” said Germany, standing in the middle of the basement room, ready to move at a moment's notice.
Prussia for the most part, was ignoring West. He finally, finally had somebody to let loose all of his pent up blood lust. Nothing was going to stop him.
“Are you going to take on the entire Italian mafia?” said Germany, tapping his foot.
“Yes,” said Prussia.
Sliding a large wooden chest out from under his bed, Prussia removed and unwrapped a shiny silver blade, still perfectly maintained. He stood up and swung it through the air, relishing the feel of it in his hands once more.
Germany sighed and grumbled, “I don't suppose I can stop this foolishness?”
Looking overly with a stony glare, Prussia sheathed his blade and attached the hilt to his waist, “If something horrible happened to your half of Italy, something that changed how he acted and scared him more then he had been in a long time, would I be able to stop you from getting revenge.”
Closing his eyes and then sighing, Germany was about to speak but the door slammed open behind them. Romano stood in the door, eyes wide and wild.
The Italian stormed up and grabbed a hold of the sword by the hilt, right over Prussia's hand, “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
Prussia frowned and said, “I can take care of myself Liebling.”
“This isn't a couple of people. This is the entire fucking mafia!”
“So? I've taken on armies before,” argued Prussia, choosing not to think about the fact that he'd done so when he, himself, had an army to his name.
Though Romano, far more tactful than most would believe, just said, “That was political. That was war. The mafia continues to be around because it is a criminal organization. It corrupts and bribes my politicians to turn a blind eye. It works outside of the law and the world or war.”
“I can still-”
Romano, sliding his hand from the metal hilt of the sword and up Prussia's arm, moved to rest his head on Prussia's chest.
“You'll die. I don't want you hurt,” he whispered, so quiet that only Prussia himself would have been able to hear.
Not that it seemed to matter. Germany had left the room, tugging a frantic Veneziano with him.
“So then what happens when you go back home?” asked Prussia, feeling a thickness in his throat that he refused to acknowledge.
If Romano wouldn't let him kill anybody, he didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to handle to pain of the knowledge that he'd failed his partner.
“It doesn't matter,” muttered Romano.
“Yes it does!” yelled Prussia, hands on Romano's shoulders
“It doesn't. You matter more,” screamed Romano up at Prussia, clenching his fists into Prussia's shirt, “You've-”
Romano's voice hitched and he burst into a fresh set of tears, hiding his face once more in Prussia's shirt.
It didn't matter because Prussia knew what his lover had been about to say.
They'd become everything to each other. They had been exactly what two lonely men- not humans but not even full nations- had needed. Their touch soothed each other and could bring them both to new heights of pleasure and love.
Prussia dropped the sword to the ground, the clang echoing around the room, and wrapped his arms around Romano.
He didn't know what to do about keeping his lover safe, but he'd figure it out with him together.
#
After a few weeks in Prussia's basement, Romano began to feel like himself again.
That was not to say that he didn't jump at sudden movements, or startle when his brother forgot himself and tackled Romano into a hug, but he was getting better at moving on.
Stirring cream into his coffee, following by lots of sugar since Prussia had brewed it, Romano leaned against the counter of the potato-bastard's kitchen. It was his second coffee of the morning because he woke up twice with nightmares.
He watched as Prussia ascended the basement stairs with a box in his hands. Romano could see the driveway from the kitchen window and saw Prussia load it into the back of the car. The Prussia came back in dusting off his hands.
“Those boxes had better not dirty up my car,” groused Romano as he stared into the creamy brown liquid that he was working on drinking.
“They won't and it was the last one by the way,” announced Prussia, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it.
Romano nodded and then whispered, “Are you sure about this?”
“What? Don't you want me to live with you?” said Prussia, pausing with the glass at his lips and widening his eyes as if he was seriously affronted.
“Of course I do you jerk!” yelled Romano, chugging the rest of his beverage in one gulp and nearly gagging, “It's just that this is your home.”
Putting the cup down with a clunk against the granite counter top, Prussia stared seriously down at Romano. Then he grabbed the Italian's chin and forced their eyes to meet.
“No. It used to be my home. I don't have land anymore. Now you are my home and keeping you safe is my priority,” said Prussia, leaning down to place a kiss on Romano's forehead, “And I take that very seriously.”
Feeling his throat constrict and his mouth dry, Romano nodded and was glad to be able to finally look away.
All of the emotions that he'd expressed in the previous month had left him drained and back to finding it hard to say what he feels now that he was no longer so vulnerable. Instead he leaned forward and pecked Prussia's cheek hastily in a soft kiss. His lover's words meant the world to him and he was incredibly glad that he didn't have to go back to his home by himself.
He felt safer with Prussia around and had been overjoyed when told that his partner intended to move in with him.
Turning and washing their dishes, Romano dried his hands and headed out to the car. Prussia and the potato-bastard had said their good-byes the night before. It had involved a sickening amount of beer and giving each other manly hugs. The two siblings had taken one look at each other this morning and Germany's eyes misted over but he wished Prussia good luck and then went into work.
Romano, despite his dislike for Germany, felt a bit bad for separating the siblings. However since Prussia seemed alright with the arrangement, Romano wasn't going to complain.
Prussia got behind the passenger seat, by that point in their relationship, knowing better than to try to drive Romano's cars. He was already fucking with the radio. Romano slid behind the wheel and started the car, shooting Prussia glances.
“Alright, bring me to our home. It's time for me to make it even more awesome,” said Prussia, practically shouting.
“Greaaat,” grumbled Romano without a whole lot of bite in his voice.
#
Prussia sat under the shade of his new front porch on a handcrafted wooden chair, the hot Italian sun caressing his booted feet. There was a wicked grin twisting his mouth and his red eyes narrowed at the three approaching men who were clad in expensive looking clothes.
He stroked over the silver of the blade that he had resting on his lap and stood.
“Can I help you?” asked Prussia, ice frosting his words.
“None of your business kid,” said the man in front of the other two, “Just get outta here.”
The words were, of course, spoken in Italian and with a smug sense of superiority.
Prussia knew exactly who they were when they'd begun to call Romano to let him know that they wanted to meet up to talk to him. Finally, after a few days, they decided to show up on Romano's relatively remote property.
He may not be able to take on the entire mafia, but he could take down the dogs that came. Prussia would send a message of his own.
The slice of his sword into the flesh of a human had never felt so good. Nobody, but nobody, would hurt his Italy again. Prussia would make sure of it.
And, with that final thought, the blood of dirty criminals soaked the ground.
____________________________________________
Stella d'Italia: According to Wikipedia (always the best source of totally accurate information, really), the Stella d'Italia is one of the most ancient symbols of the Italian land. Anybody else would have just seen the shape of a star in the cappuccino foam. Romano saw the star for what it was: North Italy's, “I was here,” marking.