A Cruce Salus – From the cross comes salvation

With every hope came a promise. With every promise came a lie. – GerIta

Umbra Dextras, Prima Orbis
Templa Prospice, Diem Ex Dei

Fides Sponsa, Fides Per Dei
Missaes Can Ta, Mistrae Lingua

Umbra Dextras, Umbra Crucis
Umbra Deus, Lucius Dei – "Diem Ex Dei" by Globus

1956

The room he was in was cold. The colours had begun to fade and a fine coat of dust covered just about everything. Salvation could not be reached here. This was no longer a place where friends could meet and discuss their tactics – it was a room of ghosts. This room of ghosts did say one thing though.

That lies were simple.

Lies were simple.

Simple, simple little things.

And people got upset, very upset over these little things.

What is one to expect?

Everyone does it.

They lie.

Everyone lies.

It's a bitter fact of reality.

Lies were simple.

They were being of truths, trapped with a web of deceit; often created to shield one from harm or keep the person making them live in an ignorant plain of reality.

Lies were simple.

So, simple that the people using them thought they were so intelligent for using them.

It would be a bit of a stretch if he had the mental capabilities to remember every single lie he has ever been told and every promise that has been broken. It would a bit of a stretch if he had said that he had never lied either, but what is one to expect? He may be a nation – but his abilities only stretch so far.

Feliciano supposed that it was natural. People lied to 'protect' him because they couldn't bear to see him get 'hurt' – but they really lied to save themselves and their salvation. They broke promises to save him but they really broke promises because they knew they couldn't hold up their end of the bargain. It was an intricate web of lies that they had all weaved over his eyes in an attempt to blind him from the truth of reality.

He hoped they realized how painful it was to count the promises he had held dear that had been broken.

These promises were all he had had left. One promise was the promise that they would be friends forever. Another was the promise that all would be all right. And the last was the promise that the pinky-pact would hold strong even in the toughest situations. Now, twelve years later, they too were all gone, as if they had never been there in the first place.

Those promises were gone now. Just empty memories that been shaped and cracked open before him, spilling the real truth to the world as if he had just bore his open soul instead

Like those promises, his friends were gone now too. They had taken their empty words with them and had disappeared from his life completely. His best friend hated him and his only other friend could not bear to look at him – instead choosing to clutch painfully at his side were Feliciano knew that the nasty chemical burns he had helped caused stretched painfully against the once pale skin.

Yes, his friends. His closest friends had even lied. Not to even 'save' him as so many others before him had done, but instead to just save themselves – attempting to leave the brunt of the punishment on him. In the end, after all of it was over and the price was paid, they too had left him behind with just a lying kiss and a promise to return.

This bothered him. He wanted them to pay. But he could do nothing.

Unlike his nonno, he did not hold his grudges over all else and he did not seek revenge for the wrongdoings done to him and his people. He couldn't even hold a grudge long enough in the first place to even have anything done.

He wasn't his brother. He was the weak one. He didn't have super strength or the control of any mafia and he gave so easily into the enemy. He was weak; a slave to his emotions. That was the ultimate proof.

No matter what anyone said, he was a failure and a coward of the man.

With a saddening sigh, he left the room of ghosts; the memories of the lost past attempting to claw their way back into his heart, which had been locked away under lock and key long ago.

1968

"I hate you."

The words were uttered at the same time. They were said in dark, low tones only reserved for the darkest of hours in the late night. The two men – once great allies but now terrible enemies – stood facing each other.

They were in the room of ghosts. The memories of the past had yet to appear as they too had begun to fade with the room. The colours had faded completely from the walls and the dust had grown once more. It had been many a year since a soul had stepped into the room and now all that was left was just the room itself.

Feliciano frowned, eyes still slit shut as he stared at the other. Why…Why was he here? He was sure that he was the only one who still had the key to the room. It really had been too long.
"I…See…You haven't changed. What are you doing here?"

"That is none of your business. What are you doing here?"

"What does it matter to you?"

Germany only sneered at the other. "Nothing, nothing at all. But it's really you who has changed hasn't it?"

"Veeee….Really, is that so?"

"Ja." The voice turned cold and the blue eyes went hard with quieted rage. "It's still your fault. It'll always be your fault. It's all your fault. You…You and your silly little brother!"

"Do not bring fratello into this!"

"Why?" The question was sneered. "It's your fault as much as his. I could of won! My people wouldn't have to have suffered even more if it hadn't been for you…! IF it wasn't for you…" Germany's voice suddenly took a fault and a sad look overtook blue eyes. "IF it wasn't for you…Prussia would be–"

Feliciano couldn't stand to listen anymore. The faded memories jarred to life and prodded at him once again. It was too much. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't! In a sudden burst of energy, the dead feeling that had overcome his legs disappeared and he fled the room of ghosts with the voices of the lost and his enemy echoing "You're weak, you're weak, you're weak…." in his ears.

1975

Germany still hated him.

He had a feeling that this would not change.

And he would probably continue to feel this way for some time.

Only bigger proof that their relationship had only been a fluke.

At this point, Feliciano really hated lies.

1980

He hated these meetings. He didn't like wearing suits and he really didn't like hearing everyone yell so loudly at one another! Why was he here again? Where was his brother? Feliciano turned down another endless hallway, officially admitting to himself that he was indeed lost.

Suddenly, a voice reached out to him.

"How could you be friends with that brute!"

That was the sound of a normally calm voice that sounded angry; thickened with what sounded like extreme hysteria. Feliciano turned around slowly to meet the face of an oddly angered Japan.

"Who?"

"Rossiy- the Sov – Russia!"

"Oh….You mean Ivan?"

Japan looked even more offended than before. "You are on a first-name basis with that…that…"

"Yes, we are. He is my friend." Feliciano frowned, something he did not do often. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Hai! Italia-san, I do not approve of your choice in friends–"

"What does my choice in friends have to do with you. You aren't my friend."

Japan faulted as if he had not expected those dark words to be uttered – especially from the Italian.

"Italia–"

"Veee...What's there to say? You haven't talked to me in thirteen years. Having fun with America then?"

"It's not like–"

Feliciano giggled and waved a hand. "Si, si, I understand. You meant to call me but never got any time; you haven't had enough time to yourself; you've been busy with paperwork etc, etc,. I see how it is."

"...Iie...Italia-san, please lis-"

"But Nihoooooon! I'm done listening! It's been too long. You've had thirty-eight years to talk to me. That's more than enough time. I'm done. You nor Germany have any say in who I choose to befriend. It is none of your business."

Japan said nothing, but only looked away. "Italia-san...I am so sorry, but please-"

North Italy suddenly gasped, looking at his watch with surprise. "Oh! I have to go – Me and Ivan have somewhere to go today. I'm going to show him how to make real pasta sauce!"

Japan attempted to reach out for him as he slowly turned away, the slender digits barely brushing across the fabric of the suit before Feliciano disappeared.

People never change.

1982

Two years later, Japan still kept calling him. Just about every week, on the same day and at nearly the same time. He had come to say that he was looking forward to the phone calls.

This did not mean that he answered him.

He never did.

"Hey fucktard, answer the god-damn phone!"

Feliciano looked at his elder brother, who was busy trying to detach a...turtle from his shirt? When had a turtle gotten there?

"Fratello, there's a turt-"

"Yes, I see that there is a damn turtle on my shirt. Motherfucking Spain 'gave' it to me and won't take it back! And I can't kill it because it's endangered and all that shit!"

"Ve...What are you naming it?"

Romano looked impassively at his younger brother, sneering slightly. "Why the hell would I give a name to a turtle I don't even want?"

Feliciano raised an eyebrow. "Ve..."

"Fine! I'm thinking of naming it Signore tartaruga! Now answer the goddamn phone because if I have to explain to Japan one more goddamn time about how you refuse to answer the phone at the next meeting– I will rip you a new one."

Sighing, Feliciano picked up the phone and waited for the lines to connect. Maybe, maybe this wouldn't be that bad after all. Maybe it wasn't as bad as he was making it out to be. Maybe this was a good thi-

"Hello, this is Japan. I am not home right now. Please leave a message after–" "JAPAN, JAPAN, YOU'RE OUT OF BEER AND I'M HUNGRY AND WHEN ARE WE GOING FISHING PLEASE TELL ME IT'S SOON AND WHY IS IT SO HOT I REALLY WANT–" "America-san, I am the message recorder Please -" "OH REALLY? HI EVERYONE. It's the hero! I'M SAVING JAPAN FROM THE HANDS OF UNCOOL PEOPLE LIKE ENG-" BEEP!

Feliciano sighed. He knew it had been too good to be true.

1985

"Is it hard to believe it already has been forty years already, da?"

Italy looked up from his pasta and at his silver haired companion who was poking their cup of gelato with a childish wonder.

He slurped up the spare noodles hanging from his mouth and asked, "What do you mean, Russia?" For some reason, the Soviet nation preferred the name of Russia over the term Soviet Union.

"Today, it's been forty years from September 2nd. That September 2nd."

"Huh- Oh."

"As I said, it doesn't seem so long ago now does it? It makes me wonder...Has it really been that long?"

"I guess so."

"Hmm...You...You do not seem very talkative today comrade. Normally, I cannot get you to shut up like that bumbling oaf of a country who has half the world practically grovelling at his feet. Is something wrong?"

Feliciano attempted to laugh Ivan's worries away, even though his laugh was as fake as he felt. Even though, they weren't exactly 'the greatest of friends', Ivan still kinda cared for him. Feliciano couldn't explain what Ivan and him were. No, they were no enemies nor were they allies. They were neutral. All he knew, Russia didn't care for him at all. That deal their governments made with one another was just another ridiculous empty promise. He couldn't trust Russia as far as he could throw him. But at least, he could still treat the other like a long-lost buddy.

"Comrade, what is wrong?"

"N-Nothing...! V-Ve...It's nothing..."

"Nothing is just nothing, you know that as well as I do." Russia answered, burrowing his face into his scarf so his voice became slightly muffled. "It is never just that simple."

He worryingly chewed away at the inside of his cheek. "W-Well...Japan called me again yesterday and...Ipickeditup."

"That spineless jack-rabbit is attempting to converse with you yet again?"

Feliciano flushed. "Don't say that about Japan!"

The communist lifted his head, the childish smile now gone and replaced with a cruel frown. "He is not your friend, da? Why do you have this silly urge to continue being friend? After all, with what happened, why would he be?"

"I-It's all my fault...! If I hadn't been so weak, we wouldn't have lost–" Suddenly, he was cut off in mid-sentence by a glob of cherry gelato being flung into his face.

Ivan put down his spoon and crossed his legs, folding his hands in his lap. "Comrade, let me tell you something. A wise man once told me that one should look towards the future and what it beholds rather than dwell on the past and would could have been."

"Who...Who said that?...And you flung gelato at me!"

"You know him as well as I do. He is that idiot I am at war with. As stupid and flamboyant as he may be, I have to admit that he is a lot more intelligent than he lets on. After all, what else is to be expected from a country where everything is made first? It may not be the best, but they have it first." Ivan's face turned thoughtful. "Speaking of the moron, I have heard that he is as of late attempting to get on Germany's good-side. I'm hoping he picks the right choice." Russia looked at Italy pointedly. "I hope you do too."

"That still doesn't solve why you flung gelato at me!"

"Does it need an explanation comrade?"

"Ye- Well, um...Not really?"

"Then there you go."

He leaned back, giggling madly. "So, what are you doing to then now my friend?"

"What am I doing?"

"Well, what do you think you're going to do?"

"I...don't know."

"Well, I'll be here when you do."

Feliciano let a smile slip onto his face. "Is that a promise?"

"Da, I believe so."

Then, the two men shook hands and bade one another good-bye before heading off on their own ways.

1989

The news was blasting with bright colours and loud noises, but throughout it all he had only understand one thing.

"Today is a proud day, for the first time in nearly half a century, the east Germans have been reunited with their western halves. A white-haired man is seen leading the first climb over the wall–"

Feliciano had dropped the plate his was holding, recognising that bright white hair and those oddly red-coloured eyes.

Prussia had escaped.

The wall was still there and Berlin was still not whole. East Germans were freely climbing over the wall now and jumping through large cracks in the wall where the bricks had been torn away.

Holy hell, Prussia had escaped.

The first thought that has surfaced was that Ivan was not going to be happy but that was replaced by the immediate though of Prussia had survived, Prussia wasn't dead, Prussia had escaped alive.

1991

He woke from a nightmare, breathing heavily and bathed in cold sweat.

It had been horrible. He had to find Ivan. Something was wrong, something was horribly wrong. Things couldn't go wrong. No, they couldn't.

He had finally found a friend again. He did not trust Ivan, and Ivan did not trust him, but they had promised They had promised to be there for one another.

He had to do something.

He made to get up bu there was a weight at the end of his bed. He looked up to see the face of his brother, looking rather gloomy and un-Romano like.

"The Soviet Union fell today."

That's all he heard before darkness overtook him once more.

1992

Ivan was never the same.

1995

Feliciano turned to look at the one who had spoken. It was Germany.

They were both in the room of ghosts; all memories of the lost past were gone now, both bad and good. Claws of the dead no longer tore at their skin and all the dust that had accumulated was gone now.

"It's...It's been a long time, Germany."

"Same for you Italy."

The awkward silence was never fun.

"So um...how's your brother?"

"Romano still hates you. Nothing has changed. He has a turtle though. Surprisingly, he's had it for the last thirteen years."

"What's its name?"

"Signore Tartaruga."

"Ah..."

It was silence once more. Feliciano had to admit though. The silence was rather nice.

"How is Prussia?"

Germany let a small smile grace his face. "He's been good. He wants to see you though."

"Really? Since when?"

"Well, one of the first things he asked for when he made it back home was that he wanted to see you. He's...rather disappointed by the fact that we're not friends any more."

The Italian ran a hand through his hair, careful to avoid the curl. "Well...You can't help what's true. It's probably better that we're not friends any way."

The German sighed. "Italy, I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"Everything."

"That's a lot of sorry's."

"You know what I mean right?" Germany asked. "I'm sorry for blaming for the war on you. And I'm sorry for blaming what happened to Prussia on you as well..."

Feliciano smiled softly. "It's all right. I understand."

"Do you think we could be friends again?"

There were the words he had been waiting fifty years for.

"Nope, I don't think so."

"W-Was...?"

The Italian let out a laugh and this time, it didn't feel fake. "I'm kidding. We can be friends. As long as you make promises that you can keep. Promise?"

"...Sure. I promise."

"Cross your heart and hope to die?"

"Of course."

1999

Feliciano picked up Japan's phone-call this time around.

"Herro, iz dis–"

"Japan, I know it's you."

"...O-Oh...Well, hello Feliciano."

"Ciao Japan. How about me and you have a little chat?"

2004

Japan was his friend again, Germany was actually speaking to him, and Prussia had learned how to use technology in the meanwhile. He slowly deleted all the spam-like messages from the former nation and smiled.

All was right in the world.

There was one problem though and that was Russia. It had been thirteen years now. Why did time skip forward so fast for nations? Had it really been thirteen years? Thirteen years later, after the collapse of the Soviet States, Russia was still not the same. The fragile mental state the man had before the fall seemed even more cracked than before.

Suddenly, the phone rang

That was interesting. Who could be calling him?

He picked up the phone and answered tenderly. "...Ciao?"

"Have you figured out what you're going to do yet?"

Feliciano grinned again – he seemed to be doing that often. "No, I don't think I have."

"All right, I'll be here until you do. In the meanwhile, there is a capitalist pig's ass I must kick."

"Have fun."

"Da. Pakah, comrade!"

It wasn't the Soviet Ivan he had grown used to it, but it was still Ivan.

All was well in the world.

Author's Note:

RUSSIAN:

idiot – Idiot [Идиот]

Da – Yes

Pakah – Good-Bye (Informal)

ITALIAN:

Signore Tartaruga – Mister Turtle

Ciao – Hello

Nonno – Grandpa

Fratello – Brother

GERMAN:

Ja - Yes

Personally, I think this is horrible. I don't even know what the hell I was thinking when writing this. I dunno. But I really hope this is accurate because Germany and Italy really did hate each other during the Cold War Era. Blahblahblah 'that's not what canon says!' is something I seriously expect, but it is true.

And Italy and Russia did have good relations during the Soviet years and they still have good relations.

Japan and Italy weren't all that tight either. AND WHY IS IT ON USA ENGLISH /RAEG

And this is moar Italy-centric than anything else. Oh well.