There were precious few world summits that Romano attended without vaguely wondering why he bothered. It wasn't like he participated much, if at all, and if he did happen to say something, it was usually drowned out by someone else. The coffee was stale, the conversation was probably murdering his brain cells, the other nations were childish, and he honestly wished he could shoot most of them.

And yet, again and again, when the time came he always found himself willingly surrounding himself with idiots. And Spain.

Veneziano was far more enthusiastic, despite his tendency to lose interest in the proceedings in record time. While Romano could hardly begrudge him the latter, it still annoyed him that Veneziano kept dragging him to these things.

Yes, that was it, he supposed. The main reason he came to these summits was to make sure his stupid little brother didn't get into anything else that was stupid. (Especially Germany.)

He was in luck today; it seemed potato breath wasn't in, nor was the dozy cat bastard that also never participated.. Something about economics and money-related nagging. The usual stupid stuff.

So, one less reason to worry about his brother. Not that he was worried about his brother at all, of course. At the moment Veneziano was leaning back in the chair next to him, staring straight up at the ceiling with a cat draped over his face (God knew where he'd gotten it, seeing as Greece was absent). At least it seemed to be keeping him busy, even if he did make a few annoying sounds when it climbed off his face and into his lap. Apparently unfazed when the cat's paw jabbed him in the eye, Veneziano settled down with a satisfied smile and stroked the cat while apparently ignoring everything going on around him.

He wasn't missing much. The others had taken the opportunity of Germany's nonattendance to talk about him behind his back. For once, Romano perked up to pay attention. Dirt was always good.

"He has such an uncouth language, too," France complained. "Like gargling with rocks."

"I'm surprised you of all people didn't mention the porn," England muttered.

"I'm focusing in the negative, Angleterre."

"Got nothin' on Shock videos anyway," America piped up in that obnoxious voice of his. "Hey, you know what I've always wondered? You know how everybody was going on about the Third Reich back in World War 2? If the Nazis were the third, what the heck were the second and the first?"

England rolled his eyes. "Typical of you, America. You wouldn't know world history if it jumped up and bit you. The second Reich was the German Empire that lasted from 1871 to 1918. The first was the Holy Roman Empire."

Romano looked instinctively to Veneziano, just in time to see his brother jump, disturbing the cat in his lap. The animal yowled, swiped its claws at Veneziano's fingers, and bolted. With a small yelp, the younger Italy clutched his scratched hand and stared at the other nations, suddenly wide-eyed and attentive. England, who sat with his back to Veneziano between him and America, didn't appear to notice. No one did, aside from Romano.

"No fair, England!" America complained. "I've totally heard of the Holy Roman Empire!"

"I don't know why he was included, in any case," England said dismissively. "It's not like he ever did anything meaningful before collapsing in on himself."

Veneziano flinched slightly, his entire body going tense. He now looked away from the other nations and stared down at his lap, eyes smoldering. The nails of one hand dug into the other, drawing blood from the fresh scratches. As Romano watched uneasily, his younger brother's hair curl went jagged.

Change the subject, he thought desperately, as if England could hear him. You're always telling people to read the atmosphere, so read it and change the damn subject!

America laughed out loud. "Dude, I know, right? I knew this one historian who told me a joke about how the Holy Roman Empire was neither Holy, nor Roman, nor an actual empire." He laughed again, not seeing the way Veneziano's hands curled into white-knuckled fists. "No wonder we won, if that was their model. I mean seriously, what a friggin' loser!"

Romano saw it coming. He really did. But his brother was fast, and by the time Romano was halfway out of his chair, Veneziano had reached America, his fist crashing forcefully into the astonished nation's mouth.

Later, Romano would spare a moment of pride for his brother for nearly knocking America out of his chair. At the moment his arms were flung around Veneziano's middle, restraining him before he could lunge for America's throat.

Veneziano struggled in his grip, spitting with rage. "Take it back!" he screamed. "Damn you, take it back!"

America was staring almost fearfully at Veneziano, his hand over his mouth. "What..."

"You know nothing, do you hear me? Nothing!" Veneziano snarled, in a chilling tone that Romano had never heard from him before. "Take it back! Take it back, take it back, take it back, take it back—" He shrieked the phrase over and over again as Romano struggled to drag him out of the room and shut the door behind him.

In the conference room, the other nations stared at one another in shocked silence. America's hand came away flecked with blood from his split lip.

"Dude. What the fuck."

England stared round-eyed at the door. "...Let us never speak of this again."

Unnoticed by the rest, Austria and Hungary exchanged a worried glance. France silently stared down at the table, suddenly unable to meet anyone else's eyes.

Veneziano had calmed down considerably out in the hallway. Romano could feel him trembling violently in his grip, but he no longer struggled to break free.

"H-hey Romano, I'm okay!" Veneziano told him, his voice light. "R-really, I'm fine now, you can let go!"

Reluctantly, Romano released him, only to grab his shoulders when his brother's shaking legs nearly gave way beneath him. "Oh, for the love of—"

"I'm fine!" Veneziano interrupted, bracing one hand against the wall. "I-I-I'm sorry, I just lost my head a little." The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile, but there was a strained look in his eyes. "But I'm okay now, really. Just lost my temper. Can't remember when that last happened, huh?"

Romano did not let go of him. "Veneziano..."

"I'm fine," Veneziano's voice was shrill with desperation, his eyes shining with held-back tears, the smile frozen on his face.. "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm... I'm..." His voice broke, and the tears came spilling out. "I'm fine... What did I do, oh God, what did I do?"

"You grew a spine for five seconds. Good for you, really."

Veneziano simply stared at him for a moment, tears dripping down his face. Then he shut his eyes tightly, hung his head, and leaned forward until his forehead pressed against Romano's chest.

Swearing, Romano nearly backed away. "Damn it, Veneziano, will you get off—" A sharp intake of breath from Veneziano cut him off, and the younger Italy broke down in earnest. Romano reluctantly shut his mouth and stayed where he was as he watched his little brother's shoulders hitch with each high-pitched sob.

"They're wrong," Veneziano sobbed, his voice cracking on nearly every word. "R-right? H-h-he wasn't... h-he wasn't a... Th-they all just don't know, 'cause they're stupid and they n-never knew him, a-and... and..."

"Of course they're stupid," Romano scoffed, awkwardly resting a hand between his brother's trembling shoulders. "That's what I've been trying to tell you this whole time."

His brother sniffled again. Romano was beginning to feel dampness soaking through his shirt. Damn it, Veneziano, you'd better not be getting snot all over me, I just dry-cleaned this shirt. He supposed, just this once, he could refrain from speaking his mind.

Veneziano spoke again, in a small, tremulous voice that gave Romano a strange urge to curb-stomp everyone who wasn't his brother.

"I-I miss him, fratello."

Romano stared down at the top of his brother's head, glad that Veneziano couldn't see his face.

What about me, Veneziano? Am I just not good enough for you?

It was as if his brother had read his thoughts. In the next moment, thin arms were wrapping around him, turning the prolonged headbutt into an actual hug.

"G-Grazie. For stopping me. And for being here. I'm glad you're here, okay?"

Romano glanced to the side, trying and failing to suppress the sudden warmth blossoming in his chest. "...Yeah. If you say so, little brother."

Something I wrote for fun. I almost didn't post it, actually.