Silence, and then an approving hum behind him. “Part of me was hoping you’d say that,” France says. “Very well. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to carry too many cups of coffee, but I suppose that’s what trays are for.”
Spain doesn’t look away from Romano’s face, even when he hears France padding across the carpet. Behind his eyes, he sees France sliding on pants, slipping his feet into shoes as though he’s Cinderella. “France,” he asks, “do you ever stay the night?”
Silence.
“No,” France says. “I don’t.”
And when Spain opens his mouth again, France says, “And people know better than to stay in bed for me.”
Spain closes his mouth, quiet, his teeth clacking together like the lock on the door clicks shut. And then it’s just him and a sleeping Romano in the room together.
He strides to the bed and sits on it, in one of the few spots unoccupied by one of Romano’s limbs; this is something else he remembers about his former charge. Romano looks like an angel when he’s sleeping, maybe it’s because of the Vatican or maybe it’s just him, beautiful Romano with stormcloud eyes and handsome Roman features, the same that grace marble older than many of their companions.
Spain can’t help himself, he reaches out and places a hand on Romano’s forehead, runs his clumsy fingers through Romano’s hair. He loves this mess of a man in a very different way than he loves most, but Romano will be damned if he ever lets Spain open up about that. Even more so if he allows himself to believe it. It hurts him that he can’t kiss Romano whenever he wants, without having the other demand explanation and then shoot him down. The night before, he’d been so happy, holding him without the need for a reason, nothing more necessary than “because I want to, Roma.”
Prussia and France can open Romano up and look inside, play with the gears and change the way he ticks. Spain is bitterly jealous of them, even though it’s unfounded; they do, after all, share their spoils with him. But Romano accepts them, their mind games and their forward ways; he would never take that from Spain, and its not Spain’s style anyways.
Romano groans. Spain is jerked out of his confusing thoughts, and looks down in time for Romano’s eyes to open, locking with his until Romano jerks into proper wakefulness.
“Mmmmnhh,” Romano groans, and his eyes are brown little slits against his face. Spain smiles, reaching up to ruffle his hair.
“Good morning, Romano! --Or is that afternoon? It’s hard to--”
Romano throws his hand off, his face turning pale. His limbs flail about, hitting Spain’s hip, his shoulder, almost shoving him off the bed as Romano stumbles out, backwards--and then falls backwards on the other bed.
“Hey, hey,” Spain soothes, reaching out towards him. “It’s okay, Romano, it’s just me. You know I wouldn’t hurt you--right?”
Romano’s eyes widen for a split second. “Fuck you,” he whispers.
And then he stumbles past Spain, whose hand is still outstretched, and into the bathroom. The door snaps shut behind him, and it sends tingles all over his skin. A few seconds later, muffled retching reaches Spain’s ears.
“Romano?” Spain stands, sliding off the bed and placing his hand on the bathroom’s doorknob--locked, of course, as if Romano would let any barrier between him and the rest of the world be broken down. “Romano, are you okay?”
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [3c/?]
Silence. Then an answer, wind-through-reeds thin; “Italy’s upstairs with Germany.”
What? Spain’s brow furrows. He’s not quite sure what that has to do with the situation. “Romano,” he says, “that’s not what I asked you.”
“Fuck you,” he snaps, and that is followed by another retch.
Spain jiggles the doorknob, as if it’ll make it disappear, and then pounds on the door with his fist.
“Let me in, Romano. I want to see you. Let me help you!”
There is silence from the other side, and the Spain hears a click; when he tries the knob again, it slides open.
“Oh Roma, are you okay, France told me you came back drunk!”
Romano doesn’t answer, he just leans his head against Spain’s shin and rests there.
“Here, let me clean you up...”
Spain wets a towel and wipes Romano’s face off with it, then wets it again and presses it to his sweaty forehead. He hasn’t tended to Romano in years, nearly a century, but it comes so easily to him again. Romano’s larger now, and a little bit harder to carry, but that doesn’t stop Spain from using his well toned, if underused, muscle to lift him like he weighed nothing and lay him on the bed.
“Spain, what the... just... go upstairs.”
Spain frowns, sitting on the bed beside him again. “Why would I want to?”
“Italy.”
“But you’re right here and you’re not feeling well! I’m not going to leave you. France will be back in a few minutes with coffee, and you’ll be okay again.”
Romano exhales sharply, shutting his eyes to the world. Spain reaches out and touches his chest, gently.
“Fuck alcohol,” Romano murmurs. “And fuck you, too. You left... just like they did.”
Spain opens his mouth to object....
...And then realizes he has nothing to say. Because it’s true. In every sense of the word. There are things he regrets deeply about raising Romano--the too-harsh scoldings, the way he compared Romano to Veneziano, the way he’d get angry about every little thing--
That was ages ago. He knows this.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and buries his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Romano.
“All I wanted to do was get you something to eat.”
Romano’s eyes are shut tight, and Spain isn’t even sure he was heard, but he doesn’t want to repeat himself. He doesn’t want it to sound like an excuse, because it isn’t. It’s the truth. He isn’t sure he could make Romano believe it, but that doesn’’t make it any less so.
Romano doesn’t answer. For a second Spain wonders if he’s fallen asleep again, but then Romano opens his eyes and no, he hasn’t.
“I’m really sorry,” Spain repeats. “I didn’t mean to leave you alone.”
“It wasn’t the first time,” Romano counters. Spain is collecting his thoughts, because that really stung and he’s not sure if he can deny it. France comes into the room, almost unnoticed, until the door shuts behind him.
“Ah, but he always comes back.”
“Shut uuuuup,” Romano whines. France strides over to his bed amicably, ignoring the comment, and he murmurs.
“But I have got coffee.”
Romano groans and sits up slowly; Spain wants to reach for him and help him up, but ultimately decides against it. Romano pulls himself up, snatches the coffee, and imbibes it still steaming hot without a care.
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [3d/?]
France lifts his own hand and catches Spain around a wrist. “Let him drink it, Spain,” France says. He leans back in his own chair and sips, his eyes never leaving Romano’s face. No--more like his throat. France’s eyes are watching Romano’s throat--every gulp and guzzle, every--
“Hey, idiot, your coffee is getting cold.”
Spain blinks. And suddenly he’s back in the hotel room. His cheeks feel hot, and the back of his mind buzzes with anger. Romano’s staring at him, glaring, and there’s coffee smeared all over his upper lip.
Spain deflates. He leans back in the chair, lets it cushion his neck and head as he takes a deep draught from his own cup. “It’s not just that I’m apologizing for,” he mutters, and tries to see down to the dregs in his cup. “It’s everything else.”
Romano snorts. He says nothing else, and he does not look at Spain.
“I’d accept his apology,” France says.
“Make me, you asshole.”
“What if I told you that Spain’s the one making the most effort to be with you? Would that ‘make you,’ my dear?”
“No,” Romano snaps. He quiets down again and looks into his coffee mug.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
France is frowning, almost angry, or so it seems to Spain. He wants to stop them from arguing but he’s not exactly sure that they are.
“What sort of a reason is that not to consider someone’s apology?”
“More reason than you deserve!” Romano shouts now, fueled by fire. France puts his mug on the bedside table and stands up, back erect; he looks formidable, Spain thinks. It’s frightening.
“France, don’t--”
“--Stop acting like a child. It is not Spain’s fault, it is not my fault, it’s no one’s fault but your own that you are so alone, and that is because every time someone tries you push them away, already convinced that they cannot offer what you need. Spain is trying to make up for the mistakes he’s made, but he is not the only one who has things to apologize for, and the longer you continue to convince yourself that you are always the victim and never the one to inflict the pain, the more and more people you are going to push away until we all give up trying.”
Romano is gaping. Spain’s probably gaping too, he realizes, so he brings his cup to his lips. He doesn’t sip because he doesn’t want to make any noise. The room is so silent all that Spain can hear is white noise, and if he listens more closely maybe France’s breathing. It doesn’t even seem like Romano is breathing; he’s frozen like a deer in headlights, looking at France like he was speaking a foreign language, or insulting his mother.
Romano drops his coffee mug; the white hotel sheets get stained brown, but there’s not much coffee left so the mess isn’t too large. He kicks off the sheets, and Spain can’t even tell if there’s any coffee that seeped into his pants, because Romano is out of the room that quickly.
France turns to Spain. “Was that too much, do you think?”
Spain stands, and puts his mug down. “I’ll go after him,” he says, ignoring France’s question. France makes a sweeping gesture towards the door.
“By all means,” he says smoothly, “I wasn’t going to.”
Spain doesn’t pause to consider whether or not he thinks that’s the truth. He just leaves after Romano.
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [3e/?]
The hotel they’re in has some sort of Italian restaurant, or at least as Italian as New York can get. It won’t do anything for Romano, really, of course, it will probably be all coarse sand and lard on his tongue, but it’s the best he can get.
France would know better, he thinks, and the thought lances him through the gut with enough force to pin him against the opposing wall. France would know just what and how to make to cheer Romano up.
But France doesn’t really do things like that anymore.
Not since Robespierre.
But France isn’t here. France is chasing someone else’s skirt--Spain did hear France murmur “Prussia” when he stepped out. France isn’t standing here with him, manhandling carryout boxes of fettucini alfredo and pasta with white clam sauce.
Romano is, though. Sitting on the stairs of the hotel and staring out across the street. Spain doesn’t say a single word. He just sits down, holding out a plate and plastic fork for Romano to take.
“I’m not hungry,” Romano mutters. But his hands take the box, opening it and jabbing his fork in. “Idiot, wasting your time and money,” he mutters through a huge mouthful.
Spain is tempted to wrap his arm around Romano and hug him close, but he senses the other is in a volatile state and decides instead to get a forkful of pasta loaded up.
“Of course you’re hungry, Roma. You’re always hungry when you first wake up.”
Which is why Spain was intent on getting him breakfast, so he wouldn’t have to wait. Spain hopes Romano isn’t thinking this, because he doesn’t want to cause the other any more guilt than he knows France already has. And he knows Romano feels guilty because he’s actually eating the not-Italian food Spain brought.
That, or Spain was right about the morning hunger.
They sit on those stairs and eat in silence until Romano’s plate is half done, and he starts pushing the pasta around.
“France is a bastard,” he mutters, and then he looks up at Spain from the corners of his eyes. “But I bet you agree with him.”
Spain shrugs. “It doesn’t matter if I agree with him or not, I guess. It matters if you agree or not.”
Romano curls his lips a little, “When did you get smart?”
Spain wants to laugh; at this point Romano’s jibes are endearing, not insulting.
He bites his lip instead and shrugs, but his smile comes to him, easy and charming and free. “I guess I’ve changed over the years,” he says. “We all have, Romano. We’re Nations. Change is in our very bones, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It’s fucking annoying.”
And this time Spain does laugh. Does allow his arm to wind around Romano’s shoulder as he pulls him close. His throat seizes up. What’s he supposed to say? To do? His mind is a torrent of emotion--memories of the boy he raised, awe towards the man he’s become.
He fights the urge to say never change, never change my dear, and instead bends his head so he can nuzzle at Romano’s ear.
“No matter what, Romano--just remember that I’m proud of you, okay?”
Romano shifts in his arm--deliberate, but not quick, not trying to throw him off. “W-what’s with this sentimental shit all of a sudden?”
“I just--I want you to know that, okay? I’m proud of you--and I’ll never be far from your side.” His voice drops to a whisper. “I promise.”
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [3f/?]
Spain can feel the heat coming off of Romano’s face, and it makes him grin. He misses the openness Romano had as a child, both when he was discontent and when he was happy. Though, it is a small victory that he isn’t squirming now. He’s letting Spain hold him, even though there are people around.
“I... Yeah, I know that,” Romano says, finally, and then he does pull away, but that’s okay because Spain understands. And then Spain remembers something, and decides to take advantage of Romano’s good mood.
“France said something happened between you and Prussia yesterday. Do you want to talk about it?”
Spain holds his breath, waiting to see if this will turn Romano’s mood. It doesn’t seem to, but then he’s being so quiet it’s almost hard to tell.
“No, I don’t,” he finally answers, but he doesn’t sound angry about it, just... upset. So Spain pulls him closer and the silence resumes.
"All right," Spain says, and pulls Romano closer for a kiss on the forehead. "All right, Romano, we won't talk about it if you don't want to." He looks into the sky, squinting at the clouds--there's still blue, and sunshine, but it's mostly just clouds that are coming closer and closer together. And though he is a spirit that delights in laughing and dancing about during thunderstorms, he remembers Romano's side-eyed glances and glowers from his childhood.
So instead, he holds out a hand to Romano, and does not say a word.
Romano glares at the tips of his fingers, and Spain swears he feels them burn. "I can take care of myself," Romano mutters, standing and turning. "L-like I would accept help from some--"
his shoe catches on the edge of a stair--and Romano falls forward, sinking through the air--
--and right into Spain's embrace. Spain doesn't even remember moving--just Romano falling, and his entire chest heaving with heartbeat, his body throbbing.
Spain laughs, a low chuckle that blossoms into a bubbling, staccato laugh. "Haha--just like when you were tiny!" Spain says, and he knows Romano hates it when he ruffles his hair but he can't help it, he just forgot. He opens his mouth to apologize--
And the word he wants to say get sucked out by Romano's sob.
Romano’s hands are well fisted into Spain’s shirt and his nose is buried in his shoulder. Romano isn’t just crying, no, Romano never just cries. Oceans rise, buildings collapse; not literally, no, but it definitely feels that way when Romano’s earth shattering sobs rack Spain’s chest. He wants to give Romano the world, the sound of the crying makes his blood boil so, but Spain knows that whatever his capabilities, there is nothing he can do but wait for Romano to let it all out, and hope that he’ll still want to talk later.
But then Spain realizes what he can do, and he pulls Romano in even tighter, shifting his hold to something fierce and loving.
“Shhhh,” he croons softly in Romano’s ear, singing an old Spanish lullaby that he’s fairly certain most of his people wouldn’t even understand. It was Romano’s favorite when he was a little boy, the best at getting him soothed for bed, and even now Spain feels a strong sentimental rush in singing it.
They stand like that, probably the subjects of more than a few odd stares, but Spain doesn’t care and Romano probably doesn’t even notice. Romano’s cries fade away, slowly,and when they’re nothing more than whimpers he pulls out of Spain’s shoulder and looks at him, pitifully.
“Is anyone in your room?”
Spain figures Romano was trying to demand that, but it came out weak and soft and makes Spain smile.
“No, it’s empty now.”
“Good. I need more sleep.”
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [3g/?]
Spain wants to remind Romano he’d only just woken up, but the other is already heading for the elevators, so he sighs and follows.
--
“What happened between you and Romano yesterday?”
Prussia looks up from the game of Angry Birds he was playing on his phone, but it wasn’t like he had to; France has a very distinctive voice. He turns back to the device in hand.
“Can we not do this right now? I’ve only got one fuckin’ bird left.”
It happens in a snap, just like everything with France. Spindle-slight fingers reach out, snatching his phone from his hand. And as Prussia lets out a pitiful, wordless whine, France presses the button in the middle and slips the phone into his back pocket. "What the fuck, man? I was just about to be awesome!"
"And you will have other opportunities to be awesome. But right now, you will tell me what. Happened. With Romano."
And it's been years since France wielded a spear, but his voice scrapes long and lean against Prussia's ribs and punctures his lungs in a sharp point. His fingernails curl into his palm, right in the groove of his heart line. "I just...I realized that I might be wrong."
From the corner of Prussia's eye, France tilts his head. "What happened to coddling, Prussie?"
“None of your fuckin’ business,” Prussia snaps, sitting up straight. “What makes you think I’ll cooperate if you steal my phone and make demands of me?”
France doesn’t answer with words; he just sits on Prussia’s bony legs and glares at him. It’s a bit of a contest, until Prussia averts his gaze and huffs.
“I guess he’d run out of here and I was in the park not too far and he just showed up there and nearly collapsed because it was really fucking hot outside and he had like, fifty layers on. So I took him to get ice cream and then maybe we hung out for a while but he kept getting on my fucking nerves, acting like I wanted something from all this, so I snapped. Happy?”
France furrows his brow deeply, feeling the permanent wrinkle form in his forehead, and then he slides off Prussia’s leg and grabs hold of his wrist.
“Come. We are going to work this out.”
“What? No, just give me my iPhone back!”
“Prussia, come with me or so help me God you will never see this game again.”
Prussia sighs and gets up from the bed when France tugs on his arm, whining, “You can’t get rid of my phone! Germany paid for it and he’ll ground me,” as he’s led along down the hall.
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [3h/?]
"Well, that is something I will just have to find a way to live with," France mutters, and raps his knuckles against Spain’s door, one-two-three sharp. "Romano, dearest, are you in? I have a few questions I want to--"
Spain owns the door, his eyes narrowed and his finger across his lips. "He's resting," he hisses, "what do you want with him?"
France blinks. "Spain? What are you doing--"
"I have just finished putting Romano to bed, and I am not about to let you ruin his beauty sleep.
"May we at least come in and--"
Spain looks away. He does not answer them.
France hesitates for the first time that day. Spain is not the sort to cut one off that way, looking away as if he’s betraying them. France is aware this isn’t betrayal, but it hurts like one, a little bit.
“I see,” he finally says when the words come back. Spain looks up, and he’s not sheepish the way France had expected. He looks determined, almost annoyed, and he turns to Prussia, who’s still stunned.
“You made him cry.”
France turns and he can’t really make out the moment when Prussia’s face flickers because it still looks the same, but France knows it must have happened.
“We’re not here to point fingers at, Spain. We’re here to make amends.”
Spain leans forward in the doorway. “Well, Romano’s sleeping, so you can come back later.”
“Fuck, Spain,” Prussia cuts in, nudging France aside. “Romano’s fucking capable of hurting people, okay? He’s not an innocent little chick you’ve got to take care of, he’s a man and he should be able to fucking talk about his problems without having mommy fight for him!”
Spain slaps Prussia. France grabs them both by the collars of their shirts and pulls them away from each other.
“Calm down,” he hisses sharply. “This is not going to be the thing that breaks your friendship!”
“Spain, will you shut up? I’m trying...to....”
Romano’s voice trails off, and all three men turn to find him sitting on the bed, one hand frozen mid-rub. The other is wide open, free from its usual scowl and frown, and his lips part, the lower trembling a little bit.
Prussia squawks when France shoves him into the room, into Spain. Spain’s arms, all instinct and sharpened matador reflexes, come up to catch Prussia as he stumbles forward. “Work things out, you three,” France says. “Prussia, you may not owe him an apology, but you need to figure this out together, the three of you.” Prussia watches him turn on his heel, a hand on the door, and the back of his mind surges. “Hey!” He shouts, a little louder than needed, “Hey, what about you, asshole? Last I checked, there was no ‘three’ in ‘foursome’!”
France’s blue eye flicks over one shoulder and narrows at Prussia. “I’m not needed here,” France shoots back. “I don’t do this sort of thing. Not since the French Revolution.”
And then the door clicks shut.
END CHAPTER 3
--
A/N: Hello again, lovely readers! I must say I absolutely love all your comments, you guys are so nice and supportive. We're working on chapter 4 right now, and the smut is going to be back in it, so look forward to that! It should hopefully be up sometime next week. Meanwhile I hope you're all continuing to enjoy this :3
Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [3h/?]
I am continuing to enjoy every single second of this. They're all so spot on but I particularly love your France. The smut is awesome but the slow character build-up and the rising tension is just as fun to read. Can't wait for more!
Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [3h/?]
This keeps on getting more amazing with every chapter. And I never thought I'd say something like this one day, but...Who cares about the smut :) The way you handle the carchters is so awesome and true I really don't feel the need for anything else. But oh well, I suppose if you feel like writing smut I'm surely not going to complain :p
Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [3h/?]
Oh Spain! You've been redeemed in my eyes. Whether this was my poor reading or a purposeful use of the previous POVs' biases, Spain seemed the most distant and untouched by the Romano situation. But now, of course, that doesn't seem true at all. He clearly cares for Romano very deeply, and is highly aware of their very long and somewhat convoluted relationship. In one sense, I think a piece of Spain's mind wished Romano could be a young boy again, if only because he regrets the obvious mistakes he made when Romano was actually a child. This doesn't mean he doesn't see Romano as a grown man, but like I said...their relationship is complicated.
And as much as Spain might deserve a good amount of Romano's distrust, I was hurting for him and how vulnerable he made himself.
Are we going to learn what happened during the French Revolution? Or is it just an overall suggestion that the violence and terror of that era permanently changed his personality?
Just stumbled upon this and read all of it one go ... three times in a row. This is seriously excellent, especially the characterization. Everyone is almost painfully realistic, and they all make perfect sense so far except France. And I already have enough confidence in you two to know that France will make sense soon enough.
I hope you guys have worked together on this meme before or will do so again. Or both! XD Either way, keep it coming, please? <3
... And when I haven't been up all night because of awesome fic, I've gotta leave a longer comment. OTL
This is amazing. I get so excited every time I see a new part waiting for me. This chapter certainly didn't disappoint, and the next chapter is going to have smut in it. This is wonderful. I adore your characterizations and can't wait to find out France's reasonings. I'm trying to be patient I really am but I think I'm failing horribly. I do hope it goes up early this week but if not I won't complain this fic is certainly worth the wait. Is the next chapter going to be in Prussia POV? The first one was France the second one was Romano, this one was Spain it seems logical. Or maybe it's just me trying to figure this wonderful fill out and failing miserably. This is everything I wanted and then some. This is my favourite fill on the meme.
Spain and Romano's interaction this chapter was absolutely wonderful. I would do another really long review where I break it down section by section but its late and I'm tiered and I don't want to wait any longer to comment. I've been busy all weekend so this really cheered me up. So this is why you get this short little comment full of why-I-adore-this-so-much-keep-it-p-author-anons! and not a longer comment. Things are starting to come together and I cannot wait to see where this goes. I loved this chapter and every time I think the chapter is brilliant you post a new one and I'm left starring at my screen speechless and incoherent.
Not sure why but one of my favourite lines is: “Hey!” He shouts, a little louder than needed, “Hey, what about you, asshole? Last I checked, there was no ‘three’ in ‘foursome’!” Oh Prussia this is why I love you. Hopefully Spain, Romano and Prussia can all make up next chapter and France realizes he's know being the idiot.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [3b/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-01 11:35 pm (UTC)(link)Spain doesn’t look away from Romano’s face, even when he hears France padding across the carpet. Behind his eyes, he sees France sliding on pants, slipping his feet into shoes as though he’s Cinderella. “France,” he asks, “do you ever stay the night?”
Silence.
“No,” France says. “I don’t.”
And when Spain opens his mouth again, France says, “And people know better than to stay in bed for me.”
Spain closes his mouth, quiet, his teeth clacking together like the lock on the door clicks shut. And then it’s just him and a sleeping Romano in the room together.
He strides to the bed and sits on it, in one of the few spots unoccupied by one of Romano’s limbs; this is something else he remembers about his former charge. Romano looks like an angel when he’s sleeping, maybe it’s because of the Vatican or maybe it’s just him, beautiful Romano with stormcloud eyes and handsome Roman features, the same that grace marble older than many of their companions.
Spain can’t help himself, he reaches out and places a hand on Romano’s forehead, runs his clumsy fingers through Romano’s hair. He loves this mess of a man in a very different way than he loves most, but Romano will be damned if he ever lets Spain open up about that. Even more so if he allows himself to believe it. It hurts him that he can’t kiss Romano whenever he wants, without having the other demand explanation and then shoot him down. The night before, he’d been so happy, holding him without the need for a reason, nothing more necessary than “because I want to, Roma.”
Prussia and France can open Romano up and look inside, play with the gears and change the way he ticks. Spain is bitterly jealous of them, even though it’s unfounded; they do, after all, share their spoils with him. But Romano accepts them, their mind games and their forward ways; he would never take that from Spain, and its not Spain’s style anyways.
Romano groans. Spain is jerked out of his confusing thoughts, and looks down in time for Romano’s eyes to open, locking with his until Romano jerks into proper wakefulness.
“Mmmmnhh,” Romano groans, and his eyes are brown little slits against his face. Spain smiles, reaching up to ruffle his hair.
“Good morning, Romano! --Or is that afternoon? It’s hard to--”
Romano throws his hand off, his face turning pale. His limbs flail about, hitting Spain’s hip, his shoulder, almost shoving him off the bed as Romano stumbles out, backwards--and then falls backwards on the other bed.
“Hey, hey,” Spain soothes, reaching out towards him. “It’s okay, Romano, it’s just me. You know I wouldn’t hurt you--right?”
Romano’s eyes widen for a split second. “Fuck you,” he whispers.
And then he stumbles past Spain, whose hand is still outstretched, and into the bathroom. The door snaps shut behind him, and it sends tingles all over his skin. A few seconds later, muffled retching reaches Spain’s ears.
“Romano?” Spain stands, sliding off the bed and placing his hand on the bathroom’s doorknob--locked, of course, as if Romano would let any barrier between him and the rest of the world be broken down. “Romano, are you okay?”
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [3c/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-01 11:36 pm (UTC)(link)What? Spain’s brow furrows. He’s not quite sure what that has to do with the situation. “Romano,” he says, “that’s not what I asked you.”
“Fuck you,” he snaps, and that is followed by another retch.
Spain jiggles the doorknob, as if it’ll make it disappear, and then pounds on the door with his fist.
“Let me in, Romano. I want to see you. Let me help you!”
There is silence from the other side, and the Spain hears a click; when he tries the knob again, it slides open.
“Oh Roma, are you okay, France told me you came back drunk!”
Romano doesn’t answer, he just leans his head against Spain’s shin and rests there.
“Here, let me clean you up...”
Spain wets a towel and wipes Romano’s face off with it, then wets it again and presses it to his sweaty forehead. He hasn’t tended to Romano in years, nearly a century, but it comes so easily to him again. Romano’s larger now, and a little bit harder to carry, but that doesn’t stop Spain from using his well toned, if underused, muscle to lift him like he weighed nothing and lay him on the bed.
“Spain, what the... just... go upstairs.”
Spain frowns, sitting on the bed beside him again. “Why would I want to?”
“Italy.”
“But you’re right here and you’re not feeling well! I’m not going to leave you. France will be back in a few minutes with coffee, and you’ll be okay again.”
Romano exhales sharply, shutting his eyes to the world. Spain reaches out and touches his chest, gently.
“Fuck alcohol,” Romano murmurs. “And fuck you, too. You left... just like they did.”
Spain opens his mouth to object....
...And then realizes he has nothing to say. Because it’s true. In every sense of the word. There are things he regrets deeply about raising Romano--the too-harsh scoldings, the way he compared Romano to Veneziano, the way he’d get angry about every little thing--
That was ages ago. He knows this.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and buries his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Romano.
“All I wanted to do was get you something to eat.”
Romano’s eyes are shut tight, and Spain isn’t even sure he was heard, but he doesn’t want to repeat himself. He doesn’t want it to sound like an excuse, because it isn’t. It’s the truth. He isn’t sure he could make Romano believe it, but that doesn’’t make it any less so.
Romano doesn’t answer. For a second Spain wonders if he’s fallen asleep again, but then Romano opens his eyes and no, he hasn’t.
“I’m really sorry,” Spain repeats. “I didn’t mean to leave you alone.”
“It wasn’t the first time,” Romano counters. Spain is collecting his thoughts, because that really stung and he’s not sure if he can deny it. France comes into the room, almost unnoticed, until the door shuts behind him.
“Ah, but he always comes back.”
“Shut uuuuup,” Romano whines. France strides over to his bed amicably, ignoring the comment, and he murmurs.
“But I have got coffee.”
Romano groans and sits up slowly; Spain wants to reach for him and help him up, but ultimately decides against it. Romano pulls himself up, snatches the coffee, and imbibes it still steaming hot without a care.
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [3d/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-01 11:38 pm (UTC)(link)France lifts his own hand and catches Spain around a wrist. “Let him drink it, Spain,” France says. He leans back in his own chair and sips, his eyes never leaving Romano’s face. No--more like his throat. France’s eyes are watching Romano’s throat--every gulp and guzzle, every--
“Hey, idiot, your coffee is getting cold.”
Spain blinks. And suddenly he’s back in the hotel room. His cheeks feel hot, and the back of his mind buzzes with anger. Romano’s staring at him, glaring, and there’s coffee smeared all over his upper lip.
Spain deflates. He leans back in the chair, lets it cushion his neck and head as he takes a deep draught from his own cup. “It’s not just that I’m apologizing for,” he mutters, and tries to see down to the dregs in his cup. “It’s everything else.”
Romano snorts. He says nothing else, and he does not look at Spain.
“I’d accept his apology,” France says.
“Make me, you asshole.”
“What if I told you that Spain’s the one making the most effort to be with you? Would that ‘make you,’ my dear?”
“No,” Romano snaps. He quiets down again and looks into his coffee mug.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
France is frowning, almost angry, or so it seems to Spain. He wants to stop them from arguing but he’s not exactly sure that they are.
“What sort of a reason is that not to consider someone’s apology?”
“More reason than you deserve!” Romano shouts now, fueled by fire. France puts his mug on the bedside table and stands up, back erect; he looks formidable, Spain thinks. It’s frightening.
“France, don’t--”
“--Stop acting like a child. It is not Spain’s fault, it is not my fault, it’s no one’s fault but your own that you are so alone, and that is because every time someone tries you push them away, already convinced that they cannot offer what you need. Spain is trying to make up for the mistakes he’s made, but he is not the only one who has things to apologize for, and the longer you continue to convince yourself that you are always the victim and never the one to inflict the pain, the more and more people you are going to push away until we all give up trying.”
Romano is gaping. Spain’s probably gaping too, he realizes, so he brings his cup to his lips. He doesn’t sip because he doesn’t want to make any noise. The room is so silent all that Spain can hear is white noise, and if he listens more closely maybe France’s breathing. It doesn’t even seem like Romano is breathing; he’s frozen like a deer in headlights, looking at France like he was speaking a foreign language, or insulting his mother.
Romano drops his coffee mug; the white hotel sheets get stained brown, but there’s not much coffee left so the mess isn’t too large. He kicks off the sheets, and Spain can’t even tell if there’s any coffee that seeped into his pants, because Romano is out of the room that quickly.
France turns to Spain. “Was that too much, do you think?”
Spain stands, and puts his mug down. “I’ll go after him,” he says, ignoring France’s question. France makes a sweeping gesture towards the door.
“By all means,” he says smoothly, “I wasn’t going to.”
Spain doesn’t pause to consider whether or not he thinks that’s the truth. He just leaves after Romano.
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [3e/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-01 11:39 pm (UTC)(link)France would know better, he thinks, and the thought lances him through the gut with enough force to pin him against the opposing wall. France would know just what and how to make to cheer Romano up.
But France doesn’t really do things like that anymore.
Not since Robespierre.
But France isn’t here. France is chasing someone else’s skirt--Spain did hear France murmur “Prussia” when he stepped out. France isn’t standing here with him, manhandling carryout boxes of fettucini alfredo and pasta with white clam sauce.
Romano is, though. Sitting on the stairs of the hotel and staring out across the street. Spain doesn’t say a single word. He just sits down, holding out a plate and plastic fork for Romano to take.
“I’m not hungry,” Romano mutters. But his hands take the box, opening it and jabbing his fork in. “Idiot, wasting your time and money,” he mutters through a huge mouthful.
Spain is tempted to wrap his arm around Romano and hug him close, but he senses the other is in a volatile state and decides instead to get a forkful of pasta loaded up.
“Of course you’re hungry, Roma. You’re always hungry when you first wake up.”
Which is why Spain was intent on getting him breakfast, so he wouldn’t have to wait. Spain hopes Romano isn’t thinking this, because he doesn’t want to cause the other any more guilt than he knows France already has. And he knows Romano feels guilty because he’s actually eating the not-Italian food Spain brought.
That, or Spain was right about the morning hunger.
They sit on those stairs and eat in silence until Romano’s plate is half done, and he starts pushing the pasta around.
“France is a bastard,” he mutters, and then he looks up at Spain from the corners of his eyes. “But I bet you agree with him.”
Spain shrugs. “It doesn’t matter if I agree with him or not, I guess. It matters if you agree or not.”
Romano curls his lips a little, “When did you get smart?”
Spain wants to laugh; at this point Romano’s jibes are endearing, not insulting.
He bites his lip instead and shrugs, but his smile comes to him, easy and charming and free. “I guess I’ve changed over the years,” he says. “We all have, Romano. We’re Nations. Change is in our very bones, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It’s fucking annoying.”
And this time Spain does laugh. Does allow his arm to wind around Romano’s shoulder as he pulls him close. His throat seizes up. What’s he supposed to say? To do? His mind is a torrent of emotion--memories of the boy he raised, awe towards the man he’s become.
He fights the urge to say never change, never change my dear, and instead bends his head so he can nuzzle at Romano’s ear.
“No matter what, Romano--just remember that I’m proud of you, okay?”
Romano shifts in his arm--deliberate, but not quick, not trying to throw him off. “W-what’s with this sentimental shit all of a sudden?”
“I just--I want you to know that, okay? I’m proud of you--and I’ll never be far from your side.” His voice drops to a whisper. “I promise.”
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [3f/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-01 11:40 pm (UTC)(link)“I... Yeah, I know that,” Romano says, finally, and then he does pull away, but that’s okay because Spain understands. And then Spain remembers something, and decides to take advantage of Romano’s good mood.
“France said something happened between you and Prussia yesterday. Do you want to talk about it?”
Spain holds his breath, waiting to see if this will turn Romano’s mood. It doesn’t seem to, but then he’s being so quiet it’s almost hard to tell.
“No, I don’t,” he finally answers, but he doesn’t sound angry about it, just... upset. So Spain pulls him closer and the silence resumes.
"All right," Spain says, and pulls Romano closer for a kiss on the forehead. "All right, Romano, we won't talk about it if you don't want to." He looks into the sky, squinting at the clouds--there's still blue, and sunshine, but it's mostly just clouds that are coming closer and closer together. And though he is a spirit that delights in laughing and dancing about during thunderstorms, he remembers Romano's side-eyed glances and glowers from his childhood.
So instead, he holds out a hand to Romano, and does not say a word.
Romano glares at the tips of his fingers, and Spain swears he feels them burn. "I can take care of myself," Romano mutters, standing and turning. "L-like I would accept help from some--"
his shoe catches on the edge of a stair--and Romano falls forward, sinking through the air--
--and right into Spain's embrace. Spain doesn't even remember moving--just Romano falling, and his entire chest heaving with heartbeat, his body throbbing.
Spain laughs, a low chuckle that blossoms into a bubbling, staccato laugh. "Haha--just like when you were tiny!" Spain says, and he knows Romano hates it when he ruffles his hair but he can't help it, he just forgot. He opens his mouth to apologize--
And the word he wants to say get sucked out by Romano's sob.
Romano’s hands are well fisted into Spain’s shirt and his nose is buried in his shoulder. Romano isn’t just crying, no, Romano never just cries. Oceans rise, buildings collapse; not literally, no, but it definitely feels that way when Romano’s earth shattering sobs rack Spain’s chest. He wants to give Romano the world, the sound of the crying makes his blood boil so, but Spain knows that whatever his capabilities, there is nothing he can do but wait for Romano to let it all out, and hope that he’ll still want to talk later.
But then Spain realizes what he can do, and he pulls Romano in even tighter, shifting his hold to something fierce and loving.
“Shhhh,” he croons softly in Romano’s ear, singing an old Spanish lullaby that he’s fairly certain most of his people wouldn’t even understand. It was Romano’s favorite when he was a little boy, the best at getting him soothed for bed, and even now Spain feels a strong sentimental rush in singing it.
They stand like that, probably the subjects of more than a few odd stares, but Spain doesn’t care and Romano probably doesn’t even notice. Romano’s cries fade away, slowly,and when they’re nothing more than whimpers he pulls out of Spain’s shoulder and looks at him, pitifully.
“Is anyone in your room?”
Spain figures Romano was trying to demand that, but it came out weak and soft and makes Spain smile.
“No, it’s empty now.”
“Good. I need more sleep.”
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [3g/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-01 11:45 pm (UTC)(link)--
“What happened between you and Romano yesterday?”
Prussia looks up from the game of Angry Birds he was playing on his phone, but it wasn’t like he had to; France has a very distinctive voice. He turns back to the device in hand.
“Can we not do this right now? I’ve only got one fuckin’ bird left.”
It happens in a snap, just like everything with France. Spindle-slight fingers reach out, snatching his phone from his hand. And as Prussia lets out a pitiful, wordless whine, France presses the button in the middle and slips the phone into his back pocket. "What the fuck, man? I was just about to be awesome!"
"And you will have other opportunities to be awesome. But right now, you will tell me what. Happened. With Romano."
And it's been years since France wielded a spear, but his voice scrapes long and lean against Prussia's ribs and punctures his lungs in a sharp point. His fingernails curl into his palm, right in the groove of his heart line. "I just...I realized that I might be wrong."
From the corner of Prussia's eye, France tilts his head. "What happened to coddling, Prussie?"
“None of your fuckin’ business,” Prussia snaps, sitting up straight. “What makes you think I’ll cooperate if you steal my phone and make demands of me?”
France doesn’t answer with words; he just sits on Prussia’s bony legs and glares at him. It’s a bit of a contest, until Prussia averts his gaze and huffs.
“I guess he’d run out of here and I was in the park not too far and he just showed up there and nearly collapsed because it was really fucking hot outside and he had like, fifty layers on. So I took him to get ice cream and then maybe we hung out for a while but he kept getting on my fucking nerves, acting like I wanted something from all this, so I snapped. Happy?”
France furrows his brow deeply, feeling the permanent wrinkle form in his forehead, and then he slides off Prussia’s leg and grabs hold of his wrist.
“Come. We are going to work this out.”
“What? No, just give me my iPhone back!”
“Prussia, come with me or so help me God you will never see this game again.”
Prussia sighs and gets up from the bed when France tugs on his arm, whining, “You can’t get rid of my phone! Germany paid for it and he’ll ground me,” as he’s led along down the hall.
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [3h/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-01 11:46 pm (UTC)(link)Spain owns the door, his eyes narrowed and his finger across his lips. "He's resting," he hisses, "what do you want with him?"
France blinks. "Spain? What are you doing--"
"I have just finished putting Romano to bed, and I am not about to let you ruin his beauty sleep.
"May we at least come in and--"
Spain looks away. He does not answer them.
France hesitates for the first time that day. Spain is not the sort to cut one off that way, looking away as if he’s betraying them. France is aware this isn’t betrayal, but it hurts like one, a little bit.
“I see,” he finally says when the words come back. Spain looks up, and he’s not sheepish the way France had expected. He looks determined, almost annoyed, and he turns to Prussia, who’s still stunned.
“You made him cry.”
France turns and he can’t really make out the moment when Prussia’s face flickers because it still looks the same, but France knows it must have happened.
“We’re not here to point fingers at, Spain. We’re here to make amends.”
Spain leans forward in the doorway. “Well, Romano’s sleeping, so you can come back later.”
“Fuck, Spain,” Prussia cuts in, nudging France aside. “Romano’s fucking capable of hurting people, okay? He’s not an innocent little chick you’ve got to take care of, he’s a man and he should be able to fucking talk about his problems without having mommy fight for him!”
Spain slaps Prussia. France grabs them both by the collars of their shirts and pulls them away from each other.
“Calm down,” he hisses sharply. “This is not going to be the thing that breaks your friendship!”
“Spain, will you shut up? I’m trying...to....”
Romano’s voice trails off, and all three men turn to find him sitting on the bed, one hand frozen mid-rub. The other is wide open, free from its usual scowl and frown, and his lips part, the lower trembling a little bit.
Prussia squawks when France shoves him into the room, into Spain. Spain’s arms, all instinct and sharpened matador reflexes, come up to catch Prussia as he stumbles forward. “Work things out, you three,” France says. “Prussia, you may not owe him an apology, but you need to figure this out together, the three of you.” Prussia watches him turn on his heel, a hand on the door, and the back of his mind surges. “Hey!” He shouts, a little louder than needed, “Hey, what about you, asshole? Last I checked, there was no ‘three’ in ‘foursome’!”
France’s blue eye flicks over one shoulder and narrows at Prussia. “I’m not needed here,” France shoots back. “I don’t do this sort of thing. Not since the French Revolution.”
And then the door clicks shut.
END CHAPTER 3
--
A/N: Hello again, lovely readers! I must say I absolutely love all your comments, you guys are so nice and supportive. We're working on chapter 4 right now, and the smut is going to be back in it, so look forward to that! It should hopefully be up sometime next week. Meanwhile I hope you're all continuing to enjoy this :3
Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [3h/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-02 03:59 am (UTC)(link)Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [3h/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-02 11:22 am (UTC)(link)Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [3h/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-02 05:42 pm (UTC)(link)And as much as Spain might deserve a good amount of Romano's distrust, I was hurting for him and how vulnerable he made himself.
Are we going to learn what happened during the French Revolution? Or is it just an overall suggestion that the violence and terror of that era permanently changed his personality?
one of the a!as
(Anonymous) 2012-06-02 06:31 pm (UTC)(link)Yes, we are going to learn specifically what happened to France that's making him act so strange, so don't worry :33
Thank you for your fabulous comments!
Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [3h/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-02 10:12 pm (UTC)(link)I hope you guys have worked together on this meme before or will do so again. Or both! XD Either way, keep it coming, please? <3
... And when I haven't been up all night because of awesome fic, I've gotta leave a longer comment. OTL
OP has come to once again to declare her love.
(Anonymous) 2012-06-04 05:02 am (UTC)(link)and failing miserably.This is everything I wanted and then some. This is my favourite fill on the meme.Spain and Romano's interaction this chapter was absolutely wonderful. I would do another really long review where I break it down section by section but its late and I'm tiered and I don't want to wait any longer to comment. I've been busy all weekend so this really cheered me up. So this is why you get this short little comment full of why-I-adore-this-so-much-keep-it-p-author-anons! and not a longer comment. Things are starting to come together and I cannot wait to see where this goes. I loved this chapter and every time I think the chapter is brilliant you post a new one and I'm left starring at my screen speechless and incoherent.
Not sure why but one of my favourite lines is: “Hey!” He shouts, a little louder than needed, “Hey, what about you, asshole? Last I checked, there was no ‘three’ in ‘foursome’!” Oh Prussia this is why I love you. Hopefully Spain, Romano and Prussia can all make up next chapter and France realizes he's know being the idiot.