Love the enemy

Love the enemy
Author: J-J-ANIME-ROCKS PM
Who would think that Feliciano and Lovino Vargas, the children of the leader of the
Italian mafia would fall in love, impossible right? well read this and find out. Sexual
suggestions non-detailed yaoi and violence. Spamano and Gerita and maybe hints of
other pairings, but who knows!- J.R
Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance/Crime - Spain & S. Italy/Romano - Words: 681
- Reviews: 1 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 3 - Published: 08-03-12 - id: 8388311
A a Abc Abc Abc

Disclaimer: I do not own the loveliness that is hetalia if I did it would have A LOT of
fan service.

"Well that shits done." Lovino said while wiping blood from his hands.

"Ve that was easier than the last one we needed to take out." His brother, Feliciano
mentioned.

"Yeah."( Well no shit that man was fucking huge!) Lovino thought to himself as his
brother took out his phone and checked if there was any one else they needed to
"take out"

"Ve Lovino it looks like we're free for now all my phone says is we need to use
alias."

Taking out his phone, Lovino began to read the details that his brother had left out.

In Italian it read:

Lovino, Feliciano

The police are on to us make sure you don't use you're real names and try to avoid
anything to do with them, Capiche? – Romulus

…Shit… this would make it harder for him and his brother, but it couldn't be helped.

Lovino snapped his phone shut, and walked towards the exit of the building they
were in, his brother in tow.

The brothers tipped their hats down making sure that nobody was around before
stepping outside into the warm sun.

"Listen fratellino you're going to use the alias Veneciano while i'll use Romano got
that?" Lovino whispered while keeping pace with his younger brother.

"Si"

Fuck..shit.. Lovino internally swore as they calmly walked past a police officer, who
didn't seem too focused.

Rounding a corner they quickly (but calmly) walked to Feliciano's sleek black
Ferrari.

After getting in they clicked their seatbelts into place, started up the car and started
driving.

The ride was quick, and fortunately they had gotten home before anyone saw them.

Lovino stepped out of the car, slamming the door behind him, his brother did the
same, before locking the vehicle.

Lovino waited as his brother made his way to the front door, quickly following him
in once it was open.

Feliciano instantly ran up the stairs to change, leaving Lovino down stairs.

"Papa!" Lovino called out wondering if his father was here or working with the
mafia.

Finding no answer he locked the front door and ran up stairs.

"Oh dios mio!" He groaned flopping down onto his bed.

Fuck.. If he and his brother had to do this again he would seriously flip-shit.

Standing up again he walked to his dresser and picked out clothes that were more
casual.

Quickly he stripped himself of his "work" clothes and replaced them with skinny
jeans, a white button up dress shirt, a black blazer , a black tie that he loosely tied,
and a fedora.

Walking into the hallway Lovino slipped on dark shades and went to the bathroom
to inspect his choice.

Lovino stared at the full body mirror in front of him inspecting every aspect of his
outfit.

"Hmm…" he spun around one more time, making sure he looked good from all
sides.

"I guess it'll have to do."

Once more he walked into the hallway, and headed down to the living room, where
both of his younger brothers were waiting.

"Ve! Look Savino's back!" Feliciano chimed when he walked in.

"Oh really? "

"Si!"

Lovino examined all three of them noticing that they were almost identical. But
there were differences, like : Feliciano had a scarf around his neck, and Savino had

a gold chain with a cross on it around his, the color was different too where Lovino
had dark colors, Feliciano was multi coloured and Savino chose pale colours.

"You're finally back?"

Savino grinned at Lovino , "I'm back for good!"

"So can we go now?" Feliciano asked from behind Savino.

"Yeah."

Lovino grabbed the keys and proceeded to follow his younger brothers out of the
house.

Slamming and locking the door behind him, he walked to the car hopped in the
drivers seat, started the engine and drove.

Hey! Sorry for the wait!

Savino is by the way Seborga just so you know.

See ya next chapter!

An eye for an eye

Author: 6felikspolska9 PM
Romano is once again mad at Spain but this time for good measure; he forgot his
fucking birthday! Latvia's attempts to remedy the situation ends with a punch to the
face and a very creepy Russia in search of revenge. After all no one touches Russian
property, including angry Italians. Warnings inside.
Rated: Fiction M - English - Hurt/Comfort/Horror - Spain & S. Italy/Romano -
Chapters: 6 - Words: 3,535 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 2 - Follows: 1 - Updated: 08-25-12 -
Published: 08-23-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8458510

A a Abc Abc Abc

Short chapter is short. -_- well anyways, this is being written as a birthday
present for my bestist friend my Lithuania! Happy 14th man!

WARNING: This is rated M for a reason. Frankly I don't care about the rule
don't read if you're under 18 so go ahead if you want to. I mean I'm the
one writing this. So have fun underage viewers! But seriously this has yaoi
meaning BoyxBoy. Don't like, don't read.

Okay so I'm sure you guys probably want to get to reading now so I'll shut
up. See you at the bottom! X3

~Chapter One: Mistake~

"I hate you, fucking Tomato Bastard!" Everyone in the summit meeting room
flinched at the loud voice as a chair scraped back and Romano was looming over
Spain. And he looked pissed. Not all that different from usual actually.

"Aw come on, Lovi~, what'd I do?" Spain whined.

"You know very well what you did Bastardo!"

"Ve~ Must you fight in the meeting Fratello?" Italy asked, putting a calming hand
on his brother's shoulder. Romano only shook him off.

"You're DEAD Spain!" Romano launched himself at the older nation, missing as
Spain leaped out of his chair.

"I honestly don't know what I did!" Spain dodged another punch as they darted
around the room.

"Hey, g-guys, you sh-should r-r-really stop f-f-fighting p-p-p-please?" Latvia
stepped in between them and held out his arms.

"DAMNIT SPAIN!" Romano's fist finally connected… with Latvia's face. The small
nation fell to the ground and immediately everyone went quiet, except for Romano,
who was blaming Spain for not putting his face in front of Romano's fist apparently.

Russia's face darkened and Lithuania inched away from him, knowing that look. It
had been directed at him once… once or twice, he was used to consequences by
then. He stared sadly at Romano. "sekmes, tu idiotas" He whispered.

Author's note:

MY COMPUTER WON'T TYPE THE SUPERSCRIPT DOT E! Well whatever. It
won't type any other accents for that matter. *Casual table flip* I would
be happy for reviews since this is my first Hetalia fic! X3 I hope you like it!
Also if I get any translations wrong blame Google translate.

Translations: bastardo – bastard

Sekmes - Good luck

Tu idiotas – you idiot

An eye for an eye

A a Abc Abc Abc

Well. I'm uploading these fast. I have no life. T-T …And Toris' birthday is...
shit, tomorrow. I'm doomed. I totally waited till the last minute to do this.
Whatever. Enjoy chapter two!

WARNING: This is rated M for a reason, and contains yaoi, meaning
BoyxBoy. Don't like don't read. There will be lemons in later chapters so
seriously. Beware.

~Chapter Two: Captured~

Romano sat with his back to Spain, sulking.

"Come on Lovi, tell me what's up." The Spaniard scooted closer to him. "What'd I
do?"

"If you don't know that's even worse." Romano put his palms on Spain's chest and
pushed him away again.

"But Roma-"

"Just shut up and leave me alone, bastard!" Romano didn't turn around as the bed
shifted and the door opened and closed. He dared a glance behind him and saw
that Spain had gone. He felt happy that the Spaniard had heeded his request. He
wasn't sad at all that he'd left without trying harder to find out what was wrong. He
wasn't sad at all… Romano buried his face in his knees. "It's alright that he forgot

my birthday. After all, it's Feli's birthday too and he deserves all the people at his
birthday. I don't even care that they all forgot. It's not like I care about the stupid
bastard anyways…can't even read the atmosphere."

Romano heard the door open again. "Didn't I tell you to leave me alone?" he
questioned without turning around, malice in his tone.

No reply. Only footsteps.

"Seriously, Antonio. Get the hell out-" Romano stiffened as something cold pressed
against his neck.

" Is not nice to talk to guests this way, da?"

FUCK

Spain sat down dejectedly on his bed in his room. "What'd I do wrong? I thought I
could do this, but…" He stuffed his hand into his pocket and came out with a small
velvet box. "He was just so angry at me that if I tried he would only reject me. Who
am I kidding? It's not a surprise he hates me. I should have just gotten a normal
present for his birthday. Like, I dunno, tomatoes. He loves tomatoes." Mmmm I
could go for some tomatoes and paella and churros…some churros would cheer me
up.

Spain flipped open the lid of the box to reveal the silver band inside. He smiled
slightly as he imagined all the hopes the ring held for him. "Te amo, Lovi." He
closed the box and shoved it back into his pocket before hearing the door open.

"Is that you Lovi? Look I'm sorry about whatever I did, I just…" It was not his
Italian at his door. "Oh, hey Russia. What's up?"

"It looks like not your spirits, comrade." Russia replied. Spain hung his head.

"No. I guess not." He raised his head to meet the Russian's-innocent but not
innocent-eyes.

"Do you vant to do something fun, comrade?" Spain blinked a couple of times.
Russia was asking him to do something? That sounded fun even though everyone
else avoided him like the Plague.

"It depends, what is it?" Spain stood up and walked over to the Russian.

He saw the bag behind Russia, the shape of a body hidden inside, before everything
went dark.

Well. Again, creepy mister Russia time. Beware, there will be horrible
sadism in either the next chapter or the one after that. So yeah. I hope you
enjoy the makings of my bat shit crazy mind!

Hasta manana~!

Feliks

An eye for an eye

A a Abc Abc Abc

Yeah, I'm back. Again. Well all I really have to say is that this chapter has
rape. Don't like don't read.

~Chapter Three: Revenge~

What's going on? Where am I? Romano struggled to open his eyes, though it didn't
make a difference. Everything was dark. "Ugh, what happened?" His arms were
numb and when he tried to move them he realized they were tied together. The
rope scratched at his wrists as he attempted to sit up, discovering he couldn't move
his legs either; they were strapped into a kneeling position.

"Romano? Is that you?" He heard shuffling off to his right.

"Spain?" Romano squinted, trying to make out anything in the black.

"Yeah, it's me."

"What the hell? What did you get us into this time you stupid bastard? Another
fucking debt crisis or something?" Romano snapped.

"Ah, but it is you who brought this down, comrade." Romano whipped his head
towards the voice.

"Who's there? Show yourself bastard!" He yelled.

The lights flashed on and Romano was blinded for a moment before his eyes
adjusted. "You!" he growled. Russia stood over them; grinning his creepy, childish
grin.

"Hello comrade!" he laughed. "How are you?"

"Bad. Angry. Let me go! It's obviously Spain's fault." Romano growled. Spain said
nothing, only stared at the floor.

"Ah, but this is no vay to treat a host, da?" Russia crouched down on his haunches
in front of the angry Italian. His face turned dark and the smile disappeared. "There
should be respect." He grabbed Romano's hair and threw him to the side.

"Lovino!" Spain exclaimed. Russia shot a look at him and stood up.

"Vill there be any other little outbursts?"

The two countries stayed silent.

"Good. Now, do you know vy you are here?" Both shook their heads in fear. "It is
because you-" He pointed to Romano "- trampled my flower."

"What are you talking about?" He spat.

"Latvia," Russia growled, "you hurt him. So now, I shall hurt your flower."

"Who, Spain?" Romano asked, "There's nothing between us, if you think I don't
hate his guts you're an idiota." Romano didn't notice Spain's shoulders hunch
slightly at his words.

"All of the countries can tell, comrade. It is more obvious than why Amerika walks
with a limp whenever he goes to meet with England." Russia said.

"Well then all of you must be idiotas." Romano shrugged, not denying the hickies
he'd seen on the American's neck.

"I suppose you would not mind me doing this then?" Suddenly, Russia was kneeling
behind Spain, holding a knife to the country's throat.

"Don't!" Romano yelped and snapped his mouth shut as Russia chucked darkly.

"Knew it." He set the knife down and shoved the Spaniard back down to the floor.

"You're fucking insane." Romano growled, "Let us go."

"I think not, comrade." Russia pulled down Spain's pants and the country's eyes
widened.

"H-Hey, what are you doing?" Spain asked, struggling against the Russian's strong
grip pinning him to the floor.

"Hurting Romano's flower." Russia growled. He unzipped his own pants and pulled
out his throbbing member.

"Stop it!" Spain yelled, panic showing in his eyes. "Get away!"

"Don't hurt him!" Romano cried out, biting his lip. "I'm the one you're angry at, why
are you fucking hurting Spain?"

"It's an eye for an eye comrade." Russia entered and Spain screamed. He
immediately moved, not giving the squirming nation any mercy.

"Stop it stop it stop it! Mi Dios!" Spain cried, "Por favor, espero!" His pleas went
unnoticed as the Russian continued to move.

"ANTONIO!" Romano screamed, "YOU MOTHERFUCKING RUSSIAN BASTARD!" His
stomach reeled at the sight of the country that had raised him writhing and crying

on the ground underneath the Russian. The country he had laughed with, played
with, fought with… the country who broke his heart. He shook his head; that was a
long time ago. "Just stop. Please. You don't need to hurt him when it's my burden."

"L-Lovi…" Spain gasped, almost forgetting the pain at Romano's words.

"Let him go and I'll do whatever you want." Romano averted his eyes from Spain's;
he couldn't bear to see the hurt in them.

"But this is vat I vant," Russia laughed, not at all phased by the situation, "to hurt
you mentally and emotionally."

"All I did was punch the kid! Do I or Spain really deserve this?" Romano choked
out.

"There is no mercy with Mother Russia you see." he laughed. Spain whimpered as
Russia pulled out, leaving the broken form on the floor. The Russian looked almost
sad. Almost.

"There is only hatred."

Okay... creepy Russia here. Yeah, whatever I don't think that this chapter
turned out that well, but seriously, I guess we'll see what you guys think.
Reviews make me happy people! X3

An eye for an eye

A a Abc Abc Abc

Alright, so yeah, three chapters in one day right? Honestly I have to upload
the entire thing between today and tomorrow so anyone actually reading
this is in luck I guess. Well anyways, read on peoples.

~Chapter Four: Betrayal~

Spain lay on the floor, shaking violently. Romano could only watch the country cry
silently as Russia walked away from him towards Romano. He looked down, but
Russia wrenched his chin up so he was forced to look the smiling nation in the eyes.
"That vas not so bad, da?"

"You need to be locked up in a fucking insane asylum bastard." Romano muttered.

"Oh?" Russia tilted his head innocently, "How so?"

"Is that a fucking trick question? You fucking raped Spain! He didn't do anything
wrong!" Romano yelled angrily.

"Ah, but this morning you were yelling at him about doing something wrong, what
was that about?"

Romano's eyes widened. "W-Well, I… ah, I-"

"Vas there even a real reason? Vas it a good one? Because that's vy you are
here."Romano averted his gaze from the Russian's.

"He forgot my birthday." Romano muttered, shoulders slumped.

"I didn't… forget… Roma…" Spain said, "I just, couldn't think… of a good time… to
give you… your gift."

Romano looked over at the Spaniard, his back was to Romano. "W-What?"

"I was going… to ask you… never mind. It doesn't really… matter now anyways."
Russia stared at Spain thoughtfully.

"I think I get it." He untied Spain's hands and pulled off the country's jacket. He
checked all the pockets until he seemed to find what he was looking for. "How
sweet!" He pulled out a small, black, velvet box. "He was going to ask you to marry
him!"

Romano stared at Spain confusedly. "But I thought you didn't care about me. I
mean, after that night…" Romano bit his lip.

"You mean, the night I raped you." Spain sighed bitterly.

"What are you talking about? You never did that!" Romano stared desperately at
Spain, trying to figure out what he meant.

"The night I came home drunk and… I-I'm sorry," Romano could hear tears in the
Spaniard's voice, "I never meant to hurt you, I just-"

"You IDIOT!" Spain pushed himself up onto his elbows so he could see Romano,
there were tears running down his face.

"Look, I'm sorry! Please forgive me Romano!"

"There's nothing to forgive bastard! I let you do that to me because I love you too!
I thought you didn't even remember what happen that night because you were
drunk and it fucking hurt! Why the hell didn't you ever mention it?!" Romano
screamed.

"I-I thought th-that you would be angry and so-" He stopped and stared at
Romano, "You… love me too?"

Romano's face reddened. "Yes bastard so fucking acknowledge it! I'll marry you!"

Russia silently watched their exchange and smiled, he could use this to his
advantage.

Hell, I dunno how this chapter turned out... but it's short again. -_-
whatever, I hope you liked it.

An eye for an eye

A a Abc Abc Abc

Hey~ I'm back with chapter 5! Yeah last minute but whatever. Hope you
like ths chapter!

"Oh Romano~" Romano looked up angrily at the Russian.

"The fuck do you want now?" he growled.

"Vell I vanted to say that this is all vell and good, but you are still here with me and
I've decided this scene is too happy for my liking, so I plotted a way to fix that!"
Russia walked over to Spain "So here's vat vill happen," he whispered, "either you
rape this one-" he pointed to Romano.

"No way!" Spain hissed.

"Or I will." Spain hesitated and stared at Romano. "Make a choice, comrade."

"I-I don't want to hurt him." Spain hung his head.

"I see. You've made your choice then." Russia stood up.

"No wait! I'll-I'll do it." Spain chokes out and a Russian smirk made itself known.

"Whatever you wish." He said. Russia knelt back down and untied the ropes around
Spain's legs. "Go ahead then, if you really can do it."

Spain shakily got to his feet and limped over to Romano. "What did he say?"
Romano asked. "…Spain?"

"I'm sorry Roma." Spain muttered, trying hard not to cry.

"What are you doing?" Romano asked. Spain gently pulled down the Italian's pants
and boxers, avoiding Romano's eyes. "Spain?" fear was creeping into his voice,
"Seriously, stop."

"I love you, Lovino. " Spain pressed his mouth to Romano's and the country's eyes
widened. Romano gasped and Spain stuck his tongue in, swirling around the

Italian's to distract him as he pressed a finger into the other's entrance. Romano
jerked away and broke their kiss.

"Stop it Spain!" He exclaimed.

"I'm sorry, I have to do this, Lovi." Spain traced his tongue along Romano's jaw line
before nipping and sucking at his neck, leaving prominent red marks on the
Italian's fair skin. He ran his fingers through Romano's hair and pulled lightly on the
one curl that always stuck out.

"Ngh… Spain…" Romano moaned loudly and leaned his head back against the
Spaniard's chest. Spain inserted a second finger and began to scissor Romano's
entrance. Romano let out another moan and Spain could feel himself getting hard.
He reached around to the younger country's front and grabbed the half erect
member, pumping it at a fast pace to keep the others mind off what was about to
happen. He pulled his fingers out and Romano whined needily.

"It's-hah-alright." Spain aligned himself with Romano's entrance and pushed in the
head of his erection. Romano's body went ridged and he cried out in pain. "Tell me
when it's okay." Romano gulped and nodded his head. Spain pushed in until he was
fully sheathed inside the smaller country, waiting for him to adjust before he slowly
began to move. He pulled all the way out, then shoved back in.

"AH! SPAIN!" Romano yelped as the other thrust into him. Spain held Romano's
face gently as he set a moderate pace and turned Romano's head to face him. He
laughed at the flushed look on Romano's face and crashed their lips together
lustfully, moaning into the other's mouth. When they came apart Romano pressed
his lips to the Spaniard's ear and breathed, "Ti amo, Spain."

"Te amo, Lovi~." Spain replied. Several thrusts later, they came together, almost
able to forget the Russian sitting in the corner, still watching them.

Hey... so yeah, I enjoyed writing this chapter X3 so I guess yeah, chapter 6
will be up in a few minutes. Ja!

An eye for an eye

A a Abc Abc Abc

Hey so this'll be the final chapter. Thanks for the reviews and stuff! Have
fun!

"Vell I think it's my turn!"

"You told me you wouldn't hurt him!" Spain growled. He'd only done it cause he
loved Lovino!

"Did I ever say that? No. I said you do or I vould, I said nothing about aftervards."

Spain strained against the ropes that bound his hands again, wishing he could only
do something. "Romano…"

Russia looked over at the Spaniard and sighed, "I'm off." He announced.

"You're just leaving us?" Spain spat.

"Vould you rather I stay?"

He kept silent as the Russian walked out the door and switched off the lights,
leaving the two countries in the dark. "…Are you okay, Romano?"

"Fuck no bastard." Came a voice from somewhere in the room.

Spain laughed despite himself and said, "Still fine enough to swear though I see."

"Shut up."

Spain shook his head and looked towards the doorway; faint light was filtering
through this time, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. "Was there light
there before, Lovi?"

"Why's it matter?" came the glum reply.

"Because it means someone's there!" Spain exclaimed. "HEY! HELP!"

"Shut up you idiot! What if it's that bastard Russia? He's just gonna fucking punish
you for trying to get away!" Romano hissed.

The door opened and someone stood in the doorway. Spain squinted, trying to
make out who it was…

"HEY! HELP!" Prussia stared at the door. Mein Gott, anything but this, he thought.
He knew who's room that was; it was Russia's, the only one who can strike fear
into his awesome heart.

"Shut up you idiot!..." Prussia sighed, definitely Spain and Romano. If it was his
friend, then why was he having so much trouble reaching out to open the door?

"Prussia!" Spain laughed, "Hell if I'm not glad to see you!" Prussia ran over and
embraced his friend. "Amigo, I'm fine, what's up?"

"Don't lie Spain." Spain was shocked at Prussia's tone and didn't know how to
respond, he only smiled and nodded.

"Great, hug time over, could you untie us?"

Leave it to Romano to destroy the mood. Prussia immediately went back to
awesome mode.

"Yeah sure, the awesome me will totally save you two alright?" Prussia cut through
their ropes with a dagger and led the two countries into the hallway. "Everyone's
been looking for you two, you weren't at the meeting this morning and you weren't
in your rooms either."

"Yeah, we were locked up in a bat shit crazy Russian's room." Romano muttered
angrily. Spain automatically felt for the ring in his pocket, did Romano really mean
what he'd said? That he would marry me? Spain laughed and left the little box
where it was.

"You're so funny Lovi~!" he grinned at the ruffled looking Italian.

"Shut up bastard!" Romano huffed and looked away, a blush dusting his cheeks.

Spain laughed harder and pulled the younger country into a hug. "So cute!" Maybe
someday, but for today I think I'll leave things as they are… Even after what
happened, life goes on, right? So I can save this for another day I think.

So yeah, final chapter. For anyone who cares, I'm making a prequal of this
with Prussia and the Berlin Wall so yeah. Ja!

We All Fall Down
Author: PoodlePop PM
When the whole world falls victim to a biological weapon developed in northeast asia
can anyone help before the aftermath wipes off the entirety of the globe? Slight
Spamano. Will involve other suggested pairings; FRUK, USUK, RUSAME, FRAIN,
FRANADA, ETC.
Rated: Fiction M - English - Tragedy/Hurt/Comfort - Spain & S. Italy/Romano -
Published: 11-04-11 - id: 7523236

A a Abc Abc Abc

AN: MATURE FOR EXTREME GORE AND SENSITAVE MATERIAL. DLDR. Might be a
tad depressing. A thank you to all those who put up with my pointless moaning
about my writing style, I hope you can all forgive me. The following events are
fictional and not based on any real political situations. Credit and thank yous go to
Froggy and Gab for the storyline and to the skype/iscribble role play group for the
inspiration and drive to do it all those months ago. For translations see the bottom
of the fic, any corrections are welcome as I'm not a speaker of either Latin or
Italian.

He had feared this would happen.

They had all feared this would happen.

China was the first major power to go. Whilst the war effort had stopped North
Korean advances, it didn't take long for the virus, a biological super weapon the

Koreans had developed, to spread through the larger nation. Overpopulation and
the heat drove the infection south, causing a sudden burst across the neighboring
countries, flooding India and the Asian sibling nations. The virus was spreading
faster than nations could shut themselves off from the world, it grew out of control,
and it went wild.

America had been there. America had been there from the beginning. His forces
had moved on North Korea just as soon as the Chinese. It was a suicide mission,
soon the men learnt that when they were infected they'd not be granted leave to
home, and as men refused to fight, so the bombs began to fall.

Any hope that the Koreans had an antidote were dashed as soon as the smoke
cleared.

Things fell apart even more once the Russians became involved, who had supported
North Korea from the sidelines and now, in their frustration of defeat, the nation
opened its arms to the virus. Some infected themselves, some gave up. Either way
the country had become hell bent on taking down everyone they could. People for
years to come would assume this was a mad man's mission, but it wasn't until they
discovered the Russian's believed they had the cure, did the poor few countries who
remained know why.

Security increased. Airports were closed. Countries isolated themselves for fear of
contamination.

However, that only slowed the infection.

Throughout history, Europe had always been the target, always been the continent
with the most conflict. So did it really make it any different now? Any different now
that the power had been shifted further east and west? No... That just made Europe
something different. This made Europe the space in between, this made Europe 'No
man's land'.

After the infection had taken out South America, the European nations were
essentially surrounded. All imports of food had to be closed off, only some of the
luckier nations dared to trade between neighbours. It was only a matter of waiting
before one of the countries became diseased.

It started at Turkey, immigrants fleeing from the Middle East came baring the
disease. People would pass on the tale of how a couple of cowards had essentially
brought upon the downfall of Europe, their plague caught the Turks off guard, who
had believed themselves impenetrable. Soon after Turkey, Greece fell, and the
Russians got to their neighbouring former soviet states.

Belarus, Latvia, Estonia, Finland, Ukraine... They all fell.

Albania, Macedonia, Bulgaria, Serbia, Romania... They didn't stand a chance.

The panic started.

As soon as Lithuania began to fall, Poland foolishly rushed to aid. Security
standards quickly became forgotten as people became crazed. Those who stayed
died. Those who fled were either killed or turned away.

In the cold the virus spread slowly.

In the heat the virus thrives.

There was nothing they could do for Italy by the time anyone knew they were
infected.

He had seen Mexico, seen him in the American quarantine tents, just before they
burnt any remains on the Texan border where the great disaster had struck
hardest. They had told him that Mexico had been shot on sight as he fled across the
border; they told him that they all had. There was nothing the Americans could do
and they had to make sure of their own survival too, especially after Canada's
subside. He didn't blame him, but that didn't stop the agony that followed in grief.

The sight of Mexico's body hadn't been pretty. He looked starved, ribs protruding
oddly through the bloodstained and tattered remains of his shirt. There were black
and blue swells scattered around anywhere that hadn't already been bleeding, and
any skin that did show was a grotesque shade of saturated yellow. The former
colony's hair was a mess, Spain had to hold back whatever compelled him to comb
it back and scold the nation for letting it get that way, it was streaked lightly with
grey and a thick crusted layer of dead skin was gathered at the roots. He couldn't
look at the younger nation's face. It was almost as if the former nation of Mexico,
the former New Spain, had been rotting for weeks before his death.

There was no word from Argentina, nor any of his old American colonies, and no
one dared venture beyond the safe zones.

All of the Spaniard's children were gone.

All of them.

He couldn't let South Italy go too.

The other nations had called him stupid. They had yelled at him, pleaded at him to
rethink, but his eyes had turned steely and he had not listened. He wasn't like the
German, he wasn't going to stand there and watch as Italy fell. After all, wasn't it
clear that there was only so much time before they would all be destroyed?

And Spain was only a stone's throw away from Africa.

Antonio wasn't sure when he'd lost hope; when he had seen so many people who
still held it close. So many of his people still tried to survive, still tried to help, and
still prayed desperately for a miracle. Perhaps it was when he started seeing the
effects on his fellow nations, or when he started seeing friends, family, and lovers
fight against each other for life; killing one another in the process. Maybe it was
once the panic started, once any order which the countries could cling to crumbled
beneath their fingertips.

He had heard that Portugal stopped praying the day he heard about Brazil, the
same day he started to cough.

Lovino would kill him for this.

The Lovino he knew would yell at him; would tell him he's a bastard, a stupid
bastard who seems to think that the other needs his help. He would look at him

with a fire in his eyes, a fire that could easily be confused for hate, for anger, for
disgust. However, the Spanish nation knew him better than that. He had, after all,
spent years, decades, centuries protecting the Italian nation, guiding the smaller
country, supporting him and loving him.

This was not the Italy brother he knew, this Italy was dying.

Spain found them together, the grand walls and roof of the Sistine Chapel rising
high above them, untouched by the decay of the modern world. For a moment
everything was normal as Antonio's eyes swept across the fine artwork that
decorated the cold stone. For a moment he was taken back, he could still
remember the smell of the paint, see the bubbling excitement that was clear in
Romano's young face, and the red that slowly spread across it when he realised
what was being painted.

He looked so different now. He hadn't just grown, he had aged, and rapidly too.

It had been easy to tell there was something wrong, and not just by the field of
bodies that scattered across the roads outside the Vatican. The fact that the
majority appeared to be suicides was what had alarmed him most. The city was like
a ghost town, there were no survivors, or at least none visible, he hoped. The
Spaniard panicked. Was he too late? Was everyone already dead?

It was so quiet.

The chapel door had been barricaded; a small litter of cardinals lay about it as
though they were useless dolls, cold hands still appearing to claw at the door even
in death. Antonio did not try the door, instead making his way around the building,
searching for a window, a side door, anything that he could break through. By the
time he had found his way in he could already feel fatigue approaching, there
wasn't long, and everything was silent, too silent.

His footsteps had echoed across the vast open space as he walked towards the
aisle. Every time his sole made contact with the marble floor felt like a hard
swallow, he felt like something was clenching tighter and tighter to his gut.

He had then noticed the blood.

There was blood on the floor.

And then he heard the chanting.

His heart began racing, pounding, beating against his ribcage. The Spaniard's head
snapped up from the floor, trying desperately to locate the faint sound before it
disappeared. Where was it? Who was it? Was Lovino here? Was he safe? Was he
okay?

Hurrying down the aisle, feet faltering on the horrifying liquid, Spain barely made it
to the gateway standing.

"...istam sanctan unctionem..."

The voice sent chills down his spine. It was raw, it was hoarse, it sounded like
every sound it uttered was ripping a new hole in the speaker's body.

"...piissimam misericordiam..."

The Spaniard stared, ahead of him was the altar, its regal decorations scattered
across the floor and the table cloth tugged away. It looked like there had been a
struggle, something had happened, something important. Antonio's heart skipped a
beat.

"... Dominus"

Only just in view, poking out from behind the alter, he could just about see a pair of
bruised, unclothed feet.

"Per istam sanctan unctionem et suam piissimam misericordiam, indulgeat tibi
Dominus"

Someone was moving Antonio's legs.

Some ungodly power had pushed the nation forward, or rather pulled him, down
the aisle towards the altar. It must have been some other force, because the
Spaniard felt he couldn't move an inch. Yet there he was, marching slowly towards
the scene. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't blink, he couldn't even swallow as
tonnes upon tonnes of dread fell on his heart.

He had been too late, hadn't he...?

He was now alone, wasn't he...?

The closer he got, the better he could see the damage. The blood from the entrance
had intensified to the point he was sure he saw a large puddle of the liquid and,
Antonio took a moment to gag, a sickly mess of grey bile and mucus mixed among
it. The altar's cloth had smears of blood where it had been tugged at, there was a
knife glistening ominously amongst the folds.

"...Requescant in pace..."

Something inside the Spaniards mind brought him back to reality.

Where was the chanting coming from?

"... R.." The brunette tested his voice, barely above a whisper. "...Romano...?"

There was silence.

"...ques... cant in..." There was a heavy cough and perhaps a sob that seemed to
reverberate around the walls for an eternity. "-pace..."

Whoever it was who was here, they were alive, if they were a citizen of Italy that
meant that Romano could be alive too. And if it weren't a citizen of Italy, then it
could only be the one he was here looking for.

With this new affirmation of hope, the Spanish nation took a few hurried steps until
he was around the altar and looking directly down at—

It wasn't Romano's feet he had seen, though the poor nation was there, clinging
desperately to the clothes of the other behind the altar.

It wasn't South Italy.

"Che cazzo ci fai qui?" The brunette's head snapped around and he leapt back,
scrambling somewhat to his feet, cursing as he left the other body exposed and
then exploding into a ringing chorus of choking coughs.

It was the other one...

It was Feliciano.

The image of the North Italian's fresh body had barely burnt into his mind before he
found himself being shoved back. Slipping on the sea of crimson liquid, Antonio fell
back gasping deep gulps of breath, the shock shaking his entire body.

"Prendi il cazzo via da qui! Non avvicinarti! Immondo! Heathen!"

The former Spanish empire's eyes leapt up to the face of his assailant, his dear
Romano, and he almost cried out in horror. If the sound of his voice hadn't been
enough to let dread creep over him then the gaunt, grey skin and blood smeared
face of his former protectorate had been. The poor boy's eyes were darkened, a
sickly mix of yellow and crimson red contrasted revoltingly against his once
beautiful hazel iris', and they appeared to have sunk into his skull so far that he had
permanent rings of black around them. His cheeks were hollowed and ghastly,
allowing the cheekbones to protrude out at an ugly angle. And those lips, those lips
that the Spaniard had spent his life longing to kiss, were cracked, bloodied and torn
at the sides, one of which had become infected and was excreting a puss like
substance with every movement of the other's lips.

"Lo non ti lascerò lo porti da me, non voglio! Ha bisogno del vostro aiuto! Ha solo
bisogno di me! Ti aiuto io! I'll do it better! Ci arriveremo attraverso questo! Basta
guardare, non abbiamo bisogno del vostro aiuto! "

The voice was quiet and hoarse beyond belief, yet its intention was screamed
through Antonio's head. Each word was like a last breath, gasping and barely
audible. Some words weren't heard at all, Romano's mouth forming the speech yet
none would come out of the boy. The very sight, the very sound, made Spain want
to cry.

The Italian's eyes had a gaze of crazed fury. It wasn't the kind Antonio was used to,
this looked like genuine anger, twisted, unhinged, but genuine anger. As he let the
words echo endlessly in his mind the Spaniard forced himself to his feet, aware that
Lovino would probably attempt to attack him again if he so much as moved from
his spot.

"Sono il fratello più grande, quindi dovrei badare a lui! Se sei cazzo mi ascolta? "

There was a desperation that Spain had never known in the other's voice. The
demands seemed to be told as if the other's very existence depended on it.

Antonio's eyes fell back on the other Italy, whose body was soaked in blood,
crusted in places. Oh Romano, he thought pitifully, how long have you been over

his body repeating his last rites? The wounds on the Italian however, were not
generated by the disease, they appeared self inflicted. Spain remembered the knife,
and pieces began to fall into place.

He stepped forward.

"Non toccarlo!"The ghostly form of Lovino screamed, voice actually giving his
emotion justice for once before breaking in to another tearing rapture of coughing.
"Tu ... tu lo... ammazzo!"

Sadness gripped the elder nation's heart, and he felt as though someone had
reached inside and torn it away from him. Feliciano had clearly been dead for hours
if not a day.

"Roma..." The old nickname sticking even in such circumstances, "He's not...
Feliciano he's-"

"Non è morto!" The Italian's sudden scream, stilled the Spaniard's tongue. "Lui non
è! Lui non lo è! Stai zitto! Stai zitto! Stai zitto! Stai zitto!"

Romano's hands flew up to his ears, screaming the same words again and again
until he made no sound at all. Blood seeped from his abused lips and fell to the
floor as he continued to scream in his mind. Then the young nation's body seized
up, eyes flinging wide open and he fell to the floor, coughing turned to retching and
it wasn't soon before more blood decorated the chapel.

Spain wanted to help but found he couldn't do a thing but watch.

It felt like an eternity before the cries finally ceased.

"Roma... Romano..." Antonio's horrified eyes finally moved from the space they'd
unfocused at and glued to the Italian's arched back. His only response was harsh
breathing, filling the humid, stale smelling air. The Spaniard moved to him,
crouching beside him, more concerned for the victim than the foul hot liquid
seeping into the knees of his trousers. "Shh... Romano... I-I'm here... "

The older man reached out apprehensively to touch the boy's shoulder. He wanted
to comfort him.

A hand twisted its way up to stop him, bony and dry. Spain noticed the skin had
become rough under his fingers, some dead parts flaked away from his touch, but
any new flesh that was discovered was just as old as the rest.

The yells started again, even in the nation's present state.

"Scappare. Vattene via! Non ho bisogno di aiuto, non abbiamo bisogno di aiuto.
Andate via! Chiudi il becco." His cries were weaker now, hoarser and dryer. Spain
wished he'd brought aid, some water, some medicine, something. He wished he'd
brought at least something to ease his little boy's pain.

The curses and stream of words continued, like a record on repeat. Somehow
Antonio managed to get the boy to lie in his arms, making it a little more
comfortable for the aching, rotting body of the great kingdom of two Scillies. The
man was finally crying, silent tears falling from his face as he watched Romano
stare up at the ceiling, muttering words that should be yells.

"Gli ho detto di non farlo. Gli dissi che avrebbe ottenuto sangue dappertutto, e avrei
dovuto pulirlo. Gli ho detto quando è stato fatto sarebbe dispiaciuto, sarebbe stato
chiesto il mio aiuto. Ha detto che non gli importava. Ha detto che avrebbe preferito
morire, ma ... perché? Non poteva vedere come stavo lavorando duramente per
farlo rimanere in vita? Ha cercato di uscire, ha cercato di scappare, eh. Beh, una
volta che ha capito che non poteva, si fermò a provare. Afferrò il coltello e ha
iniziato a fare una bella immagine per me. Ama la pittura. Ha detto che voleva
dipingere la cappella tutta di nuovo. Così ha fatto. Io lo guardavo. Egli non si alzò. E
'ora di riposo, la siesta ... mi ha detto di stare sveglio ... Mi ha detto di fare la
guardia. "

The mumbling began to turn delirious; Romano started talking about the oddest of
things afterwards. His coughing grew worse and soon his voice was barely audible
over a whisper, and he was practically screaming his words.

"Romano, Vuoi... startene... z-zitto per un momento?" The Spaniard tried, hoping
the Italian would get through to his Romano, get him to stop the insane chattering.

"Dov'è la Spagna? Egli sarebbe stato qui per me, si sarebbe preso cura di me. Ha
mi ha lasciato? Perché mi lasci qui? Non sa che fa male?"

If it was possible for his heart to break more, it did.

Did Lovino not recognise him?

"L... Lovi... I'm here... I-I-I'm right... here..." He clung to the brunette's brittle
feeling shoulders, shaking him slightly, trying to wake him from his delirium. "I'm...
right... here, Lovino."

But the muttering continued, and Romano's eyes were distant, they were staring
straight past Spain.

"Fa male, fa male, Spagna. Per favore, aiutatemi. Vieni e mi aiuta ..."

He wanted to scream at him, bring him back to reality. Don't do this, don't do this
Romano, the voice of his thoughts cried in grief, please don't do this Lovino. He
pulled the weak, almost lifeless body to his chest, and clung on tight. This was the
worst of it yet, seeing his little Lovino perish before his time, and in such a
disgusting manor.

The coughing started again, harsh and bone shattering. Warmth spread across
Spain's chest, and he realised the other must be retching again.

He let go of Romano, allowing the other to willingly roll off him and onto his
stomach, barely keeping himself off the ground with shaking limbs as the blood
splattered by Spain's legs. There was a shuddering gasp for air in between coughs,
and when Lovino did finally stop coughing and was steady; his breathing had a
gargling noise to it.

Spain panicked yet again, pulling Romano to sit up and look him directly in the
eyes. The Italian's head looked heavy as his ragged breathing continued his eyes
still distant.

"Lovino... Please... listen to me... Listen to me!" The Spaniard shook him, panic
overriding any form of gentleness he had in his actions. "Por... favour... escucha..."

For a second, for a moment, Antonio saw hazel eyes meet his own, flicking up to
see him. He saw them dilate, saw them swim with emotion that was not hate or
anger. He stared, and couldn't find the words to say, falling dead silent.

What do you say to the person you love when they're dying?

It's one of those things, one of those questions you know the answers to, but as
soon as you're faced with the situation not a thing springs to mind.

The silence lengthened, broken only by the sickening sound of Romano's breathing,
and then –

Romano opened his mouth, the ghastly red covered every surface within it clinging
to his beautiful teeth, his beautiful tongue, his—

The mouth was forming a word.

Spain's heart stopped, it didn't matter if he could hear the words or not, he could
see them, he knew what they said.

Then the Sicilian choked, once, twice, three times before coughing up another final
bout of the murky blood mixture. He fell forwards, limp into Antonio's hands and
the breathing became solid gurgles of the liquid, frothing and spilling from his
mouth and then—

Romano went completely limp.

Completely dead silence fell on the chapel again.

Translations:

Per istam sanctan unctionem et suam piissimam misericordiam, indulgeat
tibi Dominu – Latin, The spoken acts of the last rites in Catholic Religion.

Requescant in pace – Latin, Rest in peace.

Che cazzo ci fai qui? – What the fuck are you doing here?

Prendi il cazzo via da qui! Non avvicinarti! Immondo! Heathen! – Get the
fuck out of here! Don't come! Unclean! Heathen!

Lo non ti lascerò lo porti da me, non voglio! Ha no bisogno del vostro aiuto!
Ha solo bisogno di me! Ti aiuto io! I'll do it better! Ci arriveremo attraverso
questo! Basta guardare, non abbiamo bisogno del vostro aiuto! -I will not let
you take him from me, I will not! He has no need of your help! He just needs me!
I'll help him! I'll do it better! We'll get through this! Just look, we do not need your
help!

Sono il fratello più grande, quindi dovrei badare a lui! Se sei cazzo mi
ascolta? – I'm the older brother so I should look after him! Are you fucking
listening to me!

Non toccarlo! – Don't touch him!

Tu ... tu lo... ammazzo! – You… You will… kill him!

Non è morto! – He's not dead!

Lui non è! Lui non lo è! Stai zitto! Stai zitto! Stai zitto! Stai zitto! – He's not!
He's not! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!

Scappare. Vattene via! Non ho bisogno di aiuto, non abbiamo bisogno di
aiuto. Andate via! Chiudi il becco. - Escape. Get away! I do not need help, we
do not need help. Go away! Shut up.

"Gli ho detto di non farlo. Gli dissi che avrebbe ottenuto sangue
dappertutto, e avrei dovuto pulirlo. Gli ho detto quando è stato fatto
sarebbe dispiaciuto, sarebbe stato chiesto il mio aiuto. Ha detto che non gli
importava. Ha detto che avrebbe preferito morire, ma ... perché? Non
poteva vedere come stavo lavorando duramente per farlo rimanere in vita?
Ha cercato di uscire, ha cercato di scappare, eh. Beh, una volta che ha
capito che non poteva, si fermò a provare. Afferrò il coltello e ha iniziato a
fare una bella immagine per me. Ama la pittura. Ha detto che voleva
dipingere la cappella tutta di nuovo. Così ha fatto. Io lo guardavo. Egli non
si alzò. E 'ora di riposo, la siesta ... mi ha detto di stare sveglio ... Mi ha
detto di fare la guardia. " - "I told him not to do it. I told him that he would get
blood everywhere, and I would have to clean it. I told him when he was done he
would be sorry, he would be asking for my help. He said he didn't care. He said
he'd rather die, but... why? Couldn't he see how hard I was working to make him
stay alive? He tried to get outside, he tried to escape, heh. Well, once he realised
he could not, he stopped trying. He grabbed the knife and started making a pretty
picture for me. He loves painting. He said he wanted to paint the entire chapel
again. So he did. I watched him. He did not get up. He's resting now, taking a
siesta... he told me to stay awake... he told me to keep watch."

Vuoi... startene... z-zitto per un momento? – Can …you… be quiet for a
minute?

Dov'è la Spagna? Egli sarebbe stato qui per me, si sarebbe preso cura di
me. Ha mi ha lasciato? Perché mi lasci qui? Non sa che fa male? – Where is
Spain? He would be here for me, he would help me. Has he left me? Has he gone
too? Doesn't he know it hurts?

Fa male, fa male, Spagna. Per favore, aiutatemi. Vieni e mi aiuta ... – It
hurts, it hurts, Spain. Please help. Come and help me…

Por... favour... escucha... – Please, Listen.

We All Fall Down
FRANADA, ETC.
Published: 11-04-11 - id: 7523236

A a Abc Abc Abc

No…

n..no…

This…

It couldn't be…

Why was this…

Happening…?

Spain stared.

He couldn't do anything else.

He was afraid of what might happen if he did.

Was Romano really…?

No…

No he couldn't be.

The denial clung like cold sweat to the Spaniard as he looked at Lovino's limp,
dripping, silent form. He was still supported by Antonio's outstretched arms. Slowly,
he decided to lower the body, pulling it into his bloodstained lap and cradling the
figure. Not once during the movement was there a sign of life from the Italian.

"Roma…?"

The Spanish accent echoed into the silence, yet no response came. He shook the
skeletal corpse.

"Roma, now's not the time to be sleeping, get up."

There were pricks tickling the corner of his eyes, he tried to blink them away and
bit his trembling lip. There's no use fussing over him, he'd be up in a couple of
seconds, and Spain would have to straighten up and act like the boss he was. He
had to be brave, show his Romano there was nothing to worry about. After all, he
would be up soon, everything would be okay, everything—

"Wake up, Romano! … Please!"

His pleading voice mumbled desperately, quivering with fear.

He shook Romano, a weak smile twitching onto his lips as he spoke, no cooed, his
pleas at the carcass. He wouldn't let Romano see he was upset once he woke up.
He wouldn't let the boy wake up to him thinking insane things like him drowning to

death in his own blood. That was ridiculous; no one died like that, especially not
nations.

He must have sat there for hours, trying to coax the Sicilian to awake.

Watching the Italian's cold face for sign of life, Antonio felt realization slowly sink
through his shuddering body. He was dead. The feeling of denial was slowly
stripped from his body as a chill struck the room; stifling the heat for a moment
and painting it away with the cold before returning, but not at all in its once
vigorous state.

He was dead.

Lovino Vargas, Romano, South Italy, was dead.

Something caught in his throat at that.

Admitting that to himself was like driving a steak through his own heart.

Finally, he allowed his face to fall and to bury his head against the deceased
Italian's still chest.

That was the first day.

Anger.

It was all he felt, all he could feel.

The world became black and white to him. There was no colour, not on pristine
artwork of the walls, not on the deep mahogany benches, not on the stained glass
windows. There was naught except for the blood.

Questions, questions, so many questions.

Why Lovino?

How could he let this happen?

What could he have done to stop it?

Why were other people alive when the person he cared for most, the person he had
spent the majority of his life protecting, the person he loved was dead?

It made him angry, beyond angry.

Throughout the day he stayed within the chapel. He switched between staying by
Lovino's side, sitting on the second row of pews, and passing up and down the
aisle. At one point he threw the altar cross at the wall, seething with anger, shaking
uncontrollably.

He felt he was boiling up inside, and that whatever was boiling was pushing at his
skin, the pressure building and building, longing to be released. He wanted to tear

at it, he wanted to release the pressure, he wanted to explode, but found he
couldn't.

By the end of the second day he had Lovino in an unbreakable grip, tight against
his chest as his tear sore eyes searched the room for salvation.

By the end of the second day he'd begun to pray.

Using Romano's rosaries as a link to the boy he called out to the heavens he had
followed devotedly through most of his life. The tiny form of man's savior, Jesus
Christ, upon the cross that carried their sins rubbing against the Spaniard's thumb
and forefinger as he spoke the divine words. Someone had to hear him, someone at
least. He would have done anything to get an audience with the lord. Never before
in his life had he wanted it this much. Not when his people were dying of the
plague, not when he fought and claimed land in the name of him, nor even when
his empire collapsed and fell around him, dragging Spain through hell along with it
in the process.

Our Father, Jesus Christ, Virgin Mary.

He begged them for an answer, screaming until his throat went raw.

Allāh, Abraham, Muhammed.

He would give anything; his soul, his devotion, his people, his life. He would give
anything in turn for the Italian to be alive, breathing, yelling at him for praying to
something outside of the catholic religion.

He didn't care.

He just wanted him back.

He'd give anything.

By the third day he had given up.

He'd been exposed to the dead bodies and sickly sweet air for four days, even as a
nation he was bound to have contracted the disease by now. Not that it would have
made a difference, he didn't really see the point. What was his life really without
Romano? He'd forgotten what he'd done before. Be owned? Fight for his country?
Not a lot had mattered to him back then, everything had just been the rhythmic
duties of being a country, and Lovino had been the one to make him realize he
could feel.

So what was the point?

After all, he was only a stone's throw away from Africa.

He barely rose to consciousness now.

Lying beside his Italian, work weathered hand joined with the cold of the others,
the kingdom of Spain drifted in and out of his dreams. Memories, happy memories

of them, the two of them, the family España once had. He heard their voices,
begging for him to run off and play. He heard Romano, mumbling and cursing as he
buried his mouth in a tomato, his little hand clinging on to the end of Antonio's
coat. And then he'd drift back to reality in this dream like state, feeling the cold
crusting liquid stick to him like syrup.

At one point he heard footsteps.

At one point he heard his name.

Felt himself being pulled up.

Felt arms around him.

Saw golden hair.

Saw his friend.

His hand slipped from the Sicilian's, energy less fingertips barely brushing against
the other's.

"He's dead, Francia."

AN: Unfortunately as many of my friends refuse to read through and check
this for me it hasn't been beta'd, so if any mistakes crop up please help me
by pointing them out~ No long translations in this one for you, It's also a
hell of a lot shorter... But with good reason. I can't state how much it
irritates me that I can't make the text do the things it was doing in word.
So no word art and nice spacing for you. Hope you enjoyed... or not
enjoyed... or whatever... I realise that this is probably the most depressing
thing I've written :| But you can tell me all about your reaction in a
Review~

We All Fall Down
FRANADA, ETC.
Published: 11-04-11 - id: 7523236

A a Abc Abc Abc

"He's dead, Francia…"

Italy was gone.

Francis Bonnefoy had never really considered the reasons behind his and the
Spaniard's obsession with the Italy brothers. Perhaps it had been their time

together under the 'care' (Francis always used that term loosely) of Rome that had
inspired them, perhaps it was just their big brotherly nature, but either way the
pair had squabbled over them for the entirety of their youth. A small part of the
Frenchman had never given up on this fight, even when the two had grown up and
gained their independence, but then again it was also this small part that craved for
the Spanish man's attention, and was insanely jealous of the way that he looked at
Romano.

When the virus had hit, Francis was one of the first to understand the full grasp of
what was going to happen. He had been through illnesses one too many times, and,
being the grand centre of Europe, he'd grown accustom to getting them all one way
or another. In fact, the Frenchman was pleasantly surprised by how long he had
managed to last. His boss had been rather forceful and efficient in the precautions
they took. When the virus had made it past turkey their country had gone back to
rationing, refusing to exchange food with any other nation and putting their own
supply under close observation. Their borders were always closely monitored, and
their embassies were given the grand task of passing on news as to whether there
had been rumours of outbreak in the other countries, any kind of exchange
between those countries would effectively be impossible as soon as word reached
Paris.

However, the general consensus of the people of France wasn't entirely positive.
Francis had watched as his people lashed out in anger at the isolation from their
neighbouring countries. Families were torn apart and businesses ruined. A large
amount of religious followers spoke out against the oppression of their freedom,
and hailed the coming disease as the 'lord's divine punishment over this diseased
war craving world'. It was quite sickeningly humorous to the Frenchman in a way,
seeing all the religions that he'd seen the world tear itself apart to appease,
civilisations slaughtered and wars waged, all over the simple argument of 'my
religion is better than yours', and yet here they were on the brink of the world's
destruction, banded together to welcome in the disease and cleanse the world of all
sin. The irony.

"Antonio..."

Francis cradled the grief stricken man in his arms, never before in his entire
existence had he seen a sight so pitiful. His clothes were crusted with blood and
bile, he smelt something rotten and was covered in a thin layer of sweat. Antonio
himself was relatively unharmed. True, he looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks and
had barely enough energy to raise his head, but this was nothing a little bit of
tender love and care wouldn't fix. The greatest wound, Francis could see, was in the
male's heart.

When Antonio Fernandez Carriedo turned to look at him, his eyes were void of the
life and emotion they had once been so alight with. It seemed like the muscles of
his face were incapable of doing anything other than the barest of actions, and
when the Spaniard's mouth twitched into a slight smile it sent shivers up the
Frenchman's spine in a way he had never before experienced.

"Lovino's gone... he's gone now..." Antonio stopped to cough, his throat so
incredibly dry.

Francis pulled out a bottle of water from his bag, guilt hitting him when he realised
how much he had drunk of it earlier, wishing he'd saved it for the man who was
clearly in more need. He popped the cap and brought it to his old friend's lips, the
liquid running between their dry cracked surface and for the first time in days he

drank. The blonde ran a hand through his old friend's hair, sighing a little with relief
that Antonio was okay.

"Oui, Oui, mon ami... He's at peace... He's safe now..." Francis' words of comfort
drifted on the sweet air, as the bottle soon emptied and he tossed it to one side,
tugging Antonio up little by little in his dazed dreamlike state until he was sat. "You
have to come with me now... come back to Marseille with me, oui? There is a boat
waiting... we'll be able to get back within a couple of days... oui? We'll get you back
and fed and—"

"Francia..." Antonio interrupted, eyes on the body of his fallen charge, a sad distant
expression on his face. "I... do you think..."

"Shhh..." The Frenchman hushed his companion, pulling him closer and smiling a
little in comfort, "It can wait, oui? Lets get you to somewhere safe..." He soothed
the other, before attempting to stand, slinging his old friend's arm around his
shoulders to support him as he lead him away from Lovino and out into the silent
colossal spaces of an empty Rome.

Despite it's history, despite all of its hardships and everything it had endured, Italy
had fallen. It didn't matter how big an impression you left on time and the map, in
the end it was your people that mattered. If a country couldn't protect it's people
then nothing would save it, and you'd either fall and be replaced by another, or
disappear from existence all together. And like the grand structures and shells of
buildings, you'd be nothing more than a distant memory.

Not once did Antonio look back.

~In the end, We all fall down~

AN: Sorry it took so long to update guys, I had some real trouble with
Francis and how I'd get from A to B in the plot. But thankfully I finally got
this chapter done. Of course, it doesn't help when your housemates refuse
to allow you to write any more because it's 'too sad' BP. Again I'd like to
apologise for any grammatical or spelling errors as everyone refuses to
Beta this :'I

I hope you enjoy, It all kicks off in the next chapter.

We All Fall Down
FRANADA, ETC.
Published: 11-04-11 - id: 7523236

A a Abc Abc Abc

Chapter 4

It was a hot and terrible fever.

He lingered for days and days in a constant disequilibrium between his dreams and
reality, though you couldn't really call them dreams. He had hot sweats and cold
sweats. There were nights where he just screamed, calling out to something that
was already gone, cursing the entire of existence and yelling to things that didn't
exist. He began feverishly reciting Latin prayers over and over again as he stared at
the ceiling shaking uncontrollably, for the longest time everyone feared he was
going mad. Once he'd awoken to a most pleasant sight, there he was; his charge,
his Italy, his Lovino, leaning over him in his sleep. "Don't worry Bastard." He'd said,
whispering softly against his forehead as he leant down to kiss it, the words
echoing, he seemed so far away, it didn't make sense. "I'm at peace now, right? No
need for you to fucking worry about me." And he was right, wasn't he? There was
no need. Lovino Vargas in his soft, angelic form that was before him was at peace,
in god's arms high up above, in eternal bliss. But why were there cracks? Why was
Lovino's skin beginning to peel away like a cracked oil painting? He reached up to
touch the crack, try and determine whether it was real, or his eyes playing another
trick. At the contact the surface of Italia Romano's perfect olive skin fractured and
began to flake away, falling like snow... or... like ash. It was warm, suddenly far
too warm for the Spaniard as he felt himself begin to sweat, Lovino continuing to
flake away, his mouth opening and uttering those soundless words he had done so
long ago and Antonio, the kingdom of Spain, lay there, horrified as they repeated
over and over in the loudest volume possible in his head. Blood leaked past the
cracks in Romano's skin until all fell away and the Italian became dust and air.

Francis had remained diligently by Antonio's side, feeding him as much as he could,
though they were half rations; basic soups and the occasional loaf of bread. He was
there for him to mop his brow, to be screamed at and cried on as the Spaniard
slowly regained his grip on reality. When the younger nation seemed to have
reached his worst, when Francis was worried he'd lose another friend, Spain pulled
through, waking up half dead 2 weeks after he'd arrived at the port of Marseille.

"Fr-Francis...?"

The Frenchman rushed to his companion's side, helping him sit up as he squinted
against the harsh light of the southern French coast seeping through the blinds.

"Oui, Mon ami?" The country of France smiled when the Spaniard's eyes recognised
his presence for once. "Back in the land of the living are you?"

Francis laughed, but the Spaniard did not. Silence settled once more on the room
before Spain broke it with abrupt coughing.

"Uh... Are you okay? How are you feeling, mon cher?" There was concern in Francis'
eyes as he moved closer to do... he lingered for a moment... something, eventually
settling with patting him on the back to ease the cough.

"Si, si... Francesco I am fine... Por favor... Stop." Antonio let out a heavy sigh once
he'd caught his breath, massaging his throat. "It's just a cough; everyone has a
cough these days."

Francis chose instead to just frown, they both knew – despite however much they
both wanted it to be true – that Antonio was lying. These were the first signs, next
thing he would know his childhood friend and ally would be coughing up blood,
slowly rotting from the inside out, as his bodily functions start to shut down, cell re-

growth tries to compensate and speeds up, but too fast for his body and unhealthily
too... eventually he'll wind up like the rest of them – unless...

"Antoine... what if... what if we got you a secluded corner of France... take a
handful of people, quarantined of course, non? And then we just... let you have
that... keeping your people free of the disease... then maybe...maybe if we give
you that... after everyone else is gone... you'll still..." Francis stopped, broken off
by the look in Antonio's eyes, almost fearful. "Antoine?"

Antonio snapped out of his train of thought, looking to Francis with confused eyes.
"Que?"

"I was saying what if we gave you a part of my country an-"

"Lo siento Francis, but no... I don't think now is the time to abandon my people... I
am the Kingdom of España. My people are who I am; it would be ill fitting to lose
complete hope on them. Besides, you worry too much, Francis... Perhaps it'll just
pa-" He erupted, rather ironically into fits of coughing, bringing his hand to his
mouth as Francis rubbed his back.

"I-It was just a suggestion, mon ami." The Frenchman sighed as a distant ringing of
the phone called upstairs. "Ah... I should get that... désolé..."

Antonio kept his hand to his mouth, watching as Francis left the room before
looking down at his hand with a disappointed, but accepting sigh.

~Ring o Ring o Roses~

"Bonjour~" Francis replied his ever cheery self over the phone, soon holding the
receiver away from his ear however as he heard the caller yell at him. "Q-Quoi?
Désolé... I did not quite uhhh... catch that?"

"Is. He. Here?" The receiver buzzed, the sound of an irritated middle aged man
echoing down the telephone wires.

"You know you are going to have to be a bit more clear than that I have no idea
who you are on about." Francis replied slightly snootily, stiffening at the fact that
his boss even dared to start the call off so rudely.

"You know who I'm on about. The Spaniard. I heard you'd come home with
someone from Italy despite your best interests and brought someone back with
you. I'm fully aware that Italy has fallen so aside from the Germans who have gone
in to lockdown, that would be your reckless and stupid friend and neighbour!"

Francis rolled his eyes, biting his nail slightly as he looked up to where Antonio had
got up to go to the bathroom apparently, a couple of coughs still heard. "Oui... He
is here... problem?"

"Oui there is a problem!" The older man barked over the phone, "The virus has
broken out in the Andalusian towns; it's only a matter of time before they're all
gone too, and your 'friend' will probably be already showing the symptoms! I want
him out of the country! I do not want that filth touching our beloved country. So
get your Spanish flee ridden mongrel out of this land or. Put. It. Down." The stern
voice responded, shocking the Frenchman slightly at the panic and demand that
was audible in the quake of his tone.

"B-But Monsieur... he is a nation, he cannot possibly infe-"

"I want him gone." The voice replied with a renewed sense of authority. "Don't you
forget Francis, you are the grand nation of France, and you answer to you people
and your leaders before you listen to yourself. You can do nothing to stop us
because it's what we want... and because it's what we want, it's what you want too.
So stop this pitiful attempt to be human and obey me."

Francis stood, a little shell shocked at the announcement, only able to stammer
back in a shaking and uncertain state, "Oui, right away..."

Antonio stared into the sink of the house, the colour red filling his vision, red and
white, just like Lovino the last he'd seen him.

~Ring o Ring o Roses~

"I'm sorry, mon ami..."

"Stop that..."

"But I am... Truly very sorry..."

The car drive so far had been awkward, stopping occasionally so that the Spaniard
could get some air, cough some more and ease his lungs. Francis had explained the
situation in an attempt to feel at ease for what he had to do, and despite how much
Antonio had told him it was okay, he couldn't shake the feeling of guilt, pressing in
on him.

"Just keep your eyes on the road Francis and stop worrying about me." The
Spaniard sighed, looking out of the window.

The hours passed slowly, but they got there eventually, Francis flashing papers at
the border control before being let through to the gate. It was so eerily quiet, had it
really been a year ago that this place would have been filled with commuters and
holiday makers?

"Well... here we are..." Francis broke the silence.

"Si..." Antonio sighed, looking at the gate for a moment before grabbing the bag
full of items Francis had put together for him and grabbing the handle of the door,
departing and beginning to walk to the gate. Francis too departed the car.

"Antonio-!" Francis called after the male as he moved under the opened gate, who
turned back to look at him. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, oui?"

Antonio managed to smile ever so slightly, the guard at the other end calling out as
the gate began to lower itself. "You too, take good care of yourself, afterall, you'll
need to." He seemed saddened for a moment before looking back to the Frenchman
and adding as his final words. "You know what a close friend of mine's last words to
me were?"

"Quoi?" Francis tried desperately to call over the loud mechanics of the gate, as it
steadily drew to it's close.

"There is nothing else."

~We all fall down~

A/N: HERE HAVE A NEW CHAPTER I HAVE NOTHING ELSE TO SAY~

Only Good For Sex
Author: DrawMeLikeOneOfYourFrenchGirls PM
Lovino should have slapped Antonio's face for saying that. Spamano, Implied GerIta,
Human Names, Attempted Suicide, Drug Use, Dark Themes, Lemon
Rated: Fiction M - English - Angst/Hurt/Comfort - S. Italy/Romano & Spain -
Chapters: 4 - Words: 6,693 - Reviews: 17 - Favs: 28 - Follows: 47 - Updated: 06-20-12
- Published: 06-07-12 - id: 8192247

A a Abc Abc Abc

Title: Only Good for Sex

Chapter: 1 - Confess

Summary: Lovino should have slapped Antonio's face for saying that.

Warnings: Spamano (AntonioxLovino), Implied GerIta (LudwigxFeliciano), Human
Names Used, Foul Language, Drug Use, Attempted Suicide, Darkish Themes,
Implied and Eventual Lemon.

Author's Note: First fanfiction I've posted on here, and I bloody well hope that it
isn't my last. Because, yeah. I'm too lazy. Please excuse any mistakes that I might
make with the Italian and Spanish. I only use Google Translate. e v e"
Anyway, onto the (oh so ridiculously bad) story...

Flushed cheeks.

Sweaty skin.

Sticky sheets.

Fucking sore arse.

Like always.

Lovino shuddered in the tight grip of his lithe frame. How many times had it been
like this? Fucked until exhaustion, then sleep until past midday. It was always the
same, and Lovino was sick of it. He tried to discreetly slip out of the almost death-
grip constricting him, the sweat sticking their bare bodies together.

"For fuck's sake, bastardo... Get the fuck off of me..." growled Lovino, clawing at
the thin sheets draped over them. The Spaniard did nothing about Lovino's
struggles, merely opening a single eye to hazily meet a face full of damp hair. His
eye closed as soon as it opened, making a small gargling sound at the back of his
throat.

"Buenos días, Lovi~..." Antonio yawned, nuzzling the back of the Italian's neck,
earning a shiver.

"Get up," Lovino started, pausing to take a quick glance at the clock, "it's 1. And
I'm hungry, stupido."

"Come on, Lovi~. We don't usually get up until later~..." whined the older male.
Lovino was tempted to just say, "I don't fucking like the usual." but instead, gave a
disapproving grunt and nudged his elbow against Antonio's forearm. The Spaniard
reluctantly let go, pressing a chaste kiss on the base of the boy's neck.

Stretching his stiff limbs, Lovino wriggled away from Antonio until he was seated
uncomfortably on the edge of the bed. A stinging sensation jolted up the Italian's
spine, said male ignoring it as best he could. Of course, Lovino thought with a
frown, my legs are like fucking Jell-O when I actually need them. Nevertheless, he
stood up, wobbling slightly. Feeling the cool air hit his naked body, Lovino stumbled
to a not-so-neat pile of clothes. He threw on a shirt, pulled up a pair of boxers and
zipped an old pair of jeans.

Before he could escape the room, Antonio let out a pleading groan, waving an arm
in the air as if he needed help. Lovino turned around, scowling, and narrowed his
eyes at the foolish Spaniard.

"Lovi~! Help me up?" Antonio asked, grinning like an idiot.

Lovino scowled, holding up a fist and sticking the middle finger up, "Get yourself
up! You're not the one with a fucking sore arse, idiota!"

The older male kept waving his arm, sticking his bottom lip out and furrowing his
brows together in sadness. He began whining, even rolling onto his stomach and
fake-crying. Lovino rolled his eyes and stepped back towards the bed, reaching out
to tug on Antonio's hand. Just as the Italian's fingers brushed again tanned skin,
the Spaniard turned his head and flashed a wide grin.

"Cazzo! Get up, lazy-arse!" Lovino howled, pulling his arm back and turning on the
balls of his feet.

"Lovi, oh Lovi~! Can you-" Antonio began, before being cut off.

"Make your own breakfast, fuckface!"

Stuffing a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, Lovino heard the shuffling of Antonio's
feet as he entered the kitchen. The Italian hunched over the table, pulling the
silverware out of his mouth; unbeknownst to him, a bit of milk began to trickle
down his chin. Swallowing without really chewing the cereal, the younger male
rubbed at his lips with the back of his hand, not catching Antonio's glances.

"You really didn't make me breakfast~..." Antonio mumbled with a fake pout.

"No shit, Sherlock." retorted a more-than-annoyed Lovino.

"My name's Sherlock? I thought it was Antonio…"

"Ugh. I didn't mean it like that, retard."

"Retard? Is it comestible?"

"Mio fucking dio. No, it isn't commestibile."

"¿Qué? It isn't?"

"No. Now, let me eat in peace."

"But, Lovi~! I want something to eat too~!"

"Then make yourself something and leave!"

Antonio, at this point, had given up trying to get Lovino to simply make him some
breakfast. An oblivious smile played at his lips. He turned his back to the Italian to
approach the fridge, pulling out god-knows-what – most likely tomatoes. With his
back still to Lovino, Antonio broke into a fit of laughter. The Spaniard faced the
younger male after hearing a disapproving grunt. Two crimson tomatoes in hand,
Antonio bounded happily towards Lovino, offering out one of the red fruits.
Snatching it away, the Italian grumbled a "Grazie,idiota…" and bit a chunk out of
the tomato. He finished it hastily, letting out a somewhat content sigh. Once the
older male had completed half of the juicy fruit, he opened his mouth to speak.

"You know what, Lovi?"

No answer; just a questioning glare.

"I was thinking about something…"

"You were thinking? There's something new." Lovino interrupted with a scowl.

Antonio continued laughing. "You know how you always used to complain about
never being able to do anything right?"

"I still do think that, bastardo."

"Anyway, mi tomate, I know one thing that you will always be perfecto for, no
matter how many other things you may stuff up!"

"Cosa? What do you think is the one thing I'm perfect for?"

"You're perfect for sex!"

Lovino should have slapped Antonio's face for saying that.

Translations

Bastardo – Bastard (Italian)

Buenos días – Good Morning (Spanish)

Stupido – Stupid (Italian)

Idiota – Idiot (Italian)

Cazzo – Fuck (Italian)

Comestible – Edible (Spanish)

Mio fucking dio - My fucking god (Italian)

Commestibile – Edible (Italian)

¿Qué? - What? (Spanish)

Mi tomate – My tomato (Spanish)

Perfecto – Perfect (Spanish)

Cosa? – What? (Italian)

The chapter 2 will be up soon! ...I hope. How'd you like it, anyway? Good? Bad?
Shouldn't have been written? Oh, and if you have any ideas, then please tell me!
Ideas = A not-so-dead brain. :U
Anyway, reviews are appreciated and flames will be used as a campfire.
See you next chapter?

Only Good For Sex
- Published: 06-07-12 - id: 8192247

A a Abc Abc Abc


Chapter: 2 - Forget



Author's Note: Well... Here's the second chapter. Yeah. I'm really tired. Not that
you guys care or anything, but I thought I'd just inform you. I'm surprised I had
this up so quickly. Like really surprised. What's it been? A few days? I don't even
remember. I was half-expecting myself to just abandon this story or something
already. Obviously not.

Enjoy chapter 2? Please?

Lovino really should've slapped Antonio's face. That comment hit him hard.

The Italian shifted his feet, "Is that what you think...?"

Lovino didn't let Antonio answer his question; he just pushed himself away from the
bench he was leaning over. A muffled sob escaped the younger's quivering lips as
he brought up his hands to cover his face. He stormed off towards the bedroom
they had previously been in, stopping as he reached the door. If I go in here,
Antonio will definitely find me… The Italian thought with a deep frown, I'll have to
find somewhere more… Hidden or secluded. Looking to the both of his sides, he
found no such place to go. He trod into the bedroom and remembered the
bathroom that branched off from it. A slight smile tugged at his lips, despite the
tears cascading down his flushed cheeks. His ears perked as he heard the distinct
patter of footsteps and the loud call of his name. Quickly retreating to the
bathroom, Lovino shut and locked the door, sitting himself in the middle of the tiled
floor, the coldness of said floor sending shivers up his spine. Tears continued to roll
down his cheeks and landed onto his knees, which were drawn up against his chest.

Antonio regretted saying that comment, no matter how true or false he thought it
was.

He wandered aimlessly around the house, checking every room he passed to see
where Lovino had hidden himself. When he had checked about half of the rooms, he
began to holler out the young Italian's name.

"¿Lovi, dónde estás?" Antonio yelled, turning his head this way and that, desperate
to find Lovino. He had almost given up before hearing the slam of a door, hastily
making his way to the source of the sound. When he had reached the bedroom, the
Spaniard glanced around with a sad frown, huffing quietly to himself.

"Lovi? Are you in there?" He asked to no-one in particular, absent-mindedly leaning
against the door to the room where Lovino was hiding. A stifled gasp escaped the
Italian's lips as he heard the faint creak of the door being leaned upon. Shaking his
head and mouthing cusses, he scrambled on his hands and knees towards the sink.
Pressing his back and hands against it, Lovino began to breath quite heavily, his
chest still throbbing from his crying. He bit his lip, eyebrows knitting together; he
was overreacting about the whole situation.

He shouldn't be crying because of what had been said. He shouldn't be scared to
think what Antonio might do. And he most certainly shouldn't be trembling and
crying on the bathroom floor.

He should be trying to prove that the idiotic Spaniard was wrong.

But, Lovino couldn't do that. Because he knew Antonio was right. Everything he had
previously said was the complete truth, in Lovino's mind anyway.

Before he knew it, his loud and raspy sobs had faded to silent tears. The Italian
shuffled around until he was seated on his knees and facing the sink cupboard's
door. Antonio had finally knocked on the door, coming to the conclusion that Lovino
wasn't just using the toilet or something similar. A grimace appeared across the
younger male's face as he heard the smacking of skin against wood. Gripping the
handle of the cupboard and opening it slowly, Lovino gulped, mustering up enough
strength to talk.

"Sì, I'm in here…" Lovino's scratchy voice made the Spaniard smile slightly, glad to
know that the Italian wasn't bluntly ignoring him.

"Escucha, Lovi... Lo siento. What I was saying wasn't that you were only good for
sex… I only said it as a joke and thought that you might've taken it a little more
lightly…" Antonio mumbled.

A deep frown etched into his features, Lovino shook his head lightly, even though
he knew the other couldn't see it. "I can't see why you would joke about that sort
of thing… Because you shouldn't joke about the truth…"

"Like I said before, lo siento. I know I shouldn't—Espera... What do you mean? It's
not the truth, Lovi…"

"Ma è... You're telling the truth… It is the only thing I'm buono at…"

Antonio fell silent, hearing some rustling from behind the door. Lovino searched for
something suitable for what he had planned on doing, breaking the silence as he
began speaking again.

"I've never been good at anything… You should know that. Even if sex is the only
thing I'll ever be perfect at, I…"

The rest of Lovino's words had been cut off as the Spaniard heard a loud smack
against the door, almost startling him. He desperately wanted to rip the handle off
of the bathroom door, run in and hug Lovino like there was no tomorrow. However,
he was curious as to what the Italian was getting at, wondering if he was just
saying what he had said to make the Spaniard feel bad.

Lovino's voice reached Antonio's ears again, this time in a whisper. "I want to ask
you something…"

"G-go ahead…" The older male was quite hesitant to reply, but didn't want the
Italian feeling like he was being ignored.

"Perché?"

"¿Q-qué?"

"Don't act stupid, Antonio."

"B-but, what are you trying to ask? 'Why', what?"

"Why me?"

Antonio gulped heavily. Why is Lovi asking such an odd question? I'm a bit
worried… His mind began to race and, before he knew it, he was spouting out a
flurry of emotions tied into words. The Italian was silent as Antonio spoke, which
worried said Spaniard immensely.

All Lovino heard was a quiet "Te amo…" before he fell to the ground with a thump.

Translations

¿Lovi, dónde estás? – Lovi, where are you? (Spanish)

Sì – Yes (Italian)

Escucha, Lovi... – Listen, Lovi… (Spanish)

Lo siento – I'm sorry (Spanish)

Espera – Wait (Spanish)

Ma è – But it is (Italian)

Buono – Good (Italian)

Perché? – Why? (Italian)

¿Q-qué? – Wh-what? (Spanish)

Te amo – I love you (Spanish)

So, how was chapter 2? I'm sorry if you guys wanted to know what Lovi grabbed
and/or why he just fell to the ground or even what Tonio was saying to Lovi… You'll
figure out what happens in the next chapter! For now, though, you can just imagine
what was said and done.

Like always, reviews are appreciated and flames will be used to warm up my house,
because it's freakin' cold where I live. = - =;

Only Good For Sex
- Published: 06-07-12 - id: 8192247

A a Abc Abc Abc


Chapter: 3 - Remember



Author's Note: Well, here's chapter 3 for you guys! Thanks for the lovely reviews;
I'm really happy that you guys took the time to read this story and reviewed it! I've
been pretty sick - even though I managed to get this up quickly - so this chapter
may not be as good as you might expect it to be… But anyways, you'll finally figure
out what was going on in Antonio's mind when he was answering Lovino's question.
I don't quite want to tell you what Lovino did, because I found it hard to slip it in

smoothly with the rest of the text. So hopefully I can fit it in with the next chapter.
Oh, and just a heads-up, it's a headcanon of mine that Lovino has insomnia and he
has to take tablets to treat it. The medication's called Benzodiazepine, so you guys
know for when it's mention in context of the story.

Anyhow, enjoy this chapter~.

When Antonio heard the smack of Lovino hitting the ground, his eyes widened.
Despite having stopped talking, the Spaniard's mouth was still slightly agape. Panic
washed over him and he began to pound his fists against the futile door separating
him from the Italian.

Antonio fiddled with the door's handle shakily, his hands becoming sweaty with the
overwhelming apprehension. Muttering curses in Spanish under his breath, he
turned his head this way and that to find something that would assist him. I-I need
to get in there… There ought to be some way to… he thought, tears welling up in
the corners of his eyes. The Spaniard quickly rubbed at his eyes, repeating to
himself in a whisper that he shouldn't cry, remembering all the times Lovino had
told him not to. He punched the door one last time, for good measure, before
spinning on the balls of his feet and stumbling towards one the bedside tables.
Scavenging desperately to find his phone, Antonio noticed something odd; Lovino's
medication, that treats his intense insomnia, was missing.

"N-no... Él no podía tener..." the Spaniard mumbled, feeling the tears threatening
to spill. "I-I must be getting overworked… Maybe Lovi just forgot to put his pills
away… Sí, eso es todo..." Antonio prayed that he was right and flipped open his
phone, calling the first person that came to mind.

"Feliciano!"

A soft "Ve~" was heard, followed by an excited greeting. "Ciao, Antonio! Come
stai?"

"N-no time to get chatty, Feli! Lovi's just…!"

"Ve? What's wrong with fratello?"

"He's… Mira, I need you to get here as fast as you can! No haga preguntas! Bring
Ludwig if he's there with you, too!"

"Capito, Antonio! I'll be there presto!"

As the beeping sound of a disconnected call rung through his ears, Antonio
murmured a soft thank-you and strode back to the bathroom door. He placed his
palms flat against the wooden surface and sighed gloomily. Just when he was about
to mutter something to the unconscious Italian, his ears perked to a loud banging
noise, supposing it was Feliciano and Ludwig at the front door. Antonio was
reluctant to leave the bedroom, afraid something bad might happen to Lovino while
he gathered the other Italian and German. Before he could yell out that the door
was unlocked and that they could come in, the two had already found their way
inside, footsteps echoing near the bedroom. Not a single word was said as Feliciano
bounded into the room, Ludwig following shortly behind. The Spaniard glanced
between Lovino's brother and the door, the German catching on to the problem
amidst. With a single hand gesture from the tall blonde, Antonio found himself

sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning against Feliciano's shoulder and crying his
eyes out.

"Ve, Antonio… What happened? Why is fratello locked in the bathroom? Surely, he
could get out himself." The Italian asked in a voice that seemed too calm for
Antonio's liking.

"Lovi locked himself in there…" Antonio all but avoided the younger Italian's eyes,
rubbing at his own with his hand.

"Perché avrebbe dovuto farlo? Lovi's smart enough to get himself out, ve."

"That's not the problem, Feli…"

"Was ist das problem?" Ludwig's deep voice interrupted, working hard on trying to
unlock the god-forsaken door.

Antonio wiped his eyes one last time before speaking up again. "W-well… I sort of
told Lovi that he was always going to be perfect… Para el sexo… A-and then he ran
into the bathroom and locked himself in…"

"Ve, why would you say that?" Feliciano squeaked, a horrified look plastered onto
his face.

"Feliciano, nicht unterbrechen…" The German grumbled, shooting the younger
Italian a glare before going back to attempting to unlock the door.

"Gracias, Ludwig…" Antonio inhaled sharply before continuing, "I didn't mean it in a
nasty way… I meant it like him always being perfect at sex, no matter what things
he may or may not stuff up. But I didn't get to explain it to him before he stormed
off."

All the Spaniard received at that point were small nods of understanding, both from
Feliciano and Ludwig.

"When I found that he had locked himself in this bathroom, he asked me 'why
him?'. I didn't really understand what he was questioning, but then I started telling
him why I loved him." He sighed hesitantly, and then proceeded explaining, "He
wasn't talking at all, and after about five minutes, I said 'Te amo...' I heard a
thump. A loud thump. Lovi must've done something to himself, because I
remember hearing some rattling or something similar beforehand."

"I think I know what the problem is…" Ludwig mumbled, loud enough to reach the
Spaniard's ears, the door - that had been so stubbornly locked – wide open.

There it was.

Lovino's pills scattered across the tiled floor.

The Italian, dead silent, barely breathing.

Translations

Love the enemy

Empfohlen

Empfohlen

Weitere ähnliche Inhalte

Ähnlich wie Love the enemy

Ähnlich wie Love the enemy (11)

Mehr von Cecilia Caballero

Mehr von Cecilia Caballero (15)

Kürzlich hochgeladen

Kürzlich hochgeladen (17)

Love the enemy