I. There's no excuse for this one. I just think it was interesting that Himaruya stated that Spain, like Russia, has 'two faces'. He also states that Spain is stern to all countries but Romano. So, this came to be.

Enjoy, my lovelies, and please review!


There was blood on his shirt. It felt wet and slimy, and as much as he didn't want to enjoy the feeling, he did. He could still hear the screams ringing in his ear, the music that was on repeat every day. There was nothing to like about this lifestyle, so why was he smiling?

Spain couldn't comprehend it. Reino de España was about passion and life. What he was doing, that was the opposite.

He heard the familiar pitter-patter of footsteps, and immediately pulled the soaked white shirt off, hiding it behind his back before the source of the steps could see. That was the last thing Spain needed. Any nation could witness how truly pathetic he had become, except for this one. This one mattered.

"Oy, bastard, what took you so long?" the tiny nation asked, a plump tomato grasped in his hand. His apron was stained with various foods, making it clear what he was doing all day. South Italy Romano, the only thing that Spain's frozen heart could still find warmth for. No matter how awful he was or how many things he broke, Spain was good at pushing down his boiling anger for this one. Hopefully, it would stay this way.

"Hola, mi Romano. I'm sorry, I had to work longer than expected. But I am back, and that's all that matters, si?" he asked, fingers digging into the hidden shirt. He felt the blood ooze onto his fingers, mimicking the tomato juice that was dripping onto his precious boy's fingers. The sight made him sick.

Romano pouted, his cheeks puffing up adorably. "I guess. I'm tired. Tuck me in, idiot." He took another bite of the ruby fruit, before reaching his arms out to Spain. Things like this made the bigger country feel human, instead of the killing machine he felt himself succumb to. He picked the little one up with one arm, ignoring the slew of curses that came with accidentally brushing against his sensitive curl. He was tired as well.

Both were silent as they headed to Romano's room, the southern part of Italy still munching on his beloved tomato, and the Kingdom of Spain wondering how to get rid of his shirt. It was still behind his back, and he didn't want the smaller to see it. Perhaps he would just give it to Belgium. She was so good at understanding his state of being and getting rid of evidence. It was so his little Romano didn't have to see how peaceful his nation really wasn't.

Spain carefully placed Romano on his bed, wrapping him in enough blankets to be more than warm. "There we go. All comfy, Romano? Hopefully tomorrow I'll be able to eat with you! Doesn't that sound nice?"

The Italian scoffed, shutting his eyes. "Whatever, jerk. I don't care."

Spain grabbed the half-eaten tomato, kissing the top of his little nation's head. "Buenas noches, Romano." He paused, but only soft snores replied. He left the room silently, shutting the door. He would've liked to keep it open, but Romano always got up in the middle of the night to strip down to nothing, and he screamed that he didn't want Belgium to see that.

Speaking of Belgium, Spain went right to her room and gave her the bloody shirt. She accepted it without question, albeit a concerned look aimed toward him. Then, he went to bed.

He didn't like killing people. But what was he meant to do? His country was broke, and he wouldn't be able to keep Romano if he just let Turkey win. So he had to take drastic measures. But as long as Romano was safe, that's all that mattered.

Spain fell asleep easily, the shrieks slipping his mind as he did.


Spain didn't have a throne. He didn't need all of that, he wasn't a king or anything, he was the literal nation of Spain. Just an office was enough. Yet, as he sat in the scarlet and gold seat, a throne seemed so right.

He was holding a sword, a detailed one at that, with intricate designs swirled all around. There was also blood. The rust-colored substance seemed to illustrate the designs perfectly. It was so beautiful. He didn't see anything wrong with it.

There was a soft knock on the door in front of him. It made him irritated. He wanted to gaze at his beautiful, magnificent weapon for a while, who would dare to bother him? "Come in," he commanded, his voice betraying the soft, gentle lilt he normally had. It was rough and booming, the voice of a conqueror.

Belgium walked in, but this woman was somehow different from the cheery nation he knew. Her eyes, usually bright and sparkly, were empty. Her movements were robotic, and she didn't seem to blink. "He needs to be punished," she droned, reaching behind her back and tugging something forward. Whatever it was, it was shaking violently. Belgium pushed it closer to the throne, and Spain could see it was his little Romano. His cute face was twisted into a look of remorse and horror. It shouldn't have looked pleasing to the eye, yet Spain was happy to see it. "Punish him," Belgium mumbled, bowing to him.

It all seemed so natural. Spain stood, looking down at the smaller nation. He was so helpless, so terrified. Was he afraid of Spain? The mere thought should have frightened him, but it only made him feel powerful. This was right.

He set the sword down, eyes glued to that scared little face. He raised his hand, and Romano tried to step back. Belgium held him in place. With a satisfied smirk, he brought his hand down hard, aimed right for that adorable face.

SMACK!

Spain woke immediately, sitting up in his bed. The sound of him striking Romano was replaying in his head. It was a dream, just a dream. He didn't hurt his precious nation, he was okay.

So why did he have the sudden urge to burst into Romano's room and hurt him? Why did he want to bruise that immaculate skin of his? Why did he yearn to hear the high-pitched cries and pleas he would surely receive?

He shook it off. That was wrong. Spain didn't want to hurt his little tomato, he wanted to protect him. No matter how bad he was, he had to keep him safe. Yet, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense to hurt him, just a little bit. So he would be obedient, and keep to himself. It made sense, didn't it? Austria would discipline Romano's brother when he was misbehaving. True, it was with time outs and such, but it still counted.

Spain would wait. He would wait until his tiny Romano did something that absolutely needed punishment. That was fair, wasn't it? It might not even happen.

So Spain got up to make his nation some breakfast. In his heart, he really did want Romano to mess up, just so he could hurt him and get it over with. But he pushed it down. Because that was wrong.


The months dragged on, and Spain was careful to look out for the naughty things that Romano did. Everything that went wrong seemed to be so harmless, that a beating would have been too much. Broken dish? He had many. Dust collected without cleanup? Belgium would finish it anyway. Rude swears directed his way? That was just Romano's personality. No, nothing that his little nation did would be worth punishment. Of course, that didn't make him disappointed or anything. No, not at all.

However, one blistering hot morning, Spain decided to take a day off from his gruesome job and hang out with Romano. His boss would understand, for he didn't like this job very much either. All he had to do was finish a report on the recent state of the country, which took so very long, but was worth it in the end.

It would have been a perfect day, involving the consumption of many tomatoes and a lazy afternoon siesta.

Why did Romano ruin it then?

It happened when he was walking around the hallways, looking for his tiny tomato. He checked the kitchen and all of the bedrooms, where could he gave gone? As a last resort, Spain went to check his office.

There was Romano, playing happily, so unlike his usual sullen self. It was a nice sight, at first, with the small nation folding papers into different shapes and throwing them in the air. Until Spain got a good look at the papers. They were the ones he spent hours on finishing for his boss. Some were ripped, most were folded. His work, the sole reason he got to stay home. Romano had destroyed it.

The Italian looked up, his face turning sour once he saw who it was. "Oh, it's the jerk bastard. What do you want?"

"Romano..." Spain began slowly, taking a step forward. "Those papers were important. What did you do?"

Romano frowned, clearly unused to the stern tone his caretaker was using. "I was just playing. So what, idiot?" There was a pause. Once he realized Spain was very serious, the smaller got defensive. "Well you should have told me about them! Then I wouldn't have played with them! It's your fault!" he whined.

His fault? His fault? How was that fair? Romano had no right to speak with him in that manner! What was South Italy to the great Kingdom of Spain? Romano was just an ungrateful, lazy...

"Chigi! Hey, bastard, don't touch me there!"

...rude, inconsiderate...

"Ow! Stop that! Spain, what are you-"

...weak, disgusting little...

"I'm sorry! There, I said-"

...poor excuse for a nation.

"Please stop!"

Spain blinked, looking around the room. He was still in his office, with papers thrown all around. He heard a soft sniffle, and looked down to a truly grotesque sight. His hand was grasping Romano's curl, the other raised to strike. Romano's little face was wet with tears, his cheeks a stinging red, and scarlet liquid dripping from his nose. The expression he wore wasn't the normally grumpy one. It was fearful.

"I-I'm sorry, Spain. Don't...don't hit me again, please," he whispered, shaking like a leaf. Spain let go of his curl, and the smaller collapsed, loud sobs escaping from his tiny body. For a second, Spain wanted to make them louder. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Romano, burying his face in his soft hair.

"Oh, Romano...lo siento, mi niño precioso, lo siento," he whispered, stroking his back gently. He was shaking as well, for a reason he was unsure of.

"Why did you...I said I was sorry! But you...you didn't even stop! I thought you...I can't..." Romano's breath was quick and ragged. He was afraid. That was to be expected.

"Calm down, mi tomate. It's okay. I didn't mean to hurt you like that, I swear, I was just angry. I'll never hurt you like that again!" Spain whispered, hugging him tighter. He didn't think he would feel so guilty for this, yet the feeling wouldn't die down.

Romano pulled away slightly, and looked at him. His cheeks were going to bruise, it would be so ugly. "Promise, bastard. Promise you won't do...that again!"

Spain nodded solemnly, kissing both of his cheeks. "I promise, Romano. Cross my heart and hope to die."

Promises were so easily broken. Even at the time, Spain knew this well.


HAHAHAHA I'M TRASH.

So yeah uh I'm probably going to continue this and it's going to be rated M pretty fucking quickly I gotta say. I love Romano so much tbh. I can't wait to see him bloody, broken, and bruised.

Goodbye and have fun with whatever this is.