Without further ado, the flashback chapter! Warning for slight gore, abuse, and sex. Because this is really, really fucked up lm a o
Flavio is a lil shit basically
When the vase shattered, it was exactly how Flavio's heart felt. He only wanted to get the dust off, but he was too rough with the feather duster, and he wasn't quick enough to stop it. Terrified, he went to fetch the broom before he was caught by his superior, but froze midway to the supply closet by the sound of heavy footsteps. No, he was too late. The boy straightened his back, trying to look professional as his boss marched into the room.
Immediately, he noticed the broken vase, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. Without a word, he grabbed Flavio by the curl in his hair, ignoring the sharp squeals and whimpers from the child. He pulled him to the hallway closet by his room, throwing him inside. He shut the door, locking it before walking off.
Flavio began to bawl, slamming his tiny fists against the door. There was no light in this room, and he was terribly afraid of the dark, even though Santiago had done this many times before. He hit the hard wood over and over, until he could feel wet blood on his knuckles. Defeated, he sank to the floor, curling up.
It was so embarrassing to constantly disappoint his boss like this, when he only wanted Santiago to be proud of him. He wanted some kind of love and affection from his dear boss, for he admired him so. Such a strong nation, who was feared across the world because of how powerful he was. Flavio was just his little underling, the one who was supposed to do his bidding. But he still managed to screw it up, just like he screwed everything up.
He stared into the darkness glumly. If Luciano was here instead of him, he'd probably make Santiago proud. He was the stronger of the two Italies, and was always preying on small animals to hunt with his little knives. He made big brother Roland proud. Why couldn't Flavio do the same for Santiago? He'd do anything to please his boss. Absolutely anything...
About an hour later, the door was unlocked, and the small Italian scrambled out, bowing to his solemn caretaker. "Forgive me, Mr. Santiago! I-I didn't mean to break the vase...I'll save up money to buy you a new one..."
"Forget it," grumbled the larger nation, reaching into his pocket and handing Flavio a few coins. "Go buy vegetables for dinner. Be quick, and don't let anyone steal it this time, mocoso, or you'll really be sorry." He was so emotionless when he said this. It made Flavio shiver in a way he didn't quite understand.
"Sí..." The child bowed once more, putting the coins into his pocket and running off to complete the task. He could feel Santiago's eyes burn into his back, and he made sure not to trip over his own two feet like a clumsy moron.
As he walked to the marketplace, he thought more about his wonderful boss. He had scars from years of fighting and battles, and although the boy had heard the cold Belgian nation, Anri, speak ill of his appearance, Flavio very much preferred his rugged looks. It made him delighted, and he turned into a mess whenever Santiago got too close to him. He couldn't quite comprehend these feelings, but they felt good, so they must have been reasonable.
As he was walking toward the market, crowded with people getting their dinners for the evening, he felt a pull on his dress and a cold knife press against his neck. "Give me your fucking money, puta," hissed the offender, holding his palm out in front of Flavio's face.
Thieves. Flavio was always their main target, because all who lived in Spain knew that he lived with their nation's personification. The only reason he left the house was to buy goods for his boss, so the criminals knew immediately he was easy money. No many how many times Flavio begged Santiago to send someone else, he only received scolding for not fighting back in the first place. Of course he was right, as per usual.
"N-No...I need to buy things..." He glanced the knife at his throat. Sure, he wouldn't die, but it would hurt a lot. It was a cowardly reason to be afraid, but the child just couldn't help it.
The pressure on his neck intensified, and the offender growled, "Give it up, chica, or you'll really regret it." That wounded Flavio. Because of his worn dresses, delicate features, and high pitched voice, everyone mistook him for a girl. Men would whistle and make obscene gestures whenever he came into the marketplace. Interestingly enough, his boss was more concerned with him being catcalled than him being robbed. Flavio didn't understand why.
"I need to buy food...for Spagna! Don't you want to please your nation?" he tried, attempting to wiggle out of his strong grip.
"Like I care. I hope this disgusting nation dies, with how miserable everyone always is. España is a failure in my eyes, and I'm sure everyone will agree." Flavio stopped struggling at these words, face growing blank and mind swimming nonsensically. Failure? How dare this common human say that about Santiago? He was the bravest nation, he worked harder than anyone! Maybe he was a little poor, but he did everything to try and help his people! All of them were just so...ungrateful. It made the child's blood boil, overwhelming him with fury.
"Once I save enough money, I'm leaving this damn country. Maybe the British would take me in, they're much more successful anyway, and-" It happened so quickly. Flavio grabbed the knife, pried it out of the startled man's hand, and turned around. Face still empty of emotion, he jammed the weapon right into the thief's throat, digging it deep before shoving it out. The human sputtered, collapsing to the ground, eyes rolled up. Blood pooled next to his neck, and he seemed to be trying to say something, but was unable to make it coherent.
Soon, realization sank in for the boy, and his eyes widened in horror. He had just killed another. A weak, pathetic human being. With a sob, he ran back to the house, not stopping even when his little legs began to ache. He needed forgiveness. Only one could give it to him.
Santiago actually looked somewhat surprised to see the tiny nation's dress splattered with blood, and how hard he panted for breath. "What happened? Did you get robbed again?" He looked ready to chastise Flavio for this, frowning when he shook his head. "Then what?"
"I...I..." he began, trembling. He began to bawl, covering his face. "I killed a person! One of the thieves..."
"You what?" Santiago picked the child up, shaking him violently, eyes flashing with indignation. "Why? Why would you do that? Answer me, Romano!"
Flavio hiccupped, trying to speak through his sobs. Romano. He had called him by his nation, not his name. It broke the boy's heart even further. "H-He spoke bad of Spagna! He c-called you a failure! I-I got so angry...I didn't mean to! Mi dispiace! Perdonami!"
The shaking stopped, and Santiago stared at the child's red, tear streaked face. "What? You killed him for insulting me?"
He received a numb nod in return. "He said he'd go to Britain after he stole our money! I didn't want him to..." He shut his eyes, expecting a hit or a kick from his boss. He was surprised, however, when he was gently placed onto the ground. He looked up, wide eyes sparkling with tears. "Santiago...?"
"Go to your room. Now. Change your clothes, too..." He wasn't looking at Flavio anymore, eyes averted to the floor. He didn't look blank, nor did he look angry, he seemed almost...disappointed? When the boy stayed in place, he grew impatient. "I said go, Flavio! I'll deal with you later!"
The boy scurried away, trying not to cry again. Deal with him? What did that mean? Was he waiting for later to hurt him? Maybe he'd lock him in the closet for a whole day? He wailed at the thought, the idea of being in the dark for so long unbearable. He went to his tiny room, climbing onto the bed, and making sure to pray. Pray for forgiveness, and pray for hope, that his boss would be gentle toward him. At least, as gentle as he could muster. After minutes of mumbling to himself, the overwhelmed nation drifted off into sleep, his dreams filled with shrieks and blood.
When he woke up hours later, a rancid odor was in the air, and it smelled like the alcohol from the bottle Flavio had once sniffed in curiosity. He opened his eyes, and there was Santiago kneeling beside his bed, hands clasped together, muttering something under his breath. He seemed to be shaking, and the Italian reached over to place a tiny hand onto his arm. Immediately, his boss jumped and looked up.
"Flavio...mi niño..." he cooed, voice slurred and strained. He opened his arms invitingly, and the boy wasted no time in jumping into them, hugging the Spanish nation. He had waited so long for this kind of affection, and now he finally had it. If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up. "Oh...mi rayo de sol...what have I done to you...?" He stroked the chestnut colored hair of the child, crooning to him ever so softly. His words confused the small boy, but that name stuck to him. Mi rayo de sol. It was the kind of pet name he had never been called so lovingly before. Santiago pulled away ever so slightly, to press his lips against the boy's forehead, his cheeks, and his chin, murmuring apologies.
"You didn't do anything wrong, boss," he argued, not wanting his idol to blame himself for Flavio's faults. "I killed someone...one of your people..."
"I should've helped you...with the thieves..." He looked at his henchman for a moment, and his expression changed to one of confusion. He leaned in slowly, brushing their noses together, and swore under his breath. "Too young...too small..."
"Nothing. Let's go to sleep now, sí?" He received another nod from his boy, and curled up on the much smaller bed beside him. His underling snuggled against his chest, his crying long gone. "Buenas noches, mi rayo de sol..."
Flavio easily fell asleep with his boss with a small smile. Finally, Santiago showed him affection. Finally, he was loved.
He grabbed the yellow crayon eagerly, a big grin on his face. This new drawing was going to be a masterpiece, and more importantly, Santiago would love it. He scribbled the bright color on top of the drawing of him, beaming. It was a recurring habit, making the fictional version of himself have bright blond hair. He wanted to make it a reality one day. He wanted to be boss's Sunshine.
Once finished with the picture, Flavio held it back to examine it. Perfect! A little clumsy, yes, but that was okay. It was the heart he put into it that counted. He skipped to his caretaker's office, opening the door carelessly. "Boss! Look what I made for y-"
He stopped midsentence, the sight before him causing a pang of nausea. There was Mr. Santiago, and one of the women that Flavio had seen around town. The lady was sitting on the desk, her dress pulled up above her knees and her legs spread. Santiago stood in front of her, his hips moving rhythmically and a hand clutching her hair, eyes widening when he spotted his tiny henchman staring. "Flavio! Mierda!" He pushed the woman off, making her shriek with surprise.
The Italian nation quickly bolted out of the door, ignoring the yells from his boss to return. He felt so upset, so confused...and so, so angry! Rage boiled within him, making him tremble. How dare that disgusting woman touch his boss like that? Her arms were wrapped around his neck, and she was kissing him! Didn't she know that Santiago belonged to Flavio? She deserved to have her blood spilled on the walls! She deserved the worst kind of death!
He stopped running, brows furrowing in wonderment. Where had this possessive streak of anger come from? He had never really thought of Santiago as his before...but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He was Santiago's underling, no one else. Santiago only showed his emotions, no matter how fleeting or cruel, to him and him only. Sure, he locked him in the closet sometimes when he was bad, but that was only for discipline. He was helping Flavio. So this whore thought she could just steal him away?
Before he could ponder more on this infuriating subject, his boss marched up to him, picking him up and pulling him into a brief hug. "Flavio...lo siento..." he murmured, kissing his cheek. "I should have locked the door...I should have told you..."
"You shouldn't have been doing it at all!" snapped the boy, surprising the Spanish nation. He never talked back to his beloved caretaker like that. "Why? Why her? I don't understand!"
"...She means nothing to me. It is for pleasure, mi niño, you must understand..." It was strange to explain these things to a child, even if it was one who was older than he looked. Flavio's mind was still so innocent. "When adults get...a feeling, we like to do those kinds of things together...it helps..."
"Then..." Flavio thought for a moment, before lifting up his own dress, eyes determined. "Do those things with me, instead! You like me more, right? So it'll be better than some mean old lady!" He was puzzled by the horrified look that spread across his boss's face. What was the problem? Maybe he wasn't saying it right...he thought of what Anri would scream whenever she invited guys over when Santiago wasn't home. "F-Fuck me, Boss. Aren't I pretty enough? I look better than that puta!" There. A little Spanish would help his case.
Immediately, his dress was yanked down by a sputtering Santiago. "Don't...don't ever say that again! Do you hear me? You are just a baby, Flavio, you don't even know what that means..."
"I am not! I know that it means you'll like me better! I'm old enough!" he shouted, stomping his foot stubbornly. "What's wrong with me? I want to be perfect for you! I want to be yours, Boss!" He reached for his boss, but the man jerked back, eyes wide with mortification.
He stepped back from the boy, breathing heavily. "I'm...going to take a nap. Siesta time. Go clean something, Flavio." He spun around, quickly walking off before his henchman could say anything else.
Flavio felt sadness and rage mix within his tiny body. His sweet, sweet boss had denied him. Why? He said it was because he was child, but that was probably a lie. He must have despised Flavio after all. Thought of him as some gross, desperate kid.
He looked at his drawing, determination coursing throughout him. Well, he would change that. He would be the perfect nation for Santiago. His rayo de sol. No matter what.
But first, he would have to deal with that woman. He looked around, then opened the supply closet, grabbing one of the gardening tools. Sharp enough to pierce the skin, but not kill her immediately. He could have some fun with her filthy body.
He happily skipped off, humming a happy tune as he went to murder a second useless parasite.
Flavio looked into the mirror, awed at the new color of his hair. So many years had passed since Santiago called him by that adorable nickname, but finally, he completed his task of actually being his Sunshine. By a magical thing called hair dye.
His once boring brown hair was replaced by sunny blond. He looked so different, much more gorgeous. The light color seemed absolutely vibrant against the rest of his Mediterranean skin. This would win the approval of his ex-boss for sure. Grabbing one of his signature pink scarves, he looped it around his neck and shouted a sweet goodbye to his little brother, before heading out.
He wasn't sure why he still stayed with his little brother, he went to Santiago's house nearly every day. He had left so long ago as a child, but that was due to him and his brother's reunification, and how they suddenly grew. No longer was he a short, chubby, wide-eyed little kid. He was tall (though not nearly as tall as Santiago) and slender, his baby fat completely gone. Women and men alike ogled at his appearance, and his immaculate style. No more was he the shy, pathetic child that wore stupid maid's outfits. He was Flavio, South Italy, loved by all.
Tonight was the night he would woo the most important man. His former caretaker. The man he had done so many awful things for. Finally, they could be together.
It didn't take long to get there, as Flavio enlisted a private jet to take him to Spain whenever he wanted. Scheduling visits were not his thing, he liked it to be a surprise for the other. A surprise every day, really. He hummed a little, familiar tune to himself, perking up considerably when the plan landed a while later.
He practically skipped to his beloved's house, chatting with some citizens along the way. His knock was confident and loud, rocking back and forth on his feet while he waited to be answered. As per usual, it was Marisol who greeted him, the cute little maid Santiago kept immortal for some reason. At first, Flavio suspected because they were in some kind of affair, but it seemed like this woman was just a really good maid for the Spaniard. Thank goodness, he liked Marisol too much to make her suffer.
"Hola, Flavio!" she chirped, and her eyes widened at the sight of his hair. "Ah...you dyed your hair? Es maravilloso! I'm sure señor will love it!
Flavio chuckled; Marisol always knew what to say. "That's what I'm hoping for, Mari. Speaking of which, where is Santiago?" He peered into the large house eagerly.
"Oh, he's having his siesta time. Do you want to come in anyway? We could wait..."
"No need. I'll just go up and see him!" Flavio shrugged, gently pushing Marisol aside and rushing to the steps.
"Wait! I-I wouldn't do that! Señor really doesn't like anyone to bother him while he sleeps..." she warned, frowning when the Italian nation waved it off carelessly.
"Please. I know him better than anyone, he won't get angry at me." He giggled at the thought, ignoring the rest of Marisol's warnings in favor of climbing the rest of the stairs. He strode to Santiago's room, excitement bubbling within him. Once outside his door, he quickly fixed his hair, making sure not a single strand was out of place. Taking a deep breath, he opened it and confidently stepped inside. "Oh, Boss! Your favorite underling has a surprise for you!" he sang, with a soft chuckle.
There was a pause. Then, gradually, the lump on the bed moved a bit. Santiago sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes and yawning. "It's siesta time, Flavio...so why the fuck am I awake then...?" he grumbled, opening his eyes slightly. They snapped open wide when he noticed the new hair color of the Italian, mouth dropping. "What...what in God's name did you do to your hair?"
The tone of his voice made Flavio frown, confused. He sounded both annoyed and bewildered. Not at all pleased. What was wrong? He approached the bed, climbing next to his beloved. "Well, I dyed it, of course. See? Doesn't it look nice? Doesn't it kind of look like...sunshine?"
A pang of disappointment hit the blond. He didn't remember? "When...I was a kid you once called me your rayo de sol. Remember that?" There was only silence, and he began to panic. "Come on, you have to remember...it was when I killed that thief! You came into my room and hugged me and called me that."
Santiago pursed his lips, thinking for a moment. "...Oh. Yeah. I was drunk when I said that."
Pain. Actual pain seeped into Flavio's body, and tears pricked his eyes beneath the designer sunglasses. So he didn't mean it? The pet name that meant the most to him, the one he aspired to be...it wasn't even real.
The Spaniard must have realized that he was clearly upset, so he backtracked. "But, I mean, I guess I did say it. I didn't, uh, think it meant so much to you...I didn't know you'd change your hair color because of a stupid nickname..."
"It's not stupid!" he snapped, taking off the sunglasses so his ex-caretaker could see the tears in his eyes. "Do you know how happy I was? I wanted to be your Sunshine! I wanted to be perfect for you! I spent every single day making myself desirable for you!"
Flavio stopped. Wait. Perhaps he wasn't good enough to mean so much to Santiago, but maybe...he could finally have him in a different sense? Sex would make him see how wonderful his former henchman was. He smiled coyly, casually sliding onto the nation's lap, straddling him. "Yes...desirable. Remember when I was a kid, and I told you to fuck me? That was pretty bad, but...I get why you said no. I was pretty pathetic. Now..." He pressed their bodies together, brushing his lips against the rigid man's ear. "I'm good enough for you to finally take?"
Santiago's breath hitched, and slowly, as if doing it any faster would be too dangerous, his arms wrapped around the Italian's waist. "...Why? Why do you want me to do this to you...?"
This made the boy on his lap giggle. "Why...? Because I love you, Boss. I always have...you were the only one who never got tired of me and left..." He pulled back slightly, to stroke the man's cheek. "You were always there. I need you, Santiago, always and forever. Ti amo." Lightly, he connected their lips, in a kiss that began as chaste, but soon spiraled into something dirtier.
His ex-caretaker's movements were hesitant and slow, but not resistant. He didn't stop himself from stripping the writhing Italian nation of his clothes, though his eyes held regret. His kisses were quick and sloppy, as if he wanted to get it over with as fast as he could. Despite all of these reluctant actions, he never pulled away.
Flavio was in pure bliss. After so many years of fantasizing about this man, he was finally allowed pleasure, one of the best kinds. Did it hurt? Yes, of course. When Santiago was inside of him, it stung awfully bad, and he raked his nails down the nation's back, gasping out. But it was still perfect, because together, he felt the two of them were connected in the most intimate way. It was wonderful.
When it ended, it felt disappointing, yet satisfying. Santiago had released inside of him, had taken a part of himself and put it within Flavio. Maybe he was just romanticizing things, but he didn't care. This was special.
After it was over, and Santiago was panting next to him, Flavio wrapped his arms tightly around his chest, giggling. "See? Wasn't that great? Can't you see how in love with you I-"
"What?" Flavio looked up at him, his brows furrowing. "What do you mean?"
"I mean leave. Right now."
The Italian exploded, pushing the man he once called Boss hard. "Why? I want to stay here with you! I want you to adore me! Don't you love me? I was a good henchman, right? The best! So I deserve something for being so faithful! Amami, Santiago!" He would have screamed more at the Spaniard, but was silenced by a stinging slap to his cheek.
"You are still a fucking child, even if you look like an adult now. We're nations, Flavio, we're not people. We can't do what they can. We'll be on this earth forever and forever, until one day, we disappear. Do we go to heaven? Hell? Are we even supposed to exist? I don't know, but what I do know, is that we aren't like the humans. Even if I do love you, would it matter? I can't unite my nation with yours, and you can't do the same with mine. Our love is useless."
"But we don't have to love like nations! We-"
"We really do. Because we are." He shook his head, averting his eyes from the tearful Italian. "If it was any different..."
Flavio looked down, a hand on his aching cheek, trying his hardest not to cry. Not here. Not now. "But it's not."
"...You should go."
Silently, the Italian collected his clothes, and went over to the door, stopping there for a moment. He looked over at his beloved. "Ti amo."
Santiago looked up at him, his expression blank, as per usual. "So what?"
"Really? That's the last thing you said to him?" Romano demanded, snapping Marisol out of her story telling daze. "'So what?' What the fuck is wrong with you?"
Santiago grunted, eyes averted from the hotheaded nation. He hadn't made eye contact since his maid had begun the story. "Yeah. I'm not that great at words. What else was I going to say to him? That I loved him back? My feelings are irrelevant."
"Uh, no, they're really fucking not? Just because you're nations doesn't mean anything. Just kiss and be crazy assholes together."
The Spaniard raised an eyebrow, smirking just a bit. "Just like you and your empty-headed Spain? You're just so in love with each other, huh?"
Romano flushed, embarrassed and infuriated by these questions. "Well, no. But that's different...I don't...love Spain, not like that..."
"You're a really bad liar. You came to another fucking dimension to save him. Sure, it might be that you just care about him, but maybe not. You believe in that shit about love, don't you? That it can battle anything?"
"No! I am the last fucking person who believes in that shit! Spain probably believes it more than I do. The fucking idiot."
Santiago tilted his head, standing up. "So if he confessed to you, you wouldn't be affected? You'd be totally fine if he just went up to you and said..." He stood in front of him, grabbing his chin and pulling him close, their noses brushes together. "Te amo," he cooed, in a voice that was far too close to the sweeter Spain's.
Instantly, Romano smacked his hand away, his cheeks an alarming pink. "Fuck...okay, maybe the idea of me loving the moron isn't...that stupid. But so what? We aren't fucking train wrecks like the two of you."
He was given a cold smile at this statement. "Love will destroy you two. You'll get into it, be happy for a while, then you'll realize. You're both nations, with people to take care of, with differing opinions. The stress of fixing things, of trying to get your two populations to get along, will ruin you."
Romano stared, disturbed with how plainly this was said. "What you described...that's fucking horrifying."
FFFFUUUUCKKK i didn't know how to end this he h
now we're done with Flavio's story. Or...are we? There is still quite a gap with when he left Santiago and when he kidnapped Spain. We're not done yet kids.