Romano was worried about Spain. In the last few years, the generally cheerful nation had begun to change. The demons of his past had started an endless attack on his mind, and slowly, he was beginning to lose it.
On the advice of a few other nations, the South Italian had Spain's old ship repaired to its former glory. It took a long while, but he eventually convinced Spain to leave the house and go with him to spend some time on the ship.
When they arrived, Romano helped him from the car, onto the dock, and up the gangplank onto the ship. Spain looked around silently, his face unreadable. Romano tried to get him into a conversation, but with no luck.
Soon it grew dark and Romano led down into the ship's belly, going to the captain's room. Neither bothered to remove their clothes before laying down. Moonlight streamed through the porthole, pooling light on the bed. The ship creaked softly as it rocked back and forth.
Just as the Italian began to drift off, Spain spoke. "I don't like walking here," he murmured. "It's old... it used to be home."
Instantly awake, Romano took his hand. "So hold my hand. I'll walk with you, mio caro," he answered softly.
The old wooden stairs a short distance away gave a loud creak and Spain flinched. "The stairs are loud. I can't sleep, it's keeping me awake."
Romano sat up and leaned over him, gently rubbing his thumb over the other's cheek. "It's just the ship telling you to close your eyes."
The Spaniard's eyes glittered with forming tears. As with most, the nighttime brought a sense of secrecy. He could say anything when the sun was gone and he would be safe. "Romano... s-some days... some days I can't even trust myself... I see... terrible things... I can't tell what's real and what isn't anymore."
Romano's heart clenched. He smiled gently, though a bit strained, and kissed him lightly, thinking as he did this, 'Oh, Spain... It's killing me to see you this way... You used to be so sure and strong...' Out loud he said, "Spain, even though the truth seems to vary, we'll be okay. This ship will carry us safely to shore, like it always has."
Comforted, Spain fell asleep. Sadly, this was where his mind attacked him hardest. In three different nightmares, he watched Romano murdered in horrible ways, the Italian only able to get out a single surprised "Hey!" before each killing strike. The worst part was, it was himself doing the killing. He experienced killing the one he loved, felt his warm blood on his hands and face, saw the life leave his body.
He jerked awake with a choked sob and looked to see the other. A voice from his darker days egged him on, to live out the dreams.
Romano woke soon after, hearing Spain crying. Seeing the Italian nation looking at him, Spain whispered, "T-The old voice in my head... it wants me back."
Nodding in understanding, Romano sat up and hugged him, speaking softly into his ear. "Well, tell him that I miss our little talks."
Spain took a shaky breath and pushed him back. "Soon it'll be over and buried with the past." He got up from the bed and walked out into the small corridor, beginning to wander the lower half of the ship, Romano close behind him.
Trying to cheer him up, Romano spoke in reminisce. "We used to play out on the deck when we where younger. When we were full of life and full of love-"
"Some days I don't know if I'm wrong or right," Spain interrupted, stopping. "I can't tell if something is really happening... or even there... or if anyone is real..."
"You're mind is playing tricks on you, mio caro." The Italian caught his arm and turned the Spaniard to face him. "Remember what I said last night. Even though the truth seems to vary, this ship will carry us safely to shore."
They went up onto the deck and the Spanish nation was smashed by memories of darker days, suddenly finding himself surrounded by explosions and loud screams.
"Stop!" he cried, covering his ears. Romano flinched and touched his arm, bringing him back to the present. Realizing where he was, he sniffed. "O-Oh... don't listen to a word I say, Roma... the screams... they all sound the same..."
Romano bit his lip and hugged him, repeating himself for the third time, softly. "The truth may vary for you, but this ship will carry us safely. It's never failed to bring us home."
The pair stayed on the ship a few more days. Much to Romano's dismay, Spain's condition only grew worse. On the fourth day, as the nation lay in bed, crying and thrashing from his demons, Romano sat by his side, holding his hand. In the morning he would be taking the other to the hospital.
"Spagna..." he whispered. "You've gone away and I had to watch you disappear... All that's left is a ghost of who you used to be... We've been torn apart and... and I don't think there is anything I can do for you any longer... Now I... I have to let you go..." Tears beginning to drip down his face, he released Spain's hand and stood up. "I-I promise we'll meet again soon..." He turned and took a step to the door.
Suddenly, a hand closed around his wrist. Surprised, he whipped around, shocked to see Spain holding him in place. His clouded eyes were clear for the first time in longer than either wanted to remember.
"No," he said, his voice cracking. "Wait for me. Please, hang around. I don't want to only see you when I fall asleep."
The South Italian was then pulled down onto the bed. "Roma, don't listen to a word I say. The screams, they may all sound the same to me, but like you've been saying; 'my truth may vary, but this ship will carry us, safe, to shore'."
Romano began to cry softly, hugging him tightly. "I won't listen to anything you say. Your screams all sounded the same. But you're right. The truth varies, but this ship will carry us safe to shore."
Spain repeated this, murmuring it to himself.
Lifting the Spaniard's face to look at him, Romano said, one last time, "You're truth may vary, but this ship will take us safely home."