Mellow! And so it is here finally! The long awaited fanfic about Antonio's humorous tomato fight. Ps: can you show your love for updating so much today by leaving a review? Enjoy the story and Easter if you celebrate or normal Sunday if you don't

*Note any and all ancient names that I will be using for now are borrowed from the ever so wonderful Cherry82 (all credit to her for names of ancients!)*

Chapter 1

Three young teenage nations spent a rather blissful morning in the lake near the Spaniard's house. The first was of course Antonio, whose home in which they were currently enjoying the wonderful water that kept the heat at bay. By his side was his two best friends and the other members of the Bad Touch Trio.

They had blissfully played most of their summer away in the lake like they had done for the last several years. In fact, the only difference was that for the first time they didn't have to report to an adult so often. As Antonio's father had passed on at the end of the previous summer, who was the only adult that was close enough to watch them. They were allowed to stay under the idea that they weren't going to cause any problems since they were older.

So far nothing had been a problem and the boys greatly enjoyed the new freedom. Antonio's house wasn't all that far away so that in case they needed something it was in easy reach.

Despite the wonderful time they had in the morning, the heat was starting to bother all of them. It was also drawing near to lunch time, and tempers were starting to spike.

"Antonio, let's get some food in town," Francis suggested, putting his beautiful, new, blue and gold tunic back on. "You never have anything in your house."

"Whatever," the Spaniard muttered.

Francis shared a quick look with Prussia, their friend had seemed a bit touché recently. He seemed to have good days and then there were bad days. It baffled the French boy, usually Antonio was the happiest out of the trio. The albino didn't understand it either, but he had told his friend the fact that he was tired of the mood swings.

"Something other than tomatoes," Gilbert said to tease the brunet. As that seemed that Antonio never ran out of the red delicious fruit, yet his house sometimes had no other food. It might have something to do with the field of tomatoes that was behind his house, they passed it every time they went to the lake.

"Shut up." Antonio snapped as he threw on his shirt.

Gilbert took the hint and backed off, "I was joking"

His words didn't seem to matter to the pissed off Spaniard, "Fuck, you."

Francis quickly tried to defuse the situation, "What would you two like to eat?" He wasn't entirely sure what the problem was, but today wasn't one of Antonio's better days.

Gilbert was obviously irritated, but for once kept his mouth shut. Gestures on the other hand were used. Either Antonio didn't see them or he didn't care otherwise that would've cause another explosion from the short tempered boy.

The silence stewed between the three friends as they made their way into the market place. Which compared to yelling, it was at least some improvement.

"So is there anything special anyone wants?" Francis asked again, hoping to get a the others to talk. There was nothing he hated more than silence. "With my culinary genius I can make anything."

"Get whatever you want Franny." Gilbert grumbled, "The shit you make is always good, even if I can't pronounce half of it." Sad to say, that was a complement in Gilbert's book.

"How about some nice profiterole for dessert?" Francis asked, thinking out loud. "It's been forever since I had last made it." The little pastry has become his favorite and he had made it on many occasions for friends and family, the most recent a few weeks ago for little Arthur to guilt trip him into acting nice for the day. For the record, it did almost work.

"He already said to get whatever you want." Antonio snapped angry.

This time Gilbert wasn't even going to try and hold his tongue. "What the fuck has got you acting all pissy?" Gilbert snarled, his red eyes glaring at one of his best friends. "Did something crawl in your ass and die?"

"I'm not." Antonio growled defensively, eyeing his friend with evenly angry eyes.

"Like hell you're not." Gilbert shot back. "You've been acting like a fucking jerk the whole damn day."

"No, I haven't," Antonio retorted giving Gilbert a shove. "Take it back."

"No, I was wrong." Gilbert wasn't backing down, not this time. He had enough of the Spaniard's forever pissy moods. "You've been acting like a dick for a while. Franny and I don't need to take this shit from you." He pushed the Spaniard back.

The Spaniard had enough, he moved to punch Gilbert. The Prussian saw this coming and dodged just in time. "Fuck you."

Francis watched in horror as the two got in a fight in the middle of the market street like a pair of animals. "It is not that time for this!" He shouted, hoping to catch at least one of the stubborn teens attentions.

After Antonio took a hit and was rolling around in the ground he knocked over a cart that was filled to the brim with red tomatoes. The round fruits rolled across the ground, most of them surprisingly surviving the impact. Antonio wiped away the trickle of blood that was streaming from his nose.

For a second it appeared that Antonio had finally given up the fight. The two boys glared at each other, each having labored breathe. Prussia no doubt had a fat lip, while Antonio's nose had to be bruised at the very least. Francis hoped that he could get the two fools out of there since the whole market was watching them, the man who owned the fruits especially.

That's when Antonio did something crazy and threw the red fruit at Gilbert. It hit the albino directly in the face. Just as Gilbert wiped the tomato's juice from his face so that he could see he was hit with another. And before any one really knew it a tomatoes shit storm was flying both directions.

At this point Francis was pleading with both to stop he even tried getting in the middle, but only successes in getting his new and beautiful blue and gold tunic covered in the blood of the tomatoes. He was at a lost of what to do. The French boy's only hopes was that they would eventually stop, perhaps when they ran out of ammo, and that somehow he could get his tunic to come out clean.

Several of the peopled shouted at the teens, but none were willing to risk it like Francis had.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt! Antonio Carriedo! Francis Bonnefoy!" Shouted a man as he came toward them.

Francis wasn't sure to be relieved or worried to see the tall blond that was Germania. This wasn't going to end well.