Summary: Romano had always been able to see it- the blood that stained others hands. Feliciano had always been able to hear it- the lies that coated others sickly sweet voices. Italy as a whole wasn't as stupid as most thought. Two-Shot

Kitty: … I just got this idea randomly… it is a two shot

I hope you like it

Blood & Lies

Chapter 1

-I Can See The Blood-

Romano had probably always been able to see the blood, the new and the old. It showed him how the world sinned, seeing the blood drip down the others hands. He had first noticed it when he was little, under the care of Spain. The older country always had a smile on his face, or at least he did around Romano. Spain would always call him cute and would pull on his cheeks, Romano would always respond with a childish attack. That is till one day after the older country pulled on his cheeks he felt a warm liquid drip slowly down his cheek. His hand instinctively moved to his cheek. Blood.

He had screamed. Loud.

Spain had jerked back in surprise, not just at the blood-curdling scream, but also because of the horror and fear that had suddenly filled the Italians eyes as he stared down at his bare hand. That's when Romano saw his caretaker's hands, the blood dripping onto the floor; old crusted blood from who knows when caked on his fingernails. He had asked, his voice shaking and tears streaming down his eyes, why there was blood on his hands. Spain had just looked at him in confusion before asking what he was talking about. Romano had screamed, pointing at the blood on Spain's hands, the blood on his hands, and the blood on his face. Spain gave him a worried look before pressing the back of his hand to Romano's forehead, checking if he had a fever.

Romano's eyes widened in terror as he felt the warm sticky liquid slip down his forehead and run into his eyes, blinding him. More and more dripped down his face, running into his mouth and down his chin. He could taste it, he could smell it, he could feel it, he could see it. That was the first time he remembered seeing the blood.

The years had gone past and Spain had forgotten his little outburst, but Romano did not- could not, because ever since then he could see the sins his former caretaker committed. It wasn't just Spain though. Everyone around him had some sort of blood on their hands, some more then others. Every time they shook his hand, touched him, reached for him, he felt sick. Its why he never liked to be touched, because he'd always have to wash his hands, to get the red off, to try to get rid of that awful smell. He had once tried to wash Spain's hands, to see if the blood would wash away- it didn't. He could only wash away the blood that he hadn't spilt.

As the years went on, and he grew up as a country, his own hands were stained red. The blood ceased to wash away and he could feel himself falling. Romano was scarred, he didn't want to have to remember his sins, but here he was staring at his blood stained hands. It was impossible to run away from it.

Then as more years passed he just accepted it, because there was nothing else he could do about it.

There were Wars. Lots off wars. Wars he won. Wars he lost. And with each war the blood on his hands increased, the hot sticky feeling never went away. He could live with seeing the blood he'd spilled, but he couldn't live with the blood on his brother's hands. Feliciano, being tricked into killing, and his hands being stained like everyone else's sickened him.

Even if he accepted it, it didn't mean he didn't notice it. Most countries, because of their old age and everything they'd gone through had pure red hands. But there were some who were- different…

America, for some odd reason, had less blood then most. Maybe it was because of his age, but even that didn't cover how many wars he'd already been in. It was almost like he was free of the blood.

England was an interesting case. It almost looked like the rain had washed some of the blood away…

The list went on but it didn't matter who was on the list, it s mattered that there was a list.

Finally the time had come when Romano just couldn't take it anymore, and now he was sitting up against the wall, tears dripping down his face. He had gotten sick of it, sick of tasting it, smelling it, feeling it, seeing it. He had finally broken down. He must be insane, what else could explain the fact that he could see the supposedly metaphorical blood that stained peoples hands.

With unsteady hands, Romano started writing on the wall; the blood leaving behind a plea that no one other then he could see or read.

Help me

The words made him cry even more. No one would or could help him. Sobbing, he curled up on the floor, squeezing his eyes shut. It was the only way to escape the nightmare.

"Romano?" Spain asked uncertainly, taking a step closer to the crying Italian, who's eyes snapped open look at him.

"Why is their blood on the wall?"

Kitty: …. Don't ask how I came up with this story cause I don't know myself…

Well I hope you liked it.

The next chapter will be coming soon, I hope.

I'm sorry if this sucked… Review? (Just don't flame)