A/N: Waa more angsty stuff but i couldnt help it! Blame every damn sad song! Dx
PS. This is NOT the sequel i was planning to make! Its Romano's POV on spain's "Regret" fic.
IMPORTANT!:
This is the time during the Italian wars when most European powers fought each other for the custody of Italy, which was a prospering country that time. Spain was one of the prominent powers fighting for Italy but it seems Spain specifically fought for northern and central Italy.
PPS: I'm not sure if the part about spain fighting mostly for N and c. Italy is true or not since i only got it from wikipedia (And we all know how reliable wikipedia is!)
Disclaimer: I do not own hetalia yadayadablabla
Lovino Vargas. That was his true name. He should never, ever forget that.
He reminded himself that no matter how much those stupid nations passed him around and fought over him—as if he were only an object, a possession to be conquered with no thoughts, no opinions, ideas, no emotions…nothing…but an inanimate thing--- he was a alive, he was still able to breathe…Each painful, choking breath meant that he and his countrymen were coping and that…was enough.
He didn't feel the new and several scarlet scars and purplish bruises painting his flesh. He was too tired to feel anymore…too numb…
He took a good and long look in the mirror. Truth be told, he looked like a wreck, dried blood and dirt covering him all over not to mention those "marks" left by numerous villages burning, towns crumbling and all those innocent lives lost, like a candle forcibly blown out before it could reach its own, natural end.
His eyes were dulled and dead. Spain would be worried, but why should he care? That bastard was coming home after everything that had happened, he was coming back but romano couldn't bring himself to be happy or relieved at the fact that Spain—no, Antonio—was fine.
He shrugged, deciding that he owed Spain to at least look presentable and after a long, shower of icy water pounding against his skin, washing away dirt and blood before the now murky and scarlet water was drained.
After donning clean clothes, not even bothering to dry himself first, he reentered what once was his bedroom, spotting photos of him, Spain and Feliaciano.
He stared at it before ripping and shredding it to pieces. With each tear appeared one tear, flowing one after the other. Everything was a lie…That photograph was proof of that lie…He was a spoiled and stupid brat, thinking that everything would remain the same, Spain protecting and serving him while Feliciano would be safe and sound in Austria's home.
Then it all came crashing around him.
Nights spent warm in antonio's embrace were replaced with cold nights when his body were inflicted with his and Feliciano's* wounds.
Nights were the worst. He only had snatches of sleep during daylight and they were always filled with nightmares but he never slept on nights, nights wherein the screaming, pain and hopelessness increased tenfold. He committed to memory those nights when he could only whisper "Make it stop!..Please stop…" as searing pain covered his whole being, devouring and dragging him in a bottomless pit of fatigue-induced sleep while his northern counterpart tightly held his hand in a bone breaking grip as his body writhed and fought against invisible monsters inside a nightmare too horrible to be said and forgotten.
Happy and blissful days were only a surreal memory when every passing second all he wanted was to die, his people's screams and pleas were screeching at him and no matter how much he wanted it to stop…no solace was found.
He could still remember those horrible times, *Feliciano begged and sobbed for him to share his burdens but "No. I'm your big brother and I wouldn't be a very good one if I let you suffer, wouldn't I? So stop crying you stupid idiot! What would old man Rome think if he saw you?" He said in between gasps of pain, a smirk never leaving his face as he saved his little brother from all the hurt and anguish.
He left the mangled up picture behind, gathered up what little of his possessions were left and walked to the foyer that will lead him to his final escape from the house that now served as a reminder of a fictitious life.
He was stopped by a quivering voice calling his name "Lovino?" He turns to look at the source of that melodic tone and sees a once cheerful face to be replaced by one much more tired. He looks at those entrancing emerald eyes and is slightly stunned to find them panicked.
The Spaniard took a step closer to him, hand hesitantly reaching out and he couldn't help but flinch and slapping the hand away "D-don't t-t-touch me" He hated the fact that he was stuttering. Hated how the green-eyed man could make him feel so…so…weak and helpless.
But he knew that if that man touched him, he would never be able to leave so he blurted out the only thing he knew that would make the conquistador free him once and for all. "Believe it or not, you bastard. Other people suffered too, while you were away…You have no idea…You stupid idiot… You don't know how much it hurts to be thrown away or to be sacrificed and passed around as if you were a mere thing!... I hope what you fought for was a good reason… It must have been more important than me..." He smiled bitterly as he spat the words out, feeling bile rise up his throat. "Who am I kidding? I was never important to you, wasn't I?" He had the urge to punch himself when tears started forming at the corner of his eyes. He didn't want to look weak…Not in front of Antonio… He wanted him to see how he endured everything… every-single-godforsaken-awful-thing
So he turns his back on the Spaniard, opened the door and walked away, each step a reminder of horrible and happy times mixing to form his confusing life. Yet, there is a feeling that tells him that with each faltering step, he is leaving behind the person he cherished and loves most.
He would never admit how much he wished Antonio would run after him and hold him like he did before. How he wanted the tanned man to whisper sweet nothings and comforts and act as if everything had just been an awful nightmare. But his wish never came true. It always never came true.
Once he was far enough, he dropped to his knees and finally, after years of holding all the tears…he cried. A regretful yet beautiful smile painted on his face.
A/N: If nobody reviews, i'll make switzerland shoot every single one of those who read this! xD Or ask russia to appear inside you bedroom one cold, wintry night with the doors LOCKED and an angry belarus behind said locked doors.
PS. Notice those *s there? Well i was going to explain it but the paragraph or two after it already explained it but if you really dont get it, it means that lovino suffered what feliciano was SUPPOSED to suffer. Because Lovino being the (Secretly) protective and caring brother he is transfered all feliciano's injuries to himself. Awww D:
PPS. I wont write the sequel until 5 people ask me to make it! So, Ha!
PPPS. If i do write a sequel (which i'm not saying i'm currently writing!) would you want me to put a lemon scene (which i'm not saying i've already written!) in or not? D;
PPPPS. If there are any errors please tell me so i can fix this piece of crap^^
PPPPPS. I've written a england fic (really sad though and someone dies!) but my friend says its fuck-tastically-mazing (yes, that's our own secret language) but i dont know if i should put it in or not. What d'you guys think? Dx
PPPPPPS. I just noticed how many (Insert P/s here)S there were. o-O woah