The first time Spain bathed his new charge, he froze in shock. Luckily, he was behind little Romano, so the child didn't see his reaction. He hesitated before reaching for the soap and a rag, not saying a word. The empire had gained more than a few scars of his own in the past, and none of them from anything good.
Romano's back had hunched up in anticipation of his caretaker's reaction to what had been revealed. It was ugly, he knew - he'd contorted enough to see his back with two mirrors he'd 'acquired' while at Austria's. But, he reminded himself, this was only Spain. It wasn't like he cared what he thought. Or what anyone else thought, for that matter!
"Tell me if I'm being too rough with you, okay niño?" Spain carefully worked the soap into a lather and hesitantly touched the rag to his charge's back. He wanted to avert his eyes, to pretend he'd never seen this.
Was the other side of his body the same?
He'd seen (and caused) scarring this bad before, but never on such a young body.
What had happened? Who had done this to him?
The rag unconsciously traced the path of one of the burns and Romano's breath hitched, anxiety welling up. Was he going to say something about this?
Spain shook himself a little and made himself stop, instead rubbing gentle circles on his back. He was being as careful as he could not to aggravate any of the scarring.
The skin still looked red and angry, fading into raised white lines that stretched out. In places, some of the scars had faded to be nothing more than a shiny patch of skin, or a dark blotch. Spain could almost see how tongues of flame had burnt their way across the child's body.
The worst of the burns had extended out from specific points; a hint that the damage had been done not to the child before him, but to the land he represented. They were too old to have been the result of anything he himself had done, but he still felt a stab of guilt.
Maybe he should go easier on Romano. He'd suffered enough already; surely he'd earnt the right to a bit of brattish behaviour?
He finished cleaning his back and quickly tried to school his face; he could pretend he wasn't seeing this, and everything would go just fine.
Romano seemed to have realised what was going on as well; he could see the knobs of the child's spine pressing against his scarred skin as he hunched in on himself. The tiny shoulders were up around his ears, and his breathing was off.
Spain leaned in and kissed the top of his head. "Do you want me to wash your front as well, or do you want to do it yourself?"
"I c'n d'it m'self, j'rk." he mumbled, not lifting his bowed head. "'M n't a baby."
Spain passed the rag and soap forwards and went back to supervise, making sure that nothing went wrong. He never moved into the child's line of sight, wanting to push off the inevitable.
Romano was feeling much the same way and was bizarrely grateful that the jerk hadn't pressed. But still… he'd never known Spain to be so damn silent. He could practically feel the weight of his gaze on the ugly mess that he'd been made into.
"…I'm done."
He'd put off those words for as long as he could, not wanting to face Spain after he'd seen him like this. Romano stood up and stepped onto the mat, keeping his eyes on his toes as he heard the older country coming closer. A soft towel was wrapped around him. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the questions, the comments, and the pity.
Spain fell to his knees and embraced him, strong arms wrapping around the child and crushing him to his chest. He kissed the top of Romano's head again, his hair cold and wet against the man's nose. Uncharacteristically, he didn't so much as breathe a single word.
...
Romano never let anyone else bathe him. Not Netherlands, not Belgium, and certainly not a single one of the human servants. Whenever Spain was away, he insisted on bathing himself, with no-one else allowed in the room.
When Belgium protested that he would need someone sitting in - what if an accident happened, and nobody was there? - he scowled.
"Fine, then. I'll just go around dirty."
The stubborn look on his face and the way he'd crossed his arms was more than enough evidence that he was not about to be budged on this.
Every time Spain arrived home, he would always bathe Romano that evening. He talked about what he had seen while he was away, always keeping the atmosphere in the room light. By this time, Romano had allowed him to wash the rest of his body and not just what he couldn't reach. It felt nice to have someone taking care of him again.
The scarring was extensive; it stretched all over his body. Lines extended across his soft belly, and the reddened skin went all the way down past his thighs.
Spain never asked what the cause was. Romano never told him. They never talked about them, and it was almost as if the child believed that if he ignored them, they'd go away. Spain didn't want to upset this balance or break the fragile trust Romano had offered to him, so he left the topic alone as well.
...
When Romano was about twelve years old, physically speaking, he finally opened up. It was just after Spain had bathed him (And Spain wasn't looking forwards to the day when his cute little henchman decided he was too big for Boss to bathe him any more) and they were sat on the empire's bed, Romano between his legs and still all bundled up in the thick towel. Spain was carefully working a comb through his hair and Romano had closed his eyes, leaning against him.
"Rome did it." he mumbled.
"Hmm? What was that, Roma?"
"The scars. Rome gave them to me."
The comb went still in his hair.
Rome?
Rome had done this?
Rome had tortured and scarred his own grandson?
"Ow! Spain! You're hurting me!"
He quickly let go, not even having realised how tightly he'd been holding Romano.
"I'm sorry - I didn't mean to. Are you okay?" Spain anxiously checked him over.
"I'm fine," the child huffed, crossing his arms. "You don't need to baby me."
Can you blame me for wanting to?" A kiss was pressed to the top of his head.
"Are you gonna let me talk now, bastard?"
If he was back to insulting him, Romano couldn't be too upset. Spain kissed his hair again. "I'll be quiet," he promised.
"Rome… burnt me. He was trying to get back control of my lands."
Spain bit back his automatic response and instead turned Romano to face him, rubbing his back in gentle circles.
"He sent soldiers to destroy towns and hurt my people."
He could still remember the days he spent screaming in pain as fire licked at his body unseen. Blisters formed and burst with no apparent cause. At one point, it became so bad that he no longer felt pain; all of his nerve endings in one spot had been completely destroyed.
When they grew back, he screamed so hard he was spitting up blood.
One large blister took up his whole cheek. When it burst, the liquid spat into his eye.
As a result of all of the attacks on his land and his people, Romano shrunk even as the burns and the scarring grew. His body rarely had a chance to rest and to heal. The humans taking care of him were amazed that this child hadn't succumbed to whatever was cursing him.
When the pain finally stopped, Rome was dead.
Romano would never know if he had taken part in any of it.
He would never know if his grandfather had agreed with it, or if it was something forced upon him by his ruler.
He did know that he would never be allowed to forget it; the marks of the last gasp of the Roman Empire had been branded onto his skin, onto his whole body.
So he would be damn well sure never to forgive.
onewithturtles on tumblr sent in the following prompt:
It's 1am so hey it's angst time yo. Like three years ago in my history class we watched this documentary about ancient history, and it mentioned that toward the end of the fall of the Roman Empire, they were desperate to try to get back on their feet, and attempted to reclaim control over the southern region of Italy by pillaging and burning the towns all over the place, so imagine Lovino having old burn scars from all that, given to him by his own grandfather mwahahaha