When In Rome, Do As The Romans Do

by Quizicalcoatl

Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo is pansexual, and he's being sent to a gay conversation camp after an abusive childhood. Lovino Vargas is bisexual, and he is one of the only staff members at Camp Rome, a conversion camp with a secret. So... Who's going to break first?

1. Chapter 1

Title: When In Rome, Do As The Romans Do

Rating: M because of homophobia/LGBTQ conversion camps, mentions of death, child abuse (not sure if it qualifies as mentioned or not), and strong language courtesy of Romano

Warning: YO! SUP? This is about LBGTQ conversion camps (usually called gay conversion camps), which is NOT A SUBJECT TO BE TAKEN LIGHTLY! They are horrible, horrible places and should not exist. However, this fanfiction takes place... You'll see. Please realize that these types of places are awful and I DO NOT IN ANY WAY SUPPORT THEM!

Talking: It's not obvious, but this takes place in the American Deep South, where I think this is most likely to happen and has a few places that do this (and I've traveled to the region so I can probably write it).

Ah, darling Austria, why do I always write you? Why are you accidentally a jerk for awhile in here? And why are there always mentions of your previous (canon) marriage to Spain? Seriously. Why. TELL ME.

Spain's brother is Portugal!

Spanish translations (this time all me, for once writing a bilingual character whose second language I speak alright too) at the bottom. Nothing REALLY major, though. :D

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story; they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya.

Italy Romano - Lovino Vargas

Spain - Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo

Austria - Rodreich Edelstein

Roman Empire - Romulus Vargas

Germania - Gauthier Beilschmidt

When In Rome, Do As The Romans Do: One:

Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo's POV

We were just children. We fell in love the way children do-head over heels, with quiet, shy confessions in school hallways, nervous giggles as we walked to the recitals for his piano or my guitar, and never anything more than a quick peck on the lips. We held hands at recess. I loved him with all my heart, and he loved me, too.

My mother hated me for it. She hated me the way adults do-with heavy-handed punches and sharp words with seemed natural coming from her mouth, and more painful than anything she had done to me physically. My father had left four years, five months and six days ago (I counted, like a prisoner waiting for when he would finally escape) and had taken my brother with him. He wasn't there to keep Madre from hurting me anymore.

I was born pansexual, and it was apparently all my fault.

"¡Hola! Rodreich, wait!" I called, bouncing up to him. I placed a quick kiss on his cheek in greeting and he didn't return the favor, but didn't reject it, either, like he used to do. I take it as a good sign. I take everything as good signs. It makes my life so much happier.

"Good morning, Antonio," he replies, voice musical (it's always musical, accented, familiar). We fall into step side by side as we walk to school. I fill the silence with chatter, and he seems content with that.

We walked through the school hallways just like that, ignoring the strange looks and tide of whispers that followed us with practiced ease.

When I said goodbye and stepped into Math, he vanished down the hall to English Language Arts and I could only hope he would not be intercepted on the way (bullies are petty, and often too scared to take on the two of us at once).

I settled into my seat, next to a girl whose name I can't remember, and began to work.

When I got home, Madre glares me a warning, and I hurry into my room with my head down, not daring to meet her eyes. I drop my backpack by my bed and drop onto it. I don't have enough time to sit back up and find something to hide behind as I hear Madre's footsteps fall heavy outside my room.

"You're leaving in a week," she growls out, opening the door with a bang. My eyes are wide with shock. "Camp Rome. They'll fix you."

Then she turns and slams the door on me, and I practically melt back onto my bed. Next week is the last week of school, but of course she doesn't care about my education being cut off at the end of the year. She doesn't care about me at all, I don't think. No, no, of course she doesn't. She won't love me until I love the right people, will she? But that doesn't matter now.

I roll onto my back, processing everything I heard.

Camp Rome, huh? 'Fix me?'

Does she mean a...?

My blood runs cold, like the frost I saw once when I was a child, netted over the window like broken glass. I freeze, staring up at the ceiling with wide green eyes. No...

She's going to send me to one of those hellholes, isn't she?

•time skip brought to you by the 2P!s

"No, Antonio," Rodreich says coldly as I go to kiss his cheek in greeting this morning. I pause, glancing at his deep brown eyes to see what's wrong.

"Rodreich?" I wonder. He pushes me away, refusing to meet my eyes.

"No thank you, Antonio," he repeats. I tilt my head in confusion, but step back.

"Are you okay?" I ask. He sighs.

"Ja, I am fine... Just, I... Well, I'll put it bluntly. You and me are not going to work out. Please understand," he says. "I have... I don't really feel it anymore."

"Feel it?" I repeat, emotionless, the smile gone from my face. I think I know what he's talking about. I don't like it.

"We-us, together-are not going to work," he says, more firmly, and strides away with steps that are also firm and certain. I stare after him. My usual smile and bright-eyed face has been replaced with an emotionless demeanor.

Ah.

I see it now.

So my whole life is falling apart... That's okay too, I guess.

Es nada (no, no, es todo-).

Translations:

Spanish - English

Madre - Mother (Madre is more formal than Mamá and it fits)

¡Hola! - Hello!

Es nada (no, no, es todo-) - It's nothing (no, no, it's everything-)