Okay so this is basically going to be a series of oneshots. All of them will be based off of a song from Adam Lambert's new album Trespassing. I have no idea how long it will take to finish the others but I have them all planned out. I hope I got all my historical facts right.

So this is inspired by the song "Broken English". I really hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or Adam Lambert's song.

Can't say all the little things
That I wanna tell you right now
I know you won't understand
But I gotta tell you somehow
And on and on and on I go
Connect the neck to what's below I know
Now your body language is broken, broken English

Massive ships with vast black sails that had red and white crosses in the center towered over the docs. Those who looked upon such sight felt terror radiate in their bones as they shuddered where they stood. Baleful clouds swirled above the tall masts, supporting the extremely ominous feeling. Elizabeth I was going to pay gravely for underestimating Phillip II's ambitions.

As Romano looked on from the rickety Spanish docks, a strange chill passed through him not for the first time and he was rather glad he wasn't the target of Spain's wrath. Shifting his eyes from ship to ship, he unconsciously looked for his boss/protector/whatever he was. Not that he was here to actually see him off. That would just be absurd. There was no sentimental reason for his being here.

"Romano? What are you doing here?"

The ever-familiar Spanish accent never failed to make him jump and the Italian whipped his head around to come face to face with a cheerful yet dangerous Spaniard. His brooding black cloak swayed in the wind, revealing sharp conquistador clothing- A blood red privateer coat with a white tunic and black hose underneath. The heeled leather boots gave Spain an inch of dangerous height. And in his hand, the sun kissed man held a large and lethal double-sided axe. In the other was a large black hat with a raven's feather peeking out the top. Yet in all his frightful appearance, a wide grin was plastered onto Spain's face- one that Romano wanted to smack off. He was going off to war for crying out loud!

"Are you here to see your boss off?"

Little Romano sucked in air and used it to puff his cheeks and flare his nostrils-something Spain was quite accustomed to.

"I am most certainly not! I-I'm only here to see the ships! Why would you ever think I was here to see you of all people off?" he retorted, crossing his arms.

The jovial look in Spain's luscious green eyes faded as his gaze fell to the ground and his free hand scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Oh…I just thought…never mind," he replied, crestfallen.

Romano opened his mouth as an arrow of guilt struck him, though he made sure not to express it. But before he could remark, a renewed look of pride filled Spain's face as he asked,

"So how do you like the ships? They're quite something aren't they?"

Romano only nodded as he turned once again to face the terrifying fleet. He couldn't trust his voice as looked upon them, for he feared it would come out as a squeak.

"I've decided to call it the Armada. Sounds pretty scary doesn't it? You think England will be scared?"

"Yeah… it does…" Romano mumbled.

Spain had always been enthusiastic about building an empire but after hearing of his exploits in the New World, Romano wasn't sure if Spain was handling his power correctly. Looking for gold was one thing but raiding villages with civilized people for the mineral was a whole different story. On top of that, Romano had heard tales of the brutal way Spain's mercenaries had treated the natives- torturing and slaughtering some like sheep while forcing others to work on his land and claim the Cross was sacred was too horrifying. The country had destroyed empires whilst creating one and all that ambition and power was now rushing to Spain's head. It wasn't healthy but no matter what Romano said or did, his boss never gave in.

"God has given me a chance to show the world what I am capable of chiquito," the Spanish nation had said earlier when Romano had attempted to admonish him after Christopher Columbus had founded the New World. "And I will take as much advantage of it as I possibly can. I want to show Europe what I am capable of."

Well obviously he was capable of destroying savage empires and was attempting to do the same with an established nation just across the Bay of Biscay.

"Spain, sir!" a voice called out and both Spain and Romano saw a man dressed much like Spain but missing the cloak and axe running towards them. When he approached, he delivered a crisp bow to his nation and failed to acknowledge the little Italian boy next to his legs.

Hmph. It seemed that the Spanish people had also followed their country into the egoistical state.

"Yes Pablo?" Spain inquired.

"The preparations have been made and the fleet is ready to set sail," the man said a little breathlessly. "We have only to wait for your command sir."

The Spanish nation nodded and gave some instructions in rapid Spanish. Romano could only catch "I'll be there in a bit."

The sailor bowed once more and ran back to the ships as Spain turned back to Romano and knelt down in front of him. Romano sucked in his breath. He'd seen this scene too many times before: right before sailing off with Columbus, before sailing to Mexico and then South America, before going off to suppress the Dutch rebellion. His heartbeat increased.

"Well," the Spaniard sighed, laying down his axe, "this is it. This is it Romano. This battle will decide whether God intended for me to be the leader of Europe or not. And I'm sure God is on my side."

Romano remained silent while chewing his lip and staring at Spain's confident face. His thudding heart never ceased and he prayed Spain couldn't hear it. The thought of the other nation going off to war wasn't supposed to make him feel so sick inside. All nations went to war.

But why did Spain have to go to battle? Why couldn't Spain just sit tight like Portugal and enjoy a couple of colonies in Africa and India? Why did Spain have to play with the big fish like England and France? Didn't he know what those ruthless countries were capable of? What if one day Spain went to war and God decided he didn't want to be on the Spanish nation's side?

Romano's throat choked up just thinking about it. When Spain noticed Romano's silence, he continued,

"I'm sure God is on my side, but…" Spain now shifted his vibrant green eyes to look at Romano directly, "I want to know if you are on my side."

The little Italian shuddered though he wasn't sure if it were the wind or what Spain had just said.

"O-Of course I'm on your side…idiota," he mumbled, looking uncomfortably at the ground.

Chuckling, Spain ruffled the other's hair and stood up, ready to go.

"Don't be afraid Romano. I'll come back. I always do."

And with that, he marched of proudly in the direction of his Armada, never once looking back. As his heavy footsteps resounded throughout the dock, Romano opened his mouth, wanting to say something but not finding the right words. Instead he swallowed everything and watched on as the black sails rose higher and one by one the ships began to leave the dock.

On the largest one, he could see Spain's silhouette standing tall with his chest out as he waved to the world, grinning.

Bastardo. Romano wasn't afraid of Spain not returning. Oh no, nations never really died per say. However, he was afraid that his Spain wouldn't return. Instead, Romano was sure that after this battle he'd either be receiving a monster or a remnant of someone who was never to recover again.

Southern Italy waited at the docks for a whole week, never once leaving until he saw the black sails returning home. But they never came. The other Spanish citizens had tried to urge him to go home, assuring him that Spain would come. That Spain would never let any of them down.

He didn't budge. He needed to see those radiant green and cheerful eyes again before he could let his heart stop pounding.

And then he saw it in the distance. Tiny black figures that floated closer and closer. Romano leaped at the sight, his heart racing at a pace that wasn't humanely possible. However, as they drifted closer and closer, the little nation could see that it wasn't the Armada. The outlines were not those of ships at all. Then Romano spotted a large piece of wood with a ripped and damp black sail clinging to it. His stomach filled with dread as he squinted to get a better look.

And there was Spain, lying on conscious on a drifting piece of what used to be the mighty Spanish Armada. His clothes were torn, his body was marred with gashes that would have been fatal to any human, and he was completely limp.

The Spanish nation never knew of the tears shed by Romano that day but they had never stopped. If only he had said something sooner.

If only.

!

Romano scrunched his forehead as barked orders to several Italian soldiers at the defensive lines. Cursing at the incompetence of their soldiers, Romano went back to marking position on a spread out map and listening to the radio next to him. Why he was pulled into this war with the rest of Europe was still unclear to him. For some reason Germany's leader Hitler had been fascinated with their own Mussolini and proposed an alliance. And why his brother ever agreed to be dragged into all of this he didn't understand either.

But now the two brothers had received word that the Allies had decided to postpone the invasion of France and were heading straight to the shores of Sicily. Romano naturally had the obligation to defend the island, evacuating hundreds of people and setting up base.

As he watched his many soldiers form ranks and prepare themselves for the worst, Romano strained his ears towards the faint radio. The American and British forces were close now and would probably be arriving in a day or so. That meant his men barely had any time to rest before a full on invasion began. A headache began to manifest in Romano and he found it a bit hard to stand. He and his brother were never one for war. They had always been picked on and claimed piece by piece by other countries that defended Italy for them. But after he and his brother fought for independence from Austria, Romano believed the circumstances had changed for the worst.

Sighing, he turned away from the map and the radio and faced his general who was talking with a team of privates.

"General!" he shouted, grabbing the attention of the hard-faced male. "Tell the troops to get some rest. They should be ready for an instantaneous attack."

The other man nodded and began yelling orders in Italian, much to the relief of the panicking soldiers. Romano swore under his breath not for the last time. This war was going to make him an old man.

"Romano?"

Eyes widening in surprise at the Spanish accent, Romano whipped around and saw a gaunt looking Spain smiling sheepishly at him. The Italian nation gulped as he drank in Spain's appearance.

Dark circles took refuge under his emerald orbs and his cheeks had sunken in unhealthily. His originally sun kissed skin looked as if it hadn't seen the sun in years. The man looked so skinny Romano was sure Spain had ribs showing. The Spanish Civil War was definitely taking its toll on the other nation. So what the hell was he doing here?

"Spain, what are you doing here?" Romano hissed, wondering how even got into the base.

Spain only shrugged and walked closer. "I came to see you Romano. I heard the Allies were coming and I wanted to see if you were alright."

"I'm fine you bastard," Romano replied gruffly. "I'm not a kid anymore so you don't have to keep worrying about me."

The other nation smiled sadly, his cheeks sinking in further.

"Ahh yes you've grown so much since the last time I saw you! You've become so mature now!"

Romano could only roll his eyes.

"Idiota, I saw you ten years ago. When you didn't look like a piece of shit."

The Spaniard laughed and winked. "Oh? I think I still look pretty dashing don't you think?"

The Italian didn't reply and only stared at the ruined nation's face.

"Spain, why are you really here? I know you didn't just come to remind me of how I looked like a tomato when I was little," he stated gravely.

The radio behind him began to whisper about British ships 80 kilometers off the coast of Sicily before bursting into static. Romano anxiously picked it up and muttered a few curse words at it before it sputtered back to life.

Spain's eyes shifted from the radio to Romano's face, holding a bizarre look in them. And since he had known Spain for so many years, Romano could read every single emotion.

Don't do it. Don't do it Romano. Do what you do best. Surrender. You won't be the same after you fight them. Don't defend yourself Romano. Don't go off to war.

The Italian nation shuddered- the same shudder that had passed through him centuries ago at the docks of Spain. But he disregarded it as he listened more closely to the radio.

"I think you should go Spain," he muttered. "I have a war to fight."

The Allies spread throughout Italy like a wildfire and had knocked the two Italian brothers out of the war in no time before they proceeded to rescue France from Germany.

Feliciano, being the richer one and closer to Germany, had handled defeat much better than Romano had. And all the while, Spain watched on as the crippled Southern Italy tried to drown himself in the ocean time and time again, trying to rid himself of the pain.

If only he had told Romano what he really felt.

!

The meeting of the European Union was as lethargic as could be. Every nation was yawning throughout Germany's speech about bailouts for Greece and financial aid for Spain, Portugal and Italy. Even France, who was supposed to be giving the presentation with his German counterpart, was nodding off while standing up.

All the while, Feliciano was drawing who knows what in his notebook and Romano merely glared at every European nation that sat in the room, deeming the qualities he hated about every one of them. Germany was a potato bastard. France was a cheese head. Holland was scary. Austria didn't serve pasta. Denmark was retarded. Greece was lazier than he was. And Spain…

Spain was silently mouthing words to France, exaggerating every movement so that the other nation could read them. As far as Romano could tell, it went something like this:

"Germany has such funny shaped head no? It's like an egg but not an egg."

Romano rolled his eyes and scowled. The man was in a freaking recession and was about to fall out of the European Union and he wasn't even paying attention as to how Germany was planning on bailing him out.

Then again, South Italy wasn't paying much attention either and his economy was in deep shit as well. The only way he and his brother were still floating was because of their ever-prevalent mafia. And they weren't really going away anytime soon.

As Romano examined his former boss nation, he noted the improvement in appearance since the 1940s. He was much healthier but still had a couple of scars and his cheeks still sunk in a little. He hadn't actually spoken to Spain in 40 years now. Sure they had formal meetings and such but they never really talked. War and poverty had driven them apart. Not that he really cared for conversing with the Spaniard.

But sometimes he wondered if the two of them were ever going to be like they once were. Not Boss Spain and Territory Southern Italy. Not even the Kingdom of Spain and Il Mezzogiorno. Just Spain and Romano, carefree and eating tomatoes all day while lying in a tomato garden in Spain's home.

Romano's thoughts were broken by Germany who called for a break. Feliciano jumped up with glee and grabbed his brother, who was extremely glad to be able to stretch and get out of the room. Once the two brothers were out of the room, Feliciano claimed he had visit the toilet really quickly because his bladder was about to get the best of him and Romano swore at him while agreeing to stand outside the men's room and wait for him.

Behind him he heard two voices-one French and one Spanish- laughing hysterically at a joke Romano never heard. As the two approached where Romano was standing impatiently, he heard France say,

"Excuse-moi Espagne. I need to use the toilet really quickly. Just wait here."

With that, the blond nation made his way past Romano, winking at him before disappearing inside the loo.

Vaguely aware of the man shuffling to stand next to him, Romano made no gesture to acknowledge his presence and instead stared at the wall as if he were trying to burn a hole through it.

Something warm brushed softly across the back of his hand, causing the Italian to jump slightly. He looked to his right to see Spain standing next to him, his arm dangling innocently next to his. Romano then looked down at their hands to see Spain subtly hook his pinky with the other's, squeezing it gently before letting it go.

A pink tint lit up Romano's cheek at he glanced back up at Spain, who was whistling at the ceiling. But he didn't miss that small smile on the Spaniard's lips which caused him to blush even more before he turned back to the wall he had been trying to burn through.

Maybe they didn't need words to tell each other what they wanted to say. Because no matter what happened throughout history, they were always going to be Spain and Romano. And as long as that held true, words were only a burden for they knew exactly what the other wanted to say. Though Spain and Romano both knew they were never really going to acknowledge those unspoken words, they let those nonexistent murmurs settle in their hearts, carrying them around wherever they went, what ever they did.

Spain knew what Romano had meant to say all those years ago. Romano knew what Spain wanted at the eve of the Italian's demise.

And as long as they knew it, neither of them ever had to speak it.

Did you enjoy that? I hope you did because I loved writing that. It's my first Spamano fic so. Hope it was satisfying!

If you want to be notified about the other stories in the rest of the series, don't Follow this story. Follow me as an author instead because the others are all different pairings and will not be added onto this story. They will be published separately.

Now you should seriously review. Thanks!