Romano lay on his bed and cried into his pillow. His sobs were dry, no more tears would fall, he had cried too much today and he simply had no more of his tears to give. And yet tremendous sobs of despair and hopelessness still wrecked his body with each gasped breath.

Why did this have to happen to the Spaniard? What had that carefree kind of guy ever done to deserve such a fate? These questions were pushed to the back of Romanos mind as he swam in mostly self-pity. He was the one who felt cheated and betrayed by God. Just as things were finally feeling right between him and the Spaniard, something like this happens.

Romano had watched, watched as the Spain he knew slowly slipped away, unable to do a single thing to stop it. The day Romano had decided that he could no longer keep Spain from harming himself or others in the over-emotional deluded state he now lived in, was the worst day of the Italians life. He thought that nothing would be worse than the happy smile on the Spaniards face as they drove off with him. That smile had haunted Romano because he knew that Spain had no idea where he was really being taken. Spain wasn't really attached to reality anyway...

Romanos dry sobs finally stopped and his throat cried instead, begging for moisture. Getting up from the bed he crossed the hall to the bathroom and turned on the sinks tap. Bending his head he drank directly from it and his whole tired body relaxed a little.

He hoped, prayed, and generally begged all powers of the Earth and beyond that Spain would get better some day soon. That they could go back to the way it was before. Lovino had listened to the docter tell him that they didn't know exactly what was wrong and had felt like punching the woman.

Sliding down on to the cold bathroom tiles, Romano left the tap running, trying to drown out the screams that Spain had made that day as they played over and over in his mind. And still, he knew he must go see him again, next week, which was the only time he would get. Because not seeing Spain was almost worse than seeing the way he had become.

"How has he been?" Romano asked Docter Linn, the woman looking specifically at Spains case.

"Not good I'm afraid, he cries most of the time and screams when he isn't crying, he hasn't slept unless tranquilised and anything he has managed to eat he has mostly thrown right back up." She told him as they walked briskly towards Spains room.

A sour taste entered Romanos mouth. All this over a doll? But of course, Spain hadn't seen it as a doll, the crazy bastard really thought it was a young Romano and thus when the real Romano had ripped the doll to shreds, Spain had seen cold blooded murder.

Romano was glad he couldn't see what the Spaniard saw. He wished however, that he had not lost his temper that day. But how could he not? Whilst Spain had confused a doll for the young Romano, he had been unable to recognise the real Romano even as he sat directly in front of the Spainard. That had driven a cold pain through the Italians heart, a cold pain that had directed itself in to anger.

As they approached Spains room, Romano could hear the man screaming. The screams rose and fell, full of pain and sadness and torture. Romano gulped and brushed away the tears that formed.

"Are you okay? You don't have to do this if you feel you can't..." Docter Linn told the Italian softly.

Romano took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm his shaking limbs. "It doesn't matter if I can or can't. I have to."

Nodding, Docter Linn unlocked the Spaniards door. "You have one hour." She told Romano. "Call if he gets out of hand." Romano nodded, he knew the drill from the first time.

As Romano entered, Spain was not sat on the chair waiting for him as he had been the first time. He was sat on the bed, curled up on his side and howling. When Romano heard the door close behind him, the soft click seemed to alert the Spaniard to anothers presence and he looks up from the pool he made in his arms and stares wide eyes at Romano, sitting up sharply. His eyes had become slightly sunken in to the skin, which had become gaut and pale, his frame merely bones and scarce meat. He looked like he was wasting away in both body and mind and that tore Romanos heart to pieces.

"You! Why have you come back? What more can you take from me?!" Spain yelled at him, his emerald eyes becoming moist with tears that would not fall.

"I..." Romano began.

"What?! You, what?! You want to kill me now too? Is that it? You weren't content with murdering a child?" Spain wiped at those unfallen tears, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed as if he were going to get up but never did. "Did you really hate me talking about him that much?! What did poor sweet little Romano ever do to deserve that? I have nothing now, nothing, I might as well just die right now without Romano!"

Romano snapped again and grabbed the Spaniard by the front of his shirt, watching as those wide eyes stopped crying, as if tranfering his tears to Romanos eyes where they did indeed fall.

"I'm Romano!" The Italian screamed at him. "Me, the only one! I am Romano you stupid bastard, are you really that far gone?!"

"H-help! Help!" Spain began to call.

"Look at me! Look at me!" Romano yelled, shaking the Spaniard by the collar and forcing that worn and pale looking face to stare him directly in the eyes. "Can't you see that its me? Can't you see that I'm Romano?!"

"No! You're not Romano! You killed him! You killed Romano!" Spain yelled back as the attending nurses burst in and dragged the Italian out.

"I'm Romano! I'm Romano!"

Romano sat in his car and repeatedly hit his head against the steering wheel until he could taste blood. He felt like his own identity had been ripped away from him. He hated the way he had made Spain cry both times he had visited. Being around the man he loved now only caused the other pain and the intense guilt Romano felt made him want to go just as insane.

He felt as though someone had reached in through his mouth and was kneading his guts in the way he would knead pizza dough. Romano knew that he couldn't go on like this, that he should just move on, that Spain was a lost cause. But he couldn't, he loved Spain with his entire being, heart, body and soul and he would always love him nomatter what happened.

Romano turned the key in the ignition and dried his eyes, looking back at the hospital and daring to believe that he saw Spain in one of the windows, staring down at him. Romano sniffed and turned his eyes back to the windscreen.

With a heavy heart Romano muttered, "Get well soon."

Spain watched the car pull away, pressing his palm against the cold glass longingly as he moaned, "Romano..."