Story: Don't Help Me; I Can't be Fixed [As I said I would!]

Summary: Italy Romano is convinced he can't be fixed. The idiot, Spain, his annoying brother, Italy Veneziano, and even the macho potato head and his brother, say otherwise. Why is that? Why can't he understand why they say they care? They don't, do they? And even if they do, what does it even mean to him...? Is there really no way his heart could for once be 'happy'...?

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia/ APH. I'm such an abomination...

Warnings: Self harm, possible touchy topics, anxiety, and depression. Slow build.

Note: The first part of this is a dream, so it will seem a little... OOC.

"Damn it all...!"

Little South Italy cursed aloud, trying so hard not to cry. Why did he always manage to mess things up when he was only trying to do something good. If it wasn't knocking over one of Spain's bookshelves, then it was standing his carpet with soup, or... or this...!

He had tried to catch it, he had, but it it slip right through his hands, shattering into pieces on the floor, damn thing...!

Tears welled up in the southern Italians eyes, finally streaming down his face. Spain's vase; one of his most treasured items. Crap, he was going to get it big time!

"Stupid vase! I'm not even allowed to be able to clean that?! It shouldn't have even been able to fall in there! I guess they just wants it that way, huh...?! Stupid crap...!" Fresh and hot tears streamed down his face, as he kicked a large vase shard against the wall. Upon seeing that it didn't even break, he was absolutely sure the heavens were mocking him, right now, and it utterly frustrated him.

"Fuck you, stupid crap you were sure willing to break just a minute ago...!", he shouted, picking it up.

"I-" his heart skipped a beat, and all anger immediately subsided within him, as he suddenly heard the front door close shut. He was immediately afraid (not ashamed) to face Spain, but even though he did feel frustrated, and anxious and irritated, downdeep, but oh so scared, as he did genuinely feel bad for breaking Spain's favorite vase; it had been something the older man had had for years now. He would be so angry when he found out, and... hurt.

"Roma-chan~ I'm home~!" The Spaniard's voice chirped from in the kitchen.

He hated those playful Japanese honorifics that Spain had picked up on, especially now. He didn't deserve them.

What should he do? What was he going to say? Oh, God, what was he doing...?!

"Romano- woah... What... What have you done to my vase...?"

"I-I...!" the little nation stammered, turning around to meet the older nation's stunned expression. "S-Spain...! This is all your fault! Why the hell would you ever entrust me with cleaning anything, in the first place?! This happens every time I do, and you fucking know it! I-I'm really sorry I broke your vase, but I don't even care if you don't forgive me...! But I tried to catch it, but it still fell! I swear!" He exclaimed, before just running about the room, and leaving Spain just standing there, baffled, and, in Romano's mind, seething, as most people probably would be.

Inside Romano's room, ran a crying southern Italian, as he slammed the door, locking it behind him, and threw himself onto his bed, crying into his pillow, his body shaking harshly with tears, as silent screams of pend up depression, anger, and frustration all of sudden came out right then and there. "Every damn time I try to do anything, good or bad, everything around me always seems to get broken...! It's not fair! It's not my fault that I'm like this, is it?! I didn't ask for this...! Why can't I be like more like Feliciano, who everyone likes?! Actually, no, I don't want to be like him... I want to be accepted for being me, but nobody could ever like a horrible screw-up, like me who's always to dragging people down with me. Curse you, Feliciano! Screw Holy Rome...! Fuck that bastard Spain and screw 'Fratello' Francis, too, and even Prussia, and all of those bastards...! Damn them all!"

And... more than any of them, curse himself... Damn him...

"...Why am I like this?! Why can't I stop crying!"

"Romano..."

He froze. It was Spain. He'd heard him crying.

"Romano. Wake up."

He didn't want to say anything. He was afraid to, but not...?

"Romano...! Wake up!"

...

"Huh? Spain...?" The Southern Italian looked around at his surroundings, and saw Spain there, sitting over him with a worried, but slightly curious, expression. After somewhat separating his 'dream' from the world as it was now, annoying tears welled up in his eyes, and he just cried. Why, he didn't even know...

"Hey. What's wrong...? Roma? Did you have a bad dream...? Will you tell me about it...?"

Definitely not.

"No, it's nothing. I'm fine. Don't we have some stupid meeting today...?"

"Si. We do in about four hours."

Right. Now he definitely remember. There was a world conference taking place in Venice Italy today, so Spain, had went and begged him to stay over at his place because he was insisting some annoying crap about 'not liking hotels when he could stay a house instead'...

It wasn't like he would admit it, but in truth, it kind of felt good to have someone at his house for a change, after so long and all those years of utter silence in his hours..., but again it wasn't something he would dare to admit to Spain or anyone, even himself fully. He just wasn't a huge fan of it being quiet in bad way, was all...

And Spain was honestly the best distraction from it available. No, it didn't like the fact that he was using him something like that. If only he could connect with people in a normal way.

"Oh. Well, anyway, I'm gonna get up. Can you let me get dressed...?" He muttered, a bit irritated with that revelation, looking away.

"Sure." Spain smiled, still a little worried, nonetheless, before he went ahead and stood up, leaving him to himself.

That was when he finally got up, pulling the covers off of himself, a gazing down at his arms to reveal both of them to be covered in sloppy bandage gauze wraps. Making his way over to his door, he quickly locking it before Spain would have eventually had the chance to come back in there.

Throwing on his usual dress coat, he readjusted his bandages, content enough then, before he made his way to view himself in the mirror in his bathroom, only to scowl at himself, and the shape of his reflection. "Damn it, I look even worse than I normally do..."

Today was gonna be a bad day. He could already feel the oncoming stress and he hated it...

He already knew he was in hell, either way, though, no matter how you looked at it or put it...

Hell he was a pessimist, after all. Not that he had ever been able to prevent it. Nor did he want to care to, either. It was pointless, considering how hard and much he had tried over and over and over again to 'look at bright side', like his brother would say. How irritating, first thing in the morning...

~ End of Chapter

A/N: What did you think...? I did say I would write this, so, yeah... Here it is or at least a start. Not much depth, yet. But... there will soon enough... Sigh, I just wanted to get this story started... :P