A/N: Hey y'all! Okay, so Teenage Wasteland is slow in coming, and for that I'm sorry. This is to keep my creative juices flowing. Have fun reading! If there's a nation you want a letter from, PM me or *review*

Romano slammed his door, anger making his blood boil. That stupid potato bastard was sleeping with his brother. He had suspected it all along. Seventy years after the war had ended, and the two were still inseparable. Even while the rest of the world had talked shit about Germany behind his back and taxed him until he was no longer a threat, his stupid baby brother had coddled him. Even now, Italy continued to worship that Nazi bastard like he was God himself.

"Romanito! Are you okay?" Great. Now Spain was on his ass.

"I'm fine! I don't want to talk to you, bastard!" Since he and his former boss were alone in the house, there was no one else Romano could vent his anger at. Why was it always like this? Couldn't that damn bastard get it through his thick skull that Romano said a lot of shit that he didn't mean, and sometimes he just needed to be alone?

"You sure? Want some churros?" Spain called up the stairs again. His words made into a soothing rhythm by that Spanish lisp that Romano simultaneously loved and hated.

"GO AWAY BASTARD!" Romano roared. He stood in the middle of the room, face flushed and hands balled into fists. How many times had he stood like this over the last thousand years? So many, it probably couldn't be counted. He seemed to always find himself in Spain's house, even after he was reunited with his brother.

Spain had given him his first rosary, and taught him prayers in Spanish. He had given him his first tomato, and though at first he had pretended to hate them, they soon became his favorite food. That dense bastard had even influenced his language. He spoke Italian, dammit, but that damn Spaniard's words still infiltrated his vocabulary sometimes. That sneaky bastard pretends to be innocent, but he's as bad as Germany and jerk-Russia combined.

"Sure? I don't think you should be alone when you're all mad. Want to come down so we can talk this out?"

Romano's fingernails were digging into his skin. They were probably going to draw blood soon. Then the over-protective bastard would think he was cutting himself. Who the hell cuts their palms? It fucking burns whenever you touch something. Romano would know, he had faint scars from all the times he had balled his fists like this.

"Roma? Answer me, por favor. Unlock your door." Great. The shitface was at the top of the landing, right outside his damn door. Spaniards have no concept of personal space.

"Come on, you do this all the time. Why not talk for once? Why do you hurt me like this? I love you!"

Shit. Guilt-talking. That bastard really knew how to pull at his heartstrings.

"ROMANO!" Geez that guy had some lungs. No wonder Romano yelled all the time, he had learned it from him.

"I'm going to get my axe and break this lock." Deep breaths, that's all he had to do. One, in then out. Two, again, deep breaths, just keep breathing. Three, no, don't hyperventilate. Four, you're loosing it. Five, almost to ten, easy, easy. Six…aw fuck it!

"GO DO THAT, DUMMY BASTARD CRAP! SEE IF I CARE, I'LL JUMP OUT THE WINDOW!" …and he was reduced to calling Spain what he called him when he was just a colony. Dummy bastard crap, stupidest insult of all time. Add that to the useless threat of jumping out the window. Sure, he was three stories up. That would kill a human and probably make Spain pause out of fear of Romano hurting himself. There was just the tiny problem of Romano landing on his feet and running away at an inhuman speed, with Spain tailing him holding a big shiny axe from his pirate days. Oh, they joys of being a nation.

His inner musing was interrupted by the screech of metal on metal. He turned to see the sharp silver edge of a certain nation's axe slicing its way down the crack of his door.

"S-spain? What the hell are you doing?" With each word, his voice rose. By the end, it was a half-yelled sob.

"I'm…coming…to get…you." The words were a grunted mess, shaking with effort. Romano's eyes widened, he was serious.

"I'm jumping out the window!" Romano screeched. At that moment, the axe smashed through the lock, slamming into the wooden floor. The door banged open, revealing a panting Spain. His eyes were burning with a green flame, and the wetness on his cheeks was a combination of sweat and tears. He jerked his arms upward, hoisting the weapon out of the wood with a horrible crack.

"…you…aren't…going any…where." Spain closed his eyes briefly, lowering his axe a little bit. Once he got his breath back, he continued in Spanish. "Siéntate, ahora. We are going to talk."

"No!" Romano leapt for the window, but his former boss caught his arm. Damn, he had good reflexes.

"I said sit. Now. Don't pretend you don't understand." Romano pulled against his iron grip, the fingers of one hand reaching uselessly for freedom. He didn't want to talk, dammit! He wanted to get the fuck out! "Listen to me! Please! Come on Romano, it doesn't have to be like this."

"You're the one who got your damn axe out!" Spain smiled sheepishly.

"Lo siento, old habit." This guy was seriously bipolar. Romano guessed having a long history did that to you. Look at Russia for instance…no, he didn't really want to think about what had gone on in that guy's past to make him so…insane. "But really Romanito, what's wrong?"

"It's hard to talk with you pointing that thing at me, dammit!" Romano cautiously pushed the tip of the axe away from his face.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Truce?" Spain let the axe slip carelessly to the floor, where its clatter made Romano jump. The former pirate held out a hand. His former underling took it reluctantly, giving it a firm shake like Grandpa Rome had always taught him.

"Truce." Spain's smile would have blocked out the sun, if it were shining. The day was a strange one at Spain's place, being cloudy and cold. A small smile of his own tugged at Romano's lips. Spain was here; everything was going to be all right.

A calloused hand traced Romano's cheek, wiping away a tear he hadn't even noticed was there. Now that he wasn't holding an axe, Spain looked a lot less scary. His economy currently sucked, just like the rest of the world's. This resulted in dark circles under his eyes, and a faint tightness to his smile. There was a smudge of dirt on his nose, and more under his fingernails. He had been working in the garden, obviously.

"Cut it out, your hands are freezing." Romano swatted him away. "Were you even wearing a jacket? It's cold as shit out there."

"Aw…how cuuute! You care about me!"

"No I don't, you dumbass. I just know that you're going to whine and moan and generally be a pain in the ass if you get sick. You're going to call me because you have no friends and I'm going to have to come and mother you. That doesn't sound like a fun weekend to me, thanks." Spain's smile dimmed a fraction of a watt.

"I have friends!"

"Prussia's your drinking buddy, that doesn't count. France only likes you because you have a nice ass." Romano blushed as the last bit slipped out. Spain looked at him in surprise.

"Do you think I have a nice ass?" He looked for all the world like a teenager with an inferiority complex. His hopeful green eyes widened, and his head cocked to the side as he waited anxiously for an answer.

"Bastard, you can't fool me. You learned the complement fishing bit from France." The blinding smile was back. Spain wrapped his arms tightly around the Italian, like he was some over-grown puppy.

"You are so smart! Oh don't deny it, you are!" Romano felt his face heating up. He worked his hands up to Spain's lovely, firm, chest, and shoved against him with all his strength.

"Geddoff." He muttered, too exhausted for any more yelling. Spain seemed to realize that, and allowed himself to be pushed away. He sat across from Romano; crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his thighs, chin in hands.

"So, tell me what all this anger is about, sí?" Romano chewed his bottom lip, thinking. There were a lot of things to be angry about, really. His brother's taste in men was what had initially set him off, but as he thought about it, he realized it was bigger than that.

"N-nobody l-likes m-m-me." Was his final answer. It was pathetic, really. But then, he was pathetic. He was a pathetic, no good, short-fused, poor, untalented half of a country. Spain continued to look at him, trying desperately not to smile. His self-control was infuriating. Romano sighed deeply. "Are you going to say anything?"

"Yes. I was going to say that I like you." Spain had evidently grown tired of keeping a straight face, and his smile was like a lighthouse on a rocky shore. "You're my adorable tomato."

"Why the hell would you call someone a tomato? That's really dumb." Spain sighed lightly, raising his eyebrows.

"I feel like we've had this conversation before." Romano's response died on his lips as he was engulfed in yet another hug. "What can Boss do to make you smile again?"

"Let go of me." Romano struggled in his arms, his face squished against Spain's chest. The smell of incense from Mass that morning still lingered in his hair. Romano's hands slid into the tangled curls, and he yanked as hard as he could. He felt Spain's laugh bubble in his chest at that. Did the man feel no pain?

"What was that, Romanito?"

"I SAID LET GO!" Spain laughed again and complied, letting Romano slide to the floor.

"Okay, okay. But seriously, what will make you happy?"

"Other than you leaving me alone? Because that probably won't happen until I die and go to Heaven." Spain clicked his tongue.

"I'll follow you." His eyes had that funny look in them again, the one that he probably learned from France.

"Okay. Why don't you crawl to every nation and beg them to write me an apology letter. I would say one for every decade, but your tiny little brain probably can't remember all that." Romano glared at Spain, who was still grinning like an idiot.

"Su deseo es mi orden." With that, Spain jumped up and ran out the door, only to come back two seconds later to grab his axe. Romano watched him go with rising dread. What had he gotten himself into?

Translations:

"Siéntate. Ahora." - Sit. Now.

"Lo siento" - I'm sorry

"Su deseo es mi orden" - Your wish is my command