Warning: This chapter is significantly darker than the rest of the fic and contains semi-graphic depictions of violence and mental trauma. Reader discretion is advised, and I promise you the chapter will end on a good note.

Chapter 2: I Want Trees Instead of Gravestones, Nothing to Confess

The wounds on Chirapa's chest would probably heal into silver, puffy scars. Probably. The Inca looked up at Antonio with fierce defiance in his dark eyes. Antonio smiled sweetly.

"Amen," he said, finishing the prayer he had been teaching Chirapa.

Chirapa coughed, and blood dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. "Amen," he repeated. Antonio nodded, still smiling, and drew back his sword. He slammed the hilt into the side of Chirapa's head, knocking the Inca over into the dirt. He turned on his heel and walked back to where his Boss stood, her arms crossed.

"Remember your prayers," Antonio called cheerfully. He heard Chirapa spit a glob of blood onto the ground, and he paused, halfway through a stride. He did not turn around. "Get back to work, savage."

Antonio joined his Boss, and they began to walk amiably together, leaving the bleeding Inca to lie in the dirt. "Good work, Spain," Antonio's Boss said. "Your conquest of the natives is going well."

"Yes, thank you, I think so too," Antonio agreed. "With the Aztecs gone and the Mayans and Incas so sick and weak, we are free to do whatever we want. There are rumors of sightings of a new nation in their territory. I have been trying to get information out of them, but no luck yet. Nevertheless, I will find out about this kid if it kills them."

Antonio's Boss nodded. "When you find this child, take it."

Antonio paused briefly to bow. "Yes, your highness." He jogged to catch up with his Boss, who was moving quickly.

"What is the news of Portugal's progress?"

Antonio bit his lip and laughed bitterly. "My brother has landed far north of the Inca's land. I do not know what he wants up there, but with his sights turned away from New Spain at the moment, we are free to do as we please."

"Good. Make sure your brother does not interfere."

"Yes, your highness."

"What news do you have for me about Romano?"

Antonio almost bit his tongue. He glanced quickly up at his Boss, then turned his head back in the direction they were walking. "W-What do you mean?"

Antonio's Boss shot him a scrutinizing look. "How is he behaving? He is insubordinate. You have had him for about seventy years now. Has his behavior improved?"

Antonio's mind raced. No, it had not. Lovino still resisted most orders, and his chorea continued to prevent him from the simplest of tasks. He was getting better, but not significantly enough for a positive report yet. Still, if Antonio said that, his Boss might force him to give Lovino up, and he was not ready for that. Lovino was like his little brother. "Well, ha, not exactly…"

His Boss narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean by that, Spain?"

"Well, he's a rather difficult child, you see, and-"

"I don't want to hear your excuses, Spain!" his Boss roared. "I want to see progress with Romano! If you cannot get him to do as he should, then we will just have to pass him off to someone else! There is no point in keeping a colony that costs us so much!"

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Antonio said, covering his ears. "I'm trying! Please stop yelling."

"Come here, stupid!"

"¡Ay! ¡Basta! ¡Lo siento!"

Once she had finished beating Antonio senseless, she left him with the orders to get Lovino under control, or else. Antonio had nodded, clutching his stomach. When she had disappeared from sight, Antonio sighed. He was doing his best with Lovino, but he couldn't help but spoil the kid. He was strict with all his other colonies, but Lovino was his exception. He couldn't hurt Lovino. He hardly ever even raised his voice around him, and when he did, he ended up apologizing profusely soon after. He had instilled in him a healthy fear of God, but at what cost? Antonio just wasn't cut out to be the bad guy whenever Lovino was involved. It just wasn't right.

Lovino was, as far as Antonio knew, unaware of the treatment of other Spanish colonies. Antonio did everything in his power to keep that side of him from Lovino, the side of gold-embroidered coats and bloodied swords and decimated native populations. It had come out occasionally, only once or twice, and Lovino had been so frightened that he locked himself in his room and cried for hours. Antonio never wanted him to have to see it again. That was a side of himself Antonio knew he must hide from those who he truly cared about. From Lovino.

That side of himself was one Antonio no longer felt entirely comfortable with. For a long time, it was right, and it was perfect, the power and the gold poisoning his veins like alcohol. There was no thrill as great as holding a sword to the throat of a helpless nation, no drink as quenching as the sound of prayers whispered through tears and hiccups, no sight in the world as beautiful as foreign treasures laying in piles at Antonio's boots, his, all his. It was all-consuming, and Antonio was exultant, heartlessly satisfied by his own authority. The world belonged to Antonio. All of it.

That had been before Lovino. Around the time Lovino had come to live with him, Antonio began to entertain the doubts he had been suppressing for decades. Most of the time he simply pushed them away, but whenever he was around Lovino, he couldn't help but feel guilty about his cruelty. Every day, the doubts grew stronger and stronger. Still, Antonio had to push them back down, put them in the back of his mind. He was the great Kingdom of Spain. He had no time for such soft-heartedness.

He glanced down at the sword in his hand. It was not his preferred weapon, but it was the one that granted him the most speed. He preferred his axe. It was a little too large for him – his body was only that of a fifteen year-old – but it was a part of him, an extension of his body. His axe was the weapon he used whenever he was truly conquering, whenever he was murdering.

The sixth commandment. Thou shall not kill. Was sinning worth bringing sinners to God? Was murdering worth… Lovino's face popped into his mind. He was smiling a rare smile, maybe eating a tomato, his hair rustling in the wind. Antonio gritted his teeth. He had work to do.

He made a quick detour to the kitchens to ingest some liquid courage. It burned the back of his throat as it went down, and washed his doubts from his mind. Then, he went to the armory to replace his sword with his axe. He stopped and chatted with a worker on his way back out, smiling and laughing cheerfully.

"You off to work then, Spain?"

"Yep! Lots to do!"

"Keep up the good work, sir."

"Thank you! Have a nice day!"

Encouraged and re-equipped, Antonio strode back out to the courtyard, unaware of the tiny shadow following him. Chirapa still lie in the dirt, his back rising and falling raggedly. His torn clothes were saturated with blood, brown and crimson. He was still fit to work. Antonio grit his teeth, the smile dropping from his face.

"You! What the hell are you doing? Get up," Antonio roared, striding rapidly towards the Inca.

"Please," Chirapa begged. He raised his head. His face was pale, eyes dark and full of something wild, something desperate and hungry. "Please. Don't do this."

"I ordered you to work, savage." Antonio stood over Chirapa, his axe held behind his back in both hands. "Get up."

"Please. I cannot. Please." Chirapa coughed. Blood pattered into the dirt.

"Get up." Chirapa did not respond, only pleaded silently with his eyes. Antonio gritted his teeth. It had been too many years of this. If the Inca did not cooperate, Antonio was under orders to kill. He sent a sharp kick to Chirapa's ribs. The Inca wheezed and coughed up another glob of blood. "Get up."

He swung the axe around, holding it ready. He wanted to do this. He wanted to do this. If he kept telling himself that, it would be true. It had to be true. He wanted to do this. He had to do this, and he was going to be joyful about it. He was going to do this. He did not hear a tiny voice calling out. He did not hear the tiny cry of, "Stop! Per favore! Stop!" He did not hear the tiny whimper of someone who was witnessing something unspeakable. He did not hear. He wanted to do this.

"Please." Chirapa's eyes welled up with tears. His entire people's history was there, their lives and their families, their religion and their art, their politics, their wars, their essence, it was all there in those eyes. Those eyes that would soon film over and stare without seeing at Antonio's boots. Antonio said a prayer, raised the axe, and brought it down.

"No! Boss!"

The axe hit. He did not hear the thwack. He heard the tiny gasp and the faltering of tiny footsteps. He watched the blood spurt out of the neck onto his boots. The head rolled away, and the Incas saw no more.

"You shouldn't be here, Lovino." Antonio's voice was low. It sounded like the strings of an instrument snapping.

Lovino began to sob. Antonio heard him drop to his knees. He did not say anything, but he wailed. He wailed and he wailed and it was the most heartbreaking, empty sound Antonio had heard in his entire life. The axe in his hands began to shake violently. It clattered to the ground.

"No. No."

He could not turn around. He was not even sure if he wanted to. Lovino simply wailed, kneeling in the middle of the courtyard. This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to see. Antonio fell to his knees as well. He threw his head back, his fists clenched, and he screamed. He screamed, angry, wild, and full of despair until something in his throat cut out and he could not scream anymore, but he did not stop trying. All that came out was a hoarse whistle. He did not see anything for a long time, his eyes fixed on the headless body of the Inca Empire. Of Chirapa.

Lovino shoved to his feet and tore away, and his footsteps pulled Antonio from his trance. Lovino. No.

Antonio leapt up. He had to- to explain, to- to- to- apologize to- to- mourn to hold Lovino to cry and scream and oh God. He had to find Lovino. He sprinted through the courtyard. There were footprints. He did not tear his eyes away from them. He did not think. He needed to find Lovino.

The child had stowed himself away behind a clef in the wall, arms curled around his knees and head pressed to his arms, sobbing. Antonio found him. He tried to speak. He couldn't. No sound came out. Lovino snapped up to look at him anyway, and his face twisted in horror.

"Get away from me! Get away from me!"

Antonio moved his mouth and tongue, and he pushed air through his throat, but no sound came out. Lovino recoiled back, pressing himself as far into the stone wall as he could.

"You monster! You evil, evil monster! Get away from me! Go away! Please!"

Finally, words came. "Lovino. Oh… God…"

Antonio collapsed against the wall, hitting his shoulder hard enough to send jolts of pain through his arm. He clawed with violently shaking hands at his face, tears pouring down his cheeks. A silent scream escaped his throat.

"Get away from me, huh? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Antonio shook his head, his face still buried in his hands.

"You don't know? What the hell does that mean?"

Antonio just shook his head faster, and a sob escaped his throat, choked and broken and too high, split in half by the damage to his throat. "Lovino… My God… What have I done?"

Lovino's face twisted up again. "Assassino!"

Murderer. Antonio was a murderer. He slapped both hands against the stone wall, supported only by his shaking arms. "I can explain… Lovino… Please…"

"Explain, then! You murdered him! You murdered him in… in cold blood! Who are you?"

Antonio shook his head, and the sobs came steadily, ripping from his destroyed throat in bursts. "I have to do this… For my Boss… For my people… For God… I have to do this…"

Lovino sucked in air through his teeth. "You don't have to kill, idiot! God doesn't want you to kill anyone! That's what… that's what you told me! Was that a lie? Was everything a lie? Answer me, goddamnit!"

"It wasn't a lie, Lovi… It wasn't… a lie. I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this anymore. Oh, God. Lovino, what have I done? First the Aztecs thirty years ago… now the Incas… I killed them, Lovi. I thought it was right. I thought it was-" His voice gave out. He choked. "I've been a fool. I've been a drunk fool. Lovino, please, forgive me. I don't want to do this anymore. No más, por favor. No más."

Lovino must have seen something in the monster that had become Antonio. He must have seen some glimmer of salvation, some glimmer of truth, some glimmer of the man he had come to know. He must have clung to some foolish, childlike hope that the real Antonio was not a conquistador, or a murderer, or fearful sinner in the hands of an angry God, but the big, stupid idiota that had taught him to dance, and had called him his little tomato, and had tucked him into bed at night and told him he loved him every day. He must have seen the person Antonio was forced to shy away from being, for he did not run away from his Boss. Instead, he rose to his feet uncertainly, and he wrapped his arms around Antonio.

"You're freaking me out, huh? Get it together, asshole."

"Lovino… Lovino…" He looked down at the child. "I thought it was right… I thought… Oh God. No más… no más… por favor… no más…"

"Who the hell are you?"

Antonio sniffed loudly and studied Lovino's tear-filled amber eyes. He shrugged, and bent down, enveloping Lovino in his arms. "I don't know anymore, Lovi. But I don't want to be him. I don't want to be him. I want to be… I want to be…"

"Jerk bastard Tonio," Lovino supplied. "That's who you can be."

Antonio tried not to sob again. "Si. Jerk bastard Tonio. Oh God, Lovi. What have I done?"

Lovino was shaking, and Antonio was shaking, and they shook together, clinging to each other for dear life. The world was turned upside down, and it was all because of Antonio. It was all because he had been drunk on power. He didn't want that power anymore. He simply wanted to stay home with Lovino and pick tomatoes and dance under the stars. He wanted to put away his axe forever. He wanted to be absolved from the horror he had been living.

"I'm so sorry, Lovino. I'm so sorry you had to see that. I'm so- oh God."

"Shut up." Lovino squeezed him tighter, tears leaking from his eyes. "I forgive you, okay? I think I'm traumatized, though."

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

He did not stop repeating that, not even after they left to go find somewhere quiet and sunny to sit for the rest of the day, and he did not let go of Lovino, not ever. He tugged him into bed with him before the sun even set that evening, still holding him close to his chest, still whimpering, "I'm so sorry. Oh God, Lovino, I'm so sorry." Lovino curled up against Antonio, his tiny fists buried in Antonio's fluffy white bed shirt. He needed the comfort of Antonio just as much as Antonio needed the comfort of Lovino.

"Listen, bastard. I'm only going to say this once, so you better listen, huh? You're not a bad guy, okay? You just did a lot of bad things. But that doesn't make you a bad guy. In fact… ugh… You're actually pretty great. You're really nice to me, and you feed me, and you never make me feel shitty about myself, even though everyone else does because I'm stupid and I can't do anything. And maybe you're too enthusiastic about tomatoes, and you're nice to everyone when you're not maiming them, but you're a pretty great guy, and I… ugh… I like you a lot, okay?" Lovino turned bright red, and buried his face into the sheets. "Okay, I hope you paid attention, jerk!"

Antonio burst into tears again, pulling Lovino closer. "Lovino! That… was so… nice!" In that hollow part of his chest, the part scraped out by his axe every time he struck another person, a dull warmth began to glow. For the first time all day, he did not feel cold. For the first time all day, he was crying not from despair, but from joy.

"I don't know what you're talking about, asshole. It's bedtime, go to sleep!" Lovino flipped over so that he faced away from Antonio. Antonio hugged him close and cried into his hair. "Cut it out, huh?"

"I just… love you… so… much!"

"Well, could you love me a little quieter? I'm trying to sleep here!"

Antonio nodded, and he chuckled. It didn't sound quite right, too hoarse and cracked, but it was okay. Everything was okay. He was done. No more. No more of the horror. He was ending it then and there. No more lives taken in cold blood. No more.

He was not afraid of what he would see in his dreams when he eventually fell asleep that night. He need not fear. He had Lovino. Lovino. The sunlight. For the first time in a very long time, he did not have any nightmares, and he smiled as he slept. There would be no more nightmares. Never again. Oh, God. Never again.

Chapter Title from: Big Houses by Squalloscope