Romano was torn from his sleep by a blood-curdling scream. He had fallen asleep in the chair at the bedside, so Romano was immediately at the screaming man's side.
"What's wrong?!"
Spain didn't answer; he just curled into a tight ball, hands clutching his head, and screamed.
"Damn it, Antonio!" Lovino tried prying the man's hands away from his head so that he could see his face, "I can't help if I don't know what's hurting you!"
"Everything!" Spain gasped; his voice far more hoarse than it had been earlier, "make it stop!"
I would if I could. Romano gave up what he was doing, jumped onto the bed, and pulled the shrieking man into his lap. Spain was shaking so violently it could have been mistaken for a seizure. Rocking back and forth, Romano rubbed his back and arms in an attempt to ease some of the Spaniard's pain.
"Shh, it is okay," he whispered into Spain's still damp hair, "everything is going to be okay. Everything will sort itself out soon. You're going to be fine." He didn't know if he was saying that to make Spain feel better or himself. But it seemed that neither of them believe it – Spain continued to shake and scream, and Romano shed tears.
This lasted for another hour, but to Romano it felt like years. It had only stopped because Spain had passed out from the pain, but Romano didn't move from his position. He continued to hold and rock his beloved as he hummed and sang Spanish and Italian lullabies. This was all he could do; this was the extent of his usefulness. Singing and patting his lover's head was the best he could do. But even that seemed ineffective. Spain continued to shiver and whimper even during his unconscious state. Romano just kept singing and rocking as his heart broke with every plea to make the pain go away; every time Spain begged his people to stop fighting each other.
This went on all day. Spain would wake up screaming, calling for Romano, and cling to him when he climbed into the bed. Romano would hold him, sing, and whisper reassuring words. And then Spain would pass out and begin the cycle all over again.
In between episodes Romano had called Spain's boss again to find out what was going on to cause such a reaction. The people were protesting; riots were happening all across the country; people were vandalizing major buildings and historical landmarks. It was hell. And again Romano was cursing out the messenger, throwing his phone across the room, and collapsing to his knees in tears. He wanted to cry until he passed out, or better yet, until he died; but whenever Spain woke up screaming his name, Romano would remember that he needed to be strong for the one that was in more pain than him. With that in mind, he'd pick himself off the floor and return to his lover's side.
By the time it was dark out the episodes had stopped and Spain was finally able to sleep. It wasn't a peaceful sleep like Romano wanted it to be, but as long as the screaming had ceased he was happy.
Spain's fever had risen and breathing had gotten to the point where he was literally gasping for air. It was time to call for a doctor; just to get something to help him breath. But he was denied that. No doctor was available and none from his country wanted to risk the trek. Romano was scared; he told this to his brother when he called to check on the sick Spaniard.
"I don't know what to do!" The desperate Italian cried, having just finished updating his sibling.
"We'll figure something out, don't give up, fratello."
"I'm trying . . ."
The younger Italian was surprised by his older brother's open attitude. Romano would usually snap at him for calling while he was taking care of Spain, but it seemed that this time really was different. Feliciano was determined to help in any way he could.
"I'll bring up Brother Spain's condition at the meeting next week," he suggested, "maybe someone can help."
"I don't think Spain can wait until next week!" Romano snapped, "He can hardly BREATH right now and I can't get any doctor from here or home to help with that!"
"I'm sorry fratello! I'll try calling for an emergency meeting, but I'm can't promise anything."
"Whatever!" He didn't wait for Italy to respond before he hung up.
Collapsing onto the chair at Spain's bedside, Romano let out a long sigh and buried his face in his hands. He knew it was wrong of him to get angry at his brother, but he couldn't control his emotions anymore. His heart was a roller coaster ride and his brain just as chaotic. His mind kept wondering to the possibility that Spain may not survive the night. He tried to avoid such thoughts, but as time went by it was getting harder and harder to ignore. Romano's pessimistic thoughts were interrupted by a whimper from the bed.
". . . Lovi . . ."
So quiet. So pained. Romano didn't stop himself from crawling under the covers and lay next to the trembling Spaniard. He set to stroking Spain's chocolate brown hair as he hummed more lullabies and held his hand.
There were a few times during the night when Romano would be awaken by Spain squeezing his hand so hard he thought it might break. Obviously from heartless citizens damaging historic monuments. But the pain to his hand was better than the screaming any day. Romano tried staying awake to make sure Spain didn't stop breathing, but the occasional clenching of the hot hand in his own was enough to assure Romano that Spain was still alive. Even if death would be more of a mercy by this point. Romano stopped that train of thought right there.
The next day was better. Spain was breathing better and there was no more screaming. He said he felt only little pain, but not enough to cause too much worry. Romano didn't believe him.
"Really, Lovi, I'm fine." The Spaniard insisted.
You would be smiling if you were, tomato bastard; but instead of saying that, Romano opts to picking up a newly made bowl of soup. "Eat." He held the spoon by Spain's mouth, "you haven't eaten anything in I don't know how many days."
Spain was hesitant, he was afraid his stomach wouldn't be able to handle it. The last time he had food it felt like acid down his throat and burned a hole through his belly. Spain turned his head away from the spoon. "Can I try later?"
Romano frowned at this. "No, you idiot! You need to eat!" He moved the spoon back in front of Spain's mouth.
"I'm just not hungry right now." Again, he avoided the food shoved in his face, "Please, Lovi."
Romano wasn't expecting Spain to be so unwilling to eat. The man was skin and bones! "Just try! Please, Antonio!"
Spain was really reluctant to try putting anything in his stomach, but he didn't want Lovino to worry about him anymore than he already was. He turned back to face the persistent Italian with a small smile. "O-okay . . ."
Sighing with relief Romano guided the spoonful of warm soup towards Spain's mouth.
He opened his mouth to take in the spoon and swallowed the food. Right away Spain was hit with the sensation of something chewing at the inside of his throat as if trying to eat its way out. He choked and coughed; spitting until he was sure he got every bit of the creature out of his body. Spain was shaking and panting as he wiped his mouth.
"I-I'm sorry . . . Lovi . . ."
Romano definitely hadn't been expecting that. It couldn't have been because of the taste. It was tomato soup! Spain's favourite! He frowned again and set aside the soup, rubbing Spain's back in a silent apology and an attempt at helping his body calm down. But that did little as another fit of coughing decided to attack. Romano closed his eyes to keep the tears at bay as he held his Spaniard close.
After Spain had recovered from the attack he lay back against the pillows and evened out his breathing the best he could.
"Sorry . . . Lovi," He managed between breaths.
"Stop apologizing, bastard," Romano held Spain's hand, "None of this is your fault."
"It isn't . . . yours . . . either."
Romano's only response to that was squeezing Spain's hand and brushing the hair out of his face. Now that he could see Spain's bright, green eyes he realized that they weren't as bright as they usually are. Spain's beautiful eyes had dulled, as if the bubbly Spaniard's life was slowly draining away. Romano covered Spain's eyes in a feeble, childish attempt to keep any more of this lovable man's spirit from escaping. A couple tears ran down the Italian's face.
"L-Lovi?"
"It's nothing," he took a deep breath before finishing, "go to sleep."
"S-Si. . ."
Within minutes Spain was asleep again.
HA! TEASING YOU!
I apologize for the extreme delay. I've hit a major bump/pothole of DEATH on the road that is my life, thus preventing me from having any energy to think of anything to be able to complete this in the second chapter. I swear to you it is not going to end here. Just please have patience.
Thank you.
