L'Italia di Lovino
Part IX
Rating: T
Warnings: Language
Hetalia does not belong to me, so please don't steal the little that I do own.
A/N: PLEASE READ U GAIZ. I've got a few things to get off my chest…first of all, I am really, REALLY sorry it took this long to get this chapter up. There are a lot of reasons and excuses as to why I didn't update, but I'll digress. Second of all, I realize that up to now I've seemed friendly, spineless, and buddy-buddy with all my reviewers, so I regret to inform you that I do not appreciate whiny, obnoxious demands that I update. Don't get me wrong, I love and appreciate reviews, but when someone reviews with nothing but, "Hey you know what you should do? UPDATE. SOON. Cmon man do you hate us or something?" I'm ready to rip out some theoretical throats. I'm fine with people asking me to update (in fact I think it's a good thing, it tells me people still want to read this story), as long as they have something else to say. I'd just like you to say at least ONE thing about the story if you're going to review. I do believe this is the point of reviewing. I've thought about disallowing anonymous reviews, but I realize that would be pretty pointless for such a small problem and I do get a lot of nice anon feedback. So please, whoever you are, for the love of God stop giving me these reviews. I have to thank It's a Quirk for their lovely message that made my day and re-reminded me that I do have lots of awesome readers. Thanks to those of you whose reviews made me smile! Sorry for the rant, but I was in a really bad mood when I read those updating reviews and they certainly didn't help. And to the anon(s) who left those reviews, I apologize for sounding bitchy, but you caught me at the wrong time. I hope this doesn't keep you from reviewing a bit more thoughtfully in the future.
Time slowed in Spain's mind, large rain droplets lazing their way down. When one splashed on the back of his neck, he scrambled into the vehicle and slammed the door shut.
"What do you mean? How?" he asked breathlessly.
"I've…I've been thinking about it." Carlito didn't want to make Spain aware of Romano's constant pain. He didn't need to know. That was something for Romano to confess. "But anyway…You told France, but does England know about your dreams?"
"Hmm…No, I only told Francis. Why?"
Carlito threw his hands into the air impatiently. "Why? This could mean something! I don't know much about spirits, but maybe Romano was trying to tell you something!"
Tell him something? With dreams of blood and sex? Antonio shook his head. What would Lovi be telling him? "Well…I did have them while sleeping next to him…So I guess that might make sense…?"
"Exactly!" The Filipino nodded as Spain pulled out of his driveway. "So did you have any other dreams?"
Antonio opened his mouth to say no, but a sudden thought struck him. "Well…yes, actually. At least, I think it was a dream. I don't know. I thought it woke me up, but maybe it was just the end of my dream…."
"What was it?"
Spain sighed. Remembering gave him a strange sensation. His throat tightened, his heart became heavy, but most of all…he felt a burning, unfamiliar anger. "Everything was the same as when I went to sleep. I was sitting in a chair next to the bed. But…Lovi wasn't lying down. He was reaching for me and crying, but something, maybe someone, was keeping him from getting to me. The weirdest part about that dream was my eyes were open the whole time. I was tired, but I know I didn't go back to sleep after that." He looked at Carlito, whose eyes were wide, dark chocolate orbs.
"Wait. Does that mean Romano already has woken up once?" Carlito asked. "Because that doesn't sound like a dream to me."
"Um, maybe. I don't know," Spain said, sounding distracted. Lovi woke up? Why didn't he stay awake? Maybe this means he'll wake up soon again! His excitement built up, and before he knew it, they were buying plane tickets for the 12:30 flight to London.
"What happened to him when you were waking up?" Carlito asked, clearly hoping they were getting somewhere with this. Juanito Ecarma's payment was completely forgotten.
"He just kind of slid back down as if he were being forced to sleep," Antonio said as they took their seats, not having to be bothered with storing any baggage overhead.
"But what was holding him back?"
Antonio glared at the seat in front of him, green eyes turning acidic. Carlito's breath caught—that predatory look that he'd known well when he was younger. It frightened him, even if he knew Spain was no longer like that. His anger once used for power was now a parental vengeance, which was probably much, much worse.
His response, clipped and biting, was simply. "Whatever it is, I'm going to find out."
The passengers of the 12:30 flight to London had an eerily uncomfortable trip.
[/]
England shut his phone with an elongated sigh and dropped wearily onto the couch. He hadn't been home from the funeral for long, and already he was expecting company.
Over the phone, Spain had sounded a bit intimidating. England could only assume this had something to do with Romano, but then again, what else did Spain ever talk to him about nowadays? With no chance to reject the visit on account of Spain and the Philippines having arrived in London five minutes ago, he supposed he had to talk to the pair who each held a strong distaste for him. How wonderful.
The doorbell rang sometime within the next hour, and England awkwardly welcomed his guests they quickly declined his really very polite offer of a snack or drink (much to the Brit's annoyance) and settled themselves in his living room.
"What seems to be the problem, Spain?" England directed his attention to the elder of the two, which always proved to be a great source of irritation for the younger nations.
"I have some information that may help us figure this out. At least, that's what Carlito says," Spain stated, glancing at the younger for affirmation.
"Hm? And what's that?"
"Well…um…you see…"
"I don't have all day. What the bloody fuck is it?"
And what was it? He wasn't exactly sure. Carlito thought there was something important about his dreams, that maybe Romano was trying to reach him. What help was that?
The trio sat in silence as Arthur and Carlito stared at the Spaniard, waiting for a response. England was beginning to doze off when Carlito smacked Spain's arm none too gently. "Just tell him your dreams and I'll explain it!" he said.
Spain's mouth formed a comprehensive "o" and he gave England a version of his dreams as close to the one he'd told to Carlito as he could. At the same time, he rubbed his offended arm. It's probably going to bruise by tomorrow morning, he pouted to himself.
Carlito nodded and picked up where Antonio had ended. "I…I don't know, this is just a thought mine, but do you think maybe Romano is trying to tell him something? Or is all this just Spain's mental problems?"
"Ay…"
"Interesting…" England stood slowly and walked to a large bookshelf that took up much of the west wall, pausing to weave over its contents. He pulled out his selection—a rather modern-looking hardcover, Spiritual Encounters. "It could be." England flipped through the index until he found what he was looking for and nodded. "Yes, it's possible in our situation. There might be a connection between your unconscious mind and Lovino's spirit."
Spain opened his mouth again as if to say something, but shut it when he realized he had no idea what.
"What's Romano trying to say?" Carlito asked. The Brit only shrugged in response.
"They could be violent and lustful afterthoughts, I suppose. I haven't read much of this book and I'm no expert on the subject, so I can't interpret dreams. Your guess is as good as mine."
Spain sighed and buried his face in his hands. "So what are we supposed to do?" He glanced up at England, whose unnaturally large eyebrows were furrowed in…concern? Confusion? Concentration? "Inglaterra…If you know something, tell me," Spain said gravely.
England clicked his tongue. There was something he'd heard about once, from one of his fairies, but he'd never gotten around to trying it before. But could he trust the Spaniard not to screw it up? "Well…"
"Arthur, por favor…I will do anything, honestly. I want to do something about this. I want to try. I can't just sit around while he could die at any second. If you know anything I can do, tell me. It's my fault he's hurting. Please, Arthur. Let me fix this."
Arthur studied Antonio in earnest: eyes steady, hands clenched on each of his legs, dark bags under his eyes, messy hair…determination.
And he knew Spain. The dense idiot would do anything to get his way—especially if it involved protecting a certain henchman. England nodded to himself in certainty; if he told Spain he would have to sail to the edge of the earth to find Romano, he would do it. The damned fool.
"Yes, I…I do know something we can try, if you two really do have a connection. We'll have to read up on it a bit more, of course. But if we can get you from your dream into Romano's mind…we can potentially lure him out. But…"
"But…what?" Spain's eyes widened. This was good. This was progress. This was something he could do.
"But…Only if he's willing to go."
Spain nodded nervously. He knew he could not force Romano out of his coma if he didn't want to come back. He needed to find the right words and finally show Romano the love he so desperately needed.
There was a lot of thinking to be done, and not nearly enough aspirin in the world.
[/]
"What are you guys trying to do? Inception?" Leave it to Alfred to make a reference to a movie Spain had never seen. Arthur rolled his eyes.
"No, Alfred. It's not the same. Spain is going into Romano's mind through his own dream. There's only one dream involved, you cinephilic twit." He snorted as the American stuck his tongue out.
"Whatever. I didn't ask you. Anyway, what are you gonna try? And how the hell are you going to convince him to come back? No offense, but Romano's one stubborn bitch."
"Alfred!"
"Hey, I'm just stating facts!"
It would not have mattered anyway, as Spain was staring aimlessly at the cream-colored walls of the meeting hall. He was deep in thought, and had been for the duration of the entire world conference. They were the last three nations left in the building, but were soon to be joined by Prussia and France, who had offered to grab something quick to eat. Nobody besides Prussia was quite desperate enough to agree to America's McDonald's plan, and really, Prussia just wasn't used to the boring, serious environment. France had joined him to ensure the absence of greasy fast food, and the planning began once again.
"Tonio! Earth to Tonio! Did you not notice America calling your vegetable of a boy toy a bitch, or more importantly, the return of your awesome best friend?" Prussia flicked the Spaniard's nose as France dropped the bag of food on the table. Spain blinked once and smiled until he registered Prussia's words. His eyes narrowed and he turned to America, who shrugged.
"Hey, man, chill. Just trying to get you out of that stupor. No disrespect; he can be pretty cool," America said.
The Spaniard rubbed his temples and squeezed his eyes shut. He was too tired to argue. "Ah, sí…Dios…I don't know what to say. My mind is completely blank…I just can't focus on telling him how I feel if he's not here."
France laughed heartily, draping an arm around Spain's shoulder. "Listen, mon ami, this is not something you can plan. Let me ask you a question. How do you feel right now?"
Antonio pursed his lips and searched his thoughts. "Um…sad…frustrated…lonely."
"Right. And how would you feel if, say, he walked into this very meeting room at this moment?"
He perked considerably. "Happy, of course! Excited, relieved, grateful as hell, really really really happy and glad and—"
"Yes, yes, we've got the point. Now, you see?"
"…Uh…no."
France smiled a knowing smile and released Antonio, folding his arms. "Well, my idiotic friend, in which scenario did you feel more confident of yourself?"
"The second one, I suppose." He ignored the friendly insult. He was used to it, and besides, this was much more important.
"So in which situation do you think you could find the words you're looking for?"
"O-oh…Oh…Oh! I get it! When I see him, I'll know exactly what to say, right? Thanks, Francis! That really takes a load off my shoulders!" Spain cheered and, for a reason unknown to the other four men, skipped out of the room in elation.
"Just try not to get too excited! You'll scare him off!" France called after him. He desperately hoped Spain had heard. The brunet tended to listen to advice, but never really paid attention to what the actual root of the problem was. But France did have some faith in Spain's comprehensive abilities.
"Why the bloody fuck did that oaf just leave?" England asked incredulously. They each stared at the doorway grimly.
America picked up his and England's food and steered the smaller blond out of the room. "Don't worry, Iggy. He's a big boy; he can figure these things out on his own. See you guys!" he called to the paler two of the Bad Touch Trio.
"That's not what I meant!" England huffed, pushing America's hands away. "I meant, I still have to tell him how to even enter Romano's mind—"
"It's fine!" America cut him off. "Let him think love'll give him all the answers or some shit like that. For now, at least. He's the country of passion; he feeds on that sentimental crap."
England snorted. "When did you become such the romantic?" he said, half-sarcastically. He couldn't tell if he was annoyed or surprised.
Alfred laughed and pecked the elder on the cheek. "When? Baby, I was born this way!"
"Oh, shut up." He could barely shove the really-not-that-much-taller-honestly American.
"You totally set that up yourself."
"Someone just needs to stop watching so much television!"
"That's more like the radio, in this case."
Arthur flushed in irritation and definitely not embarrassment. "Shut up!"
[/]
Green-brown eyes wandered the white abyss with a mind as blank as a new slate. Pointless, numb thoughts surfaced occasionally. Why wasn't he getting hungry? Where did this Spain, the one in his coma, come from? When the hell was he going to get out of here? He couldn't imagine going back now. But a tomato or pizza or some wine would be nice…wouldn't it? He couldn't tell if he actually wanted them or if this was a desperate attempt to feel whole.
Spain the pirate had walked off some time ago—he could never keep track of the time passed. The Italian wondered vaguely where he possibly could have gone, and if he even cared.
"Of course you care. You adore my company."
Romano started at the feeling of hot, sticky breath ghosting down his neck. He whipped around to glare at the pirate—no, he was a conquistador again. Romano didn't bother to question his wardrobe changes anymore. "What the fuck are you talking about? And since when could you read my mind?"
The conquistador smiled. He was in a bright mood, since he was coming soon. His connection with Romano was becoming stronger. "Tsk, tsk, Lovi. What have I said about language?" he lectured, ignoring Romano's questions.
"To hell with my…Wait…Have you been able to read my mind this entire time…?" He flushed. He'd had some…unvirtuous thoughts in his "stay" here. None of them, of course, involved Spain. At all.
"Ah, querido, you worry too much. No, I haven't had the privilege of delving into the depths of your oh-so-complicated thought processes." Romano raised an eyebrow as Spain's smile shifted into a smirk. "But who's been calling who a pervert? No wonder Spain was having those dreams."
Romano was about to argue, but he quickly caught on to the Spaniard's last sentence. "His…dreams? How do you know about his dreams?"
"Oops, looks like I've said too much," he mock-gasped, covering his mouth scandalously.
A look of panic struck Romano's face. Why did this bastard always give him a clue and keep him hanging? Why, when he felt he could get that much closer, when he thought he could really—
"No, don't cry, Lovinito…You want to know, right? Why I'm here, why I'm helping you, how I know his dreams…" Spain placed a comforting hand on the smaller man's shoulder.
"I-I'm not crying!" he shouted, taking a moment to rub at his eyes. "But…yeah…I want to know," he muttered.
The conquistador's next actions only served to confuse Romano further. Spain removed his hand from the Italian's shoulder. He pointed to Romano's head, "Here…," and drew an imaginary line to his heart, "…and here. That is where I come from, why I'm here with you, and how I know."
"That tells me jack shit!" Romano cried out in frustration after a few moments of contemplative silence. "Please, stop messing with me! I can't fucking stand it! God, you've even reduced me to begging! I just want to go home, dammit!" He burst into tears and uselessly beat his fists into Spain's chest. He finally gave in within seconds, burying his face into the Spaniard's jacket. The conquistador could only purse his lips sadly. He could not tell Romano because Romano didn't know the answers himself, and Spain didn't know, and it only grew more complicated. All he could do was guide and comfort. He had even gone as far as to let Romano see Antonio, but even this was stretching his abilities. Of course, his abilities were only based on Antonio's and Lovino's will power. Both nations were aching. Romano was running out of hope, and it was taking a huge toll on the conquistador. He could not lose this battle.
At that moment, an indistinct rip tore gently into the sky, but Romano was in no condition to notice. Spain, however, looked up in mild surprise. He smiled and swallowed down the lump in his throat, letting a single tear slip down his tired face. "No más lágrimas, Lovinito…Soon we'll both be whole again."
A/N: Next chapter will most likely be the last. It seems weird to be ending it so soon...I've been writing this for over a year, man. With summer break coming up soon, I'll be able to finish it much faster. Thanks to all of you who are sticking with my awful updates, and please review when you get the time!
No más lágrimas – No more tears
