Hey there~ Two quick things I should mention before you start reading: 1) there will be varying time gaps in-between each chapter and I'll be sure to indicate how much time has passed; and 2) I mentioned in the first chapter that this story was going to be about 6-7 chapters, but there's going to be a change. Since I added a few more chapters than what I originally had written up, there will end up being about 14-15 chapters to the story instead.

Not sure if that matters to anyone, but I just wanted to mention it in case someone's looking at this chapter and thinking, 'wait, she only said there'd be like 6 chapters...it's the 6th chapter so where's the Spamano? Rip off!' XD

"Fuck my life," Romano groused as he frowned up at the ceiling. He was currently lying in his bed as sick as a dog, and he hated it with the utmost passion. His body ached, he felt as if he was on fire yet the chills that kept travelling through him said otherwise, his head pounded like if a jackhammer was digging into his head of cement, his stomach churned in a way that warned him against eating anything since it'll surely toss it back, and, in short, he felt like shit.

He and Feli were having a bit of trouble with some assholes causing chaos led by some asshat name Mussolini and his goddamned Fascist Party, and the result was the two of them getting sick. Unfortunately, his idiot brother was shacking it up with that one country, Germany (some wurst-sucking, damned potato-eater), so he was left alone.

"Fucking Mussolini…fucking world war…fucking German bastard…fucking sickness…fucking life…" A major world war ended not too long ago and Romano had long accepted that with war came casualties, but this was ridiculous; can't his people calm the fuck down and pull themselves together, dammit?!

Grumbling to himself and cursing how hot he was feeling, Romano glanced over at his dresser where a familiar chunk of not-rock was placed. The Italian reached over and grabbed it, pressing it against his red cheek. It felt cool to the touch and he unconsciously pressed it to his other cheek, indulging himself in the brief, mild sense of relief.

Suddenly, he heard something that sounded like footsteps resound in his house and, for a moment, his hazy mind figured that maybe his little brother was back when an obnoxiously cheerful voice rang out, "¡Hola Lovi! ¿Dónde estás?"

Romano stiffened, pushed down this strange sense of giddiness that unexpectedly sprang upon him, and then groaned. Within seconds, Spain poked his head into the other's room and beamed with happiness upon sight of him. "Oh, there you are, Lovi~ I heard you were sick so I decided that it would be good if Boss came by to check up on his little tomate!"

The Italian weakly glared at him and quickly hid the slab of silver under his pillow. If the tomato jerk found out that he still kept it after all these years, then he'd never let him live it down. "Okay, first off, you're not my goddamned boss anymore! I'm my own goddamned country! And second off, what did I say about calling me 'Lovi' or 'tomate'?! That shit does not go down!"

Undeterred, Spain chuckled and invited himself in, plopping down on the bed next to a red-faced, sweaty Romano. "Aw Roma, your face is like a tomato, so cute~ But you seem redder than usual. You must be really sick!"

"No shit, idiota!" Something then registered to him that should've hit him sooner yet was inhibited by his groggy mind. "How the fuck did you even get in my house, you pervert?!"

"The door was wide open," Antonio explained nonchalantly, like if it wasn't a big deal. "I figured you and Feli wouldn't mind if I let myself in." Dammit Feliciano, he must've forgotten to close the goddamned door before he left… Romano mentally grumbled. "Speaking of, where is your brother anyways?"

Lovino attempted to shrug, but it was too much for his aching body. "At that guy Germany's house. I'm sure he's sick too so I probably won't see him for a few days." He narrowed his feverish-looking hazel orbs. "If that kraut screws with that idiot, I'm going to send the mafia on his ass!"

Spain gently chuckled. "Oh, I'm sure he's fine. Gilbert's brother has a good head on his shoulders; he wouldn't dare hurt Feli. You should focus on yourself, Lovi." He then ruffled his hair only to pause at both the wetness, courtesy of his fever-induced sweat, and the heat radiating off of his head. "¡Dios mío! You're so warm! You must have a very high fever! Wait here, I'll be right back!" Without waiting for his former charge to respond, Spain dashed out of the room.

Romano watched him go and rolled his eyes. Wait here…like I have anywhere else to go.

Not too long later, the Spaniard returned with a bowl of water, a towel, and a thermometer. Without a word of warning, he stuck the latter in the other's mouth. Romano's eyes widened, but Spain shook his head. "Keep that in your mouth and under your tongue, okay Lovi?" Too tired to argue, the Italian did as he was told (begrudgingly of course).

Spain proceeded to place the bowl on the Italian's dresser and dip the towel into it. He then squeezed some excess water out of the cloth and gently settled it onto Romano's burning head. Almost immediately the Italian felt a bit of relief from the coolness, and he internally cursed Spain for having that dumb, annoying look of concern on his face.

No words were exchanged as Antonio removed the thermometer from the younger man's mouth. He looked at the reading and frowned. "You have a temperature. Eso no está bien. How long have you been like this?"

"None of your goddamned business!" Romano snapped.

Ignoring that, Spain inquired, "Have you eaten at all today?"

"No…and I don't plan to! My stomach moans like a little bitch!"

The curly-haired brunette pursed his lips before smiling and declaring, "I know just the thing to help mi tomate! Some nice hot tomato soup! That'll be easy on your stomach! Stay here! I'll go make you some!" And with an unusually giddy hop in his step, Span darted out of the room to head for the kitchen.

For a moment, Romano was stunned. Once he regained his senses, he growled in frustration and sunk deeper into his pillow, pressing a hand to the cool towel on his head. Stupid tomato bastard… Sighing in exasperation, Lovino reached a hand under the pillow and grasped onto the chunk of silver, not pulling it out as he waited for Antonio to return. Damned sickness…damned domestic problems…

The rest of the day was spent in a haze where Romano remembered figments of Spain tending to him, never leaving his side. The other coaxed tomato soup into him ("I can feed myself, you bastard!") and had him swallow some aspirin for his fever and for the aches; he even soothingly rubbed his back when the Italian bolted to the restroom and emptied the contents of his stomach. Antonio hummed Spanish lullabies, told him jokes, chronicled some stories that ranged from some of his battles and conquests to some stray cat he found peeking through his garbage last week, repeatedly carded his fingers through his hair to relax him, and just generally kept him company.

Throughout the entire time, Romano tried hard to spit out curses at him, only for them to fall flat or come out half-hearted. Being sick took quite a toll on him and, to his chagrin, he found that he was just too tired and out of it to be his usual bad ass self. He kept insisting that he was fine and that he didn't need some stupid bastard babysitting him. Spain thought otherwise and dedicatedly remained near him, playing nurse. It both pissed off the Italian and got his stomach to flutter with warmth rather than churn with nausea (something he tried to ignore all day).

Eventually, he started getting tuckered out, and he felt his eyes droop without his consent. Spain immediately noticed and smiled fondly at his former charge's efforts to fight off his sleepiness. "You need to rest, Roma. Go to sleep~"

"Like hell I will…" Romano murmured, feeling his body beginning to relax on its own accord.

The last thing he felt before the darkness overtook him was the feel of a pair of warm lips lightly brush over his forehead and a soft, gentle voice whispering, "Sleep tight, Lovi. Te amo~"

But he was fairly positive that he imagined it. Damned feverish delusions…

{~/~/~}

"…What? Where am I?" Spain gradually opened his heavy eyelids and was faced with the view of the ceiling. Has that stain always been there…?

Beside the point, Antonio's muddled mind tried to make sense of where he was and how he got here. It took him a few moments of staring around the room to realize that he was in his room, lying on his bed. How on earth did I get here? The last thing I remember was…actually, I have no idea.

The Spaniard then perceived how his head pounded as fiercely as Hell's wrath itself, and his first thought was that he was hung over. Did I go out drinking with France and Prussia again? I must have, I don't remember anything. However, that theory was knocked aside when he realized that he was feeling unusually warm and that his nose was stuffed up, the latter partially contributing to his throbbing headache.

His eyes widened as the sudden realization struck him. I think I have a cold… It made sense after all: the splitting headache, the bodily heat that threatened to melt him, the haze in his mind, and the clogged up nose all indicated that he was sick. Spain lightly groaned and briefly shut his eyes. His country was currently under a lot of stress and discord; people wanted different things for him and also from him, and they were taking sides.

Well, that explained the unbearable headache. If Spain didn't know any better, then he'd say his country was at a civil war. But that can't be right—things have been decent since WWI ended…not perfect, but decent.

…Okay, if he had to be perfectly honest with himself, things weren't always so great. That world war left a lot of the nations shattered and stunned and struggling to pick themselves up, yet then again, that was normal. War was tough on everybody and, with a war as big as that one, it's no wonder that some of the other countries were getting sick; Romano just recently got over a cold that resulted from a recession, but he got better and the others will too. They'll be back to normal soon enough, right? All they need to do is pick themselves up, brush themselves off, and face the new day with a smile. It had to be that simple…right?

…Then again, all of Europe seemed to be bristling with tension, courtesy of the devastating aftermath of WWI (some cities were ruined beyond repair, not to mention the citizens…), the economic troubles that plagued basically all the countries (Germany and America had it especially bad…), some trouble being stirred up by leaders like that Hitler guy and that Mussolini character, and some remaining friction between the countries after about four years of fighting, killing, and backstabbing. Something in Spain's gut told him that something big was brewing and that it would have a momentous impact on the world—it was set to erupt soon, the brunette could feel it.

Thinking about things like that tended to hurt his stomach so Spain decided to save himself the anguish and tried to think about his current situation. Now that he knew he had a cold (though it felt significantly worse than a regular one…pneumonia, maybe?), Antonio wondered how to proceed in a way that was best for his people. The country was already fragile from war, bringing about the epidemic of recession, and the conflict and nationwide disorder wasn't helping his condition. He had to fix this.

With determination coursing through him, Spain attempted to get up, only for his vision to swim and for the world to spin like a pinwheel at a gust of wind. Choking back some bile, the brunette laid back down and groaned. "Oi vey…"

Suddenly, the door to his room slammed opened and startled him. When he glanced up, he was surprised to see Romano standing in the doorway with a box full of tissues, a small trashcan, and what appeared to be a dripping wet towel. The Italian froze for a moment, appearing surprised to see the Spaniard awake, before he glared. "So you finally decided to get up you jerk!" He then stomped over and roughly planted the trashcan on the side of Antonio's bed and the tissues by the other man's side.

Once he got over his shock, Spain happily beamed and chirped, "Lovi! What are you doing here, mi tomate?! Are you here to see Boss?"

It was so cute how Lovino's cheeks flushed a pretty red when he was embarrassed or frustrated, and today's shade seemed especially radiant today. "No I'm not, tomato bastard! I didn't want to come here by my own free will!" Antonio blinked. "Shut up, I didn't! I was sitting at home minding my own business when one of your stupid guards called me! He told me that he found you conked out in your tomato garden and that you seemed to be running a fever and that you won't be able to attend our scheduled meeting for Friday!"

Friday's meeting…now he remembered: Spain had been excited about going to see Roma so he decided that he should bring some tomatoes as a gift. He recalled feeling just a bit under the weather, but figured that nothing would make him feel better than harvesting his favorite fruit in the whole world. However, his head began to hurt, and he was getting tired and weak all of a sudden…

The rest was a blur so Antonio could only assume that he passed out, one of his guards found him, put him to bed, and called Lovino.

"Of course I then had to drive for over thirteen fucking hours just to get here because taking the train was too damn expensive and it took too damn long," Romano continued to rant, "only to find you unconscious in bed and that you actually were running a fucking fever and that your nose was full of snot and shit so I figured that I had no choice but to stay here and make sure that you don't get yourself sicker because knowing you, you'd be dumb and unlucky enough to make yourself feel worse! So here I am now in your goddamned house even thought I don't want to be and…WHY THE HELL ARE YOU SMILING, JERK?!"

During Romano's adorable tirade, Spain came to realize that the Italian was furious out of concern for him and was probably a bit embarrassed by his own worry for him, showing his previous caretaker that he actually cared for him. Antonio couldn't help but smile at that and he'd hug his tomate had he the strength and if the room would stop moving and making him dizzy and…was there really an ostrich juggling in the room or was he hallucinating that?

"Oh, no reason, Romano. I'm just happy to see you~"

Lovino scoffed and folded his arms over his chest. "I wish I could say the same…actually no, I don't wish it. I'm not happy to see you like this." As if realizing what he just said, the Italian's (dazzling) hazel orbs widened and he turned red. "I didn't mean it like that! What I meant is that I don't like seeing you like this because…because…" he seemed to be struggling for an answer, and Antonio was reminded of the time when his young charge was flustered when Belgium offered to kiss him on the cheek and Chibi Romano stuttered that it wasn't necessary, "because you look pathetic! It's sad even for you!"

Romano appeared satisfied with his excuse, and Spain was in awe of his ex-colony. Soon, he couldn't help but beam with delight. Some things just never change, and he was fine with that. Lovino caught his smile and flushed darker out of both embarrassment and annoyance. He stuttered for a moment before getting frustrated and throwing the towel at him. "Quit smiling like that, it's obnoxious and creepy!"

Spain was pleased to feel that the cloth was soaked with cool water, and he positioned it so that it was on his forehead. "Lo siento. So are you going to take care of Boss, Lovi?"

"What?! Where the hell would you get an idea like that?!"

"It's why you're here, right?"

"…Chigi! Shut up, tomato bastard! Just shut up and don't you dare move from that spot!" And with that, he stormed out of the room in a huff, grumbling to himself. Antonio watched him leave and chuckled. His tomate was so cute—every little thing he did was just absolutely enchanting—and the Spaniard was flattered that the Italian came by to take care of him. Though Spain was feeling crappy (which is an understatement), seeing Romano was already brightening his day.

Eventually, Lovino came back with a glass of cool water which Antonio accepted gratefully. "Alright bastard, I don't exactly know how shitty you're feeling so just tell me what you're feeling, and we'll work from there. But don't think I'm doing this because I want to be here or that I care about your sorry ass because I don't! I know fuckface France and the albino bastard would do a lousy job taking care of you, and I doubt Netherlands will let Belgium near you so it looks like I'm your only real option…and I'm not happy about it, dammit!"

"Sí, sí, I understand, Lovi, and I appreciate you being here~" Spain smiled at him in appreciation, and Romano blushed. "But I'm not feeling that bad. I mean, I've got a little headache, my belly is feeling a bit icky, my entire body is kinda achy, I think I see a talking tomato doing cartwheels near my closet, and I have the snifflies…but I'm alright, Roma, really!"

Romano blinked at him in disbelief when he was presented with a large, happy smile. "You really are a dumb ass aren't you? You just described a fucking cold to me, and a pretty damn bad one at that." When Spain's only response was to brighten his smile, the Italian released an exasperated breath. "Idiota…so since I'm already here, I'm guessing you want me to make you some soup or something."

Spain cheerfully beamed. "That would be nice, Lovi, but maybe later. Right now I want you to tell Boss about how you're doing right now~ ¿Cómo está mi tomate?"

"You're not my boss, bastard! And how many times do I have to tell you that I'm not a fucking tomato?!"

"Could've fooled me with that face," Antonio playfully quipped as he pointed to Lovino's glowing red countenance. "So cu…cu…" the inside of his nose started to tickle and soon he clamored out a loud, "ACHOOOO!"

Romano flinched backwards, startled by the sudden noise, until his surprised expression reverted to a frown. "You sneezed all over me you bastard! I just bought this shirt!"

Spain sniffled and then blew his now-runny nose with a tissue as he gave his former charge an apologetic smile. "Lo siento, Lovi. I'll buy you a new one."

Something seemed to flash in Romano's eyes, but it quickly disappeared as he grumbled, "You can't afford that, idiota, you're in a goddamned economic depression—you're basically poor." Spain thought that over and realized that he was right; since his country was undergoing a civil war, the economy wasn't doing so good, hence the cold/possible pneumonia. However, he didn't let it get to him and shrugged it off with a smile.

Lovino studied him for a moment before sighing in exasperation and muttering, "So, what was that about wanting to talk?"

Antonio beamed and cooed, "Oh yes~ I was thinking we could talk for a while, just to catch up and all! Hearing about your day will make Boss very happy!"

Spain could tell that Romano really wanted to assert that he didn't control him anymore yet seemed to refrain. Instead, he growled, "You're a sap, you know that?"

The Spaniard eagerly bobbed his head and then patted the spot on the bed near him. "Take a seat, Lovi. Let's talk. I feel like it's been forever since I've seen you~" The Italian rolled his eyes yet, nevertheless, took a seat somewhat close to Spain yet not too close that he'd catch his cooties (Romano had just gotten over his own illness recently, and Spain didn't want to bring it back). Soon, the two began chatting about everything and anything and nothing at all.

Despite that Antonio had a throbbing headache that seemed to worsen with just the slightest tilt of his head, talking to Lovino and listening to him talk in turn helped him ignore it. He enjoyed spending time with Roma whenever he could, and if it were up to him, he'd see his tomate every day. They spoke for a while until Romano (begrudgingly) made him some broth and light sandwiches. There wasn't much the former colony could do for him that didn't involve handing him a tissue or giving him some aspirin, yet just having the grouchy, remarkable Italian with him was more than enough to help him get better.

Unfortunately, after a couple of days, Romano had to get back to Italy and Spain was sad to see him go, but grateful that he spent some time with his pequeño tesoro; Lovino even promised (rather reluctantly) that he'd visit sometime ("if it'll get you to stop begging, jerk!").

The Spaniard was sick for a while longer and was restricted to only his room and the bathroom, afraid of getting others sick and was sometimes too tired to move around anyways. He tried to do a bit of work in bed and succeeded sometimes. On one occasion, Spain noticed that his exports to Italy have increased, and it was somewhat alleviating his economy—not by much, but it made a difference nonetheless, and he could tell mainly by how his headache was fading to a dull throb.

Antonio was puzzled because Lovi and Feli needed some help with their economy too, so why increase their imports? Surely it must've made them sick too. To solve this, Spain called up the Italy brothers and managed to get Feliciano to answer. Once he got past the other's bubbly greeting, he inquired about the increase.

It was sure a sign of the apocalypse when Antonio detected a smidge of slyness in Veneziano's tone—the cheerful Italian sounded almost playful, the teasing 'I know something you don't' kind of playful, as he helpfully informed the former conquistador that Lovino decided to purchase more goods from Spain 'because they needed it, dammit' (obviously Romano's words).

Sometime during the conversation, Spain came to a revelation: Romano increased the amount of imports to help him with his economy. The thought overwhelmed the man with joy, and he asked Italy to pass on a word of thanks to his brother before ending the call. Spain wasn't sure what he was going to do to fully express his gratitude and appreciation, but he was determined to think of something rather extravagant.

In the meantime though, he was still too sick to get out of bed, let alone start on some big project (were fireworks too much…?). Spain had to stay in bed for a while until he got his strength back, and at times, it got boring being in the same place all day.

Regardless, with Romano's picture framed up on the wall (put there on his orders), he never felt like a prisoner (with a runny nose and a splitting headache) trapped in solitary confinement—just one look at the picture and he was free.

And to think that the mere thought of the painter of that picture presented him with a whole new sense of boundless freedom, undeniable happiness, and something warmer and deeper that he couldn't quite identify yet.

The Spanish Civil War I was referring to was the one right before WWII; it lasted from 1938-1939. I can only imagine that a civil war for a country could feel like if you were being split in two, so for Spain it'd probably be like a huge headache.

Hooray for some subtle Spamano! I'll be sure to add some more next time, and maybe a bit more ;) Anyways, thanks for reading and thanks for all the support! You guys rock :D

P.S I put up some story ideas 'for sale' on my profile if anyone is interested. It's literally just a bunch of story ideas and prompts that anyone can just take for themselves. So if you have writer's block or if you just want to write something new, check it out for yourself! More details are on my profile :3

Translations:

Spanish

¡Hola Lovi! ¿Dónde estás?-Hello Lovi! Where are you?

tomate-tomato

¡Dios mío!-My god!

Eso no está bien-This isn't good

Te amo-I love you

Lo siento-I'm sorry

Sí-yes

¿Cómo está mi tomate?-How is my tomato?

pequeño tesoro-little treasure

Italian

idiota-idiot

Chigi!-Fuck!