Just a head's up, you need to watch "Hetalia Paint It White" to understand this chapter...and also because that movie is a freakin' delight~
P.S Although I fully intend to update next month, I won't be able to exactly a month from now. I'm taking a family trip to Colorado for the 4th of July weekend, so expect a new chapter maybe a week or two after that.
Lately, it's been difficult for Romano to take a proper siesta. More often than not, he's been woken up by a ringing phone or his chatty brother and his garlic-smelling Dutch ovens. Sometimes, he was even so busy with national affairs or going out with Spain that he didn't have time for one.
That being said, red flags should've been raised when Romano managed to take a nice, long siesta, uninterrupted, one June day.
After having a fantastic meal of lasagna and ravioli for lunch and having a deep, dreamless sleep, Romano woke up to a quiet house. Though he and Spain didn't have a date until the weekend, he was sure that at least his dumb-dumb brother would've woken him up by now.
So, though it was strange to awaken to a quiet house, it wasn't unwelcome.
Romano rolled the kinks out of his neck before throwing his shirt and pants back on. He headed into the kitchen for a glass of iced coffee and debated whether or not he should put on the A/C. He mused over the house bills, sipping his coffee, before he took note over just how quiet everything was.
Even when Veneziano was hanging out with the potato breath, Romano was still accustomed to the lively noises of their neighborhood. After all, Italians were known for being quite expressive and vibrant.
There was none of that now. Romano thought that was strange as he forwent the A/C and grabbed his phone from where it was plugged into the wall. He was stunned to see multiple messages and alerts.
Most of them were from his bosses, although some of the nations apparently tried to get ahold of him, too. Romano was used to getting messages from Spain, Veneziano, Canada, Netherlands, and Belgium, but he was surprised to find that he was a part of a group message. From what he could tell, Iceland had made the group chat and was the first to say something.
[Do you guys see that thing in the sky?]
Denmark was next to respond: {Hey Ice! Yeah! There's something weird and glowy! Do you see it, Norge?!}
|Are you looking at the sun again, Denmark?|
|No wait, I see it, too…|
~i like totes see it 2!~
/Whatever it is, it's not coming near me and Liechtenstein. Neutrality pays off./
~liet! i am like totes remembering something! anyone know anything about rapture?!~
/Is this your doing, Japan?/
\Must you blame everyone else for your problems, Switzerland? You should do what I do and express your feelings through piano.\
(Austria! I'm coming over, dear! I think the rapture might be upon us, and I know for a fact that God isn't going to accept you into heaven!)
There was a shit ton more messages, but Romano felt it was a waste of time to read through them all. However, he stopped when Italy chimed in.
-the white flags arent working! these pictonians relly mean business! help Germany!-
What the hell? Romano couldn't make heads or tails of Veneziano's message. Although his intent to run crying to that wurst-sucking jerk was familiar, Romano couldn't fathom what his brother was talking about.
What the hell is he surrendering from now? And what the hell are Pictonians?
Convinced that it was typo, Romano moved on to his boss's messages. He had put both Romano and Veneziano in a group message, begging to know what to do. Italy had been incoherent over text, but in the end, Romano figured out that Italy wanted a bunch of white flags made and ordered a nation-wide retreat.
Eyes wide, Romano left his coffee behind and ran out the door. To his complete shock, everyone was gone.
And everything was white.
All of his country looked like a blank page in a coloring book—nothing but white. Petrified that there was no one around and that the color was sucked out of everything, Romano immediately dashed out of his neighborhood and onto higher grounds.
Once he was up on a large hill, Romano was able to overlook everything and confirmed that there wasn't a spot of color left. There were very, very few places that were untouched, but otherwise everything was as white as paper, perfectly matching the grey, cloudy sky—an unusual sight for June.
Even the people were different. Romano gasped as he noticed white blobs with a single green light on their heads milling about. Though all the blobs looked the same, their sizes and shapes indicated that they were human.
Or, at least, they used to be.
"Ahhhh!" Romano screamed out, both annoyed and terrified, yet clinging desperately to the former in hopes of not giving in to the panic that was trying to seize him. "What the crappola happened here?! And where is my stupid brother anyways?!"
Veneziano may not know a lot of things (a lot of things), but Romano was sure that he had an idea of what was going on. After all, his signature white flags were everywhere.
Not that it made a difference considering what the hell had happened.
Romano began whipping his head around, wanting his stupid little brother to be around somewhere. If not, then the alternative was that he was left behind.
Alone.
Suddenly, a bright green, flowery beam of light washed over and struck him.
Too terrified to cry out, Romano could only watch as a large, white flying saucer-looking bastard fly over him, shooting out more beams.
"Assholes!" was the last thing Romano said before things behind his eyes and in his mind faded to white.
{~/~/~}
Spain was having a good day so far.
He hadn't felt like doing any paperwork or anything else his boss wanted him to do, so Spain decided to check on his café.
Being a nation was hard work and time-consuming, but Spain always made time for his quaint little café. It had been especially busy that day. There were crowds of people huddling at the tables, shivering and muttering amongst themselves as they looked to their phones or to the TVs within the restaurant.
Spain thought that this was strange since it was warm outside, but he had shrugged it off and happily made paella and pan dulce and sold t-shirts.
Sometime during the day, he wanted to call his Lovi, but realized that his phone was dead. Disappointed that he wouldn't hear his boyfriend's surly voice grouch things at him, Spain merely plugged in his phone and continued about his day.
Customers, unfortunately, weren't that hungry and were acting very squirrely. At first, Spain was content to leave them be, but had to step in when an argument occurred over whether or not they should board up the restaurant.
Why would they want to board up the restaurant? How will people get in? Spain looked around the café, which had gotten so crowded that there was barely any breathing room. Hm…perhaps it's not a good idea to let anyone else in.
Besides, it appeared the more people that showed up, the more hysterical everyone got.
Perhaps the heat is getting to everybody. I should stop making instant coffee.
Unfortunately, even unplugging the coffee machine didn't help matters. People were still panicky and tense that only worsened every time a group of Spaniards ran by the café screaming.
It was after the fifth horde that ran by that Spain started to suspect something was up. He checked his phone after it was sufficiently charged and startled at the messages he received.
It appeared that the world was being attacked by aliens.
Well…that's not good.
Spain made his way out of the café and began researching this. Apparently, these faceless white blobs called Pictonians were turning everything and everyone white. Many of the nations had acted accordingly with guns, missiles, and other forms of attack, but none had prevailed.
Spain read up on all of this with interest, but didn't understand the magnitude of things until he came upon a horrible sight.
"Oh no!" Spain looked in terror at the community tomato garden. Everything, every single beautiful red tomato, was white.
"Not the tomatoes!" Spain wailed. "They look awful, like a bunch of flavorless mochis or onions! This is horrible! Something must be done!"
His boss wasn't answering his phone, and Spain figured that the man must've been too distressed by the situation (will tomato sauce come out white now?!) to answer.
Which was just as well since Spain realized that there was a much more important tomate to concern himself with.
Spain called his Roma's cell, only for it to go straight to voicemail.
That's okay. It's after lunchtime, so Lovi might be taking his siesta.
Satisfied, Spain left his boyfriend a few text messages before calling Prussia.
"Hallo, Toni! What's up, brohas?!"
"Hola, Prussia. I was just wondering if you've seen what's going on around here…"
"No shit! Isn't it so unawesome?!"
"Sí, it is. Those big mean aliens have turned every single tomato white…oh, and all of Barcelona, too…"
"Nein, I wasn't talking about that! I'm talking about how Ukraine and Belarus totally skipped out on my singing show! They were the opening act, and they left the Awesome Me high and dry! How lame!"
"…Sorry to hear that?"
"Ja, whatever. I'm awesome! In fact, I'm so awesome that I'm going to help Birdie and Cuba with the relief efforts! Nothing will heal people better than basking upon my awesome glory!"
"…Okay then. Have you heard from Lovi by any chance?"
"Nein. I haven't heard a word from your grumpy Italian boyfriend. Now, if you'll excuse me, the Awesome Me needs to take names and kick ass! I'm coming, Birdie!"
Spain wasn't sure why Prussia was chasing after birds, but he figured that today was the sort of day where a little craziness was allowed.
He tried calling his Roma again and got the voicemail again.
It's fine. Lovi is probably out working in his garden. He'll call me back soon.
Spain made sure to leave a dozen messages begging him to.
Then he called France.
"Bonjour, Antoine. Je suis désolé, mon ami, but I am a bit busy. Me and some of the others are trying to figure out a way to deal with those bland Pictonians. We are open to any suggestions…especially since anything is better than what that insufferable rosbif has to say."
"I heard that, frog!"
"Sorry, amigo, but I just found out about all this."
"…"
"You said some of the others are with you? Is Romano there, too?"
"But alas, non, he is not here. Cute little Italy is though! Let me ask if he's seen your feisty little amoureux!"
There was shuffling on the other end where Spain heard France talking to Italy while other voices muttered in the background. He recognized Germany, Japan, China, Russia, America, and Britain squabbling about something (perhaps they noticed the tomatoes, too).
Eventually, Italy's high-pitched voice cut through, crying out about how Romano never answered his phone and that he was worried about him.
Spain's stomach sank as Italy tearfully rambled on before the line cut out.
…It's all good. Ita-chan can jump to conclusions sometimes…
However, when Spain called Lovi again and got nothing this time, he didn't bother shrugging it off this time.
He ran all the way to Rome.
[…]
"Romano! Romano! Where are you?!" Spain ran through the bleach-white streets of Rome, appalled by everything he saw. The Colosseum, the Pantheon, St. Peter's Basilica…everything was painted a stark white. Each Italian citizen was blob of white, the only color a bright green light on the antenna sticking out of their heads.
Spain had attempted talking to them, but no one responded back. In fact, he wasn't acknowledged at all. Everyone kept meandering in random directions, sounding goopy as they did.
I should've been able to find my Roma by now! His beautiful face is redder than any tomato I've ever seen, so it shouldn't be too hard to find him! Where is he?!
The thought that Lovi had turned into one of these Pictonians was fleeting and terrifying.
No! It's not possible! My Lovi is smart and can retreat faster than even Feli! He must be around here somewhere!
"Lovi! ¡Mi amor! ¿Dónde estás?" Spain continued to run around Rome, calling out for his amorcito.
He eventually found Romano's home and practically tore the place apart. He didn't find anything but a forgotten glass of iced coffee.
For the first time in a very long time, Spain was growing disheartened.
He trudged out of the Italian household and looked to the horizon. Mi corazón…my fierce, wonderful Lovi. Where are you?
Before he moved his gaze away from the bleak Italian neighborhood, a flash of light caught his eye. Confused, Spain briefly looked up to see the sun doing its best to peek through the clouds. The winking eye of the sun shined on something that reflected back on a nearby hill.
What is that? Spain immediately trekked forward to find out.
Once he finished climbing, he spotted a white blob with a green light and antenna. The blob was curled into a fetal position and was clutching something tightly to its chest.
Spain gasped when he noticed a familiar curl.
"R-Roma?" Spain slowly crept forward, unwilling to believe his eyes.
Nearly every Italian had a little curl like Lovi and Feli, but Antonio could recognize that particular curl anywhere. Sticking out as conspicuously as a loose wire, this curl was planted firmly on the right side of the blob's head.
Also, as Spain got closer, he heard a voice faintly muttering 'chigi' over and over again.
"Romano!" Spain gasped out as he ran the rest of the way over to his amorcito. Unnatural whiteness be damned, Spain immediately grabbed onto and hugged Romano close the second his little Italian was in reach.
"Oh Lovi, no," Spain whimpered, hugging him tighter against him. "They…They got you, too."
The blob that was once his feisty Italian didn't stir. He merely remained curled into himself and clutched something tighter against him in his fingerless hands. Spain couldn't get a good look at it, but eventually deduced that it was an especially shiny rock.
Spain thanked the high heavens for that rock because it led him to his Roma.
"Mi Romanito," he murmured into the other. "I should've been here sooner. Lo siento, mi amor. Pero, I am here now, and I won't leave you."
Spain pulled back slightly to look at his beloved's face. There was nothing but smooth whiteness where Romano's furrowed brow and hazel eyes were supposed to be.
The Spaniard cupped the Italian's face. "Mi tomate lindo…you don't look like a tomate anymore. They took away all your beautiful colors."
Romano didn't respond.
"Please," Spain pleaded. "Please…say something. Call me a tomato bastard. Deny that you are cute. Demand that I stop calling you a tomato. Please…just say something."
Romano didn't say anything. He didn't even react.
Tears welled within Spain's eyes and eventually trailed down his face and dripped onto Romano. That should've been the moment when his Italian leapt up in outrage, snapped at Spain for getting him wet, and then grumble about him being a sap before reluctantly offering him a hug.
Spain would give anything to have his Roma do that again; he'd even accept a punch to the face.
But who knew how long this would last? What if Romano remained like this forever?
The thought was unbearable and a fresh set of tears streamed down Spain's tan face.
He clutched his Lovi to him for a moment before he looked to the sky. Some of those freaky green orbs were still shining through the grey sky, occasionally shooting out beams of green, flowery light. Spain watched as things turned white when touched by this light and was struck with anger and envy.
The last one momentarily confused him until he looked at Romano. Not a speck of that handsome crimson that usually blessed his face—just white.
Nothing but that damned white.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Spain briefly gathered his courage before hauling him and Romano up. "Hey!" he shouted to the orbs in the sky. "Over here! You forgot me! Come and get me!"
Spain couldn't be sure if those UFOs could hear him, but eventually one hovered towards him. He faced it with bright eyes and a fierce expression.
Just as the orb powered up its beam, Spain squeezed Romano tighter before saying, "Give it your best shot. I'm ready."
So, it did.
{~/~/~}
Hours later found the Allies and Axis Powers recuperating on an abandoned beach. They had just escaped the Pictonian mother ship and were trying to puzzle out why the Pictonians had hesitated when Italy had smiled at them.
Meanwhile, the rest of the world carried on: Switzerland ensured that Liechtenstein was asleep, relieved that she could rest and be safe with the permanent neutrality protecting them; Ukraine was keeping an eye on Belarus while the younger obsessed over Russia's whereabouts; Sweden sat with a bleach-white Finland in his sleigh, disconcerted by his wife's transformation yet firm in his belief that he'll turn back to normal; Iceland continued to sit on a ledge, watching the floating green lights with interest as he wondered how this would affect future tourism; Hungary finally managed to get Austria to take a break from writing Japan's bon dance song and guarded his sleeping form; the Baltic states were hiding on the Pictonian space ship, forgotten by Russia to their relief, though Lithuania was getting worried the longer he went without hearing from Poland; Cuba, Canada, and Prussia were sleeping at a makeshift hospital camp, Canada sprawled on top of Prussia while the ex-nation held his birdie in his sleep.
Majority of the world was white, nearly every person a Pictonian. The Pict were determined to convert everything to their image and were nearly done. Once they wiped out all the oddness of Earth, then they would head to the next planet with sentient life and change them.
The humans of Earth were unaware of their fate and merely lumbered about, feeling almost nothing.
However, there were two newly transformed Pictonians that weren't moving. One had a stray curl springing up from the right side of his head while the other had wavy white hair that refused to disappear for the time being. Nevertheless, within time, these aberrations would vanish, turning these two into true Picts.
The Pictonian with the curl clutched a small slab of silver close to him. It was unusual for a Pict to show fondness for anything, but this one was determined to keep the silver close, even if he wasn't quite sure why.
The curly-haired Pict ignored his companion and merely sat with him on a hill in a place called Rome, Italy. Once the Pictonians had full control, there wouldn't be names for these places. There wouldn't be a need since everything would be the same.
If either of these Pictonians were aware of this, then they didn't care.
In fact, neither of them felt much of anything. The one with the single curl felt something that could've been anger and annoyance, but that wasn't right; what would a Pictonian have to be angry about? The curly-haired Pict was faintly confused, but he wouldn't determine why; there was no use for such a feeling.
He looked to his companion and tilted his head. His fellow Pictonian was odd. Why was he holding that shiny rock? Pictonians had no need for such things, yet this one held it like if his life depended on it. They shouldn't be holding anything with such…possession. The only things Pictonians needed was perfection and each other.
What more could they need?
Figuring the other Pict's strange behavior was the reason for his confusion, the curly-haired Pictonian reached out to him, not sure if he intended to take the rock away or remind his companion of what he was.
Meanwhile, the single-curl Pictonian continued to hold the piece of silver close to him. He couldn't fathom why he was doing so, however, and wondered if he ought to drop it.
The thought was unexpectedly terrifying.
The Pictonian held the silver against his chest, where his heart was. For some reason, it made him feel…happy.
Confused, the single-curl Pict loosened his death grip on the silver and held it in one hand to study it, hoping to puzzle out its significance.
Suddenly, the hand of his fellow Pictonian was on his.
The curly-haired Pict minutely startled when he accidentally gripped the other's hand. He wasn't sure what to do when the other with his single curl slowly tilted his head to look at him.
For a moment, neither of them moved or said anything. Though typical Pictonian movement was lackadaisical, it was like they were both frozen in place by this single action. Though Pictonians were capable of minimal speech, neither of them was quiet by choice—both too stunned to speak.
And yet, neither Pict lets go.
Eventually, the curly-haired Pictonian turned his attention to the single curl on the other's head. It was such an oddity that the Pict wasn't quite sure what to think of it. Every Pictonian was supposed to be exactly the same, yet this one had a strange curl that did an unusual little half-loop.
Rather than wish it away, however, the curly-haired Pict found it…endearing.
The single-curl Pictonian was…puzzled by his companion. He wasn't sure why the other had hair of all things…or why he was holding his hand. Picts had no need for physical contact with one another—there wasn't a need. They bred by using their antenna to convert others to their image, and they weren't supposed to feel emotions that warranted physical contact.
And yet, this one hadn't let go of his hand.
Not that he particularly wanted him to.
Eventually, the curly-haired Pictonian felt the sudden urge to pull the other's curl.
So, he did.
The single-curl Pict's face immediately turned a bright red. His curly-haired companion suddenly felt happiness and delight explode within his chest.
The one with the single curl, on the other hand, felt varying forms of frustration. "Ch-Chigi!" The Pictonian immediately sprang up and away from his companion. "Don't touch my curl, bastardo!"
An echo-y giggle escaped the curly-haired Pict. "Aww~ look at your face! It's like a tomato! How cute~!"
"I'm not cute, you jerk!"
"Yes, you are," said the curly-haired Pictonian as he stood up. "That red is muy bonito~"
They both froze as their topic of conversation caught up to them.
Then a series of colorful memories gradually returned to them.
A small Italian child with brown hair waking up an older Spaniard with a headbutt and demands of breakfast.
A teenaged Italian grumbling at his Spanish companion for sneaking into a mansion just to see him.
A young Italian man reluctantly feeding tomato soup to a very sick Spaniard.
The melody of a guitar strung by calloused hands while the listener grumbled and blushed.
Fireworks exploding in the air as an Italian and a Spaniard watched from a rooftop, holding hands.
A first kiss shared on a rainy day in a telephone booth in London.
A small grey cat raising her little paws to bat at a toy dangled over her.
A beautiful night of passion filled with moans, pleasure, and love as two souls reunited into one.
A small chunk of silver being pressed into a tiny hand.
That same tiny hand holding out a handmade painting of a tomato garden.
Suddenly, the blankness that made residence in both Picts' minds lifted.
"R-Romano…?" the curly-haired Pictonian asked.
"Merda…Spain, is that you?" The red had lessened in the single-curl Pictonian's face yet refused to fully dissipate.
"S-Sí…oh, mi Lovi~!" The curly-haired Pictonian surged forward to embrace his companion. The one with the single curl was briefly caught off guard, but soon hugged him back with equal fervor.
The two held each other close with every bit of their strength. One whispered terms of endearment in Spanish while the other responded in soothing Italian phrases.
Eventually, they pulled away to look at each other. The curly-haired one tilted his head before chuckling, "Oh, mi Romanito~ How I've missed that beautiful tomato-red of yours."
The red swiftly returned with a vengeance. "Shut up, asshat! I'm not a tomato!"
"You'll always be a tomate, mi tomate~ Even if you are a weird white blob. But that's okay! I still love you and find you very hermoso~"
The red softened from a ripe tomato to that of unripe strawberries. "Well…you always look stupid, so this is actually an improvement…" He paused before muttering, "And I love you even if you look like string cheese."
The curly-haired Pict cooed and cupped the other's cheeks. "Te amo, mi corazón. Siempre y para siempre." He pressed the bottoms of their faces together before pulling away with an awkward chuckle. "Oh, heh. Guess we can't kiss anymore, huh?"
The single curl drooped. "Whatever…not that it'll stop you from hugging me anyways."
"Oh~!" The curly-haired Pictonian hugged the other close. "Hugging is like kissing with our bodies! This'll work~!"
"Cheesy bastard…just don't make it a regular thing…"
"No promises~ At least you'll always have that beautiful red on your beautiful face…and that funny little curl of yours~" He reached out to touch it again, only to be punched in the face.
"What the hell did I just say, jerk?! Don't touch that!"
The punch and shouting were laughed away. "But Romano, how could I not?! Every time I do, your face turns the most wonderful shade of red and your eyes get so wide…like that! Just like that!"
"Wipe that stupid grin off your face, idiota, before I…wait, your stupid, handsome face…it's coming back!"
"¿Qué?" Fingerless blob hands raised to touch a face that should've been smooth, yet ended up feeling the soft skin with just the faintest hint of beard stubble he remembered having. Then the blobby hands melted away to reveal tan, calloused hands with ten fingers total.
The nation of Spain laughed with disbelief as he looked at his hands, forest-green eyes filled with wonder, before he turned his attention to his companion. "Romano~! I can see your hair and eyes again! You're turning back to you~!"
Stunned, the Southern portion of Italy immediately looked to his hands and saw willowy fingers that often curled into his bronze-colored hair with frustration. One hand was clutching a familiar chunk of silver.
Both nations watched in awe and glee as the whiteness of their bodies melted away to reveal collared button-up shirts, khaki pants, a long beige-yellow apron, and two pairs of shoes.
"What the hell?" Romano questioned as he examined every bit of his body. "How is this possible?!"
"Does it matter, Lovi?!" Spain immediately scooped his Italian up and twirled him around. "We're us again!"
"Put me down, bastard!" Romano flailed until he was obeyed, yet Spain refused to relinquish his hold on him. "Stupido! We should-"
He was cut off by lips capturing his. Romano initially startled and couldn't react. When Spain pulled away, he was looking to his partner with multitudes of affection. "I've missed these perfect lips~" He quickly brushed a thumb over them, getting the Italian to blush. "Your lips excite me, let your arms invite me…" He nuzzled his Roma's hair. "For who knows when we'll meet again this way."
Romano flustered, heart beating erratically, before he figured 'fuck it.' "It's…now or never, bastardo. Come hold me tight. Kiss me my darling, and…and be mine tonight."
Spain's eyes glowed before he laughed without abandon. "My love won't wait, mi querido~" The two then met halfway for a kiss, held each other when they had to pull away for air, and kissed again and again.
In the meantime, on an island several thousand miles away, Italy Veneziano was happily drawing faces on his Allies and Axis companions as well as the Pictonians, to their initial confusion that quickly turned to delight. Minutes later, all the nations turned Pict gradually regained their color and individual attributes. Not too long after, the rest of the world followed.
The couple embracing each other in Rome barely even noticed.
Truth be told, this chapter wasn't in my original outline. I added it in once I established a timeline for modern day Spamano. Once I realized "Paint It White" premiered in June 2010, I couldn't resist writing this~
A shame that Romano and Spain didn't have bigger roles, but it's FINE. I fixed it ;)
Translations:
Spanish
pan dulce- sweet bread
tomate- tomato
Hola- Hello
Sí- Yes
amigo- friend
¡Mi amor! - My love!
¿Dónde estás? - Where are you?!
amorcito- little love
Mi corazón - my heart (literal translation, yet used as a term of endearment~)
Lo siento, mi amor- I'm sorry, my love
Pero- But
Mi tomate lindo- My cute tomato
muy bonito- very beautiful
hermoso- handsome
Te amo, mi corazón - I love you, my heart
Siempre y para siempre - always and forever
¿Qué?- What?
mi querido- my dear
German/Prussian
Hallo- Hello
Nein- No
Ja- Yes
French
Bonjour- Hello
Je suis désolé, mon ami- I'm sorry, my friend
rosbif- roast beef (literal translation, yet it's used as a rude nickname for the Englishmen)
non- no
amoureux- lover
Italian
chigi- fuck/shit
bastardo- bastard
Merda- Shit
idiota- idiot
Stupido!- Stupid!