Spain likes children. He likes their laughter, their expressiveness, their simplicity, but also their fragility and need for protection. He likes to believe he is a good caretaker—a playmate just as often as a role model. He's quick to drop to his knees and toss a ball, gently enough to fall between their tiny hands.
Romano, however, has always been a bit more complicated. He's rough and defensive, like a wild animal, easily coaxed with food but never trusting of the hand that feeds him. He kicks and he screams and he refuses to do as told, and although Spain loves him to pieces—Romano is his after all—it's difficult not to feel frustrated with him at times.
Spain has limits, and stealing from an important guest is something he cannot tolerate.
"I'm disappointed in you, Romano," he chastises, his hand clasped firmly around the boy's wrist as he hastens down the hall. "You're better than a common thief!"
Romano's mouth rarely runs empty on lies and excuses, shouts and complaints, but this is one of the rare occurrences he lets himself be dragged along, staring furiously at the ground. It almost makes Spain feel guilty for being so harsh, but he knows Romano too well to believe a few minutes of shame will prevent him from stealing again.
Like his brother, Romano is easily brought to tears. But he's also quicker to rebound after a scolding, and Spain figures Austria's stricter approach had to be backed by some reasoning. Spain does not like discipline—not for children. He never manages to stay angry long enough for it to be effective. Physical punishments, he cannot do. But Austria warned him punishment, at times, would be necessary, particularly for Romano.
They arrive at the end of the hall. Spain leans over and tilts Romano's chin up. Romano's eyes glisten, his face flushed hot in shame. So cuuu—No, no! He has to be stern!
He clears his throat, exaggerates his frown to get the point across. "This is my fault. I haven't been doing the best job at teaching you right from wrong. I don't like to punish you, Romano. But until this behavior improves I don't see any other option."
Romano slowly turns the other way, still glowering at him, despite a trace of hesitancy. "Then just spank me already."
"No, Romano. I don't want to hit you. Come," he takes Romano's hand, and then opens the door.
At the sight of the dark room, Romano instantly takes a step back. His eyes graze over the threatening and blurry shapes muted by the darkness. "What's in there?" he squeaks.
"Just storage. You're going to sit in here and think about what you did for fifteen minutes."
"No—No Spain! I don't want to!"
Spain takes a step forward, maintaining a firm grip on the back of Romano's shirt and preventing him from squirming away. "Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes in the dark room as punishment. If you're good and say sorry you can come out."
Romano lets out a tiny screech. "No!" He wriggles and wails, and Spain feels a tiny bit guilty because he knows how frightened Romano is of the dark; the number of times he's crawled into Spain's bed, sniffling with wet pants, is evidence enough. "You—you bastard! You can't make me!"
Spain's mouth sets into a taut line. It's because of his lenience that Romano has become so disrespectful. "Romano," he warns, "Apologize immediately! You can't speak to me like that."
"No! You're a stupid jerk, Spain, and I hate you!"
Spain exhales like a deflated balloon. Austria was right. Romano's abuse is all bark and no bite—he doesn't take it to heart—but it's harmful to his reputation, particularly around important guests. He hoists Romano, kicking and screaming, up by the armpits, and plops him in the middle of the room. Romano can be astonishingly swift in retreat, but Spain's long strides reach the door and slam it shut before Romano can escape.
The wooden door muffles the pounding of tiny fists and obscenities from within, but he can still catch quite a few insults directed at him. Spain hoped a few seconds in darkness would help Romano reevaluate his choice in vocabulary, but thus far it seems to have done the opposite.
"That's another five minutes, Romano," Spain sighs. "If you don't apologize it'll be twenty-five minutes in the room."
"Go to hell!" screeches through the door.
Twenty-five minutes it is. Spain leaves briskly, because another second of his charge's frightened cries might cause him to relent yet again. Now then, he must return to that officer and apologize again. He lets his mind be carried off by more mundane thoughts. The flowers look beautiful. He has to remember to compliment the gardener…
Spain can't rid himself of that unsettling feeling. There's something a little off about the house, but he can't place it. At first he thought it was just hunger. He had been so busy with work that he only had time for a quick meal alone. The food was delicious, as always, but it didn't seem to cure the churning in his gut.
Perhaps he's coming down with a cold? He can't come up with a specific political explanation, but there is always the chance of a minor impending conflict. He'll have to keep an eye out for that.
Spain washes up as usual before heading to bed, carefully scanning the mirror for any signs of a more serious illness. There aren't any, so he strips off his clothes in favor of a looser-fitting shirt and pants. He's comfortable, the night is warm, and by the time he settles under the covers, he's convinced his anxiety is unfounded.
There's nothing to worry about. There was a brief skirmish earlier that day with that officer and the ring that was stolen, but once it was returned he brushed it off, chuckling to Spain about the mischievousness of children. Romano will be upset a while longer about being scolded, but soon enough he'll bounce back to his usual, rude self. Unless the punishment finally does him some good.
Spain's eyes shoot open.
Romano.
That's what was missing all day. The crash of expensive objects around the house, the shouting and frequent disturbances.
Spain was a forgetful person, but he…couldn't have…
Suddenly feeling sick, Spain leaps out of bed and rushes down the corridor. The door to Romano's room is open, the bed fully made and unoccupied. The panic slips in stronger.
Spain makes it to the storage room, panting for breath, not entirely sure what to expect. But the other end of the door is silent. Hurriedly, he fumbles with the key until he can swing the door open.
He nearly runs over Romano, who he didn't expect to be huddled by the door. Romano's lips quiver, his frown deepens, and his face looks torn between hatred and relief.
"Romano—" Spain begins, unsure how to even begin apologizing.
But Romano is the first to react. He lunges forward and clings to Spain's legs with his tiny fists, sobbing. "I-I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry for stealing and—and for making you angry, and I'm sorry for calling you 'bastard'! Please don't lock me away again!"
"Romano, no…" Spain shakes his head, taken aback. He drops down to his knees and gingerly pries Romano's hands away, so that he can cradle the child to his chest. "No, I didn't lock you away purposefully. I just lost track—" No, no excuses. Spain sighs. "It's my fault. You didn't deserve that, not at all. I shouldn't have locked you in here. I'm so sorry, Romano."
Romano's chest continues to rack with sobs, and Spain can feel his long, wet lashes tickling his neck. "It was d-dark. I was scared. and—and—I…" His face jerks down in embarrassment, down to the stain between his legs, "…My pants got wet."
"Don't worry about that. It's okay. We can change them."
"And I…" he hiccups. "I'm so hungry…"
Spain feels his gut clench. That's right, Romano hasn't eaten since morning. "I'm so sorry! Poor thing, you must be starving. We'll get you something to eat right now. Anything you want," he promises, rubbing Romano's back. "Come on. Let's get out of this scary room."
Romano doesn't pull away from Spain's chest. In fact, he seems to squeeze tighter, so Spain just repositions his arms around Romano's back and rises to his feet. Romano instinctively wraps his arms around Spain's neck, allowing himself to be hoisted up.
"There we go!" Spain says, forcing the extra cheer in his voice if only to assure Romano he's safe. Once they're outside, he makes sure to close the door firmly behind them. "See? It's closed. Locked forever. You don't have to go back there ever again."
Romano settles his head under Spain's chin, staring at the door until it's out of sight. Only then does he relax, the grip around Spain's neck loosening, and he utters a tired and half-hearted "bastard…"
Spain smiles.