AN: To clear up a few things people have asked in the reviews...this is not a Spamano fic. It contains one-sided Spamano and one-sided Gerita. Second: I love writing angst, it helps to get my negative feelings out. It's a great stress reliever! So expect angst and feels. Third: please don't hold out for a lemon to appear. This story will focus more on emotional connections than physical ones.

Random Fact: The average adult male height in Germany in 2009 was 1.78 m (5 ft 10 in). It's the same in Spain, but the last measurement was in 2001.

Chapter 6: A Long Night with Dampened Spirits

"What is wrong with my Roma?"

Germany sat at the empty kitchen table and slowly took a drink from a bottle of warm, dark beer. The kitchen, along with the entire house, was pitch black except for a small circle illuminated by a lone light bulb burning over the stove. Silence reigned. Not even a muffled yawn reached Germany's ears. He might as well have been alone in the house, but he knew four men were sleeping upstairs. The German nation would have gone up and attempted to sleep as well but he knew that he would find no rest.

A deep chuckle suprised Germany, finally breaking the silence. He was more surprised to find the joyless sound had come from his own throat. "Just means I haven't had enough yet," the man muttered as he took his empty beer bottle to the sink. He placed it on the counter by three other empty bottles before returning to the table and popping open another one. Germany drank, his swallowing the only sound in the quiet house. His mind easily drifted back to the events earlier that day. They were all he had thought about for the last two lonely hours.

"What is wrong with my Roma?" Spain asked with a harsh edge as his hand tightened on Germany's shoulder. The blond nation suppressed a shiver and stared at the other man in confusion. Had that sounded like a threat? Spain's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he continued, "He wouldn't say that anymore. What have you done to him?"

"I did not do anything to him," said a confused Germany as he pulled to the side, out of Spain's grasp. He stood and smoothed out the rumpled shoulder of his shirt.

Spain glared at the man as he slowly stood to his full height. Germany dropped his hands and stared back in surprise. "Do not lie to me, Alemania. I know Romano. There is something wrong with him." He had spoken softly, but with an intensity which Germany found more disturbing than the harsh tone from before. He noted that Spain's eyes occasionally darted over to the kitchen and his voice dropped even lower. "Why is he here?"

Germany shook himself inwardly and straightened his back. It was only Spain. He was probably only worried about Romano's health and had odd ways of showing it. He looked the tanner man straight in the eye and stated, "He is here because his doctor said that someone needed to look after him. Japan offered, but his home is too far for Romano to stay in close contact with his country. He needed to stay close so I offered him a room." Spain's eyes narrowed suspiciously again.

"He does not like you. Even I know that," said Spain as he smiled, but the gesture did not reach his darkened eyes. "Lovi should have known that I would have been more than happy to return home and take care of him. Feli too, of course. So why would he stay with you?" A hint of venom coated Spain's last word.

The German crossed his arms. He would not allow Spain's words to bother him. "Romano chose to stay here. I did not make him stay in the same way I did not make him leave." Spain waved his hand, as if pushing aside Germany's answer. His smile widened. It finally looked forced and fake.

"That tells me nothing, Alemania. How long has he been staying here?"

"A few weeks. Why don't you go ask him?"

"If he is as sick as you say, then I should not interrupt his rest. My Roma gets violent if people interrupt his siestas. Shouldn't you know that if you were looking after him?"

"I am not 'looking after him'. I allowed him to stay because he needed to, and I make sure he eats and rests appropriately."

"Why?"

Germany was about to respond, then stopped. Spain had asked the same question that Germany had been asking himself for the past two weeks. He still did not have an answer. Spain frowned as he stared at Germany, clearly growing impatient. He broke the heavy silence and stated, "Alemania, I will not ask again. Why is Roma here? Why did he not call Feli or myself?" His voice was a bit softer, his eyes had darted over to the kitchen again. Germany realized that Spain was trying his best to reign in his anger to not alarm North Italy. Yet Germany did not respond. He could not. He had no idea how to answer.

Spain watched him a bit longer before nodding absently. He turned and slowly walked up the stairs. "I will speak with Roma if he is still awake. Feliciano and I will be bringing him with us when we leave tomorrow."

"Isn't that his choice to make?" asked Germany, stunned at the forwardness of it.

"Roma will listen to me, once he calms down. He always does. That will never change," said Spain confidently, almost playfully. He looked over his shoulder at Germany. "Both the Italies will leave with me tomorrow." A dangerous fire had lit in his eyes. Germany dared not to contradict him. He just watched wordlessly as the Spaniard climbed the stairs and walked out of sight.

A door quietly opened and closed on the second floor. The soft murmurs of Japan drifted in from the kitchen, interrupted occasionally by the melodic laughing of North Italy. Despite the sounds and the wonderful smells filling his house, an emptiness had clawed its way into Germany's chest. He might have four other people in his usually empty house but he had never felt so alone.

The German quickly grabbed his jacket and a set of keys. He walked through the kitchen-ignoring the questions of a particular Italian-and went through another door into his garage. Within moments Germany had started a car and was just starting to back it out onto the driveway when North Italy ran out to meet him. The man knocked on the driver's side window. Germany hesitated but rolled it down. "What do you need, Norditalien?"

"Could you get some wine? There isn't any, and I think Romano likes his pasta with..." started Italy, but he trailed off in confusion and looked directly at Germany. His eyes were wide open, which startled the other man. "What did you call me? Nordeetal...?"

"It's...nothing, Italy," Germany corrected himself as he looked down at the steering wheel. He hadn't realized that he had called him 'North Italy'. He couldn't remember when he started thinking that way, instead of just calling him 'Italy'. No wonder the brunette was confused. Germany forced his mind away from those thoughts and said, "I will get some wine." And probably twenty packs of beer. "What kind?"

Italy smiled, content with Germany's evasive answer, eyes closed again as he rattled off the name of some Italian wine. Germany barely heard him, distracted by his own thoughts again. He nodded, which appeased the other man and he practically skipped back inside, humming happily. The blond dragged his eyes away and willed the image of the happy young man to disappear.

The car sped out of the driveway and out of the neighborhood. It soon pulled onto the highway and Germany pressed hard on the gas pedal. He was going to get in a nice, long, far-over-the-speed-limit drive before he stopped at a store. Perhaps the distraction would be enough to make the sick feeling in his chest go away.

Forty minutes later Germany was back in his driveway and walked into his house through the garage door. The moment he opened the door a soothing, familiar scent of baking pasta and chicken swept over him. North Italy ran into the room to meet him. "Germanyyyy! Did you bring the wine?"

"Right here," said the German softly as he held out a paper bag. Italy took it with a happy noise and placed it in the back of the fridge.

With a wide gesture at the oven North Italy told him, "Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes. I thought about making spaghetti but fratello seemed to be in a really bad mood...which means he'll go take a nap until he feels better! So I decided to bake something instead, so it will be ready when he wakes up." Italy stared up at the German with a wide smile. Nothing happened for a moment and Germany suddenly was struck by both a similarity and a difference between the Italian brothers. North Italy looked for approval in everything, even before he was done. South Italy wanted people's approval too, but he did not want to ask for it, and he only lingered around hoping that people would finally notice what he did. He didn't expect the instant praise that his brother was given so easily. The praise that North Italy expected at that very moment, that praise that Germany had given him so easily in the past. "Ve...is Germany alright? You look like you're angry about something."

Germany chuckled softly and placed a hand on top of Veneziano's head. The familiarity of the movement surprised him. Germany ruffled the man's hair a bit, the way he used to before...everything. "I'm not angry, just thinking," he finally explained, then swiftly changed the subject. "I hope your brother is done with his nap when the food is ready. I don't want to risk bodily harm trying to waking him."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that. Antonio is upstairs taking a siesta with Lovino, and if fratello doesn't wake up from the smell then Antonio will do it! He's got a lot of experience waking him up," said Italy happily as he pulled away from the German's touch. He walked over to the oven and checked on the food. Germany stood there for a moment with his hand in the air feeling foolish, then he lowered his hand.

Germany hesitated a moment before he asked, "And you aren't jealous?"

"What? Me? No, Antonio said that all three of us can have a long siesta tomorrow when we get home. I've got a giant bed too so we can all fit! We could all fit on the bed upstairs, but it would be a tight squeeze. Maybe we could sleep there tonight!" rambled the Italian as he spun around the kitchen gathering plates and glasses and silverware. Germany caught a few plates before they shattered on the floor. Italy suddenly stopped and looked Germany in the eye. "Fratello did miss me, didn't he? He didn't seem very happy to see me earlier." The earnest, sad expression on the young man's face pulled at the normally stoic man's heart.

"I...your brother did miss you, I'm sure," said the German hesitantly. He knew how Romano had hoped that Italy and Spain would never visit, but he could not tell the younger brother that, especially when it made the man smile widely again.

"I knew it! And you two get along so well, it makes me happy, ve! I was so worried that my brother and my best friend didn't get along, but you two seem to have worked it out. I think that surprised both of us!" Italy rambled on again as he set five places at the table. He turned to go into the living room. "Toni seemed a little more surprised than I did though."

"...is that right."

"Yes it is! But I always hoped you two would get along better. And now fratello doesn't hate you anymore! Well, I don't think he does."

"It's quite an accomplishment," muttered Germany, feeling more awkward by the second. Maybe there was a rock somewhere in his backyard that he could crawl under and hide until everyone left tomorrow.

"I know!" chirped North Italy as he walked off into the living room. A moment later he peeked his head back into the kitchen. "Thanks for looking after my brother. I know he can get mean when he's sick. So I feel lucky to have a good friend like you to help out, Germany." The Italian smiled once more before leaving.

Forget about the rock. Germany wanted to go dig a hole. Maybe he could dig it deep enough that no one could seem him at the bottom, where he would drinking all of the beer he had stashed in his car. It would have a better outcome than this debacle.

Dinner had been an awkward affair for everyone except Italy and Spain. The pair had taken seats on both sides of Romano while Germany and Japan had to sit on the opposite side and watch. Romano had actually looked sick and the other Mediterranean countries had spent the whole dinner trying to make him eat, talk, or take his temperature. Of course that just led to an angry Romano screaming at everyone and stomping out of the room, followed by the worried Spain and North Italy. Germany and Japan were forced to try to eat alone when all they could focus on was the loud arguing in the next room.

The two Italies soon went upstairs. Romano tried to calm down while his brother tried to cheer him up. Neither was very successful. After that Spain was the only one to return to dinner and all he did was pick at his food and stare off into space. What concerned Germany was that Spain quickly drank his wine, then finished the drinks of the two absent nations. A red flush formed on Spain's face but he still didn't speak.

Germany had excused himself from the table and started to clean the dishes. Japan followed.

The next two hours were a bit of a haze in Germany's mind. He knew that Spain had left to go join the Italies upstairs in North Italy's old bedroom and Japan had taken the guest room. At some point Germany must have brought in the beer from his car. The nineteen bottles sitting in front of his fridge proved that.

Germany took a sixth bottle out of the pack and sat down at the table. He tilted the bottle toward him and started at the liquid, but did not drink. "What the hell am I doing?" he finally asked himself.

"That's a good question." Germany jumped and looked up. In the kitchen doorway stood Romano. A white blanket was draped over his head and bundled up in his crossed arms. That blanket was the only reason Germany could make him out in the dark room. A minute later Romano asked, "What the hell are you doing, letting those idiots stay here?"

"I let you stay, didn't I?"

"Hey. Shut up," Romano muttered with a yawn, then moved over to the table. He sat across from Germany and pulled the blanket closer. Now that he was in the light Germany was able to make out the man's pale skin and exhausted eyes, rimmed with gray.

"You actually look sick," said Germany as he sat up, studying the other man's face. Romano frowned in annoyance and kicked the table. "Stop that. Was it from something you ate?"

The Italian shook his head. "It's because of those idiots. If they hadn't come I wouldn't be sick."

"You mean you worried yourself sick."

"I did not! They're just contagious idiots!"

"Neither of them are sick."

"Well...fuck you, potato bastard." Romano started when Germany began to chuckle. "What the hell?! That wasn't funny!"

"No, I suppose it's not. You probably just have a cold," replied Germany as he forced his laughter under control. He walked over to the medicine cabinet and pulled down a few bottles. He brought them over to the stove light to read the labels and poured out three different pills. Germany vaguely thought that if he could read and dispense medicine properly, then he hadn't had nearly enough alcohol yet. The chuckle returned as he walked back to the table and placed the pills in front of Romano. "Take those. They should help you recover faster." Romano stared down at the pills suspiciously. Germany sighed and said, "I did not poison them, if that is what you are worried about."

Romano looked up at him with an annoyed glare. "It's not," he finally said, "You're just drunk. How the hell am I supposed to believe that you gave me the right medication when drunk? I'll probably get a heart attack or turn blue or something!"

"Trust me, I'm not drunk," muttered the German as he took a sip of his lukewarm beer. A small smile played on his lips as the liquid spread warmth through his chest. "You would be able to tell if I was."

Romano still looked unconvinced and asked, "What about some water?"

"You're an adult. You can pour your own water." The Italian glared at him. "What? I had thought you had grown up already. Or was I mistaken?"

A shout of annoyance escaped Romano as he leaned forward and swiped Germany's beer. In one swift movement he swallowed the pills and washed them down with a hearty dose of alcohol. Germany stared blankly for a moment before his brain actually registered what he saw. He reached for the beer bottle but Romano held it out of his reach. "Don't you know not to mix drugs and alcohol?"

"I'm a fucking nation. I'll survive," the Italian grumbled angrily as he took another drink of the beer, then wrinkled his nose and almost gagged in disgust. He put the bottle back on the table and Germany snatched it up. "How the hell do you drink that crap?"

"It's an acquired taste."

"It's fucking awful," Romano retorted as he dropped the blanket and walked to the fridge. He had to push the beer away from the door before he opened the fridge and pulled out the half empty bottle of wine. He studied the label before he closed the door and walked back. "At least Italy remembered to bring something decent this time."

"I bought that," Germany reminded him as he drank more beer, anxious to feel that same warmth from before.

"Oh? Your taste isn't as bad as I thought then," said the Italian as he sat across from Germany again. He gently rolled the wine bottle on its heel. A moment later Romano caught himself and muttered, "Bastard." Germany just shook his head at that. Romano's curses used to bother him, but he had learned to ignore them over the past two weeks. That, and the angry Italian swore less and less as time went on, until his brother and Spain had arrived. That had made him start cursing like crazy. Germany wondered why, then realized he already knew the answer. "We're leaving tomorrow."

"Hm? What?"

"Mio Dio, how much have you had to drink? Spain said that we're all leaving tomorrow," explained Romano. He practically spat out the other nation's name as he popped open the wine bottle. Without a care for formality Romano took a long swig of the drink straight out of the glass.

Germany watched silently as Romano easily drank half the remaining wine. "You'll pay for that tomorrow."

"So will you. And maybe they'll leave me alone then."

"No they won't."

Romano sighed and put the wine bottle down on the table. "No, they really won't," he affirmed softly. The man pulled the white blanket around himself again and leaned back in the chair. He stared pensively into the nearly empty glass of wine. Germany stared at Romano, studying his expression. The smaller man still looked sick and tired. His shoulders sagged under the barest weight of the blanket and the one hand placed on the table was shaking slightly.

"It hurts to see them, doesn't it?" asked Germany suddenly. Romano's head shot up and he gaped at Germany in surprise. The man's forwardness surprised himself just as much. Yet Germany kept his gaze steady, searching Romano's eyes for an answer.

The Italian soon dropped his eyes. He quietly said, "Of course it does." Germany nodded and finished off his beer before rising to fetch another one. Romano watched him silently until he sat down again. "How many of those have you had?"

"I think this is the sixth. Or seventh. I'm not counting," admitted the blond as he started to sip at his new bottle. He noticed that Romano had put the temporary cap back on the wine bottle. "Are you done with that?"

South Italy nodded and started to slowly spin the bottle on its heel again. His eyes looked a little bit glazed. "I've had enough. It's starting to hit me."

"You're surprisingly...tolerant when you drink."

"You're surprisingly tolerable when I drink," Romano replied with a snort. Germany couldn't tell if it was annoyance or amusement. The pair sat together in silence for a while. Romano finally said, "You know I'm only doing this because I hate them right now and so do you. It's not that I like you or anything. I don't. I don't like you at all. You're a stupid, smelly, muscle-headed potato bastard."

"And you're a rude and lazy Italian stereotype who has taken over my couch," retaliated Germany without malice. Romano nodded his agreement and Germany couldn't help his grin. The Italian was actually quite sociable when he was borderline drunk.

"Good. Because I don't like you."

"I don't like you either."

"Good."

"Good. Are you going to finish that wine or can I put it away?"

"I think I'll finish it. We should go watch tv."

"What?"

"Tv. In your living room. Or the kitchen. We could move the tv into the kitchen."

"We're too drunk to move it."

"Damn," muttered Romano as he leaned forward onto the table. He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "We should still go watch it."

"If you really want to." Germany stood and grabbed a four pack of beer. The Italian didn't move from his seat. "Are you coming?" Romano nodded but still did not move. With a sigh Germany hooked a hand under the smaller man's shoulder and pulled him out of the seat. Romano picked up the wine bottle and held tightly to Germany's arm as they walked into the other room. He stumbled a bit but managed to stay upright until they reached the living room. The Italian quickly dropped onto the couch and took up half of it. Germany sat beside him and asked, "You don't drink a lot, do you?"

"Never. People who drink are stupid."

"But I thought you drank wine with most of your meals?"

"That's different. What I do is drink, not drink," said Romano expressively, as if it explained everything. Germany merely nodded and the Italian seemed appeased. He fumbled around with the remote and turned on the television. The bland voice of a news anchor echoed through the room for a moment before Romano started flipping channels. "Do you always watch those stupid news programs?"

"It's important to keep up to date with things. You never know what could happen." Romano turned and glared at Germany. He quickly pulled one of the beers out of the pack and pushed it into Germany's face. The blond pulled the waving bottle out of the other man's grasp. "What's that for?"

"You're too responsible! Drink, dammit!" The German chuckled and popped open the bottle. He sipped it as Romano stared at him with a frown. With a small sniff the man looked back at the television and said, "You're stupid."

"And you are stubborn," replied Germany as he set the drink back down on the table.

"Damn straight."

Germany couldn't help but laugh at that. Romano hissed out something in Italian but the larger man ignored him and leaned back into the couch. He grinned and pulled part of Romano's large blanket over himself. "Perhaps we should drink more often," he said when the Italian man stopped talking. The man frowned and shook his head.

"Only when those two are around."

Germany sighed and replied, "They're not on vacation now. They're always going to be around."

Romano's frown deepened and he leaned back against the couch beside Germany. He pulled the blanket up to his chin. "I wish Toni had never come back," the man whispered. Germany turned to look at him. Romano's eyes looked glassy as a red glow spread across his cheeks. Had he realized what he had called Spain? Or was it an old reflex? Then again, Spain always called Romano by his human name.

"Why does he call you L-...what he calls you?" asked Germany. He almost used Romano's human name but caught himself.

A hollow laugh echoed from Romano's throat. "He always called me that," Romano explained in a strained voice as his words started to run together. Fortunately Germany was fluent in the language of Drunk, thanks to a particular Prussian. "Like you'd call a pet. He's always done it, from when I was small. He practically raised me, you know. I'm like...I'm only a kid to him."

Germany's brows furrowed as he took a heavy drink of beer. "Why does he not see your brother that way?"

"I don't know. Because he's perfect. Because Antonio always wanted him instead of me. Because he's perfect. He can clean, and everyone likes him, and he can always do everything right-"

"...we're still talking about the same person, aren't we?"

"A-and he looks better than me. And he's nice. And-" Germany placed a hand over Romano's mouth to silence him. The Italian looked up in confusion, his drunken blush darkening.

"I know your brother. He's lazy..." started Germany clearly, but then lost his train of thought. Was he comfortable with telling anyone how he felt about North Italy? Even if it was all bad? He kept Romano's mouth covered but he stared down into his beer bottle instead of looking at the other man. Another drink gave him back his voice. "He's lazy, flighty, and frankly couldn't focus on his work to save his life." To hell with restraint. Germany chugged the rest of the beer and popped open another bottle.

Romano pushed Germany's hand aside and said, "But he's still nicer."

"He's stupid. You've said that before."

"But people like him more."

"He's oblivious to other people's feelings."

"But Toni likes him more."

"Spain's an oblivious idiot too."

Romano turned and looked at Germany. He stared for a few moments, concentrating hard. "That makes them perfect for each other though," he finally said. His voice cracked a bit.

Germany turned and stared back. He asked the Italian, "Would you really be happy with someone as blindly happy and stupidly spacey as Spain?"

"I...would you really be happy with someone like Veze...Veneziano?"

"No," stated the German as confidently as he could manage. He took another drink of his beer.

"I don't believe you."

"Well, then, I suppose that makes two of us." The two sat in sad but comfortable silence. Germany turned off the television and picked up the wine bottle. Romano gave him a questioning look.

"Finish it off," the German explained, "You'll feel better." Romano seemed as if he would resist, but then his shoulders slumped and he popped open the bottle. The remaining wine was gone in moments. "Any better yet?"

"No. It hasn't kicked in yet, bastard," muttered Romano as he leaned back against the couch. He looked up at the ceiling. "I don't want to go with them tomorrow."

A sympathetic look formed on Germany's face. At this point he thought he probably had a drunken flush as well. "They'll make you go, you know that."

"I do know," Romano said with a sigh. He closed his eyes and loosened his hold on the blanket. It fell down into his lap. "It sucks."

"That it does," agreed Germany. His eyes were trained onto the drunk Italian. It almost seemed as if the other would fall asleep at any moment.

"M'tired," muttered the Italian as he smothered another yawn, "Talking about idiots stresses me out. That makes me tired." He yawned again and forced his eyes open to look around for a pillow. Upon finding none he pulled Germany's arm into his lap and wrapped his arms around it.

"W-what are you doing?"

"Shut up. Sleepy. Don't care." Romano scooted closer and rested his head on Germany's shoulder and closed his eyes again. His face visibly relaxed as his breath started to slow.

"Hey, I'm not a pillow," said Germany as he tried to gently pull his arm free. Romano tightened his grip even as his head leaned onto him more. Before Germany could stop him the man had fallen asleep. A tense breath left him as Germany realized that he was effectively trapped. His only escape would be to wake the slumbering Italian, which, even when drunk, was probably bad for his health. It didn't help that he was tired as well, and the soft breathing by his ear was slowly lulling him off. Before Germany realized it he had slid down onto the arm of the couch, Romano pulled down with him, as both fell into a dreamless sleep.

AN: Once again, drunk characters are fun to write.