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hetalia2010-01-13 04:58 pm
compos-dementis.livejournal.com) wrote in hetalia2010-01-13 04:58 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: War, Spain/Romano, PG
Title: War
Author: Dementis
Fandom: APH
Rated: PG
Pairing: Spain/Romano
Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me! Not for profit.
Summary: In the tragic midst of WWIII, Spain remembers religion, among other things.
“Spagna…?”
Other than the almost hesitant whisper in Romano’s voice, the entire room was quiet. The soles of Italy’s boots made little step-step sounds against the hard floor, and they echoed off the high walls and cavernous ceiling. Spain pretended not to hear the other for a long moment; the tranquility of the building went undisturbed for a few moments longer before he turned and looked back from where he was kneeling.
“Ah, mi Lovino…” Antonio offered the best smile he could, which wasn’t as bright as it normally was. “What are you doing here so late? How did you find me?”
Romano raised his eyebrows and when he next spoke, it was a tad louder. “Whenever you’re not in the house, I know you’re either at France’s house or at church. You’re really predictable.” He narrowed his eyes, and Antonio didn’t point out that he didn’t answer the first part of the question as to why he came looking in the first place. He knew Romano wouldn’t like it. “Why go to church at three in the morning, idiot?”
Antonio turned back around, not saying anything when Romano came and knelt beside him. His eyes didn’t look up to the large wooden cross at the front, the Savior’s eyes empty and sad like so many other eyes lately. “I came to pray.”
There was only a short moment of silence and Antonio pretended not to notice Romano looking at him with something that could only be called concern. “How long have you been here, Boss?”
“Oh, since about…” His voice trailed off into something like silence, and his breath was trembling a bit but he kept his back straight so as not to break down in front of Romano.
“…Spagna…” Romano’s voice lowered again. “How long have you been here?”
He couldn’t see straight, vision swimming and making him dizzy, and he realized it was because of tears flooding his eyes. Odd, he didn’t remember starting to cry, and he turned his face away before Romano had to see them, wiping them away with his sleeve like some kind of child.
He remembered Romano being that small, scraping his knees while playing with Feliciano, and his eyes would swim with tears as Antonio smoothed bandages over the scrapes. “You’re okay,” he would whisper, “mi Lovino, you’re okay.”
Why couldn’t Romano be that small anymore? Small enough to hold and kiss and sing “Ave Maria” until his voice cracks.
“Just a few hours,” Antonio whispered. “I am… praying for my friends. They seem to have lost their way.”
Romano nodded slowly and turned his face away to look up at the wooden body of Christ before them. “You’re not going to… get involved, are you?” he asked. “This war… it’s worse than World War Two. We’re going to be fighting this war with nuclear weapons, sure, but the next one… well, World War Four will be fought with sticks and stones, won’t it, if America is serious about wiping out the Middle East…”
Without thinking, Antonio put a finger to Romano’s mouth. “Don’t… talk about it, mi nino.” His heart was heavy with the thought, especially since America had not only included Russia and Germany in this war, but England and France as well. France was already prepared for a complete surrender against Pakistan and Iran’s invasion – and in turn, Spain was prepared to help him pick himself up if it came to it.
(How do you “pick up” a nation smeared across the floor like gum?)
“Do you want me to…” Romano waved his hands a bit helplessly. “Want me to pray with you?” He cleared his throat. “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy—“
“Romano.” He saw the other look at him, brown eyes wide and wonderful and so… so innocent, why did someone so innocent have to be involved in such a terrible, terrible thing? And his heart twisted and he wanted to take the younger into his arms and kiss him.
And he almost did.
“Sing with me, Romano.”
Romano nodded. “Sure, Boss.”
Knelt before a wooden crucifix, with Jesus Christ’s eyes watching them, the two nations sung “Ave Maria” until their voices rang through the air, from the stained-glass depictions of Santa Maria and all of the Patron Saints that Antonio had grown up worshipping, and he could feel his heart swelling and swelling even when the bombs (stars and stripes painted sloppily along the side) began to fall.
And when Romano reached over and took his hand, tears ran down his face, and they kept singing until their voices gave.
Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.
Author: Dementis
Fandom: APH
Rated: PG
Pairing: Spain/Romano
Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me! Not for profit.
Summary: In the tragic midst of WWIII, Spain remembers religion, among other things.
“Spagna…?”
Other than the almost hesitant whisper in Romano’s voice, the entire room was quiet. The soles of Italy’s boots made little step-step sounds against the hard floor, and they echoed off the high walls and cavernous ceiling. Spain pretended not to hear the other for a long moment; the tranquility of the building went undisturbed for a few moments longer before he turned and looked back from where he was kneeling.
“Ah, mi Lovino…” Antonio offered the best smile he could, which wasn’t as bright as it normally was. “What are you doing here so late? How did you find me?”
Romano raised his eyebrows and when he next spoke, it was a tad louder. “Whenever you’re not in the house, I know you’re either at France’s house or at church. You’re really predictable.” He narrowed his eyes, and Antonio didn’t point out that he didn’t answer the first part of the question as to why he came looking in the first place. He knew Romano wouldn’t like it. “Why go to church at three in the morning, idiot?”
Antonio turned back around, not saying anything when Romano came and knelt beside him. His eyes didn’t look up to the large wooden cross at the front, the Savior’s eyes empty and sad like so many other eyes lately. “I came to pray.”
There was only a short moment of silence and Antonio pretended not to notice Romano looking at him with something that could only be called concern. “How long have you been here, Boss?”
“Oh, since about…” His voice trailed off into something like silence, and his breath was trembling a bit but he kept his back straight so as not to break down in front of Romano.
“…Spagna…” Romano’s voice lowered again. “How long have you been here?”
He couldn’t see straight, vision swimming and making him dizzy, and he realized it was because of tears flooding his eyes. Odd, he didn’t remember starting to cry, and he turned his face away before Romano had to see them, wiping them away with his sleeve like some kind of child.
He remembered Romano being that small, scraping his knees while playing with Feliciano, and his eyes would swim with tears as Antonio smoothed bandages over the scrapes. “You’re okay,” he would whisper, “mi Lovino, you’re okay.”
Why couldn’t Romano be that small anymore? Small enough to hold and kiss and sing “Ave Maria” until his voice cracks.
“Just a few hours,” Antonio whispered. “I am… praying for my friends. They seem to have lost their way.”
Romano nodded slowly and turned his face away to look up at the wooden body of Christ before them. “You’re not going to… get involved, are you?” he asked. “This war… it’s worse than World War Two. We’re going to be fighting this war with nuclear weapons, sure, but the next one… well, World War Four will be fought with sticks and stones, won’t it, if America is serious about wiping out the Middle East…”
Without thinking, Antonio put a finger to Romano’s mouth. “Don’t… talk about it, mi nino.” His heart was heavy with the thought, especially since America had not only included Russia and Germany in this war, but England and France as well. France was already prepared for a complete surrender against Pakistan and Iran’s invasion – and in turn, Spain was prepared to help him pick himself up if it came to it.
(How do you “pick up” a nation smeared across the floor like gum?)
“Do you want me to…” Romano waved his hands a bit helplessly. “Want me to pray with you?” He cleared his throat. “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy—“
“Romano.” He saw the other look at him, brown eyes wide and wonderful and so… so innocent, why did someone so innocent have to be involved in such a terrible, terrible thing? And his heart twisted and he wanted to take the younger into his arms and kiss him.
And he almost did.
“Sing with me, Romano.”
Romano nodded. “Sure, Boss.”
Knelt before a wooden crucifix, with Jesus Christ’s eyes watching them, the two nations sung “Ave Maria” until their voices rang through the air, from the stained-glass depictions of Santa Maria and all of the Patron Saints that Antonio had grown up worshipping, and he could feel his heart swelling and swelling even when the bombs (stars and stripes painted sloppily along the side) began to fall.
And when Romano reached over and took his hand, tears ran down his face, and they kept singing until their voices gave.
Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.
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Please don't stop writing.
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ilu
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