Title: What We Say And What We Save
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Character/Pairing: Romano, Spain. Mentions of Italy and Germany. Spain/Romano kinda?
Rating: Slight R for Romano's potty mouth and mentions of past violence.
Summary: After the Spanish Civil War, Romano notices Spain's changed.
Note: This is... kind of a mess, I'm sorry. It's a bit of a bunny I've had for a while, and I finally wrote out something for it that didn't sit funny in my head. I am no expert on the Spanish Civil War (or Spanish history in general ;;;;), so I hope this is okay. ANYWAY, I hope you like it?

Romano hates war. He hates fighting, he hates how he always has to run away and cower and feel like a worthless piece of land when it comes. He hates the coming war his little brother is wishing for, he hates what Germany is doing to make his brother love it. But, he hates seeing what war does most of all.

Spain has been fighting against himself, against his people, against everything and everyone inside of him. He's lost so much - his colonies are all but gone, his last standing as a power in this world nearly crumbled. He was angry - Romano knew that - angry against what was his colonies and everyone else, and he ended up turning on himself in the end. Now, Spain's nothing much more than a scar, a bruise, a broken bone standing silently in the coming wind. Romano doesn't know how he's standing - how he looks like hell gave him a kiss and yet he's standing there with the faintest of smiles on his face. He's all broken, and yet he's still trying to be the sun.

Romano can feel himself cursing wildly under his breath, but he doesn't speak. He doesn't respond. He stands there while his boss and Germany's boss and Spain's new boss just talk and bicker and order more nonsense Romano never wanted in the first place. They're only here to celebrate what their investment was in the sun-passion land - they care nothing for the people or the broken country that stands beside the new boss. They were only there to kiss ass and ask for the scratch on their backs they felt they deserved in return.

And Spain - that stupid, broken bastard Spain - just stands there, that half done smile still on his face, staring at him like he's some gift or curse from God (Romano really can't tell). He knows that Spain is actually ready to cry, to beat himself up and scream and shout and crawl on the ground and beg for the tides to turn back around. But, no, he just stands there with that stupid half smile and stupid broken bones and cuts and stares at Romano.

Romano hadn't come to see him, hadn't come to his side, so maybe that's why Spain's staring. Maybe that's why Romano feels so disgusted when he sees all the cuts and bruises and burns and whatever else made up Spain now. Maybe because he didn't see it happen, maybe because he didn't expect Spain to still be standing here with him.

But, Spain is just half smiles and half grins and keeps his distance and still stays so fucking close Romano wants to punch him. He speaks like a broken piece of glass, and his voice sounds as worn out as the bandages he has around his hands.

"This is what you wanted, right, Romano?"

This is what he wanted? Romano didn't fucking know what he wanted. His stupid little brother might know what he wanted, but Romano didn't know what the fuck he wanted. He didn't want the war, he didn't want these stupid warmongers on his lands and on his hands and making him feel like a dirty piece of shit. He knew that he didn't want that.

But what he wanted? He didn't fucking know. He didn't know what Spain wanted either. He didn't know what Spain wanted ever. (Other than wanting to eat tomatoes and roll around in sunlight, the man had always been a half-witted mystery to him.)

Then, then it was when Romano noticed a piece of paper in the bandaged hands - a note with a scrawl much too familiar and much too like his own. It was that stupid letter Veneziano made him write. That stupid letter that was Italy's pledge to the forces that had Spain now, that had won that stupid little Spanish war. The letter that Veneziano had begged and cried and pleaded for Romano to write since Spain listened to him, Spain would follow what he wanted, what Romano asked of him. (He had wanted to tell Veneziano it was the other way around, but he didn't feel like arguing with a brother that had an Iron Cross around his neck now, too.) The letter that started with "Dear Antonio," and made Romano sick to his stomach.

He didn't expect Spain to actually read it. He didn't even think it would get to him. He didn't think Spain would listen to it.

He felt his stomach drop, and he stared back. Spain just kept that smile, just kept that calm that Romano had expected to be shattered and sick by now. Romano wanted to scream that wasn't his letter, that Spain was the stupid fucking idiot he had always thought him to be, and that he really was going to be sick all over the bastard's shoes if he didn't stop fucking smiling and actually react for once.

But it's that tilt in the smile, the broken bones all over his body, those burns all down his neck and his face and god knows where else that made Romano realize Spain's just as uncertain as he is. That he's stupid and foolish and standing there willing himself not to be sick. That he wants to go punch his new boss and those other stupid bosses in the face and just fight and scream until he's done. (Just like Romano wants to right now.)

But he's already done, and that's why he's here and sick and staring like Romano's the last lifeline he has. And that he's not expecting an answer, nothing spoken, nothing guaranteed, but just something more than a note that wasn't his to begin with.

So, Romano screws up his voice, and screws up his face. "...Why do you still have that letter, you bastard?"

Spain just stares again, the smile falling a little, but still there somehow. He stares, he thinks over something, before opening his mouth.

"Because," and then he laughs - but it's not a laugh. It's old blood and dried bodies and uncertainty for the mess they've just stepped into. It's a bombed city to the north, and it's a blood bath in the main streets. It's the broken bones and the bruises and burns. It wasn't Spain. "It was the only thing I could read."

Romano just stands there and wills himself not to be sick as the new boss calls and Spain is gone.

He doesn't see him during the war, despite his little brother's cries for help and Germany's demands for assistance. He doesn't see Spain for a long while, and even when he does see him, he's all burns and stunted health and hiding in his bed. Even when the burns fade, there's still bandages and cuts and Romano finds him changing those instead of his own. Spain talks under his breath about changes and things he's not quite sure on, and Romano just sits there and curses with him.

Romano doesn't see him smile like the sun again until that new blood is long dead. And even then, Romano still notices that uncertainty in the man he thought was nothing but pride.

The Spanish Civil War - hella confusing, did a lot of damage all over Spain, and killed around 300,000 people. Italy and Germany sided with the Nationals, who ended up winning the war.

It's a bombed city to the north - Vague reference to the bombing of Guernica.