A/N: Hmmm. Will I stop making new stories and update my other ones? *looks down at her document's folder* *looks away* (eventually lol)

Anyways, enjoy and thanks so much for reading~!

Chapter 1:

I was at Spain's house, doing what I did best: complaining and bitching about the woes of my shitty life and long repressed brother complex. At least that jackass was a good listener. And a good lover. And well, just about everything else. Keh, look at me. I was aspiring to become a moron like him. I didn't think it was possible, but I had just hit an all-time low. It didn't help that it was pouring rain outside, matching my chronically sour mood all too perfectly.

Right now, I was sitting in the living room, draped over his couch with wide arms and acting as if I owned the joint. Which I very well did considering the fact that I slept here far more often than I did at my own house. But that was only because Ludwig the wonder potato was always banging Feliciano at all hours of the night. That kraut was one kinky motherfucker, and I wanted absolutely no part of it.

I grumbled under my breath and tried to think of another subject to moan to Spain about. It didn't matter that he was far away. Shouting at the top of my lungs was something that I normally did. Distance didn't stop me from pouring out my feelings over a glass, correction, several glasses of wine. Those glasses would soon become a bottle if I didn't watch myself.

"Mi querido, the food's ready!" Spain trilled, calling me into the kitchen. I grumbled and followed my nose to the heavenly scent of pizza. My words, however, didn't quite match how I was pretty much frothing at the mouth from hunger.

"There better be a whole lot of fucking tomatoes!" I growled.

"Of course there are, silly! I only make the best for my Lovi!"

Leave it to Spain to patronize me into disgruntled submission. I hated how hard it was for me to stay mad at him.

"Wipe that stupid grin off your face," I mumbled. "It's fucking unnerving."

As usual, my disparaging comment went ignored.

With a defeated sigh, I hopped up onto the kitchen island and sat myself down on a barstool. Spain twirled around in his red cooking apron, humming to himself and shedding me with a wide smile as he placed a ceramic plate before me.

Other than his cooking attire, the Spaniard was wearing nothing but a pair of ripped, faded denim jeans. Hey, you don't see me complaining. The pizza wasn't the only yummy thing in the room, you know. That bastard had abs and I shamelessly ogled at them through the methods of burning glares and discreet looks over the shoulder. There was also his butt to look at. That was also a bonus. Chigi! I must have had too much to drink already. I normally wasn't this perverted, I s-swear!

Strong arms wrapped around my neck to hug me from behind. I leaned into Spain's touch and turned my head so that he could peck me on the cheek. "Go on," he beamed, gesturing towards my plate of pizza. "Eat up!"

"I'm not a little boy anymore," I snapped. "Stop patronizing me."

Spain pouted, unwrapping his arms from my neck and taking up a seat next to me. "I just wanted to make you happy," he moped, batting his lashes in perfect puppy dog formation. I forced myself to look away. I would not give in to his whining.

"Can you at least smile for me? You've been so worked up lately. It's made me very worried."

I huffed and stuffed my mouth with just about half the slice of pizza. "What's that? Can't hear you," I hummed in between chewing. "Too busy eating."

I swallowed and made a grab for the pizza slice again, but Spain intercepted me by grabbing my chin and tilting my head in his direction. I stared right into wide, green, and ever pleading eyes. "Is there something bothering you?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes. "Just because I don't smile doesn't mean that I'm upset, you stupid bastard."

The blush on my face took away from the irritation in my voice. It wasn't long before Spain was hugging the life out of me, completely disregarding the fact that I had bones and penetrable internal organs. I spluttered for air and repeatedly punched him in the back with my fists, but alas, the bastard was too busy squealing to pay any heed to my increasingly purple face.

"You're so cute when you blush~! I just want to hold onto you and never let go."

It wasn't long before the Spaniard was forced to let go. I elbowed Spain in the gut, causing him to fall forward and cough up a disgusting amount of spittle. "I'm not cute."

"Oh?" Spain wheezed, clutching his ribcage. "And why is that?"

I looked away and picked up my slice of pizza again. "Because I'm not, okay? Fuck, do I have to spell everything out to you?"

Spain cocked his head to the side. Not long after, realization dawned on his face. A good lover, no matter how moronic they were the rest of the time, was always in tune with their significant other's feelings. My slumped shoulders and overall miserable expression indicated to him that I was having a bad day in the self-esteem department.

Spain placed a hand on my forearm, causing me to scowl and set my pizza slice down, again. "Lovino," he chided. "We've talked about this. You shouldn't be so insecure about yourself. I've watched you grow up. I know you better than you know yourself, and listen to me when I tell you that you're valued a lot more than you think you are. You're loved and always will be loved, but none of that will matter unless you learn to love yourself."

My face burned. "Che! Trying to soften me up before sex, eh?" I accused, already knowing that this conversation was going nowhere.

Spain simply shook his head and reached out a hand to fondly ruffle my hair. "You're beautiful."

"Shut up."

"And smart."

"Unlike you."

"And strong."

"Strongly debatable."

"And sexy."

"More like fly as fuck."

"And perfect."

"That's you."

I eyed my glass of wine, grabbed it, and took a sufficiently large glug out of it before Spain could give his retort. The rest of our meal was spent in silence. Spain spared me worried glances every now and then, but I warranted this behaviour solely because I had claimed the entire wine bottle for myself. Before I knew it, my filter slipped and I was lying my tornado of emotions right out onto the kitchen table.

"You know," I slurred, sloshing around the wine in my glass. "I wouldn't be so insecure about myself if it weren't for you."

Spain, who was just on the edge of being tipsy, as indicated by his pinkened cheeks, widened his eyes with surprise. "What do you mean by that?"

"You raised me to think that I came second to my fratello."

Spain clumsily spilled over his glass of wine. "Que?! That's not true at all!"

I raised a hand to silence him. "Is fucking too! Heck, you didn't even want me at first! Or how about the fact that you were almost never home? You were too busy fucking around on the seas or conquering the Americas to pay any attention to me, the little boy who wet his bed every night, terrifying himself out of the worry that you would come home broken and hurt."

Spain looked horrified by this revelation. "Oh, my poor Lovi. I had no idea you felt that way."

I turned away from Spain and bit my lip. "Yeah, well, I never expected someone as oblivious as you to put two and two together."

Spain placed a consoling hand on my back. "Lo siento. I wasn't the most considerate person back then. I'll apologize as many times as it takes to earn your forgiveness."

I finished the rest of my wine glass, raising a sleeve to wipe at my mouth when I was finished. "Save it. You know that I've already forgiven you. You being a terrible parent back then has nothing to do with how you are with me right now."

Spain playfully bumped shoulders with me, causing me to smirk. "Ay! Give me a break! I wasn't that bad."

I used two fingers to push Spain's wine-stained lips together in a feigned pout. It was becoming increasingly difficult for me to refrain myself from kissing them. "Oh, but you were," I mused, challenging his determined green eyes with smug hazel ones. "Anyone could have done a better job than you."

Spain pressed his forehead against mine. You could cut through the sexual tension in the air with one swipe of Japan's katana blade. "Like who?" he whispered, blowing hot, sweet-smelling breath into my face.

I placed a hand at the back of his head and grabbed a fistful of thick, chocolate brown curls. "Like me."

"You don't know a thing about parenting," Spain chuckled. "Why, you wouldn't even last a day, let alone several decades."

I raised a questioning brow. "Want to bet?"

"Si, I do."

BOOM!

Spain and I broke apart as the rumble of thunder, followed by a bright flash of lightning raged on outside. The foundations of the house trembled briefly, causing the lights to flicker before finally stabilizing.

Spain and I both giggled from the awkwardness of the moment. I then hopped down from the barstool and left the bastard to clean up the mess from dinner. "Whatever," I grumbled. "It's not like we can test that bet anyways."

"Too scared to lose, huh?" Spain winked.

"I don't exactly see a spare kid lying around here, do you?"

Spain sighed. "No, I suppose you're right."

I huffed. "Damn straight. Night fucker."

"Nighty night, mi tomatito! Leave some room on the bed for me this time, si?"

I glared at the Spaniard through puffy eyes one last time before I relented and left him to finish up with his cleaning. After somehow managing to stumble my way upstairs, I settled in the guest bedroom and fell asleep the moment that my head hit the pillow.

Just to spite Spain for being a patronizing butthole, I had locked the door from the inside. Normally, I would just sleep in his bedroom, but the idea of having sex with the thought of daddy issues still fresh on my mind was a major turn off.

I blissfully slept/snored in peace, deaf to the Spaniard's pleading wails from outside the bedroom door. The wailing stopped at exactly midnight, but alas, I was far too deep in dream land to notice this.

…

Wake up, little tomato, a Texan-accented voice spoke in my unconscious mind.

The time has finally come for you to put your parenting skills to the test…

…

I woke up to the sound of scuttling in the bedroom. I groaned and opened my eyes to face another pair of wide, green eyes. A kid who looked to be about 2-3 years old was sitting on the bed next to me. He had a mop of messy, shoulder-length brown curls, and was wearing an oversized white nightgown that swallowed up his tiny frame entirely. The sleeves fell long past his arms, and the bottom of the trimming ended at his stubby little feet. He was actually quite adorable, but waking up to the sight of a random kid was enough to scare anyone.

I started with a jolt and sat up. "Chigi!" I exclaimed. "Where did you come from?!"

The tanned boy simply shed me with a toothy grin, shrugging all the while. "I don't know~!"

I furrowed my brows. "How can you not…? Oh," I hummed in thought. This had to be a prank, right? After our drunken bet last night, Spain must have thought it would be funny to mess with me by borrowing a kid who looked exactly like him. Well, the jig was up because I wasn't having any of his shit this fucking early in the morning.

"Oi! Sp-!" I faltered to correct myself. This was a human boy who I was dealing with. He didn't know that we were personifications of countries, and the last thing that I needed on my conscience was the thought of him being sent to a mental hospital for seeing things that 'didn't exist'. Believe me, it's happened before.

"Antonio?!" I called out harshly. "This isn't funny anymore! Now get in here before I-!" I had to stop myself again. I had to keep reminding myself that I couldn't swear in front of little bambinos like him.

The boy cocked his head to the side, raising a hesitant hand to tug on the sleeve of my red nightshirt. "Who's Antonio?" he asked.

"Someone's who's about to be in a lot of trouble when I find him," I answered, throwing off the covers from my lap and stepping off the bed. It sure was a good thing that I had randomly decided to wear pants last night.

The boy, who was sitting cross-legged on the mattress, sent me a worried look. "Am I in trouble too?"

I tried my best to smile kindly at the boy, but failed miserably in doing so. I looked even more like a pervert than that tomato bastard normally did. "No, of course not. Now let's get you home before someone thinks that you've been kidnapped." I gestured for the boy to follow after me. He simply looked down at the floor and then back up at me.

"Can you pick me up?"

"Come again?"

The boy shifted uncomfortably and fidgeted with his hands, shyly avoiding direct eye contact. "The bed's too high. I'm scared."

"How the fuc-!" I cleared my throat. "Um, how did you get up onto the bed in the first place?"

The boy bit his lip in confusion. "I don't know. I just woke up here."

I sighed. This was looking more and more like a kidnapping by the sound of it. Spain, you bastard. What were you thinking?! If the authorities got involved, I was so not going to bail his sorry ass out. He always seems to forget that his people are not literally his people.

"Alright, c'mere then," I grumbled. The boy lifted his arms, and I picked him up by the armpits, holding him out from my chest as if he were a strange specimen to inspect. His legs dangled high from the ground, causing him to giggle a little. I blushed from the awkwardness of the moment and brought him closer to my chest, wrapping an arm around his waist in support. He was surprisingly light and warm. His hair tickled my nose as he wrapped his own arms around my neck.

"Will I be as big and strong as you when I'm older?"

"So long as you eat your vegetables," I murmured, resorting to the go-to basic answer that all parents give their children. I carried the boy out of the bedroom and into the upstairs hallway. Our conversation fell short after that. I had never been good with children, and the fact that it was so early in the morning didn't exactly help with my already poor socialization skills. The boy simply sucked on his thumb, looking up at me with a speculative glance every now and then. My discomfort grew when he rested his head against the crook of my neck, but I didn't have the heart to say anything about it. I was oddly growing fond of the little guy. He was cute and very mild tempered. Only a monster would have set him down on his own two feet.

I looked for Spain everywhere. So far my search had come up empty. I searched for him in his bedroom, the kitchen, the backyard, the bathroom, and the linen closet (you never know with that bastard), but the carefree Spaniard was nowhere to be found. I then decided to try my luck by searching for him in the laundry room.

"Are you searching for your friend?" The boy's voice shook a little as I climbed down a flight of stairs.

"Mhmm," I hummed, gritting my teeth to prevent anger from leaking into my voice. "Say, what's your name kid?"

The boy pulled away from my neck to look me straight in the eye. I tried my best to look behind and not at him. His eyes were large enough to remind me of those creepy dolls that are typically found in America's (awful) horror movies. "Um, I'm not really sure," he whispered.

"Nice try, bambino," I smirked. "Now enough of this funny business. Everyone's got a name. What's yours?"

"Eh…?" the boy pondered. "I think it's starts with a S…Sp...Sp-ain…"

The boy's eyes lit up with pride. "Spain! My name is Spain!"

"Ha!" I barked with laughter. "Did Antonio tell you to say that?"

The boy faltered, the smile on his face wavering. "No! My name really is Spain!"

"Yeah," I chuckled. "Sure it is. And my name is Italy." Oh, irony, you glorious butt fucker of fate.

"It is!" he protested.

"Looks like we've got a comedian over here," I smirked.

"I'm telling the truth!"

"Uh-huh, yeah. Sure."

"Why do you have to be so mean?!"

I stopped walking when I heard the boy's voice crack. "Oi," I tried to pull the boy away from my neck, but he was a lot stronger than he looked. He was currently burying his face into my shoulder, using his fists to tightly cling onto my shirt.

"Are you…crying?"

The boy blubbered into my shoulder. "N-No!" he sniffled in a nasally voice.

Shit.

After much struggle, I pried him away from my shoulder. "Okay, 'Spain'," I teased, knowing full well that the boy was far too young to appreciate my sarcasm, let alone understand it. "I believe you." I raised a sleeve to wipe the tears from his chubby cheeks only to falter when a gravelly, Southern accented voice spoke in my head.

Time froze for whatever reason.

Literally, what the fuck was my life anymore?

"Dearest Tomato, I heed you to listen to me. I have come to deliver a divine prophecy from God for ya. Due to you running your mouth last night, it has been decided that you will be given a chance to stop being a little bitch and put your cockiness where your dick is. In other words, your lover will remain as a child for a period of 24 hours. It is up to you to nurture and care for him as any other parent would."

"Chigi!" I thought in my head. "That kid's actually Spain?!"

"Yep."

"What the hell?! How the fuck do you expect me to take care of him?!"

"Weren't you the one who said that you would make for a better parent?"

I sighed internally. Texan God had a point. "Si…but-!"

"No buts! Now you best get a move on, partner. That adorable little love muffin in your arms ain't going to comfort himself."

Texan God left my mind and faded back to wherever the fuck he came from. I was over questioning things at this point.

Time resumed once more.

Little Spain sobbed and pounded weak fists against my chest in retaliation. "Don't say you believe me, if you don't mean it, you big meanie!"

It took me a moment to respond. After all, I was still cock-shocked over the fact that my lover was now a child. We were only joking when we had made that bet last night, damnit! When I was drunk, I hardly ever meant what I said! Looks like my cocky words had come right back to bite me in the ass. Che, could this day get any worse?!

"Hey," I chided. "Don't be like that." Not knowing what to do, I rubbed a consoling hand up and down Spain's back, hoping that this action would be enough to placate him into calming down. Luckily it did because Spain's sobs eventually turned into hiccups. His eyes and cheeks were still red, but at least he had finally stopped crying.

I grabbed a rag that was hanging on a nearby drying rack. "Shhh," I cooed, gently dabbing at his cheeks again.

"I was only messing with you," I lied. "I didn't think that you would get so upset."

Spain's eyes twinkled. "So you really do-" *hiccup* "-believe me?"

"Yes, really," I smiled, only to grimace when a stream of green snot trickled out of Spain's nose.

Spain grinned, merrily oblivious to the fact that the mucus was now heading straight for his mouth. "Really, really?"

"Really, really, really," I chuckled, wincing as I dabbed at the snot on his upper lip. That shit was sticky. And why the fuck was it so warm?!

Just when I thought that things couldn't get any more gross, Spain hiccuped. That wasn't the gross part, however. After patting his back again, he burped right in my face.

"Excuse you," I grumbled, frowning at him.

My words fell on deaf ears as Spain was too busy laughing at the disgusted expression on my face. After several forced burps and reluctant pats to the back, Spain faltered, looking-pale faced all of a sudden.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Spain bit his lip. "I don't…feel so good."

My eyes widened with realization, but it was already far too late for me to act. Spain's cheeks puffed up, and before I knew it, yellow, foul-smelling vomit was thrown all across my night shirt, my socks, the floors, the walls, and even the fucking ceiling. It was like someone had placed a finger over a running hose, that being Spain's rancid mouth, and let the vomit spray in all directions.

Spain gave me a horrified look while I held him out from my chest in a Simba-like manner.

"The…FUCK?!" I screamed, while Spain simultaneously broke out into tears. AGAIN.

"I'm…I'm…s-s-sorry! Please don't…hate…m-me…" Spain blubbered in between choking for air and also on his own snot and vomit.

I set down Spain in the laundry room's sink basin and raised the hand that wasn't covered in precarious liquids to my forehead. Just fucking great. On top of nursing a raging hangover, I now had to clean up a shit-ton of vomit, soothe a sniffling and snotting bambino, and nurture him in a way that didn't traumatize him for life, well, at least for the day anyways.

Mission fucking impossible, am I right?

To be continued...

Texan God is a reference to the anime's dub. Look up "Hungary's Message From God" on You Tube if you don't know what I'm trolling about xD

…

Next Chapter... Stage 1: Breakfast Time and Hangry Hissy Fits

"SPAIN! PUT THAT TABLE DOWN RIGHT THIS INSTANT!"

CRASH!

"MAKE ME, YOU STUPID MAN PUTA!"