Not Like Them

It had been two days. Two days since Spain had left his home in a frantic state of worry. Two days since he had been traveling across his country with no sort of provisions or preparations of any kind. He could feel his stomach cramping up with hunger he could no longer feel. His legs were tired as every muscle begged for mercy. He had to wipe the sweat off his forehead as it dripped down once again in the hot sun of midday. And yet, he kept pushing himself forward. There was no choice except to keep going. The one person he had finally been given sovereignty over was gone. He was gone and was, no doubt, wandering blindly in the direction of his own home in a state that was probably much worse than the one Spain was in at the moment. He had to find his charge no matter what.

"Romano…"

He had no idea why the boy had ran away. He had only told him that he was going to Austria's place, no reason admitted. Then he had seen Ita-chan there…amidst a sparkling clean courtyard. Austria's whole house had looked spotless, a direct contrast to the chaos he knew he would be coming home to afterwards. Romano never did any cleaning around his place or listened to any of Spain's orders. Who could blame Spain when he had ran from the courtyard right into Austria's home and begged him to trade Italy for his brother? The aristocratic nation had refused, of course, leaving Spain downhearted and dejected. He had been so slow and sulky on the way home that he had sent a messenger ahead to let his household know he was alright and would just be coming a bit late. But when Spain had finally arrived home, he had been told that his protectorate was missing and that no one had seen him since the day before. The Spaniard hadn't wasted a moment setting off after him.

Why was I so hasty in leaving? I should have at least packed some food… What would he feed Romano when he found him? He had a little bit of money that he had been carrying with him on his trip to Austria's, but there were no shops around here, and the only ones he had passed had been earlier on in his trip, when he had been too restless to stop his search or even think about eating.

The Spaniard stopped and leaned against a tree, too drained to take another step. What had Romano been thinking? The boy would never make it all the way back to Italy on his own. Did he even know the way? There were so many dangers…A lot could happen to a small country that was alone and defenseless. What if France or Turkey carried him off? Spain would never forgive himself. He had finally been put in charge of someone, and already, he had lost him. What kind of boss am I?

He slunk down to the base of the tree and sat there, waiting for some of his strength to return. His household must have been in an uproar by now. He hadn't even told his boss he was going out to search for Romano, but he had no doubts that she knew that's what he was doing. Someone must have seen him leave the house; at the very least, there was the servant who had delivered the news of the young Italian's absence to him. It would be fine. He just had to focus on what he had come here for.

Why did you run away?

He covered his face with his hand, sick with stress and worry. How much longer? If he didn't find him soon, the boy might not be…He pushed the thoughts away. The only thing he could do was keep going. Keep going, hoping that Romano was okay and that, somehow, he would find him. He hadn't rested long when he forced himself back on his feet and trudged forward again.

The sun was almost setting by the time he made it to the top of a ridge overlooking a small village below. Maybe he could buy some food there. He didn't want to stop, but when the sun set, he knew he wouldn't be doing anyone any good fumbling around in the dark. Maybe he should rest there. Then, in the morning- No! It'll be too late by then! Romano's still out there. It may…already be too late now.

He stood on the road by a grassy field, debating what to do and feeling lost. He wouldn't be able to sleep tonight if he stayed here. He had to keep going until there was no daylight left. The Spaniard took a weary step forward and stopped.

There was a noise coming from the field of tall grass beside him. It sounded like a low whimpering. Looking for the source, Spain could see nothing. There were only the long yellow and brown stalks shooting up over the hillside. As his eyes scanned the field, however, he noticed that one blade was slightly curlier than the rest and sticking up much higher too. It couldn't be!

With a few staggering steps, he hurried over to the curl and dropped down on his knees beside the lump he could now see nestled among the grass. His hands trembled as he placed them on the small body of the very one he had been looking for. The boy was turned away from him. When Spain's hands touched him, he gasped and shuddered beneath them. The man could already feel tears of relief flowing down his face.

"R-romano!"

He bent down further to pick his charge up, but a hand shot up and slapped him hard in the face. Spain pulled back, startled.

"Leave me alone, you bastard!" a choked voice squeaked from under him. "Why the hell did you come here?"

"Romano…" Spain said, his voice hurt, "I came to take you home with me."

"Like hell you did! Go away! You don't want me…"

His voice was weak. He was still turned away, refusing to look Spain in the eyes. Instead, he curled up on the floor, arms wrapped around himself protectively. Spain reached out towards him, but stopped, knowing the boy didn't want to be touched.

"What makes you think that, mijo? Austria gave you to me. It's my job to look after you now."

"I don't need you! I don't need anyone!"

"Romano-"

"I'm fine on my own, so get out of here, dammit! GO AWAY!"

"You're not fine! Look at you…How much food did you bring with you when you left my house? How much do you have left now? When's the last time you ate?"

The little Italian didn't say anything. He just lay there in silence, ignoring the man's questions. Spain was getting impatient now. He grabbed Romano and tried to flip him over to face him. The boy bent his head down and dug his teeth into Spain's arm, biting down hard.

"Ay!" Spain cried, dropping his charge, whose teeth had managed to draw a bit of blood.

Romano groaned and rolled over on the floor, glaring up at him. His face was so pale, and his eyes were half-lidded with fatigue, even as he locked them with Spain's furiously. The Spaniard couldn't get over the loathing look in his eyes. What had he done to deserve it? He couldn't understand why Romano was acting this way at all.

"Get the hell out," his charge growled.

"I'm not leaving you!" Spain insisted. "Please, let me take you to the village! We can get some food there. You're sick, Romanito. You need help."

"Not from you! You- I HATE you!"

"W-what?" Spain gasped, taken aback. "But why?"

No answer again.

"Roma…" he asked cautiously, "what did I do to make you so mad?"

"Jerk," was all the child coughed back at him.

"Please, Romano," the man pleaded, almost whining. "I don't understand."

There was silence again until Spain could hear his charge speak in a very small voice.

"You left me…"

"What?" Spain replied, unbelievingly. "B-but, mijo! You knew I was coming right back! I just want to Austria's house for a visit, that's all."

He laughed a little at how silly it all was, but stopped when he saw Romano still glaring at him more furiously than ever. The boy's face was turning red now, but he still looked like he didn't have the energy for much more yelling. Spain's face turned serious again, and he lowered his voice in a sincere apology.

"Perdoname. There's more to it, isn't there? Please, Roma. Tell me."

The boy shook his head slowly, but stopped and held it in pain. Spain, growing even more worried now, reached out and risked another bite to bring his charge closer to him and hold him in his lap. Romano didn't try to fight back, but he pushed his short arms against Spain's chest in protest.

"Let me go, bastard," he muttered. "Just go cuddle Feliciano."

Spain looked down at him in surprise.

"Ita-chan? Why would I do that when I've got you right here?"

Romano put his arms down and instead buried his head in Spain's shirt by his stomach. He covered his face in his hands and shuddered with a sob.

"Romano!" Spain said, wrapping his arms around the weak body. "Don't cry! I'm here for you."

"Shut up," Romano said, pounding a fist against him so softly he barely felt it. "I know you like him better. The messenger you sent…he said you were gonna be late because you were sad Austria wouldn't trade me for him. You don't care about me at all, you liar. You just-"

His mumbling was interrupted by a choking cough. Spain looked at him frantically. He knew he had to get Romano some food and water quickly, before he passed out.

"Listen, Roma, I have to go to the village to get some food. If you won't come with me, I'll just have to leave you here and bring some ba-"

A tiny hand gripped his shirt tighter all of a sudden. Spain looked down at his charge, confused.

"D-don't leave me here, you stupid jerk…"

At first, the Spaniard was confused at Romano's sudden change of mind, but finally, he understood. Romano certainly didn't want to be left alone, no matter what he had said before.

"Of course not," he replied. "I'm sorry. I could never do that."

Romano hiccupped with a sniff as Spain held him close and stood up on shaky legs.

"I-I still hate you," the boy informed him.

"That's okay," Spain told him with a gentle smile, "because I'll never stop caring about you, Romano. You're all I have. And - you're the only one I want."

He kissed his charge on the forehead and began walking. Romano looked up at him in a daze, eyebrows furrowed with his mixed feelings. He wanted to hit the man. Wanted to make him sorry he ever considered trading him for his brother. But even if he had the strength, he didn't know if he would. Something about the kindness and sincerity in his boss's voice almost made him want to trust him…a little.

"No one's…ever wanted me," he whispered. "Not even Romajii-chan."

Spain looked down at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Your grandpa?"

Romano bent his head down in a half-nod.

"He always liked Feliciano better. I was never as good at painting or trade or anything. He was always better than me. I was just...ignored."

Spain frowned and looked at the bundle in his arms with sympathy. Had this child always been cast aside? Did he feel inferior to his brother? And I did nothing to help with that, he reminded himself guiltily. How could he ever make this up to the boy? It would take a lot of work to prove that his promises were true.

"You don't have to feel that way anymore. I'll be a good boss to you, mijo. You can count on it. I'm sorry for what I did. It was wrong of me to ask for your brother instead. I was too stupid to realize I already had someone great right here. Please, can't you forgive me? I promise I'll keep you safe."

Romano turned his face further into Spain's shirt, muffling his words. His body shook with his voice.

"Why should I believe you? It'll only hurt more when you leave me alone. You'll let me go…the moment I trust you."

"No!" Spain insisted, his hoarse voice suddenly forceful. "I'm not like them, Romano! I won't ever abandon you. You're mine! Mio! And I don't want anyone else. I don't-"

Romano's eyes widened slightly in shock when he felt a tear drip down onto him from Spain's chin. He craned his neck slowly to look up at the man and saw that he really was shedding new tears for him with the promises he made. His boss sighed and looked down at him too.

"If you can't believe my words…will you trust my face?"

The boy was quiet. He turned his face away again and closed his eyes. I want to believe you…

"Please give me a chance to prove it to you," he heard the man say. "I know it'll take time, but I'll make you see - you don't have to be afraid anymore."

Romano clenched his fists tightly and gritted his teeth. He could feel Spain lift him up higher and nuzzle against him, leaving a kiss on his cheek. The feeling he left was warm and comforting. It was a kind of security Romano hadn't felt in a long time. Damn bastard. I know I shouldn't, but…I want to believe you. I want to believe you. I- I-

"I trust you."