Alright. For once, I'm going to write a story with chapters. This might not end well. /horrible at keeping up with things like this

This is based very heavily off the book 'When Jeff Comes Home' by Catherine Atkins, one of my favorite books of all time. It just screamed for a Hetalia version, so, I slightly modified the story (VERY slightly) and just... churned this out. Yes, for those of you that have read the book, it's horribly similar, but... bear with me.

I don't own Hetalia or When Jeff Comes Home, but if I did... Lord knows.

Well, enjoy!

WARNINGS FOR FUTURE CHAPTERS:

Contains rape, pedophilia, bondage, and all sorts of other icky stuff. Don't like, don't read.

When Romano Comes Home

Chapter 1

He turned the engine off, the sound of the rain only increased in volume, and my headache got worse. My fists clenched unnoticeably as I closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable.

"Well?" He asked slowly, quietly, his voice husky as though he hadn't spoken in days.

"You can go now… if you want." I turned my head away from him, eyes still shut, face angled towards the misty window. The sounds of raindrops against the metal roof of the car were like jolts to my head, but I knew I shouldn't mention the pain. I remained silent.

"I said you can go." He snapped, his voice becoming louder with rage. I kept my eyes closed, fists clenching tighter.

"I know…" I murmured. He said nothing. There was a long silence for a while before I felt arms wrap around me – that scent, that overpowering scent – and I was pulled into an embrace, his grip tight around me.

"Look…" He muttered into my hair, giving it a gentle kiss. I remained motionless, my arms pinned to my sides by the unwanted hug, unmoving, nonreactive.

"We can go… we don't have to stay here, we can just leave…" His words surprised me. He had never been this kind before. However, the feel of his hand steadily creeping southward towards my thigh spoke volumes otherwise. I pulled away, a much more daring gesture than I had intended, a frown written upon my face.

"No, it's fine, I'm going." I glared at him, his emerald eyes, jaded in every way, partially hidden by shadow. After all, it was past midnight.

"Alright…" He sighed, glancing downward before suddenly wrapping a hand around the back of my head and tugging me in for a kiss, his fingers coming forward to gently trace around the diamond stud in my right ear. I shivered as his tongue worked effortlessly against mine – I wasn't going to bother putting up a fight. The kiss was desperate, pleading; he wanted me to stay.

However, after a few breathless moments, he broke away, heaving another sigh, and looked at his hands. I said nothing, my stomach clenching uncomfortably.

"Okay. You're free. Go." He commanded, his voice thick. I eyed him warily for a moment, my hand reaching up to tightly clench the door handle. I half-expected him to turn the key and speed off as soon as I tried to get out.

Wordlessly, I got out of my seat, the cacophony of the rain increasing. I turned to close the door, and our gazes met, mine cold and unforgiving (I hoped, I could feel it beginning to crack), and his empty and almost… sad.

"I love you…" He murmured, barely audible over the rain. I briefly considered just slamming the door and walking off, back where I belonged, by but conscience got the best of me.

"I know…" I whispered, and, glancing down, I shut the door and turned away. I could feel his eyes on me as I trudged up the front walk, not daring to stop, not chancing giving him a second glance. I could imagine him as clear as day – hands gripping the leather of the steering wheel, mouth set, eyes hard… Shuddering, I quickened my pace.

My eyes caught the familiar brass numbers of the house, and I jogged up the wooden steps, still painted forest green from eight summers ago. Had it really been that long since I was seven years old…?

I hesitated in front of the door, my finger poised over the doorbell. I didn't want to turn around, knew that there was no turning back. He was still watching me. I had to do something.

My heart pounded heavily in my chest, and I rang the doorbell. I closed my eyes, trembling, trying to hear the sounds of people coming down the stairs in the rain. Eventually, I heard the door open, and glanced up.

My father stood before me; rifle in hand, his eyes shimmering behind a screen of tousled brown hair. I gaped at him for a moment, lips moving soundlessly before I finally found words.

"Rome…" I breathed, my hand wanting to do nothing more than just reach forward and touch him, just to make sure this was all real. He stared warily down at me, lips pursed.

"Who are you?" He asked, his grip upon the rifle tightening. I didn't remember him ever owning a gun – he obviously bought it during the time I was gone. I didn't want to consider the reasons why.

"It… d-dad… it's me, your son. Romano… don't you remember me?" I asked, taking the smallest of steps towards him. Immediately, his gaze softened with recognition, and he lowered the rifle.

"Romano…? Is… is that really you?" He breathed. I swallowed, nodding.

"Oh… Oh, my God…" My father gasped before suddenly capturing me in a hug, my face pressed to his chest. I stiffened, my breath catching in my throat, my eyes widening.

"Romano, I… it's been so long, we… Romano…!" He sobbed, clutching me tighter. I inhaled sharply, closing my eyes, wanting nothing more than for him to let me go. I was sure he could hear my heart pounding, and I prayed silently that he wouldn't see the black car cowering within the mist upon the street.

Finally, after what felt like forever, he released me, looking me straight in the eye, his hands still upon my shoulders, though one occasionally relinquished itself from me to brush tears from his face.

"Romano, it's… come inside, come inside!" Rome gently guided me through the door, and I caught a glimpse of my younger brother cowering fearfully by the grandfather clock, his eyes wide with fear and disbelief.

"Romano…?" He breathed, hands hovering protectively in front of himself as though I was a wild animal. In essence, I was.

"Is that… it's really you, isn't it…?" Feliciano gasped, his eyes swimming with tears. Why did everyone have to be crying?

Next to me, Rome still had a hand upon my shoulder, gripping it tightly, as though he was afraid I would disappear. I nodded, and Feliciano gave a sob before wrapping his arms around my waist and hugging me. I flinched; the wind knocked out of me for more reasons that one.

"Romano, I-I… We've missed you, so, so much…!" What followed was just incoherent babbling from my younger brother as he sobbed into my shoulder. I trembled, my hands at my sides, hoping he would let go soon. Eventually, he did, much to my relief, but continued to sob, and my father patted him lightly on the back in a soothing way.

"It's… Romano, what happened? You… no, no, you must be tired, you… you can tell us in the morning, go on to bed. We've… your room's the same…" My father murmured, running a hand through his hair as though it would help him think more clearly. I said nothing, listening keenly for the sound of an engine starting, hoping he would drive away, and never come back.

With another nod, I left my still crying brother and my overwhelmed father and headed upstairs, returning to my room. Opening the door, I was met with a horribly depressing sight – this was not the room of a 15 year old – this was the room of a 7 year old. It still hadn't struck me how long I had been gone – my brother had been 5 years old at the time. Mom wasn't alive, however. I couldn't remember a time when she was still with us.

Sighing, I stripped myself of my shirt and curled up on my bed, shivering from more than just the cold, my knees bent so I could fit. My eyes stared out the rain-streaked windows, hoping to see a black car headed down the street.

My gaze flitted to the door, which I had left wide open. Hurriedly, I got up and closed it, not wanting to risk anyone getting in. While I was at it, I decided to close the blinds, trapping myself in my own little space, not unlike times in years past. But, this time, it was different…

I bit my lip, head pounding, ears still craning for any sign of noise from outside. I was cold, but I didn't bother getting under the covers. I knew he was still there, knew he was watching me… Eventually, I drifted into a restless sleep.

I awoke when I felt lips pressed harshly against my own.