Romano sat on the kitchen floor, pouting as he stared at the mess around him. 'Just like that damn Spain to leave me at home to clean while he goes out and plays with Veneziano,' he thought to himself grumpily. His frown deepened when he heard the front door open.

"I'm home Romano!" Spain called out happily, and I brought your brother over for dinner!" The boy was admittedly pleased to see his estranged brother, but there was no way in hell he was going to let Spain know that.

"Ask me before you invite guests over, Jerk Spain!" Romano huffed, pulling himself to his feet and kicking the dustpan across the floor for impact.

Spain made his way into the disheveled kitchen and sighed deeply, "Romano, I thought I asked you to clean while I was gone," he chastised.

Anger boiled in the Italian as he watched his brother innocently peek around the corner, "Ve~, big brother never has been very good at straightening" he added.

"Who the hell asked you?" Romano stomped his foot in disbelief that his brother would come all the way to Spain just to criticize his housekeeping skills.

"Ita's good at it, though," Spain looked down at Veneziano and smiled wildly. "If only you were more like your brother, Romano." He sighed wistfully.

"You damn bastard!" Romano screamed, anger creeping through his veins.

"Ve~, everyone should be more like me!" Veneziano agreed.

"Ok, I'll try!" Spain nodded, smiling before he placed his hands on his cheeks and started pulling the skin from his skull.

Romano backed into the kitchen counter, "wh-what are you doing, idiot?" He sputtered madly as Spain succeeded in ripping off his skin, revealing the face of Veneziano beneath it.

"Ve~ it worked!" Spain cheered happily. He and Veneziano grinned at each other stupidly before turning to Romano.

The small Italian felt his heart thump heavily against his chest as their once cheery faces suddenly turned sinister. They slowly made their way towards him, each step echoing a hundred times in the quickly expanding room. Romano felt himself shrink weakly to his knees as he covered his eyes with his hands, "S-stay away!" He wailed. "I want to keep my face!"

"But Romano," Spain slurred, sounding not at all that friendly boss he normally was, "don't you know this is what will make me happy? Don't you want to be a good lackey?"

"Ve, yeah Romano, don't you care about your boss' needs?" Veneziano joined.

Romano shook as their outstretched arms reached closer and closer, a cold finger brushed his face before he closed his eyes and wailed with all his might.

Romano awoke with a scream, struggling to stay in bed as his legs jerked around wildly. He willed his heart to stop pounding against his chest and slowly the movement in his legs dissipated to a slight tremor. He sat up slowly as the panic flooded away, his body was drenched in sweat and his stomach rolled dangerously with every movement.

"Spain," he called out impulsively, too quietly for the older nation to hear him. The realization of how sick he felt made Romano suddenly aware of how alone he was in the big dark room, and he found himself overwhelmed with the sudden need to be comforted. Without thinking, he swung his short legs over the bed, feeling sore and nauseous from the effort. Stars danced before his eyes as he took a few steps forward, he almost made it to the door before he started feeling lightheaded and had to steady himself on the dresser by the door. After a few deep breaths he finally made his way out of the room, brushing a hand against the wall to steady himself as he navigated his way down the dark passageways. "S-stupid bastard and his s-stupid huge house," he muttered, sniffling as he padded his way to his caretaker's room. He didn't want to cry but he the overwhelming sensations of nausea and loneliness made a few hot tears slip down his cheeks despite his best efforts.

Finally he made his way to the Spaniard's room. He reached up to grab the knob but found it locked and instead had to weakly thump on the door. He leaned his ear forward and listened intently but heard no movement, the bastard didn't care about him, he was just like Austria. 'He'll probably just lay quietly in his bed till I give up and leave him alone,' Romano thought bitterly. Convinced that Spain wasn't coming, the small country started hiccuping in exasperation as tears flooded his eyes. Pressure started to build in his head from crying and he swayed as his stomach clenched dangerously. The boy wasn't sure if he was going to vomit or black-out, but his pride told him neither should be done in front of the damn Spaniard's door. He had just decided to make his way to the closest bathroom when an intense throbbing pain in his stomach made him fall to his knees and cry out in pain. His heart beat wildly against his chest as he felt bile force its way up his throat and out of his mouth the cold hardwood below.

"Spain," he cried out between hacks, dignity forgotten as the overwhelming need to be comforted overcame him once more. Thankfully, this time he heard rustling around in the bedroom and he sniffed back some tears as light suddenly filled the frame of the door. He turned his head from the sudden brightness and caught sight of the pile of sick on the floor, now newly illuminated. The image made his stomach flip painfully and he shook in shock as a heave wracked it's way out of his mouth. 'Nononono' his mind raced wildly. He didn't want to vomit again, especially in front of his caretaker.

Romano realized that he had no choice in the matter as the he continued to heave, eventually producing more hot and sour vomit as the door finally clicked open. "Dios mio, Lovinito," a sympathetic voice sounded. Shivers quaked up the Italian's spine as he felt hands brush his matted hair away from his sweat-soaked face. The vomiting finally ebbed into wet coughing, leaving tears trickling down Romano's red cheeks from both the effort and the embarrassment. He moved a small fist to his eyes, desperate to hide the fact that he was crying, but a sob made it's way out of his mouth despite himself.

"Shh, don't cry mi tomate, it's ok," Spain cooed softly, wrapping his arms around his small ward and lifting him from the ground with little effort. Sidestepping the puddle on the floor, he carried the young boy into his room, laying him on the bed as he placed a warm palm on his forehead. Heat radiated off the boy's face and a frown flickered across Spain's mouth.

"Spain, it's cold," Romano sniffed, shivering to prove his point.

"I know, but we need to change your clothes before you get tucked in, you're all sweaty." Antonio smiled lightly, combing his fingers through the small boy's hair. "Will you be ok for a minute if I go to your room to get some new ones?"

Romano's heart skipped a beat, his pride told him to curse the bastard out and tell him of course he'd be fine, but the truth was he didn't want Antonio to leave. He didn't want to get sick again without him there, he needed his presence to comfort him. Conflicted, he just decided not to answer, the Spaniard could do what he wanted.

This was the wrong decision he realized, as Spain, dense as always, took the silence as affirmation and ruffled his henchman's hair one last time before exiting the room. The heat that Romano had felt from the brief contact was quickly replaced by an overwhelming coldness as he found himself alone once more. Without Spain's presence to distract him, he started to concentrate on the soreness in his limbs and the nausea still plaguing his stomach. He pushed himself into a sitting position as the familiar feeling of gastric mutiny started overwhelm him. His head hurt so bad, the dim side-table lamp seemed to be stabbing his eyes with beams of light and his head throbbed painfully in protest. He didn't want to be alone, his mind and heart raced. He hurt so bad and he didn't want to throw up again. His right hand started to twitch in understanding of it's owner's stressed state.

Romano thumped his head back onto the headboard, frustrated by his body's inability to listen to any of its commands. "Stop," he whined pathetically at his hand as it moved more and more frantically as if playing an unheard tune. The jerking movement furthered the discomfort in Romano's churning gut, he shuddered at the idea of vomiting on Spain's bed, he had suffered enough humiliation tonight. "Why won't you listen to me?" He shouted as forcefully as his pathetic state would allow.

"What's that?" A gentle voice sounded. Romano's eyes flew open, the sight of the Spaniard's kind face immediately comforted him, but he fought to keep his expression as miserable-looking as possible. He turned his head to the doorway and realized that the sick had been cleaned off the floor, who knew how long Spain had been just outside the doorway listening as the boy sniffed and huffed at his inability to control his body. His cheeks burned with embarrassment as he felt strong fingers grasp his chin and tenderly pull his head back so a cool washcloth could be wiped over his face. "Is it ok if I change you, Lovi?" Spain asked, knowing better than to do it without the hot-tempered boy's permission.

Roman's cheeks burned hotter, "of course not pervert, I'm big enough to do it myself," he muttered in faked indignation.

"Right, right, of course," Spain laughed, smiling sympathetically as he watched the small boy struggle to keep his balance after crawling off the bed. "Maybe you could let boss help you, as a favor to him, so he doesn't feel useless," Spain suggested, incapable of watching Romano struggle to unbutton his nightshirt with a wildly-jerking right hand. The Italian huffed angrily as an ill-timed twitch popped a seam and sent a button clattering to the floor. "Fine, I don't want you to cry about it or anything," Romano snapped, dropping his hands to his sides as Spain scurried over to finish the job.

Spain couldn't help but notice how ghostly pale his lackey's skin was as he finished unbuttoning the pajama top and pulled it off Romano's slender shoulders. 'He's ice cold,' Spain fretted as he balled the sweaty piece of clothing between his hands and threw it haphazardly over his shoulder. He reached a hand up over the bed to grab the fresh pair of pajamas sitting on it and had just started to pull off the small boy's bottoms when he saw his stomach clench. He glanced up at Romano's face, all the color had drained from his cheeks and he held a hand tightly over his mouth. Without hesitating Spain pushed the clean pajamas away and grabbed the small trash can he had thankfully, in a rare moment of foresight, placed next to the bed. As soon as the bin was placed under Romano's mouth he leaned forward and retched, sobbing pitifully as sour bile dripped from his mouth and nostrils.

"It's ok my cute little Lovi, get it all out, you'll feel better." He encouraged, rubbing circles on the boy's convulsing back. Romano felt dizzy as the heaving finally gave way to wet coughs. He couldn't get enough air into his lungs, and, dammit, when had the room become so hot? Color and sound blended together as he felt himself slump to the floor below.

"Woah there," Spain called out, scooting the trash can out of the way as he slipped one hand beneath the boy's armpit to hoist him back to his feet. Fear flickered in his heart as he watched Romano's head loll to the side. "Romano?" He asked, straining to keep the panic out of his voice. "Romano," he called again when he received no answer. "Romano, are you awake?"

The boy finally sniffled in response, struggling to pull his head up so he could look his caregiver in the eyes. "It hurts so bad, please don't leave," he cried in a rare moment of honesty. Spain knew the boy was delirious from fever, but his heart melted at the words and he pulled his lackey into a gentle embrace. He slipped an arm under Romano's bottom and hoisted himself up, resting his chin on the small boy's head as he rocked him gently back and forth. He rubbed his back soothingly and hummed. After a while he felt the body in his arms relax and he gently lowered him to the bed below. He pulled the covers around the sleeping boy and traced his finger down a tear-stained cheek as he smiled sadly to himself.

"I'm not going anywhere, Lovi, I promise you," he whispered to the unconscious boy. "I'll be here for you forever, my little tomate."