Jesus this took forever. I'm sorry, guys, life has been hard, I'm tight on money, and school's harder than it looks, so I had to get everything out of the way before I could finish this! But now it's done, and this is the longest chapter so far, so good job me!

As promised, a Spain x Romano lemon.

Only one more chapter to go and this is all done! Are you excited?! I'll have to find something else to write haha~! But this was a nice project altogether, and I hope you're all liking it.

Thanks, and please enjoy!


"I'm surprised I can even fit through a fucking door!"

Spain watched in amusement as his lover easily passed through the doorway to his study without a hint of complication.

"Lovino, you think too hard on these things. You are perfectly healthy!"

"You damn bastard," he growled, "You aren't the size of a whale. Try it out and see how it feels!"

Spain laughed out loud, removing his reading glasses and putting them to his desk, leaning back in his leather chair. "Mi dios! What a threat!"

Romano pouted, his arms resting over the gigantic bump.

Antonio had been counting the days, much to Romano's chagrin (He was reminded every morning, waking up to the words "only so-and-so days left!" like it was just a ticking time bomb). And in all reality, Romano could go into labor at any moment.

"You should be resting," he murmured, lacing his fingers together and staring up at his little lover at the door. "Who knows when you'll pop, querido?"

"Apparently you do," he growled back. "So let me do as I please for the last moments of my manhood."

"Don't be dramatico! Besides, Ita-chan's coming over for a visit today, so that should make you happy!"

The Italian scoffed, jerking his head away from Spain's direction. "That stupid little brother of mine doesn't know how to close his legs."

"Hey now," the Spaniard chided, "That isn't very nice. You're in the same exact position."

"But I'm not going to give birth to a dumb muscular baby. It's all that stupid potato bastard's fault!"

"So if you're both in the same situation, what does that make me? The tomato bastard?"

Spain laughed as he watched Romano puff up his sweet tanned cheeks and shift heavily on his feet.

"...But...I like tomatoes..."

Spain let his grin overtake his face, his eyes closing in utter happiness. He outstretched his arms toward his pregnant lover, who hesitantly waddled towards him. "Come here, cariño!"

He pulled the pouting boy into his lap, who fell heavily onto his legs to remind him just how big he'd gotten. Spain didn't seem to mind.

"Chiquitito, are you excited?"

Romano felt large brown hands bunch his shirt up to his waist and rest along the perfect curve of his bump. "No."

"Ah! Why not?"

Romano zipped up his mouth and puffed out his cheeks. Spain's grin faded to a barely content smile.

"...Are you scared?"

Romano turned his head away and didn't say anything.

"Cariño, everything will be fine!" he emphasized his assurance with a slow and sweet caress all across the large stomach, almost as if he were asking the baby to be okay and not give his madre too much trouble. "No te preocupes"

"You can't promise me anything," the Italian whispered softly. Spain bounced the boy on his knee, making him gasp and grab onto his lover's shirt for support.

"You quit that, querido," the Spaniard warned, "You're going to curse it."

"As if you care!" the Italian cried, pushing himself off the conquistador angrily, though staggering about in his utter imbalance. "As if you care what happens to me! This-This baby could kill me, and...And which one would you love more? Which one would you sacrifice?"

Spain frowned and jumped out of his chair. True, Romano had gone to the doctor for all the medical advice and instructions for birthing a baby, despite his gender, and the doctor had told him his hips were just not built for giving birth (As he was in fact, male). He'd have to have a c-section, while Feliciano wouldn't (His hips were much softer and round), and that's what scared Romano the most: He wasn't going to do this like his brother. The health risk was extremely low (especially since nations were so hard to kill), and even then, Italy had a relatively high cesarean rate in their hospitals!

Spain pointed a finger at Romano heatedly, though he wouldn't admit he was exactly mad at him. "Lovino, you are being very difficult! You and the baby are both important to me! Please don't say hurtful things like that, cariño."

Romano stomped his foot loudly, clenching his fists at his sides. "Stupid Spain! If you had the choice, you'd save the baby! You talk to that thing more than you talk to me! Admit it! You're getting tired of m-"


The shout nearly permeated the very air. Antonio had never risen his voice to the Italian before, no matter how many times the boy had called him names and broken priceless antiques and caused trouble. But Spain was angry now.

They stayed silent for what seemed forever, neither making a move. Spain hadn't meant to yell, but this last week had been hard on him, reminding himself that he was going to be a father. A padre! Spain wanted to take a deep breath, calm down a bit, explain to his Lovino what he wanted to say, tell him how much he loved him and it didn't even matter that they were going to be parents any day now, that he loved him and always will. But instead, he watched as the boy's face slowly fell from frustration to the ever powerful and absolute sadness. His expression twisted into the most heartbroken look Spain had ever seen on the boy, and to Spain's horror, big fat tears appeared in his pregnant lover's eyes and began to drip down his tomato red cheeks.


The boy bolted out of that room faster than any pregnant mother should have been able to. He could hear the sound of sobbing rushing out the door, fading until it was holed up in one of the Spanish mansion's many rooms. And then, all there was to hear was the tearing in Spain's chest, as his blood turned to ice and his heart broke like a baseball meeting a window. He took a wobbly step back and fell into his leather chair with a huff of protest from the soft foam cushioning. The Spaniard pressed his head to the palms of his hands and rested his elbows on the desk before him, sighing in emotional exhaustion.

"...Mi dios."


"Germany! Germany! We're here~!"

"Yes, I can see that."

The Italian waddled to the door, ve-ing the whole way, as if it helped the pressure in his abdomen. Germany strolled alongside him.

"Veee~! I haven't seen ni-chan in so long!" Italy cried, looking up to Germany, "Do you think he'll be angry with you?"

Germany groaned inwardly. He'd received several hundred anonymous messages and letters telling him exactly where he was going and how exactly it was going to happen in explicit detail. Every one had been addressed to the "potato bastard". Germany wasn't going to inform his lover of this if he could help it. "...I think he'll be happy being an uncle..."

"Ve! And a madre! What a bonus~!

"You're going to be an uncle too, you know."

Italy cooed loudly as they met the heavy steel gate to Spain's manor, opening it into his garden and walking slowly up to the door, as to enjoy the garden to its fullest.

"An uncle~! Veee~ I'll take him on picnics, and read him storybooks, and give him a puppy for his birthday, and take siestas with him, and teach him how to cook pasta..."

"Italy, you'll have your own baby to take care of. You can do all those things with your child."

"Oh, yeah! I will!"

Germany felt the signs of a headache making their way through his brain, but he looked down to Italy's cheerier-than-the-sun face, smiling and laughing and being all around glowing, and he forgot what was so annoying in the first place.

"Ding dong, ding dong!" Italy cried as he rang the large brass bell connected to the front door. It swung back and forth heavily, filling the serene air with deep chimes that scared the birds from their tall concrete birdbaths. After a moment, Spain opened the enormous mahogany doors and smiled half-heartedly at them.

"Ay! Hola, hola! Come in!" he ushered, bringing in the pair with plastic happiness. Italy must not have caught on, so he merely kissed the Spaniard in greeting.

"Ve~! Where is ni-chan? Doesn't he want to see me?"

Germany watched as Spain's face fell, though he continued to smile for the Italian.

"Ah...Lovino has locked himself up and won't come out. Maybe you can console him, si?"

Italy nodded fervently and shuffled quickly into the depths of the house, calling out "fratello, fratello!" with every door he found. Germany looked to Spain, silently asking the question Spain knew he wanted to ask. The man gave him a sad smile.

"I yelled at him," he said, "and he cried."

Germany frowned, remembering that same situation with his own voice and his own Italian lover. However, Germany could only deduce that his Italian was much, much, more forgiving than Spain's. And Germany was always yelling, so Italy had only to get used to it.

"...I see," Germany replied, standing tall and strong in silent sympathy beside his counterpart. "...Then he must be much more sensitive with you than he is with me."

"Si," Spain smiled again, much more thoughtfully, "Si, because you are not his lover."

Germany had no reply to that piece of obviousness, but Spain pointed in the direction of his kitchen, silently offering refreshments, and Germany only nodded and followed behind his host obediently.


Italy was getting tired, and fast. His feet had hurt before he even began the search because of his silly baby, and now they were even worse. He whined down the long mud-colored adobe halls.

"Niiiii-chaaaaaannnn~~~~! Please come out, I'm so tired~~! I just want to seeeee yooouuu~! Veee~!"

"Stop whining, stupid."

An open door called out to Italy farther down the corridor. The Italian bobbled over to it happily. "Ni-chan! Ni-chan let me see you!"

Romano glared with what little anger he could muster at his cuter happier softer little brother, and he hated himself that much more. "What do you want?"

"Fratello~" Italy whined, lips up in a sad pout, "Don't you want to visit me?"

"Not right now," he muttered, yet let the boy into the room anyway and closed the door behind him, clicking the lock in place.

"B...But," the younger stuttered, looking up at the red-rimmed eyes of his elder brother. "Ni-chan, we're doing this together! A-And, I m-m-missed you and I wanted to see you super bad!"

Romano watched his brother burst into tears, and he could feel his guts twist furiously, as if punishing him for being so bad mannered to the innocent boy. He could feel his easy emotions welling to the surface again, and he'd cried far too much that day.

"Come on, don't be a baby!" Romano grit his teeth. "If you cry, that means I'll start crying too. Do you want that?"

Italy hiccupped and sobbed, indifferent. "N-N-No, but ni-chan doesn't want to see meeee!"

Romano's body ached beyond reason, and he had had a headache before his brother even showed up (All the crying over that stupid Spain). Now was not the time to be having a fight with his little brother too.

"Alright, alright, I missed you too, okay? Just stop crying, damn it."

Italy rubbed his soiled face on his coat sleeve, making his brother grimace in disgust, but relieved that the prickling behind his sore and red eyelids had stopped.

"Ni-chan, w-why are you all locked up?"

"Because," Romano gave him angrily, "Stupid Spain doesn't love me anymore."

Feliciano laughed, and Romano felt the prickling again.

"That's silly~! Spain ni-chan loves you lots and lots and lots! All he ever talks about is how you pick him tomatoes and make him yummy pasta and take siestas with him and go to market with him and how you were so naughty when you were little!"

Lovino's skin trembled softly as he watched his little brother continue through sopping eyes. He didn't even try to dry his face.

"Whenever I talk to Spain ni-chan, he's always going on about you, and I can barely get him to say anything else! It's always about how you did the laundry that day, or slept until noon, or how you were out in the garden until the sun fell down and you couldn't find your way back to the house so Spain ni-chan had to go find you!"

His throat burned as he contained a cry, his tears trailing quickly down his cheeks. But his little brother lifted up his pale little hands and rubbed them against his face, giving him a smile that could melt the very sun. "Don't cry, ni-chan. Ti amo, ti amo."

The Italian duo pressed together in an embrace that was sweeter than any candy, hands holding and petting and soothing and begging and seeking. Their bellies bumped together strangely, and Romano wanted nothing more than to be able to hug his little brother in a normal fashion. The swollen stomachs rubbed softly, and Feliciano looked down at them happily.

"My baby says 'ti amo' too!"

Even with barely a half of a quarter inch height difference, Romano wrapped his arms around his little brother's head and brought it to his chest, cradling it gently with the care a mother would give to her child. Feliciano closed his eyes and was lulled by the sound of the deep thumping in Lovino's chest, the swaying of their entwined bodies, and the kicking fight their babies were having between them. He sighed against his older brother quietly.

"You're going to be the best mama ever."


Germany sat beside Spain at his large dining table, sipping silently on his glass of orange juice. He watched the Spaniard, whose face was downtrodden and contemplative, as he watched his own cold glass permeate perspiration.

"...I'm sure he'll be fine," he said quietly, slowly, as to not upset his host. Spain nodded solemnly.

"...I hope he forgives me before the baby's born. What would it be like, being locked outside the delivery room and knowing I won't be the first person to see my son?"

Germany's constant frown deepened, staring down at his orange beverage. He had never been acquainted well with the other livid Italian, besides the unwanted prejudice and hate mail, so he couldn't judge on the situation. If Romano had a heart, then he'd let Spain be a father. And Germany knew he had a heart: he was alive, wasn't he?

They waited silently again, in the lonely adobe kitchen, the occasional bird chirping outside the window, or the forlorn sighing from the Spaniard, breaking the quiet every once in a while. Germany enjoyed peace, since he seldom ever had it, living with his insane older brother and the ever-energetic Italian, but this peace was dyed with a black misery that seeped into the German's skin and refused to dilute.

"...He's probably going through a lot of stress right now, and he's just scared."

Spain slowly turned his eyes to his guest, and for a moment, Germany thought he'd said the wrong things and dishonored Romano's character, but the conquistador's tanned lips curled into a pure smile. "But so am I!"

Germany grumbled out a soft cough, his face heating.

"He has hormones as an excuse."

Spain grinned wider, and left it at that. The air cleared.

The Spanish night was crisp and chilled, the crickets chirping to keep warm, the owls in the trees hooting in reply. Germany worried over what the Italians could be doing for so long. He looked to his watch. It wasn't too late, but he was a man or proper principles, and to be here this long would be intruding.

He didn't need to fret much longer, because soon, they could hear the pitter-patter of boot-clad feet against stone floor, and Feliciano rounded the corner of the hall. He pulled along a melancholy Romano behind him, whose eyes remained glued to the ground. Italy waddled over to Germany, the hand that wasn't holding his brother's hand rubbing at drowsy eyes.

"Sorry, Germany! We fell asleep~!"

At any other time, Germany would have lectured him on being a rude guest and wasting valuable social time sleeping, but the air became cloudy with emotion with the presence of the ever-absent Lovino. He nodded quickly, and pressed a flat hand to the small of his lover's back, ushering him to the door.

"That's okay. Let's go home and eat gelato."

The Italian squealed and practically stampeded out the door, while Germany turned and bowed in gratitude for the visit like a proper general, though keeping his eyes anywhere but the bearers of his thanks. He turned on his heels and left without seeming too hurried, which didn't help with him closing the door a little too loudly and shattering the silent aura.

Spain wrung his hands in his shirt, still smiling. Romano was silent and impassive.

"I...I'm really sorry, Lovino. I didn't mean to get so angry, I was very anxious, and I know that I shouldn't have taken it out on you, but you looked so unhappy, and then I thought you didn't want the baby after all, and you were saying such cruel things, and it hurt to think I made yo-"

"Shut up," the boy whispered. He didn't say anything else, and continued to stare at the floor through rubbed-red eyes that were blossoming with tears that stung raw flesh. Spain bit his lip, his hands shaking in a need to be doing something, anything, yet remained idle. He dropped to his knees heavily, and the painful cracking noise made the Italian fidget and look up through an ocean. The Spaniard kneeling before him rested his head softly against his lover's stretched womb, and all Romano could see was his trembling head of chocolate hair.

"...Please forgive me," it whispered, "...I want to be a good padre. I want to be a good marido."

"I'm not your wife," the boy choked out through the swelling of his throat. Spain took his hands to Lovino's and squeezed, the line of his gaze rising just over the bulge in front of him.

"Si, you are."

The Italian hiccupped in an attempt to hide his sobs, which only spurred the conquistador to stand back up and take the young man into his strong warm arms. Spain rested his head on top of Romano's, waiting for the shaking boy to calm down and quell his tears. He'd whisper soft Spanish into the chestnut hair by his lips, words that rolled off the tongue like liquid, until the boy stood limply in his embrace. Hypnotized by his tender language, the Italian closed his throbbing eyes and breathed into the cottony white fabric of Spain's tunic, smelling the streets of Madrid and its la movida scene, feeling the rumble of a heart that never sleeps.

They kissed as if they had never done such a thing before. It was chaste and experimental, like children on a playground. But the mood went on an incline, quickly growing more and more heated, more and more loving. And in those yielding lips, Spain could hear the words "you are forgiven" ringing about in his head until he promised never to forget. His hands framed the boy's face against his, kissing and kissing and neither of them could breathe but at least everything was okay.

One step, two step, it looked like a waltz, as they twirled down the long corridor to Spain's master bedroom, the floor plush under their bare feet and the bed springing to life as they dropped to it.

Brown hands flew over cold pale skin before the Italian could even moan in response, his oversized maternity shirt sliding off his body and losing it to the floor. The Italian breathed hotly into the Spaniard's ear as the very audible sound of the zipper to the pregnant boy's pants hissed in the silence. They were also quickly lost.

"Lovino, Lovino," he chanted against white skin, arching his body between parted thighs and rubbing up in him. Romano laid back and watched the Spaniard loom over his ready-to-burst stomach. Green as jewels eyes scanned his skin lewdly in the same way his large farmer hands did: Caressing for the sake of touching. The Italian whined as the Spaniard's mouth met his jugular, sucking hard until it was purple with blood. He squirmed and cried out as big familiar hands drove lower down his plump little body, a soft chuckle sounding as they curved smoothly over the baby as if he were tracing the pattern that was Lovino. Romano watched over the high arc of his stomach as the Spaniard's head dipped down, down, down, and his heart went bump, bump, bump, and soon all the Italian could feel was sweet indefinable pleasure as his "husband" sucked him down.

"Caspita!" was the only thing that could escape his mouth at that moment, his hands fisting in the sheets. He couldn't see anything beyond his bulging stomach, but he wished he could dig his shaking hands into his lover's chocolate hair and hold on for dear life. His legs bent at the knees and trapped Spain's head between them, as he bobbed up and down over the Italian's cock. His tongue, so talented from sucking on all those chupa chups in his lifetime, curled around the head and hummed. He felt Romano's trembling feet rest on his shoulders and push lightly.

"N-N-No more! No more!" he heard his little lover cry. He smiled around the penis and withdrew, wrapping his hands around the boy's ankles and pulling them down to his waist. He licked his lips as he gazed over at the tomato-faced Italian below him, half his face smothered in crisp white sheets and a thin trail of saliva escaping his mouth to dribble down his chin. "P-Please!"

"Si, si...Cualquier cosa por ti."

Being the country of lovers and the country of passion, nights were always perfect for lovemaking. Spain knew just where to touch, and Italy knew just the way to squirm and cry, making them both ready to explode.

Spain coated his fingers in the KY he always kept on the table by the bed (Though Romano always told him to hide it when guests came over, he never did) and spread the cold goo around Romano's hole, issuing a strong yelp from the boy. He pushed in one dark slick finger after the other, until Romano cried out for him to stop again.

"Cariño, siéntate derecho por favor."

The Italian did as he was asked, attempting to sit up, but his large stomach was giving him a heap of trouble. Spain laughed softly as he took his "wife" by the hand and helped him up. He rolled them about gently, leaning against the headboard to his king-sized bed and drawing the very pregnant boy onto his lap. Romano tried to breathe as he placed a leg on either side of Spain, feeling his twitching erection rubbing against his stretched hole.

"Cuidado," the older nation warned softly in his Lovino's ear, resting his hands on sharp boyish hips and guiding Romano into a sitting position. Romano gripped Spain by the shoulders and sat down on the dick presented before him, letting it slowly slip into him. He let his mouth hang open as the intense sensation settled in his belly and he fell gently to the hilt with a grunt from the Spaniard. "Mi dios!"

As soon as the Italian gained his ground, he began to bounce. His stretched tummy rubbed up and down against Spain's abdomen with each fall of his hips, and his legs trembled at having to keep on his knees withal the extra weight. He moaned and locked eyes with the drooling Spaniard. "H-H-Help me!"

Spain faded from his daze and smiled, nodded, and leaned farther back into the headboard. He shifted his hips to get into the right position under the Italian, and Romano was just about to nag about what was taking so long, until suddenly, his hips piston up, and rip an awfully loud screech from the boy. Spain laughs as he thrusts up and up, driving deeper into him with every snap, and Romano has no choice but to grip Spain by the shoulders again and hold on for the bumpy ride.

Each thrust was met with a softer, more subdued push from the Italian above, since Spain's pace was barely being kept by the pregnant one, and it was getting harder and harder for Romano to control his voice (not like he remembered when he was or wasn't).

"A-Antonio! Nngh!"

"Si, si, si! Say my name! Nombre!"

The Italian could feel his insides tightening, and his baby protesting madly. But all he cared about right then was the pulsing and throbbing of his ass and the delicious friction his dick was getting from Spain's abs and his own bouncing belly.

"Annn! A-Antoniooo!"

Spain laughed out loud again, driving in furiously until Romano couldn't take it anymore, and spilled white all over their stomachs in the midst of an unrestrained howl at the ceiling. Spain leaned up and pressed his face to Lovino's heavily pounding chest and jerked up one last time before coating the boy's insides with his sticky seed. He let out a chant of "Lovino, Lovino, Lovino!" as he wrapped his arms around the whining and panting nation and lowered him to lie on his back safely. He kissed up his neck and took his smaller paler hands into his larger darker ones and whispered syrupy foreign yet familiar words into his ear. But something was off.

"...Is...Am I allowed sex while I'm...Pregnant?" the Italian whimpered breathlessly. The Spaniard nuzzled his face into the boy's shoulder and loved upon it.

"Of course! It shouldn't hurt him!"

"...It...It hurts, though."

Spain paused, raising himself to loom over the boy, and looked him over. His hands were flexing painfully over his bulging middle, and his tomato red face he'd gained through the lovemaking had yet to disappear. Spain eyed him suspiciously.

"...Querido...On a scale from one to te-"

"Thirty!" he cried, tears forming quickly in russet eyes and shoulders violently trembling.

Spain jumped out of bed faster than he thought he ever could or would, pulled together his clothes and jacket before helping Romano do the same, yet gentle and slow, albeit rushed in his mind. Lovino had yet to form any protests or even coherent words for that matter. All he did was sit there and try to breathe through the pain and tightening in his guts. "A-Antonio...!"

"I know, I know, just calm down, don't worry! No te preocupes!" though he was the one in the frenzy. He helped his Lovino to his feet slowly, moving through the house and to the car parked out past the garden. All Lovino could think, as he passed the garden full of the flowers and tall tomato plants he'd planted himself, the vines stretching across the white picket walls that housed the grapes he crushed in the summertime so he had fresh wine every year, that maybe he wouldn't live to see it again. He squeezed the Spaniard's hand, as he walked him to the car, and looked up to him through pain-glazed eyes.

"...Make sure I come b-back, alright?"

Spain had to stop, as much as his brain wanted him to panic and hurry to the hospital, and look down at the pregnant boy in his early stage of labor. The Italian breathed heavily and more tears spilled down his cheeks like waterfalls. "...Please don't l-l-let me die!"

Spain smiled. "As if you can die so easily."

With those less-than-comforting words, Spain ushered his wife and unborn child into his car and drove off to the hospital.


"Prussia! Prussia!"

The albino watched as the Italian bounded through the front door to his and Germany's house, face pink with happiness and gelato on his cheeks.

"Oi! What's up, Italy-chan? You got ice cream on your face!"

The Italian blinked up at him, and Prussia grinned as he took his thumb and rubbed it across Italy's messy cheek to rid it of dessert. Germany followed shortly through the door, closing it behind him silently and glancing over to his brother. Prussia only smirked wider as Italy squirmed. "Hold still, sticky face!"


"...What have you been doing all day, bruder?"

"Playing awesome video games, duh."

Germany sighed and proceeded to remove his jacket and boots. "Did you clean the house like I asked you to?"

"Nope. But I decorated the nursery so it'll be more awesome!"

Germany froze, whipping his head over to the elder nation in horror. Knowing Prussia, the walls would be lined with pictures of explosions and a mural of his past self fighting tooth and nail. Prussia laughed heartily.

"I'm kidding, West! Don't' make such a crazy face!"

After cleaning Italy's face and ruffling his auburn hair for good measure, he strolled out of the room with a haughty chuckle following him. "But seriously, the house is a mess! Kesesese~!"

Germany collapsed into a nearby chair, tilting his head back and groaning as he felt his headache intensify.

"I don't know if I can handle taking care of two kids at once..." he muttered lowly, but Italy heard and waddled over.

"Silly Germany! I'm only having one baby~!"

Make that three, he said to himself. The Italian cooed and wrapped his arms around the German's thick neck, pressing his prominent stomach to Germany's lesser one.

"Let me clean, Germany!"

"Absolutely not," he snapped, "You need to be resting."

"Veee~" the boy whined, his knees bouncing a bit, "But I want the house to be clean before the baby comes, and Germany is tired and Prussia is busy being awesome, and I have nothing better to do!"

"Resting is something better to do."

"Germannnyyyyy~~~! I'll be resting for a long time after I have the baby~! There's plenty of time for that laaaatteeeerrr~!"

"Italy," Germany began to warn softly, but the Italian only gave him a sugary kiss on the cheek and waddled over to the cleaning closet to grab his deck brush and a bandana to tie over his hair. Germany felt his old memories stirring at the sight of the nostalgic Italian ready to clean. He frowned at the Holy Roman Empire in his brain, and the Italian who wouldn't ever fallow his orders, but only leaned farther back into the chair and moaned in hopes that it would relieve the tension between his eyes.

"Cleaning, cleaniiiiiing~" The Italian sang, sweeping the brush against hard wood floor, straightening the things gone askew on the shelves of the kitchen. He moved from room to room, taking extra special care in the nursery to organize things and make things perfect (as perfect as they could be for the Italian. Germany would probably come in later to tidy better). At least he knew he was good at sweeping! As he ventured into the living room, he spotted Prussia curled into the soft couch, surrounded by junk food and porno magazines, and completely engrossed in the game playing across the screen of the television. Italy waddled over to him, and eyed the mess the man was making.

"Prusssiaa~! Can I clean up for you?"

"Yeah sure, whatever, Italy-chan."

The Italian vee'd as he gathered empty chip bags into his arms and swept around the entertainment system. As he threw the trash into the designated bin, something in him popped. Italy thought it was just his baby kicking him again, telling him he was about to throw a perfectly biodegradable bottle into the trashcan, but when he looked down to see the wet spot quickly soaking through his stretchy maternity pants, he realized something was wrong. Or he had just peed himself. But he hadn't done that in a long, long time!

"...Hey Prussia?" he asked the man still attached to the TV. Prussia grunted in reply, button mashing a super combo. Italy blinked down at the growing patch of dark fabric as it ran down his legs and onto the floor, where he could see that it was tinted crimson. "...Have you ever peed red?"

He heard the sound of a video game character screeching in agony as he was defeated, and a gruff voice telling him that it was "game over", because he turned to see Prussia with his complete and undivided attention on him. His eyes were wide and his mouth was propped open ever so slightly. The video game was instantly a thing of the past.

"...Have you? Cuz I just did, I think, and I don't want to be the only one whose pee is red because then I'd be a weirdo and maybe Germany wouldn't like me anymore."

The Prussian didn't answer, but was now on his feet, the game controller crashing to the floor loudly. He looked at Italy with frightened eyes, like he was about to be eaten, and opened his mouth wide.

"Germany!" he screamed, making the Italian jump in surprise.

"So? Does that mean I'm a weirdo? Cuz I don't want to be a weirdo."

Barely a few seconds and the blonde German was at the door, panting from his quick dash to the room his brother and lover were in. Now they were both staring at him strangely.

"T-Tell me please! I want to know if there's something wrong!"

"I-Italy," the German started, slowly approaching the smaller nation, "...Your water just broke. You're going to have the baby now."

Italy shivered. "B-B-But! No one told me!"

"...The baby just told you it wants to see you!" Prussia added helpfully, nervous smirk playing on his lips since he had trouble with any other emotion besides arrogance. The Italian soon felt the tightening in his insides become painful, and he gasped. Both German's were on him so fast, he had no time to ask any more stupid questions, feeling them both running large calloused hands over his arched belly in an attempt to calm the baby down, but Italy would have none of that.

"Am...Am I going to be okay?" he whispered at the sight of Germany's more-than-serious face near his. The German nodded, but that didn't quell any of his fears. "...Germany, Germany, is this going to hurt?"

The German paused and nodded, rubbing his rebellious stomach still. Prussia had run off to get some towels and call Hungary. Italy frowned, and felt his eyes grow moist. Germany held his hand tightly, though.

"Germany, Germany, is this going to be hard?"

The German nodded again, trailing his gaze anywhere but Italy's eyes.

"Germany, Germany...Will you help me? I don't think I can do it myself~"

Obviously, Germany was not a man of words, especially in dire or serious circumstances. But he managed one last nod, and brought his hand up to the boy's shining cheeks. His hands were warm.

"...That's what I'm here for."


- Spanish Translations:

No te preocupes = Don't worry

Mi Dios = My God (Exclamation)

Marido = Husband

Cualquier cosa por ti = anything for you

Siéntate derecho = Sit up

Cuidado = (be) careful

- Italian Translations:

Fratello = Brother

Caspita = My goodness/wow (Exclamation)

Ti amo = I love you