Standard disclaimers apply.
An idiot is defined as a person exhibiting the lowest grade of mental development; a foolish fellow, a simpleton. For Italy Romano, an idiot is defined as a certain tomato-loving bastard.
One would think he'd be used to Spain's antics (idiocy or sometimes lunacy as Romano would opt to call) by now. As of the moment one would realize he thought wrong. Romano's pissed, and tired, and annoyed. He'd gotten dragged by the idiot earlier this day to go harvest some tomatoes. He didn't have a problem with that. What he had a problem with was the guy's incessant talking and abnormally sunny personality (and no, Romano did not find it infectious, damn it!).
He got home hours later, and wanted nothing more but to lay in bed and rest and sleep.
He had barely gotten on his bed when his bedroom door burst open, the doorknob hitting the wall with a resounding CLUNK!
One look at the individual standing by the doorframe had him directing his gaze skyward. Had he, Italy Romano, done something so grievously wrong that this being had managed to barge in his room when he made sure to double-check the lock on the front and back doors?
Sure, he cursed a lot, and he usually takes his anger out on others. Then there's the whole Mafia thing… But come now, was it really such a fitting punishment for him to have Prussia visit — for lack of better word — him, and at this hour?
"Well?" Prussia demanded. "Aren't you going to gawk at my awesome self?"
Okay, fine! So he lied about who ate the last slice of amaretto cheesecake. And he hardly ever means what he says. But now the intrusive bastard is demanding — demanding! —him to gawk at his so-called 'awesome self'? Maybe he really ought to change his ways. Stop cursing and all that.
"The hell do you want, you asshole?" Maybe not.
"Well," the macho potato's brother had the nerve to reply, "I just dropped by — Hey! Don't you "drop by, my ass" me! Anyway, I just dropped by to ask you something. Not that I need your opinion or anything. Or anybody else's for that matter. I'm too awesome for that."
If he tried to be polite, the bastard might leave, considering Prussia has been immune to his threats and insults.
"Then don't ask. Leave." What? That was polite! Better than "If you didn't want my fucking opinion, then get your ass out of here!"
"Hold on, hold on! I was gonna ask! Quit interrupting me!"
"Oh, for the love of — what is it?"
"I told you, I'm too awesome for the opinion of others but, uh, do you think that I'm a good big brother?"
What the? And that came from where? On second thought, he'd rather not know. Unfortunately, he voiced the questions out loud (Well now, it seems he's having streaks of bad luck today. And they usually involved morons.).
"Austria, hell, even Hungary, is going off my case. I'm being irresponsible and all that jazz. Don't get me wrong. I don't care what they say. And I really don't care that West seems inclined to agree!" came Prussia's reply.
It took Romano three seconds to realize Prussia was serious and no, he wasn't pranking him or anything. It took him five more to realize that Prussia probably said something stupid (or did, or maybe both) to prompt the three in saying so. Add another two to have him decide he'd better not ask.
Prussia was looking at him expectantly. Maybe he really shouldn't answer and just make the moron leave. Then again, if he didn't answer, he might just be pestered to give him one. And as much as he didn't want to even interact with the guy, he'd really rather have Prussia bother him now, than have him do so from tomorrow onwards. It was a yes-or-no question anyway, so he could just tell him:
a) No, you aren't. Look at how that macho potato turned out; or
b) Yes, you are. Look at how that macho potato turned out.
But then he knows he'll be forced to give the bastard an explanation. And in any case, Prussia asked him for his opinion (though he claims his awesome self doesn't need it) and since when was he ever asked for his opinion? (The idiot also known as Spain asking him almost every single day absolutely does not count.)
He motioned Prussia to sit with him on the bed. This is going to be long. He can feel it.
"You're a moron," Romano started (he wouldn't call him an idiot because that was reserved for Spain as established), "But that doesn't mean you're a horrible brother either."
"Gee, thanks," Prussia's voice was dripping with sarcasm, "I feel loved."
"I don't feel any sort of affection for you so give your sarcasm a rest. What I'm saying is… You have that certain quality most others would die for, you know? Loyalty. You stuck with that potato bastard since ever, and if I were you I would've thrown him off of a cliff ages ago. And I'm not just saying that because of my general dislike towards him," he added as an afterthought.
Prussia blinked and raised his eyebrow. Romano grumbled, "Fine! So I only said that because I don't like him! But only the throw-him-off-the-cliff part! I meant the other parts!"
"For real?" Prussia's other eyebrow rose as well. "I was under the impression that you also thought I didn't care for my brother, ya know? Since I never really did go around doing stuff like reading him stories by his bedside or spoon-feeding him and all that shit."
"He's a grown man! Why in the hell would you— oh. You're talking about when he was younger? Well, yeah. There was a time when I thought that, I'm not gonna deny it. But… when he was younger and he got sick… didn't you bawl your eyes out upon hearing the news? It shows you care."
"Wha—! Nuh-uh! The awesome me doesn't cry at all! …How in the hell did you know about that?"
"Spain talks in his sleep, so—Don't look at me like that! You're making it seem like I sleep with the guy, like, that way!"
"Don't you though?" Prussia teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. And Romano blushed. Hard. Shit, he probably looked like a tomato by now.
"D-damn you. I take back all the nice things I said!" Which, in actuality, isn't much at all.
"Eh?" Prussia cried. "No fair! You can't do that!"
"And why not?"
"'Cuz it's not awesome! That's why!"
"Son of a— alright, fine!" Romano massaged the bridge of his nose, "Whatever…"
"Do you think West knows though? That I do care for him?" Damn it, Prussia can go from being laidback to somber in a matter of seconds! It's freaky!
Getting over his initial shock at the other's swift transition, he managed to reply, "Only a dimwit wouldn't… oh, wait. Never mind."
Prussia laughed. Romano had a sense of humor after all! Or maybe he really was insulting Germany. It's hard to tell.
"But, really," Romano continued, "if he can't even see nor appreciate that then he really doesn't deserve to be your brother, you get what I'm saying?"
Prussia opened his mouth to reply but it seems like Romano was far from done, and all of a sudden the Southern half of Italy looked murderous. (And Prussia's transition from being lax to serious was freaky?) "He doesn't deserve you especially if he goes around hanging out with people who you absolutely abhor, and then proclaims their undying admiration to them! Whereas you, who've been risking so much and working so damn hard just to be fucking able to live together under the same fucking roof doesn't even get a goddamn thank-you!"
"Er… Speaking from experience, are we now, Romano?"
"I do not have a rocky relationship with my brother!" Okay, so Prussia once again asked a yes-or-no question. Romano had no idea why that irrelevant comment (more like out-bust, really) flew out of his mouth. Really, he didn't.
"Yes, you do. You practically proclaimed it to the world. Don't deny it; the awesome me can tell if you're lying! And…" Prussia looked at the ceiling, contemplating something. Then he grinned. "…And that's great! Perfect, even!"
"Well, you said West doesn't deserve me since he doesn't show me his appreciation, right? And it's obvious that you're bitter towards your own brother for the same reason!"
"And your point is…?" Wait, did he just ask what Prussia's point is? No! He was supposed to deny that he felt bitter towards Veneziano!
"My point is," Prussia retorted, either uncaring or unable to notice Romano's inner turmoil, "that since neither of our little brothers appreciate nor deserve us, we should be each other's brothers!"
"What?" Romano had just about shrieked.
"Yeah! 'Cuz you saw my awesome good points so you must appreciate them to some extent. And you're not half-bad yourself, so why not?"
No, he doesn't appreciate his 'awesome good points' at all! And there were a lot of reasons not to! His people, his boss… what would they say?
"It wouldn't really matter anyway," Prussia rambled on, "since I'm not technically a Nation anymore; there wouldn't be any political or economical bullshit to worry about." Damn it, did he voice that out loud again?
And no! He wasn't considering taking the bastard's offer. So he's not worried about what his people and his boss are going to say. Because he isn't gonna agree with this. That's right. He isn't. So why the hell is he nodding he head?!
"Ooh!" Prussia clapped his hands excitedly. "We could seal the deal via Blood Compact!"
If Romano thought the idea of the two of them being brothers was farfetched, this was probably worse. Blood Compact? Really? This has got to be Prussia's stupidest idea yet. "We're neither Spanish nor Filipino…"
"Pfft," Prussia scoffed. "Doesn't matter. You spent a considerable amount of time at Spain's house, and I'm a good friend of his! That counts, right? Hold on, I'll get a knife…"
And before Romano could say No, it really doesn't count for anything, Prussia had stormed out of the bedroom and was already running towards the direction of the kitchen. The moron had better not be running around his house with a knife. If that guy injures himself or something….. He doesn't care about Prussia's well-being at all, mind you. He simply didn't want to clean up the mess he'll inevitably make.
Moments later Prussia came back with a knife. Romano silently prayed that everything else in the house was intact. Common sense hadn't caught up with him when Prussia left the room; he should have followed the moron to the kitchen and maybe forced him to leave his house.
Prussia made his way to the bed, sat, and pumped his fist in the air. "Alright! Let's do this!"
He made a motion to cut across his palm. Romano raised a brow. "Aren't you supposed to cut your wrist? And then pour the blood in a cup with water or any liquid, and then drink each other's blood?"
"What are we, vampires? Besides, it's just as you said. We're neither Spanish nor Filipino. I figured we should take our own spin to it. What's more is that I'd really rather not be labeled as a slash-wrist. I'm already labeled as "Awesome". I don't need another."
"You know, if you didn't know how the practice goes, you could've just said so."
That earned him a smack on the forehead. Son of a bitch! First this bastard barges into his house, forces him to have a meaningful conversation, suggests they be brothers and then seal the deal by Blood Compact, and now he gets the nerve to go smacking him as he pleases?
Romano was so damn close to wringing the other's neck, but he was curious, and in some way or the other he was still trying to be polite. Anything to get the bastard to leave as soon as possible. So he just rolled his eyes and asked, "So what's your 'own spin' to this?"
"You slash your palm, and then we shake on it. Simple, right?"
"Simple ideas for simple minds," Romano had muttered as Prussia cut his palm. Then he took Romano's hand and prepared to do the same. Romano protested but made no move against him, so Prussia shrugged and slashed Romano's palm anyways.
"There!" Prussia exclaimed after the deed was done. He held out his wounded hand for Romano to shake.
Romano eyed the offered hand warily. "You're not gonna backstab me or prank me or anything like that after this, are you?"
"'Course not!" Prussia replied, grinning. "You're the one who stated I'm a loyal big brother, aren't you? You should trust me more!"
Arrogant bastard. Maybe if he gripped his hand really tight he could actually (finally!) hurt the fool. His hand's already wounded anyway.
So Italy Romano took Prussia's hand and shook it.
Nobody needed to know that he never had a tight grip in the first place.