A/N: For Kim.
In Which Spain De-ages
It was the smell of smoke that woke Romano from his siesta. He had presence of mind enough to pull on pants before rushing downstairs to find the source of the smell.
The smoke was spewing out of the kitchen—why didn't the smoke alarm go off?—more specifically from the oven. Scowling, Romano pulled a pan out and dumped it in the sink. He never left food cooking while he was napping. That meant only one thing.
That bastard had broken into his house again and tried to burn it down! (The fact that Spain was likely cooking for ihim/i made no difference.) He was so fucking dead.
"Spain, you bastard, where are you?" Disaster averted, Romano stomped out of the kitchen to figure out where the other nation had gone. He discovered a lump and blankets on the couch.
Of course the asshole was napping. Romano would fix that. He took a running start and jumped to land on the right half of the couch, hoping to land hard enough to make it hurt. What he did not expect was to meet no resistance whatsoever—his landing was completely soft. To say Romano was confused would be an understatement. He stood up and lifted the blanket at one end only to discover pillows—not the lazy lump he was looking for. Frustrated, he pulled the blanket off and tossed it away.
This had the benefit of exposing a head of brown attached to a small body. A very small body.
The child shivered, unhappy with the loss of warmth, and sat up to stare at Romano with a look of betrayal, his green eyes blinking the sleep out of them.
Romano stared at the green eyes and began to feel horrified. He hoped, hoped, hoped, ihoped/i that maybe Spain had brought a kid with the exact same eyes and let him take a nap. The other alternative was too horrifying to think of. Romano just wanted to take his siesta, dammit, not deal with a kid!
His worst fears came true when definitely-not-Spain opened his arms and jumped towards Romano in an attempt to hug. "Womano!"
He may hate Spain, but Romano's not heartless and there's no way he would drop a child. He caught the not-Spain and let him snuggle against his chest.
"H-hey, little one, where's your parents?" Romano wanted to get rid of the kid—who was still snuggling!—as quick as possible.
The snuggling ceased and the child looked up at Romano's face. "Pawents?"
"Y-yeah. Someone to take care of you."
Not-Spain thought hard for all of one second. "You!"
Romano flushed red. "I-I-I can't do that!"
"Why?" Not-Spain reached up to touch Romano's face.
It was immediately pushed away and Romano put the kid down on the couch. "I'm not taking care of you! Why couldn't you go bother that French bastard instead?"
Yelling was not the greatest of ideas. Spain—no point denying it now—began to tear up. "Womano no like me?"
Fuck, crying kids were even worse than crying women! Romano kneeled so he could be face-to-face with Spain. Spain better not remember anything when he gets better.
"If I say I like you, will you stop crying?" Spain nodded tearfully. "Then I like you, okay?"
Spain wiped the last of his tears away and grinned. "O-kay!" He hugged Romano again. "Me like Womano, too!"
Romano blushed. He couldn't retaliate when Spain was like this. His only course of action was to return the hug. (At least, this is the logic Romano would later use to justify his actions.)
Then Spain surprised him with a kiss on the cheek and all headway Romano had made in forcing his blush to disappear was undone. He wiped the kiss away with a glare—rendered ineffective by his red face.
"Don't do that." Spain giggled and gave Romano another peck before jumping off the couch and running away. Romano gave chase, not wanting to have a munchkin running about his house and getting into mischief.
"Spain!" He rounded a corner only to find Spain had disappeared. "…Spain?" The only answer was a giggle; he couldn't tell where it came from.
Romano was not dealing with this, no way, no how. He was not a babysitter. Spain was just going to have to take care of himself until Romano finished his siesta and could put effort into taking Spain elsewhere. That settled, Romano returned to his bedroom and fell into bed, falling asleep instantly after shedding his pants.
When Romano finally woke up, it was to a bundle of warmth snuggling up to his side and humming happily. Romano just groaned and turned away. There was no way to escape. Spain followed him across the bed. This was karma for when he was an annoying little shit. If Romano knew it would turn around and he'd have to deal with a still clingy, little Spain…
"Womanoooo!" Spain whined, pulling at Romano's arm. "Blankie!" He was shivering—Romano had stolen all the covers.
Grumbling, Romano got up and put his pants back on before sharing his blankets with Spain. "There. Now go to sleep!" Spain did so happily, clinging tightly to Romano. He blushed and tried to push the little bundle away, but Spain refused to detach. "Let go!"
Spain made whining noises every time Romano tried to push him away. Okay, Romano could deal. He dealt with big-Spain on a daily basis, unfortunately; he could deal with little-Spain.
Then, to make his day just that much weirder, Spain was instantly back to his normal size and fucking squishing Romano underneath him.
Done with everything, Romano shoved Spain off and out the door. "Bastard! Can't you do anything right?" Spain came around in time to see a red-faced Romano slam the bedroom door in his face—literally.
At least the sound of Spain slumping to the ground gave Romano a little sense of triumph.
(Apparently Spain remembered everything that happened while he was little. He would continue to tease Romano about giving in to a little kid for a good fifty years. Romano would continue to deny it and punch Spain for even suggesting that.)