Spamano:: Sacrifices You'd Make out of Love

Chapter 4:: Who?

~-No one's POV-~

  Voices slipped in and out of the comatose nation's mind, especially one voice he couldn't quite recognise. But the thing was, the italian couldn't reply in any way possible. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, he could barely even think. The only response was his beating heart. Finaly, enough strength had gathered within him to open his eyes.

  Immediatly, he shut his orbs, the white light too much to handle. After a moment, he slowly slid open his eye-lids, and started looking around, his vision hazy. He faintly heard the heart monitor and his own rugged breathing. While looking around, he could make out a few shapes and colors on one side of the room. A Tv was perched in the corner with a small coffee table below it, a few vases of flowers decorating it as well as a phrme with a pcture he couldn't quite make out from where he was. The man's sight cleared enough to tell small flowers apart from large flowers.

  Taking a glance to the side, he spotted to seats. one fold up, the other leather. Placed in the leather seat was a man. He had scruffy brunette hair with purple bags painted under his eyes as well as being pale, showing his lack of sleep, although he was resting peacefully.

  "Spain, DUDE!" A loud, snady blonde shouted, stomping in.

  Groaning, the man in the hospital bed cringed as his head started pounding. Noticing the movement, the blonde man roze, and dropped whatever he had in his hands.

  The spaniard jumped awake, then yawned as he relaxed back into the leather seat. "Hola, America." The tired man drawled out, voice slightly raspy. Once the brunette noticed something up with the amerian, he looked over at the blonde. "What's wrong, amigo?"

  America blinked, slowly pointing at the man in bed. "R-Romano's awake." He muttered, slowly starting to back out of the room.

  "Why's he so loouud." The man in the bed moaned, unable to run his hand down his face. His body ached and he was unable to move even the slightest bit. "Auggh, my head."

  The grouchy, yet rough voice, told Spain that what the loud american said was true. "Roma!" The spaniard cried, snatching up the non-bandaged hand of the patient. "Oh, Roma, you're finally awake!" The man's emerald orbs shone brightly, but he was quiet. "You have no idea who long I've waited to see your eyes, Lovi! You were in a coma for three whole weeks! I-"

  "Who are you?" The man in the bed spoke, loud and clear to get the rambling man quiet.

  Blinking his emerald orbs, Antonio looked down at Lovino. "Que?"

  Groaning again, this time in annoyence, Romano glared at him. "Who. Are. You?" He spoke through grnding teeth.

  Spain's eyes grew the size of saucers, and he slowly released the patient's hand. "Wh-what? L-Lovi! It's me! Spain! Antonio!" The older man's voice cracked and a knot tied itself up in his throat.

  "I don't know you." Lovino growled.

  Tears started slipping down Antonio's pale cheeks. "Wha- no! No, Roma, I raised you! I took care of you, fed you, I saved you! I got you back! Are you mad that I didn't come sooner!? I'm so sorry, I'll try harder, I'll be better, I'll-"

  The amber eyed man cut off the spaniard again. "I don't know you, I don't know what happened, I don't know where I am, all I fucking know is my fucking name, I have a brother, and I'm South Italy's personification, damnit!" He snapped, voice getting louder with each statement.

  Sobs escaped the older man's lips as tears soaked his face. "R-Roma..." He whimpered, backing up.

  "Fratello!" A younger italian cried, flinging the door open. "I-a heard you-a woke u-" Before he could finish, the spaniard shoved past him, and ran out.

  Dodging nurses, patients and visitors, Antonio ran out of the hospital. When he finally escaped the doors, he stopped, twisted around, and rammed his fist right into the wall. He then leaned his fore-head against the wall as he sobbed.

  "Spain?" Two familiar voices asked. Said man glanced at them, not moving otherwise. A blonde french-man stood beside a concerned albino. The albino german, excuse me, prussian, stepped forward. "Spain, vhat's vrong? Ve heard Lovi vaw finally avake?"

  This caused Antonio to cry louder and harder. "R-Roma... He doesn't... Remember me."