The Tomato Princeling

Rating: T

Characters: South Italy/Lovino Romano Vargas, Spain/Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, Prussia/Gilbert Beilschmidt, France/Francis Bonnefoy, England/Arthur Kirkland, Ancient Rome/Roma Silvia, OC Scotland/Mary Kirkland, Seychelles/Veronique Michel, Greece/Herakles Karpusi, Norway/Lukas Bøndevik and Denmark/ Matthias Andersen

Pairings: Implied future Spamano, Prussia/Female Scotland, France/Seychelles, Spain/England (if you squint)

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Thank goodness Hidekazu Himaruya encourages us to play with his creations!

Chapter One

Madrid, Spain

May 21, 2013

A sweet but determined soprano voice interrupted his dreams, the same as every morning. Lovino Romano Vargas rolled over and groaned as his mother sang her usual partisan song like some ridiculous alarm clock while she baked breakfast.

"Una mattina mi son svegliato
o bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao,
una mattina mi son svegliato
e ho trovato l'invasor"

'What's her obsession with that song anyway!?' Lovino wondered. He was a grumpy little nine-year-old even on a regular day, but this morning he had been having a good dream so his mood upon being woken was even worse. The dream had warmed his little heart and tugged at something familiar that his mind had repressed for the past four years.

Four years ago his mother had picked him up from school as she always did in her little Fiat. When he climbed into the car she was smiling as usual but as she sped off he realized that she was bleeding, bruised and scratched all over. Despite being terrified, Lovino had the sense to rummage for the standard first aid kit kept in the car but discovered that he had no idea what to do with it. What good was a small cold pack when she was bruised everywhere? Or bandages for her hands when she refused to pull over and release the steering wheel? In tears, Lovino begged his Mama to stop the car at a hospital, but she didn't listen. For hours she smiled, sang songs, spoke about food and completely ignored him in a terribly misguided attempt to comfort him about her health and state of mind. That was the beginning of this new life and what he usually dreamed about.

As far back as Lovino could remember, his dreams had been plagued by worries and nightmares about his mother. In one dream she disappeared and never came home, leaving him locked up and alone. In another she had died with that falsely happy smile stuck on her face. Often she was running away from some shadowy figure and he would kick and snarl at it but his efforts were ultimately helpless. He also dreamed of that first car ride when she took him away, driving all the way from their hometown of Rome to Naples, before going on the run again. They finally stopped in Madrid and Lovino did not know why. All he knew what that this tiny, run-down studio on the city's outskirts had been their home for the past four years.

Last night though, he had dreamed of a big green field surrounded by empty seats. A jovial dark-haired man was teaching him footwork with a proper football. Lovino knew the ball was the real thing, the sleek, smooth kind used for competitions, not the playground version with black and white hexagons. Lovino was learning how to dribble, pass and generally just ran around on the field, laughing. When Lovino got bored or tired, the man would stop and dazzle him with trick moves, bouncing the ball on his head, or on a single foot, or running around with a smile, keeping Lovino mesmerized. The man wore a blue jersey, which Lovino somehow knew was the Azzuro – the uniform of the Italian national team. The sight of it filled him with love, warmth and pride, though it had more to do with the man currently lifting him in the air. This man taught him the meaning of pride, he was Italy as far as Lovino knew, and Italy was his home and even though he could not remember it properly. Lovino thought about how much he missed it every single day.

This was the dream which his mother's exuberant 'Bella, Ciao!' had interrupted. He grabbed his pillow and pulled it over his eyes in an effort to hold on to the dream, but the man's laughter, the pride and the field were already fading.

"Buenos Días!" His mother exclaimed, jumping on the bed and pulling her son into a great big bear hug.

"Mama! Don't!" He fussed. "It's too early to wake up, Mama!" Lovino's protests were loudly voiced in Italian, he didn't care for his mother's odd home-schooling method. Today was Monday, and Mondays were "Spanish days" but as far as he was concerned, he was Italian and by God he would speak his language more than just two on the weekend.

"Cariño! Das Mamá abrazos hmmm? Por favor?" She smiled. He glared at the ceiling, angrily refusing to look into her pleading eyes.

Sensing perhaps that today was an especially moody day for her son, his mother did not push. She only curbed her enthusiasm and settled back on the futon they shared, regarding him carefully. He turned away from her, lying on his stomach and refusing to move. When he heard her sigh his heart made a twisted, guilty turn but he pretended not to care.

"Tú desayuno es en el horno." She tried again, bubbly and cheerful.

Yes, he could smell the freshly baked cornetto waiting for him; he didn't need it spelled out. He stayed where he was, ignoring her.

After a protracted silence, she leaned down and placed a kiss on the back of his head. "Te amo mi Lovi." She sighed, sounding sad and a little defeated. He felt her weight lift off their futon and he held still until he heard her leave the apartment.

Lovino remained in bed a little while longer, because he was crying and didn't want to make a sound even though he was alone in the apartment. He hated days like this, when he woke up immediately feeling hopeless. He was too small to change his life or to take care of his mother. He could only stay locked in their apartment.

Lovino had no idea what his mother's job was, only that she worked six days out of the week to sustain their home. His choice words to describe it were actually 'piece of shit apartment' but he never used that language in front of his mother. For all her smiles and apparent cheerfulness, Lovino knew that her eyes were actually sad and he tried his best not to make it worse. On some days however, he couldn't help himself. He was terrified of what she was capable of on the rare occasions when she lost her temper, and he felt incredibly guilty when she was sad. Because of these conflicting emotions, Lovino let his mother enforce a few rules in their home:

1) No going outside without her. She would lock the iron gate in front of their apartment door whenever she left for the day.

2) No television. Lovino was not allowed to watch any and to this end, there was none in their home. Neither was there a computer, tablet, smartphone, or anything he could stream from. Even the radio they had was old and had no antennae. It was only used to play his mother's music CDs and occasionally for lessons.

3) No phone calls to anyone except his mother. This was easy to enforce, as his cellphone was a simple pre-paid with minimal balance to which only she knew the number. He was only allowed to have the phone so that he could call her in an emergency. She would also check his phone in the evenings to make sure the balance had not mysteriously disappeared. She had used the phone to check on him throughout the day when they had first arrived but now that they were more settled in, she usually only called in the early evening.

4) Study. Lovino did not go to school. He had not attended school since that day when they had run away. To compensate, his mother bought textbooks and taught him in the evenings if she was not too tired, leaving him assignments for the day. He was the worst student that ever lived and often ignored his homework.

5) Language. They were Italians, but they lived in Spain and his mother seemed to think he needed to speak English as well. Consequently, they spoke Italian on the weekends and second half of Fridays, English on Tuesdays and Thursdays and Spanish on Mondays, Wednesdays and the first half of Fridays.

6) Prayers. His mother was very religious and tried her best t take him to church on her Sundays off.

As he could not change his situation until he was old enough to actually do what he thought a man was supposed to do- to protect her or beat the shit out of anyone who already would or had-Lovino just had to continue living with this situation at present. In the early years of this living arrangement, that frustration overwhelmed him and he would destroy whatever he saw, often leading to him destroying cups and plates, since they were the easiest to break. Lovino only stopped after his mother finally lost her temper at him. To his horror, she picked up one of the shards and cut a jagged wound across her arm to show him how dangerous his destructive tendencies were.

Since that event, Lovino learned to be more careful of his little acts of rebellion, considering first any possible way his mother could hurt herself. In the end he settled on ignoring whatever he was supposed to do when she wasn't home. He sang loudly in Italian, and played instead of doing his work. He practiced football tricks that his body somehow remembered with an old ball. There was only one thing missing – running. Lovino missed running and there were days when he wished that he could just run endlessly. He didn't even care where.

Today was such a day. After finishing his cornetto and drinking the heated milk his mother had left for him, Lovino rushed to the kitchen and fished a knife out from the drawer. He went straight to the iron gate in front of the door. He had figured out how to pick the lock a few weeks ago but other than three brief runs out in nearby streets, had not used much of his newfound freedom.

Emboldened by this freedom, Lovino had lifted a guy's wallet on his second time outside. After the initial panic, he realized he was not going to get caught and started thinking about what to do with his new treasure. He used the stolen money to buy candy and, after careful observation of people mulling at a bus-stop, a metrocard.

And so, lucky and well-equipped, Lovino decided that today he would take a bus. He would keep track of the stops and get out in a place where he could run; a field or something.

After a nerve-wracking period of picking the lock and carefully making his way out to the street, he was ready and waiting at the bus stop. Taking note of the number, Lovino stepped onto the first bus that arrived and sat in the front next to a busy, middle-aged woman chatting on her phone. He liked distracted people, because they left him alone as he desperately gazed out the window at the streets passing by. The moving buildings and trees from the window relaxed him, and he started savoring the newness of his freedom. He drank in everything allowing the smells of the city to assault him after so many years of living in one little apartment. It was at once the longest and shortest bus ride in his life – long because everything was so new and had to be processed. Short because he did not wish to stay on too long, lest he lose track of his stops.

Lovino had no idea what made him get off the bus when he did. Much later in his life he would suppose it was nothing short of an Act of God, and even Antonio - who never attended church unless Lovino dragged him along – had to agree.

But step off Lovino did, and he walked, savoring his freedom and the different, now almost grassy smell of the surrounding air. He stopped when he heard voices, energetic laughter and the sounds of running feet. Running. Lovino remembered that he had escaped today in order to find somewhere to run.

When he finally climbed up the slight grassy hill and looked over the other side to where the sounds came from, Lovino could only stare at the wide dirt field, where backpacks, sticks and thrown down jerseys left a rough outline of a large square boundary. He stared at the shorter lengths of the field, where two stones as large as his head served as makeshift goals and groups of boys were running and kicking a football (a proper one like in his dream!) between each other. They were older than him, one team dressed in shirts that were faded shades of red, and the other in blues.

Lovino's heart started thumping hard and fast, his eyes widened and suddenly the world was clear. He wanted to join the older boys running in front of him, to chase that ball and clear a path down that dirt field. Memories returned even clearer, a ball kicked over soft green grass, the encouraging dark-haired man running and playing with him. Suddenly those memories stopped because a smiling green-eyed and chestnut-haired Spanish teenager was standing right in front of him. Lovino screamed in surprise and abruptly fell over backwards, causing the other kids to stop playing and run over.

Lovino flushed a brilliant red at the sudden attention. He stared at the Spaniard uncomprehending for a moment, until he was forced to accept that yes, this bastard was speaking to him in Spanish and dammit, for all of Lovino's Italian pride, he could understand what was being said.

"Well, look at you!" Exclaimed the smiling teenager before turning around and calling out to his friends "How cute! This kid is blushing all over so much he looks like a little tomato!"

Lovino wanted to bury his head in the sand out of embarrassment, but instead he head-butted that damned smiling idiot as soon as he turned back.

"Ow! What was that for?!"

"Antonio! Why are you terrifying children when you're supposed to be defending!" Another teenager ran into Lovino's line of sight, helping his friend up. This teenager had blonde, wavy hair tied into a ponytail. There was something off about his accent, and while he also spoke Spanish, he was not native, but Lovino could not place that careful, slower tempo and softer pronunciation. "Oh but isn't he just a beautiful little thing!" The odd-sounding teenager suddenly cooed, making a rather stupid, simpering face. "If rather skinny." After a brief pause, his blue eyes narrowed slightly. "Well, well, would you just look at those pretty eyes? What a…unique shade of light green. Mon Dieu! Life is not fair! I should have such beautiful eyes! Oh but I want to pinch those cheeks! Don't you Antonio?"

Shocked, Lovino only turned wide-eyed at the original teenager. He seemed much less frightening.

"Forget his eyes Francis!" The Spaniard wailed, glaring at Lovino. "He hits hard with that head! I thought you were cute!"

Alien laughter approached Lovino from behind. Shuddering a little now, Lovino turned around. "Kesesesese…you just got your ass kicked by a kid. Thought you were a tough guy, Antonio!"

This third person was unlike anything Lovino had ever seen. He didn't even bother trying to place the odd accent because this guy had white hair and red eyes! Red eyes like a damned demon. Trembling suddenly, Lovino started edging away, looking for a place to run.

"Hey runt!" The red-eyed boy called out, somewhat more gently this time. "Don't let Antonio and Francis scare you off now. The awesome ME will protect you! You just interrupted our play running into the middle of our game like that. Not all that safe for a kid like you."

Surprised, Lovino looked around carefully. He had indeed run into the middle of the game and was now standing in the center of the makeshift field. The Spaniard called Antonio had been in possession of the ball. Chuckling, Antonio moved to kneel in front of him, looking into his eyes.

"Let's start over again shall we, little tomato?"

"Don't call me that bastardo!" Lovino yelled. Antonio only raised his eyebrows and regarded Lovino carefully.

"That's quite a word for a little kid like you! What shall we call you then hmm? If you don't tell me, I'll just have to keep calling you the Little Tomato!"

Backing up from Antonio and yelling blasphemies in Italian, Lovino eyed the three boys carefully. Finally he looked at the other teenagers gathered around. There was something different about this group, none of them looked the same. In his previous journeys outside he had noticed an air of commonality in crowds, something Spanish, or something Italian, but something told Lovino that with the exception of Antonio, these kids were not locals. Still they did not appear to be kidnappers or anything so scary, just a bunch of guys who got together to play football. It was common enough.

"Romano." He finally muttered. He wondered why he didn't tell them his first name, but so many years of hiding forced him to only be half-truthful.

"It's nice to meet you Romano! I'm Antonio, this Frenchie here is Francis and over there," Antonio waved at his red-eyed friend, "Is Gilbert."

When Lovino nodded and muttered something about how he didn't care one way or the other who they were, Antonio only laughed harder and ignored everything he said. "So, Little Tomato, you wanna watch us play?"

"Hey! Don't call me that!" there was something about the way this Antonio guy never stopped smiling that made Lovino inclined not to trust him. "And I don't want to watch you play, I'm gonna teach you all how to play!"

"Oh?" Antonio answered in mock curiosity. "By all means then, teach us how to play." He stretched his arm out to where the ball had rolled to and there was something different in his tone now. It was sharper and challenging. Though his smile was still in place, there was less warmth to it and Lovino knew that he had crossed a line somewhere. Despite this, he knew he wanted to stay. Lovino wanted, no, needed to play real football and bouncing a deflated old ball around carefully in the apartment was not going to satisfy him anymore. He wanted to play with others, to play the game as it was meant to be played. He had run in open fields once, and he wanted to again. He wanted to stay here with these teenagers and run free.

"F-f-fine! Bastardo." Lovino stammered, blushing red again. "I'll show you how football is meant to be played!"

And even though Lovino was only nine years old, he did. The older boys laughed or smiled patiently, stepping off the field to let Lovino face off against Antonio. Francis rolled his eyes, smiling, but Gilbert shot Antonio a warning glare as if to say 'don't bully the kid.' Then they realized that Lovino was hopping in place and juggling the ball on his two feet with surprising precision. Once Lovino had distracted them for an appropriate amount of time, he started tearing down the field, running around Antonio. Lovino stayed and played with the older boy for a while, kicking the ball between Antonio's legs before darting around to dribble the ball away and sending it sailing between the two rocks that served as the goal.

Lovino turned to smirk at Antonio, but Antonio only stared at where the ball had landed, eyebrows raised as if to say "Well…".

What he really said, harsh and challenging was, "Okay Tomato, I underestimated you. Let's see you get past me again."

"Here." Francis threw the ball back into the pitch with a grin, having run to retrieve it. Lovino tore off towards it the moment it hit the ground. This time Antonio took him more seriously and Lovino couldn't play around like before (though he did a little, kicking the ball back and stalling it on the back of his foot before resuming). Lovino couldn't help but add a little scissor around the ball while he ran with it down the field. He knew he was taunting and embarrassing Antonio but he couldn't help it, he just felt so free that he wanted to play for everything this moment was worth. Before too long though, he kicked the ball to the goal again, where Gilbert caught it and threw it back.

Slowly, each of the players came back onto the field, except for Francis who sat out, and a game began in earnest. Antonio was a Red, while Lovino found himself adopted by Francis' and Gilbert's Blues. Lovino also discovered that while Antonio was a menace and a decent defender, Gilbert was as good as a wall in front of the goal. He was probably lucky that they were on the same team otherwise there would be no way he could have defeated the Reds so easily. Still, when the Blues won, they hoisted him above their shoulders and sang songs in several languages, tossing him up and down and tickling him before finally setting him down. Lovino's face hurt from smiling and laughing so much. It felt like forever since he smiled and it was the happiest he had been in a very long time.

When Antonio ran over, all genuine smiles again to pick him up and swing him around, Lovino suddenly went limp because he was exhausted. Lovino had not run for years and now he was winded, breathing hard and dizzy. Antonio was calling out to him, concerned, his face scrunched in worry as he settled Lovino on the ground and Gilbert ran water over. To Lovino the world seemed blurry and too bright, but after a while he recovered, guzzled the water down and looked up at the sky. It was getting late and his mother would call soon. Looking wide-eyed at Antonio, Lovino stammered half-hearted thanks and goodbyes and made to run off.

"Not so fast!" Antonio held on tightly to Lovino's arm.

"P-P-Please! Let me go! I have to go home!" Lovino begged. When Antonio didn't let go and started eyeing him suspiciously, Lovino felt so helpless he started to cry. "PLEASE! Just let me go damnit! Bastardo let me go! I promise I'll never bother you again!"

The tears softened Antonio, and if Lovino were more aware, he would have noticed Gilbert and Francis looking concerned as well. Antonio still didn't let go but he did kneel on the ground in front of Lovino again, wiping the tears away with his other hand.

"Hey there little Tomato," he cooed. "Don't be like that. We would love it if you came back here tomorrow if you can. In fact, over the summer we're here everyday except the weekend. It's up to you."

With that said, Antonio released him and Lovino turned and sprinted away as fast as he could without a second glance. He managed to get on the right bus and snuck back into the apartment with a few hours to spare before his mother returned. By that point, he had washed his clothes to get the dirt out of them and hung them up to dry. For good measure, he washed his mother's clothes as well so it wouldn't look too suspicious, and then he ate the food she left in the fridge and collapsed into an exhausted sleep.

When his mother returned, she noted that her son had done her the great favor of doing their laundry and had flooded the bathroom, leaving a trail of washing powder all over the tiny apartment. She appreciated the gesture but it was no wonder that her son was so exhausted. Smiling, she cleaned up his mess and gave him a kiss before pouring herself a glass of wine to hum 'Bella, Ciao' softly in her usual dark corner.

Some terms:

Juggling - Exactly what it sounds like and with one ball, except Lovino is using his feet, alternating bouncing the football between each foot's instep.

Dribbling - The act of controlling the ball while running.

Scissoring - Swinging a foot around in front of the ball while dribbling and kicking with the other foot. This serves to confuse the defender/person in front of you. To the average audience, it kind of just looks like you're dancing around the ball :P

Finally, I've found that 'Bella Ciao' is a favorite amongst Hetalia fans for the Italy brothers, so I've just come to associate the song with them and by extension, their family. For the version I was thinking of when I wrote this fic:
watch?v=vX-03Urdgp8

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Hello and thanks for reading!

1. This story is actually a prequel to the one that I originally intended to write first - 'The Beautiful Game' - which is a Spamano tale about the Vargas brothers in professional football, their relationships and the lead-up to the World Cup. Then it didn't make much sense without some backstory, which is what 'The Tomato Prince' provides. I started writing this because while I love watching the World Cup, I'm boycotting this year's Cup in Brazil (2014), as well as the next 2 in 2018 and 2022 to protest the massive violation of human rights occurring in Qatar to build the World Cup's infrastructure. So far more than 1,200 laborers have died due to poor working and living conditions, and the number increases every day. I'm also boycotting FIFA generally as I disagree with their rather ridiculous demands and suspected corruption in awarding hosting rights.
While I'm unable to watch the game and tournament that I love, I'm going to write about it instead. Thankfully, Hetalia lends itself quite well to international sporting competitions :D

2. There's not going to be much romance in this story. It's more a tale about a kid loving a game and remembering where he came from when he plays it.

3. I was born in the States and attended American schools all my life, but was raised in the Commonwealth, so I'm going to refer to the sport as 'Football' through this story. If however, my other football terms ever get mixed up between American and the rest of the world, please forgive me and let me know about them :D.

4. Oh and finally, I'd really appreciate a beta reader for this series, so please feel free to send me a message if you're interested!