Title: Tomato Patch
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
Summary: Spain-centric ficlets with various pairings. No Het.
A/N: I have fallen in love with Spain. If you're interested. I have 100+ Spain plot bunnies, 100 which are already posted on my LJ (the rest need to be spell checked and I'm being lazy).
A/N2: Notes on ficlets themselves can be found at the end. And I ignored the fact these ficlets were supposed to be ten words or less. Please forgive any history fail.
Romano scrubbed hard at his hands, trying futilely not to cry as he watched the bloody water flow down the drain. He avoided his reflection; the last thing he wanted to do right now was see another damn mirror.
Spain was unconscious in the next room, sedated and bandaged, and Romano tried to forget why that was. God, how could he have not noticed Spain was planning to do such a thing?
The doctors had just left. It would be months before Spain's eyes healed enough for the bandages to come off. It would take even longer for him to be able to see again.
Romano turned off the water and rubbed the tears off his face, finally looking up to glare at the mirror in front of him. He frowned.
He hated mirrors.
2- Alternate Universe
Antonio didn't usually get along with cops. Usually when he saw even a hint of one near his corner, he'd attempt to leave unnoticed. The last thing he needed was another arrest on his record.
But this cop was different. This cop didn't drag him to jail while either trying to feel him up or avoid touching him at all. This cop didn't take advantage of his authority for a free ride. No, this cop was an honorable man who treated him like a human being. The only place this cop took him was to the all night diner for a hot meal, something Antonio didn't get very often.
In a different world, Antonio could see himself falling for this man. But this wasn't a different world, and Antonio wasn't willing to drag the only decent man he knew down with him.
Spain laughed as the little brown puppy licked his face. It had been such a surprise finding the puppy on his doorstep, a blue and yellow ribbon around his neck. Spain hadn't seen anyone around, but considering the puppy had still been in the basket that had also been left, he hadn't been here very long. But the nation he suspected had left the gift could be surprisingly sneaky... "Gracias, Berwald!" he yelled, waving in no particular direction.
Hidden in a nearby tomato patch, Sweden blushed.
Spain frowned as he stared at his reflection, at his bright green eyes that seemed to glow in certain light. Normal eyes didn't glow. Not like his did, with the light of eternity and magic and gateways. He never did have normal eyes. Or normal anything.
He remembered a time long ago, before he was what he was now. Back when he had been human (or at least thought he'd been human), with a human lifespan, human family, and (more or less) human friends. He'd had a sister that died to protect him, a friend that brought her back for him, and a crush that always had a smile and a joke ready when he needed it most. He'd had a mother who wasn't, and the best surrogate father anyone could ask for.
He'd never had normal back then either.
Spain was the only nation who hadn't always been one, the only one who had seen an apocalypse come and go... the only living, sentient thing in this world that knew that this was the second time around. He laughed quietly. The only male nation who had been an-almost-human female with a Vampire for a best friend.
But he wasn't her anymore. Dawn Summers had died when her world had ended. He had her memories, her soul, but he wasn't her. He couldn't survive being her. Not again.
He wished it was that simple. As much as he begged (in the silence of his own mind), and bargained (but never wished), he would always be what he always was. There was no changing that.
Spain hated his eyes.
5- First Time
Rome found him on a hill. He was just sitting there, staring up at the sky, not once glancing in Rome's direction. Still, Rome had the odd feeling the boy knew he was there; there was a sense of wariness about the boy, curiosity, but no fear. Strange. Most new nations feared Rome, if only because everything was strange and new to them. But Hispania... He just sat there, watching the emerging stars and singing almost silently in a language Rome didn't recognize.
Rome took a cautious step forward and the boy quieted, finally turning to look up at him with deep green eyes. He watched, motionless, as Rome knelt to the ground next to him. "You're Hispania, correct?"
The boy cocked his head. "And you're Rome." It wasn't a question. Odd; usually Rome needed to actually introduce himself. However, he didn't get a chance to question the boy's knowledge as Hispania continued. "I always liked hearing about you, but it took so long. You weren't built in a day, after all."
Rome blinked. What? Of course he wasn't-
"You burned in one though, it was very musical. You should outlaw violins, don't you agree? It was a violin, right? I can't remember. I remember plumbing though. And bedsheets."
By this point, Rome was completely confused and just assumed the boy was speaking nonsense. He hoped Hispania would grow out of it. And that it wasn't catching. Luckily, the boy had stopped speaking and had gone back to singing, once again staring at the sky. "What are you singing?" As much as he didn't want the boy to start babbling again, he was curious.
Hispania smiled, his eyes almost glowing in the fading light. "Starsong."
Romano gaped at the scene before him. He knew he shouldn't have left Spain alone and un-entertained for so long. He knew he should have at least turned the tv on, because he knew it would have never occurred to the idiot to turn it on himself.
What he hadn't known was what Spain would do to relieve his boredom.
Spain was sitting in the middle of the floor, a limp couch pillow in one hand and a small wad of cotton in the other. He held the pillow stuffing up to the light, studying it intently for a few seconds before dropping it and pulling out another piece. He was surrounded by pillow fluff.
Romano groaned, covering his eyes with his hands as he tried to ward off an oncoming headache.
Spain breathed a sigh of relief when he finally found Russia, after almost an hour of searching. He pulled his coat - that was really too thin for the freezing weather - tighter around him and quickly stumbled through the snow, falling to the ground next to the larger nation. "Ivan, I'm sorry," he said, leaning against Russia's arm. "They shouldn't have said that."
Russia ignored him.
Spain sighed, shivering as the snow and ice soaked through his clothes. He wished he had grabbed a heavier coat but when Russia had run out of the house, and Spain realized what the others were saying, he had simply grabbed the first coat he laid hands on. It wasn't even his coat. Spain shook such pointless thoughts from his mind, and turned back to his companion. "Ivan..."
Russia shivered, but it wasn't from the cold. "They think I beat you," he whispered, turning to Spain and hesitantly reaching out to touch the bruise on his cheek. "They think I did this."
Spain leaned into the touch, his face too frozen to feel any pain from the gentle caress. "I don't know why they would say that. I told them what happened." He really needed to wake up fully before trying to navigate the stairs. Especially if this is what would happen every time his friends saw him with a bruise.
Russia shook his head, beginning to shrug off his heavy coat. "They think I threw you." He smiled sadly as he wrapped his coat around Spain and pulled the smaller nation into his lap. "That I hurt you, all the time."
Spain snuggled close, feeling safe in Russia's strong arms. He wished he could convince his friends that Russia would never hurt him. Not like they thought he did (war was another matter entirely, and didn't count). He wasn't as unstable as he used to be, hadn't been since before they got together.
It would take time, he knew. But eventually... "They'll learn. Lovi learned." Of course, with Romano it had taken hidden cameras the Italian thought Spain didn't know about. But he had seen how gentle Russia could be.
Russia hugged him tighter, resting his head on Spain's. "I hope so. I really hope so."
That was all the warning Portugal got before he was suddenly body slammed by Spain, landing on his back on the hard ground. Perched on his stomach, Spain grinned manically, practically buzzing in his excitement. Portugal would have shoved him off, but he was too busy trying to get his breath back.
Spain must have taken his silence as some kind of encouragement, because he grinned wider, waving a bottled drink in Portugal's face. "Look what America got me it's really really tasty and it tingles in your mouth and makes everything shiny and bouncy and it tastes really really good almost as good as tomatoes and America gave me a whole bunch of them and he said I could have more if I liked them and I do like them so he's gonna get some more of them and you should really really try it..."
Portugal tuned him out at that point, somewhat amazed Spain had managed to say all that in one breath. And was still going. And was now tossing his bottle quickly from hand to hand and flipping it into the air, and he was bouncing on Portugal's stomach.
Clearly, America needed to die.
Spain smiled and snuggled close to his lover, exhausted and sore... and sticky. He whined in Romano's ear, hoping the Italian would get up and get a wash cloth or something. Sadly, Romano had already fallen asleep. Like he always did. So, Spain would have to remain sticky, because he knew from experience he couldn't walk yet.
Sighing, he curled closer and closed his eyes, ignoring the mess and lingering pain, and fell asleep.
Everyone was always trying to keep them apart. Russia was too violent, they said. Too unstable, too cruel. They said Spain was too innocent. Too gentle. Russia would crush Spain, break him, strip away his innocence and his smile and keep him locked away from the light.
No one understood how wrong that was.
No one saw how warm Russia's smile was when he was smiling at Spain. How gentle his touch was on the rare occasions they were allowed within arms reach of each other. No one saw the hopelessness in his eyes.
No one saw how fake Spain's smiles had become. How close he was to tears whenever he was dragged away from Russia, to 'safety'. No one saw how broken he had become.
Why could no one see?
1 Angst, 4 Crossover, and 5 First Time: All related, and all crossovers with BTVS. Yes, the world (or time itself) got a major restart. Spain is Dawn. Or Dawn is Spain. I may continue 1 Angst, but possibly a non-crossover version. I haven't decided yet.
2 Alternate Universe: Prostitute!Antonio. The cop is another nation, of course. It can be whoever you like, though I was thinking Ludwig.
3 Crack!fic: Sweden/Spain. You can't deny that they look cute together. And Sweden is being all shy... so cute.
4 Crossover: Eyes are the windows to the soul, after all.
5 First Time: The Great Fire of Rome actually lasted 5 1/2 days (starting July 19 AD 64) and it was rumored Nero sang and played a Lyre (not a violin). Technically, Rome did burn in a day. Hispania just didn't mention the other four and a half days it also burned. This ficlet takes place... way before AD 64.
6 Fluff: Sorry, but the image was too adorable to resist. Someone please draw this for me! *begs*
7 Hurt/Comfort: They're in a loving, consensual relationship and, sadly, everyone thinks Spain was forced into it.
8 Humour: America should really know better than to give Spain energy drinks. Imagine your favorite one and that's the one Spain has been drinking all day. I'm imagining Venom. The red one.
9 Smut: I chickened out (sorry!), so you only get the aftermath. And uke!Spain! I never write seme!Spain.
10 UST: This had more angst than UST, I think. But I'm not changing it. For some reason, Russia/Spain keeps making me think of Romeo/Juliet.