Nations these Days
Spain: 1898
A/N: Hello! I'm Alex, and I'm reposting a lot of Lacey's old fanfics. I'm pleased to let you know that I will probably finish a lot of them!
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It had been many years since Spain had traversed to the Caribbean and his colonies in the Americas. He found that, despite the fact he was only here to defend his own from the young nation of the United States, he enjoyed the humidity in the air, and the carefree attitude.
He was a little guilty at the poverty that his people were living in, and the young nation of Cuba was a little frightened at the prospect to going to war with a nation who had defeated the other who owned a third of the globe- the British Empire. Spain assured his colony that Spain was better, stronger than England, even though he wasn't sure of that himself.
The USS Maine had exploded in a Cuban harbor, and while Spain had no proof it hadn't been the people of Cuba or his soldiers, he believed the young colony when he said it wasn't his fault. America, however, had pushed his own opinion of what happened to the ship to the forefront, and foolishly attacked an older, more experienced nation and his colonies.
Not that Spain was all too surprised. America was a young boy- eating whatever his bosses fed him still. At least, he believed so. He didn't quite know for sure because soon after the War of 1812, he had cut himself off from the rest of the world with the Monroe Doctrine, and privately forbade any nation from seeking out his company while also preventing more colonization in what had become his hemisphere.
How greedy of him.
He looked forward to meeting the boy when he won. Perhaps even taunting him for his sheer guts.
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Spain, however, was not winning an easy battle. In fact, he was losing miserably. "Damn." He cursed in Spanish.
It was because of those god-forsaken "Rough Riders." Led by the powerful, war mongering Theodore Roosevelt, the Vice President of America.
They had taken this battle into their own hands. And Spain was losing because of it.
"Give up, Spanish fiend!" Roosevelt said smugly, pointing the end of his gun at him with a cocky grin.
Spain half wished that he knew who he was speaking to. There was a young man standing behind him, with crooked, cracked glasses staring curiously at Spain.
He didn't...feel human. His eyes were a bright blue, and his hair was the color of wheat fields. He didn't quite look 18.
"Come on, Alfred. Snap out of it!" One of the other guys called, and the boy-Alfred- laughed heartily. A great big, obnoxious laugh. Spain almost rolled his eyes.
No way this kid was who he thought he was.
"Sorry guys, thought I recognized him from somewhere!" He laughed again. "Guess I was just crazy!"
A round of laughs went around this group of rough riders, and Spain gave them all dark glares.
Theodore lowered his gun, and looked at him with suspicion. "What's your name, soldier?" He asked firmly.
"Antonio Carriedo." He snarled. Maybe he shouldn't have done that, as they all forced him down. Not particularly wanting to get hurt, he stayed there. Roosevelt, however, didn't move, only looking at him thoughtfully.
"Alfred, can I see you?" He called, and the boy looked up at him with curiosity.
"Sure, sir." He gave a crooked smile, not unlike his glasses, and they went off a distance away from them, out of earshot.
No more than five minutes passed before they came back, Alfred watching him carefully and Roosevelt resigned. "Let him go." The men groaned. "He's worthless to us."
They asked why.
"Come on, you heard the man." Alfred spoke up, looking shifty. "Let him go." The boy rubbed the bridge of his nose underneath his cracked spectacles.
Theodore leaned down, to whisper into Spain's ear. "We know who you really are, Carriedo. And we suggest you get the hell outta dodge."
Spain didn't bother looking back.
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"Sir!" His troops yelled as he got back to their camp in the swamps of Cuba.
Spain was humiliated, and scared. One of his commanding officers came up to him. "Sir. I'm afraid we've lost this war." He murmured. "The Americans have us outgunned. We have to retreat." Spain barely heard his soldier.
He had to go see England. Find out about this boy Alfred.
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How had such a young nation beaten him?
Spain was drinking some alcohol at a club in South America, not particularly wanting to go home. He grumbled. Most nations that young, were either under protection of another, or had been destroyed. But America was proving to be rather...resilient.
He had lost Philippines, Guam, Puerto Rico, and Cuba. All to America. The little shit was building his own mini empire in 'his' hemisphere.
No one owned their own hemisphere.
And how had he known to go straight for Spain's wallet? He was now in depression, even. That was, well, depressing. He sneezed. Spain normally had a cheery disposition, but it was hard to be optimistic when America had kicked his ass.
He wished Romano was here.
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A/N: So what happened was that someone reported me. I had this story taken down and now it's back up! Horray! But for the loser that did this, I hope you know you're the reason Lacey took down her multi-chaptered stories.