"Ah, Romano, isn't it a beautiful day today? We should have a picnic, or go swimming!" Spain said, an infuriating smile on his tanned face.
"As if I'd want to be caught dead with you, bastard!"
The Spainard was unfazed. "Well, then maybe we should take a walk! There are lots of nice parks and gardens around here-"
"Just make some breakfast, you dumbass." He interrupted, kicking his short legs back and forth against the chair he was seated at.
Spain chuckled and removed the magdelanas from the oven. Romano closed his eyes and inhaled the sweet aroma of the Spanish pastry. He would never admit it, but he would walk through fire for a bite of Spain's cooking.
"Give it, Spain! Hurry up, I'm starving."
The tall brunette laughed as he placed the two magdalenas on Romano's plate and one on his. "Careful, they're hot." He warned, adding a white vase full of bluebells.
"Shut up and let me eat, you jerk," He muttered, already halfway through his first one.
Spain smiled. Of course, a minor setback like heat wouldn't bother Romano, especially if he was hungry. That boy could eat for a thousand lifetimes and still have room for dessert.
Romano pushed his chair back and leapt down from it since it was so high. "Where are you going, Romano?" Spain asked.
"Getting a glass of orange juice. Your dumb muffins made me thirsty." He glared at the Spainiard, who grinned back. Did he ever stop smiling?
He disappeared into the kitchen and hunted through the refrigerator. Not a drop of orange juice was to be seen. He grumbled in frustration. Romano swore he would drag the useless Spaniard to the market and force him to buy up all the orange juice in the entire plaza. Water would have to do for now.
A loud crash broke the silence, and a scream pierced the air as he was filling up a glass from the faucet. Something shattered, and all of a sudden Romano heard numerous voices yelling at each other, including Spain's cries. Sprinting into the dining room, he froze at the sight before him .
Spain was angrily writhing in the arms of several people dressed in black clothing and ski masks. He was thrashing so badly, it took five people to keep him still. Romano counted about eighteen people total. The upturned table lay on its side, and the vase was in a million pieces, with scattered bluebells decorating the entire scene. Romano suddenly felt as nimble as a block of ice. He couldn't remember how to move his body.
The mafia.
"Romano! Get back!" Spain cried. But as soon as the words left his mouth, one of the bigger men smacked him across the face. "You shut up," He snarled. He gestured to another person in a black bike helmet and suddenly Romano was surrounded by warriors stronger than he could ever hope to be. Their eyes held no mercy, only amusement as they came closer to the frozen boy.
Finally, he snapped out of his daze and his vision went red. He lashed out, kicking and biting and punching at anything that moved. He was aware that he was being attacked as well, but the pain melted into the background. Someone was screaming, and he wondered if it was him.
But Romano wasn't a match for a team of trained criminals, and soon, he was immobilized like Spain. "Let me go!" He howled, and caught the nearest hand in his mouth and bit down as hard as he could. The man shrieked, and someone slapped Romano in the face.
"No! Don't touch him!" Spain yelled.
"Keep him still," The one who was bitten snarled, cradling his wounded hand. Using his working arm, he reached into a pocket in his coat and revealed a long, sharp knife.
Expressionless, he placed the tip of the knife on Spain's left cheekbone.
"No! Don't, you bastard!" Romano shouted, angry tears already forming at the corners of his eyes. The thug's eyes widened in mock surprise.
"Now, now. That's not a very good thing to say. How about you show some respect to your superiors, hmm?" He pressed the tip of the knife into Spain's cheek and the nation winced as a stream of blood trickled down his face. The criminals laughed and cheered him on. Romano inhaled sharply at the sight, but didn't say anything.
"Good boy. I knew you were smart." He relaxed the pressure on the knife. He sighed, pretending to be sad. "But I'm afraid that won't be enough."
"Why are you here?" Romano dared to ask, barely suppressing the rage in his voice.
"Because, Romano, you aren't utilizing your full potential. You could be so much more. The mafia could be at your every whim. You could rise to glory and power and fame." He snarled at Spain. "This bastard here is clogging it with flamenco and magdalenas and goddamn bluebells." He kicked the flowers on the floor with scorn.
He walked over to Romano, and knelt down to leer at him. "Come with us, Romano. We will nurture you and make sure nobody will ever mess with you again. Doesn't that sound nice?"
Romano stared right into the thug's murky brown eyes. "You can take your power and glory and shove it up your ass."
His eyes widened with realization, and he leaned back from the boy. "You don't want to. Despite everything we could offer you, you're refusing it." He whirled around and glared at the limp Spaniard. "And its because of this dumbass." He slowly advanced towards Spain. "He's filled your head with delusions about love and peace. He spoils you, and has made you into a lazy, useless lump of fat."
"No," Romano whimpered. He didn't like where this was going.
The criminal grabbed the nation's scarred face in his hand and forced Spain to look at him. "You will have to go. You're only bringing Romano down with you." He raised his knife high in the air. It seemed to smile at Romano as it glinted in the sunlight.
"Spain!" He cried, thrashing against his captors.
"Keep him quiet." The thug hissed.
"Don't worry, Romano, everything will be okay," murmured Spain.
The criminal mercilessly brought the knife down on the Spaniard.
"NO!" Romano screamed, his throat raw.
He sat up in bed, drenched in sweat. His breathing was heavy and erratic. He looked back and forth frantically, disoriented and confused. He couldn't even remember his dream-
Magdalenas.
The walls began to close in on him.
Orange juice.
He kicked off the covers and stumbled towards the doorway.
Mafia.
He nearly tore off the doorknob in an effort to escape the room, and dizzily walked down the dark hallway.
Bloodstained bluebells.
He pushed open the door to Spain's room and peeked inside.
Sure enough, the country was peacefully slumbering. He stirred, then rolled over and slowly sat up.
"Romano," He said, taking in the shivering boy in the doorway. "What's the matter? Are you okay?" He walked to him and knelt down to his level. "What happ-"
Romano threw his arms around Spain and let loose all the tears he had been bottling up.
"Y-you made magdalenas and I went to g-get orange juice and then the m-mafia came and they knocked over the b-bluebells and they t-tried to take me away and then they-" He sobbed into the Spaniard's shoulder.
"And then they killed you!" He wailed. "They laughed and I couldn't do anything and they bought the knife down and I DON'T WANT YOU TO DIE!"
Spain, though he was thoroughly bewildered, wrapped his arms around the shuddering boy. "Shh, it was just a dream, calm down. It wasn't real." He stroked his soft, brown hair, making sure he avoided his curl.
"Don't worry, everything will be okay."
He stood up with the Romano in his arms and walked around his room with him, murmuring to him until his sobs turned to quiet hiccups, and finally he felt the boy's head loll against his neck.
He quietly opened the door and walked to Romano's bedroom. Gently, he set the boy down onto his bed and spread a blanket over him.
"Spain..." He murmured sleepily, nuzzling into the pillows.
A smile spread over the older nation's tanned face. Gently, he closed the door to the room and headed back to his own, turning out the lights as he walked.
Cheesy ending is cheesy. Alas, I am a sucker for happy endings.