Prussia fidgeted in his seat, elated that Germany had let him come to a world meeting for once. He sat between his brother's empty seat and France, waiting for the other countries to show up.

Beside him, France leered at England, who was arguing with America. "Ah, they make such a cute couple, no?"

Prussia rose an eyebrow. "I guess. They're a little like me and Germany though… more like brothers than lovers. They argue like we do."

France sighed dramatically. "Oh, non, you are quite wrong. That, mon ami, is sexual tension."

Prussia blinked. "There is no sexual tension between me and Ludwig." He stated plainly, punching his friend in the arm.

France moaned in pain and grabbed his arm dramatically.

"Crybaby." Prussia muttered.

Spain, who sat on the other side of France, was leaning on his arms on the table, staring off towards England and America. He wasn't listening to a word his friends said. "He's doing the same thing we did."

France stopped groaning and he and Prussia turned to the third member of their trio. "Quoi?"

"He's doing the same thing we did." Spain repeated, watching America laugh loudly at England's angry red face. "Just… in a different way."

Prussia glanced between Spain and the two English speaking countries across the room, slowly making the connection. "Power? Do you mean that he's coming to power like we did?"

Spain nodded, a faraway look in his eyes. France and Prussia glanced uneasily at each other. Certain memories of his past could make Spain become either a blubbering mess, or a moody homicidal maniac, and neither was ready to deal with either of those options.

"His power is more political, economic." Spain murmured, "Not murderous and conquering like ours were."

France nodded. "Yes… his culture has permeated everywhere."

"If that's not a way to come to power, I don't know what is." Prussia said, glancing at Spain again. The normally happy country was frowning. "Now what?"

"He's going to fall." Spain whispered, quieter than he'd spoken yet. "Fall, just like we did. Just like Inglaterra did."

Across the room, England punched America in the shoulder and started to walk away. America just laughed louder and followed him.

"Espagne…" France stared at him. "This isn't like you to be so depressing, mon ami. Is something wrong?"

Spain blinked and looked at his friends' worried faces. "Hm? No. I'm just… thinking." He sat up straighter and smiled his usual happy smile.

And far away, fading into the recesses of his mind, Spain remembered:

"Nice try, Spain!" America laughed, shooting his gun into the air. "That land is mine now!" America laughed again, his men cheering behind him.

Spain stood before him, his gun in the dirt a few yards away. He was defeated. His clothes were torn and bloody, bruises covered his exposed skin. He'd surrendered.

"Give me Cuba and Puerto Rico!" America stepped forward. "You lost, so give them to me. And Guam and the Philippines too."

Spain numbly shook his head. He was falling. Falling. Being defeated day by day. He was no longer as strong as he had been, and he was falling. He could feel it. This… this could be it.

Cold metal bit into his chest and he looked down. America's gun stuck his chest. "I said give them to me, I fought for them so I should get them." America said, frowning. "Do I have to say it in Spanish for you to understand?"

"No, America." Spain looked up at him and smiled. "No, I understand you. My lands though… Cuba… Mi provincia, mi hijo…"

"Hurry up, Spain!" America snapped. "I don't have all day. Give them to me, sign them over."

He'd had no choice. He signed. And he fell. The Spanish Empire was done. "Cuida de mis hijos, America."

America didn't take care of them. Cuba fell. The Philippines fought back. Guam was forgotten. And Puerto Rico became a simple territory. And in the back of his mind, he wondered when America would fall, as England had fallen, as France had fallen, as he was falling.