So, I had something really historical in mind, but then I decided to put in the history after next year, when I take Euro. Therefore, I used canon events instead of Wikipedia-ing information and this was born. By the way, this occurs throughout the fanfic. The lack of historical information, I mean.

Well, try to get through my nauseatingly horrible story.

Side: Reminiscent, angsty, somewhat creepy Spain

At first, all Spain could do was gape in shock. He had come all this way to the English courts, seeking assistance against the malicious sea pirates that had assailed his ships on numerous occasions… only to find that England himself was bestowing upon the curs medals and every kind of treasure imaginable. He could not for the life of him figure out why his supposed ally was fraternizing with his enemies. His normally dormant temper quickly rose to dangerous heights. Angered, he strode out from his place near the court doors.

"¿Qué está ocurriendo—?" Suddenly, all was dark.

When Spain came to, he realized that he was bound and blindfolded. Furthermore, he seemed to be lying on a hard floor that was, oddly enough, rocking. He tried to free himself but succeeded only in chafing his wrists on the rough rope with which they were tied. Frustrated, he yelled,

"¡Inglaterra! ¿Dónde estás?"

"I'm right next to you. No need to shout." England's smug voice materialized from somewhere above him. "Now, if you promise to keep still, I'll remove the blindfold. Are we in agreement?" Gritting his teeth, Spain ground out a "Sí." However, the cloth over his eyes stayed firmly in place.

"Now, now, my abilities in Spanish aren't quite so strong. I'll have to ask that you speak in the Queen's English from now on." Spain was outraged. England's knowledge of Spanish transcended well beyond the simple phrases that he was using at the moment. The nation obviously wanted to humiliate him. But, he reasoned, what could he do? He was the prisoner, and he needed every advantage he could get in this foreign setting. So he swallowed the bile rising up in his throat and said,

"Yes. Take off the blindfold."

"Say please." Spain growled.

"…Please take off the blindfold."

"Ah, much better." The covering was removed from his eyes and he could see again. Spain gathered that he was in a ship's cabin. He managed to work himself into a sitting position against the wall.

"¿Dó—Where am I?"

"Right now, you are on the ship the S.S. Britannica. We are sailing toward your country to bring you home. But I wouldn't count on making it there so soon; there appears to be bad weather up ahead. All the better, actually. I've been meaning to talk to you about something. He stood up and knelt beside Spain. "What you saw back at the palace; that remains a secret between us."

"¡¿Qué?" His eyes blazed with fury.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand you. Are we in accordance?"

"No! I will tell my king and queen everything that I have seen."

"I don't think that's a very good idea. As I understand it, your people are going through some hard times and your 'Invincible Armada' has lost its prestigious title. Are you sure you want the added burden of having my people declare war on yours for a false accusation?"

"You are telling me that what I saw in that room, you giving rewards to the pirates, was false? That is ridiculous! I do not understand why you were rewarding them anyway."

"Such a thing is not necessary for you to know. As for the incident in the palace, I shall do my best to deny it. And I can be very convincing."

"I will tell everything, "Spain repeated. England's gaze hardened.

"Very well, I had hoped that it would not come to this. You leave me no choice." He went to the door and called, "Robbins! Take the prisoner to the brig. No one is allowed to go near him with the exception of the cook to bring him meals, and myself." A rough, burly man came into the room, hoisted Spain onto his feet, and led him down to the hold of the ship. There, he was pushed unceremoniously into a dark cell and left to himself.

A few days in the brig had muddled up Spain's sense of time. However, he was fairly certain that England came to call on him every evening. His captor was unsteady on his feet tonight, a sure sign that he had been toying with rum.

"Oi, Spain! How are you doing in there?" He hiccoughed a bit. Spain gave him an insincere smile.

"Just fine, my friend. And how are you?"

"O-Okay. You've been behaving rather well lately, so I've decided t-to let you out."

"Oh? That is kind of you." Finally, the opportunity that he had been waiting for! He had been biding his time, waiting for a chance to confront the other nation. Once he was released from his prison, he suggested slyly, "Let us go to your cabin, in order to further continue our conversation." England, since he had no control over himself, nodded. So Spain took him back to his room. The pair elicited suspicious looks from the crewmen as they passed. Once they were safely inside, Spain discreetly locked the door.

"Let us talk now." He walked leisurely to the bed upon which England was seated. "Do you enjoy sailing?"

"I-I suppose. It is relaxing."

"I have heard that you were quite the pirate in times before."

"Did you?" The other laughed raucously. "Well, I suppose. Those were the days; sailing high on the Seven Seas!" As he was just about to burst into song, Spain asked,

"Do you still associate with the pirates now?"

"Sometimes. We go out for rum, though secretly, of course. Why, just the other day, we were laughing about how we managed to penetrate the Spanish Armada—"He looked around shiftily. "But that stays between us." Trying to keep his boiling anger down, Spain replied sweetly,

"Oh, I will keep that in mind." England had a strange glint in his eyes.

"Will you? I don't quite believe that. A little token of proof, perhaps?" And with that, he pulled Spain onto the bed and as quick as lightning positioned himself above him.

"What are you doing—"

"I know that you will tell your superior everything. That is inevitable. But I would like to make the most of our situation before we are both thrust into hell." Spain finally realized that England was not as drunk as he had assumed. He had thought himself to be the one on top, but in truth, England was the cat and he the mouse. Slightly panicked, he looked over at the locked door. There was no way out. The other's intentions were clearly written on his lust-filled face. Seeing no viable solution, Spain hissed,

"¡Tú eres el hijo de perros!"

"Oh, shut up, Antonio," England purred, grasping his chin in his hand and crashing his lips onto his.

Spain started. He sat up in his bed, panting lightly. The clock on his bedside table read three nineteen a.m. His recurring dream had woken him up yet again, and three hours before his alarm was set to ring too. The paneled walls of the ship's cabin faded into the striped wallpaper of his hotel room, and the swaying of the S. S. Britannica gradually ceased as he realized he was on stable ground. He could not understand why the dreams started to manifest themselves now, when the events had transpired so long ago and they had never been a bother before. Perhaps the stress caused by his failing economy and the tension of the World Cup had roused ancient memories from his subconscious. He touched his forehead lightly; there was a thin layer of perspiration on it. Spain made his way to the bathroom and splashed some water onto his face. He braced himself against the sink and stared at his dripping visage in the mirror. There must have been a reason why he kept reliving the fateful day when England took him. It had happened to him plenty of times before; he had seized others and others had seized him. But that instance had been different, like… had had actually enjoyed it. Spain felt sick. He dropped onto his bed and tried to fall asleep. However, the elusive sandman refused to aid him. He suddenly felt very alone in his dingy little hotel.

Ding! Ding! Ding! This time, it was the alarm that managed to rouse Spain. He had eventually fallen asleep after staring listlessly at the ceiling. Now he hit the snooze button and got up. He held his head in his hands. Thankfully, there had been no more dreams. But he could not shake the feeling that something big was going to happen. His premonitions turned out to be true when he walked into the Nelson Mandela Bay Stadium and ran straight into England.

"¿Inglaterra?"

"Oh, Spain! Fancy meeting you here." He smiled, running a hand through his hair. Spain gave a carefree laugh.

"¡Hola! I did not expect to meet you here as well."

"I gather you are watching the match as well, then?"

" Sí, Portugal made me promise that I would watch this game." He gestured at the bleachers. "Where are you sitting?"

"Er, somewhere over there, I believe." England pointed at the middle left-hand side.

"¿De veras? I also! Let us go together!" As it ended up, they had seats right next to each other. Spain tried not to appear too uncomfortable. "How have you been?"

"Fine, I suppose." The blonde nation had to shout to be heard over the din. "I believe they are starting!" His companion settled back as best as he could. As the respective anthems of the Ivory Coast and Portugal were played, Spain attempted to relax and enjoy himself. After all, he would be sitting next to England for the next two hours, like it or not.

By the culmination of the game, Spain had worked himself into a considerable frenzy. The score had come out to a smashing zero to zero, something that he knew Portugal would drag him to a bar later on to lament over. He had yelled and cheered quite as loudly as all of the other fans, and had almost forgotten about England until the nation had cursed rather loudly during a missed goal. However, he had shrugged it off as he was wont to do, merely continuing to observe the game. After offering his congratulations to both the Ivory Coast and Portugal, he strolled along the streets with England.

"Quite an interesting game. Never thought it would come out to be zero to zero, though."

"It was very surprising, no?"

"Indeed. But well played. Your game is on Wednesday, correct?"

"Yes."

"The best of luck to you then. Hopefully you will be spared of the fate that I was consigned to." He winced. "Namely tying one to one with the most obnoxious git in the world."

"Thank you. I will do my best." Spain sighed wistfully. "Do you ever think back to the days when we were the best in the world? When power was determined by conquest and fútbol was not yet in style internationally?"

"Sometimes. Those were the days, weren't they?" England's green eyes, once filled with everything from anger to passionate longing, were now pensive. The other nation saw his chance.

"Do you remember the day when we…?"

"I don't understand." But judging by the sudden widening of his eyes, he did. Spain smiled sadly.

"I am not as dense as you think me to be, Inglaterra. You know what I am speaking of, I can see it."

"I'm sorry. I honestly have no idea what you are talking about."

"Do you have dreams about it? I do. They haunt me at night, the memories." His face was devoid of all insouciance. England began to look wary. He walked a bit faster.

"It was nice seeing you again. I'm afraid I must take my leave of you now, however. Have a nice day."

"You deny it, but before you go, I will tell you this: you are not alone if you feel longing too, Arthur. Nosotros somos similares." As the other nation hurried away, frightened, Spain put his hands in his pockets and walked away forlornly.

He was at the heart of the world's attention here in South Africa, yet he had never felt more alone.

My interest in the World Cup is great. The Spanish was derived from my own limited knowedge. If any Spanish-speaking person cares to enlighten me on this fantastic language, I would be more than delighted to learn.

La Soledad - solitude

¿Qué está ocurriendo? - What is happening?

Inglaterra - England

¿Dónde estás? - Where are you?

¿Qué? - What?

¡Tú eres el hijo de perros! - You are the son of dogs! (Or at least, I hope it means that. Help, anyone?)

¿De veras? - Really? (rough translation)

Nosotros somos similares. - We are similar.