Disclaimer: Hetalia? Nope, still not mine. It belongs to that guy with the H name I can't spell for the life of me. Hooray for lazy fanfiction writers who don't look up the name of authors!

EDIT: OH MY GOD, I AM SO SORRY. I checked my email this morning and saw an annonymous reviewer had commented on here that I'd gotten the Italian independence history wrong! Ahh! I am SO sorry! I tried so hard to research this, really I did, but it was SO confusing! There were like 15 different divisions that were and weren't Italian, and my brain hurt. BUT! Now that I KNOW that Italy went to Austria before fighting to gain independence, I can fix this! Definitely! So! I went back through all four chapters and fixed that up. THANK YOU, Annonymous reviewer!

A/N: Here I am~! Sorry ahaha this kinda took forever to get out. (And is so damn short! Shit! I need to write more!) I had about the first half typed up for a week but I just couldn't finish it. Did that today, will move to better stuff ASAP. The next bit should be easier to write, anyway. Well, enjoy! I'll ramble some more at the end of this chapter, don't worry.

\(^.^)/ - Spain.

So... not long after my memory with the rugs in Spain's house, he went back to sleep, and Germany somehow convinced my brother to give me a break and go pester the hospital chefs about their God-awful quality of pasta.

I pitied those poor chefs.

Well anyway. I finally had a bit of thinking time to myself, so... well, I took it.

And I mean, I started just thinking about everything, trying to remember what the last thing I can remember was, but I've got everything up until a bit into me and Feliciano's fight for independence from that piano-playing dipshit Austria. He had taken me away from Spain, and when I reunited with Feli, I brainwashed my stupid brother into helping me rebel against the piano bastard. Then I've got a few memories of us fighting for independence in Italy... and after that it's all a blank. Then I'm here. And... then I looked at Spain again, and my entire thought process went right down the drain.

Complete with the mental "swoosh" sound a toilet makes when it flushes.

Swoosh.

Spain looked so... different. I mean, he didn't, not really... ah, he probably looked exactly the same to any normal person, but... to me he did. Look different, I mean.

I don't know what it was, but... there was something decidedly not the same about his appearance.

He grew his hair out just a bit. And stopped brushing it so much, I can see. Or maybe that's just because he's in the hospital right now. Either way, I was used to him keeping it neater than it looked today. And I guess it sort of lightened a shade?

But I know it does that in the summer time. It's probably summer. The sunlight brings out his like, honey-ish colored highlights.

N-Not a lot of people know those are there, but I always noticed them in the summer time when I was a colony. 'Cause I have sort of the same ones, only mine are red. Maybe Belgium and the Netherlands and all of Spain's other shit-headed colonies didn't notice them, but... I did.

Maybe that's one of the reasons why I liked summer so much when I was little. Spain's hair would practically glitter when he was working in the tomato fields.

I blinked, and took another look at Spain. Shit, I almost sorta wish I could see his eyes. They're all... emerald and bright, and usually so happy... I uh... haven't seen his eyes happy in what feels like a few years, to me. What with the war with Austria, then losing me to Austria, and here, my memory loss. Maybe he smiled before I lost my memory. But... I can't remember, so I don't know.

Swoosh.

Damn, did he get a little less muscly or is it me? I think back in the 1860s he looked a bit stronger than this. Is it my fault? For leaving him? Dio, I can't stand not knowing my own history. Not knowing his history.

I mean... this is mind-fucking.

Clearly I got my independence from Austria, but did I keep it? Did Spain fight with me? Or did he fight for me? Did I have to fight back?

And what about Feliciano? Did he get hurt? Did someone else take us briefly before we became our own nation again? And why didn't I recombine with Feliciano if we did get our independence from Austria? Are we two separate Italies as nations?

Spain shifted positions in the chair, probably trying to get more comfortable. His face turned a bit further in my direction, and I saw that there was a nasty-looking grimace on his face. Crap, what kind of fucked up shit was he dreaming about now? I mean, I know before I left he still used to dream about what England did to him after the Spanish Armada lost, but that was over 150 years ago! I mean... fuck, he can't still dream about that, can he?

Swoosh.

I didn't know what to do. I mean, I could probably barely walk as it was, but if for some reason I could, should I wake him up? Should I just... leave him?

I mean, maybe we had a fight or something.

Maybe... maybe when we were dating he'd told me he didn't like me to wake him up when he was sleeping?

Maybe he'd like, catch my wrist and twist my arm back or something.

I... I don't know what he'd do, because I can't remember his habits. I've got a gut feeling that waking him up would be a bad idea.

At the same time... we were in a relationship, right?

If it had already been a year, wouldn't I have learned this shit by now?

Shouldn't it fall under that motion memory or whatever-the-fuck-it-is category?

Why was I driving without Spain anyway?

And if it had seriously taken him as long as it had to get here from wherever he had been, where did he live now?

The nurse mentioned him being "out"... out venting, out shopping, out walking, what?

Was I mad at him, and I drove off in a temper?

Was he mad at me, and did I go out after him after a while?

And where the fuck did he live?

Did he still have the big Spanish mansion I remembered from when I was a colony?

And that one recent memory, for that matter... Maybe we moved into a new house together.

God, the whole concept of Spain not living in the same house was mind-rape.

And the concept of me living with Spain in a relationship was even more so.

What... what brought about our getting together?

I mean, I'm not saying I didn't have a colony-crush on Spain for at least the years when I was a teenager in human age, because I totally did, but I never knew he thought of me that way too.

Let's be honest with ourselves, here. Spain is just a bit too touchy-feely with just about everyone. That also includes small children such as my colony-self. But as I grew up, I mean, it was annoying I guess, but I understood that it wasn't sexual. Not from Spain, of all people. The French fuck-face, certainly, but Spain was just a well-meaning oblivious idiot.

I just complained about it because that's what I was used to. You touch me, you get head-butted. That's some fucking amazing logic right there. I think a lot of it had to do with how my brother and I got passed around so much when we were really little. I didn't trust anyone to touch me because at that point touching me in any way -say, something like hugging me- made me automatically conclude you were going to pick my tiny ass up and claim me as your colony.

But after Spain had me, and I got used to him, I guess I just sort of accepted the hugs and head pats and general contact with less... fear. It was nice, I suppose. But you know, I had a reputation to keep up, so I had to complain. (My fucking Italian pride. It'll kill me one day.)

And that was me, rambling about my childhood aversion to contact.

Ngh, where was I...?

...

Shit, right!

Spain and I.

How that... happened.

Came about.

Occurred.

Began.

Yeah, I, uh... I should probably ask him about that.

Later.

Because he's sleeping.

And it looks really fucking cute.

...

SHIT!

You didn't see that.

\(^.^)/ - Spain.

So I'm not really sure how long it took, since I was still just staring at Spain, but eventually a doctor came in. She had a really flat chest. And red hair, and green librarian-glasses. And did I mention a really flat chest? Because it was flat. Really. And there might have been a white lab coat. But after observing she had no chest, I went back to observing Spain's breathing. It was fucking interesting, dammit. (God damn, what shit do they have me on? I feel drunk or something!)

"Sr. Vargas?" she asked, glancing down at a clipboard nestled in her arms, and adjusting her glasses.

"Yeah," I said, examining her again.

Wow, she looked young. I mean, holy shit. I wasn't surprised by it either. I mean, I just... felt used to having young, female doctors. But my memory wasn't used to it. Not at all. This was sort of like a slap to the face with a cold, dead fish or something. A cold dead, GERMAN fish! Because that makes it twice the suckishness!

...and again with the German-bashing? I really want to remember whatever the fuck brought all this about.

"Are you... feeling any better?" she inquired, shifting awkwardly to her other foot.

I just stared up at her, my mouth sort of hanging open a bit. Did I feel better?

I got hit by a fucking car and rammed into a bus, I would assume I feel better now than I did when I got hit, yes.

But I do believe I ripped those stitches. They kinda hurt.

And... I remembered something from that blank period, so am I supposed to tell her that?

And how about the boyfriend I don't remember dating! Who used to also be my shitloads-older-than-me father-figure! (That didn't make sense, did it?)

Shit, too much to think about at once! Mio Dio, what kind of shit was running through my system right now? Did they just change something? Because I feel high!

She seemed to get my temporary confusion, and offered a nervous smile, before adding, "We can start simple. How is your body?"

"I... better, I think," I shrugged, but winced as the action tugged at the stitches in my midsection. "I think I pulled out a few stitches by accident though."

Her smile fell just a bit, and I could see her eyebrows twitching, signifying that she was seriously about to frown, but I guess she kept it back. She just sighed, hanging the clipboard on some kind of hook on the wall next to the door, and she came over to my side.

I pulled the thin blanket up to my stomach to cover certain parts of my body as she pulled the weird paper dress thing up my chest. It did indeed look like I'd ripped the stitches out, and she sighed again. "Alright, we'll have to get those redone. I can do that tonight. Okay?"

I just nodded sheepishly, feeling a little guilty for messing with what she'd just fixed up. By eh, no use crying over spilt milk, right? Crushed tomatoes are another thing entirely, but... Stitches don't equal tomatoes, do they? Fuck, I have to look that up. There's one of those equival-ator thingies somewhere online, right?

"And how about your mental health, Sr. Vargas?" she continued, taking her clipboard back off the wall hook and pulling a pen out of her pocket. "How is that all... working out?"

"I remember everything until I turned 18," I huffed, already used to telling the doctors this. Every freaking one of them asks me anyway. "And then just the habitual stuff. I did remember one thing from just a couple of years ago, just a really small thing, but I guess it's something."

"Oh, really?" she asked, looking up at me with a new curiosity. "Do you want to tell me what this memory was about?"

"Che, it was really stupid, it was just me remembering visiting my... Father's house to pick tomatoes, but I was wearing Armani so he went to get me a change of clothes. I was looking around at all these carpets he had covering stains on the floor and remembering how all the stains got there."

"You might think it's stupid now, Sr. Vargas, but isn't it good to have at least something to hold on to to fill the blank space?" she hummed, pushing her glasses up on her nose. "This is a very good sign, that you're remembering things already. There's a very high chance you'll make at least a partial memory recovery."

"Partial?" I demanded, the frown already set deep into my features. "Why only partial? I knew a man who got shot in the face and lost all his memory, and remembered everything when his wife kissed him!"

"Oh," she said, blinking as though taken aback. "Well... that's a rather miraculous recovery. But every case is different, Sr. Vargas. I can't promise you'll gain any memories back at all. The brain is the most mysterious part of the human body, and since so many things can go wrong, there are innumerable possibilities that follow each injury."

I didn't know what to say to that.

I might never get my memory back?

Yeah, okay, I'm just supposed to thank the bitch for bringing every fucking hope of regaining my memory crashing down?

But... What about Spain and I? I need to know how this happened, so I can at least fix it.

And... at least a small part of me wants my memories to return... so I can... I want to... remember and experience what it's like to be Spain's l-lover.

"Well... when do I get to leave?" I muttered after a long pause.

"I can't predict that either, Sr. Vargas," she said calmly, pasting that God-awful smile back onto her face. "But seeing as Mr. Carriedo is here, if you're comfortable, we can release you into his custody by tomorrow. You'll just have to come back once a week for a while so we can monitor your progress."

"I... I'd get to go home with Antonio?" I asked quietly, my eyes instantly locking onto his prone form in the chair.

"Yes, just as soon as I can clear you as stable enough. And if you're sure it won't be too overwhe-"

"No, I remember his house..." I murmured, my heart beating abnormally quickly in my chest. I realized then that they still thought I couldn't remember Antonio, and I hastily added, "I used to go over his house a lot when we were little. We've known each other for years. I'm just not used to dating him."

"Ah," she nodded, but I could see the doubt flickering in her eyes. "Well if that's all, I'll be seeing you later tonight, Sr. Vargas," she said crisply, before slipping out into the hallway.

...fuck, throwing off curious humans is hard enough with my memory intact, and now I've got to do it with 150 fucking years of my history missing? This lie about Spain being a friend is going to get really confusing really fast.

"You're 18? What a coincidence, ve, my brother got hit by a car and a bus and he can't remember anything since he was 18! Isn't that funny?" my fratellino's obnoxious voice echoed down the hallway, followed by the rapid concerned chatter of female voices.

Do I even want to know where Germany went? Why isn't he stalking Feliciano like one of those German Hounds or whatever the fuck they are?

"Ve, he's alright, fratello is really clumsy so he's used to being in the hospital!" he chirps, voice getting even louder as he nears my room.

Fuck you, Feliciano, I am not a klutz!

...all the time.

"Oh, sí, do you want to meet him and Antonio? Sí, fratello is attractive I guess, we're almost twins, so he should be! Oh big brother Toni? He's cute too! Wha- no, he's my... cousin! Sí, that's what Antonio is!"

I facepalm.

This just got a shitload more confusing.

Feliciano is telling people Antonio is our cousin?

Fuck! I don't do incest!

...

It's admittedly a little sketchy we had a relationship going because he used to be like, my father/older brother, but...

It's fucking different with nations, so shut up, capisce?

"Right Lovi?" Feliciano asked, as the door slammed open, waking up Spain and making me jump a good five inches off the bed.

Feli's head poked through the door first, and then the rest of him followed as he stepped inside.

There were three giggling Spanish girls behind my fratellino, and one of them only has eyes for Feli, while the other two were looking from me to the groggy Spanish nation and back, like wolves picking which rabbit they'll eat first. All three of them had chestnut colored hair, and while I appreciate a woman with beautiful hair, I did not appreciate the way that hair swished when their heads snapped from side to side when they were eyeballing me. They weren't even pretending to be concerned about the "cute" brother in the hospital bed! They were looking at us all like fucking prey!

"No, Feliciano," I growled, upset that Spain was woken up just to be eyed like some sort of meal by a bunch of young bitches. "Antonio is not our cousin. And he's gay for me, you cagnas, so you can kindly piss the fuck off now."

All three of the Spanish girls turned to glare at me, and I glared right back, until the one who'd been eyeing Feli sniffed, and haughtily spun around, dragging her bitch cronies with her back down the hall.

"Fratello, that wasn't very nice!" Feli exclaimed, looking disappointedly after the supposedly 18 year old Spaniards. (They looked more like fucking 16 year olds if you asked me. They should not be flirting with someone as old as Feliciano. I think that's illegal in most places.)

"You could have at least been polite about it! I thought you were always polite to women!" Feliciano continued, his whiny-bitch voice on full power.

"So did I," I frowned, staring out the door after them. "But I didn't like the way they were looking at Spain."

And... I didn't miss the normal idiotic grin making its way back onto Spain's face, that probably both of the overly happy idiots in the room expected me to smack him for, I just... pretended not to notice.

\(^.^)/ - Spain~

A/N: Ahaha there we go~! Finally finished. And I remember the Rome chapters in Bottoms Up by Sunny Day in February, where Toni's being trailed by Italian bitches, and I just stuck this bit in there, sort of inspired by that. It's scant, I know, I should have gone into a bit more detail, but, eh, Lovi's still not sitting pretty with the fact that he's dating Spain, so that little blurb was just to show he's open to the idea, and that progress can be made! I'd love to hear what you guys think!

(Closed)

Also: I want your guys' input! I'm gonna stick in one more character, simply because I can. So basically this character is just going to show up in the next chapter for no apparent reason and fuck up Lovi's home-coming-to-Spain's-house-so-shit-it's-more-of-a-home-going,-then,-isn't-it? SO! Vote for who you want to show up at Spain's house most:

America, England, America & England (USUK), France, France & Prussia (BTT), Prussia, Prussia WITH Germany (Germancest), America & Canada (Americest), Canada, Canada & Prussia (PruCan), Hungary, OR Austria & Hungary (AusHun/whatever-the-fuck-you-call-these-two)