America had been seeing less and less of Spain lately. The few times he did see the Spaniard were scattered and brief, the older Nation merely asserting once again that America should not go near that man he had seen the other day. England—he had finally been given a name for the vague persona.

Undeterred, America continued searching for this new Nation he was being warned so thoroughly against. Every now and again he grew bored and digressed onto other games, but that didn't stop him from looking about for this "England" whenever his fancy returned.

Spain was tired these days, so tired. At first the young Nation had thought he was merely imagining things, but sure enough, there were the circles under those brilliant green eyes and the slight lack of spring in his step as proof. It seemed each symptom grew more pronounced every time he saw the Spaniard. And America, being the curious young lad he was, eventually brought it up.

"I'm fighting now, chiquito," Spain answered in a drained voice, slumping in the shade of a tree. He looked about ready to doze off there and then.

"Who?" America came to sit next to the older Nation, interest captured.

"England," the title was some mixture of a sigh and curse. "He's been getting too big for his breeches as of late, chiquito. We decided to take him down a couple of notches, but…things are not going quite as well as I hoped."

"Losing?" the blond inquired, a sympathetic tone coming into his voice. When Spain gave an exhausted nod of confirmation, the boy sidled up to him, hugging his arm in what he thought to be a comforting manner. "Everything…be right. You see." And he smiled widely, showing the missing gap of one of his front teeth, the tiny nubs of the new tooth just beginning to poke through.

The European couldn't help but smile back, a genuine grin coming onto his face for the first time in what felt like ages. "Gracias, chiquito. I apologize for everything…No me lo merezco. Pero me alegro de que seamos amigos. Even though our people still…"

America, missing most of what was spoken, but concentrating on the bits he had understood, continued smiling back warmly. "It be right," he repeated, as Spain hugged him back with his free arm momentarily, before getting to his feet. "It be right…"

"Sí, chiquito," he ruffled the blond locks affectionately, before turning to leave. "Espero que tengas razón...ten cuidado ¡Adios!"

It was a week or two later (America could never quite keep track) when he saw Spain again. The Nation looked half-dead on his feet, weary beyond words, as if he might pass out at any given moment. He fell back against that same tree they had conversed under during their last meeting.

"I lost." The single word conveyed so much more.

"It be right," the younger Nation assured softly, worming his way into the Spaniard's arms. "It be right…"

Spain held the boy close to him, as a child might hold a teddy bear for assurance. The smile did not come this time. "No, chiquito. Me temo que no…"

Historical Notes: In 1588, King Philip II of Spain decided to attack England because they were raiding his ships, assisting rebels in the Netherlands, and threatening his position in America. As well as the fact that the English were now Protestant, and the Catholic Spanish didn't want that. They had around 130 ships, with about 30,000 men. Unfortunately, the English had around 197 ships, and so the Spanish lost. There were a bunch of severe storms as well, which didn't help matters.

A lot of Spanish this time around...I hope it's all ok (corrections curtsey of Akirah, la neta d'en Vegeta! Thank you very much ^^):

No me lo merezco. Pero me alegro de que seamos amigos: I don't deserve it. But I'm happy we are friends.

Espero que tengas razón...ten cuidado ¡Adios!: I hope that you're right...take care. Goodbye!

No, chiquito. Me temo que no…: No, little boy. I'm afraid not...