The next day, after a couple trips to the store later, they loaded Germany's car with everything they needed and went down to the local market to make and sell the paella, with the dogs napping on the back of the car.
"Are you sure people cook it there? In the stall?" asked Prussia, who was driving because Spain had never bothered with learning how to drive. Why bother when Romano would just drive him around in a stylish Italian car?
"Of course," said Spain with his eyes closed.
Prussia nodded. "Yes, this is the best plan I've had this century!"
Spain lifted both eyebrows at that, but refrained himself from any further comment.
They arrived at the market and Spain started preparing everything to cook, while Prussia put a bunch of logs together to start a fire, each drawn to what they knew best, and Prussia was the best at setting things on fire; while Spain was the best at cutting things up to eat them.
In no moment did it ever occur to either of them that perhaps they could have used something a little more modern to cook, like a gas stove, or something that did not require an open 15th century style bonfire in the middle of a market. This, too, was because they were drawn to what they knew best, and what they knew best before anything, was to take an idea and run at it with all their strength and no consideration for the consequences of their actions.
A few passersby stopped to see what the fuss was about, but when they saw nothing more than simple cooking, they wandered off, thinking that perhaps this was some sort of demonstration of traditional Spanish cooking techniques.
Despite everything, it all went perfectly fine, and that was a small miracle all in itself.
When Spain had finished throwing everything into the paellera, he sat down on one of the chairs they had brought and laid back.
"It'll take like 20 minutes or so," he said, and closed his eyes to have a small siesta meanwhile.
"Or so? You're not sure?" asked Prussia.
"Well, it's usually around that," said Spain, shrugging and taking a glance at his wrist watch.
"But there must be standard times, right? What if it gets burnt? Don't just fall asleep like that," said Prussia.
Spain narrowed his eyes and reminded himself of that Germanic particularity that compelled Prussia and his brother to draw strict lines for themselves and follow them rigorously. "It'll be done when it'll be done, don't worry," he said.
Prussia grunted, and glared at the bubbling food. Spain closed his eyes again and slept, dreaming of an afternoon spent at his old country house, looking at his garden, and waiting. Waiting, looking out at the clear sun that he wished there had been. In truth, it had been raining back then, with a dark and dreary sky that only cleared around midday.
The soldiers arrived and knocked down the door.
"I have been waiting for you. I knew you were coming. I knew it before you did," his dream self said to the soldiers, just as he had said back then.
In his dream, they sat down to lunch with him. They laughed and then went on to have long peaceful lives.
In his dream, they didn't drag him out to the back of the house. They didn't tie him down and beat him.
They didn't execute him.
Prussia shook him awake. "Spain, it's been twenty minutes. Pay attention already!" he said.
Spain blinked at the brightness of the day, and noticed a cold sweat covering his forehead.
"Uh? S-si," he mumbled, and looked down at his watch. 18 minutes had passed. He looked up at Prussia, who busied himself by rearranging plates and napkins uselessly.
"Was I screaming?" asked Spain, getting up to check on the paella. The same harsh straight lines Prussia drew for himself stopped him from waking Spain up two minutes earlier unless completely necessary.
"What? Of course not. What are you talking about?" said Prussia, but he didn't turn to look at him.
Spain smiled.
The paella was nearly done, and he whistled a small tune while finishing up. Prussia gave him a beer.
"Look, I made a sign while you were asleep!" he said, and pointed to a cardboard sign written in impeccable Bastarda script style taken straight from the middle of the 17th century that read "Authentic Spanish Paela".
Spain sipped on his beer while he considered Prussia's easily wounded ego, whether or not anyone would care about the missing L in Paella, and whether or not that was an argument he wanted to have.
"…Looks good man," he said finally. No, he did not want to argue about a missing letter.
"I know! Kesesese!"
A few curious people started gathering around the stall (mainly to try and read the sign), and they made a few sales. When the people realized how delicious the food was, the people came in throngs.
In less than a couple hours, they had sold almost everything they had made.
"I told you! I told you this was one of my best plans!" laughed Prussia.
Next to their table, Aster sat up, and the other two dogs did the same.
"And what is this great plan about?" asked a deep, sarcasm laden voice. Prussia and Spain turned around to see the Italy brothers.
Romano lifted an eyebrow at them, while Italy smiled. He carried a couple flowers bouquets and a box of cookies.
"Romano! What are you doing here?!" asked Spain, trying to climb the table to get to Romano, who recoiled. Prussia pulled him back.
"Stop that! You're scaring the customers!" said Prussia.
Italy petted Germany's dogs and gave them a cookie. After that, the dogs laid down under the table again to go back to sleep.
"Are you selling Paella? I want some!" said Italy, smiling brightly.
Prussia let go of Spain and held on to Italy's hands. "Of course! Of course! I'll get you some. For free! Anything for the little Italies!" said Prussia, his red eyes shining with happiness.
"Who the hell are you calling little?" grunted Romano. Spain smiled to him and went to get the last of the paella for them.
"If we knew you would come, we would have saved some more for you," he said, packing everything carefully. There was just a plate left. When he turned around, he noticed Romano glaring at him with concern.
"I'll cook some more for you if you really want it. Don't be angry Roma."
Romano scoffed. "I don't any," he said.
To Spain, it felt more hurtful that the black eye he had given him the other day. "…I see…," he whispered.
Italy let go of Prussia's hands and leaned over the table to look at Spain more carefully. "Big brother Spain! What happened to your eye?!"
"Uhm, well…," said Spain, thinking up an explanation.
Romano pulled his brother away from the table. "He was probably being an idiot like always! Don't go bothering people like that," he said, flustered. Then he turned around to point at Spain. "And you should be lying down and taking care of that eye instead of cooking for strangers! Why are you even selling food anyway?"
It took a moment for Spain to process what Romano had said, but when he did, he laughed and patted his hair. "Aw Roma, you don't have to be jealous. I'll cook a whole pan just for you!"
"I-idiot! I'm not jealous! Stop patting me dammit, I'm not a child!"
"We were just trying to get some money, like the other day at the club," explained Spain.
"So that's why you were stripping?" asked Romano.
Italy gasped "S-stripping?" he asked, and took a step back, but tripped against the table, scaring the dogs underneath it who bolted out. Blackie hit Prussia's legs on his way out, making him stumble and fall, knocking aside the paellera and throwing around a few of the logs that were still on fire.
"Shit!" he shouted, stepping on the logs to put them out. "Damn, that was bad!" he turned towards Spain. "I'll get some water to put out the rest of the-"
Spain tackled him to the ground and started slapping him on the side.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" yelled Prussia, pushing him away.
"YOU'RE ON FIRE, YOU IDIOT!" yelled Spain.
Spain yelling at him shocked him enough to stop moving and looked at his sleeve and realized that indeed, his sweater was on fire. Spain tried to pat out the flames, but they caught on to his shirt too.
"Don't move!" shouted Romano, and rushed in with a bucket of lemonade from another stand and dropped it on them.
Spain and Prussia froze on the ground.
"Are we still on fire?" asked Prussia
"I…think not…" said Spain, and collapsed on top of him. Romano threw the bucket on his head.
Sirens sounded in the distance, and the police arrived to fine their asses. Open fires, unregistered food selling, disturbing the peace, having dogs without leashes, public brawling…Spain didn't know they could be fined for half the things they got fined for.