Spain trusted the man who was elected president after Isabelle exiled, Juan Prim. In Spain's opinion, he was a man with a good judgement, and very brave too. He had gotten death threats and he didn't even flinch. When he informed his nation that he had chosen Amadeo of Savoy, from Italy's house, to be his new king, Spain didn't complain. He probably knew what he was doing...

Too bad he had such an abrupt end, right when they were getting to know each other. Three days before Amadeo arrived to his new kingdom, Prim got a new threat, which said he would be killed that day, but he didn't take it seriously, like the previous ones. He went to the Parliament like any other morning. When he was making his way back home, though, something made the coachman stop the carriage abruptly when they had just entered Turco street. Someone opened the door and shot him five times. Prim was taken home immediately. The doctor determined the wounds were not serious, he would survive—but a sudden fever killed him the same morning Amadeo arrived. However, Spain attended the open casket funeral and like several doctors he noticed some strangling marks in his neck.

They told him not to think about it and Spain was forced to move on, because he had a new king to greet.

"Your Grace..." Amadeo bowed to him when they were introduced and kissed his hand.

The first impression Spain had of him, he had to confess, was not very positive. To him, that man was a foreigner, and he was fed up of foreign countries meddling in his government.

But soon he saw he was a very kind king. Probably the kindest he had ever had.


1842


"Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo..."

"Amen."

In those times, when more and more people flirted with the progressive ideas, Spain found it hard to find someone as devout as he was, even if he had relaxed with the centuries. Maria Victoria was said to be too religious, but Spain thought it was perfect, because they were very similar. She found his collection of crucifixes, relics and rosaries fascinating, not intimidating or strange. And she never gave the press any scandal due to her sexual activity, like Isabella and her mother did.

"I am curious, Mr. Spain, and I hope you pardon my curiosity."

"Of course, your Highness."

"Why did you give yourself a human name? Is it a practical matter or...?"

"Well...it was...something my heart demanded."

"To feel human?"

"...More like reminding myself who I am and where I come from."

Maria Victoria smiled. "That is so nice."

They walked out of the room together, joining Amadeo in the living room.

"I hope prayer gave you comfort, your Greatness" the king said to him.

"Why do you say so?" Spain asked, taking seat in front of him.

"Because the Carlists are attacking again and I know you little brother Cuba..."

Spain sighed.

"Oh, dear, you shouldn't remind Spain of such painful matters" Maria Victoria frowned at Amadeo.

"I'm...alright..." Spain replied, shaking his head.

"Take as much rest as you need. Leave everything to me" Amadeo insisted.

"It won't be necessary. But thank you."

It was a blatant lie, even the king knew it, but he didn't object. He was a good man. He tried to get as much weight off his shoulders as he could. He really cared for him. He was elected not knowing much about him and made the effort to. Spain felt like he had just been adopted into a loving family. Amadeo's wife, a very cultured lady, learned his language so she could communicate with him. Maria Victoria spent generous amounts of money on charity, even ordering the construction of the Asylum for the Laundresses, so those women had a place to leave their children while they were at work and a place to heal if they suffered an accident.

They could have done so many good things if they had had the time.

There was a moment, after they survived that attempted murder in Arenal Street, when it seemed the two monarchs would finally be accepted by the population. But who were they kidding? They would always be foreigners. They were humble, yet nobody paid them the respects a king had right to. When there was a religious festivity, the noblewomen wore in their mantillas Bourbonic or Carlist symbols. The Church and the moderates didn't want them and prepared the return of the Bourbons. The Republicans, obviously, were disappointed by their presence and turned the public opinion against them, provoking revolts. The Carlists kept fighting for their right to reign.

And there was Cuba, too...

Since the government who had to support him was weak, divided and unstable, Amadeo, with no friends, was forced to abdicate just two years before .

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Antonio. Take care" was the last thing he said to the nation he had failed to take care of before going back to Italy.

At that moment Spain didn't feel his departure much. He was still the foreigner. It wasn't until a lot of time passed, after Maria Victoria died in 1876 allegedly because of the physical and emotional trauma of her stay in his house, and Amadeo, in 1890, when he realized how much of an idiot he had been.

But at that time he had too many things to think about. What would become of him. Spain found himself again with no king and not very sure of what to do.


1873


President Figueras scratched his mustache with a smile.

"You seem less than enthralled."

"I have no say in the matter, but...Me? A Republic? I don't know...I've always been taken care of by a monarch..." Spain admitted.

"Why don't you take this as a sign of maturity?" Figueras said to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You have always been a slave to the whims of a king, one more subject, as if you were not something more precious, bigger. It is time you become independent from a family and show you are more than one of them."

"I am not very sure about that, sir..."

"Like a young man who starts living on his own, you are scared. It is natural. But you don't want to keep living your life like a child, do you?"

At that time, Spain didn't know what to think. A republic...He really couldn't see himself as a republic. Many republics he had met had no principles, since there was no monarch to guard values and take them to the right path. Not having a strong leader, they had been an easy target to the bigger fish.

...But it was true that he had had weak monarchs who ruined everything, who only cared about their own benefit, who made his life a living hell...

So Spain thought...why not? He could give it a chance.

"I'm on my own now..."

He would not stay in palace. It was a place too big for him. So, instead, he acquired a house in Barcelona and moved all of his belongings there. It had to be modest, though. The war against Cuba and the Carlists was making him spend too much money.

Life was good there, in La Rambla. Living alone wasn't as bad as he had expected. There was no one to tell him how to dress, when to eat or go to sleep, who watched him every time he left and reproached him going to the bars or performances. His customs relaxed, and he felt so comfortable...

...That is, except for the matter with Cuba.

«My dearest brother. I don't want to fight you. I don't want to do this. This is hurting me more than it is hurting you, I assure you. Please surrender. Please, come back home and let us forget this and be a family again...»

How many letters like those did he send to the island? How many of them were impregnated by a tear or two?

And then Catalonia became someone he couldn't ignore.

She just knocked at his door. Spain only knew she was a nation because he felt that weird sensation when he opened it and saw her, her hazel eyes, her brown hair; else, he would have thought she was a teenager who knocked at the wrong door. She said nothing to him in that first encounter, she didn't give him the chance to ask her who she was. She just handed him the envelope and left, as if she was in a hurry. Still standing by the open door, Spain opened the letter and read it.

«Proclamació de l'Estat Català»

Spain gazed into the direction the girl had left, but she was already gone, of course.

He told the President about it, and he explained the matter to him.

"Yes, your little sister wants to be independent. Don't worry, we already took care of it, doing what we supposed you would have done: she was denied her petition, but compensated her making the regular army voluntary."

"Ah...O-Okay, good..."

"I know Cuba is occupying your mind..."

"Yes, yes, sure...Thank you..."

Spain would have liked to handle that issue personally. Get to talk to that 'sister' of his. But it was true. He found that all he thought about was Cuba. Cuba. Sometimes Puerto Rico and Philippines to, but mostly Cuba.

He was so focused on that, with the ghost of anarchy, Marxism and Catalan independence flying over his head like vultures, that he didn't really get to enjoy his period of independence. Because general Arsenio Martínez Campos judged that the transition back to monarchy was going too slow following the political course and revolted in Sagunto. Thus, Spain found guards at his door requesting him to follow them back to Madrid, where a Bourbon was waiting for him.


1876


The Carlists wouldn't bother Spain again. Alfonso, that shy boy Spain had seen being born and grow up, returned as a man, barely recognizable to him, and personally traveled to the North to supervise the fight. Maybe it was his bravery and strategy, or the weakness of the Carlists, but soon the headache disappeared. Those uncomfortable relatives wouldn't bother him again: they were ordered to leave the country and never to come back, nor them nor their descendants. With that, Alfonso earned Spain's respect and gratefulness.

"There is so much more I want to do for you, Antonio...And I think I know where to start from" Alfonso said to him, and the next thing he did to him was to promulgate a new Constitution.

It...well...At least Alfonso had good will. He shared the power with the Parliament and all...It would have been better if Spain had been given sovereignty but, well, at least his people got the right of opinion, reunion and association...Perhaps with time he could convince him that...Hah, what was he saying? That would never happen. Spain had to assume he was back to that strange fate all nations suffered: being something more than a subject but with little to say on what their governments decreed.

He guessed it was his fate...

Oh, well. He was Antonius. No matter what, he would still be him. He prayed God to never let him forget it.

Still, he was convinced that this king was different. He was a good man. He could sit with him in the living room and talk to him about his feelings. He didn't judge. He didn't frown. He seemed understanding. He told him about his mother, in Paris, they talked about the times when he was a little boy and Spain would play pirates with him. Good times, those!


1885


Spain's European neighbors seemed to like Alfonso. Austria said he had a good disposition, Belgium picturing in a different way, saying he was 'so cute'.

"You sure forgot about me fast" Spain smirked.

Belgium was about to say something to him but she giggled instead.

"But he has this sad look, what's the matter of him?"

"Oh, well...He once had a cousin he loved, but she died too soon, you see..."

«Where are you going, Alfonso XII? / Where are you going, so sad? / I'm looking for Mercedes / late yesterday I didn't see her...»

But the one who seemed the most satisfied with Alfonso was Germany. Spain hadn't had the pleasure to personally meet him until then. The first time he saw him he was shocked. He almost uttered a name, Holy Roman Empire, but good thing he bit his tongue before he did. Holy Roman Empire died long time before. That was Prussia's younger brother, someone unrelated to his poor associate. Anyway, Alfonso was very kind to emperor William I, and that was something that irritated France so much he didn't attend any ceremony in Alfonso and Spain's honor. Not that Spain wanted to see him...

However, the Caroline Islands almost made Spain and Germany fight. Germany had occupied him thinking that he was doing no use of them, and Spain was so outraged that if it wasn't for Alfonso's intervention, he would have traveled to his house and punched him in the face. In the end nothing happened, a treaty solved the matter, thanks partially to the intervention of the Pope...

"I don't want to fight you. I had the impulse to break your spine, but I admire what you did, the empire you built, and I don't want to ruin myself buying ships and feeding new grudges and hatred" Germany explained.

"Well, thanks. Truth be told, I don't want to fight you, either."

"Please, send my best wishes to your king. How is he?"

"He...well...not very well."

Alfonso was conciliating. So much he defied the President and the Parliament and visited Valencia when a cholera outbreak affected the population. Spain had been showing signs, and had to rest in bed for months. By the time he felt healthy enough to leave it, Alfonso's condition worsened and, infected with tuberculosis, died.

His wife Maria Christina of Austria had had two daughters with him and was pregnant when her husband passed away. Spain looked at her swollen womb and wished it was a boy. Because if it turned out to be another girl...he couldn't go through the same crap again...

Thank Heavens, his wish was granted. A boy was born months later. A boy who was king from the very moment he was born.

Although the little heir, like all children in the royal family, became something very important to Spain, it was another boy who worried him...


1898


Puerto Rico had been easy to pacify. He wanted to be independent, and he wouldn't take no for an answer. When Spain visited the island to negotiate, he almost pierced his thorax with a sword. Not that he was that angry. He just wanted Spain to see he was serious. That was Spain's impression.

"...Are you sure about this? Completely sure?" he asked.

"Yes. I did not take this decision lightly" was Puerto Rico's answer. Once, he was a very small boy. Spain liked to dress him in white because he reminded him of a little angel. Now he was a man, with hair in his chin and a cocky but kind look.

"...I don't want to fight you any longer. Here. This is an Autonomic Letter. It will allow you to govern yourself. It has my sign, so no matter what any politician says, nobody can take it away from you."

Puerto Rico gazed at the paper for long, then looked at Spain. He got up from his chair and embraced him. Spain returned the gesture, caressing his hair.

"I'm going to miss you..."

Puerto Rico thought he had perceived his brother's voice trembling.

"Hey, you're not going to cry, are you, old man? You won't lose me. I'll still be here, you know?"

"You don't need your old big brother anymore..."

"It's not that. We just...need to do things on our own. Act like adults, you know? Please, I know you are having a hard time with Philippines and Cuba. Give them what they want. Don't make them hate you. Stop this madness. It is time you let us go..."

It was true it hurt Spain having to fight his boys and girls, but the idea of them leaving forever terrified him so much he would have done anything to keep them by their side.

He promised to give himself time. Consider what he would do. He would start with Cuba. He had already hurt him, he didn't want to make things worse now that he had forgiven him.

But America had to show up and ruin everything...


"Nobody says no to Spain, right? You still keep certain things from your Conqueror times..."

Spain avoided looking at the bandages in Cuba's arm.

"...I don't want you to leave, Cuba..."

"Yes, I saw that..."

"Mexico, Venezuela...They claim I treated you guys badly. Is that the reason why you are doing this? Is this your revenge?"

"No, you..." Cuba sighed and turned around. "I can't say you're an angel, Spain. You made me work for dusk till dawn growing your sugar. I still think that's all that matters to you..."

"That's not true. I care about you. I really do."

"Then, why don't you let me be free?"

"Because you are not in a jail."

"I just want to do things my way."

It was funny they were having this conversation. Cuba had grown so, so much...Hair now covered his jaw. He had grown, tall and wide. He had muscles. He had the habit of smoking cigars, too. Anyone who looked at them would have guessed Spain was the youngest. But there was that man, in front him, requesting him to be independent.

"Also...you sent your troops to shoot at me."

"I..."

"Admit it, Spain: you don't want me to leave because you need me. Not emotionally. But economically. I am your working mule."

"I would never say that about you."

"Then show me you actually give a damn about me and let me go."

"I will not do that."

The way he said it, his frown, made Cuba smirk.

"I knew it...You don't want me to go, because you'd lost so much money. You think Cuba is the dumb one who will stay with you forever and ever..."

"No, I-!"

A sound distracted Spain. A ship had just arrived to the port. He came closer to see where it was from, because it didn't look like part of his fleet.

It was North American...

"...Have you been seeing America?" he asked in low voice.

"That is none of your concern" Cuba siad.

"Answer to me. Have you?" Spain turned to him.

"I've told you: I owe you nothing, not even an explanation... America has been helping me. It is the fair thing. You helped him be independent. Now he is helping me. What? Don't you think it's fair?"

"He offered me money, did you know that? He wanted to buy you and Puerto Rico..."

"I don't believe you. Admit it, Spain, the matter here is that the others are getting the possessions you didn't have the balls to defend."

Cuba flinched when Spain's open palm almost made contact with his cheek.

Spain stopped himself and gazed at Cuba with his eyes open wide. Cuba's surprised expression turned into a scowl, and turned his back on him.

"Cuba..."

"Don't talk to me" he replied.

Spain had no choice but let him go. That way...he would have the time to think about what he almost did...

After that, he went straight to America.

"What's with this cold reception? I thought we were in Cuba, not the North Pole..." the man with the glasses smiled.

"You know very well what the problem is. You can't just show up without announcing yourself. That's like a declaration of war" Spain replied.

"Is it? Oh...I had no idea."

"There are so many things you need to learn if you want to become an empire."

"An empire? What? What are you talking about?"

Spain glared at him.

"You think I'm stupid, right? Cuba. You've been supporting him."

"I believe in freedom, and he wants it, so..." America replied.

"You couldn't care less about his freedom. All you want is a colony. You escaped from England's power and you want to do the same to someone else? You disappoint me..."

America's smile changed. He was not bothering being diplomatic anymore. He chuckled and tilted his head.

"Look who's talking! You don't give a fuck about Cuba either! You just know you'd be completely ruined if it wasn't for his help! If he left, you'd be poor as a rat! You act like Papá Spain, and you are the worst of all! You are even worse than England. I know what you did in the South. I read about it, the guys told me, even your friends, Italy. What you did to the empires. What you did to those children. And in Europe, to everyone who didn't agree with your ideas."

"That was the past! You have no right to hold that against me! Listen to me, America: being someone big is tempting, but it only leads to one place: doom. I won't let you have Cuba and Puerto Rico. Not only for their sake, but yours too. You have no idea of what being an empire is. One day you are here and the other you are down here. Everything you built will crumble around you, and on you."

"Thaaaank you for that piece of advice I didn't ask for. As I said, I believe in freedom: what about you let me hang out with my new buddy Cuba and you, I don't know, keep shooting at him? Let's see what happens."

He left, like if he was someone he was wasting time with, and left Spain snorting with rage.

But he didn't do it. When that night, the Maine blew up, killing two hundred and fifty six Americans, Spain was having dinner. His men had not done it because he had not given the orders and he knew his people wouldn't do something so risky without his consent. But America didn't believe it. Enraged, he declared war on him, and Spain was forced to face that young, developed, fearless nation.

He, old, tired, with little resources, was such a poor rival that many said he didn't even try.

In a matter of five months, Spain lost what he had left.


Spain gazed at the paper because he didn't want to look at America's satisfied smile. Or Puerto Rico's extreme confusion, finding himself being sold to America, when he was supposedly independent. Or Philippines' indignation ("You said you wanted nothing in exchange of your help!, he heard her say). Or Cuba's beautiful golden eyes.

"I don't have all day, you know?" America hurried him.

Spain closed his eyes, breathed deep, sank the quill in the bottle of ink and signed the paper.

As soon as it was signed, America snatched it from his hands.

"Well...This is a little embarrassing" he said. "I mean...Oh, forget it. You wouldn't get it. Alright, guys, let's go."

"No! You said...!" Philippines protested, and America sighed with annoyance.

"We will discuss this later. Now, don't make me force you..."

"Touch one hair on her head and I will slit you open like a pig..." Spain's grown, still not looking up, made everyone present freeze.

But America wasn't intimidated at all.

"You are in no disposition to give orders to anyone. Look at yourself...You'll be lucky if you can walk out of this room with no help. She belongs to me, so she will do as I say. You had your chance."

"I take no orders from you!" Philippines replied, and Cuba placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Come on, now, don't make things worse...For now...And you, America, behave."

"Just saying..." he shrugged, and walked out of the room, followed by Puerto Rico, who guessed he had no choice for the moment.

Philippines let go of Cuba's hand and left too, crossing her arms.

Cuba was the last to go, and Spain looked up to glance at him for the last time.

They first met in 1492, in a lonely beach. When he saw him, Spain thought he was the most beautiful child in the whole world, with his dark skin and those big golden eyes shining with the light of the sun.

When he last looked at those eyes, he felt life had lost all of its sense.

Cuba reluctantly left the room, leaving Spain crying more than anyone had ever seen him cry.


1899


Spain's presence was required in Baler. His heart skipped a beat when he heard the news. It brought him back to life. What was the matter with Philippines? Was she alright? Did America hurt her? If he dared, he could declare himself dead...

But no. The problem was not America. The problem were his own soldiers.

"They don't know our war ended time ago. They still think they are fighting against my people. They are making a mess. People from your house have come to them to make them understand, but they insist it is all false, a dirty trick..."

Spain gazed at her for so long Philippines sighed.

"I am alright..."

Spain then looked at the hanged body whose blood still dripped to the floor, with an uniform he recognized.

"...America is a lying bastard" she said.

Many people tried to keep Spain away from the place. Those madmen didn't listen to anybody.

"They will listen to me" he said to them.

Nobody was sure about that, but they let him approach.

As soon as he did, Spain received three shots in the chest. Behind him, his men gasped and ran to intervene, but Spain stopped them with a gesture of his hand. He was still standing. The man who show from the bell tower peeped out, not believing his eyes. He disappeared, Spain kept walking towards the church. The doors opened for him. A bunch of soldiers came to him encounter, aiming at him. 'They still think this is an excellent trick', Spain thought. Yes, his people were as stubborn as he was—or viceversa. So he guessed he had to show them. He opened his shirt to reveal a chest with three bleeding holes in it. There was no way that could be make up or some kind of artifice. Those were real flesh and real blood. He let them touch both.

When they realized, the men dropped their guns and bowed to him. None of them dared to speak.

"So it is you...Señor España..."

Spain turned to look at the highest authority in there: lieutenant Martín Cerezo, a bearded man.

"...I am really sorry, sir, I..."

"It is alright. I hope it is proof enough for you to see I am not an impostor...The war is over...It is really over..."

Martín Cerezo lowered his head.

"I...read one newspaper this morning...One friend of mine being destined to Málaga...There is no way the Filipinos could know that..."

Spain placed a hand on the man's shoulder.

"It is okay, lieutenant. There is nothing to be ashamed of. You followed the military code. And you have been very brave."

"...Thank you, sir..."

"No, thanks to you. You never surrendered..."

"Because I knew...I mean, I was sure those were lies. You wouldn't have just given up..."

Now it was Spain the one who couldn't look at the man to the face.


Spain was not the empire he was once anymore but people still wanted to control him. President Prim, before being murdered, chose Amadeo I from Saboy to replace Isabella II. However, it turned out this king was very ephemeral because literally nobody wanted him, even though he was a good king. He had no one's support, probably for being a foreigner. So he had to abdicate and Spain went through its first Republic, which was also very brief, because the economic situation and political disputes made the country very unstable. It is during this time when Catalonia declares its independence—in the Hetalia universe, I like using as a reference jackce's design on Tumblr.

So, since the republic didn't work, the Bourbons were asked to come back, this time Isabella's son, Alfonso XII. He is most known for a song dedicated to him due to his depression after the loss of his first wife than what he achieved during his reign, very brief too, because he died of tuberculosis. His wife was pregnant when he died, so his son, Alfonso XIII, became king right after his birth.

It is at this moment when Puerto Rico's independence is recognized and Spain gets involved in a war against the United States after the USS Maine exploded, supposedly because of the Spaniards, when it was actually caused by a fire. USA helped both Cuba and Philippines because the country was growing and was starting to look for colonies to acquire. In a matter of months, they defeated Spain and we were forced to give up on our last colonies, even if Puerto Rico was theoretically independent and Philippines was assured she would have her independence respected. (I had in mind Namihazure-sama's design on DeviantArt for him).

I would say canon Hetalia exaggerates our relationship with Italy. It is true it was very influential back when Spain was an empire, but our baby has always been South America, and most concretely Cuba. Even though we lost Puerto Rico and Philippines too, this period is known for losing Cuba. This period is known as the 89 disaster and it was a depressing event for Spain. We were not an empire anymore. We lost our last possessions. We were nobody. We lost our dear Cuba. This was such a shock a generation of artists was born, formed by authors like Pío Baroja, Ramón del Valle Inclán, Azorín or Unamuno, who assumed the decadence of Spain and seeked its regeneration.

I end this chapter with a reference to the Siege of Baler, in which a platoon resisted the Philippines, not knowing the war had ended months before. Those men took refuge in a church and many died to illnesses, malnutrition and two deserters were executed. Out of 50, 30 survived, and got to kill 700 Filipinos. It wasn't until their leader read in a newspaper something about a friend of his that he was convinced that the war, as they were constantly being told, was over. According to the military code, soldiers cannot surrender until they make sure the messages are trustworthy. These men are known as the Last of Philippines, and have a monument in Madrid and a movie in which actor Lluis Tosar, our particular Bruce Willis, plays the role of Martín Cerezo. An actress who takes part of it, Alexandra Masangkay, is the person I took as a model when picturing Philippines.