Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Or Psalm 127.
Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable
inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Spanish colonization and some of the problems they faced (Seven Cities of Cibola, French infiltration, difficulty in getting people to populate areas). Reference to an Italy Bros clip vs. American values. Monarch butterflies.
Special Note: The way I write it, I see the other nations of the UK embracing the Anglicization of their names to some extent, whereas I believe Spain refers to himself as España and would refer to others with Spanish translations of their country names (which is tricky to type and perhaps to read but is probably more authentic to the character).
AN: Happy New Year! Welcome 2018! I don't know how quickly I'll be able to update during the next month so I'm kicking off the New Year with this chap. (I'm doing an accelerated winter course...because...clearly I'm a glutton for punishment. So yeah, I've been looking over the syllabus and...it'll probably be 18 days of concentrated hell...yay : D...T^T)
Special thanks to FlowerFoxWings for helping me translate lines into Spanish and keep the flavor I wanted! She's been a great help to me. I'd have been hesitant to do a Spain chap without having her as an ace up my sleeve : D
Chapter 26: Embarrassing
Tex fidgeted on his bed and re-fluffed his pillow.
Earlier, Tex had pulled out and plugged in a lava lamp to serve as a nightlight for Al, ya know, so he didn't trip and die while trying to make it to the bathroom or anything.
Tex stared at the teal blobs and the illumination it cast on the walls. He had to play his cards right, if he was gonna pull everything off.
He needed to allot time for Al to heal up, time for Al's side of the family to cool off and skedaddle, and time for the trip in May.
He needed to squeeze in their solo expedition somewhere within all that.
The May Day trip…
If they were s'posed to celebrate on the day...that'd mean they'd need to leave earlier...which meant there'd be several days beforehand for all of Al's family to arrive which meant…
The last week of April would probably be taken.
And here they were losing the last bit of March.
And Al was sick and would probably need a week to heal up. And then the U.K. would probably need another week to unclamp them from America's bedside.
So...so…
Maybe there'd be a week? The third week of April? Where they could escape for their adventure?
And then there was a certain Spanish thorn in his side that he needed to dislodge and quick.
He clicked his tongue and then sighed, "Papi?"
"Mmmhmm?"
"You are totally embarrassing me. Like, forever. Like, I dunno if I'm ever gonna recover from this."
"From what?" Spain demanded as he propped himself up on one elbow.
"Papi, why are you in here?"
"Because he is in here." He pointed at England who was cuddled up with Alfred on Alfred's bed.
England glared at them both with his one good eye.
Yeah, Al had warned him that he was still pretty axe-crazy with him for spiriting Al away.
He cringed a little.
"You see?" Antonio draped a protective arm over him. He shook his head slowly in disapproval of the Brit. "Es un hombre peligroso."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I don't really want him in here neither."
"He stays!" Alfred declared because he was enjoying the back scratching Arthur was giving him.
"Tch." Yup, Tex was definitely not at the top of that crusty ol' pirate's list of favorite people—the limey was probably gonna smother him in his sleep and because he slept like a log, it'd be easily done.
Tex then realized Antonio's arm was still around him and threw an elbow. "Geroffme."
The Spaniard sighed but obeyed.
"Tex?" Alfred asked.
"What?"
"Did you really read off Stuart's apologies? He texted me earlier that you did."
"Tch...yeah."
"Awwwww, lip service just for me!?"
"Hey! Well…Nothin' I wouldn't do for you, baby bro!" Tex grinned. Why, if he could make it through an awkward dinner with Lincoln, following the Civil War, he could do just about anything.
"Aww, Big Bro, that's sooo-"
"Nor I for you, mi pequeñito cactus, mi bebito querido," Spain interrupted to gush as he hugged him.
Tex went bright red, "God, I just wanna hurl you through the window like a Wild West Bar-room Brawl!"
"Don't. You'll let in a draft," Alfred's cheeks puffed.
Spain's head tilted to the side—perplexed. "Why is this so embarrassing, now?" He poked Tex's cheek. "You slept in my bed with me while you were visiting last December."
That turned two blond heads.
Tex flushed and set a pillow between them to mark a boundary. "That was different! It was different. It was super diff-"
"I made up a bed for you in the guestroom but you didn't want to share with Lovi and Feli-"
"O'course I couldn't stay with them! They're crazy exhibitionists! The Italies… they...they...Al? You listening?"
"Yeah?"
"…..Al, they sleep….naked."
"What?! OMG! For real?"
"I wish it ain't so. But they sleep naked."
"Naked, naked?"
"In the buff." Tex glowered at Spain. "And you tried to put me there. With them."
Spain blinked, "You had a different bed than them. I made sure. I know you're prudish."
"Whoa there, cowpokes!" Al interjected, "they shared the same bed?"
"Exactly."
Spain shrugged. "Tight on space. What, you two never share-"
"Not naked!"
"Yeah, we got standards," Al declared.
"Yeah, we do...ugh, Europeans...and your unsettling practices-"
Spain waved a dismissive hand. "We fixed it. You just got to stay with Papi. I wore pajamas."
As if he wasn't embarrassed enough before, Spain had to seem so delighted about it.
"It was just like old times! You were all scared-"
"Well yeah, they just started strippin' down in front o' me and, like, my eyes-"
"And came running to my room. 'Papi, Papi, ¡ayudáme!'" Spain chuckled and pinched his cheeks until he swatted his hands away.
Rhys finished off his cup of tea before setting it down and returning to the ironing board to press several remaining sets of trousers.
They'd divvied up tasks and chores by slips of paper in a jar as per Tex's request. Tex somehow got "Take care of Al" and judging by the Cat-That-Got-The-Cream grin on his face—rigged it that way deliberately.
Rhys got laundry duties, Reilley got cooking, Mathieu got window washing, Alistair was clearing the gutters, and Arthur outright refused his slip—insisting on caring for Alfred as well.
Which meant Spain got both dusting...and yard work. He accomplished the first easily enough but the second...still, Spain was determined to mow the lawn (which desperately needed it)...even in spite of the sling. But Rhys never heard the telltale sound of yard work.
After folding the remaining laundry, unplugging the iron, and putting everything away; he decided to see what the trouble was.
He found Spain in the shed. The riding lawn mower had a can of gasoline sitting next to it. Perhaps he'd come to his senses and realized he was unfit for the task?
No. His aura was terribly off.
"Antonio?"
He was muttering under his breath and looking down at a collection of double headstones.
Rhys frowned. "Oh yes, those tacky Halloween decorations. Alfred's home had those, too. Didn't he?"
Spain didn't answer and his green eyes were wide as he passed one to him.
This headstone was made of wood rather than foam and…
Hazel eyes widened…
...had an authentic mourning portrait mounted in the center of it with the two Americans dressed in cavalry accoutrements.
"These...these are...not pretend," Spain told him gruffly.
Rhys read over the sickeningly playful epitaph:
Lady Luck frowned
and they found
they were damned
One's gun ran out
and the other One's jammed
Rhys grimaced and glimpsed more headstones, mostly doubles but there were some singles here and there. So, they were all based off real deaths then.
"Do you think England knows?" he asked, concerned with how his younger brother would take such news. It was one thing to know the children were brash, but this...was just...cavalier.
Antonio just stared at him blankly—green eyes dull.
As they worked to gather the "graves" and brushed elbows and shoulders in the small space, Rhys glimpsed what had Spain so distressed.
España handed his horse off to the stable boy.
He looked up at the estate and downed the last of his rum and wasn't satisfied; a surprise attack from the Apaches had cost him yet more men.
And two more died simply from the the elements.
So many had been lost in these harsh lands.
He wiped his sweaty brow.
The heat reminded him of hours spent under an unrelenting sun during Coronado's doomed search for the Seven Cities of Cibola, the indians kept directing them on the fool's errand.
Goading them...
A cruel trick.
Even more than a century later, it made his mouth twitch into a snarl.
His spurs clanged loudly on the terracotta tiles as he passed through the kitchen, startling the servants there.
"Señor," the women greeted and they were careful not to make any expression at all as he grabbed a decanter of wine.
He took heavy swigs as he mounted the stairs.
His armor was sticky from battle and hot from the sun and he just wanted to strip it off and soak in a bath. O what he would give for a bath and a meal and a good night's sleep!
His mood soured further when he found Tejas in his private rooms snooping—confirming, as Antonio had long suspected, that he was the reason his effects kept getting damaged, though the servants kept covering for him.
The colony was still small and sickly despite his colonizer's more recent efforts to settle the area in earnest. Antonio had been alarmed to hear of a French fort. Had personally led several expeditions to find and eradicate it, though, by God's grace, it had already been destroyed by the time he found it.
He was still certain that the French interference...that damned La Salle...had harmed his son's frail constitution further.
It was frustrating. To put it bluntly, Tejas was the runt of his litter.
And he looked like he was going to wet himself at being discovered. His big brown eyes were huge in his face. He'd always been a nervous little thing, afraid of everything.
The church bells rang out, Tejas was supposed to be downstairs eating his dinner and he gruffly said as much.
"Pa-boss," the child stuttered out, already trembling. España hadn't even moved toward him yet.
He just didn't have the robust spirit that Venezuela and Colombia and the others had. Or the amusing savvy Lovino boasted. Or the talent and sweetness that made Feliciano a prize. He sighed at the thought of the Italy he just couldn't seem to get ahold of-
Green eyes focused back on Tejas, who swallowed audibly.
Tejas would hide behind Mejico's legs (sometimes under her dress….which really had to stop) when he brought all his family together for fiestas. The little one did not want to play games or sing or dance or grapple or cuddle with the other children.
He didn't even like to cuddle with his father or kiss him in greeting the way the others did. It hurt that he wasn't more affectionate. He was such a pretty little child too, but his personality made it difficult to dote on him. He hardly knew what the child liked and disliked since conversing with him could be such a chore.
He often just...stared at him. Like he was doing now.
He reached out and caught Tejas' wrist and, careful not to bruise it, or to drop the expensive decanter in his other hand, prompted the child to follow him out of the room.
He just wanted to be out of this damned armor. He could feel the sweat dripping down his back. All the sun...all the humidity...he needed a change of linen and then he'd be in a better mood to deal with his son.
Warnings just weren't keeping him out of his bedroom. He'd need to devise some manner of punishment.
Though, from the way the toddler's hand was shaking, simply being discovered might've been worse than any punishment he could plan.
¡Dios mío! It was embarrassing that someone of his line had so little bravery. Especially, when he'd gone and named this one after himself! No one would say he was an Antonio in miniature. He didn't act at all like his papá.
Still, he tried not to be too hard on him for it. It wasn't Tejas' fault that he didn't have a lot to recommend him by means of land or resources or strength or...charm.
But bravery was something they could work on.
The child waved an illustration and began chattering on about it. His lip curled, he'd gone through his journal.
He blinked. ¿Qué? And he snickered. He wanted to go? To that?
"Oh you want to be sacrificed? For the glory of their chieftain? That is what you want?"
Texas looked back at the drawing and then up at him.
Antonio laughed harder, "Tonto."
No...
Antonio couldn't even say Tejas was especially clever. Colombia was the athletic one. Venezuela was the bold one. Puerto Rico was the musician. Mejico was the smart one. What could he say about Tejas?
It was difficult when their majesties asked him for news of this colony.
He ordered the child downstairs again.
Green eyes narrowed and he winced as the child burst into noisy tears.
"I wish you didn't cry so goddamn much," he grumbled before he could help himself.
Then it happened.
The little face looked up at him so abruptly and with such a spark of passionate indignation, Antonio felt his irritation briefly turn to amusement. There was the spirit he was looking for!
"I wish you weren't so scary!"
Until that...
Scary? He...he wasn't scary. He was...he was strict, sí…and Tejas was just...timid…
He was trying to work him out of that. Toughen him up. Because he was just so afraid of everything and Antonio wanted him to find his confidence...so the world couldn't tear into him.
Tejas was tugging at him to let him loose, so he granted the wish and realized half a heartbeat too late, through the warm buzz of alcohol, that they were right next to the stairs.
Dammit! He reached but was too slow and the child fell.
That wasn't supposed to happen.
He was a warrior with remarkable reflexes.
How often his troops and his monarchs complimented him on them.
He was a leader among men!
That wasn't supposed to happen.
That wasn't supposed to happen.
That wasn't supposed to-
"¡PAAAPI!" the child wailed and choked and spluttered. "¡PA-!"
He dropped the decanter and sprinted down the stairs to tend to him…
Santísima Virgen, have mercy! ¡Tenga misericordia por el niñito!.
But...
He was already dead.
"Mi hijo."
The blood was still warm.
The tears were still rolling down the child's soft cheeks.
"Mi hijo…"
Still warm blood oozed from between those stubby baby teeth.
He was already dead.
There were screams as the sirvientas discovered them.
And he cradled the back of his son's head and ordered them to bring a physician.
For what...he didn't know.
Because there was nothing...nothing that could be done. He already knew that.
But maybe if he could just stem some of the blood. Keep that dark red, almost black, life blood in.
Then what?
What now Boss? Antonio Fernandez Carriedo? ¿El General?
But that wasn't who mijo called for.
"Mijo…I...I am here….I..." He choked. "I am here. Pa...Papá is here...Papi's here now."
Maybe Tejas...wasn't afraid of everything…
Maybe...Tejas was afraid of him…because...
He was...
Fragile…
Tejas was terribly fragile…
But that wasn't such a terrible thing.
No, the terrible thing was that España was careless…
And Tejas knew that.
That's why he was always afraid.
He was sensible.
There. You wanted to know which one Tejas was.
He was the sensible one.
It didn't save him though.
No.
He just knew what to expect and Papi didn't disappoint.
"...mi pequeñito..."
Dios. He'd have given anything to have traded places with him; to have fallen instead.
Rhys withdrew and the other man's shoulders shook.
España pulled his arm out of his sling and ignored the jolt of pain that came with carrying the storage crate of graves.
He moved into the house and found his son in the kitchen with Inglaterra and Irlanda del Norte, coaxing America to eat.
The two boys were seated on bar stools talking about sports while the adults were left standing beside them.
He dropped the crate. Which got their attention.
"What. Is. This?" he demanded.
The boys blinked and then swiveled back to face each other and continued talking.
"¡Oye! ¿Qué es esto?"
His son turned back around and raised an eyebrow, "That means y'all found our Halloween decorations. Congratulations."
Rhys came in and set down his own boxful.
Alfred looked over, squinted at the second box, and shook his head, "Geez, all your singles are Civil War ones again."
"Well, there were just so many interesting ways to go. I sampled them all," Tex snickered.
"We're gonna have to mix 'em up again. What happened to the westerns?"
"I think Molossia's got-"
Antonio tossed the one with mourning portrait at their feet. "What is this?"
"..."
"Or this?"
He threw another one that had been done up with bullet holes and the macabre ditty:
When the mob comes to play
From their underworld lairs
Don't ride the elevator
Stick With the Stairs
Both boys looked down at it, and then at each other, and burst out laughing.
"God, how many rounds did they use?" Al chuckled. "We had more holes than Swiss cheese!"
"I remember sliding down to the floor and being like, hell, what a waste of ammo? Seriously, one machine gun would've been enough. But I dunno, Al, I was kinda flattered."
"No kill like overkill!"
The idea of two teenage boys being ruthlessly gunned down by the mob…
If Romano had known...and not told him...
"¡PAPI!"
Who did you call for then, mijo? When you slid to the floor...dying?
He shuffled closer.
Tex smirked. "Yeah, they had to close that elevator for three months to clean it up and get it back in service."
The boy's boast put a lump in his throat.
The women were still at work scrubbing down the stairs. Two days since...
The beads of the rosary dug against his lips. He watched from a crack in the door.
"¿S-señor?" Juan approached.
He slammed the door and bolted it.
"Señor, please!"
He'd sat down there for hours holding him. Had watched the sun rise on the congealed blood on the floor before he'd finally had the sense to let them take the child from him, and he'd stripped out of his armor and bathed the stains off his skin.
He'd returned to his child's room to find that they'd wrapped him in a shroud on the physician's ruling and a coffin had already been delivered without his ordering for it.
They wanted to bury him...Toño...his little Toni...
He holed himself up in his bedroom and didn't leave again to bathe or eat.
He was a powerful empire. He could last a week easily without such amenities. It was going without sleep that was hard.
And he had to. Joaquin climbed the terrace and up through the window in an effort to smuggle out Tejas.
España fired him from his household and promised to kill anyone who made another such attempt.
The smell of death was worsening though, and he couldn't pretend otherwise.
"Your papi is here," he assured as he laid down beside the little one. "I won't let them take you."
Though from the murmuring outside his door there'd be another try in a matter of days.
"I won't let them take you," he repeated solemnly.
Not without a fight.
Though…his hopes were flagging.
Toni should've returned already; he was a personification.
Was this what happened when a colony failed? They just...didn't regenerate?
He pressed his rosary hard against his lips and continued praying.
"Por favor, por Dios."
He'd never had days pass so slowly and it was hard enduring the soul crushing weight of divine punishment.
"Te ruego, por favor."
Why do you weep, España? So noisy. So goddamn loud.
"Solamente te pido eso, por Dios."
He has no land of gold, no resources, no strength, no charm, no nothing to recommend him to you. You cannot miss him.
"Por favor."
You don't appreciate your Tejas? Then you don't get to have him.
"Por favor. Por favor, devuélveme lo," he begged wretchedly. If he could just have him back! If he could just...
But the hours stretched on.
He was solemnly, hoarsely, reciting Psalm 127, "...a...a reward from him."
He struggled to get through.
"Like arrows in the hands of a warrior
are children born in one's youth.
Blessed is the man
Whose...whose…"
He forced in a breath, "whose quiver is...full of them."
When the bundle in his arms wriggled with life...
"¡Tejas! Mijo, mijo, mijo," he gushed between kisses.
The spot was still tender and the child whimpered when he touched it. But the bone and skin had mended at last!
The household was overjoyed when he carried him out and more than willing to obey his demands.
He wanted them to purchase all the toys Tejas longed for; anything his sweet brown eyes had so much as looked at. The finest, whitest child's gown they could find. All of his favorite foods.
His servants assured him that they'd see to his needs. Señor should go rest.
They seemed a little unsettled when he didn't. When he stayed and he watched them bathe and clothe his progeny. When he carefully accepted the child from them and combed his son's soft hair himself. When they filled his child's room with toys, he took note that his son loved horses.
And he ordered that despicable child-sized coffin burned and watched from his son's bedroom window to make sure it was done.
Only then...only then could he rest.
Toni pulled out his phone. "Here. I think I got a...yeah!" He laughed, "Whenever the interns bitch and moan about what a rough day they're having, I show 'em this!"
The elevator.
Dios...
The black and white film didn't hide nearly enough.
He hurried into the kitchen and threw up hard in the sink.
"Damn Al, you must be contagious." Tex reached across the bar and turned the faucet on.
His son pulled off a paper towel sheet and handed it to him, before grabbing him by his good elbow and leading him out and away.
"The lawn," he muttered blankly.
"Look, you sit it out. I'll handle it later." Tejas adjusted his spectacles and the sun caught on the glass.
España had arrived early with dawn's first light and washed and napped for a few hours until he realized the house was disturbingly quiet and grew nervous.
Unlike Romano or Colombia, who often woke him with an early morning greeting (of varying violence) if they realized he was present, Tejas only came in if he was afraid of something.
Still, he'd expected to awake to some sound of Tejas playing; he loved his hobby horses and could make rather impressive whinnies for them; he had an ear for the sounds of different breeds.
Antonio made it a point to get him a new one each time he visited. He had a rather grand stable to choose from now. It amused Antonio to watch him painstakingly select which toy would accompany him for the day.
España wandered through the house in search of his colony and was directed outside by Rosa.
He nearly tripped over the stick of a pinto hobby horse and then caught the gleam of sun on glass and realized his child was lying down in the grass and for a moment, España worried he'd fallen and hurt himself.
"¿Mijo?"
He didn't move. Or maybe he'd been been bit...Dios! There were so many dangerous snakes here!
"¡Mijo!" He rushed over.
"No! Stop!" he hissed as España's shadow fell over him.
España paused and waited, surprised by how harshly the child had spoken to him.
Tejas released an exasperated breath and peeked over his shoulder. "It's no good. You're too scary."
His heart sank. Still scary?
He'd been so hopeful upon learning his son needed glasses. That maybe…just maybe spectacles could solve their problems. That poor eyesight was what made Tejas so nervous to be around him. That Antonio was wrong and it wasn't him that was scary. It was his form! He was a large, blurry blob that appeared suddenly to scold or intervene with something that could cause the child harm. That would make anyone nervous. It was often his voice or action that announced his presence to the child and now it was no wonder his little one was constantly being caught off guard or uneasy with Antonio watching over him from the edge of a room.
He couldn't see him smiling, he told himself. Never saw the tenderness in his face when they said their nightly prayers and he tucked him in and kissed him goodnight.
Only…
Tejas had his spectacles on and Papi was still scary?!
His heart sank into his toes.
He sat down and tucked his knees underneath himself and tried to be...smaller. Willed himself to-to-to NOT be scary.
The child shook his head gravely and looked down at whatever he had clasped in his hands and then back at him. The sun glared off the glass of his spectacles. "No bueno."
He blinked and asked what was no good.
The child shifted and he watched big brown eyes size him up. "No eres bueno."
His jaw dropped. He was no good?!
" ¡¿P-p-por qué?!"
"...cuz you're scary," his baby mumbled in answer.
He immediately reclined all the way down though it meant he was sure to have grass stains. "N-not scary, now? Yes?"
Tejas' lips twisted like he wasn't completely sold on the idea but he rolled over to face him and the Spaniard waited to pass inspection.
The child scrutinized him for another solid minute before he opened his hands and from them crawled a large butterfly.
Antonio stared. None of his other colonies could've caught one without crushing it.
"Well done," he praised. "You caught him. That takes skill. Good job." It pleased him very much to know the child's reflexes and coordination were improving with the aid of glasses.
He'd also noticed that there'd been far fewer damages done around the house and in his room.
Tejas frowned. "I didn't catch him. He flew to me. Then you scared him. So I had to protect him and I cupped my hands like this."
"O-oh."
It seemed like a fanciful thing to say until, during the stillness of the moment, another butterfly settled down on one of Tejas' curls.
The child grinned happily—the way he usually only did when España tickled him. He breathed softly, "Seeeee? They like me. I'm their favorite!"
Antonio nodded and leaned forward—intrigued by the brightness of the orange wings.
And both butterflies fluttered away.
"Look, what you have done?!" the child tisked in a tone that was shamefully familiar. Though, instead of hissing about clumsiness, the child repeated. "Too scary! Too scary!"
"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry."
The child looked mournfully at where the bright wings had left for. "They were so beautiful and you...you scared them away."
That was always a hurtful thing to remember.
"Well, ain't that a look that could curdle milk. You gonna throw up again?"
He stared blankly into hard brown eyes.
Antonio sat down on the bed and sighed, "...maybe."
Tejas shrugged and pulled a plastic waste bin and stationed it beside him. "If you gotta, ya gotta."
There was a flicker of movement and he realized the corner Tejas had taken the bin from had a coiled snake in it!
He pulled the boy back and looked for something to kill the reptile with.
"Whoa! S'just a garter."
España gripped him harder. "That is NOT a garter. What are you talking about?!"
To his surprise and worry Toni started snickering. "Okay, okay. It's not a garter. You're right. But don't tell Al, I've convinced him that they can get that big cuz everything's bigger in Texas."
España stared.
"Papi, that's a kingsnake." He made to move toward it.
"No, he will bite you!"
"Well, if he does it'll be cuz you keep distracting me with your hysteria."
"Toni, you go. I will get rid of him-"
"I think it's a she, her tail tapers pretty fast. The male's tales are usually a bit long-"
"Ton-"
"But it's a kingsnake. They're tough to tell. But she ain't venomous."
He reached into a drawer of his dresser and pulled out snake handling tongs.
"This happens a lot?" España demanded—distressed at the idea of his son stumbling upon such creatures in his house.
"Eh, it happens enough." He caught her, pushed opened the window and flung her writhing form out. He closed the window and put away the tongs. "We just haven't been here a while. So...FYI...There could be some critters here and there. Still, at least you found her before Americat did."
España nodded, "I would not want him to have been hurt."
Tex's mouth twitched with a smile. "Americat has been known to eat snakes."
"..."
"And kingsnakes are great for the ranch."
"..."
"They eat vipers and rattlers, Papi."
"Oh…"
"Yeah. You...you, okay?"
"...worries me."
The boy made an expression of surprise before hastily frowning again. "Look, you see or hear anything. Give a holler, I'll deal with whatever varmint-"
España pulled him into a hug. "I don't fear for me. I fear for you! Snakes? T-the elevator? The shootout? The-the-whatever else? Did you...did you suffer?"
"Huh?"
"Were you scared? In the elevator?"
Toni stepped back and laughed brightly, but he didn't look him in the eye, "Nah."
España reeled him in again.
"Oompff, Pap-"
He knew he was a proud young man.
Strong, independent...sassy.
But they were still awfully narrow shoulders to deal with so much. Look at how easily he still fit in his arms? Who cared if he was a little taller?
"You will tell me. You will tell me, yes? The-the next time you...so I can be there? So I can help you?"
He was trying! He was trying so hard! To fix things. Ever since Feliciano alerted him to his Tejas still being alive. He knew he needed to make things right between them.
No one disappears from the world stage like that without big reasons.
That his Tejas would let them all think he'd died within a decade of annexation…
Would break his father's heart like that and not even acknowledge it...
"You're still on about that?" The voice was semi-muffled against his shoulder. "I'll be a pain in the ass. You only think I'm one now but when I'm healing up and you're playing Florence Nightingale to me-"
"You will tell me?"
"...sure...whatever."
"No. You promise. You promise me." He pulled back and grasped the boy's face. "Promise me, now."
Tejas frowned. "Is this what got you sick in there?"
"Yes!" España nodded. "Yes, I think about you in pain and I -"
"Fine. I'll let you deal with the aftermath of one. That'll cure you of this philanthropy."
Antonio tried to bring him in for another hug. "Gracias, gracias, gra-"
But his son pushed him away and crossed to the other side of the room.
He scrambled after him. "Te-"
"...you're so embarrassing…" Tejas shut the door between them.
Embarrassing.
Antonio leaned against the door. He was embarrassing. Still, embarrassing wasn't scary.
It was...he smiled weakly...an improvement...
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