Catch 22

Part Two

Upon entering Spain's house, England noticed a few simple things. Firstly, the house itself seemed dusty, as if Spain hadn't been inside the house for weeks, or even months. Secondly, there were pieces of what England assumed to be a vase scattered across the room. Thirdly, and lastly, there were letters scattered across the coffee table in the lounge.

All of the nations who had been at the meeting before had boarded the first plane to Barcelona, where Spain vacated most frequently. However, upon seeing the house so dusty, England realised quickly that he was obviously looking into the house of someone who hadn't wanted to stay at home very much.

Spain didn't speak as he entered the house, but he did lead the group into the lounge, pointing at the letters with disdain. His eyes were cold, and his lips turned upward into a snarl. England was reminded of the Spain he had fought against back when they were both pirates, and in a split second, he realised he didn't like the man acting so angry. In recent years Spain had found no reason to be anything but happy. With his sudden irritation though, England felt slightly unnerved.

What was in those letters?

Nearly throwing himself across the floor and over to the coffee table, the British nation snatched up the letters. He caressed the pages as if they were the key to the overall plot to the death of his prime minister – which ultimately they were. His eyes skimmed across the writing in each letter, and as he read through each of the letters (there were seven in total), England found himself growing nauseous with every passing sentence.

Who had written these letters?

"What do they say mon cher?" France asked as he stepped nearer to England. The Brit was about to pass the letters over to the French nation, when Spain ordered him to read out the first and last letter date wise.

Sighing, England nodded, making no attempts to protest.

"They..." England sighed, shaking his head as he stared at the first letter, dropping the others on the table. Spain continued to stare at the letters with hostile eyes, and as he tensed up, England read out the letters.

As soon as he had finished reading the letters that Spain had instructed him to read, England felt his legs crumble beneath him. From beside him, America caught him by the waist, helping him as he moved over towards the sofa.

The sofa had a small layer of dust building up on the pillows. England let out a series of short coughs as small dust clouds from the disturbed dust, the particles catching in his throat.

"You..." The British nation tried to speak, but the air caught in his lungs along with more dust. He spluttered again for air.

England couldn't help but think about the ending of the letter. It was all written in proper Spanish as to deter Spain from learning which country the culprit was from. With a slight glare at the letters, England finally understood why Spain hadn't visited his home for so long.

Prussia was the first person to speak; His voice was broadcasted across the room with a serious undertone. "What does the final bit mean...?"

By the final part, England assumed that the Albino meant the final paragraph of the first letter. Though the final letter had been alarming, the ending of the final was nowhere near as worrying as the first.

I'll keep in touch with you soon Carriedo. I want Spain's hands bloodied with the English prime minister by the nineteenth. Or else you'll have bigger problems than just finance.

England shivered. The ending to this letter was terrifying in a sense that it left so many questions in his head. Looking up at Spain for some sort of answer, England recieved a blank look.

"Maybe he wants me to redeem myself for things that happened in the past?" Spain mumbled as he lowered himself to the floor. The Spaniard leaned back against the wall, running his hand through his hair as he let out a shaky breath.

"But that's the past!" America growled, scrunching his fists together as he straightened up. "That's all history now!"

Spain stared at the spectacled nation, not cowering away from the glare he recieved. "I don't know what it means! I just did what I had to do!"

From across the room, Veneziano and France paled at the scream. England looked away from Spain as he realised that the scream was full of raw emotions like misery and rage.

Romano sat down next to Spain, rubbing his arm in a comforting manner. When the British nation looked back at the two a few moments later, Romano was rubbing at his neck with a pained expression.

"Romano?" Veneziano asked after a few moments of watching his brother. The southern half of Italy looked up, staring at his brother with a confused expression on his face. Veneziano continued, "what's wrong?"

"What do you mean?" Romano asked, his voice breathless as if his throat was dry from the dust that had been lifted from the sofa previously. England bit his tongue as he noticed the red scar on the Italian's neck. He drew in a breath as his eyes lit with sudden understanding. "Nothing's wrong Veneziano, don't be stupid."

England moved forwards from where he was sat on his seat. France turned at the sudden movement from the Brit, as well as the other nations. America moved closer to England, as if shielding him away from the other nations, but England paid the younger nation no notice.

He paid none of the nations any notice except Romano.

"How long?" He whispered, gritting his teeth together in an attempt to stay calm. The Brit noticed that the Italian paled, his eyes adopting a frightened expression.

"I-" Romano shook his head anxiously, traced the scar across his neck with his index finger. "I-"

Raising his voice, England stood shakily as he stared at Romano. America helped him stand - the death of his prime minister had weakened the Brit considerably. "HOW LONG!"

Romano's eyes widened, and tears welled in his eyes as he tried to back away out of the room. He let out a small whimper as Spain grabbed onto his arm, ruining any chances of escaping England's question.

All of the nations stared at Romano with confused, yet accusing expressions. England slowly walked forwards to the country, kneeling down in front of him. With his own index finger he traced the scar on Romano's neck.

"How long?" he repeated, looking up at Romano's face with a slightly calmer tone. "How long have you had that scar?"

Additional Notes:

Part two is here! First off, I apologise for the massive delay in finishing this chapter, I just found myself working much more on my other stories rather than this. However, now that I have my new laptop (I am overjoyed!) I'll be able to work on things much more easily than just writing in a notepad or just my phone.

Merry Christmas everyone! Anyways, the same as last time, if you guess who the culprit is, then I will write you a one-shot with a pairing of your choice. Thanks for the reviews/favs/follows from everyone! You're awesome!

I'll see you all in part three. Reviews are loved as much as Romano loves tomatoes (and Spain).

Ciao, Mint~