By now, Spain was utterly depressed. He was sitting on some bench somewhere, head in his hands as he fought off a wave of dizziness and nausea. His head throbbed in pain and he forced himself to sit upright.
This wasn't right. He shouldn't be trekking across the entire world because some suicidal idiot decided to attack his house and make off with his precious little henchmen. And he especially shouldn't have to had deal with his worst enemy, just to find out that the bastard didn't have Romano after all, and then (as if all that wasn't enough) said bastard decided to charge him for all the expensive china he broke. As if he could even afford that!
To say the least, Spain felt especially murderous right now. Or at least he would feel that way, except he was actually miserable from the amount of pain he was in. He didn't even notice that France had ditched him.
Spain sighed, hanging his head. His ax was propped up against the bench next to him. Even the ornament weapon seemed to mirror its master's mood, somehow exuding an aura of misery.
"I'm going to gut whoever kidnapped my henchman," he told the ax, but his heart wasn't in his words. By now, he just wanted Romano back in his house, and then Spain would take a week-long nap. His ax seemed to sense this, and remained silent. Not that it would have made noise if it couldn't read the atmosphere. Spain knew that inanimate objects usually didn't talk.
Except whenever he was in England (the country, not the person, he thought with a shudder), strange things that usually didn't happen sometimes actually happened. Although thankfully inanimate objects hadn't started talking yet.
Speaking of England, it probably hadn't been such a good idea to start breaking his pottery like that, in retrospect. The memory made him shiver with suppressed rage.
*Flashback*
Spain knocked on the door, adjusting his grip on his ax. He could barely wait to hack off England's limbs. The door opened, and a servant's face appeared.
"Could I help you, sir?" the man asked stiffly. Figures. It was fitting of England to have such stuffy servants.
The Spaniard gave a feral grin. "Yes, I'd like to speak to England for a moment in private."
There was probably a significant amount of bloodlust in his tone, because the man's eyes widened a bit in alarm. The servant looked over Spain and finally saw the ax. With a yelp, he jumped back and attempted to slam the door shut.
Fortunately, Spain was ready for this, since for some reason humans tended to try and slam the door in his face quite often. He simply stuck his foot out, not even wincing when it was squeezed painfully against the frame.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you. After all, I just want to talk, and if you continue to piss me off like this, talking isn't all I'll be doing," Spain said, no trace of humor on his face.
He watched as the servant began to sweat, uncertain of whether to let this psycho into the mansion. Finally, the man decided either that his master was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, or that Spain would be able to break into the house either way, so shutting him out was useless. He stepped back, allowing the door to swing open to permit Spain entrance.
"Very well, sir, follow me," he said nervously.
Spain followed the servant into some tea room on the other side of the house. He was pleased to note that there was a particularly expensive-looking case of decorative china pushed up against the wall.
"Would you like some tea while I fetch Mr. England for you?" the servant asked, out of custom. He sounded like he was hoping that Spain would say 'no', so the two could part ways permanently as soon as possible.
Luckily for him, Spain hated the idea of consuming anything English. If England's cooking was bad, he didn't even want to try the nation's drinks. Making a disgusted face, Spain shook his head. "Just get England in here."
Normally, the reaction would have been offensive to a proper Englishman. Considering the circumstances, however, the servant was grateful for the brush off. He bowed. "Very well, sir, right away." With that, he disappeared from the room, and out of Spain's life.
Not too long later, England entered the tea room. There was a sword at his waist, Spain noted. The servant had doubtlessly informed him that the "guest" was armed, although apparently not who the guest was, as England's eyes narrowed when he saw Spain.
"What do you want, you bloody wanker?" England demanded. He didn't move farther into the room than he had to, lingering by the closed door.
Spain smirked, although his eyes were cold. "Why are you all the way over there? Afraid of my ax here?" he asked, leaning casually against the wall.
England scoffed. "As if! Why are you here? Do you want me to destroy your precious little toy boats again?" he retorted.
All pretexts of a smile vanished off Spain's face. "Bastard, just admit that you attacked my house and kidnapped Romano!" he snarled.
Again, England scoffed. "As much as I'd love to attack your pathetic excuse of a home, you don't pose any threat to me right now, so I don't feel the need to attack you. Besides, why would I want the worthless southern part of Italy? It's poor and can't bring me any profits."
Spain pushed against the wall, stomping over to England. "Bastard, don't say those things about Romano! There are many great things about him! Like… Like…" He knew there was something about Romano that was good; he was just having trouble coming up with them.
Then he remembered how Romano worked so hard to make sure Spain didn't have to do too much work while he was sick. Although the tiny nation often made things worse, at least he tried. Right?
"He is very kind, and tries to take care of me when I'm not feeling well!"
England laughed mockingly. "Now you're so desperate that you're becoming a pedophile? You've sunk so low, Spain."
The words stung Spain. Gritting his teeth, he swung his ax as hard as he could at England. "Shut up!" he shouted. He'd never do that to Romano. Romano was his special little henchman, and he wouldn't allow anyone to even suggest that he'd soil the innocent little child-nation.
Even with all the strength behind the swing, England easily blocked the ax, sliding his sword easily from his hilt. "You've gotten weak, Spain," he said, looking coldly into the Spaniard's eyes. He pushed Spain away with his foot. "If you're here to pick a fight, I'll happily give it to you."
Spain staggered back a few feet. It was true. He even felt weaker than he used to be. It was England's fault as well. Damn bastard, keeping him weak even after defeating the Spanish Armada. He looked around for something he could use to throw England off-balance. His eyes landed on the cases of decorative china, and he remembered what France told him about breaking it. Grinning, he swung his ax again, this time through the glass, shattering thousands of dollars worth of cups and plates and such.
"What the bloody hell are you doing, you git?" England shouted.
Spain laughed. "Good to see you lose your composure over something so stupid!" The final word came out strained as he swung his ax a second time with a satisfying crash.
"Stop it, wanker! Do you know how bloody expensive all of that precious china is?" England demanded.
Before Spain could swing another time, the door slammed open, and a small child ran in. Spain paused, taking a moment to register the appearance of the child, with a long billowing sheet tied around his neck.
"America! I told you to stay away when I have guests!" England scolded him, trying to put himself between Spain and the child.
It was a vain effort as America dodged around England's legs, ignoring his caretaker. "Don't worry, England! The hero is here to save his damsel in distress!" he said, striking a ridiculous pose.
"America, will you leave? Wait, who's the damsel in distress?" England was offended by the very prospect of being helpless.
Spain couldn't help but laugh. "Some kid you've got, England."
America spread his arms wide. "If you want to hurt England, you've got to get through me!"
"I told you to go away!" England said, picking up the child-nation and forcibly moving him out of the room. He slammed the door shut and leaned against it before America could come back in.
"Don't worry; I'm not going to hurt America. It was worth coming to see him call you a 'damsel in distress'." Spain said, snickering.
England glared, cheeks red from embarrassment. "I'm going to make you pay for all that china, git!" he said.
It was still worth it.
*Flashback End*
"You appear to be in need of guidance." A woman's voice broke through his reverie.
Spain looked up to see a woman with dark, neatly braided hair and deep, dark eyes that looked right through him. She wore gold hoops in her ears and colorful skirts that billowed about in the wind. He recognized her as a Romany fortune teller.
"What if I am?" he asked cautiously, grabbing his ax for good measure.
She didn't even glance at it. Instead, she gave him a mysterious smile that unnerved him, like she knew more than he knew himself. "If you come to my house, I'll read your cards, and perhaps the reading will help guide you on the right path."
Spain regarded the gypsy with suspicion. He had bad experiences with her kind. "Aren't you just trying to rob me of my money?" he pointed out.
The woman smiled again, her dark eyes filled with some mysterious warmth that made him want to trust her unconditionally. "Many today believe that gypsies are con artists and swindlers, and many more will come to believe so in the future," she said.
He sighed heavily. "Well, I've got no money to give you, so—."
She cut him off with a shake of her head. "I don't ask for money from the troubled. It will be a free reading of any question you'd like," she said.
"Troubled? What makes you think I'm troubled?"
Her laugh was light, but not mocking. "Anyone can sense it from a mile away," she said.
Although he still felt suspicious of this woman, he decided that a free reading couldn't hurt anyone. He nodded. "Fine, I'll get a reading," he said grudgingly.
Still smiling, she led him inside her small home. It surprised him. He would have thought that a gypsy fortune teller would live in a small, heavily-perfumed tent. Instead, it was a normal house that looked, well, normal, albeit with the faint smell of incense. She led him into an equally normal kitchen and sat him down at a normal-looking table.
Frankly, the normalcy scared him a bit.
She sat down across from him, producing a small deck of cards. "Now, dear, tell me what question is eating away at you." Her eyes twinkled like the gold hoops in her ears.
Spain hesitated, unsure of how much he could tell her. "I'm… missing someone very important to me. I don't know where to look for them," he said carefully.
She nodded understandingly, not even commenting on the fact that he didn't even ask a question. "I'm sure my cards will be able to provide you with the answers you need. First, draw pairs of cards until one of the two is a king of hearts."
He had to go through half the deck of cards until finally the pair was the queen and king of hearts, in that order. He handed the pair to the woman, who laid them face-up and put the deck back together.
"Because the king of hearts is the second card, the reading will be intuitive. Meaning, the answer will be within you," she told him.
Spain couldn't suppress a growl of frustration. "That doesn't help me any!" he yelled.
She wasn't frightened by his outburst, or the way he swung his heavy ax carelessly around. It was as if she was certain that he would not harm her. "Dear, calm down. The reading is not quite over."
"Oh." Embarrassed, he sat back down, and meekly chose three cards, as instructed by her when she fanned out the remainder of the deck.
The woman took the cards from him and placed them in a column beneath the pair. The ace of hearts was on top, followed by the seven of spades, then finally the jack of clubs. She furrowed her eyebrows slightly.
"What is it?" he asked her, feeling slight trepidation.
She shook her head. "The answer appears to be a little unclear. Please choose one more card," she commanded. When he did so, it was the ace of spades. She nodded.
"I do not know how you will like this, but this is your answer." She pointed to the first ace. "This card has several meanings, but in the case of your question, it should be thought of as a house." Next came the seven. "This card means you will have to make a decision, possibly a tough one." Spain was beginning to understand what she meant by the answer being unclear while she explained the jack. "This card represents a friend, and this one," she said, pointing to the final ace, "means that there will be sad news because of this entire affair."
He furrowed his eyebrows. "And that makes the answer more clear?" He felt more frustrated than before.
The gypsy nodded. "Trust me, dear. Any extra cards will only bring more confusion," she said wisely.
Spain sighed. "So, Romano will be at a friend's house… And I will have to make a decision because of it?" Probably it would be whether to kill the bastard or not.
She only smiled, except this time it was a little sadly. "No matter what the decision, the outcome will only bring sorrow. Please choose wisely, dear," she told him.
He stood up. "Thank you, ma'am, I'll be careful," he said, picking up his ax. Spain failed to notice the worried glance the fortune-teller cast the weapon.
"Come again if you are ever in need of guidance."
As he left her house, he felt even more lost than before, his mind filled with nothing but the cards. Spain frowned deeply. Romano was at a friend's house. A friend? Like Prussia? He shook his head. Prussia was much too busy with other things, as the Germanic nation always said (although Spain had no idea what those 'other things' Prussia could be doing). Besides, Prussia always said how Romano was 'totally unawesome' and just downright unpleasant to be around. Austria was the one who pawned Romano off on him, saying one half of Italy was annoying enough, and Hungary generally just went with anything Austria said.
Spain chewed his lip. He had already gone to France's house, and he didn't have many friends beyond that. Perhaps… it was one of the nations he lived with? Belgium? But the female nation lived with him, and it wouldn't make sense for her to attack his home and run off with Romano. And obviously Romano didn't kidnap himself.
He groaned. Turkey was a possible culprit, but he wasn't anywhere near being Spain's friend. Maybe it was someone who recently moved out of his house?
The Netherlands.
Spain froze when the name suddenly popped into his mind. It was true that he had considered the Netherlands his 'friend', more or less. And the Netherlands had recently received partial sovereignty and moved into his own house.
The more Spain thought about the Netherlands betraying him in that way, the more everything made sense.
His grip on the ax by now was so tight that his knuckles were bone white. He couldn't see through the fury he felt. How dare the Netherlands go and betray him, after he was kind enough to allow him to live by himself! And he kidnapped Romano, after attacking his house and making Spain frighten his henchman while protecting them all! It was absolutely unforgivable!
He was going to kill that backstabbing bastard!
Even though Spain hadn't been to the Netherlands new house before, he found it easily. There was little you couldn't do with a little gentle persuading, and sometimes a suggestive glance at your ax.
He didn't bother with knocking, since he was already so sure that Romano was in the house. Instead, he broke the door down with the ax.
"S—Spain?" Belgium was in the front hall. She backed up quickly.
Spain turned his angry gaze on her. "Where is your brother?" he asked, voice dangerously calm.
She gulped. "He's in the living room. What are you going to do? Oof!" Spain pushed her out of the way. "Spain! What are you doing?"
He didn't answer her. He thought it was quite obvious what he was going to do, as he continued walking straight down the hall. There were doors that branched off in other directions, but he ignored them, as they were unlikely to take him to his destination.
Luckily, he was saved the trouble of hunting down the living room as the Netherlands appeared from around the corner, probably to see what was going on. He paled when he saw Spain coming at him, and started to turn around to run the other direction. Spain didn't allow him the chance. He knocked the traitor flat on his back, pressing the edge of his ax to the Netherlands's neck.
"Where is Romano?" he demanded.
The Netherlands swallowed hard, staring nervously at the ax. "I didn't take him or anything."
Spain pressed down slightly. "Liar. I know your soldiers attacked my house. There's no one else that it could be. Admit it!" he said.
"Yes! That was me! How else was I supposed to get my sister out of your oppressive rule?" he shouted, unusually brave for someone with an ax at their throat.
He increased the pressure. A thin red line appeared, and the Netherlands paled. "I know Romano is here. I'm going to ask one more time. Where is my henchman?"
"S—Spain?"
Spain looked up to see Romano peeking around the corner, eyes wide in fright and shivering uncontrollably. He looked down at the Netherlands, then back up at Romano, beginning to understand why he would have to make a hard decision. Kill the traitor, frighten Romano, and infuriate Belgium, or risk another attack?
Romano ran over to Spain, hugging his leg. "Stop it! Don't kill him! He didn't kidnap me, dammit!" he cried, clutching his pants tightly.
Now Spain was thoroughly confused. "What? If he didn't kidnap you, why are you here?"
The child-nation looked up at him tearfully. "I—I heard Belgium scream, a—and so I went to l—l—look for her. And then I saw her with him, and they were leaving, a—and I wanted to know where they were g—going, so I went with them, but I was going to come back so don't be mad!" he said, voice trembling.
Spain looked back at Belgium. She looked down, ashamed. "I'm sorry, Spain. I wanted my independence, and I asked my brother to help me out," she said.
"And you had to go and scream, even though you knew I was coming for you," the Netherlands said, although he still sounded nervous since Spain hadn't yet removed the ax.
Belgium stomped her foot indignantly. "Well, you surprised me with all your scary-looking soldiers!"
Spain was at a loss. He looked from Belgium, to the Netherlands, to Romano. The former two had betrayed him. He should kill them, or punish them somehow. Then he looked down at Romano, who was looking up at him with pleading eyes, still filled with tears.
They betrayed him! His friends! But, he tried to reason with himself, Romano was safe and well. They hadn't hurt him in any way.
In the end, it came down to whether he wanted to scare Romano even more by killing the people the Italian still cherished. He definitely didn't want that.
Spain got off of the Netherlands, moving his ax away from the fallen nation. The traitor of a nation scrambled to his feet, grateful that he escaped with a small paper cut-type scratch on his neck.
"I'll let you two off this time, but," he added, moving close to growl into the Netherlands's ear, "if you come anywhere near my home again, I will not hesitate to kill you both and destroy your lands."
With that, he backed away, a falsely sweet smile on his face. "Come on, little henchman~! Let's go home and pick some tomatoes and make churros together~!" he said brightly, picking up Romano.
Romano looked relieved. He grinned, nodded. "My churros will be much better than yours!" he declared.
Spain laughed; his smile more genuine already. It was amazing how Romano could brighten his mood, without actually trying. "I'm sure they will be, but go easy on me, ok~?" he said, leaving the house through the broken front door.
"We'll see!"
Spain was definitely happy to have Romano back, even with this bittersweet end. His friends betrayed him, but at least his special henchman was still by his side.
Aaaaaaand, that's it! Did I surprise you? I hope I did. But, more importantly, I hope you enjoyed it. Sorry if it ended a little quickly. ^-^
In case you were curious about the fortune-telling method I used:
I got a deck of Hetalia playing cards in the mail. Since I know you can do fortune telling with playing cards, I googled a couple spreads and the meanings of each card.
The spread I used in this fic is an actual Romany spread, used with a 32-card deck, which is all the face cards, the aces, and numbers from 7-10. The results I used were ones that I actually got when I decided, "Hey, I'm going to pretend I'm Spain from this fic and see what I get." Since I had this chapter planned out before I did it, it was a little scary when it actually turned out to be true. So I added it in!