Wonderland

AngolMoaChan

Chapter 3: Recovery

Hey all~this is AMC, writing here! Summer's so great, isn't it? Time to relax, read…and write fanfic! 8D

Oh yeah…during the whole reunion scene, I listened to Bratjas from FullMetal Alchemist. It's so beautiful…and there's a line in the English translation that fits this part of the story. :D "What's gone is forever lost, now all we can do is live."

It felt like years had passed when Spain finally opened his eyes. Everything was fuzzy and groggy, like someone had just taken him on a spin on a Merry Go Round for just a little bit too long—and then thrown him bodily off of it at top speed. Everything hurt, and his head pounded as the world before him slowly cleared. He was—not in his own castle, but somewhere else. The room was draped in dark blue, including the bed he was lying on, and there were various medical tools on the bedside behind him. So he was in an infirmary. Ah, well, that's good.

Squinting his green eyes, he saw a black diamond on the vest of the person now standing by his bed—he was in the Diamond Country. The person was dressed in the typical uniform of the Diamond Military, but flashier, somehow—all the colors were bright, and they hurt Spain's pained eyes. He blinked a few times, long lashes fluttering. "…France?"

"Well hello there, old friend." The man plopped down in a rickety wooden chair, his golden hair bouncing neatly around his shoulders. "You look a wreck."

Spain nodded, unable to come up with words. It was too much for the weakened monarch, so he just closed his eyes, gingerly lifting his forearm to rest over his face. "…Where's my saber?"

"Right here." France replied, gently tapping the bedside table with his hand. His friend's voice had changed—there was no life in it, and it hurt to listen to. This wasn't the Spain he had spent years marauding the Silver Sea with. This was a broken man. "You took a beating, Antonio. Had us all worried."

"…I know. What happened…?"

The blonde shook his head. "Haven't a clue. I wasn't there. You'll have to ask England or America, they came charging in like fools."

A weak smile crossed Spain's face. America had saved him—he would probably owe him the rest of his life. " Yeah…yeah, I know. And…the castle?"

France's eyes flickered downwards. "…it's gone. Burnt to the ground."

"…What?"

"Before they escaped—a bomb. Someone had put a bomb in the kitchen. If England hadn't discovered it, you would have lost everyone."

Spain looked to the side dully. "I did lose everyone."

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again. "...where's Prussia?"

"Prussia is…" France rubbed his temples, sighing, "Walking around the castle like he owns the place, and demanding beer every which way. He's fine, as usual, claiming he's invincible and all that. You, my friend, were lucky. Your city escaped without much harm. It seems they were after you…and the Red Piece."

"Probably both. At least my country is still alright." The Heart Monarch said softly. He had lost so many—so many that were so important to him. They would be gone forever. Forever…

"Old friend," France put his hand on Spain's shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Be glad you escaped with nothing more than a concussion and some bruises. You are alive."

"Yeah, but—!" He looked over at France, green eyes aching with pain.

"There were a few survivors. I'd be happy to go get them for you."

France stood up and moved towards the door, brushing off his uniform. It hurt him to see his oldest, greatest friend, the silly Spaniard with a soft spot for tomatoes and cute things, so upset. The loss of his country had affected him greatly, but he had a feeling that wasn't really it.

So, in a way, he was glad he was the one to bring him good news.

When the door opened again, Spain was able to look. Holding his head, he sat up, only to be met with a face full of Italy.

"Brother Spain~! We're so glad you're okay!" sobbed the young Italian, throwing his arms around Spain's neck.

So it was the younger Vargas, Italy. Spain's heart wrenched at the thought, the Italian brothers cut down to just one. Even so, he gently put his hands on Italy's back, smiling weakly. Best to comfort those left, no matter how much it hurt. "Feliciano…your brother…I couldn't…"

Italy let go of him for a moment, brown eyes wide. "My-my brother?"

"Bloody hell, Spain. We thought Death choked you already."

Before Spain could say anything, he saw England standing in the doorway, looking as regal as ever. America was right behind him, grinning as he waved a hand. Spain nodded weakly, a small smile on his face. "Yes…me too."

"We brought someone you'd like to see, if you're feeling up to it." England said gently, stepping into the room. Italy jumped off of the bed, standing beside the King and rocking back and forth gently on his heels, "Are you?"

"I'm fine…"

America stepped aside of the doorway, still grinning that same, pearly grin. Standing behind him was the last person Spain had ever expected to see again.

Russet colored hair, a curl sticking of the right side, chocolate brown eyes, that perpetual frown on his face.

The person walked over to the bed and sat beside him, leaning over and punching him in the shoulder. Not hard enough to injure him but—a punch nonetheless. Spain's breath hitched in his throat, and he threw his arms around his best friend, his right hand man—Lovino Vargas, "Romano!"

It was as if a great weight had been lifted from Spain's shoulders, and the world that had come crashing down around his head just replaced its first brick. His shoulders shook as he sobbed into Romano's collar, holding him as tightly as he could, like he would just flutter away in the breeze if he let go. Romano was here—living, breathing, frowning, but alive. So very alive.

"You're such a fucking moron, Spain! Shit! Fighting Russia like that, what the hell were you thinking?"

A mirthful laugh bubbled from Spain's throat. It was so good to be scolded—to feel a sense of normalcy! He finally released the bone-crushing hug, putting his hands on Romano's cheeks as he pulled him away to look at him. "How did you…"

"Get out? You forget who my family is. If there's anything the Vargas' are good at, it's running away." Romano scoffed, then sighed. "Greece got me out through the kennels."

"Greece—Greece? He's here?" he asked incredulously, green eyes wide.

He nodded. "A couple others, too. Now would you get your hands off of me?"

Spain brought their foreheads together, tears flowing from his green eyes. "My apologies, amado…but I can't, I won't—what if I lose you again?"

Romano let out a heavy sigh; he could already feel the warmth rising to the top of his ears. "Stupid, I'm not gonna just disappear. Now…just stop fucking crying, okay? It pisses me off."

He nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, "Ha ha…I'll try…"

England watched the scene before him with a small smile, leaning back against the wall behind him, his arms folded. After the tragedy that had occurred, the young King was, more than anything was, glad it turned out all right. But worry bubbled in his chest, the thought of Russia, the Russia he had met so many times before, attempting to take over the Heart Country, of all places…England cleared his throat gently, red marks on his cheeks. "…Sorry to interrupt, but can we ask you two some questions?"

"Geh? You're not interrupting anything." Romano went several shades of scarlet red and half-heartedly pushed at the Spaniard hanging onto him like a lifeline. "What do you want to know?"

"Spain," England asked gently, "I know it's all been rough, but…is the—"

"The Red Piece is safe," Spain murmured, "Trust me. They'd have to disembowel Lovi to get it."

"They…wait, what?"

All the room's occupants stared at Spain, who gave his normal, cheery smile. "What? I needed somewhere safe to put it, so I stuck it in a tomato and fed it to Romano."

Four mouths dropped wide open.

There was a pregnant silence in the room, as each occupant tried to comprehend what the Heart Monarch had just said. Several things happened in the seconds afterwards. America started cackling, laughing until he was doubled over, England stared at Spain like he was an idiot, and Romano—his hands were at Spain's throat in a second.

"YOU-BASTARD! YOU FUCKING FED ME THE RED PIECE?! ARE YOU FUCKING RETARDED?!"

"Gah—ahh! Lovi! I'm choking!"

"Brotherrr~!" Italy gasped, running over to Romano and frantically trying to pull him off of the injured Spain, "His injuries!"

"OH, I'LL SHOW HIM SOME GOD DAMN INJURIES! BASTARD!"

"Hahahahahahaha! Oh god! That's just—priceless!" America wiped tears from his eyes, clapping a stunned England on the back, "Freaking brilliant, Spain! I hope you didn't try that on anybody, Iggy! They'd die!"

"I have half a mind to shove the Blue Piece up your ass, America!"

Italy dragged a kicking and screaming Romano off of his superior, giggling himself. That was pretty funny, after all. Especially his brother's face—he looked like he was about to kill someone…and like he was about to cry. "H…How did you do that, Brother Spain?"

Spain smiled a little, rubbing his throat gently, "Hehe…it was red, after all…and Romano tends to inhale his tomatoes before looking at them…"

"…That's…lovely." England, hand firmly pressed to his face, muttered, "So…basically…you hid the most important artifact in your entire culture, the one that lets the Carriedo dynasty even rule…in your advisor's…stomach?"

He nodded. England let out another sigh. Sad thing was—he was starting to see the simple brilliance in the plan. The Red Piece would latch onto whoever it was with, clinging to them like a burr, so that it was very, very difficult to steal—but very hard to hide, at the same time. The little piece would stick right to Romano's stomach and hold there; it was indestructible, after all. That was fairly…ingenious.

While England was attempting to comprehend this piece of information, Germany entered the room, pushing open the door. "King—what happened here?"

Italy immediately let go of his brother with a happy squeal and latched onto Germany's waist, burying his head in his shirt. "Germanyy~! You should have heard, it was so funny! Brother Spain's awake, and he—"

"Feliciano," growled the elder Vargas, using his brother's first name as a threat, "Tell that potato bastard and I swear, I will rip your ahoge right out of your head."

"Ahhh! No! Brother, that's so meeeeaaan!" Italy gasped in horror, looking away, "How could you say that?!"

Germany sighed, rubbing his temples. Before Romano could slip in another expletive-laced rant about potatoes and his brother and Spain, he turned to England. "Sir, you have a message from the Spade Country."

"The…Spade Country?"

Silence filled the room. England stood up fully, straightening his coat out with one hand. "Yes, give it here."

"It's a video, sir." Germany replied, "From their King."

God, I love Spain. XD He's my favorite country by far. Brilliant plan, huh? Now, why would Russia contact the others so early in the story? And why hasn't this chapter been injected with awesome?

In due time, fair readers! You'll get a good dose of Prussia next chapter! Promise! XD