Midget short chapter! Whee~
Language warning: Contains Romano.
Onwards! Review! :D
Spain locked his restaurant, whistling tunelessly to himself. Romano stood next to him, resplendent in his 'Shut Up' shirt. His green-gold eyes were fixed on the hexagons above, lines of light in the pitch black sky.
"Are you okay?" asked Spain, noting the anger and worry boiling in the other nation's eyes.
"Shut up," snapped Romano. "I'm fine, dammit."
Unperturbed, Spain said "Do you think that attack is gonna work? I hope so, and then this whole mess will be over."
"Hmph." Romano didn't deign to reply. The streetlight cast blue shadows across the planes of his face as he watched the Spaniard fumble through his many keys. "Couldn't you hurry up at all?" he grumbled. "My legs hurt."
"I think it'll make them think we're something to reckon with," Spain continued cheerfully. "You know, maybe scare them off or something."
"And they'll take my fratello with them!" spat Romano, his voice inlaid with the vibrations of a core of hard hate. "I hate them the cocky space bastards. Why, if one were right here, I'd give him a good beating! Stupid bastards, think they could just-"
The streetlight went out, plunging them into complete and utter darkness. "Fuck," muttered Romano, his dramatic speech cut short.
Spain sighed, choosing to ignore his ward's outburst. "Another thing to fix." Finally having locked the door, he slid the keys into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Romano jumped as the green-eyed nation let out a little laugh. "Huh! You wouldn't know it, but it's actually 8:24. The sun rose a coupla hours ago." He squinted upwards. "The stupid aliens are screwing up our times." He started to input the broken streetlight on a to-do list when something moved in the ever-present shadows. Intent on his phone, Spain didn't notice.
Romano did, though, and grabbed Spain's arm, all bravado gone. "Did you see that?"
"See what?" came the reply. "Was it only a bed-wetting squirrel?" The sarcasm was evident.
"Really!" blustered Romano. "I never...they snuck in and-" He cut off again, tightening his grip painfully on Spain's arm.
"Th-there's something watching us!" Then he shook Spain hard enough to make the other drop his phone. "Dammit, tomato bastard! You're supposed to protect me! I'm scared!"
Spain took a step forwards. "Now, Romano, I'm sure there's nothing t-"
The alien erupted out of the black pool of shadows, a blur of speed and deadliness and six poison eyes gleaming. It landed in front of them, gleaming rather in the meager light from the lamp down the block and hissed, baring its mandibular fangs.
"Aieeeeeeee~" shrieked Romano in a startlingly high-pitched voice. "Run!" shouted Spain, dragging a paralyzed-with-fear Romano behind him. The alien sprang overhead, snapping the scorpion tail down towards Romano, and before the other had a chance to react the tail bit his neck. "Fuck!" shouted Romano, and then his eyes rolled up and he began convulsing, silver mercury running out of his mouth like blood.
A surge of rage hit the Spaniard like a blow. How dare this inhuman creature hurt Romano? I'll give it a thing or two to remember...He felt his old pirate instincts kick in, surer than any memory, and he snarled at the alien, his face made ugly with hate. The alien growled back.
There was a length of PBC piping lying in the gutter. Spain lunged for it just as the alien, in turn, leaped for him.
Spain was faster by the smallest instant. His fingers closed around the plastic pipe and he swept it up in time for it to clatter against the stinger with cracking force. A figure-eight infinity was burnt into the plastic.
"So you think you can just take me, eh?" he spat, twirling the pipe in his hands, and then swinging it wide in a blow that would've shattered bones had it connected. The alien darted back gracefully, unreadable eyes watching, always watching.
"Think again, bastardo." With that, the excellent distraction caused by the pipe served its purpose, and Spain leaped forwards and planted his feet into the alien's chest. The alien made a sound of surprise as it sailed back and dented the already broken streetlight.
Spain didn't give it a moment to rest; he stalked forwards, high-stepping over Romano's body, and swung it over his head and bashed down hard like he'd seen Russia do before.
To the alien's credit, it hardly flinched, long bony head nodding slowly on its longer silver neck. The eyes still watched, still analyzed, and when Spain reared up to strike again a well-placed blow sent him tumbling backwards, the pipe gone from his hand. He sat up slowly, feeling the pang in his side. Those claws are hard, he reasoned, and made for the pipe before he was cast sideways again, a toy in the hands of a malicious beast. His head collided with the concrete hard enough to leave cracks in it. His ears were ringing and he had a killer headache - probably would leave a pretty big bruise - but he was otherwise all right. Sometimes being a nation had its perks.
Dazed now, he struggled upright, and then clumsily rolled away as the alien stabbed down with both claws. "Damn you," he hissed, already knowing he was losing the fight. His adrenaline was draining away, taking his piratical side with it. He was tired, and he was bleeding, and he would just fall soon...
The alien sheathed its claws and picked him up, the nation dangling weakly from the enormous hands, and then threw him through the window of his shop.
Spain winced. Not another reparation... As he rolled onto his back, heedless of the broken glass and overturned table, the alien loomed over him like Sweden, and then, instead of the sting the brown-haired nation fully expected, a vial was smashed at his feet. A cloud of pale powder rushed over him, curling over his ankles as he tried to crawl away. He didn't trust this fog.
Against his will, he eventually inhaled, the powder choking his lungs. Time seemed to smear and slip-slide around him, rolls of ripples being caught in the biggest hands he'd ever seen. The fight went out of his already battered body, and he slumped back to the ground.
The alien slung him over its shoulder and spoke to a black, elegant piece of tech in a sharp clickety tongue.
A beam of greenish light encased them - Real life tractor beams! - thought Spain sleepily, and then they began to rise up. The alien's firm grip slipped, and his head swung loose and thunked into the top of a building, right on his bruise. It hurt, and his vision spun dizzily. Spain was conscious again when the queasy up-and-down motion stopped.
Before he blacked out completely, he felt himself being thrown down. The bruise on his skull screamed in protest.
Spain thought he saw an anxious, half-familiar face floating above him, and then the world dilated shut.