| See You in Neverland | ~ Spain x Reader

    “So, what are some of your most favorite memories?”

    Spain glanced down and thought for a moment. After a few seconds, a grin spread across his face, “My pirating days were pretty fun. I got to explore the New World and meet all kinds of amazing people! But, I gotta say, taking care of little Romano was a treasure in itself.”

    You smiled; of course you’d been expecting that last answer.

    “And just as much as I enjoyed my time with baby Romano, I’ve cherished my memories with you.” He threw an arm across your shoulders and brought you close, cheerfully kissing your forehead.

    Your heart pounded at his simple yet touching words. You’d been sitting outside his house, overlooking the garden. “Wow… in your centuries of living, you care about me that much?”

    He nodded, “Of course! You’re one of the greatest things that ever happened to me, chica.”

    You sighed contentedly. Leaning your head on his shoulder, you replied, “Maybe you’re like Peter Pan... And I can be your Wendy.”

    He was silent for a moment, and you nearly thought he hadn’t heard you.

    “…No,” He finally responded.

    Confused, you lifted your head a bit. “Huh? Why not?”

    He pulled away slightly, and looked you in the eye. Radiant green irises met your own normal ones. “…Because I don’t want us to have that type of tragic love story.”

    You chuckled. “But we’re happy now, and that’s all that matters.”

    He looked away, “I don’t know…” The usual sunniness in his voice wasn’t there. “I… I want to have a happy ending, too…”

    “Buenos tomates!” You shouted out of habit as you prepared lunch. It had always been a mood-lifter for Spain when you said things as such. After all, they were grown and adored by him, and right now he didn’t seem to be feeling on cloud nine.

    All of sudden, you felt a pair of strong, tanned arms snake around your waist. You gasped lightly and blushed, jumping a bit and almost dropping the sauce pan in your haste. “Spain!” You set down the cooking instrument and turned away from the stove, coming face-to-face with said personification and enveloping yourself in his embrace all the while.

    He grinned sheepishly, “I just wanted to hug you. Tomorrow’s the anniversary, you know~?”

    You couldn’t help but smile back. “Of course I know, Señor.” Teasingly, you poked him in the chest.

    At that moment, you caught sight of a blonde head hurrying past the kitchen’s window. A few seconds later, you heard the doorbell ring. “Oh, it’s Belgium!” You’d recognize her wavy blonde locks anywhere.

    She came in without waiting to be answered. She was comfortable enough with you and Spain, of course. “Guys! I brought you two an early anniversary gift!” She called out from the living room.

    You stepped out to see her, and Spain happily followed. He must have been lifted from that bout of melancholy—whatever it was that caused it. As usual, his sadness never lasted for more than ten minutes, no matter the tragedy.

    “Hello BelBel! Oh… and Ned too, hi!” You greeted your best friend as well as her menacing older brother.

    She grinned that usual kitty-smile of hers and held out a bouquet of pink tulips. “For your two-year anniversary! Ned plucked them, but I chose the color—aren’t they pretty?”

    Spain nodded, “Very pretty! Let me get a vase,” He disappeared before Netherlands could glare at him.

    “Thank you so much! You guys didn’t have to do this.” You graciously responded as you reached for the flowers.

    She winked, “Of course we did~”

    Hands in his pockets, Netherlands glanced at you and mumbled, “Congrats.”

    Their gift happened to remind you of another anniversary. “Oh, and Bel, aren’t you and Switzy going on one year som—”

    She elbowed you before you could reply, “Hush! You know how jealous Ned can get!” Her words were in a frenzied whisper-shout.

    He’d heard the whole thing and grumbled, “Is it okay if I go outside for a smoke?”

    Stifling a laugh, you responded, “Sure, Mr. Sister Complex.”

    Spain had come back at that moment and laughed along with you and Belgium as the Dutchman stomped outside, murmuring something along the lines of ‘anyone dating Spain is an idiot’, but you knew he didn’t mean it.

    You’d had no idea that this would be the last time you, the Dutch siblings, and Spain spent time together.

    Or the horror that was to come of your life—the pain of love and loss.

    “Spain… do you have to go?”

    He continued to pack his bags, a stoic expression on his face. However, as soon as he turned to you, he tried to smile. “I do, but I’ll be fine! The boss of this house can handle politics just fine, don’tcha know?”

    This time, you couldn’t smile back. “I know, but… are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

    In this modern world, there still existed terrorist groups.

    ISIS was a major problem, the Middle East was making history (and not in the good way) and there were countless European conflicts occurring that needed nations’ attentions.

    At the moment, not enough was being done. You both knew that Spain needed to do something. As a country, he needed to get out there and help out the world. Still, you couldn’t help but feel selfish enough to want him here, safe, with you. “…Can I at least come with you?”

    He sighed, “But _____… it’s too dangerous…”

    “Spain.”

    “I won’t be gone for too long, mi amor. Don’t worry—just please wait for me.”

    You blushed a bit, despite your few years with him. It always got to you when he called you ‘his love’ in Spanish. “Okay, I guess…” You stared down at the carpet; you’d never felt emptier. “Y-You’ll always know where to find me.”

    He lifted his suitcase off the bed and winked at you, “Second star to the right and straight on till morning.~”

    It was one day spent with your closest friends that he came back.

    It was the same door in which you’d bid him farewell and a safe journey that he came crashing through that one fateful afternoon, “It’s over! We won! The world is safe now~!”

    Everyone in the room jumped slightly and gawked at the intruder.

    “Romano! I was victorious, are you proud?”

    After a few seconds of painful silence, a glass bowl fell and shattered to the ground. “You damn asshole,” Spain along with the rest of the visitors turned towards the accuser, “Where the hell have you been?” A furious Netherlands questioned.

    Spain laughed, “Miss me? I apologize for not telling anyone before now; the news of our success hasn’t even reached headlines yet. America and England just got home too.”

    His excuses fell on deaf ears. “I’m gonna kill you!” Netherlands hissed, already getting into a defensive stance.

    Belgium held him back before he could step any closer to the Spaniard. “Brother, no!”

    Romano had just barely gotten out of his shock. “Spain…” His eyes were still widened, a disbelieving expression lingering on his features.

    “Isn’t this great, Roma?! And I even—” He stopped dead in his tracks when he caught sight of you; the girl he loved more than any other. “_____!” He rushed over and nearly hug-tackled you, “Aren’t you happy~?”

    Out of everyone, the shock of his arrival had hit you the most. The entire time, you’d been close to paralyzed—staring at his face, his body, his movements, all alive and well. It felt like a dream, or your imagination, and you could barely remember to breathe.

    “Mi amor… I missed you so much…” He continued to hold you in his arms despite your total lack of response.

    Silent tears ran down your cheeks. “S-Spain…”

    He pulled away—oblivious to your broken state. “You look different. You sound different…” He shrugged, and quickly pressed his lips to yours in a long I’m-Finally-Back kiss.

    He tasted something salty. You didn’t return the kiss at all. Realizing something was off, he retracted and asked blankly, “What’s wrong?”

    You wouldn’t look him in the eyes. “It-It’s too much,” Sniffling, you broke away from him and ran out of the house, slamming the door on your way out. A man in which Spain didn’t recognize immediately got up and sprinted after you.

    “Hm? What happened…? And who’s that guy?” Spain asked the group of remaining people.

    Belgium moved away from her seething brother and towards her long-lost friend. “Spain,” Her features were sharp, angered—a look in which Spain had only seen a few times in his existence, but knew they could signal a terrifying outcome, “That was _____’s husband.”

    …He felt like both his heart and his whole world had just shattered at his feet.

    Tears were streaming down your face.

    How you had wished for him to come back.

    How you had longed to see him, feel him. Missed his voice, his laugh, his touch. How many times had you pictured him returning into your life once more, with that passionate smile on his lips—telling you he would never leave you again?

    You couldn’t count the times you’d been sitting alone, crying in the darkness of your room, picturing your life with Spain—full of sunshine, laughter and fun. And you couldn’t count the times you had been sitting in the same spot, wondering why he wasn’t with you, cursing everything and everyone on the planet for taking your beloved Spanish man away.

    How you’d wished he had barged into the chapel that day, objecting to the matrimony and declaring to the world that you were his and his only…

    You knew it was too late now.

    “How can she be married?”

    “You were gone for too long, bastard.”

    “But it was only five months!” Spain argued. It was only in the rare times such as these that he would yell at Romano.

    The said Italian sighed heavily, “…Spain. You really are a fucking ignorant asshole.” He shook his head in disapproval, “You’ve been gone for five years.”

    Spain gasped a bit, his eyes widened. “What? No… No, that’s not true… It was only five months…”

    “No it wasn’t,” Behind them, Netherlands was smoking up a cloud. “How can you not know that?”

    Spain was still in denial. “N-No… it can’t be…”

    Sitting in front of him, France gave him a somber smile. “What can we say, mon ami?” He looked down, his cerulean blue eyes deep with tears. “…We really do age differently than humans.”

    After some time, Spain finally gathered the courage (and the strength) to find you.

    As expected, you were in a corner of the mansion’s library. At first look, he thought you seemed different—but it could only be that you were five years older. “I thought you might be in here…” He mumbled softly as he sat across from you.

    Slowly, you raised your head up from the desk. You’d been crying—your husband was still looking for you while Spain had found you on his first try. “S-Spain…” You could barely look at him; you placed your arms below the table.

    “You’re trying to hide your wedding ring.”

    Your lips parted in surprise—normally he would not catch subtle things like that. “It-It’s been a long time,” You replied back quietly.

    “It was only five months to me.”

    “It was five years. You didn’t call. I-I thought…” Your voice caught in your throat, “-I thought you died.”

    “I-I see…” He may be immortal, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t die. It just meant he had the ability to live forever.

    “I just tried to live my life.”

    “I understand.” He looked on the verge of tears.

    “Accepting the fact that you were gone was the hardest thing I ever had to do.”

    He sniffed, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry… it was my fault…”

    “No it wasn’t,” He looked back up at you, but you avoided eye contact.

    “I knew it would end tragic.” You said softly. “You’re an immortal country. I’m a human. And…” You wiped a tear. “A-And I wanted you anyway. It’s all my fault.”

    Spain watched you cry as the best and worst day of his life ended. He had gained peace… and lost his Wendy.

    The next evening, he couldn’t relax without seeing you. At around eight, he found himself climbing up to your window—something like what Peter Pan would do. Spain hadn’t wanted to wake up your husband.

    He’d actually climbed up to your window many times, before… everything happened. It was one of the things that made you fall in love with his carefree self.

    He opened the window and slipped inside—paying no attention to the man sitting on the mattress. “Who are you? What are you doing?!”

    Spain barely acknowledged him, “I’m Spain.” He continued to glance around the bedroom for you.

    “Oh… you’re that country personification guy.”

    “Is _____ around?”

    Your husband gave him a cold expression, “No.”

    “Where is she?”

    “Out.”

    “When will she be back?”

    “Later.”

    Spain tried to smile. “Okay then, thanks. Just tell her I stopped by.”

    Your husband watched him climb out the window. “Wait,” He said, making the nation pause. “…There’s something I wanna say.”

    “Oh? What is it?”

    “Look… I know you’re faking that sunny smile. I know you want me gone. I understand your reasons, but I still don’t like you. And yet…” He sighed. “I know you mean a lot to her. She cherishes you. So I want to try to get along with you, for her.”

    Spain grinned at the man—giving him shivers down his back. The country’s wicked smile didn’t falter as he told the person who ruined his fairy tale, “Fuck that.” His voice was cold, unflinching—a shocking change to his prior mannerisms. “…You stole my Wendy.”

    It was late at night when he returned to his house and saw you sitting on the steps of his front porch. You’d been crying, perhaps sitting there for hours. “_____?” Spain asked, disbelief clear in his tone.

    You looked up, “Prussia told me,” You murmured, “…that you’re leaving me again.”

    Spain looked down wistfully, “I can’t leave someone who’s not mine anymore. I’m just leaving Barcelona—not even Europe.”

    “Don’t go!” You immediately shouted. “Stay with me!”

    “You’re married…”

    “I’ll divorce him!” You pleaded, running up to him and grabbing him by the shoulders, “You’re who I belong with!”

    Your words were exactly what he longed to hear. They were enough to catch him off guard. Without warning, you kissed him frantically, gripping his collar in your clenched fists.

    He wanted more than anything in the world to kiss you back—no, even more than that, he wanted to tell you to throw your life away and come with him, but… he couldn’t be irrational right now. He wanted to be a civilized country, even for just once. “I can’t do that to you.” He lightly pushed you back, making his own heart break. “You’ll be getting older and I… I won’t be. You need someone to grow old with you.”

    “No, I don’t. I need you.”

    He couldn’t be selfish; you were too important to him. “Be reasonable, chica.” He couldn’t stop his voice from shaking, “You need security. Y-You need to live your human life...”

    “But—”

    He smiled dismally, and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. After a few short seconds, he broke away from you, leaving you there before he could change his mind. “See you in a few months. Or years. Stay yourself, mi amor.”

    “…Spain.”

    He paused at your suddenly calm demeanor, his back to you.

    “My heart belongs to you and you only.”

    With that, you parted ways from him.

    He knew it was for the best.

    He loved you—and he loved you more than any woman he had ever met in his life. He loved you in ways he’d never loved another person before.

    Those facts alone were why he didn’t want to hurt you.

    He wouldn’t allow himself to change his mind while he still could. No, he was going through with this.

    He was hurting you both, and he understood that. But… he knew it was more painful for him, and it would always be.

    He looked into the plane’s window, and saw his reflection. He had grown more intelligent and mature, he could tell.

    He peered up at the stars. They seemed to align into your features—a new constellation that was as beautiful as a sunny Barcelona day. He could easily see your face among the night sky.

    Is Neverland up there? he wondered to himself.

    Someday he’ll find out.

    You looked down at the bundle of joy that was wrapped in your arms. You were crying, yet grinning. Affectionately, you cradled the baby—and when you raised your eyes to your husband sitting at your bedside, you looked almost pleading. “Can we name her Spain?”

    The man offered a melancholic smile. “Sure, dear.”

    He had put up with always playing the second place in your heart. He would get used to being the third, too.

    It was a warm summer day and you were sitting on a bench in the park, reading a book while your daughter played on the playground with the other children.

    This was when he sat down next to you without a word.

    So you just smiled. “It’s been a while,”

    He cracked a grin. “You’re reading Peter Pan, aren’t you chica?”

    “It’s become my favorite novel over the years…” You closed the book and looked at him. It was strange how after all these years, his smile, his eyes, his voice and everything else about him still made your heart pound.

    “You cut your hair,” He commented, touching a shorter-than-usual lock. “It looks pretty.”

    “And you still look the same as the last time I saw you,” His eyes were still as green, his tan skin was still as flawless, his hair was still as soft and chocolate-brown.

    He grinned. “Well, it’s my curse.”

    “Don’t call it that. A lot of people would kill for endless youth, including me.”

    His smile faltered, thinking he’d just seen a glint flitter across your eyes that hinted your feelings for him had never faded away. Maybe they were just as present as the day he’d left you—the way his still were.

    “Hey, there’s someone I want you to meet,” You stated, and then called out to the children: “Honey, come here for a sec, okay?”

    A little girl came running over, six or seven years old, with hair that matched yours and eyes that resembled… someone else’s.

    Spain felt his heart wrench at your daughter’s appearance, but easily managed a smile anyhow. She was still a cute little kid, no matter whose she was.

    You knelt down to her eye level, taking her hands. “Honey, guess who’s here?” You said lovingly. “It’s the man you’re named after, and Mommy’s dearest friend.”

    You threw Spain a shy smile, and he quickly cleared his throat—still stunned that you’d actually named your daughter after him. Straightening up to kneel next to you in front of the child, he offered a grin full of sunshine. “Hola! I’m Spain.”

    “What? No way!” Squealed the little girl in pure excitement, her eyes sparkling. “You’re the Boss Spain! Mommy told me all of your awesome adventures!”

    Chuckling, Spain peeked at you in amusement, to which you blushed lightly.

    “Can we be friends?” Exclaimed the little girl, looking as if about to burst with joy.

    “Of course! You have got yourself a deal, señorita.”

    “Yay! Wait till my friends hear this!”

    As little Spain ran off, squealing at her friends how the ‘Boss Spain’ was her best friend, the older Spain looked back to you.

    You got up, as did he. He couldn’t help but notice that you looked slightly bashful—he thought you were still as adorable as ever.

    “Kids always loved you.”

    “So you told her stories about me?”

    “Just a few. She’s exaggerating.”

    He grinned again, “I’m glad your life’s going well, chica.” As he sat back down on the bench, gazing at the children playing in the noonday heat, he failed to notice the melancholic look you were subconsciously giving him. You slowly sat down next to him, never looking away. It took a few heartbeats for him to notice your stare and turn his head, only to find yours quickly turning away.

    “H-How have you been?”

    He didn’t hesitate. “Good. And you?”

    “…Okay.” You wanted to say ‘good’, especially with your daughter. But, you just couldn’t.

    A comfortable silence followed as you both enjoyed the other’s presence.

    Without warning, he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss upon your cheek.

    Instantly, you blushed again.

    “A goodbye kiss,” He clarified with a wink.

    “When will you be back?”

    He chuckled softly, turning away. “To hear stories. About me.”

    That evening, Spain hid among the rooftops.

    With only the moonlight to guide him, he found your house. It was across the street—he could see through the home’s main window.

    In the silence of the night, he watched you play happily with your daughter.

    Faint screams of joy followed by laughter made it through the cracked windows, and he sighed dreamily. He saw you chase little Spain around the living room, embracing her each time you caught her.

    After a few blissful moments, someone came in through the backdoor.

    Your husband immediately joined in the game—pretending to be a monster whilst you and your daughter squealed playfully and ran upstairs. The man laughed and chased you two down the second floor hallway.

    As he watched from the outside cold, a thought haunted Spain:

    He should have been the father.

    From then on, Spain came by for a visit nearly every year.

    He watched little Spain grow up. She’d been nicknamed ‘Chikis’ after the Spanish word chiquita which meant ‘little’.

    He was there for her first little league championships, her first school play, her middle school graduation, her prom night, and even her last day of high school.

    He thought she became as pretty as her mother. He’d showed up for more of her achievements than her own father—which, in a way, sickened him. He was always off on business, leaving his beautiful family behind.

    In a way, though, Spain didn’t mind it. Of course he didn’t. He got closer to Chikis and got to spend more time with you.

    Sometimes, he liked to pretend you were all a family. You were his wife, and Chikis was his daughter.

    It was nice to imagine himself as the dad until… well, until Chikis appeared to be the same age as him.

    “I always thought of you as a father,” She commented. The chapel was covered in flowers, and she was clad in her wedding dress.

    The party raged on as Spain replied, “I know. You’ll always be the same little girl to me, though—even if you look taller than me in those heels.” He chuckled.

    She smiled, and then told him seriously: “…You were around more than him, it felt like. You were the one who I got most excited to see. I almost feel like…” She glanced down at her dress, “maybe… it should have been you who walked me down that aisle.”

    He playfully flicked her forehead, “Oy—what if your dad hears?” He couldn’t deny that he wouldn’t mind that, actually.

    She laughed, “You’re both my dads! I have two.”

    “That sounds… funny.”

    Giggling, she responded, “But it’s true~!”

    After a minute, he glanced around the celebration. “So where’s your mother?”

    “Outside I think.”

    “I’m gonna go find her,” He placed a hand on her shoulder and told her firmly, “Stay right here, you hear me? Don’t move and don’t get lost.” A silly smile was twitching on his lips.

    She saw right through him, but went along with it anyway. “Spai-ainnnn! I’m not a kid anymore…”

    He frowned. “Yeah, pity.”

    The winds were blowing slightly and the tree branches whispered in the night breeze just as Spain found you sitting on a hammock outside the wedding chapel. “There you are, chica!”

    You jumped a bit, and then turned to him. “Oh, hey.”

    He sat down next to you. “What are you doing out here? Your daughter’s wedding is going on inside.” Grinning, he chin-pointed over to the large building.

    “I know. I just needed some fresh air.” You tried to smile, but it fell soon afterwards. “My daughter’s… wedding…” You repeated softly, staring down at your lap.

    He watched you quietly. “She grew up so fast.”

    “Tell me about it,” You sighed heavily. “I’ll probably be a grandma soon. It’s awful. I might go through a mid-life crisis; I need a fountain of youth.”

    “I think you’re lucky.”

    You instantly felt a wave of guilt wash over you. You were complaining about the type of life he could never, ever have. His immortality refused him the ability to grow old…-

    “Life must be an adventure,” He mused suddenly.

    “So must being a country.”

    After a few minutes of comfortable silence, you turned and looked over his youthful face. He would always be this handsome—you were nearly jealous.

    You were tempted to run your fingers through that wavy brown hair, to caress his smooth skin. He looked even better dressed up in a tuxedo, but he didn’t seem to realize it. “…Wendy wants to give Peter a kiss.” You mumbled shyly.

    To your amusement, he actually blushed. Green eyes widened, he studied your face, his jaw agape.

    “…And it hurts her that she can’t.” You exhaled deeply, but then fiddled around your dress pockets. “So… she gives him this instead.” You reached for his hand, and used your fingers to open his palm. There, you laid a silver thimble.

    “It’s the hidden kiss Wendy gave Peter.” You explained softly.

    Spain was still rendered speechless.

    Even though you were over twenty years older than your daughter, and even though your age was showing around your eyes, he thought you still looked prettier than today’s bride. His heart pounded at your actions just as much as they did all those years ago—when he first met you.

    He looked down at the thimble in his hand, “…I’ll treasure it forever, mi amor.”

    The decades had been kind to him, as always.

    Spain found himself climbing up your window with just as ease as the old days. A sense of nostalgia hit him as he entered your bedroom once more.

    However, the room that came into view no longer appeared to be that of a mother.

    The shelves of medicine bottles, the beeping of in-home hospital equipment, and especially the wheelchair in the corner showcased the bedroom of a fragile grandmother.

    “_____, I’m here.” He called out, just as he noticed you lying in bed.

    Hm, you were there the last time he saw you. It was almost strange that you hadn’t moved.

    “Don’t give me that look.”

    He chuckled, “What look?”

    “That smug look. I know you’re glad as ever to be young right now.”

    He grinned as he made his way to your bed, “I’m just happy to see you.”

    “Even though I’m not young and cute anymore?”

    “_____.”

    You sighed, but it turned into a fit of coughing. “Ahem. I’m sorry Spain, but I don’t think you can go on little adventures of life with me anymore.”

    He came close to your bedside and affectionately ran his fingers through your gray, limp strands of hair. “_____... don’t say that…” His smile was falling.

    “I’m… sick now. Why don’t you leave Barcelona? I know that’s what you’ve been wanting to do, and I’ve… just been holding you back…”

    He instantly shook his head, “I wanted to stay here.”

    “And soon you’ll be able to spread your wings and go wherever in the world you please.”

    He got on his knees, his arms over your bedside. “D-Don’t make it sound like you’re the one leaving me…” His voice shook, eyes shining with tears.

    “My Spain.” You exhaled, “You’ve always stayed the same…” You lulled your head to the side, resting comfortably on your pillow.

    “It-It’s not fair.” He sputtered, shoulders trembling. “I-I wanted to grow old with you. I wanted to marry you, have a family with you, and live with you till we were both this age…” He gently reached for one of your thin, weak wrists.

    You closed your eyes and gripped his hand. “I know. Me too.”

    His teeth clenched, tears threatening to fall. “I swear it to you,” He mumbled in a sob, “he had you in this life, but during the next million you’ll be only mine.”

    “You better…” You croaked out feebly.

    He gave a desperate laugh, and tried to smile as usual. He couldn’t.

    “Stay a while? I’m just going to rest a bit. D-Don’t leave until I fall asleep…”

    “I’ll stay however long you’d like.”

    “That’s good…” You whispered with a content smile as you fell asleep whilst holding his hand.

    It took him a few hours to realize you would never wake up again.

    He released your stiff hand, placing it over your heart as he straightened up, and it was strange that he wasn’t crying, when he felt that he just died along with you. Despite his inner emptiness, he smiled warmly at the peaceful picture you were giving before he leaned down to press one last kiss on your cold lips.

    Even as a country who would live on into eternity… he would never forget you.

    “Mi amor…” He whispered tenderly, “See you in Neverland.”