It was quarter after ten in the morning. A groan filled the air as Spain rolled over in bed, beginning to stir. Romano watched the Spaniard closely, was he finally waking up? With another groan, green eyes fluttered open. Spain scanned the room hazily, attempting to get his bearings. Where was he? He'd never seen this place before. However had he managed to find his way into such a nice, comfy bed? Slowly, the memories of the night before sunk in "Oh…that's right… That Romano guy brought me home…" he murmured.

"Hey, you're awake. Did you sleep alright, Antonio?" Romano asked.

Spain blinked sleepily "Sí… I guess so."

"So…how's your head?" Romano asked softly.

"It still hurts… but I guess that is to be expected." The Spaniard said quietly.

"I'm sorry." The Italian replied.

"No. I-I'm sorry… I still don't remember you." Spain averted his gaze, frowning.

"Don't worry about it…" Romano said, offering a smile. He cleared his throat to signify a change of subject "I have a surprise for you downstairs."

"A… surprise?" Spain asked weakly.

Romano smirked "Don't worry, you'll like this surprise."

The Spaniard looked at him uncertainly "…If you say so."

Romano stood and held out a hand to the older nation "Just trust me, alright?"

Spain took the Italian's hand, pulling himself from the bed, "Alright."

With a satisfied nod, Romano guided the Spaniard out of the room, through the hall, and down the stairs toward the mansion's main floor. While Spain once more marveled at the sheer size of the structure, Romano busied himself with reheating his culinary masterpiece. He tried to keep in check with the very possible reality that Spain wouldn't so much as recall the dish. However, deep down Romano wanted nothing more than for Spain to be proud of his cooking and by extent- proud of him.

In no time at all, Romano found himself escorting Spain out to the veranda; beckoning him to take a seat at the quaint little table that was present. Placing the paella on the table, Romano's heart began to pound with anticipation. Would Spain remember it?

Suddenly, Romano felt as though he was choked up, and he wasn't quite sure why.

"Th-this is called paella… I made it for the two of us to share." His voice shook slightly, despite his best efforts "I- I'm sure you'll like it." He continued.

"Something tells me I already do." Spain said softly, sad green eyes trained on the Italian.

"Sí… well…" Romano cleared his throat "Let me know what you think."

He served Spain a portion before taking his own. The Italian began to eat quietly, watching the Spaniard out of the corner of his eye.

Spain's eyes lit up as he took his first taste. "What did you say this was called…Romano?"

"Paella." The Italian said with a small smile.

"It has so many different flavors… all blended together!" Spain took another bite, "¡Te amo paella!"

Romano smiled "You sound like your old self again."

"¿Qué?" the Spaniard blinked. His expression was clearly one of confusion "What do you mean by that… Romano?"

"You've always been a cheerful person… even when people around you are angry or upset; you always have so much energy. You always have such a big smile…" the Italian chose his words carefully.

"In fact… you smile too much. It gets creepy and annoying and makes me feel like barfing… however..." Romano thought to himself "I was starting to miss you... you cheery jerk!"

"Always a smile..." the Spaniard squinted as he considered the notion.

"…Anyway, I'm glad you like the paella. I made sure to use lots of tomatoes." Romano said.

"Buono Tomato! Buono Tomato!" a young voice echoed through Spain's mind.

He gripped his head as images began to race through his mind at top speed.

"…Red on the bottom…Green on the top!.."

Spain groaned in discomfort… none of these images made any sense!

"Hey! Antonio, are you alright?!" Romano asked with sudden concern.

"…Toma- toma- tomato…"

The Spaniard buried his fingers deeper into his wavy brown hair, whimpering "Make it stooooop!" he pleaded.

"Make what stop? What's happening to you?!" the Italian asked frantically, standing from his seat.

Spain's eyes were clamped shut as he cried once more "Th-the images… I don't understand! Th-there are too many!" he wailed.

Romano took a deep breath and set a hand on the Spaniard's shoulder "E-easy now…Easy." He said as soothingly as he could.

"It huuuuurts! Gaaah!" Spain cried.

"D-don't focus on the pain, Mannaggia!" Romano burst out. He inhaled deeply, forcing his voice to become calmer "Don't focus on the pain…or all the images…Just listen to the sound of my voice… it is going to be okay, Antonio."

It was terribly awkward. Never in his wildest dreams had Romano imagined he'd be the one comforting Spain. Spain had always been so happy, which was a good thing, Romano was sure. He was usually terrible at comforting people… he couldn't count how many times he'd made Feliciano cry. He wished that just this once he would say the right thing… to make the situation better, not worse.

"It will be okay, Antonio." he repeated "I-I promise."

He heard the Spaniard's breathing hitch, followed by a deep exhale. Romano studied Spain, looking for some sign the episode was over.

Another deep sigh and Spain dropped his hands from his head. He blinked open his fragile, green eyes and offered a weak smile, "Gracias Romano…" he shifted uneasily "I'm sorry about…that."

"Don't worry about it…you're going through a lot right now." Romano said as gently as he could manage.

Spain was silent a few moments, before looking helplessly to the Italian "I-I think I need to lie down for a while." He said at last.

"Yeah…that's fine." Romano said softly.

Spain stood from his chair slowly and wordlessly; pushing it in as he did so.

"Here…I'll lead you back to your room." Romano said awkwardly, trying his very best to sound helpful. The two countries walked inside in complete silence. Neither of them spoke so much as a word on their way up the stairs and down the hall. Spain was quite simply worn out and Romano wasn't sure what he should say. The bedroom door creaked as the Italian pushed it open, breaking the silence.

As the Spaniard crawled into his bed, he focused his eyes on the Italian once more.

"Tell me… why is it you are so kind to me?" he asked wearily.

Romano's cheeks colored, as if he were embarrassed, "W-why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know…" Spain said driftily, his eyelids fluttering.

"Don't ask such stupid questions, Sí?" Romano said. Though his words were meant to be insulting, they hardly came across that way.

It dawned on the Spaniard's tired mind that Romano must be embarrassed and he smiled softly, "I'm sorry." He murmured, sleep quickly claiming him.

The Italian stood over the older nation, watching him with a soft expression.

"I'm sorry, Spain… but you wouldn't understand my reasoning… you wouldn't understand that it is because… you are mi padre." Romano thought to himself. Surely it wasn't something he could admit aloud. Even under normal circumstances, he didn't dare utter those words. Now that Spain didn't remember him, it would make it an even bigger mistake should he say anything of the sort. He sighed sadly; he was really starting to miss Spain. Even though Antonio Carriedo was physically there, the cheery, tomato loving Spaniard was nowhere to be found. No. He'd been replaced by this frightened and confused man that lay before him. It made Romano's heart ache.

"Please…Spain…come back soon…" Romano thought to himself, his hands clenched into fists. He left the room silently. He chose to turn his thoughts to cleaning up the table on the veranda, and preserving the leftover paella.

Meanwhile, Spain found himself in the middle of a confusing dream. He was in a quiet forest surrounded by nature's beauty. It would almost have been relaxing were it not interrupted by a child-like voice.

"Ve~ Are you coming, hermano España?" chirped a small figure clothed in white.

"W-who are you?" Spain blinked; this child looked no more than four years old! Where had he come from?

The child simply giggled and began to sprint away.

"Hey! W-wait a minute!" he called as he chased after the child.

The child changed directions abruptly, racing behind a large tree.

"Hey! I said wait!" Spain called as he ran. Darn. That little kid sure was fast! Panting, he forced himself to go faster as he went around the tree. Maybe he could catch up if…

His train of thought was interrupted as he very nearly collided with a tiny figure. He was about to question why the child had suddenly stopped, when he took note that this was not the same boy. This child was wearing a tiny apron over what appeared to be a pink shirt. More importantly, this child wasn't cheerful like the first… in fact he looked angry.

"Watch where you are going, you big jerk! First you try to trade me for my little brother and now this, huh? You're so stupid, Spain! So very stupid!" The boy's eyes filled with tears as he tore off, just like the first had.

"H-hold on a minute! Who are you calling Spain?! Spain is a country, my name is Antonio!"

The youngster ignored him and disappeared into the distance.

"Darn it…Why won't anyone tell me what is going on here?!" the Spaniard groaned.

Suddenly the dreamscape went pitch black, all images becoming distant.

"On Hon Hon! If you don't want him, give him to meeee!" a French accent echoed in his mind.

"Who?" Spain asked feebly.

"I am awesome!" another voice screeched.

"That does not make any sense!" Spain cried.

A feminine voice giggled "Here… have some waffles!"

"Not if Spain is there!" a masculine voice spat.

"Who are you calling Spain?!" the Spaniard cried out in exasperation.

"I hate you so much!" an Italian voice countered.

"Wait a minute… that sounds like…"

Spain rolled over in bed and groaned as he began to return to consciousness. He sat up slowly, rubbing at his eyes to clear his vision from the blur of sleep. He blinked tentatively as he studied the room around him. The first thing he was quick to note, was that Romano was nowhere in sight. He shrugged silently; he probably had other things to do. After all, with a mansion as big as this one was, surely it was difficult to maintain. It wasn't long before the Spaniard's thoughts drifted back to the dreams from whence he'd surfaced. He frowned in frustration…. Something about those dreams had seemed so… familiar. There was little doubt in his mind; those dreams had something to do with his memories. If only he could piece them together! If only there was some way he could force himself to remember! As things were, however, all the images swirled together in an indistinguishable mess. Standing from his bed, he scanned the room diligently, praying to find some sort of clue to jog his memory. His prayers were answered as his eyes trained on a large trunk at the foot of his bed… a footlocker perhaps. He wasted little time in kneeling by the trunk, his fingers closed around the lid.

"Por favor…Let me find some answers!" Spain thought desperately as he threw the lid back.

He rummaged through the trunk, desperately hoping to find some sort of clue. His hands closed around a wooden frame… a picture? He lifted the item from the chest with care, drinking in the details. It was a painting of a small boy in a tiny apron. The boy was frowning, staring at the viewer with piercing copper eyes.

"The angry child from my dream…" Spain muttered.

Hastily, he turned the frame over, hoping to find some date or inscription. There was nothing. Frustrated, he let loose a sigh and resumed rummaging through the footlocker. There had to be something in here that he'd remember…

Several minutes later he pulled from the chest a thick book that appeared to be a photo album, and began leafing through… There were so many faces. One picture showed a rather attractive blond with a green ribbon in her hair standing beside him and… was that Romano? Yes, that had to be him. He looked so incredibly grumpy. In another picture, Spain found himself surrounded on either side by a blond man holding a rose and a smug looking albino…

The Spaniard frowned as he continued to flip through. Why couldn't he remember any of this? It wasn't fair! With each photograph, his heart sunk a little further until he came to the point he simply couldn't bear to look any more. Hands trembling, he shut the thick volume. Tears began to sting as they gathered in the corners of his eyes, and fell down his cheeks.

"¿Por qué?" He cried "Why can't I remember anything?!"

The Spaniard's shoulders shook violently as he became overwhelmed by wracking sobs. The weight of his emotions crushing down on him, he fell flat on the floor, his tears soaking the hardwood.

Having dozed off while cleaning, Romano had lost track of the time. Upon waking, he decided it would be a good idea to check on Spain. He had been making his way down the hall when he heard a very clear thump. It sounded like something had fallen…

He blanched "Mannaggia! Don't even tell me!" he thought to himself, instantly picking up speed. His heart ached in his chest as he imagined what he might find. Surely it was Spain that had fallen! Would he have a new injury? Or worse… could his head injury have been furthered? What if he never remembered him! Mannaggia!

He stopped in front of Spain's room and turned the doorknob hurriedly, throwing the door open. He was greeted by the sight of the Spaniard on the floor and panic instantly flooded his mind. "SPAIN?! Mannaggia! Spain, I'm here!" he cried out as he knelt by the older man.

He tried his best to assess the situation, Spain was trembling terribly… was he having a seizure? Wait. No, that wasn't it. He could hear the Spaniard's breathing hitch followed by a whimper. It was then that it dawned on him. Spain was crying. In fact, he was crying so hard, that he couldn't even speak. Mannaggia. That just tore him up inside, to see his father figure so very broken up. He looked so pitiful, so hopeless. He felt tears welling in his own eyes, but forced them back… Spain needed him. For an instant he would have given anything to be Feliciano, to be capable of such sincerity, to give hugs so freely. "But I'm not Veneziano." He reminded himself sullenly as he shook the thought away. Another mournful sound came from Spain, shaking him to the core.

Before he could think twice, he pulled the Spaniard into a tight hug "P-please stop crying." He tried to sound commanding, but his voice wavered.

Spain swallowed thickly in an attempt to regain his ability to speak, "I-I d-don't w-w-want to be like this! B-but I d-d-don't think I'll ever r-remember!" he wailed mournfully.

"You big jerk! H-how dare you say that?!" Romano's voice wavered, "Mannaggia, Spain! I can't lose you… I can't, you hear me?! You are my freaking father! You raised me from the time I was small and you are one of my only friends! Mannaggia! You don't think you'll ever remember?! That's as good as giving up, you stupid jerk! You're so stupid, Spain!" His own tears spilled over and ran down his cheeks.

The Spaniard froze, "W-what did you just say?"

"I said you're stupid, Spain! So very stupid! Mannaggia! I hate you so much!" Romano attempted to wipe away his tears, but they continued to fall.

The Spaniard's eyes went wide and he sat there in what appeared to be shock. Images raced through his mind…that angry little boy...was he?...He had to be… Just now, Romano had said the exact same thing as the little boy from his dream. More images sped through his brain at lightning fast speed…

Spain whimpered; grasping his head as it filled with pain, there was almost too much to process.

"H-hey, what's wrong now?" Romano couldn't hide the worry in his tone.

"Ro- Romano…ughhh" Spain groaned, falling limp as he blacked out.

The Italian sat in a stunned silence, clutching the Spaniard in his arms. Mannaggia. He'd really done it this time. What was wrong with him?! Spain was broken up enough as it is, and he'd yelled at him. Some good that had done! It was his fault Spain was unconscious. He swallowed a lump in his throat "L-listen, you jerk…y-you'd better wake up and mannaggia, you'd better be alright!"

Fresh tears spilled down the Italian's cheeks; there was no point in holding them back. There was no one to witness his moment of weakness, no one to see him cry. He felt so guilty. Spain had been in the very depths of despair, reaching hopelessly for a lifeline… and rather than tossing him a glimmer of hope to cling to, Romano had essentially pushed him further into the abyss. It made him feel sick inside. Even if the Spaniard did wake up soon, would he be okay?

He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that, only that tears kept coming. Suddenly, a groan filled the air and Romano became aware of a shifting motion in his arms as Spain began to stir.

"Romanoooooo." Spain cooed tiredly, green eyes focusing on the Italian.

"S-Sí?" Romano sniffled, hurriedly trying to wipe away his tears.

"Mi hijo, mi tomate… have you been crying?" the Spaniard asked, sitting up.

"N-no… don't be ridiculous, Ant-," Romano froze, copper eyes becoming as large as saucers.

"What is wrong with you? You look as though you've seen a ghost." Spain said lightly.

"Y-you… what did you just call me?!" Romano demanded.

Spain chuckled "Mi hijo. If it bothers you that much, I can try my best not to call you that, Romano."

"You remember me?!" Romano squeaked in disbelief.

"I only fell off a ladder." The Spaniard waved his hand nonchalantly "It would take a lot more than that to make me forget about you, Romano."

"Mannaggia, you jerk! Don't play games with me! You hit your head when you fell, you've had amnesia since last night!" the Italian shouted, jumping to his feet.

The Spaniard idly traced a hand over the bandage around his noggin. "Is that a fact?"

"Don't play dumb with me, you jerk! Do you know how much crap you put me through?! I was so worried!" Romano gritted his teeth.

Spain looked caught off guard "So then… it wasn't a dream…" he thought to himself. His mouth crept into a grin as he stood to his feet "I'm sorry for worrying you, Romano."

"Whatever." The Italian crossed his arms, pretending to be indifferent. However, he was incredibly happy to have his father figure back.

Spain's grin simply broadened "For what it is worth, mi hijo, you are a wonderful person. You did fantástico taking care of me. I am proud to call you my son."

Romano blushed, trying to hide the smile working its way onto his face "Yeah, well…welcome back… you big jerk."

"¡Sí! It is good to be back." Spain smiled warmly. Though his memory was a bit hazy of events leading from his fall until this point, he recalled enough to know how Romano had cared for him. And though he knew Romano would never own up to it, he'd called him his father. For him to have acknowledged him that way, it was all the reassurance he needed. Yes. Spain knew beyond the shadow of a doubt, his son loved him. And that was all that mattered.

Author's Note:

And so a lengthy chapter brings our little tale to a close. I was tempted to string it out another chapter or so, but decided against it. I do hope you've all enjoyed 'Forgotten' and I'm sorry if the ending wasn't satisfactory. And yes, I used a bit of 'The Delicious Tomato Song'… I couldn't resist. As I'd written chapter 3 weeks ago, it was typing this chapter that took the longest. I knew what I wanted to happen, how I wanted it to happen, and yet I wasn't sure I had the right words to convey it. I do plan to write further Hetalia stories, though it may be a bit before the next one starts. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. Reviews make me happy! =)

***Translations***

Sí (Spanish)- Yes

¡Te amo paella! (Spanish)- I love paella!

¿Qué? (Spanish)- What?

Buono (Italian)- Good

Gracias (Spanish)- Thank You/ Thanks

Hermano España (Spanish)- Brother Spain

Por favor (Spanish)- Please

¿Por qué? (Spanish)- Why?

Mi hijo (Spanish)- My Son

Mi Tomate (Spanish)- My Tomato

Fantástico (Spanish)- Fantastic