So this story was hidden in my secret alcove of documents I had no courage to upload since Grade School. So why I'm posting this one now, I have no clue but I hope you guys, the reader, enjoy it as much as I enjoyed watching my friends read it.

I won't ask you to review since I am guilty myself of not reviewing stories I've read. They are welcome though.

Sigh, I'm giving too much unnecessary information again, aren't I?

And before I forget, history is as much as mine as it is every person and nation on Earth. However, whatever isn't mine isn't mine.

Spain laughed as the small child trailed behind him, stumbling every so often. He had met the child a few decades ago, although he vaguely remembered passing by the little boy's dwelling previously. The tan child burbled a statement in his native language, reminding Spain to teach the boy a little more Spanish in the future, as he lifted his arms up. The nation understood, scooping the little boy into his arms and nuzzled into soft black hair smelling of sunshine and the fragrant white flowers that grew around the area.

"Do you remember what your name is?" Spain asked the boy, his voice playful and childish.

The child giggled as he clapped his hands. "Pilipins! Pilipins!"

Spain smiled, "It's 'Philippines'. Don't forget, okay?" He could work on his words as well. After all, the boy is young.

Out of the corner of his eye, Spain could see the figure of a man hiding in the shadows of the forest trees. "Philippines, who is that man?"

The boy followed the direction of the extended finger and waved, "Dikong Tsina!"

The nation narrowed his eyes. "China, is it?" Spain held the Philippines tighter.

'This territory,' Spain thought, watching as the figure disappeared from the shadows. 'Is mine.'

"Kuya Espanya, stop it please!" the Philippines cried out, tears welling up in the boy's eyes and Spain struck the back of his calves again and again.

"Kuya Espanya!"

Spain roughly grabbed the Philippines' chin, making the boy's eyes meet his.

"Why didn't you give me the produce I asked?" Spain questioned. His eyes glinted in the candle light, his fury emitting from his body in waves.

The Philippines was shaking, tears streaming down his cheeks as he stifled his whimpers.

"ANSWER ME!"

"My people… t-they're hungry… and I… and I thought… that… maybe…-"

The Philippines could not finish his statement; his words choked at his throat and refused to come out.

The child wondered where his good-natured brother had gone. He was never so angry, so demanding. It was as if everything that the Philippines did was a failure, never enough.

The Philippines already was bruised and battered.

On his tan skin were blots of deep purple, almost black, and wounds still fresh since they never had the chance to heal. His once healthy body was frail and sunken. His stomach always grumbled because of the lack of food.

Kuya Espanya doesn't even allow Dikong Tsina to come and visit him.

Spain released his grip, turning away from the collapsed form.

"Get it by next week," Spain ordered and left the room, leaving the Philippines to cry and clasp his hands in fervent prayer.

England looked back at the slightly crippled Philippines, seeing Spain take his chance on getting the young nation back.

England shook his head. The Philippines was no longer his to possess, he had to move on.

So he turned back to the sea and embarked towards India and erased the Philippines from his mind.

"You are no longer my brother."

The Philippines stared unflinchingly at Spain, the flag of blue, red and yellow sun and stars billowing in the wind behind the teenage nation. It was June 12, 1898, the day of Philippine Independence.

Spain ground his teeth, watching American forces arriving on the shores. No doubt the blond bastard would be appearing soon.

"I should have broken you completely when I had the chance," Spain told the Philippines, his eyes cold and unwavering. He turned his heels and walked back into the walled city of Intramuros.

"Goodbye, Philippines."

The younger nation watched as the doors closed behind the older country, a single tear escaped his eye and ran down his bloody cheek.

"Goodbye, Kuya…"

"Come quietly Philippines," America cooed, stroking the battered Philippines. The younger nation shrunk away from the hand as far as he could, wincing at the movement.

America chuckled, cleaning the wounds gently. The nation hissed in pain, whimpering softly as he was slowly bandaged.

"You are weak," America spoke. "You are inexperienced. You need guidance. I can give you that. Just let me help you."

The Philippines looked away, trying to avoid meeting America's eyes. He didn't want to be under anyone's rule again. It was painful with Kuya Espanya, how could he face being someone's lapdog again?

America gently held the Philippines' cheek; making his blue eyes meet black ones.

"I'm a hero, I'll have you know. But the question is, will you allow me to be yours?"

The Philippines was quiet but he nodded. Maybe this time, it would not be so bad.

"Kuya Amerika! Wait, don't go!" the Philippines called out to the blond nation.

America turned to the Philippines, grabbing his hand urgently. "I need to go. I will leave some forces here to help you but you should defend yourself as well. You are strong Philippines, you can manage while I'm not here. But… I shall return. After all, I am a hero."

Despite himself, the Philippines laughed. Kuya Amerika would never change.

America ruffled the nation's hair in affection and farewell and retreated.

The Philippines watched the figure disappear into the smoke and breathed deeply. It was time to fight once again.

Before he had the chance to turn around, cold metal was held to his neck, sharpened blade barely touching his skin.

"Kon…" the Philippines gasped, already aware who was behind him.

"Ban…" a low, monotonous voice resonated in his ears, a body pressed gently against his back.

"Wa~" the Philippines screamed.

"Kuya Hapon," the Philippines bowed slightly. "Good mo-"

The clink of a setting teacup stopped the Philippines in mid-sentence.

Japan looked calmly at the nation, "No English."

The Philippines struggled with his thoughts, mumbling out, "O-ohayo…"

The teacup was lifted once again and the Philippines knew he was safe… for now.

"Kuya Amerika! You're here! You came back!"

America smiled, albeit exhausted, at the Filipino.

"Of course I did!" The American exclaimed. "I'm a hero! Now, let's kick some Japanese butt."

The Philippines had to stop for a moment, letting America go ahead. In a short moment of silence, he prayed that Kuya Amerika and Kuya Hapon wouldn't really get into too much of a fight although he knew it was inevitable. Both of them were his kuya, after all.

The Philippines grinned, over looking the city of Manila from the Malacañang Palace. He was finally his own nation! His own country! His own person and identity.

"I'm really grateful, Kuya Amerika," the Philippines said, embracing America tightly.

The older nation patted his back in affection, briefly wrapping his arms around the Philippines.

…

"Um, Philippines, would you let me go?"

"No way Kuya Amerika. You're my idol!"

America laughed weakly. This was the start of a good friendship...?