When your older brothers decide to make you sit with your long-time enemies, lock you in a room with them, then say you can't come out till you make up, you get mad.

That's what Romano, Germany, and Canada were mad about. Well, not so much Canada. It was more like a 'I want to kill you slowly and painfully' kind of thing to him.

How they came to be enemies, you may ask? Well, three words. And a few wars. Nothing too important- it was more of a rivalry, anyway.

Thanks to terrible planning and guidance, the Bad Touch Trio (Or Bad Friend Trio, depends on how you look at it), locked the nations in an abandoned basement. They all stated:

"Kesese, unless you want to get out alive bruder, you gotta make up with Roma and Birdie!"

"Fusoso! Be nice Roma, and remember, sharing is caring!"

"Ohonhon, don't forget to stretch, mon amour."

Each of the younger nations shuddered at each sentence, thoroughly making them want to punch the trio in the face and sprint up and out of the basement. But no, Romano was too scared, Germany's hands hurt from yesterday's baking, and Canada was just too nice to hurt someone else.

They should have, though.

They were very lucky, by the way. The 'abandoned' basement had a television, DVR, computer, kitchenette, laundry room, extra clothing and food- you name it, they had it. It made Germany question his brother's past times.

But when they heard the lock of the door knob click...

Day One of Seven:

"Hallo, I'm Germany, but you may call me Ludwig."

"Ciao, b*stards. You should know me, but I'm going to introduce myself so you don't forget it. I'm South Italy, or Romano. Or Lovino if you have enough guts to call me that."

"I-i'm Canada, but you c-can call me Matthew, or Matt, if you want..."

The whole day was spent wandering through the basement, exploring and trying to find an exit.

((Germany found a closet, but when he opened it and saw white powder, he ran to the computer and scolded his brother through an email. Turns out that it wasn't what he thought it was, especially when a lion walked through it. An entire hour was spent running away from said beast.))

Day Two of Seven:

"Lovino, may I-" Germany began as he stepped into the kitchenette. Romano turned around and glared at the German.

"F*ck you potato b*stard! All you want is potato this, potato that. Well, I'm making pasta and YOU ARE GOING TO FREAKING LOVE IT!" Romano yelled at Germany, before turning around and continuing to stir the boiling pasta sauce.

Germany sighed in exasperation. "Romano, I just wanted a beer."

Romano turned slowly to face the German, then pointed at the couch. "Sit down."

Canada, clad in a hockey jersey, cheered for his hockey team. "Woo! Go Canucks!" His eyes were full of happiness and excitement, but the others only saw pure hatred. It scared them- if the opposite team saw those eyes… The actual terrifying thing, though, is the note the BTT left the two older nations.

'Tomorrow's the hockey game. Bother Canada, lose a limb.'

And thanks to both Germany and Romano knowing what they meant, they avoided Canada at all costs. It was actually going to be used as a punishment between the two.

Germany shuffled over to the couch, then carefully sat down. Canada simply glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow, before turning back to the game. Thankfully, Canada's team had the black puck, and was heading towards the net.

"Come on, eh! Get the goal- YES! F*ck yeah! Did you see that, Ludwig?! That was an amazing shot!" Canada excitedly grabbed onto Germany's shoulders and shook him back and forth.

Germany felt like a little worm trying to crawl into a hole, but he couldn't find the hole. Why did Romano have to send him in here? The miniature kitchen was their safe haven from this monstrosity they called Canadians.

If only it wasn't Tuesday, they wouldn't be in this mess.

Oh, and if they didn't hate each other's guts. That would be nice as well...

Day Three of Seven:

Canada flipped another one of his fluffy pancakes onto the already tall stack, then carried it with a practised ease over to the coffee table. He pulled out his maple syrup bottle, dumped most of it onto the stack, then changed the channel to some boring cooking show.

Germany and Romano were hyperventilating. "A-are you sure you w-want to do this, potato b*stard? The maple b*stard isn't that bad!" Romano almost begged. Germany shook his head in defiance, then stood in front of the television.

"Canada, we need to talk. Now." Germany commanded. Romano pulled the plug out of the TV, effectively turning the power off.

Canada looked at the duo with curious eyes, a half a pancake still lodged in his mouth. He finished chewing and swallowing, then wiped any syrup off of his mouth. With his usual whispery tone, Canada asked, "What's wrong? Has something happened to someone's country?"

The northern nation stood up and hurriedly strode over to the duo, checking them for any injuries. When finding that both were healthy and without a scratch or bruise, Canada tilted his head in confusion. Germany sighed and led Canada over to the couch and sat him back down.

Romano had frozen in place when the Canadian pat him down, but eventually calmed down enough to sit in the armchair. "M-maple b-b-b*stard, I-i-..." Romano began, but stopped in his mangled speech when Canada looked at him.

Germany rolled his ice blue eyes, "Canada, we are worried about you."

Canada's violet eyes squinted in concentration, before lighting up with joy. "Oh, there's nothing to worry about! I just tend to get a bit crazy during hockey games- eh, I didn't do anything to you all last evening…right?" He looked back and forth between the two nervous nations, who merely shrugged and stood up.

"Everyone gets crazy at times… Matteo." Romano muttered.

The awkward silence stretched on, effectively making Romano groan and grab the remote. "How the f*ck can you watch this sh*t? That isn't how you cut the carrot!"

The channel switched onto an Italian soap opera.

Germany sighed, then took the remote from the frozen Italian.

The channel switched onto a German game show.

Everyone stared at the remote, and henceforth, the battle of the TV began.

Day Four of Seven:

The fight ended with a truce. The monotone voice of the meteorologist spoke calmly through the television, making the three nations yawn.

Germany sighed. "We really need to find something to do."

Romano turned to the other two nations with hope in his hazel eyes. "Ho Amato Sempre?" He asked with a (completely out of character) childish expression.

Canada discretely brought his hand up to his nose, covering up any nosebleeds. "Eh, Lovino, we shouldn't watch t-that today- be right right back, eh!" Canada yelped when his nose began to gush out blood. "Why today, of all days?" He ran to the kitchen and stuffed a paper towel into his nose. How embarrassing!

Romano looked at Germany and pointed at Canada. "What's his f*cking problem?"

Germany didn't answer, since he happened to be hiding away in the kitchen as well.

Day Five of Seven:

"Bruder! Let me out now! I have some paperwork to finish, and you are certaintly not helping me accomplish that!" Germany pounded on the stable basement door. He could hear faint snickering from both sides of the door: One was Romano, the other was Prussia.

Romano paged through a book that he had found under a couch cushion. "Hey, potato b*stard, how about using some more fancy words, like, 'conciliatory'?" Romano sniffed in amusement.

Canada plopped down onto the seat next to Romano. "That wouldn't work in the context. Maybe...eh? That's a weird word to put in the dictionary." Canada mumbled.

Germany had walked over to look at the dictionary, and seemed to be some of the words.

"Oh, so 'b*tch' has a double meaning. It means 'female dog'. Interesting, I'll have to remember that." Germany remarked. He took the book from Romano's hands, then walked away.

Canada and Romano watched the German stride away, until they came upon a revelation.

"Why does Prussia have a English dictionary?"

Romano snorted, "He probably wants to use the dictionary joke."

"What's the dictionary joke?" Canada asked in curiosity.

"Uh- well, it's…confusing. You wouldn't understand it."

"I live next to America."

"No wonder."

Day Six of Seven:

Germany stared at the doorway, daring it to open and release him from these torturous few days. But no, the solid oak door stayed closed and locked. Grumbling, the German stood up and wandered back into the main room.

Romano was staring intensely at the television, since there was an elderly Italian woman cooking some kind of pasta. Canada was on the computer, lazily browsing through a fanfiction website.

"Oh my maple." Canada gasped. He leaned forward and shifted his glasses around, since he thought that he was misreading the paragraph. Sadly, he was not. "U-uh… Guys? You may want to see this…" He beckoned his temporary roommates over.

Romano cursed and shut the TV off, then walked over to the Canadian. Germany was already over there, since he sensed his acquaintance's confusion.

"R-read this. And p-pay very c-close attention to t-the people, p-please." Canada clicked on the story, anxiety plastered onto his face.

When Germans, Italians, and Canadians all go drinking, what happens? Toilet papering someone's home? Teasing their brothers? Forcing people to try their countries' favorite foods? Who knows? ;)

Romano rolled his eyes. "I don't see what's wrong with that! Other than the fact I wouldn't go out drinking with you two b*stards." He spoke with superiority.

"D-don't you see the wink at the end!? It must mean something!" Canada protested.

Slowly, realization made its way onto Germany's features. "Mein Gott."

Everyone turned away from the computer, and took turns in the bathroom to puke.

Day Seven of-

"-oh my good pizza, I'm free from you b*tches!" Romano cheered as he ran out of the basement. Germany and Canada followed behind, still looking queasy from yesterday's fun times at the computer.

Prussia was leaning against the frontdoor's doorframe, smirking his little butt-face off. "So, did you make up?" He snickered, before being shut up by three punches.

One to the face, one the gut, and one to the crotch.

Spain smiled cheerfully from his gardening. His roses looked so pretty in the morning sunlight, making the stem look fresh and the red petals bright.

Humming, the Spaniard stood up to get some lemonade, but stopped when the three angry (and murderous) nations surrounded him.

"I, uh, had an armada?" Spain shrugged hopelessly with a sheepish grin.

One to the (handsome) face, one to the (well-built) gut, and one to the (well-developed) crotch.

France held up two shirts. One of them was a silky button-up decorated with white buttons, the other was a plaid shirt. It didn't take long for the fashionable nation to throw out the second shirt. He buttoned up the silky top and nodded thoughtfully. It'll do for today's unleashing of the boys.

He strode out of the house, feeling very confident of his attire. Until he got a text from both Prussia and Spain to 'guard his vital regions'. Confused at his friends' actions, France continued walking to Prussia's home…

Romano cackled evilly, remembering the faces of each nation in pain. Germany mentally checked off Spain from their death list.

"So, we now have to get France. Then we can tie them up and send them to England." Germany spoke as he peeked out of the bushes.

Concerned, Canada whispered, "L-let's not be too h-harsh on Francis. H-he's not that b-bad."

Romano and Germany deadpanned in unision. "He told you to stretch."

Canada nodded with a new determination. Silently, the trio sneaked up to the oblivious Frenchman.

"Bonjour, Papa." France immediately blanched and realised what his friends meant.

One to the face, one to the gut, and one to the crotch.

Now that the members of BTT were subdued, the trio felt safe and happy.

Except for Germany, who had a whiny Prussian at home.

And except for Canada, who had a loud American to tend to.

The duo waved goodbye to Romano, then left to go to their respective homes. Romano sighed. He thought that he would have some long-term friends, even if it meant being with the potato and maple b*stards.

Romano's worries left after a miserable evening at home. Two texts popped onto his cell phone's screen.

'Even though your cursing and constant pasta making abilities, I had an okay week. We should meet for coffee sometime, maybe invite Matthew?'

'I had fun! We should all go out soon, maybe to Tim Horton's! It'll be nice to see you and Ludwig again, but we will have to bribe our brothers in leaving us alone…'

How the f*ck did six days in a basement start this?

This was a fail. Oh well, maybe over time I'll edit it and add more. Who knows?

Hope you enjoyed! ~Calistrophia