Author's Note: Hello, everyone! This story was requested by heart-spade on my Tumblr blog. It features the nations with various superpowers. Hopefully, I do it justice and don't completely mess this up, haha! Enjoy and please leave a review if you can, as I always appreciate them! I could also use any constructive criticism you guys might have.

P.S. Expect lots of updates in the coming weeks, since I'm on break! Happy almost holidays!


"Sometimes I go off, I go hard. Get what's mine, I'm a star."

"Mmrughh."

"Cause I slay, I slay… All day…"

"Beyoncé, not now… Shut up, phone."

"Okay, ladies, now let's get in formation."

Who the hell is calling him in the middle of the night? He needs his beauty rest.

Intending to go off on someone, America chucks his pillow across the room hard enough to actually leave a small dent on the opposite wall and brings his phone up to his ear, eyes half-shut and burning from crippling exhaustion. He's been subjected to conference after conference lately, and on his one night off, someone has the nerve to disturb him.

"This better be important," he growls into the receiver.

"Sir, we're under attack."

America is so tired someone could tell him he's on fire, and he wouldn't be fazed in the least. "Uh-huh. Gotcha. I'll call you in the morning."

"Sir!"

He hangs up the phone, let's his head collide with his fluffy, bouncy, wonderfully sweet mattress and—.

Did the Secretary of State just tell him what he thinks he did?

Hastily, America scrambles into a sitting position and calls back. After a single ring, someone picks up.

"Did you say we're under attack?"

"Yes, sir. The Russians have launched an ICBM set to hit California."

"How long do we have?"

"Twenty-nine minutes and fifteen seconds."

"Shit! Fuck! Shit, fuck, shit!" America shouts. "What're you doing sitting around calling me for? Have we launched our own missiles yet?"

"We're awaiting clearance from the President any second now. He'll then be brought to the underground shelter. You need to get down here."

"No. Don't worry about me," America retorts, a cold sweat beading his neck. He hangs up the phone again and stares blankly at the wall for a good three seconds—three seconds he can't afford to waste.

All right. Don't panic. Twenty-eight minutes now. Think, think. If only he had more time… Time! That's it!

With impeccable intuition as usual, his phone chirps out another ringtone—the ringtone he has set for England, "Hello, it's me… I was wondering if after all these years—"

Of course his old man across the pond would be the one to call him first.

America picks it up. "Hey, you limey. We've got trouble."

"I'm well aware. Scotland is about to be completely obliterated in seven minutes," England says by way of introduction, and although his tone is firm, America can tell he's terrified.

"You're under attack, too? What does Russia want with you?"

"The missiles aren't Russian. Well, actually… We aren't sure. They appear to be French, and while I loathe France, and he shares my sentiments, I daresay he wouldn't resort to killing me, and when I called him to ask him what the bleeding hell he was playing at, he was in a panic and had no idea what I was talking about, which suggests someone infiltrated his weapons. Someone was aiming for London and missed by several hundred kilometers, and in that regard, perhaps it was France, what with his horrible aim. The actual launch occurred somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic from a French military base. Furthermore, India has already hit Pakistan as we speak in the midst of the commotion. Israel is likely to make a move next."

America frowns. God help the person who started this once he finds them. "England, you know what has to be done next, right?"

There's a moment of bated silence on the other line before England releases a heavy-hearted sigh. "Yes, of course, though I wish there were another way. You know how much I despise playing with time."

"You don't have a choice."

"I know, but that doesn't make the decision any easier. I can't possibly do this alone."

"Come and get me then. After all, you've got all the time you need. Just hop back in time, catch a flight, then, fast forward again. Oh, and don't go too far back. You remember what happened last time," America warns the man, cracking his knuckles and stretching his arms before dragging himself out of bed and standing. "A week should be plenty once you round me up."

England hangs up the phone, and no more than five seconds later, he calls again.

"Ello, governor," America answers with an atrociously exaggerated British accent.

"I know you can do better than that. I remember a time when you spoke proper English. Oh, what a swell era that was, but then you had to ruin it by 'losing' your accent and speaking in that silly tone you use now. Also, I'm on your doorstep."

America snorts. "Yeah, whatever. American English makes more sense phonetically, and you know it. Gimme a sec while I change out of my bunny slippers and Batman PJs. Can't go on an adventure looking like this."

"Hurry up, you dolt. It's freezing out here."

"Yeah, well, you came to Washington in the middle of December, dude. What did you expect? It's not any better in Europe, so I don't want to hear any complaining or you're getting sent straight to Canada… And don't rush me! It takes time to look this fabulous."

"America!"

If the world's going to end anyway, they might as well share one last round of banter, America thinks with a devilish smile, changing into some jeans and a sweatshirt. Can't forget his gloves, hat, and scarf either… He hops into a pair of boots, zips himself into the goose-feather filled coat Canada got him last Christmas, and grabs his keys, wallet, and a small backpack for any other things they might end up having to carry along with them.

"If you aren't out here in ten seconds—!" England snarls on the other side of the front door.

Rolling his eyes, America finally strolls outside with a good-natured chuckle at England's expense. "You'll huff, and you'll puff, and you'll blow this house down!" he finishes for the other nation cheekily. "You can't take me over your knee anymore, England. I'm two hundred and forty years old."

"Don't test me," England hisses back, watching impatiently as America goes about locking the door.

"Ahh, it's been a while since we've been able to hang out like this, old man. It's nice."

"Who're you calling old, Mr. I'm-Two-Hundred-and-Forty-Years-Old?"

"I know, right? I'm so young. Still a baby. I've got the best years of my life ahead of me. You, not so much," America smoothly replies before latching onto England's arm. "Let's go."

Needing no prompting, England shuts his eyes, takes in a deep breath, and suddenly, the world contorts and twists in time and space around them in a flurry of miraculous color and sparks. It makes America a bit dizzy, and he feels a sensation of falling before everything stops and time ticks along normally again.

They are still in front of America's house, and it's still three o'clock in the freaking morning, but it's a few degrees warmer now, and where there should have been snow, the concrete of the sidewalk is visible and dry.

They've gone back in time by precisely one week.

"Aww, and I thought that was the last time I'd have to suffer through my five o'clock meeting," America whines, remembering this particular Monday all too well.

"Forget your meeting. We need to find out who put us on the brink of a nuclear apocalypse and make certain they won't do it again."

"And how do you plan to do that, Sherlock?"

England looks down at his feet in deep thought, bushy brows knitting together to form what America likes to call the man's super-brow. "We need to get all of the nations with nuclear capabilities in one place at the same time, interrogate them discreetly, and try to narrow down the possibilities."

"Dude, it was Russia. It's always Russia. Every time a plane magically falls out of the sky or a body goes missing, it's Russia, and this isn't any different," America concludes, crossing his arms over his chest.

"It couldn't have been Russia. The missiles heading for me were launched first, and as I've already told you, they most certainly weren't Russian."

"Yeah, but he probably sent somebody to push the button for him. You said France's weapon stocks were likely infiltrated. That could mean it was anyone, even a nation without nuclear capabilities."

"Yes, you're right," England admits with a groan, pressing a hand against his temple. "So what now? And, by God's grace, fix your scarf. It's lopsided."

Without laying a finger on America, England straightens the scarf out simply by staring at the offending fabric and willing it to move with his eyes.

America stiffens considerably in response. "I forgot you could do that whole moving stuff with your mind thing. Like, I know I've got super strength and that can be pretty intimidating to most people, too, but your literal mind games scare the crap outta me. You need to calm down and be a bit more low-key, if you don't mind."

England gives him a flat look and pivots to a different subject matter. "Let's schedule an emergency conference. That'll give us the chance to perhaps explain the situation to a few allies we trust, and they can help gather more information for us. It's not much, but it's a start."

"All right. We've got a week to figure this out before the globe explodes. I'll call up my people, get them to cancel that stupid five o'clock meeting and the one after that and tell them we need to set up a nice get-together to discuss an emergency with North Korea or something. While I'm doing that, get us on the earliest plane heading for New York, because we need to get to the UN headquarters. The flight will give us a few hours to think, and I'll be able to draft a speech," America decides, making a mental checklist.

"Who would've thought you could prove to be rational in such a dire situation?"

America blinks, quite baffled. "I think that was almost a compliment. Wow. We should hang out during the brink of human extinction more often."


There are some powers no man or creature should possess. America knows this, but he also knows if he doesn't choose to play with the dangerous toys, someone else will.

"How does this sound? Ahem… We've gathered here this morning to discuss the serious threat North Korea poses to our international security. He has taken new steps toward acquiring a nuclear weapon."

England raises a brow, attention half-occupied by something on his phone. "That'll do. It's just vague enough. Remember to draw out the speech for as long as possible. After the first fifteen minutes of having to listen to your grating voice, everyone will lose interest, and we'll be able to call for an intermission. We should split up our investigation by speaking to the rest of the Security Council first. I'll handle France, and you can deal with China and Russia."

America lets out a petulant whine of protest. "Can't you talk to Russia? The moment I see him, I'll start raging. He could've annihilated my whole west coast."

England sets his phone aside and makes sure to take on the role of devil's advocate. "Only because he expected an attack from you."

"That's the least convincing lie you've ever told. He's out to get me even after all of these years. I can never let my guard down around him."

"You're simply paranoid, as is he."

"Am not."

"Are, too," England counters, and in the centuries they've known each other, their senseless arguing hasn't changed either.

"I'm not the one who's trigger-happy."

England outright laughs at that, shoulders shaking. "No, you're a pacifist, America. You always have been."

"Don't be sarcastic with me! I'm serious! I'm not trying to pick any fights."

"You've never taken responsibility for your actions," England adds under his breath before snatching the handful of papers in America's hands to skim them. After a few seconds, he gives them a small nod of appraisal. "But, all right, if you can't bring yourself to have a civilized conversation with the man, then I will."

America pretends not to have heard that last snarky comment. "Just don't look into his eyes. He does that freaky mind-reading hypnotization thing or whatever. Even if you only glance at him for a second, he'll know your motives for talking to him."

England scoffs and picks a piece of lint off of the black, business-casual sweater he's wearing over his shirt and tie. They've both changed since leaving America's house, and while England could make a t-shirt and joggers look formal, America still looks ragged and slightly unkempt no matter how much effort he puts into trying to be presentable.

"Excuse me, but I've known Russia far longer than you have, and I can handle myself around him," England insists.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," America sings mockingly in return, taking his papers back.

Time to play politics.


One by one, the nations are directed through mandatory security and cross the threshold of their designated conference room for the day, treating themselves to coffee, tea, and muffins.

It's all fine and dandy, but America watches each of them with the gaze of a hawk, particularly where Russia is concerned. Russia seems to know he's being watched, but he pointedly ignores America. He can't be trusted. He's probably plotting world domination this very second.

"Hey, America."

Startled, America flinches and looks around him for the source of the friendly greeting, but as he spins around in a full circle, he doesn't see anyone standing close enough to him to have been the speaker.

He worries he imagined the sound, or worse, perhaps it was a ghost, but then realization washes over him and he relaxes, searching the air in front of him calmly. "Canada, bro, you're invisible again."

The timid voice returns. "Am I? Oh, I'm sorry."

It takes a few moments, but Canada finally materializes in front of America with a sheepish smile. "I'm really sorry. I can't control it sometimes."

America claps a hand onto his twin's back with a little too much force and grins. "It's okay, man. No worries."

Canada swallows thickly and nods. "So, uhh, does North Korea really have a nuclear weapon?"

America mentally kicks himself. He can't lie to Canada. In fact, he has only lied to his brother nation a handful of times, and every time he has gotten away with it, he's ended up overwrought with guilt.

England has made it clear he doesn't want anyone to know about the impending apocalypse yet, and so, America racks his brain and replies with, "Ahh, it'll be fine. I'll protect you, my dude."

"But—"

"You don't have to worry, okay?"

Canada sighs and lets his question stay unanswered.

"You're sitting to my left today. Grab some coffee and chill for a bit while I go check up on China."

Before Canada can respond, America slips away and heads straight for where Japan and China are quietly chatting on the opposite side of the room.

"Whoa, there," America remarks as he approaches them. "I haven't seen you guys together like this in a while. Everything all right?"

Japan becomes visibly nervous and flushed. "America," he says with a short bow. "There is a new videogame I recently developed for you to try."

"Oh, yeah? Sounds great! Sorry I haven't been able to visit lately. Things have been busy, y'know?"

"Umm… Yes, that is understandable."

"So what are you and China up to?" America asks with gentle insistence, smile still glued to his mouth.

China jumps in and says, "I was just saying how my tea is superior to Japan's."

Japan frowns and looks somewhat irritated, but his social awareness keeps him from letting it affect his polite tone. "Actually, we were talking about North Korea."

"Oh, okay. Makes sense. We're all a little uneasy because of him, right? I mean the thought of nuclear conflict—it sure would be awful, huh?" America says casually, not missing the way Japan seems to pale at his words. "You feeling okay, Japan?"

"Yes, yes," Japan immediately assures, and America is beginning to get a sense of why he's acting so strange.

"Cool, then. Hey, China, would you mind if I borrowed Japan for a sec?"

China gives America a skeptical look but eventually shrugs his shoulders. "Go ahead."

"Thanks, dude. You're the best."

And with that, America leads a very skittish and jittery Japan out of the conference room and pulls him aside, eyes hard and frighteningly serious. "No one can know."

"I'm sorry, America, but I do not—"

"No one can know," America repeats. "You had a vision, didn't you?"

He's well aware of Japan's psychic powers, but they're only right about seventy-five percent of the time, and they can be altered easily over time.

Japan turns his head away upon being caught. Seeing the future is not something he always enjoys. "Yes."

"So you know what's going to happen next Monday?"

"Yes."

"Do you know who starts it?"

"No. I do not have those details. I can just see… destruction," Japan admits. "Is that why we're truly at this meeting?"

"Yeah, England and I are on it. Don't tell anyone else. For all they know, we're just voting for more sanctions on North Korea today, and we want it to stay that way, until we have more info. So, sit tight and let us handle it. Did you tell China about it?"

"No, but I was considering it."

"Okay. Don't tell him. He may have been the one to launch the first missile for all we know."

"It wasn't China," Japan retorts.

"How do you know?"

"I do not know how, but I am certain."

America nods, gives Japan's shoulder a comforting squeeze, and steps away. "Thanks for the help. Let us know if you find out anything else, or if your vision gets clearer."

"Okay, but, America, how did you know?"

"It's a long story," America sighs, disappearing into the conference room again. It's nearly time for him to give his opening speech.

He takes his seat next to Canada, ruffles his brother's hair, and then suddenly glowers at the empty chair to his right. Where has England gone off to? He's normally punctual, and the meeting officially starts in two minutes.

He scans the rest of the room, takes a quick headcount, and narrows his eyes when he discovers Russia is missing as well.

Should he start the meeting without them? England would probably want him to, but then again, he can't let England ever have what he wants—it's against America's personal religion.

He announces they'll be starting fifteen minutes later than expected and rushes out of the room and down into the hall, searching intently for the missing pair. He knew he shouldn't have let England deal with Russia alone.

After checking room after room without any luck, he begins to feel a sense of growing panic. What if Russia kidnapped England? What if England's hurt? What if…? Oh, God. Oh, God.

The sound of echoing voices from a room at the end of the hall grabs his attention, and he darts toward it, heart racing because he can feel something isn't right.

"England?" he asks as he pushes the door open, and in the chair in the middle of the room, there the man is, blond head dipped backward and eyes blank.

Towering over him is Russia, eyes glowing wildly as he whispers some sort of strange enchantment. Hypnosis—one of Russia's more horrible abilities.

"Get away from him!" America demands before striding forward and using his superhuman strength to plow Russia into the wall as though he weighs little more than a paperweight. "Only I get to mess with England."

Russia grabs America by the throat in response, and so, America grabs him back, tossing them both to the ground. Russia is fairly strong himself, but not strong enough because America pries his hands away from his neck and pins them to the floor with crushing, sheer force. He can feel one or two of Russia's bones snap, and he's just about to be the inarguable victor when the world tilts on itself in a familiar way, and America is transported back in time again.

When he rights himself and gets to his feet, Russia is no longer in the conference room with them, and instead, England stands breathlessly by his side.

They exchange glares, and then England slaps America sharply over the back of the head.

America touches the sore spot once England stops assaulting him. "That's the thanks I get for saving you?"

"You nearly started a second Cold War, idiot!" England screams at him, raising his arm to slap him again, but America grabs his wrist midair and stops him.

"What was I supposed to do?"

"I should've done this alone."

"Oh, okay, so are you saying you don't need my help now? Fine. Be that way. It's not like you almost got possessed by Russia or anything. No, sir! You had it all under control, didn't you? You were going to collapse while the world slowly ended around you!"

In the midst of their fighting, they fail to recognize someone else has entered the room, until it's too late.

"The world is ending?" a childish voice asks, and America and England freeze.

England turns his head around to look at the intruder first, and he's so angry his face and ears are completely painted red with frustration. "Sealand!"

"What's going on?" Sealand asks innocently, hands clasped behind his back as he rocks on his heels. "I'm an independent nation, so I need to know…"

England surges forward, and Sealand tries to run away, but the elder nation snakes his arms around the child's waist and holds him up several inches off of the ground with a severe frown. "What are you doing here? This is no place for a child."

"I'm here for the emergency conference."

"You're going to take yourself home this instant, Sealand!"

"But I—!"

"Go home."

"You can't tell me what to do!"

America smirks dryly at the two, remembering all too well how he used to annoy England to wit's end when he was still a colony. He, too, wanted nothing more but to be regarded as an equal.

"C'mon, kid," he interrupts. "Let's get you some of the awesome snacks in the conference room, and you can sit in on the meeting for a while, 'kay? My treat as the host."

England sets Sealand down and frowns impressively at America while mumbling something about "incorrigible children." He slaps America over the head one last time and heads for the exit before pausing to say, "Russia is not of interest to us."

America scowls. "Seriously? After all of that—!"

"It's not him. Let it go. None of this happened."

And England's right. It didn't happen. He made sure of that when he rewound time.

Back to the drawing board, then.

"America?" Sealand asks with big eyes. "Can I sit next to you during the meeting?"

"Sure! Why not? You can have England's seat," America says, shooting England a taunting look as they leave. "You'll make a good replacement."

It'll be a miracle if they fix this.