I. The First
This calamitous monstrosity of a conference happened more often than they liked.
The conference had been an average one – things not getting done, insults being flung around, profanities lashing from mouth to mouth, hands ready to grapple and strangle. Germany watched as the other nations who didn't take part in the arguments just sit back and laugh at the others' antics.
Germany sighed internally.
Honestly, why couldn't they be a little more productive? Germany was sure that it was almost a curse at this point. The inefficiency of the conferences was becoming more and more drastic as the years passed by. When they'd all file into the room in the morning, the hour that preceded it was usually the only one out of the many that was productive and alert with brainstorming of ideas and debates. They'd also seem to be civil to each other, despite many of them having spiteful feelings to at least one other nation in the room.
That hour, as Germany had pointedly stated more than once in the past, was simply nothing more than a miracle. And like all good things in life did, it disappeared at the end of the hour.
'A true Cinderella,' Germany dryly thought. He could always feel the tension building up in the room before the constant flow of insults started streaming out of others' mouths. Truthfully told, if he heard another "When are you going to pay back your debt?" being flung from China and the booming laughter of the American nation in response in the near proximity of his right ear one more time, he was going to flipping lose his mind.
Not that anyone else recognized. Not even Italy Veneziano did, because at the moment, he was crying about how lasagna absolutely had to have béchamel sauce, while Italy Romano argued that some form of lasagna that one his best chefs made in his Italian restaurants did not need any, and was therefore not a must. Why were those two even arguing about this subject in the first place? Germany placed his forehead on his palm. The rest of the world were all too busy bickering back and forth, all of them too caught up in their games of 'Who Hates Who The Most', a totally unnecessary fight that the nations sometimes, if not always, got too caught up in. Germany just wondered why they hadn't banned the activity from the conferences yet.
Looking back on it, they really should have. And they should have done so much earlier, too. He was almost sure that the whole thing was simply a test to check his boundaries of patience, and even without other nations poking at him for starting World War II, he could still feel the stress and frustration pile upon him as he listened to the others bicker and fight. Why was he still mediating these meetings, when it was clearly the hosting country's job to do so?
Because apparently, he was the only one who was mature enough to understand that they had these meetings to get things done for once, rather than to waste time idly while world affairs still went unsolved.
Children. They were all such children. When will they ever learn? Will they ever learn? Was it that the past grudges were too strong to get in the way of their future?
A shadow suddenly fell upon the brooding nation. Germany looked up in confusion from where he'd been attempting to calculate his revenue from his rough graphs of the import tax on Korean automobiles, all the while trying to ignore the high decibel background noises. He blinked as he took in the wheat-golden hair and blue eyes and the blindingly white teeth, and he nodded in acknowledgement.
"America," he grunted. He received a bright smile in response.
"Dude," the other nation said, plopping into a seat besides him where England had been before he abandoned his chair entirely to go strangle France. "You're looking a bit strained today. Something wrong?"
Germany huffed. Something wrong? Of course there was something wrong.
"Are you serious?" he asked back. He swept his arm over the expanse of the conference hall, prompting the American to look around as well. The room was in absolute chaos. Nobody in this room was even trying to settle down, let alone speak like civilized beings they were supposed to be, and there was nothing that was going on that was going on right. Even though they've all had these conferences before, the only things that they managed to do was to get on each others' nerves, and although Germany had tried time and time again to make sure that these conferences moved along according to his strict schedule and tight agendas, whenever the next meeting rolled around he always found them back at square one.
America apparently didn't share his views. "Well, it is a little rowdier than normal," he said. "But that just means that the old gits are alive and healthy."
Germany stole a sideways glance at the North American nation, as Poland pounced on Lithuania in the corner of his eye. The American had pushed aside all of England's paperwork to the empty seat where France had been and had pulled out his phone instead. Germany grumbled.
"Like you're doing any better. I told you before America, no games during conferences."
"Let's face it Germany, we're not getting anything done today. I might as well do something that I count as productive."
And with that, the American had turned on his game with little hesitation in his actions. Germany felt his anger bubble within his throat.
"Why on earth," he growled, his German accent starting to cover his English like a blanket. "Did you decide to sit next to me if you're not going to work?"
"Because you looked like you needed to talk," said America, his eyes still focused on his latest solved chapter of Monument Valley 2. "To be completely honest, you look like you could use some outlet right about now, especially with that vein popping out on your forehead. Talk to me, won't ya?"
Germany felt his forehead with the tips of his fingers and found to his annoyance, that America was right. He sighed heavily, before leaning forwards and placing his head in his hands. He attempted to calm himself down before putting his words together.
"I just don't understand," said Germany. "They're hundreds of years old, some of them at their thousands, and yet they still bicker like children when it comes to these meetings. We thought these meetings were supposed to be helpful in improving our international relationships, but they have proved again and again to be the exact opposite. It frustrates me because nobody seems to be putting even the tiniest bit of effort to actually work on the problems we actually face, and instead they all decide to focus on their grudges from the past."
America looked up from his game at his rant. He took a long look at the German, and as Germany turned his head to look at America, their eyes met, the icy glacier striking tall against the blue sky.
"Why must they act this way? Why do they refuse to cooperate?"
"Think of it this way," said America. "You know what would happen if we didn't have these meetings?"
"We'd still get nothing done, but we'd go without a waste of time. Perhaps that'd be a better option?"
"No, no," laughed America. He put his phone back into his pocket. "We'd all be at war at each other because there'd be nowhere to vent our frustrations to, and that'd pile up so much that we'd get another world war."
Germany frowned. "That is a very extreme way of thinking, America."
"But true," America said as he patted Germany on the back. "Remember in the past when we didn't have these meetings? We weren't cooperating with each other, we were only working with other nations who only wanted to be in for their own benefits. They were always looking for a sign to catch each other off guard as soon as they showed any signs of weaknesses. That's why we had wars, don't you think?"
"You, out of all nations, should know that that's not why wars start, America. Not after the Cold War."
"Yeah, well," the American rubbed the back of his head with a sheepish look on his face. "Let's not talk about that. But at least, you know, we vent our frustrations on a normal basis instead of once every couple of decades, and I like to think that it helps."
Germany sighed. America seemed to be stubbornly set on the mind that these meetings were actually doing more good for them than harm, a sentiment that Germany would sometimes agree with, but also felt that was overshot. Yes, releasing stress was important for the mental health, but wasn't Germany himself gaining more stress by just being here, listening to these idiots fight over and over again on the same topics? Didn't America realize this?
Apparently not. Germany had to remind himself that for whatever superpower America was, the nation simply lacked the ability to read the atmosphere and was often one of the nations that bickered and fought like children. Obliviousness was one of the superpower's traits that the German nation often found exhausting. How the other nation even made it to the pinnacle of strength was a mystery that would be best left for the historians of their future to surmise. As of current, Germany simply had no clue.
A thick stack of paper held in a plastic binding flew over their heads in a thick bundle across the room and smacked Austria in the face. His glasses clattered to the floor and Austria sputtered, before going red and picking them up. Hungary stood up with her skillet in hand, one sole of her foot grinding against the conference table as she searched the crowd of nations for the accused.
France turned and attempted to flee for his life. He circled the table, looking anxiously at the door that led away from the murderous nation, and Germany distinctively heard the Frenchman count to three under his breath.
"Un…"
The Hungarian nation tensed, looking around the room for any sweaty-faced guilty looking party. Her eyes narrowed as Spain merely laughed at his neighbor's plight. England was pointing a finger at France, wiping tears from his caterpillar-browed eyes with his free hand. Hungary's hair frazzled wild with anger as she turned on the French nation angrily, her brows knitted together so closely that they resembled one large, long set of lines on her forehead.
"Deux…"
France gulped. He came around the end of the table, edging towards the door as Hungary rounded on him, jumping up on the table with her combat boots crinkling the well-printed paper beneath. Switzerland let out a yell of protest as his speech was trampled, but Hungary paid no mind.
"Trois!"
And at that moment, the German nation knew the true meaning of chaos.
Hungary pounced with all the power of a deadly panther and France dived for cover – behind Germany, of all places. The German nation watched as if in slow motion as the frying pan descended upon his head and braced himself with his eyes snapping shut as he readied himself for the impact and a possible concussion. It would hurt, but he was immortal and was a nation; he'd walk it off and be fine within the next week or so without any real consequences. Nevertheless, that didn't necessarily mean that he enjoyed the pain when he wasn't expecting it.
He waited for the hit, but strangely, it would never come to him.
A loud, horrible screech filled the room. Germany heard France gasp somewhere behind and below him, and he cracked open an eye to see what was going on.
America stood besides him, his arms outstretched over the German's head. There was something that he was holding in his grip, and Germany slowly blinked. Whatever it was, it was small, black, and was apparently something that could be scrunched into a strange shape by human hands… And apparently had a handle, seeing as Hungary was holding the said appendix as her grip on the thing as her hands shook from what appeared to be the impact that occurred between the thing and America's hands.
"Mein Gott," he whispered in shocked revelation as it finally dawned upon him what the object was.
It was Hungary's skillet. The large flat bowl at the end of the metal handle was now only a little more than a simple black funnel, folded in half and was completely pulled together until it was no more than a small ball attached to a metal stick. Hungary's hands were shaking, not because of what Germany had originally thought to be from the impact, but because America was simply refusing to let go.
The American blinked for a moment, and his face immediately changed from being blank to horror-stricken in mere seconds
"Oh god," America gasped. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know what I was thinking, Hungary! I'm sorry about your pan, maybe I can get you a new one? I'm really sorry, really, really sorry, I really am – "
"Germany!" Italy Veneziano wailed as he threw himself onto his larger friend, cutting off any hopes of listening to America ramble on. Germany was very nearly knocked out of his chair, but he braced his feet and held out his arms for the Italian to fall into. "Are you all right?" the Italian man worried.
"Y – yes," Germany stammered. His eardrums ached with the sheer volume of the Italian's despair, but he held himself steady and patted his friend on the back instead. "I'm alright."
"Oh man," the American next to him continued to apologize in distress, and Germany peered over the head of his Italian friend to see his blue eyes wide open with guilt flashing through sporadically. "Are you angry? I'm sorry about your frying pan, Hungary, I really am, but I just couldn't see Germany getting hit when he hasn't done anything, and I really just wanted to catch it before you bashed his head in – I'm really, really sorry, I didn't mean to break it!"
The Hungarian nation looked taken aback at the stream of continued words and held a look of blank surprise on her face before it melted into a smile. She put down the destroyed pan and hopped off the table next to the American and patted the young nation on the head, the unruly curl folding itself under her slender fingers as his hair was tussled. America's eyes grew wide.
"It's okay," Hungary said. "You only did it to protect Germany, I can always get a new pan. Although it wouldn't make a difference to me if you buy me one too!"
She laughed as her hand roughened the younger nation's hair one last time. Germany thought it to be wise to not mention that none of this incident wouldn't have needed to happen if they had all just calmed down and cooperate with each other in the first place, but he didn't say another word. With or without the frying pan, Hungary was still a force to be reckoned with if provoked. He let go of Veneziano and picked up the destroyed pan that Hungary left on the table instead and observed it with curious interest. The metal had been bent to the exact shape of America's fingers, and it was almost tightened to the point where it almost resembled a mace than a flat surface.
"I'll buy you another one, I promise," the American sighed. "You're really not angry at me?"
"Why should I be? You wouldn't have needed to do that if France hadn't been fighting with England in the first place!" The Hungarian nation smiled sincerely, but then shot a deadly glare at the French nation that still hovered behind them. Germany watched as America's worried face melted into an almost babyish smile.
"Thank you," Germany spoke up, and only then did America turn back towards him. "Although you really needn't have. I could have taken it."
A statement that was common among their kind. They were strong, they were resilient, and as long as their government functioned, and their people believed. A bullet through their heads would only incapacitate them for a few hours at the very least and would leave them healthy enough to pick themselves up from whatever mess they were in to go on their merry ways.
So why would America bother?
"'S no problem," he said, and the sky-blue eyes shone with all the dazzle of a thousand suns. "I'd do it again if I had to! I mean, it's a hero's job not to let others get hurt, right?"
Heroics. Of course. Germany should have known. The American was constantly obsessed with his comic books and hero movies, it was no surprise that he'd do whatever he thought was to be a heroic act. It was what came out of his mouth once every ten minutes when he was trying to make a point in the conference, and his love for them was no secret to anyone.
His strength, though... Germany narrowed his eyes. There was something wrong with his strength. Of course, as a nation, they were all stronger than the average human, but it was barely enough to make a difference. America was an anomaly, in Germany's mind. Germany had previously heard about how strong America was, but this was perhaps the first time that he had witnessed it with his own eyes. He'd never seen anyone bend a frying pan with that much ease in his life before.
Was America something completely different? The German nation frowned. He'd have to watch America closely, and take note of his strength. While he was sure that he wouldn't be against America should another war arise, there wouldn't be any harm in knowing America's true limits, were there?
And so started Germany's meticulous task of watching and observing America from across the conference halls. He'd watch. He'd take note.
He'd learn.
