It all began on Russia's birthday; indescribable, unmatched terrors that could give the toughest of sailors nightmares for weeks to come. Well, maybe I'm over-exaggerating just slightly… but that'll be for you to decide, won't it? This account of Spain and America's Adventures in Russia's House will give you a whole new outlook on your view of the Russian, only with a twist: this story takes place long ago when the countries' physical appearances just passed that of sixteen years old.

With few clouds in the sky to block the sun's heat, the Spaniard was surprised to find that the air outside was quite chilly. After rubbing at his arms for a moment to maintain his body's warmth, he lifted a hand to wave a 'thank you' to the Russian chauffeur that had picked him up from the airport. Without any sign of acknowledgment the chauffeur adjusted his hat and drove off, undoubtedly to pick up a certain female Hungarian from a neighboring train station.

Picking up his luggage Spain advanced towards Russia's house, slightly intimidated by the large shadow it cast over him. Vast rows of windows gleamed down at him, seeming to silently challenge his presence. Massive double-doors were guarded by two marble statues carved to represent Siberian tigers. Taking a breath, Spain raised a fist to rap his knuckles on the thick oak door. Knock, knock, knock, knock!

The sound seemed to reverberate even outside of the house, a heavy silence falling on the lot. As Spain was about to knock again, the doors clicked and parted just enough to reveal a casually dressed Russia. "Hello, comrade! Glad you could make it." The door opened further to reveal Belarus, clinging onto Russia's scarf and glaring up at Spain. "Please, come in."

Smiling at the young girl, the Spanish teen refocused his attention on the Russian in front of him. "Hola [hi], glad you invited me!" He replied as he stepped into the residence. Briefly examining his surroundings of tiled floors and beige walls, he kicked off his shoes and pushed them aside with a socked foot.

Russia watched him with a patient lilac gaze before speaking. "Come, this way; I will show you to your room."

Readjusting his grip on the luggage, Spain hummed approval and set after the siblings. He followed them down the corridor and through an extensive hallway before Russia halted in front of a door. A large painting of the Kremlin on the far wall caught Spain's attention as Russia spoke. "You will be staying here. Make yourself at home."

"Gracias [thank you]! But where do I put your presents?" Spain held up the gift bag he'd been clutching in his right hand.

"Just leave it in your room. We have many fun things to do before gifts." Russia dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. "After settling, meet me in my living room, da [yes]?"

Spain nodded gratefully and entered the room. As the Russian pair walked away the teen shut the door and studied his surroundings. It was akin to a hotel room with its few decorations, simple white wallpaper and bed adorned in cream-colored sheets. Walking over to the mattress, he placed his bags beside the bed.

With his hands on his hips, Spain inhaled contentedly. He set to work exploring his room, searching through drawers and picking up various photo frames. After he finished examining its contents he set out to meet Russia in his living room when realization dawned on him: he had no idea where exactly that was.

Stepping out of the doorway he furrowed his brows, staring down both directions of the hall. "Ay, ahora qué hago [what do I do now?]?" Deciding against calling out for Russia's help, he clenched his fists determinedly. "I'll find my own way back."

After a moment of thinking, Spain turned to walk the way he had come. His uneasiness vanished at the sight of the corridor ahead and his pace slightly quickened. Before he knew it he had returned to the front doors, though a new problem surfaced. Where is the living room from here? This time he had no clues to help him. That's when he heard an abrupt cry quickly followed by a metallic clattering.

He promptly followed the direction the sound had come from, swerving around a corner and through a large archway. "Oh, Ukraine! Estas bien [are you okay]? "

Crouching by an overturned pan of brown batter was Ukraine. Confusion momentarily crossed the woman's face at the words before she seemed to have concluded that Spain had asked if she was alright.

"Oh, pryvit [hello], Spain! Yes, I'm alright, but my poor Medovik cake is… is… is ruined!" She cried, "I worked so hard on it but now I have to start all over again!" With a pout, her gaze remained on the unfinished cake splattered across the floor.

Quickly grabbing paper towels and joining her by the mess, Spain began to help clean it up. "Don't worry, Ukraine! You can always make another one," He attempted to console the other. "I'm sure it'd taste just as good!"

She shook her head fervently with watery eyes. "But it'll take me hours to make another!" With another distressed whimper Ukraine grabbed the pan and stood up (wobbling slightly due to her "large assets"), Spain joining her. "And I just ran out of flour…"

"The others still haven't arrived, so you have plenty of time to bake a second Medo… M-Mediv… cake!" Spain flashed a sheepish grin before throwing away the towels.

Ukraine smiled and thanked Spain for his help. As she set to work baking once more, Spain remembered to ask where the living room was.

Walk past the first two doors, turn left and head straight. Mentally repeating the directions, the Spaniard found himself in the foreroom of Russia's house. Russia's back was to Spain as he placed a bowl of chips on a table that sat next to a sliding glass door. He vaguely took a note of the patio and lake it overlooked.

Spain's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Belarus, you like to play the Wii?"

She gave a sharp nod, her gaze not leaving the television. He moved to stand by the Belarusian, looking between the dancing game she played and the way she played it. "Heh… I don't think you're doing it right."

Belarus glared at him before shoving the controls into his hands, curtly taking a step to the side to grab another controller. She chose another song, shooting a challenging look to Spain. The teen replied with a small smile of acknowledgment as the song started.

One round soon became two and it was as the duo was finishing their sixth round that Hungary walked into the room, a large bag draped over her shoulder. "I didn't arrive too early, did I?"

A/N from America: Ayooo! Hazel/'Murica, here! And chapter one is a-go! We forever get the glory of having this chapter first uploaded on this most wonderful of days- Ahem. c: Soooo, what did you think of this, Spain?

A/N from Spain: LHPride here! Uhh, (LAUGHSANDFACEPALMSOHO-) REALLY? (LAUGHS SOME MORE) STOP TYPING WHAT I'M DOING. "SLAPS AMERICA" (SHE SAYS). NO. NOT WHAT I MEANT. REALLY? (SHAKES HEAD AT ME AND TAKES KEYBOARD-
) You know what I'll type my own stuff now gracias xl It was fine but right now I'm tired as f*** DX

A/N from America: I WONDER WHY. IT'S ONLY ONE IN THE MORNING. I keed, I keed. Well, not about the time, but about my caps-raging sarcasm. c: I really hope that this first chapter hooks some epic readers, we're fueled on reviews, you know! Speaking of which, that 'review' button just below is looking mighty fine from here, Spain... Mighty fine indeed... And no, I am not on drugs. :D Maybe. I would say "high off of life".

A/N from Spain: Que? What are you? a spokesman? XD (America plays random song) ((Yooo this is Einsamkeit, how do you NOT know what this is it's so pretty andnottomentionsadksdjfasldfasdf-)) I have NEVER heard of this song... TTwTT ((/sOB)) STOP TALKING IN MY AUTHORS NOTE IDIOTA! XD

A/N from America: WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME IDIOTA? NOW I'M EEEEEINSAAMKEEEEEIT- /sHOTFORWEABOO-ISHNESS((BYSPAINMORELIKE)). Well, that's about it on my half, aside from asking for your support, readers. c: Anything from you, Spain?

A/N from Spain: Nothing much! X3 just hope you guys will keep on reading~ :D So good-whatevertimeperiodyourin :3

A/N from America: Toodles! :DD

A:N