wait what you guys actually liked the first chapter?

there's still time for disappointment yet. It'll happen eventually, my friends.

In this chapter: magic portals and more explanations. Goody.

PS don't translate any of that Latin ok

Romano didn't think it was a big deal that he had never been in England's house, because when in his existence did he ever need to go there? He only went to people's houses either when he was comfortable around them or when they had good food. He was still a bit frightened of the British bastard, and his food definitely wasn't worth the travel. So he thought nothing when he walked into the large home, as it had normal furniture, and was honestly a little dull. Of course, various teacups were scattered throughout the place, but that was expected. The freak practically bathed in the stuff.

However, his careless mood changed rapidly as they went into the basement, and there he saw the proof behind some nations calling England insane. All around the room were cauldrons and heavy books and...was that...a pentagram painted on the floor? Oh god, this was a mistake.

The Italian scurried behind Germany, because if they were going to die in this room, he wanted the potato bastard to be the first to go. "What the fuck? What is all of this bullshit?"

England looked offended by Romano's horror. "It's obviously for magical purposes, Romano! You act like you've never been in a spell caster's house before!"

"Because I haven't? Holy shit!"

Russia wandered over to a cabinet, peering at a jar of some kind of squishy, red substance. "Looks normal to me." It wasn't obvious to anyone in the room that he was joking, so the nations just looked at him warily.

"Anyway, we aren't staying here for long. I just need to get the spell that allows us into the alternate world. Then as long as we have a mirror, we can go and collect Spain, and end this silly problem. It's easy." The Englishman picked up a large, dusty book from a pile on the floor, blowing on the cover and peering at the title. "Ah, here we are. Adnotabant seniores asinus incantamenta."

"What kind of spooky wizard language is that supposed to be?" America asked, slurping loudly through a straw. Where had he even gotten soda? Americans should have been prohibited, in Romano's opinion.

"Latin," replied the Englishman with a scoff, opening the book and coughing as dust hit his face. "It's been too long...I should really organize these better..." he mumbled to himself, flipping the pages to the book. "Let's see...transportation portals...intergalactic portals...ah!" He perked up, beaming at the bemused nations. "Here we are, reflection portals! Come on now, follow me." He turned around, walking further into the strange basement, and the group scurried along. England presented them with a large, lavish mirror, multiple designs along the frame.

"Is this what we will be...traveling through?" France inquired hesitantly, with a small frown.

"Yes. Hopefully, if that git didn't give the mirror to someone else, we will arrive at my counterpart's home. Although he's a moron, he'll be able to help. I think." He looked down at the book, biting his lip as he pressed a palm to the cool, hard surface. "Silence, please. I don't want any disturbances."

Obediently, the nations kept quiet, looking from the mirror to England. They weren't sure whether to feel afraid, confused, or doubtful. The British nation cleared his throat, before proclaiming loudly,

"Tolle de nobis

Accipe nunc nobis

Speculum, speculum,

Da mihi quod meum est!"

For a moment, there was nothing. The countries stared, unsure whether to call out England's false spell. America opened his mouth to do so, but stopped when the British nation's arm disappeared through the mirror, making them all jump. Veneziano let out a little scream, holding onto Germany tightly.

"It worked..." Japan murmured, his usual calm expression replaced with one of shock. England looked just as surprised as he, and he experimentally slid his other arm into the mirror, which also went in as if the surface was nonexistent. He let out a small sigh of relief. He glanced at the stunned nations, a smug smile forming.

Before he could boast about his magical abilities, he was suddenly yanked into the portal, his figure disappearing in an instant. Each nation screamed this time, stepping away from the object fearfully.

All except for America. He took a deep breath, before running after his ex-big brother, ignoring the urging of his friends to come back. He was gone as well, a small yelp escaping his lips before he dashed in.

One by one, each of the other nations entered as well. None knew if they would ever even return from the trip, but they couldn't just leave two of the most powerful countries in another dimension. Romano was the last one to go, and he had his doubts. What if they couldn't come back? What if they were somehow slaughtered by their counterparts within seconds? He gazed at the exit to the basement, wanting to just go home and sleep some more.

But what about Spain? He couldn't just let the idiot down again. What if he was hurt somewhere, tortured by some psychotic person? Romano wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to the man who raised him. So balling his fists tightly, eyes screwed shut, he charged into his own reflection.

He felt a sudden, cooling sensation, and opened his eyes wide. It was dark and silent, the Southern Italian couldn't hear a thing. Before he could cry out for England or Veneziano or somebody, something hard hit the back of his head, making him fall. He wanted to scream, but whatever it was kept hitting and hitting until he felt consciousness slip away.

Spain decided that maybe being kidnapped wasn't so awful. Sure, he was worried about how the nations he knew were reacting to this, but it was only for a day. What was the harm? Besides, Flavio was really a sweet person. Yes, his vivid descriptions about how much he loathed Romano made the Spanish nation feel a bit uncomfortable, but other than that, he was very nice. As the hours passed, the two of them curled up on Flavio's huge, bright pink bed and just talked. He told the Italian about his fears, his desires, and everything in between. Amazingly, the blond listened intently to these things, which Spain was happy to see. It felt nice to have another person be interested in his life for once.

"...and sometimes, he blames me for his mistakes!" Spain ranted on, his usual bright smile replaced with an irritated frown. Flavio nodded, eyes never straying from his companion's face. They were laying close on the bed, legs tangled carelessly and chests touching. Somehow, neither were bothered with the intimacy of this position. "I love him, I really do, but he's a handful. I just wish it wouldn't be so hard to figure out if he cares about me. Romano is strange with his feelings...he doesn't show them when they are truly pleasant..."

"Poor Spain," simpered Flavio, stroking the other's cheek. "All the work you do, and that's how he treats you? Awful. He's ungrateful."

Spain opened his mouth to agree, then quickly shut it. Had he really thought, for a moment, that this Italian was correct about his own? "I know you wouldn't tell from my complaints, but Romano is sweet when he wants to be. Like...he made dinner for me last week." Even the eternally cheerful Spaniard thought this was a pretty lame example. Plus, it was only half true. Romano had prepared the pasta, and Spain had done everything else.

"I see! Wasn't that so nice of him? I was wrong, preparing dinner definitely makes up for everything." Flavio rolled his eyes, then smiled expectantly at the nation. "Tell me more."

It was always strange to hear Flavio speak about Romano with such venom. Spain knew he disliked his counterpart because of how cruel he could be, but it seemed like Flavio downright despised his parallel self. "I've talked enough. Let's talk about you! Like, what's your version of me like?"

Clearly, the Italian was not prepared for this question. His mouth dropped a bit, before he quickly composed himself. "My Spain? You want to hear about Santiago?"

"Is that his name? Well, if you're willing to talk about it. You don't have to." He offered a warm smile, one that made the blond want to lean in and kiss him until he was breathless. However, he needed to save that for later.

"He's...very different from you," began Flavio slowly, his eyes losing their mischievous spark. "He's not as passionate as you are. In fact, I'd even call him lifeless. The only things he cares about are money and power. He has no heart, really..."

This startled Spain, as his nation was normally known for its passion. "But he raised you, sí?"

Flavio nodded. "He was my idol when I was a kid. I used to think I could break him down. Make him a better person, you know? But no matter how hard I tried...he could never smile, or laugh, or cry, or anything. He was an empty shell. He would just tell me what to do and if I disobeyed he'd..." The Italian shook his head vigorously, eyes shut. "I'm not sure how you fall in love with someone so blank and cold, but I did. I loved him so much. I did everything for him, whether it was lying, cheating, or stealing. Finally, one day, I told him that I loved him and he said..." He let out a tearful, broken laugh. "He said 'so?' Isn't that a hilarious response to a love confession? I laughed and laughed until I was crying, it was just so funny!"

He stopped, catching his breath. When he glanced back at Spain, he noticed how frightened the nation looked at this outburst. Flavio smiled, ignoring the tears that were sliding down his cheeks. "But it's okay. Because I'm in love with you now. Even if you don't love me back...you're still so much better than him. You didn't laugh at me when I told you. You'd never treat me like that."

"You know nothing about me," Spain blurted out, before he could stop himself. The way that Flavio said these things made his gut twist unpleasantly for some reason. "I could be as bad as him..."

The Italian chuckled, placing a hand on Spain's cheek and pulling him closer. "I've already told you, I know everything there is to know about you. What you like and dislike, your history, and even your language. I prefer Italian, obviously, but yours is beautiful." He shut his eyes once again, leaning in closer. "Everything about you is beautiful..."

When their lips touched, Spain jerked back, falling off the bed and onto the floor. He laid there for a moment, before getting onto his feet and dashing to the door. He needed to leave. He wasn't quite sure why hearing those things terrified him, but they did. He didn't feel safe here. However, when Spain turned the doorknob, he couldn't open it. Locked with no locks or keyholes anywhere. Cold realization hit him. Flavio had locked the door from the outside, so neither of them could get out...

Before he could try any other methods to escape, he felt a sharp prick in his neck, identical to the one he felt before the Italian had pulled him into the mirror before. Immediately, he felt himself growing weak, his legs giving out. He looked up at Flavio sluggishly, only to see the blond holding a syringe, a disappointed look on his face. It was similar to one a mother wore when her child did something wrong.

"I thought I was being fair when I offered to let you go tomorrow, Spain," he said sadly, shaking his head, "but I guess not." With surprising ease, he pulled Spain back to the bed, propping him up against the headboard. Somehow, the Spaniard could not move any of his limbs. He didn't feel sleepy though, so Flavio must have injected something different into him than last time.

The Italian turned to fetch something, and Spain could only look forward, too weak to even move his head. When Flavio returned, he held in his hands the same black mug Spain had drank from before, with a straw this time. His captor placed the end of the straw into Spain's mouth, and the Spaniard took a small sip. His eyes widened when he tasted the liquid within. It was the same delectable drink from before.

As the Spanish nation sipped eagerly, Flavio sat on his lap, frowning. "I'm sorry I had to be so...cruel with my actions. It's just that you pulled away from me after I told you all of those personal things...I didn't jump back when you kept telling me about Romano. I was hurt, Spain, and..." Tears began to form in his pretty, pink eyes. "I thought you were...disgusted by me or something. But it's okay. A lot of people are. Even my own brother can't stand me." He looked down, as if he was ashamed by this.

Spain felt awful right away, letting the straw slip from his mouth. He raised his arm, feeling as though it weighed a ton, and gradually taking the Italian's hand, his grip weak. "I should be the one apologizing. I overreacted, and I shouldn't have pushed you away like that. You don't disgust me at all, Flavio, really. I like you." He smiled hopefully at the blond. "Forgive me?"

Flavio's frown was quickly replaced with a satisfied smile, and he nodded. "I forgive you, caro. Don't scare me like that again, okay?" He leaned in and kissed the Spaniard again, their lips melding together perfectly. Spain did his best to return it, eyes fluttering shut.

For a moment, he forgot about Romano entirely. All he could think of was those hauntingly beautiful, fuchsia eyes...

Romano woke up next to his brother, who had somehow ended up in Germany's arms, much to his disgust. Immediately, he smacked Veneziano on his head, causing him to cry out and sit up.

"Fratello? Where are we...?" his brother asked, looking around. Romano wasn't sure himself, but it seemed like they were in England's basement...except all of the magic trinkets were gone. The room was completely empty, aside from the mirror they had traveled through and the nations, who were all sprawled out on the floor. The one nation that was missing was the bushy eyebrowed creep himself.

The Italian hissed, the back of his head aching. When he reached back to feel the wound, his hand returned with blood. Perfect. "I'm going to beat the shit out of that British fucker, wherever he is." He got to his feet, wobbling slightly, and stormed up the steps, ignoring his brother's cries to get back. He opened the door, walking to where he heard the asshole's voice, which happened to be the kitchen. "Okay, idiota, why were we-"

He stopped dead in his tracks at what he saw next. There was England, sitting at the kitchen table and looking vaguely nauseated. But that didn't catch his interest. What did were the two sitting across from him.

One was uncannily similar to England, except his hair was a cotton candy shade, and his eyes were swirls of blue and pink. His outfit matched his outrageous features, with a soft salmon dress shirt and a purple vest, completed with a bright turquoise bow tie. His cheeks were decorated with a splash of freckles, and the grin on his face was much too large to be comforting. "Ah, this must be your Romano! Just in time for cupcakes, poppet!" he chirruped, his smile growing even bigger, if that was possible.

The person next to him was a sharp contrast. His hair was a dark brown and his skin was only a few shades lighter. When he tipped his black sunglasses down a bit, Romano could see his unnaturally red eyes glaring out at him. He was scowling, and the Italian noticed the gap in between his front teeth, a fatal flaw in his somewhat attractive appearance. Resting on his shoulder was a wooden baseball bat, rusty nails sticking out from various parts on the top. "He just interrupted you, and you wanna offer him cupcakes?" he asked incredulously, his sharp Brooklyn accent startling the nation even more.

Romano looked at England, his eyes bulging. "Who the fuck are these people?" he demanded, stepping toward him hesitantly. He was the lesser of the evils, after all, even if he was still an asshole.

"Language," chided the pink-haired Englishman. "I do apologize, how rude of me not to introduce us. I'm Oliver, the better half of this one here." He pointed at England, giggling. He nudged the brunet sitting next to him playfully. "This is Allen, who you may know as America. Say hello, Allen."

Allen looked at Romano, his scowl only deepening. "Hey." He glowered at Oliver. "So, am I allowed to beat these half-ass nations to a pulp or what? They shouldn't even be here, you know? Fucking copycats." It was almost amazing how different this America was to the bubbly, idiotic one that was still in the basement.

Oliver shook his head, standing up and walking to the stove. He picked up a large magenta plate sitting on top of it. "Of course not. You already knocked them out, it would be so barbaric to keep doing it over and over again. Besides, I actually would like to help with their little problem!" He skipped back to the table, putting the plate down. "But first, cupcakes anyone?"

England immediately took one of the treats, unusually quiet. Romano followed his action, peering at the peculiar red dessert. Allen shook his head. "You know I can't eat that shit, Ollie," he grumbled. "Don't you got anything vegan?"

"Not today, darling. Maybe next time," sang Oliver, beaming at the two other nations. "Now, about your predicament. I want to help you find your Spain. However, he may be a little hard to track down..."

"Wait," Romano interrupted, putting the cupcake down, "shouldn't we just go to the parallel Spain's house? I mean, if England's mirror took us to the same place, wouldn't that mean-"

"The thing is, Romano," England began, looking down at the sweet in distaste, "we really can't say for certain that the culprit is the parallel Spain. You see, the mirrors of this world are connected. If, say, China had one, and his other self had the same mirror, that means they could travel through them and end up at the same place. However, if China was given the mirror by Russia, he would end up at the parallel Russia's home." He paused. "Does that make sense?"

Not at all, but they were wasting time. "Sure. But how do we find Spain then?" he inquired, nibbling the white frosting of the treat he was given. Surprisingly, it was delicious. At least this England could bake.

Oliver decided to explain this time. "That's the thing. We need to figure out if your Spain was given the mirror he was pulled through by another nation, or if Santiago gave away his mirror. Now, there is the chance that Santiago performed the deed himself but..." He chuckled. "I doubt that. That would require him to do work, which he wants no part of."

The Italian felt like his head was beginning to hurt from all of this information. "It was a bathroom mirror he was pulled through..." he said, trying to add something helpful into the conversation.

Allen snorted, resting his boot-clad feet on the table. "Doesn't matter, moron. From the way your Brit described the one he was pulled into, it could have been any mirror, not just a bathroom one."

Romano felt his face grow hot at this insult. "Who are you calling a moron, bastardo?"

"Shush!" England snapped, rubbing his temples. "Romano, please. We need to cooperate with these two, otherwise Spain is doomed. We don't have much time, so we have to act quickly!"

"What do you mean we don't have much time?" demanded Romano, eyebrows knitting in confusion.

"I didn't want to tell you this until later, but there's no point in waiting. The days we have with this universe are limited, to only two days. It began on midnight last night. Today is Sunday. If we don't get back to our dimension by Tuesday, at exactly 11:59 P.M., we will be stuck here for the next hundred years," he reported grimly.

Romano was frightened, how could he not be? The thought of staying with these insane nations was not desirable, even if he was with Spain. "Wouldn't the time differences fuck that rule up?"

England held up his watch, which was an hour ahead of the clock above him. "Whoever casted the spell first already made a set time for us. When this reads 11:59, that's when the portal closes. It won't matter if we're in a different time zone," he explained slowly, as if this was common knowledge and Romano's intelligence identical to a child's.

"God damn it. We better get him back now, then. Let's stop wasting time on fucking cupcakes." Romano slammed the dessert onto the table, smashing it immediately. The gooey insides made him feel sick.

"Once again, I must request that you don't swear," Oliver sang, and Allen gave a tight nod in agreement. "But I suppose it is time to go. We'll start with Santiago, seeing as he is our only suspect."

Romano stood, his expression fearful and determined. Sure, this would be dangerous. Not to mention very risky. The consequences for this mission were huge, they could be stuck with these psychopaths.

But he cared too much about Spain to let him stay here. When he got his hands on that tomato idiot, he was going to smack the shit out of him for scaring the Italian, before kissing him hard.

Even if they had to stay here for a hundred years, it wouldn't be so bad if he was stuck here with Spain.

Man I didn't like this chapter. I don't know, I guess you guys are the judges.

Also I hope the rules for the mirror portals make some kind of sense. I could always go deeper if you want idec.

I might do a big flashback chapter for Flavio, because I've made myself interested in his story. Thoughts?

Give me some feedback I'm so thirsty.