Very slowly, Germany closed the fridge and turned to face the intruders.

"And what the hell are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Ain't it obvious?" America asked as he got up from his chair. "We wanted to talk to you!"

"Has your table always had a pair of large dents in it?" asked England. "Or are they a fairly recent addition?"

"Ja," Germany said weakly, "they're new- look, why are you here? And how did you enter my house in the first place? Did Prussia let you in? Is this his ridiculous idea of a joke?"

"Are you saying I'm a joke?" England demanded angrily.

"Dude, didn't I just say we wanted to talk?" asked America. "C'mon, chillax for a minute!"

"There is nothing I would like more than to be able to, as you say, 'chillax'," said Germany, "but I would prefer it if you were to keep the noise to a minimum because Italy and mein bruder are upstairs and I do not want them to come down!"

"Alright, alright!" America said. "Jeez, you're such a killjoy!"

"My apologies," Germany said as he sat down at his table, "I do not intend to kill your joy, but would you mind telling me what exactly you came here to talk to me about?"

"Nothing much," said England. "It's just something that's been nagging at me since earlier today-"

"And I helped him get into this place!" America piped up.

Germany's face remained flat as he ignored the idiot's remark. He patiently waited for England to continue.

"It's only minor, like I said," the thick-eyebrowed man explained, "but when you were threatening Romano, you said that you wouldn't need a knife to kill him. Also, he said that you were a freak. What I'm wondering is-"

"What'd he mean?"

"I was just about to say that, you stupid Yank."

Germany decided not to incriminate himself by replying. He knew that this was bound to happen sooner or later – it wasn't exactly something he could keep a secret for the rest of his life. Secretly, he was pleased to have finally been exposed.

He held up his arm and concentrated.

"Dude, what're you doing?" asked America. "What's with your- WHAT?!"

"Bloody hell!"

Both the other nations leapt backwards (America went so far as to fall off his chair and sprawl untidily over the floor while England just stood bolt upright) at the sight of Germany's lower arm as it transformed into its weapon form in a wash of deep orange light.

For a few moments, nothing moved.

England leant in for a closer look.

"Wow," he breathed. "That's pretty impressive."

"Impressive?" cried America as he ecstatically leapt to his feet. "Dude, it's completely and totally awesome! Germany's a weapon now, how cool is that?! And what is that? It's a- it's kinda old fashioned, but shit if it ain't the most awesome thing I've ever seen in my whole entire life!"

"Germany," said England, "exactly how long have you known about this?"

"Around seven months," Germany confessed as he returned his arm to normal. "Give or take a week."

"What?" said America. "And you didn't think to tell anyone before now?"

"I did," Germany revealed. "I told Italy and he promised that he would keep it a secret. I suppose it's a miracle that he actually succeeded, and nobody else has found out since then."

"You didn't even tell Prussia?" America asked. "Man, he is gonna be pissed."

"Only if he finds out," Germany pointed out. "Are either of you going to tell him?"

His question was met only with nervous silence.

"Very well," said England, "I promise I shall not tell a soul about this. Your secret is safe with me, Germany."

He shot a glare at America.

"I will make no such promises," the bespectacled man declared.

"Suit yourself," said Germany as he stood up. "If you two do not mind, I would like to go to bed as I have had a rather challenging day today. I would also prefer it if you were to leave my house as soon as possible because I don't want the place to stink of tea and hamburgers."

"HOW DARE YOU INSINUATE SUCH I THING YOU KNOW WHAT YOU SAUSAGEY BEER-DRINKING BASTARDING SODDING KRAUT I OUGHT TO WRITE UP A BRAND NEW TREATY OF VERSAILLE JUST FOR THAT BLOODY STUPID REMARK AND I WOULD SHOVE IT ALL THE WAY UP YOUR STUPID BLOODY ARSE AND-"

"Again," America said as he picked up the screaming England, "awesome. Check you later, German-dude."

"Guten nacht."

"-AND AFTER THAT I'LL FORCE YOU TO WATCH ALL OF MY SCIENCE FICTION TELEVISION PROGRAMS FROM BEGINNING TO END AND MAKE YOU EAT MY CURRY PIZZA WITH A SIDE ORDER OF BACON AND EGGS-"

Germany waited until he heard the front door open and close. Once he was satisfied that the two intruders had left his house, he finished his drink, washed the glass, dried it and put it away. Even at this time of night, he couldn't afford let his home be untidy.

At least he wasn't as bad as the young reaper.

He allowed himself a small smile. It was good to know that Kid was still looking out for Italy after all this time. He was definitely a better big brother than Romano could ever hope to be.

He started to head upstairs. Italy would probably be waiting for him.

When he reached his bedroom, he discovered that the smaller man was still fast asleep in his bed, lying on his back with his arms laid over the top of the covers. He didn't move beyond the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed as Germany entered the room.

He looked so adorable.

As Germany climbed into bed, his eyelids began to twitch and a small moan escaped his closed lips. His legs began to kick and scrunch up the covers, and the larger man realised that this was the beginning of another nightmare.

"Nnnh…" he groaned. "No… please… no…"

Germany froze.

'Is he remembering it?' he wondered. 'What happened to him?'

"I… I don't…" Italy muttered. "I don't want… this, no… I don't want this… stop… fratello, please…"

He was.

"Don't be afraid," said Germany, and he wrapped an arm around his chest and held him close. "There's nothing to be frightened of. He cannot hurt you."

"Germany…" moaned Italy. "Please… someone… anyone… help me…"

"-AND THEN WHEN I'VE FINISHED WITH THAT I'M GOING TO-"

"Dude, calm down!" cried America. "Jeez, what the hell's wrong with you? Take a goddamn chill pill!"

When England still didn't desist in his ranting, America slammed a hand over his mouth and pressed hard, waiting for him to run out of air. When his face began to turn blue, the taller man released him. He dropped to his knees and tried to catch his breath.

"What…" he panted, "the hell… is wrong… with you?"

"You're the one who wouldn't shut the hell up," America pointed out. "How else was I gonna make you be quiet?"

"Surely there was… a gentler way…"

"That's what she said."

While the younger man snorted with laughter, England shot him his most infuriated Look. Not a look, but a Look. The capital letter is vital in telling the difference.

"When are you going to grow up?" he asked.

America just rolled his eyes and helped him to his feet.

"Come on," he said, "the others are bound to be waiting for us."

They started to walk away from the house, heading for the road which would lead them back to the hotel where they and the other nations were staying.

"There must have been a less painful way to make me be quiet," said England. "Couldn't you have just, oh I don't know, asked me to be quiet? Or maybe even told me to shut up?"

"I tried that," said America. "I said 'shut up' like, fifty times!"

"Well, you should have said it fifty one!" exclaimed England.

America laughed loudly at his seemingly pointless anger. When frowning at him furiously didn't work, England decided to just wait for him to stop.

"Aren't you in the least bit concerned about the fact that a person we fought against last century now has abilities which have so far been hitherto undiscovered in our kind before?" he asked. "I thought you wouldn't be able to shut up about it."

"You still hung up about that?" asked America. "WW-Deuce was ages and ages ago, give it a break!"

"I know that!" England almost shouted. "It's the weapon powers that I'm concerned about! Who the hell knows what he'll be able to do now?"

"Uh… sharpen pencils without the lead breaking off and getting stuck inside?"

"That was a rhetorical question, you git!"

"A what?"

England sighed heavily and buried his face in his hand.

"I shouldn't have expected anything other than idiocy from somebody who doesn't even know what it means when you catch a cold," he groaned. "You don't realise how significant this is, do you? Everything that we – not just you and I, but every single one of us – know about ourselves is going to have to be rewritten!"

"Again, take a chill pill!" said America. "It's not like all of us have weapon powers now, is it? Hell, I know I don't have 'em!"

England paused.

"Dude, something wrong?" asked his companion.

"No," England replied, "not necessarily, but… where is this 'DWMA' building?"

"Uh… Nevada, isn't it? Ain't that what the reaper guy said? He said something like… um… I forget."

"'My name is Death the Kid'," England recited. "'I'm from Death Weapon Meister Academy, or DWMA for short, situated in the deserts of Nevada'. I think that's what he said, my memory's a little fuzzy."

America stared at him.

"You memorised what he said?" he deadpanned.

"Yes," said England. "It's amazing what you can remember if you actually listen to people."

"But it was- but it was just one sentence!" cried America. "And you heard it once and that was nine months ago! How the fuck did you remember that?"

"I have a very good memory!" said England, and he started walking again. "I'm going to do a little research on this once we get back to the hotel, alright? And I'd really prefer it if you could shut up for the rest of the journey."

"What? But-"

"Shut up."

"Aw, come on-"

"Shut up."

"C'mon, Iggy, I can't-"

"Shut."

"But-"

"Up."

"…Fuck you."

When Italy awoke the next morning, he wondered if he had died during the night and gone to heaven. His body was warm and comfortable, there were covers over him which were soft and smooth beneath his fingers, and his arms were hardly hurting at all. The pain had faded to a dull, barely there ache. The light flooding into the room was bright, but not so bright that it burned his eyes, and it warmed his face and his bare hands.

And, perhaps best of all, Germany had his arm across his chest and was hugging him as though he were a teddy bear.

He reached up and gently felt along the arm, running his fingers over the perfectly toned muscles and the flawless skin, until he reached the big man's face and laid his hand on his cheek. Luckily, he remained fast asleep and completely ignorant.

'I really wish this plaster wasn't on my hands,' he thought. 'I want to be able to be with you without it hurting, Germany. You're strong, you're smart, you're kind, you're gentle, you're handsome, you save me and come to protect me when I'm in trouble and you're always there for me. You're absolutely perfect in every way and I love you, Germany. I wish I wasn't such a coward, because then I'd be able to tell you without getting scared and running away.'

"And to think," he muttered quietly to himself, "I promised myself I was going to get stronger…"

He knew now that it had been a foolish endeavour. It had been three quarters of a year already and he hadn't changed one little bit. He was still the same old Italy: he still made pasta for dinner almost every night, still bowed to the whims of those stronger than him, still hid under his bed every time there was a thunderstorm. If anything, he had been doing that more since the Atlantis incident. He wasn't going forwards, he was going backwards, and a couple of weeks ago he had gone so far as to allow his brother to destroy him.

"Romano? Romano, are you okay?"

It would probably be replaying over and over again in his mind for the rest of his life.

"Romano, what are you doing? No, please, stop!"

"Shut up! Just shut up, you stupid little bastard!"

"No, you're drunk, please-"

"I said shut up!"

He withdrew his fingers from Germany's face, although he wanted to never let him go, and rested it just under his other arm, which was still in his sling. His eyes fell upon the ceiling and proved unable to move.

"No, Romano, I don't want this! Stop, please!"

"I said SHUT UP!"

"Roma- fratello, you're hurting me. No, please, don't tie me up, please!"

He closed his eyes, hoping maybe he could drive out the memories, but it was useless. It was as though his mind had recorded every last second in perfect detail just for the sake of torturing him.

"Fratello, please! This is wrong! I DON'T WANT THIS- ah!"

"There! Now you made me hit you! Just shut up already!"

"But I don't want this! PLEASE, I DON'T WANT THIS!"

A tear trickled down his face and mixed with the cold sweat on his forehead.

To think, after all this, Germany still wanted to be around him and could look at him without his eyes filling with disgust and hatred.

"NOO! NO PLEASE NO! Stop! STOP! STOOOP!"

Even Kid still saw him as human, and not just that, but he had got somebody to heal him as well. He was definitely a far better big brother than Romano had ever been.

Romano…

"PLEASE ROMANO! NOOO! IT HURTS! STOP! PLEEEASE!"

"Shut up already!"

"ROMANO PLEASE! I DON'T WANT THIS! I DON'T WANT THIS, STOP!"

"Shut your mouth, you worthless piece of shit!"

"FRATELLO, NO! STOP! NO MORE PLEASE, I- mmmpf!"

"Now I don't want to hear any more noise out of you, so SHUT UP!"

He loved his brother so much that it was painful. Not in the same way he loved Germany, but he definitely loved him. The knowledge that Romano had hurt him in that way was unthinkable. He knew that his fratello was bitter towards him, but he had never understood just how much. Or why.

Italy knew he should be moving on. He had been told that Romano would be held accountable for his crimes and most likely sent to prison for them, but he couldn't help but wonder if he would ever see his brother – the brother he had looked up to and idolised throughout most of his time knowing him – ever again. The brother who had always been there to make sure he wouldn't do anything stupid. The brother who had held him close and protected him from harm in every earthquake. The brother who had comforted him during the lonely nights when they had split and joined the Allies in WW2, and he couldn't sleep with Germany anymore when he had nightmares. The brother who had stood with him and held his hand as Benito Mussolini was executed, and when the news arrived that their grandfather was dead, and every time a new pope had to be selected…

As he lay with his eyes softly closed, he felt a hand brush against his face.

"Ve~ Germany?"

It was withdrawn in a snap.

"You're awake?" said Germany, in a voice which sounded as though he was trying very hard to be angry. "Why did you not tell me you were awake? Would that have been so hard?"

He opened his eyes and smiled innocently at Germany.

"Because you were asleep," he said simply. "Ve~ well, I thought you were asleep. You looked so peaceful when you were sleeping."

Germany blushed furiously.

"Be that as it may," he said, "you should have informed me that you were awake."

"But I didn't want to wake you up."

The blush faded.

"Ve~ we you trying to wipe my tears away?" asked Italy.

"Ja, I confess," said Germany. "There is nothing I want more than for you to be able to sleep peacefully."

"Because of all the times I jumped into bed with you and woke you up?"

"I name no reasons."

He got out of bed and started to take his clothes off.

"Ve~ are you taking a shower?"

"Ja, unless Prussia has got to it before me."

Italy settled back down into the comfortable bed, pulling the covers up to his chin and allowing himself another small smile.

"I'm gonna stay here for a little while longer," he said. "Is that okay with you?"

"Ja, it's fine."

He left the room, and Italy was alone with his thoughts.

If his arms weren't damaged, he would have curled up on his side, but as it was he was left lying on his back.

There was a phone by the side of the bed.

Italy glanced at the clock, which told him that it was a quarter to seven in the morning. Yes, it was pretty likely that at least one of them would still be awake – it couldn't be that late in Nevada – so…

He picked up the receiver.

"What is it again?" he wondered out loud. "Oh yeah. Same as the mirror one."

He awkwardly leaned forward and dialled the number, reciting it as he pressed the numbers:

"Four… two… four… two… five… six… four… whenever you wanna knock on Death's door."

He sat back and waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Eventually though:

"Death the Kid's residence."

"Liz?" Italy cried happily. "Omigosh Liz, is that you?"

"Italy?" said the girl on the other end of the line. "Italy, is that you? I can't believe it, I haven't heard from you in ages!"

"I know, it's been for like, ever!" said Italy. "Ve~ is Kid there?"

"Yeah!" cried Liz. "Yeah, hang on a sec, we only just got back and he's kinda messed up in the head at the moment, maybe you can help calm him down a bit."

He listened as she held the receiver away from her face and yelled for Kid to come and answer the phone. He started going over what he might say and how he might say it…

"Hello?"

…and then it all flew out the window.

"Kid!" Italy almost shouted. "Kid, it's you! Ve~ I'm so happy you're there I could burst! It's just so good to hear from you!"

"Italy?" said Kid. "It's good to hear from you as well, but why are you calling at this time of night?"

"Ve~ I wanted to talk to you," said Italy. "Germany told me what you did for me, how you brought in a witch to heal some of my injuries, and I wanted to be able to thank you for it. So… you know, um… thank you!"

"You're very welcome, Italy," said Kid, and from the tone of his voice it was obvious that he was smiling. "I'm sorry I couldn't convince Ms Diehl to heal your arms as well: I don't think she likes it very much when people take advantage of her abilities, especially after what happened in Baba Yaga Castle."

"Hmm? Ve~ What happened in… what's Baba Yaga Castle?"

Kid sighed.

"Look," he said, "it's a long story. I really don't want to bore you with all the details and-"

"No, Kid, I want to hear!"

"But-"

"Ve~ Please can you tell me? Please?"

"Maybe some other time," said Kid. "I'm very sorry, but I've just returned from a long and rather exhausting outing and I want to let Father know what happened. I'll talk to you later, alright?"

It was Italy's turn to sigh.

"Okay," he said quietly.

"Hey, there's no need to be like that," Kid told him. "I don't want to tell you what happened because I know you'll only end up getting upset."

"Does it have something to do with why you didn't write to me for three months?" asked Italy. "You don't have to worry, I'm not angry at you! I mean, I was kinda afraid something horrible had happened to you, but since you're a meister and all, that's kinda to be expected, isn't it? You fight with demon weapons, something's bound to happen! Especially if you find something asymmetrical, you just grind to a halt!"

"Well… yes," Kid replied, "it does have something to do with that. Look, I'm very sorry, but I have to go. I'll call you again later, alright?"

"Ve~ okay, but just so you know, I'm at Germany's place right now so you'll have to call his number instead of mine."

"Very well, I'll make sure to remember that."

"Ciao, big brother!"

"…Ciao, Italy."

He put the phone down again.

It was always nice to talk to Kid, even if it was only for a couple of minutes. He only wished that it could have lasted for longer. He understood that Kid would have a lot going on, being a Grim Reaper and all, but if he had time to get a witch to heal him, wouldn't he at least have time to talk?

Never mind.

At least it had distracted him for a few moments.

He buried his face in his hands, unable to stem the fresh flow of tears that poured down his cheeks.

"Hey Iggy, have you been up all night?"

England didn't look round.

"So what if I have?" he asked. "I fail to see how it would have any kind of personal effect on you. Why, did you have bad dreams without me there to be your human teddy bear?"

"What? No!" said America indignantly, as though he were child accused of stealing cookies. "Nah, I was just curious, that's all. Nothing wrong with that. What the hell have you been doing which kept you from goin' to bed? You haven't gone all insomniac again, have you?"

"Of course not," England said as he turned to face him, "I was simply… um…"

He trailed off, the familiar poison of distraction tainting his mind.

It was clear that America had just come out of the shower. He had pulled on a pair of jeans, but his body was still soaking wet and shining like a precious metal in the light of the early morning sun. He had a towel draped around his shoulders which was catching the water that dripped from his sodden hair, which clung like glue to his forehead and round, adorably confused face.

"What?" he asked. "You were simply what?"

England slapped himself, forcing his mind back onto the topic of discussion.

"I was simply researching weapon abilities on the internet," he explained, "and considering myself very fortunate that we were able to find a hotel with Wi-Fi."

"Hell yeah!" said America. "Gotta love the internet, baby! I just wish the walls in this place could've been thicker; I barely got a wink of sleep last night with Russia and China goin' at it right next door."

"I know," said England, "I could hear them from here. Bloody wankers couldn't even keep it in for one night, could they?"

He turned back to his laptop.

"What were you lookin' up weapons for?" asked America as he walked over.

"Well," said England, "I discovered that the training of weapons and the meisters that wield them began at some point during the 12th or 13th century, with the founding of the DWMA, and I would most definitely appreciate it if you could avoid dripping all over my laptop."

"Oh, sorry." America stepped back and rubbed his head vigorously with the towel.

England got up with a sigh.

"Come here, you idiot," he said, taking the towel from the other man's hands. "You can never do it properly, you always remain absolutely saturated."

He started to rub America's head with the towel, making sure to dry every last strand of dusty blonde hair to a lethal shine, trying to ignore when Nantucket sprang back into position with a small audible twang and flicked water into his face. When he was done, he draped it back around his neck.

It was quite unnerving how his brilliant blue eyes never left his face for a single second, and even stranger was how the shorter blonde didn't seem to mind one single bit…

"Th-There," England stammered. "Um… would you like to look at…"

He indicated his laptop with a thumb.

"Oh, y-yeah," said America. "Yeah, sure."

England sat back down in his chair and America leaned over him, causing the smaller man to blush no end and pray it wasn't seen.

"A-As I was saying," he said as he tried to get his tongue back into the right position. "The DWMA was founded at some point in the 12th or 13th century from what I can gather, although all the sources I've found just say that it was established around 800 years ago."

"Gee, that sounds helpful," America said sarcastically.

"You're telling me," England commented. "Apparently, it was after the defeat of the first kishin, although I'm still not exactly sure what manner of creature a kishin is. See, what concerns me about this is that I'm rather sure that you – that is, the United States of America as a country or just you as a person – didn't exist until around four or five hundred years ago, because this means that the Death Weapon Meister Academy, to use its full name, was already a part of you long before you were born."

"And?"

England sighed.

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" he asked. "As far as I can see, the DWMA is where almost all the people in the world who have weapon powers eventually end up! And I doubt that many of them would bother to leave once they were acclimatised to your country! Can't you even tell where I'm going with this? Yours is most likely the population with the highest density of demon weapons out of all of us!"

America shrugged.

"So?" he asked.

This time, England stood up.

"America," he said flatly, "I think you may be a weapon."

BUM BUM BUUUUUUUUUH!

Oh goodness! Will Italy ever recover from the horrific actions of his elder brother? Will Romano try to repent and make attempts at apologies? Will Germany pluck up the courage to tell everybody else about his weapon abilities? Will these two ever get over themselves and just make out already? Is America going to be the next to unveil some blade-related badassery? Is he going to keep England distracted and prevent him from finding out yet more about these powers that could potentially rock not only their world, but the ENTIRE friggin' world? Will the focus ever shift to any of the other characters? Do any of them have weapon powers? Will Kid go to Italy and try to comfort him in his time of need? Is the author ever going to stop this silly 60's Batman shtick and actually say something of some relevance?

...

I'm sorry, I had to.

Let's see if I can finish Quantum of Solace without falling victim to writer's block. Just a note: the statement itself means 'a little bit of peace'. The story has nothing to do with James Bond.

Although it would be pretty awesome if it did, right?

He'll be upset if you don't review. You'll try to make 007 happy, won't you?