Spain was a big asshole, making Romano work so hard to find him a gift. Spain still didn't know Romano had his name but still, Romano was having a hard time finding a gift and he had to blame somebody.

Italy was wondering around with him, humming a little tune to himself as the two brother countries wandered the store.

"Oh look! A pasta maker! You think Germany will like that?"

"I don't care," said Romano for the thousandth time that day.

"Ve! Look. Painting sets. I like to paint, so Germany should too."

"That potato bastard doesn't know shit about art."

"What about this? A book that has a hundred ways to make pasta dough! Maybe he'll-"

"That's all the stuff you like, you moron! If finding a gift was that easy, I would've been done by now. Why does Spain have to be so hard to figure out? I have no idea what he would like."

Italy was finally quiet for a moment. When his older brother turned to him, he noticed that Italy actually looked thoughtful for once.

"You're right. I need to think what Germany would like. Not me. But what would he like?"

"Just give him some potatoes, dumbass."

"No!" Italy screeched so suddenly that Romano was shocked. Then added more softly, "I mean. It has to be something special."

Romano made a noise of disgust but otherwise didn't say anything else. He looked over some of the cookbooks where Italy found the latest gift idea. He likes those damn empanada things, right? Maybe he could-

He put the book back on the shelf. What was he thinking? Spain already knew how to make those, so why give him a baking book for them? He sighed in defeat.

"You know. I think I have an idea. I might do something for Germany instead!" Italy proclaimed loudly.

Romano suddenly had an idea. Doing something instead of giving something? That just might work! Italy already rushed away with a final farewell to his brother but Romano hardly noticed. He thought back to Spain and what favor he might want Romano to do for him.

Meanwhile, in America, said nation was going over what his brother might like. He looked around through the shelves at his favorite store: the grocery store that offered him half off prices on fruit roll-ups. Only then did he realize that most of the maple syrup in his country wasn't 100% real, or even 20% for that matter.

He sighed sadly in defeat. Maybe this contest that he proposed wasn't going to be such an easy victory after all. He felt a strong yet comforting hand on his shoulder, he looked up expecting a friendly passerby or one of his friends. He gave out a startled cry when he saw that the hand was connected to Russia.

The country gave a lopsided smile, wearing his trademark coat and pink scarf. For once, America was struck silent. He had never seen Russia smile at him so pleasantly, and for some reason he felt flush. Something was stirring in his chest as well but he couldn't pinpoint out how to describe the feeling. It was the oddest thing.

"Hello Amerika," greeted the Russian nation, "Fancy meeting you here."

It took a second to find his voice.

"Um…yeah. What are you doing on this side of the Atlantic anyway?" he couldn't help but ask.

Russia looked up thoughtful and gave a deep chuckle.

"I'm surprised you know general area of where Russia is. Your map makes you look more ignorant than that."

America didn't catch on to the subtle compliment and instead felt insulted.

"Dude, just because I like myself doesn't mean I don't know anything about other countries. If anything, I probably know more about Russia than you do."

"Really? What is our currency called?"

"So what are you doing here anyway?" America repeated the question.

"I came to see you," Russia decided to let the obvious escape plan pass.

America arched an eyebrow, his blue eyes reminding Russia of the sea.

"Why?"

"Because I want to know who you have."

America didn't listen to Germany when he listed the rules, so he didn't see much wrong with this question. Except this was Russia asking. Why did he care?

"I have my twin, Canada. That's why I'm looking for maple syrup."

"Oh no, America. You should know that Canada already has access to real maple syrup so he's not going to want your cheap imitation."

America pouted and looked away. He was a little angry but mostly sad. Because Russia was right. When America started this thing, he only cared about winning. But now the competition was making him realize how little her knew about England's or Canada's likes. What kind of brother was he to not know what gifts to give either of them?

Russia looked at America like he was examining something. The thoughtful and serious look on his face was almost cute. He had come here to provoke America but now seeing the country so somber made him want to give him a hug.

He shook his head. What was he thinking? He and America were never friends and never will be. Right? That didn't matter. He didn't want to be America's friend anyway.

…Right?

America left without another word while Russia stared at his retreating comrade. He looked at the name on his note: Prussia. For one small moment, he fancied it being America's name on there. He looked up in thought. Perhaps it was time to do a little investigating. He could find the country that has America's name, trade for it and give America a gift. He didn't bother asking himself why he would want to do this.

Of course, there was always the very slight possibility no one would want to trade America's name. That was fine. Russia had his Pipe of Pain handy.

Meanwhile Canada felt a shiver run down his spine. He sensed impending doom but could not figure out what was going to happen.