Alfred looked through a crack in the door, wincing as another knife hit the wooden surface. "I hate Belarus!" Meanwhile, on the other side of the door, his twin sobbed pitifully while hiding under the conference table.

"I-I hate her too…" Poor Matthew let out a loud squeak of fear as another knife buried itself in the carpeted floor not far from where his hand had previously been resting.

"Francis, get out of there!" Arthur stood back further from the door than Alfred, hoping his fiancé could hear him over the sounds of the other nations' terrified cries. It was anyone's guess as to what exactly had been said to set Belarus off this time; the last time she'd been so pissed off was when she was forced out of her older brother's house after the collapse of the Soviet Union. Alfred, ever the hero, sighed and opened the door, silently praying that he wouldn't be hit by one of the flying blades.

"I got em." He hurried back across the room, grabbing both France and Canada's arms and dragging them back to the relative safety of the conference building hallway. "Hero again." As always. France looked back at the younger of his twin sons, worried.

"Arthur…. Slow down."

"What?" Arthur turned back to look also, not seeming to notice anything wrong. Alfred stood off to the side, fuming at his heroic, and possibly stupid, actions being ignored.

"Hey, I just saved your lives!" Francis paid him no mind, currently focused on his fiancé and his younger son.

"Matthew."

"Stop ignoring me!" Alfred said, the pitch in his voice raising to almost sound like a whine. Despite the amount of pain he was in, Matthew took a moment to appreciate having the attention on him instead of his loudmouth older brother. Francis looked back at him, and said with a slightly sarcastic tone in his voice, "Thank you, Alfred. Oh, and your twin is bleeding rather badly at the moment, would you mind HELPING us?!" Alfred looked to where his younger twin sat on the ground and for the first time noticed the bleeding gash in his leg. All anger turned to worry, and he frantically dropped to his knees, trying to help.

"Mattie!"

A second later, another of the psychotic Belarusian's knives imbedded itself in the not so intact surface of the door, and Alfred jumped back away from it. "We need to get out of here!" He hauled his younger brother up off the ground, ignoring the soft cry of pain that escaped Matthew at the not so gentle treatment, and hurried out of the building while having comments such as "obviously" thrown at him by his less than pleased parents as they all ran out the door. Before they had reached the exit though, the conference room door was thrown upon, allowing the countries that had remained stuck inside to escape. Many fled in silent terror, but if they had stopped to listen for a second, they would have heard the loud sobs, and "tracts of land bouncing," of Ukraine while she too fled her insane siblings.

"France's house is the closest," Arthur managed to say, as they all ran for the relative safety of France's car. "Oh, by the way, Al, I was going to ask if you and Matthew wanted to come to dinner tonight." Reaching the car, they all stopped to refill their lungs with oxygen, after running as fast as they possibly could to escape, just in case Belarus decided to follow them out. Alfred, who recovered first, being the hero and all, gave the invitation a thought, then nodded.

"Given the circumstance, pleasure."

"Nice to see your vocabulary has expanded, Alfred. How is Matthew doing?" Francis said, sarcasm still fully in place. Said Canadian was currently in a state of half awareness, dizzy from blood loss and being carried around like a sack of potatoes. Even still, he managed to catch the quick joke about his twin's intelligence and gave a soft, almost unheard laugh.

"Shut it, Frog! I mean, uh…" Alfred stuttered lamely, trying to cover the accidental Britishness. "He looks foggy, I mean. Where's your car?" He looked around the parking lot, having never seen France's car before so he obviously wouldn't have recognized how close they were to it. He jumped as Francis smacked the back of his head, and nearly dropped Matthew as he reached back to rub the slightly sore spot.

"Only Arthur gets to call me frog! And my car is right in front of you." Alfred looked even more embarrassed, and tried, more successfully this time, to crush his inner Britishness. Francis unlocked the door, and Alfred helped Matthew into the back seat.

"I honestly have no idea where that came from…" Arthur stood a few steps back from them, trying to stifle somewhat inappropriate giggles at the situation. Francis stood in shock, watching.

"Why is he giggling? Arthur?" Half worried the Brit had been possessed by some of Ivan's evil, Francis waved his hand in front of his face to snap him out of it. Arthur blinked back to reality and quickly climbed into the car, also embarrassed. Matthew, who was still bleeding in the back, leaned forward, and nearly passed out as a wave of dizziness hit him. Even when he was injured, and the reason they were speeding away from the conference hall, he was still ignored.

"Dad…." Arthur was still caught up in his bickering with his fiancé, and almost didn't hear his younger son's whisper.

"Huh?" He turned to look towards the back seat of the car. "What, Matthew?" However, Matthew had already leaned back against the seats, and was holding a hand against his head, feeling too dizzy to reply. Francis leaned over to Arthur and whispered,

"He just wants you to pay attention to him, he thinks you ignored him through his childhood." Which was sorta true, but honestly, not the whole reason for why Matthew had tried speaking earlier, not that he could even remember what it was at the moment. Arthur fought against the urge to glare at Francis for daring to imply that Arthur had forgotten his younger child, and harshly whispered back.

"What? I got him from you after the Seven Years War." Noticing a small grimace at the mention of the memory, he hastily added an "Oh, yeah, sorry about that… Oh bloody hell." He leaned over the back seat and gently hugged Matthew. When he let go, Francis stopped the car, having finally arrived at the house. And naturally, despite the urgentness of the situation, the undying flirty side returned.

"We're here now." He gave Arthur a quick kiss, before climbing out of the car, and opening the back door. Arthur blinked for a second, then quickly blushed.

"Why do you keep kissing me with Matthew bleeding in the back seat?" He jumped out of the car, and started heading for the house, looking back over his shoulder to instruct the others. "You two take care of him, and I'll get the first aid kit." With that, Arthur disappeared into the house, searching for bandages.

"Alright. Come here, Mattheiu." Francis helped his injured son out of the car, and Alfred's arms. America rubbed his now sore arms.

"Ow, he gets heavier by the minute, P-France." France looked up at that, curious.

"What were you about to call me, Alfred?" Matthew, who was just barely standing at the moment, clung onto France as he started moving toward the house. "I've got him." Alfred, meanwhile, had been hoping the verbal slip had been missed and inwardly cursed himself."

"Huh? Your name, France."

"P?"

"F." Confused, Francis shook his head, giving up.

"Fine, now where did Arthur go?"

"I-in the house, here I'll open the door." Alfred quickly moved over to the door, holding it open so Francis could carry Matthew into the house. He looked around, not seeing his fiancé.

"Arthur?" From the other room, Arthur called back to the entryway.

"I'm here!" He ran back into the main room, carrying the first aid kit, and Francis gently set a grateful Matthew down on the couch. The Canadian blinked as he was set down, then sank back onto the soft pillows, mumbling about being dragged around like a sack of potatoes. France looked up at him from where he was currently sitting at Matthew's side.

"How's your shoulder, love?"

"What?" Arthur blinked. "Oh, completely forgot about it. Here, just take care of Matthew." He handed a few bandages and a clean cloth to France, who began cleaning the cut on Matthew's leg, much to the Canadian's displeasure.

"I am, Arthur." He said, not even bothering to look up from what he was doing, it would give Matthew a chance to squirm off and hide from the stinging antiseptic. "Alfred, please help him with his shoulder."

"It's just a scratch. Not even bleeding anymore."

"Still, Alfred, please." Francis finally put down the cloth and wrapped a bandage around Matthew's leg. "There, Mattheiu, better?" Matthew mumbled a quiet "thanks" then sank into a half-sleep on the incredibly comfortable couch, completely crashed from the adrenaline that was wearing off. Alfred sighed and finally did as he was told, awkwardly helping Arthur with the rather insignificant injury to his shoulder. Once he was finished, he flopped down on the couch next to his twin.

"Alright, Alfred, will you come help me cook?" It was a blow to his French pride, but Francis knew that unless he and Alfred started getting along again, Arthur would make his life difficult for arguing with his baby boy. It's not that Francis didn't like his eldest son, Alfred just tended to make getting close to him rather difficult. Alfred blinked, shocked.

"What?! You want me to cook?!" Poor Alfred had inherited all of his cooking "skills" from England; unless he was grilling something, he was rather good at that.

"I want you to help me, if you don't mind."

"Umm… okay." Alfred shrugged, and followed Francis out of the main room and into the kitchen.

"I just think it's a good idea for Arthur and I to spend more time with you and Mattheiu, especially you, Alfred." 'Though if he wasn't so hyper, that'd be easier…'

"Huh?" Alfred blinked again, and looked around, half in confusion over his father's statement, and half in awe of the kitchen he had just stepped into. "Well, right now, it's just you and me."

"Yes, I know. Alfred, how do you feel about all of this? Arthur and I, we wanted you to know that your opinion does matter to us."

"I…" Alfred paused, thinking for a second, "I don't know my opinion."

"And that's okay. But are you okay with us? With being a family?"

"Huh?" America looked at France curiously, then down to the ground for a second, before looking back up at France and smiling. "Yeah, that sounds good." Francis smiled back.

"I'm glad."

"So…" Alfred moved over to "subtly" inspect one of the granite countertops, wondering how exactly a country that was having such severe economic issues could afford to have such things, "what are ya cookin, nothing British, right?" The last part was said in a slightly lowered voice, in order to avoid the possible wrath of his British parent who was sitting with his twin just down the hall. Francis merely laughed.

"Not at all. I haven't decided yet, what would you like to eat?" 'Please, don't say hamburgers, please…'

"Uh, I don't know." With the promise of not being forced to eat British food, Alfred didn't care too much about what he was given, though he was waiting for the one question that he already knew France was thinking to come up.

"Alright, snails it is then." Alfred paled, almost looking ready to faint. 'Oh god, no!' Francis laughed again at the mental meltdown Alfred was suffering; he didn't even keep escargot in his personal kitchen, they were far too much trouble to properly prepare for only one person, and most dates didn't like the overpowering garlic butter they were cooked in anyway.

"A-anything but that." Alfred finally managed to choke out. Francis merely shrugged in reply, about to suggest something else, when he was interrupted. "And I don't eat hamburgers all the time either…" Now it was Francis's turn to be shocked; the only time he had seen America eating something other than burgers was when he had lived with Arthur as a small child.

"Well, what would you like then?"

"How about cassoulet?" Francis, ever the graceful Frenchman, promptly choked on his own spit, wondering how exactly Alfred knew anything about French food. "Dude, stop looking at me like that…."

"Like what?"

"Like you just saw a ghost… I already told you, I don't eat burgers all the time. … Just a lot…" France finally snapped out of it.

"Fair enough, could you get the chicken out of the fridge for me?"

Alfred walked over to the very large, very shiny refrigerator, and in a perfect French accent, said, "Oui, Papa." Francis froze for a second, then erupted in fake joyful sobs, something about finally having properly managed to corrupt his eldest child with the "langage de l'amour."

"That was perfect, I'm so proud of you."

"Uhh…."

"I'm just kidding, Alfred." Francis took the uncooked chicken from Alfred, and went over to the sink to wash it off, when he suddenly ducked down to avoid a flying cleaver that crashed through the window, and buried itself into the wall behind him. "Ah! Why?!" Alfred also dropped to the ground, looking at the broken window with a slight amount of fear.

"What the hell?!" France crawled out of the kitchen, before standing back up and hurrying down the hall to check on Arthur and Matthew, both of whom were very much awake after hearing the crash and yelling.

"Are you two alright?"

"We're fine, what's wrong? Did Alfred catch something on fire?" Arthur half hoped for a yes, if only to make himself feel a bit better about his dreadful cooking skills.

"Hey!" Alfred appeared behind France, but could really only be half offended.

"No! Ivan followed us here, and he threw a knife through my kitchen window!"

"Kolkohoz bastard." Arthur said, looking rather worried as he stared down the hallway.

"Creepy bastard." Alfred replied, grimacing as he looked back down the hallway, while France nodded. Alfred looked back over at his parents and le gasped. "Papa, you're bleeding!" Arthur blinked.

"Pa-who?" France looked over at his shoulder, which had been cut by the broken glass from his window, and internally had a panic attack, all while managing to appear surprisingly calm about it.

"I'll be fine, Alfred." He said, doing a pretty good job of lying.

"I saw blood."

"Yes, I noticed, but it's not that bad." Arthur picked up the first aid kit, determined to get his fiancé to sit down before he passed out.

"You are bleeding pretty bad, Francis, let me see." He moved closer to wrap the injury, and whispered, "And did I just hear Alfred call you Papa?" Francis winced slightly at the pressure on the cut and nodded.

"Yes, you did."

"Um…" Alfred looked around, suddenly realizing that Matthew wasn't in the room, and then seeing a light further down the hallway, and prayed that Ivan hadn't managed to find a way inside the house. "Is Mattie alone?" Arthur and Francis both looked around the room, both having forgotten their quieter son with all that had happened.

"Alfred, can you go look for him?" Alfred, ever the hero, nodded.

"Yeah, I'm on it, I can take crazy Russians." And with that, he ran off down the hall to find his twin. Francis sank down onto the couch and pulled Arthur down next to him.

"Arthur."

"What?" Francis lightly kissed his lips, holding him closer.

"Thank you." Arthur blinked.

"You didn't even want it tended to before."

"I was trying not to panic in front of Alfred." His pride had already taken significant damage that day, and squealing like a five-year-old girl possibly could have killed it entirely. Arthur laughed softly.

"It looks like you two are getting along." Francis smiled and nodded.

"Yes, we are."

"Good." Arthur paused for a second, and looked down. "A-are we uhh…telling them the other stuff?"

"I think it would be a good idea. But if we're going to have dinner, can we just order take out, I'm too tired to cook now." And terrified, and crashing from an adrenaline rush, but he didn't plan on saying all that. Instead he just flopped back against the pillows on the couch, huggling Iggy close for comfort.

"Yeah, let's just eat. Although, it won't be easy to get any food ordered with him out there…" In the distance, they heard Alfred shouting some nonsense about saving Matthew from the creepy Communist bastard, and Matthew's protests about Ivan no longer being Communist, and to stop saying such things before it upset him more.

"God, why won't he just leave…?" Francis sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"Russia? Well… it's not like I can go after him…" Both sighed again, and Arthur curled up closer to Francis, despite the fact that said Frenchman couldn't even protect him from a fly. It was going to be a very long night…