October 22, 1962

The moment Cuba saw America standing outside the front door, he knew he was in trouble.

"We know you're harboring nuclear missiles in your house. Russia sent you them, right?"

"No, of course not!" Cuba denied.

"Then explain this. Large trucks we seen around your place, transporting suspicious looking objects. Tell me those weren't weapons."

"I don't know what you mean!"

"How about this, then?" America questioned, producing a clear photograph and waving it in Cuba's face. "This is just one out of 928 pictures that have been taken and examined by the CIA."

Cuba froze. He had indeed agreed to collect nuclear weapons from Russia. America was no fool.

"Y-you've got me..." He stammered. A bead of sweat was visible on his forehead and he wiped it away instinctively.

"Relax, we decided against attacking you. You're under quarantine." America said sternly, noticing Cuba's expression.

"What?! You can't do that to me! I have a right to defend myself!"

October 23

"Turkey refuses to withdraw his too." America said in disappointment, slamming the telephone receiver down. He turned and gave a Cuba a glare that was genuinely frightening, before breaking into a manic grin. "Think about it, one wrong move from either of us and boom, nuclear war!"

"Y-you're mad!" Cuba screamed from his chair. "Don't you know what that means?"

"I do know, but it's kind of your fault anyway." America chuckled.

"My fault! A man has a right to defend himself! You can't take away my right!" Cuba reaffirmed, pointing at himself.

October 25

"It seems everyone's talking about us now. You're famous, you know."

"We're all going to die, aren't we..." Cuba moaned, his voice faltering. "And it will be partly my fault..."

The past couple of days under America's watchful eyes had been nerve-wracking for him, and when you combined that with the threat of a possible nuclear war brought about by his actions, you could understand why Cuba seemed so exhausted.

Each breath he took came out ever so slightly harder than the other, and it had nothing to do with the cigars he regularly smoked. That reminded him, it had been days since he'd last had one. Maybe he was just suffering from withdrawal effects?

October 26

"Russia's still not backing down. At this point, we might have to prepare for an invasion..." America spoke dully into the phone, as Cuba looked on. Just whom he was talking to was unclear.

October 27

America entered the living room, a grim look on his face. "One of my pilots was just shot down by one of your 'missiles'. Please tell me it wasn't you..."

"No..." Cuba replied.

"It better not be, 'cause when I found out who it is..." America said, bunching his fist up tightly in a threatening gesture.

October 28

"There's been a change of plans." America announced as he put on his coat.

"What?"

"Russia's boss just sent out a message. Apparently, he's going to have the weapons dismantled and taken back to Russia."

"So...?"

"Yeah, you're off the hook!" America exclaimed, back to his old self. "You should have seen what you were like yesterday, totally scared shitless!"

Cuba's jaw dropped. There was just no way of understanding America, was there?

"Well so long, fat guy. I'm going back to see my boss!"

"I can't begin to describe how relieved I am that this whole crisis is over." Britain sighed with relief as he turned off the radio, thus cutting the news report short. "I thought the world was going to end for sure, but since everything is still intact..."

He took a sip of tea and laid back in his armchair, breathing slowly to relax himself.

And there's my very unreliable take on the Cuban Missile Crisis. It is neither accurate or thorough, so please do not use it as a guide or reference!