Prussia wasn't sure what brought him awake: it could have been a sound in his basement bedroom, or a movement of air where there should have been only stillness.

The sound of something heavy thumping into his bed – not far from where his head had been a moment before – told him his instincts were correct. He bounced to his feet, narrowing his eyes. His right hand hit the touch plate of his bedside lamp while his left reached into the other realm for his sword.

A choked cry met the explosion of light into the normally dim room. Through slitted eyes Prussia made out a shape about his own height, wearing dark blue. Another movement, this one closer, and he parried without thought, heard metal strike metal.

Heard a growl in a child's voice, a curse in a language that hadn't been heard in over two hundred years. Hadn't been used conversationally in longer... Shock froze him for a moment, almost long enough for another attack from that direction. He parried that one too, but only just.

Another shock as his eyes adjusted. He faced himself. Multiple himselfs.

The one in blue was him as he'd been at the height of the Kingdom of Prussia, and the little attacker was the toddler he'd been back when he'd been Old Prussia. Another little attacker, this one his Teutonic Knights self, backed up by his Duchy of Prussia self, and heaven help anyone who presumed that the monastic-style robes he'd favored back then meant that he was peaceful. Behind that cluster, him in his World War One uniform traded suspicious looks with him as East Germany.

Between not wanting to harm any of his former selves in case it damaged him as well and being horribly outnumbered, Prussia was not pleased. None of the other Prussias seemed to care about that – they looked rather like they blamed him for their predicament.

Prussia's mind raced. First he had to stop this before someone got hurt. Whoever got hurt it would be him getting hurt, so he really didn't need that.

Kingdom of Prussia danced close, his sword a newer, shinier version of the one in Prussia's hand. Duchy of Prussia wasn't far behind, an older-style sword unerringly targeting his older self's heart.

Prussia sidestepped into the other realms of a moment, just long enough to get behind the cluster of Prussias trying to kill him, then summoned his best battlefield command voice to roar, "Hold, Goddammit you fucking idiots!" In Old Prussian, since all of him would understand that, but little Old Prussia wouldn't understand any other language his other selves might know.

All of them froze, battlefield instincts running strong in every version of himself.

"Look at me," he commanded. "I'm you. What you will be."

Teutonic, Kingdom, and Duchy all looked disgusted, but it was Kingdom who spoke. "Hiding in the dark like a coward?" he asked with thick contempt. "That will never be me."

"Protecting my eyes," Prussia told his younger selves. "They take some major abuse between World War Awesome there and East Awesome, thanks to a right prick of a boss." He shrugged. "Oh, and while you're at it take a real good look." Spun to give them a good look of his scars and the horrible mess that was his back. "That boss shit did a real number on me."

East nodded.

Kingdom sneered. "Not awesome, old man. So you're carrying some wounds."

Prussia returned the sneer. God he'd been an insufferable brat back then. "I was asleep, I'm carrying this lot-" He gestured over his shoulder. "- and the four of you couldn't touch me." He sharpened his tone a bit. "Now quit the griping and let's get some food then we can go deal with the arse who did this to us."

World War Prussia gave a decisive nod. "England, I suppose." He sounded bored.

"If it's not him, we can get who it is out of him." And that, Prussia thought, would be entirely too much fun.

#

Germany froze in the doorway, staring at his kitchen. Or, more to the point, at seven Prussias in his kitchen. His brother – the real one – stood by the oven frying wurst, with a child Prussia who looked maybe three years old balanced on his hip. The little one wore a ragged sleeveless tunic and had a collection of angry scars on his arms and legs. Another child Prussia – this one about seven or eight, Germany supposed – sat on the counter-top with his legs swinging idly. He wore the tunic and armor of the Teutonic Knights.

A teenaged Prussia in monastic-style robes that Germany remembered from some old portraits leaned against the refrigerator door with his arms folded and a thoughtful expression. The loudest one was – of course – the Prussia from his glory days, the youngest one that Germany knew from his memories and not from deduction. He paced the kitchen, talking in a language that sounded half-familiar but which all the Prussias seemed to understand to judge by their expressions.

Yet another Prussia, this one in the uniform he'd worn in the First World War, mashed potatoes with a kind of unholy glee, while the last of the extra Prussias set the table, carefully laying out the knives and forks with a quiet precision that was completely unlike Prussia. Which, since he was wearing East German military uniform, made sense.

He didn't get to ask his brother why there were six other Prussias in his kitchen: they noticed him, and Germany found himself retreating in a hurry from the middle two – and their swords.

Prussia snarled something in that half-familiar language.

The Kingdom of Prussia didn't bother to turn his head to retort.

Germany didn't let his expression shift, especially not when East glanced at World War Prussia, then the two of them crept up on their two younger selves and hauled them back. The brawl that followed at least gave Germany room to slip past them and to his brother to ask, "What in God's name is going on?"

Prussia didn't seem even slightly disturbed. "England, I think. This smells like the kind of shit he'd pull."

"There are four of you fighting in the kitchen!" Germany couldn't have suppressed that if he'd tried. "Why are you so calm?"

The littlest Prussia said something, tugging at Prussia's shirt – an old t-shirt that looked like he'd fished it out of a midden – and Prussia murmured a reply in the same language, then switched to the tongue all avatars were born knowing. "Playtime's over. East Awesome, you and World War Awesome take Little Awesome and Teutonic Awesome to the table. Duchy Awesome, Kingdom Awesome, you two are helping me and my brother serve."

The Teutonic Knight Prussia jumped from the counter-top to the floor. "I don't need help."

"You don't know modern table manners, either," Prussia said lightly. "That's why I'm pairing you with one of me who does."

"Stop treating me like a child!"

Prussia set the frypan on an unused element and turned the stove off before he bent into a crouch and faced the young Teutonic Knight. "You're in a world you don't know where there are weapons that could kill you before you're in bowshot range, and you look like a child. I'm trying to keep you awesome." Prussia smiled then. "Besides, don't you want something to eat?"

The prospect of food apparently worked on all the versions of Prussia: before long they were crowded around the table, Germany trying not to wince as the Prussias ate with what was an apparently long-established disdain for any form of table manners. He'd thought his brother didn't much care but all of him, particularly the younger four, were appalling.

Even allowing for standards having changed, they were bad. The thought of having to clean up the mess made Germany's left eye twitch, especially when mashed potatoes spattered over his table.

Prussia paid most attention to the two little versions of himself, making sure both child Prussias had plenty to eat. The way they shoveled food into their mouths while they watched their older selves had Germany wondering just how bad his brother's early days had been. Both Old Prussia – it felt wrong thinking of such a small child that way – and Teutonic Knights were too thin, too protective of each bite and far, far too paranoid. It was clear they didn't trust any of their older selves, much less Germany.

The real Prussia didn't appear to mind: he kept the two little ones fed and ignored the – it wasn't so much bad manners as a complete absence of manners, Germany decided – others. Of all of them East was the most polite, but he made Germany's stomach twist with the memory of those long years separated from his brother.

Germany did wince when the Duchy of Prussia said, "I thought Holy Rome was our brother, not this wall of muscle." The Holy Roman Empire was something of a sore topic with Prussia even now.

The Kingdom of Prussia folded his arms and glared. World War Prussia returned the glare with interest, and East quietly stood and started clearing dishes. Taking himself out of the argument before it could begin.

"Holy Rome died," the real Prussia said in a flat voice. "I couldn't save him."

World War and East nodded as if they'd rehearsed the gesture together. Both little Prussias stared with their eyes open wide.

"Germany came along a few years later. He knew I was his brother from the start so of course I raised him." Again, that flat voice. "I lost my sister-avatar in the battle that killed Holy Rome."

Kingdom of Prussia hissed, looking shocked. "How?"

"France cut her head off."

All Germany's 'Prussia trouble' alarms went off inside his head. When his brother spoke like that, that cold, flat tone, it usually meant someone was going to die.

Duchy of Prussia winced, rubbing his neck.

Teutonic Knights looked up from his plate to ask, "When do I get a sister?"

Prussia draped one arm around the little knight. "About when you become the Duchy of Prussia," he said. "She just shows up one day and tells you she's your awesome sister, and you know she is."

Little Old Prussia leaned against Prussia with a sleepy smile. "More food?"

Prussia chuckled. "Later, Little Awesome. You look like you couldn't eat another bite." He wrapped his other arm around the child.

All the other Prussias softened a bit as they regarded their youngest incarnation. Germany was quite certain anyone who threatened that child would regret it. For the rest of a very short life.

#

England leaned back in the comfortable armchair, sipping Earl Grey tea. For once nothing had gone wrong with his magic: America hadn't shown up in time to set off a catastrophe, he hadn't accidentally summoned Russia – God, that was so embarrassing! - and the spell had settled on the target just fine.

Now all he had to worry about was the likelihood he'd be dealing with an irate Germany if the 'act your age' spell he'd set on Prussia reversed itself and made the git look the age he was acting. It was a risk England was prepared to take to get bloody Prussia out of his hair for a while: if the magic was set on a particularly strong-willed individual it could reverse itself.

There were also warnings against using it on a devout religious person, something England discounted. The likelihood of anyone using the words 'devout' and 'religious' in a sentence involving Prussia was somewhere below zero. To England's knowledge, only Australia was more irreverent.

The air across from him shivered.

England set his teacup on the side table and stood, his eyes narrowing.

Prussia stepped out of nothing, a white-haired toddler in a ragged tunic on his hip. He wasn't armed, but the parade of Prussias who followed him were, from – dear God! East! - the Prussia of the First World War, a scowling Kingdom of Prussia resplendent in blue and red, an equally angry Duchy of Prussia in monastic-style robes, and a little boy wearing the tunic and armor of the Teutonic Knights. All of them were Prussia, and all of them pinned England with furious red eyes.

All except the toddler the real Prussia held: the child seemed to be asleep.

Germany was the last to arrive, and he, too, glared at England.

It was Prussia – the real one – who spoke first, and not in any human language either. He used the mother-tongue, the nameless language every avatar was born knowing. "You have five minutes to explain and apologize. After that, I'm letting my awesome former selves get the explanation and apology out of you."

The wolfish grin the Kingdom of Prussia wore was enough to convince England he didn't want that. He didn't need to see the expressions of any of the other Prussias. He swallowed. "Um. This... wasn't supposed to happen," he managed. "I mean... I wanted you to act your age. Not to have all your ages show up."

The real Prussia's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything.

"Er... sorry?"

England fell back into his chair, trying without much success to avoid three swords – the Kingdom, Duchy and Teutonic Knights. World War Prussia's pistol was out, aimed squarely between England's eyes.

Prussia barked an order in a language England didn't recognize, and all of them backed off. "The only reason you're still breathing is so you can fix this mess." The edge to Prussia's voice wasn't forced. "Don't make me decide you can fix it just as well without certain parts of your anatomy. I'm sure you don't need all your fingers to do your magic stuff."

England winced.

The child balanced against Prussia's hip stirred and said something in a language England didn't recognize. The man nodded, and let the toddler down.

England's eyes widened and his mouth fell open when the little one turned to glare at him, a sword bigger than he was clutched in both hands – but held absolutely steady. It occurred to him then that all the young Prussias – this little one, the Teutonic Knights, and the Duchy of Prussia – were far too thin to be healthy. The toddler Prussia's thin little arms and legs were covered with scars and healing injuries, far too many for even a rambunctious child.

To have that small child growl something at him in a language he didn't understand but got snickers from all the older versions of him was a bit disorienting, and, well... "If that was a claim on my vital regions -"

Kingdom of Prussia's raucous laughter was more than enough proof he'd guessed right.

The real Prussia snickered – that maddening hiss-laugh of his – and said, "Go easy on him, Little Awesome. We kind of need him to get you back home."

The little one stopped his advance, and said something in a distressed wail.

All the other Prussias looked stricken, but it was the real one the toddler ran for – where did he put that bloody sword, anyway? - and the real Prussia who picked him up and made soothing noises.

"What the -" England paused, considering the way all the Prussias, even the little Teutonic Knights, radiated protectiveness. "What's wrong with him?"

Prussia switched from the mother-tongue to Latin to say, "I didn't try to burn him as a witch or demon, and I gave him food. He doesn't want to go back."

England's breath hissed through his teeth. Germany looked just as appalled. That made England feel a little better, that Prussia's own brother hadn't known how hellish the man's early life had been, then guilt swallowed the sensation.

Prussia might well have been the warmonger of Europe, but the sudden, disturbing realization that he'd had nobody for most of his life... that being dumped into an alien world was an improvement because someone there wasn't trying to kill him... Small wonder Prussia had become a hostile, warlike nation.

England sighed. "Look, all I can do is try to find out what went wrong and then try to fix it," he said in the mother-tongue. "It should fix itself eventually anyway – these things rarely last longer than a week or two."

Germany's panicked expression should have been funny. "Do you realize how much seven Prussias eat?"

Seven Prussias, three of them looking like they'd never had a solid meal in their lives. And England knew too well that the real Prussia's appetite was no small thing.

The real one shrugged with his free shoulder. "Call Italy Veniciano," he said. "Pasta's filling and cheap."

"Then all of you will drink me out of beer." Germany paused, frowning a little. "Well, not all of you."

The Teutonic Knights spoke up then. "What's wrong with beer? It's awesome."

England couldn't help himself. "The knights let you drink beer?"

The child's sneer was way too adult. "Of course. What else does a knight drink?"

The littlest Prussia raised his head. "Want beer."

Germany groaned. "I am not giving beer to children."

The three youngest Prussias glared at Germany. England understood the Teutonic Knight's Latin declaration that he wasn't a child, and the rather more Germanic Latin the Duchy of Prussia used to make the same declaration, so he supposed the toddler had said the same thing in whatever language he was using.

"Come on," the real Prussia said. "Out the back. Weapons drill. You too, East. I know the game you're playing but you still don't want to lose your edge."

Germany rolled his eyes. "Food, beer, and training drills. Is that your answer to everything, brother?"

Prussia chuckled. "Just most things."

The sudden quiet with all the Prussias out of the house seemed deafening.

England didn't get a chance to enjoy it: before he could rise to start searching his magic tomes, Germany hauled him from his chair, one fist curled into his shirt. England's toes barely brushed the floor when the bigger man brought him so close they were almost nose to nose.

"You will fix this, England." Between the low growl and the ice blue of his eyes, Germany was thoroughly intimidating, as he hadn't been since the peak of his strength in the second war.

As always, England covered nervousness with a sharp tone. "If you don't let go I won't be able to fix a bloody thing, wanker."

Germany let him drop: England took a moment to regain his balance before he turned and headed for the basement. He hoped he could find a solution because he didn't think Germany would accept letting time sort the whole thing out.

#

Germany watched the Prussias sparring from England's kitchen window while he peeled potatoes. With England still in his basement – and the door locked and bolted from the inside – there was nothing useful he could do to help the other Prussias return to their time. Since it appeared that England had set out a beef roast, Germany had decided to cook.

Even if England did send the other Prussias back to their times he was likely to be hungry.

His hands moved automatically as he watched. He had to admit Prussia hadn't lost any of his old skills. He was on his own, with both the Kingdom of Prussia and the Duchy of Prussia apparently forgetting this was supposed to be practice and doing their best to get to him. And failing. Both younger Prussias appeared to be taking this as an insult.

To one side, the Teutonic Knights sparred with Old Prussia, both children unnaturally skilled with their swords. Even though little Old Prussia was shorter than the sword he held, he wielded it well enough that the Teutonic Knights had to work to keep his younger self from winning. The two youngsters bounced around each other with big grins, obviously enjoying their sparring match.

On the other side, East Germany worked with World War Prussia, both of them rather more serious and sober than any of the other Prussias. Germany suspected the wartime Prussia was from the latter part of the war, when progress had stalled and the whole mess became a lethal grind that swept up young men and spat out their bones. He remembered his brother's growing soberness, an increasingly bitter edge to his voice as the war dragged on. Remembered the sour comments about stupid treaties that forced them to fight in Austria's war.

East, of course, was the facade Prussia had worn during those long years between the end of the second war and the fall of the Berlin wall. The tool he'd used to break the soviets. It was hardly surprising that he'd choose to stay in role so to speak. It would be easier than trying to put 'East' back on after breaking out of the persona.

Germany would simply have to deal with the way East made his skin crawl.

The real Prussia grinned. He seemed to flicker as he moved and disarmed both of his former selves. From the look of things, both were convinced he'd cheated, and pounced. The flurry of limbs and thrown punches didn't look good, but Germany didn't see any need to intervene. His brother could take care of himself. Besides, Prussia hadn't had this much fun since that first World Council meeting after German unification. It wouldn't be right to spoil it.

Germany heard footsteps behind him as he finished the last potato, and turned in time to see England enter the kitchen, one of those thick eyebrows lifted in a silent question.

He shrugged and put the potatoes in the oven with the meat. "Did you find anything?"

England looked out the window, frowning. "Aren't you worried about what's going on out there?"

Germany only shrugged again. "When he's having so much fun?" He shook his head. "That would be cruel of me."

England rolled his eyes, and sighed. "I need to know some things." He sounded as though he hated to have to ask anyone for help. "It's important to know exactly what broke the spell before I try to undo the results."

"Then ask," Germany said simply.

England winced. "This is... personal." He took a deep breath. "Is your brother... religious? I mean, seriously, not just for show."

"Is he a believer, you mean?" Germany wasn't surprised by England's nod. "Yes." He didn't say more: if the other man needed more than that, he would ask for it.

The way England paled, he'd been hoping for a different answer. He pressed his lips together, and his eyebrows bristled. "Er. How devout?"

Germany raised both eyebrows. "He doesn't consider himself the former Teutonic Knights. I don't believe he's ever broken their rules."

Now there was no color in England's face. "But... the way he..."

"Talk." Germany shrugged. "And if it goes anywhere but between the two of us, I will hunt you down."

The man took a step back. "... shit..." He swallowed. "I... I'm sorry, Germany, but I can't fix this. It's gone... past anything I could do."

Germany leaned forward, throttling that little flare of amusement at the way England cringed because he was supposed to be a peaceful, modern nation these days, not the monster who'd terrorized Europe over sixty years ago. He wasn't supposed to enjoy scaring other avatars. "Explain."

England's back met the doorway and he straightened a little. "It's got to do with... faith. Religious faith." His gaze flicked from the window to Germany. "What I think happened was when my magic hit him, his... er... faith shattered the spell. And summoned representatives from all his eras to protect him from anything else."

A flicker of memory, something he'd thought had been just a dream. Old Rome, visiting and commenting in excruciating and embarrassing detail on Germany's lack of partners. Surely such things were impossible... except that there were without doubt seven Prussias outside, and that was quite enough to overload any skepticism Germany might possess. "You're saying they're his guardian angels?"

That got an irritated huff from England. "Hardly. More of a defensive reaction to the spell. It wasn't even supposed to be harmful." The man shook his head. "All I can suggest is that all of them pray for the effect to wear off quickly."

#

To Germany's complete absence of surprise, none of the Prussias except the little one were pleased by England's news, although the Teutonic Knights relaxed a bit when the real Prussia explained that when he did go back to his own time he'd go back to when he'd left and wouldn't have to explain being absent.

Germany suspected his brother was guessing about that, but he didn't say anything.

The Duchy and Kingdom summoned their swords and advanced on England. They didn't – quite – have murder in their expressions, but they were clearly not planning to be nice.

"Yo, England!"

Germany had never been so pleased to hear America's voice.

All the younger Prussias turned to the sound. East just rolled his eyes and the wartime Prussia shook his head with a hint of a smile.

America continued. "What's up, du..." His voice trailed off as he entered the room.

That stunned, damn near horrified expression was one Germany would treasure for a long time.

"... the fuck, dude?"

England's palm hit his forehead hard enough that Germany heard it.

The four younger Prussias turned their attention to the newcomer, all of them grinning in a way that said vital regions were on the menu.

Prussia's voice cut through America's half formed question and England's protest. "Hold! Nobody is claiming any vital regions here. He's an ally."

The little one snarled something in his language, getting nods from Teutonic Knights, the Duchy, and the Kingdom.

Prussia only waved a hand. "Ja, ja, you don't have allies, just enemies and rivals. This is my time, we play by my rules."

Kingdom sneered. "You don't even have a nation any more."

Silence. The two young ones stared with their eyes open wide. Duchy looked horrified and disgusted, Wartime pained, and East saddened.

Prussia himself returned the sneer. "I do, kid. These days it's called Germany." His voice dropped. "And I chose to do this."

"Um. Dudes? What's going on?" America looked from Prussia to Prussia, clearly lost.

"Ask England." Germany wasn't going to waste time explaining when it looked like war between Prussias was going to happen any moment now.

Kingdom wasn't impressed, to say the least. "You're just a shell, old man." He stood poised, ready to attack. "You and that pathetic East shadow."

Germany held his breath.

His brother laughed. Bitter, sour laughter that ripped at the soul. "Oh, that's good, kid. You think I don't know what I gave up? I did it for my little brother here, the kid I raised and taught everything I know. I made him the strongest damn nation in the world and I wasn't going to let a fucking shit of a boss be his destruction."

Germany swallowed. His eyes burned. He'd known, of course, but to hear Prussia say it... it hurt more than he'd expected.

The little one asked something that made Prussia wince before he said, "It's bad language, Little Awesome. You're too young to know that kind of curse word."

Germany had no doubt that the toddler's response translated to 'I'm not a child!'. The outraged tone made that obvious.

Kingdom ignored the exchange. "You've gone soft."

Germany wasn't the only one to catch his breath, but Prussia only smiled, a cold little twist of his lips that looked like he'd borrowed it from Russia. "If I've gone soft, Kingdom of Prussia, what does that make you? You haven't managed to beat me yet, and don't think I don't know you're seriously trying."

Kingdom's sword was in his hand and he charged Prussia with a growled curse.

England's yelped, "Not in the house!" was rather less useful than America's, "Oh God."

Prussia didn't even summon his sword. He stepped into the younger avatar's reach, caught the man's wrist. The way he twisted as he pulled Kingdom forward and around had to hurt, but Kingdom was too angry to notice.

Germany didn't see what Prussia did after that, but it finished with Kingdom on the floor on his back, his sword in Prussia's hand, the tip resting in the hollow of his throat.

"Don't push your luck, kid." Prussia's sneer matched the one Kingdom had been throwing around earlier. "I've got a good three hundred years of experience on you, and you know damn well if you push me too far I will conquer you."

Kingdom's eyes opened wide as he finally – finally – realized that his future self really was trying to protect him from his own actions. Probably, Germany thought, because he wouldn't hesitate to conquer given the chance. And likely didn't wish to admit just how much conquest was part of his soul.

Hell, Prussia wasn't comfortable with it and he'd mellowed a lot since the second war. Germany couldn't help wondering if the pain from the loss of his nation had anything to do with it. Prussia lived with unimaginable pain – when his brother was tired, Germany sometimes felt the edges of it, and that was enough that he never wanted to discover the full extent of his brother's suffering. Carrying that burden had to change him.

Not that Prussia was showing any of that mellowness as he stared down Kingdom's sword. "Now get up and quit griping. Yeah being a power is a freaking rush, but you're playing with superpowers here, and you'll get your arse handed to you on a silver plate if you keep this up."

"Why would I use silver, dude?" America asked, then he turned to Kingdom. "You're from what... Sixteen hundreds? Early seventeen?"

Kingdom scrambled to his feet. He caught the sword easily when Prussia tossed it to him, and stared at America. "How the fuck would you know?"

America laughed. "Dude, you're going to come over to my place and teach me how to fight in the late seventeen hundreds. You've grown up a bit by then."

Kingdom's outraged screech got laughter from all the other Prussias, and a soft, "Let it go. You don't really think your other selves are going to be fooled by the bluster, do you?" from Wartime.

Little Prussia said something, tugging at Prussia's jeans.

Germany smiled a little when his brother bent to lift the toddler, then turned to England. "You made this mess, Eyebrows. You get to live with us until it's fixed. Where's your guest room so Little Awesome can take a nap?" Something that wasn't quite a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "Teutonic Awesome looks like he could use one too."

Teutonic Knights snapped something in Latin that Germany thought meant a protest that he wasn't taking a nap like a baby.

Prussia only smiled and said something to him in what Germany was pretty sure was ancient Prussian. It would explain why the language was half-familiar – he'd heard it as a child, growing up with Prussia – but he couldn't understand it.

Teutonic's eyes opened wide and he wiped them with the back of his hand, sniffling.

"Don't worry," Prussia said. "I won't tell anyone."

England just sighed and said, "Upstairs, second door on the left. And make sure they both know how to use the toilet."

Teutonic looked outraged, but Prussia was quick to point out that things were different these days and neither he nor Little Awesome had any experience with England's indoor plumbing. Germany figured it would be a bad idea to mention that Kingdom and Duchy had no experience with that rather quirky excuse for engineering either.

After Prussia marched his two youngest selves up the stairs, an awkward quiet settled, with America eying the remaining Prussias and shaking his head while England pinched the bridge of his nose as though trying to ward off a headache.

Duchy spoke first. "So, England. What atonement will you make for the abuse you have perpetrated?"

"Abuse?" England looked outraged. "That's a bit rich."

East raised an eyebrow. "Really, England? Did you actually look at the little one?"

"He's too thin," America blurted out. "And those scars... What the fuck kind of history does he have?"

England blinked. "No worse than any of us in Europe had." He spoke coldly, but he wouldn't look at any of the Prussias.

Duchy's fists clenched tight, but it was Kingdom who growled, "So how many times did your people burn you as a witch or a demon, England?"

Germany winced. Both England and America paled, and they seemed not to notice Germany's disquiet.

Kingdom sneered and nodded.

"Your own people?" America asked hesitantly. "Dude, that sucks."

Duchy studied him for a moment before he said, "It was unpleasant," in a tone so dry it was almost brittle. Then he smiled – a condescending twist of his lips that said clearly England wouldn't like what he was planning to say. "Of course, at the time I had no idea it was supposed to be any different. I'd never met any of my own kind before."

England frowned, but it was more an expression of confusion than anger. "I thought you were one of Germania's brood."

"Adopted," Kingdom said with an indifferent shrug. "I was useful to him, nothing more."

Germany, who knew his brother as no others did, heard the old pain under the light tone, but before he could speak he heard light footsteps from the stairs, then his brother said, "They're asleep." He nodded to his other selves. "Want me to give the history? I presume you're trying to get England to admit that what he's done to the little ones is fucking abusive."

Wartime smiled, a dry, bitter grimace. "He's being himself."

"Of course he is." Prussia chuckled softly. "This is England. He didn't conquer half the damn world by being nice."

England's blush didn't help matters. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all, old chap." Prussia's imitation of England's accent wasn't bad. "England, you do know about the first-born, right?"

Germany blinked. He took a seat on England's sofa, since if Prussia was starting with that this was going to be a long story.

England's mouth fell open. "Of course I bloody do, wanker. My mother was one of them."

"Good, that simplifies things," was all Prussia said. "My first memory is waking in a clearing not far from Koenigsberg with a sword in my hands that was longer than I was tall, and knowing who my people were and that I had to protect them." He shrugged. "I'm pretty sure I was around before that, because I already had a fair few scars, but that's the first thing I remember."

America nodded slowly, and settled himself cross-legged on the floor beside England's chair.

England's face had lost all color.

Prussia ignored his reaction. "I'm guessing this was somewhere in the 500s or so. Prussians then weren't a nation, really, just a collection of tribes that brawled with each other and killed outsiders, so I didn't grow any." A twist of his lips, too sour to be a smile. "I lived off whatever I could catch, made my tunics from the hides. Even though I protected my people, getting seen by them was bad. I couldn't fight them, you see." He closed his eyes. "They'd catch me, tie me to a stake, and burn me." A shrug. "Sometimes they'd throw me in the river after, since they couldn't actually kill me."

Prussia's giggle wasn't entirely sane – not that Germany expected sane from someone whose early life was like that. It was little short of a miracle Prussia had emerged as stable as he was. "That was how I learned to swim, trying to get myself out of the fucking river before I started drowning and thrashing." He clasped his hands behind his head, leaned back against the wall. "When the Teutonic Knights adopted me, that was fucking paradise. Nobody trying to kill me, rules that I could actually follow instead of being against them just by breathing, clothes, two meals a day... Oh, I adored the Grandmasters back then. But I didn't actually meet any of my own kind until they sent me to protect Hungary."

Now Prussia's eyes hardened and he glared at England. "Little Awesome and Teutonic Awesome up there -" He pointed in the general direction of the guest room. "- are both from before that time. Neither one of them has ever met any of their kind. Hell, the first time either one ever got to eat all they wanted was this morning."

England swallowed. His hands clenched around the arms of his chair.

"And now that they've both found out the world isn't all like that, they know they've got to go back to their shitty lives." The glare intensified. "How is that not abuse, England?"

England ran both hands through his hair. "I didn't bloody know that, wanker. The whole point was to get you to act your bloody age!"

There wasn't any humor in this smile, either. "Which one, England? Over a thousand years? Or the nine hundred or so that goes with the Knights? Maybe the six hundred-odd of Prussia? Or would you rather not quite a hundred and fifty for Germany. Or maybe the seventy-ish years of the Holocaust would be more to your taste. Or the less than fifty years for East Germany or Israel. They're all my age." He shook his head. "God, it's a good thing for you you planned your wars a lot better than you ever plan your pranks."

#

America wasn't quite sure how he'd got himself into this, but he didn't mind. The two littlest Prussias were ridiculously cute no matter how wary they were, so much so America suspected he'd let either one claim his vital regions – strictly metaphorically, because he wasn't going to let himself actually be conquered by them no matter how cute they were – just to get a smile from them. Those red eyes in the disarmingly innocent little faces were just irresistible.

He didn't know how anyone who'd been through what the children had suffered could be so innocent, but both little Prussias managed it.

Which was, he supposed, why he sat between them, helping the Teutonic Knights manage modern silverware. He could – just – manage to make out the kid's Latin grumbles about the knife not being sharp enough to be any kind of weapon and his complaint that the fork was too short and blunt to stab anything. England would be gratified those painfully boring lessons had stuck.

Prussia was helping his toddler-self – America couldn't help thinking of that one as "Little Awesome", because Old Prussia was just wrong for a child that tiny – while the older Prussias fended for themselves with a display of table manners that had England wincing and muttering to himself about how he'd thought America's manners were bad. Well... except for East, but that was an act.

Conversation was... interesting. Little Awesome spoke in his native tongue – Prussian, America supposed – and Teutonic Knights used archaic Latin. Everyone else spoke in the mother tongue so the two little ones could understand what was being said, and between the Prussias and England, there were plenty of translators for the two youngsters.

The real Prussia managed his younger selves with the kind of skill America couldn't help calling awesome. He diverted arguments before they could explode, kept his younger selves from doing anything too horribly destructive – and America knew too well Prussia's reputation for destruction. The mess spattering England's dining table was nothing by comparison – and never seemed even slightly bothered by the frankly bizarre situation.

England had noticed that part: after a while he said, "You're awfully calm for someone who doesn't believe in magic."

Prussia snorted and waved his fork in the air, narrowly missing Duchy's arm. "It's kind of difficult to ignore waking up to six of your former selves trying to kill you."

Both of England's eyebrows rose, trying to disappear under his hair. "You're still too calm, wanker."

Prussia only shrugged and shoveled a mouthful of mashed potato into his mouth before he said, "That's war for you. You roll with what happens and freak out later."

England blinked. "War?"

Seven Prussias hiss-snickering in unison was not for the faint-hearted.

America had his suspicions about what Prussia meant, but he wasn't going to say anything. He'd seen too many things in the aftermath of the attack on the towers, things that weren't really Prussia but related to something deeper, older. First-born.

Prussia grinned at England's expression. "Remember what I said about the first-born, eyebrows?"

"Just get on with it, you git," England demanded.

Prussia shrugged. "If you like. All the first-born have something primal we call to. We can survive without our people or our land if we have to, but it's not something we'd want to do." He gestured with his fork. "We need our people to stay close to human."

America swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as the memory of that time Prussia had damn near conquered the entire Middle East by himself in what Australia had described later as a berserk fit. He knew what Prussia was going to say... he knew it, and he wished he didn't, because England was going to throw one of his legendary fits.

"Brittania was the Huntress," Prussia said softly. "Rome the Father. Germania was the Hearth-Keeper." A small smile. "General Winter is rather obvious, of course. He's never had a people so he's nothing like as human as those of us who have." He half-closed his eyes, regarded England's growing scowl with a faint smirk. "Then there's me. War."

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