A/N: Kind of wandered off-topic here, but I was blocking a little. Hopefully it's still funny enough.

"So, should I go, or do you want to?" asked Estonia, nodding at Italy. The dugout seemed to be in control of the Baltic nation for the moment since the pitcher was busy resting on the bench.

"I'll go ahead!" Italy responded cheerfully, picking up a bat but, of course, not a helmet.

Italy, apparently forgetful of the dangers of going helmetless, got into a batter's position happily.

And then America pitched.

Italy couldn't move the bat an inch before the baseball whapped into Germany's glove behind him.

"Strike one!"

Italy blinked. "That was fast!"

Several sarcastic retorts of "you don't say" were stifled across the diamond.

Italy got ready to bat again, and America pulled back for the next pitch. He hurled the ball forward, but the angle was a bit off. That is, just enough off to fly straight for Italy's head.

Realizing even a frightened Italy couldn't quite get out of the way in time, Germany grabbed his friend's ankle and yanked him off his feet. Italy tumbled to the ground with a yelp before the ball went clanging off of the umpire's helmet.

"Hey! He can't do that!" America objected.

"Why not?" Prussia countered from his base. "Didn't say anything about that in the rules, did you?"

"No…" America glanced over at Italy, who was currently sobbing at apparently scraping the back of his leg a bit on the sand. "But if you attack the batter, it's just not baseball… I think it's cool with all the extra running around and epic tricks, but we can't mess with the hitting."

Prussia shrugged. " 'Kay. You sure it wouldn't be funner?"

"Yeah." America looked at Switzerland, who was fingering the baseball and recovering from the earlier impact.

"Yo! Switzerland! Let's add that to the rules!"

"Okay…" Switzerland tossed the ball back to the pitcher gently. "Just… 'no attacking the hitter while he's trying to bat', or…?"

"Yeah," America responded. "And no messing with the pitcher when he's pitching, either."

"Got it," Switzerland replied, giving an affirmative nod.

"So…" Germany started, "does that count as a ball, or strike, or…?"

"Pff. We all know he's going to strike out, anyway," Prussia responded. Germany frowned but could not find any evidence against the accusation.

"Let's put it down as a ball," the umpire decided slowly. Liechtenstein adjusted the scoreboard accordingly.

And, as America continued to pitch, Italy did indeed end up striking out, mostly because he went back to fleeing from the baseball every time it came toward him.

"That's one out this inning for Team Japan. Next batter!"

Estonia, being the only one left to bat, had stepped up to the plate in a matter of seconds.

America flung a pitch toward him, but Estonia swung far too late.

"Strike one!"

Germany tossed the ball back, and America pitched again. Estonia got the bat around a little faster, but still couldn't hit the baseball.

"Strike two!"

America chucked the ball a third time, but it was still far too fast for Estonia to hit.

"Three strikes—you're out! Two outs for Team Japan!"

Estonia set the bat down in the dugout while the others on the team looked awkwardly at Japan, who was still acting fatigued. The team silently waited for the pitcher to announce who should bat next, but he wasn't budging.

"Hey… Japan?" England started, tapping the Oriental nation on the shoulder hesitantly. Japan shifted the slightest bit but didn't speak.

Just as the eligible batters thought to go ahead and step up anyway, the pitcher finally spoke.

"Will someone ask Switzerland if we can take another break?"

Team Japan, although not as bad off as their pitcher, had gotten pretty well worn-down by Prussia's antics, too.

"Sure," Spain said, trotting out of the dugout a bit. "Switzerland!" he called, waving at the umpire for no apparent reason. "Can we take another break?"

The umpire shrugged. "Sure, if everyone wants to."

"Wh-Why would we take a break?" America objected. "We've barely gotten started here!"

"Well, we're not in a big rush, are we?" Spain countered.

"Uh…" America couldn't seem to figure a decent reply to that.

Just as it seemed the argument had been won, Romano decided to jump in.

"Why should we do it just because you said so, huh, you tomato-loving bas—"

"Hey, Romano, calm down a little—I'm not trying to boss you around…"

"Yes, you are! 'Take a break', 'Calm down'—you just never stop!"

"Eh?"

"Face it, you still can't get over losing all your stinking authority."

"…What?"

Romano, apparently still not aware of Spain not being aware, crossed his arms. "Although I don't know why you'd want to go back, anyway. You were never any good at being a boss, anyway."

"Brother!" Italy gasped. "Quit being so mean!"

"I'm not beign mean, Italy! I'm just telling it like it is!"

"Can we get back to the topic on-hand?" said Germany, trying to stay calm.

"What, Spain trying to boss everybody around?"

"No, taking a break!" Germany snapped. "Come to a decision, and then you can… I don't know. Do whatever you're trying to do."

"And why should I be taking orders from you, either, potato-freak?"

Germany looked away, grumbling to himself. He would be happy to yell at Romano for obstructing the process, but he was foreseeing that would trigger a sudden mood change to the bumbling, terrified Romano. Germany couldn't quite decide which one he loathed more, but ended up not saying anything.

"For the record," Spain started slowly, "it was Japan's idea…"

"Seriously?" America glanced at Team Japan's dugout. "Yo, Japan! You wimping out on us?" he laughed. Japan didn't respond. America stopped laughing.

"Uh… Is he okay?" the pitcher asked slowly.

"I think so," Estonia put in. "Just really exhausted."

"From what?" America, not having pitched for as long nor knowing what it's like to have less strength than what's necessary to lift a semi-truck, just could not figure out how Japan had worn out so quickly.

"Oh, let's just, like, humor them," Poland put in finally, stepping away from his plate. "I, like, need to pee, anyway."

"Okay, sure," America conceded slowly. "Let's take a break."

The majority of the players ended up in a line for the bathroom immediately after Switzerland showed them the way. Japan remained behind in the dugout—upon questioning, he confirmed he was not dead as some had begun to suspect—and so did Russia, whom no one cared to check on.

The line currently consisted of America, Prussia, Germany, Romano, France, and China. Poland, who had somehow arrived last and ended up at the rear of the line, quickly decided to become the only occupant of the girls' restroom.

"Why am I not surprised?" Prussia commented.

"I can still, like, hear you!" echoed Poland's voice off the pink-tiled walls.

"That's why I'm bothering to point it out, dummy!"

"Hmph." No more response came from the pink restroom until a few minutes later.

"What the heck is this?"

"What's what?" Switzerland responded, leaning against the outside wall.

The only response was a shuffling rattling sound before Poland stepped back out.

"Um…" The umpire and owner of the diamond looked at the box. "It looks like a game of Scrabble."

"Why was there a Scrabble game in the bathroom?"Germany asked slowly.

"Janitor didn't pick it up yet, I guess," Switzerland replied boredly.

"So, wait," America interrupted. "Someone brought Scrabble to a baseball game and left it in the bathroom?""

"That's what it looks like."

"Dude, that's just wrong," decided America, shaking his head.

"Oh, yes, someone wanting to do something intelligent instead of watching people run in a square is uncalled for," replied England sarcastically.

"If you hate baseball so much, why the heck are you playing?" America retorted.

"I didn't say I hating playing it. I'm just saying it's stupid to watch."

"So, like, what am I supposed to do with this thing?" interrupted Poland impatiently, shaking the box.

"Well, we're taking a break, anyway. Why don't we play a quick round?" suggested England.

"Bo-ring," America blared. "You just want to play 'cuz you know you're not going to win the baseball game."

England crossed his arms. "You don't want to play because you're too idiotic to put a decent word together," he retorted.

"Oh, please! I could cream you at that like anything else."

"You really believe that?" England laughed. "Please. I'd wipe the floor with you."

"Well, only one way to find out!" America turned to Poland. "Gimme that game." Poland complied uninterestedly, and America hurried over to the nearest table to set it down. England followed, suppressing snickers at just how easy it was to convince America to start a game he'd surely lose.

"Ooh! That looks fun! Can I play, too?" Italy chirped.

"Sure," England sanctioned.

"Ah! Can I join?"

"I want to play!"

"Me, too!"

After a bit of arguing and failed attempts to kick France out of the table, the Scrabble players had settled down—as much as that crew could settle down, at least. England was next to America, and the lineup continued with Spain, Italy, France, Lithuania, and Poland. Canada also had a seat, but no one gave him any tiles no matter how hard he tried to be heard. He soon left.

Each player took seven tiles and stared at the board.

"Who goes first?"

"Ah! I have a word!" Spain announced. No one really responded, so he went ahead and laid down five tiles.

"Amigo," England read monotonically. "We're playing this game in English, Spain."

"Why?" Spain responded innocently.

"The point values are strictly based on the frequency of letters appearing in the English language, and changing the language completely undermines the scoring system."

"Okay…" Spain took his tiles back slowly.

"I have a word!" France announced.

"In English?" challenged England.

"Yes, in English." France quickly laid a few tiles down. England stared at the output for a solid second before registering what it said and blushing.

"Take that off the board right now, you pervert!"

"What? It's in English," France responded innocently.

"I don't care! We are not using that kind of vocabulary in my Scrabble game!"

"How come it's your Scrabble game all of a sudden?" America objected.

England turned on the speaker. "What, you think that's appropriate for an educated word game?"

"Takes some education to know about that."

England glared, and then turned back to France, who had inconspicuously removed what he had set down with the more neutral "in".

"Okay, okay," England grumbled. "Italy, then. Your turn."

"Okay!" Italy looked over his letters for a moment. "I don't have any words!" he announced cheerfully, apparently missing the point of the game.

"Then it's Spain's turn," England sighed. "And you don't have anything in English?"

"No!" Spain responded, just as blatantly cheerful as Italy.

"Okay. America—"

"You don't have to tell me it's my own turn," America interrupted, poking through his tiles. "A-ha!" He clacked down six tiles.

" 'Learned' is not a word! How many times must I tell you this?" England shouted.

"Is, too!"

"Is not!"

"Is, too!"

"Are we, like, playing this game or not?" Poland complained.

"Sorry." America leaned back, stubbornly not moving his tiles. England grumbled but decided to work with it. He laid down letters to make "effort".

"Finally." Poland scrutinized the board for a second before finally spelling out "fabulously".

"Wha-hey! How do you have that many letters?" England exclaimed.

"I have my methods," Poland replied evenly. "Liet, your turn."

"Right…" Lithuania poked through his rack, which was suspiciously empty-looking, before saying he didn't have any words.

After France put something else inappropriate down, Italy decided to go off and just stack the letters into pretty piles, and America decided to try adding "color" without a "u" to the board, England just gave up the game.

America, announcing loudly that he had won, put up the board before anyone could prove him otherwise. "Can we go back to the game now?"

"Yes," England grumbled, although it was obvious America hadn't been asking him, while Switzerland gave his approval as well.

America whooped, taking the lead back to the field to get back started again