April 2022

Mexico glanced at his phone the moment it started ringing. Since their conversation a few months prior, Spain had been calling him every single day at least twice. Sometimes, it was more than that. The day his elder hermano called him was the day America's delegation visited his country and offered a bailout of some significance. It wasn't just money, either, but other things the country required to get back into the grander scheme of things. The gesture from the middle North American nation had seriously rattled nearly all of Europe and the rest of the world. Spain now called every day to see about him attending a world meeting . . . and petering him to pester America to do the same thing. His shoulders tightened the second his phone started ringing.

'Not today, Spain. Not today. Please not today.'

Upon seeing it wasn't Spain but Canada, the Latin American nation relaxed and exhaled a breath. Canada was good. Canada, he could deal with far better than he could most of the European nations.

'And rumor has it America has sent delegations to him, too, but Matthew, he isn't saying. I don't blame him, either. Europe is now watching him and the Nordic 5 closely once they called for the global conference. I thought the Nordic nations didn't like getting involved in European affairs. I know Iceland and Norway do not belong to the EU. Then again, neither does Britain, poor stupid bastard. Better see what Matthew wants.' He swiped up to answer, immediately putting Matthew on speaker.

"Hola."

"Hola, Miguel. How are you doing today?"

Miguel smiled. Despite their oddities, despite their agreements, both Alfred and Matthew always started their conversations by asking him how he was doing. It was . . . nice.

"I am . . ." He lifted his gaze from his phone to the landscape. He stood close to his border and America's, near Texas. "I am . . ." He exhaled. "I wanna lie and say I'm okay, amigo. I really do, but I can't. Not today. Not with you. Have you stood next to your border with him?"

"I have," came the confirmation. "I am right now. How about you?"

"Close to Texas," Miguel murmured. There wasn't much for him to see. Just an endless stretch of desert. There were no cars, no border patrol agents. Everything was . . . quiet. He was only there because there were still some who sought out the North American land. They still whispered of a better life than what they could find anywhere else, despite the clear news that the borders were shut and that no one left the country anymore. "It's . . . quiet, amigo. Too quiet."

"Same on my end . . . I'm sure you've heard the rumor by now . . . that an American delegation came to see me and my boss last month."

"Si. I did. I take it you're confirming it to me."

"Oui. I am. Alfred . . . he wasn't there, but he was. It's strange. I don't know how to describe it, Miguel, and I've got a feeling he wants to visit you next, to give you something to make amends for all of the shittiness between you guys."

"You mean the shittiness that wouldn't be there if not for England, France, and Spain?" Miguel let out a bitter laugh. "Maybe even if not for Sweden and Finland?"

"The Netherlands chased them out, then was chased out by Arthur, and you know that," came the gentle retort. "I can't say we'd be better off if they'd managed to stay and fight, but then I can't say we wouldn't be, either . . . listen, there's something else I want you to know, just in case America decides that you're next on his list."

"And what's that?"

"Promise me you'll keep this to yourself? Until . . . until we get the go ahead?"

Now that intrigued Miguel. He kept his gaze on the skyline over America and his lands.

"Si. I give you my word as a fellow Native, amigo. What is it?"

"The Nordic 5 have been in contact with Alfred all along. They may be the ones to contact you first before America does. I don't know for sure, but, if they do, know that they're quite serious about helping you and me keep America from committing suicide."

"Why didn't they say anything when we first told them?" Miguel asked. He wanted to demand, but the words could barely hold up any strength. "They could have . . ."

"I know. They could have helped us convince the others . . . or they might not have been able to. At least . . . Norway doesn't seem to think it would have made much of a difference. Besides, according to him and Finland, they promised Alfred they wouldn't say anything. They've . . . they've been doing a lot of observing on his behalf. Apparently, he's still really messed up from that last meeting."

"Alfred . . . he's scared . . . isn't he?" Miguel murmured.

"I think so . . . it's hard to be ourselves when we're around the other nations. They have . . . expectations of us . . . you know? It's no secret that they think he's crazy."

"It's hard for him to not be crazy," Miguel stated, turning away. There was a slight tingling in the pit of his belly, a familiar one that told him another nation was about to enter his lands, but it wasn't America. "Look at who raised the two of you."

"Indeed," came the agreement. "I have to go. There's a nation getting off a plane in Quebec City. It isn't America, either. You will definitely feel something off and wrong about any delegation he sends . . . I think he's been there every single time but somehow disguised. He's testing us. Whoever's arriving feels . . . lighter, in a manner of speaking."

"Good to know because I'm feeling the same thing myself, amigo. I'll contact you soon as I know who's here. It's gonna take me a bit to get back to Mexico City, though." He paused. "We don't say this to each other enough, amigo, but I do love you. Despite all the shittiness over the years, I do see you and Alfred as brothers. Our histories . . . they're too similar for us to shake off."

"I know. I love you like a brother, too, Miguel. I'll talk to you soon." Then the Canadian hung up.

"Yeah. Talk to you soon . . . my real hermano." He climbed into his car and sped off towards his home.

His car was covered in dust by the time he reached the international airport in Mexico City, and he parked next to a familiar looking Nissan Versa. His boss leaned next to the car, arms crossed over her chest.

"I was wondering when you'd get here," she'd said. "I would have called, but you nations always seem to know when one of your own is here." She tilted her head a little. "Which makes me curious, Seniorito. What does it feel like when another nation comes to our home?"

"A little like invasion," he murmured. "Unless . . . unless we share the same land, like I do with America and Canada. Then it feels like . . . home . . ." He exhaled and ran his fingers through his hair to try and make it somewhat presentable for whoever was arriving. "Has . . ." He paused and took a moment to focus on who precisely had arrived. "Has Germany's people notified you that he was coming here?"

"I received word about twenty minutes ago that he was doing to be here," she answered, folding her arms across her chest. "And it isn't a vacation for him, either. It is official business. His boss apologized profusely for this, too. Clearly, Germany didn't want anyone to know he was coming here until he was good and ready to let us know."

"Interesting," Miguel murmured. He started walking to the terminal where international flights were disembarking. "Seems my formerly loudmouthed hermano's actions are upsetting the entire world."

"Si, they are," his boss confirmed. "And, while I do not claim to understand why you call that white man your hermano, I can at least try . . . it like shared family bonds, in a manner of speaking, si?"

"Si," he confirmed. He found the luggage carousel and looked for the name Ludwig. He hadn't told his boss yet, but, as he focused more on who had arrived, he picked up the presences of Prussia and Italy. "And a bit more than that."

"Miguel . . ." she grasped his arm and stopped him. He met her gaze, which reflected a great deal of concern. "You . . . you were by the border again, weren't you? Our people who try to go there, I've heard the stories. They make it as far across the border as they can, only to turn around and leave. They come back with more supplies than they'd left with . . . how . . . how does it look there?"

"Like he's died," Miguel replied flatly. "He hasn't, not yet, but that's where he's heading if things continue as they are."

"How . . . how is that possible?"

"I don't know, mi amiga, but, if I know my hermano, if there's a way to do something, he will find it. Come. Let us greet our guests." Three suitcases appeared in that moment, each bearing the names of the nations arriving. Germany and Prussia at least had the decency to travel light. Italy, on the other hand, packed like he was one of America's doomsday preppers.

"It seems Germany isn't alone."

"Nope. He never is." He handed the lightest of the suitcases – Germany's – to one of the guards that had arrived for his and his boss's safety. "Here. I've got the other two."

"This way to their gate."

'Time to get this over with,' he told himself as he followed her. Her heels clicked and clacked on the floor as they walked, and Miguel went down memory lane . . .

America looked ill at ease the moment Miguel stepped into the room. Disgusted, he didn't even bother to say anything to his American neighbor. He went straight for his tequila. It was the only way he could bear to be around the obnoxious blond.

"Whatever it is you want, I don't . . ."

"I'm sorry."

"Pardon me?" Miguel looked up from his drink, almost dropping the precious alcohol in the process.

"I said I'm sorry, Miguel," America said. A few tears rolled down pale cheeks. "I . . . I had no idea about that operation, about Fast and Furious. I swear that I didn't. If I had . . ." He shook his head. "I would have fought it, tooth and nail. I swear that I would have."

Miguel snorted and added more tequila to the glass. He brought it to his lips and said, "Honestly, gringo, I don't believe you. You're only apologizing because you got caught."

At that, America sighed. His shoulders slumped in defeat, and his head hung lower.

"I don't blame you. After all of the shit I've put everyone through . . . I don't blame you for not believing me. I'd ask what I could do in order to prove to you that I didn't know . . . but I get it. Words are meaningless coming from someone like me. They always have been. Always will be."

That was not the response Miguel had been expecting. A temper tantrum, yes. America had always been overly dramatic and put on a big production to be sure he had everyone's attention. It had always been annoying, so to have the blond behaving completely out of character . . .

"You really didn't . . ."

"I am sorry for what happened." America stood up, finally opening his eyes. His weariness blasted Miguel where he stood, which was about half the room away. "I really am, and I'll do whatever I can to make it up to you. I promise. Please . . . please take care."

Miguel couldn't even form the words as America left his space . . .

'Last time I saw him, and I wish I could do it all over again,' he said, his heart heavy. 'Many of his people, they were outraged. They didn't know about it, either. I just . . . I just found it hard to believe that he personally didn't know, but then governments do like to lie to their people. They always have, no matter who is in power.'

"Guten tag, Mexico," Germany said as he, Prussia, and Italy emerged from their gate. "I do apologize for the suddenness of this trip, but I fear ve are running out of time."

Miguel nodded mutely. There wasn't much for him to say. A part of him believed they'd already run out of time, at least where America was concerned.

'Giving up isn't an option. If my people can make a trek across the desert to get into America's lands but I can't fight for my own family, then I do them a great disservice,' he told himself. 'I can still at least try.'

"You might be right, senor," he replied. "The question is, why did you come here? There's only so much I can do from my lands."

"It's what you can do from here that will count!" Italy piped in. "You have good food, lots of pretty ladies, and we all know America loves good food! It will be perfecto!"

"What is he talking about?"

"Ve're talking about vhere to host the next Vorld Meeting," Germany said. "America isn't responding to any messages, so I vas hoping ve could host it here . . . if not, Canada is our next choice."

"Here? You want to host it here?" Miguel stared in disbelief. "But . . . I do not understand! They are often hosted in America's lands . . . or in yours. Why here?"

"Because you have tacos," Italy replied. "And America and Norway like tacos."

"They like American tacos," Miguel retorted. "Those things they call tacos are not like my tacos."

"They still like tacos." Italy shrugged. "It was Norway's suggestion. Denmark, Sweden, Finland, and Iceland and little Sealand and Ladonia, they all agreed. What do you say? You have a lovely culture here, si? Why not let the rest of the world see it?"

"It is a serious matter to consider," his boss spoke up, but Miguel detected hints of hope in her voice. "Please, allow us some time to consider the potential in all of this . . . we've never hosted such a major event before. I am sure there is much to prepare for."

"I am more than villing to help you out," Germany offered. "And, if it is okay vith you, ve'd like to stay for a few days vhile you think it through. It is a very serious decision, after all."

"Of course," his boss replied. "Come this way. We will get you settled, and we can discuss it further in the morning. Come, come!"

They left the airport, and Miguel's mind reeled. Somehow, this felt bigger than what he could possibly put into words, but he just couldn't figure out the biggest question behind it.

Why?

'Please let there be an answer soon,' he prayed. 'Because I am seriously considering accepting this invitation.'

Then do it.

Author's Notes: Whew! Barely cranked this out in time for my scheduled weekly updates. Yeah, I've been horrible about that as of late. My work still eats up a lot of my time, so I'm cranking out what I can, and a lot of my focus has also been on original material as well.

So! About this chapter! Fun fact time! In America, we do Taco Tuesdays. We're such suckers for alliteration, and anytime I have a customer talking about making tacos on an actual Tuesday, I'm super stoked. But, as mentioned by the nation of Mexico, our tacos are not the same as Mexican tacos. What the precise difference is, I'm not entirely sure. The Mexican restaurants I visited while living in Tulsa (owned and operated by real Mexicans) definitely did more the Tex Mex style of tacos than anything else . . . and I was more for burritos anyway.

And still talking about tacos . . . in Norway, it isn't Taco Tuesdays. It's Taco Fridays, and, yes, their tacos are more the Tex Mex version created by Americans than the tacos created by Mexicans. Immigrants from all over the world bring their street food to America, and we just take off with it as a way to eat every single day. But anyway, Norwegian tacos are similar to American tacos. They do Taco Fridays because tacos are quick to make after a long day at work, and you're ready to wind down.

Now for our history lesson: I stuck with the Fast and Furious operation mentioned in the very first chapter, which featured Russia. I stuck with it because the rest of the bloody history between the U.S. and Mexico is a bit more complicated, and I'd be coming at it from my limited, white perspective, which wouldn't do the Mexican perspective much justice. There are others out there who can handle it more deftly with better hands than what I currently can right now. A bit of perspective, though: there's probably been more blood spilled between U.S./Mexican hostilities than between the U.S. and Canada from during the Revolutionary War and War of 1812 combined. Fast and Furious was simply safer, and it's one of the things that was like, "who was that stupid to think such an operation was a good idea?". Still angry about it to this day because a lot of innocent people died as a result of someone in the U.S. government's idiocy on the matter.

Finally, thank you for all of the reviews, love, and support you've shown me during the last year when a lot of my world felt like it was falling apart! No, I haven't checked out the latest season of Hetalia yet. I haven't even looked for it. I will eventually. That said, I do have a request for everyone! Please sign in when you leave your reviews! I like to respond to everyone individually. I get super annoyed when reading other stories, and the individual thank yous are as long as the chapter itself, if not longer.

If you want to be up to date on what I'm doing, please find me on Facebook - I go by the name Victorea Ryan Meadow - or you can find me on Instagram and Twitter under EnchantedRealmsFiction. Enjoy this chapter, and I hope to have something for you next week!

Until the next time!