Chapter 12: Seborga's

Germany stirred as he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Hmm?" He grunted.

"Germany, It's time to get up."

Italy's voice. Italy? Italy woke up before him?

Germany turned his head toward Italy's voice and squinted his eyes open. "What time is it?" His words were slurred with sleep.

Italy looked down at him with a content, close-mouthed smile. "About seven thirty."

Germany hummed. His brain was so... slow. "You woke up before me."

"Yup." Italy reached his hand forward and smoothed Germany's bangs away from his forehead. "I set an alarm."

Germany almost closed his eyes at the contact before his brain finally caught up with what was happening. "What are you doing? Stop that." He couldn't bring himself to bat back Italy's hand.

"Sorry," Italy withdrew his hand. "We need to make sure to pack for the beach and get going! I think Romano and Spain are going to be there, too."

Germany sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face, sitting up. "Jesus. More people."

Italy laughed. "Don't worry, Germany, it'll be fun!"

"Perhaps." His hand dropped as he got out of bed. He stretched. "Is Japan awake?"

"I think so. I heard him turn on the shower a bit ago."

Germany grunted. "So I'm the last one awake."

"Can't blame you." Italy stretched, his legs still under the covers. "You were so tired last night! You could barely talk!"

"Wel, at least I'm well rested for today." Germany crossed the room to his backpack. He pulled open his drawers. "We're only staying for the day, right? So we'll only need swimsuits?"

"And towels, and suntan lotion, and goggles!" Italy finished.

Germany pulled his swimming trunks out of his top drawer. "What adult brings swimming goggles to the beach?"

"I do!"

Germany half-turned. "Of course you do." He kneeled down on the ground and rummaged around his suitcase for his sunscreen, adding it to his bag. He was pleased to see it was completely full.

"Why are you adding sunscreen?" Italy asked. "I have suntan lotion!"

Germany sent Italy a level look. "You remember when we were stranded on that island. I burn if I so much as get the reflection of the sun off the sand."

"Hmm... must suck." Italy said.

Germany let his eyes roam over Italy's naturally olive complexion, insanely jealous of his ability to tan. "Hmm." Was all he supplied as he finished packing. He swung the backpack over his shoulder. "Get up, we have to get ready for the day." He grabbed a white wide-strapped undershirt.

"You can't lecture me!" Italy pointed out, tossing off his covers. "I woke up before you!"

Germany entered the bathroom, pointedly ignoring Italy's words.

Italy laughed gleefully, leaving the room.

Gemany shook his head, finding himself with a smile on his face. It fell immediately. God, what was wrong with him? Waking up late, talking about feelings, next thing you know, he's going to be rapping show tunes with America.

By the time he was out of the bathroom, Japan and Italy were sitting at the counter. Japan was nursing a coffee at the counter, with Italy standing by the coffee machine. There was a plethora of coffee equipment splayed out in front of him. Scales, bean grinders, spoons, measuring cups...

"What are you doing?"

"Making actual good coffee. It's been too long."

Germany reached over Italy, grabbing the hot pot of instant coffee off the other coffee machine. "There's nothing wrong with Folgers. It's cheaper, easier, faster."

Italy blew out a sigh, grinding out his beans. "And it tastes like dirt."

"Does it?" Germany asked Japan.

Japan shrugged. "Your coffee taste is more refined than mine, Germany."

Germany shook his head. "Hardly. Prussia is the coffee snob of the house."

Italy lit up. "He is?"

"Unfortunately. But his setup isn't nearly as elaborate as yours."

"We should meet up for coffee!" Italy declared.

"You can do that on your own." Germany poured a mug of coffee, taking a seat next to Japan. "I'll stick with instant."

"Italy said that Seborga is making breakfast for us there." Japan said as Germany sat.

"Really?"

Italy nodded. "Yup! He's an early riser! He's never been too much like Romano or I."

"Seems that there's always one odd brother." Germany added.

Japan nodded. "Prussia."

Italy snickered.

"So when Italy finally finishes his cup of coffee, we'll leave for Seborga's house." Germany decided.

Italy carefully measured out coffee grounds on a scale. "Sure, just give me ten minutes."

Germany sighed.

Fifteen minutes later and they were filing in the car. Japan generously offered to drive, Italy calling dibs on shotgun. Humiliatingly, Germany was pushed to the back of the car. Swallowing his pride, he had gotten in the back of the car without protest. But that turned out to be the least of his problems as Japan started driving. As they drove down Italy's long driveway, Germany just assumed Japan was going slowly downhill. He had commended his friend for his wise decision. But as they went down the roads leading to Seborga, he noticed that their creeping pace of about 60 kilometers an hour was Japan's usual driving speed.

Italy looked in the rierview at Germany, shrugging his shoulders. "Japan?" Italy tried.

"Hmm?" Japan answered, not noticing the problem.

"You... know we have to be there for breakfast, right?"

"Yes."

Silence ensued as Germany looked at Italy in the mirror before finding Japan's eyes in the rearview. "Well... the speed limit here is 110..."

"I chose to drive safely."

"Well you can still drive safely at 110, Japan!" Italy reassured him. "Germany does it all the time!"

"Remember, I haven't broken a single traffic law. But you may get pulled over for going this slow."

Japan huffed out a sigh. "My aplogies. I didn't realize it was bothering you this much." His tone indicated that he wasn't sorry whatsoever. "I will speed up."

Germany eyed the speedometer as Japan sped up, maintaining a speed of 90 kilometers per hour. Germany sighed to himself, but kept quiet. Though Japan looked young, his old man tendencies shone through every now and again. From soaking in hot water, to driving slow, to bellyaching about sore joints.

It took them about fifteen minutes to get down to Seborga's. In the front seat, Italy was practically vibrating as they pulled into Seborga's driveway. Looking out the window, Germany noticed that the dark cobblestone of the driveway contrasted with the white sand of the beach. He raised his eyebrows. Seborga lived on the coast?

"Look! That's his house!"

Germany looked through the windshield, his eyebrows raising. Seborga's house was... beautiful. But not in the way that other nations' houses were. It was beautiful in its simplicity. The house was largely white stucco, with a black metal roof that slanted downward. Halfway down the wall, the pristine white walls met layered grey stones that matched the chimney sticking out of the house. There were short, immature palms standing sentry to the whitewashed door, the bottoms submerged in decorative pebbles. There was a grey brick walkway leading straight from the driveway. Though the exterior was simple, the house looked to be about two levels high.

Japan pulled in the driveway and parked. "Hmm."

Germany was about to suggest they bring their bags in before Italy had already stood up and left the car.

"Brother! I'm here, I'm here!"

The door slammed open. Germany cringed as the white painted door bounced off the wall.

Seborga was standing with his arms outstretched, his smile beaming a blinding white. "Italy! Finally! Romano and Spain are already here. Breakfast is almost cold! "

Italy launched into his embrace, the two laughing, chattering in rapid Italian as they said their 'hellos'.

Germany's attention was drawn from the pair as he felt Japan's eyes on him.

"I suppose we should get out of the car." Japan suggested.

Germany nodded. "I suppose we should."

Yet they made no move. Germany mused that it was a probably good thing they had Italy. Otherwise he and Japan would probably never go anywhere. Just two introverts, sitting in a car and avoiding others. He sighed, opening the door. "Let's go."

Japan mirrored his sigh, "Let's." He followed Germany out.

The chattering cut off as Germany retrieved his bag from the back seat.

"Japan! Germany!" Seborga's voice called out. He was trailed by Italy as he went down the path toward them.

"Good morning, Seborga." Japan replied, bending at the waist.

Seborga stopped, also bending at the waist. The movement was well-meaning, but awkward. It was obvious that he didn't do it often. "Good morning, Japan!" He straightened, beaming again. "Thanks for coming! I've been really excited to have you over!"

Japan smiled, standing up straight. "Thank you for inviting me."

"And Germany!" Seborga flounced forward. Germany stiffened as he realized Seborga was about to come in for a hug before Seborga realized, and corrected his hug into a handshake. "Welcome to my place."

Germany shook Seborga's hand, relieved. "Thank you for having me."

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Italy asked. "Seborga's place has always been lovely!"

"Well no matter how lovely it is outside, the food's in there!" Seborga turned and waved an inviting hand. "Come in, come in!"

Italy beamed at Germany and Japan before he also turned, following his brother in. They entered the house, Germany's jaw dropping as he looked around the interior. Like Italy's house, it was an open floor plan. They exited the hallway, Seborga and Italy chatting in English. The space opened up into an open area with dark floors. The first thing you saw was the living room, dotted with grey couches and easy chairs. Along a wall, made of dark wood, was a bookshelf filled with books covered in a thin film of dust. The centerpiece of the room was a chimney made of the same grey stone as outside, rising up to the ceiling of the house. The middle of the house was high-ceilinged, the second level consisting of a loft that made up the roof of the hallway and extended along the front of the house. He looked over and noticed a wide grey table, the legs bending under the burden of dishes of hot, steaming food. A large kitchen was behind the spread, with white granite countertop and large cabinets.

Sitting at the table was Romano, who was tapping his finger on the table. "Finally. You're here. Can we eat now, Seb- Seborga?"

Germany caught this slip, wondering what it was about. He suspected that Romano had almost called Seborga by his human name. He wouldn't be shocked, Gilbert had almost made that mistake himself many times.

Spain, who was sitting on his right, laughed. "Relax, 'Mano. It's only been a few minutes!"

"That's a few minutes without me eating breakfast, bastard! I thought I would die of old age before they got here. And that's not even possible." Romano snapped.

Italy laughed, rounding the table as he embraced Romano from behind, Romano grunting with disdain. "Sorry, Romano! Japan drives like an old man!"

Seborga took his seat at the head of the table, laughing. "Like you can tease anyone about their driving, Italy."

Italy took his seat on the other side of Seborga, resting his face in his palm, but a smile was still on his face. "Hmm... well yours isn't much better."

"Better than yours." Seborga replied.

Japan took a seat by the end of the table, which was the only empty seat. Germany followed awkwardly, setting his bag by his seat.

"Well Romano is the only good driver out of the three of you." Spain declared, leaning forward on the table. "Shame he never drives."

Romano harumphed as he reached forward, taking a piece of some sort of breakfast cassarole. "Why would I drive when you drive me around everywhere, tomato bastard?"

The others helped themselves, Japan and Germany awkwardly following along with whatever the others were doing. Despite how long everyone here had been alive, it was the first time they had all met together for much of anything besides business. There were outings they all had together as "bonding experiences", but even then they remained in their same cliques. This was definitely a breach in the usual protocol Germany followed: Just stay with Japan and Italy. But he found it easier to listen along with the others and smile as the others laughed at the stories they presented. They went one by one down the table, Japan even chiming in with a couple of stories about America from when the two were briefly roommates together.

"What about you, Germany?" Spain asked, his lilting voice alight with amusement. "You've been quiet."

Germany hummed, looking up from his hash. "Well... I certainly have a few stories about Italy."

"I'm not surprised." Romano grunted.

"Like what stories?" Italy asked, excited about being the subject of conversation.

Germany chuckled. "So, so many. Like that one time I tried to teach you how to throw a grenade."

Italy clapped a couple times. "Yes, I remember this one! We were in the middle of training – you weren't there, Japan – and Germany was trying to teach me how to throw a grenade. And you pulled the pin out with your teeth and threw it away-"

"Like a normal person." Germany interjected. "I provided clear instructions, and I tell Italy it's his turn. So as I turn around to point where Italy's supposed to throw it, I hear the pin fall next to me. I look back at Italy, and he has the grenade in his mouth."

Through the laughter around the table, Italy sat up straight. "Germany went crazy! He was telling to throw it away, but my brain wasn't working!"

"It never does." Germany chided, but he had a smile on his face. "The only reason he didn't explode at all was because I pulled it out of his mouth and threw it away myself. It exploded before it even hit the ground."

"My teeth hurt all day after that," Italy lamented through a smile.

"South Italy did the same thing, as I recall."

Romano turned bright red. "It was a trick to scare you, Potato Fucker!"

Everyone laughed. Spain rested his hand on Romano's back, Romano's frown giving way into a slight smile.

By the time they finished breakfast, Germany was amazed. Not only about how good of a time he was having, but at Seborga's cooking skill. If he thought Italy was a decent cook, Seborga was Gordon Ramsey. Italy had mentioned in passing that him and his brothers each had their own special interests. His was art, Romano's was fashion, and Seborga's was cooking. But now he truly understood. He wasn't given much time to consider how good it was before Italy stood up.

"Let's go to the beach!" He declared, standing.

"Hell yeah!" Seborga agreed, also standing. "I have everything! Umbrellas, suntan lotion, booze..."

"Is alcohol allowed on the beach?" Germany asked.

"Until you get caught, yes!" Seborga winked.

Germany and Japan traded a nervous glance.

"... I have a couple of concerns." Japan admitted.

Spain laughed. "No worries, Japan. If you were to go out on the beach and look around, Seborga's is the only place for miles."

"Besides, I desperately need a drink with friends." Seborga left the table, grabbing a beach bag off the counter and walking to the fridge. He opened it and began stowing bottles in the bag. "Do you know how hard it is to get a good drink when half your friends are underage?"

Germany hummed. "It's still not a good idea."

"Come on, guys! We're wasting daylight!" Italy cried, sprinting away from the table. He almost tripped over a side table as he ran over to the glass patio door and pulled it open. He didn't bother to close it as he bolted to the beach, pulling his t-shirt off over his head.

Romano scowled, also standing. "My idiot brother... not even putting on sunscreen." He turned, holding out his hand. "Toss it to me."

"Are you kidding?" Seborga shut the fridge, the bag noticeably straining under the weight of all the bottles stored inside. "He tans!"

Romano's scowl deepened. "Fine. See if I care when he burns." He stood, walking after his brother in a leisurely pace. "Come on, bastard."

Germany was confused as to who Romano was talking to until Spain stood with a smile.

"Coming, 'Mano."

Japan also stood. "Are you coming, Germany?"

Germany left his seat, leaning over and grabbing his bag. "Do you want your Nintendo?"

"No, not yet. I think I will enjoy the sun." Japan decided.

Seborga grunted, waddling slightly as he tried to carry out the insulated beach bag. "I'll be there in a second."

Germany sighed, shouldering his bag. "Do you want some help with that?"

"Really?" Seborga straightened. "Thanks, Germany!"

As Germany walked over and took the heavy bag from the third brother, he noticed that Seborga was taller than his siblings. He came up to Germany's nose, in fact. He hefted the bag. It was clear that Seborga was just as weak as his brothers despite the height difference.

"I'll take the sunbrellas! You and Japan will probably need them."

Japan shook his head. "I will be fine, actually. I tend to tan. Germany, however..." His voice had a playful lilt as he let his sentence trail off.

Germany turned around to shut the door. "Ja, ja. That's enough out of you." He turned around, taking in the scenery around him. The back of his his house was bordered with a deck made of light wood, dotted with white wicker furniture. Resting on the seats were colorful cushions. However pretty that was, the real beauty lay beyond the edge of the deck. The bright blue waters contrasted sharply against the white sand, an endless expanse of water.

Seborga surged ahead and grabbed a couple sunbrellas leaning against the wooden border of the deck.

"Let me help you." Japan offered, taking one of the sunbrellas.

"Thanks. Hey, you realize we're doing down to the beach, right?"

Japan looked down at his ensemble. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. "Oh, no. I have my swimwear underneath."

"Good. Everyone here is going to swim for at least a little bit! Nothing compares to swimming in the Italian waters."

Germany raised an eyebrow. "But saltwater is saltwater no matter where it is."

Seborga turned around with a bright grin, his curl fluttering slightly with the wind. "Not a romantic, I see. How you and my brother are so close, I have no idea."

Germany noticed Seborga's wicked grin and blushed. Damn it. "Not that close."

"Okay." Seborga said, clearly not convinced. Italy and Spain were in the distance, engaged in a water fight as Romano was laying back on a red towel. He was propped up on his elbows, rubbing suntan lotion on his already tanned skin. Seborga quietly approached, stabbing the end of a sunbrella in the sand not two inches away from his elbow.

Romano gave a girlish screach and recoiled, his Cartier sunglasses falling on the towel. He noticed who was beaming down at him and growled. "Damn you. Your fucking umbrella's going to ruin my tan."

"Come on, Romano!" Seborga chortled. "You're already tanned enough! Loosen up for just one day, huh?"

"I will when the Macho Potato gives me a drink." He picked up his sunglasses, checking for grains of sand.

Germany reached in the bag and grabbed a beer, tossing it to Romano.

Romano scrambled with the bottle for a moment before it fell on the towel. He growled, but said nothing as he lay back and donned the overpriced sunglasses again.

The setup was relatively short, with Germany putting on sunblock as soon as his towel was layed out. Under the shade of the sunbrella and the protection of sunscreen, he was fairly confident that he would leave tonight without a sunburn. He was perfectly content to sit and watch Italy mess in the water with Spain and Seborga, Italy laughing as Seborga popped from the water and balanced his older brother on his shoulders. Japan was sitting on the bank, having abandoned his sweats. His camera was raised to take photos of the action. That left Romano and Germany, Romano reading a newspaper as he lay on his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows.

Germany frowned as he was twinged with the urge to work. It had lay at the back of his mind for a while, but he had been determined to ignore it. It bit at him with increasing ferocity. Looking over at Romano, he noticed that the economic news lay in the sand, untouched. "South Italy."

"What?"

"Are you done with the economics?"

Not looking up from the fashion news, Romano passed Germany the economic pages. "Can't stay away from work long enough to take a real vacation?"

"I don't know what else you expected."

Romano grunted. "Me neither."

A couple moments of silence passed as they perused the pages before Romano's gruff voice started again.

"Hey, Potato Head."

"Hmm?" Germany looked up from the papers.

"Who am I?"

"What?"

"What, are you dickless and brainless? Who am I?"

Germany raised an eyebrow. "... you're South Italy."

Romano turned over. "Why the hell do you call me that? People call me Romano."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you didn't like it."

"Just answer the question. Why do you call me South Italy?"

Germany lowered his newspapers. "Well, I know for a fact that I wouldn't like it if people just called me by my human name. When Prussia... dissolved, he made sure people kept calling him 'Prussia'. Because it's important to our identities. Names are priveliged information. And with everyone calling you 'Romano' all the time... I guess I just thought you would like it if somoene called you 'South Italy'."

Romano grunted, narrowing his eyes. After a short pause, he returned to his paper. "South Italy's fine."

Germany furrowed his brow, also returning his pages. Did Romano really care if he called him 'South Italy'? What was the right course of action here? Why were emotions so damn hard? He cleared his throat. He guessed he would just keep calling him 'South Italy', then.

"Germany!" He heard from above him.

Germany looked up, his eyes widening. Italy was kneeling down to his level, his tan skin shining under beads of saltwater. His wet hair was swept back away from his forehead in a way that Germany didn't know he loved until this moment. Italy's doe eyes were wide open, shaded only by his long brown lashes.

"Ye-" Germany's voice cracked. He cleared his throat. Shit. "Yes?"

"Seborga has pool toys in his house! We have to go find them!"

"Can you get them yourself? Surely they're not that heavy."

"Maybe, but I don't know where they are. Seborga doesn't, either."

Germany huffed out a sigh. "Okay, okay, I'm coming." He stood, ducking out from under the umbrella. Germany followed Italy in the house, not noticing the congregation that was forming behind his turned back.