"I'm going to kick your fucking ass," Romano growled, though he was really thinking, Oh shit, I'mdeadI'mdeadI'mdead…

The man who strangely looked almost exactly like his brother laughed as if reading his mind. "Really? Go ahead and try," he smirked. In the blink of an eye, he was holding a knife.

Romano's eyes widened and he backed away, looking frantically for anything he could use for a weapon. Seeing a particularly large glass shard, he practically threw himself to the ground to grab it and hastily stood back up. Tightly gripping it, he didn't even notice the sharp edge digging into his hand, so focused on the other man he was.

Veneziano's alter ego(?) advanced, smiling maliciously, "Now, Romano, if you surrender and promise to do exactly what I tell you, I might let you live."

Romano, who really didn't want to die, asked, "What the hell do you want from me? A-and who are you, bastard?!"

"Language, language… I might need to cut that tongue out. I'm your brother's second player, but call me only Luciano."

"A-and you want...?"

"An oath of loyalty until death, and you will do whatever I say without questioning it or telling anyone." Luciano smirked - why was he so...smirky?- as he demanded almost exactly what the mafia did.

This reminder of how often he let the mafia get away with whatever they wanted brushed a nerve. "Like hell I will!" Romano exploded, throwing the shard in his hand at the second player.

Luciano brought his dagger up to block it, lazily, like he almost couldn't be bothered. "A shame," he murmured. "Well, this is my house now, and I can't very well let you leave alive when you could go blabbing about me."

"Ch-che?!"

Before Romano even had time to register that he was about to die, he had a knife at his throat.

"Buonanotte, bastardo~" Luciano sounded like he had been eagerly awaiting this moment since Romano walked in.

Romano closed his eyes, trying desperately not to show his fear and despair. I'm sorry, Feliciano. I failed as your brother.

~Meanwhile~

A knock at the door startled England from his cup of tea. Was it Tuesday? He went to open the door and found himself staring into a familiar face.

"Oh, it's you, Romania," he welcomed his friend. "Come in. Would you care for some tea?"

"Yes, please," the red-eyed nation mumbled. Something was on his mind.

England poured the Romanian a steaming, pleasantly scented cup of tea. When he tried to hand it over, though, Romania was staring off into space. "Romania? Are you alright, mate?" he inquired

"Wh- oh yeah, I'm fine! Everything's great!" Romania grinned, although his smile slipped as soon as he thought England wasn't looking.

"Why are you here?" England prodded.

"I just...wanted to get out of the house, you know? Too many mirrors." Romania's house did have a surprising number of reflective surfaces, and it was well-known that he didn't like them. Why he kept them despite this dislike confused many a nation when they bothered to think about it, but some theorized that he didn't show up in mirrors because he was a vampire, and thus he kept them to scare away unwanted guests with undeniable proof that he was undead.

"I see," England murmured. Only England, Norway, and Romania himself knew the real reason for his hatred of mirrors; they brought back memories none of them wanted to think about, especially Romania.

(~_~;)

"Oh, do take a cupcake! Just one! You know you want to," teased England's second player, a strawberry blond with unnaturally bright blue eyes.

England struggled against his bonds as Oliver waved the platter of one dozen tantalizing cupcakes under his nose. There was no way he had gone to all the trouble of capturing him just to feed him cupcakes. No, there was certainly something nasty in them. "I don't want a bloody cupcake, or anything from you!"

"Aww, come on, I only put rat poison in three of them~ Oh, and two have hemlock, and five contain cyanide~" Oliver smiled a smile that could have been on a child's face, a child who could never dream of being as terrible as him. "The other two are completely safe. Choose wisely, Artie, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

(~_~;)

No, he did not want a reminder of those memories. Not at all. And he wouldn't have envied Romania even if his own trials had been ten times worse. No wonder the other country wasn't his usual cheerful self, if that was what he was thinking about.

And so England and Romania sat, neither of them talking, but remembering things they would rather have forgotten.

A/N: …. Please don't kill me. If you kill me you will never know what happens next! But if anyone has any ideas what's coming next, leave them in a review! (xXSoul-dweller and MuddyBuddyPancakes THIS DOES NOT MEAN YOU!) I won't confirm or deny them, but I would love to hear what you think. Also, thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited and followed this! It makes my day when someone likes anything I write, especially this since it is so different from what I usually write. Happy holidays, everyone!