True to his word, America arrived an hour and a half later, dragging his northern brother along with him. He burst into the house with a loud, heroic proclamation, which very soon turned into a noise of confusion when he was greeted with silence. He looked around, frowning as concern took over him. Nothing seemed out of place, and yet, there was no one there? Had they forgotten he was coming? But no one forgot the hero! "Where is everyone?" He asked, his frown increasing.

"Well, it's the middle of the afternoon, eh?" Matthew reasoned in his quiet, inoffensive voice, "and Veneziano sounded really tired before. So maybe they're taking a nap?"

America's eyes widened and he blushed with shame, scuffling his feet on the ground, "O-Oh. Geez, I hope I didn't wake 'em up. Italy's pro'lly gonna need all the rest he can get." He frowned. The poor guy must have been exhausted – on top of the physical and mental toll the telepathic torture could have on another person, there was also the emotional exhaustion that went with it, the constant fear that his brother wouldn't come home, that nothing would be solved. "We should do something for him. To take his mind off it, a little."

"Like what?"

Blue eyes grew troubled as he though. Now, what could he do? When he was upset, food was always the answer, and he knew that Veneziano had a sweet tooth (it shouldn't have been all that surprising, but somehow it still stunned people when they found out the brunet had interests in things other than pasta). Alfred had always considered himself a good baker, thanks to both Arthur's influence and his southern states. So... what was a good thing to bake? What... "pie!" Apple pie! I'll make him some home made apple pie with caramel swirl ice cream on the side! That'll cheer'im up!" He exclaimed as quietly as the American possibly could while still remaining America, "you wait here in case they wake up, I'll be right back!"

Matthew simply laughed and nodded as his boisterous older brother ran out the door eagerly. He couldn't help but notice how much his older brother had grown up and matured in such a short period of time. How long ago had it been since he'd placed a burger on Arthur's head in an attempt to "cure" him? Sure, he was still trying to cure Vene with food, but at least he was being more thoughtful (and now Canada couldn't get the thought of America just placing a steaming hot pie on the poor Italian's face. Stop giggling Matthew. It's not very becoming.) And of course, the fact that he had quietened himself when he realised that everyone was asleep was another very thoughtful gesture. Say what you will about the American, but he certainly did take his job of being the hero seriously.

"I should go check on them," Matthew whispered to himself, moving silently through the house. His feet made no noise on the wooden floors and he moved smoothly and effortlessly, his sock clad feet skating as gracefully as if they were skates on ice. He noted the decor, listened for sounds of his brother's return and counted the doors until he reached the bedroom, his hand hesitating on the doorknob. "After all," he reasoned with himself, "Al was pretty loud."

Taking a nervous breath (even if the Canadian had shown no fear during World War One and Two, in day-to-day life the German scared the shit out of him, especially when it came to his protectiveness over Italy), he turned the doorknob slowly, peering into the room. Despite how loud Alfred had been, it seemed it wasn't loud enough to even wake Germany from his sleep. This surprised the Canadian – usually Germany was the first to wake up. It just showed how tired and worn out they really were. His lavender eyes softened at the sight of the German, Spaniard and Italian together on the bed.

"Sleeping?" Kuma yawned, causing Matthew to squeak and jump, his glasses coming askew in the quick movement.

"Y-Yeah," He replied shakily, adjusting the bear's position in his arms so he could fix his glasses, "don't scare me like that," he whispered. It had become such a habit at this point, to carry the bear, that he had actually forgotten he was even there.

"Sorry," the bear replied in a much quieter voice, "tomato man sad. Pasta boy cuddles potato breath. I cuddle tomato man?" Matthew smiled and nodded, walking towards the bed. He once more noted how sweet Ludwig and Feliciano looked – although Veneziano looked ragged and worse for war – before placing the polar bear cub down onto the bed. Kuma immediately nuzzled himself under Antonio's arms and into his embrace, giving him a reassuring lick on the cheek which earned him a smile from both the Canadian and the slumbering Spaniard.

Matthew paused as he watched them for another moment before moving to the curtains, closing them. With a brief nod to himself he quietly walked out of the room and shut the door behind him, it making a nearly inaudible click. When he returned to the kitchen, he found that his brother was already there and working on the crust for his world famous (quite literally) apple pie. He was covered in flour too, much to Canada's amusement.

"Al, what on earth happened?"

"I couldn't get the bag open 'n I couldn't find the scissors, so I had to use my teeth," he explained with a sheepish smile as his younger brother wiped some flour from the American's nose, "will you lend me a hand?"

"Are you sure, Al?" He blinked in response, "I mean, this is your pie. Your precious baby. Are you sure you want me to help out in this?"

"Obviously."

"Well..." He smiled and nodded, joining him in the preparation for the pie. They worked in silence for a short time before Alfred started humming an old familiar tune. After a minute or two, Matthew beamed with recognition.

"How many roads must a man walk down," the Canadian sang quietly, earning himself the American's grin of approval, "before you can call him a man?"

"How many seas must a white dove sail," Alfred added, his voice much deeper than the tenor of his brother's, "before she sleeps in the sand?"

It was one of their favourite songs, in a bit of a morbid sense, right up there with "where have all the flowers gone", though that one never failed to make them burst into tears. Masochists they were, they were suckers for a good, heart wrenching song. Canada gave America a sad smile as he continued the next line, the smile mirrored on the other's face, "yes n' how many times must the cannon balls fly, before they're forever banned?"

"The answer my friend," they sang harmoniously, Matthew taking the higher melody and Alfred taking the lower, pausing to wrap an arm around each other in a show of camaraderie and solidarity, "is blowin' in the wind, the answer is blowin' in the wind..."

"Ve..." Feliciano breathed, stretching as he woke up feeling much better after his siesta. It helped that his brother, too, was still asleep, allowing both of them to gather their strength for the long fight the two of them had ahead of them. He poked Germany's sleeping face with a small smile, proud that he'd woken up before the German for once (it wasn't the first time, of course, but it certainly didn't happen very often!).

"Ja?" The blond murmured sleepily, his voice thick and hard to make out (it didn't help he was speaking German), "ist es zeit zum aufwachen, Österreich?" he mumbled in his sleepy German voice. Italy couldn't help but find it just a little bit adorable, "Italien vielleicht mit mir wieder zu malen..."

"Ve, Germany, Germany! Wake up please, it's time to find fratello." he whispered into the male's ears. When this warranted no response, the Italian giggled and started tickling his German blond.

"Nein!" Ludwig shouted with wide eyes. His legs kicked out (semi)involuntarily, pushing Feliciano to the other side of the bed with a loud squeal and a bewildered, half asleep Antonio onto the ground.

"Ve! Ludwig is awake now, yeah?"

"I told you not to tickle me!"

"Uhm, why is there a polar bear on my chest?"

Ludwig and Feliciano paused, turning their attention from each other to the bewildered Spaniard who, true to his word, was splayed out on the ground with an annoyed and confused polar bear on his chest.

"I have seen zhat bear before," Germany remarked but, before any one else could take a guess as to who it belonged to, there was a voice from the door.

"Oh!" Came the quiet exclamation (who knew it was possible?), "you're awake. I'm glad."

Feliciano smiled to the Canadian in the doorway, who seemed to have flour in his hands... and... his hair... and... on his shirt... and... all over him? "Signore Canada! You're here too?"

"Ouais. I-I didn't think I sh-should leave Al here alone s-so..." Before that thought was finished, his face was shoved from the doorway, replaced by an out of breath, concernd, angry, excited, worried American who was covered head to toe in flour as if the pie was to be made off him and not the counter, "Oh! Good to see you! Matt and I made apple pie!"

"Uhm," Ludwig frowned, raising an eyebrow at the male, "vhat on eartz happened to you two?"

Alfred cast a glare at his brother, "I blame Matty."

"You hit me with it first!"

"I put some on your nose! So you would match mine! And then you dump some in my hair?"

"Well duh! You started a war! Not my fault you're a little pussy!"

"What'd you just call me?"

"You're. A little. Pussy."

"You wanna go li'l bro?"

"You think you can handle all this Canadian rage?"

"... Shut up maple breath, that sounded really dumb."

"No you sounded really dumb!"

"What are you, five?"

"No, you're five!"

"Enough! Zhe Botz of you!" Germany snapped. Gott verdammit, no wonder Arthur was so cranky, having to raise these two. The Canadian and American both ducked their heads, ashamed of their behaviour. They snuck a peak at their Italian friend, surprised to see that he was both laughing and crying.

"Uh, Feli?" Matthew hedged, "a-are you okay? N-Normal people don't c-cry when they l-laugh, eh?"

Veneziano nodded and wiped his eyes, moving to wrap his arms around Germany's waist tearfully. "Si, I'm fine, it's just that you two act a lot like brothers and it's cute, and it makes me miss Fratello. Can we go find fratello now? Please? I miss him."

The North American brothers nodded, growing solemn once more. Or as solemn as the best friends and old rivals ever got, casting glares and pulling childish faces at each other as the five (plus bear, which Matty quickly lifted back into his arms) entered into the living room. "Hold on," Alfred said with a small smile in his attempt to keep everything normal, "I'll get some plates. You're all having some, aren'tcha?"

Before anyone – namely, Germany – could protest, America dashed to the kitchen, beckoning for his brother to follow him. Matthew nodded and put his bear in Spain's lap once more, helping Alfred serve up the delicious smelling pie and ice cream (which both boys had issues with, as both just wanted to eat it straight out of the container)

"You know, we could have just gotten gelato," Matthew remarked quietly, only to be brushed off by America who, oddly enough, was being a bit of a perfectionist with the whip cream.

"Yeah, I know, but... I don't know. Whatever. Next time," he shrugged. A triumphant grin lit up his face as he finished with the whip cream, perfectly swirled on the top of each piece. He grabbed the cutlery necessary for consuming the pastry and dairy treats, nodding for his brother to grab two of the plates while he held three – one in each hand, plus another on his forearm, much like a waiter.

"One for you, Vene," Alfred said, passing him one plate, "and for you, Spain. I was serious about keeping your daughter out of my borders by the way. Like I said, it's fine if it's legal but the only aliens I want in my land is Tony."

"Alfred! Be polite!" chided the Canadian, passing one of his two plates to Germany, "and here you go, Mister Germany. No, you can't refuse. Sorry," he grinned, managing to overpower the blond's protests rather quickly. With a grumble, Ludwig finally accepted the pie, and they all sat down around the oak coffee table to eat.

"So," Spain started, "how are we going to do this? Do you know how?"

Alfred swallowed a bit of his pie. It shouldn't have surprised him that Antonio would want to get right down to business (and, he noticed, Veneziano seemed to brighten at the topic, meaning he probably hadn't been far off from asking, himself.) but somehow he had thought that maybe they would have waited until after they had eaten. It still confused him that some people didn't prioritise food as much as he did. Though, he felt a little better when he noticed his brother, too, seemed a little surprised. Maybe it was a North American thing.

"Well, uhm, it's easy," he lied. He could tell; they needed reassurance, they needed him to be the bold and brash hero he always claimed to be. What they didn't need was for him to admit that this was going to be hard. For all of them. "All I gotta do is search New York for foreign Italians – that is, Italians and not Italian-Americans – then find Romano, transfer there, kick butt and be the Hero! Oh but don't worry, you can be my sidekicks!"

This made Spain and Italy laugh, though Germany was obviously annoyed. He refused to look Canada in the eye, as both knew it was so much more than that. It was nearly impossible to tell the difference between Italians and Italian-Americans unless they were a few generations removed, minimum five. And of course, there were a lot of Italians in New York. And New York was one of his most populated cities, to boot so...

"How long do you think it'll take?"

Alfred flinched and Ludwig looked at him in surprise, "it's hard to be sure," Matthew replied softly, "after all... it's been a while since you've done this, eh Al?"

The southern of the two nodded, glancing away, "1956 was the last time, I think. With McCarthy, at the height of the Cold War. Dark times, those were. Fear of the Reds very... very strong."

But that was all that was said on the matter.

"Vhat do you need? To prepare yourself?" Ludwig finally asked, finishing his pie. (He was the first to finish, and he would never admit how much he loved it, but it was somewhat obvious given that he couldn't stop dragging his index finger on the plate and licking whatever he picked up.)

Alfred tilted his head (and of course, Germany's ministrations on that poor plate had not gone unnoticed, but for once he managed to sense the mood and refrained from commenting on it), thinking it over, "well, I'd prefer if it was just Matty and I – too many people at a time, hoverin' around me, is really distracting, y'know? Matt's real good with staying quiet. I mean, you can come check up on the progress and shit but I'd prefer if I was left alone for a bit. Besides, Vene you need to rest up, dont'cha? Uhm, so maybe a room... some water and some gingerale soda, saltines... it takes a lot out of me."

"by soda and saltines, he means pop and crackers."

"Soda and saltines."

"Pop and crackers."

"Do not get me started, Matthew."

"Then stop being wrong!"

"Stop being Com–"

Germany slammed his hand down on the oak table with a loud smack, catching the attention of the bickering siblings. He didn't even need to say anything before the two blonds ducked their heads, mumbling apologies to the giggling Italian once again. Ludwig muttered in German under his breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose; would these two nations ever grow up?

"Anyways, that should be it. Like Matt said, I don't know how long it'll take me 'cause it's been a few decades since I did somethin' like this but I swear to you, the hero'll take care of it!" Alfred grinned, flashing them his million dollar smile while giving a thumbs up. Matthew just shook his head in amusement. He stood up and collected the plates, licking the last bit of ice cream off his lips as he carried them to the kitchen. As he washed the dishes, listening to the living room conversations, he couldn't help but worry about Alfred.

It wasn't something that most nations used often, as it was a huge breach of privacy. To delve into the minds of your civilians, regardless of their ethnicity was... wrong. If the humans knew that their nations were capable of delving into their minds, read their innermost thoughts and feelings... how long until they were feared and hated? How long until their governments locked them up?

And that was just their own people. What Alfred would be doing wasn't just breaching the privacy of his own people, but also the privacy of Italy's people. Both Italies, really. But most of all, Canada worried about the health toll such an act would have on his brother. The last time he'd had to use the ability (they really needed to come up with a name for it soon), he'd had to search for every single Russian in the United States, and that... hadn't ended well. At all. Canada had to take care of him for a week while he recovered. This time, Matt hoped it wouldn't be so bad, after all, he didn't have to search all of America; just New York would suffice.

Unless they've already left, his mind whispered insidiously to him.

"Shut up," he hissed to himself, shaking that thought from his brain. America, choosing exactly the right moment to walk into the kitchen, raised an eyebrow at his brother's antics, a look of concern in his bright blue eyes.

"Matty, y'alright?" the American asked. Canada gasped and jumped, banging his head on the overhead cupboard. The wavy haired blond groaned, his hands leaving the soapy water to clutch his head.

"Y-yeah I'm fine... are y... I mean... will you be okay to do this, Al? After last time... I don't think we can afford t'have you down'n'out on this one. After all, we're gonna need our hero to take out the bad guys, eh?" He grinned a little, though the sentiment was real. Alfred sighed and closed his eyes, taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.

"I know what y'mean 'n... I don't know, really. I'ma li'l worried myself, to be honest. I guess we'll just hafta see, huh?" He smiled wanly, "y'almost done there? Germany's runnin' to the store to grab the soda and saltines, so we're basically just waiting on you now."

Matt nodded, drying his hands on a towel as he finished his last dish. The two brothers shared a tired smile and Al wrapped an arm around the younger's shoulder. "Let's get this over with, eh?" Matt sighed as they walked out of the kitchen.

I'm sorry this took so long D: I never meant for it to happen I just kinda got caught up with school and... uh... tumblr. I can't guarantee when I'll make the next post sadly, but I'll try to be a little more consistent. Like I said in the new oneshot, I'm also working on By The Light of The Moon and I also have an idea for a new RusCan fic. Actually I have a few. But they'll have to wait because I should also work on my others... anyways. I swear to god I have to do something about Alfred because this story is NOT ABOUT HIM

Translations (according to Google translate)

ist es zeit zum aufwachen, Österreich (German): Is it time to wake up, Austria?
Italien vielleicht mit mir wieder zu malen (German): (I know this one is wrong, please help me haha) Maybe Italy will paint with me again today