That night I slept about as much as someone who just had five gallons of caffeine. Germany started crying like every half hour. England showed me how to feed him and- ugh- change him. I would hold him, sing to him, soothe his crying… on it went for hours, until finally I was able to fall into a nice slumber…

Only to be promptly woken up by a chubby little finger poking me repeatedly- and not gently- in the forehead.

I blinked my eyes against watery sleepiness and groaned. "Who is it?" I mumbled, and looked up to see the small, wide-eyed face of a small toddler in a nightgown. He had dirty blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a little white nightgown that went down to his feet.

"Who are you?" he asked me, as I forced myself up.

"I'm Prussia," I sighed, rubbing my throbbing temples, "and you must be America."

"Yeah, 'Mewika!" the child agreed, clapping his hands in delight. He started running circles around England's living room, singing, "'Mewika, 'Mewika!" at the top of his lungs. England walked in, carrying a now awake and crying Germany (oh joy) and handing him to me.

"America, stop bothering Mr. Prussia, he's our guest here," he told the little colony. He turned to me and grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, America's a little… boisterous."

I liked the kid's spirit, though. "It's okay, he's a pretty awesome little guy," I assured England, letting Germany suck on the heel of my hand so he'd stop crying.

England smiled, which was kind of surprising. England's not a majorly smiley person, and the fact that I made him grin was all the more shocking. "Well, I'm going to make myself and America some porridge for breakfast, would you like something, Prussia?"

Note: Avoid England's cooking at all costs.

"Um… nein, danke… I'm not that hungry…" I held my stomach as if I was feeling sick, although to tell the truth, just the thought of Arthur Kirkland's culinary abominations makes one's stomach turn.

England raised a brow in concern. "You all right, Prussia? You haven't eaten since I got here. Come to think of it, Austria and Hungary came over last week, and they weren't hungry, either. Must be something going around."

Ja, it's called your cooking, I thought, but aloud I just responded, "Ja, ja, like I said, I'm just not that hungry."

"Okay." England shrugged and headed to the kitchen. America was tugging at my sleeve.

"Pway, Pwussia, pway!" I think he meant play.

"Sorry, little guy, but I've gotta take care of Germany right now."

America's face fell. "I'll just eat bweakfast, then."

I raised a brow. "You mean you like England's cooking?"

He shook his head. "But who else would feed me?"

I grimaced. "Come over to my place some, kiddo, and I'll feed you some bratwurst, all right?"

"Bwatwuwst, bwatwuwst! That's a funny word." America giggled and danced around shouting, "Bwatwuwst, bwatwuwst!" His loud voice woke up Germany, causing him to start crying all over again. mein gott, this was going to be a long day.

(P.S. German words translation: Danke= thank you. Nein= no. Mein gott= my God. Ja=yes.)