Hello again! The encouragement that you random strangers have given me has prompted me to update earlier than I thought I would. So, here it is.

By the way, this story will remain at a T rating so that more people will be able to enjoy it if they want. I think the T rating is needlessly high as it is, but it's just to be safe.

Enjoy!

A bright sun welcomed Baker Island in the morning, catching the Axis camp on the east side of the island first. The light poured into the tent, waking Germany before the other nations. Confused by the contradiction between the current time and the time he was supposed to awake in his homeland, Germany quickly realized that he was not at home, and remembered the scheme that America was playing on all of them.

Germany looked up at the roof of the tent, momentarily shielding his eyes. Thanks to his unplanned vacation, his schedule was entirely ruined. What was he supposed to be doing right now? Well, for starters, he should sit up.

There was snoring coming from under the sheets, to his right.

"Pfui, Italy. I never see him coming, but he always finds a way…" Germany sighed and removed the covers. "Italy! It is time to get-"

What!

A furious, fretful Germany yelled at the smaller country. "I-I-Italy!"

"Ve~!" Italy woke up with a start. "Oh, hey, Germany~! Do you feel any better-?"

Germany's shuddering made the entire bed shake. "I-Italy, w-what the hell are y-you wearing!"

The adorable Italian looked down at his clothes and grinned. He was wearing the frilly green and white dress that France had made for him. In order to do so, France had used Italy's and Japan's suits, but that was okay! As long as this made Germany feel better, Italy didn't mind at all.

And the dress had been made in just a few hours, too! For one thing, the material had already been made. Plus, France was skilled at making clothes. But another reason that the construction had taken so little time was that France had used an old design. The dress that France had made resembled the smaller one that he had made for Italy when they were younger.

This repetition wasn't lost on Germany.

"Take that dress off this instant!" The buff nation shrieked and shook his head. "I will take absolutely no excuses, Italy!"

"But Germany, I wore this to help make your sickness go away~!"

"N-Nein! I insist that you take it off!" Unfortunately, Germany recognized his poor choice of words as soon as they left him. "I, I mean, change into something else! No, I, I mean-"

"Why is Germany stuttering?" Italy seemed concerned. "Does that mean he feels better, or worse?"

Germany couldn't think clearly. He quickly jumped off of the bed onto his feet, staring accusingly at Italy. However, that stare was only made to hide another, more humiliating stare of interest and distraction.

This was just another burden that came along with Italy's friendship. Of course, there was the completely imaginary romantic tension between them that England had joked about last night. And on top of that, Germany may have told Italy more than once, "I don't hate you," or "No, r-really, i-in fact, ich liebe dich," in order to assuage Italy's childish fears that Germany hated him.

But this was a different dilemma altogether. Luckily, Germany had been spared from this particular problem until one Valentine's Day, when an innocent misunderstanding left them in a bizarre situation in which Italy was panicking and Germany was struck silent, his brain smoking from a fire of new emotions.

Germany had seen images of a young girl, of a young Italy, buried in his memories.

However, Italy's clear confusion and terror had rendered the tomato ring in Germany's hand useless anyway. After everything was said and done, they continued to remain close friends, or in any case, as close as Germany had ever been with anyone.

Yet those secret images of a young, effeminate Italy remained in his head.

"I do not want to see you wearing any dresses!" Germany grabbed one of the replicas of his old uniform and threw it at Italy. "I order you to put this on, now!"

"What's wrong with dresses, ve~?" Italy bounced up and down on the bed, even under the assault of clothes. "Dresses are nice! Did you know I used to wear dress all the time, Germany~?"

"D-Don't ar-rgue with me! Just change!"

"Okay!" Italy stood up and started taking off his dress, pulling the bottom of the skirt up to his waist.

Germany's eyes exploded like hand grenades. Blushing fiercely, he looked away and rubbed his temple to shield his view. "N-Not in h-here! Go to your own tent!"

"Huh? Why?" Italy scratched his head. "Is that a German culture thing? But I've changed with you around hundreds of times before, ve~?"

Germany wanted to cry out, it's the verflucht dress. But it was much easier for him to cry out instead, "Fine, change in here!" and promptly storm out of his own tent, so that's what he did.

Damn it, Italy!

Taking a change of clothes for himself, Germany found two Allies outside, who were also still in their pajamas. France was trying to comfort England, who was suffering from a fierce hangover. "England, please behave yourself. You are acting like a child."

"Blimey, someone needs to turn off the sun!" England tried to bury his head in some sand by the shore.

In this situation, the word 'blimey' happened to be a very appropriate word to use. After all, it was a corruption of the phrase, 'God blind me.'

France noticed that his former enemy had appeared. "Oh, Germany!" France smiled deviously, and England looked up from his sand helmet. "I hope the morning found you well?"

"Bastard!" Germany saw the telltale glint in France's sea-blue eyes. "You were the one behind this!"

France smirked slyly. "Behind what?"

Germany grunted in disgust. Whenever France said something with even the most minimally suggestive vocabulary, it made Germany want to gag.

Gag France, that is!

"Are you referring to cute little Italy? I think that I did a wonderful job." France was a little scared of the German rage, but mostly he was proud of his accomplishment. All he had to do was look at Germany's florid face, tense movements, and conflicted gaze to know that the dress had the desired effect. "No need to thank me."

"Why the hell would I thank you!" Germany approached menacingly.

France stifled his fearful trembling by remarking spitefully, "I-If you hadn't enjoyed my gift, then you wouldn't be so angry with me, non?"

Germany stopped, but his look only turned more ominous.

England laughed at them. "You're going to get your arse kicked by Germany again, France!"

"No, I won't attack." Germany growled. "… But I won't take this without fighting back, either!" In a tizzy, he left the former Allied powers to go change in Italy's tent.

England mumbled sarcastically, "Good work, France, you've set off World War Three!" Not seeming worried at all, England escaped from the bright sun into Japan's tent.

France stood alone and sighed. His arrangement had ultimately failed to raise the German's spirits. Ultimately, there was still the matter of Germany's 'stomach pain' to deal with, so another plan had to be made.

Still, it had not been a useless endeavor.

Thanks to France, anti-nationalism was now probably the last thing on Germany's mind.

By the time America exited his tent fully dressed, the other three countries were already waiting for him by the extinguished fireplace, ready to go. America's thoughts were focused on what part of the war they would reenact next. "Awesome, everyone's up. Who's ready for some declarations of war?"

Everyone else was more concerned about breakfast. No one was hungry yet, but it was still a pressing concern. "What will we do about our meals, aru?" China put his hands on his hips. "Will we come back to the camp for breakfast?"

"Why not bring food with us?" Russia picked out some wheat bread to use from the food scattered around the camp. "We eat during reenactment, da." He packed the bread, plus some butter and cheese, in a bag.

"Uh, yeah, sure. Just get some good food, okay!" With a wave of the hand, America delegated all food responsibility to Russia.

Russia smiled. In his rummaging he noticed the pack of matches that China had used the night before. "America, where is the kielbasa?"

"Ha, what's that? I've never of anything called 'kill-boss-uh!' It sounds totally Russian and stupid!"

Japan stepped in to help. "I think you call it 'Polish sausage,' America-kun."

"Oh." America was disappointed. He walked over to the makeshift refrigerator—it was a ditch a few feet deep that was kept cool by an air conditioner—and pulled out some sausage. "Right here. Let's go now!" He tossed the meat to Russia and rallied the other nations to walk with him, whistling his national anthem.

The ten-minute walk to the center of the island was marked only by useless American banter, Chinese curses, Russian proverbs, and quiet Japanese advice. In the same clearing they had used before, they found England and France, standing apart from Germany and Italy. To the laughter of America, Italy was wearing one of Germany's uniforms.

"All right, so you guys made the Munich Pact!" America shouted happily, as if it was an accomplishment on his part.

"Yes, one year late!" England retorted. "What do you want us to do now, America? Or do you even know what happened after the invasion of Poland?"

"Of course I do! Allies, on this side! Axis, over there!" America stayed at the west side of the clearing with Russia and China. England and France came over. "Wow, England, you look terrible!"

"Stop shouting!" England covered his ears. "I may have had one drink too many, but that gives you no right to torture me this way!"

Meanwhile, Japan returned to Germany and Italy. "Hello again, Germany-kun, Italy-kun. How was your sleep?"

Italy beamed. "It was great, thanks, Japan~!"

Germany fidgeted and shifted his balance between his feet. "… Ja…" He did not want to divulge information to Japan, but he didn't want to offend Italy, either. Germany understood that Italy had only been a pawn in France's strange scheme, but that didn't help things very much, anyway.

"I see…" Japan was not an expert at social interactions himself, but he was good at sensing the atmosphere, and he discerned that something was amiss. What had happened last night, or this morning, in the Axis camp?

Italy nodded ecstatically. "Ve~! Germany was sick last night, so France had me-"

Germany cut him off quickly. "Never mind that! I am well now. It is time to continue the reenactment."

"Oh, it worked? You feel better now? Tell me, Germany~!" Italy prodded with excitement.

Germany reddened. He wanted to say as little as possible about the matter, so he shyly muttered, "Ja. Be quiet."

It wasn't entirely a lie. Germany wouldn't admit it but he had secretly enjoyed seeing Italy in a dress, and just that one thought alone made him want to face-palm. And Germany didn't even notice that he was effectively distracted from the painful memories of the war.

"Yay!" Italy embraced Germany. "All better now!"

"Um, b-but…" Germany did not want to encourage Italy's behavior. He looked away carelessly, failed to reciprocate the hug, and rejoined, "D-Don't do it again."

Italy pulled back so that he could show his friend his smiling face. "But it worked, ve! Every time you get sick, I should wear a-!"

Germany almost choked and shook his head fiercely. "N-N-Nein! A-Absolutely not!"

"But you said that you liked it!"

Germany shut his eyes in frustration. "I said, be quiet!" He elbowed Italy somewhat gently in the stomach.

"Oof!" Italy recoiled for a second, but immediately came back up. "Wah, Japan~! Germany is back to normal, which means he's mad at me! I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry!"

Japan said nothing, for which Germany was more than grateful.

"Hey, you guys!" America called. "Axis people, listen up!"

"Huh? Okay~!" Italy waved, forgetting all about the dress. Japan nodded, and Germany stared attentively, hoping that some action would do well to clear his mind.

"Shut up, get down, and get ready for war!" America commanded them with excitement as he ducked to the ground in a halfhearted attempted to make himself invisible on their side of battle field. Most of his partners followed his example.

The Axis also buried themselves in the dirt. Italy snuggled up next to Germany, believing that doing so would help Germany ward off any more sicknesses. With his other arm, Italy also pulled Japan closer, surrounding the Italian with a duo of uncomfortable countries.

America laughed at their behavior. "Gee, you guys sure are weird! Anyway, we're now in the Phony War which, I'm pretty sure, lasted for seven months after the invasion of Poland. England, France, go to the center and draw a line between the Awesomes and the Axis!"

Not understanding America's plan yet, the two European Allies reluctantly obeyed and drew a line running north and south.

America yelled out when England stood on the wrong side. "Hey, stand on our side, Brit!"

"Oh, I get it." France flicked back his hair. "This is the Maginot Line between me and the Axis?"

"Well, blast all!" England slowly came back over the line. "This is the part of the war that America actually knows, and it's the stupidest part of all."

"Great!" America took that remark as a compliment. "Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy, stand on the other side of the line!"

Neither Germany nor Italy were fond of those names. They came over to the Maginot Line, anyway, but Germany barked at America. "Don't call us that!"

"Hey, don't look at me! I'm neutral, remember? Neutrality Act of 1939!" America sat upright for a moment. "All right, start the Phony War!"

The four belligerents looked at each other. England declared for all of them, "It's called the Twilight War for a reason, America. All we did was sit on the border and look at each other. We fought a little, but hardly enough to be called a war. Do I have to throw pamphlets at Germany, again?"

"Actually, love, it's called the drôle de guerre, the silly war." France corrected him.

"No." Germany crossed his arms. "It's called der Sitzkrieg, the sitting war."

"So? Whatever it's called, you still have to start it!" America groaned, making funny hand gestures that only China and Russia saw. "Start the war, do something!"

The responsibility fell on the Allies' shoulders to declare war. England, still upset over his headache, began the declaration. "So, Germany invaded Poland, and broke the Munich Pact. That means we have to go to war. And I know we waited two days after the invasion before declaring war on you; don't bother pointing that out!"

"Yes, we have to declare war on you, Germany." France eyed the Axis carefully.

Germany sighed out of exasperation. "Fine."

"What about me, ve~?" Italy swooped his arms around.

"No, Italy, we don't declare war on you until the end of the Twilight War." England rubbed his head. "What now, America?"

"What now? What now?" America repeated skeptically. "Now, you reenact the Phony War, duh!"

The four combatants stood there, glancing at each other again. This period of time in history was famous only for the fact that nothing happened, and America wanted them to act it out?

England sat down. "Well, we might as well do something."

"We should play a game of Belote. Does anyone have a deck of cards?" France crossed his legs so that his rear wouldn't touch the ground. It felt strange, being divided from the Axis powers this way by an invisible barrier. "Hmm. Suddenly, the Maginot line does not seem so strong…"

Germany planted himself on the ground, pulling Italy down with him. "The Maginot line was never strong! The Siegfried Line was."

Italy bounced excitedly, along with his hair. "Oh, what was that, Germany~?"

"You should know! It was the German defensive line opposite the French Maginot line." Germany resisted shouting, Damn it, pull that distracting strand of hair down, Italy!

There was a pause, and none of the actors were comfortable with the silence. It was slightly more irritating than their conversations.

"This bores me." Russia said loudly to America. "When are they finished, comrade?"

"Shh! This is hilarious." America giggled, scooting a few inches further up to get a better view.

China, like Russia, was also uninterested, and decided to get some extra sleep.

Russia surreptitiously crept towards China.

Japan sat at attention for a little while, but eventually started playing with the fallen leaves around him, using them to practice architecture.

"Eh, let us play a game. I cannot stand to be idle." France clapped his hands together. "Are you all familiar with the game of Red Hands? You play it by trying to slap the other's hands fast enough-"

"That sounds awful." England cut in. "How about a few games of Mercy?"

France boycotted England's choice with a groan, but Italy liked the sound of the game. "Mercy? Ve~?"

England was happy to have a supporter. "Yes, Italy. The goal of the game is to bend the other's hands, straining the ligaments and tendons in the wrist until the player can no longer stand the pain-"

Italy cried out and hid behind Germany. "Eek! Don't hurt me! I'm just a weak Italian!"

Germany stiffly suggested, "Do you all know Rock, Paper, Scissors?"

"Rochambeau? No, thank you." France dismissed the idea as distasteful. "What about a clapping game?"

"Absolutely not! That's for girls." England snorted. "We could try noughts and crosses."

"I know! I know!" Italy came back from behind Germany and waved his hands around. "Let's play Chopsticks, like Japan! Or what about Janken?"

"Janken is another name for Rock, Paper, Scissors, Italy." England stretched back a little.

"Oh. Okay~! Let's play Micatio! Romano likes that game!" Italy beamed for a moment, and then shook his head. "No, let's play Morra. It's like Micatio, but easier!"

France's tone suggested that he already disapproved of the game. "What is Morra?"

"…I will explain. Two of us would be 'odds,' and two of us would be 'evens.'" Germany gave the rules seriously, as if they constituted a battle strategy. "We all hide one hand, and then throw it forward, holding out one or two fingers. If the sum of all the fingers is odd, then the odd players win. If the sum of all the fingers is even, then-"

"That sounds kind of complicated." England turned back to look at America. "Can we stop now?"

"But you haven't done anything, yet!" Far away from the front lines, America was eating a cheeseburger. "You can stop after you do something entertaining!"

"Ugh, you barmy little…! Fine. We'll do one quick game of Morra, and that's it!" England faced his opponents. "France and I will be odds, and you two are evens. Is that acceptable?"

"Ve~!" Italy nodded, full of enthusiasm.

Germany, however, was bored and rigid. "Hm."

The four nations hid their left hands behind their backs. Italy said, "Uno, due, tre, spara!"

At the same time, England threw out a hand with two fingers, France threw out one finger, Germany threw out one finger, and Italy threw out two fingers.

"Sì, sei dita! We win, ve~!"

"Wonderful, well done." England's sarcastic congratulations were taken seriously by Italy. "We're finished now, America!"

"What, already?" America sucked loudly on the remains of a soda. "Na, I'm having too much fun making you guys look like idiots. One more game, and that's all, I promise!"

England was doubtful, but Italy boasted, "Bene~! We won, so we get to pick the next game!"

"That is hardly fair." France protested. "You picked the first game. It is the Allies' turn!"

"Agreed." England rubbed one of his ears. "Why don't we play Pictionary?"

"Ha! That's totally my game, by the way!" America's voice was unilaterally ignored by all other nations.

"Without paper?" Italy laid down on his stomach and elbows and kicked his legs around. "Ve~! Okay, we'll use our bodies!"

France enjoyed that thought. "Finally, someone suggests an adequate game!"

England grumbled, "Wouldn't that be the same as Charades, though…?"

Germany muttered, "Ja, fine. Let's get this over with."

"Yay!" Italy prodded Germany with a finger. "Act something, and I will guess what word you are thinking of!"

"N-Nein." Germany was far too prideful to do that. "Why not you?"

"Ve~! Yes, sir!" Italy stood up. "Guess what I am!" He stretched his arms up as far as they would go, holding them parallel above his head. He wiggled them around a little, leaned forward a little, and made ridiculous whooshing sounds. It looked like he was swimming.

But Germany knew what it really was. "Pasta?"

"Sì!" Italy jumped with glee.

"What? That's impossible!" England didn't see how that imagery could possibly represent pasta, and neither did France. "For all we know, Italy could have meant a different word!"

"It does not matter." Germany's stern demeanor did not fail him for an instant. "We are only playing a game for America."

"...Yeah, I see your point." England glanced resentfully at the young nation watching them, while Italy dropped back down.

France, meanwhile, lept up onto his feet. "Eh bien, it is our turn, England. Can you guess what I am?" With a playful smile, he partially bent over, brought two fingers to his lips, and blew a kiss.

England groaned. "An inappropriate Frenchman?"

"Non, mon cher, try again." France made a big show about flipping back his hair and winking his eyes.

"I have no idea."

"You must try and guess, England. This is not hard!"

England shrugged. "I give up. I'm sure it's manky, anyway."

"Oh, really? Here's a hint for you." France bent down further at the hip and slammed his lips into England's.

In an instant, England was paralyzed. Air escaped him, warmth entered him, and his mind went wild, confused by the sudden contact and unexpected taste of sweet champagne. It didn't help that he was still suffering from a hangover. What the hell was France doing to him!

Germany blushed and held a hand over his eyes. Italy didn't seem to notice anything as unusual. Japan made a point of appearing very concentrated on his small castle of leaves.

"Ha ha ha ha!" America almost died of laughter. "You must really suck at this game, England!"

France pulled away, grinning.

England could hardly speak. "S-S-Scrote! Bl-loody, m-miserable-!"

"Time's up!" Clueless Italy announced. "England couldn't get it! We win again, ve~!"

"J-Ja…" Germany answered quietly.

"The word was 'love,' England. What a pity." France shook his head in mock disappointment. "And I thought I did a magnificent job illustrating it, too."

"W-W-Wanker!" England screamed at the top of his lungs.

"Wha-What?" China was roused from sleep by England's scream. "What happened, aru?"

But when China opened his eyes, he saw that Russia was looming over him. "Nothing, comrade. Go back to sleep, da?"

"M-Máo zi?" China shuddered with fear and crawled away from Russia. He quickly jumped away and hid on the other side of America. "G-G-Gāi s-sǐ…"

Russia's childish expression and aura of darkness were overpowering. But America was laughing so hard, his tears were of delight and not of fear. "Ha ha! Dude, you guys got owned twice by the Axis and the fighting hasn't even started yet! No wonder you two couldn't win the war without me!"

England glared madly at France, but the French never did find the English to be very intimidating, anyway. "Mon cher, America, I believe the deal was that we could move on after this game? Isn't that right, England?"

"S-Shut up! P-Plonk-ker fr-rog…"

"Yeah, this is getting boring, anyway." America's hushed laughter contradicted what he said. "Uh, what comes after the Phony War, or whatever it's called?"

England, having regained minimal composure, punched France in the face. The blow was rather pathetic and France answered it with a laugh, embarrassing England even further.

Germany hoped that a conversation would draw attention away from the two immature Allies. "Af-After der Sitzkrieg, I successfully invaded Denmark and Norway."

Italy added merrily, "And Belgium and Luxembourg!"

France concluded spectacularly, "And Holland and me! Alas, I am always the victim."

England pouted, and twitched with rage. But he was too confused and out of balance to do much more fidget about and sit.

"Ha, you were captured that soon!" America laughed uproariously. "You suck, France! You didn't even do any fighting? Ha ha! Wow, my partners are terrible."

Germany frowned. "That's not true. France tried to invade me, as soon as I invaded Poland. Remember the Saar Offensive?"

France tilted his head and looked to the sky, daydreaming. "Ah, oui. My only offensive move in all of World War Two, and I couldn't even divert a single German soldier from Poland. I captured eight kilometers of nothing and retreated." France bowed his head and sulked dramatically. "Oh, to think of the times when I used to be strong!"

England should have stopped talking, but he did not bite back a sardonic comment. "W-When were you ever strong, you weak arsehole…?"

China brooded. "I see it wasn't just me to be captured early in the war, aru…" As soon as Russia put a heavy, comforting hand on China's shoulder, though, China immediately perked up and scooted away, disturbed by Russia's unexpectedly close proximity. "Please, leave me alone."

Russia kept his childish smile. "America, why do we ignore my attacks on Finland and Sweden?"

"I believe England-kun had a new boss at this point, also. Should we reenact that?" Japan put in, but no one heard him from across the field.

"Hey, everyone stop getting off track! This is the end of the Phony War, so we will reenact France's epic fail!"America inhaled deeply and shouted louder than necessary. "Battle of France, 1940!"

"Shut up, aru!" China complained, but he stayed very close by America.

Remaining in the clearing, France, England, Germany, and Italy exchanged nervous glances as they stood up. England muttered, "A-America, we n-need weapons, idiot."

"Oh, need to buy more stuff from Mr. Neutral?" Always prepared in matters of artillery, America opened his bomber jacket and pulled out four guns. He tossed them to everyone on the field, who picked them up. "You'll have to pay me back at the end of the war, you know!"

Japan chanced raising his voice. "You said guns were not allowed here, America-kun…?"

"Normal guns aren't allowed here. So we get to use paintball guns! Seriously, Battle of France, everyone else be quiet!" America stamped two hands down on China and Russia to keep them down, eliciting agitated annoyance from China and portentous darkness from Russia.

The actors were slow to begin their performance. But they didn't have much of a choice in the matter. Germany halfheartedly pointed his gun at France and stepped over the Maginot line. These actions reminded him far too vividly of the war, and he could feel his negative sentiments creeping back. "Pardon me, France, but I am capturing you."

Italy waited a second before crossing the Maginot line as well, swinging his gun at his side and smiling obliviously. "Hello, di nuovo~!"

Even though France was also armed with a gun, he raised his hands in the air and did not put up a struggle. "I don't suppose you'll be helping me this time, either, England?"

England almost burst like a balloon, filled to the brim as he was with frustration. "H-Hell, no! I mean, I, I can't change historical accuracy. I have to escape from Dunkirk with some of your troops." England even chuckled, despite his embarrassment, confusion, and hangover. "Operation Dynamo and all that…" He laboriously walked away, back to the squatting Allies. "I, uh, declare war on Italy, by the way."

France smirked. He was left alone to the advancing Axis powers again. "I surrender."

Italy cheered. "Big brother France is with us again! Yay~!"

"Yes." Germany lowered his gun. "Lower your hands already, France."

France complied. "You sound so serious, Germany! Relax; it is a game, non?"

Germany gripped his gun tightly. "Ja…"

"Although, I'm sure I gave you plenty reason to relax this morning-"

Germany shuddered. "D-Don't think I have forgotten about the trick that you played on Italy!" He barked. "I am watching you, France!"

France chuckled and went to the Axis side of the field, bringing his paintball gun with him. He got down on the ground, by Japan. "Alo, Japan. Now you can enjoy the pleasure of my company."

Japan answered with his typical calm facade. "H-Hai." These two countries typically got along well, though for some reason France was always the one to initiate cultural exchanges between them. But after seeing how France had played Germany and England, Japan was reluctant to socialize with France. "Sorry for the capture, France-kun."

"Oh, it's not a problem. This just gives me a better vantage point for my plans."

"H-H-Hai?"

Germany and Italy were left by themselves on the field, and America did not give any more stage directions. It was increasingly obvious that America had no idea what event followed the invasion of France. "Uh, let me think for a second…"

Russia suggested, "I take Moldova now, da?"

"Huh? Moldova? Who's that?" America propped himself on his elbow to look at Russia. "And I thought you commies took the Baltic people?"

"You mean Lithuania, Estonia, and Latvia?" Russia smiled. "I take them, too."

Italy danced on his toes. "Ve~! I invade Egypt and British Somaliland in Africa!"

Germany rubbed his neck. "Are we completely ignoring the war in the Atlantic, and in the British channel?"

"Everyone, shut up! Man, all you guys ever do is complain!" America complained. "Just listen to what I say! Since France is captured now, Great Britain and Germany can fight or whatever it is that they do."

England groaned. "I would, I would need my siblings for that, barmy yank!"

"All right, whatever, just England and Germany fight, then! Italy, get off the stage!"

Italy merrily skipped away, leaving his gun on the field. England groggily pulled himself back to the field.

Germany balanced his own gun on his shoulder. He really did not want to do this, but this was sacrifice he would make for the rest of them. "Are you ready to fight, England?"

The aggravation of England's discomfiture and hangover only increased when he saw France laughing on the other side of the field. "I, I'll fight! Shut the hell up, France!" England directed his paintball gun at the Axis power. "I'll show you my fearsome might in the Battle of Britain! I'll survive anything you throw at me, and then America will join and help me after I win, a whole fucking year later!"

Germany was not happy at all about this. The Battle of Britain had been a decisive British victory, and try as he might, Germany could not defeat the Royal Air Force with the power of the Luftwaffe. Germany's failure to crush England had prevented Germany from launching any full invasion of Britain.

That was a good thing, right? Germany's military losses during the war are praised today. But he had tried so hard to win. Should Germany be relieved that he failed?

After the First World War, no one thought highly of Germany. It had been a long, hard war for him, just as it had been for everyone else. He didn't understand why so much responsibility had been thrust upon him alone at the end, and he was convinced that the world hated him.

But everything was different when the Nazis came to power. Suddenly, the Germans were a source of strength and pride once more, and Germany was made hopeful again for the future. It seemed like he was worth something again.

And it was no accident that the pinnacle of the so-called master race of the Nazis, the 'Aryan race,' was a tall Caucasian with blue eyes, blond hair, broad shoulders and of purely Germanic heritage.

Germany's crazy boss had played Germany for a fool by giving him false confidence.

"We will do this as quickly as possible." Germany set his paintball gun in his hands. "…You can fire first."

"N-No!" England made a shaky half-step back. "You fired first then, so you shoot first now. Bloody hell!" He suddenly clutched his forehead. "Damn sake…"

Japan blushed and looked down at his leaf palace. "W-What's w-wrong with my sake?"

Germany felt even worse attacking a sort-of sick nation. "Are you well enough to fight?"

"What makes you say that!" England retorted vehemently. "I'm fine!"

Germany lowered his gun. "It, it seems to me that you are still hung over from your excessive drinking last night-"

England was shocked. "What? How do you know about that? I don't remember talking to you last night! D-Don't make rude assumptions about me!"

Germany contained his anger. "I am not making rude assumptions. You were raging about me in front of my tent-"

"How dare you lie to me! A gentleman would never lose his temper." England cut him off. "Maybe you were the drunk one?"

"But I-" Germany suppressed his retort when he realized something: this would be a great time to vent all of the anger he had stored over the last day. There was a dangerous glint in his eye. "You said that I should fire first?"

England wasn't so sure anymore. "Well, that's what-"

Germany shot his paintball gun at England, nailing the Brit right in the chest.

"Ah!" England fell back, splattered by yellow paint. "Wanker! That hurt!"

Germany defended himself with history. "You asked for it. And I bombed London in August of 1940."

"Bastard!" England shot Germany back with green paint, making the large nation grunt from the impact. "I bombed Berlin the next day!"

Now his suit was ruined! It would take him forever to clean this! And he would probably have to clean England's suit, too! Angry at simply everything, Germany sneered and shouted. "Blitzkrieg!" He unloaded more rounds at England, who ran and jumped around to avoid them.

"Oh-em-gee, look at England!" America fell on his back laughing. "This is so awesome!"

Italy was happy, too. "Yay, Germany~!"

"Bloody- agh!" England was hit by another splatter of paint. "Let me shoot back!"

"Nein! Historical accuracy!" Germany picked up Italy's gun and aimed it at England, too.

England yelped and held his gun pathetically in front of him. "You've gone off your trolley, Germany!"

Filled with a decades-old rage that only partially concerned the ill-treated Ally, Germany fired both guns at England, painting him yellow and purple, knocking him backwards into a tree, and making him cringe and stumble.

France was sincerely grateful that he was already captured. And he was beginning to question whether exasperating these two nations had been a good idea in the first place.

"Okay, that's good! You can stop if you want, ha ha!" America finished laughing. "Woo! I think England has suffered enough. Or, at least, it's time to eat lunch."

"But I was enjoying this, aru." China voiced his and Russia's shared opinion.

England snarled and fell down to the ground. "Useless, miserable Allies…"

Germany breathed deeply. With the anger flushed out of his system, clear thoughts returned. Maybe he should apologize to England? No, of course not, England's behavior last night had warranted a good beating.

Or maybe not? Germany looked at England, crumpled pitifully by the tree, and had second thoughts.

A few months ago, Germany went to Canada's home for a G8 meeting, and visited a local café. Without warning, while Germany was ordering a cup of coffee, a Frenchman sitting at a table ruined an otherwise peaceful day and yelled at him, "Nazi!"

This was not uncommon. Sometimes people at Germany's own house raised their right arms to him and mockingly scorned him with a "Sieg Heil!" or a "Heil, mein Führer!" before giving him a different kind of obscene gesture or splashing hot water in his face.

In Germany's house, and in Austria's as well, using the Nazi salute constitutes a criminal offense punishable by three years in prison. Usage of the salute that is 'ironic and clearly critical,' however, is permitted. After the end of the war, Germany had never seen it used any other way.

Germany held his head in his hand. When did everything go so wrong?

"Qu'est-ce que tu fais, Germany? Why are you dawdling over there? We have lunch to eat!" France called him over. Everyone else was gathered in the center of the clearing, waiting for the Axis power to join them. With gloved hands, Russia still held the bag of food that all eyes were fixated on.

"Come on, Germany! We are all hungry, ve~!" Italy tried to grab the bag but America pushed him back.

Germany looked briefly at Italy. Between the wars, Italy had been there, even though Germany had not wanted him around. Sure, Italy never called Germany the pinnacle of all human creation, but unlike Germany's old boss, Italy never abandoned Germany when things got bad.

Damn it, Italy. How can he be so happy all of the time?

With a horribly deflated ego, Germany dropped his paintball gun. "… Ja." He regrouped with the Axis.

"Yeah, excellent!" America took the bag from Russia. "All right, so I brought food for everyone! Dig in, y'all!" He poured the contents onto the field.

Russia's tainted smile made China flinch.

Everyone reached for food, but America unexpectedly stopped them. He grinned widely and raised a fist triumphantly into the air. "But wait, this is now August of 1940! So the Axis powers have to make their tripartite treaty and become the Axis powers! It is in August, I think." He counted his fingers. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure about that."

And with that declaration, America parceled the food into two piles on separate ends of the clearing. He set the Allies around one pile on the west end and isolated the Axis to the other one on the east end.

France, though, remained an Axis prisoner, so he had to eat with them.

When the two groups were far enough away from each other, and everyone sat down to eat, China was almost clutching America and England in an attempt to stay out of Russia's hands. America continued to poke fun at England, whose lexicon became temporarily specialized to include only British swear words.

China held himself and tried to eat his food in peace, but he couldn't help muttering, more than once, "W-Why is-s he l-looking at m-me like th-that, aru…?"

Back on the Axis side, Japan noticed that none of his friends were making the effort to reenact the tripartite treaty. "Et, eto, America-kun wants us to form the treaty. Should we form the treaty, Germany-kun? Italy-kun?"

"No." Germany answered simply, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

Italy nodded and started making sandwiches for the group.

"O-Oh…" Japan was confused. He was still under the impression that the Munich Pact had been truthfully reenacted last night.

France, who seemed rather preoccupied and distracted, inserted himself into the idle conversation. "Do we only have sandwiches to eat? No appetizer, fish course, salad, cheese plate-?"

Germany glowered. "You, you will eat what everyone else eats. You are supposed to be our prisoner."

"Hmph." France smirked. "Really, Germany, you should relax more-!"

"No, you should work more!" Germany clenched his hands into balls of anger, at himself and at the events of the day. "... Verdammt, France!" He slammed one fist on to the dirt. "Explain to Italy that he must never again listen to what you say!"

"Oh, are you still upset about this morning?" France said easily. He took out a cigarette from under his capelet and lit it. "And I thought you enjoyed my present? I put so much work into it, too!"

This was all lost on Japan. "Eto...?"

Germany was tormented again by the memory of Italy in a dress. "W-What the hell gave you the impression that I even tolerated it!"

France smoked his cigarette. "Please, all one had to do was look at the lovely expression on your- urk!" France was assaulted by Germany. "Brute!"

"How dare you manipulate Italy for your own sick games?" An emotionally conflicted Germany throttled France, grabbing his throat and shaking him around.

"Ve~?" Italy tilted his head.

"Get off of me!" France flailed and tried to escape but Germany had made escape impossible by sitting on his chest and keeping him pinned to the ground. Through all of the trouble, France managed to hold on to his cigarette.

Germany grimaced, his wits inundated with shame and rage. "No! I will release you as soon as you tell Italy that you manipulated him!"

On the other side of the field, the other four Allies noticed the heavily one-sided skirmish. America, China, and Russia found it amusing, but paint-battered England, barely enduring his headache and humiliation, was particularly peeved.

He shouted at them. "H-Hey, no fags on the island!"

Germany froze.

France grinned. "Why are you sitting on me, again, Germany?"

In the United Kingdom, and nowhere else, a 'fag' is a cigarette.

"Das reicht! That's enough! Ihr seid alle Arschlöcher!" Germany finally snapped. He got off of France, only to screech at him. "France! You are now an Axis power!"

Delighted, Italy shook Japan's shoulder. "Ve~!"

America almost spit all of his food over England. "What? That can't be right!"

France, however, was relieved. Germany sounded angry, but was this the only way that Germany could vent it? France replied calmly, "Oh, is that all-"

"Now you train as we do!" Germany cried out. "Get down on your paws and give me thirty push-ups, jetzt!"

Italy meeped. Japan gently and quickly removed Italy's hand from his shoulder.

"Qu'avez-vous dit!" France panicked and shook his head desperately. "No, I cannot be made to do that! I am on vacation!"

"Halt den Mund!" Germany grabbed France, flipped him over, and thrust him back to the ground. "Do it! Like this!" Germany got down on the ground himself, pumped out ten push-ups within seconds, and got back up. "Es ist einfach! It is easy!"

"S-Sûrement p-pas! Surely n-not, no w-way will I-"

"You are too weak, France! How else could I have taken your land so easily!" Germany bent down and glared right in France's eye, grabbing the cigarette out of France's fingers and crushing it with his boot. "Do it!"

France trembled and obeyed the German's commands. He began executing feeble push-ups.

"Eep!" Italy was so scared that he also began doing push-ups.

Never one to be ineffectual, Japan followed the rest of his team and got down on his hands, too.

America took a giant bite out of his kielbasa sandwich. "Ha ha, that's what you get for losing, France! Wow, the Axis are really good at this, aren't they?"

"Look at Japan and Italy go! And I thought Italy was weak?" China remarked. "He's a machine compared to France."

Russia stared blankly at them. "Germany is good drill sergeant, da?"

England tried to laugh scornfully at France but it sounded awkward. "Ha, ha! Take that, frog!"

France was furious. Germany was making him work! And it was not the fun kind of work! "I will have my revenge, Germany-!"

"You had your revenge this morning!" Germany pointed his paintball gun at France. "Shut up and push, like them!" He nodded towards his fellow Axis powers.

Japan took a second to breathe and say, "At least all of that training was good for something."

Italy was slowing down already. "I feel like throwing up, ve..."

Warning: it only gets gayer* from here.

*gay– adj : having or showing a merry, lively mood.

See you later!