Disclaimer: Still not mine.
"I don't believe it," Lithuania muttered.
"I, like, totally told you it would work," Poland replied with a triumphant smile.
Lithuania shook his head.
"I wasn't talking about that," he said. "What I don't believe is the fact that you actually carry pink paint around in your purse."
"Of course I do," Poland replied. "It's, like, totally useful."
"When is it ever useful?" Lithuania asked. "Aside from making weird aliens so ashamed of their appearance that they run away?"
"It has, like, tons of uses," Poland insisted.
"Please, enlighten me," Lithuania requested.
"Like this," Poland declared, reaching up to draw something on Lithuania's cheek with his paint-smeared fingers.
After a second, he stepped back to survey his handiwork.
"That is, like, totally cute!" he declared.
"What did you draw on my face?" Lithuania asked.
It wasn't that he didn't trust Poland. It was just that, okay, he didn't trust Poland. Not when pink paint was involved. He reached up to rub it off, but Poland grabbed his hand.
"You can't do that," he insisted. "It would, like, totally ruin it."
Lithuania sighed and returned his hand to his side. If he kept trying to rub it off, Poland would probably do something even more stupid and embarrassing.
"Just please promise me it isn't too ridiculous," he begged.
Poland just laughed.
I'm so screwed, Lithuania decided.
XXXXX
A heavy silence hung over the piano room. England sat on the piano bench, coldly ignoring everything around him; America slumped in the corner with his knees pulled close to his chest; and France stood in the doorway, hoping for some sign that this wasn't the end. Canada had muttered some excuse and wandered off a while ago. France silently suspected he just couldn't take the heaviness that had settled over their group like a cloud.
"So, what do we do now?" he asked.
"What can we do?" England asked with a sigh. "Unless I regain some of my power, there's no way to go back in time."
France could think of no response. The room was once again silent.
"Play something, England," America whispered after several long minutes.
France turned to look at him. England didn't move.
"On the piano," he clarified. "It's too quiet in here. You're not as good as Austria, but you're not bad, either."
Another time, England might have taken offense at being compared unfavorably to Austria. France might have offered his own musical skills. But now, England simply turned to the piano and set his fingers on the keys. A few harsh notes rang out in the silence as England's hands searched for the right notes to start the piece. The room was still for a few more heartbeats, before he launched into a dark, haunting melody. France recognized it as a song from 'The Phantom of the Opera.' It filled the silence, but the dark song was oppressing in its own way. Still, it seemed to be helping America. The younger nation had stood up and inched closer to the piano. Squinting without his glasses, America kept his eyes trained on England's hands as he stood leaning on the piano, as if trying to absorb every note.
France stepped out of the room, leaving the two of them caught up in their own little world.
"France!"
He turned to see Prussia and China racing up the corridor. Both skidded to a halt in front of him and attempted to catch their breath.
"That England playing?" Prussia asked.
France nodded.
"Oui."
"Good," Prussia replied. "I was worried it was another one of those things."
"Care to explain what's going on?" France asked.
"I was in the annex with Russia," China began. "And we were attacked."
"Canada and I had followed them, so we jumped in to help," Prussia continued. "But the monster was too strong. I grabbed what I thought was Canada and ran, but it was China instead. And we don't know what happened to Russia or Canada. They're still down there."
"How could you confuse China for Canada?" France asked.
"I just grabbed the nearest person," Prussia explained. "I thought Canada was standing next to me."
France sighed.
"You're hopeless."
"Come on!" China interrupted. "We have to go back and help them. Just grab England and America and let's go."
"Leave England and America," France suggested. "They're in no shape to fight."
"Fine!" China agreed. "Can we just go?"
"Of course," France agreed. "Let us hurry. We must rescue my petite Mathieu."
"Russia too!" China insisted.
The three took off down the halls.
XXXXX
The last notes seemed to hang in the still air as England finished the song. America hoped he would continue playing, but England's hands remained unmoving.
"America?" England called.
"I'm right here," America told him.
"Oh."
England turned his head towards the sound of America's voice. America wondered why he bothered pretending. They all knew he couldn't see, and it hurt more to see him try to pretend. Especially for America. He knew this was all his fault. His fault for being such an idiot. He tried so hard to rescue England, but it was England who always ended up rescuing him instead. What kind of hero had to be rescued all the time?
"I have your glasses," England said, fishing a hand into his pocket. "Sorry I forgot to give them to you earlier."
"Thanks!"
America couldn't help a slight smile as he replaced Texas on his face.
"But, when did you find them? And where?" he asked.
"They were in the annex," England told him. "After you ran out on me, I looked around a bit."
"You were blind," America recalled.
England shrugged.
"I suck at being a hero," America muttered. "You lose your sight trying to protect me from my own stupidity and what do I do? I run away and leave you alone. I don't even know why I ran. I guess I thought if I could get away it wouldn't be real or something. I'm such an idiot!"
"It's my fault too," England replied. "I could have let you help me, instead of always being so overprotective. I forget how much you've grown sometimes. I forget that I have limits. You're pretty strong, if a bit impulsive. You probably could have beaten that monster if I hadn't been so quick to try and pull you out of the way."
"Not on my own," America admitted. "I knew it, too. Those things are too strong."
"We probably could have beaten it if we actually tried fighting together," England remarked.
"Care to test that theory?" America asked, looking over England's shoulder.
"What do you mean?" England asked.
His voice suggested he already knew the answer. America said it aloud anyway.
"There's one standing right behind you."
Thanks for reading.
Author's Note: That was a pretty fast update for me. Don't expect that to happen often. Also, I forgot to mention it, but last chapter incorporated an idea from HaruWitch. Thanks for all the ideas everyone, and keep 'em coming. Anyone have any guesses on what Poland drew on Liet's cheek or which 'Phantom' song England played on the piano?