Chapter Six

"Owowowowowowowowow…" moaned the hazy Romano. As they looked him over, they saw that Romano was a lion, with a big furry mane that made him look bigger than he was. America, who had seen lions, was unimpressed. This one was tiny, and had hidden in the dark rather than come out to face them. That certainly wasn't a regular lion's style.

As Romano slowly made his was out of his daze, Italy gave him some food and excitedly told him about the storm, the Sealands, France and what they'd been doing so far. He was excited to see his brother, even if he wasn't being his obnoxious self because of a bump on the head. Romano didn't appear to like the story very much, and seemed especially frightened when they mentioned France. This wasn't a surprise to Germany, who had met Romano, but America was perplexed at why someone would be afraid of France.

"He's freaking scary," Romano defended.

America wasn't convinced. "You know France invented parkour; the sport of running away."

"He only runs from big, brave countries like you assholes," Romano spat. "I've got no courage at all. There! I said it!"

"Hey, hey," America tried to console him. "Just admitting that took a lot of courage."

"Oh, shut your fat American mouth!" Romano yelled. "Go choke on a cheeseburger!"

"Maybe we should throw you to France, scaredy-cat!" America yelled back, losing his cool.

It was plain to see Romano trembling, and Italy stepped in.

"Come on, you guys, no fighting, please?" he begged.

"We'll get nowhere by bickering amongst ourselves," Germany added.

"Zip your potato-stench lip!" Romano snapped. "You bastards busted into my cave and beat me on the head and then you expect me to be all nicey-nice and welcoming! That's not what Italians call hospitality!"

Italy took matters into his own hands. "Hug time!" he said, throwing his arms around his brother.

"Damn it, Italy! What is it with you and this stupid hug-therapy crapola?"

Italy didn't answer, he only hugged tighter. Romano still wouldn't give up, and continued to insult the others. Italy, as was the norm when trying to calm Romano, started to realize how hopeless it was and began to tear up. Germany had had enough.

"Beruhigen," Germany commanded. "Calm down."

"And why should I?" Romano demanded.

"Look at your brother," Germany told him. "All he wants is to help you and you insult him and his friends. What kind of attitude is that? We're sorry we hit you like we did; we wouldn't if we had known who you were. Now kindly keep calm and let's just talk."

Romano looked down at Italy, who'd bent over to keep his arms hugged down. Romano sighed. "All right. Where are you guys going, then?"

"We're going to go see a wizard!" Italy proclaimed, happy again. "Oh! Maybe he can help you, Romano! He can give you courage!"

"You… you think so?" Romano asked.

"Si!" Italy replied.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Romano said, with a rare smile.

"We were going to spend the night here," America said sheepishly.

Romano was disappointed; after all, when one wants something badly enough, the worst thing to have to put up with is the anticipation of waiting. However, he understood that they had been travelling for days and didn't begrudge them their well-deserved sleep. Besides, he loved sleep as much as the next guy, and felt he could do with some of it now. "Alright," he said. "Are we starting tomorrow?"

"Si," Italy said. "You can ask for courage, America is asking for a brain, Germany for a heart, and me and Pooky want to go home. Oh, but won't you come with us?"

"Eh, I'll stay here a while," Romano said. "Once I'm brave, I can kick Francey-pants's ass whenever I want, and I'm going to want to do it a few times. Besides, there's bound to be pretty girls where this wizard lives."

"I hadn't thought of that," Italy said, beaming. "Maybe we should enjoy ourselves while we're there, yeah?"

The Italy brothers began to chat, partially in English, partially Italian. The other two couldn't follow, but agreed they'd want to see some sights as well.

"They might have good beer," Germany suggested.

"There's good beer at my place," America bragged.

"Uhh…" Germany wasn't so sure.

"Chill, dude, I like your stuff, too."

Germany smiled politely.

The night waned on, and soon the Italy brothers had enough of talking and slumped down to sleep. They snored almost in unison, and both muttered about pasta in their sleep. Germany and America decided to sleep in shifts, should France come back.

"He won't come out and face us," America reasoned. "And if we keep a sharp eye, he won't even want to be around here in case we go after him. We won't get to knock him around, but at least those two will sleep peacefully."

Germany nodded in agreement, and America volunteered to take first watch. He lay about three feet from Italy, on his side, facing him. America sat down on a rock and snapped a few branches from his tree limb. When it was complete, it would work as well as any baseball bat, something America had been practicing with for years. He sighed and set his weapon down in front of him. He tucked his knees up, only to hear a muffled and discomforted meow. America unzipped his straw-stuffed bomber jacket and released Pooky, whom he'd forgotten was in his jacket.

"Sorry, Pooky," He said. He pulled a handful of straw from the jacket and set it on the ground. The cat lay in it, but didn't go to sleep. Rather, he seemed to be keeping watch like America. America watched the trees as they swayed and swished in the night wind. A serene smile spread across his face as he enjoyed a few moments of quiet. He peered back in the cave at Germany, who'd fallen evidently fallen asleep. Bored, he continued looking at the trees, and petting Pooky. A rustle disturbed his calm and he jumped up. The rustle happened again in a nearby bush, and a furry brown-and-white rabbit scampered out of it, running away from him. He sat back down, peeved at himself for scaring it.

He soon became tired, and, try as he might to stay awake, decided to rouse Germany for his shift. Without a word, Germany took up his axe and sat on the same rock. Pooky followed America inside, but instead of curling up in his jacket, tucked himself under Italy's arm. America, too tired to care about the cat, fell asleep, trusting Germany to wake him should something go wrong. On the rock, Germany felt an odd sensation which he didn't want to mention to the others. He felt as though he were being watched.

Farther west, France stood in his bedroom, looking at a crystal ball. Behind him stood Prussia and Spain, looking over his shoulder into the ball as well. "Germany looks uneasy," noted Spain.

"He might suspect something, but we won't strike tonight. Prussia, have you got birds out there?" asked France.

"Yeah," he said, feeding a sunflower seed to his favorite bird, who sat on his shoulder. "He's providing the view, remember?"

"Right, right," said France. "But they're getting closer. Spain, you can have Romano if I can have Italy."

Spain nodded.

"Prussia, do whatever the hell you want with Germany."

"He's my kid brother; all I'd want to do is drink beer and party."

"Just keep him away from me!" shrieked France.

"Fine, fine," answered Prussia.

"What about America?" asked Spain.

France looked back at the crystal ball and sighed, remembering the seven year's war with Britain and other good times. "Let the birds make nests out of him," France muttered.

Spain and Prussia left, and France placed a black sheet on top of the crystal ball and settled down into bed.

Back at the cave, Germany turned his head to see a tiny yellow bird flying away.