"Germany~! Germany! GermanyGermanyGermany—!" Italy shrieked, springing up on his friend and wrapping his arms around his neck. Germany sighed and continued making their morning coffee. They'd driven most of the night. There'd been noises of fighting from France's and England's trailer, but, surprisingly, none from America's and Russia's. That was a bad sign. Germany had decided that one of them had probably been knocked out in the fighting the other nations had heard after they'd gone into their trailer. But now, he had more important things to worry about.

"Feliciano!" Germany barked. "Get off! I am trying to make coffee for us!"

"Vee! Germany's so nice—!" With a grunt and a shrug of his powerful shoulders, Ludwig shoved Feliciano off. The cheery nation was unharmed, however, and sprang back up. Ludwig turned around to glower at him and sighed.

"Italy, put your pants on."

"Ve"-ing softly to himself, Italy walked over to his bags and began rifling through them in search of pants. The suitcase was strangely heavy, but Germany had been willing to carry it for him. Germany really was so very nice!

Tossing aside a kit of white flags, Italy thought he saw a pair of jeans. Smiling happily, he reached for the waist. His fingers curled around it, and, with a quick jerk, he pulled the pants out. The pants looked too big, though… Italy examined them closely. They were much too large. "Ve?" The Italian was curious. He glanced down into the suitcase—and was shocked to see some nation's ass sticking out of the clothing. The underwear was a flag that seemed familiar—a black, crowned eagle on a white field, with black borders. Frowning, Italy gently patted the ass. No response.

He started shifting the other clothes aside. The ass, he found out, was attached to a pair of long, tanned, rather shapely legs. The legs were attached to a pair of feet, both adorned with cute little chick slippers. "Ve!" he cried happily, and started trying to pull the slippers off.

At that moment, Germany appeared with their coffee. "Italy, here's your—MIEN GOTT VHAT ZE HELL IZ ZAT?" he screamed on catching sight of Italy's find. (His accent became much stronger when he was angry or scared.)

"It's an ass!" Italy cried cheerfully, pointing.

"Ja, I can see that. But vhat is it doing in your suitcase, and vhy—," He peered closer. "—vhy is it vearing Prussian undervear?"

"Ve, that's Prussian? Ohh—oh…"

"…Scheiße. "

Twenty minutes later, all the nations of the CART were gathered in the campgrounds where the trailers were parked, and generally extremely irritated. The news of the ex-nation stowaway had spread like nuclear fire, and nobody but France and Canada were happy. Well, not happy per se, (France didn't want Prussia barging in on he and England, and Canada was reluctant to give up half of his trailer and irritated that someone had snuck onto his trip), but more like they were the only nations who didn't want to send him back. Germany dragged his brother out of the trailer, radiating pure anger. Prussia was still in his underwear and a black-and-white-striped hoodie, and there was an exasperated smirk on his face. His red eyes glittered angrily as he looked around at the gathered nations, and the morning sun sparkled orange on his silver-white hair.

As he was forced up to the steps leading up to Canada's trailer, he caught sight of Matthew standing next to him. His smirk reappeared and he nodded. "Hey Birdie."

"Gil," Matthew replied. He then turned to the rest of the nations, and he raised his voice. "Everyone… I assume you all know Gilbert Bielshmidt? Or the ex-nation of Prussia?" Angry, assenting murmurs rose. "As you all have learned, he snuck into Trailer 2, and he was just discovered by Italy and Germany. Now the question is; what do we do with him?"

"Send the bastard back!" England called.

"In what?" snapped Francis. "Riding one of your unicorns?" England kicked him.

"Make him stay with Canada," someone muttered. Matthew scanned the crowd for Alfred, but he was gone. He fought down a grin, but a hint of fear and guilt tinged his joy. He didn't really want to seriously hurt his brother…

Murmurs of agreement traveled across the gathering. Gilbert turned to him. "Guess we'll be sharing a trailer, Birdie." The pet chick he always had with him flew circles around his head, chirping happily. Matthew shook his head.

"I'm sorry; what?" They didn't laugh. They'd forgotten about him already and were returning to their campers. Matthew caught sight of Russia walking up to his—alone. He bit his lip. It was likely America was just sleeping in, but something made him think otherwise. Aw, maple… Please don't let him get, like, really hurt… or killed… Gilbert tugged on his sleeve. He followed, his heart torn with worry. But he forgot all that when Gilbert pulled him around and brought their lips together. As they kissed, Matthew reached out and pulled the trailer door shut. It could wait. Everything could wait.