Sorry I haven't posted a chapter in a while. I had a hard time working on what would happen in this one. And then finals hit. So it was put on the back burner while I finished up with this last semester. (I made all A's! Praise the Lord!) So here you are!

Oh! And if you are reading my other story, Don't Enter, I promise I'll update that one too! I just need to figure out the story a bit more. ^_^

Thank you all!

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Chapter 6

Somehow Italy was able to get them all gathered in the largest presidential suite of the hotel – wait, why did he have this room? – and had them gathered for ice cream and home movies.

"So what should we watch first? The video of when Turkey and Greece broke the meeting table because they were fighting over whose food was better?" Italy held up his small tablet and scrolled through his selection, "Or the time when Switzerland starting shooting at everyone who looked at Liechtenstein "funny"."

"How do you even get all of these, Italy?!" Germany's eyebrows twitched with irritation.

"Japan records them and shares them with me, of course!"

"Japan."

Said nation hid himself partially behind Britain, "Sorry, Germany-san. But sometimes it is too hard to not record meetings and such."

Germany sighed, "All the meetings."

"Just some, I assure you."

"And don't forget those picnics and hang out times you record! About every vacation you take, I have some video of!"

"Hai."

"Oh boy," Germany rubbed the ache between his eyes.

France sat down on one of the many couches, handing Alfred his bowl of ice cream, "Sure you don't want any more than that?"

"Yes," he smiled sweetly, "Thank you."

"De rien," France was liking how much sweeter this Alfred was compared to the one before, who had always been loud and obnox–

Wait! What was he saying?! How dare he even think that about Alfred! Especially when he just came back from the hospital!

"Francis?" Alfred asked, snapping the older one out of his thoughts.

"O-oui?"

"Are you okay?"

France smiled sweetly, "Oui. I was just thinking about how sweet you are."

"Oh . . . cool."

As Alfred turned back to watch Italy play around with video options, France let his smile fall. He had been putting on that little sweet curve to keep the younger calm and not afraid. It appeared to have worked countless times. However, it was wearing him thin. He was using too much energy to keep the peace, and too much energy to keep his son calm as well. He knew if he did not get away soon and rest, he would not be able to help anyone.

He just took out his phone and typed a message.

/

Just a few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. France

Canada arrived, cell in hand, just a few minutes later. "Papa!"

"Oui?" France asked innocently.

"Are you okay?!" Canada looked around the room.

Nothing was out of place, except a few cookies on the floor – must have come from Italy's flailing arms as he tried to get away. Being started at by half the room, though, made Canada's invisibility force field activate. It was almost complete, when France placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Mon garcon," The older one smiled, lifting up a set of blue pajamas with decorative white polar bears printed on it, "I have something special for you!"

He inwardly sighed, while fighting the urge to smack the blonde, "Papa! I thought you said –" he looked toward Alfred, who had turned his attention back to the arguing trio, "something was wrong. Don't scare me like that!"

"Désolé, désolé, mon cher! But I did not think you'd come if I did not say something like that."

"Like what?" Ameri- just Alfred looked up at them, curiosity in his eyes.

Canada hid his phone back in his pants pocket, not that the other could see it, "Nothing too important. He just feigned death by mad-German."

"Hey!" Germany shouted, more towards Italy than them. He was trying to wrestle the tablet away from the child.

"Aw! Come on Germany!" Italy jumped up, running towards the small kitchenette in the room, "can't we watch this one? You only fell down twice!"

"No way!"

Japan cooed, "Don't want to be embarrassed again?"

Canada turned back to France, ignoring the chase. "So what are these for, Papa?" he asked, gesturing to the pajamas.

"For the slumber party, of course~. Britain is getting his on as we speak."

Another internal sigh, "But you don't have pajamas on."

"Of course I do!"

"Your suit without the coat is NOT nightwear."

"It is! Now go put yours on!"

. . .

That was it!

In one swift movement, Canada smacked his Papa, and headed for the bathroom, the pajamas in hand. Unbeknownst to him, his brother sat there, eyes wide.

/

As the group settled down for the night, Feliciano – that was his name, right? – was finally able to choose a few videos to show, without the worry of Ludwig – right? – almost killing him.

Alfred – his name, for sure, possibly – was able to relax a bit. These guys weren't so bad . . . just very, very weird.

Arthur – the so called Great Britain – was sitting down on the nearby couch, eyeing him every so often. Alfred decided to not worry about it, though. The man was obviously being cautious about his state of being. He did just wake from a coma, after being hit by a truck, apparently.

However, his "brother" Curly – oh! Not curly! Matthew!

His "brother" Matthew had smacked France, his uncle – how did this family thing even work! – when Arthur had walked back into the room. Arthur was not in pajamas as Francis had claimed earlier. (Matthew had almost wore the night clothes Francis had given him.)

Alfred focused on the video playing.

"That's Turkey and Greece right there!" Feliciano exclaimed, "They are beating each other up because Japan wanted the last pudding cup!"'

"Feliciano! Use their real names!" Ludwig smacked the back of his head.

Alfred leaned toward the small Asian, who was also sitting on the floor, "Hey . . . uh. . ."

"Kiku," he smiled sweetly.

"Yeah, Kiku . . . so who are those two on the video?"

"The one with the mask is Turkey. His human name is Sadiq. And the other, the one with the cat dangling from the back of his shirt, is Greece, or Heracles."

"Like Hercules?"

"Yes. In fact, you usually call him that."

"Really."

"Mm," he nodded.

"Huh . . . so . . . why does Sadiq wear a mask?"

"I really don't know. He always wears it."

"Oh . . . and why does Heracles have a cat on him?"

"Cats love him for some reason. I think the attraction might have come from his mother."

"Oh . . . and . . . who's his mother?"

"Ancient Greece. I do not know her human name, if she even had one."

"Oh . . ."

"Is it confusing, Alfred-kun?"

"A little . . . but it's just weird for the most part."

Kiku laughed, "You'll be able to understand it. Just give it time."

"Yeah. Sure," there was little confidence, if any, in his voice.

The next video showed a small man pointing a big gun at Gilbert and Francis.

"Who is that?! And why does he have a gun on Francis?!"

"That is Vash. He's the representation of Switzerland. See that girl behind him?"

"Yeah."

"That's his little sister, Lily."

Ludwig spoke up, "And Francis was trying to steal a kiss from her . . . right as Gilbert was trying to take Vash's gun away."

"Moi!" A voice behind Alfred shouted as dramatically as it possibly could, "I only wanted to say hello to the little princess! Nothing more!"

"Sure you were, you frog," Britain injected, "And you were also just trying to help Hungary into her seat as well."

"I was!"

"Please. You expect me to believe that?"

"Oui! It's the truth!"

The shorter one snorted.

Francis gasped, "You mean you don't believe me!"

"Who would believe you?"

"You, sir, are so cruel!"

As they argued back and forth, Alfred leaned towards Kiku, "Uh . . . are they always like this?"

"More or less . . . they have always argued with each other. Ever since I could remember."

"Even when we were little," Curl – Matthew, who was sitting on the other side of Kiku, chimed in, "It's always been like this for Papa and Arthur."

Alfred looked back at the arguing duo. And then, back at Matthew.

"But," he started, "If it was when we were little . . ." He looked at the duo, "then how old are you two?"

Francis and Arthur stopped yelling, surprised at the question.

"Well . . ." Arthur said hesitantly, "It's hard to explain."

"Oui," Francis looked down at him, "Since we represent countries, we live as long as they do."

"So . . . you're as old as France?"

"Oui."

"Man. . ." he looked at his hands, "That's really old."

Francis tensed, nearly turning to stone at the words. A second later, he broke out of it, screaming, "I am NOT OLD! I'm just your big brother! Nothing more! I am not old! I'm not! I'm not! I'm not!"

"Papa! Calm down! I'm sure he didn't mean it that way!"

"Of course he didn't," Arthur injected, "he meant you're older than dirt!"

"Oh, shut it you black sheep! I don't want to hear it from you!"

"I am NOT a black sheep! You're just too slow on the times, old man!"

"Old man!"

"Or should I say old frog!"

As another yelling fight broke out among the two, Kiku noticed how Alfred became very quiet.

"Alfred-kun . . . are you alright?"

"Huh? Oh . . . I-I guess."

Kiku leaned in a little closer, trying to cope with the argument behind them, "It is okay if you don't understand everything yet. You will get better. And so will your memory."

Alfred looked up from his hands, smiling a little at the other man, "I hope so. This is all way too confusing."

Kiku smiled, "When it comes to your family, it usually is."

/

The little party, if one could call it that, had finally ended. Italy and Japan had fallen asleep during the video marathon. Before he could move to the couch, Germany had to push both of them off his shoulders. He grumbled something unintelligible when he was able to lay down properly and sleep. Canada had taken one of the beds in the other room, when he finally gave up on persuading Alfred to remember anything. The latter had fell asleep himself, leaning up against the chair Britain was currently curled up in. Why did the Englishman look so much like a cat at that moment?

France could not think of an answer as he slipped out the door, a small smirk painted on his face. He was able to leave.

However, he did not know where to go at the moment. Most all the other nations would be in bed, or at least not want to enjoy the late night with him – talking that is.

He decided to enjoy some of the night air, and made his way out of the building.

.

A few moments later, thanks to the lack of traffic on the elevators this time of night, he was walking aimlessly outside. The air wafted through his hair, making it wavier than it already was. He smiled. This was nice.

Soon, he noticed he had walked into a park. The trees were a nice change from the cars, with the distant sound of slowly pouring water as a change from the continuous honking. Who knew America's city could be so loud, even in the middle of the night? Of course, who knew such a treasure as this could be found in such a loud city? It was not nearly as big as Central Park was; but it was welcomed by the Frenchman all the same.

The old-fashioned streetlamps reminded him of times long before modern times. When his hair was longer and tied back. When Matthew would tell him about his day more often. And when he did not always have to see Arthur's face. It reminded him of the time when he actually used their human names more often . . . when Alfred was just Alfred to him, and not the boorish America.

France stopped.

How could he say that?

Didn't he like Alfred? America?

How could such thoughts even enter his mind? He knew America could be annoying and rather childish at times. But so could England – even more so – and his friends. So could he. So why was it hard for him to remember that when it came to America? Was it because he never thought anything more of the country on the other side of the world? Was America just too far for him to remember that he could be more than just a kid when it came to the important matters? He should remember that. Especially when America had saved him at Normandy. Both him and his brother, when no one else could. . .

France did not realize that he had started walking again, until he heard two familiar, and very drunk voices. He looked up, recognizing Spain and Prussia instantly. The other two parts of the Bad Friends Trio.

Spain spotted him before he could decide between walking up or sneaking away. "Hola, mi amigo! How are you this fine, beautiful noches?"

France smiled. Maybe he did need company. He walked up, sitting down between them on the bench they had found.

"Oi! France!" Prussia piped in, hiccupping and flushing from the beer, "Your butt is getting too big! I'm about to slip off!"

"Excusez moi! My butt is perfectly fine! Maybe your awesome attitude is getting too big, Monsieur!"

Spain started to laugh so much, he nearly fell off himself.

"You, good ass, are too cruel!" Prussia snickered.

"And you two are the cruelest! Not inviting me out to drink with you! How could you!" France fake whimpered, laying a hand on his forehead, "I feel so left out!"

"Oh please! Like we could tear you away from America at this time!" Prussia cackled, "Even if we tried, we couldn't pull you away with a crow-bar, wine, and your favorite musical songs!"

France just grunted at that. Prussia always did know how to make him feel bad . . . even if he didn't know what he was doing . . . or meant to.

Spain, though, felt the tension that was building up in France, and laid a hand on the other's shoulder, "Amigo. Tell me what is wrong. Are you truly worried about America?"

Even when he was completely smashed on alcohol, if a serious moment arose, Spain would sober up easily. Why did he have to do this now? It would have been easier for France to just slip away with a snappy remark back. Wouldn't it?

"It's nothing, mon ami. Just a little tiring."

Prussia's snickering stopped. He looked at his friend with a half-serious expression, "Tiring? Why should it be tiring to you? You're not the one who just found out he forgot everything."

Exactly. So why was he feeling like this?

France just shrugged.

Prussia became agitated at the lack of response, "Oh, please. You're such a big baby, France. Whenever the tiniest trouble comes around, you just start to give up, pitying yourself. Why don't you just grow a back bone already!"

France grunted, "It's not as simple as you put it, Prussia. Not everyone can be as cold hearted as you are when things don't go their way."

"I'd rather be cold hearted than a wimp. At least I don't cry like a baby for a century when my 'precious child' gets taken by an arch rival!"

"Don't you dare bring Canada into this!" France faced Prussia fully, his anger growing more, "He has nothing to do with this!"

"Oh waaa! Poor little France lost his poor little baby! And still doesn't know how to get over it!"

"At least I have the decency to cry! Not like you!"

"Amigos! Come on! Don't make this into another fight!" Spain tried to intercede the best he could.

Unfortunately for all three, neither of his friends heeded his warning.

"What does that mean you crybaby?!" Prussia hiccupped, his rage gaining momentum.

"You never cried when your brothers were taken away from you!"

"Why would I! They weren't strong enough to survive!"

"You could have showed some emotion! Not just keep it bottled up inside for so long! Even now it's hard for you to show anything! Even to your so called best friends!"

"Like I have any best friends! Both of you abandoned me long before we could be friends!"

"You were the one who betrayed us!"

"And you betrayed me! Or have you forgotten the Wall!"

"That was your fault to begin with! You never had to try and take over the world AGAIN, like you always do!"

Prussia jumped up, "And you never tried to do the same?! HA! Give me a break!"

France stood up, facing him, "Only once! And I failed and learned my lesson! Unlike you!"

"Only after you killed my bro – after you killed HRE and made little Italy cry for months! At least I never made him do that!"

"At least I never tried to kill of half of Europe with stupid escapades!"

"Don't bring that shit into this!"

"What! You don't want me to remind you of your failures! Of the way you tried to take everyone down into hell, but only took you and your brother!"

"France! I'm warning you!"

"Of what! If I don't stop, you'll attack me again and set fire to my cities! Kill my men off like you did Poland's and Russia's! Destroy everything in your path to make you feel 'awesomer' than you already are?!"

"Maybe I will! If only to shut your fucking mouth!"

"And what will you do then! Try to run from everything! Leave your country and brother behind!"

"France!"

"France what?! Afraid I'll say something about how you gave Germany to the dogs to try and save your own skin! Only to be caught later by us Allied Forces! Afraid I'll bring up how you set him up for failure, just to survive yourself! Just to see if you could rule as much as Rome did!"

"Shut up! Shut up!"

"Afraid I'll say something about how Russia almost got his hands on Germany!"

"France!"

"You were the one who led Germany to war! Who said it was okay to trust that monster of a leader! You sent him to hell! And only felt bad when your own neck was on the line! What about those millions of civilians! Those millions of soldiers who died! What about them! And their families! What about your own! Or did your ego cover up your own guilt! You murdered all of those people! You're the monster! You-"

Prussia threw his beer bottle on the ground, grabbing hold of France's collar. He shoved the other against a tree.

A smash of glass was the only audible noise. Spain looked away from it all, pressing his hands against his ears, and shutting his eyes tightly. France tried to fight back, but stopped. Prussia's fiery eyes – the same kind Medusa might have had to petrify her pray – glared vigilantly into his.

They had done it again.

Lived up to their name-sake, the Bad Friends Trio.

As two of them would argue, the third would sit there whimpering, tired of all the fighting.

Though Spain was not whimpering at the moment, he was probably on the verge.

France sighed, letting his hand drop to his sides, "It was my own fault. I'm the monster for reminding you of that."

Prussia's eyes lost their fire – their fury, their pain, their sadness – and he let France's neck go free. Head down, he let the alcohol take affect again, as he stumbled his way back to the bench. Wiping away the glass that had landed on the seat, he sat down, vision facing the blank sky above.

Spain sucked in as much air as he could, before letting it go. He turned towards them again, eyes apologetic and ears opened once more.

France could not bring himself to sit back down with them. He had hurt them both . . . again. But the uneasiness had no time to linger, as Prussia sifted through his pants pocket.

"Better sit down, Frenchie. Nowhere else for you to go at the moment."

The so called Frenchie snorted grudgingly. Where else could he go in this state? No one else would understand as well as these two would.

He sat between them once more. Prussia arm was wrapped around his shoulders, in a less violent state, as Spain popped open three more beers.

"So tell us what's been going on through your mind. Must be something off for you to act like that," Prussia fished out a pack of cigarettes, offering one to the other two.

At first, France declined, but took one instead. Spain did the same.

After all three were lit, with drinks in hand, France was able to tell them everything he knew of between Alfred and Matthew, Arthur, and the entire situation that had unfolded within the last couple of hours.