Author's Note: Guess where I'm heading next week! I'm heading into America's vast backyard that is Canadia... I mean Canada. xD I can't wait! Finally, I'll be out of this summer heat wave.

America rubbed his nose fiercely and sniffled, twisting up his face in repugnance of his own bodily fluids. How was it possible that after two whole days of being stuck in bed, his sinuses still seemed to be clogged to the maximum capacity? He'd been blowing his nose into tissues every ten minutes, and yet the congestion seemed never-ending. To make matters worse, his poor nose was now beet-red and stung whenever he treated it too harshly.

Thankfully, a gentle knock on his bedroom door stirred him from his sulking.

"No one's home! The hero is off duty!" he called to the visitor with a croak before throwing a blanket over his head and decidedly choosing to hide from the rest of the world. As an afterthought, he added, "If it's France, then no, I haven't seen your comb, and I don't want another cup of tea. If it's England, then sorry if I woke you up with my sneezing again, and no, I don't want any tea. If it's Canada, then do your bro a favor and just smother him with a pillow already because he can't live under these conditions any longer, and no, he doesn't want any damn tea."

Canada's soft laugh made itself present as he stepped into the room, shaking his head in disbelief at America's pitiful figure sprawled out under the mound of blankets he'd been supplied with.

"Well, thank goodness I didn't bring any tea," he said cordially before tearing away the blankets that his twin had been hiding under and tossing them aside.

America glared and shivered slightly from the loss of warmth. "Europeans always think they can cure anything with enough tea. Apparently, you think so too."

"Blame France and England for raising us under their European cultures," Canada replied with a shrug. "Remember the little tea parties that we used to have when we were kids?"

America scowled and tried to extinguish the burning feeling in his cheeks from the recollection of the memory. "Yeah, you had plenty of dumb ideas."

Canada raised an eyebrow at his brother, fully aware that it had been, in fact, America who had coordinated the tea parties in the first place. It was no coincidence that he would later name an event in his history the 'Boston Tea Party' to purposefully spite England and Canada. Nevertheless, the twin had abandoned his like of tea after that.

"Right," Canada sighed, deciding to let the comment slide for now. "Anyway, I was supposed to tell you that breakfast is ready and that you should come downstairs if you feel up to it."

America nodded hastily in response, jumping out of bed as the smell of France's cooking filled the house to the point where even his useless nose could sense cinnamon and coffee. He followed Canada out of the room promptly, stretching his aching limbs as they went. Thankfully, after an entire day of spitting up into the toilet and endlessly complaining that he was certain to die from this "totally un-awesome British plague" that England's citizens had passed onto his, the insatiable appetite that frequently resided in America's stomach had returned with vengeance.

The pair jogged down to the kitchen and settled around the table at opposite ends, competing to see who could snatch the carton of orange juice first. After a short scuffle, Canada came out victorious, offering America a smug smile and a "ha!"

England stepped away from the kitchen counter after pouring himself yet another cup of tea, clad in his bathrobe and completely oblivious to the battle that had taken place over the fruit juice. "Good morning, lads. Did you both sleep well?"

"Good morning," Canada replied cheerfully with a cough to clear his throat. "I slept through the entire night without a single interruption from America; it was great."

England allowed himself a lopsided smile before taking a seat next to the Canadian with a small yawn. "And you, America?"

"It was fine," the nation lied steadily. He'd been up all night, staring at the ceiling and praying for some sort of alleviation from his near constant sneezing and sniffling.

England took a sip of tea and settled against the back of his chair, scanning over America's figure critically. "If not for the dark circles under your eyes, I might've been fooled. Not to mention that you've rubbed your nose absolutely raw."

"Thanks for noticing," America ground out sarcastically, shifting a hand through his bedraggled hair. "You know what I learned last night? It's impossible to try to hold your breath to the point that you pass out or die. I probably should've Google searched that before I actually tried it. Turns out that your body senses the change in levels of carbon dioxide in your lungs and sends impulses to your brain that force you to breathe. I read all about it on my iPhone since I obviously wasn't getting any actual sleeping done."

France made a sympathetic noise from his place by the stove and momentarily broke his focus from cooking to place a reassuring hand on America's shoulder. "Do not worry, mon ami. I did not sleep well either. Would you like some coffee?"

America nodded gratefully. "Yeah, I think I can hold it down."

Originally, when both France and England had pronounced that they were staying until the twins had made a full recovery, they had arranged to bring theirs and Canada's luggage from the hotel to the house. Eventually, this had led to a problem with the sleeping arrangements, seeing as America's town house only consisted of three bedrooms. Ultimately, England had left France with no choice but to stay on the couch, which had left the Frenchman in a foul mood since his back had been aching from not sleeping in proper bed.

"Your ideas are a little perturbing sometimes," England noted with a pitying look. "You should've woken me, especially if the situation got to the point that you attempted to self-asphyxiate to death."

America sneezed once more, eyes watering even though he was wearing a sheepish smile. He wouldn't have woken England even if he had been legitimately dying—out of good conscience, of course. "Whatever… You needed to sleep too."

"Bless," England said absently before standing from the table and excusing himself from the room for a moment. He returned just as France was setting the plates of food on the table, holding a jar in his hand. He unscrewed the lid and before America could register that the jar was full of Vaseline, England had taken a large glob of it on his finger and was already slathering it onto the irritated skin of America's nose.

He flailed unhappily, scrunching his face up. "Agh! Stop it, England! That stings!"

England clicked his tongue, leaning down slightly to get a better look at his work. "It will help soothe the pain after a few moments. Just relax, and don't be such a big baby."

Canada chuckled from across the table, watching as England decided that America's nose was adequately slicked with Vaseline before capping off the jar once more and washing his hands in the sink. He then returned to his seat at the table without making a fuss over the French toast that had been placed before him. It seemed as though he had decided to try to get along with his rival nation for the twins' sake.

"So, Rudolph, how are the other reindeer holding up?" Canada asked with a mocking smile around his glass of orange juice.

America's eyes grew sharp immediately. "Shut up, Mattie. I wouldn't be laughing if I were you. Looks like you could use some of this stuff as well," he threatened before wiping a bit of the Vaseline off of his nose and lunging at Canada to get the greasy substance on his brother's face as well.

Canada let out a disgruntled squawk followed by another laugh as he dodged America's hand.

"America!" England reprimanded, catching the younger nation's outstretched arm in a vice-grip. "Settle down. And Canada, don't provoke your brother."

"Sorry," Canada hiccuped around another barely suppressed laugh. He quickly dug into his French toast, dropping a strawberry into his mouth before saying, "If you hadn't been so stubborn and had just taken a decongestant like me, you wouldn't have this problem right now."

Ignoring the nagging tone of Canada's voice, America turned his attention to more pressing matters. "Where's my breakfast?" he queried, noticing the lack of a plate before him.

"Here you are, mon lapin," France said before placing a plate of toast in front of America as well as his cup of coffee.

The younger nation quickly noticed the absence of whipped cream, cinnamon, strawberries and blueberries that made up his plate as opposed to his twin's. And, as if seemingly reading the questioning look on America's face, England promptly tried to explain the situation.

"You know that you have a stomach bug on top of the flu, America. Give it another day or so before you start eating regularly again. It's best if you eat your toast plain for now," England reasoned, preparing himself for the look that America was sure to send his way.

The blue eyed nation silently adjusted his glasses and peered at England over his frames, looking as though the man before him had just killed all of his friends and family. He then turned to Canada, grumbling about how unfair it was that the other nation hadn't caught a stomach virus on top of his flu like he had, and then contemplated various ways that he might be able to spread the disease onto him without raising suspicion.

But of course, another sneeze interrupted his conniving plan, sending his body swooping forward as he covered his mouth and nose with both of his hands. He was promptly handed several tissues from England, who seemed to have stockpiled them on his person in case they were necessary. America dabbed carefully at his red nose, sniffling a few more times before returning to his toast.

England gave off an exasperated sigh. "Try not to rub off the Vaseline, or we'll have to keep reapplying it."

"Okay, but I'm doing it myself next time," America insisted, crumpling up the tissues in his fist before sipping at his coffee.

Canada casted America a knowing smile, eyes glinting deviously. "You've always had issues with people touching your face. Remember that time when you had really bad acne?"

America took a vicious bite out of his painfully bland toast. "No, I don't," he hissed through clenched teeth, trying to scare Canada into keeping quiet.

No such luck.

"Well, I remember," Canada emphasized, hoping to get his fair share of revenge after the scuffle over the T.V remote the other day. "You would get really bad breakouts and England would have to put a bunch of herbal salves and warm dressings on your face to help. And then, one night, you told me that—"

"Mattie," America growled warningly, expression darkening as England and France listened on with increasing interest. "You just love taking strolls down memory lane, don't you?"

"—you were afraid that your face would never clear up in time for your—"

America resorted to whining petulantly instead of being threatening. "Mattie!"

"—date with some teenage girl named Hayley. She was two years older than you, physically anyway, and you wanted to impress her. So, you covered your face with makeup from one of the nannies and snuck out of the house even though you were grounded for breaking another one of England's expensive vases."

This time, England interrupted the story to send America a disapproving look. "You did what? And I never found out?"

Meanwhile, France winked at America approvingly. "I always knew that you were secretly a romancer."

America groaned in embarrassment, knowing what was coming next. Soon the whole globe would know that the personification of the United States of America had just recently sprouted from being an insecure teenage boy into a world power.

Suddenly, England shot America a horrified look, utterly bewildered. "Please tell me you didn't have—"

"ENGLAND!" the younger nation screeched, slamming a fist on the table before the elder nation could go any further. "Of course, I didn't! I was only thirteen physically!"

"Right," England muttered in relief, bringing a hand to his head. "Well, children start far earlier than they did in my day, so I just wanted to be sure. I know I raised you to show more respect for women than to—"

"Please, just drop the subject," America pleaded, face and ears burning in humiliation.

Canada continued the delivery of the memory heedlessly. "But you were really lousy at putting on makeup and just ended up looking like there were a bunch of discolored bumps on your face because you just painted your face with a big helping of concealer. You told me that by the end of the night, the makeup was smudged all over your date. She didn't make a big deal out of it, but you came home mortified and complained for hours about how awful puberty was and how you wished you could be an adult already. Since then, your face has been a very sensitive issue."

America's flushed cheeks resembled the state of his nose, occasionally varying in shades of crimson.

"I told you that it would clear up, and I was right. It was just a phase and you never had a problem with it again," England said, relishing in the fact that he'd been right. "You were always one to blow things out of proportion unnecessarily."

America threw down his fork angrily and kicked his chair back. "Excuse me as I go and stick my head in a plastic bag."

Canada chuckled lightly, eyes gleaming with amusement beneath his glasses. "You want me to write your epitaph and obituary?"

America scowled, eyes cold and murderous. "Bro, you better sleep with your eyes open tonight."

France stood from the table as well and took the moment to place a calming hand on America's shoulder. "I think we all need something to brighten the mood, non? Maybe you could find us all a movie to watch or a game to play."

America conceded, though still slightly frustrated at his little dysfunctional family. He disappeared into his old storage room after a minute, deciding that any movie he could scavenge would probably lead to a lot of criticism and outbursts in between scenes from the others.

After a moment, he removed an old box from one of the dusty shelves, eyeing the cover carefully.

Nothing could go wrong during a simple game of Monopoly right?

"How many times do I have to tell you to stop knocking over my piece?"

"Well, maybe if you hadn't chosen the stupid top hat and had picked a decent game piece, then it wouldn't keep overbalancing."

"The top hat is the only figurine worth choosing!"

"America, it's your turn again," Canada reminded, interrupting the side argument taking place between his twin and his older brother.

America took the dice and rolled them, his anger dissipating. "Hah, Community Chest! I got second place in the beauty contest and get to collect ten bucks! I suppose I am pretty fabulous. Miss America ain't got nothin' on this!"

England flinched at America butchering his language, barely managing to bite his tongue to hold back any insulting remarks. He took the dice next, landing on "Park Place", which was unfortunately owned by France.

"Looks like you owe me rent, Angleterre," France winked in delight, outstretching a hand as he waited for England to hand him over the money.

"Bollocks… And you have a hotel on it as well!"

"Oui, you owe me fifteen hundred dollars."

England groaned, counting his money and biting his lip in frustration. "I don't have fifteen hundred!"

"Well, I'm sure I can find other ways of getting my payment," France trilled, instigating further conflict.

America merely grinned and patted his older brother/father figure on the back. "Don't worry, England. Being the hero that I am, I could lend you some dough."

"You can't lend him money! That's cheating," Canada stated, glaring.

England shook America's hand off of his back. "I don't want your filthy money anyway. I don't make a habit of racking up debt like you do."

"Ooh," America warbled with a frown. "Cheap shot, old man. Alright, when World War III comes along, don't expect me to hop in and come to the rescue."

"For your information, I was doing just fine on my own during both of the wars."

"Heh, sure you were!"

"Cut the sarcasm!"

"I was just trying to help."

"Not everyone appreciates your bleeding heart."

"Hey, don't hate the player; hate the game!"

"I still need my money!" France sighed, calling everyone to attention.

"England's disqualified because he's bankrupt and doesn't have any property left to sell," Canada announced in a tone of finality, ending the issue.

"I never liked this game anyway," England huffed, throwing down the few hundred dollars he had left and plopping down on the couch dejectedly.

America grinned sympathetically at the older man. "It's alright, dude. I promise to avenge your loss by buying up all your property and kicking these guys to the dirt when I win."

England couldn't help but crack a smile at the goofy look on the American's face as he went on about how the other two figures that were huddled around the board game in concentration didn't stand a chance.

And when America failed to beat France in their final standoff, England tried to cheer him up a bit while his former colony sneezed with such power that the house seemed to rattle on its hinges.

"Bless you, I think it's time for a lunch break. There's leftover soup in the fridge."

"Thanks," America sniffled, voice still nasally as France flaunted his victory to Canada.

Oh, family…

Later that same day

If America stayed cooped up in his room for any longer, he was going to go insane. He needed a taste of some fresh air before he died of cabin fever. So, he decided to come up with a foolproof plan that would allow him to get out of the house for a while without requiring too much of his energy.

The only obstacle now was to convince England and France that he was well enough to take the trip. After a few minutes of debating how to approach the situation, he walked into the living room in a cool and collected manner, stopping in front of England, who was absorbed in some sort of novel.

Forcing his voice to stop sounding so hoarse, he began his plea. "Dude, I think I'm gonna take a trip to the store to get some grub and other stuff."

England peered at America over the top of his book, raising an eyebrow and taking a scrutinizing look at his form before responding. "No, absolutely not. You'll catch your death out there."

America put on his best set of trained puppy-dog eyes. "I'll dress warm. Honestly, England, I feel a lot better than I did during the day of the conference. Besides, I'm tired of sitting around the house all day."

England turned back to his book and flipped the page, sparing America another perusal upon seeing that the young man was being stubborn and probably not going to back down easily. Well, England was stubborn as well, and two could play at that game. "Perhaps tomorrow. The conference was postponed to three days from now and I want you to be well rested and fit to attend by then."

"And then, once it's over, I'll finally have you out of my hair," America grumbled under his breath.

England gave his former colony a reproachful look. "What was that?"

"Nothing," America assured angelically. "I was just saying that it's a shame that you'll be leaving New York soon."

England wasn't buying the act.

"Soooo… About that trip to the store," America tried again, skewing the conversation back on the right course.

"I quite vividly recall saying 'no', Alfred Jones," England replied, giving his final answer in a tone that left no room for an argument. The full human name was never a good sign, and America sighed, knowing he had failed in persuading the man. He was going to be held captive in his own house until further notice.

Then, his savior of the day entered the room.

"Angleterre, it seems there isn't—Oh, Amérique, how are you feeling?" France asked in genuine concern, an empty milk carton in one hand.

This was his chance!

"I'm feeling a lot better, thanks. I could use some fresh air though," he began slowly, ignoring the glare that England sent his way.

France stepped across the length of the room and collected his coat before regarding America empathetically. "Oh, then you can come along with me to the store. It seems that you're out of milk."

America shot England a look that clearly said, "I told you so." The young nation took the opportunity to snatch his coat out of the closet as well, already making his way to the door in a hurry.

"Not so fast!" England called from his spot on the couch. He abandoned his book and stood up, tutting as he caught America at the threshold, who already had slipped into his boots and snagged his car keys off the table.

"Hand over the keys," the green eyed nation demanded, holding out a hand.

"But England!"

"No buts. We've already discussed this issue, and you won't weasel your way out of it by going to France for refuge," England said firmly in the tone that he had always used with America when he had still been a misbehaving colony.

America visibly wilted, handing over the keys without protesting. Even though he was nearly half a foot taller than the other nation, he still felt like the man was towering over him in a scolding manner.

"What's going on in here?" France asked joining the pair at the doorway.

America sidestepped over to France's side, hoping the man would defend his case and protect him from his older brother's wrath. "England won't let me out of the house because he's a worrywart and thinks I'm gonna collapse in the cereal aisle or somethin'."

France smiled in amusement and casted both nations a thoughtful glance. "I doubt that will happen while I'm there with you, but if you're so worried, Angleterre, why don't you come with us? I'm sure Canada would like to get out for a while as well."

"No, that's a bloody awful idea."

France offered America a look that clearly stated that he would take care of the situation, knowing exactly how to make England cave in his dictatorial ways. "Look, even you've become unbearable company after being in this house for so long! Don't be such an old grouch, Angleterre."

"I am not unbearable nor an old grouch! Excuse me for not throwing caution to the wind!" England retorted, obviously offended. "Fine, I'll go with you lot, but when the twins don't recover in time for the meeting, don't expect me to stick around and help!"

America grinned from ear to ear, shouting up the stairs for Canada to get up and join them. "Canada, bro! We're takin' a field trip! Hurry up or we're leavin' you behind!"

England pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation.

What had he gotten himself into?