Haha, magical note at the top of the chapter to grab your attention!
Don't kill me for the 1) lateness and 2) shitiness of this chapter, plz. I'm still stuck on ideas.
The next chapter of TFH should be published later this evening, or TGJ if I really crack down on writing. Point is, I'll update something!
Much fanx.
Enjoy~
- S

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"Can Matthew just move in and make breakfast all the time? I think that'd be a pretty neat arrangement." Amelia said as the last pool of sticky maple syrup disappeared with a piece of pancake from her plate.

"Well, I suppose-"

"Mattie has a country to run." Alfred said assertively. "We can't pull him away from his responsibilities, no matter how much he'd want that. Plus, Prussia might have something to say about it."

"Jeez, Alfred suddenly matured..." Matthew commented, with a smile. He looked around the table at the four present faces, and admired how happy they all seemed. "What the hell have you guys done to him? He's become responsible!"

"Oh, are you saying that I'm no fun, huh?" Alfred retorted, raising an eyebrow at his Canadian twin. "Challenge accepted."

"Nooo, wait, I-I didn't mean-"

"No no, I understand, bro. There's only one thing this means." Alfred smirked.

Matthew audibly groaned. He knew exactly what Alfred was referring to, and he was certainly not willing to participate. If there was one phrase he would use to describe Alfred when it came to this certain activity, it was 'incredibly, exponentially competitive'. He shook his head and started to gather empty plates. piling them up.

"What? Suddenly become scared, have we?" Alfred teased as his brother stole his plate.

"Very funny, Al. Remember what happened last time you wanted to play that game?" Matthew said, reminding himself unwillingly of the injuries and bruises from only a year prior.

"Yeah, I remember. You lost!"

"If it were hockey, it'd be so much different!" Matthew retaliated. "Americans and your guns, I swear to maple, it'll get you killed one day..."

"Guns? You have my undivided attention." Jones spoke up, resting his chin on his knuckles.

He looked at Alfred, patiently waiting for an elaboration. The original American grinned, knowing that all of his new housemates would likely be up for a paintball match to his kind of standards. Well, maybe everyone except for Charles, the one person who'd managed to elude him all morning. Alfred figured he was upstairs reading, as always.

With an upbeat and contagious enthusiasm, Alfred began to explain the rules of the game: it was a bit like Capture the Flag, but with the added thrill of painful paint pellets, plenty of hiding spots in the forest and minimum protection. There would be two teams, one led by Alfred, the other by Matthew, and they would go head-to-head until one of the team's successfully captured the other's flag and hoisted it at their base camp. If you get shot while carrying a flag, you had to drop it. Simple enough, right?

"So, who's down?" Alfred asked, happy to see enthusiasm from his fellow Americans.

Matthew sighed. "I guess you want me in, eh?"

"You bet, bro." Alfred smiled. "I'm gonna find Charles and see if he's up for it, and then we can arrange teams."

"Ooh, we'll clean up in the mean time." Amelia offered, glad to be able to help out and not feel entirely useless. "Allen, you get the fun job of washing up!"

"You are fucking kidding-"

"Shut up and get on with it!" Amelia urged, and within milliseconds, the four North Americans had begun to clear up the room and make it look pristine and new.

With light steps, Alfred headed up the stairs in search of his old acquaintance, hoping that he could at least convince him to stop reading and get some fresh air. It was no good being cooped up, sore arm or not. After a minute or two on wandering, Alfred found the door to the study library open slightly.

'Of course he's in here,' he sighed to himself, 'it's book heaven!'

He pushed open the wooden door, which creaked slightly with the movement, and he stepped into the room, keeping his eyes peeled for Charles. He didn't go into the library often. It was full of books he'd never even read or heard of; usually gifts from others, books left behind by strangers on a train, that sort of thing. He just liked the character and charm, and especially the smell of pages old and new. Dust, not so much...

"Yo, Charlie, you wanna come outside?" he asked when he finally spotted his old friend sat in the corner of the room, reading as expected.

Charles, seemingly startled, slammed the book shut and stared at Alfred. "What?"

"Everyone's gone outside. We are gonna have a paintball match, teams 'n' all." Alfred elaborated. "Care to join?"

"Are you serious?" Charles responded. He held out his arm, still bandaged, to prove a point. "I think I've had enough of guns of any sort for the time being, thanks."

"Awww, spoil-sport!"

"You wouldn't say the same if you were the one with a hole in your arm!"

"Charlie, we both know that there is no hole in your arm." Alfred tutted, mimicking a parent. "It was a graze. You've had worse."

"Yeah, no thanks to you." Charles muttered under his breath. He let out a sigh and stood up, placing the book carefully down, the empty blurb facing upwards. "Fine. I'll come. But only so I can beat your ass and claim bragging rights."

"I knew you would." Alfred smiled, triumphant.

The duo soon left the house too and made their way to the specified combat area that Alfred had thrown together several years prior. The sunlight sliced through the tree trunks and a mystical atmosphere was cast all around with the golden lines and vibrant colours of the leaves subtly emphasised. The warmth was comforting, the breeze gentle. Alfred and Charles only had to walk a short distance, weaving among wood and shrubs, before they arrived at a clearing, a heavy-duty shed perched menacingly in the centre.

In front of it, Matthew, Amelia, Allen and Jones were all waiting patiently. When they saw that not one but two Americans were walking towards them, Allen nudged Amelia with a smirk, and she rolled her eyes. It turned out they'd made a bet on the next three days' cleaning based on the chances that Charles would participate in the game. Amelia had lost. Allen couldn't be happier.

"I take it you've got a key or two for this thing?" Matthew said when everyone finally grouped. The shed had been padlocked shut three times, which made him slightly concerned over what was inside. It hadn't been secured like that last year, had it?

"Yeah, I got it." Alfred replied, retrieving a set of keys from his pocket.

He took the smallest one in his hand and unlocked all three locks, letting them hang in the slots while the pulled both doors open. Inside was a vast variety of weaponry for all sorts of activities; paintballing, archery, tree-climbing, cycling; it was a wonder how it all managed to fit inside!

Alfred stepped inside and started to pull out the necessary items. Six ready-loaded paintball guns, six pairs of safety goggles, and protective pieces should anyone want it. Personally, Alfred didn't need it - he was a nation, and the sharp pain of a paintball against his skin was nothing in comparison to some of the things he'd faced. Paint is different to lead, after all.

Five minutes later, everyone was kitted out and armed. Now all that was left to do was sort out the teams, decide on bases and get the flags in position.

"Mattie, come and grab your flag, will ya?" Alfred called out and he stumbled around, looking for his own standard.

He'd had several flags made of different varieties, ideal for a range of teams led by numerous different personifications. Yes, that's right, the flags were the nations' flags, and Alfred was pretty proud of himself for stepping beyond the boundaries of 'red versus blue'. Canada steeped inside the shed and grabbed his own designated flag, exiting again promptly, soon followed by his brother.

"Alright. As previously mentioned, Mattie and I are team captains for today's match while everyone else gets used to the ideas of the game." Alfred began to explain, flag proudly held to his left. "We get to pick one person who goes on our team and from there it's a free-for-all. And because I'm such a wonderful brother, I'm gonna let Mattie pick first." he smiled.

"Wonderful, my ass."

"I heard that..."

"You were meant to." Allen smirked.

"Anyway..." Matthew finally said, "I shotgun Jones as my second-in-command. Something tells me he knows his way around any sort of gun that gets handed to him."

"I sure do." the selected American nodded.

"In which case, I pick Amelia." Alfred said. "Girls are underestimated and I'm tellin' you now, she's probably a secret super-awesome badass mercenary." he added. Amelia shook her head and laughed a little at the comment.

"Well, I side with Alfred. I'm too American to fight under a maple-leafed flag. Sorry, Matthew." Allen remarked.

"No problem at all." Matthew replied modestly. "That means I get Charles, and I know he'll help me kick Alfred's butt straight back into the Depression."

"Those are fighting words."

"No, that was merely a prediction of the future." the Canadian proudly asserted, as Charles mumbled more mutterings about his arm.

With teams sorted, Alfred grabbed a map from the shed and opened it all the way, laying it down on the ground for all to see. Everyone gathered around it, and he began to point out where the bases would be, circling them with a black permanent marker, then labelling one with an 'A' and the other with a 'C'. The shed would act as a centre mark.

The group had several acres of forest to run around, so the game was guaranteed to last for at least an hour. Matthew and Alfred wished each other luck, as they always did, and they both led their teammates in opposite directions further into the safe cloak of the trees. It was only around 11am at this point, but Alfred had an undying determination to make the match last until at least 1am. He'd always been like that -- unwilling to give in without a fight -- and he knew his brother was the same.

As they walked further away, only five minutes having passed, during which Alfred had gifted the star-spangled banner to Amelia, conversation turned serious.

"I feel like I ought to pre-warn both of you," Allen said, "that I have only fired a gun once in my life, and it went horribly wrong."

"Dude, you're American. How is that even possible?" Alfred questioned, glancing backwards to look at him.

"No clue, but I still don't think my brother has forgiven me." he sighed.

Allen was missing his world, he didn't care if it was technically real or not. He missed his family. He missed their unruly behaviour. He missed their fights. He missed their reconciliations. He missed their everything. When Charles had spoken to him with a hypothetical question — which he was still unconvinced was actually hypothetical — he had more or less told him to do one, and leave it be. He didn't care what the future held. He just wanted home.

"What's he like?" Amelia questioned. "Is he like you?"

"Well, that kinda depends what you think of me." Allen responded. "He's a bit of a dick, probably thinks he's the better sibling, and definitely cares more than he ever lets on."

"So, basically like you then." she said jokingly. He agreed with her whole-heartedly. "I had a sister, exactly like Matthew with longer hair. Man, she was so quiet."

"Is."

"Hm?"

"Is. She is quiet." Allen corrected. "They're still alive even if we aren't there."

Alfred suddenly halted, the others nearly walking into them. He felt a pang of guilt, almost, and he turned to look at them with a meek sad expression that neither of them had expected. It was only then that he'd realised that the others had people they must've been missing and people who missed them too, and just how cruel the separation truly was...

"Alfred? What's up?" Amelia asked, utterly confused as to why he'd randomly stopped without a word. "Did we forget something?"

"Yeah. W-Well, no, but technically... I did..." he answered surprisingly quietly. "But Allen's right."

"He is?"

"I am?"

"You are." Alfred nodded. "As soon as we find a way to fix this, I promise you that you'll see your families again. I wouldn't want to wish that kind of pain — the one of being forced apart — on anyone..."

"I'm touched," Allen replied sincerely, "I really am, but perhaps we ought to win this match before we get ahead of ourselves, eh? I don't want you goin' all mushy on us before we even have a chance."

"What he said." Amelia smiled. "For now, we're here with you, and we are gonna make the most of it! And right now, that means kicking that Canadian's butt back to Toronto!"

Alfred smiled too. He nodded in agreement, and they continued the short distance to their base camp, the American flag being proudly stabbed into the ground as the trio got ready to begin. Alfred could see the determination and excitement in his peers; they looked happy. And if they were happy, he was happy.