Germany felt his heart hammering in his chest. He had never felt quite as much fear as he had in the moment he saw America stand after what appeared to be an excessively high voltage. The American seemed to have gone into a frenzy, threatening everyone with his pistol. Belarus (accidentally?) broke America's nose while trying to restrain him, but she didn't stop him. His crazy strength kept breaking the things he tried to grab to steady himself.

But what really made him freeze was the death glare he got from America.

"You fucking kraut! I know what you did! I'll kill you for it! I'll shoot you right between your eyes!" All in German.

Germany didn't doubt that promise. A part of him feared this man so much, but why? America was (relatively) peaceful, or... at the very least, he hadn't done anything to the American. He had no easy oil the American would want, nor had he done anything wrong recently. Was he still thinking about that time? A dark time when Germany wasn't himself—a time when he was desperate to revive himself?

Still, the cold fear that gripped him made his mind race for some sort of answer. He had been feeling that gripping fear for a while now, and it had only spiked when he saw or thought of America. He wracked his brain for an answer, but he was unable to come up with anything that could explain this strange scenario. Besides, since when did America speak German? He thought it was very clear that America would play by his own rules, stick to his own variation of English, and cling to his own measuring system.

That is the least of my worries.

North Italy's soft hands curled around his own, concern clear on his face. He lifted one hand to press it to Germany's forehead.

"D-Doitsu? Are you-a feeling well?"

Germany was quite shaken. He still felt the pure fear coursing through his veins, but Italy made him forget.

"Ja. I am fine," he sighed, forcing himself to relax.

He knew America was dealing with something, but it still hurt to be reminded of the past. He worked his ass off at every opportunity to move past that time. He knew he made mistakes. He knew he allowed things to get out of hand. God, he knew what he had done.

"We should-a take a break," Italy suggested with a half-smile, beaming up at Germany as if he was perfect.

"Ja," was all he could really respond with.

Italy skipped around, telling everyone that they had a lunch break and rambling about what he would eat. Germany plopped into a seat and held his face in his hands, pushing his glasses up. Japan rather politely pulled up a chair and sat down with a neutral expression.

"Itary is worrying about you, and so am I. How are you feering, Germany?" Japan questioned.

Afraid. Fear for his life. Acceptance; he deserved whatever became of him. The same constant feelings of terror and self-hatred.

"Yeah! Don't be-a sad, Germany! I-a made lunch!" Italy piped up, leaning his head on Germany's shoulder.

A hint of a smile appeared on Germany's face. He waited until the embarrassing smile disappeared and lifted his head.

"If I am being honest, I have been feeling zhis... fear... for a vhile. It is for no reason, but I can't help but feel afraid," he explained.

"Hmm. That is very strange," Japan agreed. "It is very rikery that you are just stressed."

"Or a spooky ghost~!" Italy exclaimed.

"Nein, it is probably just stress. I vill get over it," Germany decided, rubbing his eyes.

Italy frowned in concern, then a new smile burst across his face, and he skipped out of the room to retrieve the lunches he had made. Strangely, Romano was nowhere to be found; Italy had expected him to rant about how much time he spent with Germany, but not today.

"S-S-Spain—!"

Italy's worry dissipated as he heard his brother's voice somewhere down the hall.

"Oh, good! Sounds like he is-a fighting again~!" Italy cheered to himself and returned to the meeting room with the lunches he made.

For Japan, he had made an attempt to make the noodles Japan liked so much. For Germany, he made more wurst—the German has been upset last time, so he assumed there wasn't enough food. For himself, Italy made lasagna because he had run out of spaghetti a few days prior and hadn't had the time to buy more.

"This is rearry good, Itary," Japan quietly complimented.

"Grazie!"

Germany silently ate his lunch, hating the fact that it tasted so good. Italy probably thought that was all he ate! He ate other stuff, too, like pasta and wurst!

Wait, I eat salad, too. And sandwiches. And wurst, wait—

He silenced his thoughts and finished his lunch without a word. When he looked up, Italy was grinning at him expectantly, head tilted like a puppy.

"Was it good, Doitsu?" Italy curiously questioned.

"Ja, it vas good," Germany embarrassedly mumbled.

Italy smiled in relief. The tiniest smile appeared on Japan's face, and for the moment, the three were content. It felt like the old days—those times where they were troubled nations, wanting more and more, but there was a subtle difference now. Now, they could eat lunch in peace.

...of course, until Austria returned from his rather short lunch, muttering something about Hungary always embarrassing him. Italy invited him to their little circle, and though Austria seemed snobbish, he enjoyed the company. He awkwardly mentioned something about Prussia to Germany, then Japan praised him for his musical work. Italy even went on and on about his days as a young nation, to which Austria flushed at the memory of finding out that Italy wasn't a girl.

"—and the dresses were-a very pretty! I loved that-a song you played while Hungary and I-a danced!" Italy rambled, standing up to mimic the admittedly adorable dance.

Japan politely noted the traditional dance looked very similar to one he'd seen a few years back. Austria then interrupted him, but his concerns were aimed at Germany.

"Is no vone going to ask vhy two superpowers who hate each other decided to leave together?"

Germany briefly remembered meeting Russia privately many decades ago to become allies. To tear Poland apart. Germany thickly swallowed and shook his head.

"Nein—nozing has happened... zhere is no reason," Germany mumbled, dearly trying to convince himself.

What is going on...?

-

Arthur shivered at the strange feeling that scraped across his body when he stepped through the newly-fixed mirror. For a moment, he felt light and free, but it was short-lived. Oliver jumped in after him, and once again, their emotions became tied together due to being the same personification in existence at the same time. It had taken days for the mirror to be completely fixed, especially since the first test subject, a spoon, had been shattered upon going through the mirror.

Austria, or Roland, as he kept repeating, continued to giggle like a madman. Arthur was beginning to become suspicious of his motives, but every country that had volunteered to tag along went through the mirror with ease.

"Now, now, be careful. I don't want you brutes to ruin my storage room," Arthur snapped, glancing over each personification with a shudder.

He opened his mouth to tell them a few more things, but he stopped upon hearing shuffling in the rest of his house.

"E-England, are you home? I-I-I didn't see you at the meeting," Matthew faintly called out.

"Come out, you black sheep of Europe!" an annoying French teased, but he kind of sounded... off.

Arthur couldn't quite place what was wrong. He made a shoo motion to keep the 2ps in their place while he crept toward the door. Peeking out, he saw Francis and Matthew talking to each other in what sounded like rapid French. He nearly stepped out, but he froze in his spot upon hearing another extremely familiar accent.

"Well, he's not 'ere, either," a deep voice sighed. A deep Scottish voice.

Arthur forced the door shut.

Why are they here?

Arthur took a deep breath in and slipped out of the storage closet, making sure to shut the door behind him. Brushing himself off, he turned and nearly bumped into Wales' chest. Dylan quietly ruffled his hair, offering the tiniest smile. Arthur kept tripping over his words, face flushing in embarrassment at the expression of relief on his older brother's face. Dylan knocked on the wall, alerting the others that he found Arthur.

Immediately, Ireland skipped into view and crashed into Arthur. Seamas rambled on-and-on about having to show up 'just to find out that his little brother was just grumpy and hiding away in his house.' Scotland looked completely red in the face, looking quite angry, but he still joined in the hug. Allistor looked mad enough to not forgive for a while. When Arthur was released, he opened his mouth to make some sort of snappy comment, but paused upon seeing Francis' tear-stained face.

"You're such a crybaby," Arthur muttered, allowing the Frenchman to hug him, too.

Matthew looked happy, too, but he kind of stood off to the side. England felt an entire spectrum of emotions, including those that he felt Oliver was pushing onto him—sadness. He felt himself begin to shed some embarrassing tears.

"Is it just me zhat is zhe crybaby?" Francis teased.

Before Arthur could open his mouth to protest, to explain his situation, to introduce the 2ps, Matthew said something a little strange.

"We thought something bad happened to you. I guess you were just here preparing? It did take some time for us to get permission to come here," Matthew whispered, hugging his bear tightly.

"Preparing? Permission? What do you mean?" Arthur questioned, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Oh, right, you weren't at the meeting," Matthew murmured something to himself, "We're on a high alert now, especially for any possible atomic bomb threats."

"What?"

"Angleterre," Francis said in the most serious tone he'd heard in months, "we might have anozer world war."

Matthew spoke up again, looking frightened and worried simultaneously.

"Last meeting, America and Russia left together after America had a violent breakdown, s-so... so we are on high alert now. If e-either of them make a move, every government official will be alerted, and anyone who is allied with either of them will be forced to, uh, reconsider."

Fuck.