"Kalda, are you going to be busy today?" Britain asked, looking at his book instead of her.

"Not that I know of," Kalda replied awkwardly, thinking about it.

"Good," he said, looking up at her with a smile.

"Why?" Kalda questioned, crossing her arms.

"Well, I have some very important guests coming over today," Britain explained. "Since France, America, China, and Russia have finally left my house, I can have proper guests over again."

Kalda nodded, understanding his plans and wishes.

"And who are these "oh so proper guests of yours" that are coming over?" Kalda grinned, using air quotes.

"Well-" Britain cut off, the doorbell on the outside of the house ringing.

He smiled, putting his book on the side table.

"And I believe that's them," he claimed, standing up. "Care to open up the door for me, Kalda?"

Kalda curtsied politely, walking up to the door and opening it.

As soon as she opened it, however, she was tackled to the floor.

"Artie!" a voice cheered, pushing Kalda to the floor in a tight hug.

"I think...you have...the wrong...
person....," Kalda replied in a strained voice.

"Oi, get off the wee lassie!" another voice demanded, yanking the first person off of Kalda.

Kalda took in a deep breath, clutching her stomach.

"I hurt everywhere," she groaned in pain.

Britain laughed, walking up to the three people.

"Care to help me up?" Kalda inquired, sitting up.

"You can get up yourself just fine," Britain replied.

"Here you go, lassie," the second voice offered, the owner of it being a tall, red-haired man with pale skin and green eyes.

He had his hand outstretched, and Kalda gladly took his hand with a smile.

"Thank you," Kalda answered, glaring at Britain.

"No problem, lass," the man replied.

Scottish, Kalda thought to herself in both triumph and annoyance. Of course.

"Sorry about that," the first voice apologized in an Irish accent. "I must have gotten you and this boy here confused."

"It's okay," Kalda told the Irish, green-eyed, pale-skinned, and auburn- haired male. "I'll live."

"You really need to stop tackling people," a tall, brown-haired, pale-skinned, green-eyed man scolded, looking at the Irishman.

"Sorry, big brother Wales," the Irish male laughed, "but I thought that it was funny."

"Tackling my friend isn't funny," Britain finally spoke up.

He sighed, shaking his head as he looked at Kalda.

"Kalda, these are my brothers Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland," Britain introduced. "My dear brothers, this is my friend, Lady Kalda Hush."

Kalda turned a light red, feeling awkward under the introduction.

He hasn't said those words in a very long time, she thought to herself. Come to think of it, nor have I.

"Aw, does my wee, little brother have a lady friend?" Scotland teased, putting Britain in a headlock and ruffling his hair.

Kalda chuckled nervously, blushing more.

"She's not my lady friend."

"I'm not his lady friend."

All of them went silent, surprised that Britain and Kalda had spoken in unison.

Scotland laughed again, along with Northern Ireland.

"They sound just like an old married couple!" Northern Ireland claimed.

"Aye, laddie, they do!" Scotland agreed.

"Knock it off you two," Wales interjected. "The girl is still very young."

"Would you like some refreshments?" Kalda wondered awkwardly, wanting to make herself useful.

"Thank you, Kalda," Britain smiled despite being in the headlock. "That would be lovely."

Kalda just nodded, literally running into the kitchen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"....And then I walked out of the house after I had threatened her friend," Veneziano informed his brother through the phone, updating him on their sister's whereabouts.

"Well then you better bring her back with you, you idiot-a!" Romano yelled through the phone.

Veneziano put the phone away from his ear, Romano's yelling only getting louder and worse.

"Why are you yelling at me?" Veneziano whined, hurt and confused. "Kalda is the one who hates us!"

"Kalda doesn't hate us!" Romano replied. "She's just being a stupid girl! Besides, you are the one who let her get away!"

"Well I couldn't have just forced her to come with us, either," Veneziano countered. "That's not how this was supposed to work."

"Just get her back before I come over there and beat the crap out that potato-eating ba-"

"Hey!" Veneziano firmly interrupted his older brother. "Wolfninja16 wants this book to be PG-13! No bad words!"

"Don't you go and break the fourth wall with me, you little idiot-a!" Romano replied in anger.

"Please stop insulting me!" Veneziano begged. "It wasn't my fault this time, I swear!"

"Just bring her back!" the older brother answered. "I don't care how you do it, just make sure that she's safe!"

"Uh-huh," Veneziano said in a shaky breath. "I will. Ciao, Lovi."

"Ciao," Romano answered in annoyance, hanging up on his side of the phone.

The younger brother sighed, hearing the hang-up hum inside the phone.

He slowly put it back on its handle, sighing again.

"Let me guess, your brozher?" Germany asked.

Veneziano just nodded, trying not to cry.

"Hm," Germany nodded in return. "Sounded pretty angry about your sister, ja?"

"He gets like that sometimes," the Italian quietly replied. "Sometimes, I feel like he takes all of his anger out on me."

Veneziano shook his head, wanting to put the argument with his brother behind him.

"Any news on my sister?" he asked. "Have any scouts reported back?"

"Nein," Germany shook his head. "Ve vill keep looking, zhough."

Veneziano let out a small breath, resting the side of his head in his hand.

"I can't believe she chose them over me," he sniffed. "I mean, what do they have that I don't?"

"Zhey probably brainvashed her into zhinking zhat zhey are vay more awesome zhan us," Prussia said, joining the conversation.

"I doubt thart's what they dird," Japan quietly butted in. "Perhaps she jurst likes therm better?"

"I can be nice!" Veneziano defended to no avail. "They aren't nice at all! I mean, Britain is the one doing the bombing raids here, and-"

He cut off, having an idea, and he could tell that Germany had the same one, and Prussia too.

"East, I vant you to go to all of zhe news reporters und tell zhem zhe truth," Germany ordered his older brother.

"Right avay, Vest!" Prussia laughed, running out of the house.

"Japan, I vant you to create propaganda comics about zhe bombing raids und issue zhem into zhe papers as vell," Germany added on.

Japan nodded, walking away to start drawing.

"What can I do, Germany?" Veneziano asked as he stood up, wanting to be useful.

"Just sit tight und try to calm down," Germany answered. "You have enough to vorry about right now."

The young man nodded, sitting back down.

"What if we-"

"Ve vill find her, Veneziano, I promise."

Veneziano smiled a little, hoping that Germany's promise would come true.

After all, he was lost and alone without Kalda by his side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

America never realized, really, how much Britain and his brothers were alike.

They smoked in unison, they drank in unison, and they even played card games in unison.

Like, how does that even work? America thought in confusion. How is that even universally possible?

Kalda coughed on the couch beside him, holding her hand up to her nose and mouth.

Uh-oh, America thought in worry. Looks like she's not used to being around smokers.

Then again, America thought that Kalda should have been used to smokers since he was pretty sure that her brothers smoked as well.

"Hey, Britain?" America called to the four men in the kitchen.

"What do you need, Alfred?" Britain called back in annoyance.

"Do you think that you could stop the smoking for a bit?" America asked. "Kalda has her hands over her mouth and nose."

Britain stood up from the table, popping his head out and through the doorframe.

He looked at Kalda while America looked at him, and Britain shrugged.

"She seems fine," Britain concluded, looking at America now. "She's probably just not used to the smell."

"But isn't second-hand smoking supposed to be more dangerous?" China wondered.

China, Russia, France, and America had decided to hop in and check up on how Kalda was doing.

They didn't, however, anticipate on Britain's brothers being there.

Before anyone could answer, Kalda coughed again.

It sounded hoarse, and America was already starting to worry.

"See?" he glared at Britain. "She is not fine. Douse your cigars, now."

"Just take her upstairs and play with her or something," Britain harshly replied. "I don't need to succumb to your needs every single second."

America groaned as he rolled his eyes, taking one of Kalda's hands in his as he led her up the stairs.

"Whatever you say, dad!" America called down to Britain, annoyed.

America took Kalda into his attic room, wanting the memories to come back to him now, and they did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Ha, ha! Come on, Mattie!" America laughed, calling to his brother. "You're so slow!"

America was five years old, his twin, Canada, four years old.

"I-I don't think going down here is a good idea," Canada said nervously, hugging his white bear cub close to his chest. "What if Arthur yells at us?"

America looked down the many hallways in Britain's secret treasure cove of wonders that lay just beneath his house.

The entrance to this place was a trap door in the floor of America's room in the attic.

He had found it one day, and wanted to explore it ever since.

He decided to drag Canada into it, hoping that he would take the blame for America if they ever got caught.

"Aw, you're such a worrier," America told him with a grin. "C'mon! It'll be fun!"

He took one of Canada's hands in his, leading him down a long hallway.

"Ooohhh," America gawked, "this one has really fancy paintings!"

"P-pirates scare me," Canada muttered, hiding behind America's back.

"But these are the cool ones!" America told his brother. "They probably stole a whole bunch of treasure!"

"Matthew, Alfred?" a faint voice called to the two boys from the upper level. "Are you boys up here?"

"Oh no, it's Arthur!" America whispered in anger. "Come on, Mattie, let's hide!"

"I don't want to!" Canada cried. "I don't want to get into trouble!"

"We'll be in even more trouble if we don't hide, now come on!" America retorted, dragging his twin down another hallway.

The two boys heard footsteps coming down the metal stairs, pattering with speed as they came down the hallways and into their direction.

Britain ran into the room, disappointed in the two boys' behavior.

"How did you two get down here?" he asked the twins, his voice firm.

"Alfred made me do it!" Canada replied, and America felt betrayed.

Well, there went my plan of Matthew getting the wooden spoon, America thought in anger and fear.

Britain looked at America, his expression hardening.

"I'm going to fix the flooring in your room once I get you two upstairs," he explained, his green eyes full of an emotion that the boys couldn't figure out. "This place is dangerous. It's not meant for little children like you."

He took the twins upstairs, his hands on one of their forearms each.

"You're hurting my arm," America said sharply. "Can you let me go?"

"And me?" Canada asked quietly.

"These stairs are old," Britain replied, not looking at the two boys as they walked up the stairs. "I don't want you to slip and fall."

America sighed but agreed, upset that this treasure cove of wonders would soon be taken from his grasp.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As it had turned out, Britain didn't fix the trap door at all.

America never knew why, but he didn't.

The day where America and Canada used Britain as a jungle gym for their surprise game when he had come home from a World Meeting once was pretty hilarious as well, America had always thought.

He also remembered that France was so mad at them that day....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"America, Canada, I'm home!" Britain called from below.

"Ha, ha, Mister Britain!" America cheered, running down the stairs as Canada followed close behind him.

"There you boys are," Britain smiled at the twins, setting his briefcase down and putting his arms out to hug them. "I hope you've been good while I was go-"

The boys jumped on him before he could even finish his sentence, America hanging onto his neck and Canada hanging onto his waist.

"Ow!" Britain cried in pain. "America, stop! You're going to choke me!"

"I am not!" America laughed, wrapping his legs around Britain's chest as Canada started swaying back and forth, almost knocking the three of them down.

The door suddenly opened, and that was when France walked in.

The three of them fell to the floor, Britain coughing as America fell onto the floor and onto his back.

"Secre bleur!" France cried out. "Get off of him, you naughty boys! Angeltarre is not a jungle gym!"

"Alfred made me do it, papa!" Canada snitched on America, starting to cry.

"Tattle-tale!" America glared at his twin. "You wanted to do it, too!"

"Enough!" France interrupted their quarrel. "You both did it, and it doesn't matter who did it first."

France picked the two boys up with one of their hands in each of his, taking them upstairs.

He put the twins in their room, glaring at them.

"Don't come out until I say so," was all France ordered them before he closed the door.

America heard France and Britain yelling at each other from downstairs, and he got even more upset.

This is all my fault, America thought to himself, hugging his knees to his chest as tears streamed down his face. Why do I have to be so stupid?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

America also remembered that there was a day that he had finally gotten fed up with everything, Canada especially.

America was so mad that he had finally lost it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Boys, it's time to come in and get ready for bed!" Britain called from the garden.

"But me and Mattie aren't done playing yet!" America called back.

Canada instantly stood up and ran off to meet Britain, standing at his leg and holding onto it.

"I said to come in, Alfred," Britain firmly replied, "and I mean it now."

"Ugh," America groaned, sulking as he walked into the house.

"Go get dressed and then I'll be up to tuck you in," he instructed the twins, pointing to the staircase.

The two boys got dressed, but then the worst thing ever happened.

"Would you like me to read you a special story, Canada?" Britain asked with a smile.

"You hate me!" America yelled, glaring at them.

"What?" Britain questioned, seeming to be confused.

"You hate me!" America repeated, tears streaming down his face and his voice becoming choked up.

Britain sighed, looking at America's brother.

"Go up to your room, Canada," Britain told him. "I'll be up there in a bit."

Canada just nodded as he ran up the stairs to leave the other two alone.

"Why do you think that I hate you?" Britain asked, bending on one knee to look at the sobbing America. "I have no reason to-"

"Shut up!" America yelled through his tears. "Just...shut up and let me talk!"

Britain nodded, doing just that.

"I know that I'm not a perfect little angel like Canada, but I want to be loved, too!" America went on, feeling hurt.

Britain didn't say anything as America continued to cry and yell.

"I know that I'm annoying, and loud, and needy, and really mean sometimes, but that doesn't mean that I'm a bad kid! I feel like you're ignoring me so that you can take care of Canada alone because he's perfect and just like you!

"But you know what? I'm trying to be a good kid, and if that's not good enough for you to notice, then I'm leaving! I love you, Mister Britain! All I want is for you to love me, too!"

America felt hurt and defeated with every word that he had spoken, but how else was the little boy supposed to get his message across to the older man?

Britain just smiled softly, a kind look on his face.

"Aw," he chuckled, ruffling America's hair. "I didn't know that you felt that way, especially about me."

"Maybe if you talked to me every once in a while, you would know!" America replied, sniffing.

"Here, blow your nose and dry those tears," Britain replied, handing the boy a handkerchief.

America dried his tears first, then he blew his runny nose.

"I don't love Canada more than you," Britain went on, his voice still soft and kind, "and believe me when I say that no one is perfect."

"Except for God, right?" America asked in a choked up and quiet voice.

"Yes," Britain agreed in a chuckle. "Except God."

"God bless the Queen," America smiled.

"That's my boy," Britain proudly replied, grinning.

America started to walk up the stairs, but Britain stopped him.

"America," Britain began, still bending on one knee, "I'll always love you."

"I'll always love you, too," America replied with a big smile, running up the stairs in happiness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Britain had always said that he was not a nurturer, but America had begged to differ; Britain could be harsh at times, but he could also be comforting and kind when he wanted to be.

A loud bang, followed by gasps and arguing, rang all throughout the house it felt like to the American.

"What was that?" Kalda asked tiredly, waking up from her nap that America had supposed that she had taken while he was remembering some of his old memories.

"I don't know," America replied, "but it interrupted my reminiscing."