Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Germany looked at his watch again as he entered the elevator on the parking level of the building that would house their yearly World Meeting. He was early (as always and as expected), having left his hotel in New York with ample time, knowing how bad traffic can be in this city – especially with 60+ nations in attendance and trying to make their own way to the location. Because he did have enough time to himself, he had decided to park himself instead of allowing the valet at the front of the building to do it; he was used to being self-sufficient, anyway, and being early meant he didn't have to search long for a good spot in the underground parking lot. He pushed the button for the lobby floor.

"Wait! Hold the elevator, please!"

Surprised at another nation being there early, Germany quickly pushed the 'hold' button. The person who jogged into the elevator, however, was human. The blond human adjusted his coat lapels before turning to Germany with a grateful smile.

"Thanks for that. I'd rather not be late by having to take the stairs." He held out his hand toward Germany. "Steve Rogers."

Most likely an American, by his looks and speech. Germany grasped the other man's hand and gave out his usual human alias. "Ludwig Beilschmidt. Pleasure to meet you."

Steve blinked in interest. "Beilschmidt," he said, testing the name. "Do you hail from Germany?"

"Ja, exactly. I am here for business," he informed, knowing the question would most likely be asked at some point anyway.

Anything Steve might have said was cut off by the elevator reaching the lobby of the building. Germany adjusted his grip on his briefcase as the doors slid open. He nodded good bye to the American and made his way to the elevator which would take him to the rest of the building.

"I think we're going the same way," his passenger's voice from before commented as they both made their way into the same elevator.

Germany merely nodded and slid to the side in the next elevator to accommodate the other man. Steve wound up being next to the buttons and turned to him with the same polite smile as before.

"Which floor?"

Germany barely hesitated. "55th."

The other man's blue eyes widened at the high-security number but pressed it without comment, pushing the 39th floor for himself. They then got comfortable, Steve adopting a position similar to a soldier's parade rest. Sadly, the building itself was old so the newly-installed technology within it did not function well. Because of that, reaching floor 19 was a long process and ample time for silence to become slightly unnerving.

"So," Steve started, at parade rest and eyes remaining nonchalantly fixed in front, "business?"

Germany, who had been in plenty enough situations where interrogations began rough and violent, couldn't help but smile at the attempt. "Classified."

"Oh, that sort of business."

"Ja."

The man tilted his head slightly in thought. "I've been to Germany a couple of times, though not recently. Is Bergen-Belsen open to tourists?"

Germany nodded, eyes turning to look at the reflective elevator doors. "The memorial is open to everyone. I recommend it if you value history...or if you simply wish to pay respects," he said, thinking of the former camp. "There is also Auschwitz."

Steve hummed. "I've visited there before. Besides, I read that Anne Frank went to Belsen."

"That she did. You have an interest in Anne Frank's accounts?"

"I have an interest in Germany-"

Germany held back a twitch at that sentence. At least he wasn't hearing that line from someone like France. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"-and it's nice to visit when everything is peaceful. Wartime can really change a beautiful country."

Germany sucked in air the wrong way and immediately began to cough. His passenger stared at him with wide eyes as he helpfully patted him on the back.

"Are you alright, mister Beilschmidt?"

"F-Fine, fine," he coughed and got his breathing on track. Germany sighed. "Sorry for that. ...And it's Ludwig, please."

"Sure thing."

Germany's ease which he felt as the two were talking about his home had disappeared and he now felt slightly uncomfortable again. He stared forward. Steve seemed to sense something about his emotions because he turned to look forward without comment. The 29th floor came and went with no one getting in. It wasn't until the elevator had ascended past the 34th floor that Germany spoke again.

"You may not wish to answer; after all, it is none of my business. Are you, too, here for work?"

Steve smiled, good mood never gone away. "Pretty much, but this is more of a delivery. A...friend," the man hesitated on the word, "of mine insisted I bring something to him that he forgot this morning."

"A good friend you are."

Steve's smile became strained, and he had a sadness in his eyes as he turned back to the doors. "I try."

Silence again. Germany shifted. He was never taking the elevators in America ever again. The American man's floor couldn't arrive quickly enough (in Germany's opinion). Steve turned to him, mood back to normal, as he began to exit.

"It was nice to meet you, mister Ludwig."

"Just Ludwig. And you, mister Rogers."

"Just Steve. Good luck with your business."

"Danke. You, too."

The doors closed on the man, and Germany was once again alone. He sighed in relief. That was one of the more awkward elevator rides he had ever had. He quickly straightened his overcoat when his floor approached, and he exited with haste. Making it to the assigned Meeting room, he was surprised to see America already there, head down on the wood from his position at the head of the table. Germany let the door close shut behind him and set his briefcase down at his assigned seat.

"Alfred?"

America slowly lifted his gaze to stare blearily at the German. "Yo, dude..."

"I didn't expect to see you here this early," Germany admitted.

America groaned. "Boss-man made me get up early to greet everyone since I'm hostin'."

"And a wunderbar greeting you've given me so far." Though Germany could care less, having experienced worse greetings before.

America merely flapped his hand dismissively and used his other to prop up his head. "I'd rather be downstairs than up here," he complained.

"I think many of us would rather be anywhere than here. ...Why only downstairs?"

"Because, dude, some of the most awesome superheroes – besides me – are coming here."

Germany only half-listened as he opened his briefcase and began to organize his papers for his presentation. "Why?"

"Havin' their own meeting and such." America sighed and closed his eyes, tiredly, and whined. "And I bet my main man Cap'in' Steve is here, too..."

Hands froze and Germany blinked in sudden realization. The words triggered his memory. His mouth fell slightly open. Captain America. Steve Rogers. Captain Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers, the WWII American soldier from the 40s whose name was on the lips of all his superiors during that time. The very man in the elevator. Memories from the elevator blurred in his embarrassment.

Oh, Scheiße.

His head lowered in mortification, a blush on his cheeks.

"What," America laughed, now intrigued, demanding an explanation for this reaction. "Promise not to tease you (much)."

It was Germany's turn to flap his hand at America. "Nein. I'd rather not; it's not important."

He'd never relate to anyone how the soldier that fought against Germany's own soldiers in World War II had said he's interested in him and called him beautiful.

Some things just needed to be kept secret. Very...very secret.

Chapter Text

The Russian man hummed a melody from his homeland quietly as he nearly bounced towards the lobby of the New York building. Today was the World Meeting, and he would get to see all of his friends and not-yet-friends again! As he pushed the doors open, he turned happily toward the elevators, just in time to see a bounce of red hair enter it.

Oh! He knew that red hair!

He made it to the elevator in record time (not so subtly pushing – throwing – a scrawny bespectacled man about to enter it out of the way) and entered with a smile. He pushed the button for the 55th floor, then gave a cheerful look at his companion. She stared back in suspicion and mistrust.

Ah, his little child, here with him again~!

He resumed his tune as he felt her eyes study him, taking in every detail, every strength, every weakness that she could gleam just by looking at him. She was so cute like that. Like a baby rattlesnake ready to strike when the time suited her (or, no, it would be a 'baby spider'). Russia felt happy to be given the attention.

The elevator took them up slowly. Russia did not mind this at all and looked forward to the quiet ride. Natalia did not seem to feel the same.

"You were in Moscow once." Her tone was unconcerned.

Russia nodded, knowing she was referring to a very specific time in her life and not just any time he himself had been in Moscow (which was constantly). "As were you," he chirped back.

"I wasn't the one surrounded by people in control of Russia."

"To be fair, they do not do the controlling of Russia very well."

A pause to compartmentalize that sentence for later analysis. "You know of me."

"Not too much," Russia assured happily. "Just a little."

She turned to look at him. "Who are you really." She had a sly curve of her eyes, but a little danger in that tone told him that she would make sure he answered her truthfully, the easy way or the Widow way.

"Ivan Braginsky," he offered, unfazed but not really looking to fight.

"I'm sure that name is real."

Oh, look at her! Sarcasm at its finest. She was so funny! He let out a huff of a laugh. "It is; look it up, if you must. Though, I know you will not believe, even then."

"If you don't want to tell me your real name, then, fine." She turned to stare at the doors, her body relaxed, though this was just a trap for those who thought her guard down. "But I know that 'Ivan Braginsky' is no simple Russian-born man with a desk job in the government who 'sometimes travels'," she recited.

"Ah! You know who I am being, after all!" Russia turned to her fully, hands now clapped together in happiness. "I should be expecting no less, really – I always heard little Natalia was the best!"

Though Natasha never moved, the tense silence was damning in and of itself after his statement.

Russia 'ah'ed, mood no less dampened, and commented airily to the wall next to him, "I am hoping I do not suffer a widow bite in the elevator. There are still so many floors to reach." The slow-moving technology had just passed the 28th floor.

Natasha turned to face him once again, body posed just so and ready to do damage. "Tell me now if I need to press that emergency stop button," she said with a quipping tone of voice, eyebrow raised.

Russia obliged her 'joke' and laughed more. He waved a hand at her in peace. "Please, no. I have no quarrel with arachnids at this moment."

She quirked a deceptively teasing smile. "What about with hawks?"

Russia ducked sheepishly into his scarf. "I do not wish to be on receiving end of the arrow, so, no thank you. But, if you wish to know something," he informed her, "you should do the asking now before my floor arrives."

"55?"

"It will be inaccessible to you, little widow. And, no, that was not a challenge to your abilities," he ended with another smile.

She cocked her head in thought, storing more and more information about him in her brain, no doubt, though he would never be able to tell what she was keeping about him in the filing system of her mind. "The Red Room."

"Ah," Russia mournfully shook his head. "You are knowing more than me; I may have funded and approved, but I did not create Red Room project...nor was I in charge, to be honest."

Natasha watched the floors ascend on the button panel. "Wasn't kept up-to-date?"

"Not so much back then. Only informed of results – not of methods."

"That doesn't excuse you."

"I know this, little widow. But," he turned his head up to stare at the ascending floors, too, "I am – how to say – 'making up for the mistakes'?"

Natasha stayed silent. Russia had a feeling she knew what that was like – after all, she had left her previous life to pursue redemption with 'SHIELD' last he heard.

"...You appear awfully young to have been there for the creation of the Room," she commented, breaking the quiet.

Russia giggled. "I am told moisturizer helps skin stay smooth and soft!"

"Must be some expensive lotion."

They fell silent for a couple more floors. Though, silence was companionable to Russia, and he bounced a bit in good nature. Natasha gave him an unusual look.

"Happy?"

"I am happy to be in the company of at least one of the children from the project Red Room. I always wanted to meet them, but never could. Was not allowed – boo!" he ended with a cute pout.

"..." Natasha did not react, refusing to comply with his humor on this subject.

"..." Russia frowned for the first time since he entered once he got no reaction. "I am sorry for their deaths."

"All part of the training."

"I did not approve that," he admitted darkly with a growl, thinking of reports held from him by people who were no longer alive.

She inclined her head, eyeing him. "As you say, господин Braginsky."

Taking a moment, Russia calmed himself and sorted his thoughts. "You hate me, Natasha?" It was one of the few questions he had for his former agent that he cared about being answered.

"Indifferent. I don't know you."

"Да...I suppose not...," he trailed off, lost in his thoughts, as the elevator reached her floor.

The red head stepped out calmly, apparently having decided his interrogation was over, and turned to him. "A pleasure, Ivan Braginsky."

She was sure to investigate him thoroughly after this meeting, he reflected, humored once again. Russia nodded, smile plastered once again. "Pleasure was mine, Natasha Romanoff," he replied.

She turned around to walk away and stopped after two steps. She turned back as the elevator doors were beginning to close. "Ivan?"

Russia blinked at his lone first name being used by her.

She smiled a beautifully sweet smile at him. "Don't show up on my radar."

The doors closed on her promise-filled eyes, and the elevator once again took him up. "Heh! Heh heh heh heh!" he chuckled, as he leaned back against the elevator wall. "I am happy that you were saved, Natalia," he stated in his own language to the reflective wall of the ceiling. "But I really wish I could have kept you."

Chapter Text

Liechtenstein looked forlornly out of the window. Below her, the people of the United States were walking and driving to or from work and school. Countries, she assumed, were also mixed in with the small bodies down below her. She placed her hands upon the window sill. What would Switzerland think of her, being lost like this, waiting for him to come help her? She lightly placed her hand on her hair ribbon at the thought of him.

The building designated for their meeting this year was in the heart of busy New York. Though nothing was wrong with the location itself, Liechtenstein wished that more thought could have been put into the planning of it. The result of planning a meeting at opening hours was a massive rush of people – humans and countries – into the same building to get to their destinations on time. Liechtenstein had arrived with Switzerland, as always, and were accosted by Austria almost as soon as they entered. Liechtenstein tried to keep up – she really tried – but, with everyone pushing and talking all at the same time around them, there was no way she could keep Switzerland within her sights, and, soon enough, she fell behind the duo as pushy people much bulkier and taller than she made their way forward.

"B-Big brother!" she had called, but Switzerland must not have heard her. Alone after the flux of people dwindled, she stood awkwardly as she tried to find her brother or a fellow nation who could tell her which floor the Meeting was being held. She waited ten agonizingly slow minutes for someone she recognized. When no one showed, she made her way to an elevator and timidly pressed for the 35th floor. She wasn't sure it was the floor that she wanted, but memories of her brother reading the World Meeting invitation aloud pointed toward the number. Apparently, one of them was wrong, because she had searched all along the 35th floor, even opening all the doors to check (to her embarrassment when there were people in the middle of their own meetings inside some of the rooms) and she had yet to see a single country. Cell phone left at the hotel room, Liechtenstein had no choice but to fretfully continue her search, going back and pressing the next floor. Floor 36 had yielded similar results.

Now, on floor 37, she had taken a moment to glance outside at the faint hope that she could see another nation. Spirits low, she had paused in walking so she could stare, disappointed in herself, outside. What kind of nation was she that she could not take care of herself, even now? Did her brother have to do everything for her himself?

He will be angry if he has to leave the Meeting for me, she reflected.

Deciding not to give up just yet, she had begun to turn away from the window when a voice called to her.

"Hark, fair maiden!"

Or, at least, she thought it called to her, since there were now only two people in the hallway and the other was a fast approaching blonde man. He ran to her with a friendly smile. He reminded Liechtenstein of mister France, if mister France were to be combined with mister Sweden for the appearance and bulk and height respectively. She stared at his shoulder length hair before meeting his eyes.

"Apologies, fair maiden, but have you seen my shieldmates, the Avengers?"

Liechtenstein thought over the words in that question, recognizing the group name but not able to place a memory to them.

She shook her head. "I don't think I have, mister..." she trailed off in thoguht.

Thinking she was asking for his name through a pause, he bowed his head in introduction. "I am Thor of Asgard. It is a pleasure to make the acquaintance of a Midgardian so young."

'I'm older than you,' she wanted to inform him, but she had long gotten used to this treatment. Instead, she cocked her head at the name of the Norse myth. "'Thor,' like from the Nordics?"

He put his hands on his hips proudly. "Nay, maiden. My name is of Asgardian descent."

Asgard. "...Like from the Nordics?"

"Nay, maiden. Of Asgard."

"Uh..."

"..."

The two stared at each other with confused frowns – Liechtenstein wondering why he kept repeating terms from Norse myths as if they came from elsewhere, and Thor wondering why the female child could not grasp that he was not speaking of this land of "Noord-icks".

Eventually, Liechtenstein broke the silence. "Um, well, it is nice to meet you. mister Thor. My name is Lili."

"'Lily,' as in the flower?" He smiled again. "A lovely name. Your parents named you well."

"Uh...thank you," she replied shyly, feeling awkward once he said the last part since she gave herself her human alias. "Um, good luck in your search. I am searching for someone, too, so I hope we both have success."

"Oh?" Thor began, stopping Liechtenstein from turning and leaving. "You have lost someone, maiden Lily?"

"Y-Yes, sort of," she turned back to him, now embarrassed. "I-It is more like I have gotten lost myself. I'm looking for my big brother...or one of his friends."

At her words, Thor became much more serious. "I will aid you in your search."

"Oh, no, I couldn't ask that of you-"

"Let it not be said that Thor Odinson never helped a family in need," he declared as he looked into her eyes. "We will find your missing brother together," he promised. "I swear it upon my honor."

With that, they set out down the hall, Liechtenstein feeling bad that she had halted Thor's own agendas so he could help her, but also feeling reassured because she was no longer alone. They searched the rest of the hall, with Thor halting anyone walking down the corridors to ask them if they were her brother until Liechtenstein finally described Switzerland to the other blonde.

"Will he look for you, as well?" Thor asked as they made their way back to an elevator.

"Oh...yes! Yes, he will, but," she paused, then muttered, "but I'd rather he not." At Thor's confused look, she clarified. "I don't want to cause him trouble. He is probably already looking, though..."

Thor pursed his lips as they entered the elevator and Lily pressed the button for the 38th floor. "I do not think any good brother would mind looking for their lost sibling. What you say about not wanting to cause trouble for your brother, it is admirable to think that way...however," he trailed off, and the elevator reached the next floor, both of them stepping out to continue the search.

Lili craned her neck to look at him as they walked. "However-?"

Thor's brows descended. "I have a brother," he admitted. "And I would perform any feat for him, win any battle in his honor. As the elder, I rarely cared that he caused trouble for me (purposefully or no)." Thor opened a hallway door to another empty room and let it shut as they continued. "At the end of the day, I only cared that he stayed safe." He looked at Lili. "Is not your brother the same?"

Liechtenstein, surprised Thor was an older brother, nodded after a moment. "Yes, my big brother cares very much for my safety. It's just...I wish I could help him more – more than I do now."

Thor placed a hand on her head briefly (she jumped at the sudden touch). "I am sure he appreciates any aid you offer. Often times, the mere thoughts our loved ones have for us are enough to help through trials."

Liechtenstein nodded in agreement. "Now I can tell that you are a big brother, mister Thor. You are very wise."

Thor grinned widely and placed a hand on his hip. "I have had many others wiser than I inform me that I am not filled with 'good' wisdom, but I thank you for your words, maiden Lily."

Even so, Liechtenstein could tell that her compliment made him happy.

The 38th floor yielded no Vash or other countries. Lili felt disheartened as they made their way back to the elevator, only to find that, in their time gone, it seemed to have stopped working.

She pressed the button futilely. No lights came on. "Out of order?" she asked the air as Thor seemed to contemplate forcing the doors open by using just his fingers. Or that hammer tied to his belt. And why did security let him bring a potential weapon into the building in the first place...?

She snapped out of that thought when Thor proclaimed, "No matter! We shall take to the stairs. It will be a much more invigorating exercise than the simple walking we have done thus far."

"Uh," she began as she hurried to catch up to his long stride.

"Fear not, maiden Lily. I shall carry you if need be. It may indeed be a faster search if I act as your carriage. What say you?"

"Uh."

"Aye, sounds like a plan," he declared as he opened the stairwell. He turned to her expectantly, to which she immediately shook her head and hands in declination. Thor's shoulders slumped. "No? You doubt my strength. Or, perhaps, you doubt my chivalry?"

Lili shook her head. "Of course not, mister Thor. I'm sure you're a perfect gentleman. You have been, so far. But I don't usually let strangers carry me places."

"Oh," he said softly. "I only...I thought we were friends. Then, I ask your forgiveness for my forwardness, maiden Lily."

Oh, wow. As if that didn't break her heart. And, worse, he had a kicked-puppy-dog look that could rival some nations' looks.

"Um, but, we are friends, mister Thor!" she exclaimed. His eyes lost some of the sadness, so she continued. "You're a great friend, to help me look for my big brother like this. I only don't want him to get the wrong idea if he saw you carrying me," she hurriedly explained in half-truth. She wasn't going to let Thor carry her – she didn't even let nations she knew do that. She had her own pride, after all.

Thor perked up, however, and nodded in understanding. "It would be difficult for me to treat generously an unknown man who shielded my younger sister in his arms, were I to have a sister." Understanding reached and crisis averted, the two blondes ascended the stairs together. Thor took the lead as he seemed accustomed to doing, sometimes without knowing, though he wound up leaving her with her shorter strides when he did this. He pulled further ahead of her, taking two steps for her one.

Not wanting to be a burden, Liechtenstein stepped faster after him. Boots with elevated heels don't make for good climbing, Liechtenstein found. As she stepped upwards, her shoe came down on the next step only halfway. Her back foot slipped from the bottom step. She realized that her hands were too far away to grasp the guardrails. Liechtenstein tipped backwards. She must have let out a squeak because Thor turned towards her fast and was springing to her even faster. He feet left the ground just as he wrapped a hand around her outstretched wrist. With his momentum to reach her and no way to stop as suddenly, they still tumbled past six steps, though Thor was quick to stop both of them, grasping her shoulders and head with one arm while the other hand now held the guardrail. Lili blinked at his chest.

His voice rumbled against her forehead. "Are you harmed?"

"Ye- I mean, no, I'm not hurt," she said in surprise, staring at his hand grasping the guardrail. The rail was mangled. The fat-to-skinny bars on either side of his hand showed that he had squeezed the metal until it resembled a used toothpaste tube.

He sighed. "I am glad-"

"Wha-? Lili!"

And that was when Switzerland found them. On the stairs with a muscled stranger grasping her closely – aggressively – to his chest. Switzerland stared in shock at them from his position at the top of the landing.

"Ah-! Uh! Big brother-!" She hurried to say as she began to stand up just when he zoomed past her, an angry foot outstretched to connect violently with Thor's shoulder and knock the man further down more steps. "Vash!" she defensively pulled on his arm as Switzerland glared murderously at the man getting to his feet below them.

"I think we have found your elder brother, maiden Lily." Thor looked no worse for wear even with his trip to the next landing below.

"Lili, what did this man do to you?"

"Nothing, big brother! He's been very kind in helping me find you." Then, because Switzerland did not seem convinced, "He's my friend, big brother!"

Switzerland raised an eyebrow. "Friend? Him."

"Yes. I was lost trying to find you after that crowd separated you and mister Austr- Roderich from me," she informed him and a look of guilt crossed his face. No doubt, he hadn't known she was missing until they had been in the elevator for a few minutes. She didn't blame him, though; everyone got distracted sometimes. She offered a small smile to him. "Mister Thor found me, and, well, since we were both looking for people, he offered to help me first. He's been very gentlemanly," she added in Thor's favor.

Switzerland 'hmphed.' "What was that I walked in on - a 'misunderstanding'?"

"I...I fell down the stairs," she admitted with self-shame. "Mister Thor caught me so that I would not get hurt." Her eyes trailed to the mangled, warped guardrail, still in awe at the human man's strength.

Switzerland had his eyes on Thor. "You saved my sister?" It was almost a command than a question.

Thor wasn't affected by the tone, however, and nodded seriously. "I would see to it that the young maiden returned to her family safely. That is the promise I made on my honor."

Her brother got a strange look on his face once Thor started speaking, but he seemed to relax a bit. "Not that it's any of my business, but why are you speaking like you're from the middle ages?"

Thor thought on the words then shook his head. "I am still unaccustomed to Midgardian terms – I know not of these ages past, but I speak in this manner for I was raised upon Asgardian soil."

"...Asgard."

"Aye."

"Norse mythology Asgard?"

Thor frowned. "'Noorse'?"

"Right," Switzerland clapped his hands (an action which startled Lili minutely) in decision as he kept the 'you-are-crazy' look off his face. "Say goodbye to your 'friend,' Lili. We have a meeting to get to and we both know they're not waiting on us."

"Oh, right." Liechtenstein stepped down a step so she could have room to gesture to Thor. "Thank you very much for helping me, mister Thor." She bowed in thanks. "I would not have found my big brother as quickly without you." Switzerland let out a disagreeing "ha" behind her but kept silent.

Thor approached with a smile. "It was my pleasure. I am happy that you have found your family." He lifted his hand to pat her head once more.

Switzerland glared protectively from behind her.

Thor decided to change it to a handshake. "Until we meet again, fair maiden Lily."

She shook his hand. "Until next time, mister Thor Odinson." She allowed Switzerland to pull her away.

"There won't be a next time, not like this," he muttered as they reached the landing of the 39th floor.

Liechtenstein and Thor waved goodbye to each other, camaraderie established despite whether they would see each other again or not. Lili entered the 39th floor corridor, and Thor was closed off from her view.

"Weird friends you make," Switzerland commented in the quiet hallway.

She faced forward and looked at her hand entwined with her big brother's. "Sorry I got lost."

He was quiet for a few more steps. "It's okay. Sorry I lost you."

She smiled. "It's okay."

"Next time, just stay in one place. Like the lobby," he lectured. "Don't you know how getting lost works? I went back to the lobby as soon as I could and stayed there for ten minutes looking for you. You shouldn't have left it." Passing them by, a woman with vibrant red hair headed for the stairwell they themselves had just left. Liechtenstein looked back and watched her enter through the door and put a hand to her hip as she looked at a sheepish Thor walking up the steps. The door clicked shut behind the woman.

Liechtenstein turned back to the front. "I know...I just didn't want you to have to come looking for me."

"And how did that turn out."

"Sorry." She lowered her eyes.

"...It's okay. Look, let's just get to the meeting and attempt to get through Japan's boring analysis on what foods he thinks should be exported. We'll go for dinner somewhere not covered in grease or salt. Deal?"

"Deal!" She gave his hand a loving squeeze. Before letting go, he returned it.

Chapter Text

"I'm just saying that having Stark Industries sponsor and expand your restaurant in America would be great business. That restaurant was one of the best I've ever eaten at and it deserves to be shared, at least with me. And, hello, outsourcing is all the rage these days."

"And I said, monsieur Stark, I do not want to outsource or expand; the restaurant was built to be a simple place to eat for both tourists and citizens visiting the Tower. It is fine where it is!" France's voice couldn't help but raise at the end. They had been going back and forth on this argument ever since both men decided to sit and wait for one of the elevators to begin working. Unfortunately, one of the only available places to sit happened to be on a small couch. Next to each other. Needless to say, once introductions were made and hobbies and jobs explained, there was no stopping the arguing that would follow. Both men were just too accustomed to arguing their own views and making sure everyone knew.

It was usually France doing the badgering, though, so the situation was almost surreal. Tony Stark did not seem like a person to be dissuaded easily.

"But you don't have to spare much expense; most of the profits would go to you, anyway!"

"I do not want the trouble!"

"It wouldn't be any trouble, trust me!"

"No means no, monsieur Tony!"

"Ha! You used my first name! Now if we can just drop the 'mister' part."

"You are almost unbearable-!"

"Just almost? Damn. I must be losing my touch."

France sighed, wishing that the elevators would start working soon. He didn't know if he would rather be here with the annoyance that was billionaire, philanthropist Tony Stark or be up there with the rest of the world.

...Actually, no, here was much better – he only had to deal with one person, at least.

France glanced to his side during the lull in the their arguing. Tony seemed to be fixated on his phone, tapping and swiping the screen born from long practice. France decided to follow his example and took out his own phone only to find that he had no service whatsoever. He sighed. The building for the World Meeting seemed to be having a great many technical difficulties. France wondered if this was what he got by being so spoiled by the 21st century.

"You need access?"

He looked at the man invading his personal space (not that he minded...too much). "Come again?"

Tony smirked and pointed at France's phone. "You need satellite access? I can give it to you~!" he sing-songed. "Got my own satellite floating up there, you know."

France frowned lightly, recognizing a catch when he saw one. "What do you want for the help. Your sponsorship?"

Tony held up his hands defensively. "Of course not, french fry. This would totally be free. An honest-to-goodness act of goodwill. No strings attached."

France may have believed that, if Tony had not said the whole thing with the smirk still in place. "I have lived without it before."

Tony went back to his phone, not quite bothering to hide how wonderful he thought his technology. "Suit yourself. Wow, being able to call people and get on the Internet is great. I feel sorry for any French people around who can't experience this."

Despite his irritation, France felt himself smile. "Subtle."

"It is my specialty."

"I doubt that very much," he said as he instead pulled a novel out of his briefcase.

"Oh, gross, paperback. So last century."

France felt like rolling his eyes but managed to resist the action, and placed the paperback novel back down on his knee. "Is there anything that meets your approval?"

"Sure, but it usually has to have either an AI or boobs. Or both."

"..."

"..."

"That sounds...wonderful, actually," France ended with slight intrigue at the idea, pausing to rub his chin in thought.

"It does, doesn't it? I may have tried to build one once, if it wasn't for the fact that a certain lady in my life would have my man parts for even attempting it."

"Yes, I would imagine you would have some performance issues if that happened," France teased with a quirk of his lips, inwardly finding it unusual that he wasn't getting an earful of offended comments by now, as was usual when he wanted to be playful. Still, last time he was aware, his conversation with mister Stark involved business. "Hm," he wondered aloud, "if I can be frank?"

"I thought your name was Francis," Tony quipped.

"What? ...Oh. Ha ha. I have heard more hilarious responses from a child. I almost thought you forgot my name."

"Nah, but don't you think the name I thought of sounds better? I do."

France gave in this time and rolled his eyes. This man quipped constantly. It was like speaking to a hybrid of all the countries he wanted to punch throughout his life (mostly England). But, in honesty, the man's personality was not as terrible to be around as others. "I was going to ask if you always acted like this around potential business partners."

"Not all the time – sometimes I have a hot red-head next to me. Also, I thought you said you weren't budging on your decision. Did you change your mind?"

"...No."

"There ya' go."

They waited in silence a bit more before France shifted, his novel forgotten in favor of continuing conversation. "Do you think we should attempt climbing the stairs?" He should at least try to reach the meeting...even if he could care less.

Tony scoffed, eyes focused on his technology. "I'm about 30 stories up. Don't know your deal, but I would sooner conduct my meeting from right here. Or fly up to my floor."

"Yes, your...Ironman suit, I think you said," France said with humor, recalling how the man introduced himself as the billionaire Tony Stark right before he declared himself New York hero Ironman. France was not sure how to feel about sitting next to such a person, but, from his interactions with America himself, he decided to treat this situation much the same and focus on the man and not the claims or reputation. It was more or less working out.

Tony had looked at him when he heard the humored tone. "What, french fry? Don't believe I'm Ironman?"

"I hope that is not a nickname that sticks. And, no, I believe you," France shook his head, not bothering to explain further. "So, why do you not use your suit now?"

Tony's head popped up from his device.

The look he gave France began to freak him out. "What?"

"Oh my God, yes, let's do it."

Sex was usually the first thing that popped into the blonde's mind when a sentence like that was said to him, but he felt he had to ask some clarifying questions first. "Do what?"

In hindsight, France should have just stayed on the ground floor. Or arrived for the World Meeting earlier than he did. Or, really, he should have just stayed home from the start. Yes, coming to World Meetings never did anything good for his health, anyway.

"Eyaaah! Let go of me, you insane man!"

"Listen, french fry, this can go a lot faster if you don't practice 'the worm' in midair, thanks."

"If you get me killed, I will never forgive you, monsieur!"

"What happened to 'Tony' before?"

"You lose your name privileges when you try crazy stunts like this! Mon dieu, Je vais mourir!"

"I have a translator in this, and I don't appreciate your lack of confidence."

France swung his legs up so that he was now gripping Ironman with all of his limbs, right hand grasped in a metal gauntlet as they left landing after landing below them in the stairwell. His legs wrapped around both of Tony's as he used his free left hand to find a hold in the suit's waist area. They ascended past the floors in rapid time, not that France bothered opening his eyes. He was queasy enough flying like this without having to see it.

"All right down there?" came the mechanized voice of Tony Stark. "You're straddling me awfully hard – not that I care when that normally happens – but you can ease up if you want; 'S'not like I'd let you fall."

France may have been sort-of touched by the billionaire's honest and serious tone in that last part if it was not for the fact that he was cussing the man out in all the languages he knew right then. "Shut up! Do not mention falling right now! It's your fault I had my hopes up before we started flying!"

"'Had your hopes up...'?" Tony muttered to himself.

They continued past seven more floors when Ironman halted in midair, and France tried hard not to shriek at the sudden jerk. "What the hell is wrong with you!"

"Easy. I just wanted to ask...uh...what floor were you going to again?"

"It doesn't matter! Put me down here – I'll risk heart attack from the exercise before I continue doing this!"

"Hey, I offered to carry you – you turned me down."

"I was saying no to coming along at all!"

"Oh. Well, you should have been more specific."

France loudly decried this. Ironman, however, seemed to suddenly have his attention elsewhere. France glanced up at the expressionless helmet, bad feeling increasing when the chatty man remained silent. Tony seemed focused on something with rapt attention for many seconds. Then the mask turned to face him.

"Kids play 'Tag' in France, don't they?"

"You mean 'Catch and Kiss'?" France asked, ending with an eyebrow wiggle and a teasing smirk, finding the situation less terrifying when they weren't moving. "Oui, yes. What does that have to do with-?"

"Okay, so, let's play that - Tag, I mean," he interrupted as he flew France to the nearest set of stairs beside them. He placed the blonde down, though remained hovering. "You're gonna' go for a run. You know, so that you don't become 'it'." A loud boom echoed from afar.

France gazed uncomprehendingly up at the suit as he registered faint tremors beneath his feet. "Why are we playing-?"

He was cut off when a floor not far above them exploded outward in a spray of cement and bricks. France shielded his head, though the worst of it the debris free-fell down to the lower landings. When the dust had more or less ceased to rain down upon him, he lifted his eyes to be greeted by a large green mass of muscles on the far above landing. The huge being breathed roughly as if it was pent up with emotions and was waiting to release them. France felt his mouth fall open.

"Yeah," Ironman drawled as he began to fly towards the beast, throwing a look back towards him, "You might want to start running. In case you didn't know, he's 'it'. No worries, though. I'll give you a good head-start, french fry."

He blinked back. The green mass turned towards their voices, angry eyes lighting on both of them. France, who had come to the World Meeting in the United States with nothing but a briefcase of papers and a novel, let out an expletive and dashed up the stairs. He slammed open the landing door just as the green behemoth roared and tackled Ironman, sending them both down the stairwell and out of sight.

France reflected, as he made his way down the hallway of whatever floor on which Tony had dropped him while the booms and quakes from the fight faded behind his feet, that he may have to expand his restaurant after all just to feel like he had repaid that annoying billionaire for the save. Curse superheroes and their villains, or however the media referred to them. When he saw America, he was going to have words. ...And, after that, looking up contact information for Stark Industries.

Chapter Text

In hindsight, going to the World Meeting in the first place was the stupidest fucking idea of the month. He shouldn't even be mad that karma had placed him here if all he did was ignore warning signs. He guessed it was revenge for not trusting his damn instincts and binge eating tomatoes at Spain's house like he wanted.

He pulled his stupid brother into the elevator, jabbing at the button as soon as they were inside it so that the oncoming crowds would not squish them into Italian paste on the walls. People were freakin' crazy in the city. The doors closed on the oncoming mob of employees and business people, and Romano breathed a sigh of relief that he wouldn't have elbows and briefcases in his ribs. Beside him, North Italy shifted.

"There sure is a lot of people here, huh, fratello?"

"Yeah, no shit, dumbass; I didn't notice the sea of people flowing towards us before."

"Whoa, you didn't? But there were so many! How could you miss them? Are you feeling alright, Romano?"

Romano turned to him. "Idiota, I was being sarcastic! What, you forgot what sarcasm was just like you forgot where your balls were?"

Italy smiled at him. "Fratello, I can't forget where those are – they're attached to me!" Then,as Romano made another face at him. "Oh! You were making a joke! Sorry, tell it again, please! I'll get it this time."

"This is why you would have flunked out of school...if you ever went...which you should have-!"

"Um..."

They both turned to look at the occupied corner of the elevator. A bespectacled man in a purple shirt stared awkwardly back at them. He raised an arm in shy greeting, his wristwatch catching in the ceiling light.

"Hello. Nice to meet you?"

Romano frowned at him, finding himself annoyed that he hadn't even noticed this stranger in the elevator with them until now. He went back over what they had said so far, trying to remember if they had said anything about the nations' secret.

Italy reciprocated the greeting with more enthusiasm. "Ciao! Hello! I'm Feliciano Vargas, and this is my brother Lovino-"

"Brother by force, not by choice-"

"What is your name? Are you here for a meeting, too, or do you work here? This is an awfully old building. Why is it so tall? Ve~! I like traveling to other places. Do you? What's-"

"Feliciano, shut your damn mouth!"

The guy startled at Romano's voice, but put on a tentative smile when he looked at Italy. "M-My name is Bruce. Doctor Bruce Banner. I'm, uh, here for a meeting, too..." He trailed off awkwardly.

Italy opened his mouth to repeat the questions Bruce Banner had yet to answer, and Romano flicked the his brother's curl to silence him. "Can't you play the quiet game until we reach our floor?"

"Ve~! That game's not very fun; everyone besides me always wins at it."

"Because you never shut up."

"I don't mind talking," Bruce gently interrupted the back-and-forth as he glanced at the elevator numbers. "This technology is a bit slow, so it might take a while."

"Exactly!" Italy smiled at him happily. "Might as well get to know each other~!" He bounced closer to the nervous man, efficiently invading his personal bubble. "So, mister Banner, what's your job like? Do you operate on people? Do you have any kids?"

"Uh," Bruce backed up to give himself some space from the Italian. He obviously had not expected the conversation to take a more personal turn with that last question. "I'm more of a scientist-doctor, not an ER-doctor. And...I have no kids."

"Oh, wow, a scientist! Can you make electricity from a potato?"

"Actually, the electricity doesn't come from the spud."

"Whoa! It doesn't?"

"No, the potato acts as a conduit and a starter."

"A...huh?"

"It- electricity flows through the potato, which is generated when you use, usually, copper and zinc wires. The acids in the potato react with the metals, and the copper electrons moving help the production of electricity. There's more to it than that, but that was the shorter version."

Feliciano frowned in confusion, smile long gone as he tried in vain to keep up. "Um, scusi, can you explain that again?"

"God in heaven, please, please, kill me now!" Romano grasped his head. Save him from nerds and curious, stupid brothers. He would probably have to vacate the elevator and take the stairs if they kept up the fucking science lessons. He groaned loudly. He was feeling a tiny bit claustrophobic. He wanted air. In fact, it was getting hot in the elevator. Or was that his imagination? God, it was taking so long. He scrubbed his hands down his face.

"Fratello, you're going to get wrinkles."

Romano sighed, hands still pulling down his cheeks so that the underside of his eyeballs could be seen. He was glad the two finally stopped the science lesson, though. "No matter how old I get, I'll still look a hell of a lot sexier than you."

Italy studied him. He then scrunched his nose in confusion. "Even with wrinkles?"

Romano slammed into him, grabbing his brother's tie and pulling it.

Italy choked as the tie crushed his windpipe. "Guk! Sorry, fra...tello! Wrinkles...are...sexy!"

"You're damn right they are!"

Bruce sighed and leaned against the elevator walls. "I'm not sure you two remember what the argument was about."

They looked over, not hearing his mumble clearly. "What?"

"No, nothing; just thinking to myself." He flapped a hand to his face. Taking a moment to glance up, Bruce called attention to the brothers. "Have we been on this floor for a while?"

"What?" Blinking up at the floors displayed above the doors, Romano squinted to see that they were now on the 32nd floor. But, as he continued to watch and count down the seconds, the golden light never moved from the '32'. "What," he said with less confusion and more anger. He stalked to the buttons on the elevator console and started pressing furiously on his floor, deviating to press all of floors. "Argh!" he yelled when nothing happened, even pressing the emergency button with the little bell on it. "What is wrong with this piece of crap!"

Bruce made a move to walk forward and help, but North Italy cut in front of him to stand next to Romano.

"Here, let me!" Feliciano said, and bounced forward to cheerfully press the single emergency call button on the elevator. Almost immediately, the intercom overhead crackled to life. North Italy grinned at his surprised face. "Ger-Ludwig taught me how to survive for an hour in an elevator emergency," he stated as he held up a victory sign with his fingers. "Brother's got your back!"

Romano frowned back at him, not wanting to feel like Feliciano had actually done something useful to help them. He could have pressed the button himself – he just hadn't noticed it. Before he could retort, however, the intercom sounded. It became clear the message was prerecorded and not an actual responder on duty.

"Attention passengers. There has been a small error involving maintenance today." It became hard to make out the words through the fluctuating static. "We will be sorting out the problem momentarily. We apologize for the inconvenience, and hope you have a pleasant day!"

It clicked off with a loud static burp.

"I guess the staff is too busy with repairs to speak to us live." Bruce Banner pushed up his glasses. "Well, this day has been eventful."

Veneziano turned to him. "I'm not so sure, mister Banner; it's kinda boring, and I'm kind of ready to leave the elevator now..."

"Uh, no, I was being sarcastic. I'm ready to get out, too," he said, smiling, but rubbing his arm in a nervous gesture.

Romano narrowed his eyes at him from behind Veneziano. What did this guy have to be jumpy about? It was beginning to weird him out. Maybe Bruce Banner just wasn't used to people? It would make sense, if all the nerd did was stay in a lab or something all day.

The elevator suddenly began moving again with a loud screech somewhere outside of it. The screech and movement startled all of them, Veneziano letting out a yelp and Bruce Banner hurriedly placing a hand over his heart. Romano would firmly deny that he had any reaction similar to his brother's.

Feliciano was the first to talk (whenever was he not). "Well, we'll be at our meetings soon. Mister Banner, it was great to meet you! Do you want to exchange phone numbers? We can keep in touch if I ever need an operation~!"

Bruce looked at him with reservation, sweat beading on his forehead from the elevator's temperature. "Uh, we don't really know each other... No offense. And I'm not that kind of doctor."

Romano, flapping at a hand at himself to cool his own temperature, cut him off. "Don't bother anyway, he doesn't have a phone right now. Idiota keeps losing it."

His brother, who had begun writing on a piece of paper from his pocket, handed Bruce a copy of a phone number. "Ve~! That's why I'm giving him Ludwig's phone number. That way, we can get in touch!"

Romano gaped at the gall of North Italy.

Bruce took the paper but did not pocket it. "Are you sure about this, mister Vargas?"

"Just Feliciano is fine! Or 'pal'. Or 'that one Italian guy I know'."

"I don't think we'll have much to talk about is all," Bruce stated, unsure about accepting a, basically, stranger's phone number. Well, a stranger's stranger friend's phone number from the first stranger.

"What are you talking about?" Italy grinned and sidled closer to the man, waving his arms cheerfully. "We can totally talk about the science stuff~! And you can teach me how a potato battery works – I'm a good student, promise!"

"He's lying, don't listen to him."

"Fratello, shhh!"

"You two, don't fight, please-"

"Don't tell me to be quiet!"

"Shhh!"

"You shhh! Shhh!"

"Shhh!"

"Shhh!"

"Shhh!"

"Shh-!"

"Will the both of you...just-!" Bruce snapped, gripping the sweaty hair on his head. He paused, took a deep breath, and let out the air slowly, straightening up with calm. "I mean, I would appreciate if you two didn't fight anymore. Brothers should get along, right?"

"This is us getting along, mister Bruce. Don't worry about it – Lovino loves me just as much!"

Romano had a retort right on his lips for that sentence, but the slight sheen to the man's skin wasn't right, and Romano figured the guy was mere seconds from throwing up or something, so he took pity on the scientist and kept quiet. He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them when the action began to store up heat, which he did not need.

Veneziano flapped a hand at himself, now stripped down to his business suit's undershirt. "It's hooot in here."

Romano grunted.

Bruce sighed again and glanced at the elevator numbers, then made a strangled sound that could have been a suppressed gasp.

Romano gave him a look before glancing at what had the doctor's panties in a twist. "What is that?" he asked, apprehensive.

The light was no longer behind 32. The light was not anywhere near it. Instead, it was flush right, behind 60, the last floor number the building had. The light stayed on the 60, moved back to 59, then moved back to 60 again, as if it could ram through and continue on to 61 and higher.

Romano began to get a sinking feeling in his gut. "Why is it doing that?" For once, his northern half was silent, staring confused, at the twitching numbers.

Bruce wiped his sweaty forehead and shakily pressed the emergency call button again. Overhead, the intercom crackled to life from sheer static hell.

"Att-shhhk!...passen-shhhk!...we-...-pologi-shhhhhhk-!" Static surrounded the rest of the broadcast before the intercom cut itself off. Finally. It was starting to hurt Romano's ears. He opened his mouth to say something, ask something, he didn't know, and the elevator shuddered like a dog shaking water off.

"Wah!" he and North Italy cried out, the latter slamming into him on purpose as he grasped both hands on the elevator railing. Bruce, on his other side, did the same. The shaking stopped, and all became still again.

Veneziano clung to him in the hot elevator. "Scary!" he wobbled out, tightening his grip like an octopus. Romano began to elbow him to get him to let go.

Bruce seemed to be employing his calming methods again. "This is not good for my stress levels," he stated to himself with an edge in his voice, as if in warning.

Romano sighed shakily, trying to focus on his annoyance for his brother instead of his racing heart because he was seconds from a full on freak out! "This elevator will be the death of us. I vote we get out yesterday. Yes? Yes. C'mon." He stalked forward, aiming to open up the elevator doors. Except he could not wiggle his fingers through the cracks. "Tch! C'mon, you fucking piece of junk!"

Bruce watched him. "We're probably between floors, anyway. We wouldn't be able to do much."

"Bullshit, we can crawl out!" Romano growled. He finally got his index finger in, formed a rut, and used it to pull the doors open to sweet freedo- a wall of fucking concrete. What the hell. "Fucking bastard wall!" he cursed at it, and reared his foot back to kick it, which would have either resulted in broken toes or a damn dent in that fucking sassy wall. Veneziano looped his hands under his arms and dragged him back, however. Minutes later saw Romano more calm, grumbling, with a depressed, slightly bruised North Italy sitting beside him.

Bruce neglected to comment on him being right and calmly reached into his trouser pocket, coming out with an earpiece like the kind agents and bodyguards used. As Romano watched, he placed it in his ear, tapping it a few times. "Tony? Clint? Natasha." He called out the names, waiting for said persons to respond. His voice lowered to be darker. "...If this is a prank, Tony, you'll get your wish. Pranking me is fine, but not when there are civilians here, too." He waited a near minute, then gave up, dropping his hand back to his side.

Romano did not try to hide his suspicious look. "I thought you were just a scientist. What was that crap about 'civilians'?"

Bruce took his glasses off and wiped the steam from them. "I am just a scientist. But," he put his glasses back on, "I work for...the government. So I get higher clearance for special projects that others," civilians, he meant, "can't." He took in Romano's look and deflated slightly. "Sorry."

Did this guy even know what he was apologizing for? Whatever. Romano humphed, blowing some sweat off his face. He freely let his brother have the flag back when he tugged it from him, bouncing over to the scientist and offering to be his personal cooling fan for a minute, to which the doctor declined, and Feliciano did anyway. Romano allowed his eyes to wander over the elevator. The numbers were still going apeshit. The ceiling glared back at him in a distorted golden reflection.

Wait.

Romano looked over to the other two. "Elevators have emergency hatches on the top, don't they?"

Bruce and his brother looked to the ceiling. Bruce made a face. "They do, but it's usually sealed up for rescue crews on the outside to use. People in the elevator won't be able to get one open unless they were strong enough to bust the sealing, which is near impossible unless you're superhuman."

"Well," Romano hopped up, motioning for his fellow Italian to come closer, "might as well try instead of sitting here, thumbs up our asses."

Bruce shook his head, not trusting the plan, and he placed his hands on his temples, rubbing them in circles. Poor guy looked ready to faint or have a temper tantrum, either one. Romano would prefer the former so he would not have to tiptoe around their secret as countries.

"Yes, sir, mister brother, sir!" Veneziano bounced up to him with a grin and a salute.

Romano scowled at his happy demeanor. "Why aren't your pants on? Put them back on."

His northern half jiggled the pants slung over his shoulder. "No. It's hot." He let them fall to the floor like a brat.

Romano threw his hands up. "Fai come vuoi! Listen, do you want to be on top for this or on bottom?"

"Uh, gee, fratello, I'm honored. But I'm more into the ladies, you know? And I don't see you that way, but I appreciate the offer!"

"..." Romano slugged him in the gut the only way a good brother could.

"Gah! But, there's...nothing wrong with...batting for the other team," he gasped out.

"That's not what I meant-! I mean, I need to get on your shoulders, or you on mine, so we can reach the hatch!"

"Ohhh! Okay, I'll get on yours~!"

"Not without pants, you aren't! I don't need my brother's jewels that close to me!

"No, Lovi, I'll die from the heat – these pants are black! It's hot!"

"I know it's hot, doofus! That's why we're trying to get out of here!"

Bruce moaned loudly. He shot up from his position on the floor and walked over to them, smile forced and twitching. "Why don't I get on the bottom? That will solve the problem, right?"

The slight growl at the end made both Italians twitch into silence.

"Uh, yeah?"

"Good. No more fighting then, please." He paused. "Or yelling."

Romano huffed lightly but didn't say anything else. Looked like they were all reaching their limits for this ride.

It took some maneuvering, but Romano finally perched on the scientist's shoulders. Using his strength, he could probably pop the hatch open easily. They were still a few inches short of the ceiling.

"Mister Vargas, can you reach?"

"Not really. Maybe we can stand on Feliciano's back."

"Ve~! That sounds painful."

"Actually, Feliciano, it might be of help..."

The other thought on it for a moment. He smiled and gave them a thumbs up. "Okay! One stepping stool, coming right up!"

"Maybe the stepping stool will be quieter..." Romano grumbled to himself in Italian, not feeling brave enough to state it out loud enough for the grumpy doctor to hear, whether or not the man knew their language or not. "What did you mean earlier when you said this might be a prank?"

Bruce shifted to strengthen their balance when they swayed. "I have a friend who likes to test me, see if I can get really angry. He hasn't succeeded yet, and I wouldn't put it past him to use his skills to trap me in an elevator. But, this has gone on too long, so it can't be his doing."

"Damn. If it was just your asshole friend, we would probably be out of here by now."

Once Feliciano dropped to all fours, Bruce awkwardly placed the first foot on the small of his back. Romano wobbled dangerously, but they did not topple over. It was when Bruce moved to place the second foot that the lights in the elevator cut out with a fading hum.

"Wah! It's dark!"

The dangerous wobble and motion of Bruce backing up to catch his footing indicated that North Italy had stood up from his spot on the floor.

"Feliciano, get back down there!" Romano yelled in the disturbing silence. If there was a scared lilt to his voice, it was from imagination.

"It's dark, guys! I want to get out of here!"

"Feliciano, it's alright," Bruce assured from below him. "Deep breaths, don't panic." He patted Romano on one knee. "You, too, Lovino. Deep breaths. It's okay."

Romano wanted to tell him not to fucking touch him any more than they were already awkwardly touching and that he was fine. But he had yet to release his light grasp on the doctor's hair and his hands trembled as if they were freezing.

Still. "I-I'm f-fine. Only assholes get scared of s-something like this."

The doctor hummed, making no comment.

The elevator screeched and they all startled. The small jostle down below was probably his brother holding onto the scientist. The metal around them groaned and a tinkling sound fell past the elevator outside and hit things in the shaft further below. They stilled.

"...I think I want to get off your shoulders now."

It was the only thing he had time to say before the elevator shook them again like last time. Romano fell off the doctor's shoulders as they were thrown to the floor. Only, more horrifyingly than last time, was the fact that the shaking didn't stop. With a horrified inhale from Bruce, the elevator fell free of its bonds, taking them down with it.

Romano screamed as his body left the floor in freefall. Veneziano found him in the dark and horror, and they grasped each other at the same time. What happened next was something Romano would never understand, no matter how much he thought back on it.

The elevator groaned again with the force of its sides expanding. A crash echoed around them and metallic-scented air hit Romano's face as the elevator broke apart. This was where Romano could have sworn they had reached the ground floor to die, but they were still falling, his hair whipping at his ears and forehead . Something huge wrapped around his and his brother's waist, squishing them together with bruising force. He couldn't breathe! He gasped, terrified in the darkness. Whatever had wrapped around their bodies moved in a single direction. Light blinded him a split-second before a jarring landing flung his head forward, knocking his chin into his chest and giving him major whiplash that he would feel for a week. He was released suddenly, and he fell to the floor. Large rumbles like tiny earthquakes moved away from them as if whatever it could be was moving away. He took a moment to groan loudly at his injuries before his brother dropped on top of him, their heads clanging together.

"Dammit!" Romano flew up into a sitting position. He grasped his head, seeing stars. "Fucking son of a bitch ass fucker damn chigi shit!" He cursed as he rocked back and forth to try and relieve the pain somehow.

Veneziano was the first to recover and he squeaked in surprise. Romano squinted one eye open to see a wave of metal carnage. Remains of the elevator they had been inside and pieces of the elevator shaft itself had been scattered around them. Most of the metal was at the elevator entrance to this floor, the door having been blown off so that they could now see all the way down or up the shaft if they wanted to go looking. But Veneziano wasn't looking in that direction. Romano followed his gaze to the other direction and nearly sucked in air so fast that he almost choked.

A mass of large green muscles attached to a huge body wearing shredded pants was something he had not expected to see today. The giant had its back to them, walking forward with angry strides, grunting and huffing and snarling. It seemed to be looking for something. The brothers watched, almost fascinated. At least, until the earpiece, the one that Bruce Banner had used, came to life in the giant's ear with a loud whine and the beginning sentence of a person. It roared in fury, crushing the earpiece and tossing the remains with violence. Roaring again, the giant took off further down the hallway. It blasted through the wall at the end with ease and kept going through any other walls in its way until it was out of their sight.

They sat there for what was probably minutes.

Romano shifted when his brother did, the latter inspecting himself, subdued. "I'm in my undershirt and underwear, and my clothes are on the ground floor..."

Romano stared at him, stunned and unseeing. "I think jolly green Satan just saved us."

North Italy looked at him with a pout. "I'm cold now."

Chapter Text

America peeked around the corner.

Prussia walked around him.

"Wha- dude! We gotta be careful from here out – there's a Hulk around," America whisper-yelled the last part.

Prussia flapped a hand over his shoulder. "You say that like it means something to me."

America jogged to catch up with him as they both tried to ignore the rumbles of the building while making their way towards an exit. Many countries – and human employees – had already evacuated. America had stayed behind to make sure everyone was out (like the hero he was) and that was how he and Germany's older brother found each other. "I tell everyone about my heroes, but they never listen. I've talked about the Hulk plenty of times."

"You talk about a lot of things. I should tell you now that I never listen."

"You're a bitch, dude."

"No, France is a bitch. And so is Romano. Pretty much everyone related to Italy, God have mercy on that poor boy."

"Should I tell Hungary, then?"

"Shut your mouth-hole."

They walked, quickly, past the smoking elevator doors toward the stairs. Upon opening the door, they discovered that a large piece of rubble from the building had landed in front of the walkway, cutting off the rest of the staircase. It was jutted in such a way that there would be no maneuvering around or climbing over it.

"Welp," Prussia said, nodding and placing his hands on his hips decidedly. "We're stuck up here. Your heroes have doomed us, so I feel comfortable blaming you for this."

"Bro. Way to give up quickly." America inspected the stone slab of debris as they spoke.

"You want a last kiss?" he asked, continuing as if America never said anything.

"Nah."

"Fine, be that way!"

America stepped back and grinned at him. "I think we can move this."

Prussia critically eyed the debris. It was taller than both of them. "Don't tell West this, but I'm not the spry country I used to be. Now I'm just a walking bottle of sexy."

"I think your brother knows how insanely old you are, so no worries. Here, you take that side, I'll take this one, and we'll heave it off the side." America grasped the bottom of one edge. "It'll be easy and fast!"

Prussia grasped the bottom of his side. "Easy and fast, like Francis?"

"Gross! Hahaha! You better stop talking shit about him. Karma, man."

"We're friends, so I have the right to talk about him behind his back. Ready? One."

"Two."

"Three!" they heaved up the debris and heaved it off the side railing with a grunt. The air whooshed around it as it fell. They waited until they heard it crash and splinter into smaller pieces far down below.

America rubbed the powder from the debris off his hands while Prussia caught his breath. "Easy-peasy."

"Hey!" a voice called to them from a landing below. They looked at each other before peering off the side. A man with cropped hair glared up at them. "What are you two doing? This building is under immediate evacuation."

Prussia frowned back at the man while America made an annoying keening noise. "If you hadn't noticed, we're on our way out now." He glanced to America. "What the hell is wrong with you."

The man began advancing his way up to them. "This is no game. Because you waited doing who knows what, I'm gonna have to lead you out of here. I got better things to do than babysit civilians."

"Dude," America tugged at Prussia's sleeve with an excited voice. "That's freaking Hawkeye!"

"...Okay?"

"No, dude, you don't understand!"

"He's one of your heroes."

"Yeah!"

"Whatever, he doesn't look that awesome. I see cooler things when I look in the mirror."

"You're so full of it," America helpfully informed him as Hawkeye made it up their stairs.

"C'mon, time to go. Follow the leader." With that, the man turned back and quickly jogged down the stairs.

Prussia noticed the bow and arrows on the man's back when he turned away. "Arrows? Okay, arrows are pretty awesome. He gets a few points for that." He and America followed after Hawkeye.

"So," Hawkeye began as they caught up with him a floor down, "what's your names?"

"I'm Alfred! Alfred F. Jones!" America practically squealed.

Prussia gave him a sidelong glance that clearly asked if he going to tone down the hero-worship anytime soon. "Gilbert." They passed two more floors, being careful of damaged steps and crumbling edges.

"Alfred and Gilbert," Hawkeye repeated. "You guys picked a swell time to dawdle. What the hell have you been doing while everyone was evacuating?"

America frowned, affronted. "Making sure people escaped, of course!"

Prussia shrugged. "Actually, I was looking for mein brother after he got lost."

America grinned. "You sure you didn't get-"

"Ja, I'm sure, shut up, loser!" Prussia quickly cut him off, not wanting to hear the truth.

"Well, as nice as it is that you did that, you should leave the hero work to us. We're trained for these situations."

America grumbled at the lecture and Prussia had to hold his tongue to keep from spilling their secret as nations and war veterans, many times over more qualified than the human before them.

Hawkeye paused outside an undamaged stairwell door. He motioned to them to be quiet before listening to his talking comm. "You got him? Alright, over and out." He then turned toward the door and pulled it open. "We have to go this way," he explained when they looked further down at the seemingly undamaged stairs. "There's some structural damage right below us. Too dangerous. I have a way down over here." With that, he went into the hallway.

They jogged down the corridor, slowing whenever the building trembled. Hawkeye led them to the elevator doors. Smoke, just like on the higher floors, drifted between the crack in the doors.

America frowned at the smoke as Hawkeye began to take out a bandana. "We're not, uh, taking the elevator or anything, are we?"

"In a way," came the reply from the Avenger.

"'Cause I'm pretty sure that there's a fire somewhere down below," he continued.

Prussia placed his hands on his hips triumphantly. "I got it! We will be climbing down to a lower floor, ja? Past the floors with the messed up stairs."

"Got it in one," Hawkeye affirmed as he finished tying the banadana protectively around his neck, ready to raise it to his face. Prussia sent a smug face to America, who pouted at being one-upped in front of an Avenger. Hawkeye motioned to them. "Shirts off. Tie them around your faces. It won't keep the smoke out entirely, but it's something, at least."

"If you want me to strip for you, all you need to do is ask," Prussia mock grumbled as he did what he was told.

Hawkeye seemed surprised at the reply, and he sent back a more playful smirk. "Not too sure you're my type, whitey."

"Oi!" Prussia yelled and America snickered behind him. "You wish you could have this hot piece of ass. You don't know what you're missing."

"I'm sure it'll keep me up at night," came one of the most deadpanned replies in existence. Hawkeye turned and opened the elevator doors wider, the smoke rising towards the ceiling while some of it continued rising up the shaft to the higher floors.

"You wouldn't want him anyway," America jumped in, voice now muffled by the shirt tied around his jaw. "He's picky about his beer, and his brother's totally high-maintenance."

"He would love me; everyone does."

"Speaking of everyone," Hawkeye interrupted, "why don't we join them now? Yeah?" He held up an attached rope, its length disappearing into the elevator shaft. "You guys know how to shimmy, or do I need to carry you down?"

America stared at the rope. "Yeah, I know how to," he answered uncertainly. "I don't like it."

"Well, think of this as getting it over with quickly," Hawkeye said back, unsympathetic. He tugged the rope and looked at them. "Who goes first?"

"The hero will go first!" America declared and got himself ready to descend down into the smoky shaft. Hawkeye raised an eyebrow at him and Prussia rolled his eyes. Once America was situated, he heaved himself fully onto the rope, clinging to it, and slowly began to scale down. "Wait!"

Hawkeye was at the edge looking down at America before Prussia even noticed he had moved. "What? Are you okay?" he asked, tense and alert.

America lifted his head so he could see up to them while still on the rope. "What if I fall?"

Hawkeye's emotions wiped off his face. "You assured me you could climb down. Are you saying you can't?"

"No, no! I mean, like, what if I slip or something? That's a long way down, dude!"

The archer remained unmoved. "It's a little too late to worry about that. You'll be fine. Just use that superhuman strength you have to hold on better."

"Er, okay. Gotcha!" He scaled down the rope past the next floor.

Prussia had frozen where he was standing, observing the human with a suspicious look. They listened to America making his way down in a minute of silence.

Hawkeye replied without turning away from his post. "I was only a floor below you. You think I wouldn't notice a 7-foot rock being thrown past me?" He turned his head to give a raised eyebrow look at him. "Seemed like your friend eats more spinach than you do, though."

Prussia's hands tightened on his hips, having not expected to actually have to defend their secret so soon. He offered the guy a totally-not-nervous smile. "That rock was more lighter than you think! Also," he fixed a defensive look at him, "I eat way more healthy than he does; he probably doesn't even know what spinach is!"

"Yes, I do! We grow it here!" came the muffled, echoing reply from the shaft. Then he began coughing from inhaling the rising smoke.

"Shut up, loser!"

"Neverrr!"

Hawkeye waved a hand and returned his attention to the country on the rope. "Look, I'm not gonna grill you about them. So long as you two don't have anything to do with this mess and you're not in cahoots with criminals, I don't care what powers you have. It's none of my business."

Prussia sensed there was more to it than that. "However...?"

"However," Hawkeye stressed as he held out the rope, "it's your turn to go down."

Prussia grumbled at the topic change and snatched the rope away from the smirking man. He quickly shimmied down past seven floors to where Alfred was – a pair of elevator doors open and leading back into the heart of the building. America already had his shirt back on his back when Prussia made it down.

America grinned at the other's smoke-stained face. "You look like a chimney sweeper."

"So do you. Did you hear any of that?" he asked, pointing a thumb backwards.

America's grin lessened. "Yeah."

"What do you know about your not-as-awesome-as-I-am heroes?"

America shrugged and ignored the urge to defend his totally wonderful Avengers. "A lot, dude. I am kind of an important figure if you didn't know. It helps to keep the main hero of the story informed."

"So what's his deal?" Prussia fished for information.

"G, I'm not giving away spoilers!"

"You got to give a man something! I don't know anything!"

"Welcome to my world!"

"...Did you just insult yourself?"

"Oh, heh, I guess so."

"I used to wonder how you and Feli got along together, but now I think I see it."

Their conversation was interrupted as Hawkeye swung into the corridor, ripping off his bandana as he went. He looked them both over as he passed. "If you're not done with your conversation, feel free to continue it along the way."

Prussia scoffed at the know-it-all tone of the man and sent America a pointed, incredulous look. All he got back was a knowing grin and excited eyes.

"Do you think he'll let me touch his bow?"

"A-man, I wouldn't let you touch my 'bow'. What makes you think he will?"

"Gross, man, you need a hobby!"

"I have one! ...I have several! I do things every day, okay!"

"If you two don't shut up down there and move, I will leave you behind!"

Chapter Text

Canada stepped around a large piece of former-building to find a couple of nations gathered around the still-standing doors. He picked his way carefully over to them, noticing many humans – civilians, police, and news crews – hanging around the site of the former...battle? Attack? Canada was not entirely sure what happened to make the Hulk transform, but there must have been some sort of danger. He stepped up behind a gesturing Denmark, who was speaking on his phone.

"Boss, the wall went KABAM and there was this robot and this green monster fightin' it out. I could not make this up if I wanted to! It was awesome! Norge made us evacuate, but it was way cool to watch!"

Canada perked up. "Robot? What did it look like?"

Denmark turned and left, not noticing. "I think our papers got destroyed or blown away. Easy for me – I don't have to go to some lame-ass meeting today! Hahaha!"

Canada rolled his eyes to the sky. He was more used to the lack of attention nowadays than he used to be. He inspected his surroundings while he waited for someone to notice him so he could ask some questions, his phone lost at some point while running so he was unable to call his boss or America or America's boss to find out what happened. He was glad he had left Kumataro in their hotel room.

Sighing, he took a seat on a debris-dusted but undamaged bench instead. A few seconds later, someone obstructed his view of the building.

"Hey, you alright?"

Canada brought up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun's glare. A man with dark skin in red-tinted glasses and a tight fitting military-like uniform stood before him. Canada lowered his hand when he confirmed the man was talking to him. "Oh, I'm fine."

"You sure? Maybe I could get you a bandage, huh? I know we got aspirin somewhere around here, too."

"...Excuse me?"

"Oh," the man said, glancing him over, "you might not feel it. Shock, maybe. Here." He took out a wad of unused medical tissue, folded it neatly, and reached out to press it against Canada's forehead until Canada held it there himself. "You got a head wound. Doesn't look too serious, but you might be feeling it for a few days."

When the man withdrew his hand, Canada turned to look at the tissue. A small circle of blood greeted him. Surprised, he wordlessly lifted the tissue to press it to his left temple again.

His good Samaritan had yet to leave. "You want me to escort you to an ambulance? Just in case?"

"No, thank you. I've gotten worse."

"Haven't we all," the guy mumbled with a raised eyebrow but didn't imply further. He surprised Canada by turning, not to leave, but to sit down on the bench beside him. At Canada's look, he said playfully, "This bench taken?"

Canada shyly shook his head and stared forward. The day had been tiring; he wasn't sure he was up to conversation just yet. Couple that with the knowledge that this person would probably cease to notice him soon enough and he opted to stay quiet anyway. His new companion seemed content to remain silent for the most part.

"Name's Sam. Sam Wilson."

Canada offered a polite smile. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Matthew Williams."

"Mr. Williams," Sam greeted as he shook Canada's outstretched hand.

"Just Matthew's fine."

"Sam is fine with me, too."

They lapsed into silence. The humans dispersed and some of the news crews did as well, though at least two teams hung around to continue getting statements from bystanders. Canada watched some nations try to sneak into the building to grab things left behind but kept getting chased back out by work crews and police. It was humorous to watch Japan try to plead and persuade his way in while Estonia inched behind them into the building, only for both to be shuffled out by a harassed looking officer. England looked ready to explode from getting denied access, and Lithuania shuffled forlornly with an empty briefcase. Most nations had already left for elsewhere, either going home, going to see the sights in America, or going to their hotel rooms. It was a weird and frightening day, sure, but they had seen weirder – demon summoning and aliens included.

Canada was just glad that no one had been seriously hurt or killed.

Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "What a mess."

Canada looked back to the damaged building and those shuffling around it. "It could have been worse, eh. It's really not so bad, compared."

"Hm. Guess you're right. I was really talking about the media field-day, though."

"Oh. Right."

"The Avengers should have been on top of this," he continued. "And we really weren't."

He eyed Sam's attire more closely.

"The Falcon," he offered. "Though, I'm not really an Avenger yet. I'm kind of in a trial run."

"No, I've heard of you," Canada tried to recall America's gushing at discovering another person to add to his collection of heroes. "You're a good hero."

Sam twisted his lips. "Well, thank you for saying that."

"I'm not just saying that. You've saved people's lives." He smiled encouragingly. "That's something to be proud of."

Sam inspected him before straightening up. "Usually I'm the one to do the encouraging."

"Oh. Sorry."

Sam huffed a laugh. "You should come to my meetings. I think you'd like them."

"Your meetings?"

"I hold meetings. They're more aimed towards veterans, but everyone's welcome."

"I'm not really a veteran..." Canada trailed off, looking elsewhere.

"Sure, man." He stood. "Anyway, it's just an invite. You don't have to come."

"I'll...think on it?"

Sam nodded to his wound. "How's your head?"

Canada had forgotten about it, and he lifted the tissue away to inspect it. The dot of red had not grown any larger and appeared to be mostly dry.

"Yeah, you'll be fine. Take some aspirin if you get headaches, alright? It'll make you feel better."

Canada blinked, not used to someone try to dote on him and not sure as to the reason. "Uh...okay."

"If you feel dizzy or worse, check yourself in to a hospital maybe."

"I'll be fine," Canada assured him.

Sam shrugged in slight apology. "I'm just used to making sure veterans don't overexert themselves."

"I'm not a veteran, though."

"Sure, man. Hey, I'll see you later; got Falcon-specific work to do."

With that, Sam ran a foot away from him and took off into the sky in a burst of aerodynamic power. Canada stood to watch him jet away with bright red wings. Seeing heroes doing stuff was vastly different from hearing about them doing stuff.

It was when he was walking towards his hotel that he fully realized the future Avenger had sat with him to make sure that he could carry on a conversation without fainting from injuries. Canada thought, as humans and countries bumped into him the whole way to his room, that it was a good thing he was noticed throughout the whole conversation. He could just imagine (if his wound was actually bad) falling to the ground and then getting stepped on by news crews while Sam wandered off. In the hallway, he swiped his key card and entered the room. Kumadora looked up from his spot on the bed.

"Who'r you?"

"I'm Canada," Canada replied automatically. He placed his suit's jacket on the dresser and walked to where the polar bear was, picking up and holding the bear to him before falling back into the bed cover.

The bear wiggled so he could see up at the country's face. "You're hurt."

"Just a little. I'm okay."

Kumanaru let the subject go easily enough and instead pawed at the tissue in his pants pocket. "What's this?"

"A nice man gave it to me. It was for my head."

The bear sniffed at it. "Smells like oil."

"He could fly," Canada said to the ceiling. "With machinery." They listened to the sound of an airplane taking off miles away. "...Want to order seafood?"

"Yes!" The bear rolled to the side and landed on the bed. "Seal!"

"I don't think they have that, but I'll ask, eh?"

Canada reached to pick the hotel phone up, dialing for room service. As he placed their orders, he wrote down Sam Wilson's name on a notepad with an internal promise to look in on one of the man's meetings, if only to thank him for the medical tissue.

End.
(2 bonus chapters next)

Chapter Text

"If I had ever known Winter Soldier was your Bucky Barnes, I would tell you to your face so that I have reason to punch it once you attack me," Russia assured the angry country in front of him.

America switched his glare to the window and the street and cars outside it. "Well...!"

"Да...?"

"...Well, if you were more informed by your own people, none of this would've happened! ...Probably."

Russia giggled. "If I were more informed, I would've retrieved him from Arnim Zola and made him much more deadly."

"Watch it," America warned, still salty over the whole Winter Soldier incident only a few months ago.

"It is only a joke."

"Your humor sucks."

"You just do not know comedy. Let me see. Knock, knock."

"Dude," America scowled, not in the mood.

"I promise. It is a good one. Knock, knock."

America exhaled. "Who's there."

"Gnat."

"...Gnat who?"

"Gnatasha Romanoff and Bucky Barnes were mine first! Haha!"

America tackled him.

The coffee shop near Steve Rodgers's apartment had to stay closed over a week for repairs.

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

Canada observed from the back of the room where he had stood throughout the entire veteran's meeting. It was enlightening – hearing the trials the soldiers and former soldiers endured in civilian life and how they were coping. They offered advice to the other soldiers, and there was a sense of camaraderie between everyone, that they had seen and experienced similar horrors and knew how hard getting to sleep was better than anyone else, even their loved ones. They seemed more content leaving the room.

He watched them begin to file out. Sam Wilson, who had mostly let the others guide the meeting, was speaking to some stragglers. Canada was unnoticed by both Sam and the veterans throughout the meeting, but that was fine and something he was used to. As he began to leave, though, he placed a thank you note he had written before down on Sam's seat. He had written that he had enjoyed the meeting and that he would come to one again someday. Canada stepped out.

A minute later, Sam noticed a folded note on his chair.

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

"Waaah!" Italy suddenly yelled, pointing furiously to the television. "Look at him!"

Japan stared unseeingly, depressed, at the spilt tea on his kimono.

Germany had a hand to his heart. They had all been silent for many minutes, a feat not easily accomplished when Italy was visiting. When Italy yelled, it was like a sonic boom went off near them. "What the hell is your problem!"

"Look! Look at the TV!"

Germany barely resisted the urge to strangle the man and looked at the box. It showed a conference being held in Paris, France. A group of colorfully themed people appeared to be congratulated by France's president for some deed. Oh, yes, Germany thought as he recognized the star-spangled hero in the forefront, that is the Avengers on camera. "What about them? Don't tell me you want your own team of heroes now, too?"

Japan, now back from the brink of deep sadness, drank what was left of the tea in his cup. "I find merit in this idea," he commented as he watched the heroes on TV.

Germany glanced at him. "Are you jumping on the hero wagon?"

Japan smiled serenely. "Perhaps."

Italy flailed his arms. "No, no, guys, you don't understand! That guy in the middle is Bruce!"

"Who is Bruce?" Germany straightened. "Is he that man you gave my phone number to at the hotel incident a few weeks ago?"

"Yeah!" The news ended to be replaced by the television program after it. Italy crossed his arms and scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. "He's a doctor who can make electricity from potatoes. But why was he on TV? Did he cure something?"

Japan glanced at Germany. "That is not what the news said," Japan informed Italy, "and I am not sure he is that kind of doctor."

"He seems to be a part of the Avengers, Italy."

"Whaaat," Italy smiled. "Nah, no way! He's just mister Bruce!" He struck a pose. "Doctor-extraordinaire!"

"No, Italy," Germany insisted, "He really is a part of the Avengers. He would not have been there with them otherwise." Germany took out his cell phone and pulled up a website on his browser. "See?" he held the device up to Italy, who held it closer to his face. "It says he is the Hulk." Whatever that meant.

Italy studied the news clip of the Avengers. He scrolled down to a group picture of them in the aftermath of the alien invasion in America. He yelled again, startling everyone just as badly as the first time.

Germany unclenched his hand from his shirt. "Shut up! Stop yelling in my house!"

Japan's head remained hung. "Please, Italy-san...I cannot take much more..."

Italy's attention was glued to the phone screen. "This is that giant green monster thing that grabbed me and Romano when we fell!" He read more. "And it says it's mister Bruce!"

Germany remained unmoved. "Well, that doesn't surprise me. We just saw him with the team."

"But...he-!" Italy floundered. He paused suddenly. "I need to tell Romano." He zoomed out of the room with Germany's phone.

"Don't lose my phone, or you are paying for it in very unpleasant ways!"

Japan gathered his legs underneath him. "As always, it is lively when Italy is visiting."

"Yes..."

From a backroom, they could hear the brothers screeching.

"What the hell! He could turn in to that? That goblin monster gives me nightmares once a week!"

"I know! It's all so cool!"

"No, dumbass, it's not 'cool'!"

"He saved us 'cause we're his friends! Ve~! We should go visit him!"

"Hell no, not on your life! Go see your BFF if you want, but you're going alone! I am not getting near the Devil's green cousin again!"

Germany stood and followed Japan in to his kitchen as the brothers argued until Germany's phone battery finally drained.

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

Belarus tailed the scarlet haired wench through the icy streets of Saint Petersberg, Russia. She had almost not noticed the woman at all, but the face, seen out of the corner of her eye, struck a cord in her. She had seen the way her brother Russia looked at those leaked photos of the girl in her younger years and then photos of her standing alongside her hero team. It was sickening, the way he doted on her like a love-struck schoolboy and the way she was oblivious to it all. Romanoff did not deserve the attention Russia gave to her.

She wore a designer coat and boots and scarf that were picked out for this outing and likely never to be worn again. The face was changed ever so slightly. Her nose was a tiny bit larger, her face a little longer, her eyebrows a little fuller. Her body type was bigger than usual, too. The woman was obviously on a mission. Her fake blonde hair swished beautifully in the sunlight, looking just as real as any other woman's. Belarus wanted to rip it off her fake head. Everything about her was fake.

The woman disappeared from view, reappearing on the other side of the street and disappearing down another. Belarus followed a couple yards behind, reflecting and stewing over Natasha Romanoff's existence. She should have been dead anyway. This woman had been alive for too many years than was normal. Her face should be ancient, showing her actual age with wrinkles and crows feet all over. The audacity. Her brother Russia would not think she was so great if the one he liked so much was ugly and dying like everyone else around her was.

Belarus shifted her chin deeper into her overcoat, glowering upwards through her bangs. She quietly turned down a street the woman had taken a minute before, and reached the next after that. Coming up on a quiet residential area, she turned to follow down another street. A shock of blonde hair met her eyes first as the Black Widow in disguise stood her ground, waiting for Belarus to meet her fully. The women faced mere feet from each other.

"Can I help you, miss?" the other asked in Russian, exhaled air escaping as she spoke. Her voice was pitched for innocent politeness.

Belarus glared at her. "I don't like you."

The fake tilted her head to appear confused. "I don't think we've ever met before. If I've done something to offend you, I'm sorry."

"Why my brother seems to like you, I'll never understand," Belarus commented over the woman's sentence. "You are nothing but a fake." Her angry eyes followed her words. "Fake hair. Fake chin. Fake nose. Fake body. Even a fake name. You're the least truthful person I've ever met, and there's no reason he should like you."

Romanoff shifted, eyebrow raised to show amusement. "Who is this brother you like so much?"

Belarus would not fall for the so-called friendly attitude. "Like I would ever tell you. Harlot."

The fake sighed. "Listen, I think you've got the wrong woman. Most likely, I have never even met your brother. Perhaps you can talk this problem out with him and this girl he likes." She turned. "But I must be going, or I will be late to meet my friends for dinner. Have a good day, miss." The woman nodded to her and began walking away.

No, she was not having that. She was not going to be blown off by such a person. As if she, Belarus, were the lesser person, the weaker person. She expertly flicked her wrist, and, a second later, Natasha Romanoff caught the dagger aimed for her skull out of the air. Now the woman who faced her had left the pleasantries behind to be replaced by something much more colder than their surroundings.

Belarus took another dagger out of her overcoat and crouched into a fighting stance.

"I want to see what makes you so special."

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

"Liechtenstein, who are you talking to?"

Said country jumped in surprise, clutching the hallway phone and its cord as she did so. "No one in particular, big brother."

"Hm," he stared at her. Shrugging, he continued down the hall past her. "So long as it's not someone we don't like."

"But, big brother, you don't like anyone."

"That's besides the point."

"Okay, Vash. I won't talk to anyone we don't like." She waited till he had turned the corner. "Are you still there?" she asked into the phone.

"Indeed, Lady Lily; I have not left the device."

"Sorry, mister Thor. My big brother is very protective of me," she reminded him, speaking affectionately of Switzerland.

"I remember!" he laughed in good humor. "Your brother is quite formidable. I have no doubt he would excel in a true battle of strength."

"I hope he does not get in to any battles," Liechtenstein worried.

"Aye, peace is something to be cherished."

She nodded, even if he could not see it. "Me and Vash try to keep our home very peaceful. It's beautiful and quiet here. You should come visit sometime."

Thor grew quiet. "I am not sure I would be able to, in all honesty."

Liechtenstein's enthusiasm wilted.

Thor continued. "My duties in Asgard and as an Avenger keep me busy. And I am not sure I would be well received by your brother."

"Yes," she agreed sadly. "I'm sorry. It was selfish of me to ask you that."

"Nay, it was most kind of you! I am glad you gave to me your contact number so that we may continue correspondence. You are someone I am happy to consider my friend."

Liechtenstein blushed hard at the praise. "Oh."

"Lady Lily? Is something wrong?"

"Uh," she squeaked. All she could think about was her probably scarlet cheeks. It did not help when Switzerland walked back around the corner.

He first froze at her appearance, then stalked forward. "Hang up right now. No, wait," he stopped before her, "let me talk to him."

Liechtenstein argued, "But, big brother, he's not someone bad-"

He held the phone up. "What have you been saying to Liechtenstein, dead man."

There was a surprised pause on the other end. "If you are referring to the Lady Lily, I meant her no harm. I merely said that I valued our friendship. And I am not deceased."

Switzerland gave a perplexed frown and held the phone slowly away from him. He turned to his sibling. "This isn't France. Who is this person?"

She shuffled, guilty. "It's mister Thor."

"Who?"

"The, erm, man who escorted me up the stairs. In the building back then?" she ended in a question.

Switzerland's face closed. "Oh, him."

"We're just friends, big brother. Good friends. He's very nice to me."

"All guys will be nice to you, Liechtenstein. That doesn't mean they don't want something from you."

"Friendship?"

"Something worse than friendship."

"Like what?"

"Uh," Switzerland looked away. "That doesn't matter right now."

"He's still waiting," she reminded him, glancing longingly at the phone.

Her brother looked from it to her. "If he says any unfriendly things to you, no force on Earth will save him. Will you tell him that?"

"If I have to," she sighed, amused and a little touched at his protection.

"Then...here," he grudgingly relented, and he held the phone out to her.

"Thank you," she said as she took back the phone.

"You're an adult." He shrugged off the thanks and walked off.

She held the phone back to her ear. "Mister Thor?"

"I am here. And I do not think our correspondence has endeared me to your family."

"Truthfully, mister Thor? Nothing will ever endear a man, even one who is my friend, to him."

"I suppose it would have been better were I born female," he laughed.

She laughed, too. "And then your hair would be even more beautiful."

Thor thought on that. "My hair? Is it truly a sight?"

"Oh, very much. I was jealous when I first saw it."

Around the corner, Switzerland listened, bewildered, as the conversation derailed into beauty products and appearance care. He guessed he didn't have to worry too much.

Chapter Text

Hungary observed with a baleful expression the sky above. The day had started out like any other. She had felt a weird echo across the ground near Aggtelek National Park, and she had walked to the source of it. Lo and behold, the hero team 'the Avengers' were fighting against someone with glow-y powers who could fly. Now they all seemed to be fighting in the air, causing a big racket above her land, downing her precious trees, making huge holes in her smooth plains, and freaking out nearby tourists and citizens and wildlife alike. Really, though, did they have to fight there? She crossed her arms over her usual dress as she watched them, irritated that they had flown into her territory on some jet or something instead of going through official means. She huffed, getting herself more riled up.

A sound not unlike engines abruptly came closer to her. Her head snapped to the sound only to see a robot in gold and red hovering toward her. She eyed him, unsure if this was an Avenger or one of their opponents. It was focused on her and edged closer.

"Ma'am, as your friendly neighborhood Ironman, I'm gonna need you to vacate the premises." Hungary did not move. "That means leave. Evacuate. Run. You know, stuff sane people do."

Hungary shot him a displeased look. "This is my home. I will stay where I want." She wanted to see them finish what they started and then leave. To make her point, she firmly planted a foot forward and placed her hands on her hips.

"Ironman," a voice called from elsewhere, "what's the holdup?"

The Avenger turned toward the voice but did not raise his own, obviously speaking into some kind of comm system. "That civilian JARVIS detected refuses to move."

"That's right, I do."

The robot turned back to her. "You know I could fly you by force to safety."

"You better not," she shot back.

"Ironman," the same voice – who probably lost his own comm or something since he was yelling – from before called, "get that civilian to safety, now!"

The robot shrugged at her. "Captain's orders, miss. Sorry about this but not too sorry since I'm kind of saving your life." He used his thrusters to fly toward her and scooped her off the ground before she could dodge. "Now, that wasn't so bad, huh- Ah, hey! Quit it!"

She continued to beat at his head with her fists since she lacked her frying pan at that moment. "You quit it!"

"You quit it! I'm saving your sorry butt. Normal people would be grateful!"

"I did not ask you to save me – I wanted to stay put, remember! You all are tearing up my home!"

"Sorry, but that's the price to pay for saving the world sometimes. Be grateful we're keeping this lunatic away from the people."

"We can handle ourselves! Put me down!"

"I'll put you down once we reach town," he assured her firmly.

Calming, she seethed in his arms. "Your armor is ugly."

"Hey, now, let's be adults about this." The wind filled the silence between them. Then to be a child about it despite his words, "You're awfully manly-acting for someone who wears a dress."

She resumed her attack with a vengeance, trying to aim hits at his robot crotch for good measure.

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

China watched the public from inside one of his stores with high hopes. The Avengers had been gaining more and more popularity lately. Whether it was good popularity or the bad kind did not matter. He had products tailoring to each fan and non-fan of the Avengers. In theory, he would make a good fortune on this business venue alone. In practice, he would have to wait and see. If all went well, he could start exporting Avenger products to other countries besides the Americas.

Three customers entered to look around the store. The store had different products all around, but most of it themed towards the heroes. China watched them closely, excitement and nervousness barely contained as they browsed around the newly-opened store. One customer left without buying anything, and China tried not to feel disheartened about this one person out of the many people walking around today. There would be more customers. The other two made a separate full treck around the store. While one – a Chinese native – gazed at a necklace selection, the other customer – a tourist by his looks despite the sunglasses he wore – walked up to the counter, which China quickly sidestepped behind with a happy smile. The customer held up a keychain.

"I'd like to purchase this, please," he requested in perfect Chinese. He placed the keychain on the counter. China took a moment to glance at what struck his attention. The keychain was one featuring an individual member of the Avengers in small, chibi form.

"Ah, yes," China replied back. "Black Widow seems to be very popular for a member not seen as much as the others." He quickly rung up the keychain, and the man paid for it.

"Very popular," he agreed with a smirk, "I'm sure she will like this."

"Oh! A present for someone?" China conversed as he bagged the item.

"No, it is for me," the man told him. "But my friend feels very connected to the Black Widow."

China nodded, happy that he was able to make a sale on the first day open, no matter how little it was. "I hope you and your friend enjoy the gift, and that you are able to come again soon!" China bowed goodbye, and the man returned it.

"Thank you very much," the blonde man said as he left.

As the day progressed, more and more customers wandered in, and China soon had his hands very busy ringing up Avenger themed products.

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

The building somewhere behind Sealand abruptly exploded in a ball of flame on one of the upper floors. Startled, he and everyone turned to watch the flames roar and debris rain down to the sidewalk below. Then someone screamed. And everyone on street level started running in all directions for their lives, trying to get somewhere safe from attacks. Sealand quickly dropped his icecream. Missiles echoed somewhere in the sky, only to be silenced by exploding prematurely before they could hit other buildings.

Sealand whipped around quickly. Where was Finland? Where was his Papa Sweden? He was just beside them! His heart sped up when he realized he was alone in a sea of panicking humans. What direction should he run to? What was the smart thing to do? Someone stepped on his ankle almost as someone else bumped forcefully into him from the opposite direction. He backed up to one of the buildings to get out of peoples' way. When someone is lost, they should just stay in one place, right? He looked to the sky warily. He thought he saw a flash of a red cape in the air, but could not be sure with all the chaos around him.

By now, the sounds of missiles had ceased, and the street was spare of more humans than it had been. Sealand searched again for his guardians in the less crowded area. He saw them at the exact moment they saw him. He smiled, relieved beyond belief, a sentiment reflected in their faces. He stepped away from the building, aiming to greet them halfway. A rumble shook his feet, and he looked down by reflex.

"Sealand!"

He looked up at the scream to see them now sprinting to him – Sweden in front, being the fastest – gazes between him and above. Foreboding filling his veins, he looked up and saw a billboard falling toward him faster than he could run. With no time to move or think, he watched in slow motion as the weighted sign fell to meet him. Because things were slowed down for him, Sealand had a chance to see a shadow not belonging to any billboard fall over him, the whipping sound of a cape smacking his ear, and a familiar pair of arms wrapping around him, crushing him to their chest. Then time became normal again and Sweden was hunching over him protectively as a man in regal armor used a hammer to knock the billboard away just as quickly. It slammed into an emptied business across the street. Sealand watched it where it lay, unable to take in all the information in such a short time.

He blinked, and Finland was in front of him, hands on his shoulders. "-ou okay, Sealand? Are you hurt? Talk to us."

Sealand nodded wordlessly.

"What? What does that mean? You are hurt?"

Sealand shook his head.

"Tell me in your words."

"Uh...I'm fine," he answered from far away, shock still in his system.

But the answer made Finland relax and Sweden loosened his arms around him a bit. A shift of clothes had them looking behind them. The man with the hammer and red cape was studying them.

"I apologize for becoming distracted and for not noticing the danger before, but it is fortuitous no one was harmed." He smiled. "A courageous family such as yours will grow strong. But now I must see to it that my Lady Jane is safe, as well. Fare thee well!" He began to spin his hammer until it was a blur just as Finland gasped.

"Thor-?"

The man was gone in a second, flying through the air and out of sight. They scanned the skies for him but to no avail.

Finland clenched his fists and moaned in disappointment. "Thor! That was Thor! Nooo..." His head sunk. "We could have talked to him!"

Sweden grunted. He stood, taking Sealand with him. Sealand looked about as his adoptive father placed him back on his feet. The street was a mess, but there was no one injured. Sweden patted his head and suggested they go somewhere a little less chaotic. Finland agreed, still upset at a missed chance with the Norse god, but he placed a hand on Sealand's other shoulder and kept it there, and Sealand felt better surrounded by his protectors again.

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

"I appreciate the offer," Nick Fury said, sounding annoyed that he his supposedly non-existent phone had been tracked down, "but I'm retired, if you haven't heard."

England quirked an eyebrow from his seat in his house. "No, I know what the official story is." He watched through the window as butterflies and fairies fluttered in the garden. "Everyone in the lower-levels believes you to be dead."

"That was the intended belief."

"Well," England said into his house phone, "Her Majesty does not enjoy dealing with loose ends."

"I'm a loose end, am I."

"You are if you insist on this," he paused, searching for a word as he made a circle motion with his hand, "nomadic isolation. You won't even consider the offer? The world, not just the UK, could use your help."

The former SHIELD director said, "The Avengers and the world are doing just fine without me."

England huffed, not wanting to give up trying to recruit one of the most resourceful men on the planet. "Honestly, most people would not object so insistently to being offered a job, much less a career."

"I'm not most people." England could practically see the man's smirk. "How are your affairs, mister Kirkland?"

England refused to be drawn in to niceties, but answered him anyway. "I am fine, thank you for asking."

"And mister Jones?"

"Are you asking about the man or the country?"

"However you please."

The man was infuriating to hold a conversation with, especially considering Nick Fury took the explanation of personified countries with a grain of salt and tended to view all of them more as delusional immortals. "Alfred is the same hyperactive prat he always is, and the United States as a whole is normal enough, only with a bit more criminals popping up now that heroes are getting more popular." He paused. "You know, you could see this all for yourself," he tried a persuading tone. "All we need is your location, and a plane can retrieve you today. You can be back home or wherever you wish by tomorrow at the latest."

A humored snort. "Nice try, but I'm wherever I want to be already. I don't need a bunch of agents, Avengers, and personifications coming by at all hours to bother me about jobs. I'm retired."

England huffed. "You're making me a failure, Director Fury."

"Not a director anymore. Give Her Majesty my regards, and my thanks for the job offers. But I don't want them or need them."

"Fine. Fine. I'll inform her of your stodgy decision to remain off-grid and aloof."

"Goodbye, mister Kirkland."

England grumbled but said pleasantly, "Goodbye, Dir- mister Fury." He hung up his phone and groaned, grabbing up his warm tea to regain the good mood he awoke in. He had hardly ever spoken with the spy organization's director – that was the job of paid agents – but he had done it a few times enough to know that the man could not be moved on a subject no matter what was offered in return. England knew he was set up to fail when his boss wanted him to get in contact with the man with the persuasion to come back into society, if not specifically the UK's society (after all, Nick Fury's resume was impressive, and he would be an asset to have in their own spy networks). It was still annoying to fail in his mission. It had not been easy to find that blasted phone frequency to that bloody untraceable phone, which was most likely already destroyed by its paranoid owner.

He leaned back in his chair, sipping contentedly at his brew. At the very least, he could be grateful that someone like Nick Fury was unlikely to go terrorist after so many years combating them. That and, because the man was not a terrorist, he was not going to be outing the secret of country personifications he had learned all those years ago, no matter how little he believed them. England was unsure if the Avengers or other SHIELD agents knew of him and the other countries, but he doubted it. The amount of observation he and the others received versus the amount he knew they would receive if others aside from the SHIELD director knew about them did not tally up. It was better that way, in any case.

He had procrastinated long enough. He placed his empty cup down and dialed the familiar number. He followed through the necessary channels to give his ruler the answer neither of them wanted from Nick Fury but had expected anyway.

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

"No, no, no," Poland said as he took the shirt and its hanger from the hands of the woman. "That will totally not go with your complexion; you need bright colors. Bright ones." He threw the shirt carelessly behind him instead of placing it back on the clothes rack. It would take too much time.

Originally, he had walked into a previous store to go shopping for himself – which he still planned to do – but had gotten sidetracked when he saw what horrible, clashing clothes the red-headed woman near him was buying. He could not let that go, but he also could not bring himself to talk to her yet, so he wound up scurrying after her and following her into stores across the shopping mall. Finally, from behind a shelf of clothes in the last shop of the mall, he had spoken up – squeaked – that she shouldn't buy the shirt she was holding. She had suggested he find her something better if he was really so knowledgeable. Being the thoughtful person he was, he decided to help her, and he threw all the clothes she had picked out on the floor. It was time to start anew.

The woman, Natasha Romanoff, as she had introduced herself, leaned on the shopping cart. "I could just get an employee who actually works here to help me," she said in excellent Polish.

Poland scoffed as he inspected and discarded clothes that would match her or not. "The employees here cannot match my sense of style. You are better off with me." The employee working on the clothes rack near them let out an offended huff and walked away. Poland paid them no mind, seeing as how he had just found a bright green ruffled-collar shirt that would go with her hair and skin. He tossed it over his shoulder at her head. "That will work." He searched more. "Oh! And this one, too!" He tossed a purple one over to her. "We should get you a blue one."

"Thank you, but these seem perfectly fine."

"You only picked out two-"

"You only picked out two. I had picked out six."

"-and you need much more for what can be called a good shopping trip!" He spoke over her, used to countries trying to interrupt him while he was talking. Lithuania had mostly learned to stop that habit by now. ...Darn. Poland should have brought him along. Forget that the man had paperwork. "Here you go," he said as he handed her a perfect blue shirt of a different design along with a black.

She raised an eyebrow at him and slowly took the clothes from him, placing them in the cart. "Not going to throw them at me?"

"Huh?" He looked at her with confusion.

"Never mind, you're in the zone."

Poland smiled. "Someone gets it! My friend just, like, does not understand that sometimes fashion is important."

"Woe is you," she said with a side smile.

"Woe is me," he repeated.

"When will the fashionista release me from his clutches?"

"When you have a proper wardrobe. I've been following you all day and your style is horrible!" He picked up a pair of booty shorts and placed them in a different area of the shopping cart. "These are for me," he stated imperiously as he pointed at them, in answer to her unimpressed look.

Natasha remained leaning where she was, watching him work. "What about my style is so horrible?"

"Well, for one," he began vehemently, "you bought, like, ninety percent dark colors. And most of those were totally black! You need some variety."

"Maybe I needed to get dark clothes."

"You have enough," he informed her firmly, tossing in an orange and red – the same shade of her hair – shirt. He held up a pink and white-striped shirt up to her, looking between them. He held the shirt to his chest. "This is mine," he told her, taking the shirt for himself instead.

She shrugged. "I don't care for pink, anyway."

"Good!" Poland flung it into the cart. "Hey, what are you doing after this?"

"I don't know. My flight doesn't leave until toni-"

"Great! I'll invite my friend and we'll all go to the best dining place ever! They serve until midnight."

"And if I have plans?" she asked with a slight frown.

"Cancel them," he said simply. "You can go change and wear one of your new outfits to dinner. Not those dark ones; the ones I picked out."

Her silence made him turn to look at her. Natasha's narrowed eyes seemed to see through him in an unpleasant way, and he wandered briefly if maybe he offended someone he shouldn't have by saying too much like Liet always warned about. But then she smiled, all friendliness present.

"I'll wear my new clothes if you wear yours," she said with a nod at his shirt and shorts.

He tilted his head. "Short-shorts aren't really a dinner kind of thing...but deal!" They shook hands on the agreement, and he allowed her to go pay for the clothes. She even bought his own.

"It's thanks for the dinner I'm assuming you're paying for. Aren't you treating me?" she asked teasingly.

Poland frowned at her, thinking. "Maybe we'll get my friend to treat us instead. It's what I usually do. He likes it."

"Then it sounds like a plan."

From behind his work desk, Lithuania had the sudden urge to check how much money his wallet had left in it.

._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._.

Tony the Alien had never cared for any alien races other than his own. And, even then, he didn't much bother with his own people. Which was why the Asgardian hanging around rubbed him the wrong way. Looking at the news cast of another Earth dignitary shaking hands with Thor and his team, he sipped at his hot chocolate.

"Fucking bitch," he said.

America, wrapped in a blanket, laughed beside him. "Yeah, Thor's pretty cool."

Finished.