Jesus Christ. Alright, I'm sooooooo sorry this took as long as it did. It was pretty much the hardest thing I have ever had to write, and it is twice as long as a regular chapter. 20 PAGES. 20 PAGES OF SHIT.

I'm quite sure this will be the longest chapter I have ever written for anything ever haha.

Again, I'm sorry, but this is the end! Oh, the end. Thanks to all the people who corrected me on my Spanish, as I do not know any whatsoever, and get my words from a forum haha. If you find any specific errors, I will definately fix them on the spot.

Thank you all for reading this, and supporting me along the way with your cheerful comments and reviews!

---

"Uno, due, tre!"

"Quattro, cinque, sei!"

"Sette, otto, nove!"

Germany watched from the backyard porch as his lover danced from behind a tree. Apparently, they were playing some odd variation of marco polo. But if it got his child to learn, he didn't really mind the circumstances. His cobalt eyes trained themselves to the brunette squealing in loud basic Italian as he flailed about the garden, a little blonde creature following with her arms stretched forward and her big eyes shut tight.

"Mama, mama! What comes after ventinove?"

The Italian man hummed out a noisy but contemplative noise. "I don't remember! Germany! Hey Germany! What comes after ventinove?"

Germany would have liked to remind Italy that Italian was his own language, but his daughter waited for his answer with her mouth wide in a smile only angels could bear. She got that from her mama.

"Dreißig."

"Dreißig!" she repeated, "Dreißig, dreißig!"

The Italian whined again. "German! But I don't know German~!"

"Don't lie to her," Germany snapped quietly, removing his jacket and placed it neatly over the back of a nearby chair. The summer air stuck in Germany's lungs when he breathed, and the scent of warmed pine trees soothed his blood.

"Papa! Are you going to play too? You never play with us!"

The guilt a toddler could cause inside the cold heart of a former Nazi general was astounding, yet effective. It wasn't as if Germany didn't want to play with his daughter, but he'd always left that job to Italy, who was much more skilled in the art of being silly than he was. If anything, he'd admit (and only to this little girl of his) that he was afraid of being too serious in times of enjoyment.

"I'll...Try it out," he answered, his boots heavy in the soft green grass. Italy smiled at him in the same fashion his baby girl did, and his heart melted.

"Germany! Do you want to play hide and seek?"

Germany hadn't played hide and seek since...Well he had never played hide and seek. Prussia might have been an "awesome" big brother and father figure, but hell if he could take things seriously. The few times he had tried to get Germany to play outside with him, he'd forgotten all about the game at hand to cuddle and coo over his little brother. And if that weren't a great enough reason, Germany had always favored reading history books beneath his fluffy comforter with a plate of bratwurst at his side over going outside. That fact attributed to his paleness as a child.

But at least Germany knew the rules of the game. He knew the rules to everything.

"...Hide and seek is fine with me," he answered. He hoped he was childish enough to play. Maybe if he imagined it as a life-or-death situation, he could...No, he didn't want to ruin his daughter's playtime. He'd leave it as it was.

"Yey! Okay, I'll count to dieci!"

The little girl with the golden tresses dashed toward a tree and pressed her face against the trunk as if she were kissing it. Soon, she was counting off in muffled Italian, and a small hand seized Germany's. He whipped his head to lock eyes with his Italian lover, with eyes closed in mirth and a finger to his soft pink lips in a playful shush. He tugged Germany along with him, finding a bush closest to the leftmost gate corner. He sat down behind it and slowly pulled the German in with him.

It was a cramped space indeed, but Italy opened his legs wide to accommodate the general coming into them. The brunette leaned against the old splintering boards of the fence, smiling up at Germany through the dense green of the bush and the shadows it cast in the high sun. "This is my favorite hiding place~!"

"Dieci!"

Italy puffed up his cheeks and zipped his mouth shut, leaning back into the soggy grass and dead wood. Germany lay flat in between his legs to keep his head out of sight, but the position had a prickly twig from the shrubbery stabbing him in the thigh. Grunting softly into Italy's ear, he shifted away from it: a knee rubbing into Italy's groin.

"S-sorry, It was uncomfortable."

The Italian didn't say anything: his legs shifted up and around Germany's proud knee, shifting back against it a bit too hungrily. Germany gulped, feeling his dick stir at the sight of his lover's face, dark and red with need. "T-This is the worst timing, Italy..."

"Veee~" he moaned as his captain's knee shifted against him again, stirring the twitching heat between his legs.

"Mama, I can hear you!"

Germany would have stood straight up from his crouched position and marched out of that blasted garden, had it been anyone but his baby girl. He closed his eyes tight and willed his erection down, willed the situation to turn for the best.

"Oiiii~!"

Oh god, was the first phrase to pop into Germany's throbbing head, Not Prussia too.

"Uncle Gilbert!"

"What are you doing, prinzessin?" was called out loudly from the porch. "Where's my bruder?"

"He's hiding in the bushes with mama!"

"Have mercy," Germany whispered to the Almighty God, though he knew his history didn't put him in much favor with Him. Italy laughed.

"Well now! Obviously they're playing their very own game now~!"

Germany could imagine the sweetly confused look on his little angel's face. "Mercy, mercy."

"How about we go play some Grand Theft Auto, prinzessin?"

The child squealed in agreement just as Germany shot his head out of the bush and turned to glare at Prussia with every angry fiber in his body. Needless to say, Germany had a lot of angry fibers.

"Don't you dare let her play that, aniki!"

Prussia grinned.

"Well while you're having your playtime with Italy-chan, I'll be having a much more appropriate playtime with the prinzessin!"

"How in God's name is that more appropriate?"

"Well since she's my prinzessin, I'm not going to subject her to fuc-"

"Don't you say another word!" the German barked, his erection instantly lost at the very gruesome and horrifying thought. Could Prussia be any more socially retarded? Italy whined in disappointment.

"I wanted playtime!"

Prussia laughed out loud and bent down to slide big strong hands under his niece's little arms, hefting her into the air with a playful roar. "Prinzessin! You're up so high! Fliegen!"

Germany slowly stood from the bush, taking his lover by the hand and helping him up as well, patting the dirt off his clothes as he giggled. He watched his brother swing his daughter about with as much care as the act could grant, bellowing out German words that were quickly and perfectly echoed by the cherub, her voice singing out in Germany's very own language. He remembered times when he had been in the place of that little girl, just a tiny creature in the powerful yet gentle arms of his big brother. He felt pride and nostalgia swell in his chest.

"She speaks German better than Italian."

He snapped his gaze back to his short Italian lover hovering by his side, watching the two by the porch with eyes that Germany could not place. "I wouldn't say that. She's learning them both at the same pace."

Italy didn't say anything, and kept watching.

Germany took note.

---

"Look at these tiny mano!"

The boy said nothing, but let his father take him by the hands and twist them up and down in the air. He didn't seem to care, but his father burst with love and adoration. "Ay, they'll be grande, one day! Eat your tomatoes and you'll grow up strong like papa!"

Spain hoisted the silent child up and bounced him on his hip, carrying him into the kitchen. Lovino was leaning over the stove cooking, his hair back in a bandanna and a ladle in hand. "Don't listen to him, Bene," he muttered, tending to his recipes without sparing them a glance, "He's a pussy."

"Mi dios! Querido, don't say such bad things to mi hijo!"

"He deserves to know the truth," he said, glaring at Spain over his shoulder after a moment, "Be it with kind words or not."

The child didn't throw in his opinion. He stared at his mother with arms outstretched.

"Abbra," it called quietly, "abbra."

"Abbraccio," his mother corrected, setting down his spoon and twisting the burner switch with a click. He wiped his floury hands on his apron and took but two steps to take his baby into his arms. Spain smiled down at his wife and child.

"See? He never speaks Spanish! And you thought he wouldn't like you."

Romano jutted out his lower lip at the taller country, bouncing his son in his arms. He turned away from his guardian and proceeded to softly coo at the child, whispering the language of love and pressing his cheek to the little head of chocolate hair. Spain watched with a heart full of passion as his lover whisked his son about the warm pueblo kitchen on trained toes, his caramel curl bouncing with every murmur of a step. Russet eyes were hidden behind pale eyelids, but wiry eyelashes tickled the little head pressed to them, as soft peachy lips stirred forth foreign words that were never so foreign before, because they were not his words, words for him; they were for Benedetto.

"I'm jealous," the Spaniard admitted quietly; smile twisting higher onto his cheeks. "I am but a padre."

"Good," the Italian bit out, amidst his serenade. Benedetto had been nearly put to sleep, his eyes half-cast, and his face as dreamy as always. "Stay that way."

"Oh, cariño."

Spain stepped toward Lovino and was soon looming over him, hand out for him to take. The Italian looked down at it warily before looking back into emerald eyes. "Don't give me that look, tonto. Just enjoy my attention, for once."

Romano huffed and shifted his arms to where Benedetto remained quietly drifting off against his shoulder, hesitantly taking the hand offered. Spain laughed and kissed the hand, cool emerald eyes peering over the knuckles to his bride's blushing face.

"Mama."

Little chocolate eyes were suddenly very awake and staring intently at his mother's neck. Benedetto softly called out for his mama once more, even though he was holding him so tight and warm.

"What is it, piccino?"

He reached for his mother's hand in his father's, and clenched and unclenched his own little hands in want. Lovino silently took it back from Spain and placed it gently in the tiny palms of his son's.

Little peachy lips kissed right over Spain's kiss, making the hearts of his parents swell and burst with love. Spain was nearly brought to tears.

"Hijo! Oh, hijo-"

"-So mine covers it up."

There was a moment of silence, a moment that could have gone on forever, had it not been for the fit of mirth Lovino expelled from his lungs, face red and tears in his eyes as he kept laughing and laughing. Spain's face remained the same for quite some time.

"Goddamn it," Lovino sighed in amusement, wiping his eyes with his worshipped hand. "This kid is just plain rude!"

And a million thoughts raced through Spain's head as if they were the stocks on Wall Street. His hijo is so very nonchalant. He wondered where he could have gotten it from. And soon, he realized that maybe he had been right, those many years ago, when he had kept reassuring his very pregnant lover that that baby would love him more than he ever could, and he could never compare. While that might have been true, not only was he more loved, but also a mere baby was replacing him? Those many years ago, when he had reassured his Lovino that the baby only kicked Spain because he didn't like him, he had definitely been right.

"Hijo...Papa's kiss is still there," he informed the boy slowly, almost as if he were saying it just to calm himself down. The boy blinked indifferently.

"No it isn't. I covered it up, so yours isn't there anymore. Mama likes mine better anyway."

Spain could feel his heart break, and Lovino's muted chuckling didn't help him forget it. Spain knew he was being childish, when he pouted uncharacteristically, turned daring eyes to his little lover and asked, "Is that true? Do you like his kiss better?"

Lovino choked on his last laugh, his rare smile still in place. He felt the gaze of both his lover and his child peering at him desperately for the answer, as if their very lives depended on his favor. He could see the frustration in Spain's eyes, and had it been any other situation, he would have loved to put him down as usual. But he could feel the intensity of it, feel that if he were to say the wrong thing, Spain would turn heel and walk away from him. For good, he doubted, but it was still the very thought that made Romano's stomach churn. He'd fought so hard, at least in his mind, to keep Spain. And if one little childish feud with his own son was going to tear that down, he just couldn't.

But then there were the sweet innocent eyes of his Bene, his bebe! How he had been so afraid, when he had held his precious baby in his arms for the first time, that this little thing that had come from his body, from his love, wouldn't love him back. He had prayed from dawn 'til dusk, in his painfully quiet days at the hospital, that he would have someone who loved him as deeply as a child loves a mother. And when those wide eyes turned to him for the first time, when those chubby little fingers twitched toward him for the warmth of a mother's never-ending love, he cried. He cried for days. And despite the stitches in his belly and the drugs in his blood, he had curled up with that tiny creature and loved upon him. His smile and his joyful tears would not end for several more days.

So what was he to say, to those two important people in his life? There was no right answer, and it wasn't as if he actually had a preference: it was just a kiss. But one stupid answer could break the heart of his husband, or dash the dreams of his child.

"Well," he started, lifting his kissed hand and examining it with soft brown eyes, "Benedetto's kiss is very nice."

Without looking up at Spain, he could feel the grief radiating off him in tidal waves. The silence was deafening, and after a moment, Romano could hear the shifting of his feet, as he got ready to leave. "...But papa can kiss this hand."

He moved Benedetto to his other arm and offered Spain the hand that was void of kisses. The Spaniard bit his lip, and Lovino smiled gently as he saw his bright green eyes become moist. But he took that hand and brought it to his tanned lips, kissing and kissing. He placed them down each finger, along the thumb, across the palm, along the knuckles, the wrist. Lovino heard Benedetto mutter a tiny "gross", and felt Spain's long warm fingers push back his sleeves, watched him travel his kisses up his wrist, along his vein, up to his elbow, higher and higher.

There was only so much good Lovino could do in one day.

"Alright, alright, you perverted freak, that's enough! Goddamn!" he yanked his arm back, red dusting his cheeks as he looked aside.

Spain smiled, and was completely satisfied.

---

"Why must I wear my hair down?"

"...Your mother likes it that way."

Alize doubted that was the entire reason, but didn't question her papa. She'd simply question her mother instead. Her little shoeless feet padded down the halls, searching with big blue eyes. She didn't like the way her hair got in the way when she played football with papa, or how it got all over her paper when she drew.

"Mama," she asked, when she found a lump in her parent's bed, a long brown curl twitching with every hushed breathe, "mama, wake up."

The Italian shifted under the comforter until he slowly uncovered his head and looked to his daughter with tired eyes. "...Hnnn...What is it, Alize~?"

"Mama, can I wear my hair back? I want to paint."

Italy said nothing for a long time. But he eventually smiled and said, "I want to see you with pink and blue hair."

"Papa won't like that," she pouted, "so please give me a band."

"I have none~."

"Then a string."

"I have none~."

"Mama!" she cried, getting frustrated. Her face reminded Italy of how Germany would get angry, the way his cheeks turned pink and his eyebrows furrowed. He let out a quiet "Veee~"

"I'm going to go find one myself then!"

Before Italy could tell her no, she had dashed off. Panic set into Italy like it never had before, thinking to himself just what would happen if he saw her daughter in that state, how she would get used to it, how he'd be reminded every day. He threw the covers aside and clumsily jumped into a pair of pants he had discarded previously, running right after her.

"Alize! Alize, where are you?" he called, darting right past a rather confused Germany, "Where are you?"

He noticed down the hallway that the door to his daughter's room was wide open. He took off at a short sprint and grasped tightly to the doorframe. "Alize!"

She had taken a red ribbon from the bow around one of her porcelain doll's dresses and brought all her hair to rest at the back of her little head, tying an uneven knot tightly to hold it in place. She began to turn back to her mother defiantly, and Italy could feel his heart tighten. Don't look, don't look, he demanded of himself, don't remember.

But he looked, and he remembered. He looked right into those bright blue eyes, and could nearly see the North Sea off the coast of Nordendi, as he'd done centuries ago. He could smell the salt, feel the cold water at his ankles and the rocky mud between his toes, and remember the day he went to the beach. They had held hands, and swam even though it was too cold and they knew they'd be sick the next day, and kissed when the sun fell over the rocks.

I'll be waiting!

And he could remember primp blonde hair hidden under a tall black bicorn, and chubby childish cheeks that were always pink when he saw them.

"Italy, what's wrong?" Germany had followed him to their daughter, and looked them over. He frowned, knowing exactly what was wrong: His daughter looked just like her ancestor.

But Italy couldn't tell him what was wrong. He just couldn't. Not when he started crying, not when he dropped to his knees and sobbed into the heels of his palms.

He had broken a promise.

"Mama! Mama, I'm sorry! Don't cry! See, look! I took it out! See? My hair's down! Mama! Mama, I'll never do it again, please stop crying!" his daughter cried desperately, her own face wet with tears as she clambered onto her mother's lap. Germany refrained from sighing aloud; knowing Italy would think he was frustrated with him. He understood, but how could he persuade the Italian? It wasn't Germany who had broken a lover's promise.

"Come here, Feliciano," he whispered, kneeling down and slowly scooping the broken Italian into his arms, letting his daughter drop to her knees and cry. He shushed her with a soft kiss to her forehead, and told her to go see her uncle. She shakily complied, carrying herself on trembling little legs to Gilbert's room further into the house.

They sat there, in the pink room of their daughter's surrounded by dolls, and Germany let Italy cry long into the day, into the evening, when the pink room turned black. He rested his head on his lover's and remained silent, as he was not the best at comforting.

"Don't...D-Don't you hate me? I...You, y-you were...se-second."

Germany frowned. He knew he wasn't his first choice, of course not. They were countries; firsts seldom meant anything. When they had centuries to live, most forgot who they used to be. But he knew the Holy Roman Empire was who he had been. He'd had his memories stripped from him, his body allowed to grow, and soon he was a successful country with his own language and a long history he was not permitted to recall. But he could always, even if scarcely, remember the Italian, as the beating of his heart increased with a jump every time his lost blue eyes fell on that clumsy little thing. He had never mentioned anything to Italy, in the hopes that he would forget, and he would, and was, the new Holy Roman Empire of his affection. He had replaced him.

"...That's alright. You're still my first, and that's all that matters to me."

And that was true.

Germany stared into black, could see the twinkling of the Milky Way through the lofty window overtaking a wall in the bedroom, and heard the shifting of fabric, the turning of the small country in his lap, and the feeling of little lanky arms curling around his thick neck in a sad embrace, hot breath sweeping over his ear.

Italy cries, and Germany says nothing.

But he knows the times are changing.

---

Babysitters had always been out of the question. If you would even mention it to Germany, he would give you a glare that sent just enough fright through you to relieve your bladder. Italy wasn't so strong-minded.

"...She's a good little girl, Germany, and we can't take care of her all the time~! We have world meetings to go to!"

Germany wouldn't voice the reason why he always snubbed the idea of getting a baby sitter. Once, he'd let Spain and Romano watch her with the hundred pounds of persuasion his Italian lover would push onto his brother. Though, he'd left the Spaniard a book full of phone numbers and rules and schedules, colorfully flagged with sticky notes, Alize had told him not to worry and go "have fun with mama!" but how could he have relaxed and enjoyed his time with Italy if he had been constantly worrying about his angel?

No, Germany would never utter a word that directly expressed his over the top protectiveness.

"Ni-chan usually stays home when we go to meetings, but America said we all had to go to this one~! It's either a babysitter, or..."

At that moment, it was like a life or death situation. On one hand, he could have some inexperienced human taking care of his beautiful little girl, or,

"...We can't possible take her with us. They won't allow it. I won't allow it," he emphasized himself deeply. Italy cooed, his curl bouncing.

"Nee, but it's America. He loves kids. He's got like, 50~!"

Germany could feel his blood boiling and rising to his cheeks, frustrated with the state of affairs. Oh how much he hated babysitters, yet he was never so keen on breaking his own rules of conduct either. He rubbed at his forehead in habit, sighing heavily.

"Ludwig~"

Germany felt little pale hands splay long fingers against his uniformed chest, the Italian leaning over playfully and looking at him with big chocolate eyes that he could seldom ever turn away from. "How about," the Italian breathed softly, like words made of whispers, "we just try this out?"

Seduction was a talent Germany knew all too well with the Italian. He was the country of lovers, after all. So when his eyes sparkled with lust and his smile looked as soft as down, he had to remain firm. Firm! But those sweet little legs stepped that much closer, pressing thigh to thigh, tip-toeing until those sugary lips neared his and breathed out a warm breeze and oh God, just-!

"...U-Um, yes, I ah..." Germany muttered, face hot and hands itching to reach up and grab anything the Italian had to offer, "...M...Maybe just this...Once."

"Whoooo~!"

The Italian bounced off quickly, as to get his daughter ready for the trip to America's house, leaving the German standing on shaky legs and pulsing with flustered blood.

"...Gott."

---

Benedetto cries, and one immediately becomes worried for the well being of the entire planet. Because when he cries, if he ever cries, it is only a sign of the apocalypse.

At least that's what Spain believes. Romano tells him to stop being so dumb.

But the time comes, eventually, when Romano has to leave with Spain for the meeting. And Benedetto doesn't approve of the idea in the least.

"Bene, Papa's boss is going to take care of you for a couple hours, okay? He's even going to let you have ice cream if you're a good boy," the mother informs him softly. But the boy is stubborn. He probably got it from his potato-loving uncle.

"No. No, mama."

Romano sighed to himself, crouched down to have his baby at eye level. Those chocolate eyes that were so reflective of his own were determined in the most unseen way. He knew what must have been going through the toddler's head.

"Piccino, I have to go do important business with papa. I'll come home as fast I can."

"No, mama." He nearly commanded. Lovino frowned.

"You can't tell me what to do, Bene! I'm your mama!"

"No." he repeated with a monotone that was setting off the temper Romano had long forgotten after the birth of this child. With the scar across his belly and a heart filled to the brim with maternal affection, he had promised himself that he would never get angry with his son. But he was not a strong-hearted man, after all.

"Fine," he barked, shooting up from his squat and frowning down at his obstinate son, "Say what you want, but I'm going to the meeting and you're going to stay here, goddamnit! And you can't stop me!"

He turned away from the immovable boy and started to stomp down the hall, but was halted by a foreign noise he'd never heard before. It sounded something akin to hiccups, and yet it whined like a soft clipped siren.

"What is that?" he whispered to himself, looking about despite his annoying frustration.

It got louder and louder, until he could tell that they really had been hiccups, watery loud hiccups, and he turned back to the source.

Benedetto had his mouth hung agape as tears sprung out of his eyes in big fat drops, his hands fisting against his little red cheeks to try and hide them, Romano supposed. A grating sob tore itself from the boy, but was quickly interrupted by a sharp inhale of breath and a spasm of his windpipe.

Romano had never seen Benedetto cry.

What do I do, he panicked, his own hands making themselves to his face. Benedetto had always been such a quiet mannered boy, though he had his indifference and carelessness to replace his flat-out rebellious side. Even when he was a baby, he was as quiet as a mouse, and when he needed anything, he'd simply move about until his mother got the gist of it, like a type of sign language. At some point, Lovino had been worried about his lack of speech, but when the first word out of his mouth was "mama", he knew he'd be alright.

"Piccino...P-Piccino, don't cry, bebe," he whispered, rushing back and looming over his child like a shroud of comfort. It didn't seem to work, as his little red face dripped with salty tears and his tiny body trembled in utter despair. Romano worked his hands over. "Pl...Please don't cry, piccino, mama's right here."

Romano could see him try to say something, but his lungs were so worked up from exertion, all he could do was cough and sob louder. Finally, Romano crouched down again and slipped his hands under his son's arm, lifting him into the air and pressing him dearly to his chest. "Shhh, now," he murmured against the little ear at his mouth, "Shhh."

"Lovino, what's that sound?"

Spain had heard, as he was dressing for the meeting, and came to investigate. When he happened upon them, all Romano could do was cry too.

"...I d-don't know what to d-do!" he bawled, tears of his own pooling in his eyes and gliding down his cheeks. He bounced the sobbing boy in his arms as he too, let out a soft whine and a sniffle. "H-He...I was j-just so upset!"

Spain didn't care how it started. But he saw the agonized face of his son, and in turn his mother, and knew he could be the only one who could save the world.

"Mi cariño..." he whispered as he strode quickly to his little lover and embraced him with his son pressed between them. "Why won't you be nice for mama, chiquitito?"

"M..." the boy choked, "M-Mama's not...Mama's alw-w-ways with me!"

"We'll only be gone a little while!" he reassured just as Lovino had earlier, and the boy trembled and squirmed about, the first display of aggression he'd ever shown them.

"No! No, no!"

Romano had given up trying to persuade the poor thing. Benedetto wasn't a troublesome child, after all, so this was unexpected and terrifying. "M...Maybe...He should come along?"

Spain looked to his lover, fidgety from the first time experience of a child's tantrum. Benedetto cried into Lovino's shoulder, wetting it with big fresh tears and snot and drool. Antonio was surprised the boy could even breathe, with how loud he was.

"...If he stops crying, he can come along."

And as if on cue, he stops.

A foreign type of rage spilled into Spain's veins as he stared into the wet yet calm face of his son, who just stared right back, if less heatedly.

His son had planned this.

Spain would never know how he knew how to go about using crocodile tears, or how to strategize, or how to be so convincing in his acting. All Spain knew was that his son was clever, albeit bratty. And he had to agree, begrudgingly, as he looked down to the dastardly eyes of his child.

"...Si. Let's go together, then."

---

Of course America had been okay with letting the kids come. He'd had 50 of them, after all. And after Hawaii grew up and left him, the house had been lonely without the squealing and stomping of tiny feet on worn lacquered floor.

"Hey there, little guy! How's it going?"

Benedetto squeezed his mother's hand and stared blankly at the blonde American. Realizing that he wasn't going to be graced with an answer, America gave up with a weary smile.

"Lo siento, America...He's being bad today," Spain warningly glanced down at the boy in question, who ignored him completely. America waved about enthusiastically.

"No worries, mi amigo!" he somehow butchered, making Spain wince a little, "My Carolinas were the same way! Though I was so glad when they grew out of it."

Spain wondered if Benedetto would too. But by the looks of it, he had little to hope for.

"Bene, Bene," Romano whispered, crouching to the ground beside his son, "See that girl over there? Remember her?"

He pointed out farther into the room, where a fair little girl bounced on her heels beside a tall proud military man and a man who looked just like his mother. Instead of basing his attention on his cousin, he refused to look away from the twin.

"...He looks like you, mama."

Lovino blinked. Even though Benedetto had seen Italy many times in his life, he should have at the least remembered something so important as an identical twin. Maybe he had been too little to realize that he wasn't just dizzy and seeing double, but that there really were double.

"...That's your uncle Feliciano," he answered slowly, hoping this time it would catch, "You've met him many times before."

Benedetto was silent, staring intently at the other Italy as he danced about with the little girl just a few inches taller than his knees. Her fluffy ocean dress bobbed up and down, and her pale blonde hair curled about in tresses.

"That's...Alize."

"You used to always play together."

Though Romano wasn't sure when that stopped. His brother had gotten so busy with his daughter, all of a sudden, and being a good housewife to that damn potato. At some point, Italy stopped visiting, and only reserved himself to phone calls, and seldom that. Not that Lovino minded all that much...Really.

"Go on, go play with her."

Benedetto slowly released his mother's hand, trotting over to his cousin, who immediately steered her attention to him, giving him a loud German greeting and a sweet-as-candy embrace. She was taller than him, probably from her father's blood, and made him feel even smaller in her arms. He didn't seem to be bothered by it all too much, and looked back to his mother in a near question. But Romano only smiled and stood back up to return his attention to Spain and America.

Benedetto looked up to his uncle with the same caramel hair and bouncing curl as his mom, and stared. Italy became nervous under the scrutiny, but remained motherly.

"Benedetto!" he cooed as he hoisted the boy into the air and spun him around, "Vee~ Look how big you are now!"

"...You're not like mama."

Italy vee'd again. "I'm not your mama~! Lovino is much stronger than I am, and fiercer, and faster, and smarter, and-"

Benedetto wiggled in Italy's arms, signaling for him to let him down, and Italy did quickly. The Italian could only wonder what is nephew would grow into, with his mother's fury buried behind blank brown eyes.

"Scary," he whispered to himself as the boy scurried back to his mother, while Italy turned his attention back to the German and cooed and loved upon him.

"Alright everyone, let's get this meeting over with!"

The American herded the countries to the large table overtaking the entire room, as he stood from his own place on the podium. But as much as he wanted the attention on himself, the eyes of every nation were trained to the two children sitting side by side on their mothers' laps. He even had to admit to himself, that he couldn't help but look as well. It had been so long since he'd seen the children of countries, besides his own. He could see, out of the corner of his eye, England becoming rather huffy. America could only think of how jealous he must have been, seeing those kids after all his own had grown up. He and America hadn't had a kid since Rhode Island, after all, and he must have been itching to be a father again.

As if I'd let him, with all that shit he pulled with his first batch of kids, America grumbled to himself, over-protective to the absolute extreme. What sort of freedom was that?

"If you'd be so kind!" he barked, stealing the attention from the children back to him, "As cute as you two are, we have a meeting that needs to be had, ya know?"

Benedetto said nothing, but Alize put a hand to her face to hide the red spreading across her cheeks at being called "cute" by the brash American. America could see the anger in Germany's eyes, but he remained smug and hero-like.

"Okay, you guys! So on the issue of pollution, I think we should get Japan to recruit his power rangers and have them create a giant whirlwind using the megazord that sucks up all the bad stuff, and then shoot it into space. Everyone agree?"

"I agree, America-sa-"

"Quiet, Japan! First of all, just because America likes your tv shows doesn't mean he's right aru! And second, have your own opinion aru!"

And so the tidal wave of voices washed over the table faster than one could properly protest, until one could barely even tell if they were voices at all, but rather one large roar of sound.

"It's noisy," Benedetto tried to say as loud as he could over the commotion. Lovino bounced him on his knees and stroked his dark curled hair.

"It could be worse."

Alize leaned over the table excitedly, trying to catch a noise that could have sounded like a word, to try and understand the loud argument. She could barely even make out the syllables, and had to read lips. That wasn't working too well either, so she gave up and leaned back into Feliciano, whom vee'd and let his eyes droop closed. Usually, he'd be stirring up a storm of his own, but with his daughter there to keep him in check, he could only sit still and watch.

"Achtung!"

And everything stopped. Italy's heart beat a little faster.

"Everyone needs to quiet themselves right now, and let there be only one representative speaking at a time! As for now, I believe America should continue with his proposed theory, and if there are any protests or agreements, they should be done quickly and formally!" The German had stood from his seat beside his lover and clasped his hands behind his back, spine straight as a pole and eyes as daring as any commander.

Alize felt her mother swoon against her, the soft vee~ that escaped him barely even heard.

"Do you like the way papa shouts, mama?" she whispered into his ear. Italy shivered, and did not answer.

"...T-Thank you, Germany. Anyway, as I was saying...I am a super great hero and all, I know, but I think the red ranger is still a really good candidate too, and red's also one of my favorite colors, along with white and blue..."

And so the debate continued, yet suddenly more subdued, with the angry German still standing tall and bold, watching them intently. One could even deem it civilized.

"Papa! Let me try!"

Germany watched, beyond the ability to stop the child, as Alize ripped herself from Italy's rather compliant arms and clambered onto the table. She brushed her billowy blue dress down so she was perfect and wrinkle-free, before marching all across the large table. Her little Mary Jane clad feet clicked and clacked on the polished wood as she stepped in military rhythm in a beeline to America, who was trying his hardest not to grin in the face of the child. She was trying to be serious, he supposed, but she instead looked rather pink and pouty.

"Goodness," he cried out as she stomped to a halt in front of his podium, her little blonde head just barely seen over it. "What is the matter, general?"

"I'm here to restore order!"

"Well now," he whispered, leaning over the podium to say it softly into her ear, "That's a hard thing to do! Think you're up for the challenge?"

"Yes, sir!"

Her papa had taught her that she always needed to ask permission before she did anything. She swung around and faced the people of the table that had gone silent as soon as she stood upon it.

"...Well how am I supposed to tell you all to be quiet when you already are?" she cried out, her voice quivering in disappointment. Germany was already on his way, with fast embarrassed steps, to snatch his daughter up and scold her, when China raised his voice.

"I object aru!" he didn't say what he was objecting, but there was a soft smile on his face, the German noted, that could have been called motherly.

"I object too!" France chimed in, handing a rose to Alize and telling her about how proud he is of his very own "Alize Cornet".

"Object, yes?" the large Russian called out, with the look on his face making his Baltic nations raise their objections too, albeit shaky and quiet.

Alize took a happy breath, seeing everyone piping up on her behalf. Then she stomped her foot on the polished wood and everyone closed their mouths.

"Achtung! Everyone, please remain attentive and...Papa, what's that word you always use?"

"Courteous."

"Courteous!"

With that, Ludwig seized the little girl off the table and placed her at his hip chidingly. "Excuse her, she has yet to learn her manners."

"Hey!" she began to wiggle in protest.

"Germany, I don't know how I can continue this meeting if she keeps doing irresistible cute stuff."

The German frowned. Meetings were of dire importance: always. He bowed his head lightly before carrying his red-faced daughter back to her place with her mother.

"Anyway, without anymore adorable interruptions, I'd like to give the floor to good ol' Iggy!"

"I swear to God, Alfred, if you don't stop calling me that..."

So the meeting continued, as it would have any day, with the constant arguing and the lack of solutions to the policy agenda. Morning was slowly turning to the afternoon, and both Alize and Italy had taken to dozing in each other's arms silently. Germany watched over them just as quietly, warning the board with his stern eyes of the punishment for any subtle change in volume. Hours passed unnoticed, and each nation had their say in something (except Sealand, because as much as he wanted to run up there and say his part and share his plan of world domination, Sweden kept him in his chair).

"My boss told me that I should let everyone have a moment to speak, because that's fair and junk, so that's why I invited everyone today. Lovino, you've got the floor, dude."

Romano jerked to attention, the fingers toying lovingly with his son's hair twitching to a stop. It wasn't like he planned on saying anything, since he hadn't stood at that podium in at least 5 years. And his problems were so minor compared to everyone else's, especially since he was just half a country anyway.

But he stood, carefully depositing his drowsy son into its father's arms, and walked up to the tall wooden stand to address his surprisingly quiet audience. He took it that everyone in the room had an affinity towards children. Or it could have just been the potato bastard's intimidating looks.

"...There's not a lot of things I need to-"

"Mama!"

Everyone looked over to the little boy squirming heatedly in his father's distressed arms, reaching out to his mother from all the way across the table. "Mama!"

"...Benedetto," he sighed. As much as he absolutely adored his baby, he realized he had to wean him off his presence soon. "Please stay with papa. I'm trying to talk."

"Mamaaaa," he whined angrily, pushing Spain's embrace away. Spain soon gave up, realizing he could not win this battle, and let the boy slide to the floor. He soon got on his feet and waddled quickly to Romano, clutching at his pants as if he were to die. The Italian had no choice but to pick up his son and cradle him to his chest. He continued.

"...Like I was saying, I don't have that many problems, right now. Despite this, I appreciate the opportunity to speak to you all."

"You are too soft all of a sudden, Lovino," France commented among the silence. "Is this what motherhood does to a person?"

Romano's cheeks turned bright and he opened his mouth wide to curse, but the child in his arms whined at the attention addressed to them, or to him in particular, and he couldn't overlook it in favor of barking up the French nation's tree.

"...I'll get you later, surrender monkey."

Watching the Frenchman mouth the words "surrender monkey" gave Lovino a boost of cockiness, rocking his son in his lithe arms as he walked back to his place beside the Spaniard trying and failing to conceal his laughter.

"Well, looks like that's that! Anymore objections for sweet Alize to crush?"

No one made a sound, except for the hissing of a whine from the flustered girl in question, and America smiled.

"Then we're done! Go on, get outta my house!"

The nations didn't need to be told twice. They pooled together with allies and began to chat loudly as they made their way out of the conference room, but took time to visit the Italian twins and their children. The nations praised them and babied them and gave them cultural trinkets and candies, until they were so doted upon, they were becoming exhausted. By the end of it all, the mothers had a bag of toys and treats on each arm.

"It's too much!" Italy cried to Germany, struggling with his hold on Alize and her new gifts. Germany took his daughter into her arms delicately and watched Italy sigh loudly and fix himself from his rut. "Thanks, Germany~!"

"...Let's just go before they come back," he murmured, as Alize nodded off against his neck. Italy took his hand in his and took to the door.

"Are you coming, ni-chan?"

Lovino was struggling too, but refused to voice his protests like his brother did. Feliciano was a way bigger sissy than he was, after all. He jostled the boy in his arms as he situated the bags at his elbows.

"Mi querido, let me help..."

"N-No, I'm gonna do it, goddamn it. I can do it."

Spain smiled, but stopped the Italian before he could even take a step out of the room and took from him the bags. Benedetto stayed nestled to Romano's shoulder, little hands fisting in soft cotton clothes. Spain leaned down to brush his lips to his lover's flushed cheek in a tease.

"...Don't push yourself, cariño."

Lovino didn't say anything, and merely pouted. He walked quickly to his twin brother, who cooed and caressed his nephew softly, with Spain on his heels, eager to get back to his manor and take a much-needed siesta with his little Lovino.

All the way out to the streets of D.C., fingers laced with fingers, and both couples were joined by the little Italians in between.

"...When am I allowed to be pregnant again, ni-chan?"

"What?"

"Since I can't be pregnant without you being pregnant too, when will you let me have another?"

The German was trying his hardest to ignore the short bouncy Italian holding his hand, knowing just how angry the brother would be if he acknowledged the thought. Spain barely even had time to laugh, before Romano gave him a look that could kill.

"Never," he answered angrily, continuing along with his family.

But anyone could tell that was wrong.

---

-German translations:

Fliegen = Fly

Achtung = Attention!

-Spanish translations:

Mano = hand

Tonto = Silly (person)

Lo siento = I'm sorry

-Italian translations:

Abbraccio = Hug

Piccino = pet name; "Little one"

For all those wondering about the names, they're just names. Benedetto is a common Italian name, meaning "blessed" or literally, "good little thing" which, obviously, is ironic. Alize is not so common, but is a differentiation of the name Alice, used in non-English speaking European countries such as France and Germany. Also, I emphasized her dress and hair because I wanted her to seem like Alice from Alice in Wonderland. Did it work? haha.

Thank you all for reading, and I hope you liked reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it (Which was an insane amount haha).

Also, for anyone wondering yet, next on my list is a daddy!England fic, with lots of USxUK, if anyone's interested. I'm just starting to get into the Hetalia fandom, so don't bring down the belt haha! I hope for it to be a oneshot: a very, very, VERY, long oneshot. None the less, it's coming up.

Thank you thank you thank you~!