Yay, time for the omake no one asked for! Hope you wanted domestic fluff and randomness. Quick reminder of the character list:

Americas
Freddie – colony
Al – cowboy
America – hero
US – teen rebel

Englands
Albion – child
Britain – soldier
Britannia Angel – angel
Captain Kirkland – pirate
Iggy – drunkard
Mr. Kirkland – gentleman
UK – punk

The two handsome blonds waiting near the baggage claim blended into the crowd amidst the hustle and bustle of the busy airport. Both looked like college students, although one was dressed for spring break and the other seemed ready for a summer internship. The one in jeans bounced and fidgeted; the other sedately watched the bags move past on the conveyer belt. Someone walking by might have confused them for brothers, although both would have vehemently denied it.

"Finally!" America cried as he plucked England's heavy luggage from the carousel. It was big enough for a nice, long vacation—exactly what they both had been waiting for.

"I am quite capable of carrying my own bag," England replied, not that he tried very hard to reclaim his suitcase. Instead he reached for America's hand as they made their way through the airport crowds.

"Hey, I wanted to scoop you up and carry you through the airport. I'm comprising!"

"And here I thought you didn't know the meaning of the word," England teased.

"I do now." America grinned. "Thanks, Obama."

When they reached the bright red pickup in the short-term parking lot, America continued his streak of chivalry by opening the passenger door for England, who couldn't help but blink in surprise. He buckled himself in and watched in confusion as America set the suitcase into the backseat instead of tossing it into the bed of the pickup truck.

Once they were in the semi-privacy of the car, America leaned over for a tender kiss. England sank into the embrace and noticed an unexpected level of chaste sweetness. The feeling warmed his heart, even though it wasn't quite the level of ardor he was expecting after several months apart. He murmured a vague protest as America pulled away.

"Sorry, gorgeous. Don't wanna repeat the thing with the parking attendant," America said with a laugh as he turned on the ignition and maneuvered his way out of the garage.

"I suppose," England admitted grudgingly. "You know... you're being quite the gentleman today. I wonder what you're after."

America gave him an innocent look. "Do I need an ulterior motive to be a good boyfriend?"

"Hmm..." England narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Between the chaste kiss and the unexpected chivalry, he was starting to sense something off about America.

They drove in silence as America followed the signs to the interstate. Once he had merged onto the busy road he fiddled with the radio and happily settled back into his seat while golden oldies filled the car. The Virginia countryside meandered past, a charming counterpoint to the endless line of cars and trucks ahead of them.

But England wasn't paying attention to the green forests. His eyes flickered between America and the speedometer and his expression grew increasingly suspicious. In all the years he had known America, England had never seen the other nation drive at the speed limit for such a long time. There was only one conclusion. He sighed and crossed his arms. "You're a terrible liar."

"What? But I am a good boyfriend—"

"—not that." England frowned and switched off the music. "You're not America. At least, you're not all of America.

The other nation's hands tightened on the steering wheel. Even as he kept his gaze on the road ahead of him, he sucked in a breath and flushed guiltily. "What gave me away?"

"You're going the speed limit."

"Oh." America bit his lip and focused on his driving as he took their exit. They found themselves on prettier country roads while the silence in the pickup grew thicker. Only twenty minutes in, and it wasn't shaping up to be the vacation that England had been hoping for. Of course, he had sort of imagined that they would spend the first few minutes making out in the airport restroom.

"Why on Earth did you use that machine again?" England finally asked.

"I needed some help with housecleaning," America admitted. He loosened his grip on the wheel and gave England an embarrassed grin.

"Ah, I see." The Englishman smiled wryly as he arched an eyebrow. "I do hope you realize that your house will still be dirty when we get back."

"Hey, that's not true! They've had a couple of hours."

"Yes, dear." England chuckled. "But I think you're forgetting that none of your personalities are the cleaning sort."

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As England expected, they arrived to find America's large Virginia house filled with clutter and dust. As much as America loved the place, he wasn't very good about its care and upkeep. England just sighed. He knew that his lover was never going to be a neat freak. The best he could hope for was some anal tendencies. Busy tsking at the state of the house, it took England a moment to notice the other Americas as they crowded around to welcome him at the door, like playful dogs lonely from staying home all day.

"Howdy, darling," the cowboy purred, tipping his hat to England. He stepped closer to steal a kiss, but a ball of energy raced between them and latched onto England's legs, nearly knocking him off his feet.

"Engwand!" Freddie shouted happily. "You're back, you're back, you're back!"

Nothing in the world could stop the soft smile that suffused England's face. He leaned over and gave the boy a gentle kiss on the forehead. "Hello again, dearest."

"Where are the rest of you?" Freddie asked, glancing about curiously.

"There's only one of me," England reassured him.

The U.S. sauntered into the front hallway. His spiky, dark-toned wardrobe looked like it belonged in a Hot Topic store and England wanted to wipe away his the cocky grin. Or kiss it. Perhaps both.

"You didn't mention the idea, did you?" the teenager asked America tartly.

"Uh..." A guilty expression crossed America's face as he set England's luggage next to a messy pile of coats and shoes. "Not yet…"

"What idea?" England demanded.

"I want to see aww of the Engwands!" Freddie cried.

England's eyes widened as realization dawned. The idea of all of him and all of America hanging out together sounded like it would end in an orgy or disaster. Ever the pessimist, he decided to err on the side of caution. "No. Absolutely not."

"Come on, darling. Aren't you a little bit intrigued?" Al asked with a grin as the Americas crowded around him and began to beg and plead and cajole.

"It'll just be for an hour or two," America added.

"Pwease, pwease, pwease!" Freddie looked up at him with big eyes. "I want to pway with seven Engwands!"

Al winked. "So do I," he agreed.

England felt his resistance swiftly melting away in the face of Freddie's earnest pleas. (If he were being honest with himself, he would have admitted that he was attracted to Al's suggestion as well.) But reacting with his usual dishonesty, he glanced over at the U.S. and frowned. "Did you split yourself just to use Freddie's cuteness to sway me?"

The teenager lifted his hands. "Hey, it wasn't my idea!"

"We really did want to clean the house before you got here," America said. "I know how much you hate the mess."

"And I told them it wouldn't work."

"Ah... pity you were right," England replied, finding the teenager slightly more tolerable this time around. It helped that he knew the situation was only temporary. "Let me think about it," he said, finding it hard to say no in the face of four Americas.

While America carried his luggage upstairs, England took off his jacket and left his shoes by the door. He gave the pile of coats in the closet a pointed look as he hung up his own coat with one of the many unused wire hangers. For all of America's love of technology, the lad still had trouble grasping the purpose of basic items like coat hangers. Probably the only way to trick him into using a hanger would be to develop a wifi-enabled smart hanger with messaging technology. England mentally added the thought to his gift list. Really, it would be a gift for both of them.

Looking for something to ease the stress of his long flight, England headed to the kitchen. The sound of a whistling kettle immediately drew his attention to the stove. England had to smile at the fact that America still used an old-fashioned kettle instead of an electric one. It was rather charming, actually. He watched in further amusement as the U.S. grabbed the kettle and poured himself a cup of tea.

"What?" the teenager demanded as he set the kettle back on the stove. "It's not like I made it for you," he said defensively.

"Of course not." England hid a smile and made his afternoon tea. There was more than enough water for his cup, giving lie to the teenager's claim. But when he got a good look at the dirty dishes piled up in the sink, England wrinkled his nose and sighed.

"Hey, don't worry about the dishes," Al said as he slid up behind England and began to message his tight neck muscles with strong dexterous fingers. "I've got plenty of ways to keep you distracted."

"Like a game?" Freddie suggested innocently.

"Yeah. Maybe strip poker," Al agreed with a wink.

"What's strip poker?"

"I'll tell you when you're older," England promised, enjoying the adorable pout that appeared on Freddie's face.

The sound of steps pounding down the stairs heralded America's arrival. "So, have you made your decision?" he asked with an eager grin. "Just one more time, and I promise I'll never ask you again. Scout's honor!"

"Very well." England nodded and set down his teacup. "I have and I will. But..." he said, holding up a finger before the Americas could start to cheer. "I'm only doing it so that the seven of us can help you clean this messy house."

"I wonder how many of England's personalities are neat freaks?" Al mused.

"Probably all of them," the U.S. whispered.

"And just for an hour or two," England added, though he still wondered if he was making the right decision.

"Yay!" Freddie cheered and rushed over to hug England. And with that, the last of England's resistance melted away.

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"Don't we need your alien friend to split me into the same pieces?" England asked as he stared at the machine with trepidation. If the alien was involved, he was going to put his foot down, no matter how much Freddie begged. And he certainly hoped that America was right when he said he'd figured out a way to put a timer on the transformations.

"Nah. You step in under your own power, you pick the split," America explained. "That's how I did it the first time."

"Oh." Thinking about how happy Freddie would be, England took a deep breath and stepped into the machine. The door whooshed shut behind him, but England refused to panic. He closed his eyes and focused on his distinct personalities as bright light filled every pore of his body. His mind cleared and he stepped out the door with new clothes, a new attitude, and a sudden craving for punk rock.

"Engwand?" Freddie asked, his eyes as wide as saucers. The colony launched himself forward and gave punk England a tight hug. "Your hair is gween!" he said excitedly.

Before the punk could ask if Freddie wanted to dye his hair too, the boy squealed again and jumped to the next England in line.

"Engwand, Engwand, Engwand!" Freddie's excited shouts and bright laughter filled the room as he hugged the soldier and the gentleman, earning a smile from both. The boy's eyes widened again when he came face to face with an England wearing nothing more than a skimpy apron and a bowtie. He blinked and gave the nearly naked man a confused smile. "Did the machine steal your cwothes?" Freddie asked innocently.

"Don't look!" America cried, covering the boy's eyes and pulling him back before he could hug drunken England.

"But he looks so nice without his clothes," Al purred, raking his eyes appreciatively over Iggy's bare chest and lean legs.

"I look even better when you've 'ad a drink," Iggy slurred happily.

"Make it rum and a double for me," the pirate agreed. He sauntered forward, wrapping one arm around the drunken England as he gave Al a possessive smirk. The two sized each other up and from the hungry look in their eyes, both liked what they saw.

"So... DTF?" Al asked the pirate.

Captain Kirkland smirked. "Give me yer booty."

"Not in the living room!" the gentleman groused, glaring at the two as they snickered and slipped out of the room together, practically clawing each other's clothes off. Iggy stumbled behind, lured on by promises of alcohol.

While everyone else was busy watching the cowboy run away with the pirate, the U.S. took advantage of their distraction to sidle up to the punk, a look of pure hero-worship in his eyes. "Hey, you want to ditch these losers and listen to something good?" he offered. "I've got a whole collection of vinyls in the basement."

"How many of them are mine?" the green-haired England replied with a smirk.

"Almost... almost all of them," the U.S. admitted shyly.

"Then I'd better check them out," the punk agreed. The two slipped away so quietly that no one saw them leave.

Freddie was the first to notice their absence as he tried to count the remaining Englands and kept coming up short. "One... two... why are the Engwands weaving?" the little colony sniffled, his lip quivering.

"Don't worry, dear," Britannia Angel said as he stepped into the messy room with little England following quietly in his wake. He leaned forward and brushed away Freddie's tears. "I'm here now and I'm going to make everything better."

"You will?"

"First thing's first." The angel tsked as he looked around the cluttered house. "Bippity-boppity-boo!" he cried with a wave of his wand.

All around them, the house put itself to rights. Freddie glanced into the kitchen and jumped back in surprise as the dishes washed themselves until they sparkled. The drunk blinked and wondered if he had had too much to drink as he watched rags dance across the floor, leaving it sparkling clean. The two music-lovers blinked in shock as the records alphabetized themselves before their eyes. And upstairs the clothes hopped onto hangers and folded themselves into drawers, not that the cowboy or pirate noticed.

"Wow!" Freddie cried in amazement. "Thanks, Engwand!"

"Ah, such manners. How wonderful," the gentleman said approvingly.

Britannia Angel smiled and leaned down to bop Freddie's nose. "You're welcome, my dear. After all, Disney isn't the only magical kingdom," he said fondly.

Freddie giggled and gave the angel a hug. His gaped as he finally noticed the youngest England hiding behind the angel. The colony stepped closer, holding out his hand as he approached the wary child. "Hi! Do you want to pway with me?"

The English boy blinked and nodded hesitantly.

"Good. I'm Freddie!"

"My... my name is Albion."

"I'm going to call you Awbie!" The American darted forward and tapped Albion's arm. "Tag! You're it!" he cried before racing out of the room.

"Wait! Tell me what we're playing before you run away!" Albion complained as he chased after the other boy.

"Ah, he's so cute! I wish he had more kids to play with," Britannia Angel said wistfully. A moment later a flash of deviousness crossed his face and he started to raise his wand.

"Oh god, not this again," the soldier complained. Thinking fast, he grabbed the wand out of the angel's hand and turned it on its master. A puff of smoke dissipated to reveal a child with miniature wings and a tiny halo. His toga stretched to his knees instead of ending mid-thigh, which was probably for the best.

The young angel looked down at the much closer floor, then up at the other nations. When he finally realized what had happened, he smiled in delight. "Now Freddie and me can play together!" he cried happily, running off after the two other children.

The three remaining nations shared a glance. America wasn't sure why he had gotten stuck with the two straight-laced personalities, but he was a hero, and he was going to do his best to make England happy. At least he knew exactly which movie to suggest. He smiled brightly. "So... wanna watch An Officer and a Gentleman?"

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Hiding in a linen closet on the second floor, Freddie tried to stifle his happy giggles, but Albion was too good of a tracker for him. The young England threw open the doors and tagged him before running away in the opposite direction. As hard as Freddie tried, he just couldn't keep up with the other boy. He lost the other tiny nation amidst the maze of hallways and doors. Freddie frowned and tried to listen for any suspicious noises. His ears perked up as he heard something from America's bedroom. He opened the door with a triumphant cry and then paused when he didn't see Albion in the bedroom.

Al and Captain Kirkland were both naked and they were posed in a strange position on the floor, with their limbs in a twisted, complicated pattern. Well, they weren't entirely naked. Both men were still wearing their hats.

Freddie tilted his head to the side in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"Strip Twister," Al explained as he stretched his leg across the pirate's back.

"Fun! Can I play?" Freddie asked innocently.

"No," both the cowboy and the pirate replied at the same time.

"You'll never reach green from there," the pirate said to Al with a smirk. "You won't be keeping your hat for long, me hearty."

Irritated at being ignored, Freddie frowned and closed the door. He tried to think of all the good hiding places, but the only place left was his storage closet, and the older Americas had warned him to stay out of it. He tip-toed over to the door and glanced left and right. There was no one around, so there was no harm in just looking into the room, right? The door creaked as he opened it, but no one came running to stop him, so he decided it was okay to go inside. The sight of small footprints in the dust told Freddie everything he needed to know.

The colony grinned and followed the trail of footprints to a corner of the room. He spotted Albion sitting on the floor and prepared to tag him, but as soon as he came within touching distance he was distracted by the toys in the other boy's hands. Suddenly tag didn't seem quite as much fun. Not when they could be playing with his collection of wooden soldiers instead.

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Back on the first floor, America lounged between the two Englands and tried to remember if it was bad etiquette to use the yawn-and-stretch technique to wrap his arms over his boyfriends' shoulders. He knew that England ran cold and hot, and these two were definitely on the colder end of the spectrum. But nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? He decided to risk it.

"This is a romantic comedy, isn't it?" Mr. Kirkland asked with barely disguised contempt just as America started to move his arm.

"Uh, yeah. I thought you liked the mushy stuff?"

The gentleman rolled his eyes. "You thought incorrectly. I don't care for this twaddle."

"I would also prefer something with a bit more action," Britain agreed.

"Like a war movie? Or... a violent video game?" America asked excitedly. "Oh man, just wait till you see how awesome the graphics look on this TV!" he cried happily as he leapt off the sofa and ran over to his cabinets of neatly stacked games. The day that England wanted to play video games with him was officially the best day of his life. "I've got the latest Call of Duty and Battlefield and Sniper Elite! But I thought that gentlemen were, I dunno, too full of manners to punch someone in the face."

"A gentleman might not start fights, but he knows how to finish them."

"Except all of those times you started wars because you wanted land and resources," Britain noted sardonically.

"In my defense, tea does not grow well in English soil."

America couldn't decide if England was joking or not. Sometimes his deadpan humor was too hard for America to decipher. Assuming England wasn't joking, he looked through his games and scratched his chin. "Uh, I don't think I have a game where you invade China to steal his tea."

"What about India?" the gentleman asked.

"I don't think he has that sorta game either."

"Oh, give it a rest, Kirkland," the soldier complained. "If we're going to play anything, we should be defeating Nazis."

America grinned. "Now those games I got a ton of!"

"You shouldn't end a sentence in a preposition," the gentleman said as he pointed one finger at America. He pointed his other finger at the solider, "And it's Mister Kirkland."

Rolling his eyes, America leaned closer to the soldier. "Man, I think I need a game where we beat the grammar Nazis," he said in a conspiratorial whisper. With America's usual lack of volume control, the whisper didn't end up being much of a whisper.

"I suspect you would be rather skilled at that endeavor," the gentleman retorted.

America laughed and plopped down on the couch between the two Englands. "Man, I really missed this."

"You missed our bickering?"

"Yeah." He wrapped his arms around both Englands' shoulders. "Sometimes you get in a really good line and I just think, yeah, that's my England."

The gentleman smirked. "Ah, you're as mawkishly sentimental as your movies."

"But you love it."

"It's not... entirely disagreeable."

America chuckled. "Yep, that's my England," he said as he leaned in for a kiss. He savored the taste of tea on England's lips and enjoyed the way England could be so deliciously indecent while maintaining such a prim and proper exterior. With his head floating in the clouds from the satisfying kiss, America leaned back and sighed happily. "A gentleman in the streets. Adrenaline in the sheets."

Britain coughed in embarrassment. "Weren't we going to defeat Nazis?"

"Huh?" America blinked. "Oh... right."

He stood up to fetch his favorite game from the cabinet, but froze as he felt a chill run down his spine. His hero senses were tingling. Something was wrong. And the feeling was coming from inside the house...

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"Oh, no! Napoweon is attacking!" Freddie cried in childish glee as he and Albion moved the cigar boxes that represented the French forces across the dusty battlefield of the room's wooden floor. As they drew closer to the barricade of old books that surrounded the antique wooden soldiers, Albion took a position behind the barricades, kneeling next to the tidy rows of hand-painted soldiers.

"I know!" The English boy grabbed a handful of dust and blew it across the cigar boxes. "I make the field muddy with magic. Now they can't march."

"Wow!" Freddie's eyes sparkled with delight. "That's so cool"

Albion blushed. "It's just weather magic," he mumbled.

"What do we do now?" Freddie asked as his gaze returned to the make-believe battlefield.

"We… we use longbows!"

Freddie picked up one of the soldiers and scrunched his nose in confusion. "I don't think they have longbows."

"But an English soldier needs a bow!"

"Maybe they could use a gun instead?" Freddie suggested. He leapt to his feet and began digging around in the boxes in the corner of the room. He knew that he had an old gun around here somewhere. "Here it is!" he cried when he finally found what he was looking for. Although the bayonet was almost as long as he was, he easily hefted it into his arms.

A frightened look crossed Albion's face. "We shouldn't play with that."

"Don't worry!" Freddie replied with a confident grin. "I'm good with guns!" He ignored Albion's look of distress and carried the gun back to their barricade of books. All he needed now was some gunpowder and he could blast the cigar boxes to smithereens. Thinking excitedly of a box of fireworks in the corner, Freddie raced forward, only to trip over the books. He landed on his knee with a cry of pain as the books tumbled all around him. The gun was flung from his arms and landed knife-first, burying itself six inches deep into the wooden floor.

"I told you not to play with it!" Albion wailed.

Freddie sniffled and look down at his bruised and bloodied knee. It hurt so much! He gasped in pain as tears began to prickle in the corner of his eyes.

"You should have listened to me!"

Freddie pulled his knee closer to his chest and started to sob. He didn't understand why Albion was yelling at him! England was supposed to kiss his boo-boo and make it better. He wanted a different England. A nicer England.

With as much noise as they were making, it wasn't surprising that his wish was answered a few moments later as Britannia Angel burst into the room. Freddie didn't understand why the angel was smaller than before, but he was relieved to see him.

"There you are!" the little angel called with a smile. He hurried over to Freddie's side and his pleased grin disappeared as his gaze dropped to the bayonet sticking out of the floorboards. "You shouldn't be playing with guns," he chided.

"Engwand, it hurts," Freddie whimpered.

But it seemed that the angel didn't hear him. He was too busy staring at the gun. The toga-clad child reached out with one hand and traced a scar along the side of the barrel. "You kept it?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

"We should hide, there are more people coming!" Albion warned as he glanced out the door. He quickly ducked behind several dusty boxes as they heard the sound of America and two of the Englands arguing back and forth down the hallway.

"…the last time, America, there is no such thing as a hero sense!"

"You probably just have indigestion from eating too many hamburgers."

"Hamburgers wouldn't betray me like… Hey! Who opened this room?" The American peeked into the dusty storage room and gaped at the scene in front of him. "Kids! You shouldn't be in here!" he shouted as he rushed over and scooped Freddie into one arm and the small angel into the other. "Come on, it's not safe in here," he explained, balancing the two children in his arms as he simultaneously tried to hustle the other two Englands out of the room.

"That one needs a plaster," Britain said, immediately spotting Freddie's wounded knee.

"Why did you keep it?" the angel whispered.

"Keep what?" America asked in confusion as he handed Freddie over to Britain for some expert first aid.

"That gun!"

"Oh." America flushed as he felt the other Englands look his way. He knew they were smart enough to guess what they were talking about. "I didn't... I didn't keep it on purpose. I'm just bad at cleaning." The excuse sounded pathetic even to his own ears.

"Why get wid of it?" Freddie asked, his tears starting to dry as Britain finished wrapping some gauze around his knee.

"Because it's a reminder of unhappy times," Mr. Kirkland replied.

Freddie scrunched his face in thought. "But I don't wanna forget! I was sad that you were sad. I wanted you to be happy. And now you are!"

The three adults shared a look of surprise. The gentleman smiled slightly and shook his head fondly. "Out of the mouths of babes…"

"Excuse me! I think you're the bae," America corrected him.

The soldier punched him in the shoulder, but they were all still smiling as they walked back downstairs to play video games together.

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Five minutes later, Albion snuck out of the storage room, only to run into a drunken England in the hallway. "Were you hiding the rum?" Iggy demanded.

"No, just hiding," Albie replied.

They both glanced up as Al and Captain Kirkland sauntered out of the bedroom, arms wrapped around each other's waists. Albion stared at them in confusion. There was something not quite right about their appearance, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

The drunk tipped his head to the side. "Am I completely blotto or are they wearing the wrong clothes?"

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Unable to hear the ruckus upstairs, the punk and the teenage rebel made out on America's ratty old couch while the best of British punk blasted in the room. The U.K. pulled back as the Adicts' 'I Am Yours' started to play. He sang the lyrics into the other nation's ear and grinned to see an adorable blush grow on the teenager's face. He wished he had known about America's vinyl collection back in the 1970s. It could have saved them both a lot of time and heartache. Somehow, in all the time they had known each other, they never managed to take the easy route.

"That's a good one," the U.S. murmured happily as he snuggled closer. "I really like it when you sing."

"I know."

"Maybe you should do 'All of Me' next?"

The punk arched an eyebrow. "Is that a request for the John Legend song or are you inviting me to a foursome?"

"The song!" the U.S. quickly replied, although he looked a bit intrigued by the other option as well. Perhaps, the punk thought to himself, he would have one last bit of fun with the machine before they both swore it off for good.

Pulling out his guitar, the Englishman rapidly lost himself in the lyrics of the love song. It was a good choice for them. The fond memories, the unhappy memories, all of it was part of his relationship with America. America loved all of him, and he loved all of America. Their relationship had always been special. But there was nothing like spending time with his lover's personalities to reassure him that it was also unbreakable.

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A/N: There will be one more part to this omake, but it's pure smut so it's going up on AO3...