GUYS! I am SO sorry about the wait! I've just moved into my dorm room so it's been a little hectic lately -_-'

BRIGHT SIDE: British roomie has magnificent Igg brows and we're totally getting along like cake and ice cream!

This fic is my fist multichap since Triple Dog Dare because I effing love me some Gillikins. Sit tight, guys, you're in for a treat!

(Updates will be less frequent now that I'm at school... Sorry)

Diary of Awesomeness and Excellentitude! Plans are in motion for Operation "Come-up-with-your-own-creative-name-fool!" (France named it.) Austria totally won't even know what hit him, kesese! It's the most ingenious plan in the world! My disguise is set, the boys are waiting to move out and the trebuchet is-

"GILBERT!" Germany called his brother from down the hall. Prussia jumped and dropped his pen under his bed.

"YEAH?" he yelled back as he fumbled under to hide his diary.

Germany opened the door. "We're leaving in twenty minutes for the party. Do you have your costume?"

Prussia hopped off his bed and into the waiting wheelchair. He slipped on a round pair of glasses and a single black glove. "Ja," he smirked.

Germany stared at Prussia in horror. "Nein. Gilbert, you are not going as Doctor Strangelove."

"Ja," Gilbert said.

"Nein."

"...ja."

"Gilbert," Germany sighed. "We've just gotten to the point where not everybody in the world thinks we want to kill them again. For the love of God, please go as something else."

"But West!" Prussia cried. "The wheelchair is integral to my dastardly pl- I mean, cuddly plans!"

Germany's eyes widened. "Bruder, don't you dare try to do anything to sabotage this party. Just because the Halloween party's at Austria's house this year doesn't mean you can wreck the day for everyone."

"Geez, West! Who said anything about ruining the party?"

"You said you had dastar-"

"Lies! You are a liar, sir!"

Germany sighed. "I have to go put on my costume. No Nazi-Tourettes. You're going as Stephen Hawking."

"Who's that?"

Germany sniggered. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

Italy called from within the house for Germany. Germany turned once more to his brother. "I mean it, Gil. No tricks tonight. First sign I see of anything out of the ordinary, I'm taking you home."

"Fine!" Prussia yelled. "Geez, as if I would! You have no faith in me, West!"

"Very little, in fact," Germany said as he walked out to find Italy.

Prussia waited until after Germany was gone. He grabbed the pen from under his bed and scribbled in his diary.

And no one suspects a thing!

...

"P-Papa?" Canada called to France behind the bedroom door. "Are you almost ready?"

"Patience, Mathieu," France called back as he slipped his glove on, hiding a pocketknife in the palm. "Perfection takes time."

"I know," Canada said nervously, hugging Kumajiro tighter. "It's just that the party's in twenty minutes. And I promised to meet Alfred ten minutes ago to go pick out candy to bring."

France opened the door dramatically and sighed against the door frame. "That brother of yours is such a bad influence," France said, pressing a gloved hand to his forehead.

Canada, caught by surprise by the costume, snickered. "What are you supposed to be?"

France straightened indignantly. "What are you talking about? Isn't it obvious?"

"Er-"

"MAAAATTTTTTIIIEEEE!" The primal scream was quickly followed by a loud shattering from downstairs and a dull thud. Canada was torn between annoyance at his brother's destructive idiocy and relief that he didn't have to answer France's question.

France was torn between anger that America broke his window and... actually, no. He wasn't torn. Just angry.

"Alfred!" Canada called, clutching Kumajiro closer to his chest and eliciting a confused "Who're you?" from the little bear. "Alfred, we're upstairs!"

With all the grace of a blind and deaf bull in a tiny, flying china cabinet, America barrelled up the stairs to find his brother. He landed, panting and bruised, on the top step.

"Hey, Alfred," Canada said calmly at the brilliantly colored hero.

"Hey, Matt."

"AMERICA!"

"Really?" Canada yelled at Kumajiro. "Him you remember?"

"Who're you?"

Canada sighed in frustration. France coughed demurely and hid behind the door.

"I wish you wouldn't destroy my house, cher. It costs money, you know."

"Maybe if you wouldn't lure my little brother to your creepy lair of... creepy and pedoness..."

"Pedoness?"

"Then I wouldn't have to break in!" America finished triumphantly.

Canada snorted. "You just wanted to try out the shield."

America grinned. "It totally works!"

"Shield?" France asked from behind the door.

"I'm Captain America!" America beamed through his blue spandex and mask of excellence. "I'm awesome!"

France looked questioningly at Canada, who shook his head as if to say, "don't even ask."

"Anyway," America said. "I've rescued my brother from the fiendish pedo-clutches of my nemesis, Snail-Licker. Throw on your costume, bro, and we'll get out of here. I picked up some candy on the way."

"Ooh, did you get Kit-Kats?"

"What am I, stupid? Of course I got Kit-Kats!"

"You kids have fun," France said from behind the door. "I need to put on some finishing touches."

"Creeper," America barked down the hall. "Are you even gonna say hi to me? Come out!"

France stepped out from behind the door and the blue-masked hero immediately burst into laughter.

"What the hell are you wearing? Hahaha!"

France fumed. "It's a historical piece, Alfred. Some of us have a rich cultural history that we're proud of."

"Oh!" Canada brightened. "I get it! You're Marie Antoinette!"

"What?" France said, hurt, as America fell on the floor in laughter. "No! I'm Louis XVI! Marie Antoinette was Austrian!"

"Subtle hint," Canada said sarcastically. "You're going to try to seduce Austria, aren't you?"

"Wait a second," France said, annoyed. "This isn't even women's clothing! This is men's royal attire from the 19th century!"

"If you say so, Papa."

"It is!"

...

Spain tied the mask around his head and grinned in the mirror. "Hey, good looking," he smiled.

"Quit talking to yourself," came an annoyed Italian accent. "We're late, bastard."

Spain turned around and gave Romano his best Zorro grin. He wasn't sure if Zorro was the grinny type, but he did it anyway. "How do I look, my little tomate?"

Romano folded his arms over his uncostumed chest and huffed. "Like an idiot," he said. "Will you hurry?"

Spain unsheathed his sword with a flourish and brushed a lock of hair out of Romano's face with it. "Relax, Lovi. We have plenty of time. Besides, I thought you didn't even want to go?"

Romano flushed. "I don't, Halloween is stupid."

"Then what's the rush?"

"I don't like being late!"

Spain laughed and traced Romano's face with the cool steel so the sword tip rested uneasily on his shoulder. "You were three hours late to dinner last night. When I asked why you yelled at me and said I was early."

Romano rolled his eyes. "You're different. I don't care if I mess up your day."

"Ouch."

"Can we please go now?"

Spain tapped Romano's shoulder with the sword. "Get into your costume first."

"I told you, I'm not wearing a costume!"

"Yes you are."

"No, I'm really not."

Spain traced the slender blade up Romano's throat. "Yes you are."

Romano sighed, annoyed. "You're too old to play with fake swords. Put it away and let's go."

Something dark danced across Spain's eyes and he grinned. Suddenly, with the deft grace of some sort of ninja/tiger hybrid, he slashed his sword across Romano's chest three times and the Italian squeaked in paralyzed fear.

"Darn," Spain smirked as he sheathed the sabre. "Your sweater. It's ruined. I guess you have to wear your costume now."

Romano trembled wordlessly and looked down at his torn sweater. He paled at the graceful "A" in his chest and wiped away a tiny droplet of blood.

"Oh my god!" Spain screamed, the mysterious macho air gone completely. "Romano, are you bleeding? Hang in there, my darling tomate! We'll get you to a hospital! DON'T DIE ON ME!"

"Put me down, bastard, I'll put on your fucking costume! Just chill out and get in the car!"